#on a real note one of the people i loved most in this world died and it's been so fucking hard

[kitchensinkchronicles]

nice!! okay mine were:

- graduating from college with a bachelor's degree in film and media studies (yay!!)

- shooting, directing, producing, and editing my first ever music video (for my brother's song)

- going on a cruise for the first time

- seeing twenty one pilots they were AMAZING!!

- going to see TIT both with a friend and later alone and ACTUALLY MEETING DNP!!!! (this one might be my favorite) (yes i was even more excited than finishing my degree lmao)

- and realizing that if i make youtube videos, people will actually watch them! i'm so excited to make more!!

anyway this year was actually really hard for me but goddamn did we have some high highs and low lows anyway happy new year everyone i actually really love the positive stuff that happened so i'm gonna focus on that :)

seeing so many people spreading positivity in the phandom and it is SO lovely to see! here’s my attempt to spread some as well— what are some of your happiest moments from 2024?

mine are getting into my grad school program, seeing TIT, and moving to a cool new city :)

[moonlightdreamzz]

Moments of Praise — Jungwon, Jake, Sunghoon.

bangchan and felix

GENRE. pureeeeee smut. freaky hours. 18+

AUTHORS NOTE. i am ovulating, so either im sorry or you’re welcome :)

Good girls get whatever they want—and you’re the greatest.

jungwon

you love so many things. you love tequila, you love cool sheets, you love the spring—the list goes on and on. but recently, someone asked you what do you love most? in the moment, you couldn’t make a decision because how could you choose? but right now, as jungwon’s hands are gripped around your neck—not tight enough to hurt you, but strong enough to remind you he owns you, and he’s stroking in and out of you—refusing the break eye contact not even for a second, you realize this is what you love most in this world.

he’s always so damn cocky when he’s fucking you, because he knows how amazing he makes you feel, everytime. he knows what you want—but he cares more about what you need. and you earned the di*k you’re getting right now.

he’s so drunk off your p*ssy, but that’ll never wipe the sly smirk off his face. all this, because you were so patient all day, and the cherry on top was you helping an elderly woman carry her groceries to her car. because that’s the kind of boyfriend you have—one that got so turned on at you being good.

you can’t form a proper sentence. that’s how good it feels. and he’s loving every second of it. you’re trying so hard, and all he can do is mock you—mimicking every expression you make to verbally tell him thank you. and he’s going exactly how you love it,—love him. slow and steady.

“i know baby, i know.” he utters. “daddy is fucking you so good, isn’t he? mhm.” a whimper slips out of his pretty lips, which only adds onto your incoming orgasm.

“baby—“ you finally manage to get our “why do you—always—fuck me so goooood. oh my—“ you wanted so badly to finish, but he clearly likes you like this. slutted out and unable to focus. only able to feel him and everything he’s doing to you. his free hand places itself on your clit, rubbing gentle circles around it. as if the pleasure you were already feeling wasn’t good enough for jungwon.

“good girls, deserve good dick. and you, baby?” he chuckles before biting his lip and looking at you as if your hole is the best thing since sliced bread, “you’re such a good fucking good girl. so fucking patient. so kind. this pussy is everything I’ve ever wanted in life. you’re so fucking wet. so fucking good—ah.”

“its too good, daddy. i can’t take it. i can’t.” you’re practically hyperventilating. you didn’t know anything could feel this good. you’re seeing stars and he’s living for it.

“who can’t take it? hm? you baby? because my girl can do anything she puts her mind to. so take this fucking dick.”

are his last words before you both cum all over the each-other.

jake

his members lay asleep, their faces—as well as his and yours glowing from the tv that’s still playing the movie jungwon chose earlier. to the naked eye, you and jake look like two people utterly in love, making deep eye contact because you’re so infatuated with each other. this isn’t wrong, but it also isn’t the reason why the two of you are staring at eachother in the dark.

the real reason, is because jake’s hands are buried deep in your panties, and he’s determined to make you cum in your jeans, infront of everyone. you knew at some point tonight he’d sneak you away to be inside you, but like this? but at the same time, you’d be lying if you said this isn’t the sexiest thing you’ve ever done. and you weren’t rude. you were raised to always be grateful for gifts.

he’s so fucking focused. and he’s doing so good. your eyes can’t figure out if they want to be open or closed and you wish you could grind in his hand, but that would wake somebody up. there’s a part of you that wants to stop him because of the way your body reacts when you or**sm, but as always, your boyfriend is two steps ahead of you.

“i need you to.” he utters, nothing short of desperation resting on his eyes. “I won’t stop until you do.”

all you can do is nod, because you’re so close. that doesn’t stop his mouth from running.

“yeah.” he assures you—his aussie accent thick. “you’re so wet, baby. and that makes me so happy.” he places your hand on his length, that is rock solid. “you like the fact that they can see you if they wanted, don’t you? i know i do.” “can’t wait to make you lick it off my fingers.” “wake em up baby. wake em up baby.” he grunts, resting his forehead on yours but eyes refusing to disconnect. you practically burst all over his fingers, your body is shaking, and you can’t help but hit his arm over and over because fuck you, jake. now.

sunghoon

sunghoon is so full of himself. he does what he wants, when he wants, and if the world isn’t revolving around him? then the world must’ve vanished. and he’s no different right now—arms tucked cockily behind his head while you bounce up and down on his length. the only thing he’s wearing is a smug look on his face, as if to say—of course the second I called, you answered. and of course, the minute I told you to strip and cum all over me, you went straight to work. because I own you and everyone else.

“i fucking hate you.” you moan loudly. but you don’t. and he knows you don’t too. that’s why all he does he chuckle in a seductive tone before whispering, “i love you too, baby.”

when he confesses his love for you, whether it’s real love behind the words or not, it always puts you in a mode. like you have to show him that if he doesn’t, he’s about to. “you love me?” you whisper, your pleading eyes turning into something much more devious. your bouncing turns for his pleasure and his eyes widen in disbelief of how amazing you feel and look right now.

“mhm.” he nods aggressively. you increase your speed and the intensity of each movement.

“you fucking love me?” you question again—laughing at him now.

it was like he was losing consciousness the way his eyes couldn’t hold still but his body was frozen from the pleasure. “yesss—oh, baby. ugh.”

“tell me why you love me.” you demand.

“becau—because you’re so pretty. and you always make daddy feel so good! your pu**y—baby please. mmm always so wet and—tight. make me cum please please please. i love you so much. please I’ll do anything for it please don’t stop!” he squeals out, before shooting his seed inside you.

[provinzpoet]

On Engagement Bait

Whenever you see it, that's an additional five years. All currently active negative effects are dispelled.

A lil' essay.

I hate engagement bait - with a passion.

"Reblog if you care" "Reblog to mark your blog safe for [marginalized group X]" "Reblog or your mom dies in her sleep tonight."

"Reblog, or else."

I know most of these are made in jest. Harmless fun, right? But to me, "harmless fun" doesn’t excuse poor taste. Especially when it veers into manipulation.

So, here's a little something below the cut. If you're here for the poetry, you're free to scroll. If you're here for the ramblings, keep reading.

Either way, have another look at the duck. That's another 5 years on the house. Download it, look at it whenever - stack that immunity to last a lifetime. No engagement bait shall ever touch you again.

That little ducky up there was born in response to a post about you not having any original thought for the next five years.... unless you reblog.

It was meant as silent defiance, as a soft out. Then @bred-is-a-dumb-name reblogged my little ducky. With the following tags:

First and foremost: Thank you for speaking so clearly. Your tags were the push I needed to sit down and write this.

I. The Premise

Engagement bait plays with a simple human desire. Recognition. People want to be seen, they want to be recognized. Above all, they want to be validated.

From the early days of social media 'likes' equaled validation.

On tumblr, the currency of choice is reblogs. Reblogging equips a post with wings, allowing it to touch down on your own blog, be exposed to your own audience. The growth potential here is exponential, as reblogs don't just live tucked away in your profile, but are the groundwork of the tumblr algorithm on what content to show to its userbase.

My Thesis: You are responsible for the content you pass along to your mutuals. Even if you didn’t create it. Even if you reblogged it "ironically."

From the creator’s side, engagement bait is often a way to chase notes - a hit of serotonin from the numbers ticking up. And I get that. I love seeing my posts resonate too - reading your tags, your comments, the ways my words find you.

But I would never boost engagement through pain, coercion, or bad vibes in general. And I think no one should.

II. The Danger

Here's the catch: reblogging engagement bait feeds a manipulative feedback-loop.

But, at the same time, Let me be clear: Not all engagement bait is created equal.

Baity posts like "reblog to show your moots you appreciate them" (you know who you are! And I appreciate you too! c: ) are fine. Sure, they're meant to play the algorithm and the very human rationale that 'external validation is more valuable than internal validation' . basically: "If I reblog this post it'll mean more than if I just tell my moot they mean a lot to me".

At best, they're a reminder to be kind.

But - and this is the important part - there is also a different kind. Engagement bait like "Reblog or your mother will die tonight", "Reblog or no more creativity for 5 years".

These aren't funny to everyone. To some, they're not even neutral.

They're cruel. They are emotional abuse hidden under the guise of a 'funny context'. Of the absurdity of a duck holding that power.

Let's be real. It's not holding that power. And you'll reblog it ironically with funny tags in the vein of 'oh, better be sure, mighty duck'. Unless you don't.

Because guess what? It IS holding that power.

To those with OCD. To those in intrusive thought loops. To those with deeply rooted fear of loss. To the neurodivergent. Maybe even to you? To those, these posts can be triggers.

III. The Mechanics of Harm

To people like that, the harmless meme becomes a source of real-world stress.

It's toying with - to me - deeply problematic, psychological concepts:

Compulsion and Intrusive Thoughts For someone with intrusive thought patterns, seeing a post that ties inaction to harm can spark a cycle that’s hard to break. It’s not a meme - it’s a trigger.

Guilt-Tripping and Moral Coercion There’s a quiet cruelty to coercion wrapped in kindness. ‘Only good people will reblog’ is just a digital form of social blackmail.

False Urgency & Manufactured Stakes The moment a post tells you "do this now, or else" - it's bypassing your agency. It swaps thought for panic.

Neurodivergent Sensitivity to Harm Avoidance This isn’t about superstition. It’s about the fear of what happens if we don’t play along. That fear is real. Many neurodivergent folks have built entire internal systems around minimizing perceived danger. These posts poke at that. They exploit it.

The Illusion of Safety through Compliance Some users - especially those who’ve seen harm happen "coincidentally" after ignoring a chain post - develop ritualized engagement. It becomes a way to feel in control, even when logic says otherwise. Engagement bait can reignite old fears tied to punishment, loss, or abandonment. And I get it. These posts feel silly. But they sit in the mind like a splinter.

Yes, it's uncomfortable having it called out like this - and it should be. It's meant to be.

IV. Walk a mile in their shoes

I’m not writing this from a pulpit.

I’ve wrestled with compulsive thoughts and weird little rituals my whole life. So when I say this stuff can hurt, it’s not theoretical. It’s personal.

And I’m not here to scold. I’m just inviting you to zoom out. To consider that your reblog might have more impact than you intended.

V. Being Responsible

I try to bear responsibility for what I put out here. Tumblr is full of vulnerable, brilliant, open people. The way we talk to each other matters.

Don't get me wrong, sharing a joke is fun - But if you knew a joke would hurt your friend, you'd probably hold it back. The same logic applies here.

I'm not here to shame anyone - unless you’re making this kind of post in bad faith. If you’re knowingly feeding on people’s fears for notes? That’s not a joke. That’s cruelty. That, to me, is despicable.

All I wanted was to offer this, another point of view. And just maybe, if you’ve ever reblogged something like that without thinking, this helped you see it through a different lens.

Be nice to each other. Look out for each other.

We're all navigating this life for the first time, let's not make it any harder than it needs to be, okay?

Yours truly,

Poe

Just silently accept. The donkey will know.

[ramblings-of-a-chaotic-neutral]

I was going to post a different au idea tonight, but this idea caught me in a death-grip and would not let me go, so enjoy!

Note: You can find the translations for the old English at the end!

EDIT: You can find part two of this au here, and part three here!

In this au, Merlin dies at Camlann instead of Arthur, and his magic was diffused into the king and kingdom he so loved upon his death, making everyone in Camelot immortal. After a few centuries of thriving though, Merlin's magic starts to fade, and everyone falls into an almost comatose state. It keeps them all alive and protected the kingdom from intruders, but it could not keep them awake. However, the people of Camelot did not worry about this. Both the druids and the dragon had proclaimed that Merlin would return to the world of the living again one day. So, they were content to sleep peacefully and await the day of their friend's return. Slowly, the earth rose up to swallow Camelot, and the sleeping kingdom was buried underneath the earth.

Fast forward to modern day, and Merlin's been reincarnated without any of his memories or his magic. He winds up as an archeologist, and eventually is sent out to a promising dig site on the border between England and Wales. There, his team unearths a window into an old fortress. Their sonar equipment has revealed a full castle underneath their feet, and they have everything prepped for a preliminary excavation! They've already found coins and a few blades on the site, dating back to the 6th century!

Now, stories of the "immortal kingdom of Camelot" and its undying and legendary king Arthur were commonplace, and Merlin quite enjoyed those stories as a child. However, historians doubted if Camelot was ever a real kingdom at all, and no one past the age of six believed in an immortal kingdom! Merlin, deep down, was hoping that the dig site was indeed the historical kingdom Camelot itself, as much of the kingdom's history had been lost and buried under ridiculous myths about magic and dragons.

