#i’ve sinned far too many times

[honkshoo-zzz]

eepy and sleeby

[redwing4life]

mdni

wanna know a bucky trope that sends me spiralling? bucky filming you all drunk on his cock.

imagine your thighs all sticky with cum, the three orgasms bucky’s pulled from you painted across the soft flesh like paint on a canvas. bucky can’t stop tracing his throbbing pink tip over your filthy thighs; his own white seed mixes with yours and you whine at the sound.

“never get tired of this, doll.” bucky’s sultry tone washes over you, your mind scrambled with need. “seeing you all sticky, covered in our cum -fuck- i- i gotta film this, sweets, let me film you, huh?”

a desperate moan falls from your swollen lips when the super soldier pulls away from you, the warmth of his tip no longer pressed into your thighs. in want of your boyfriend, you reach out for him, but he’s already on the other side of the room.

“bucky…” your voice is high and needy, “bucky, baby, come back. i need you.”

his usual arrogant chuckle greets your ears, forcing your thighs closer together to ease the fresh wave of heat flooding your core. you know that laugh, it’s the one he makes whenever you’re drunk on his cock.

bucky crawls back on the bad, hovering over your sweat-sheen body, and brings his phone over your face.

“smile for me, doll.” he orders, the command drawing your brows together in pleasure. you look up at him through your lashes, lids half shut before you focus on the camera.

“there she is.” bucky hums when you grin, albeit tiredly, up at the lens. “tell me how many times i’ve made that sweet little pussy cum, baby. tell the camera.”

“three.” you whine. you watch bucky lower the camera to your dripping cunt as he speaks and start trying to close your legs.

bucky taps your thigh harshly, tutting. “come on, sweets, show your sarge what a mess i’ve made of you.”

his rough palm slides down to your knees and slowly pries them apart, a growl rippling from the base of his throat as you bare yourself to him in submission.

“good girl.”

you keen beneath the camera, pussy throbbing at the praise. a smirk tugs at bucky’s lips while you writhe under him, he knows he’ll enjoy watching that back when he’s on a mission with his hand wrapped around his length.

holding the phone in his vibranium hand, bucky reaches down to run a calloused finger through your glistening folds, the swollen petals quivering at his touch.

“aw, is my sweet princess all sensitive after all those orgasms? huh?”

you claw at his flesh hand, nodding so fast you make yourself even more dizzy than you already are.

“m’so sensitive, sarge, please- pl- oh my god.”

your eyes are rolling to the back of your head before you can finish your sentence as bucky slides a finger into your tight hole. he prays to god that the camera picked up on the squelch of yours and his cum when he pushes inside you.

“fuck, sweets, you’re so goddamn wet, gonna make me nut all over the sheets.” bucky moans, hips rutting against the soft cotton duvet while he works your sex.

sinful sounds echo across the room, bucky’s phone capturing every single thrust of his hand. he adds a second finger, earning a squeal of contest from you.

“no- bucky, i can’t, i cant, it’s too much, please, just one, please.”

your broken pleas do nothing to slow the grind of bucky’s hips against the bed, your whiny voice merely encouraging him to play with his cunt even more.

“yes you can, and you will. you’ve been so good for your sarge so far, haven’t you, princess? tell me how good you’ve been for me.”

you open your mouth to reply, suddenly interrupted by a third finger stretching the walls of your pussy. a gasp falls from your swollen lips and it morphs into a cry of intense pleasure.

“bucky!!!” you scream, accompanied by the sloppy noises of bucky’s palm slapping your wet clit.

“i’m waiting, sweets.”

releasing a small whine, you look down at your boyfriend to find his eyes already on yours.

“i’ve been so good, sarge. just wanted to be a good girl for you, give you all- fuck- all my cum, be your best girl, all drunk on my sarge’s cock and fingers a-and mouth, oh”

his fingers keep curling and hitting that one stop that’s making you see stars and you begin heaving your chest up and down, desperately searching for a breath that would satisfy your needs. bucky turns the camera to your face so he can look back on your writhing body.

“cock’s so hard for you, princess. you’re so fucking beautiful like this, gonna make you cream all over my fingers again and then stuff you full o’ me”

“please sarge, please- ugh- i’m gonna cum!”

“let go sweets, cover me in your sweet juices”

and then you cum and then he cums against the sheets and then he fucks you and the he eats you out and then you clean up his cock with your tongue and then he cleans you up with a cloth and then he runs you a bath and then he holds you till you fall asleep and then a week later on a mission bucky fucks his fist while watching the video and then he cums to it and then he cums to it again and then an hour later he cums to it again and then-

[consciouscarrot]

day 11 - medical kink/doctor x patient [r.lupin]

remus lupin x fem!reader

content warnings; dub/con, innocence, abuse of power (remus), so many pet names, vaginal fingering, p in v, basically ‘hysteria’, very unrealistic loss of virginity (next to no pain mentions, remus doesn’t go slow etc), r thinks she’s been wetting herself slightly but she’s just horny and wet lol, age gap (r is 18, remus’ age is undisclosed but he’s a licensed doctor)

notes; (unintentionally) the longest fic i’ve even written by far, oh my god my thumbs hurt. all likes, comments and reblogs much appreciated. as always mdni

part 2

kinktober/flufftober masterlist

—————

you’d been guided into the empty room at the doctors office by the bored receptionist, her muttering something about the doctor joining you soon, and to take a seat.

it had been a few minutes since then, you were sat carefully on one of the patients chairs, grasping nervously at the cross hanging between your breasts. the ticking of the clock only amplified your nerves, leg bouncing as you stared at the door, imaging all the ways this appointment could go wrong.

you jumped when the door opened, doctor lupin walked in, smiling widely as he shut and locked the door behind him.

“hello, it’s lovely to see you again, y/n,” he sat down at his chair, not taking his eyes off of you.

you nodded along, not trusting your voice just yet, nails now digging into your bare thighs, skirt shifting higher up your legs.

“now, i was told that you’d been having some female problems, could you tell me more about that?”

avoiding eye contact, you chewed on you lip before attempting to explain your embarrassing situation, “i- um, i’ve been having some- some weird feelings, y’know uh, down there,” you mumbled.

“okay, how long has this been going on for, hm?”

“a few weeks, maybe. it’s- it’s on and off though, not all the time,” what you refused to mention, was that whenever you were experiencing these feelings, was when you were thinking about your hot new doctor.

“yeah? so around the time that i saw you last? why didn’t you mention anything then, sweetheart? it seems to be bothering you an awful lot,”

oh my gosh, this was the most mortifying moment of your life. how on earth were you supposed to tell him that the weird sensations only started happening since you met him.

you’d had to change doctors after you moved house, still living at home with your parents, and had met dr lupin for a standard checkup. you’d instantly become a stuttering mess- much like you were now- at how attractive he was.

you weren’t sure how to answer his question, cheeks flaming, and almost sighed in relief when he clearly pitied you enough to ask something different.

“do you think you could describe what the weird feelings are like, honey? are they painful?” he asks, face twisted in concern.

“no they don’t hurt, it’s like- tingly, i think. feels throbby and uncomfortable. it um-,” you shifted in your seat, eyes locked on your mary-jane clad feet.

“it’s okay, take your time,”

“it makes me pee a little, i keep having to change my- my underwear,” you eyes began to sting in humiliation, knowing that if your parents found out that you’d been wetting yourself at the age of 18, they’d never speak to you again.

“sh, sh there’s nothing to be embarrassed about. are you sure it’s pee? or is it thicker, maybe a clearish-white?”

“yeah, it’s just like that, and it’s sticky too,”

“i think i know the problem, y/n. it’s easily treated, but you’ll need regular treatments with me to keep it contained, okay?” he wheeled his chair closer to his desk, typing something in his computer, nodding when you meekly said okay.

you were beyond relieved that you were going to be okay, that you wouldn’t have to confess your sins to the priest and your parents, that you could be cured by your nice doctor.

“alright, i need you to fully undress, get into this gown and lay down on the bed for me, then we can start the first session,” he gave you no room for arguments, handing you a pale blue hospital gown and turning back to his computer.

you shuffled over to the bed, slowly undressing and blanching at the thought of him seeing you borderline naked. your family were very christian and at a young age you had promised to never ruin yourself, especially not before marriage. you’d never been allowed any boyfriends growing up, always heavily punished if you’d been caught even looking at a boy for too long.

you’d since learnt your lesson, only having girl friends, steering clear of anyone outside of the church and keeping your head down in public. the idea that dr lupin would be seeing you down there, was enough to bring you close to tears.

you peered over your shoulder periodically, nervous that he’d turn around and catch a peep of your bare skin.

slipping into the gown, you climbed onto the bed, laying back as you called out to him that you were ready.

you watched dr lupin set up, snapping on his gloves and sanitising various terrifying looking equipment on his metal table.

“just need you to pop your feet in the stirrups, lovely girl,”

you carefully did as he said, legs spread wide and feeling oh so vulnerable, but terribly scared of disappointing him. you hated it, but a small part of you was loving the way his hands gripped your ankles when he strapped you in, murmuring reassurances about it being for everyone’s safety, thumb stroking along your delicate skin.

eventually, he stood between your legs, blue gloved hands hovering above your private parts, “is it okay if i start? i’ll need to touch you.”

you nodded your consent, breath hitching as he made contact with your very inner thigh, fingertips sliding closer to where the problem originated, his eyes never leaving the area.

“are you having those feelings now? you’re all wet, love,”

a tear finally slipped free, cooling your burning cheeks as you turned your head away, shame consuming you.

“oh baby, it’s okay, i’m gonna help you, you want me to make you feel better?”

you nodded, finally looking up at him with salty tears glittering in your pretty eyes, wanting nothing more than this horrible feeling to go away. you wanted dr lupin to make you all better.

his digits glide over your pussy, your warm slick coating them. you whimper when he hits your sensitive clit, legs twitching in response. the taste of iron coated your tongue, biting down as a pathetic effort to try and keep quiet, mindful of other patients in the waiting room just down the hall.

he slowly started circling it, free hand going to press at your throbbing hole, “fuck, you really aren’t very well, are you poppet? s’alright, i have just the thing to make you feel good again, it’ll fix you right up,”

you cried out when a finger entered you, tight walls spasming around the foreign object. sobbing and shaking, so overcome with pleasure with him working you up to your fast approaching orgasm. you let out a sharp gasp, confused as to what was happening to your body. you were losing control of your movements, and you began to worry that you were being possessed by a demon.

those thoughts were cleared from your mind when you came with a squeal, thighs closing around his hands in an effort to get the overwhelming pleasure to stop. you were astounded that something medical could feel so amazing, or even that it was possible to feel like this at all. you felt very lucky that you had such a good doctor, even if he made you feel flustered.

already, the feeling deep in your belly was starting to be satiated, but you really hoped that there would be more treatment today, as it still lingered and you desperately needed to feel that bliss again.

when he pulled his fingers away, he could see the white substance ringed around them, arousal fluid still connecting your heat to him in strings. his erection was pulsing against his trousers, dampening the fabric there as he tried to hold back from corrupting you too much.

oh well, too late now.

he whispered praises to you, rubbing your thighs and smearing your cum all over them as he tried to calm you down, smiling softly when you reopened your eyes.

“that was intense, huh? you did so well for me, just need one more from you, then you’re all done for today. i know, it’s a lot, but it’s really important that we fully complete the treatment, especially seeing as you shook so much,”

you nodded hazily, head much too clouded in pleasure to be able to take in what he was saying. you’d never felt that good in your life, and you supposed that it was a good thing that you’d gone to the doctors first instead of the priest, feeling much better already.

still so caught up in your mind, you didn’t pay any attention to what dr lupin was doing, not noticing him snapping off his gloves before unbuckling his belt and pulling out his reddened cock.

“this piece of equipment is really gonna make a lot of difference in your recovery,” he said, rubbing his tip along your puffy entrance, groaning quietly when it caught, slipping inside slightly.

you moaned loudly when he finally pushed in, eyes rolling to the back of your head at the mixture of pleasure and pain.

dr lupin had to hold still for a moment, trying to hold back from giving you a creampie already at the sight of your virgin blood staining his cock, pearly white and crimson mixing to create a rosy pink that coated him.

checking that you were doing okay, he pulled out until only his tip was left inside of you. fingers grasping at your waist, hard enough that he knew it would leave plum coloured bruising, remus gave you no warning before he began to pound into you, letting out guttural groans as your back arched off the bed.

the clinical paper ripped beneath you, his hips slapping against you, the two of you moaned, fully giving up on staying quiet, getting lost in the feel of each other.

his rough hands grabbed at your ass, tugging you towards him with each thrust, sweat collecting along his hairline. his eyes switched between looking at your face and your pussy, tears still spilling over with a heated face, pussy covered in your shared fluids, throbbing around him.

feeling your high building up again, he held back his own, wanting to finally release together, he lifted a hand off of your ass, circling steadily over your little button to push you over the edge.

the band coiling inside of you finally snapped, and you whimpered as you squirmed around, body shaking uncontrollably. your nails dug into the sides of the bed, trying to hold on as he worked you through your orgasm, groaning out as he too let go.

you felt his hot cum spurting inside of you, moaning at the new feeling, praying internally that this would never end. your previously arched back fell down as your orgasm ended, aftershocks still wracking your body. you were happy that he had gotten to feel this good too, even if you didn’t understand what that fluid was, or why he’d felt pleasure as well.

breathless, his body involuntarily folded itself over in exhaustion, slumping down onto yours. he tried to catch his breath, feeling your chest expand and collapse underneath his face, heart beating wildly.

he slid he cock out of you, and you were just about lucid enough to notice this time that the piece of equipment was attached to his body. you thought it was quite handy to have something so useful joined onto him, wondering if that was a part of the training to become a doctor.

hot cum poured out of your abused hole, trailing down onto the ripped up clinical paper, soaking the already damp material. remus pulled it out from under you, binning it before grabbing a couple of baby wipes from a nearby drawer.

“good girl, did amazing for me, baby. y’might just be my best patient,”

he wiped you down, soothing you when you jolted from the cold feeling of the wipes, unstrapping your ankles, then guiding you into slowly standing and redressing, turning away when necessary but occasionally peering over his shoulder to catch glimpses of your pretty body.

“i think we’ll book you in for another session, let’s say two days from now? is 6:00pm alright with you?” he asked when you were ready to leave.

you quickly agreed, already excited for the next appointment. he helped you out to the car park where your parents were already waiting for you, ignoring the dirty look the receptionist gave the two of you, patiently holding you up as you stumbled along, before subtly patting at your bum, telling you that he can’t wait to see you again.

part 2

[rabbits-of-negative-euphoria]

friends: [start talking about child rearing]

me, who has way too many strong unshakable opinions about child rearing for a single childless woman:

[twisting-roads]

DEBUNKING COMMON RAIN WORLD MISINTERPRETATIONS

The target audience for this was for people who don't know too much about the game as well, so I'm going to explain things that a normal player might already know.

Rain World is known for how it simply throws you into the world with almost no tutorial, and is often praised for it.

