#decorate the homes of some of the most powerful people in the world.

[dangermousie]

I was chatting about this with a mutual and it made me want to expand this because I've been thinking about this for a bit on and off.

I think the disconnect/arguments between people who watch/read books/shows/movies etc, label things as green flag/red flag and complain when there are "problematic" characters or "dynamics" - both in terms of the narratives and people who enjoy these narratives being targets and people who like me love some intense/fucked up/weird stuff is because these two groups of people approach fiction in two fundamentally different and incompatible ways.

The former view it as a sort of aspirational content or self-insert - they want to watch/read about people/lives/situations they would enjoy being in/with in real life. It's sort of a self-insert wish fulfillment, the way other people watch youtube channels about traveling the world or cooking or home decorating - you imagine yourself in this.

And I think this is where the disconnect comes in - because a decent chunk of them assume everyone else uses fiction for the same reason so if you enjoy e.g., watching a dysfunctional relationship or a bad dude/lady or some world set up that is nuts it's because you think this is all great in real world and that you want to be (or be with) with a problematic partner/in problematic situation and you think it's morally worthwhile.

To that former "aspirational" type of fiction consumer, fiction taste = morality.

But the disconnect is that for that latter "we like fucked up/dark/problematic/intense/whatever" group it's not really about aspiration or self-insert. People didn't love Hannibal because they secretly long to run off and cook humans in a stew. The fans of 2ha don't really want to kidnap their hot teacher and keep them as a sex slave in a palace. Harem dramas aren't popular because women are dying to poison and frame others to get to sleep with a fat old powerful megalomaniac. Most of consumers of mafia romances don't really think it's a great idea in real life to be taken against your will by a hot killer with abs who can't control himself around you and is great at forcing you into orgasms against your will.

That latter group (among which I find myself) likes all that stuff precisely because it's nothing they have or want to have in real life. It's a safe way to explore fantasies that would not be great in real life (I assure you most people who have noncon fantasies don't want to be raped in real life; also in real life no most people don't want to bang a buff but super murdery villain; fiction is a safe place in a way) but also to explore situations and interactions and characters you would never want to in real life from the safety of the page/screen. To use a very easy example - think of the large audience of action movies. I am pretty sure most fans of action franchises don't want to be in car crashes/insane chases/explosions/etc. Any more than roller coaster enthusiasts want to actually be thrown upside down for real or horror movie fans want to either chase someone with an axe or be chased with one. I myself love really intense situations in fiction, ones that push characters to their limits and sometimes beyond, but I cannot imagine anything less pleasant to go through in real life.

Unlike with the self-insert group, this is actually the very opposite. It's like a game of what-if, a glimpse into an alien world fascinating precisely because of its difference with my life. An exploration of aspects of life/relationships that one could never safely or happily do in one's life but are interesting at a safe fictional remove.

This is getting repetitive so I am going to stop but I really do wish more people would understand that enjoying X in fiction does not mean enjoying X in real life (or approving of X in general.) I mean, I love period epics but you'd pry antibiotics and rule of law out of my cold dead hands.

The moral panic over fiction reminds me both the old "video games make you into killers" panic of a few decades ago and the much older belief that reading novels would wreck morals of society especially by those weak women since the novels' (lack of) morality would warp them. Most people have brains and use them and can distinguish between fiction and reality. I wish people would accept that.

P.S. A corollary is conflation of morality/quality/enjoyment. By that I mean I wish more people would accept that moral message, quality, and enjoyment of work are all three separate things. You don't need to prove that some fictional piece is immoral and/or badly made to justify you not enjoying it. It can be well done and just not for you. And conversely, you do not need to prove a work having societal value or being high quality to justify enjoying it. It's fiction. Just enjoy it or don't.

[gregdotorg]

Not sure what is wilder to contemplate: Caspar David Friedrich's supersized version of Wanderer being used to sell a townhouse in Georgetown, or me intermittently declaring artworks based on situations I see in real estate listings, but you don't have to choose now.

[star-suh]

Spider-Mark

Mark Lee x Male Reader

cw: superhero top mark, sex under pheromones effects, sort of enemies to secret lovers maybe?, ripped clothes, tongue sucking, mark cums a lot, fingering, 69, belly bulge, choking, bareback, implied marathon sex, auralism, bit of feminization (just one phrase), an impregnation joke, creaming idk i made that up, cum as lube.

an: this could get nasty at the end for some idk, also there would be parts in where i would refer to mark with his name but remember that yn never found out his true identity.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN EVERYONE 🎃

in a world full of humans with superpowers it’s natural that some villains arise and in consequence some heroes are needed. out of everyone one of them was the most beloved, the cute and friendly spider-man. a young masked superhero with a red and blue suit adorned with spider and web motifs, he was so damn good at his job that some people couldn’t help but fall in love with him. this is the case of yn, a smart college student who got kinda obsessed with the hero. “isn’t he so good?” he tells his friends while looking at a picture he took of the aforementioned hero with his phone, he was infatuated by him. “yeah he’s so cool” a voice suddenly speaks with a small laugh at the end of the sentence. “shut up mark, you’re annoying” yn blurted out. the relationship between yn and mark was complicated, they didn’t start on good terms like they were always pit against each other because they were the clever ones in the classroom, something that gradually became a pain in the ass for both guys. “what? isn’t that what you wanna hear about your beloved spidey?” mark mocks causing yn to storm out of them to avoid more conflicts.

unbeknownst to yn he just talked with the man of his dreams, the man behind the web-decorated mask. since he was bit by a mysterious spider, mark gained abilities based on this arachnid, one of the things he liked the most was justice, so why not use his newly found powers to help other people?.

one night, yn was walking home alone, the roads were almost empty. then suddenly some masked guy showed up pointing a gun at yn, “give me everything you have” he yells. yn shakes in fear “HELP!!” he shouts “SOMEBODY HELP!!”, he cocked his gun and aimed at yn’s head when it suddenly flew through the air, landing in an known hand, “got you” he speaks through the mask and shoots some spider-webs towards the robber who got trapped against a wall, being taken by the police minutes later. spider-man took the young man into his arms and carried him towards his house, balancing in between skyscrapers with the help of his webs. it was like a dream that came true for yn, god he was so happy being carried by those strong arms, he could almost cry…

a friendship grows in between the two, obviously with his identity still hidden from yn, he doesn’t want to ruin his new friend’s dream, like what would yn think if he found out his favorite superhero is his rival. days and nights passed with them sitting on a rooftop eating while contemplating the full moon, “isn’t it pretty?” spider-man mutters, his hand resting mere centimeters away from yn’s, “it is” yn says happily, his eyes almost sparkling as if he was in an anime. something in the air shifted suddenly, an intoxicating smell invaded the area, yn started to sweat and his cheeks got flushed. the same happened to mark but of course the mask hides it, his suit starts to stick to his body thanks to the immense sweat. then realization hit him, he started to feel so comfortable that he started to secrete pheromones, one of the side effects of the bite, and they were affecting them both. mark tried to go away but an already hypnotized yn grabs him by the wrist “don’t go please”, mark looked at his pretty sweaty face, ‘he’s begging to be fucked’, mark thought but then shook his head try to erase that thought. “i-i have to go.. sorry” he tried to break away from yn’s grab but to no avail, where did that strength come from?. mark slipped and fell to the floor sitting while yn crawled his way onto him, “spider-man is itching” yn says while shaking his ass, he was completely gone, devoured by the pheromones effect. “y-yn i.. i don’t know” his bulge started to grow, the part of the suit on his crotch swelling due to he getting excited, “damn i should've learned how to control this shit” and with just a swing he grabs yn and carries him on his shoulder while looking for a place to satiate that lust. “take me to my bedroom” yn mentions, indicating to the hero where it was ubicated.

the two arrived and mark opened the window, entering the bedroom quietly, yn tried to discard mark’s mask but he didn’t allow it, he just pulled it up to his nose level, his mouth now free to litter kisses and hickeys in yn. they shared a kiss, mark’s tongue exploring inside yn’s mouth, their tongues intertwined, there would be times in which mark sticks out his tongue for yn to suck on it and vice versa, threads of saliva sticking to their chins, looking like a spider-web. “this is the messiest kiss i’ve ever had” mark confesses, “mine too, i don’t know what’s happening to me” yn replies, “but i need you right now” he adds.

the desperation for each other was so unbearable that mark wanting to not waste more time, ripped the crotch area of his suit, his dick springing free already leaking with precum, “fuck it’s so big” yn panted after seeing it, “is this all for me?” he asks, pouting. “only if you can take it all” the needy hero announced. mark also ripped yn’s pants, the fabric tore right above his hole, “jockstraps hmm?.. sexy” he murmurs.

mark grinds his wet tip on yn’s hole, soaking with precum, “look at how wet i am for you”. then he put his fingers right above his dick to put some pressure on it and started to thrust, going up and down in between yn’s bum. yn throws back his head, the friction creating heat right above his hole that started pulsating, wanting to feel that heat inside of it, he looks at mark with pouty eyes, he wants more, no, he needs more. mark caressed his cheek, his face getting closer towards yn’s, “want me to fuck you pretty boy?” he sexily whispers, his voice resonating throughout yn’s whole body making him tremble, how can such a cute hero be so smoking hot and sexy. yn nods desperately, “please fuck me, use me, just put it inside now”.

mark prepared yn’s hole to take his dick, first he grabbed yn by hugging his hips and pulled him up so his ass could be at the same level of his face and yn’s face would be in front of his hanging dick basically doing a 69 but instead of doing it the normal way they’re doing it standing up, or in this case, on their knees. yn swallowed mark’s dick while the latter starts to finger him, his fingers soaked in his saliva, mark would sometimes eat yn’s ass, burying his face on his hole and then continuing the stretching with his digits, even putting all 4 of them at once loving how when he pulls them out yn’s hole clenches onto nothing but air. meanwhile down there yn keeps on sucking the other’s shaft, occasionally the hero would do some slow paced thrust causing his balls to slap against yn’s face, they were heavy and it seems that they were full of cum also, yn cannot wait anymore to have all that spooge inside him.

mark folded yn and introduced his throbbing shaft first slowly but then accelerating the pace right away, “fuck! milk this hero cock” mark grunts, the muscles and the veins on his arms bulging because of how hard he was gripping the mattress as a way to stabilize himself. at this point mark’s whole suit was damaged, the initial rip slowly grew until what was his pants were now just pieces of clothes hanging on his forelegs, leaving his bottom half naked. his big ass recoils everytime he plows yn and thanks to the excessive precum he produces wet, gushy sounds that originated from the other’s hungry hole, “noisy pussy” mark laughs proceeding to kiss yn. they both got carried away by the pleasure, yn now in doggy style was being choked by mark’s hands, they were placed in his neck so he can go even deeper, “sooo deep…” yn’s tongue was out and drool dripping out of his face. mark’s heavy balls slammed against the other, the night being a witness of their wild sex.

“i’m gonna cum” mark groans, his voice hoarse due to how much he already said that phrase to yn. it was already morning and god knows how many times mark has already came inside yn, he attributes this new ‘ability’ to cum buckets to the bite, “that bite brought good things with it after all” the lustful man exclaimed. one can notice that he indeed cums a lot because there was a tiny bump forming on yn’s tummy, “i can’t anymore spider-man” he uttered, his fucked up face and body drenched in sweat, marks and his own cum. “look at this i knocked you up” the hero jokes pressing against it, then an idea popped up on his mind, he made yn seat on top of him with his still rock hard shaft right above yn’s used entrance, “do this for me and push it all out” mark bits gently yn’s ear who complies and started to do what he was told, slowly he starts to squirt all the cum inside him that landed on mark’s pink tip and slid all the way down his shaft then to his balls and finally dripped onto the floor. “damn i really came a lot” his perfect smile and sexy low laugh sending shivers to yn all the way down his pulsating hole. when he finally squirted all the cum, mark slicked his dick with it using his hand and put it inside yn, “sorry, i’m horny again”, let’s say yn spend the whole day and night moaning and babbling nonsense.

the next day, all the people were asking what happened to spider-man that he didn’t appear yesterday the whole day at all, luckily there weren't any villains near the city. yn went to his classes when one of his friends asked why he didn’t came yesterday to study, “i was very sick but i’m okay now” what’s the only thing they heard from him. he was walking towards his next class when accidentally bumped into mark, who embarrassed of what he did yesterday just muttered a little sorry and resumed with his walking, everyone was surprised because usually this would end up with them both throwing tantrums at each other, “woah that was weird” one of the friends uttered, “yeah” yn narrowed his eyes while looking at mark, he saw something on mark’s neck, is it a hickey? why does it look like one of the hickeys he gave to the lustful hero yesterday? “nevermind” he shook his head and entered the classroom.

a flashback popped into mark's mind, last night he was ready to leave but his suit was completely ripped into pieces so yn lent him some clothes, “can i see who’s behind the mask?” he asked while caressing the other’s cheeks and lips, “not now” he said after waving a goodbye and leaving.

yn comes home just to see the clothes he lent to spider-man clean and folded on his bed with a note that says “see you soon”, butterflies flew on yn’s stomach who cheered and danced in happiness.