However, the issue is that the window that they discovered is pretty small. Merlin, as the skinniest out of all of them, would probably be the only one who could fit through it. Excitedly, Merlin puts on his safety harness and hard hat and descends through the window and into the castle.

Merlin explores for a bit, constantly telling the team on the surface all about the amazingly preserved artifacts in the castle. There's tapestries, suits of armor, furniture, even clothing still in wardrobes all in perfect condition! The entire team is besides themselves with excitement! They've just made the most important discovery of their careers!

Merlin spends a few more days exploring the castle by himself. Eventually, he comes to a rather impressive and ornately decorated door and decides to find out what's behind it. It must be something pretty important to warrant such an impressive door! Perhaps the throne room?

As he opens the door though, he lets out a loud gasp, shocked by two things in the room. First, the large round table in the middle of the room. He knew that he was near the supposed site of the lost kingdom of Camelot, but this confirmed it! All of the legends spoke about king Arthur's round table, and here it was before him, confirming the legends!

However, Merlin's elation was dashed by the second thing he noticed: bodies. There were bodies occupying the seats around the table, all of them slumped over or slouching in their seats with their eyes closed, but they were not skeletal remains that should have been there, seeing as how no one had set foot in those room for hundreds of years. No, these people looked like they had only been there for a day, with no signs of decay on them.

As Merlin's fear began to rise, he tried to reason with himself. Maybe this kingdom had surprisingly advanced embalming techniques and had unusual burial rituals? What other explanation could there possibly be?

As Merlin reported the bodies to his colleagues on the surface, they warned him to be careful is something didn't feel right, which it certainly didn't. Something about these bodies creeped Merlin out in a way that no other human remains had ever done. However, Merlin's unease lessened somewhat as he described the bodies to his colleagues, his excitement at such a well-preserved find started eclipsing his fear.

There were in total five male bodies and one female body, with four of the male bodies being clad in chainmail, surcoats, trousers, and long bright red capes with an insignia of a golden dragon sown into it. The other male body was similarly clad in chainmail and a cape, but wore a golden crown on his head. Lastly, the lone female body, who was sitting to the left of the crowned male body, was a dark-skinned woman wearing an ornate and richly decorated dress along with a small silver crown on her head.

Merlin's heart stuttered in his chest as he came to the natural conclusion of these observations: he had just found the perfectly-preserved bodies of a king, queen, and four knights. Forget making his career, Merlin was going to be put in the history books for this discovery! Quickly, he called his colleagues (who had finally found a way to safely widen the entrance at the window) to follow the line of his harness and join him in the room he had just found. They needed to see this!

Finally turning away from the bodies, Merlin let his gaze wander around the room. He takes note of the impressively high ceilings for the time period, the repetition of the dragon crest on decorations around the room, and the designs carved into the wood of the round table. However, one of the most intriguing elements of the room, was the lone empty chair sitting next to the king.

The fact that there was only one empty chair was strange enough, but there were a few even stranger elements to the chair. The chair was directly to the right of the king, presumably reserved for the king's right hand, his chief advisor. Why would such an important figure be missing here? Another puzzling feature of the chair was the scrap of red cloth that was tied around one of the arms of the chair.

Stepping closer to examine the little piece of cloth, he could see at first glance that the cloth was old, battered, and made with cheap material, unlike the richer cloth that made up the knights' and kings' capes. What was this random piece of cloth doing tied around the arm of this chair, which presumedly belonged to a powerful figure in the kingdom?

A sudden piercing shriek caused Merlin to jump into the air. He looked up and across the table, relieved to see that it was just four of his colleagues who had just entered the room. They must've been freaked out by the well-preserved bodies too! Merlin certainly couldn't blame them for such a reaction.

Merlin chuckled a bit and spoke to his frightened coworkers. "Well, what did I tell you? This is going to shock the world! We've just made the discovery of a lifetime!"

However, his colleagues were only getting paler by the second, not even looking at him, instead looking... past him? Merlin frowned a bit and turned to look over his left shoulder, at the body of the king, which was where his coworkers were staring. What could possibly...

His eyes were open. His eyes were definitely not open before.

As soon as his brain caught up with what his eyes were seeing, Merlin let out a panicked shriek and flung himself backwards, away from the king who he swore was dead just a second ago what the fuck was happening?!

Unfortunately, Merlin desperate attempt to get away from the maybe-undead king sent him sprawling to the ground, having tripped over the empty chair, and his shriek had jolted his colleagues into action. The four of them ran forwards and grabbed ahold of Merlin, dragging him back towards the entrance to the room while never taking their eyes off of the maybe-undead king.

As they made their way back to the entrance though, something truly horrifying happened. The king moved. He blinked and moved his neck to track their movements.

Oh god, that thing was awake and aware that they were here! They needed to get out of there!

Together, the group turned and ran as quickly as they could back towards the entrance. Horrifyingly, as soon as they were out of sight of the king, they could hear the screeching sound of a chair sliding against the stone floor. Each one of them could feel their hearts pounding with fear as they all realized at once: the king, whatever he was, was going to chase after them.

They nearly all have heart attacks when they hear a voice roaring after them, "Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin!"

After a tense few minutes of running with the terrifying echo of boots chasing after them ringing in their ears, they finally reached the hallway connecting to their window entrance. They could see the light outside! They were almost free!

Fear gripped all of their chests, however, when a group of what should have been corpses blocked their path, cutting them off from the sight of the daylight. For a second, Merlin thought about making a break for it and attempts to run through them, but then the probably-undead knights unsheathed their swords (which were still somehow sharp and pristine after 1500 years, this was getting ridiculous!)

The group quickly turned around, hoping to run back and perhaps find another path towards their freedom, only to have their hopes dashed by the sight of the undead king storming towards them with his sword (why was it golden?) unsheathed and rage in his eyes.

Looking between them, the closest thing that they had to a weapon were a couple hard hats. They were doomed, and they could see their death marching towards them.

Getting closer, the king furiously shouted at them again with unfamiliar words. "Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis!"

The group of five archeologists are shaking in their boots at this point, fearing for their lives. Each of them had reached the only logical conclusion about their ludicrous and possibly deadly situation: they must have woken the king and his knights from their eternal rest, and they were now angry at the archeologists for disturbing their final resting place.

As the knights close in on them and grab ahold of each of them, they're all prepared for the worst. As the king barks commands at the knights, all of the archeologists are prepared to be meet with some horrible death.

"Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð."

At the king's commands, the knights nodded, and while Merlin was led down the hallway to the right, the others were led back down the dark hallway from which they had fled. Merlin tried to call out to his colleagues and to shove his way out of the knight's grip, but the knight responded by picking Merlin up and slinging him over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, eliminating Merlin's ability to fight back.

Merlin tried to calm his mind and to avoid thoughts of what horrible fate would be in store for him at his destination. His treacherous mind spun up terrible theories as to why he had been separated from his group, each one more horrifying than the last.

Finally, the knight seemed to have arrived at his destination. As the knight pushed the door open, Merlin tried to brace himself for what horrible instruments of torture were surely inside.

However, there were no torture instruments at all. There were only sheets of paper strewn about, some herb bundles here and there, lots of little vials and pots scattered around, and an old man slowly walking towards them.

The old man blinked in what looked like surprise, followed by tears seeming to brim in his eyes. What the hell was going on?! The man spoke softly, "Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr."

The knight deposited Merlin gently on a nearby small bed and gave him some sort of smirk before speaking to him in a surprisingly gentle, almost teasing, voice, "Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele."

When Merlin could do nothing but stare at the knight, more bewildered than he's ever been in his life, the knight seemed to take offense to his inaction and began tugging at the bottom of Merlin's shirt, trying to pull it over his head. After a brief struggle, the knight emerged victorious, holding Merlin's shirt in his hands and grinning like a loon. Why on earth had the knight wanted his shirt of all things? What was he about to be subjected to?!

After a tense few minutes, the old man pottered over to where Merlin was sitting, bringing a small bag along with him. The man then began looking over Merlin's torso, paying particular attention to a certain to a spot underneath Merlin's ribs, prodding it repeatedly.

Merlin was quite uncomfortable being examined like this, but with an undead knight in the room still armed with a sword, there wasn't much Merlin could do to without risking getting stabbed. Well, at least the old man wasn't hurting him, so he supposed that he could look on the bright side and be grateful for that.

Eventually, the old man seemed satisfied with his examination of Merlin and addressed the knight again. "Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge."

The knight nodded at the old man, looking pleased at whatever he had just been told. Then, the old man turned to him and handed him the small bag. "Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian."

Merlin gently took the bag from the old man and tentatively opened it and pulled out its contents. Inside the bag were a scratchy red tunic, a pair of old trousers, a brown jacket, a thin leather belt, and a scrap of blue cloth. Merlin looked up at the knight and the old man, unsure of what to make of these clothes.

The knight just rolled his eyes, snatched the tunic out of Merlin's hands, and started pulling the tunic over Merlin's head. Did they... did they want Merlin to put on the clothes? That seemed like the correct answer, as they looked happy when Merlin complied and put on the tunic, and they pushed Merlin towards a small room in the back of the chambers with the clothing still in his hands.

Alright, Merlin thought to himself, he would change clothes in this odd little broom closet if that kept him from being stabbed.

(And he did not acknowledge the part of his mind that swore that he knew this room, that this room was his. That was ridiculous, he had never seen this place before in his life!)

After putting on the trousers, belt, and jacket, all Merlin was left with was the scrap of blue cloth. What the hell was he supposed to do with this? Should he keep it in his pocket or something?

However, it seemed like his hands moved before his mind had a chance to catch up, as his hands, seemingly of their own accord, wrapped the blue cloth around his neck a couple time before typing it in the front. Huh, that was strange. Merlin normally didn't wear scarves, why did he know that this piece of cloth was a scarf?

It was... strange. However, there were more pressing matters at hand, namely not getting killed by undead medieval knights. After taking a deep, calming breath, Merlin opened the door and stepped back out into the main room, where the old man and the knight were waiting for him.

They both smiled at the sight of him, and the knight quickly slung an arm over Merlin's shoulders, said what was presumably a goodbye to the old man, and started leading Merlin back out they way they came.

At this point, Merlin started struggling again. If he could just escape from this knight, he could get back to the surface and gather a rescue team to save the others! But the knight's grip of him was tight, and after a certain amount of Merlin's struggling, the knight just sighed and threw Merlin over his shoulder again. Damn it!

Merlin tried to reference places that he had already seen as the knight dragged him deeper into the castle. An escape route would be essential if he was going to make it out of here alive. However, Merlin's hope was quickly running dry as he was carried further and further away from the only exit to this godforsaken castle and further away from any area that he had explored so far.

What's worse was that, as they went, Merlin could see more and more undead (maybe undead? what else could they be?) people throughout the castle. And it wasn't just knights either: there were guards, servants, and even what looked like noblemen and noblewomen running around the castle. What made all of this truly eerie for Merlin though, is that all of them would stop and stare as soon as they saw him. Even though he was dressed like one of them, they could still somehow tell that he was an outsider, not one of their number.

After what felt like an eternity, the knight finally stopped in front of a large door and put Merlin down. Merlin's dread skyrocketed as the guards opened the doors and the knight dragged him inside.

The room itself was richly decorated, with a dining table, a study, and a plush canopy bed. If looked like a room fit for... a king.

Oh no.

As if summoned by Merlin's thoughts, the king rounded a corner and appeared before them, thankfully looking less angry than before, but still sending Merlin's fear into overdrive. Merlin jumped at the sound of doors slamming shut behind him, leaving him trapped with the king.

Merlin was sure that he was shaking terribly, but he managed force his joint to work and took a step backwards as the king began to approach him. Merlin continued to back away from the king until his back met the cold, unyielding wood of the door. Slowly, the king stepped towards Merlin, his eyes never leaving Merlin's form.

In what was entirely too short of a time period in Merlin's opinion, the king had closed the distance between them and was within an arm's reach of Merlin. Merlin's eyes desperately darted around for a weapon, anything he could possibly use the defend himself with, but there was nothing that he could reach.

As the king took one last step closer to Merlin, Merlin closed his eyes and braced himself for pain, even death. However, to his shock, no pain came. Instead, the felt the king's warm hands on his shoulders, and without warning, he was roughly pulled into a hug. What the actual fuck?!

Through the king's ragged breathing, he could hear more of those unfamiliar words, this time spoken tenderly.

"Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon?"

TRANSLATIONS:

Gripan híe! Híe syndon fandian to niman Myrddin! = Catch them! They're trying to take Merlin!

Hū darrst þū āsceacan hine from mē! Iċ hæbbe bīdode ofer þūsend geara for þisne tīman, and þū ātēowedest tō nīefre hine from mē stelan! Þū scealt āgildan for þis! = How dare you try to take him from me! I have waited over a thousand years for this moment, and you've attempted to steal him from me! You must pay for this!

Nimðað þa ungewelwieras to ðære cyrcan cwellan, wē magon dēmian mid him æfter. Gwaine, nim Myrddin to his geardas and hafa Gaius locian ofer hine. And be mildheort, he sceal hæbbe geferod eft fram Avalon and mæg swilc bēon in pinunge fram his wundum! Gecyða eft to mē mid Gaius's gemetungum þonne hē geendod hæfð. = Take the intruders to the dungeon cells, we can deal with them later. Gwaine, take Merlin to his chambers and have Gaius look over him. And be gentle, he must have just come back from Avalon and could still be in pain from his wounds! Report back to me with Gaius's findings when he's done.