But this lack of explanation if you do not go out of your way to find it has also lead to a lot of misinterpretations from those who did not read all the game’s available information, or misunderstood what they were being told. I used to watch some RW lore videos that would explain and summarize these things, and in the past I believed them.

I’ve since stopped doing that after having some time to actually process what I’ve been reading, and I’m here to say...

YOU ARE ALL WRONG ABOUT RAIN WORLD.

Ok, hyperbole. Not everyone believes these, and art can always be interpreted in different ways by different people, and I won’t stop you from having these beliefs. But also, there’s plenty of ingame content which completely disproves most of these unsubstantiated points from those who do not fully research the game before making videos about it.

Looking at you Tale Foundry…

The purpose of this is to pick apart some of the sadly far too common points I’ve heard many times before from Youtube videos, to Tumblr posts, to people I’ve spoken to on Discord.

Starting with my least favorite…

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“The 5 karma were seen as sinful”

Obvious westernization of a game based off fucking Buddhism aside, there’s no ingame text directly supporting this claim. There isn’t any that says otherwise, but we have good reason to believe this isn’t the case.

The 5 natural urges, as they’re sometimes called, were NATURAL. They were what bound you to the cycle. They never worsened your life or made you a terrible person should you keep following them, but an aspect of life on the same level as suffering or ecstasy.

Hey, I’ll break down the 5 karma and their meanings to show you that they're not just "sins"

I believe the natural urges have 2 different meanings: an animalistic one, and a more “human” one.

KARMA 1 This obviously represents violence, as you see one guy stabbing the other. I believe it also represents competition and intense emotions, For example: Artificer experiencing intense grief and lashing out in violence as a result. It was not the violence that started it, but her emotions. (Yes, its Downpour. But it’s a good point.)

KARMA 2

They’re having sex. They’re fucking. They’re- ok you get it. Karma 2 represents reproduction. But, I also believe it’s desire. Joyful bodily experiences, and such. The 2 figures seen here are in a much more playful pose than if they were simply doing this only to reproduce. No, they’re having fun.

KAMRA 3 Connection. Bonding with others. Yet also trade and personal belongings. Attachment to things that are not yourself.

KARMA 4 It’s mentioned ingame that this represents gluttony It’s overindulgence, you know. Similarly to karma 2, it can also be searching for fulfillment. I'm not particularly good at telling what the meaning of this could be.

KARMA 5 Self preservation. Self preservation can come in many forms, from an animal running away from a predator or somebody getting defensive after being accused of something or being threatened, this one is rather vague about its meaning.

I do this to show that the 5 urges have very NEUTRAL meanings. It being positive or negative is entire dependant on context. They’re not sinful, get out of here with that Catholic shit!

The 5 karmas have both positive, negative, and neutral contexts which they can fit into.

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“The ancients hated being alive”

The ancients simply hated the cycle itself and its unknowable properties, as well as being much more aware of things like karma and the urges. Rather, they valued being effortless to disconnect themselves from this cycle.

“This was an eternal dilemma to them - they were burdened by great ambition, yet deeply convinced that striving in itself was an unforgivable vice. They tried very hard to be effortless.” – Bright Green Pearl (DS)

Some practices did of course include things like starving yourself, but as mentioned by Moon, these methods proved to be mostly obsolete. Void Fluid fundamentally changed their culture from what we see. Rather, we do see the ancients enjoying life and valuing it in their own way, which is INCREDIBLY important to some of the games themes, but I’ll get into that later.

"[...]'In this vessel is the living memories of Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel, of the House of Braids[…] Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel nobly decided to ascend in the beginning of 1514.008, after graciously donating all (ALL!) earthly possessions to the local Iterator project (Unparalleled Innocence), and left these memories to be cherished by the carnal plane.The assorted memories and qualia include:Watching dust suspended in a ray of sun (Old age). Eating a very tasty meal (Young child). Defeating an opponent in a debate contest, and being applauded by fellow team members (Late childhood/Early adulthood).’...and the list goes on. I'm sorry, little creature, I won't read all of this - the list is six hundred and twenty items long.” – Deep Magenta (SH)

There’s quite a lot to pick apart here, I had to cut down some parts short, but even the cut parts have important details. Just not important enough for me to bring up here.

The Memory Crypts we see ingame are… well where memories are kept. The qualia (personalized experiences) is stored within these mutated fleshy neural organisms referred to as “cabinet beasts”. These of course, contain the “living memories” or qualia of those who have ascended. There are people smarter than me who have already covered these ideas of course, so I won't go TOO indepth.

The ancients greatly valued titles and achievements just as us. They still lived normal lives. As well as this, they valued personal experiences and memories of the carnal realm so much they built an entire citadel to store memories.

As we can see as well, Seventeen Axes has quite a lot of enjoyable memories from throughout their life. Eating nice food and winning a debate contest and getting validation from their peers? That sounds rather… complacent with the 3rd and 4th natural urges, doesn’t it?

I do not believe this screams “I hate being alive!” as much as people have made it out to be, and is honestly ruins part of the game’s messages of compassion and personalized experiences, especially in the game’s ending where Survivor dreams of home.

“You have no name. I once had! I was embalmed, adorned, readied for the journey. So proud. There was jubilation! My name was sung, loud and clear. Did they know? That I didn't quite leave, didn't quite stay? Should I be ashamed? That I linger here, where my memories are kept? Should I be ashamed that I now envy your flesh prison?” - Four Needles under Plentiful Leaves

This is leaning into personal theory territory, but...

I personally believe that the ancients were somewhat terrified of the unpredictability of the cycle and the fact that life would always have more suffering in it.

RW’s religion is heavily based off Buddhism. This is well known of course. The Cycle is a variation of Samsara. Now, I’m not Buddhist, and I’ve tried to do my research about some of these topics. Feel free to correct me, I’m simply going off what I know. (Also I'd love to hear what you have to say regarding your thoughts on the game!)

In Buddhism, each new life you could be taken into the body of an animal, or even end up being tortured in hell for a very, very, VERY long time if you made the wrong decisions, which made escaping it as soon as you could seem like a rather reasonable thing to do.

The ancients never fully grasped the scope of the cycle, and the prospects of having your soul wake up in the body of some miserable worm with no memory of your past or any ideas of your future might’ve seemed bleak.

Suffering is inevitable. But that doesn’t mean they hated being alive, like I said before.

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“Rain World is post-apocalyptic.”

It really isn’t. There was never any apocalypse. The ancients simply left on their own accord, leaving behind their mark on the world that will slowly be buried once again in the ever so present cycle.

“The bones of forgotten civilizations, heaped like so many sticks.” - Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets

The world is thriving, even. The purposed organisms left behind have evolved and taken over and become it’s own ecosystem.

The iterators are dying though. Dying very slowly, but soon they’ll all decay and everything will move on.

It’s all just another manifestation of the cycle.

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“The creatures in Rain World cannot die”

This is definitely something I hear from people who haven’t played much of the game and only hear about it from outside sources and watch the gameplay.

Yes, it is easy to believe this. As slugcat, when you die, you wake back up again. This is entirely a gameplay thing and not actually related to the lore. Saying this might seem like I'm avoiding the question at hand here, but the rules that apply to you do not seem to apply to other creatures.

Every creature in the game has a 4 integer ID (it can go higher, but not in a standard playthrough).

This makes every creature you see an individual of sorts with its own randomized values or appearance.

As well as this, creatures spawn from specific marked dens. When you kill a creature that spawns from a certain den, the next cycle, that creature’s ID will never appear again. Instead, the den spawn is replaced by a creature of the same species with a different ID, or a new species entirely.

Through gameplay, you see that the respawn rules that apply to you do not apply to other creatures. I’ve heard many points about how these dead creatures are transported to another alternate universe where they are alive, but I really do not want to delve into that theory. You do that yourself.

Excuse my unprofessional language, but this is kind of stupid. Billions and billions of little timeline splits accounting for every single insect and microbe that dies seems far too complex of a solution. Occam's Razor and all that.

With this gameplay element you see, I also want to give LORE explanations as to why this is incredibly stupid.

1) If death had no impact, the 5 natural urges would not matter

If no creatures died, there would be no point in eating (karma 4), competing with other species (karma 1), or any form of self preservation (karma 5). Reproduction (karma 2) has no role and there would be absolutely no reason to do anything any longer. All natural processes would be useless.

2) Light Blue Pearl

The information received from the cycle is most likely from the Light Blue Pearl, found in Outskirts.

“[...]The repeating mantra is important because it symbolizes the cyclical nature of life and death, and the termination verse is a symbol for ascension above and beyond it. I don't know how familiar you are with the nature of life and death, but I imagine like all living creatures you have some intuitive knowledge? Then you know that death isn't the end - birth and death are connected to each other like a ring, or some say a spiral. Some say a spiral that in turn forms a ring. Some ramble in agonizing longevity. But the basis is agreed upon: like sleep like death, you wake up again - whether you want to or not. This is true for all living things, but some actually break the cycle. That doesn't apply to you or me though, you are too entangled in your animal struggles, and for me not breaking that cycle is an integral part of the design. Our mantras keep repeating.”

“Then you know that death isn't the end - birth and death are connected to each other like a ring, or some say a spiral. Some say a spiral that in turn forms a ring.“

This line is very misunderstood. Moon specifically mentions birth and death. She mentions death. She never brings up the notion that nothing truly dies either.

As well as this, Moon says that “some say”, implying that even the ancients weren’t sure what the cycle was either. This is more important to my point regarding how the unfathomable nature of the cycle was why the Ancients were so averse to it from above, though.

------

“Sliver of Straw found the solution.”/"There is/isn't solution"

No she didn’t.

.

.

Ok fine I’ll explain.

If you’ve played Rain World you know that the purpose of the iterators is to find the solution to the “Great Problem”, the problem of how to ascend ALL living creatures.

You’ll also know Sliver sent out the Triple Affirmative…

“[...]affirmative that a solution has been found, affirmative that the solution is portable, and affirmative that a technical implementation is possible and generally applicable. She's also one of few that has ever been confirmed as exhaustively incapacitated, or dead. We do not die easily.[…]” - Pale Yellow (SL)

After sending out this affirmative, the iterators became conflicted. They never could figure out if she really ascended and had found the solution, or if it was some sort of catastrophic error.

The answer to the Great Problem is clearly intended to be as obscured as possible. There cannot be an answer one way or the other. The themes of it and the endless tolling of the iterators would not be as impactful if we knew there was or wasn’t a solution.

“[...]Either way, after that these different factions developed, as well as a huge forensic effort to recreate and simulate Sliver of Straw's last moments. Some of the simulations were wrapped in a simulation wrapped in a simulation, in case something dangerous might happen. Nothing much has come from it.[…]“ - Pale Yellow (SL)

Here’s my favorite way of explaining what I mean…

Imagine Schrodinger's Cat, the famous thought experiment. There’s a 50/50 chance that when you open the box, you either find the Solution, or find out there is No Solution.

Except you cannot open the box. And the box is entirely theoretical and nobody’s seen it. It seems impossible, but maybe one day you’ll find that box. That’s what the Great Problem is.

Sliver apparently having found the solution would have completely broken everything. Five Pebbles wouldn’t have ended up hurting himself and Moon had Sliver finding the solution been known with certainty. He was taking a shot in the dark.

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“Ascension is akin to suicide.”

I strongly believe this point harms the role that ascension and the void sea play in Rain World’s narrative. Ascension is meant to be a final destination, a goal you build up to and prepare for when you’ve lived every bit of life you possible could, and can now move on.

Bringing up the Memory Crypt pearl from earlier, Seventeen Axes lived an incredibly fulfilling life from what we see, and ascended happily.

As well as this, Buddhism strongly encourages those who wish to liberate themselves to discover their own path, which is also subtly shown through the gameplay, as there are many many routes you can take to Five Pebbles, Looks To The Moon, and The Depths.

I do also think this is why Five Pebbles failed. He tried to brute force his way to ascension.

Suicide implies that ascension is only meant to be a fruitless escape and that it’s wrong to ascend. I… do not want to go into why suicide is bad. It’s a strong topic and I’m just here to talk about video games. But ascension is a neutral thing that you can choose to do or not do and to wait until you’re ready.

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Conclusion...

I really only have the time to cover these 6 misconceptions, and I believe it should be enough. There have been many others I’ve seen, such as the ancients being malicious or that there weren’t any civilizations before them, but there’s not as much to say about them, and they aren’t as common.

Rain World is a very confusing game. I’m not upset at people who think these things to be true, and I do not believe they’re stupid or don’t have any media literacy. I just wish that the people who did actually cover this game did some more looking into it, and actually discussing it with Rain World fans.

Also I should say, that during this entire discussion I have avoided talking about Downpour- RW’s DLC- as it’s more of a official fanmade project. And so much of what it says may not be entirely in line with Vanilla. Because my life isn’t easy and of course there has to be an incredibly divisive and confusing thing like this that I need to avoid bringing up so that way the conversation isn’t muddled.

Thanks if you managed to make it through all this by the way

[lesvii]

You don’t own me.

One shot

Just a lil something I had in my mind, also this is a fem reader !

———————————————————————————————————————————————

Your relationship with Valeria wasn’t exactly the healthiest thing but you two tried to do what was best for both. Sometimes you just spends countless days alone in her hacienda surrounded with ‘’her best mans’’ just to always keep an eye out for you, when she disappear to make her business deals, it was her form of saying ‘I love you’.

It’s silly to think what could had been if she didn’t have this kind of job.

A drug lord.

Maybe in another universe you two actually had decent jobs and a normal life, but this wasn’t the case.

This time you two just got into a fight, again. It was common now, Valeria’s stress was overbearing since she had just lost over a huge deal thanks to the Mexican fuerzas especiales, it wasn’t your fault and you know it, she knows it too. But in this case everything for her was too much, too much noise, her man talking, you trying to reason with her to take a decent rest.

‘’ Valeria… please just take time to rest, how can you do all of this by yourself in this state?’’.

You said as your hands rested on her desk, pleading at her, she sighed irritated by your comment, you two already had the chat about leaving the cartel, oh how many times you pleaded to her, just for her safety, frankly you didn’t care about luxury and wealth when it came from the suffering of others. But she didn’t see it that way, she worked damn hard to get to the top, she wasn’t backing up now, not even for you.

‘’ I’m fine y/n.’’. Valeria said coldly.

You just stare at her, lost, you sighed as you stand up straight, that’s when she looked at you as she raised an eyebrow.

´´fine.´´ you said as you turn away to exit her office.

‘’Where do you think you’re going?’’ Valeria said with a cold demand.

You slowly turn away to face her again, as you gaze her slowly, analyzing which move would be the correct one and which one will guarantee you the bad side of Valeria garza.

‘’ Well… clearly away, since you wont listen to me anyways…’’ you said, as you crossed your arms.

Valeria gazed you from her desk office as she got up, slowly walking towards you, it was almost mesmerizing, like a lion stalking its prey ready to attack. As she stopped right in front of your face, just a few inches far apart.

‘’ Quién chingados te crees para hablar me así?’’ Valeria said with her strong Mexican accent, in that tone she used to yell to her workers.