[islandofsages]

hey, I could ask the royal boys (Leona, Kalim and Malleus) with the male reader who is already the king of his country, like the boys thought he was a prince like them, but then on any given day he lets out a complaint how difficult it is to govern the kingdom and study for exams at the same time, sometimes he just wanted to be the prince and not the king.

characters: leona, kalim and malleus x king!male reader

tags: platonic, canon compliant, fluff, imagines + scenario format

warnings: a little bit of negativity towards reader in leona's part, a bit of swearing in kalim's

author's notes: loving all the male reader requests rn. i think i strayed a bit from the prompt but i hope you like it anyway <3

Leona Kingscholar

Though being a prince himself, he’s not as “diplomatic” with the other princes at that school - except for you probably. No don’t ask him what happened, he’s ready to accept it as it is

At least because of your (assumed) status, he finds it easier to communicate with you; at least you’re not one of the top five most powerful mages in the world or the most optimistic person in Twisted Wonderland

Hangouts with him still consist more of silent chilling though; both of you just need to get away from it all for a while

He doesn’t question the days that you’re gone - sometimes people just end up needing you to do this and that. He tries not to dwell on it too much, lest his inferiority complex gets the best of him

Until one day, you come back after one day of absence, which is normal enough until-

“*sigh* I swear, being king is less appealing as my retainers make it sound, especially since I also have to go to school all the while.”

I’m sorry, being what now?

He knew you were royalty, that much he got from everyone whispering about you back when you enrolled and since you made little mention of your background, he just assumed you were a prince like him

You let out a tired chuckle then and comment on how you forgot that you never told him you’re an actual king of a nation

He has mixed feelings over this - he thought he finally met someone a little bit like him, yet you’re just another one of them and you never bothered telling him who you are?

But don’t worry, he gets over his feelings of betrayal after a while; it’s not like the reveal changed who you are as a person. You’re still the same guy who he’s been hanging out with and he knows his brain is trying to defend itself

You apologize for not telling him sooner and despite your complaints, you try not to sound ungrateful, especially considering his issues

At some point, even Leona himself starts to forget about that fact

It doesn’t matter if you carry a whole nation on your shoulders because - and he will never say this out loud - he knows you’re capable and if you start to crumble, he’ll be there for you.

Kalim Al-Asim

Though he’s not one to really care about someone’s social status, he’s happy to have more royal friends

Doesn’t stop him from spoiling you. Haven’t you heard? Any friends of Kalim are also friends of his many, many fortunes

He invites you over to Scarabia for parties every so often and either you are surrounded by people or everyone leaves you alone out of intimidation

But hey, if the latter happens, Kalim is more than happy to help you make some friends (unless you’re uncomfortable with it of course but he’ll still try to help)

One time, at one of his many parties, you two were simply laughing over something and it reminded you of something-

“That makes me think of the time this creature took a shit on my throne back at home - it took a few days for the stench to fade!”

Oh, of course, your throne! Everyone totally has a literal throne back home! Until Kalim realizes that is, in fact, untrue

As if he wasn’t already excited at the prospect of a new friend, he gets more excited at the fact that you have your own throne and is, he concludes, a monarch

You brush him off, light pink decorating your cheeks, saying that it’s not really that special - and you mean it

You tell him of the experience and you couldn’t help slip in a few complaints; it isn’t easy to juggle both school and royal responsibilities at the same time

He only listens in and tries his best to understand; he is no king, and though he is a housewarden and a prince, your struggles differ from his by a long mile

From that day on, he makes sure to check in on you and if you’re feeling less than, he’ll drop everything and do anything to relieve you of your stress

When he drops by your nation and your palace, he brings in a whole parade. It’s so Kalim that you can only laugh

You knew that story about a creature shitting on your throne was gonna be a good story at parties.

Malleus Draconia

Your presence is an absolute delight to him; it didn’t occur to him to ask what kind of royalty you are but it didn’t matter either way

He finds himself more comfortable talking about his heritage around you, knowing that you can somewhat relate to being of nobility

If you’re not part of his club, sometimes you tag along on his gargoyle crusades for the hell of it - seeing him so passionate about something brings a smile to your face

On one of your many escapades, he points out a gargoyle and begins to ramble about its features

Hearing it suddenly makes you remember-

“Ah gosh, I just remembered I should be back home right now, some of my people will be coming over to construct some gargoyles around my castle.”

He doesn’t question it at first but then the phrase “my people” registered in his mind. Wait, what do you mean your people?

You start to apologize for not telling him and also the fact that you have to leave that very moment

After you came back after the whole ordeal, you sit him down somewhere and tell him about your position

As mentioned, it doesn’t matter to him what responsibilities you have, as long as you can be his friend

You breathe out a sigh of relief and invite him to continue where you two left off last time

Nothing changes much between you two, except for the fact that you share more of your kingly experiences

He definitely drops by your place at least once - he could never miss out a chance on seeing some new gargoyles

And as he looks on at those beautiful waterspouts, you can’t help but be grateful that they can serve as a source of happiness for someone too.

[unadulteratedsoulsweets]

A DC X DP IDEA #22

Back in my day.

Imagine dis…

Alfred is a whole mystery to the Batfam that whenever he pulls out his shotgun we are in awe at this kickass badass British butler, on the other hand, we are always in the shadows of his past endeavors. We all knew he was a S.A.S. Armed Services, fighting in 15 different operations between ages 18 and 20. A skilled medical and front liner soldier who was decorated. He later joined MI5, as well as the secret forces of the Queen and later being knighted by Her Majesty.

He is silent as he comes by, he can out Batman the Batman despite Bruce learning from the greatest assassin of all time. He is calm, too calm for any situation to the point your subconscious asks if he had seen something wilder, more insane to consider an alien attack, a mutant crocodile attack every Tuesday is considered somewhat tame, or even the rise of global or universal threats that Alfred seemed to brush it off.

So, who is he?

…

Alfred Pennyworth had always been a mysterious figure. He had dedicated his life to serving the Wayne family and their caped crusader alter-egos as Bruce Wayne's loyal butler and the revered keeper of Wayne Manor. But Alfred had held a secret for decades, one that would finally come to light most unexpectedly.

Alfred was a teenager called Danny Fenton long before he donned the perfect suit and tie. He lived in the small town of Amity Park, which was riddled with secrets of its own. Danny was not your typical adolescent; he had a strange encounter with a ghostly gateway that had bestowed upon him unusual and otherworldly skills. He had protected Amity Park from vengeful ghosts and spectral threats thanks to his power to shift into a phantom hero known as Danny Phantom.

Danny had just recently been crowned as the crowned prince of the Infinite Realm a week after he had defeated the tyrant Pariah Dark who had attempted to rip off a space in the fabric of in-between just to suck in his little quaint town. It was determined by both the ancient and the Observants that it was better for him to finish his mortal life before he dawns on the crown, as he was still growing, he was still considered a baby ghost younger than Young Blood as his death was still recent.

But slowly the thoughts that he had kept behind his head are coming back to him. Jazz his beloved sister as well as the one who had raised her despite being a child herself who had no idea of raising a child, may analyze her all she wants but she could never sympathize nor connect with his inner thoughts of being one of the halfas. He died, he never really had the time to process it because he had to face the Lunch Lady just a few days after the accident. 

His friends, now looking at them closely, have seen that they both have some sort of guilt in their eyes. They both have seen him die amid the electrician, he can’t help but feel some sort of longing at the cemetery the north of Amity Park, he is too alive to have a grave yet too dead to be alive.

He thought he was getting there, changing the views of the people. To show the world that his kind is sentient but the people kept whispering. Shadows cast long by the looming specters sent chills down their spines. Every eerie wail or flicker of a ghostly presence filled them with dread. Their eyes widened in terror as the ethereal figures materialized before them. A hushed silence fell over the town when ghostly battles raged in the skies. Parents warned their children to stay indoors when the ghost alarms rang. Fearful whispers of the "Ghost Boy" circulated, both a hero and a phantom menace. 

The ghostly encounters left scars of fear etched in the minds of Amity Park's residents.

In the end, he was forced to leave his home dimension, why? It’s because the GIW have become more vicious more brutal at their hunting, With the sacrifice of both his friends and family they have shoved him into the portal, never to be seen again.

…

All bloodied and still injured he had landed in a period in the early 1900. He thought that he may have accidentally traveled back in time but when he saw too many conflicting events that he had learned during his high school days that didn’t happen during this time led him to believe that he had traveled a different dimension. Small ripples in the water created a tsunami of change in what he previously known as the past, when he was still in the streets gathering information, he had noticed that he landed in the middle of London during the early 1900s. Good enough that child labor laws are still not a thing so he can work with practically anyone without questions asked. The bad news is that his supposed great-grandfather's version in this dimension had already died, according to his family tree history during his science project in 4th grade his great-grandfather went to London to earn a few bucks before traveling back to America where he would meet his supposed great grandmother and have children. Since he died before he even went back to America the Nightgale-Fenton line died with him.

Luckily a barren couple took pity on him and took him in, since Danny can’t no longer bear his original last name, he embraced the new name from this nice couple who had taken him in. Danny may have felt guilty at the prospect or even the idea of replacing his family but he can’t help but think of it as a new beginning of his life. No one to hunt down his ghostly half, No GIW, and No fruit loop trying to turn him into his heir.

Alfred Pennyworth

During this time he did a lot of odd jobs, cleaning the inside of a chimney, mining, selling newspapers… etc. Sure, it was hard work and he can’t help but look at the children far younger than him taking in jobs far more dangerous just so they can shave something to eat. He can’t help but feel too blessed when he was back in his timeline. Warn food to eat under a sturdy roof to keep out the elements as well as education. Things that were too mundane, too common, that he now feels like a luxury. 

Over time he developed an accent as well as new mannerisms and vocabulary. 

So, when war broke out on the horizon his core ached at the notion of protection thus signed up in the military. 

Sure, he became the most feared soldier in the fields due to his using some of his ghostly abilities subtly. His enemies who stand in front of him call him The Vengeful Orphan, due to his avenging every soldier who seems to die at the hands of their enemies. 

Between the ages of 18 and 20, he served in the S.A.S. Armed Services, engaging in 15 different actions. A decorated medical specialist and front-line soldier. He then joined MI5, as well as the Queen's secret forces, and was knighted by Her Majesty.

…

As time passes by the ages, slowly but surely. He had already outlived his adoptive parents and friends of his. He still held the authority of being the officially crowned prince of the Infinite Realms. He had already explored the world experiencing the culture and history of this world.

At this time, he had already recovered enough ectoplasm to turn back to his ghostly prime and create a portal to the Infinite Realms. But something in him nagged, his core kept trying to tell him something when he was about to take a step inside the portal, but he didn’t seem to know why. His years as Phantom and Alfred Pennyworth taught him to listen to his guts, and it saved him multiple times, without looking back he stayed in this dimension until his mortal life perished.

It seemed that he didn’t have to find it for too long as he was approached by none other than Thomas Wayne with the preposition to be Wayne’s butler.

So, when little Bruce Wayne was born he couldn’t help but feel a little fond of the tyke. He reminded Bruce of himself when he was just a simple young boy before everything. When the fated, night came he tried to shield Bruce from everything, to have him resemble a somewhat normal life. 

That night he tucked in a teary-eyed Bruce into bed who had just witnessed his parent’s murder. He faced the ghosts of both Martha and Thomas who had been with the young master since the incident a few hours ago and tearfully promised the two ghostly couple that he would take care of Bruce. Both couples seemed to be in shock at their butler who had seen them but felt relief that their boy was in safe hands.

…

When his ward Bruce Wayne turned into a crime-fighting vigilante, he can’t help but softly snort at his outfit. Sure, he admits he had a worse outfit when he started as Phantom when he was just a young lad but he is willing to take anything other than a furry suit that fights crime at night. He has no right to criticize either since his alter ego is just him with an inverted color without a mask yet people seem to make no connection between him and Phantom, in his defense he is a young teen whereas Bruce is in his 20s. He just raised an eyebrow at his outfit and Bruce immediately changed the design to be a bit more sophisticated than just a Halloween costume of a bat.

…

So when Bruce starts to bring in orphans he can’t help but smile fondly as the manor is slowly filled with such joy from each child that seems to find a home in the large manor. He can't help but reminisce if this could have been his life if Vlad had learned to forgive Jack or if his parents and Amity Park just accepted him if the GIW didn’t exist. He thought one day when he was drinking tea with Jason, Jason who died and came back different, never broken. His grandchild who experienced his death in a slow yet painful way died and came back later. He knew there was something different with his grave but he chalked it up in being his ghostly sense sensing the ectoplasm around Gotham. He just wished he checked the grave even though it holds so much sentimental value to the dead. 

Don’t get him wrong the moment Jason came back to enact his revenge on B he was already aware something was in Gotham he just didn’t know at the time that it was Jason. He is more than happy to kill the Joker as he had taken mortal lives when he was serving the army but Bruce might notice and he still held fear at the idea of Dan.

After the entire revelation between his son and grandchild, he just welcomed back Jason into the manor as if nothing was wrong with the boy and prepared his favorite dish and snacks in the library whenever he visited.

…

Now it had been a long way since he entered this dimension, now the long table at the manor is filled with guests and children alike. His grandchildren are full of life despite what had life thrown at them. Dick was the first one to arrive and started, Barbara followed, Jason who took off the wheel, Tim with his brilliant mind with his worrying caffeine intake, Stephanie who fought with his father, Cassandra who started just to atone for the sin of killing her father yet became loyal and caring young lady and Damian who started to learn what humanity is like. Sure others had been emotionally adopted but all of them all have places in the manor.

…

His grandchildren as well as his pseudo son kept throwing him curious glances every time, He managed to seemingly appear behind them to notify them of dinner. He can also feel the envy of walking silently from the assassin-trained children. He can feel Bruce’s stare whenever he raises an eyebrow at some classified cases that are supposedly secured. He can hear their whispers as they exclaim to one another that he supposedly knew everything, of course, he knew everything the manor became his new haunt after a few years.

