#i figure mercy's first sacrifice when they started doing it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hitlikehammers · 7 days ago

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ignis obscura (dragon-sacrifice!Steve falls for random-man-in-the-woods(?)!Eddie before Steve goes to get eaten) (???)

feat. lots of love-at-first-sight, soul-deep devotion sorta shit

When a dragon arrives within telling-distance, the town nearest the lair it claims must send the sacrifice; their most valued possession. Everyone knows this.

It was just that no one in Hawkins had ever imagined—never really believed—that of all the villages, a dragon would come to them.

Steve had imagined it, though. As a boy, he’d thought it an adventure. As a teenager, he’d fancied it something of an escape.

Now, when it happens? As a young man, Steve Harrington mostly just thinks of course it goes like this.

Because he’s the disappointing-but-only son of the mayor, in a town where mayoral wealth rivals the coffers of the crown, and if the dragon wants value? Steve’s the gateway to whatever riches have been hoarded, whatever small power may be marshaled to command more, to rule, to gather up virgins if Steve himself proved insufficient to that fabled task—though he was renowned as the most comely of his people, having just dipped his toe into his prime while keeping the rosy flush to his cheeks alongside the strength in his arms: perfect timing, really. It helped pad the argument for him as the tribute.

As if maybe the dragon had waited, had watched. Had known what it wanted, and swooped in with intent.

Steve couldn’t give two rats’ asses what the dragon did or didn’t do, as he made his way through the woods and up the mountain. The stories of sacrifice always paired with the same end: no matter how you pleased the dragon, the tribute did not live to descend to their home again.

So really, at this point, it was merely a question of how Steve would meet his end. At the dragon’s mercy, of course, but: more like details.

Steve distracts himself with arguments for whether it’s wiser, or more efficient, to carve human flesh with claws or teeth, and it’s a job done so well that he not only finds himself wholly turned around on this trek, far too close to nightfall, and not nearly as near to the cave he’s aiming for as he need be, but more than that:

He fails to notice he’s no longer alone.

“Are you lost?”

There is a honey-smooth quality to the voice that rings out but…deeper. Darker even, though it doesn’t strike warning between Steve’s lungs. It’s…caramelized, and slow slip of thick…almost comfort. Steve fights to keep a clear head: not all dangers are apparent. Enchantment and faerie mischief, even, could have found him in his mindless wandering.

“Lost?” Steve tries to scoff at the right tone of haughty; “I’ve lived here my entire life—“

“In these deserted woods?” the voice, and now there’s a figure that draws nearer, closer in the growing claim of the moon for light but still more silhouette than anything as it—he, the voice is male, Steve is near-certain—turns and assesses their immediate surroundings before tutting thrice:

“Strange choice of domicile.”

And it’s mocking, of course it is: but the honey-caramel of the voice is a molten thing. It warms Steve deep and he cannot even be cross.

“I,” he starts, but sees not point to finishing before he sighs and admits, to himself as much as to the stranger:

“Yes, I am lost.”

“But you’ve lived here your whole life!” the stranger slaps a palm to his own cheek, mouth dropped in faux-horror but he looks so…earnest. And maybe adorable with it, so much so that Steve can’t help but chuckle a little helplessly for it all.

“Hush,” he chides, half-heartedly at best. “I was supposed to get to the caves by nightfall.”

“Ooo,” the stranger leans in, as if to prepare for a secret; Steve didn’t realize he was so close; “scintillating dinner date?”

Steve can’t help it but to snort.

“By a measure,” Steve deadpans, before clearing his throat; “I need to present myself to the dragon.” When the strange man stares at him unblinking Steve deflates a little.

“You know, hot, fire,” he gestures broadly; everyone knows what comes at the end of a sacrifice: “dinner…”

“Why are you looking for a dragon?” the other man asks, his lips pulling down a bit in just-shy-of-a-frown. Steve doesn’t like the look on him, so he tries to put on a bit of a show, match the stranger’s teasing energy from before as best he can in the given circumstances:

“I just so happen to be the village sacrifice,” Steve announces, chest puffed a bit, but he fails to do anything but deepen the frown he’d been aiming to wipe clean from the other man’s face; now Steve’s frowning, too, as he deflates a little, but hardens a little too, crossing his arms and leaning back where the other man’s not even bothered to stop leaning in, despite his apparently displeasure.

“What?” Steve challenges, but it’s brittle, he knows it. “It’s a,” he vacillates, unsure how exactly to describe the…ritual of it. The way it’s cast as a, as a…

“It is a high,” Steve’s voice wavers a bit, like finally saying it aloud makes it all the less believable: “honor.”

The other man eyes him silently until Steve feels it in his very skin, before finally he speaks:

“Hmm,” he tips his head, considering just a little before he seems less to come to a conclusion, and more to a conclusion on how to best voice the things he wanted to say already, at that:

“Well, I know these woods very well, better than any hailing from the village I suspect you’re speaking of,” his gaze flicks Steve top to toes, something warm in it, no, something hot in it, that simmers through Steve’s veins: “and so I can get you to the caves, at the very least for shelter before moonrise-full,” he glances skyward, seeming to doublecheck his words before he nods decisively and reaches out a hand:

“Think you can trust someone you only just stumbled upon in the forest to steer you straight?”

And Steve doesn’t know for sure what he’d have done, what his answer and actions may have been if death-by-some-draconic-means weren’t imminent. But it is, and so he takes the hand offered, and grasps more than shakes, holds more than strikes accord and lets himself notice and relish how smooth and warm it feels against his skin:

“Lead the way.”

He doesn’t know what he’d do in lesser circumstances.

But for the grin on the man’s face, the way it shines brighter than moonlight, than sunrays even, he suspects: for the way it makes of the man a star on his own somehow?

Steve wants very much to believe he’d trust the man anyway, regardless of sense, just for the breadth of that smile.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Looks like the dragon’s out for the night.”

Steve makes an extra survey of the den nestled a good bit into the cave when his mysterious guide comments on the undeniable silence of their surroundings, the telling echo of their footsteps in the empty space.

“Curses,” Steve huffs, both frustrated and dismayed because: “I’ll have angered him, what if he doesn’t think I’m enough for—“

“One,” Steve’s beguiling guide ticks the point off with a finger raised on a strangely elegant hand; “you think dragons to be too irritable.” Steve rolls his eyes to himself—this Man who knows so much of the temperaments of dragons, the ego to presume—

“They can be quite pleasant so long as they have sufficient treasure. And they’re long-lived, so they’re patient,” the man continues on, which: it seems his ego’s well-reasoned out at the very least, Steve supposes.

“Which brings us to point number two,” and of course there’s a number two, a pair of fingers now waving almost accusingly to the side of Steve’s face:

“You’re more than enough to be worth waiting for.”

Steve blushes furiously and thanks the sparse cracks of nearly enchanted—quite possibly enchanted, actually—light for very little chance to be seen for it.

His companion grins with a glimmer of that sparse glow catching his eyes, glittering in it like enchantment themselves, and Steve thinks both that yes, he’s likely been seen and caught so that likewise yes, he needs to move out of the shaft of light that betrays him and with haste, because to think such a thing about this strange and beguiling man—beguiling, good gods—says far to much about what Steve feels about him, and far too soon, even by his standards.

Which are lightning quick already on a day in which he knows restraint.

“Sparse for a horde,” Steve surprises himself for how steady his voice is, given how obvious his bid to change the subject lands, not matter his tone.

His companion is gracious enough to allow the shift without comment:

“You think mortal eyes can see such things without a dragon’s explicit permission?”

But not gracious enough to abandon that ego.

“How do you know so much of dragons?” Steve finally just asks; subtlety’s never been his strongest characteristic, and in honesty, it’s past time to have asked it.

The other man smirks, scoffs a little.

“This may be your village’s first encounter with them,” and it’s said not quite in censure, and not unkindly, but Steve is cowed a bit nonetheless—the man had never named but has more than once referenced where he thinks Steve’s from, and Steve suspects if his vestments and the crests embroidered to them weren’t enough, his lack of knowledge would be—his people have been blessed in many ways, and live privileged lives on the whole, most especially his family, in comparison to their neighbors.

“But here is the only perch for the span of tens of villages,” the man points out; “and they’ve not been left untouched for so long.”

Right. Of course.

“You’re from a neighboring town?”

“One word for it,” the man shrugs, in such a way now that it shivers through his unruly curls; “and you’re from Hawkins, I gather.”

Right. Unsubtle to the bone it seems, indeed.

“For the whole of my life I can say I know only one thing about your home,” the man takes Steve grimace as the confirmation that it is; “and it’s how they share notoriously little to know.”

Steve chews at his lip, knows the failings his family’s rule has had for the people without and without their borders. Has tried to find ways to help without power of his own in the order of things.

“I always wished to see other lands, even the nearest of them,” Steve finally lands on something to say; “I tried to convince my parents, but—”

“Parents?”

It might be the first time his new…friend? Looks properly halted.

“Son and heir,” Steve points to himself with a weary sort of smirk, the whole thing laughable, really; “the tribute has to be valuable, right? I thought upon seeing so little here, I could offer from our own troves before the end, as appeasement but,” Steve sighs, suddenly drained, only now realizing, now that the option eludes him, just how heavily he was counting on the option of at least trying to bargain with the dragon, appealing to its intellect and far more, its love of treasure.

“But if it’s as you say, I may have much less by way of offering at all.”

There’s an instant sort of chill that fills him as he starts to acclimate to the reality that he’s going to die, and soon, and there truly is not hope for an escape. He—

“Let me assure you,” the man’s hand startles Steve, battles and swiftly overcomes the chill in him as it wraps tight around Steve’s wrist, his voice following Steve’s own almost without break, a cutting finality to it, definitiveness in his tone and his eyes alike once Steve meets them—and once Steve meets them, the not-quite-stranger doesn’t let him look away.

Magnetic.

“Based on what I have seen?” and the words could be casual, but the low rumble they’re spoken with is anything but:

“You could walk here wholly empty handed, and no dragon worth their flame would turn you away as unworthy.”

Steve feels less his cheeks, and more his whole body, inside and out, flush bright and there’s no light to hide from, save from the one shimmering in the gaze locked into his own.

And Steve, for all his postures of pride: this time?

He has no desire to hide the way he flushes, never mind the way he shivers, if it means trying to evade those eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~

Incidentally, it’s too late for the other man to turn back, though he clearly knows these woods so well. Steve insists that he stays.

Not for any ulterior motives, of course.

The man argues, if almost for show alone, but agrees on one condition: they neither of them have bedding. The other man apparently hadn’t planned to be out past the hour for rest, is only stuck because of Steve and Steve—

Steve has a pack but he…he presumed he’d either be dead and his offerings deemed fitting, or the dragon would keep him as the dragon desired, bedding or clothing or neither, until the dragon was satisfied.

And then, again: he’d be dead.

It is unthinkable to take the meager blankets Steve can see in a corner, not without permission; not from a dragon, so. The other man is asking to…lie close.

And Steve is not opposed. The man is almost…surreally exquisite, especially in the passing moonlight. His angles are…particular. Alluring. They steal the breath in Steve’s chest a little, long before they’ve earned the right.

“It feels more than overdue now to ask your name,” Steve whispers, not that it’s necessary. Not that there’s anyone to hear.

“Eddie,” the man whispers back, his voice so warm and almost enveloping, like an embrace in itself and Steve feels less absurd for speaking so soft, so privately.

Nearly intimate.

Good gods, now Steve is being absurd and should feel it to his bones. He deserves to suffer the uncomfortable twist of embarrassment it leaves in stomach, at this rate.

“Steve,” he manages to say low enough that his mortification isn’t audible.

But then:

“That is a beautiful name, sweetheart,” Eddie breathes, and he’s shimmied closer somehow while Steve was stuck in his shame-spiral for being the too quick to show his cards, even to himself in his own head.

“Nothing special to it,” Steve mutters, demurs a little but in a coquettish way, doesn’t even mean to. Just…there’s an energy between them now, and Steve’s primed to match it.

“Isn’t there?” Eddie asks, heated and near in a way that dances up Steve’s spine:

“I would hesitate to be so sure.”

Again, Steve doesn’t mean to, or plan to, when he rolls further into Eddie’s frame where they’re laid together, already so close, now nearly in each other’s arms.

He doesn’t mean to, and yet: his arms are gathered close against the chest of a man he doesn’t know, and yet feels…more comfortable next to than any body he’s pressed against in his life.

And there have been fair few.

“You’re so warm,” Steve mouths more than anything, lips dragging on this half-stranger’s neck by accident, because it could be nothing save an accident that Steve now knows that Eddie’s skin tastes of salt and smoked cinnamon sticks and the air in the forrest at night: elemental, somehow. Necessary.

Only by accident would Steve torture himself this way.

“I’d keep you warm always,” Steve hears as the world blurs soft to black, the phantom sensation of arms curling around him, welcoming him to sleep—the whole of it odd in every way because he hadn’t spoken loud enough to be heard, really, even so close, and to read his words from the drag of his mouth to flesh was of course impossible.

“To the end of the Age and beyond if I could,” the words drift blissful, wistful like an invitation into sleep: “if you’d let me.”

So of course: it must have been a dream.

~~~~~~~~~~

Daybreak finds them entangled.

Steve…freezes, as if he didn’t feel snug and perfectly warm wrapped up so close. He weighs the merits of bolting, and making apologies after the fact, against trying to extricate himself without rousing his companion, versus—

“Good morning, sweetness.”

Steve stills somehow further, feels his face heat yet again and yet this time, despite the dark of the cave, he’s…crushed ever so pleasantly against the bare smooth planes of a chest that…shouldn’t be bare, should it, because they moved together close for heat against the chill and for certain it is past dawn but it is still nowhere near warm enough for—

“Did you sleep well?”

Steve groans, which only leads him to burrowing further into the unavoidably welcoming give of Eddie’s chest, lean but strong, Steve can tell, much like he can feel as much as hear the rumbling laughter that cascades through that chest: so much like an invitation to sink into the chest and the sound alike, to never be singular, to never be cold.

What a ridiculous notion.

But then lips are unmistakably pressed to the crown of Steve’s head, not even in passing, no: they linger. They…feel right.

Steve wants for them to be right until the day he dies—

Well. That might actually be possible, or close enough for what he’s earned in this world.

The irony.

Eddie takes to the hunt—the reason he was in the woods to find Steve in the first place, apparently; he says his bow and knives are just down toward the ravine, which Steve vaguely knows but not well, too close to the borders of other lands.

“Don’t fret, though,” and this time the lips press to the low half of Steve’s cheek, affection that does not press its advantage but makes it desires clear, too close to Steve mouth to be anything less.

Steve…is unsure what to make of that. Because he cannot make what he thinks of first; he cannot possibly follow that thread in his own mind—increasingly in his own chest.

“I’ll find you, if you get lost again.”

As if Steve will wander, would risk missing his dragon captor’s return, to even consider one misstep to unintentionally enrage his looming executioner, to even consider missing a single instant in the meantime with this man—

But the glinting smile that man shoots Steve’s way as he strides out the yawning opening in the rocks, its glinting like stardust and warm radiance that fills Steve’s veins then spills over and seeps into his marrow:

Steve doesn’t think that man actually meant getting lost that way.

And what on earth is he supposed to make of that, save everything that he can’t have; that cannot be?

Though, in fairness: it would be on brand. Steven Harrington of Hawkins.

Falling hard and fast and more real than ever before, mere hours before he leaves the mortal coil.