Unbelievable you think, after all you’ve done for her, she dares to speak at you like that. You stand there not sure of what to say, at the end you were just as tired as she was.

‘’ You know what I’m not in the mood for this, I’m out.’’ You said as you sighed, closed your eyes to stop the headache. As you were leaving the door, she grabs you by the arm as she pushes you back to her office.

‘’ I’ve asked you a question corazón, huh?’’ Valeria said once again.

You pulled your arm off her grip, as you started to loose patience too.

‘’ I said I’m not in the mood for your little theatrics Valeria! God—‘’ you brushed her off.

She frowns her eyebrows, as she analyzes you with a cold gaze. You could see how the aura in the room changed, as you shook your head, trying to get off the awful feeling.

“I’ve done everything for you. And this is how you react?” Valeria said as she crossed her arms.

You sighed, for a moment you were going to explode but let’s be honest, her and you going mad wasn’t the right move, You chuckled.

“Really Val? Cause from about 6 months you’ve been disappearing every week, I dont even know if your hurt, if your alive even!” I finally said at her, she just looked at you as if she was looking for the correct words to say it.

“You’ve decided to stay with me, you know the consequences of it.” She said without flinching.

You stare at her defeated knowing once again you won’t win this fight, as if someone can win el sin nombre.

“I- you don’t get it do you? It’s getting so tiredly we can’t have a normal conversation every time you decide to turn it into a fight, I’m not sure I can do this anymore.” You said as you shook you head stepping away from her

She laughed, as you turned around confused at her.

“What? Do you think I you can just leave here?, asi nomas? ”. She said lastly as her Mexican accent.

You just stared at her, as your vision started to get blurry from the tears in your eyes. You hated when she talked like that. You stare at her confused. She walked around you as if a predator analyzing his prey.

“You aren’t allowed to leave anymore corazón, you decided to stay.. you’ve know too much by now” Valeria said.

You freeze for a second not sure what she meant.

“You don’t own me.” Was the only thing that came out of you, she smirked at you as she laughed.

“Oh… but you do”. Valeria said as she caressed your cheek.

Thx for reading this ! Once again English is not my first language, if I wrote something wrong please feel free to correct me ❤️

[lottiies]

one of his many journal entries about you

arthur morgan x fem!reader and male!reader <33

i won’t lie…i have 45 hours on the game and i’m not even past chapter 2 (っ- ‸ – ς) why progress when i can save myself the pending heartbreak and instead admire this pretty man and his journal sketches?

anyways…love all you arthur morgan kissers ♡

“my body doesn’t feel right as of late. my hands are too rough, my face is all wrinkled up, and my voice isn’t all that pleasant. if only i could sound as smooth as i write.

never been the most confident of men, but well, this body’s what i’m stuck with. used to go months on end without shaving until i realized my beard looked like bills. how embarrassing. miss grimshaw, the strong-headed woman she is, knocked some sense into me too. well…more like slapped me.

shaving makes me look more approachable, and that’s not really a good thing with my reputation. but, i did it anyway and spent a pretty penny on the barber up in valentine’s…had to pay a bit extra because of the drunken ruckus lenny and i caused there last time.

if my heart hadn’t been captured, maybe these worries of mine wouldn’t even exist.

oh, the ridiculous things love does to a man…”

꒰ fem!reader ꒱

“about as beautiful as the stars above; a woman so otherworldly that sometimes I have to look away. she shines too brightly for these tired eyes of mine. i suppose that’s for the best, ain’t it? a man like me, the walking embodiment of sin, isn’t worthy of such a loving lady.

but that doesn’t keep her away. she often asks me to recount some of my adventures, and i hesitantly do so, fearful she’ll think me a bad man. craziest thing is, she looks more worried than anything else whenever i do as told. telling me to be more careful with that honey-like voice of hers. could listen to it all day. it’s like a balm to the soul.

can’t keep myself away from her either. doesn’t matter what she’s doing, i always find myself wandering over to her. i don’t usually have trouble sleeping, i’m like some rock when it comes to it. but she’s occupied my mind too much lately, falling asleep is difficult. like right now. should be sleeping, but i’m not. just up wondering about the ifs and hows.

i’ve been saving up some money so i can go get her something real nice, maybe a pretty dangly necklace. could just steal one, but i want to prove myself to her. she deserves the best, not something that belonged to some other stranger.

god knows i’d do whatever i can to keep her safe and sound. i’d die for her. funny thing is, i considered myself to be a selfish man before breathing the same air as her.

i can say with absolute certainty that i would give up everything for a future with her.

if she’d have me.

…

now, this fool’s about to try and sketch her.

not sure if i can encapsulate her beauty onto a page, though.”

꒰ male!reader ꒱

“i fear I’m going mad. i never thought i’d feel this way about a man before. then again, pursuit of romance has never been a priority in my life. he’s one of a kind, something about him makes my palms feel all clammy.

he never leaves my head, every inch of this brain of mine is consumed with thoughts of him. his grin, the way his hat perches on his head, the stories he shares ‘round the campfire.

i’ve come across many men on all my journeys, but his handsomeness is unmatched. and he’s different. doesn’t nag me like dutch or get on my nerves like micah, but he isn’t just a brother like some of the other folks here.

i’ve been a bit too scared to drink these days. you know me, i spill my guts out and say stupid things like a damn fool when i get like that. wouldn’t know what to do if i were to sputter out how fine of a fella i think he is, or how grateful i am for him. is this only a special friendship? no, i don’t know how to describe this.

well, yes i do, actually.

love.

my fingers trembled while writing that.

some may call this spark a sin, but going down an altar with him would be a taste of heaven itself. that wish is too far-fetched though.

all i ask for is a sign. just one. maybe i’m misreading the glimmer in his eye, or the way the bastard slings his arm over my shoulder and sings after he downs some moonshine.

weird how life works, isn’t it?”

[edenmemes]

baldur's gate 3 starters (part 2)

part 2 / ? .

❝ i’m also worried about me, but i somehow seem to be worried about you more. ❞ ❝ you put the stars to shame. let’s sit here a little while - i want to drink you in. ❞ ❝ i’d tell you not to get in trouble, but i suspect it will find you whether you like it or not. ❞ ❝ well, this seems as good a time as any for me to stop babbling on. ❞ ❝ i just….need some air…clear my head. ❞ ❝ it’s been a long time since i shed a tear. i don’t even know how long. ❞ ❝ i had a feeling you’d show up. it’s sort of our thing. like it’s fate or something. ❞ ❝ i do appreciate your enthusiasm, but let's try to restrain ourselves a little. ❞ ❝ if that was an attempt at flirting, i should let you know i prefer the strong, silent type. ❞ ❝ no matter how far you come, you’re still on the road to ruin. ❞ ❝ i thought you a hunter. wrong. you’re prey - small. snivelling. pathetic. ❞ ❝ and what am i owed? what about the injustices i’ve suffered - am i not entitled to anything? ❞ ❝ i can’t help but feel the strangest twinge of disgust as i look upon you. ❞ ❝ i trust that you will continue to remember who is really on your side. ❞ ❝ better a short life built on truth than immortality woven of lies. ❞ ❝ i won’t make excuses. i can’t make amends. but i want to help, if you’ll let me. ❞ ❝ gods, it’s horrifying…and a touch fascinating. ❞ ❝ there are many names for you --- and all of them inspire dread. ❞ ❝ destiny is at your door; won’t you at least twitch the curtain? ❞ ❝ the gravest crimes committed in this world are committed for love. a hunger crueller than bloodlust. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ revenge sounds so sweet until you’ve taken it. then all you have is…no one left to blame. ❞ ❝ some mistakes can’t be resolved with an apology. some mistakes, you have to carry with you, forever. ❞ ❝ you’re plotting something, aren’t you? come on then - out with it. ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ think of all we’ve been through just to get to this moment. that wasn’t luck. that was us. ❞ ❝ feel like i should laugh but i’m just too godsdamned tired. ❞ ❝ there is something i lost…no, had taken from me. i want it all back. ❞ ❝ careful - you’re in very real danger of hurting my feelings. ❞ ❝ one thing i’ve learned - real saviours never label themselves as such. ❞ ❝ less thinking of bad thoughts, and more breaking of bad bones. ❞ ❝ i rather like interfering. it’s kind of my thing. ❞ ❝ evil is evil, even if it once was innocent. ❞ ❝ you know, i've been catching myself smiling more lately. i think that's your fault.. ❞ ❝ oh, i’m no innocent. but evil? you tell me. ❞ ❝ i still want to believe you’re better than that. but even i am having my doubts. ❞ ❝ i can’t afford to lose my nerve. safer to just not think, and keep forging ahead. ❞ ❝ when all this is over, will you stay with me? for good? ❞ ❝ this is not good, if i may state the obvious. ❞ ❝ is there a reason you're always such an utter drip? do you have some sort of condition? honestly, it's like you hate good news. ❞ ❝ all of nature’s beauty pales in comparison to you. ❞ ❝ i can’t save you from yourself. it hurts terribly, but i can’t. ❞ ❝ if i seem suddenly flush with hope and soft feeling, you have only yourself to blame. ❞ ❝ is there good and evil within us all? ❞

❝ i’ve been watching you fight. your skills are improving. ❞ ❝ you know, for all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place, i really feel quite at home here. ❞ ❝ and you? you’re wholly without vice or sin or the occasional lapse in judgement? ❞ ❝ i wager you don’t even know how extraordinary you truly are. but i do. ❞ ❝ one might say you’re paragon of luck. i’ll be there when it runs out. ❞ ❝ i've always had a soft spot for the confident ones…they always disappoint though. ❞ ❝ i concealed nothing from you. i simply left out the details that were not pertinent. ❞ ❝ you’re an odd friend. but, i suppose, a friend still. ❞ ❝ i won’t let you do this. i won’t let you win. ❞ ❝ you are my puppet. make no mistake. without me, you have no value. ❞ ❝ well, this seems like a lovely little spot. the sense of impending doom aside. ❞ ❝ whoever your enemies are, they have good reason to fear you. ❞ ❝ this place is astonishing, a bard’s tale made real. ❞ ❝ i may not regret my actions, but i do regret that they were necessary. ❞ ❝ experience has taught me that no matter how bleak things look, there’s always hope. ❞ ❝ if this adventure has taught me anything, it’s that there are things in this world more valuable than power. ❞ ❝ a wise man learns from his mistakes, and strives not to repeat them. ❞ ❝ no more hiding things from me. agreed? ❞ ❝ my friend. my companion. i adore you. ❞ ❝ your face is sour. by all means leave, if i am so distasteful. ❞ ❝ careful, it’s dark around here. would be a terrible shame to lose you forever. ❞ ❝ you startled me. i…i was miles away. ❞ ❝ you have to know who i was. you have to know who i really am. ❞ ❝ nothing special, of course. you’re only the first person who i truly care for. ❞ ❝ you’ve got a backbone, and the makings of a leader. ❞ ❝ anything you ask, i’ll answer as honestly as i can. ❞

[blackleatherjacketz]

Shadow and Sin: Chapter 4

Elijah Mikaelson x Female Reader

Summary: Having just moved to New Orleans, you get intimately acquainted with both Mikaelson brothers, but don't find out who they are until it's too late.

This Chapter: A mysterious box shows up on your doorstep, Elijah buys you a drink.

Warnings: Witchcraft, Love Bombing, Stalking, Sugar Daddy Vibes, Feelings of Inadequacy

Word Count: 2.3k+

Read the rest of the story HERE

Klaus’ bloody kiss had stayed with you for days, haunting you throughout your shifts at the hospital as your hormones raged in the absence of his presence, nearly making it impossible for you to focus. It made you wish that you were established enough to focus solely on your art career, that you didn’t have to work well into the night to pay your bills, but here you were, still a slave to capitalism. After your third grueling shift in a row, your legs wearily carry your body up the stairs to your apartment only to find a package sitting square in the middle of your doorstep. You look down the hallway at the other apartments, thinking that maybe it was something from the landlord that everybody got, but all the other welcome mats lay empty.

The box just sits there ominously, devoid of any stickers or labels, letting you know that it’s been hand delivered instead of ordered online and sent to your address. For whatever reason, you’re not sure why, that makes it seem a little bit more unsettling than you care to admit. That shady tarot reading makes you even more suspicious, Klaus’ warning of the witches in this town lingering in the back of your mind, making you approach your door with more caution than usual.

As you get closer, you notice that it’s a small wooden box exquisitely carved of rich cherry, no bigger than a shoebox without any other words or markings anywhere that you can see. Your heart races as you bend down to pick it up, holding your breath as you fear the very worst. What if there’s a dead animal inside or a body part covered in blood with some kind of curse on it that ruins your life once you touch it? What if it’s a distraction? What if….? You’re too tired for this. You grit your teeth and take a deep breath, finally convincing yourself to move your fingers and lift the top half of the box to see what’s inside.

Oh thank God! It’s just a book, but not any old book. It’s a paperback copy of Le Fantome de l’Opera, the first edition ever to be sold in France in the early 1900’s…1910, to be exact.

You exhale instantly as a wave of relief washes over you, carefully inspecting the green and gray cover, turning it over in your hands a few times before opening it to view its yellowed but pristine pages. You’d seen listings of this copy online before, but never actually seen it in person, let alone physically held it in your own hands. You can’t help but smile as you flip through the pages, doing your best to interpret the foreign language until you reach the front cover, reading a small note recently inscribed in perfect cursive:

For your collection, Little Lotte. Let your mind wander. I’ve read this far too many times to keep it Locked away on my shelf.

Your obedient servant. E. M.

E. M.? Elijah, of course! Had you really made as much of an impression on him as he had on you that day in the library? Has he really been thinking about you fondly enough to make a purchase of this magnitude and leave it for you to find in the middle of the night?

You stare blankly at the message for a moment, allowing the aroma of aged ink on paper to fill your nostrils as you bring it up to your face, nearly forgetting where you are and how scared you were just a moment ago. You close your eyes and imagine the intoxicating scent of his cologne surrounding you as that dark voice of his reads to you in French before your body begins to warm all over, instinctively leaning against your front door.

Your eyelids flutter as the weight of them suddenly becomes too much, the comfort of your bed calling to you as you coach yourself to find your keys and push them into the handle, nearly stumbling inside your living room. You bring the book and its box inside with you, sleepily deciding that you can weigh out the pros and cons of both Elijah and Klaus in the morning once you’re showered and rested, but until then, it’s time to sleep.

————————

You don’t wake again until the next afternoon, a rather common occurrence after working so many twelve-hour shifts in a row. You eventually rise and talk yourself into making a strong pot of coffee, glancing over at the book Elijah had left you as your caffeine begins to brew. Allowing the aroma to slowly clear your head as you pour your first cup, you wonder which situation was weirder: Klaus shutting down your Tarot interpretation just to walk you home and kiss you, or Elijah tracking down your home address to send you your favorite book. Both had lines of romantic intentions drawn through them, Klaus’ being a bit more forward than Elijah’s, but the truth remains for each of them.