Is hit sōþlīce hē? Āh, mīn cniht, þū eart eft tō ūs āgēan cuman! Hēr, Hlāford Gwaine, sete hine dūn on þæt cot and hæbbe hine his scyrte āweg þæt ic mæg gesēon gif his wund is ēac þǣr. = Is it really him? Oh, my boy, you've returned to us! Here, Sir Gwaine, set him down on the cot and have him take his shirt off so I can see if his wound is still there.

Þu gehyrde þone wer, Myrddin! Of mid þinum scyrte nu. Ic wat þu maegst beon sceamful be þan, ac þises sio tid is swiðe aðele. = You heard the man, Merlin! Off with your shirt now. I know you can be shy about it, but this time it's pretty important.

Hwæt, he þinceð tō bēon on sīðfæt hāl! Þū mæġst secgan Ārthūre þæt ic blīðe eom tō secgenne þæt ic ne mihte findan nān tācn his ǣrran lȳtlunge. = Well, he seems to be in perfect health! You can tell Arthur that I am pleased to report that I could find no sign of his previous injury.

Min cniht, ic eom swiðe blīð tō gesēon þē eft. Þū eart swīðe þearle gewilnod! Hēr, wē hæfdon sume þīnra reafa gehealdene for þē! Ic trowe þæt þū þē beteran gefēlan wille þonne þū sum þing gelīclicre gescēawian. = My boy, I am so deeply glad to see you again. You have been dearly missed! Here, we've saved some of your clothes for you! I'm sure that you'll feel better wearing something familiar again.

Oh Myrddin, hwǣr eart þū bēon = Oh Merlin, where have you been?

Well, I hope you guys liked this au! What I originally planned to be a short little prompt turned into this beast of a post! I probably won't be able to post on Friday (since I'm planning on adding a new chapter to my fic on ao3 on Friday or Saturday), so hopefully this will tide you all over until the weekend!

And, as always, thank you for reading through my ramblings! :D

(And please let me know if you'd like a continuation of this au!)

EDIT: You can find a continuation of this au here!

[namelessgakusei]

Ruler Of My Heart

Mark Grayson x Reader

Warnings: Death, Violence, Manipulation, Mentions of Invincible War

Notes: Gaku torturing Mark. Watch Alien Stage (⁠ ⁠ꈍ⁠ᴗ⁠ꈍ⁠)

Synopsis: Variant!Reader arrives just after the Invincible War, inciting trauma to Mark who recently lost you.

"Make me your god, I can give you everything."

This wasn't meant to happen.

You weren't supposed to die like this.

"(Y/N)! (Y/N) stay with me...! Please!"

He thought you were safe. He thought that you got away. He told you to go! Damn it, don't close your eyes!

Mark thought about flying to the hospital, to get you treated, but the way you grasped his suit made him hesitate. You were saying something but he can't hear it due to the blood rushing in his ears. His mouth opened to speak but all he could do was let out a sob as he held your hand close to his face.

"Please... I can't lose you."

Your last moment is kissing Mark, your bloodied lips leaving a mark on his' as you lay limp.

The war lasted for three days. A lot of heroes died, cities were decimated, and people were hurt, all because of those doppelgangers who made a deal with Angstrom.

Mark felt numb during the funerals, he feels like it's all his fault. Because he held back, because he doesn't want to kill, because of that... you aren't here anymore.

He can't even look at your casket.

During the reconstruction, people were understandably wary of him, too traumatized of the recent debacle. He wishes you were there to tell him that everything will be okay, that it'll pass and he's still the hero [Title Card].

A call from Cecil about an unidentified object en route to Earth snapped him out of his pity party, now looking forward to beat the fool who dared to choose his planet. No more Mr. Nice Guy, he'll kill whoever tries to harm the people he loves.

He found a marble white ship floating by the Pacific Ocean, unmoving but he can hear the faint the whirring of machinery. Prying what he can grab open, Mark readied his fist with a snarl towards the intruder but stopped short at the sight.

There you are, unconscious and dressed in white clothes that made you look regal, just like how he remembers.

But you're dead. Who the hell is this??

Initially, he thought that it was a Thraxan who shapeshifted into your likeness like how Nuolzot did with Seance Dog. He was rightfully enraged once the shock passed. Is this a sick joke? How dare they impersonate you?!

But then you wake up and called his name, confirming that this is real. You are real.

"Mark?"

Mark took you home in a heartbeat. It was a foolish decision, really. Who in their right mind would bring home someone who looks exactly like their dead crush? Definitely not him.

Perhaps it was the clarity that came after, when Mark started panicking. Who are you??? Why do you look and act and...

Why do you look at him like how they used to?

Mark needed answers and you're surprisingly cooperative. Then your story starts to get too familiar. You literally retold your whole life story just as he remembers it. Is it really you? Did you somehow survived? No, he saw you die. How did this happen? Some magic or space-time bullshit?

Mark doesn't care, not when you look at him like he's the most important person in the world, not when you smell the same when he buries his nose to your neck, not when you card your fingers through his hair and laugh just how he loves it.

Ah... You're back.

Mark ignores the warnings that his friends tell him. You're not dangerous! You're you! You're back, so what's the deal, Eve?? Oliver, they're not an enemy, stop arguing with him. You agree with me right, Mom?

Even Debbie finds you suspicious. She saw the funeral and saw you get lowered to the ground, so who is this person who wears a mask of your face? She tried talking Mark out of it but he doesn't listen, begging her to understand that you're just disoriented from the previous events.

Mark remembers how he failed to confess his feelings to you back then, and it became one of his many regrets over the days following your death. But it doesn't matter! You're here now and he'll be damned if he doesn't shoot his shot. With clammy hands and a nervous voice, he asked you out in one of your favorite places, hoping for the best that you'll accept.

Holy shit, you did. Well, more like you were confused as to why he's confessing since you two were together since the start, yeah?

What the hell, sure.

You were clingy, always wanting to be near him every second of the day, not that he minds, he's as clingy as you. You kept littering his face with sloppy kisses, marking him while mumbling that he's yours. Whenever someone gets too close or if he spends too much time with someone else, you're dragging him away for a cuddle session regardless of the situation. Okay, a bit too clingy, but it's fine! Mark lets you do whatever you want to him, partly because he doesn't want to upset you in any way and he's still reeling over the fact that he saw you die.

He loves it when you sing to him before you two sleep, he didn't knew you have such a calming voice. You should be a singer or something! You only chuckle and press a kiss on his forehead at the comment, knowing full well that it's what your job is back in the Viltrumite Empire.

You are an entertainer, someone who sings to provide enjoyment to the people under the Empire. Despite your occupation, you hold quite the power, after all, it was you who handed Earth over to the Viltrumites. You don't understand why your Mark snapped at you for joining the enemy. Why wouldn't you? Shouldn't he also join them? They're his own species! Sure, he's half-human, but Humanity hold no flame against the might of the Viltrumites. It's better to join them than fight, so why is he leading the rebellion?

While you climbed the ranks within the Empire, Mark's down on Earth, battling the agents sent to eradicate the rest of the rebels. If only he snaps out of it and finally comes to his senses. It's pointless! If he just accepts how things are, he can join the Empire! With your influence, he can even live a life of luxury, free of stress from fighting!

But he just had to be stubborn, doesn't he? You love that about Mark too. His resiliency, his kindness, his nobleness— you love everything about him. Aahh, if only he comes back to you... Maybe you can arrange it for him to be your bodyguard when he gets caught? The Viltrumites adore you, so they'll probably agree if you press the issue hard enough.

...Mark just got to die, doesn't he? You look beyond the glass from your room as the slaves bring in his body. A Viltrumite suggested that they let you see him one last time before he gets disposed off, since you kept begging for him to be brought to you. He just got to be stubborn in the end, doesn't he? He said he loved you, so why does he have to go and leave you alone?! Why does he have to protect the people who were ungrateful for his service since the start?! Why did he left you for them? Why? Why??

You don't let it affect your performance. You give the Viltrumites what they want while you wallow in your sadness inside your room. No matter how many gifts you receive from them can make you genuinely happy like you were when you're with Mark. Will this continue forever? Will you just survive?

Then Angstrom Levy appeared in your dimension, it was a mistake on his part, not knowing that the Mark of your world is already dead. When he fled by the strand of his hair after he got jumped by Viltrumite guards, you saw his ability. Portals? ...Of course!

If you can't have Mark here, you'll just have to find another.

And so, you proposed the existence of other dimensions to your masters, baiting them with the prospect of expanding the empire. Gullible idiots. It's a wonder how a mere human like you got this far but you're not going to question it.

It took some time, but they managed to recreate Angstrom's ability. It can only activate for a few seconds and it's unknown whether it really works and opens up in another version of Earth, so everyone's a bit reluctant about volunteering.

Not you, though. This is your chance of finding Mark again! If you die along the way, it doesn't matter! Living without him is death already!

They didn't took you seriously when you asked to be the test subject, saying that you're too fragile and that you better get back to your room since you'll be performing later. Your expression might've done the trick, since you saw some of them flinch. So much for being called an "empire".

That leads you to where you are now, with Mark in your lap, practically purring from how your pet his hair. It's adorable. You'll keep him when the Empire arrives the conquer this dimension, perhaps Debbie and Oliver too, to keep him company. All you need to do is activate the signal in this dimension to secure the connection back in your home, then you'll truly be together.

Unfortunately, you need to repair your ship that Mark previously wrecked, and the GDA has it for investigation. Cecil told Mark that it has traces of Viltrumite engineering but he believed you when you said that you know nothing about it. It's not entirely a lie, you don't have much knowledge about how your ship was constructed, but he drank your words like you're incapable of lying. Try all you want, old man, you can't separate us now.

Your requests are questionable at times, machines that you shouldn't know of is what you ask of Mark, and when he tries to ask about it, you only bat your eyes and insist that it's a surprise. He'd like that yes?

Maybe he should've heeded everyone's warnings. Maybe he should've been more logical. He should've known that you weren't the you he loved.

You only cup his cheeks and smile knowingly, like you had won a war you didn't participated in.

The Viltrumites from your dimension invaded his Earth, bringing the all familiar bloodbath with them. Mark was easily overpowered by the stronger soldiers, the difference in skill and power is evident from their varying experiences. And you, you stand atop the ruined city, untouched by the carnage you brought, looking at him with that innocent face.

He should've known. Those pure white clothes, that calm expression, the change in personality— Mark chose to ignore it, no, you fed on his delusions. You're a variant.

It's his fault all over again. He let you in, he protected you, deluded himself that you're the same person.

What's the matter, you ask, as you practically sauntered over him. He wants to glare, to clench his fists and pummel you to the ground for betraying him, for destroying his world, but he can't. Not when you look exactly like them. When he can see a glimpse of them on your face, your expression, your voice, your smile—

They don't smile like that.

Something in Mark snapped and he lunged forward, hands snaking around your neck as his fists landed on your face. He grits his teeth as he beats you up, his mind going overdrive as he sees himself beating the you of his universe. The you who died in his arms all those weeks ago. How dare you play with his heart like that! He loved you! You...

He stops with a gasp as he looked at what he'd done. A broken, bloody nose, a busted lip, and the deranged grin on your face.

Mark was pulled away by some Viltrumite Soldiers by then, pinned to the ground as they retaliate for him beating up their beloved pet. Before they could kill him, and before you could plead for his sparing, multiple ReAnimen swooped in to save him.

Amidst the smoke, you saw a glimpse of Eve carrying a battered Mark as she flies away.

[theragethatisdesire]

aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on. 

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

[mystic-writings]

ink on skin | daryl dixon

PAIRING — daryl dixon x fem!soulmate!reader

REQUEST — anon — hello! could you do an angsty story with daryl dixon? fem reader please <3 

SUMMARY — daryl gave up on the concept of soulmates long ago, even with the words marked on his wrist. and then he found you.

WARNINGS — canon-typical scenarios, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, soulmate au

WORD COUNT — 3,573

NOTES — this was supposed to be part of a really long collection of prompt drabbles from years ago but i found it in my docs and turned it into something a lot longer <3 it’s not the best (i couldn't for the life of me work out a good ending), but i think this might be one of my faves i’ve written bc of how poetic the first few paragraphs are 

masterlist | navigation | requests are open!

Daryl gave up on the concept of soulmates long before the world ended. He gave up on it when he was just a boy, when his mother died and his father stopped showing love. When he was told by his peers, his brother, his father, that no one would ever want him to stay with them, because he just wouldn’t be wanted by anyone. 

He grew to loathe the words on his wrist from a very young age. He did everything he could to cover them — makeup he stole from his aunt, long-sleeved shirts, bracelets, you name it. He’d even gotten used to not glancing at the ink scribed on his left wrist, making sure that no matter what, his eyes never fell on them. 

But even when he hated the words that sat there, waiting to be spoken by someone who cared, someone who wanted him, he couldn’t deny the countless nights he spent awake, tracing each letter and imagining what his soulmate’s voice sounded like. How would they say those three little words? What would they look like? When would he meet them? 

Daryl missed the feeling of being wanted. He only ever felt it when he was with his mother, when he was a young boy who didn’t know anything but that the sky was blue and soulmates were real and his father was mean. He hasn’t felt wanted — truly wanted — for a long, long time, not even when he found the group. 