~~~~~~~~~~

“You’re anxious.”

Steve knows now that his dreams were realty, last night. The words, the arms.

He is awake in them now after they eat what Eddie’s secured for them, cooked over a fire perfectly pitched outside the mouth of the cave, its warmth not insufficient as they’d eaten in pleasant company together.

Not insufficient at all. Just not this chest; these arms.

And now they are both of them bare to the waist, knowingly and happily curled into one another, and Steve feels on one hand boneless, weightless, inexplicably held and kept beyond the physical in the embrace of a man he barely knows and yet feels…close to. Something-he-cannot-bring-himself-to-say-at-first sight, like in the fairy stories.

But that man’s palm is splayed across Steve’s chest; can feel the birds’ wings of his heartbeat at first stroke.

For the first time in Steve’s life, it doesn’t feel like a weakness he’s caught out on; with Eddie nuzzling at his hair, Steve doesn’t hesitate to speak his fear with a heavy sigh:

“You said you’ve dealt with dragons.”

“Time to time,” Eddie hums, presses his lips to Steve’s scalp like reassurance.

“How will it happen?” Steve whispers shakily, but for the first time in his entire life, he shakes into someone who seems to care, against all reason; who holds tighter to him for needing rather than casting him away.

“I mean, I know,” Steve licks his lips; “I know what will happen, just,” and he can’t quite finish, chokes around his words. Eddie moves closer against him, under the weight of Steve’s frame, maneuvers them so that he can tilt his head just so to kiss down Steve’s jaw while still holding him close; ever closer.

“Well,” Eddie pecks against the peak of Steve’s cheekbone before moving down, all the while massaging circles against Steve’s chest; “a town sends their most valued,” and he sucks a little the, against Steve’s jawline; “but some towns have less to pick from,” and then he finds Steve’s pulse point and suckles there with real feeling until Steve may be terrified, but he’s simultaneously soft clay in a beautiful man’s hands, under a beautiful man’s mouth.

“A dragon is not a mindless beast,” Eddie adds after Steve can feel he’s been well and thoroughly bruised.

“I’ve always heard they’re very smart,” Steve breathes, maybe nods, mostly just savors Eddie’s heat, his nearness, how he touches Steve like he has value; like Steve has value to him, and what a thing to feel, to want, to possibly hold, even for these stolen moments; “it’s how they tell if you send them less than they’re owed.”

Because of course Steve knows the stories. Steve can remember countless tales of horrific ends for villages, towns, whole kingdoms even, razed for being so haughty and foolish as to try and swindle a dragon—perhaps embellished to encourage children’s behavior, but. The bones of the narrative fit the oft-smoldering evidence often enough, so far as Steve could tell in the proper histories.

“Not owed,” Eddie corrects, firmly but somehow also gently, his capacity for dynamism an oddly comforting thing, so human and forgiving of overstepping boundaries so freely as to maybe not even draw any to begin with, at complete odds with Steve’s entire life; “not how most people think, at least.”

Eddie flip Steve over gently, firmly again, settles them chest to chest, one atop the other as Steve looks down at him, feels his heartbeat crash against Eddie’s own closer than ought to be felt, like their ribs clear way for the two of them, for whatever they could be, and Steve wonders if part of why his heart is racing so is for the loss of the possibility that rushes through him, that swells between them in every moment—something that grows in every moment, every look and touch and blink, that expands effervescent and filled with so much without any knowledge that there is not space to hold it, that what time they have is borrowed at best.

Steve thinks maybe; his sick heart for it could be railing where the rest of him is fixated on etching every one of those looks and blinks and touches into his bones so that they may be among the last parts of him to leave the earth.

“A dragon, above most things, has a particularly keen sense to know precisely where value lies,” Eddie’s explaining again, his hand now still, pressed against Steve’s heart akin to a shield, or a safe-hold. “And how.”

Steve ponder that for a moment before he meets Eddie’s eyes, having felt them heavy and molten upon him with new fire before taking them in for all that they are: brilliance.

Blinding.

Steve leans as Eddie arches and they meet in between to press their lips together after what feels an eternity and an instant of living in a world where they didn’t taste one another in such a way as to drink their fill. As to breathe each other’s breath.

So as to tease and cherish deep, to tongue against the very heart.

And there Steve makes certain, before he loses himself wholly to sensation:

Looks. Touches. Blinks. Carved into his bones, but first.

First he’ll gild them in every single kiss.

~~~~~~~~~~

They transition fully into lovers in a seamless fashion, insatiable like Steve’s never known it. Eddie never keeps him wanting, gives selflessly and Steve does all that he can to reciprocate and more, because Eddie is everything, of that Steve is certain, and therefore he deserves no less.

He also seems dead set on making sure that they are posed as equals. That to lavish one another with affections as much as to ravish each other endless never unbalances one way or the other. Wherever Steve seeks to give more where Eddie should have it, Eddie turns the tables to takes Steve apart so that all he knows is tingly euphoria. A happiness he’s never felt, didn’t quite believe could exist.

Yet here he is. Here they are.

Steve smiles more than he remembers, playful and ravenous and overflowing with feeling, and Eddie doesn’t rise to meet his enthusiasm: he’s already there, matched with him and ecstatic to entwine. It’s a heady thing, addictive and overwhelming and a gift, Steve thinks: maybe the universe forgive him for doing less to stop harm and deprivation in his home, for wishing to help more and acting where he could even if it wasn’t enough. Maybe he gets this sliver of heaven out of pity for what’s to come.

He will take it with open arms. He will welcome it. He will make himself of it until there is not Steve that exists outside of it.

But it cannot overcome the inevitable, in its impending, suffocating weight.

Come the sixth day like this—the sixth night like this—something in Steve gives way. Existing on the precipice of life and death with no telling of when the hammer with strike finally takes too much of a toll, and his nerves betray him.

“Likely they are hunting, it can take many days, weeks even I’m told,” Eddie tries to console him as he shakes, can’t even sob, like his body can’t coordinate even that much to work properly, too distraught are pieces of him he’s flooded with pleasure but finally could no longer be denied, fed on his wonderment and picked until it cracked enough for his fears to bleed through. “But if you are still so anxious we could, or, I could try and look for some clue as to where it’s gone?” Eddie offers carefully, holding Steve together as he does his utmost to shudder out of his skin. “And you can stay here, in case it returns?”

The only thing Steve can do then is shake his head until it hurts, until he’s dizzy with his own vehement denial: it’s the first things that’s properly matched, body to feeling.

It’s fitting that way.

“I,” Steve starts, just voice barely a scratch as Eddie reaches, tips his chin upward and cups his face so delicate:

“What, angel?”

Steve blinks at him—takes him in, presses down to pain as he draws it, brands it onto his skeleton to be remembered, all the tangled but powerfulfeelings he has for this man so fast, so strong.

For this man, for all he feels: Steve makes himself speak what’s heavy and true and real in his galloping heart:

“I have no intention of reneging my duties,” he rasps, holds on to Eddie as tightly as he can, as if maybe their bones could brand one’s another and fuse into one.

“But until no choice is left, I,” Steve chokes, and his eyes burn as he holds Eddie’s gaze, lifts Eddie’s hand away from his cheek and over to his lips to press all his hopeless hopes against Eddie’s palms:

“I don’t want to be out of your sight, nor you taken from mine.”

The tear that escapes him then is caught by Eddie’s thumb. Adoringly.

Each that follows is lost between Eddie’s lips; might belong to them both.

Steve thinks he can believe that much—in these fleeting, sacred moment—to be true.

~~~~~~~~~~

The dragon has still not appeared, and Steve has since collected himself for the most part, with Eddie ready to brace him steady when he starts to falter. It’s a wild novel thing, to be supported this way. To be cared for.

With such care, comes perception. For better or worse.

“What troubles you, beloved?” Eddie eyes him knowingly, a level of sight straight through to Steve’s soul that should not be fathomable in a lifetime, let alone a week’s time.

“My own mind,” Steve admits freely, unwilling any longer—if he ever had been—to hide from Eddie, unsure what the point would be even if he desired to: “it is cowardly, and selfish.”

“I doubt that,” Eddie catches Steve’s jawbone with a single finger, playful, endearing: but clear in its pointed redirection of Steve’s gaze, and his disparagement of his own thoughts:

“I would doubt that quite strongly, in fact.”

Steve lets Eddie touch prompt him to a kiss, as if he needs coaxing before he leans into the crook of Eddie’s neck and breathes him in: the best savours of the ground and sky.

“I would not run from my fate, here,” Steve says, not wholly to remind himself but, not without that purpose at hand; “save that it feels like my fate is…”

And he slides his hand to Eddie’s chest, hopes it speaks for him where he doesn’t know words for the depth and breadth and weight of these feelings; Eddie’s hand covers his, automatic, and he knows he’s understood.

“I wish not to be parted from you, now that I’ve found you,” Steve whispers, swallows hard, then looks Eddie in the eyes, speaks straight to the soul in them so that he is not misread, or underestimated in the weight of his own words, now:

“I think that I may be in love with you.”

And he’s never been before. He’s believed it may be love, but: no. No, it was never love before.

If ever it was love: it is this.

“Oh my precious one,” Eddie pets his hair and kisses after his own touch: “I don’t think that I’m in love with you,” and Steve stiffens only for the instant Eddie leaves between those words, and dipping down to Steve’s ear to exhale with feeling:

“I know it.”

How it is possible to die brokenhearted and happier than he’d ever dreamed, Steve doesn’t know.

But he’s about to serve as object lesson, in just days.

Maybe less.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Know that when,” Steve is speaking to the cracks in the rock that peek at the night sky as he speaks, Eddie on his chest like a blanket, save so much better; “when it happens,mwhen it devours me whole or takes me in pieces,” and his voice catches, but he remains resolute; “it will know you in every inch of me,” and he cups Eddie closer to him then, holds him against the thunderous roar of his pulse.

“My heart is full of you, and it will taste only of devotion,” Steve near-hisses for the fervor in him. “You’ll be the last bit of me known to the world.”

“Never.”

The growl that comes from the body that curls around him, protective, possessive, beloved in a way and to a magnitude Steve didn’t know he could feel before now: the venom in it makes it clear that it’s not a refutation of Steve’s declaration for the sentiment.

It’s a refutation to the cosmos itself.

“I would never allow it,” Eddie bites out, pressing closer to Steve, to his heart: “you will not be forfeit to some dragon,” and oh, but this man Steve loves is wild with his passion, foolhardy and yet all the more lovable for it.

“I would fight with all that I am to protect you,” he vows, presses his lips to Steve’s chest and speaks there like he means well and truly to means to tell Steve to the heart of him this sole, unshakeable truth: “and should somehow I lose the battle, it could only be because there is nothing of me left to fight.”

And for the first time, in all his life: Steve clings to something, someone, he’d happily rip his beating heart out to protect.

And that—he realizes in a single world-rewriting instant—he fears the loss of more than any other thing.