You can’t remember a time where anyone had vied for your affections more fervently than right now, when two wildly different men had so brazenly inserted themselves into your life, the likes of which you could only compare to the romantic stories you’ve read about in books. You’d always envied those women who had two lovers to choose from, the center of attention at all times as these men competed for her hand. But this is real life, and if your years of experience had taught you anything about men, it’s that one of them will most likely grow tired of you before too long, weeding themselves out of the competition before it even begins. It’s just a book, you tell yourself. That’s all.

Attempting to clear your head of work, magic and ancient copies of classic literature, you decide to watch your coworker Tammy play the trumpet at a small bar in the garden district later in the night. It’s far enough away from where you met both Elijah and Klaus that you don’t have to worry about weighing the options of being in their presence as you settle into your barstool.

You let the music from the instruments distract you for the moment; Tammy’s trumpet painting the humid Louisiana air a shockingly vivid yellow, the saxophone adding bright red to the canvas as the piano dots the page with its vibrant blue notes while the bass guitar’s earthy green tones hold it all together. They blend and build onto one another, creating a beautifully unique masterpiece of sound that’s distinct to this region of the world, but vastly different from anything else anyone’s ever created before. This is what you love about the city, how the music on every street corner seems to take on a life of its own, dousing every inch of it in an almost visible, tangible fresco for everyone around to experience. This city is alive in more ways than one, and you’re just happy to be here to bear witness.

“Your finest whiskey, please, and whatever she’s having.” That dark chocolate timbre brings you back to reality as he addresses the bartender before turning ever so slightly toward you.

Oh, great. It’s Elijah. Is he following you? He’s already managed to find out where you live, so this doesn’t completely surprise you, but the coincidence forces suspicion to take up shelter in the base of your spine as he unbuttons his suit jacket.

“Espresso martini, please,” you tell the bartender softly, looking over at Elijah in disbelief. You aren’t entirely sure if you should be flattered or scared, his determination to find you both admirable and alarming. “Are you following me?” You ask in a semi-joking tone.

“Hardly,” he replies with a satisfied grin, keeping his secrets safe. “But if I was, I wouldn’t have expected you to show up here.”

“Well, if I’d have known you were looking for me, I would have given you more of a run for your money.” You lie, attempting to play it cool as you look at both of your reflections in the mirror behind the bar.

So much for your vampire theory.

“Would you, now?” He chuckles, his nonchalance making you shiver.

“Thank you, by the way… for the drink and for the gift.” You pause as his grin slowly melts into a smile. “The book, it’s remarkable, I’ve never seen anything like it,” you pause, careful not to get too swept up by his romantic gesture that you lose your head. “But that’s a nine thousand dollar book, Elijah, I looked it up on eBay. The first edition ever? I mean, how did you even get that? There are only two copies in the entire world for sale right now. I couldn't possibly accept a gift like this.”

He shrugs as if the money is inconsequential to him, his lips pursing just enough to signal that he’s almost tickled by your refusal. “I didn’t buy it, if it’s the price that bothers you.” He takes a moment to lean in and look you in the eye, his voice dropping down to a sincere whisper. “I gave it to you because I wanted you to have it, because you told me how much that book meant to you.”

“But why would you do that? You don’t even know me,” you counter breathily, attempting to push away what seems too good to be true.

“Not yet, no.” He sizes you up like a snake about to devour its prey. “But I could.”

Goddamnit, who IS this guy?

“Well… first of all, you can’t just stalk me and find out where I live and leave mysterious unmarked boxes on my doorstep at three in the morning.” You hush the tone of your last few words as the bartender brings both of your drinks out.

“I thought you enjoyed elements of danger with your romance, that love was meaningless without any stakes?” He raises an eyebrow and traces the rim of his glass with his index finger.

“I meant in my books, not in real life. I didn’t anticipate you scaring me half to death after a long shift with that box! It could have been anything in there: a dead rat, bloody feathers, someone’s finger, I don’t know!” You helplessly attempt to plead your case of how frightening it is to live in this world as a woman, but a man like him isn’t likely to listen.

“I’ve offended you.” His tone is diplomatic now, his expression hardening. “I assure you, that was not my intention. If I’ve misread our previous interaction, I’ll kindly take my leave.”

“No, that’s not it!” You correct him, grabbing hold of his arm to keep him near. “I'm letting you know that I would be offended if I wasn’t so… if you weren’t so…” you trail off, getting flustered as your lip begins to quiver.

“If I weren’t so what?” He reaches up and pushes a strand of hair away from your face, making your heart leap inside your chest as he gently tucks it behind your ear. You suddenly feel as if all time has stopped, the boisterous barrage of the band fading off into the distance as you fall headfirst into the black abyss of his eyes, letting it pull you down into its darkest depths, abandoning all hope of walking away from this sultry encounter unscathed. “I know you feel it, too.”

Fuck. He’s not wrong, not even a little.

He inhales slowly, creating a long electric pause as he takes you in as if it’s his very first time seeing you, letting you drown in the slick feeling in the very pit of your stomach. “I’ll admit that my delivery was a little old fashioned, but I thought that was something you’d appreciate.” He strokes your cheek as if he knows exactly what to do to make you melt beneath him, that he’s well aware that despite his questionable actions, he knows you won’t get up and leave.

“Mmm hmm,” you stammer clumsily, his fingers lighting up your skin as every tiny hair stands at attention, waiting for him to touch more of you.

“I didn’t mean to alarm you.” He removes his hand from your face and takes the first sip of his cocktail, the stoic confidence radiating off of him like a man who's done no wrong.

“I do appreciate it, I really do, more than you know.” You admit, barely able to find your words as he holds you in his gaze. You struggle to express out loud what you’re thinking right now, how you’re feeling as a haunting sense of unworthiness creeps over you, inch by inch like an insidious gray cloud. You’d know it anywhere by now, for it’s the same one that’s followed you around for the majority of your adult life. “It’s just that one’s ever done anything like that for me before. I guess I’m just… not used to it.”

“Then every man before me has been a fool.” He lets his hand rest on top of yours, his fingers slowly slipping into the spaces between them before gently flipping it over, exposing your wrist. He takes another long draught of his whiskey before tracing little designs into your palm with his fingertips, exciting every neuron on your skin before moving up to your wrist, brushing against your pulse. “I’m sure that isn’t what you came to this city to find, now is it, little Lotte? A life that you’re ‘used to’?”

“No.” You confess almost immediately, feeling yourself sinking down deeper into his chasm of madness as you attempt to pick your jaw up off the floor.

“Then keep the book.”

[if-loves]

不老梦 (unaging dream)

// Yandere Dan Heng

sum: “How many meetings receive their worthy ends?”

wc: 3383

warnings: idk OOC dan heng ig 😢 and fem! reader

a/n: this was a shower idea ngl and also i yapped too much someone stop me

also inspired by the song 不老梦 (and some influence of 锦鲤抄 (no one ask me how many times i’ve played this song)) by 银临! i highly suggest giving both a listen (≧∇≦)

likes and reblogs appreciated :)

Dan Feng adored you.

Dan Heng knows that much. He knows that Dan Feng’s first and last thoughts were about you, pondering your whereabouts, your health, and a longing to see you once more. He knows that Dan Feng would, without fail, set aside time solely for you. No matter how busy his schedule was, he always had time for you. If Dan Feng knew love, it was because he knew you.

Dan Heng doesn’t understand why.

He knows that you’re a long-life species like Jing Yuan, that you’re someone who has accompanied every reincarnation of his ever since you had met them for the first time. He vaguely remembers that the rest of them had not felt anything more than platonic affection for you, but Dan Feng, the singular oddity, harbored far more romantic affections. Dan Heng, on the other hand, feels nothing.

Or so he thinks, until he is forced to revisit the Xianzhou Luofu.

It’s at Scalegorge Waterscape that he sees and meets you for the first time. You accompany Jing Yuan as he arrives, and your eyes immediately lock on to him. He sees them widen, and your lips whisper the name of his predecessor. Although almost silent, he hears your voice, and something in him tells him that it’s the most beautiful sound in the universe.

(He makes no move to deny.)

Your meeting is brief, no more than a sentence exchanged. You dip your head in respect, and nothing more than a simple greeting is said. He merely nods in acknowledgment, and yet while he has never learned it, he yearns to call your name.

You dutifully follow Jing Yuan as the group goes deeper into Scalegorge Waterscape, and Dan Heng can’t help but glance at you. He wonders if you know his name, and not that of his predecessors; he is not, and never will be, Dan Feng.

He thinks it’s odd that you don’t try to speak to him. From Dan Feng’s memories, he sees that you were both very close, perhaps even lovers at some point. Your wide smiles and sweet laughter are all etched into his brain, and he desires nothing more than to hear and see them for himself. He hopes you’ll give him the pleasure of smiling once more.

During the battle with Phantylia, he feels fear in his heart. He is concerned for the Express, concerned for Jing Yuan, and concerned for you. Was there really a need for you to be there, with everyone at the frontlines? Surely their group was enough already? Why didn’t Jing Yuan leave you behind or make you go back with Yanqing?

Plagued by his worries, he can’t help but keep his eyes on you as much as the battle allows. You stood at the very back, likely providing support and aid for your comrades in the front. Seeing you like this sparks another remembrance, of the days you’d delicately put ointment on Dan Feng’s bruises or gently tend to his wounds, all while chastising him about being more careful with himself.

It’s after the battle with Phantylia that he manages to find the courage to speak to you. He feels like a child with the way shyness has overtaken him, and he catches sight of Jing Yuan, although injured, seemingly enjoying his fluster.

“It’s… it’s been a long time.” He cringes at his first words.

“So it has, Imbibitor Lunae.” Your voice, a symphony of the galaxy’s most captivating sounds, enchants him further, and although not usually one to blush, he feels heat rising to his cheeks.

“Dan Heng. My name is Dan Heng.” He can’t help but correct. He has been relinquished of that name, of the sins that it bears. He is not Imbibitor Lunae, he is merely the Astral Express’ Dan Heng. “I… am no longer Imbibitor Lunae.”

“…Dan Heng, then.” Is it foolish to be happy at how one says your name? “Is there something I can help you with?”

“I…” Dan Heng doesn’t quite know what to say. He wants to speak to you, to hear you for the rest of time, but he doesn’t know how. He doesn’t know how to speak to you without the possibility of widening the rift already between you two, undoubtedly the fault of a certain Vidyadhara High Elder.

“If there is nothing more to say, then I shall be on my way. I wish you and your crewmates safe travels.” You say simply and easily, like you don’t hold his heart. You say it like he’s a stranger, and not even your eyes are willing to show a hint of familiarity. What heinous crime did Dan Feng do to you that even to this day, you’re unwilling to forgive?

“I’d like to know what happened between you and… my predecessor.” The word leaves a sour taste in his mouth, like he’s saying the name of the competitor for your love. Your eyes widen in shock, and you look at him as if he had just asked to return to the Luofu permanently. He is acutely aware of the absurdity of the situation, that he looks exactly the same as the sinner that undoubtedly did something to you, that this same face is acting as if he hadn’t done anything to you. The real irony was in asking for the list of crimes.

“…There’s nothing more to be said, other than that he betrayed Xianzhou.” You don’t offer him the kindness of an explanation, and he thinks the way you can’t bear to even meet his eyes says all he needs to know about your feelings. Dan Feng had hurt you so greatly, that years later your heart is still hurting.

Dan Heng desires nothing more than to understand you the same way all his predecessors did, for an intimate connection the rest of them had, but he knows that for as long as he resembles him, you’ll never offer him that opportunity. And so, he makes a request.

He makes a request to meet with Jing Yuan privately. Said man is now your boss, and if you had told anyone about your connection to the traitor, it would be Jing Yuan, the only one who would welcome you with no judgment, only understanding.

“It was quite the surprise to learn of your request, Dan Heng.” The white haired man sits on his seat, a calm expression on his face. The Seat of Divine Foresight is devoid of people, the space cleared for this meeting. The General seems to have recognised some urgency in the request, or perhaps it is because he is a reincarnation of his old friend. You are also nowhere to be found.

“Thank you for accepting my request, Jing Yuan.” Dan Heng is stiff in his reply.

“There’s no need to be formal, you did help save the Luofu after all. Consider it part of a repayment for your predecessor’s crimes.” A bird comfortably nestles itself into the nest of his hair, and he makes no move to rid it. “Your request mentioned something about (Y/n). I imagine that it has something to do with Dan Feng’s past with her?”

“Yes. I tried to ask her, but she refused to give me anything more than the vague answer of his betrayal.” The black haired man’s hands clenches on his knee, looking straight at Jing Yuan as if his life depended on the answer. “Please, Jing Yuan, I need to know.”

I need to know how I can fix his mistakes.

“I must apologize, for I can’t exactly help much either. As far as I know, she has mostly kept to herself. Back when everything had yet to go awry, while the five of us were close, only Dan Feng was close to her.” Jing Yuan replied, mindlessly staring at a stack of paper on his desk. “I only came to really know her after what he did, when she was seeking a change of jobs and came across a position as my assistant. From what little I can recall of the past, I can only confidently tell you that she, at the very least, held strong affections for him, even when he broke his promises or left her alone.”

Dan Feng… broke his promises to you? Dan Feng… left you alone?

“This seems like quite the news for you.” Jing Yuan chuckles at the dumbfounded expression on his face. “Perhaps I can help with sorting through some memories?”

“Everything I can remember from him is nothing more than sweet memories and strong yearnings to see her again. It… I cannot remember anything of that sort.” Dan Heng is frankly horrified and beyond furious. He just couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that Dan Feng didn’t prioritize you the same way his memories and dreams had shown him, that he would willingly break promises to his supposed lover so often that you gave up.

“Oh? That’s interesting. Is it possible that during the reincarnation process, all of his negative memories of hurting her had somehow disappeared, only leaving behind the ones he cherished most?”

“That would seem to be the case.” Dan Heng has a new determination. He knows what he must do. Standing from the seat, he bows politely at Jing Yuan. “I know what I must do. Thank you for the valuable information, Jing Yuan.”