…

He already raised an eyebrow at the simultaneous alarm from every vigilante at the dinner table but imagine his surprise when he joined in looking over the Bat computer as Oracle barked out orders and instructions, as a familiar opponent showed itself.

A green glowing monster is wreaking havoc throughout Gotham it came from Central City and marched its way here to Gotham which became even more powerful due to the ectoplasm in the air. There is already notable damage from both cities as the rest of the heroes seem to work together to evacuate and stop the creature. The JLD attacks seem to have some effect but it was useless due to its minions that kept them occupied. Oracle is so focused on the situation and doesn’t notify their pseudo grandfather to disappear from behind her.

…

The entire JL is starting to feel hopeless as the green creature seems to raze Gotham as if the stone road is made out of water. Every magician and heavy hitter have been called but no one was able to put damage to the creature.

When all hopes seemed lost, they all heard a loud bang from a shotgun.

Alfred Pennyworth is standing on top of a rubble of concrete and metal, the butler of Batman, the pseudo father, and grandfather of the entire bat clan, also known as Agent A. Carrying his signature shotgun and a thermos that seems to strap to his hip like a belt. 

He kept firing round after round from his trusty old shotgun and pausing for a second to reload. He glanced at the heroes around and seemed to raise an eyebrow at the absolute massacre that he had just done to the creature’s minions.

As he paused to take another reload, he paused at movement and looked at the space in front of him and waited. The creature appeared roaring out in fury but seemed to pause the moment it laid eyes on Alfred. The creature seems to shake with uncertainty and fear. Every vigilante and hero present could see its eyes growing wide from shock and fear as well the cold sweat as Alfred raised an eyebrow at the creature as he slowly walked towards the creature with annoyance with every step.

Some heroes who had enhanced hearing could hear Alfred muttering about, back in his day blob ghosts were these cute and harmless things but now some up-start wannabe newly formed one seems to think he is all hot shot. 

He proceeds to scold the creature as if he had just caught one of his grandchildren sneaking their hands on the cookie jar and proceeds to take out the thermos and effectively catch the creature. As if the one responsible for the mess never existed in the first place.

Now the bat clan has rules when they are in the manor or the presence of Alfred and one of those rules is that there will be no swearing when he is around, but there is one word that seems to resound from each hero's mind.

What the fuck just happened?!?!

…

Now as you know I started to post less, now it is both from writer’s block and class being in the way.

PS: If someone out there wanted to continue or make a fic about this you are free to do so, don’t forget to tag me though.

[mossattack]

(Some silly headcanons about Mortalitasi and Nevarran traditions that ended up leading me to Emmrich. How typical.)

We don't actually know all that much about Nevarra and their customs. World of Thedas and some of the in-game codex tells us some key points: strong royal families, a rich history of dragon hunting, an elite group of mages rumored to be heavily involved in makings of the country, and, of course, the thing that this country is most famous for - the fascination with the dead.

Our very own Nevarran companion mentions a couple of things about her home country:

And even though she doesn't seem fond of Mortalitasi practices or Nevarran customs surrounding the dead, she admits that some stories that pervade the South are greatly exaggerated:

(I feel so called out)

This makes me think that this interest in the dead is still a personal choice. I doubt that an average Nevarran is obsessed with those rituals any more than an average person from Ferelden is with theirs - those are just a part of their traditions that obviously affect their lives in unique ways, but that is all.

Now, Nevarran nobility are a different matter. They are said to start the construction of their tombs very early in life - lavishly decorated palaces with gardens, ballrooms and bathhouses. A sign of power and wealth for them, and that I can believe.

But when it comes to Mortalitasi, do they, in general, care as much? Do they take all these things, all these rituals, to extreme somehow, professional pride and all?

How much would a Mortalitasi care about their own tomb? Would Mortalitasi friends and colleagues ever promise to lead the other's ceremony depending on who dies first? "Oh, I'll totally mummify you if you're the one to go first, don't you worry, I know you think that Markus is getting sloppy".

The coffin sharing is also not unheard of (the spouses from The Flame Eternal), and I wonder if it's ever used as a grand gesture - to ask someone to be placed in the same tomb?

(And just imagine how messy this could get, the way people are. Building a tomb together only to have a falling out, what are you even supposed to do after that?)

Would it be romantic then, to tell your significant other that you don't want to ever part from them, even in death?

Beacause imagine Emmrich writing a quick letter to his friend from the Mourn Watch (Johanna, if they are still friends after all these years, or Myrna), "doing fine, on a saving the world business trip, will be back when I can; could I trouble you with a favor - a bigger coffin, installed in my tomb, not urgent, just whenever you have the time."

When the reply comes and his friend is (obviously) asking for a reason for such a sudden change, he just looks at Rook from the corner of his eye and replies with "no particular reason, just felt like it."

[kasagia]

Can't catch me now...

Pairing: Aleksander Morozova/The Darkling x grisha! reader Summary: The Hunger Games in Ravka. 12 districts. 12 tributes. 12 mentors. 11 young people die every year. 1 winner. Aleksander was a mentor to many. But only your face will haunt him for centuries. Inspired by: The Hunger Games. I changed the world of both of them a bit. I was supposed to write something else, but this came to my mind and... Word Count: 4,9k Taglist: @aoi-targaryen @il0vebeingdelulu @chelseyyouraverageluigi Aleksander Morozova's Masterlist ~•♤♤♤•~ Main Masterlist PART 2

"The tribute from District 12! Y/N Y/L/N!"

You doubt you will ever forget this day. Or the terrified faces of Alina and Mal when the Peacekeepers pulled you out of the row and pushed you towards the stage.

An orphan from Kerazmin was sent to the Hunger Games for certain death.

The Hunger Games are held annually to commemorate the Great Battle of Ravka, in which Grisha and the inhabitants of Ravka took part. The House of Lantsov took over the country and strengthened its position by killing the rebels with the help of Grisha, led by the Darkling.

The Darkling helped them in exchange for a promise that no Grisha would ever suffer at the hands of Ravka's rulers again. His successors created the Little Palace, a safe haven for Grisha. The Lanstovs, on the other hand, continued the annual killing of 11 children from the Ravka districts. They put on a show for the people, the snobbish nobility, and the Grisha, who gloated over how the children of their captors were now fighting for their lives in the arena as they used to in the Old Ravka.

If it weren't for the Darkling's help, the world would be different.

Lantsov would not have come to power. The fold would not exist. And the Hunger Games would never have happened.

"12. We are in captial." you smile thankfully and nod to the boy from District 11.

You disembark with the other tybutes, and each of you holds your breath as you see the gates of Os Alta in the distance. Your district was poor, like mainly all of them, and Karemzin was certainly not the most beautiful. But the forest around the city gave you a strange feeling of peace. Home.

"Get in line! You will be checked by medics! We don't want any pandemics in the capital because we brought some rats to play with."

Each of you is bursting with anger at the soldier's words. But with so many Peacekeepers around you, none are brave enough to disobey orders.

You're last in line. You are waiting for a woman to approach you. You know she is Grisha from her clothes—a beautiful red kefta. You feel nauseous as the woman's hands touch your forehead, but you stand still and straight. You definitely won't show them you're scared, especially Grisha.

Grisha frowns. He nods at the peacekeeper. You feel yourself turning pale, your hands clasped behind your back, shaking slightly as you realise something is wrong. You create various scenarios in your head, and when Peacekeeper reaches for something attached to his hip, you already say goodbye to life. You raise your eyebrows in surprise when he pulls out something else instead of a gun.

"I'm not a Grisha." you say firmly, recognising the device the Grisha's use to test if someone has the ability to practice their 'little science'. "I was examined when I was young."

"We shall see." the healer who checked you says.

She nods at the soldiers. You are pushed into carriages. 6 people to one. You're a bit cramped, but it's better than sharing one carriage. You take the opportunity to fall asleep, resting your head against the window, as the quiet conversations and the sound of squeaking wheels hitting the path in the forest lull you to sleep.

You gather in a large room that is too over-decorated for your taste. You were bathed and changed into new clothes, all to appear before the king and the inhabitants of the capital.

You stand tense, playing with the sleeves of your dress. You've watched the Hunger Games once. The tybutits gathered in the great hall before the king and presented their image to Ravka and its inhabitants. The one who sold best gained the most sponsors. And therefore, food, water, medicines, and weapons in the arena.

But apart from the soldiers, there was no one around you.

You shiver slightly when suddenly the door bursts open and several soldiers dressed in black enter. The oprichniki. You swallow as, between them, you see the Darkling himself.

You saw him once in the newspaper at Prince Vasily's funeral.

He was terrifying.

There was an aura of power and composure around him. He dominated a room full of people, and seeing him in person only strengthened your belief that the man in front of you was pure danger and unlimited power.

Rumours spread throughout the country that he would one day depose Lantsovs from the throne. And no one would be surprised if someone from the Darkling's family line finally came to power.

"General Kirigan!" the oprichnik shouts.

The soldiers salute him, and some of the tributes bow. You stand straight, watching him carefully as he slowly walks towards the centre of the room. He stands before you and looks at you all. His dark eyes meet yours in a burning gaze a few moments longer than the rest. He clears his throat, breaking the absolute silence, and begins his speech.

"It is a great honour to take part in the Hunger Games. It is an even greater honour to survive them and become a resident of Os Alta, so do not waste your chance. You will soon go to a meeting with your mentors and then to the throne room, where the king will officially open this year's Hunger Games. You will have two weeks to prepare for entering the arena. But before that, like every year, we will take you through a small test. Don't worry, it will only take a moment." He claps his hands, making some of you tremble. He chuckles, darkly amused, and looks at you one by one again. "Who's first? Maybe District 1?"

Everyone's eyes turn to the little boy. The kid is maybe 12 years old, no more. On shaky legs, he approaches the Darkling. You clench your jaw as you watch the amusement in the peacekeepers' eyes. At least the Darkling and his people had the decency not to scare the boy more or make fun of him.

The Darkling pierces his skin with his ring, creating a small wound. The boy lets out a small squeal of pain but doesn't remove his hand. The Darkling whispers something to him and gives him his black handkerchief. The boy takes it hesitantly, thanks it, presses it to the wound, and returns to his place in line.

And so on. Some come back with a larger wound on their arm, others with a slight bite, like a little boy. Until it's your turn.

You approach the Darkling, staring at the window behind him and the view of the forest from which you came here. You stand in front of him, waiting for him to pierce your skin. But it's not like that. An uncomfortable, disquieting silence descends. You shift your gaze to him and can't help but shiver as you find his dark irises staring intently at you.

"What are you?" he asks, still staring at you, searching for something you can't quite place. You don't know why he does it. He didn't speak to the rest of the tibutes.

"Y/N Y/L/N from district 12." you answer his strange question, proud that your voice isn't hoarse. The last time you drank water was three days ago.

He smirks at your response and at the fact that you keep his gaze on you, unlike the rest of the people who stood in front of him. He is partly disappointed that you're doing it. He decides it would be nice to grab your chin and force you to look into his eyes. But your supposedly brave attitude is a pleasant refreshment for him.

"I asked you… what are you?" he repeats it in a monotone tone of voice.

"This year's tribute, sir." you say, confused, not knowing what exactly he wants to hear from you or what he is asking you about.

"That I can see. Answer the question. WHAT are you?" he insists and you can't find a good answer.

An orphan? Nobody's daughter? A friend?

"I... no one." you say, staring into his dark eyes like hypnotised.

You feel incredibly stupid and tremble as the soldiers' laughter echoes throughout the room.

But the Darkling doesn't join them, there's no trace of amusement in his eyes, now almost black as his shadows, as he watches you carefully.

He's judging you. You don't know why his attention is fully on you or why he needs someone… as worthless as you, but everything changes the moment he raises his hands and summons his shadows.

They surround the soldiers, immediately silencing them, and there is a deafening silence in the room again. You feel like it's just you and him and no one else.

"Interesting... we shall see and find out." he gently brushes his finger against your wrist. "Now, your sleeve, if you allow."

He doesn't wait for your answer or movement and rolls up the sleeve of your dress himself, with a carefulness that amazes you. The Darkling is known for many things, but certainly not for any form of gentleness.

You wait for the pain that will come from his ring piercing your skin. But the wound he gives you is not that terrible compared to others he made for the rest of the tributes. And the strangest thing about it all is that not a single drop of blood leaks from it.

You feel a strange warmth spread throughout your body where he touches you. He tightens his grip on your shoulder more, as if he's searching for something. The warmth is spreading deeper within you until suddenly you feel it piercing right through your heart.

You close your eyes at the intense feeling that washes over you. You stop breathing as suddenly the room fills with blue light emitting from you. The wind picks up, the ground shakes under your feet, and the small pieces of plaster begin to fall off the ceiling. You're not sure, but you think you hear someone screaming echoing through the room.

You meet the Darkling's gaze. He stares at you with some kind of pride and satisfaction. Like a predator when he finally catches his great prey. You pull away your hand from his grip, still holding defiantly his gaze. You probably wouldn't have been so brave under different circumstances, but after all, you were a participant in the Hunger Games. You were already dead anyway.

"Wed'ma." whispers spread throughout the room as everything returned to normal. The other Grisha help one of them, the one closest to you, get up from his lap. He's breathing quickly, he's pale, and you see a trickle of blood coming from his mouth. You realize that you are not bleeding like the tributes before you did from the wound inflicted by the Darkling.

"She is not a witch. Show a little respect. The Merzost Holder is standing in front of you." he announces. Grisha falls silent, staring at you in shock and awe as the others give him confused looks. Including you.

"What the blody hell?" you whisper, but he either doesn't hear you or ignores you, sending everyone else out of the room. Only you and his oprichniki remain.