Over time, with the loathing came the forgetting of the words marked on his wrist. By the time the world ended, Daryl had almost completely abandoned the reality of having a soulmate, and he rarely ever thought about it. In fact, he felt some relief in the fact that the world had ended. The chances of him finding ‘the one’ had lowered significantly now that most of the population was undead, and he had no reason to worry about being better for someone just to make it seem like he was worth loving anymore. 

For almost three years, he lived with the relief of likely not having a soulmate anymore. 

Today was an ordinary day, especially for the Alexandrians. At least, it seemed like an ordinary day. The sun was shining, people were milling around, crops were growing. But underneath the surface was something that no one wanted to address. Fear. 

Negan was beginning his wrath on the community that could barely keep itself alive. He demanded supplies, and he demanded a lot of them. So, half of Daryl’s people had gone out on runs to look for stuff. Food, clothes, medicine, whatever they could bring back. Daryl was among that group, taking a car as opposed to his motorbike and going to a high school with Carol.

At first, he volunteered to go alone, but she reasoned with him. It was too big of an area for him to cover on his own, she said. He could get hurt, or worse. And it was Carol, how could he deny her? She was his best friend, after all. So, Daryl drove in silence, Carol in the passenger seat, staring curiously at him. 

The feeling of her eyes on his annoyed him to no end, and eventually, the archer caved. 

“There somethin’ on my face or wha’?”

“Nothing,” Carol chirped. “Just… thinking.” 

“‘Bout wha’?” Daryl asked, sparing a glance at the woman. 

Carol shrugged, eyeing her friend. “About those words, on your arm.” 

Daryl tensed, shifting his posture to hopefully hide them from Carol’s view. “And?”

“Well, they’re not gone, for one.” She stated, a lilt in her voice. “And they’re… interesting first words for a soulmate, don’t you think?”

“How am I supposed ta know? I ain’t never seen anyone else’s tattoos. And it ain’t like I got a good chance of meetin’ ‘em, with all this shit goin’ on.” Daryl grumbled, watching Carol shrug and avert her gaze, looking ahead at the road. 

“Just saying… I wouldn’t give up hope, Daryl.” 

How would Carol know whether or not he should give up hope? Sure, she’d been the person closest to him aside from Rick, but even she knew nothing about his soulmate. Hell, he was still trying to figure out how she knew exactly what words marked his wrist. Still, he shook the thoughts from his head and continued the drive in silence, as though nothing had been spoken between the pair. 

Somehow, the high school Daryl and Carol had arrived at seemed to be completely abandoned. 

There were no walkers roaming around outside the grounds, most of the windows were intact, and the parking lot was practically void of cars. It was a small town, but from what Daryl could remember of the high schools they’d driven past or looted during their time at the prison, he figured most high schools in small towns — like this one, in particular — would’ve been turned into aid camps for refugees. 

Even with no signs of life, Carol and Daryl kept their weapons up as they entered through the main doors. 

Flashlight beams swept over every inch of the school, and it became clear as to why there were no walkers. Rotting bodies littered the linoleum floors, dried blood splattered over tile and wall and metal lockers. A stench that the pair had, unfortunately, gotten used to, permeated the air, filling their guts with a permanent feeling of nausea. 

The first place they’d found was the nurse’s office, and while there wasn’t much in the way of medicines, there were supplies that Alexandria was lacking. Gauze, tension wraps, bandaids, generic over the counter medicines like ibuprofen and Gravol. Whatever was left, Carol loaded into the backpack she’d brought, filling it to the brim with what they found. 

“Cafeteria should be this way,” she nodded down the hall, flashlight sweeping across the path before they exited. 

Passing by empty classroom after empty classroom, Daryl said, “Migh’ need some of this stuff for later, when the kids get older, ya know? Be good for ‘em to learn.” 

“Yeah, it would be,” Carol nodded, eyes landing on a set of double doors to her right. “Maybe we’ll come back for all that stuff later.” 

Daryl grunted in affirmation, about to push the cafeteria door open with his shoulder. He paused as a loud thump echoed down the hall. His eyes flashed, followed by the beam of his flashlight, landing on a singular closed door, a plastic chair propped under the handle. 

“Leave it,” Carol advised. “It’s just a walker.” 

Daryl nodded, but his eyes lingered on the door for a moment. Deciding to leave it be, he pushed the cafeteria door open, finding it empty yet again. The pair crossed the large area to the hot table, where they could already see some canned goods lying about on the tables. 

“If there were people here,” Carol began, “why wouldn’t they have taken the food with them when they left?”

“Why’s that matter?” Daryl asked, propping his crossbow against the wall and pulling out his knife. He knelt by the door to the kitchen, putting his flashlight down and wedging the blade between the frame. “‘S more for us, ‘s all that matters. Don’ gotta question everythin’,” 

Carol said nothing, keeping her flashlight trained on the door for Daryl to use as extra light. 

After prying open the door, the pair used a cart to transport the mounds of large, sealed canned goods. With Carol pulling and Daryl pushing, they’d made quick work of the first two trips they needed to make, loading their trunk as best as they were able. 

On their way out of the third and final trip, Carol held the cafeteria door open as Daryl pushed the half-full cart, stopping abruptly as the door started to swing shut behind him. 

“What? What is it?”

“I hear somethin’,” Daryl muttered, straining his ears to listen for the noise again. He listened for what felt like decades, and just when he thought he was going crazy, he heard it again. “There,”

“What? I didn’t hear anything,” Carol said. 

“Nah, I heard it. Comin’ from this way,” he gestured down the part of the hall they hadn’t bothered exploring. Slowly, focused entirely on identifying the noise, Daryl crept down the hall, a confused Carol following him. 

Just as he’d been passing the room with the chair blocking the door, Daryl heard two sounds: a dull thunk, and a hiccuping cry. He stopped, turning to the door that had drawn his attention before. 

“Daryl, it’s just a walker,” Carol insisted. “Let’s go, we got what we need.” 

The archer didn’t listen, footfalls nearly silent against the linoleum as he approached the door, knife raised. In quick motions, Daryl pulled the chair from the door, sending it down the hall with a resounding screech, grabbing at the handle and pulling it open. The hinges squeaked as he peered within the dark, small room — a supply closet, he’d discerned from the cleaning products lining the shelves. All sense of danger left him when he wasn’t met with a walker, but instead a girl, her body half-laying, half-sitting, propped against the wall. 

Daryl’s eyes widened, taking in her form. She was covered head to toe in dirt and grime, save for the clear tear tracks down her cheeks and neck. Her hair was matted, and the side of her calf, just above the ankle, was wrapped in dirtied bandages. Her only protection was a small knife, covered in dried blood, the handle of which rested in her limp hand. 

“Holy shit,” Daryl blurted, catching the attention of Carol, but barely gaining acknowledgement from the girl before him. 

Carol, peeking over Daryl’s shoulder, moved first. She darted around the archer’s broad frame, kneeling down at the girl’s calf. Peeling the bandage from her skin, Carol sighed in relief, finding a deep gash where she feared there might have been a bite mark. “She’s hurt,” Carol remarked, moving closer to search for a pulse. “And barely alive.” 

“Go bring the cart out, I’ll carry her out,” Daryl’s eyes never left the girl’s form as Carol left. Carefully, he scooped the girl into his arms, relief flooding him when a weak, protesting groan fell from her chapped lips.

There was no telling how long she’d been stuck in that closet, without food or water, simply left to die. And based on the chair propped against the door… it had been intentional. 

Daryl carried her to the car with ease, having Carol assist him as he laid you across the back seat, taking the time to make sure she would be secure as they drove. After confirming that everything was packed into the trunk, Daryl peeled out of the school parking lot, the drive back to Alexandria being much shorter than the one to the school. 

The sun was setting when the car passed the gates, and from there, things passed in a flurry of motion. Daryl carried the girl to the infirmary himself, watching Tara and Denise move about hastily to heal this mystery woman. 

“What happened to her?” Denise asked, cutting the bandage from her ankle. 

“Dunno,” Daryl huffed. “Found her like tha’. Musta been trapped for a while. Few days without water, at least.”

Denise only nodded, working to clean the wound and stitch it. She barely had the focus to think about the wound itself, how deep it was and the likelihood of infection setting in. Tara worked at cleaning the girl’s skin, inserting an IV into her hand like she’d been taught. 

The sun had set by the time they were done, the girl changed into new clothes and her skin cleaned of grime. Tara had been sitting by her side when Daryl came back to the infirmary, after going to the Grimes home to eat something and give as much information as he could to Rick and Michonne. 

“How’s she doin’?”

“As good as she can,” Tara smiled awkwardly. “I don’t think she’ll be waking up anytime soon, she’s like— super dehydrated. It’s been an hour and I’ve had to change the bag thingy twice already.”

Daryl grunted in acknowledgement, pulling up a chair on the other side of the girl’s bedside. He didn’t know much about her — or anything, really, not even her name — but even with her chapped lips and sickly look, he thought she was beautiful. And he also knew that whoever had left her in that closet had done so on purpose. He figured it might have been because of her injury, but it was cruel no matter which way he tried to paint it. 

He just hoped she’d be okay when she woke up. 

It took the mystery girl three days to wake up. Managing her health at a time where there weren’t any real supplies to use had been difficult, and it took all of Denise’s focus to make sure she had enough fluids. 

Waking up in an unfamiliar, oddly clean, room, on a bed, with no stench of rotting bodies wafting through the air was confusing, terrifying, and oddly comforting. 

Your body woke with a jolt, eyes snapping open like you’d woken from a nightmare of sorts. There was movement to your right, and you jumped back from it, frantic eyes finding a blonde girl attempting to calm you without touching you as best as she was able. 

“Hey, hey, you’re okay, you’re safe.” She’d said, stressing the last word. “One of our guys found you in a supply closet and brought you here. He— He said you were half dead.” 

Pure fear and confusion kept your mouth shut. The girl kept talking, asking questions, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond to any of it. The pain in your leg hadn’t been of any help, pulsing and throbbing with every slight movement. 

By the time she’d realized you weren’t going to respond, she sighed and moved over to the kitchen to your right. When she came back, she placed some food and a tall glass of water on the bedside table, backing away slowly as she spoke. “I’m Denise. The man who found you, Daryl, is on his way to see you. Maybe you’ll feel more comfortable talking to him?”

The idea of speaking to anyone, even the man you vaguely remember before passing out due to dehydration, made your stomach roll. Still, you picked up the plate, gratefully digging into the food you were given. Drinking the water, you relished the feeling of it sliding down your throat. Water was something you hadn’t had in what felt like years, and you’d be damned if you didn’t cherish what you’d been given. 

As you finished up, the door creaked open, and your body stiffened. You watched a burly, reserved man step inside, his movements hesitant. You watched Denise approach, whispering something to him — likely about you. Presuming this was Daryl, you willed yourself to relax, even as you pulled your knees tight to your chest, arms locked around them. 

You watched him approach the bedside, standing awkwardly beside you as you looked into his eyes. Strikingly blue, surprisingly soft. 

“Hey. Ya alright?” He asked. His voice was rough, southern accent awfully thick. But his words sounded soft, somehow. Small. Like he was trying not to frighten you. 

All you could manage was a nod. He huffed, nodding back, clearly somewhat relieved that you were at least communicating somehow. You kept your eyes on him, tracing every inch of his face and his clothes. It was clear to you, though you were unsure of how, that he must’ve been built for this world. Daryl seemed out of place in this clean, crisp, white room, and when you pictured him in the woods, he seemed to blend right in. 

After a moment, he turned and went back to talk to Denise. They spoke in hushed whispers, and you thought back to the exchange you’d just had. Your mind had been reeling, so caught up in the entire situation, that the words Daryl had spoken didn’t register. And neither did the tingling across the inside of your wrist. 

Pulling down the sleeve of your shirt, your fingers grazed at the skin where the words you’d been waiting your whole life for the right person to say used to be. With wide eyes, you found the words gone, replaced by a slight scar of where they had once been inscribed. It was surreal, and definitely not the time. 

“Hey,” Daryl called out as he came to stand beside you again, voice still soft despite its natural roughness. “Doc said ya can leave if ya want. I know ya don’t know me, but if ya want… ya can stay with me. I got a cot ya can sleep on, if yer okay with tha’,” 

You mustered up a small smile, nodding at the man before you — your soulmate. You’d been wishing to find him your entire life, but with the world ending, you put that aspiration aside. You certainly hadn’t expected to find him when you were at the brink of death, trapped by the selfish people you’d once considered family. 

Carefully, you slipped out from the blankets, stumbling as you put weight on your injured leg. Luckily, Daryl caught you, wrapping an arm around your waist as the other guided your arm to rest around his neck. Wordlessly, you watched his cheeks flush red as he shifted his weight before you began walking. 

It was painful, getting to the house he lived in. Not because of your leg, but because of the proximity. Along with the fact that you couldn’t bring yourself to speak a single word, not even to him. 

As you settled into the large basement room he’d taken, he told you more about the community, about his people. The ones who lived here — Rick, Michonne, Carl, and Judith — were family to him. The others were the same, but they all lived in different homes. He laid out the cot as you sat on the bed, watching intently as his voice reverberated around the room, rattling your heart in your chest. 

“I know ya don’t talk much,” he huffed, rooting through a bag of his and pulling something out. “But ya can write, right?”

You nodded, watching a smile play on his lips as he handed you a notepad and pen. 

“Can ya tell me yer name, at least? So we can call ya somethin’ that ain’t jus’ ‘girl’?”