“No thanks needed.” The General waves him off, seeing the body of his old friend disappear behind the doors. With a bitter smile, he silently mourns bygone days, but it doesn’t soothe the ache in his old heart.

~~~

You’re a little afraid to go to work now.

With the knowledge that your ex-lover’s reincarnation who happens to look exactly like him is still roaming about in the Luofu, you kind of don’t want to step out of your house for fear of running into him. You had desperately hoped that, by some miracle, he couldn’t recognise you, or even better, completely forgotten all about you. Alas, the will of the Aeons will always be like a child’s, fickle and ever-changing, never leaving a second thought for their toys.

The weekend has you hiding in your house, praying to Lan that the Express has departed, allowing you to be free from the reminder of the dream you once cherished with the one you loved. The dream that was once so beautiful, so precious, was now tainted with the stains of yesteryear, never again to be dreamed of by any of its dreamers.

You’re settled on the couch, reading a collection of poetry when there is a knock at your door. Never one to keep guests waiting, you immediately jumped out of your seat to rush to the door, forgetting the crucial reminder to check the knocker. It is this one fatal mistake that seals your fate forevermore.

“(Y/n).” His voice is the same as you remember, reverent, loving (as if you meant the world). He looks the same, the blue horns atop his head that he would only allow you to touch, the teal eyes that could always read you as if you were an open book, the long, black hair you loved to braid. You used to lay on his lap, one of his hands holding yours, the other caressing your cheek with a gentleness reserved for delicate flowers, lulling you to your shared dream.

Your name from his lips sounds so right, yet, yet, like the forbidden fruit from the Garden of Eden, a tempting yet unpardonable sin. Your name sounds as though it was specifically intended for his lips alone, but the taint of the past sours the feeling. He’s a traitor to the Xianzhou, he is exiled. He… is dead to you.

But… Why is it that you yearn for him? Why is it that your body longs to be in his embrace once more, that your heart desires to beat in sync with his?

“I love you.” This dream, cruel and twisted and evil in all its forms, has you weak. You can’t see straight, and the world is turning into a blur. How could he say that, while he looks like him? How dare he? Has Aha taken the form of your regret, and decided to make you THEIR victim?

You don’t realize the tears running down your face until he, holding your face with both hands, much like a lover would, wipes them away.

“Please don’t cry. I don’t like seeing you sad.” The sunlight shines upon him angelically, a frown marring his face. His eyes are panicked, unsure of what to do. He, so similar yet so different, knows not what a lover should do.

The panic in his eyes morphs to confusion when you weakly push his hands away, trying your hardest to compose yourself in front of him. He is not the same person you once knew, and he deserves freedom.

Wiping the last of your tears away, you invite him into your home. He is visibly shocked, accepting your invitation without hesitation, following you to the couch. You offer him a drink, tea, but he refuses.

“I learned some things from Jing Yuan.” He starts, quietly. He looks at you, and there is a glimmer of hope in his eyes. “Please, I need to know what he did, the promises he broke, the sins he committed. I… need to make things right.”

“You do not need to repent for the sins of your predecessor. A child does not bear the responsibility of righting the wrongs of their parents; you do not bear the responsibilities of righting his wrongs.” You speak to him firmly, a sudden strength in your voice. “Please, Dan Heng, be free from me; be free from the Luofu.”

“But I love-”

“You do not love me.” An anger flashes in his eyes briefly, and had you blinked you would have missed it. The anger, ever so brief, on his face is the same as you remember. “You love what your predecessor loved about me. All your memories of me are his, and you are not him. You have the chance to love freely, to meet all kinds of people from all walks of life - I am but a speck of dust in the tempest of your life. Soon I will be nothing but a memory, perhaps bittersweet, and you will find something, someone, that you’ll love.”

You hope, desperately, that he understands. He says he is not Imbibitor Lunae, that he is not Dan Feng; then severing your ties with him would be the final nail in the coffin, the true death of the High Elder of the Vidyadhara, and the birth of Dan Heng, a member of the Astral Express who freely travels the galaxy with his companions.

“…I don’t want it.” Now it is your turn to be shocked. Has he lost his mind?

“Dan Heng, I have tried to be kind considering your situation. However, you seem to not be understanding.” Your reprimand is immediate, tumbling out of your mouth as if they were prepared beforehand.

“And I don’t want it. I need you, don’t you understand? Even… even if I deny him, he, and the ones before him, will always have a hold on me. The hold is you. We can’t live without you, none of us have. Don’t you know? As pointless as it may be, Vidyadharas mate for life; leaving without you would be akin to condemning myself to an eternity of heartbreak and misery.” He pleads, even taking your hands in his. “Even if my love for you is, thus far, only brought upon by his memories, it is fate, destiny, that I will fall in love with you again and again and again.”

Your heart hurts all over again, and you make no move to reply. Your head hangs, your eyes staring at your lap, at your intertwined hands. Gently, delicately, he brings your hand to his heart, and it beats in tandem with yours.

“Remember the vows he swore to you at that festival, many years ago?” He, Dan Heng, you must remind yourself, moves you to his lap, and you’re reminded of the many times you’ve shared this position with his lookalike. There is the same tenderness and warmth, the same comfort and protection it brings, yet you are reminded all the same that he is not the one you love.

“Those are — were his vows to keep, not yours.” You remind once more, but your words seem to reach deaf ears when the only expression on his face is that of a lovesick, diseased man.

“His vows were of reunion and love, and he has promised you eternity. If there is something of his I am willing to uphold, it is his vows to you.” He takes the hand on his heart and brings it to his cheek, leaning into your hand. Slyly, he moves your ear to his heart, and you find that the beating of the muscle doesn’t quite bring you relief. No, something brews inside your heart, and it feels closer to fear.

“Dan Heng, I d-”

“Say my name again.” He demands, his eyes, the bright teal eyes you once loved, harboring a hunger you had never seen before, not even from him.

“Dan… Heng…”

“I remember reading a story in the archives once. A pair of lovers, forever forced to part, doomed to the cycle of reincarnation. In every life, they found each other, but not every meeting was as joyful as it should have been.” He murmurs, his tail wrapping around your waist. His eyes are half-lidded, and he looks as if he has ascended to another plane. “In one of their happier lives, they grew old together. One posed a question to the other as they lay on their deathbeds, destined to continue their cycle of eternal existence. Do you know what the question was?”

Silence rings louder than it has ever been, yet still, he patiently awaits your answer. He knows that at the end of the day, you fall to him. He knows that you will speak.

“I do not.” He is right.

““How many meetings receive their worthy ends?” I have pondered this question since the first time we met at Scalegorge Waterscape, and I have decided.” With a strength you often forget he has, he picks you up and walks out of the door, ignorant of all the stares and whispers that plague his appearance. “I have decided that this meeting will receive the end it is worthy of.”

Everything else he says thereafter is nothing more than white noise.

~~~

Jing Yuan seemed more than happy to let you go with Dan Heng, and the Express was more than happy to welcome you aboard. Dan Heng, having reverted back to his more casual appearance, sticks close to you. Not that it matters, for you rarely leave the Archives.

March 7th is a peppy girl. Himeko is a kind woman. Welt Yang is a knowledgeable member. The Trailblazer is a resilient being. And Dan Heng…

Dan Heng is your captor, holding you to a vow from centuries ago. You have yet to have a moment of rest, a moment where you could finally breathe, but every time you look at him you are reminded of the real person behind the appearance. He is, first and foremost, a dragon, and dragons are primitive creatures; their rules of existence follow simple principles of eating when they are hungry, fighting when they are angry, and taking what they desire.

“Fortune granted our union amidst a crowd of ten thousand,” he reads, your head on his lap. Your eyes are closed, but you can feel his fond gaze. A fate of being struck by the mara would be a better fate than being a prisoner of your regret.

Lately, he has taken a liking to the poetry collection you brought with you. His reading has soured the otherwise bewitching poetry, yet you don’t wish for the deception of sleep — you know that it will only bring you the sweet dream you are trying to escape.

“I’d rather break my heart and bathe in flames,

than to break the thought

of night’s drizzle and water lilies by your side.”

[notaplaceofhonour]

I was raised in the People of Destiny cult (later renamed, and more well-known as, Sovereign Grace Ministries, now Sovereign Grace Churches).

The valorization of martyrdom and The End Times was so ubiquitous it was ambient noise. We stood in the church lobby theorizing about who the antichrist would be, we argued about whether Jesus would rapture us all before, after, or during the Tribulation Period where Satan would be given free reign over the earth. There was a strong Christian Zionist fixation on Israel as the final battleground and capital of the coming Messianic Age. But the one thing we were all certain of was is that we were in the End Times, that we were not of this world and couldn’t get too attached to our lives here.

We were raised to believe our sin nature made us undeserving of life, that we deserved death and eternal conscious torture.

My parents read us the Jesus Freaks books (a series by Christian Rap group DC Talk about martyrs). I spent “devotional time” reading Fox’s Book of Martyrs. We had guest speakers from Voice of the Martyrs, their pamphlets were often stocked in our church’s information center. We grew up with our dad listening to right wing talk radio and making us listen to songs about how the Godless atheists were outlawing Christianity in America, that we could all become martyrs soon.

The group’s theology was damaging & traumatic in a lot of other ways that contributed to the suicidality I have continued to struggle with for the rest of my life. For a long time I did not believe I would live past 20. There are times when the idea of giving my death meaning by using public suicide to make a political statement has appealed to me.

So now, seeing so many social media posts glorifying the suicide of a US Airman this week, I have been furious. Reading his social media posts, I recognize so much about the way I was raised in his all-or-nothing, black-or-white mindset, the valorization of death-seeking & martyrdom, and the apocalyptic fire-and-brimstone imagery of self-immolation. The moment I saw people I followed celebrating his self-immolation, I said to myself “this feels like a cult”

So when I learned he was raised in a cult too, nothing could have made more sense to me. His political orientation may have changed, but his mindset did not—it was no less extreme or cult-like.

I’ve talked about so many of the reasons this response from the broader left scares me, including how it’s laundering that airman’s antisemitic beliefs, but I cannot think of anything that would hit me in a more personal place than this specific response to this specific situation has.

When I see the images, I think: that could have been me. That scares me, and what scares me more is that so many prominent people are overwhelmingly sending the message to people like me that there is nothing else we can do that would have a more meaningful impact than killing ourselves for the cause.

I do not believe that. I will not even entertain it. And having to see his death over and over and over again, to argue against people who are treating this like an intellectual/moral exercise or a valid debate we all have to consider has been immensely triggering and fills me with a rage I rarely feel. It’s unconscionable that we are even putting self-harm on the table, and that pushing back against that is somehow controversial.

There is hope. Our lives do have meaning. There are far more effective means of fighting injustice. And the world is a better place for having you in it. Don’t fall into believing this is a way to give life purpose.

[morganas-pendragons]

The Prophecy | Celebrimbor

Guys. The brainrot is all consuming. Send help.

I was listening to the Tortured Poets Department the other day and felt like this really fits with what I’ve written for him so far. I know I’m writing this plot out of order, but it will eventually all make sense. I am still training at work, and while that constitutes nothing for me, it means I have too much time on my hands.

This will fit into the 3 part fic called Where Are You? that will cover 2x06-2x08. I haven't rewatched 2x08 yet, but that's coming. I have so many ideas for you guys that I may just start rapid fire releasing the drabbles first.

next fic is for High King Gil-Galad

Secondly, this concept is turning into an OC fic. It will be on Ao3 by the end of this year!

Tag: @pentaghasm @celebrimbormylove @thesolarangel @wild-typo-turtle @ladyoflindon @sandwichmustbetasty

Song inspiration: The Prophecy - Taylor Swift

Prompt: You ruminate on what little you remember in your purpose of being in Eregion while Celebrimbor sleeps at your side. The Valar may grant mercy on occasion, but you wonder if this ends in doom for you both.

***

Things are beginning to come back in pieces. You aren’t exactly sure why. There are flashes of gentle eyes and gray hair. Whispered words in Quenya as you perfect your natural healing ability. Your name, the real one given to you, but you don’t remember by who. Not yet.

You prefer the name given to you by Celebrimbor.

Said elf lays beneath your palm, breathing steady even as he sleeps. You had been the one to seek him out for comfort this time. It was a rare night of him succumbing to sleep early, and so you had sought him out in desperation, aching for the comfort of Celebrimbor’s embrace to shelter you from your memories.

You’d forgotten until you’d fallen into his bed how far away he was. It didn’t matter that you could feel his heartbeat, or touch his skin. He was worlds away from you.

And all because of Annatar.

Now you lay here, head pillowed against his chest, fingers tracing shapes against his abdomen, too distracted by your racing thoughts to sleep. Annatar’s constant demands and high expectations in the crafting of the Rings had put you both on edge. Celebrimbor had been elusive as well. So much of his time was spent locked away in The Forge, just out of reach.

He’d never deny you. Not even with the distance between you both.

No one but you could feel the dark magic in that room. The shadows that shrouded the elf you love, even now, so suffocating that it remains difficult to breathe.

“Please,” You whisper. No one may be listening. You have no idea. You would beg whatever entity did listen for this. “Please do not let this end in doom.”

With the trajectory of what was occurring, you had been trying to fight the impending sense of doom lingering in your heart for weeks. The nagging feeling in the back of your head that you are to be preparing for a funeral for you or Celebrimbor by the conclusion.

Or both of you.

You shiver at the thought and bury your face in Celebrimbor’s shoulder. His arm tightens around you instinctively, like the elf you’ve fallen in love with still resides deep within the recesses of the mind he’s been made prisoner in.

Please, I’ve been on my knees

Change the prophecy

“He’s so good,” You whisper. “Everything he does is from the goodness of his heart. A kind heart.” You hold your breath as your tears collide with Celebrimbor’s skin, causing him to shift beneath you and press his face into your hair with a quiet grumble. You don’t dare speak again until you’re sure he’s asleep. “All of Celebrimbor’s intentions have been pure. He wants to do right by his people and rectify the sins and shortcomings of the House of Fëanor. This should not end in ruin. Not his.”

Don’t want money, just someone who wants my company

Let it once be me

You wish you could pull him out. Use your magic to break through the darkness that has settled upon this city, settled upon him, and force your way through the walls Annatar has erected to keep him complacent. It is Celebrimbor’s own chains that keep him prisoner.

Chains built by pride and ambition.

No. If anything, Celebrimbor will have to awaken from the depths of this illusion when the stakes are too high and he has something to lose.

Who do I have to speak to

About if they can redo the prophecy??

You run your free hand to rest your fingertips against his temple, smiling against the curve of his cheek as Celebrimbor begins to stir beneath you. Heavy lidded eyes flutter open to meet your own. In those few moments of silence, you can see him.

“Why-“ Celebrimbor starts, cut off by a yawn as he buries his face in your neck and rolls to slot a leg between yours. The action has you blushing as you raise your hand to tangle your fingers in his hair. The action usually puts him right back to sleep. “It isn’t even dawn yet, love. Why are you awake?”

You contemplate an answer for several seconds. Part of you wants to tell him, to confide in him about that underlying fear of ruin, but you don’t. You don’t know what he’ll say if you directly mention Annatar.

You don’t even know if you could trust in him not repeating what you’ve said to Annatar.

So you instead allow him to place a lingering kiss at the corner of your jaw, humming softly as his fingers soothe your body's aches by massaging at your hip.

You’re so tired.

“Too much to ruminate on. My mind will not let me rest.” You reply. Celebrimbor frowns, the furrow in his brow deepening as concern flashes behind his eyes. “I will be fine. You sleep, my love. I will be here when you wake.”

Celebrimbor does not complain. He can't. Too many times have you been the one to hold him, to shelter him from the storm of his own mind as he wakes briefly enough to seek you out. Too many times have you been the one to leave food at his table, to bring him tea, to offer him your company when his solitude becomes too great to bear.

Too many times have you fallen back asleep while Celebrimbor wept in the silence.

You hear Celebrimbor whisper his, "I love you." before settling again, this time with his hand pressed against your stomach and his hair tickling your nose. The sheer vulnerability of being so willing to sleep in a position like this when you've been apart for weeks has tears burning the back of your eyes.