When the door closes with a loud bang, you somehow regain the ability to speak. You straighten up, looking up to meet the Darkling's dark eyes still fixed on you. You shiver, swallowing, as you gather the courage to ask him a question.

"What the fuck is going on here?" he grimaces at your aggressive tone and crude swearing but decides to ignore it and answer your question. He decides he still has plenty of time to train you once your emotions fade away.

"You wield the merzost. Power from the borderline of little science. Its layers… are within you. The saints have marked you as the living source of this. A little science prevents us from creating new things, and trying to use Merzost is mostly deadly, if not disastrous, for those who try to use it, but you… you can manipulate it to your heart's content. You hold the magic that is hidden at the heart of the world—the power of creation, of life over death."

"I am not a Grisha." he laughs loudly and mockingly at your words, making you shiver.

"Wasn't this little show enough to convince you? It was definitely for me. I've seen many Grisha, but you're one of a kind for now. Your power may have been unheard of, but you exist in our literature. As a myth. A legend, a bedtime story for children. Our ancestors believed that one day a Grisha would appear so powerful that they would be able to move the sea, destroy continents, and restore lives. That there will appear a saviour who will give us eternal greatness and make us receive the respect we deserve. We have been waiting a long time for you, miss Y/L/N."

"Well, then you'll have to wait a little longer. I'm a tribute. I'll probably die in the games."

"You don't think I'm going to let my Grisha be part of this, do you?" he asks you mockingly. Before you can answer, the door opens again, and two heartrenders walk in. "Excellent timing. Ivan, Fedyor, you will escort Miss Y/L/N to the Little Palace. Make sure our Merzost Holder gets all the amenities she needs after the traumatic time she endured in the district and on the way here."

Your first thought is to resist him and run away from there as far as possible, but there is nothing you can do. It's either follow them or go back to the Hunger Games, which you don't want.

So you hide your pride in your pocket and walk between the two men, guided by the Darkling's watchful, careful gaze that makes you shiver. You sigh in relief as soon as the door closes behind you and you're free from his dark eyes.

But something tells you that you won't be free from this dangerous man's company for long.

Especially when, after he touched you, you felt some strange connection to him that you couldn't explain. Something that made you more terrified than your untamed, wild and new power.

The chamber they take you to is ridiculously luxurious. The amount of gold and decorations in it alone could feed your entire orphanage for years.

As a poor orphan, you learned to measure the value of things like food and warm clothes. Probably like other residents of the districts. Only in the capital and larger cities did people have higher values than survival.

Your thoughts returned to Mal and Alina. You hoped that the two of them could handle it until you figured out how to get out of the mess you were in.

You look at your hands, reflecting on everything that has happened in these few days. From a poor orphan, you became a tribute in the Hunger Games and then the holder of some strange Grisha's power that you had no idea about.

And the worst part of it all was that you were still so damn hungry.

Suddenly, someone knocks on your door. Before you can answer, the Darkling himself enters, followed by a red-haired woman in a white kefta and two maids. They both hold the trays, put them on the table, and leave silently, closing the door behind them, leaving you with a woman and a shadow summoner.

The redhead walks up to you and holds your chin, watching you closely and tugging on your hair, tilting your head back. You aggressively push her hands away from you and step back.

"Ouch. I thought districts taught some culture, right?"

"Sorry, I don't feel very cultured when a strange woman comes up to me and plays with me like with some rag doll."

The Darkling chuckles softly as he sits down in one of the plush armchairs. His posture seems a little more relaxed than when he entered the room earlier. There is no longer anger or desire for committing murder on his face.

"Calm down, little wellspring. Genya is here to… gently improve your appearance." he says, pointing at your outfit. You blush slightly at his remark, but you realise that anyone in your situation would look... like they took it out of a dog's throat.

"What for?" you ask suspiciously, crossing your arms, which somehow makes him more amused. He's slowly starting to irritate you.

"And here I thought you'd be grateful that we wanted to get you to… a more human state." he says, revealing the first tray. The black gloves he wore contrasted with the gold tray lid, catching your attention. You wondered why he needed them on such a warm day...

The smell of food hits your nostrils, making saliva pool in your mouth and making you forget about anything else. Your stomach screams at you to eat the food given to you as quickly as possible, but your willpower and common sense win.

"What do you want?" you ask firmly and look at him defiantly.

"The king, despite my numerous persuasions, did not agree to... remove you from the Hunger Games. It probably has something to do with... the type of power you have. The old fool is probably afraid that we will start a rebellion that you will lead. He hopes that you will die in the games, and this will take care of itself for him."

"He is right. We know I have no chance of surviving." the calmness with which you say this surprises him. His mocking, confident demeanour crumbles for a moment as he looks at you carefully, analysing this new side of you he didn't see yet.

However, by the smirk that forms on his lips, you realise that he isn't losing interest in you at all. Your mysteriousness only further ignites the fire of curiosity within him. And being close to him is the last thing you want right now.

"Maybe not alone, but with me as your mentor? We shall see..." he says thoughtfully, his eyes piercing right through you. You lose this little staring contest, feeling too uncomfortable under his scrutinising gaze. "Now eat. You must have strength. And Genya will improve your appearance in the meantime. Don't make this already... demanding task more difficult for her."

You sit on the chair that is furthest from him and take some food from the tray. You chew in silence, watching the two of them. When you're full enough that your stomach won't growl, you decide to put the food aside to share something with him that he probably won't like.

"I won't win. You better get ready for it." You say with great confidence and he raises his eyebrows.

"And why is that, if I may ask?" he asks mockingly, as if he already knew that your victory was a foregone conclusion.

"I am not going to kill anybody during the games." you state, and Genya, who was combing your hair, freezes.

You both look at the Darkling, waiting for his reaction, who for now stares at you in surprise. He clenches his jaw and fists as he realises the meaning of your words. You see anger in his dark eyes.

"Are you mad?" he asks surprisingly calmly, probably surprising both of you. However, you see shadows begin to flow from his hands, circling around the feet of the chair he was sitting in as he gave you a look that could kill and certainly scare many.

"Probably."

"Listen to me carefully. We didn't wait hundreds of years for you to come here with your bratty, saintly attitude, willing to martyr yourself in the name of nothing at the stupid Hunger Games. You're going to win it, and you're going to do everything I tell you to do with a damn smile on your pretty face that will charm sponsors enough to invest money in you. Do you understand, underdog from 12?"

His angry speech and growl through his teeth do not intimidate you. He needs you alive so he won't hurt you, and you'll die soon anyway, so what difference does it make if you show him respect? You lean towards him slowly, bravely enduring his angry glare and returning it with your own.

"You can kiss my ass, shadow man." you speak slowly, loudly, and clearly.

You hear Genya sigh softly behind you, and you see him frown in anger. He throws the tray (which was still full of food and on the table) at you. He leaves your rooms without looking at you and slams the door hard as he takes his shadows with him.

"That… that was really stupid and brave." Genya says that once she has recovered from his small outburst of anger.

She saw people who, for less, were cut in half with the cut form from his shadows. But there you were, coming out of the verbal fight with him without a scratch because you managed to jump away from the tray he threw at you.

"I am dead anyway." you say, shrugging. There was no way you were getting out of this alive.

Genya smiles at you sadly, comfortingly in a twisted way, and gently caresses your cheek with her hand.

"Come. We'll make you look breathtaking before the presentation." she says, sitting you in another chair as she begins to prepare you to perform in front of Ravka's nobility.

The way she talked to you afterwards made you feel calmer and more comfortable. But you couldn't help but feel remorse when the maids came to clean up the food and immediately threw it in the trash like it was nothing. So many people could feed off this...

You came back tired from the presentation. You had to say a few words about yourself, which was extremely difficult for you, and after that, the host mentioned that you were Grisha.

The first Grisha in the Hunger Games.

You know from Genya that this information made some sponsors, curious about your unusual case, invest some money in you. Enough to cover the cost of creating your kefta and providing you with other outfits for future Hunger Games promotional events.

You think you have a few weeks before going to the arena. Before that stupid game for the royalty and nobilities.

You were preparing to go to bed when they allowed you to stay in a Little Palace as a sign of respecting the rules between the Lantsov dynasty and Darkling, when suddenly someone knocked on your door.

Whoever it was, they didn't wait for an answer.

The Darkling walked into your chamber, closing the door behind him. He looked at you and then sat on one of the armchairs, not taking his eyes from you even for a while.

"Normal people wait to be invited before entering." you say, crossing your arms as you stare at him expectantly as he sits back and takes the grapes in his gloved hands.

"Normal people don't want to die, but here you are." he replies sarcastically, at which you roll your eyes. A little more confident, you take a step towards him, giving him a defiant look as he raises his curious gaze at you.

"What do you want?"

"To discuss tomorrow's tactics with you." he replies calmly, eating a grape. Your gaze lingers on his lips for a moment before you meet his piercing, dark eyes again.

"Do you think that after your behaviour, I will cooperate with you in any way?"

"I shouldn't have reacted like that. Not many people surprise me, Miss Y/L/N. Let's just say… I'm not used to having someone who rebels against me in such a brazen way." he says, looking you up and down appraisingly. You somehow stop yourself from trembling under his gaze and calm yourself down enough to answer without an ounce of trembling in your voice.

"You haven't seen my true impudence yet, General."

"I guess… Why are you so eager to die?" the sudden change of topic causes you to frown in confusion.

He's the last person you want to talk to about why you don't want to kill. You won't open up. Certainly not in front of him—the man who killed thousands without blinking his eye.

"I don't want to die." you decide to give him that simple answer before you also reach for the grapes he's eating and take some for yourself.

You don't gorge yourself in front of him, even though your stomach is growling. You won't give him any more reasons to treat you like an animal. The people of Os'Alta had enough of them anyway.

"But you say you won't kill anyone. That you are going to die." he reminds you, gently pushing the bowl of fruit towards you, which you miss as you think about what answer to give him.

"Because I know that will happen. I won't survive long without killing another, but it doesn't mean that I want to die. I just have humanity in me. Not like the others."

"It will be only a matter of time. Your behaviour will change in the arena. The will to survive is greater in crisis situations than any morality. I assure you. I've seen many good men turn into pure animals after they went to the arena." the faraway look in his eyes as he stares at the fireplace behind you tells you he's not telling you the whole truth. Maybe he saw it, but definitely not in the arena. You wonder what he could mean.

"I would rather die than lose who I am." you answer with all the confidence you can muster.

"You have no choice. I will drag you out of this arena by myself if I have to. You are too important for Grisha to just die." his words make you angry.

You know that some plans for you appeared in his head the moment he somehow activated the merzost within you. You could have seen it in his eyes then. Their strange source of ancient magic was inside you, and he wanted to use it for his plans. But you don't want to be some mythical fairy tale creature for Grisha.

"I am not a hero or any other saint!" you growl through your teeth in anger and clench your fists at your sides.

Unbeknownst to you, shadows begin to thicken around you, and the room plunges into darkness. You only realise what's happening to you when the Darkling stares at you in silent admiration and curiosity, a small smile tugging at his lips as he rubs his chin and his rough, short beard in pure, growing interest.

"You will be whoever I want you to be. Do you understand me?" he asks, ignoring for now this little show of your power.

You have no idea how you managed to amplify his shadows and make them more visible to you. Apparently, you had to learn to control this strange thing before you did something terrible. Again.

You shiver, pushing away the unwanted memory and instead focusing on your anger at him. You decide to respond very eloquently to his threat/order.

"Fuck you."

He just laughs at you as he stands up. Only a small coffee table separated you, and you again realised how powerful and intimidating he was as he towered over you while you still sat on the couch. You feel a chill against your ankle as his shadows gather at his and your feet before disappearing.

You stand up as he walks around the coffee table and walks over to you. He lifts your chin with his gloved hand, forcing you to look into his eyes. You don't feel that strange electricity like before when his skin touched yours, but the tension between us is still palpable. At least for you. Your fingers tingle to touch him, to run your hand over his shadows. You know that the moment you do this, darkness will fill the room again.

You have no idea why, but the thought suddenly seems exciting. You have a strange desire to create something from its shadows. Model them at your discretion. And you're more confused than the intensity with which his eyes stare into yours.

"I give you two days. You'll change your mind, little wellspring. Your power is too great to simply let it waste in the grave. Think about it." he says this and walks past you, gently hitting your shoulder with his. You turn and watch as he leaves and closes the door behind him, leaving you alone in the empty room.

And when you are finally alone, you allow yourself to pounce on the food that has been left for you. Once you've eaten your fill, you start to realise what kind of crazy sh*t you've gotten yourself into.

You look at your hands and close your eyes, pressing them together. You focus on the strange tingling feeling on the inside. You open one eye and gasp as you see the black mass—the thread connecting both of your arms—that is cool to the touch.

A silent scream escapes your lips as you shake your hands hysterically, trying to get rid of it. The black mass disappears the moment you lose your focus. You put your hand to your mouth, letting yourself kneel on the floor as you sob as quietly as possible. You can't hold back your tears as the memories of blood, screaming, metal, and the feeling of shortness of breath come back to you. You rock back and forth, taking shaky breaths. You only wake up from your trance when the first rays of sunlight hit your eyes.

And so goes your first night in the Little Palace.

[the-hermit-at-midnight]

Celebrating Samhain

Samhain, also known as Samhuinn or Calan Gaeaf in Welsh, is a time of profound transformation and spiritual significance. It marks the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter, when the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is said to be thinnest.   