Smiling, you wrote out your name and handed the paper back to him. Your smile widened when you heard him say your name, meeting his eyes as he looked back up at you. 

“Ya can talk, right?” You nodded. 

Daryl nodded, leaving the pen and paper with you, just in case. “‘M gonna go find Rick, tell him yer stayin’ with me fer now. Alright?”

The thought of Daryl leaving you, of being alone, in an unfamiliar place, with no light aside from the window at the very top of the wall, shocked the fear back into you. As he turned, heading for the door that led to the stairs, your breath caught in your throat. As quickly as you were able, you reached out, grabbing the man’s wrist and pulling him back to face you. 

“Please, don’t leave.” You whispered, voice gravelly and strained. It surprised even you, eyes widening as you met Daryl’s gaze. But his carried a certain fear as his eyes tore from your own, locking onto the wrist you’d caught. 

Following his line of sight, your heart stuttered, watching the ink on his arm begin to fade into his skin, into the same imprinted scar of words that you had. 

“Yer…” he breathed, eyes filling with tears.

“Yeah,” you whispered, eyes watering, watching him as his eyes remained on his wrist. “Your soulmate.” 

Daryl pulled his wrist from your delicate hold, his mind on overdrive. He’d thought it ironic, that the apocalypse had only pushed him closer to his soulmate instead of further apart. And now, the words he’d been desperate to cover throughout his life were finally gone, and the woman that the universe decided was meant for him was sitting on his bed, saved from the cusp of death because of him. All because he couldn’t take his mind off the closet with the chair blocking the door. 

His hand came to his wrist, rubbing at the skin that was no longer tainted with words he thought would never be spoken. And despite all of the fear Daryl carried with him over the years, the gratefulness he had for the apocalypse and the relief that he’d never have to let down his soulmate when they saw that he wasn’t good enough for them, he felt none of it when he looked at you. 

All he could feel was happy. Relief, not that the world had ended, but that you were safe and healthy. 

And, all of a sudden, meeting your eyes, Daryl was okay with the idea of having a soulmate. All the words that had been spat his way growing up, all the times he was desperate to pretend like he didn’t have a soulmate didn’t matter anymore. All that mattered was you. 

It would take time for Daryl to feel like he deserved you, he knew that. But you were here, and you were alive. That was enough for now.

Forever taglist: @mazerunnerrose @theboldandthebootyful @miraclesoflove @heliads

Daryl Dixon taglist: @katrina765 @hp-hogwartsexpress @ellablossom @alexxavicry @avabh12 (open!)

taglist form here!

[bluemoonscape]

The difference between these three is really interesting to me

A lot of people have already theorized this is more tillive fuel since Till is the only one of the three looking away from the viewer. And I agree! I’d also like to point out some symbolic meanings in the directions they’re facing, though. While it appears that both R7 Till and Idealized Till are looking at each other, their hands touching from fingertips to palm, Sua and Ivan are composed differently. Sua’s idealized version looks the most disconnected from her true self, what with the blue (cough excuse me plip, periwinkle /lh) eyes, the hairstyle, and the unnaturally, almost horrifically dilated pupils. While the idealized version is looking at her, Sua’s look is fixed on the audience, her fingertips touching her other self’s. Meanwhile, neither Ivan is looking at the other—both of them are looking at the audience, and only the backs of their fingers are touching. He’s also surrounded by hearts and romantic lighting unlike Sua’s angelic lighting and Till’s bright lighting, all interesting to note.

I think their positions are really reflective of how connected they are with themselves in life. Both Tills seem to be in sync—which could mean that he’s fully connected because he never really died at all. Plus, R7 was a round of revelations for him; his desire to live reignited by Mizi, his love and grief for Ivan. He has yet to show the audience anything real from his perspective, but now would be the time, now that he knows himself better than ever. Sua’s composition supports the Sua Comes Back Wrong theory, in my opinion. The idealized version of her is so wrong, it doesn’t look like her at all, and Sua isn’t looking at this version of her, turned away while the idealized version is gazing at her fixedly. (Learning how to be her?) Neither real Ivan or idealized Ivan looks at the other. Ivan is a very self-aware character whose unreliable narration is rooted in the world around him, so he should be connected with himself, right? Maybe not, seeing as even the “greater” version of himself can’t look at him. He’s always looking at the audience. His composition is the most confusing and intriguing to me because if Till’s means he never died in the first place and Sua’s means she’s coming back wrong (for Mizisua pt 2 please manifest Mizisua round pt 2), where does that leave Ivan? If everyone else has a place, where does that leave Ivan?

[astrologydayz]

ASTRO SEXOLOGY NOTES - MIXED🔞❤️

💚 LUST IN CAPRICORN = a person who's turned on by people who's in "control"/or by people who's the perfect match 2 be "in charge" of them - They want that strict "daddy/mommy" adventure. Typically really into being restrained, or being "told" what to do/how to act. Bratty behaviour is def a thing here - trying2 "cross" boundaries, 2 see what's gonna happen - "how far can I go, before I'll get "punished?". They could have been a late bloomer, when it comes 2 sex/sexual things in general - or even their sexual urges/desires could have come around later than most. They can get turned on by tattoos/piercings/tall people) sexually attracted2 "older" people typically/2someone who's experienced in life/or sexually, &knows how to make them cum - how 2 "trigger them", in the best way possible.

💙 LUST IN PISCES = a person who's turned on by people who's "dreamy"/"not really real"/sexually attracted 2 people with "tough lives"/backgrounds/sexually attracted2 artistic/spiritual people - creative people/turned on by people they got an "outta this world connection" with. "Roleplaying"/"performing" - putting on a "show" can be a thing they're really into here with lovers/sexual partners. Can also love having sex/getting sexual in water - like in a swimming pool, hot tub, under a shower. They can get sexually attracted 2 people who's not really who they say they are - they're sexually attracted 2 "dream like personas".

❤️ LUST IN ARIES = a person who's turned on by people who doesn't give a fuck/turned on by brave, but opinionated people/by someone who's not afraid to be themselves/turned on by birthmarks, or scars. They can be really into marks being left behind after sex/after "fooling around" - like bite marks, hickeys, marks on body from rough touching/slapping - marks from sex up against a wall, a table, desk, etc. They typically love impulsive sex/"adventure" sex - if u get them horny while u guys are out in public? U best believe they gon find a way 2 get both of u off quick, cuz ain't no way they're waiting till u guys get home - waiting really isn't their strong suit.

LUST ASTEROID - 4386

VENUS CONJUNCT/SQUARE MESSALINA ASTEROID - 545 IN A MAN'S CHART = a man who can give the idea of something "longer lasting" after sex/getting sexual with people, but he's really only into getting his needs fulfilled. Expert at coming up with fake "promises" - he gives u the idea of love, but typically can't walk the walk, after all that talk. EROS CONJUNCT/SQUARE/QUINCUNX PHOLUS ASTEROID - 5145 = a person who can have trouble with handling their sexual desires - they can get greedy, by trying to fulfil all of their sexual urges/desires, so it typically ends with them "blowing it up" for themselves - they end up "tricking" themselves.

MARS CONJUNCT/SQUARE/QUINCUNX MESSALINA ASTEROID - 545 IN A MAN'S CHART = a man who can't control his sexual urges. He can't get enough, he's insatiable - no matter how much he wishes he could control himself, he can't. It takes years of control, before this man ever learns how to say NO - or learns how 2control himself, sexually. "Teenage hormones" - "been around the block".

JUPITER CONJUNCT/SQUARE LUST = a person who's lust/sexual urges never dies down - there's only one way2 go & that's up. It's crazyyyy, like chill😮‍💨😍 - For real, they can always get it on! I'm amazed by these people! They can 100%feel like they'll never find someone who's just as insatiable as they are.

MARS CONJUNCT/TRINE/QUINTILE FAST ASTEROID - 27719 = a person who can get into sexual relationships pretty fucking fast - people who's just their "type" can show up on their path pretty quickly). Can also show up as quickies ofc, like quick hookups with people, etc.

LUST CONJUNCT MC = a person who's "known" for their "lustful tendencies"/talked about bc of their sexual escapades. They're not afraid of telling people what they're into/what they like sexually either - they can be quite boastful about it actually.

MARS CONJUNCT/TRINE/QUINTILE KISS ASTEROID - 8267 = a person who's typically REALLY into "rough"/wild, heated, passionate make out sessions! Can also show a person having a "need" 2 always involve kissing, when getting sexual with somebody.

MARS CONJUNCT/SQUARE/QUINCUNX NEPTUNE = can show us a person who's really sexual, but it's ALL about fantasising here. They can use most of their sexual energy on fantasising - never really doing whatever it is they're fantasising about. Fantasising/using your imagination a lot to get off/getting off by using erotic books/novels/interactive games, etc.

LUST PERSONA CHART NOTES - 4386🔞👇🏼 SUN CONJUNCT/TRINE MARS IN LUST PERSONA CHART = a person who's sexually attracted 2 “fit looking bodies” - like people who works out a lot, or looks like they do. They're turned on by people who's courageous, passionate, ambitious, & a leader all around - alpha males/females typically. SUN CONJUNCT/TRINE SATURN IN LUST PERSONA CHART = a person who knows exactly what they need, & want sexually. They won't ever do something they're not fully comfortable with - they're out, if they're not with it. They can be very sexually attracted 2 people who's older/more mature than them/can get turned on by people who don't "play around" in life. MOON CONJUNCT/TRINE SATURN IN LUST PERSONA CHART = a person who needs some kind of emotional bond/emotional attachment before getting sexual with somebody. MERCURY CONJUNCT/TRINE MARS IN LUST PERSONA CHAT = can get really turned on from sucking dick/eating pussy/from giving a handjob/from fingering - or it can be them who's really into it, when someone is doing it on them. Can also get really turned on from dirty talking/or by certain voices/accents usually. MARS CONJUNCT/SQUARE/QUINCUNX CHIRON IN LUST PERSONA CHART = sexual trauma/really bad sexual experiences.

JUPITER CONJUNCT/TRINE/QUINTILE KISS ASTEROID - 8267 IN LUST PERSONA CHART = a person who's BIG on kissing 2 get turned on - They can get really horny by just making out, A LOT!

MARS CONJUNCT VERTEX IN LUST PERSONA CHART = fated sexual partners/experiences, baby.

THANKS4READING BABE!!!💋

APPRECIATE U, ALWAYS!💙

[intrepidacious]

about that night (the bugs and the dirt)

summary: You never talk about that night, and Bucky never asks. Even though he can't help but suspect something is wrong.

pairing: bucky barnes x witch!reader

word count: 1.2k

warnings: past character death and vague mentions of blood (yk, spooky stuff); there's no actual dialogue in this and the characters are worse for it 💛 please note that my blog is rated 18+. minors dni. ageless/empty blogs will be blocked without warning.

a/n: it only took me three years but i finally managed to finish a fic in time for halloween 😌🎃 i genuinely don't know how to describe the vibes of this except buffy the vampire slayer season six meets "if lisa frankenstein was a drama" meets hozier's like real people do. have fun 🫶🏼

masterlist | read on ao3

Something’s wrong.

Something’s been wrong for a while, but Bucky can’t quite put his finger on it. It’s a fragile thing, this knowledge, this certainty, lingering at the back of his mind like the dim light of a forgotten lamp, shimmering, seeping through the cracks.

Whenever he asks you, you tell him that everything is fine, and he wants to believe you, desperately. You wouldn’t lie to him, you with your luminous eyes and your soft smile. Deceptions would taste foul on your lips.

But something’s wrong.

It’s all wrong.

He’s always been too smart for his own good, and he’s going to find out, you know he will, but that’s precisely why you can’t let him. He’s going to know how far you’ve fallen, and he’s going to despise you for it.

So he forgets.

Sometimes, when he wakes up, his tongue is heavy with bile and dirt, his eyes crusted shut with something worse than bad dreams. Sometimes, when he listens closely, he can hear the air humming with lost hymns that are not from this earth.

Maybe he should’ve gotten used to that, by now; your walls have always had ears and mouths and eyes, after all. That’s the price for loving a witch, you’d say, back in the days when your smiles came easy. Wherever you are, you’re never alone.

It’s different than he remembers, though, even through the cracked and blurry pictures of his memories, his foggy mind, but he can’t put his finger on why. Darker. Colder. Damp. It’s like something has left.

Doubt follows his every waking hour, even more so when he tries to think of that night.

That night.

Oh, that night.

The taste of blood on your lips when you kissed him, desperately, like you hadn’t seen him in months. The muddy streaks on your arms when he looked at you in the pale moonlight, the scrape of dirt underneath your fingernails. It had been raining. You smelt like pain.

What had you been digging?

He needs to forget about that night and what it actually was you’d dug up, then. You’d told him you’d had to bury an animal that had gotten lost and died in the garden, and it was a half-truth even by the most generous account.

Dark, evil things happened that night, and no matter their intent, you were the sum of them.

You’d sacrificed a lamb to dig up a wolf.

He doesn’t remember your answer now, but it must’ve been enough for him, then. It must have been.

So he doesn’t ask again, no matter how hard uncertainty tugs on his lungs.

On that old, familiar path, he follows you home and feels like a stranger.

The blood itself was the easiest to wash off, and maybe that was the worst part. In the human world, crime rarely disappeared without a trace, but magic always left its mark.

You remember tumbling on your way back, almost tripping over your doorstep, a sudden pulse of energy pulling the breath from your lungs. These were your own four walls, the ones you’d blessed yourself, tended to and looked after for years, and they seemed to recoil.