Who do I have to speak to To change the prophecy?

You hold him there on the precipice of sleep and allow, for just this moment, your fear to breach the surface.

"Please," You whisper. "Please, just this once, grant us mercy."

***

And far above the reaches of Middle Earth, she heard you.

The Lady of Mercy and Grief did not ignore the suffering of those who dared to reach for her.

[dewdropdinosaur]

Transparent Heart

Human! Alastor x Ghost Reader Summary:Alastor needs a new source of inspiration. Nothing sparks that bloodlust anymore, nothing can satiate the growing desires he has for more and more carnage. One night, while all a party with Mimzy, he meets Y/N. Or does he? The sweet woman seems innocent enough but in reality she is a ghost, a being of chaos gilded by a fasle innocence. His new muse may be undead but it sure sparks some life in him. Warnings: Undead reader, smut, mentions of P in V, Alastor is a warning in and of himself, Demi-sexual Alastor, non-sex repulsed. MNDI, 18+. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

Celebrating 500+ followers!! Omg, everyone you cannont imagine my gratitude for this community. I started writing in January and just how much love and support I have recieved is mind-blowing. All of you are freaking amazing and I hope you know I adore you, my lovelies!

Alastor leaned against the dark wall of the burlesque club, his brown eyes scanning the vibrant display of sinful transgression before him, yet feeling none of it. The room pulsed with music, laughter, and the clink of champagne glasses, but none of it stirred him. He should have been thrilled—there were scantily clad dancers twirling and shimmying on stage, Mimzy was in normal form, charming the crowd with her flamboyant flair, and every inch of the room screamed excess. Innocent souls, ripe for the taking. A little southern charm here, a lingering touch there, a knife sliting their throat in a delectable squish that would send shocks of pleasure down his spine. It was a celebration, a riot of decadence that should have made his very soul hum with delight. 

But alas, the radio host. Felt nothing.

Once upon a time, this would have been his kind of night. The heady energy of sin, the delicious tang of chaos, the joy of being surrounded by souls desperate for something—anything—to fill the emptiness inside them. So desperate would they be, to fall into his greedy hands and he would grace them with the gift of death so sweet. It used to fill him with such vigor, such delight, like a fine wine sliding down his throat. But now, it was all just noise. Annoying noise.

The laughter? Grating. The champagne? Flat. The dancers? Nothing more than fleeting distractions. He watched as Mimzy flirted with a particularly tipsy patron, her laughter like tinkling bells, but it was all so... tiresome. 

He tilted his head slightly, and his sharp grin never wavered, but the sparkle in his eyes had dimmed. It was all a game, wasn’t it? A never-ending circus of false joy. No matter how many times he twisted the dance floor or how many souls he swirled into his web, it was all the same. Hollow. 

The feeling had come upon him suddenly a few weeks ago, stuck in a never-ending cycle of ambivalence. Nothing stirred the oh-so-normal bloodlust within his chest anymore. Nothing excited him to enjoy the chase, the screams. 

Alastor’s fingers tapped rhythmically against his glass, his gaze shifting to the stage as the dancers performed their latest number. It was all so… mundane. The bright lights, the glitter, the exaggerated performances—they meant nothing to him anymore. Maybe this is how he died, being a wallflower.

He exhaled softly, his voice barely rising above the cacophony. “Mimzy, darling,” he said, his tone languid, “do you ever get the feeling that all this glorious spectacle is just a bit... tedious?” 

Mimzy, amid her own little charade, paused and shot him a knowing look, her eyes twinkling with a touch of amusement. “Oh, Alastor,” she said, grinning wide. “You sound like you have been alive for centuries? Enjoy a bit of decadence. Pour some whiskey, put on some jazz!”

Alastor’s smile didn’t falter; a shadow passed across his expression. “Maybe that’s the problem, my dear. I’ve danced this dance for far too long.” 

And somewhere, deep in the pit of his chest, a voice whispered: Is there anything left to live for?

In the middle of his mid-but young-life crisis, a soft tap planted itself on his shoulder. His body became rigid, a dangerous flash passing through his eyes at the unwelcome contact. It was not entirely unpleasant, cold and soft. Strange, considering he hated all touch but one could suppose he had too much to drink. 

Alastor turned slowly to face the guilty party, only to find a petite woman standing before him. Pale, no doubt, almost sickly looking if her eyes hadn’t been the faintest shade of amber that brought the only sense of warmth to her face. Her hair was a light blonde, or was it gray? He couldn’t tell. All he knew was that this little pet had imposed themselves—

“If you are done staring, mister, may I continue my question?” 

Alastor blinked, his sharp gaze narrowing slightly. The soft tap had already left a prickling sensation on the back of his neck, and now this woman, audacious and unsettling, dared to speak to him as if he were some mere pedestrian. 

"What question?" His voice was smooth but cold, each syllable wrapped in the chill of his natural cynicism. It wasn’t the first time someone had approached him on a whim, but there was something different about this one. Something off-kilter, like a mismatched note in a song—one that lingered just long enough to be more than a fleeting annoyance.

The woman tilted her head slightly, the pale light accentuating the faint shadows beneath her eyes. There was something about her eyes, too—lifeless but sharp as a hawk’s. She seemed entirely unperturbed by his cold demeanor. 

"I was wondering," she began, her voice soft yet steady, "if you intend to stand like a wallflower all night or become something worth my time?"

Alastor’s eyebrows twitched, and his lips curled into something akin to a grin, though it was closer to a wolf’s smirk than anything resembling warmth. A question like that—drenched in disrespect, a dance with death itself. Was she…playing with him?

“Is that so?” His voice was laced with amusement, yet his eyes remained icy. “And what would a fragile little thing like yourself do with finding me interesting?”

The woman didn’t flinch. Instead, she tilted her head just slightly more, a ghost of a smile appearing at the corner of her lips. “I’ve seen it,” she murmured. “How you find no pleasure in this display around us. It’s no stranger to you and I am not a stranger to it either. I see you come in here and revel every week until recently. Why is that?

For a moment, Alastor was silent. He had heard words like these before, though they usually came from those who lacked any real understanding of the ruthless, visceral nature of existence. But something about her tone, so deliberate, so knowing, stirred something within him. Something deep. Why would someone he had never met, though who apparently watched him, ask such a personal question?

“Well aren’t you a brazen one, my dear. I would suppose, these events have just lost their…usefulness.”

“Oh, because you kill people?” 

He hadn’t expected that at all. How did she know? How could he play this off? A shadow passed over his gaze, darkened as he looked down at the calm woman. She was baffling…but certainly, the most intriguing thing he had interacted with in a while. He hadn’t expected anyone—let alone a delicate little creature like her—to speak with such clarity about the one thing he’d devoted his entire being to understanding: death. But then again, he realized, perhaps this little conversation had more teeth than he’d first assumed. 

Grabbing her wrist discreetly but with a vice hold, he dragged his newfound muse into an empty room on the other end of the club. Throwing her in the room, he assumed her frail stature might cause her to fall, but instead, she simply looked like she floated across the floor. Strange. 

He chuckled, but the sound was dry, devoid of humor. “You’re quite the curious thing,” he said, his eyes glinting as he regarded her more closely. “Now, how does a little thing like you, make such a bold assumption as that?”

“Well, I have seen you,” she replied simply, her gaze meeting his with a directness that was both unnerving and intoxicating. “You are quite clean with it I must say, well, except for the eating part…but then again I guess everyone has their preferences.”

Alastor was taken aback. A brief flicker of something like appreciation passed through his mind, quickly followed by annoyance. Was she toying with him? Was this an act, some mask for her true fragility? 

For a moment, he considered walking away, dismissing her as yet another oddity to forget. But the words she spoke lingered in his thoughts, gnawing at him like a restless hunger.

"What about you, Alastor?" she continued, her voice softening, almost as though she were coaxing him, "Do you fight it? The lack of bloodlust you’re feeling? Or do you surrender to the inevitable?"

Her words hung in the air between them, and the sound of her quiet challenge echoed in Alastor’s mind long after she’d spoken. He exhaled sharply through his nose, irritation flashing across his features. This woman had a way of pushing him in ways he didn’t particularly enjoy. 

And yet…

He growled lowly, stalking up to her with an imposing stance. Just kill her now, kill the witness. All his problems would go away, he could go back to standing on that stupid wall, drinking that flat champagne.

He glanced at her, a flicker of something approaching amusement in his eyes. Or…or he could have the most fun he had in weeks.

 "I suppose I don't have the luxury of surrender," he said, his tone colder now, sharper. "I’ve long since learned that life is more… interesting when you push against its edges. Though, I confess, there’s something rather invigorating about someone who understands the dance with death as well as you do."

She smiled this time a full, knowing grin. “I thought you’d understand,” she said with quiet certainty, leaning closer just enough for him to catch the scent of something oddly familiar—something sharp, like iron or fresh rain. “The world doesn’t stop spinning just because we want to rest. We can’t simply wait for the end to come. Until it gets here. No, Alastor, it’s all about taking it—grabbing hold of that final moment and making it yours.”

At first, Alastor found himself irritated by her relentless inquiries, the audacity with which she wove her words into the space between them. He considered walking away several times, but then, a strange thing happened.

Then, the irritation faded.

The longer they spoke, the more he felt the edges of his personality, drawn out by her words, her very presence. She was no weakling, no frightened soul. No, this woman was a kindred spirit of sorts—a creature of the abyss who spoke the language he had long since mastered.

But he supposed, it had gone on long enough. Even those whom he found mildly amusing had their time to go. And now, this woman had come to hers. Walking over to a desk in the room, he pulled the drawer open with the mask of preparing himself a drink. This was his typical room…to engage in his activities. As the woman faced away from him, staring blankly at the wall with what seemed ignorance, he approached. The blade was hidden deftly behind his back. 

“Well, my dear, as pleasant as this has been, I think it’s time we end this little game of ours.”

Raising the blade to her throat, he made the slice with a quickness that came with practiced ease. 

Only sweet, rich, red blood did not spill from her body for him to lap with reckless abandon. Her head remained intact, the blade leaving no mark. Backing up in mild shock, Alastor’s eyes widened in what he could only call horrific intrigue. How much had he had to drink?!

“Now, that was rather a rude thing to do.” The woman’s head turned…180 degrees, backward facing him. A small smirk painting to face. And then, her body started to float, righting itself to face him fully as he glided in the air to meet him. Her cold and frail fingers came to caress the edge of his cheek with a gentleness that surprised him. 

“Why would you do that to me, Al? I thought we were friends.” The woman….or ghost woman started to shed alligator tears. Her voice was a high-pitched wail that irked him to no end. 

“What…what are you?”

That caused the woman to pause, eyes sharpening as she looked at him with a look so fierce he felt like his own knife had pierced his heart. 

“I am Y/N. I…I am the ghost that lives here.” 

Now that would have caused him to howl in laughter had he not seen the spectacle before him. Y/N….the famed ghost story Mimzy would tell to scare customers into scam ghost tours of the club after hours for an extra buck. But here she was…in the flesh?

“I thought you knew me Alastor. I thought you understood me. Understood the darkness–” Y/N brought her hand back to his cheek, trailing it slowly, even seductively down his chest to the buttons of his vest. He felt a strange pull to the being, confusingly enraptured by her now. The transparent but uniquely cold nature of her touch sent shivers down his spine, in a way he almost did not mind. 

Where had this feeling come from? Had…had his interest in the conversation been actual interest in the woman before him? He usually never felt this way about anyone. Alastor’s lips parted in an attempt to refute his thoughts but nothing came out. 

Y/N’s hand lingered on his chest, her fingers brushing against the fabric of his vest with calculated precision. Her touch was cold, yet there was an undeniable warmth to the way it ignited something in him—something he couldn't name. Alastor's usual composure began to slip, the confident, omnipotent mask he wore trembling in the presence of this woman.

"You always talk about control, Alastor," she purred, her voice an intoxicating melody that seemed to bypass his usual defenses. "But perhaps you’ve never been in a position where control slips through your fingers, like sand... or, more aptly, like time."

Her words struck him like a thunderclap, rattling his thoughts. Time? Had he been so blind, so consumed by the world of his own making, that he failed to see what was right in front of him? He wasn't sure how to answer, only aware that something was shifting, like a piece of the universe slowly aligning to something he couldn't yet understand.

The smile she gave him was a little too knowing, and he hated it. But more than that, he couldn't seem to hate her—an emotion he had learned to master long ago. For a fleeting moment, her eyes softened, not in pity, but in a way that unnerved him. She was dangerous, yes, but there was something else there��a depth, a complexity that tugged at him.

“You look so lost, Alastor,” she whispered, leaning in closer, her breath cold against his skin. “Let me guide you..”

Her hand slid down, brushing against his vest, the tips of her fingers brushing the edges of his buttons, slowly popping them open one by one.  Every movement of hers seemed deliberate, calculated. And yet, as if it was just for him. That he was the sole focus of such tender devotions. 

Alastor swallowed, his mind scrambling to form the words to push her away, to reassert his authority. But instead, something inside him relented. He wasn’t sure if it was the warmth of her presence, the pull of her energy, or the simple fact that for the first time in ages, something made him feel alive.

“You think you know me, don’t you?” he said, his voice low, almost... intrigued. “But I assure you, darling, you know nothing.”

“Then let me learn, Alastor,” she whispered, her lips dangerously close to his ear. “Let me see the darkness you keep hidden. Let me understand what makes you... human.”

The word struck him like a jolt of electricity, and for the first time in a long while, Alastor felt something unexplainable deep in his chest. Was it love? Was it obsession? Or was it the terrifying realization that maybe, just maybe, he could understand her too? 

—————————————————————————————————

Clothes lay discarded on the hardwood floor, Alastor’s suit jacket among the heap. His body pressed her bare one flush to the hardwood floor, her lips continuing their long and languid assault on his own.

 All that remained was Alastor in a white button-up and boxers, his clothed member rutting onto your bare cunt. Moaning into the kiss, her tentatively brought his hands up to find themselves settling at the nape of the Y/N’s neck. Experimentally giving the roots a small tug, a growl emitted from Alastor’s lips, enjoying the way she shivered before him. 

It was almost like her form wasn’t there at all, that her body was transparent. Though, at this moment, he did not question the physics of how he could touch a ghost. 

Laid bare before his hungry eyes and desires, his cock came to be inside Y/N with one thrust; cunt wet and ready for him like it was made for this purpose. Like she was gifted to him by the divine to hold him close in the darkness and relish in his desires. How the serial killer, had come to be with a being who could not be killed. The one thing he could never kill. The irony wasn’t lost on him, though not his main idea at the moment. 

Conceptually, rationally, by all means of logic, Alastor knew it would never work. Except, in this very moment, cock pounding into her wet and inviting cunt, he couldn’t help but pray to whatever power was listening that something would come to fruition. 

Her moans were sweet on his ears, like southern sweetwater molasses taffy. The kinda of stuff you just can’t get enough of. With every rut of his hips into hers, those delicious noises would fall from her parted pale lips. Now, those were the kind of noises he would search for in the middle of the night. Screams, still scream, but those he wrought by giving her the utmost pleasure his mortal form could apply. 