Historical and Cultural Significance

The origins of Samhain can be traced back to pre-Christian Celtic cultures. It was a time for honoring the ancestors, appeasing the spirits, and preparing for the harsh winter months ahead. Bonfires were lit to ward off evil spirits, and feasts were held to celebrate the abundance of the harvest.

Celtic Beliefs and Practices

The Celts were a polytheistic people who believed in a pantheon of gods and goddesses. They lived in close harmony with nature and had a deep respect for the cycles of the seasons. Samhain marked the end of the harvest season and the beginning of winter, a time of darkness and death.

According to Celtic beliefs, the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead was believed to be thinnest on Samhain. This allowed spirits of the deceased to return to the earth and interact with the living. To appease the spirits and ward off evil influences, bonfires were lit, and offerings were made.

Celtic Festivals and Customs

Samhain was one of the two most important festivals in the Celtic calendar, along with Beltane. Both festivals were associated with fire, and it was believed that fire had the power to purify and protect.

Bonfires: Bonfires were a central feature of Samhain celebrations. They were believed to have the power to ward off evil spirits and to provide warmth and light in the darkness of winter.

Offerings: Offerings of food, drink, and other items were made to the spirits of the dead. These offerings were often placed on the altar or thrown into the bonfire.

Costumes: It is believed that the tradition of wearing costumes on Halloween may have originated from Samhain. People would dress up as spirits and demons to scare away evil influences.

Divination: Divination practices were common on Samhain. People would use various methods, such as reading tea leaves or throwing bones, to predict the future.

In modern times, Samhain continues to be celebrated by many people, including Wiccans, Pagans, and those who simply appreciate the rich cultural heritage of the Celtic people.

The Symbolism of Samhain

Death and Rebirth: Samhain is a time of endings and beginnings. It symbolizes the death of the old year and the rebirth of the new.

The Thinning Veil: It is believed that on Samhain, the veil between the worlds of the living and the dead is at its thinnest, allowing spirits to cross over.

The Wheel of the Year: Samhain is one of the eight major festivals in the Celtic Wheel of the Year, representing the turning of the seasons.

Celebrating Samhain

As druid, celebrating Samhain involves connecting with the natural world, honoring the ancestors, and reflecting on the cycle of life and death. Here are some in-depth ideas:

Create a Sacred Space: Decorate your home or a special outdoor area with autumnal symbols such as leaves, pumpkins, and candles. Consider incorporating elements from nature, such as stones, feathers, or pine cones.

Honor the Ancestors: Create a memorial altar to remember loved ones who have passed. Light candles, offer libations, or leave small gifts.

Connect with Nature: Spend time in nature, such as taking a walk in the woods, collecting autumn leaves, or meditating by a body of water. Pay attention to the changing of the seasons and the natural cycles around you.

Divination: Samhain is an excellent time for divination practices. Try scrying in a bowl of water, reading tarot cards, or casting runes.

Feast: Enjoy a feast of seasonal foods, such as apples, nuts, and pumpkin. Consider incorporating traditional Celtic foods into your meal.

Rituals and Ceremonies: Create your own Samhain ritual or participate in a group celebration. You might include elements such as lighting a bonfire, offering sacrifices, or performing sacred dances.

A Samhain Ritual

Materials:

A small altar or table

A white candle

A black candle

A bowl of water

A handful of autumn leaves

A piece of paper and a pen

A small offering (e.g., a piece of bread, a pinch of salt)

Instructions:

Set up the altar: Place the white and black candles on the altar, representing light and darkness, respectively. Place the bowl of water, leaves, and offering on the altar.

Meditation: Sit quietly and reflect on the past year. What have you learned? What do you want to release?

Offerings: Place the offering on the altar as a symbol of gratitude and respect.

Divination: Perform a divination ritual, such as scrying in the bowl of water or reading tarot cards.

Release: Write down anything you want to release or let go of on a piece of paper. Burn the paper in the black candle's flame.

Intentions: Write down your intentions for the coming year.

Blessing: Sprinkle yourself and your space with the blessed water.

By delving deeper into the symbolism and traditions of Samhain, you can create a more meaningful and personal celebration that connects you to the ancient wisdom of the Celtic people.

[writtenbyjeanofarc]

#!! - 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑻 𝑶𝑭 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑪𝑹𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑶𝑵 𝑸𝑼𝑬𝑬𝑵 — 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐧𝐞 ; ᴄᴏʀᴏɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴅᴀʏ

(Cross-posted from my AO3)

CHAPTER ONE - CHAPTER TWO - CHAPTER THREE

𝖌𝖊𝖓𝖗𝖊: smut.

𝖕𝖆𝖎𝖗𝖎𝖓𝖌: Griffith X You (fem! Reader)

𝖘𝖞𝖓𝖔𝖕𝖘𝖎𝖘:

Having been spoiled by your father as an only child after your mother’s death, there existed you, a young, yet rebellious maiden known amongst Midland as Princess Scarlet. Being the subject of envy by commoners who wanted nothing more than to overthrow the kingdom, you were rather…..indifferent. As a princess, you exercised pride in your achievements, deeming you fit for the role of succeeding your father on the throne.

Even after your father’s death caused by poisoning, your dream to have your own kingdom never faltered in the slightest. In fact, ruling over Midland with an iron fist has been made easy and simple considering your royal blood.

Subsequently, your ambitious demeanor and philosophy attracted none other than the military genius who led a group of mercenaries known as the Band of The Hawk. Sir Griffith; a man who never fell short of what were to be defined as a noble, if it were not for his common blood.

To put it simply, Griffith never planned on building his empire overnight. Instead, he harbored ulterior motives where he would rather…..bend you, the Queen, to his liking before taking over Midland.

….And the consequences of YOU having a fragile ego never ceased to reveal itself.

𝖈𝖜: none as of now.

𝕬𝖚𝖙𝖍𝖔𝖗’𝖘 𝕹𝖔𝖙𝖊:

No smut for the first chapter!

To minors: this space isn’t for you. Berserk is a warning in itself. Go away. Do not interact.

Anyways, I’m back with a new fic and it’s basically my own version while still keeping the canon verse of Berserk clear.

In this verse, expect certain things:

— Princess Charlotte does NOT exist.

— YOU are the Princess/Queen of Midland.

— The story will mainly focus on Griffith, not Guts.

Before commenting, I would like to caution you for potential rape/non-con elements (it’s Griffith we’re talking about here) to be depicted in later chapters of the story.

What I write is pure fantasy, and is mostly just me projecting on my original character (in this case, Queen Scarlet) who has a rather peculiar relationship with Griffith.

Anyways, grab some popcorn, and chill a little while we watch our original character slowly get taken advantage of by the devil himself.

The Kingdom of Midland. Such is a name given to the central region of the Physical World where nobles dominate and savages eliminate. One had the luxury of resting within the comfort of their own home while dining with only the finest cuisine made known to man. The other had to hustle and kill for the sake of money and survival…....while for potential evildoers and traitors, the sake of achieving their dream.

It was your coronation day after all, one of the most awaited events in all of Midland’s history. Following your father’s death caused by an incident of poisoning, the nobles immediately turn to you as a successor to the throne. You were a bit nervous, so to speak, but ready to accept your new role and give your speech as the newly appointed ruler of Midland.

It was already sunset, the halls decorated with red roses, bushes, and your favorite type of flower, the Amaryllis. You just loved the sight of red the way you liked your tea. Red, so to speak, was your favorite color. It just looks and feels powerful, like the way sunlight pierces its way through your eyes. You liked shoving your presence down people’s throats, to make them remember your name as you rejoiced in your own superiority as the new Queen.

Red was the visual embodiment of your dream—to rule and render yourself capable of building your own empire. Because of that, the King, your very own father, feared for your safety. And boy, was that prediction true.

Not only was your safety compromised, but prior to meeting the White Hawk who was addressed as Sir Griffith, things went downhill after that encounter as a sudden number of royal guards dropped dead. Not only were you disgusted by the smell of blood that filled the hallways the week before your coronation, but the five words whispered to your ear was what sent chills across your spine. Those five words made you shiver in questionable fear despite you taking it as just an empty threat.

“You belong to me, Princess.”

And then came the surge of mysterious events such as your father’s death.

Supposedly, you were expected to be excited for such an event like the coronation ceremony as you longed all your life to become Queen, but something about the whole situation didn’t feel right. You were at a loss for words, being unable to understand why your father was poisoned in an instant and how planning the ceremony felt rushed.

You shivered at the thought of meeting the Band of the Hawk once more, immediately suspecting that one of them killed your father.

“Our beloved guests, our crowning guests, respected parents of the nobles, and that of the civilians. Ladies and gentlemen, good afternoon.” announced the event speaker of the ceremony. “Once again, we have gathered here to witness the coronation ceremony of the Royal Family to be headed by Queen Scarlet and the rest of the officials appointed to serve her Majesty. Kindly rise for the ceremony proper.”

A huge audience of youngsters stood to give thanks towards your family for a job well done in leadership, singing songs of praise as time passed by. You were, of course, getting quite the goosebumps knowing your time is up as a princess. However, you can’t help but falter, thinking of your father’s untimely demise just about two weeks ago.

You were lost in thought, unable to pay attention to the songs sung in honor of you. Something was very wrong. You sweat and panted hard, not because you didn’t know what to say or do given the situation, but because you didn’t want to actually meet up with Griffith and the rest of his comrades due to some suspicions about the leader’s motives.

“Before we start, may I request everyone to observe silence as the ceremony begins to maintain its solemnity. Reserve your ‘hoorays’ for the latter part of the coronation. Thank you very much for your full cooperation.”

The rest of the coronation ceremony followed. You were nervous, biting your nails as you slowly prepared your speech in front of thousands. You knew Griffith would be watching

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Alas, it was your turn to give out a speech that serves as a public declaration of your aims, intentions, and actions to be taken to further improve the economic and sociocultural growth of Midland.

Standing up, you could feel the eyes of crowds searching you from head to toe, but none of them ever gave you the impression that someone was truly watching you.

At the exterior of the venue, there sneaked a young man with white, flowing hair and a pair of blue eyes. It was him. Griffith. He didn’t make his own presence clear before you, he covered his tracks very well. But, little did he know, you could peek at his silhouette from afar. Knowing he made his way past the guards with extreme caution showed his prowess in strategy and disarming opponents with great ease.

Yes, he just wanted to hear your speech. After all, knowing how someone would open up about a fraction of their lives would be crucial in undergoing one’s plan to achieving their dreams, yes?

This was your moment. You let out a deep breath and spoke clearly as you cleared your throat.

“Greetings, my beloved fellowmen. It’s been a pleasure having to meet with you all to this very moment.” you greeted the audience with a friendly, approachable tone. “Throughout this memorable day, I was able to discern all your prayers dedicated to me and my family, especially in honor of my father’s passing. As an inherent successor to the throne, I have maintained a significant awareness through the years that my people, spread far and wide throughout every continent and ocean in the world, were united to support me in the task to which I have now been dedicated with such solemnity.”

The muffled voice of your speech was rendered audible to Griffith from the outskirts of the palace. He was perhaps….fascinated by your rather….pushy attitude on things. It didn’t take long before he palmed the area between his hips, hiding such an unsightly appearance as he began to fantasize about you under his control. He wanted nothing more than to dissect you in every detail possible, to know your deepest fears and motives of having to rule such a flawed kingdom. But little did you know, was that he wanted this kingdom all to himself.

“The ceremonies you have seen today are ancient, but some of their origins are hidden in the mists of the past. Their spirit and meaning still rise from the flames of finiteness. Perhaps, they still shine more brightly than we’ve expected them to do so. I have pledged allegiance with all my heart that I shall lead this kingdom, uplifting it further to claiming a thousand more victories than you would ever anticipate. Throughout all my life and with all my heart I shall strive to be worthy of your trust.”

Griffith’s eyes narrowed as he hid behind the doors alongside the two guards who were apparently slain before they could even fight back.

He wanted you.

And there was nothing more satisfying than breaking one of the strongest, most powerful women who once took an interest in the art of swordsmanship. But he would rather not challenge you to a duel; not because he underestimated your capabilities, but because he saw such barbaric acts to be unbefitting of a lady with high status.

An hour later, trumpets played as the Grim Reapers of the Battlefield were to be promoted as bodyguards, yes, bodyguards, of your kingdom. The King trusted you to this group of mercenaries who promised nothing short of protecting your integrity and wellbeing as the princess. But one thing’s for sure, it’s that their leader was bound to be missing.

You stepped down from the stage to observe your audience for any problems which may arise from the White Hawk’s absence.

“Wait, where’s Griffith? But he was just here about minutes ago!” Rickert exclaimed. “He can’t just be wandering out in the open like this! Griffith! Hang in there! We’re on our way!”

“Cut the crap.” Guts said, alerting his fellow comrades. “There must be a way to proceed with the ceremony without Griffith being of any concern.”

“But Guts-”

Recognizing and appreciating your bodyguards (or perhaps, some new friends) wasn’t all that bad. Perhaps you were intimidated by some of the mercenaries, but they played an integral part of your big day.

It was only one moment within that band that spooked you, it was the White Hawk revealing himself—it was Griffith. By that moment when Griffith claimed you to be his, you began to not take those words lightly and managed to develop a slight sense of fear. What did he exactly mean by that?

You brushed off your thoughts on the matter and shook hands with nearly all the members, with Griffith being an exception (obviously). Rumor has it that he’s still hiding where the sun doesn’t shine, covering his tracks in order to reveal himself before you in the very end.

And God forbid what kind of plans he had for you that night.