Any. Other. Thing.

~~~~~~~~~~

They don’t speak of it, or of a choice to be made when the time does come: Steve thinks maybe that’s the only way they manage at all, really, is to simply hold it between them in those last days. Known. Seen.

Loved.

And feared.

But always together. Always so close, in every way.

Until the stasis breaks.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes into the afternoon, innocuous. Steve’s stopped counting how many days they’ve stolen together.

“I must leave, my darling.”

Steve narrows his eyes, trying to understand him. He watches as Eddie hurries to gather both of Steve’s hands, to bring them to his lips.

“Only for a short while,” he murmurs between Steve’s fingers, kisses at his knuckles with apology, and with heartsickness thick between his breaths: “barely a moment,” and his breath is short, thin, like the thought of leaving hurts.

And Steve…Steve has been in love for the first time, with the perfect match to his very soul. Unthinkable, but undeniable.

But it hasn’t made him wholly blind.

He means to press, to see if the slight little inklings he’s had every so often hold any weight, point in any direction of significance, means to ask just a simple thing, but then Eddie’s expression breaks open, a miasma of emotion spilling forth as his breath catches, monumental on a sob and he takes the hands at his lips and instead uses them to bury his face.

“Oh, my Steve,” he breathes, and all Steve can really see are the heaving lifts of his shoulders, and the way his curls fall a little like a monsoon.

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers into Steve hands and Steve feels dampness there, and oh. No.

Not from Eddie. Not for whatever this is. Steve can think of nothing, save Eddie leaving for good before the end, that he should be moved to apologize for. And even that Steve would forgive.

Because Steve loves him.

“Why?” Steve asks, incredulous, his own half-formed ideas to seek to know gone at the sight of his beloved in distress. “What reason on earth do you have to be sorry, you said,” and Steve halts, wonders if that’s the catch, and tries not to falter without reason, tries to stand tall: “only a moment,” and that is what Eddie said, he said only a—

“I lied.”

Steve does to falter.

He starts to fracture and fall entirely. Because what, what all was a lie, was it all a lie, he—

He doesn’t know if he can breathe. He’s never lost his heart before. But he imagines that if death is still waiting for him, and he’ll face it alone: it’s what he’d planed for. What he’s prepared for from the start.

He knows how to be alone. It has to hurt less, than losing his heart now.

It will have to hurt less, at the very end, if it comes to him without a heart in his breast.

“It was worth every second, no matter that it must end, in joy or heartbreak,” Steve finds himself saying, and if his tone rings hollow, it’s only because his heart’s already leaking from him, already half-gone: he means it with every bit he has left, nonetheless.

“You are the moon, pulling me close,” he turns his hands so his palms line to Eddie’s; “the sun wrapping me in warmth,” and he folds their fingers together, clutches tight one last time, greedy as anything:

“You have been the greatest gift at the end of all I’ll ever know.” And that is the truth, that is the last words and final rites written on his bones. “Because of you, I will die fulfilled in ways I didn’t realize I was lacking.”

And then there’s just one thing, because Steve, Steve needs to say this part, he doesn’t think he’s said this part yet:

“Thank you.”

He means it.

But Eddie only holds onto him harder, painfully but it’s perfection; only shakes his head over and over before he finally rasps, barely audible:

“You misunderstand.”

Steve leans closer to hear him, to feel him, to know his warmth in the lat moments that might be left. He wants to understand. He doesn’t want the end to be anything but clear.

Even if it hurts.

“I have lied,” Eddie swallows hard; “but you misunderstand for what.”

Steve…still misunderstands.

“You have been my moon,” Eddie nearly moans, his head nuzzling into Steve’s hands, his hold, with nothing short of desperation:“you have been the sun since the first revelation when I was taught as barely a hatchling that my kind were born of suns, made from fire.”

And that. It’s been those small things: some dragon. Not owed. No dragon would find him unworthy.

The ego to presume.

This is no longer a small thing, spoken now.

“You stole my heart straight away, and I gave it freely but,” Eddie hiccups the slightest bit; “I only grow in relishing that of all the souls in all the worlds, yours has welcomed mine,” and he sniffles, by every god and power in all the worlds—

“You are a privilege.”

And oh, oh, but by every god and power: Steve loves him.

“And you have a dragon’s heart now, no matter how you choose to use it, to keep or reject it,” foolish words Eddie speaks so messy, so rushed and ragged, so ripped out from him visceral and slick with feeling: “and your end will be my end,” and his lips brush Steve’s hands, kiss the pulse on both his wrists:

“And either that will be unmeasurable ages hence,” and his breath catches, and Steve only wants for him to look up, just look up, because he’s said it without saying now, hasn’t he, muddled and frantic and so human, to say he’s anything but as he admits to the thing he thinks he needs to offer apology for.

“Or,” he trips over the next words, but they’re so sodden with candor, the blood in his veins:

“Or my heart may turn ash if you leave but,” and he brings the heels of both Steve’s hands to his mouth and kisses, speaks into them worshipfully:

“Your life will go on as a mortal’s, once I’ve—”

“You’ve given your heart?”

Because Steve had suspicions. Of why Eddie said certain things, certain ways. How warm he was. How strong and even and…ancient the beating of his heart resonated beneath Steve’s ear, his touch, like it radiated heat as a sun in itself.

“Of course,” Eddie’s head snaps up, like he’s offended at any suggestion to the contrary; “almost immediately.”

He blinks; he forgets himself. There’s a lid to his starburst eyes that closes unlike Steve’s, the opposite direction, almost invisible.

But Steve’s watching. Steve doesn’t blink once, cannot miss this.

Cannot pause what he writes into his bones because even if he plans for nothing less than ages unmeasurable, now, he wants this written on the bones that come in the end.

Whenever the end stretches out to.

“And if it’s ill received,” Steve asks slowly, his brows pinching as he picks through the implications of this part: “you—”

“Wither, slowly,” Eddie says, far too matter-of-fact for Steve’s liking, or willingness to stand: “but the end comes, yes.”

“Eddie,” Steve scolds, and Eddie flinches, thinks he’s been caught, been known and revealed now and in so being is anything but wanted with all of Steve’s being.

There is a tiny part of Steve that’s grateful for his foolishness: it makes Steve feel less alone, to be swept so by a love this vast.

“You are the dearest treasure I’ve ever known,” Eddie whispers, but it’s a pleading thing, something even Steve can tell doesn’t feel as if it had a hope to grasp; “if you let me keep you I would hold you closer than all things. To give a dragon’s heart means to place whatever holds it closer than the heart itself ever learned to rest on its own,” and Eddie gathers Steve’s hands again to his chest, stacks them, presses so very hard.

The life in him is a sobering thing. The idea that Steve holds this power somehow in his hands, literally and otherwise, is…staggering.

No less then amazing.

“You are my single desire, but more,” Eddie breathes; “you are my single care, my sole concern,” “my only.”

“Why do you leave, then?”

And Eddie stills. Pulls back only so much as to weigh what he sees in Steve’s face, Steve’s eyes—what Steve sees in his is clear: Eddie didn’t think he’d get to this part. He thought Steve would balk at learning his lover was something more than mere human.

Specifics aside, Steve could have told anyone that from the night that they met.

And so Eddie, bowled over by the shock of the fact that Steve still holds to him, does not waver, seems to speak unvarnished when he answers:

“The things you have shared,” and Steve knows without expansion what Eddie means: tales of home, of his family, of his parents, of how he came to be here, pledged as sacrifice for the good of his town, whispered in the dark as they watched the stars move slow; “I can bear it no longer, my darling.”

And Eddie straightens further then, and Steve sees what he dismissed as the play of the light: the glow in Eddie’s eyes unmistakable as something other, something from within.

“I demand the most valued,” Eddie’s words come out in a hiss, shape even as he hesitates, leaves every moment for Steve to pull away should his touch be unwanted as he reaches to brush Steve’s hair from his face.

“You are that and more to me and yet,” and he shakes his head, and it’s so strange still to be marveled at this way: unbridled and unashamed.

“You said it yourself, valuable,” Eddie nearly spits the word, like a poison he seeks to eke out; “and yet I believe that I said something different.”

Steve frowns, tries to put together the pieces but then his face is framed in long fingers that span the whole of him, fittingly so, as Eddie looks deed in his eyes and says with force and feeling:

“Valued,” he emphasizes with a kiss; “beloved,” and another, and Steve cannot help but smile into it just the slightest bit, his heart soaring as the other pieces—borrowed time and impending ends and forevers in view all at once rearranging into what he thinks might be an always with this man who’s more than a man when he speaks against Steve’s mouth:

“Precious beyond all else and others.”

He pulls back, and marvels more, then narrows his eyes in a way Steve’s never seen, pupils contracting inward from the sides into slits.

“You are mine,” Eddie growls; “but the demands we make are not idle, and they did not value you as you deserved,” Eddie scowls, and Steve sees it now, where he’s going, what he’s doing:

“And they thought it acceptable to send you to me as their most valued, believing they sent you to your death?” Eddie seethes:

“It cannot go unpunished.”

Steve…sees it. Understands, now.

It does not hurt, the idea of losing people who were family only in name, especially not to the man before him, who is all that family should mean, could mean, will mean.

Always, now.

“The villagers are innocents, please,” Steve whispers, and Eddie cups his cheek, so lovingly it aches.

“Fret not,” he says with that warmth that Steve’s melted in from the very start; “I know who deserves my ire.” His expression sours, hardens:

“And they will know their hard-earned consequences.”

Eddie kisses Steve with a kind of devotion bigger than the sky somehow, and it’s only because Steve’s reeling to get his footing back that he trails behind Eddie and not at his side as he makes to depart.

“Please do not follow me, beloved,” he calls over his shoulder, not breaking his pace; “I do not wish you to see-“

“I will stay,” Steve answers, like the words were waiting on this tongue of this very moment: “if.”

Eddie stills; turns.

“If?”

“You promise to return with all haste,” Steve reaches him quick and is the one who kisses with all that he knows, all that he can imagine, all that he holds inside of himself and shares already with Eddie uninhibited; “I will be cold without you.”

And that makes Eddie soften; smile as he promises:

“Done.”

“And,” Steve adds, pulling away from Eddie’s lips to look him straight on as Eddie’s brow quirks in question:

“And?”

“Change for me.”

And Eddie, for once, is wholly dumbfounded. Speechless.

It’s quite a feat to behold.

“You,” he stammers; “you wish to see,” he shakes his head, disbelieving; “beloved, it is not, I am,” and oh, oh: Steve did not expect this part: “we are cast as fearsome creatures for good reason.”

He is wary. He is cautious. He thinks himself the monster. He wants to hide this part from Steve.

But Steve will have nothing hidden between them, least of all this: the whole of who his love is.

“I do not fear you, I could not,” Steve pledges in truth; “and any creature with your heart, who has captured my soul,” Steve grabs Eddie’s shoulders and draws him in, bows those foreheads into one another:

“You could never be anything short of exquisite. Breathtakingly so.”

Eddies breathing is hitched, stuttering. Steve wants to cry for the way he is surprised. Wants to mourn for whatever hurt him to make him this cautious, this stunned by Steve’s love: unconditional.

Undying, now that it’s possible to give as such, and in truth.

And Steve waits, watches him, stares patient until Eddie sighs deeply, steps back far and then closes his eyes and…becomes.

Larger, of course. The wings are a feat. The talons are less a surprise from his spindly fingers.

He’s, he is…

“You are,” Steve reaches, waits until Eddie comes to him, welcomes his touch this way and to feel him, smooth scale not so unlike the chest bare against him in the night—warmth and safety and all that is right:

“Magnificent. And I would know you,” Steve tells him, seeks his gaze as he speaks from the very core of his being: “even if I hadn’t seen it for myself.”

He steps closer, waits for Eddie to be curious enough to bow his head low so Steve can mimic how they’d stood, forehead pressed just moments before.

“These unfathomable eyes,” he whispers between them, and smiles at how those eyes fall closed in something like relief, like comfort after laying down a heavy burden as Steve reaches for the soft underbelly in lighter scales against the charcoal of the rest of his beloved’s form:

“The might of this heart,” and he presses, and yes, exactly as he knew he’d find: thunderous. Could part seas, reshape the globe, stir the stars.

And it’s Steve’s. So he doesn’t hesitate to press his lips above the breathing and breathe out:

“Unmistakable, my darling.”

When he pulls back those eyes truly are just the same: they wonder. They marvel.

At Steve. Just Steve.

It’s intoxicating.

“Do what must be done,” Steve nuzzles at the side of Eddie’s face, pulls his snout to his shoulder so he can kiss at what he supposes is something of a cheek, and then he pulls back, lets go.

But only their bodies. Nothing more. Never anything more. Not ever again.

“Then come home to me.”

Steve could be wrong, or just wishful, but he thinks Eddie glows from within through the whole of himself, and not just his eyes, as he takes flight and shoots like the star Steve always saw inside him, up into the night.

~~~~~~~~~~

It’s not long. It’s just as Eddie promised.

After everything, Steve hadn’t worried at all that it would be anything else.

“It was painless,” is what Eddie says as he walks back into the cave, a man again; “and it was for the sake of justice overdue,” as if he must explain. Or seek forgiveness.

Steve pulls him in and kisses him until he’s breathless as an answer for both concerns.

“What now?” he can’t help but ask. He is still more in love than he can breathe through. Will live and die exactly that way for time innumerable.

“You wish to be here, with me?” Eddie asks, almost hesitant; seeking.“You do not feel indebted, or, or coerced? Or tricked or held by force or—”

Steve grins at the babbling, the nervous rambles. To think they’re because of him.

It might just give him an absolutely unbearable ego of his own if it’s to be the norm forevermore.

“Love,” Steve presses a single raised finger to the missile of Eddie’s lips, watches as he adorable crosses his eyes to follow its trajectory.

“You are all that I have imagined and never thought to find.” And it really is as simple and as unthinkable as that, in the end. Or the beginning. “The only way I would be anywhere but your side is to be torn from it, or sent away.”

Eddie growls at the first suggestion, and huffs in pure offense at the suggestion of the second as he reaches and pulls Steve flush to his body: warm, warm, warm.

Steve’s heart flutters against him, reminding him that he owns it wholly.

Eddie’s drums in protective answer, welcoming as much as seeking to leap into Steve’s chest on the same promise, the same pledge as he murmurs into Steve’s lips:

“You still misestimate what it means to be loved by a dragon,” and drags his mouth against Steve’s bottom lips, a little wanton even as his words carry the weight of the universe entire:

“This,” and he clutches Steve’s closer still, so as to not be mistaken; “is for as much of eternity as is for us to grasp.”

It is not sacrifice at all to kiss the man, to love the dragon, in front of him, now.

And for the rest of time ahead.

For @a-little-unsteddie, who requested the quote 'Magic' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

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cherrycola27 · 2 years ago

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Father, Forgive Me

Warnings: Religious AU! Preacher Jake. Cult activities and dark religious themes. Blood, gore, violence, language. Minors DNI. 18+

Masterlist Next Part

...........................................

Prologue: For I have Sinned

There are a few defining characteristics that one must have to be considered a good leader.

Kind eyes, a bright smile, quick wit, a firm handshake, a charming personality, and a silver tongue that could sell ice to a polar bear. Most people only needed a few of these to be convincing enough for someone to blindly follow them.

But, if someone possessed all of these qualities and topped it off with a southern drawl and movie star face and the wrong intentions, well—they could be downright— deadly.

That's exactly what happened to the good people of Ginger Ridge, North Carolina. A devilishly handsome young reverend rolled into their town. Reverend Smith. He was young, mysterious, —different.

He fixed up the old white church at the top of Ridge Hill. He came to town and invited the people to hear his sermons. At first, he seemed amazing. Charming, caring, sweet. Everyone loved him. No— they adored him—especially the younger folks who seemed lost in their faith.

Soon, he started hosting "special" prayer groups for the lost teens and young adults of Ginger Ridge. Many of the older folks stopped attending after this. They felt like Father Smith wasn't preaching the word to them anymore. They felt like he had changed. His teachings became— darker. They townspeople tried to keep They young folks away from him, but it was no use.

The lost youth continued to flock to him like moths to flame. Blindly holding on to every word he said. In their mind, Father Jonas Smith was the mouthpiece of God, and they would do anything to please them. Maybe that's why after his disappearance, there were over dozen blonde haired, green eyed babes born to some unwed mothers in Ginger Ridge.

................

The full moon hung high in the sky that night in the sleepy mountain town of Ginger Ridge. It was peaceful as a warm summer wind blew in through the open windows of the townspeople's homes. That peace would soon be disturbed by the sound screams and cries for mercy as Reverend Smith's "lost youth" carried out his sinister plan.

When the local law enforcement from the next town over was tipped off, they immediately contacted the FBI. Agents came into the small mountain community and couldn't believe their eyes. Blood and bodies of men and women filled the streets and homes. The youth and children were nowhere to be found. Upon further investigation, they were found in the white church at the top of Ridge Hill.

All of them were clothed and singing a sermon in white robes that had been stained and splattered with the crimson red blood of their family and friends.

When they were taken in for questioning, each one said the same thing. "Reverend Smith preached the good word to us. He is truly a prophet of God. Our souls will be welcomed in the Great Hereafter now that the sacrifice has been given." What was even more disturbing than that were the roughly fifteen or so girls between the ages of eighteen and twenty-four who all claimed that they had been extra blessed because they had been selected by God himself to carry the child of Reverend Smith and raise the next generations of prophets.

The FBI attempted to locate Reverend Jonas Smith after that night, only to find that he never existed.

After months of searching for him, the trail went cold, and the case was given to you, Agent Y/N Walters. After a few weeks of digging you did stumble upon a similar case from Massachusetts, except the man believed to be behind it was someone named Father Jackson Simmons and a case from Texas but the person of interests name in that one was James Simon.

You read each file and realized that Jonas, Jackson, and James all had to be the same man. You just had to figure out who he really was and stop him before the events of Ginger Ridge were repeated.

..........

The windows were down on his beat up late eighties model pickup truck as Jake Seresin drove down the highway. He fiddled with the radio station landing on a Beach Boys song as he drove past the "Welcome to California" sign.