Bucky caught your arm without even looking, catching you like he always had, and you crossed the threshold together. You looked at him, then, for the first time since the graveyard. You could feel his pulse under your grip, his heartbeat strong and loud enough to be mistaken for your own, but his gaze so uncertain, like he wasn’t sure he actually belonged here.

With you.

You made up your mind right then and there. He could never know.

You stir your tea as you always do, and you’ve set out his cup on the kitchen table. Alpine paws at it before he can pick it up, a fierce growl accompanying the sound of smashing porcelain.

She’s been angry with both of you, and he doesn’t know why. She keeps hissing at him, and she refuses to sit on your lap when you study your books next to the fireplace like she always used to. Like she’s punishing you in whatever little way she can for a crime he doesn’t understand.

You sigh, and you repair the cup with a flick of your wrist, and then you don’t reach out to pet that spot behind Alpine’s ears.

It’s little things like that.

And it’s your tired eyes.

Of course, no one else can know either; it’s not a risk you’re willing to take.

If Bucky notices the phone’s been unplugged all this time, he’s never said a word. He’s never been much for talking, anyway, but he does it even less so these days. You’ve both turned quiet around each other, but the only thing that matters is that you’re both still here.

Even now, you can feel the dark powers humming through your veins, just like you could that night. You hear the whispers calling out your name and see the shadows at the very periphery of your vision. They follow you into your dreams until you give up on them, slipping out of the warm embrace of your bed to hunch over the tome again, again, just a little more.

Perhaps you should worry about repercussions, but what for? After all, everything you did that night, you did out of love.

Everything you’ve done, you’ve done for him.

Sometimes, he doesn’t notice them for a very long time, and then it hits him all over again just how exhausted you look. When he wakes up in the middle of the night, your side of the bed is empty and the roof of his mouth tastes like ash and decay. In those moments, he thinks he might still be dreaming; his bones are heavy and cold and unyielding, and he lies there like something forgotten, and all of his thoughts revolve around you.

He’s so worried about you.

He wants to ask if it’s something he’s done. He wants to know if he can make it better, make you smile again like you always did at the sight of him, every time. But he’s afraid of the answer.

You’ve not been yourself and you know it, but at this point, you feel unable to stop it. It’s too late, anyway. The dead already walk to earth, and you’re the one to blame. You’re the one to thank.

Sometimes, the thought does hit you that there’s something a little wrong with you these days. But then he looks at you and he smiles, and you’re young and foolish and in love all over again, that weight of all those weeks of screaming and crying lifted with every glance, every touch, every kiss.

This, the uncertainty, is the worst part of it. It becomes his closest companion, and it only lifts slightly when you return to him, if only for a moment. When you do smile, when you put your hands around his neck and kiss him and he can feel real again, feel like himself again.

He barely notices that you will only look him in the eye when it’s dark, when he can lose himself in your touch, foreheads pressed together, breaths heavy and mingling, the only real creatures in the world. The sweetest thing he’s ever tasted.

Maybe you are wrong. Maybe you are wicked and evil and rotten to the core, and maybe there’ll be hell to pay for it yet.

But you’re not sorry.

hearing hozier perform "like real people do" as a duet with victoria canal changed lives y'all

thank you for reading!! if you want to see more of my writing, check out my masterlist or follow @intrepidacious-fics for update notifications!! also, comments are trick or treats that last all year long. just saying 💛

oh, before we leave, here's an extra shoutout to @brandycranby for telling me this was fun and the perfect length. i accidentally made it longer again. love u 🫶🏼

[fantasywater]

Catradora and Stolitz: Same Toxic Ship just Different Genders

This series has always felt like the Catra Show, and so much so that even Hordak never felt like the main villain. And nothing drove that point home more than season five proving once and for all that this series' moral line(or lack thereof) is really about a Villain Protagonist when the character that increasingly became a monster for four seasons still got everything she wanted in the end.   

Catra is the poster child for the moral bankruptcy of this series. 

I can't buy her ''redemption,'' or her relationship with Adora, because she went too far. 

Therefore nor can I buy the mental gymnastics that arise when she is the topic of discussion in the fandom. 

For four seasons I watched this character willingly and gleefully jump rope with the moral event horizon. Then she finally broke it to the pieces when she genocides the planet, and everyone on it, because of her sick, evil, obsession with being better than Adora.

Loved all this time my behind.

Catra was a vile person from her introduction, and just got increasingly more poisonous as the show went on. 

Season Five wants us to treat Catra like she was just a bad friend.

She just said a few mean words here and there, and therefore all she has to do is sincerely apologize then friendship can begin again.  

Here's the thing Catra wasn't just a bad friend she was an abuser and a fascist. 

She had multiple opportunities to leave the horde, and had no reason to stay in the first place, gleefully attacks the resistance, is the reason Angela died, tried straight up multiple times to end Adora’s and her friends lives, and was just an abomination to even the ones on her side etc..   

On the flip side we have Adora who doesn’t give a damn about Catra for four seasons. She’s too busy enjoying life with her real friends.

Try and recall, was there ever a moment where Adora was...concerned for Catra’s safety? Pining for her in any way romantically? Ever? Even once during the first four seasons? Because I don’t.

Honestly, Catra wasn’t important to Adora until Catra showed up on screen. And then they both wanted to kill each other. Any moments of Adora thinking about Catra it was in the context of Catra being her enemy.

But I'm supposed to believe in their romance based on what? Catra's toxicity? Adora's nonexistent romantic feelings for pretty much the entire series?   

It seems in season 5 all Catra had to do was one act of atonement and out of nowhere, like Adora has been possessed by the ghost of Queer Rep, she suddenly can’t get Catra out of her head.

Also, note that Catra didn't save Glimmer because she realized her past actions were evil; no it was all for Adora's sake i.e. the person she is toxically obsessed with. 

Furthermore, the redemption in question is handled with the most condescending of kid gloves.

It seems like she was replaced by a clone for season five. She’s just accepted.

It's like seasons 1-4 didn't happen. The forgiveness was excessive and forced so we could be okay with this abuser/war criminal being chummy and romantic with her victims.

For example, Glimmer cries over her, kisses her cheek, etc... Yet Catra is responsible for her mother's death, the world ending, trying to kill her, war crimes against Bright Moon, etc. 

Then Entrapta also forgives Catra like it’s nothing even though she sent her to die, and apparently, she was in this hell space for a year.

But everything is supposed to be wonderful because an abuser ends the series romantically involved with her victim?   

When Adora said you made your choice and now live with it that should have been the end of any reconciliation either platonic or romantic. 

Even her flashbacks are of her being abusive.

You see her in one of them( in her so-called redemption season at that) scratching Adora's face to the point it left blood, and jumping on her stomach just because Adora dared to be friends with other people.

This was pretty much every childhood flashback they showed.

She would emotionally and physically abuse Adora, and then Adora would take her back.

This would continue even as young adults. It was a pattern(red flag) that Adora unfortunately didn't escape. 

But.....I always loved you,says Catra. 

For Adora's own mental health/closure, she could forgive, but only if she also makes it clear that she doesn't want her abuser/ex-friend back in her life.   

I could have tolerated that ending instead of Adora becoming a couple with her abuser. 

Basically, this Villain Sue ends the show getting everything she wants even after manipulation of several characters, genocide, war crimes against her own people, physical and mental abuse(especially toward Adora), repeated attempts at murder, and just being a complete psychopath to anyone within spitting distance of her toxicity. 

She gets to be pretty much abusive scum for four seasons, on top of actually doing the same thing Prime wanted to do, yet whiplash forgiveness and Lesbians 4 Evah is her ending.   

"So we're all just okay with this?", says Mermista incredulously of the war criminal Hordak. Good question, but then I remember you all seem to be okay with war criminal Catra sooo.....

Her mirror Hordak, according to the showrunner, is sentenced to Beast Island for his war crimes. However, my question then becomes where is Catra's sentence? Oh, that's right if you're Catra you get to be a war criminal in peace, and especially if you're dating the protagonist.   

It's also convenient that Mermista's was chipped, and therefore didn't get to say anything to the girl who helped bring down her kingdom with a smile on her face.

Funny how that worked out. 

It's even more convenient that her victims gave their lighting fast forgiveness.  

Can't have icky things like abuse and war crimes get in the way of that ending smooch you know.

I suppose we also just need to look at Angella as collateral damage while we smile as her daughter hugs and kisses her killer I guess.   

I also find it odd(since we're loving abusers) that Shadow Weaver point blank doesn't get forgiveness from Adora, and she even ends the series dead.

However, she defected to the hero's side in season two(regardless of any impure motivation), and stayed there and helped the protagonists until her season five death.

But Catra, who not only stayed with the conquering organization the Horde for almost the entire series while also eventually becoming their leader, was not only forgiven but also rewarded with a romance with her victim. Curious. 

The only way I can stomach her season five 'redemption', and lighting quick forgiveness, is if I forget the monster of four seasons didn't exist.

Problem is I can't do that. 

Why should I get any catharsis that the protagonists prevailed over Horde Prime when Catra is pretty much him with a sob story attached.

So it seems this show's message is no matter how much emotional and physical pain a person does to you it's okay to not only let them back in your life(damn your mental health I guess), but also enter a romantic relationship with them too.

It’s also hilarious that some of her fans say she’s Zuko.

No.

She’s what would happen if Azula and Kylo Ren were made into one character.

Titles the show should I have had:

She-Ra: The Story of a Villain Sue Antagonist That Gets a Happily Ever After With Her Victim

Another alternate: She-Ra: The Story of Lesbian Reylo or more current Lesbian Stolitz.

[sihtricfedaraaahvicius]

One Night, One Chance.

note: I won't lie, this is my first fic in nearly two months and I'm shitting myself to release this. Thank you to everyone who is still around and gave me time to find my way back to writing again. I'm not entirely there yet, but I did feel good creating this one and I hope you'll enjoy reading it too. A thank you to @andakth for her encouraging messages which kickstarted me to write again.

warnings: 18+! lowkey enemies to lovers with some smut and some light angst. Mention of alcohol and dead bodies.

pairing: Modern!Sihtric x Reader (f) (no use of Y/N)

extra note: The Danish word Skat is used a few times in this fic, which means honey/sweetie/treasure.

summary: Being the younger sister of two hitmen was the reason for you to live a secluded life, being kept prisoner in your own home out of brotherly love. Until you snuck out one night and ran into Sihtric, the man you had been secretly dreaming of for years, who was also one of your brothers' shady employees.

word count: 7,1k

Masterlist

Reblogs & comments are immensely appreciated.

Being the little sister of two infamous men wasn't pleasant. Erik and Sigefrid were harmless to you, for the most part at least, instead they were extremely overprotective to the point it embarrassed and frustrated you. All your life you had missed out on school parties and fun nights with friends, as you grew up in their secluded bubble after your parents had died. Your brothers were always afraid something would happen to you, and the list of somethings that could happen to you was seemingly endless. All because your brothers were well known hitmen in the underworld. They were equally feared and hated by most of those who knew them, and being the innocent sister to the deadly duo meant you'd make for good ransom. 

You were heavily shielded from their dirty work; the people they dealt with and the shady worlds they dabbled in, but you weren't blind nor stupid. You knew exactly what they did to earn their money, which was partly used to take care of you and give you basically everything you desired, except for one thing; a normal life. You loved your brothers dearly and you understood the need to be kept safe, even if you had nothing directly to do with their business. But being a grown lady and still trapped under their protection was truly taking its toll. You craved to go out and explore the world, to have fun and make stupid drunken mistakes, to fall in love and to have all your desires come true. But you knew your chances of ever experiencing true freedom like that were slim.

Although you were sheltered but not a stranger to the world entirely. You had some close friends and even had some boyfriends through the years, although no relationship ever lasted very long because those boys always ran away. Literally, by moving to different towns and cutting all forms of communication with you. You had been heartbroken so many times, and although your brothers would never admit it, you knew it was always their doing. Because 'no man will ever be good enough for you,' as Erik once said. And Sigefrid's 'I will gut the bastard who even thinks of proposing to you,' wasn't very reassuring of a happy love life in your future either.

Nonetheless, you had gone to public schools and volunteered at animal shelters and care homes as you grew up, which you always loved because you got to talk to people that weren't your two short-sentenced brothers. But after those scheduled hours were over, you were always picked up by one of your security guards to escort you home. 

Even now, when you were old enough to look after yourself you still weren't able to escape your brothers' grasp on your life. You weren't even allowed to get a real job. Sure, your brothers made fortunes by taking out people, so you didn't even need a job, but you just wanted a life of your own instead of being trapped in a prison that was built with brotherly love and concern.

And you were sick of it. For once you just wanted to have fun with your friends, who you barely saw. You knew your friends were well aware of why you had such a restricted life, but they also couldn't stop themselves from trying to get you out every now and then. So when your friend Eadith texted you about a party that was happening downtown the upcoming weekend, while your brothers were out of town for a job, you set up a plan to sneak out of the house, being well aware of the consequences if your brothers found out.

Saturday night.

You checked yourself in your bedroom mirror, pushing a hand through your hair while your navy blue cocktail dress hugged your figure. Your knee high black heel boots finished the look, with your make-up simple but on point and matching your outfit. You were ready for a party. Eadith had texted you the address after she nearly cried on the phone out of happiness when you told her you were coming. You felt bad about the little white lie you told her though, because she fully believed your brothers had given you permission to leave the house. If you were to get caught, you weren't dragging her down with you. She didn't need to know you were about to climb out of your window and duck from the multiple security cameras which covered the property, not to mention the handful of guards who patrolled the lands around your castle of a home.