[thewitcheslibrary]

Beltane

The date of the holiday: 1st may

History: Beltane is derived from the Celtic term Baal or Bel, which meaning "Bright One." As farmers prepared to shift their livestock from winter pastures to summer grazing in the hills, they sought protection and abundance from the gods by starting fires and herding cattle through the flames to the summer grazing fields. This was thought to protect the herd from attack while also increasing fertility.

In more practical terms, these bonfires were most likely used to burn brush heaps and clear space for planting and pastureland. In the home, hearth fires were extinguished and replaced with flames from Beltane bonfires. People often walked the perimeters of their properties or towns to evoke additional protection for the next year. Yellow flowers were used to decorate doorways, windows, and even cattle during Beltane.

Like all of the Wheel of Year sabbat celebrations, Beltane was a time for merry making and feasting.  People would write a wish upon a ribbon and tie it a to a tree, in the hopes that the gods would grant them.  Hawthorn, ash, thorn and sycamore trees were believed to be the best trees for making wishes.   

Dew gathered on Beltane was thought to have special properties for increased beauty and youthfulness. 

Beltane and sexuality- SLIGHT NSFW WARNING!

Part of Celtic Beltane beliefs revolved around the holy union of the God and Goddess, which people celebrated by having sex on Beltane. Usually outside, to further connect with nature. Children conceived at Beltane (and hence born at Imbolc) were regarded to belong to the Goddess, and were commonly referred to as'merry-be-gots', with a particular tie to the faerie world. Beltane, like Samhain, was a period when the curtain between the worlds became thinner, allowing ghosts to pass through. Unlike Samhain, the visiting ghosts were not looking for a feast or a quick chat with relatives. The spirits of Beltane were considered to be seeking reincarnation or sexual intercourse.

The topic of sexuality runs throughout Beltane. The Maypole, which maidens usually adorn and celebrate, is a phallic emblem signifying masculine strength, whereas the cauldron represents female power. Women who desired to produce a child would start a small fire, place the cauldron on it, and then leap over it.

To go Maying, or picking flowers and other flora in adjacent woodlands, was associated with casual sex in the woods. There was no stigma connected with out-of-wedlock marriage, and hand-fasting was prevalent, in which two individuals bonded together for a year and a day. Beltane activities such as the Maypole were forbidden by the Puritans in parts of Great Britain in the 17th century, owing in part to their overt sexuality.

END OF THE NSFW -

Symbols of beltane-

Colors:  White, dark green, red 

Foods:  Dairy foods, honey, oats, mead, lamb  

Stones:  Sapphire, blood stone, emerald, orange carnelian, rose quartz  

Symbols:  Goat, honeybee, cown, fairies, pegasus, rabbits, flower crown, maypole, basket  

Flowers & Plants: Primrose, lilac, hawthorn, birch, Rosemary, Ivy, woodruff, rowan, violet, alfalfa, cedar, peppermint lavendar 

Deities: Aphrodite, Artemis, Freya, Rhiannon, Apollo, Bel/Belnos, The Great Horned God, BÓand/Boann 

Setting intentions during this time-

Beltane has traditionally been a fertility celebration. However, if you don't have infants in mind, that's OK! Beltane is an excellent opportunity to reflect on creativity and success. Beltane is the moment to follow through on your objectives from Imbolc and Ostara. Perhaps you've been thinking about launching a company; Beltane is the time to set an appointment with the bank and inquire about finance. Perhaps you've been writing a book and now it's time to contact publishers or locate an agent. Beltane, with its promise of harvest and fruitfulness, is a time to take inspired action and be confident.

Ways to celebrate-

Chose one of the deities listed above and honour them in some way, yes even if you dont work with them. You can still celebrate them and wear or do things associated with them, just do so respectfully! Eat some of the foods associated with beltane! Even if you just eat a bowl of oats with honey for breakfast, its a good and simple way to celebrate. And its perfect if you can't openly celebrate, it just looks like your enjoying some food. You could also drink peppermint tea!

Wear some of the colours and carry the stones and gems around with you during this day. You can incorporate both colour magic and crystal magic by doing this and is also just easy to hide and do subtly! - everyone wears clothes (hopefully) and you can just say you are collecting rocks and crystals because you find them cool! - Flower crowns can be incorporated into outfits too.

Buy flowers or make a bouquet with the flowers associated with the holiday! They will make your space or altar look colourful, and flowers are pretty. This isnt as easy to hide, but if people do ask you can tell them you just liked them and treated yourself!

Set aside time for some self care - treat yourself to a special meal, music, aromas - whatever make you feel special!- with this you could use the plants, herbs, crystals, candles in the colours associated with them and some drawn symbols and put together a ritual bath! - bit of a clean up after but again its somewhat easy to hide

some less subtle way to celebrate.

Hold a bonfire for family and friends 

Take action on a project you’ve been working on 

Decorate a tree with colorful ribbons that represent your wishes for the coming year 

Make flower crowns 

Walk your property and give thanks and ask for protection in the coming year 

Decorate your home yellow flower wreaths, bouquets or garlands

[maxislvt]

Hi, I love your work!

Could I request a fic where Dark!Wanda asks reader to marry her and reader says no?

Thank you!

warnings: kidnapping, implied smut at the end

this is defo inspired by @natsarrownecklace and @mywitchy-assassin and their princess Wanda fics in a way so if you like this stuff please go check out what they have !!

When you were growing up, your parents made it very clear to you there was a target in your back.

You were the sole heir to one of the most powerful and richest kingdoms in the world. Anyone from your lady in waiting to other royals you danced and shared meals with could've been out for you. Even as a child, there were attempts on your life and king trying to trap you in loveless marriages to their children barely half a year old. Where your mother decided to coddle and protect you from your royal duties and, your father insisted you'd only be truly safe if you learned at an early age. The hot and cold mix made you rather good at keeping yourself safe. Your mother taught you to listen to your heart and saved you from numerous empty marriages and your father taught you to sniff out the liars and criminals trying to take advantage of you.

All that training seemed to have been for nothing considering the situation you found yourself in one busy Friday morning. Your schedule was packed full and you were needed in nearly a hundred different places by nightfall. During the carriage ride to a fitting appointment, your coachman took a rather long detour. You noticed almost immediately but the doors had magically closed shut and he wouldn't respond to a word you'd said. Though you had built up enough anger to behead the man driving with the dagger in your pocket alone — you suddenly fell asleep during the ride.

You awoke hours later in what you originally mistook for your own bedroom. However, the blanket of snow clinging to the ground outside told you otherwise. The door was locked and you were much too high to jump. You spent hours searching for some sign of where you were. Thankfully, someone came to your recuse — or so you thought.

The door opened to reveal a woman you'd never seen before. Her crown was strange. What seemed to be two parts. One traditional and gold decorated with local jewels but the other made of a material you couldn't quite identify. If you weren't trapped, you would've asked what it was.

"I believe you have mistaken me for someone else, I am not supposed to be here." You tried to remain calm. There was no telling what happened while you were passed out. Maybe this woman saved you. Maybe she was your capture.

For a moment, the woman just stared at you. Her expression was soft and curious as she took in your presence. "There was no mistake. I am Wanda Django Maximoff, queen of Sokovia , and you're going to be my consort." The smile on her face was cat-like. Cute, but not easy to decipher. "I know this isn't like what you're used to back home but-"

"My father and mother handle my suitors, I am in no place to accept a proposal without their permission," You said boldy cutting her off. You had lost count of how many times you said that. It technically wasn't a lie. The agreement between your parents was that they had to vet your suitors. Then, it was your choice to continue the relationship. "I don't want to speak on his behalf, but I assure you my father will not take too kindly to you kidnapping his only child." The words left your mouth filled with venom. "Where is my coach driver? If I return home unharmed, the consequences will be fair."

Wanda's smile fell. "I'm well aware. It was your mother who insisted that I was too old for you and didn't even bother giving me a chance." She signaled for the guards behind her to leave the room. She stepped closer to you. The corners of her mouth twitched when you stepped away from her. "Sokovia is the richest and strongest of your allies, isn't it only fair you give me a chance? Even if not for love, for your people?"

Wanda's proposal fell on deaf ears. All you could think about was escaping. Sokovia wasn't that far from your home country. The land in between was under the rule of King Anthony. Though you'd never hear the end of it, he was your safest bet as far as getting home.

"The stables are at the very back of the castle grounds. There's no way you'd reach them and even if you did my men would shoot down your horse in minutes. Then, you'd be right back here."

Your eyes widen. You'd heard gossip of the queen of Sokovia being a witch, but brushed it off as metaphorical. "For a woman that can read minds, you sure have a hard time telling when you're unwanted." You almost immediately regretted those words. Hot magical ropes wrapped around your body and forced you to the ground. A deep breath escaped through your nostrils. You weren't going to give her the satisfaction of getting under your skin.

Wanda cupped your chin and forced you to look up at her. "You have your father's sense of humor. I quite like it, but I'm sure we can find much better uses for your mouth than mocking your future wife." A sinister smirk took over her face as her thumb traced your lips. "We'll see how well you talk back with my cock shoved in you."

[hyperfixatedcatlover]

The Beauty's Rebirth Prologue

So, this is my first post! This isn't going to be an Aeon x Reader, though I may sprinkle in some scenes of that in the future. I have been cooking this idea since I started playing HSR and I wanted to try writing it out. It will be a yandere type thing so here we go.

TW: Body horror/mod, obsessive behavior, non-con/dub-con touching, implied child abuse, fem!reader, aeons being meanies. Don't like? Don't read. I do not condone or support these behaviors IRL and enjoy!

Prologue (You are here) - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

"I have a story you might like."

You peek over the schedule you're reading, careful not to move your head as you make eye contact with the woman behind you in the mirror curiously. She seems to notice this as she smiles kindly.

"It was a story all of us were told on my planet growing up. It's about the Aeon Idrila the Beauty. THEY favored my home planet before THEY disappeared"

"Then your planet must be popular with that one group, the Knights of Beauty. Right?"

She makes a face, as if she's tasted or smelled something extremely foul.

"Those Knights hardly visit our planet. When they do, we never tell them anything, and make sure they leave town sooner rather than later."

"Oh. Why? Does it have something to do with the story?"

"It does, would you like to hear it?"

"Well, if you can't tell the Knights, why can you tell me?"

"It's much more interesting than looking at your schedule."

You smile at that faintly. 'Suppose she's right,' you think to yourself.

"I'm all ears."

"Once upon a time, the Aeon of Beauty, Idrila walked the stars. It was said that THEIR beauty outshined all, but I'm sure you know that. What most people don't know about, however, is how THEY disappeared. You see, the other Aeons adored THEIR beauty, just as humans who walked THEIR path did, but the Aeons were capable of things that a human could never do. Yaoshi the Abundance wanted THEIR beauty to live forever in THEIR domain of constant thriving.

It's dark. You're walking and walking, the greenery never stops. It's overflowing

It's growing faster than you can run.

It's trapping you

You can't move.

Four arms cradle your waist while another pair stroke your cheek and comb through your hair as you become a decoration in the greenhouse.

"The Hunt wanted THEM to be THEIR prize for hunting the Abundance."

The plants feel like they've entered your bloodstream.

Your veins have thorns and the flowers have long since covered your eyes.

There's a loud sound of shattering glass and thundering hooves

A cold metal arm grabs you and pulls you up by the waist

You don't realize you're screaming in pain until your mouth is covered

Your veins are shredded

You can feel air forcing itself into your divine lungs

Your eyes are gouged out from the flowers being torn

You are brokenly whimpering on the steed of the being that 'saved' you

"The Elation loved messing with Idrila to see THEM cry."

The voices surround you

Phantom touches come from every angle

You see things that aren't there

You don't know what's real and whats not

Did the extensive healing get to you?

A being of many masks cackles as you cower in a corner

"The Destruction wanted anything that could attempt to challenge THEIR beauty to be destroyed"

You stare into the golden eyes

The fragmented arms held out as if welcoming you to shower in the golden blood

They approach

You grow ill

As the golden threatens to drown you, you run

"When THEY finally ran, THEY realized the true horror of the stars and the greed of those who run them. To be free, THEY called upon THEIR only friend, The Harmony to give THEM a chance at another life…"

Surrounded by darkness you call upon the last of your power and draw out your core

With a steady hand, the steadiest it has been for a long time, you shatter it

Pieces flow into objects around the world

Hairbrushes, mirrors, sewing needles

The one main piece of you looses its golden shine as it floats to the only friend you've ever known, watching with sad eyes

THEY cradle your soul as you fade into nothingness, leaving behind one last wish

'Be free, little beauty.'

"And now, THEY are waiting for THEIR reincarnation, to get THEIR chance at living without fear of… oh my dear are you alright? You look terribly pale!"

You shiver as you blink rapidly.

"I- I'm fine. Just, nerves, and thirst."

The kind hairdresser fetches a bottle of water from the fridge in the dressing room with a straw and watches you drink with steady and slow sips.  She then begins to add the final touchups on your hair. As you cradle the water, you try to explain what those, moments in your head were. 'Were they memories? They felt like dreams more than anything. Maybe I have been working too hard.'  As you think, she continues.

"And that is why we never tell the Knights of Beauty this. They want to bring THEM back, while we want to leave THEM alone. THEY suffered from THEIR beauty being pursued."

"Huh. Sounds familiar." The memories of you childhood house that never felt like a home, the pain, the torture, the self-hatred, memories you wished would stop coming back.

"Done!"

You look up at your reflection, the intricately styled hairdo frames your face perfectly and matches the violet dress that flows behind you like a waterfall perfectly. Before you get a chance to breathe, your manager opens the door.

"You look great but you've gotta get out there! You're gonna be live in T-minus 3 minutes girl!"