The sun was just setting as he pulled into the small seaside motel in the town of Del Angelo. He adjusted his tie and grabbed his duffle bag before exiting his vehicle.

"Good evening." The older woman at the desk greeted him.

"Evening Ma'am." Jake said as he walked up to the counter. He dropped his bag by his feet and set his worn Bible and keys on the counter.

"How can I help you?" She asked him.

"I called yesterday. I have a reservation for the next few weeks under the name Saunders." He said before giving her a wide smile.

"Ah, yes, I remember. Jason Sauders. I have the reservation right here. A room on the third floor, end of the hall, just as you requested." She smiled at him before handing him the key. Jake handed her a large stack of bills and gave her a wink.

"My name is Ethel if you need anything, and if I'm not around, you can ask my husband David or my daughter Mary-Ann." She told him.

"Thank you, Miss Ethel. You know there actually is something you might be able to help me with." He said.

"What's that?" Ethel asked him.

"When I was driving in town, I noticed an old boarded up church. Any idea who I could talk to about fixing it up?" Jake asked her.

"You'd probably need to talk to Mayor Andrews about that. Is there any reason you want to fix up that old place?" She asked him.

"Well, Ethel, my full name is Reverend Jason Sauders, and I was hoping to fix up that church so I could bring the word of God to the people of Del Angelo." Jake told her.

"A preacher? My word, we haven't had one of those here in years. Lord knows we need one. You might be just what we need around here, Reverend Sauders." Ethel beamed.

"I hope so. I know that after I'm finished, Del Angelo will never be the same." Jake smirked at her before grabbing his things and heading to his room. He chuckled to himself, knowing that the first part of his plan had already been put in motion.

Tagging some who might be interested: @thedroneranger @roosterscock @shanimallina87 @desert-fern @teacupsandtopgun @mayhemmanaged @lovinglyeternal @lovingbradshawafterdark @wkndwlff @roosterforme @daggerspare-standingby @dakotakazansky @startrekfangirl2233 @hecate-steps-on-me @cassiemitchell @na-ta-sh-aa @blueoorchid @milestellerlover @katieshook02 @mak-32 @je-suis-prest-rachel @soulmates8 @ohgodnotagainn @diorrfairy @eli2447 @xoxabs88xox @potato-girl99981 @djs8891 @roosterbruiser @roosters-girl @sebsxphia @roostette

Hope yall enjoyed my unmedicated ADHD filled dumpster fire

#preacher!jake seresin #cult leader!jake seresin #jake seresin au #cherrycola27 #top gun maverick #top gun #lt. jake seresin #jake seresin #jake seresin smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #hangman seresin #jake hangman seresin #hangman top gun #tgm smut #tgm fic #tgm #top gun 2

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beezonia · 4 months ago

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Sentitwin Week - Day 3

Risk

(A little something for my 1920s au!)

——

“You’re taking a huge risk doing this.”

A hum follows, Félix knows his cousin is too absorbed in those papers that cover his desk to care.

“I’m being serious, has Plagg not told you the amount of danger you’ll get yourself in if you try to compete against your parents?”

A scoff.

He’s getting pissed. It has been about an hour since they started this conversation, the cousins against each other’s worst decisions.

“If I do this, they won’t have the right to try control me anymore Fé, I’ll be free!”

New money, if he made enough Adrien would be able to stand on his own two feet. The oh so beloved pair of the Pappilion Quarter (his parents) wouldn’t be able to touch him without damaging their reputation.

Which wouldn’t be good for them at all.

“Look cus, I’ll support you and you know my mother will do anything to get back at her sister. But are you willing to make this much of a sacrifice? You’re twenty one for christ sake!”

Felix thinks about Alya, thinks about how she continues to put herself in harms way trying to filter information through each quarter.

He thinks of Luka, one heir of Anarchy Quarters huge sum. He wants to be free, but god does that boy know he’s chained to the docks.

Felix thinks of himself, how he risked his life at the ripe age of 18 just so he could figure out what happened to uncle Beau.

All of them had made sacrifices.

Adrien hadn’t, and that’s what made Félix so wary about his cousin making a decision as bug as this, behind his parents back no less!

As always Félix would be there to support Adrien’s crusade for freedom, he had to be they blonde didn’t know the first thing about what the underground had in store for him.

What a fool, a stupid but loveable fool.

“Yeah Plagg told me jack, you know how he is. Fé I’m willing to risk a lot if it means they finally stop treating me like dirt, if it means I get my freedom.”

Shit.

Yeah, he was screwed.

“Fine. But god please be careful with how you go about this, the big bosses show no mercy when it comes to upstarts.” He knows about that spent a year with Mayura in the Le Paon Quarter. “You wanna be in with a chance of impressing them, you gotta pull out all the stops.”

Adrien nods.

“Tell me what I’ve got to do Fé.”

Well, here goes nothing.

——

I love anything 1920s themed and I’m super excited to write this au and share it bit by bit!

—-

#bee writes #sentitwin week 2024 #sentitwin week #sentitwins #1920s au #adrien agreste #félix graham de vanily

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noswordinourlake · 9 months ago

Text

@tavina-writes asked for arranged marriage fic recs, which turned into...this. Sorry Tav some of these are just very politically plotty but I figured those also fell into your mandate! I was going for a vibe. ANYWAY.

All fics MZDS/the Untamed!

Also under a read more because this got. Long.

CANON DIVERGENCES

marry for love by tuesday (3k, T, complete)

"Nie Huaisang snapped open his fan and covered his face. "Be careful. I'll take advantage.""

50-50 cute and intrigue!

from the other side of sorrow (series) by Sour_Idealist (128k, E, complete)

"Yu Ziyuan cuts off Wei Wuxian's hand. The cultivation world changes."

I couldn't tell you the split on emotional devastation and intrigue on this one because it's all happening all the time.

CANON? I DON'T KNOW HER

The Other Mountain by nirejseki (287k, T, complete)

"Lan Qiren still couldn’t quite bring himself to believe it.

He was married.

He had a wife.

That wife was Wen Ruohan."

I feel like anyone who likes politically plotty fics is already following nirejseki but I also feel like this list would be incomplete if I left off THE arranged marriage fic of all time so.

love, in fire and blood by cicer (360k, E, complete)

""You want Wen Ruohan dead," the Patriarch continued idly. "You want his corpse puppets eliminated. You want his halls burned to the ground and his soldiers disemboweled and begging for mercy. Have I about covered it?"

He gave another knife-edged smile.

"But what will you give me in return?"

"We would be willing to offer quite a bit in return for Wen Ruohan's defeat," Lan Xichen admitted. "But I'm afraid we don't know what an immortal such as yourself desires. Please advise us."

The Patriarch waved at hand at the front of the tent. "I want Second Young Master Lan.""

¯⁠\⁠_⁠(⁠ ͡⁠°⁠ ͜⁠ʖ⁠ ͡⁠°⁠)⁠_⁠/⁠¯

not too strong by fluffysocks (89k, E, complete)

"He sinks back, closes his eyes again so he doesn’t have to look at all that red silk for a moment. He takes a deep breath.

It’s done. Jiang Cheng is married.

Now he just has to live with it."

Yes this is a Jiang Cheng/Lan Qiren arranged marriage AU. Trust me. Trust me. It's GOOD STUFF.

Restoration by ritualist (85k, M, complete)

"They say he was thrown into Luanzang Gang by the man who killed his parents; they say that he is an immortal cultivator who had been in a deep trance until the Wen sect disturbed his rest and incurred his wrath; they say that he is the fierce corpse of a cultivator who had somehow regained his mind and his spiritual powers. When Lan Wangji sees him for the first time, he understands why people talk.

Meng Yao wants safety. Xue Yang wants vengeance. The Sunshot Campaign wants victory. Yiling Laozu provides, for a price."

I'm a sucker for a nonlinear narrative! I don't want to know what is happening and no spoilers you won't for most of this fic. In a good way.

Give Me A Chance To Fall by brooklinegirl (38k, E, complete)

"Jiang Cheng just blows his breath out and rolls his eyes right back at Wei Wuxian. "Stop being an asshole," he says. "You're lucky this is being set up for you. Do you know how many people would die--literally die--to get the chance to be betrothed to Lan Wangji?"

"Betrothed." Wei Wuxian rolls the word around in his mouth. "It even sounds stupid.""

The classique arranged marriage AU.

JOKES JOKES JOKES

I Started From The Bottom/ And Now I'm Rich by x_los (58k, E, complete)

"Wen Qing traps Wei Wuxian in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but Wei Wuxian isn’t interested in being the beneficiary of the Wen Remnants’ noble sacrifice. His efforts to free himself accidentally send him back to the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Coreless but armed with demonic cultivation, knowledge of the future and his wits, Wei Wuxian takes advantage of this opportunity to come out on top of both the war and its aftermath—before either has a chance to happen—by marrying and swiftly burying the cultivation world’s worst men.

Lan Wangji is confused, hurt, and uncomfortably aroused by Wei Wuxian’s improbably elaborate series of Sect-themed bridal negligees."

I hesitated to include this fic in this section because it does get pretty dark and psychologically heavy but it is also. Hilarious. So!

Best Friends Forever by varnes (17k, T, complete)

"It happened like this: Jin Ling was a sect leader now, which was, and Jingyi really meant this, fucking hilarious. There were few things funnier, in his honest opinion.

Because he was young, and inexperienced, and also — it had to be said — a real shithead, there was apparently some belief amongst his advisors that the best way forward, to promote the picture of a stable, mature sect leader who absolutely did not cry at the drop of a hat, was for Jin Ling to get married.

OR: Jin Ling and Jingyi get engaged.

Things spiral from there."

Jingyi POV from varnes is a gift. Jingyi POV trying to figure out the post-canon political landscape is a treasure.

#the untamed #mzds #mzds fic recs #fic recs #this ended up being way longer than i expected OOPS #oh well Tav i hope there are at least a couple here that are new to you!#also looking at my bookmarks it occurred to me the Queen's Thief series would probably be very much your speed if you haven't read it yet #i'm back on my bullshit

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neverchecking · 1 year ago

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Eye of the Storm

ITS HERE I DID IT

Y'all have been feeding me with your own OC's writing and I finally am returning the favor (If any of you are interested at all lmao). So here it is, Part 1 of Aaliyah's (And eventually Sage's) backstory.

CW: Mentions of childhood abuse including whipping, graphic depiction of death and resurrection, canon typical violence.

It’s never something subtle.

If she ever had the choice between refusing the memories, as sharp and biting as they are when they appear, she would. If she ever had the choice between throwing away all that had bred her a title soaked in bile and blood, she’d do it. If she ever had any choice in this bittersweet life that was both simultaneously too long and yet short lived, she’d take it.

But that was the funny thing about destiny, wasn’t it? That you never really had any choice in the matter. Every choice you could’ve possibly made was made up for you already. It was all some sick cruel game that those in the heavens played in a form of twisted entertainment. Expectant that every mortal scurrying under their feet like ants would fall in line or be crushed for disobedience.

She had disobeyed once.

That was something, in a cruel twist of fate, with its dark humor and rotten jokes, that she remembered vividly. She couldn’t recall her mother’s face, or the way her father’s voice sounded, or if she ever had those in her life at all, but she could remember that start of the downward spiral. Of how out of control it had gotten. How the figurative hourglass they had given themselves shattered and sand slid through their broken and bloody fingers faster than they could cradle their broken hope to their chest.

Her duty, first and foremost, was to the Crown. To King Rhoam and his daughter, Princess Zelda. The Sheikah were ever loyal followers, blind to a fault to their flaws, and she was trained to be the same. No, not the same. She was groomed and shaped to be their best.

The prophecies in stories and carvings in loose stone portrayed a beast foul and relentless, power beyond anything this generation, not the one prior, had seen before. A power comparable to the ones the heroes of old had faced in their times; whether it be ones aiming to cast everlasting twilight over the world, shrouding it in dark magic, or ones trapped in demonic masks doing everything to bring their world, and moon, crashing down upon themselves. One that would soon be upon them.

An older woman, Chief at the time if she remembers correctly, had successfully swayed the naive and arrogant king while he was still young and foolish. Persuading him that Champions, warriors blessed with gifts and abilities far more advanced than anything he would see in his life, were to be chosen. To fight for him like valiant sacrifices, piloting technology that not even the Sheikah themselves fully understood. He had agreed and on her third birthday, she was crowned the Sheikah Champion.

In a small blessing, perhaps mercy, she did not quite recall all the ‘training’ they had put her through in order to hone her abilities for the role. In a mocking laugh, the scars on her skin spat back enough hints for her to guess. Lines upon lines painting her back and upper spine, thin lines that have long since dulled white. Swipes along her stomach and rib cage that have sealed, leaving only taught skin in their wake. Wide slits on her forearms, evident she did not go down without a fight before wilting into cries of sorrow for her pitiful soul.

But the worst has to be on her chest.

She remembered it.

Starting at the base of the left side of her torso, it crawled up in a crackled line, leeching across sun-kissed skin, until meeting the edge of the right side of her collarbone. It was what kept her up at night, fingers tracing the raised edges as she clearly went through every play by play of that fateful night.

How they had been caught so off guard, following the princess to another attempt of unlocking her powers. How her and the blond knight had accompanied the other, either in support or by duty she couldn’t recall. How nothing came of the wasteful trip.

She sometimes wondered what it would’ve been like, had she not been born Sheikah. She wouldn’t wish her position unto anyone else, but some days, when she had found a tree with tall enough branches and thick enough foliage no one could find her, she thought. Thought about being blessed a Rito, with feathers rich and thick-- mostly likely a white or brown color-- , free to travel anywhere her heart desired using only the wings on her arms. Thought about being graced with a Zora’s body, all lean muscles and smooth scales, flowing wherever the water decided. Thought about being consecrated as an unbreakable Goron with a body made of stone, steady and unyielding to everything thrown her way.

Alas, she was none of these things. She was simply a Sheikah.

A Sheikah meant to be the picture of ethereal grace and terrifying prowess. A Sheikah with the ability to harness rune extraction and the consequent rune usage. But in a mocking turn of events, not even she could’ve prepared for the sudden laughter surrounding them. High chimed and insulting, echoing in one round after another.

Training was a bittersweet memory to her. The muscle memory it had ingrained into her kept her alive, but it had taken something so precious in return. She had no memories of her childhood, because she simply didn’t have one. Any bits she scrumaged together were of early mornings, practicing swordplay in front of the rising sun. Of late mornings spent running along the village’s walkways while other Sheikah welcomed the start of their day. Of midday sparring sessions against teams of exponentially increasing numbers. Of early evenings spent worrying herself over languages that weren’t her own and history about wars she would never fight in. Of late nights spent in the dying light of an oil lamp, hands held in another set of calloused ones, that were scorchingly warm when compared to hers, too scared to speak above a gentle whisper in fear of being caught and torn away from the only worthwhile being in her life. Those memories, centered around flowers that shined the color of a cloudless sky and hair that put golden threads to shame, were her favorites.