You awkwardly jogged away from your house, marching through the bushes and trees before climbing over the brick wall, and you landed smoothly like a cat on the opposite side. You quickly booked an uber after you managed to sneak out successfully. Well, successfully apart from that moment when you tumbled over in your heels after jumping from your window, and landed nearly face first into a flower bed. Luckily your dress was dark enough that if any dirt stuck to it you'd have to squint to see it. And besides, the party was at Ragnar's house, so everyone would be drunk off their face anyway and wouldn't care or even notice if you smelled like freshly watered lavender and moist soil. 

You had never been to Ragnar's place, but you had heard of his parties and that the amount of alcohol served there was downright insane. Something you were dying to see for yourself. Your brothers were on decent terms with Ragnar, who was also into some shady business you didn't know the details about. But you knew enough to figure that Erik and Sigefrid would be livid when they'd find out you had been over at Ragnar's. Your brothers did whatever they could to keep you away from any bad guys, Ragnar included, and they had succeeded… for the most part. The only teeny tiny problem being that you had a massive crush on one of those guys your brothers wanted you to stay clear of. His name was Sihtric, and you had been head over heels for him for years now.

You had first seen him years ago when he came over with Uhtred, Finan and Osferth, some guys your brothers did business with from time to time, and you had been nearly obsessed with Sihtric ever since. In the years that followed, Sihtric always subtly gazed at you whenever he came around to meet your brothers, and he always flashed you a sweet smile before looking away, and he always departed with a wink that made you blush and run up the stairs to your bedroom. You basically stalked his social media daily ever since and swooned over his selfies. And although he didn't post a whole lot, it had kept the fire inside you for him roaring all this time.

When you first met Sihtric he was at the end of his teen years, like you. He had been rather shy but was already incredibly well built and criminally handsome, the two latter facts still remain to be true now. Quite some years had passed since your first encounter, and you knew he was a confident and matured man now, who did shady shit too for a living and was seemingly successful and respected too. You weren't sure exactly what he did, but you suspected he had something to do with getting rid of the bodies of those who were killed by your brothers. Which didn't exactly make Sihtric one of the good guys. So needless to say, Sihtric would most likely never get permission from your brothers to propose to you, or even take you out on a date. But a girl can dream, right? 

And dreaming you surely did when you found yourself at Ragnar's party, downing a shot with Eadith and turning around only to see Sihtric, the one and only man of your dreams, descending the grand marble stairs of Ragnar's home. Uhtred was next to him and they seemed in deep conversation, with Finan and Osferth following behind them after Ragnar had shook their hands before they departed. Your heart nearly stopped as you stared at Sihtric while he came down. His dark hair was short and shaved on the sides, he was dressed in all black with a leather jacket on top, and he had some rather fresh busted up knuckles. Sihtric looked like the stereotypical bad guy your brothers wanted you to stay clear of. But hey, you couldn't help that you had a type. Because you knew that your brothers were considered to be bad guys too, and you also knew how big their hearts were and how they would do anything to keep you safe. And you did long for that feeling of safety, just not from your brothers.

You held your drink tightly, nearly squashing the red plastic cup as your hands trembled upon seeing Sihtric, and you tried to be as invisible as you could. You weren't a fool. You knew that if any of those guys would see you they'd alert your brothers, because they'd figure you weren't supposed to be there, and they wanted no beef with your family in case something were to happen to you and they'd turned a blind eye to your presence. So it would be in everyone's best interest to bring you home, and that was the last thing you wanted, which made everything even worse. Because you desperately wanted to approach Sihtric, to talk to him and just be in his presence. He was so magnetic, you couldn't keep your eyes off him and your feet wanted to shuffle closer and closer to him. Especially after Eadith, your only friend at the party, had left your side to take shots with Finan and eventually wandered off with the Irish man. But you knew that talking to Sihtric would end up with him either calling your brothers on the spot, which would most likely cause some chaos, or him taking you to your home and informing your brothers of where he found you. Neither of those options would have a happy ending, and so you avoided him while you lurked from a distance, because he was too handsome to ignore, and your heart ached too much for him to turn away.

You had a couple more drinks but made sure you weren't drunk or even tipsy, you needed to stay clear of Sihtric and anyone else who may recognise you. You still hadn't found Eadith, and it had been at least an hour already. You assumed she was somewhere having fun with Finan or Uhtred, or maybe both, and it was best to just give up on her. You knew those guys would make sure she'd get home safely, so you texted her that you were going to leave soon. The party was fun, but the effort to keep yourself mainly hidden all night had become exhausting. Also knowing that your friend was most likely having the time of her life with one or two guys made you a little jealous. You hated feeling like that, but you couldn't help the slight envy you felt towards her. She lived that life you longed for, that life of freedom and fun with cute guys. You wished you could just have one night like that with Sihtric, and that thought made your eyes blurry with stinging tears.

On top of all your emotions, the loud music and the amount of people at the party made you feel rather anxious too. You really had been living quite isolated for far too long if a simple house party was already too much for you, but you couldn't help it either and wish you felt different. You somewhat had a good time while it lasted, but it was time to at least take a breather before calling an uber to get you home. You snuck outside the house and into the massive yard. You crossed the rather empty terrace and walked down the impressive stairs that led to the huge field of well kept grass which surrounded the place. You nearly tripped in your heels as you walked around the corner of the stairs, the cobblestones making you lose your balance. It was best to sneak out of the property here too, you figured, so you wouldn't walk into anyone at the front door. You ventured further into the almost pitch black shadows as the music faded in the night, and you came to an abrupt halt when you suddenly walked into a brick wall. You yelped but quickly realised you hadn't actually run into a brick wall. Instead you had walked into a person who was simply built like a brick wall, and felt like one too. The collision made you stumble backwards, but a big and warm hand grabbed your wrist before you could land harshly on your behind.

'Woah, there,' a smooth male voice sounded. 'Careful, darling,' he chuckled as he stabilised you, 'you should always be aware of the monsters that lurk in the shadows and will knock pretty ladies off their feet.'

'What the hell?' you breathed and quickly adjusted your dress, which had crept up your thighs during the collision. 'I'm sorry,' you blurted out when you forgot you were supposed to be invisible tonight. 

You wanted to run and hide when the one lantern above you lit up your appearance, but it was already too late for that as you suddenly stared up into Sihtric's duo-coloured eyes, and they widened upon seeing you.

'What the fuck?' Sihtric hissed and grabbed your wrist again, pulling you back into the shadows with him. The smooth playfulness in his voice from before entirely disappeared when he snarled, 'What are you doing here?!'

You knew Sihtric had recognized you immediately, and you panicked.

'I… I'm with my brothers,' you lied quickly.

'Bullshit,' Sihtric snapped, his grip on your wrist becoming tighter, 'they are on a job this weekend.'

Well, fuck. How did Sihtric know of your brothers' whereabouts? And as if he could read your mind, he said, 'I work for them, remember? I know their schedules and am actually meeting them tomorrow night to deal with their aftermath. And therefore I know you are lying through your teeth right now, miss. So you better get straight with me before I call them.'

He shoved his free hand into the pocket of his jacket to grab his phone, and you gasped.

'No! Please!' you begged. 'Please don't call them! I was about to go home, I swear!'

'How convenient you were on your way out after bumping into me, huh? Tell that to your brothers-'

'I'm telling you the truth! I was about to call an uber! Please, don't call my brothers, you know what they are like.'

'Exactly,' Sihtric agreed, 'and I know how they will be if something happens to you. How did you get here in the first place?'

'I snuck out of the house,' you confessed immediately, 'a friend texted me-'

'A friend?' Sihtric scowled. 'Who? A guy? Are you here with a guy?' Fire seemed to burn in his eyes. He was going to have a field day telling your brothers about all this.

'No! I'm not here with a guy, I swear! My friend Eadith, she texted me! And I knew my brothers were out of town, so I snuck out of my bedroom window and avoided the cameras and the guards. And then I ran out of my street, and I called an uber to pick me up.'

You groaned. Shit. Why were you such a mess around him? A simple look in his eyes made you spill all your secrets to him, it was pathetic. You'd almost let him rat you out to your brothers if that meant you could be in his presence a little longer.

'You snuck out?' Sihtric repeated and shook his head, then sighed, 'Skat, do you have a death wish?'

'I know it was stupid!' you hissed and finally pulled away from his grasp, rubbing your wrist which still burned with his touch. Just like his term of endearment burned in your mind. 'But…but I'm going home now, and they won't have to know I was out here.'

Sihtric's eyes became furious as he stepped closer again and towered over you.

'Hell if you think I-,' he stopped talking abruptly when he heard people descend the stairs, and he pulled you with him further into the dark corner.

He pushed your back against the cool wall and trapped you with his body, shielding you from whoever walked past as he knew your presence could unchain a war between Ragnar and your brothers. A war nobody wanted, a war that could come with a high cost. The cost of your life.

'Listen to me,' he said, his voice low and threatening while still setting your insides on fire, 'if you really think I'm not letting your brothers know you are here, then you are insane. If anyone here sees you tonight, the peace between all our families will be over, and you know that!'

His warm body pressed firmly against yours, and you smelled his minty cologne along with the scent of his leather jacket. He was so close, his lips nearly touched yours when he spoke, and he didn't back away from you. Not even when the other party goers had long passed without even noticing the two of you.

'I didn't mean any trouble,' you almost whispered, fully aware of the deep shit you were in.

'You are trouble,' Sihtric sighed, calmer now. 'You know there's a price on your head because of your brothers. And the wrong person seeing you here today can cause a lot of trouble. People will know you are either roaming freely now, which will unleash an army of hungry men chasing after you, believe me. Or people will think your brothers have lost their authority over you, which will make them look like fools. And we both know that's not good for their line of work, and they will punish you accordingly to show their power. Who knows what could have happened to you if I hadn't found you.'

'Just let me go,' your voice was suddenly hoarse, 'please. I'll go home-'

'And do what? You're just going to sneak back inside your house? Well, if you don't get kidnapped on your way home that is. Look, you do realise there is no way you can get back inside your room undetected, right?'

'What do you mean?' you scoffed, 'I'll just take the same way-'

'You can jump out of your window, yes,' Sihtric interrupted again, then finally took a step back from you as he groaned softly. You immediately missed his warmth and scent, and you almost whined at the loss. But it was what he said next that snapped you out of your foolish thoughts again. 'You can't climb back in that way,' he said.

You frowned, but dread washed over you when you suddenly realised he was right. Fuck. Your window was indeed too high to climb up to, and you really hadn't thought about that before. How embarrassing. An employee of your brothers knew your house better than you did. You didn't even know the tower you were trapped in. You exhaled defeatedly when you let that fact soak in. You stared silently at your feet, not wanting to look Sihtric in his eyes, and the silence was suffocating. You suddenly shivered, the adrenaline of the whole night had left your body and you were freezing. Sihtric took off his jacket and draped it around your shoulders, and after that he began to write a text to your brothers.

'Okay,' Sihtric muttered after a moment and shoved his phone in his back pocket, and he took your arm again, 'let's go. You're getting out of here.'

His grip was firm again as he somewhat dragged you across the large field and to his car, avoiding as many people as possible. There was no point arguing anymore, you knew you weren't going to win this, and so you stumbled behind him as he pulled you with him. Sihtric opened the car door for you and put the seatbelt on for you as well. He locked the car doors after slamming yours shut, as if afraid you'd make a run for it while he walked over to the driver's side. You felt so stupid and embarrassed that you still couldn't look at him when he sat next to you in the driver's seat, and you felt your lower lip tremble as tears welled up in your eyes. You figured he had texted your brothers, and you'd never leave the house ever again. The thought was overwhelming and you couldn't hold it in anymore.

Sihtric started his car but froze in his place when he heard some kind of screeching noise as his engine roared to life.

'What the fuck!' he said, 'that didn't sound right,' he muttered, concerned about the noise his car just made. But he then realised the sound was actually you.

You had bursted into tears. Full on ugly crying with shaky shoulders, while the man of your dreams just stared at you with horror on his face and his hands wrapped tightly around the steering wheel. This went on for a very long minute, until Sihtric finally cleared his throat awkwardly while you still sobbed and blubbered next to him.

'Are… you okay?' he asked hesitantly, and he internally groaned at the stupidity of his question.

Of course you weren't okay, he could see that too, but what else was he supposed to say? This was the first time a girl in his car had a full on mental breakdown. And not just any girl, but the little sister of his two bosses. And he was never told what to do in a situation like this.

'I'm fine,' you bawled and sucked in a breath, but immediately broke down again as you looked at him and said, 'no, I'm not.' 

You inhaled sharply again before you unleashed your entire issues on the poor man next to you. 'I just wanted a night out, a night of fun. I can never go anywhere or meet anyone. My brothers control every move I make and I understand they do it because they love me but it's suffocating me! I want to live and be free, but I can't go anywhere. All because they have some stupid ass alpha male job that forces them to trap the women in their lives behind doors and guards! I am trapped in a damn mansion and it's hell! I just wanted one night!'

Sihtric stared at you, barely able to understand what you were saying because of your high pitched voice and loudly gross sobs in between it all. But he did understand that you felt trapped because of your brothers, and he felt for you. He knew what it was like to be trapped in your own home, as he hadn't known much freedom himself when his father was still alive. He felt like a jerk now, for threatening to rat you out to your brothers when all you wanted was to just… have a normal night.