All for her. His little ghost. 

[oneknightstand-if]

Percy Soulmate Comments

All right, here are all the comments from the Percy Soulmate help post found here. Too many to do the normal screencap thing. Hopefully this will help for all those seeking to become Percy's soulmate (or declare they are) at first sight!

Thanks to everyone who commented.

unhell-of-the-unwise

You must be more than a cuckoo, you also need other required stats, such as pure (atleast 3), will (atleast 7), and as far as I recall, you must have 100% Sweet either on the personality you showcase outside or the one you hide.

unhell-of-the-unwise

-The pure stat can be gained by choosing “innocent” actions, if I’m right. Options can be when having a crush (obvious or hidden) on Adrian and choosing the song options in the Apocalypse topic when you talk with him during club time. One song option will have romantic lyrics, you must choose the innocent option to gain purity. Another option can be when asking Merlin in the latest update if they need to feed during the drive at the abandoned warehouse. Avoid potty mouthed responses and lustful choices, or the Lust sin. -Will is mostly options that oppose Denial, such as “I’ve always wanted to go on a apocalyptic trip!”, it also helps that some of these options also raise cuckoo levels. -The Sweet stat is easier to mesure, given that it’s visible. Obviously, choose positive responses so that it’s 100%, or if you fail to do so, choose 100% Sweet as your hidden persona.

Basically, the PC must be some sort of modern Percival. Forgot to mention, but you also must not be corrupted/possessed, the whole “pure” thing, you know.

unhell-of-the-unwise

Oh, and don’t be a coward, it’s tied to Will options so I won’t further elaborate.

unhell-of-the-unwise

According to the code, there is a hero stat, so I suppose picking the most..positive option when having the react to your backstory helps.

unhell-of-the-unwise

I bid thee farewell as I cease my mindless rambling.

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise Some corrections as I've 'ctrl+f'd through the code and you're mostly right. Pure is gained by: OBVIOUS SPOILERS INCOMING: Never swearing. This should actually score you enough points for the soulmate flag on its own, so long as you don't lose points. However, if you still want to curse in every language known to man, as swearing does not subtract points on its own, there are just enough points to scrounge up to still trigger the flag. In the polo route, you have to Instinctively save Pippa, and not back down even if you fail. In the the fencing route, you can get a point for giving the panhandler your spare change and by not saving Zain but by then applying pressure to the wound. After club, if you are not a Greed MC or panicking, you must go back to Help Merlin after they first appear. Next point appears during 20 questions; when the topic of God and Angels come up, you have to Believe (do not pray). If you are kidnapped by the call, trying to help your burning apartment building is another point. (There's another point opportunity sandwiched in here, but it's by vowing off all swearing, but swearing is fun!) If you don't go into the gas station, questioning whether Merlin paid for everything is a point; if you do go in, simply not taking anything is a point. If you have three points, you have enough. It's lost by being a filthy, self-centered blackguard! No stealing (names are okay)! No harming people to get ahead (don't even think about it) and 1000 poxes on you murderers out there!

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise u_hero is specifically raised in three points atm, you can commit to saving Pippa (you get the point even if you fail), passing the stat check to save Zain, or standing between Adrian and the hellhound after club. You only need one of these flags.

unhell-of-the-unwise

@unbiquitousloser Ah, I see. Thank you for the corrections.

unbiquitousloser

@unhell-of-the-unwise Happy to help (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

nekoteus

@unhell-of-the-unwise The hero stat seems to be linked to succesfully saving people in club. So either chase down Pippa or knockaway the sword fragments in fencing club

randomguysayshello

Will>=7, cuckoo>=30,no corruption, don't be a coward, 1 or higher hero stat(the easy way is to rescue your clubmate), have 100 sweetness or your inner mind is sweet, have a pure stat greater than 3 (no serial killers, no pottymouths)

Quick purity guide

Polo club:- chase after enchanter moon(+1 purity), but will be removed by choice:-

★Actually, what the hell am I doing? I drop back to a sensible pace and leg Adrian attemp the rescue instead. (-1 purity)

Fence club:- choice:-

★I pause to give my loose change to a panhandler at the next intersection(+1 purity)

★ Remove my bully fencing glove and apply pressure to the area directly below the artery.(+1 purity)

★Remove my glove and clamp my hands around his neck(+1 purity)

Removed by:- ★Still i remain silent (-1 purity)

If you choose to do nothing, specifically:-

★Still I can do nothing more but stare at all this happening, If you are a cop(-1 purity)

Your Ultimate Secret:- ★Serial Killer(-1000 purity)

Hellhound chase:-

★I wonder if I can trip Adrian without slowing too much?(-1 purity)

★"Adrian we need to help M_pronoun" I,ve no idea what's going on, but feathers or not that M_man can't possibly take on that beast by M_pronounself(+1 purity)

The Tentacle Incident:- If you get molested by those disgusting tentacles, ★"Let go and save yourself!"(+1 purity)

Merlin Loredump:- If you ask a question about gods ★Still I want to believe in them (+1 purity)

Kidnapped:- (I think atleast)

★ "Isn't there anything more we can do about helping now?"(+1 purity)

★Atleast I'm not in the building (-1 purity)

★I stand up in detemination, intent on leaving this RV and returning to help at the apartment complex(+1 purity)

★Oh well. At least iw wasn't me(-1 purity)

★Perhaps this is my true nature after all. (-1 purity)

One option for killer but you are already negative purity(-1000) so what's one more

randomguysayshello

·Opinion on Merlin:- (Total -1 purity) First option:- ★My true opinion doesn't matter. Fully intend to take advantage of this situation. (No change, but unlocks the following choice):- ★I will play nice on the surface and try to manipulate Merlin(-1 purity)

·Opinion of Adrian:- (Total -1 purity) First choice:- ★My true opinion of Adrian doesn't matter. In circumstances like this, it's best to play nice to someone's face for one's own benefit.(No change but unlocks following choice):- ★That's right, I fully intend to manipulate Adrian for my own benefit

·Elevator scene(if the magic dance is still active):-

★I MC_motion my MC_weapon and wave it menacingly in the interloper's general direction(-1 purity)

Security guard scene(if magic dance is still active):-

★I MC_motion my MC_weapon and point it straight at the approaching security guard.(-1 purity)

·In the RV:-

★ I shrug and sit back down on the sofa. In the end, it has nothing to do with me.(-1 purity)

«If you haven't cursed and have a zero pothymouth variable you will get +1 purity»

randomguysayshello

@randomguysayshello ·Dream sequence, specifically the fight with Lancelot:- ★Never mind, fair play and the rules of engagement, I charge straight at him before the match has properly begun.(-1 purity, only if you are a lucid dreamer)

·After waking up, you decide what do with cursing in the apocalypse(at gas station):-

♦IF you haven't cursed ever (zero pottymouth):- ★As usual my mind remain pure and free of any swear words that might fit this exact situation.(+2 purity) •Every other option that indicates you will now start to curse more often reduces purity by 1 point

♦ELSE:-

•Trying to not curse entirely increases purity by 1 point.

·If you stay at the RV:-

★One never knows until they try. I attempt to hot-wire the motorhome(-1 purity)

At the end of the gas station, if you didn't go to shop or had too much fear and ran back to the RV:- ★"You paid for all this stuff right?"(+1 purity)

♦Killer option to reduce purity doesn't really matter

♠If you decide to ransack the whole store:- If purity is greater than one, Purity is set to zero, otherwise -1 purity.

♠If you take zero itmes whilst shopping(+1 purity)

♦If the RV has been sabotaged then, You will get a option to visit a shop:-

★I head off into the small attached shop to see if there's anything intresting in there(no change) ♦Pick a item or all items ★No skaes clerk.No security camera.No problem with me walking out the door with this MC_Purchase(-1 purity)

♣There's the guide done♣

randomguysayshello

@randomguysayshello You only need 3 purity points for one of the requirements for being Percy's soulmate, and according to the code you can still be a pottymouth and have atleast 3 purity.

[f1nalboys]

confessional ; lester sinclair

Lester Sinclair x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 2280

WARNINGS: nsfw, no sex, priest kink, blasphemy, perverting the catholic faith etc, hands free orgasm, some nasty stuffs going down in the confessional, cumming in his pants, talk about sacreligious fantasies, corrupting lester teehee. not really proofread, based off of this thing i wrote

The confessional booth is dark and quiet. As Lester sits in the small wooden seat, his hands clasped loosely in his lap, resting on his robes, he ponders for just a moment if this is his true calling. He wonders if the other priests, all older, more experienced and devout, struggle with the thoughts he does. Lester has no time to think about it as he hears the confessional curtain slide open, the clinking of the eyelet rings against the pole having him sit up a bit straighter. 

His thumb runs over the rosary as he listens to the person settle into their side of the booth. Lester swallows heavily as he stares forwards into the wooden door, at the carved wooden statue of his Lord and Savior nailed to the cross, shifting in his seat. He knows the penitent cannot see him, that he is shrouded in darkness and separated by the old wood and lattice, but he knows God can see him and he must be careful. Careful with his thoughts, careful with his actions, careful with leading the flock to the path of righteousness. A hush falls over the booth.

“Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.” Lester’s eyes widen slightly and he can feel his pulse in his throat. He knew that voice, knew who it belonged to, and though he shouldn’t, he couldn’t help but put a face to the voice. Your image manifests in front of him, translucent, a mirage against the grain of the door. “This is my first confessional.”

Lester nods, forgetting for a moment the image of you is purely in his mind. He clears his throat, which was suddenly dry, and smooths the purple stole. “That’s alright. This is one of my first confessions too, y'know.” He says quietly, a lie, and he can’t help but feel the corner of his lips twitch at the sigh of relief he hears you let out. He wonders what you look like right now, if you’re in your usual attire or something different. It was later in the day, warmer than usual, and he has to clear his throat again to rid his thoughts of what that might entail. “Just… confess your sins and I'll do my best to help lead ya to absolution.”

“Thank you, Father.” You take a deep breath and Lester waits with bated breath, unsure of why he is so interested in what you will confess. The sins have always blended together. Adultery, drinking, gossiping, materialism, jealousy, lying; he’s heard every sin a thousand times over and not once did he ever feel invested past his holy duty. But this is you, the young lamb he was meant to protect. 

No, Lester thinks to himself as you begin to speak, the young lamb God was meant to protect. Not him. “I’ve lied to people before, dozens of times, just to get a better outcome for myself. I’m selfish, greedy, and gluttonous.” Lester hears the waver in your voice as you speak and he wonders for a split second if you knew by his voice that he was the one taking your confession. “I don’t pray everyday, I‘ve missed Mass many times due to laziness…” 

He waits as you trail off to see if you continue speaking. When the awkward silence hangs over the booth like a raincloud he speaks, doing his best to keep his voice calm and even. “Ask for absolution and I can give it to ya.” He says, his accent strong and comforting, his eyes still on the wooden door. He had been sitting on the small wooden seat far past comfort, but the pain and ache in his back was no longer felt.

“Please… can you grant me absolution, Father?” 

You speak right away, as if commanded by him, and your voice sends a shiver down his spine. You were eager to be forgiven, listening to his every word. He realizes that he could steer you wrong, he could push you towards darkness instead of the light, and that you’d follow. He swallows heavily, his eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. They snap open. The lust for power burned heavy in his heart; he could tell you whatever he wanted and you’d believe him. You would do anything if he said so.

“I can. Say five ‘Our Father’s’ and you'll be forgiven.”

“Thank you, Father.” You say and Lester swears he can hear your relief. 

He keeps his eyes closed as he brings his rosary, an old flashy thing with a red sapphire in the center his mother had passed down to him, to his lips. You begin to murmur the Act of Contrition, Lester whispering along to his part. “Go in peace.” He says, settling back as he waits to hear you stand, for the curtain to be pulled back and for yet another member of the congregation to enter and for him to start the process over again. It doesn’t come. “You alright, sweetheart?”

His voice is etched with concern, his eyes opening and for the first time, he allows himself to look over through the lattice. Your silhouette is there, your head bent down, your hands clasped into prayer, and he nearly gasps at the want that stirs in his stomach. He can’t see you, but now that he faces you, he can see your outline, he can smell your perfume, he can just barely make out the curve of your lips as you whisper hurriedly to yourself. When your head moves up, he sits back as quickly as he can, staring at the door.

“I didn’t confess everything.” 

“That’s alright. Do you wanna confess more?” 

“I do but… I’m afraid it’s sacreligious.” 

The words nearly take his breath away. “Sacreligious?” He says, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. He won’t say it - can't say it - but he wasn’t sure that was possible. Not with you, at least. “I think you should kneel and confess.” It’s out of his mouth before he means to say it, his accent growing stronger, but he hears the sounds of you moving from the creaky wooden bench onto the ground. He keeps his eyes on the door but he can see you there, knelt on the ground with your hands clasped at your face, looking up at the lattice with wide nervous eyes.

“I… I suffer from impure thoughts, Father.”

Lester grins softly, shaking his head. “That’s hardly sacreligious. It’s-”

“It’s about a priest, Father.” Lester stops talking, feeling his cock stir in his pants. He blinks, sure he misheard. But he hears you sniffle and he clears his throat slightly. “I-It’s one of the priests here, at this church.”

“Which priest?”

“I can’t-”

“The only way for ya' to be absolved is if you’re completely honest with me.” Lester says, ignoring the guilt building in his chest. This is wrong. He has a holy duty to steer these people right, to the word of the Lord, and yet now he was ever so slowly moving his hand up his leg to his crotch, pushing his robes up to his hips so he can gently press his palm against his bulge. “The Lord is kind to those who trust him enough to confess their deepest sins.” 

Lester hears you sniffle again before you make an affirming noise. “It’s… it’s Father Sinclair.” Lester bites down harshly onto his bottom lip to hold back a noise. The copper taste of blood fills his mouth as he closes his eyes, humming. “I know it’s wrong… I’ve only been coming here, to church, for a few weeks, and with every other priest I’ve been able to control my thoughts. But… there’s something about Father Sinclair… I know it’s wrong of me, Father.”

“It’s okay.” He reassures you quickly, though his voice is thicker than it was before. “No need to cry. These… thoughts that you’ve been having… can you go into detail?” Lester’s head leans backwards, thunking against the wood. “It's important to be honest, you know? You have to tell the truth if you want to be free.”

“I… do I have to?”

“Are you embarrassed?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“Then yeah, ya do. You’re embarrassed because you know it’s wrong. It’s hard to be truthful but it’s important. It’s for the salvation of your soul, sweetheart.”

“Okay…” You take in a slow and deep breath and Lester prepares himself for the filth that would soon be flowing from your sweet lips by ever so slightly rubbing his palm against his bulge. It’s almost impossible for him to hold back his hiss of pleasure, but he does so, God willing. His eyes close though he swears he can still see the accusatory stare of the wooden Jesus in the darkness.

“Take your time and remember; you gotta be honest. The complete and utter truth.” He’s not sure if he’s telling you or if he’s begging you. 