They made the harsh realities easier to swallow. He made it worth it.

His eyes were wide with the fear of uncertainty, darting from where the Princess stood, paralyzed by her own terror, to the Sheikah, watching her every move. She could feel his eyes follow her hands as she grabbed at the stone tablet that rested on her hips. There were multiple options she was faced with here, especially with the skills acquired from years of practice, but only one option saved him. And, by correlation, the princess as well.

He had made so much worth everything. Every scrape, nick, gash, burn, and bruise worth the hits that formed them. All the sleepless nights spent riding from place to place, offering deals or favors to placate the beings of Hyrule in return for their own share of rewards. The hours spent patching wounds, both her own and his, and handling the stress that arose with every battle they were faced with.

Maybe it was the lull of his voice, harmonic and euphonias, that quelled her anxieties. Or perhaps it was the warmth of his soul, so hearty and full that it seeped out of him at any given moment. It could’ve been as simple as his touch was grounding and familiar, something she had become well acquainted with in both the dead of night, when their breaths were nothing more than sharp pants and sweat coated their bodies, and in the light of day, when they laughed in short bursts at the lengths he would allow her to go (Braiding flowers into his hair, a truly blasphemous deed).

His hand had shot out for her wrist the second he clued into what she had decided on. She predicted he would’ve. It was who he was. She had planned for it, angling her body in a way she could push the slate into his chest, and him into the princess behind him, all while drawing her weapon with her dominant hand. Blue peaked in her peripheral vision before her focus was stolen by a flash of silver. It came down too fast for her to truly comprehend what had happened.

The crack of her collarbone and corresponding ribs still haunted her dreams as she felt her entire torso crumble inwards. Blood immediately flooded where it shouldn’t, crawling up her throat and choking her in a gargle of misery. The burn of dirt crawling into her open wound lit her nerves on fire, adding gasoline to the spark when an outraged cry called out in pure pained disbelief at the image before him before it faded along with the rest of him.

She should’ve died there.

She sent him a silent apology.

She promised him so much and it was all shattered in one fell swoop.

How Impa had known about her whereabouts that day remained a tight-lipped mystery to this day. Something she wasn’t even certain she wanted to know about. Not when every image of that memory was of those precious moments spent choking on her own blood, coughing it up and letting it cool on her chin only for it to clog once more in her airway. Of feeling the shards of her bones dig into her organs as that same laughter cried out victoriously around her. Of how empty she felt, laying there and waiting for her own, self-assigned, death.

Come to think of it, she didn’t like thinking back to that aftermath either. How the agony of being moved was red-hot and molten, and how she would’ve preferred death. The feeling of no longer choking on blood but instead choking on something much thicker that invaded her nose and mouth faster than she could cough it out. Of hands pinning her in place as her vision blurred and her lungs screamed for relief before finally giving way.

Fingers clawed at flesh in a desperate attempt at escape, warbled screams crashing against the walls of the underground hut. Whoever had a hold on her was stronger than she accounted for, squeezing against her windpipe hard enough to crush the vital organ while another hand pushed on her imploded ribcage. There were words being shouted above her, but they sounded far off and muffled. As if whatever was currently suffocating her was also making her deaf. Death would’ve been preferred.

It would’ve been a mercy to her as years passed. Day in and day out of an agonizingly slow and searing pain as her bones rebuilt themselves. Minutes ticking by in hellish torture as skin stitched itself together. Seconds fleeting away, taking away her mind and soul with it and scattering it along the land she swore to protect, only for it to stretch her thin enough to snap and feast on her broken remains and-

“You okay, sunshine?”

Blinking, she reeled her wandering mind back into its place, turning to face the concerned male. Those very same eyes watched her every breath, tracing her microexpressions and following her ques.

A part of her wanted to deny him. Wanted to push it all off and lie, say she was fine. More than, in fact.

But she had hurt him enough as was.

Stepping closer, Aaliyah felt an easy smile twist her lips in the same way it did whenever he was there. Here. With her. Her arms wrapped around his waist as her chin settled on his own collarbone, topaz eyes looking up at him in pure adoration. One of his hands, calloused and scorchingly warm, cupped her cheek, thumb rubbing her under eye when she nuzzled into it. Every part of him fits with her. She was made for him no matter what they had tried pushing upon her. She hummed happily at his comfort, keening into the kiss he bestowed upon her forehead.

“I’ll get there.”

She’d make sure of it. No matter how many nights she spent stuffing her fingers into her mouth to muffle her sobs or how long she spent fighting long ingrained habits in an effort to fix herself into the most proficient version she could be for him.

Because while her training deemed her loyalty to the crown, she gifted it to the knight who was once too shy to look her in the eye let alone make such common touches along her skin.

He was worth it.

#yandere linked universe #yandere linked universe x reader #linked universe x reader #linked universe #yandere legend of zelda #legend of zelda #linkeduniverse #link x reader #Link x OC #Aaliyah x Sage #Sage x Aaliyah #Aaliyah is here yall!#Please feed me with your thoughts ;-;

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lothirielswandc · 1 year ago

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HOMEWRECKER (LOVE + FEAR)

Read on AO3 here!

— E P I L O G U E —

— L E G I O N O F D O O M H Q —

The ghostly pallor seared his eyes. Holograms hummed around him. They made it easier to pretend Lex wasn't there.

“You won't let this go, will you?” Lex appeared spectral, bathed in the moonlike shine. An annoying figment of his imagination.

Conner ignored him. He continued to scribble physics formulas across the touchscreen table. That was one of the perks of being Lex’s spawn. The whole brainiac part.

“I can fix everything,” Conner murmured. It was more of a personal assurance than actually talking to Lex.

“Hmph.” Lex stared at the blue text. “I’ll admit, I see the potential. But it’s a total reset. You have to be willing to sacrifice everything to do it.”

Kon kept writing.

“Not to mention, everyone else would have to start over, too.”

His pen flew across the touchpad, shrieking in protest.

“Which, I suppose, is the point. You and your fixations…you must acquire that from me.”

Conner focused on the hum of the screens. It was doable — with the right technology. It would cost a bajillion dollars, but thankfully Luthor genes were expensive. Kon could make blueprints easy —

Lex’s hand slammed against the table. He leaned over to be eye level with Conner. “Are you listening to me?”

Conner just nodded along. He already knew the warnings that Lex was throwing at him. He didn't care. “I know.”

Lex looked away with a miffed expression. For a minute there, he almost looked like a father.

Mercy shifted from the shadows of the room. She put a hand on Lex’s arm and he shrugged her off.

Mercy looked at Conner. Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but then sharply closed them. Her heels clicked as she left the room.

Conner kept writing. He stole a glance every now and then at Lex. Lex stood at the window, looking out. Lots of the headquarters were missing. It was more of a large, abstract art piece of workmen on wooden panels at this point. The drilling sounds from people putting the building back together were annoying.

They’re still trying to fix the destruction from —

Kon flinched away from the thought. All of his focus went into the small, fluid movements of his hand.

“I know you were infatuated with my assistant,” Lex said carefully. “But all of this, just for one girl. One dead girl…”

Small snapping sounds caught Conner’s attention. Tiny cracks bloomed across the stylus. Like wounds. Conner laxed his grip.

That was the lie they sold to lex. Rachel Grey died by the hands of Raven. Ironic. What’s sad was how true it was.

Ray.

The love monster from her head shortly followed whenever Conner thought of her. He shuddered to think of that walking freakshow, but that was all the proof he needed that he was doing the right thing. Love wasn't monstrous. It wasn't supposed to be.

‘Let’s just stick with being happy for now.’

That was the real lie. How could Conner make her happy at all, with things the way they were? How could Conner make Raven when it wasn't just Raven anymore? It was Raven and Da —

No. Conner would only cause her pain now. He was sure of that.

Kon set the deformed stylus down and rubbed at his eyes. “If I could go back — even before then. To the minute we met…”

‘Sorry for crashing your party.’

‘Don’t apologize. I don't mind.’

No, even before then. Save Raven from all the timeline heartache. Terra’s betrayal. Trigon’s invasion. Azarath’s demise.

If it was to preserve the most beautiful thing Conner had ever seen — Raven’s smile — it was worth it.

Lex turned back to him. His face was twisted…in pain. “I know I’m not the best father figure. But this comes from a place of love. Perhaps…it might be best to move on? I know you won't like that. But personality defects aside, you have good looks. You have manners. People like you. You’re…good. It wouldn't be hard to meet someone else.”

Conner shook his head. This wasn't some stupid crush. He owed Raven everything. She was the first to go out of her way and do something nice for him, no ulterior motive. The first to skate down the halls with him and not complain about scuff marks on the floor. Everything about her calmed his senses and made them all go haywire at the same time.

And now she probably doesn't even want to see me. The way things are…she doesn't deserve that. It’s better this way. To start over.

“No. It's the right thing to do.” Conner looked up at the blue screen. S.T.A.R. Labs documents were scrawled across every electronic surface. Detailing one theory.

The Flashpoint.

Clear the board. Start again.

THE TITANS WILL RETURN.

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liliallowed · 1 year ago

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This is so frustrating! We reset because sans might have hated and killed Y/N, but even if he doesn't want to kill us he hates us now and is suspicious! We have to find some way to make him like us! I wish we never freed that demon, we should have just done whatever he said from start.

Okay damn that sounded desperate I think I might have gotten Stockholm syndrome from being kidnapped-

you want to make him like you you say?

a familiar voice echoed through your mind... merging with your strange feelings.

"I feel the same. though I have yet to win him over." they giggle, as they tilt their head.

"of course he wouldn't love you you ... you" your throat tightens.

"I... what? took away his freedom and choice? forced him into a corner for my selfish benifit? sounds like what he did to you and yet you LIKE it. don't you? you little freak hehehehe you're like me aren't youuuu? you LIKE HIM TOO DON'T YOU?"

their eyes glistened in the shadows their form flickering in and out of existence.

"what...? Not like that! that's not love. we're NOT the same. stop comparing your sick obsession to..."

"to? what? fairytales or romance? or is it the THRILL? or guilt and pity? there's something wrong with you buddy. I knew you had a loose screw too. you're like me. he USED you silly~ did you actually think he loved you because you're that special someone?"

you shake your head. it was just them playing with your head. you weren't like them... were you? of course not. you wouldn't lie, manipulate or... would he kill you if you told him the truth? maybe it wasn't too late... you wouldn't just use this power for evil.

if they thought they could corrupt you with this then they had another thing coming. you wouldn't let them.

you were going to stop this demon and... maybe help him.

"oh... how cliche and predictable. wow playing the hero are we? okay I'm picking up on what you're going for! I tried the same too but he saw through it when I split myself from frisk... hehehe he's smart. don't assume you'll be granted mercy if you play nice or he'll kill you if you're compliant. think outside of the box. he won't fall for it if you're TOO nice. just conveniently TOO PERFECT and kind."

you ignored their words.

"he likes ketchup.... reading... hes pretty quiet and distrustful." they suddenly spoke again, listing more information that felt personal. how long had they known each other?

"he also loves to plan ahead to a ridiculous extent." they rolled they're eyes.

"I don't need your help I'll figure this out on my own." you glare at them.

"I'm sure you will." they disappeared from your sight leaving you alone with no direction or guide.

GOOD.

you make your way around going about your day, they way you'd normally do... ignoring the HEAVY lingering sense of dejavu.

same faces same voices same vague conversations as you bypassed an exact copy of a moth long forgotten...

/keep it together. you got this./ you tell yourself taking a deep breath.

he hadn't made any moves to show himself to you yet... how could you make things better?

the question remained...

why DID you feel for him? was it guilt for releasing his enemy? or betraying his trust? was it even a betrayal if he never intended to get you involved in the first place?

it was too convenient.... why you? was it REALLY just for this demon?

...

it was fine. you just had to return him this demon and then he'd... /he'd kill you anyway dumbass/

"stop... he won't. "

/you don't know him like I do. he'll still kill you even if you're on his side./

"then why did he let me leave?"

/cuz you weren't worth the attention. he's dangerous and even if you win his favor... who's to say he won't just add you to a part of his exp as a sentiment to keep your sacrifice on him? he's unpredictable. if you want to keep yourself alive you'll have to be smart./

he...

/he's killed everyone. all his friends family and loved ones. what makes you think YOU'RE so special to him? people have tried saving him. old friends... his brother, even colleagues. all dead. betrayed. do you REALLY feel confident your love is stronger than those bonds? main character syndrome much?/

...

*your will wavers.

#lv triangle #dusttale player #player x reader #reader x dust #liliwrites

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ungrateful-cyborg-moved · 1 year ago

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Happy birthday!

💬 (what is this about DA characters I'm hearing? Can you show/describe them and their personalities?)

In order: Armin, Lancelot and Amaya. Hawke is just Hawke so I didn't put him here.

I'm sorry, this is... long :'D

Armin Surana

He's my mage Warden. Born to a Dalish clan, he developed his powers at an early age. Unfortunately for him, his clan already had a few mages so they gave him to another clan living nearby. Being a young boy who very much didn't understand why his people didn't want him anymore, he decided that he didn't like his new clan and ran away. Eventually he found himself in a village where Greagoir discovered him after he set his own hair on fire out of anger. And Greagoir being a Templar, he brought the kid to the Circle of Magi where the story starts when you chose that origin.

Honestly his life in the Circle was actually pretty good. Past the few first months, he managed to find his place and didn't particularly want to leave after his Harrowing. If not for Jowan, he was mostly set on becoming First Enchanter at some point in his life.

And I think Alistair was very lucky that the only surviving Grey Warden save for himself actually enjoyed leading and already had a strategic mind.

Though mostly Armin is fairly diplomatic, merciful and patient. He does have strong opinions about certain things, but is careful about which ones he publicly expresses and which ones are for his inner circle only.

I do think though that not a lot of people figured him as the kind of people to become Zevran's fuck buddy... and to eventually settle with Morrigan (and their son).

By the time Awakening happened, he was a changed man. More military leader than idealistic Grey Warden, still driven by the will to help others, but as you can imagine, having to sacrifice the citizens of Amaranthine didn't help him sleep at night. Although I think that knowing he'd do it again if the need arose was really what made him look at what he'd become and decide he needed to take a break from that kind of responsibilities.

Hence why he purposefully doesn't return in Inquisition. He didn't trust himself to not be more ruthless than actually needed.

(Please don't pay attention to the tattoos, I didn't know he would've needed to be an adult in a Dalish clan to have them since it's not explained in the Character Creator. Also he was meant to look East Asian but the CC is... well, it exists.)