You try to say you need a moment but your tongue gets stuck in your mouth as she drags you down the set and drops you off. She gives you a thumbs up as she runs off and the stage hand next to you waits to give you your cue.

"And now everyone, the moment you've all been waiting for!"

A rich charismatic voice says over the speakers in the sound stage. You see a small video of him standing in front of his desk as he addresses the live audience.

"From rags to riches, this girl has climbed the ranks of the intergalactic fame pyramid faster than  anyone. With her looks singlehandedly saving the modeling agency she first signed for, it's no wonder that the press has deemed her the 'Modern-Age Idrila The Beauty!' So put your hands together for the one and only [Y/N]!"

You put on your best smile as you walk out, ignoring the buzzing in your mind that something bad will happen soon. You let the host escort you like one would royalty to the couch as the spotlights blind you. You smile with the pearly whites that everyone adores, knowing that your value to the world is purely from your appearance. That your beauty everyone praises you for is nothing more than a curse.

Live free, Little Beauty.

[vasito-de-leche]

iff its still alright for requests then maybe somethingg small n maybe sleepy with forget me not ? nothing specific otherwise just

sleepy eeby forget me not fic. either that or wrangling his soggy ass to sleep(for once

;R1999 FORGET ME NOT - "five minutes"

Forget Me Not x Reader. 2.8k words fluff Being in charge of The Walden has its ups and downs - Forget Me Not enjoys being the conductor of an orchestra composed of dying men and women, even if it costs him hours of precious sleep. You make sure to remind him that even the most powerful broker in Chicago deserves a little nap.

this mf has been fighting me for a month or so, it's so hard to write him SLEEPING, HE RLLY DOESNT WANT TO. I HAVE 3 DIFFERENT DRAFTS GRAAAA so here we are. I fought tooth and nail for this, theres 4 different drafts just about FMN getting some fucking sleep. this one even has like, a different version where you fall asleep on his lap instead bc he keeps FIGHTING ME

either way, ty for the request, nonnie! your ask was the perfect excuse to get this done. sorry it ended up being longer than my usual stuff, I just really love the guy

The amount of work needed to maintain an establishment like The Walden often goes unnoticed.

Its elegant ambience and decor, all the powerful and influential people to rub shoulders with, the precise and meticulous organization behind every single detail and decision - all of it can be attributed to a single man, the very same who leads the crowd and makes their drinks.

When the night arrives, he and The Walden come alive.

Hundreds of desperate rats crawl into his den, searching for things they don't deserve: money, fame, fortune, connections, assets. They want to find their place in the world before they're long forgotten, and this is when Forget Me Not steps onto the stage and finds himself in his element, surrounded by all the people who look at him in fear, disgust and awe.

Do they know? That at the end of the world, he holds their fate in the palm of his hand? Him, a simple broker, a middle man.

An inferior, an arcanist.

Of course, the high fades as soon as the sun rears its ugly head over the horizon, his spirits plummet to the ground when the world returns to that monotonous routine. All Forget Me Not can do now is wait.

He would never dream of being so careless as to have his own residence right above his workplace, but he rarely steps into his home in the first place. It's too much trouble to commute back and forth, wasting time in a building that is as devoid of warmth as the blood running through his veins. That private office nestled somewhere within The Walden has become his new safe haven, in fact - with one too many couches to lounge around and no bed in sight.

Not that he sleeps anyway.

Forget Me Not always fancied the most convoluted route into an early grave, and thus has replaced the bottle for something else: endless paperwork.

It's getting harder and harder to conceal the dark bags under his eyes for a semblance of professionalism. How very fitting that, despite all of his efforts and accomplishments, his quality of life continues to deteriorate. What a depressing thought.

The leather of his seat squeaks as he shifts, leaning backwards to fully take in the piles and piles of files atop his desk. His gaze turns to the clock just to confirm what he already knows - it's a little past 6 AM, the cold breeze of the early morning keeping him wide awake. A brand new shipment of materials will arrive in two hours, they will need to be stored but it's an easy enough job for the Disciples. This means that the next important event on his schedule is the meeting at 11 AM. Forget Me Not's face sours right away at the thought, and he reaches for his drink.

And just like that, without any sort of warning, the door to his office is flung open. It's a good thing that despite his awful, awful health, his grip is as steady as ever - not a single drop is spilled. If else, Forget Me Not remains still as a statue, retaining that air of composed aloofness as he raises an inquisitive eyebrow towards the intruder.

It's you, standing perfectly by his door frame. He almost drops the glass once he recognizes your face, but conceals his little slip by settling it back down on his desk.

"Ah, how rare to see you during the day, you're always so busy with errands. To what do I owe this loud, impromptu visit? Keep in mind, I don't start serving drinks until 8 PM."

You don't wait for him to finish, marching towards the small lounge in his office and picking up a small, decorative pillow before dropping backwards onto one of the sofas. A shadow passes over Forget Me Not's eyes - he doesn't know whether to resent you for knowing you have the freedom and privilege to act like this around him, or whether to feel insulted for the way you ignored him just now. He settles for his usual third, secret option - resignation - and makes his way towards you.

Unlike you, Forget Me Not has mastered the art of concealing his presence and so he makes no sound at all when he approaches. He stands right next you, leaning ever so slightly to hover above your face, as if his piercing grey eyes alone could pressure you into speaking.

It doesn't work, at least not right away. You hide behind that useless pillow, then you shift and turn to lay on your side, all while he simply stands in perfect silence. It's a battle of attrition, one he intends to win.

"I slept like shit, okay? Just give me five minutes here and I'll go back to work." Your voice is muffled, but he hears how tired you are anyway.

It's easy to forget that people aren't nocturnal like him, at least not by choice. It's easy to forget about humanity when most of his coworkers are puppets held by strings and ink, mindlessly following orders. When you curl up on the sofa, Forget Me Not remembers just how tired he is and sighs. Soon, he's walking towards the door.

This makes you sit up in a hurry, clearly misinterpreting his actions. "Five minutes, promise! Don't kick me out!"

There's a faint click, it's the lock on the door. Forget Me Not returns to his desk, making sure not to look your way lest his eyes reveal those wretched feelings bubbling in his chest. Did you seriously think he had the nerve to throw you out so carelessly?

"Ten minutes. Make sure not to waste them with chitchat." He can practically sense you silently cheering and getting comfortable in his office. On his couch. It's insufferable, the way you always get what you want while he slaves away with work.

But it's only ten minutes, he can tolerate you for that long.

Three minutes pass, and Forget Me Not realizes that he's spent more time glancing your way than reading the document in front of him.

From his spot, he can only see the top of your head, just a glimpse of your form as you rest your eyes. But every time you move, no matter how subtle, he notices and turns his attention back onto you.

Seven minutes, he only needs to focus for seven minutes. The document in his hand is important: he's negotiating for better materials for his potions at a cheaper cost. This simple deal could mean a lot for Manus Vindictae, always so low on funds, resources and support.

Six minutes. Forget Me Not hears you hum and he slowly turns his head on instinct. You're staring right at him, face resting on the armrest, squishing your cheek against the plush cushions.

"You have four minutes left, are you sure you want to waste them like this?" He lies, as if he wasn't ready to ignore the passage of time to give you a few more extra minutes, expecting you to comply. But you get back at him with a question of your own.

"Did you get any sleep?"

"Three minutes." It comes out as a warning. You ignore it.

"I'm serious! You look awful from here." By now, you're sitting down and he knows that if he doesn't stop you, you'll make your way to him. To invade his personal space, cradle his face in your hands and torture him with your gentle touch. "You're always here when I start my shift and when I finish. Where do you get the time to go home and all of that?"

Forget Me Not would rather swallow his own tongue than to openly admit that he essentially lives here. That he has spare clothes in the drawer by the window, that he showers, eats and sleeps in this office of his. You might've figured it out by now, but with his pride and dignity at stake, he pretends to ignore you in favour of work.

"Hey, c'mon. Don't just go back to work like I'm not even here talking to you!" He does exactly that, picking up a pen to sign a few documents. "Drop that. Drop the pen. Hey!"

You talk to him the same way one would talk to a misbehaving dog, and he hears that whiny, frustrated tone in your voice that he's come to appreciate. There is a pause and Forget Me Not does as told - the pen now resting neatly on the desk.

He finally deigns himself to look at you, returning a small smile.

"Thank you, now, like I was saying-"

Thud!

With his free hand, he stamps a document, never breaking eye contact. The pettiness is always worth it, but this time even more so when he sees that tic in your eye and the way you inhale sharply, absolutely done with him. You sit up, consider laying down again in frustration, then simply cross your arms like a child throwing a tantrum - seeing you get worked up over the smallest of things is always such a treat.

"Fine! Be like that! But don't come running when you- Uwaaah!" A yawn interrupts your words, you barely have time to cover your mouth.

Oh no. It's contagious. He feels that tell-tale tingle in his nose, and just like that, he yawns as well.

"Aha! You are tired, I bet you haven't slept properly in days!" An accusatory finger is now pointed at him, and Forget Me Not fights the impulse to roll his eyes.

"That's quite the leap to make over a simple gesture like that. Your time is up, by the way - please, go back to work."

"I'm telling on you, Forget Me Not. I'm so telling on you."

He gives a raspy laugh at this. "And who will you be telling about my horrible sleeping habits? The waiters? The delivery boy? Our esteemed guests?" The latter would definitely eat up any sort of information about his private life, especially if it was something to ruin his reputation, but he doesn't share this out loud.

"Ahh... So, you admit it, then? Having the worst sleeping schedule known to mankind?" Touché.

Before he can even reply, your mouth opens in a feigned yawn and Forget Me Not seethes when he finds himself imitating you. He seethes even more over the smug smile on your face. And he wishes he could just die on the spot when you scoot over and pat the empty seat next to you. Him? Rest? With you? Absolutely not.

"Ten minutes," a tight knot forms in his throat when you start to coax him in. "I'm sure you can spare that much, since you've been indulging me for this long! If you were actually busy, you would've just sent me home to rest. C'mere, sit."

What is the point in keeping track of time by now? Forget Me Not will be by your side until you decide to leave. Indulging you and your stupid ideas, your well-meaning and annoying habits, your reactions - all of it, they're his favorite vice and he never learned how to quit.

"Five minutes." He sits next to you.

"Fair enough." You scoot closer to him.

He watches when you link your arm with his, not bothering to ask for permission. Typical. Your palm is warm as you rest it over his forearm, fingers drumming idly over the soft fabric of his shirt. But you don't linger for too long, and slide down until your index and middle fingers reach the bare skin of his inner wrist, over the pronounced vein there. Can you feel his pulse? The shameless and frantic beat of his heart?

Forget Me Not is so entranced by this simple action that he fails to notice the sudden extra weight - your head rests on his shoulder, with your cheek pressed against the prominent bone. He knows it's an uncomfortable position, because you shift and nuzzle closer to his chest, the top of your head and your hair now tickling his neck and jawline. The knot in his throat returns and he holds his breath on instinct, like an animal at the verge of being devoured.

Nevermind the constant cycle of violence and doom he's turned his life into, these are the horrors that keep Forget Me Not up at night: your body against his, your displays of affection.

"Your eyes," the soft murmur of your voice pulls him from the awful, nonsensical noise in his mind. You're looking up at him. "You're meant to close them. That's what this whole thing is for. Unless ...you can sleep with your eyes open?"

"Don't be ridiculous. As if such a short amount of time could make me fall asleep." He huffs, a way to conceal just how out of breath he is. Part of him is afraid to close his eyes, knowing that he will feel each and every little thing you do - only tenfold. And what would he do with himself then, when all he can focus on is your finger tracing shapes over his palm? It tickles. It's distracting. It's unbearable.

His hand flinches, just barely, and you interlock your fingers with his in response.

"Hush and close them!" Always so obedient to your commands, Forget Me Not does as told, cursing you in his mind.

He gives you an inch, and you take a mile - the moment his eyes are closed, his body turns rigid but you still coax him backwards, so that he can lean on the backrest of the couch. It takes the coordinated effort of every single muscle in his body not to melt on the spot, to remain in a proper, sitting position. With you nestled so comfortably by his side, Forget Me Not makes the worst mistake in his life: he turns his head towards you, his nose now buried in your hair.

The content and pleased noise that leaves him is something that feels alien, entirely out of character for someone like him. Right away, he feels the tips of ears burning with shame and his body uselessly recoils away from you, trying to revert back into that persona he's created for the world.

It backfires immediately.

"...Hm? Is your arm getting numb? Here, let's switch." You move away, all while your hands cradle his face in order to guide him over to your lap.

It's a painfully slow process that is simultaneously over in the blink of an eye. Forget Me Not doesn't know what's worse, the fact that he didn't put up a fight or the way he feels so incredibly small, being held so lovingly by you.

He's laying on his back, hands resting uselessly over his chest like a corpse in an open casket funeral. If he glances upwards (a difficult thing to do, because you flick his forehead whenever you catch him wide awake) he can see you hoarding all the pillows available within your reach to support you as you lounge about, still hellbent on sleeping in with him.

Did he die at some point throughout the day without noticing? Is this his own personal Hell? Forget Me Not wants to speak, to say anything and regain control of the situation, but nothing comes out. All there is to do is to lay there, with your hands combing through his hair.

His heart might as well burst out of his chest. Even better, crawl up his throat and choke him from inside out.

Without thinking, he sits up. It's a nervous impulse. You can't see his face with his back turned to you and he's grateful for the small moment of privacy, as he steels himself to send you away. Or to fuck off into The Walden and walk around aimlessly to cool off, and then avoid you for a few weeks. Whichever comes first.