A few moments pass and he holds his breath. You begin to speak quietly, your voice close to him now with your position on your knees closer to the lattice that separates you both, and he briefly wonders if this is how God feels when he hears prayers. He wonders if God feels the swell of pride in his chest at the sheer devotion he has been shown or if he is above that. All Lester knows is that he is not.

“I…I sometimes think about him when I’m alone at night. I.. touch myself.” Lester hums, low in his throat, his hand grinding down just a little harder. “I think about him there with me… touching me, telling me how to touch him.” You let out a choked noise, surely a sob at your sins, but Lester hears it as a moan. “Even when I try to think about something else, my mind drifts.”

“Spirits willin' but the flesh is weak, s'that it?”

“Very weak.” You reply and he can almost see you nod your head. “Sometimes during his sermon I drift off… I start thinking about him bending me over one of the pews,” Lester makes a choked noise, trying to cover it with a cough, his cock aching against his pants. He wants to pull his dick out but he knows he will never, ever, be able to go back once he does that. The punishment God had in store for him was already grand, there was no reason to push it just yet. “And whispering in my ear about how I feel better than any earthly thing he’s ever felt.”

“I-I see…” Lester says, his eyelids heavy as he opens them and looks down at his lap. Even in the dark of the confessional he can see the dark spot that was growing on his pants and he is thankful for the robes he dons so he can shuffle out of here and back to his chambers without someone seeing the physicality of his failure. “Is that all?” 

His voice is strained, his hips bucking against the tight fabric of his pants, chasing friction he shouldn’t find enjoyable. He was so close, had only felt this way twice before, both times in the cloak of the night with his hand wrapped tight around his cock and a sheen of sweat covering his forehead. Both times he had stopped, pulling his hand away from himself with a sharp gasp and a furrowed brow, watching his cock twitch and leak until he forced himself to roll over and go to sleep.

“I… I’ve thought about touching myself even now while talking about it.” You say and Lester bites down so hard onto his lip that he feels the skin break underneath his teeth once again, coating them in red, his pants coated in white as he cums. His nerves are shot, white dots floating in his vision as he comes back down to earth. What he just felt, before the guilt and embarrassment and worry settled in, was the closest to Heaven he knew he’d ever get. “That’s all, Father. That’s the complete and utter truth.”

Lester swallows heavily in an attempt to keep his voice level. He isn’t sure if he had made a noise of pleasure when he came, but you wait patiently for his absolution, so he carries forward. He can feel the heat of embarrassment crawling its way up his spine, his cheeks turning pink as he stares down at the mess he had made of himself. “That’s… a lot.” 

“I told you.”

“You did, you did…” He sucks in another breath and blinks hard, trying to clear his mind. “Five Hail Marys and seven Our Father’s should work…” he plans on leaving it there, hoping to get you out of the confessional booth as quickly as possible, but his lips keep moving. “And I think you should come by weekly for counseling. You can request a specific priest, or whoever is available, and they can give you one on one counselin'.” 

“Will you do the one on one counseling with me, Father? I feel embarrassed about admitting this to someone else.”

“I… yes, if you’d like. But you would have to remind me of what you’ve confessed here; I don’t know your voice.” He says, stumbling over his own words. He turns to look through the lattice as you stand from where you’ve been kneeling, letting out a quiet breath of relief. He had gotten through this by the skin of his teeth.

“Thank you, Father Sinclair.” He can hear the smug smile in your voice and he lets out a low, throaty whine as his cock twitches pathetically. “I’ll see you next week.”

[rubberbutton]

I am refusing to say anything disparaging about my efforts here, but it is taking all my willpower. Pls clap. Anyway, this is an illustration for the fic below. Javert had the SLP (slutty lil ponytail) for 95% of the drawing process, but I decided to please myself and did the curly hair at the last minute. Also, the fic was originally set at night in the bedroom so the state of dishabille made sense, but less so when I moved it to midafternoon. I was too lazy to add more clothes tho.

Ut Ameris Amabilis Esto - Valvert, rated teen for old man snugglin', no warnings

It was the habit of the old bachelors at Rue de l'Homme Armé, No. 7 to eat the day’s largest meal in the early afternoon.

They’d then take a cold supper at whatever time suited them. Most days, it was their custom to dismiss Mère Chenault, who came in to do the cooking and housework, after she’d prepared lunch. She’d initially resisted this arrangement until it was made clear to her that she’d receive the full day’s wages for a half day’s work. 

She was a proud woman, who’d fallen into bitter poverty after the early death of her husband.With an invalid daughter and six dependent grandchildren to support, she’d been grateful to have found her current place. Her employers were peculiar men who kept themselves to themself, but it was less work for more money than her last position. 

“I may not be a rich woman, but I pride myself on making my own way—I’ve never once had to accept charity,” she said upon meeting Monsieur Fauchelevent. “Save once when the littlest was ill and the doctor wouldn’t see him without upfront payment.”

Mère Chenault didn’t mind the pair’s strange ways. She knew that many men become eccentric in their old age, and bachelors in particular become set in their ways. It was to this tendency that she attributed Monsieur Fauchelevent’s insistence on managing the accounts with the green grocer and the butcher himself. The poor man managed it badly, as often as not ordering quantities which far exceeded the pair’s meager needs. When pressed, he equivocated: he felt terribly hungry when he placed the order only to find his appetite quite deserted him when the meal was before him. The resulting surplus was sent home with Mère Chenault as it would go to waste otherwise, and Monsieur Fauchelevent considered waste a grave sin. 

The second bachelor under her supervision, a Monsieur Javert, was likewise odd. Though a robust man who appeared to her eyes hale and healthy, he claimed to have a delicate and changeable constitution—a dish which agreed with him last week would turn on him this week and he could no longer abide it. Again, Mère Chenault was obliged to take the excess to prevent it being wasted. 

She gently chided Monsieur Fauchelevent for his excess and made a consommé for Monsieur Javert’s weak stomach. 

— 

“That woman is an idiot,” Javert said, looking out the window onto the street below, where Mère Chenault had just stepped out. Today she had such a bounty a boy had been hired to help her carry it home. “No, don’t chide me. Your expression is rebuke enough.” 

“Mère Chenault is a good and honest woman,” Valjean replied, then allowed, “It is to our advantage if she does not possess an inquiring mind.” 

Jean Valjean was seated at the escritoire, a stack of letters, mostly charitable solicitations, beside him. It was late afternoon in early summer before the heat had settled over the city, and the breeze coming in through the window was exceedingly pleasant.

Javert took a seat in his usual armchair, opening a book of poetry. He despised poetry. He felt it was a discipline without purpose and poets were notorious for their dissipation, besides—but the book had been a gift for his edification. He read silently, occasionally grimacing or snorting to telegraph his contempt. If he found a line particularly execrable, he read it aloud. Very, very occasionally he read a line or two which he found almost tolerable. In these instances, Valjean hummed and asked him what he thought about it.  

After some moments since Javert’s last recitation, Valjean said, “I had a letter from Cosette today.”

Javert made a noncommittal noise and turned a page. He was a picture of complete disinterest, but perhaps his fingers had tightened on the pages when the name Cosette was mentioned. 

“They’ve had an easy journey. They mean to return in a fortnight,” Valjean offered. Javert didn’t acknowledge this intelligence at all. “She asked after your health.”

“Did she?” Javert drawled, finally looking up. “She’ll be disappointed to hear that I am quite well.” 

“Cosette doesn’t wish you ill,” Valjean said and frowned.

Javert set his book aside. “Perhaps not, but I doubt hearing news I’ve taken terribly ill and am not expected to live out the night would grieve her.” Javert waved his hand to forestall further protest from Valjean. “I don’t begrudge her. She has every right to hate me.”

It was an old argument. 

Valjean held up the letter. “She cannot hate you too much. She’s invited you to dinner.”

“Unlikely,” Javert replied, sourly.

“She has—come and read it for yourself.”

Javert rose and came to lean over Valjean’s shoulder, his eyes narrowed as he pored over the missive. “What date does she propose?”

“Well, she hasn’t given a date quite yet,” Valjean hedged. “But it says right here: I trust Monsieur Javert is well. I hope that he will be available to join us for dinner once we’re back in the city.” 

“Bah.” Javert’s lip curled. “It’s not an invitation if it doesn’t include a date.”

“It’s reasonable for her to wait until they’re settled after their travels,” Valjean said, brow furrowed. “Cosette is always sincere. See, she continues, if Monsieur Javert has any particular tastes or appetites—”

“—If she only knew—” Javert interjected with a hint of tooth. 

Valjean hushed him, though the corner of his mouth quirked upwards. “—Be sure to share them and I will make sure to consider them in planning the menu.” He set the letter down. “It’s not in her nature to hold a grudge. She’ll warm to you.” 

“How could she not? Everyone adores my amiable nature and good humor.”

 “You are quite capable of being amiable. You have even, on occasion, been good humored.” Valjean put his hand on Javert’s where it lay on the table. “Perhaps this might be an opportunity to demonstrate it.” 

Javert hesitated. “If I fail, the stakes are high.”

“God gives second chances.” 

“Yes, but does your daughter?” 

“Of course—you’re already on your third or fourth.” 

Javert did not smile at the joke and pulled his hand out from under Valjean’s. He straightened and gave Valjean his back, which he tended to do when he felt harassed. He took his seat again and buried his large nose in the book of poetry. Uncertain, Valjean laid out a new piece of paper and picked up up his pen. He made it no further than the salutation and a few initial pleasantries, however, before he set the pen back down.  

“I don’t have to answer her at the present moment.”

“She’ll worry if you don’t answer soon.”

“I don’t have to indicate that you’d accept an invitation.”

“She’d understand from the omission that I am rebuffing her overture.” 

Valjean arranged the ink pot and pouncet-box on the desk, then straightened the piles of waiting letters so their edges were all aligned. “Are you?”

There was a long silence. “I find myself between the praecipitium and the lupi.”

“Ah,” Valjean said. He wanted to sigh but fought the impulse. 

“If I decline, you’re disappointed. If I accept, I’ll surely blunder or offer your daughter some insult. You hope that your daughter and I will come to some mutual understanding or, more foolishly still, affection. She’s right to be wary of me. For what I was, for what I have done, and for the blight in my soul. You are are closer to saint than any other man living and are thus able to endure my person, but you go too far in expecting your daughter to do the same. Even if she were to entirely forgive the harm I did her mother, that I have done to you, she would be right to abhor me. Men may endure me but no one has ever liked me.” He pronounced all this with a cold and brittle certitude. It was not self-pity—or not primarily self-pity—but a judgement handed down by God. 

 Valjean indulged himself and sighed heavily. “So you decline the invitation?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“So you accept the invitation?”

“I didn’t say that either.”

“There’s no hurry. Think about it and let me know once you’ve made a decision?” 

Javert held the book of poetry, but it could not be said that he was reading it, as his gaze did not travel along each line but remained fixed and unchanging. Valjean addressed the most pressing of the other correspondence: orphans, widows, homeless veterans. There were still more waiting for his attention, but he hesitated and glanced at Javert, who could have been made of stone for all that he moved. 

“I’ll leave the rest of these for the morning, I think,” Valjean said and set his pen down. Javert didn’t mark him. Valjean rose and walked to stand before him, still Javert refused to meet his eyes. Valjean plucked the book from Javert’s hands, ignoring the noise of protest. 

“If you mean to further belabor the issue—” Javert started coldly.

“I don’t intend to talk.” Valjean caught Javert’s wrists and pulled him to his feet. Javert tried to free himself but was no more able to resist than a mouse in the cat’s claws. Valjean bent over, set his shoulder to Javert’s middle and hoisted him up like a sack of flour. 

“Damn you,” Javert said, as he was born out of the study, down the hall and into the bedroom. Valjean tossed him onto the bed, which creaked like a ship in a storm as it shuddered under Javert’s sudden weight. He started to rise, but Valjean held up his hand, palm out to halt him. 

“You stay,” he said, his voice was low, calm, almost pleasant. 

Javert stayed, though whether it was capitulation or merely the knowledge that he would only embarrass himself in a physical contest was uncertain. 

“Have you lost your mind, old man?” he said, eyes narrow and intense. 

“Goad me as much as you like,” Valjean said, mildly. “Does it help?”

“A little,” Javert allowed. Valjean climbed onto the bed, Javert watching with both deep suspicion and an avid interest. 

“Roll over,” Valjean said. 

“It’s four o’clock in the afternoon,” Javert said, scandalized, even as he complied. 

Valjean laughed. “Save your blushes. That’s not what I’m after.” He sidled up to Javert and lay down next to him, propping himself up on an elbow. He lay a hand on the back of Javert’s neck, petting the curls that lay along his nape,, then began to stroke lightly to the base of his spine and back again. Valjean pillowed his head on Javert’s shoulder. He was tall and broad man and well muscled. Still he maintained his sharp edges and the shoulder blade under Valjean’s cheek was boney. 

Javert sighed the large intake of breath lifting Valjean like a bellows. The small of Javert’s back was damp with sweat. Valjean plucked at the linen to pull it away from the skin, then kept tugging, pulling the shirttails from the waist of his trousers. Javert shivered as Valjean’s hand slipped under the shirt’s hem and found skin. Valjean let his hand wander, though no lower than Javert’s waist band, though the temptation was strong. He could hear Javert’s heartbeat under his ear. It had been clamorous and rapid, but now slowed, grew calmer. 

He waited until it had slowed further still and stayed that way to say, “When she was little, Cosette loved me as a child loves a parent. It does not matter whether the parent is worthy of that love, the child cannot help but feel the attachment strongly. Now she is a woman grown and she retains love for me still. It does not burn as brightly as once it did. And why should it? It is right that her greatest affection is for her husband.” Javert didn’t respond; his heartbeat remained steady. “I have no other family. I have no friends. I’ve had no lovers, save you.” 

“Let me roll over—my neck is complaining,” Javert grumbled.“I suppose you mean now to draw some parallel between our situations.”

“Something of that nature.” Valjean sat up enough for Javert to roll onto his back and waited until he was settled. “I don’t have prepared remarks.”

“You are genial, kind and good natured. But you have kept any who would seek a greater connection with you at arm’s length. I have seen how you turn aside every invitation with polite demurral. Perhaps a necessity given your circumstances, but certainly your choice.”

“I have not always been genial, as you well remember,” Valjean said wryly. “You have also made the choice to keep others from extending the offer of friendship. You have a ferocious scowl—yes, that’s the one—and harsh words for nearly everyone. Perhaps if you’d like to be liked, you might consider being, well,  likable.”

Javert growled low in his chest. 

“Or not,” Valjean said. “As you prefer.”

Javert rolled to his side, pressing against Valjean, and buried his face in Valjean’s neck. Valjean cradled the back of his head with a hand. 

“I’ll go,” Javert said into the tender skin below Valjean’s ear. “I do my utmost to be, ugh, amiable.” The words sounded as though they’d been extracted from him under great duress. 

“Thank you,” Valjean said. “I’m sure you’ll succeed. After all, I find you amiable.” He shifted  enough to capture Javert’s mouth with his own. “Very amiable indeed.”

Fin.