Lancelot Cousland

My second Warden, a Warrior this time because I wanted to replay all three games as pro-Templar this time. And what better for this than to start with a young and charming noble who mostly succeeded in everything he attempted, except for, you know, saving his entire family.

I'm not yet done with him (currently nearing the Landsmeet) but he's grown more serious, albeit still joking and occasionally teasing people, and also increasingly interested in having a say in how Ferelden is ruled. I'm still not entirely sure how to go to make him marry Anora but that's the plan XD

Overall, he's charming, smart and resourceful man, albeit still a bit entitled as you'd expect from a handsome and rich young noble (though he's not exactly rich at the moment).

He believes in Andraste and the Maker like Armin does, but while Armin wasn't much of a practitioner outside of asking for a Blessing from time to time (never hurts when you need to save the world), Lancelot is more devoted overall and also a lot more wary of magic and mages. He doesn't hate them, however, and always tries to treat people fairly. His upbringing just occasionally gets in the way and blinds him, and he's more likely to seek to maintain the statu quo.

Also Loghain won't survive this play through (he did in my first and Alistair didn't forgive Armin for this, but Armin figured that killing a National Hero wasn't the smartest political choice. Especially not when you're trying to marry your friend to his daughter.)

Lancelot is romancing Leliana, because I want to see what she'll say in Inquisition—and it was the most ic choice for him.

Hawke

I won't go into too much detail about him considering he's a lot more fleshed out in the game than the Warden or Inquisitor. But I chose to play a mage again, and he took the mages' side because really, much as there is a blood mages issue in Kirkwall, the Templars were completely off the rails.

And he's an apostate.

Anders survived my first play through because you don't erase 6 years of friendship this easily, and contrary to Fenris, Anders didn't force him to kill him. They've lost contact since, however. Hawke couldn't forgive him.

He died in my Inquisition playthrough to help Loghain and the Inquisitor get out of the Fade, and it broke my heart. And Varric's.

And Isabela's.

But mostly mine.

I even took a screenshot to whine to one of my friends about it

Amaya Lavellan

A confident young woman, proud of her heritage and the mission of her people to preserve as much of their history as they could, Amaya was never one to entirely reject Humanity but never really trusted them either. Which is, in fact, specifically the reason why she never completely rejected them: she prefers to not blind herself willingly of what humans are doing in the vicinity of her clan.

I purposefully made her less diplomatic than Armin and Hawke, especially in the beginning because she wanted nothing to do with the Inquisition. Once she became the official leader, however, she took her role seriously. But even though she'd been trained to become the next Keeper of her clan, she never felt completely comfortable in her role as the Inquisitor.

Part of that is simply that Amaya wanted nothing to do with anything related to the Maker and the Chantry. Being called the Herald of Andraste kept irking her until the end, though over time she became less vocal about her disliking of the title and more pragmatic about it. She even gave more space to the cult of Andraste in Skyhold, as she figured, with a little bit of Josephine's nudging, that one of the strongest common point between Orlais and Ferelden was a powerful tool to wield to unite both countries against Corypheus.

The other reason why she didn't feel comfortable in her role was simply that the Inquisition grew too big too quickly, and the fallout in Trespasser was honestly not a huge surprise to her (she opted to disband the Inquisition rather than risk corruption again).

But because she has impeccable taste in men, and a purposefully made a female elf to romance Solas, she hm... she couldn't pretend to be surprised that the Inquisition was crumbling onto itself but she was not prepared for him to be the main culprit.

She's still hoping she can make him change his mind.

I also used a mod to be able to romance several people. And she does have impeccable taste in men, so obviously she also romanced Blackwall. And dumped him after learning the truth, though she chose to let him truly become a Grey Warden instead of letting him die or making him lie. Again.

Fortunately, Cullen proved more reliable than her other partners. They eloped in Trespasser.

(She also became a Red Jenny. An excellent way to deal with her anger while still being useful to the people.

It took me a while to figure out while she kept Sera in the Inquisition, considering that Amaya didn't consider her really fit for the job even though she does see Sera as her friend, but eventually it became obvious to me that what made Sera so important was how she never let Amaya lose sight of her priorities. She kept her down-to-earth, and with the power Amaya had at her disposal, someone not afraid to tell her when she started to lost herself in politics was truly precious.)

I'm sorry this is so damn long, but I hope you enjoy learning about them! And thank you so much for the ask, @confusedtia!

#The More You Know #answered; Armin #answered; Lancelot #answered; Hawke #answered; Amaya

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scary-movies-on-netflix · 9 months ago

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OUT OF DARKNESS (2022)

When horror movies makers try to set some horror in the past, they usually go to the 1990’s or 1980’s, maybe even the 1970’s. Rarely do they go back 40,000 years into prehistory. Were our distant ancestors prone to being spooked?

This is about a band of wandering humans. We have, for lack of better names, Chief-dude, Pregnant Woman (with Chief’s child), Chief’s Young Son, Chief’s Brother, Old Dude, and Stray Woman. They’ve apparently sailed to a new area, but there’s not much food so they’re slowly starving to death. Chief decides to lead them to a distant mountain, where they will surely find a cave to live in. On the way there, the Chief and Brother find a dead mastodon, which has already been stripped of its flesh! Chief says they will avoid the forest on their path to the mountain, because forests are scary.

That night they hear screams and moans from the darkness (and the dark is really dark). Something snatches the boy away from the fire. Chief tries to run after him, but his brother convinces him that would be folly. The next day they’re tracking the boy, and they head straight into the spooky forest! They are suddenly surrounded by spooky screams and moans, and someone tells Chief, “You’ve led us into a trap.” Night is falling, but Stray Woman manages to light a fire. Chief runs into the forest to battle the monsters, but Brother has to go out and drag him back. Thing is, Chief’s jaw has been ripped off. Stray Woman mercy kills him (after his brother declines), and they eat some of Chief for strength (but Brother declines).

Next morning, Brother tries to lead them out of the forest, but they end up back where they started! Mediocre! Old Dude and Pregnant Woman decide to sacrifice Stray Woman to the monsters. Brother is knocked over and hits his head on a rock. The duo drag Stray Woman to a pile of refuse, but Stray Woman escapes. Old Dude stabs Pregnant Woman, to sacrifice her instead, but Pregnant Woman knocks him over so that he impales his leg on a tree, and then she dies. Night eventually falls, and something drags away the Pregnant Woman’s body. Stray Woman is lit up by a greenish aurora borealis, and she stares at the Old Dude for a bit.

After yet another morning, Brother is finally up and about. A heavy mist lays upon the land, and he and Stray Woman watch a figure looming over the Old Dude. Stray Woman suddenly whistles, drawing its attention, and as it approaches Stray Woman circles around it and tackles it! She rips off its reed mask, and it’s just a woman! She flees, and Brother and Stray chase after her, out of the forest. Brother stops the chase. Stray says, “She’s a monster!” He says, “She’s just like us.”

They track the woman all the way to the mountain they were heading to in the first place. They each enter a different cave entrance. Stray eventually encounters a big dude with a heavy brow, much like the woman, and so I assume that they are Neanderthals. He chokes her out, but she’s only pretending to be dead and she stabs him with a little stone knife she carries. She then stabs him with a spear. She heads deeper into the cave and discovers a sleeping area, where she finds Chief’s Son! The Neanderthal Woman appears, and there is much yelling and shouting. Boy seems to think that she is a friend. Brother appears, and Neanderthal Woman caves in his head with a leg bone. A fire has started, and Stray and Boy climb up a tunnel to the surface. Neanderthal woman follows them. Boy tries to help her, but Stray kills her instead. “She was a monster,” Stray says. “They were just like us,” Boy says.

Boy repeats that Neanderthal couple were nice. They were trying to save him from starvation. Stray and Boy return to the cave, where they find that the couple had performed some funerary rites for Pregnant Woman. They had food stored. They had painted their handprints on the walls. Stray Woman feels bad, but she claims the cave anyway and says, “we’ll try again.”

This was fine. There were some decent spooks, with dark nights and spooky forests. The “monsters,” such as they were, were more or less effective, but there was a distinct disconnect from their earlier superhuman speed and strength, and then the final third, where they were just people. For the ending, I was sort of hoping that the monsters would be real monsters, but I wasn’t that surprised when they were just misunderstood Neanderthals. Also, the Neanderthals’ motivations were a bit weird. I mean, they kidnapped the child of another tribe. Even if their motivations were kind, what did they expect the rest of the homo sapiens tribe to do? Perhaps…the Neanderthals just viewed the world differently than us.

So, I have seen some consistent complaints from the internet about this movie. First, “the cavepeople are too well-groomed! Their haircuts are too nice and they have good teeth! GRR!” My response: who cares. Maybe they carved some super-sharp rocks to shave? We don’t know, and we probably can’t know. Also, they used a completely fabricated language for this movie. Are you bitching about that, too? When you sit down for a movie, you have to accept a certain level of ahistoricity. Turn off that part of your brain saying, “THIS ISN’T HISTORICALLY ACCURATE! GRR!” You’ll have a better time. Second, “this movie is shoving contemporary issues down my throat! I hate it! GRR!” To this: shut up. Just shut up. We live in world where, if someone has a slightly different skin color than you and worships a different imaginary sky-spirit, you hate them and want them to stay away from you because they’ll “pollute the blood of the nation.” People now are nasty and xenophobic. It’s highly likely that there were violent interactions with other hominids. This is just a tale about human nature. Finally, “Stray is just a FINAL GIRL GRR!” Ok, maybe that’s valid, but the point is just tired and irksome when it veers into incel-speak “I HATE WOKE MOVIES.” Dude, calm down. This isn’t about you. It’s just a movie.

#out of darkness #horror movie #survival horror #movie review #2022 #ok

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kneelbeforeclefairy · 1 year ago

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So I haven't done like a huge study of it, but I think the short answer is there isn't any practiced religion.

So in the first episode, Arthur says "god have mercy" when looking at Morgana, "thank God" when he finds merlin again, and Huniths note to Gaius says "May God save you both." I think these are the only references to a single god in the show, though I seem to remember one time when Gaius says "thank God," in a very casual way, the same way one would say thank goodness or something. The first references in episode one you could chalk up to early installment weirdness, which there is a lot of in episode one (Merlin's Anxiety Time Stop ability never appears again, a guy has a last name, Arthur has cronies who disappear etc) and the last one seems like just a common figure of speech that some writer forgot wasn't used and stayed in. But it looks like the show was intentionally avoiding references to religion and especially singular god. But, for the sake of world building, let's assume they have meaning.

In verse, gods are literally real. Off the top of my head is Merlin's summoning of the White Goddess who heals Gwen, and the Triple Goddess is mentioned more than once, though she never appears. There are other spiritual creatures as well, (the Disir, Merlin himself) , that are literally real as well who aren't necessarily worshipped as gods. The afterlife is known to be real. (Lancelot coming back as a shade, Arthur immediately accepting as fact he can talk to his father, references to the spirit world, the weird spirits whose names I can't remember who came through during Samhain.) Uther may consider these things sorcery, but he doesn't disbelieve their existence.

Of course, there's constant talk about the Old Religion, which sometimes seems to be a euphemism for any sort of magical practice, but does sometimes seem to have been a semi-organized religion with High Priestesses, who served the Triple Goddess, and who performed at least some rituals and rites that had to do with gods, though ancestors and spirits are referenced too. The druids seem to have their own practice and culture, and it's possible other magic users have some sort of nature religion, or worship of magic itself, that isn't necessarily tied to whatever the High Priestesses have going on. From how Gaius describes their rituals (human sacrifice, blood magic, summoning the dead, and at least one made an ARMY of the undead, creating lamia) it's possible the high priestesses were not ...popular ..among the people, as their rites were dangerous and violent, and they were a closed society limited only to very powerful, female, magic users, which suggests ordinary people did not participate in the old religion in an organized way. One of the reasons I think Uther was able to carry out his purge so successfully and with so much popular support was he started with targets that people actually did fear, and removed some genuine problems. Then, of course, while the people were celebrating the destruction of evil magic, he was able to frame ALL magic as evil, and destroy everyone who had magic, weather they were good bad or indifferent.

Gaius is an interesting case. From his name I always assumed he was Roman, perhaps coming to Albion as a child, or, more likely from his extensive knowledge of Albion's history and legends , is of mixed Roman and Brittanic heritage. The ikon in his rooms suggest that he, at least at some point, was Christian, as Christianity was the official religion of Rome, which is supported by his use of the singular god a few times. Hunith saying "may god protect you both" in her letter may not necessarily be a reference to the god she believes in, but to the god Gaius believes in, as a polytheist may see the Christian god as just another god that some people worship. However, Gaius knows a lot about the Old Religion, and speaks of it with respect, though he speaks of the high priestesses with some scorn, suggesting that he may never have followed their brand of it. Perhaps he's culturally mixed in religions as well, and the icon doesn't necessarily represent his personal beliefs, but is culturally significant to him rather than religiously significant.

So here's, going off of all that , what I think is going on in Merlin. Before Uther's reign most of the inhabitants of Albion practiced the Old Religion, which could mean different things to different people, but largely worshipped the Triple Goddess. The High Priestesses were the direct servants of the Goddess, but they may have been feared more than loved. Ordinary magic users may have had a more benign practice that didn't have much to do with the High Priestesses, more like a nature religion. Magic users may have had a special place or role within the old religion, and It is possible ONLY magic users practiced the Old Religion, with ordinary people being more secular, but they seem to know OF it.

After Uther conquered Camelot and made magic illegal, the old religion was similarly abolished, and all it's practices. Gaius, out of obedience to this decree, may have given up any worship of either or both of his religions. Uther does not offer a replacement for the old religion, but seems to mandate secularism and atheism.In the 20 years since the end of the purge (and who knows how long the purge took, we know Arthur's birth kicked it off, but we don't really know his age, though it's been 20 years since Kilgarrah was imprisoned, which I think was the END of the purge, since Uther declares it a holiday to commemorate Camelot being "freed" from sorcery) it seems that Uther's anti religious beliefs have taken off, to the point that most people don't practice any religion, and don't seem bothered by that. Festivals that were once religious (the high priestesses had rites to summon the dead on Samhain) have now become secular celebrations, and the upper classes, at least, have no organized beliefs or practices. Most of them still seem to believe in the EXISTANCE of the afterlife, or spirits, but they'd be stupid not to, as these things are literally real, they have just reframed them as Sorcery, and thus evil, or, at very least, to be avoided. Arthur himself never references gods, so his exclamation of "god have mercy" and "thank God" seem to just be figures of speech, perhaps picked up from Gaius, or leftover from influence from the Romans. He doesn't say "god have mercy" again, and I don't THINK he says thank God again, but I could be wrong.