"Oh! Want a pillow or something? I kind of just took them all without thinking." He doesn't deserve this sort of contact, this domestic bliss - he doesn't want it either.

"Hey, do you think we could do this more often? Just... make some time for me in that busy schedule of yours?" And why would he? You're already pretty skilled at turning his life upside down with your constant nagging and your antics.

"Sorry for being this sappy so suddenly, it just came to mind...Oh, oh! Wait! While you're at it, mind closing the window, please? It's getting a liiittle cold in here."

Forget Me Not leaves his glasses on the table and lays back down, this time making sure to wrap his arms as tightly as he can around your waist, his face hidden in your stomach. What he receives is a weak chuckle, a weak complaint and a weak attempt at pushing him away. You don't mean it, of course - the same way he never means any of the things he thinks.

"Hm, I believe it's perfect like this."

"You're just saying that because you're going to leech off my own body heat, you little snake."

There's a hint of victory in your voice, you've won once again against him but you're always too nice to rub it in. Instead, you caress the scales on his neck, now on full display for you. It's a heavenly sensation.

"Perhaps," he murmurs, eyes closed. "But what are you going to do? Kick me out of my own office?"

"I might if you don't get some rest. Sleep, now."

And just like that, Forget Me Not unravels - he's been waiting so long to be given permission, for someone to allow him a moment of peace despite all these restraints holding him back.

He knows that the moment wakes up, he will act like none of this happened, that he will stubbornly deny everything until his very last breath, but right now, he clings onto you like his life depends on it.

And he falls asleep with your name on his lips

[quiteliterallyilliterate]

If you want another request, how about something with Four? I feel like he is an undertapped Link in the LU x reader fic verse. I also think he fits in well with a bunch of different story types. He has the skills to live a peaceful life at home with a partner, he has the Colors, he also can be small (or a Minish depending on whether you believe his is small or transforms into a Minish), & shadow…. I am not picky whatsoever , but if you are willing, could you do some Four x reader?

Order up!

*ahem* I AM MOST DEFINITELY WILLING. GIVEGIVEGIVEGIVE- I agree with you. This man needs more love. Formatting a little differently this time, let me know what y’all think!

(thanks again to @litrllyvoid for proofreadin’)

Hope you enjoy~

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

Long he had lived a simple life. Even with the dramatic disruptions of the world, he could tell it wasn’t a life cut out for him. That grandeur had called to him, and when he responded, there was only judgement in turn. Since he was little, Link had found peace with the small world within his village. Running through uneven grassy hills and causing havoc, hand in hand with you. His arms and legs bruised, but with a full heart and genuine grin. Though, the older he gets, and the more the edges of his memory begin to fray, he wonders if that were truly the case. Perhaps it wasn’t that he was content with the world he was born into. It is on cold mornings such as this where the question burdened him most. Was it life that made him happy, or was it just you?

He burned the thought away, tugging at the fragile nerves that caressed his heart. He shrugged on some clothes with little regard for what he adorned himself with. It wasn’t as if there was anyone to impress— especially when he’d be working for the most of the day.

Each stair step creaked and groaned. His grandfather sat at the table, already eating breakfast. He plucked an apple on his way to sit, its waxy skin once a luxury that would’ve been shared. He no longer needed a knife to split the core in half. The juice tasted less sweet when there wasn’t sweet laughter accompanying it.

“Yikes, bad apple?” His grandfather laughed huskily in reaction to his dismay, crows feet and smile lines etched into his face. How was it that he could find happiness here where Link could not?

“Rough morning.”

“Ah. I see. Please… take a break if you need to” The old man clasped his hands, bony elbows rested on the table. It wasn’t hard to spot the concern in the deepset wrinkles of his grandfather’s face. Link found the strength to nod and move on for the moment.

The dull ache of his arms never faded as he worked. It was to be expected, forging something from an abstract nothing was not a task even the gods found simplistic. Monotonous, sure. There was a rhythm in each strike against the metal, a pattern to be found within the firings.

There was a finality like death in the quench of the blade.

The weight of his work and a life brought to an abrupt end.

And like a body, he decorated the corpse with wood, wrapping it in delicate cloth— a casket of its own.

Creation was not a task meant for mortals, he thinks. Though people often try to make it so, the hollow pain in his joints and sear of his muscles make it apparent. It strains him, though it is what fuels him. There is a sense of grief whenever he hands over a blade he slaved over— a mourning so powerful that no amount of rupees wish away.

It was in such a similar manner that he loved you. With such a sense of fullness and unconditionality, he did not stop to think of a world for which you were not in it. It is foolish of him to long for his childhood just because it was spent hand in hand with you. But he’d give anything to have colors be so bright again and for his smile to be so wide and genuine. It didn’t matter how bruised he’d be, so long as he gained those bruises running down riverbeds with you.

Now, he dressed up the body of those memories. Decorating you in his mind's eye with blue thistles, sprigs of rosemary, wild poppies and violets. Each aspect of him paying homage to their love of you. Of who he can only hope you continued to be.

The blade he held cracked when it was dipped into the water, split in twain. He looked at the jagged edge where the hilt was severed.

He could not find it within himself to remeld the pieces.

It would not be the same again.

He needed to move on.

He was close enough when adventuring with his brethren. There was enough fighting and adrenaline to keep his mind off his wounds. He let himself attach —maybe not in such a similar fashion as he did you— but in a way equally fulfilling.

What a fool he was.

How could he not notice the darkness creeping its way in? The abyss called for his return, sentencing him back to a cage he built. And so, he returned. Back to a life wherein he could reap no joy but couldn’t muster the strength to leave.

He wished he had his brothers. Time to help him forge a plan of escape from the mundane. Twilight to offer assistance in the smaller tasks— so he could manage life just a little bit easier. Sky to boss him into taking a break, even if it were just stretching. Legend to banter with as he worked, taking the weight off of the task. Wild to make use of the end product, to give the life of the blade meaning. Even just the careful eyes of Wind studying what he did. He missed how individual he felt, yet still holding his place among the set. He’d always have a home there, even if he was fundamentally different from his brethren.

He wished he still had a home with you.

You still had a home with him.

If only you’d return to him…

But life is not such a simple endeavour, and he doubts your parents would be content with you marrying some blacksmith, even if he held the title of hero. That was if you weren’t already forced to marry. That was if you still loved him.

He hopes whatever life you’ve been condemned to is happy.

Because if he is not there to protect you from the worst that fate has to offer, he can at least hope that there’s someone there who can.

Even though it isn’t him.

[betterbemeta]

I think something interesting about the star trek world is its combination of both replicator and holodeck technology. I understand these are literal 'plot devices' to explain the availability of food, materials, and the ability to visit locations for sci-fi premises that can't be found on an alien planet. However, they are worth thinking about in terms of how they change the world.

(Let's assume 'ideal' circumstances where we have a stable renewable non-polluting source of lots and lots of energy and aren't rationing it like on Voyager or something)

Replicators can use energy and raw materials to configure items, and presumably dis-configure items. While the potential for '3D printing' basically anything so long as its materials aren't too rare is really cool, it is also a near-perfect recycling machine. Beyond making sure your replicated dishes and cups don't infinitely pile up, that's SO IMPORTANT. Not only does that mean many items are 'temporary' that otherwise would be 'forever', you can instantly refresh the wear on many items without having to replace them and generate trash.

For example, tennis balls. It's currently really hard to recycle tennis balls, and serious players wear them out extremely quickly. Every serve you make after the first will be with a slightly worn, degraded tennis ball until you replace it, which generates trash. The production facilities to make all those tennis balls have to exist, they have to be shipped, the space to store them exists, the space to store their waste exists, the waste must be transported to a tennis ball recycling facility or a landfill...

but with replicators, you could play tennis without owning/paying a club to access a single tennis ball, without wasting a tennis ball.

And then there's the possibility of holodeck sports where you don't even need to make ANY material items. You could program the tennis ball to never run out. As long as you have the power to run it, maybe the most you'd need to 'own' is a tennis outfit. I am not sure if it's consistent that holodecks can 'dress you' or if you always must bring in costumes from the outside. And the costume itself could be replicated and then recycled!

There's a vast amount of stuff that we retain as personal property that just has to do with accessing activities or amenities. It's not really property that has emotional significance to us, but we still have attachments to it as its a facilitator of our active identity. Our dishes and cookware. Sports equipment. Certain kinds of clothing items. Some types of personal care items. Non-heirloom/generic holiday decorations. Stuff that is usually sacrificed first when we become homeless, when losing access to what they enable is more devastating than the items themselves.

If we could basically conjure and dismiss these things at-will, or access them on a temporary basis for free, we wouldn't need to own them or keep them around in our homes. No supply chain would be dedicated to them. Their waste would be completely eliminated. Ideas of 'what stuff I need to have as a person, to have a dignified life' would change completely.

It wouldn't surprise me if there were people in the star trek universe running around on earth with basically nothing we consider permanent physical property. Not because they're homeless and have no place to put them, and not because they're rich and their assets are liquid-- because the only reason to 'keep' mundane items, even something as complex as a communication device or computer, might be because they are emotionally important to you. And not everybody has 'stuff' like that at every time in their lives.

[callmerhynner]

We’re family, we grieve together. ||

synopsis: After the head of the mansion engages his final plan during his battle of wits with Muzan Kibutsuji, you are left with the traumatized children and depressing memories that the passed family left behind.

tags: gn!reader, angst, a bit of fluff(?), sad vibes, spoiler warning!!, giving the underrated family of ds some love w/ sadness, sad children, trauma

pairing/s: Ubuyashiki Kagaya & Bestfriend!Reader, Ubuyashiki children & godparent!Reader, Amane & family friend!Reader

Author’s note; Art by me :DD, practicing a new art style and thought i might as well try writing angst for the first time. Hope you enjoy!!

⇱ ♥︎ ⇲

"Life's already been hard, being sickly was making it even harder, and the world being infested with human flesh-eating demons gave everyone more reason to fear the moon. The sun was everyone's savior, each demon slayer thanking every deity that no demon came into their homes and killed them in their sleep. And, to everyone's unfortunate truth, if the lowest ranks were fearing for their life, their master had to mourn their death alongside the people they'd left behind.

Their master, the leader of the undiscovered by the government demon slayers, Ubuyashiki Kagaya.

The man that had an army ready to charge to their own undoing if he so requests of them to. The same man that was as sickly as an overworked farmer with tubberculosis, as weak as a toothpick, had the power to control the most determined and powerful men and women in the country. Out of all the country's population, the master with swordsmen that's been trained to face death and survive, was the weakest of all.

Strength, you should remember, isn't always physical. Sometimes, it's their mentality that earns control and respect. Kagaya Ubuyashiki reflected the day's calm view with his moral ideas, only gaining more respect when he has the kindest voice, and the kindest eyes a human can possess. A man of true ethereality.

The master of the mansion, unfortunate enough to be given such a heavy title at a young age, was a man everyone could love and respect. That could make the coldest person feel warmth. Give the hardest stone a soft spot. A man of true charm."

Without you noticing, tears roll down your face, eyes never leaving the last remnant you had of your best friend, an ashy-edged portrait. You had your hands gripping at the canvas' sides, hugging it to your chest as you grieved in front of the destroyed mansion, never daring to move your legs, in fear that if you touched another flick of grass, you'd lose the memories you had with the now passed family. From the father, who you loved like a brother--to his children, that would tire themselves out at the end of the days when you would visit the mansion. His wife, who would treat you as if you have always been family, and the home of which they all felt safest who would welcome you with a flowery breeze.

All of which, gone, only the black ashes that it left behind.

You sat still, the portrait with smudges of black on it's bottom still in your grips, as your salty tears kept decorating your skin. You look to the space in the sky, where one would've seen the master's mansion, before turning your head to spare a sad glance to the young, terrifed children survivors you had managed to save from the explosion. The white of your eyes were visibly red, water never stopping the dripping it slid on your cheeks. You finally gain the strength to ease the children, watching their tears pour out broke your heart like seeing an abandoned puppy, you let go of the portrait and extending your arms to their direction.

"We are family...we grieve together.."

In an instant, the three Ubuyashiki children run to your embrace, letting out their voices and wailing into your clothes. The girls wrapped their arms at your waist as they screamed their grievances out to you, you pat their white hairs as Kiriya couldn't hold his loud sobs into your chest. You sat them all down, their faces still wetting your clothes with their emotions (you were no different), as you wrapped your arms around them in a protective bear hug. They'd lost their father, you lost a best friend, and every demon slayer had just lost their master.

You all sat there, all of your letting your sadness out amongst each other, only calming down when the crying had ceased everyone's energy. The kakushi and hashira had arrived, you knew they have probably been there the moment they heard the traumatic booming, but they unanimously agreed to let all of you pass out from exhaustion to not trigger any more intense emotions. It was a depressing sight to see, and hear, three children screaming their hearts out to the only person left that they considered family (that weren't the slayers); All the while, the person they sought for comfort, felt as much grief as they all did combined.

"Your father was a good man, Kiriya. He deserves to be honored, and i know you can do that for him." you whisper to the little boy as you gently pat his sisters' hair, voice a bit scratchy from holding in the scream you were desprate to let out. "I know we all can do it for him." you continue, a single tear rolling down your cheek as you tried to give him a hopeful smile.

"You won't have to face it alone." you finish, kissing the top of his head as the young boy let out a yawn, curling into your lap. Kuina rested her head just next to him, with Kanata laying down on the ground, using some of your yukata's cloth to protect her eyes from the dirt. "Master," you add, barely a whisper, eyes lingering back to the portrait as the hurt of your heart continues to spread across your chest, finally closing your eyes to rest alongside them when you knew they were all asleep.