Its a little harder to tell what's going on among the lower classes. Uther's purge of magic users seemed pretty thorough, and it looks like belief in the old religion went with them. From the scene where Arthur stops a group of peasants from burning an old woman in season 5, it seems his propoganda against magic has spread enough that many non magic users fear magic, if not hate it out right, and they probably no longer practice any religion they might have had. If you assume the practice of the Old Religion was limited to those with magic, as most of them are dead, the common people without magic now don't think much about it, as it was never much a huge part of their lives. If they practiced at all, perhaps they were content to give up religion as long as sorcery went with it, an acceptable sacrific. To go even further, it's possible that because the high priestesses were genuinely a problem, their religion was never popular among non magic users at all, and if they practiced it at all, it may have been more out of fear that love, and they were glad to be rid of it . What does survive of the Old Religion seems now inextricably tied to the practice of magic, and seems to have gone completely underground, but survives as a more benign version of nature worship, and the Triple Goddess seems almost forgotten.

Essentially, Uther killed religion and no one minded too much.

(I admit to zoning in on the upper class' world more, and their beliefs, so if anyone has anything to add about the common people, which seems more complex, please add it. )

Christian iconography? in my Merlin??

#merlin #merlin meta #bbc merlin #this took me like a couple of hours to write #and im largely doing it at work so it's based off ehat i remember #and things could be wrong #i hope op doesnt mind me going off on their post #but based on the tags i was suddenly FASCINATED #like what IS going on with religion

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whatisonthemoon · 2 years ago

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Does Kingship make sense in the Principle?

As I was leaving the church, there was a growing amount of emphasis on kingship. At first, it seemed like a figure of speech (SMM as “king of peace”) but as rumblings started to arise about palaces, and a growing number of excuses for his family’s hypocrisy and cruelty were being recycled in the Westchester area, I realized this was not just a figure of speech. Moon and his family seemed to find their superior identity in a logic brewed by Korean shamanism, a narcissistic (semi-)feudal imagination, and an immature Christian idea of Jesus as a glorious King. Anybody, though, who knows Jesus well enough know that his lifestyle was anything but glorious, and kingship to him meant something different. In some ways, he even subverts the whole idea. He had economically humble beginnings in a stable, he took up a nomadic ministry without pay, and died a gruesome execution by worldly powers. Yes, Jesus was declared King by the prophecies and Scriptures, and yet he totally destroys the whole notion over and over again. I was drawn to the Principle because of how it seemed to peel back the anti-logic dogma that, in my experience, drowned out God’s cries in the Christian churches. One revelation I had early on in the church when receiving the Principle of Creation lecture: God did not need us to wage war against “evolution,” but rather, to discover the patience of the artist who works on creation over the course of millions of years, all in order to form us, the pinnacle of creation, the ones who can reflect God’s heart. This Principle revealed a God who worked in this world, and needed us to do this work. It revealed a God who was bigger than a religion or church but instead walked beside all people of all societies, of all faiths, etc. It revealed a God who was not mighty but defined rather by mercy, forgiveness, Love. The technicalities of the Divine Principle may allow for kingship, as there seems to still be some rigid ideas around God and God’s judgment, but the logic does not. The logic of the Principle pushes an earnest and engaged believer to live by the “spirit of the law” rather than the letter of the law.

While I was UTS, I realized that the Divine Principle presents God in a way that aligns more with Process Theology than Arminianism or Calvinism or any other Christian perspective that was noted to be traditional. I expected others to agree, especially the more “spiritual” students, who seemed to have a very open idea of the living God. I came to this conclusion because of how we, and the Principle, talk about the Spirit World, Providence, etc. Though Calvinism was argued away by many other Unificationist students as cruel and evil, I was shot down as being overly excited about “left” academia, and was pointed toward an idea of God that was quite orthodox. This God retained the anger and judgment we saw in the Christian churches, but somehow as these students explained providence, this cruelty was nuanced away. But their explanations were non-sense and seemed to undo the great revelations of the Principle, propping God up as almighty. I realized years later that we were being taught to defend and “unsee” a cruel, hypocritical God, and I could not help but feel that we were led to do the same to Moon himself. As I began to see the unceasing programming that occurs in the UC, I left. Unfortunately, too many of my friends are stuck in that place, finding ways to excuse their years of fundraising, campaigning, making huge sacrifices, etc., dissociating as they continue to bow and donate.

#unification theology #divine principle #kingship #sun myung moon #unification church in the united states #unification church in usa #american church #moonies #theology

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bleedfaithar · 3 years ago

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[ STRONGARM ] for your muse to use force to make my muse do something / @bleedsin

† ⋯ ROMANS 13 : 9 THOU SHALT NOT KILL. words she was raised by. drilled into her head at every mass in the convent and now those words were being questioned in her mind. it is but for the will of GOD. if it were god telling her to do these things, would it not be a sin to disobey? she had heard the words of ' god ' since she was a child and even now the voices of an ' angel ' comes from gabriel every morning when she wakes to confess. wide silvered eyes looked up at the one person in this life she trusted ( albeit blindly ) above all else. his fingers curled almost painfully around her delicate wrist before he shoved the ornate dagger into her hand. " you were chosen by god, my mercy. " the words he spoke eased her mind as her fingers gripped metal tight enough that she could almost guarantee her hand would be cut. the body on the altar was one she didn't know -- some passerby who sought refuge in their small town but the angel had chosen him for sacrifice.

" the blood of the lamb will wash us clean. "

the words fell from her lips like a hymn and the fight in her eased as atticus urged her hand with dagger wielded and once the tip slipped past the skin it was mercy's own will that drove it home. she knew that the angel in which she heard was no angel at all, but her will would be done regardless. her whole body leaned into the effort to make sure the dagger did what was intended and soon a fine tremble began in her hands and travelled up her arms. it was a rush, that was for sure. she figured the first was always the hardest, and mercy looked up at atticus with a wanting. for approval, for praise of something well done. something -- anything to show that he was proud of her.

#i figure mercy's first sacrifice when they started doing it #BUT I CAN CHANGE IT IF NEED BE #† ⋯ 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖆𝖗𝖕 𝖐𝖓𝖎𝖋𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝖆 𝖘𝖍𝖔𝖗𝖙 𝖑𝖎𝖋𝖊 * answered #bleedsin #† ⋯ & 𝖋𝖗𝖔𝖒 𝖍𝖎𝖘 𝖑𝖎𝖕𝖘 𝖘𝖍𝖊 𝖉𝖗𝖊𝖜 𝖆 𝖍𝖆𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖑𝖚𝖏𝖆𝖍 * interactions

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fluxofthemouth · 8 months ago

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Piter remains unmoved and agreeable. He's recognized that figuring out how to meet each other on this issue is critical to their cooperation, and he seems to listen to Thursday with his whole being. He is capable of being unsettled, even angered, even enraged. The rage he has accumulated throughout his past life will haunt him like a scar no matter how much better life can get in these changed circumstances. But his rage is not for an honest misunderstanding from someone who is trying.

"We'll go right away," he says pleasantly, nodding in understanding. "It's a good idea to check on them, and it is never my place to order you to handle yourself in one way or another."

As they head for the cryosleep bay, where the crew slumbers in pods: "We may learn something we will not like, though. In a worst case scenario, what if the whole crew is dead? In my mind, a well-prepared inner fortress is the first step of safety, because you are roped to your own emotions no matter what action you take. But to your point, of course, trying something new is best done with a clear mind. And since we are working together, we may rely on each others' skills; I will help you figure out what to do if something bad has happened to the crew, even if you are distraught. Hmm, I wish I had taken the risk of sabotage more seriously from the start. It would have been better if we had talked about this kind of thing and set expectations from the beginning. We are in a compromised position, to be figuring these things out as the situation evolves. It was an oversight on my part."

He suddenly laughs. "Thursday... I must confess, I was always seen as over-emotional in my home culture. Many treated it like a deficit, and it has strongly impacted my career. I think I did alright for myself, even rising to the highest levels of government; but to call that success in an uncomplicated way ignores the toll in pain and sacrifice I had to pay just to get in the room. And it was never my character that recommended me. Only my usefulness as a tool despite who I am."

Privately, he considers everyone else from his faction who now have to figure out new lives off of their isolated world, now that the rest of the galaxy felt forced to intervene before they destroyed themselves. He considers how the others and their pride will all now be at the mercy of people like Thursday, who do not face particular pressure to corral and control their emotions. How the ones who looked down on him will now be the strange ones, forced to choose between adapting or being targeted as dysfunctional or even malicious.

Please choke!!

If it's a prayer, he sends it to no god of love.

"It is not fair of me to ask you to feel sorry for me, though," he adds quickly, wincing. "If you knew the full story, which I am not going to tell you, I imagine you would be more scared of me than a strange note. I have no interest in sabotaging my new life that awaits me at the end of this voyage, and I have no interest in being dangerous to you, so we need not dwell on it. Forgive me for speaking of my past life at all, only to draw back like this, I... do so love to ramble."

When they reach the cryo bay, they will find the crew largely safe, asleep in their pods. Checking the records, however, will reveal that a number of people have been awoken prematurely and are not accounted for. Are these conspirators, arisen to sabotage and work mayhem? Or has someone been eating them?

Thursday listens as best as she can given not only the urgency she feels in the situation but also given her own frustration in the moment. It is extraordinarily difficult to listen to someone when you are not only frustrated and stressed out, but in particular when you are frustrated at them.

But... as soon as he starts to explain, Thursday feels a huge amount of her anger towards him drain away. Immediately flooding in to replace it is guilt. Of course. It was stupid of her to jump to the conclusion that he was judging her and patronizing her. They are from different cultures. She feels horrible for being the one to jump to conclusions herself now and that shows in place of her earlier anger.

And that's not the only thing that makes sense, not just the fact that they're from different cultures so of course they're going to approach things differently, but he said earlier that he'd been mistreated in his society and she'd listened to him then, and on top of that it does make sense to step outside of panic and get control of yourself in a situation like this in order to act sensibly. And not only THAT... but if whoever is doing this, if their goal is to sow discord, then she can't allow herself to let that happen by becoming upset with Piter already. What if that was their goal? Just like it was at ABC, the place she came from. And that literally led to her coworkers killing each other.

She can't let that happen again. She can't let that happen, and can't run away from that again. That's why she's here.

Finally, she breathes, and lets out a small laugh too. "Okay. Okay, you're right. I'm sorry, Piter, I'm really sorry. I am really stressed out and I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions or anything like that. And I didn't expect to get upset like this either. It's just that, ah... How do I explain it? This is very similar, scary similar, to something that I- something that happened where I came from and it's like, opening a box and having it all come back out at you. So- I didn't mean to get upset at you. Whatever is going on, we need to be on the same page, so if you want me to sit on the floor with you for a minute and breathe and calm down, I'll try, but I don't know if I can right this second because I don't feel safe right now. And I don't like the idea that there's someone else awake in here and that our coworkers are exposed and everything. Can we maybe check on them first, and then sit down on the floor?"

#the haunted office #god it's so interesting to write a guy who's fundamentally a bad guy but he's being nice right now #like 'bad' is more of a thing you do than a thing you are... hes just chillin... but oh he is capable of some things...

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mercymaker · 2 years ago

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ok alright alright alright

i saw a lot of people complain about the meleys scene and i get where they are coming from with the whole “this was a pointless flex and she could’ve ended the war right there and then” but i don’t think it was pointless so i’m just gonna stream of consciousness my way through what’s going on in that noggin of mine

first, it was a show of power, of course. a dragon, the symbol of house targaryen on one side, against a hightower, clad in her house colors as well as symbols of the faith. it is a reminder that such things are a flimsy shield against the might of a dragon. it is saying “you’ve forgotten who’s in charge of this kingdom”. viserys may have been weak and allowed otto to usurp power and, in the end, the throne, however rhaenys is showing here that the hightowers have overreached. that the coronation and their machinations is just a mummer’s farce and their power is nothing when at a mercy of the dragon.

on another hand, it was the culmination of rhaenys’ conversation with alicent. it was very clearly stated that rhaenys is a hostage and so is her dragon. both of their lives reduced to an object. a bargaining chip. and that is the theme when it comes to otto, time and time again. people are nothing more than figures on his board. first he pushes alicent to achieve his ends. then the way he talks about his grandson’s mutilation, “winning vhagar” to their side. he doesn’t care about the lives nor the people. they are all tools to achieve his ends.

rhaenys interrupting the coronation with meleys is reclaiming the power as well as the way she is perceived. she is not a hostage. she is not a pawn to be moved around. she won’t quietly bow down and accept the terms she’s been offered. she is now the most important person in this war. and she knows it.

it’s the answer to not only underestimating her as a person, but also her family, the targaryens. it’s to make the throne that the greens usurped uncomfortable. their rule unstable. it’s to turn the tides in the favor of her side.

could she have roasted them right there? absolutely. but her choice not to do so is not insignificant (or illogical as some people say). i think the scene where she flees the red keep provides enough explanation. rhaenys sees two things before leaving the castle. the corpse of lord caswell and balerion’s skull.

the first is the symbol of otto’s cruelty, an obvious show and a reminder for everyone who dares defy the hightowers. and rhaenys is, understandably, horrified by it. to what ends the greens would go to seize power. where is honor? where is duty? where is sacrifice?

the second is pretty self-explanatory. balerion is their family. balerion is viserys. balerion is what they are. balerion is where they all started. and for a split second, perhaps, it’s a waking reminder of how it ends.

so when rhaenys crashes the party atop of meleys, it is a show of power, of course. but it’s not a show of cruelty. it is not a declaration of war. it’s refusing to bow down and be forced to be something or someone she is not. she is not a hostage. she is not a bargaining chip. but she isn’t cruel either. she won’t stoop to their level. she won’t reduce their family to ashes (as the greens would do to hers). but she wants them to know that she could. and they messed up by underestimating her.

#house of the dragon spoilers #rhaenys my beloved #anyway don't mind me i'm just processing this ep still sdfsdgfdh #i have a lot of things to say but i gotta stop before i implode #mel watches hot d

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sharkdream3421 · 2 years ago

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Garrus Vakarian X Reader - Deadly Love Triangle

That mission was so tricky we all kept running out of ammo, but thankfully Nihlus had extra thermal clips on him. At least we finally cured the genophage. Wrex was thrilled that his people would be okay now, and would finally be able to reproduce and have offspring so the krogan can shape their own future. Wrex told me that he plans to focus on rebuilding and no more war for them. That was a relief to hear, all war does is cause chaos, diversity, and hate. Reminds me of the first contact war, it was war between the humans and turians. All it did was help me to cause hate toward the turians. I mean the war caused my grandpa to die, I then hated turians from that point on.

Everything changed until I met Garrus. Nihlus was the first one to come aboard the Normandy, but even then I didn't even trust him. He was one cocky son of a bitch.

"I move faster on my own."

Yeah right he could have died if Kaiden, I, and Ashley had not interfered. I told Kaiden to use his biotics on Nihlus causing him to fly into a bunch of crates and pass out. Ashley just shouted "Gun!" which did not help what so ever. I sniped the other turian, I didn't kill him because it only hit his shields, but I did throw off his aim when he was pointing that carnifex on Nihlus.

When I met Garrus I still doubted I could trust him, he just seemed dangerous. I mean he almost hit the hostage when Me, Shepard, and Ashely were about to save the lady that was from the Med Clinic, as she was being mugged from some gangsters. After talking on the Normandy though I started to know him better. He was a C-Sec officer who was surrounded by regulations, and all he thought that mattered was getting the job done no matter who he had to sacrifice. His father said he was starting to become like Saren, and for the best part. His Dad wasn't wrong.

I suggested to Garrus that he should calm down and look at the bigger picture.

"Sacrificing civilians is not the right thing to do. You know Garrus, Shepard told me that she learned from Captain Anderson that all that Saren wanted to do was complete the mission no matter how many lives were sacrificed. So don't you see? Your acting just like Saren. You also don't have to be like Nihlus either." I sighed realizing that Nihlus was Saren's apprentice. I know that Nihlus is different from Saren, in terms of treating humans with kindness and not segregation. Although, his way of fighting is the same. Shepard told me that his goal was simple, "I don't care that your human Shepard, I just care that you get the job done."

After some talking with Garrus and helping him stop Dr. Heart. Garrus started to become a paragon and less of a renegade. That was good to hear, I'm honestly a paragon and shooting people isn't always the answer. If convincing is no longer an option, then I take out my gun and shoot. Shepard is like 60% Paragon and 40% Renegade. Meanwhile, Nihlus is...complicated. He is mostly renegade, but then sometimes he's just nice? Merciful? I don't know it's hard to figure out what happens in the turian spectre's mind.

I was starting to fall for Garrus probably after we picked him up on Omega. When I heard he was very injured I was having a heart attack. I felt like I needed him, I prayed so hard that he was going to be okay. When I saw that he was fine, and he was going to recover. I just gave him the biggest hug ever. Garrus was my best friend after all, it was very hard not to hate him. He just had a great sense of humor, which would always make the crew laugh and cheer up even in the most darkest times we were in. I trusted him with my life now, and I saw no reason to hate him. I loved him, but so did Shepard.

Shepard managed to reach Garrus first before me. Dang it! I should have told him my feelings sooner! Kasumi was like the rumor mill. She would always sneak around the ship and go into other people's business. I saw Shepard head into the elevator before the Suicide Mission, then not long after I saw Garrus go into the elevator. Neither one came out of that elevator until three hours later. Who knew what they were doing? Well I knew, it hurt me like a ton of bricks. Garrus belonged to Shepard. Not me, I mean who would want to date a nerdy girl like me? Absolutely no one. I talked to Liara on the phone, she was about another one of my close or best friends I've had in my life. She suggested that I could wait for Garrus and Shepard to break up, or go find someone different. I just plainly said "I think I'll just wait, but I doubt that Shepard and Garrus would ever break up. They are like two sides of a coin, their is no Shepard without Vakarian." Liara just told me that all you can do is just hope.

Not long after the suicide mission, Shepard was placed on house arrest for being associated with Cerberus. The alliance are pretty much good at being idiots. I remember Shepard making her point across and dang it was true, but of course Hackett is too dumb to even figure out it was true.

"I had to do something about the collectors, only Cerberus did something about it. The alliance didn't even give a shit about it!"

"We would have done something if it weren't for Cerberus." Hackett defended.

When Shepard was on house arrest, I decided to hang out with Garrus and help with things on Palaven. I had never been on Palaven and yet it was amazing! The warm and sunny beaches, the nice alien like palm trees. Palaven's city's also looked nothing like I had ever seen before! I was surrounded by Turians, and some of them even gave me strange looks. Although, Garrus told me that humans do visit Palaven just not many of them do.

Garrus managed to become a "Expert Reaper advisor." I just became like his side kick or associate? Anyway, when we heard their was trouble on Palaven's moon we took a shuttle and made our way to the moon.

There we met Shepard, and Liara. Man it was good to see them again. I watched Garrus and Shepard shake hands, but their was like no kiss or anything? Maybe they accept that their relationship is finally done? This might just be my chance! I also met James Vega, and man he was just very handsome over all, but my heart belonged to Garrus. Not some muscular man, who swears f-bombs once and awhile.

Well I was wrong because after our mission on Palaven, I went down into the cargo hold, where the computer for our security cameras were. I looked at the camera that was in the Battery room and there was Shepard and Garrus kissing. I should have not gotten my hopes up. I have to admit, that Garrus and I don't belong together. He's just a friend and that's probably what he will always be.

Primarch Victus was aboard the Normandy and was hanging out in the War room. I needed some advice, and maybe Victus could have a good answer.

I walked up to him with a smile on my face, "Hey Victus!"

"Ah, Y/N. What do I owe this fine pleasure?"

I chuckled, man he was so polite and handsome. "Victus, I need some advice. I've been head over heels for Garrus for months now, but Shepard and Garrus are in a relationship right now. What do you think I should do?"

Victus sighed, "I'm not really an expert on relationships Y/N."

"Please Victus, I need your help. I'm going to lose my mind." I begged.

Victus sighed again, "I think you should tell Garrus how you feel Y/N, and if he doesn't feel the same then you should find someone else to be with."

Victus was right, there was no way Garrus and I could just become boyfriend and girlfriend if we never confessed our feelings for each other.

With me feeling super confident I thanked Victus and walked out of the War Room with me being head over heels to tell Garrus how I feel.

~~~~

Each step I took toward the elevator I got even more excited. I took the elevator one floor down, so now I was on the crew deck. I was just about to round the corner toward the main lobby where the whole crew hangs out until I hear some Human and a Turian laughing. I quickly hid around the corner and peeked to see the most surprising thing I have ever seen today.

There was Shepard and Nihlus slowly walking out of the Starboard Observation deck kissing each other with Shepard's hands on Nihlus's chest and Nihlus's hands on Shepard's waist. They walked into the elevator and then I hear the elevator door close. What the heck was that?! I ran to the front of the elevator doors to see that it was going to Shepard's cabin! What are they doing? Please don't tell me they are...no Shepard wouldn't.

I have to know, I know only one person who could find out what was going on in Shepard's room.

I barraged into Liara's office to see her looking at me with a confused look on her face.

"What's wrong Y/N? You looked panicked." Liara asked me looking worried.

I quickly ran up to her shadow broker terminal. "Liara, can you see what is going on in Shepard's room?" I asked.

"Yeah I can, why?" She asked.

"I think Shepard is doing something really bad, just please Liara, I need to find out what she's doing! I hope it isn't what I think it is." I said with worry in every fiber of my being.

"Okay calm down Y/N. I'm pulling up Shepard's room." I see Liara hitting the keys on her keyboard.

When we saw Shepard's room finally come up on the screen. Me and Liara looked at the screen very shocked. How...how...how could Shepard do this? Why? Why to Garrus?! Their was Shepard having...having sex with Nihlus. It was entirely disturbing to see. Their was Nihlus and Shepard naked and rolling in bed. It was very inappropriate to watch.

"By the Goddess." Liara said with astonishment in her voice and on her face.

Why did Shepard have to do this to Garrus? Garrus...never deserved this! Garrus never did anything wrong! Garrus was loyal to Shepard ever since from the very beginning and this is how she treats Garrus?! My hands curled into fists. I'm going to kill her!

Liara looked at me seeing the hate all over my face. She put her hand on my shoulder, "I'm so sorry you had to see this Y/N." Liara said with sympathy.

I looked down on the floor. "Why did she cheat on Garrus. Especially Garrus, why him? He's been betrayed, failed at his job, lost his own team, and now he's being cheated on over another handsome Turian. I thought Garrus was the most handsome person, his voice, his humor, he's perfect."

"I don't know Y/N, but Garrus definitely never deserved this." Liara said with sorrow.

~~~~

The next morning I had a plot for revenge! Everyone will know, because everyone will be there to see me expose Nihlus and Shepard. I woke up from my bed in the room where the crew would hang out. I took the covers off me and landed on the cold floor with my two cold feet. I slipped my jacket on, my boots, and a pair of jeans. With my anger in tow I opened the door and made my way to the lobby where breakfast was always served.

There she was. That piece of shit sitting at that table looking very happy to see Garrus, yeah right! Wait until I expose the truth.

Liara sat across the table looking at me with a worried look on her face. I looked at her, and she shook her head when I had my fist right by my side.

"Don't do it Y/N, if you expose the truth it's going to do more harm than good." Liara told me, she wasn't loud, but she wasn't quiet either.

"I have to do this Liara. It's the only way." I said.

I raised my fist and hit her really really hard, right in the jaw. Even a tooth popped out! Garrus looked at me very shocked. I mean I did just hit his ex-girlfriend.

"Y/N what are you doing?!" Liara had yelled.

"I'm doing what is justice! Hey everyone, I have something very important to tell you!" I yelled where everyone in the ship could hear.

Everyone gathered around, and I mean EVERYONE gathered around like in a giant circle with Garrus, Shepard, and I in the middle.

"What does (Last name), (First name) wish to tell us?" Legion asked with his head tilted as his optic grew even brighter.

"Shepard cheated on you Garrus! I saw it! I saw it all! Shepard had some really good sex with Nihlus over there!" I yelled as I pointed to Nihlus who looked completely chill.

Liara sighed, "I can confirm that Y/N, is telling you all the truth. I saw it with my own eyes."

Garrus looked shocked, no emotion, utter despair on his face, he didn't even move an inch. Several people gasped, several people looked at Shepard in disapproval, and looked completely pissed off.

"Not cool Commander." James said.

"You are no Siha." Thane blurted out.

"We find Shepard-Commander's actions unforgiving." Legion sounded displeased.

Garrus just walked away in depression. I looked at Garrus, he just showed no emotion, his heart was completely broken. Most of me feels like it was the right thing to do, justice was served. Although, a part of me feels like I did the wrong thing. What did I do to Garrus? Shepard looked around seeing everyone very pissed off. Shepard just ran away, probably to her little hideout, which was her cabin.

I ran after Garrus to see if he was going to be okay. "Garrus! Garrus are you okay?" I asked.

Garrus turned with sadness in his eyes, "No, I don't think I will be. I just need to do some calibrations." Garrus had said as he slowly walked toward the Main Battery.

I would have laughed at him because he said calibrations, just like every time I would, but this time no laugh came from me.

~~~~

Everyone had done their own thing for the rest of that day. Shepard just stayed in her cabin the whole time unless she was called to the War Room or had some matters to attend to. Today, I decided to visit Garrus and see how he was doing as yesterday must have been tough on him.

When the main battery's doors opened I found Garrus collapsed on the floor.

"Garrus!" I yelled as I ran up to him.

I helped him up and he looked at me with tired eyes. "Y/N, I had the most weirdest dream. You were there saying that Shepard cheated on me, and everyone else was so pissed." Garrus said.

I looked down in shame. "That wasn't a dream Garrus, it's true. I revealed that Shepard cheated on you with Nihlus."

Garrus looked down. "Oh, I see. I'll just work on some calibrations then."

I sighed. "Garrus, it's not your fault, I'm sorry that I was selfish and told everyone what had happened, I didn't think that it would affect you like this, I should have known better."

"That bastard Nihlus. Besides I felt like my relationship with Shepard was a bit odd after all. It's okay, I just need some time to move on." Garrus said as he took a small deep breath.

"Garrus, I...I love you, but I understand if you don't want to be with me. Your previous girlfriend cheated on you, and I should probably shut up now. I'll be in the shuttle bay." I walked out of the main battery with a lot on my mind.

~~~~

No, that part doesn't go there. I attached the modifier on the top of the carnifex. Ah, there we go! Now it can provide a little more damage. I also attached another modifier, which can allow some more shots to be fired so we have a less chance that we are going to run out of thermal clips. I grabbed the next weapon, which was the N7 Hurricane. Has a really fast rate of fire, but has very bad accuracy. I just probably set more modifiers on the stability and accuracy then.

"Y/N."

I turned around to see Garrus walking toward me. Looking scared? "Hey Garrus, what's wrong?" I asked my best friend.

"I had time to think, and I...love you too Y/N. All those times we had on Palaven, having dinner together, watching Turian films with each other, going shopping. I loved every moment with you. I didn't know if it was okay to abandon my relationship with Shepard, but I also felt something in me when I was around you. The truth is, I love you (First name), (Last name). I loved you for a couple months." Garrus then put his talons on my hands. "Is it okay if you can be my girlfriend?" He asked.

He asked...HE ASKED me! Oh my gosh, my dream has come true!

"Yes! Yes! You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment!" I cheerfully shouted as I hugged my new boyfriend.

"I love you Y/N." Garrus said with comfort in his voice, as I felt his talon going against the back of my head.

"I love you too Garrus, always have been, and always will." I said with the biggest smile on my face.

~~~~

"(Last name), (First name) we would like to ask you something."

I turned around to find Legion with flowers in his hands. It was strange seeing the innocent geth boy with flowers in his hands.

"Yeah what's up Legion?"

"We have researched some of Earth's culture and religion, and we believe that when someone wishes to show gratitude or kindness. Flowers are a good way to show it." Legion had talked like he was a calculator or something, which was like all the time.

"Who are you giving it to?" I asked with a smile on my face. It's hard to be mad at Legion. He is so good at acting innocent all the time.

"Creator Zorah. We calculate that giving Creator Zorah flowers will help increase our trust, and have less hostility towards us." Legion replied.

I smiled, he's so adorable. "Go ahead Legion, I think she will like it."

Legion replied with a nod and the flaps around his eye opening up. Legion left my cabin in search of Tali.

I smiled as I looked back at the datapad.

"Why was Legion holding flowers?" Garrus asks as he sat on the edge of my bed and gave a little kiss on my cheek.

"He was wanting to give them to Tali, I think he might just have a crush on her." I told Garrus as I smirked.

"So what brings you up here?" I asked.

"Oh, I just wanted to see the love of my life, and make sure she was okay." Garrus said as he gave a small chuckle.

I set the datapad down, and scoot closer towards Garrus. "I am okay thanks for asking, just looking at preparations before we land on Rannoch. I could use a break though."

Garrus put a talon on my face and gently played with my hair with his other talon. "How about we ease up some tension and test your flexibility?"

I smirked, " I would love too."

I read someone's story about Garrus and a Nihlus lives AU and then suddenly I thought what would happen if Shepard cheats on Garrus for Nihlus? Nihlus deserves more attention and should have survived Eden Prime. He would have been a great squad mate in the trilogy! Thank you for reading and have a awesome day!

Masterlist

#mass effect #garrus x reader #garrus x shepard #nihlus kryik #nihlus lives #liara t'soni #legion #thane krios #james vega #adrien victus

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