'I… I'm sorry,' Sihtric whispered when your rant was over and you somewhat calmed down. He then hesitantly took your hand in his. 'You may not believe me, but I understand how you feel. I wish I could make it better for you, but I can't change the way your brothers treat you. You are right, they do it because they love you, but that doesn't make it any less suffocating and I get that. I'm sorry, darling, I really wish I could help,' he said and wiped away your tears.

'I just wanted one night,' you sniffled, 'one chance to have fun.'

Sihtric looked at you while his heart broke in his chest. He never told anyone, but he had loved you ever since he first met you, but he also knew better than to chase after you. He understood your brothers didn't want you near the dark worlds they roamed around in, but that didn't make his longing for you any easier. He was shattered to pieces every time he saw you, knowing you would never be his because for all he knew you weren't even into him. If you were, then maybe there was a shot at being with you, because your brothers trusted him. 

He knew the right thing to do would be to bring you back home now, but he also knew that just driving up to the security at your home to drop you off wasn't going to work. You were in trouble either way, so he might just as well give you that chance of freedom tonight, before you would be locked away for who knows how long.

'You know,' he said carefully, 'the night is not quite over yet.'

'What is that supposed to mean?' you said and dried your eyes, 'you already texted my brothers.'

'I didn't,' he confessed, 'I never pressed send. And I meant that we can still have fun,' he shrugged lightly and took his chance, 'well, if you want to spend the night with me, at least.'

Hope blossomed in your eyes and your heart skipped a few beats as you looked at him. Was he really asking you to spend the night with him? Was this actually happening?

'I do,' you smiled faintly, 'believe me, Sihtric, I do want to spend the night with you.'

You watched Sihtric drive as he toured the dark and almost deserted city for a while. He looked so handsome driving, his hawk eyes fully focused on the road and his jaw slightly clenched while he sat back rather relaxed, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on your knee. He had stopped by a gas station to get you some water and snacks, and you felt so much better already that you had almost forgotten about your emotional breakdown earlier. And luckily Sihtric wasn't weird about it and also acted as if none of that had ever happened. 

Sihtric was mainly quiet, but his silence was comforting and you felt at ease. You weren't sure why his tattooed fingers were faintly caressing your knee though, but you were too melted in your seat to even care. Whether he was actually into you or just wanted to give you a comfortable night, it was all the same to you anyway because you knew nothing could ever become of you and him. Not while your brothers lived, at least.

'You smell nice,' Sihtric said, snapping you out of your dazed state, 'like… lavender and fresh earth or something, it's nice.'

'Oh,' you blushed heavily, remembering when you fell into your garden, 'yeah, it's, uh… natural.'

'Hm,' he hummed and squeezed your knee slightly as his eyes remained on the road.

You tensed, hating that you lied to him again, and before you could stop yourself you told him what had happened.

'Actually,' you blurted out, 'after I climbed out my window I fell into the flower bed. I'm pretty sure my dress is stained, but it's too dark to really tell. I probably crushed the lavender though.'

'You… fell into the flowers?' Sihtric frowned and looked at you for a moment, then a smile fought its way on his face.

'What?' you half snarled, embarrassed, 'god forbid a girl trips in her heels.'

'Gods forbid a girl covered those tracks on her way out too?' Sihtric chuckled, 'I'm starting to see why your brothers shield you from the world, Skat, you're too clumsy and impulsive.'

'Shut up!' you slapped his bicep but couldn't fight your own chuckle either.

You knew you had been reckless, and in hindsight it was kind of funny. Until you remembered the consequences that would follow.

'As if you aren't impulsive,' you then shrugged.

'What do you mean?'

'You dragged me to your car, remember? Rather harshly too. I'm sure that's on camera somewhere. How do you think my brothers would feel about that?'

'As if you would show them,' Sihtric rolled his eyes.

'I might,' you bluffed.

'You won't,' he said sternly and halted at a red light, then looked at you with those intense eyes again, 'you'll be telling on yourself too if you did, and getting Ragnar involved too.'

'I could tell them I snuck out but then got kidnapped by you.'

'I kidnapped you to a party?'

'No, you kidnapped me after the party.'

'Hey,' he laughed and took his hand off your knee, 'you are free to leave whenever you want, princess, but you know the risks. I just wanted to give you that one night, but if you don't want to be around me...'

'I appreciate the snacks,' you said, almost whimpering at the loss of his touch, 'but driving me around town for an hour isn't exactly what I had in mind for my one night.'

'Who said this is it? Who said I'm not taking you home?'

'Jesus,' you scoffed, angrily, 'you really are going to take me back home and rat me out after buying me some food, huh? What a night.'

'No, not your home, darling,' Sihtric shook his head and laughed, 'my home.'

Sihtric was right. He took you home, to his home. It was a long drive indeed, because he lived a few towns further to keep 'business and pleasure separated,' as he said.

'You don't shit where you eat, or whatever the saying is,' he said as he pulled up to the parking garage under his apartment building, 'I mainly do business with people in your town, and I have no desire to walk into them when I'm not working.'

'Why?'

'In my line of work people always need a favour or ask stupid questions,' he sighed, then continued in a mocking tone, 'can you get rid of this body for me? In how many pieces do you chop someone up? What tools do you use? Where do you dispose of them? If I vomit on the body, is my DNA in there?'

'Oh,' you said, a little startled, 'so… you… really do get rid of the bodies.'

'I thought you knew?'

'Well, I had a hunch.'

'Well now you know for sure,' Sihtric said and leaned in to release your seatbelt.

'Yeah,' you breathed as he leaned further to open your door, 'I- I guess so.'

You followed him out of the garage, into a fancy lift, and only in the bright lights and surrounding mirrors did you realise how trashy you looked. Your make-up was waterproof but couldn't hide your slightly puffy eyes from all the crying, and your dress was dark, but not dark enough to blend the mud stains in from your clumsy fall. To make it worse, your hair was messy too and a thread of your skirt had caught on something, and it had started to unravel at the seam, causing half a split in your dress which ran up the side of your thigh, exposing half of your lace panties, which you hadn't realised up until this very moment.

'Fucking hell,' you blushed, desperately clawing at your skirt to cover the lingerie underneath, 'I'm a fucking disaster.'

'A perfect fucking disaster,' Sihtric mumbled as he leaned back against a mirrored wall and looked at you.

He smiled lazily as he eyed you up and down and subtly bit down on his lower lip.

'What did you say?' you gasped and turned to face him.

'You heard me,' he said as the lift dinged, and he brushed past you when the doors opened.

You took off your heels and ran after him, through the long hallway with only a few doors left and right, until you were caught up as he opened the door to his penthouse. He took your shoes and held the door open for you.

'After you,' he said.

You fought the blush on your face and stepped into his apartment, finding a tidy and cosy place despite the size of it. He gave you a quick tour and offered you a drink in his kitchen, but he did ask if you wanted to freshen up first by taking a shower before you made yourself more comfortable.

'I do not wish to remove mud stains from my couch,' Sihtric chuckled and looked at your ruined dress.

'I understand,' you laughed, eyeing the pristine looking white couch in his living room.

He handed you a few towels and a clean shirt, which was so oversized on you that it was hardly any longer than your cocktail dress had been. You took a quick shower and then found Sihtric standing in his living room, staring out his massive windows overlooking the darkened city while he sipped a drink, wearing nothing but black sweats which hung low on his hips. You took in the sight of his bare back as you tiptoed into the dimly lit room. His back was perfectly muscular but scarred, gruesome tales of both his past and line of work decorating his skin.

He turned as he heard you approach, and so revealed that his chest was equally as impressive and scarred as his back was. He smiled when he saw how perfect his black shirt looked on you. It looked even better on you than it looked on him, he thought. He held his hand out when you were in reach, and he intertwined his fingers with yours to pull you in his arms. He wrapped his arms around your waist, your back pressed against his chest, and you both looked out of the window in silence for a moment.

'Tell me what you want, angel,' Sihtric whispered in your ear, his lips grazing your skin lightly, 'tell me what you want tonight and I'll give it to you. Anything.'

'Anything?' you said softly, your fingers trailing mindlessly over his arms around you.

'Anything, darling.'

'You,' you breathed and turned to face him, 'I just want you, Sihtric. I've always wanted you. From the moment I first saw you, the only thing I've ever wanted more than maybe my freedom was to have you. To be yours. Or… or to have one night with you.'

'Why did you never tell me?' he cupped your cheeks as he stared down into your eyes.

'How could I?' you whispered, your hands slowly sliding up his bare chest, 'we both know I'm doomed to live alone. My brothers chase away any guy that I'm interested in, and they chase away every guy who is considered a bad guy.'

'Your brothers won't chase me away if you are really interested in me,' Sihtric murmured against your lips, 'believe me.'

'Are you a good guy then?'

'No, I'm not a good guy,' he whispered, then lightly pinched your lower lip between his teeth before he flicked his tongue over it, 'shadows live with me, just like they live with your brothers.'

Knowing that you wanted him changed everything. Sihtric knew he had no chance with you if you weren't into him, your brothers would never approve. But if you were serious about him and truly wanted to be with him, then there might be a way for Sihtric to persuade your brothers. But that was a conversation for later. Now, all he wanted was to make your night worth the hassle you had gone through.

'I'm not afraid of your shadows,' you whispered against his lips.

'Are you sure?' Sihtric asked, his voice low while his hand snuck up to wrap around your throat, holding you gently but firm enough to get his point across, 'are you sure you're not afraid of my shadows? Not afraid of me? Your brothers call me the butcher, you know?'

'I'm not scared of you,' you said, enjoying the way he held you close and pressed your back up against the window, 'I don't know what will happen to me after tonight, but I do know that I don't want the last remaining light in me to die out before I know what you feel like. I might never see you again after tonight, Siht,' you breathed, 'and I don't want this moment to go to waste. I want you, shadows and all. I want all of you.'

Sihtric's breathing was heavy, his chest heaving up and down with slow in- and exhales, and then he pulled you in by your throat to crash his lips against yours. Your hands flew into his hair, pulling him closer with each stroke of his tongue against yours while he kissed you slow and deep. His kiss was drugging, making you crave more and more with each second that passed. You rolled your hips against his, feeling his hardened arousal poking against your panties and desperately needing more friction. He hooked his arms under your knees to lift you up, and he carried you into his bedroom while you kissed him like you needed it to breathe. You got lost in each other quickly, while continuing the slow kisses as you undressed each other until you were both naked and under the warm covers.

Rain tapped lightly against the bedroom windows while Sihtric lazily kissed his way down your body in between his murmurs of sweet nothings. He was taking his time, making you nearly tremble with anticipation. He wouldn't rush this moment, and he wanted you to enjoy it as much as he did while he savoured it. Sihtric had longed for you for years too, silently, secretly. And now that you were at the tip of his fingers and in his bed, completely at his mercy, he was going to worship you and prove to you that he was the one and only man for you. He'd make you forget every other guy who ever touched you, because from now on, it would only be him. 

He kissed you wherever he could, wet and open-mouth kisses in between soft bites of his teeth and slow strokes of his tongue on your skin, and he only stopped when he was settled between your thighs, he slid off your panties and kissed your legs on his way back, leaving faint love bites all over. Once between your thighs, he didn't kiss you, instead he teased you for a moment with his facial hair and warm breath touching your core, almost ticklishly. He then hooked his arms around your thighs, keeping you in place as he slowly licked your wetted folds, before he gently devoured you with his mouth and tongue and brought you to your climax so fast you were almost embarrassed. But he didn't care that you hadn't lasted long, because he still had the rest of the night with you, and most likely the rest of his life too. And he would make love to you until you simply couldn't take it anymore, by denying your orgasm over and over again while thrusting into you so slowly and sweetly, hitting all those right spots while you cried out his name and raked your nails down his back. 

He'd go on until you would beg for him to make you come.

You woke up when rays of sunshine crept up on your face, and for a moment you were completely disorientated. You didn't recognise the bed nor room you were in, until you felt Sihtric's arms around you. You smiled with your eyes closed and buried your face in his neck as he held you a little tighter, and you remembered all the things you had done the night before. It was worth it, you thought. Whatever happens today when you get home, it will be worth it. You had your night with him, your one chance. And even if it had been a one time thing only, it had been worth it, no matter how terrible your heartbreak would be in a few days. You just dreaded the moment to face your brothers. You dreaded that car ride, when Sihtric would take you back to your place and you dreaded losing him forever. You dreaded it all.

And as if Sihtric could sense what you were thinking, he mumbled, 'We'll figure it out, love.'

You fought a sudden urge to cry and turned to face him.

'But how?' you sighed, 'My brothers-'

'I know,' Sihtric hushed you. 'But I promise, darling, we can make this work. Your brothers need me to do a job for them, always. And the amount of shit I have on them,' he whistled and then chuckled, 'you wouldn't believe how I could blackmail them if I wanted to.'

'They'll just shoot you,' you groaned, knowing it wouldn't be this easy.

'They won't,' he grinned, 'because who is going to clean up their bloody mess when the guy who is supposed to do that has become their bloody mess? There is no replacement for me, no one as trusted and secure as me, and they know that. And if you are serious about me,' he said and kissed the tip of your nose, 'if you are as serious about me as I am about you, we can make a deal with your brothers. I know for a fact they'd rather have you with me, than with someone they don't know. All they want is for you to have someone who will treat you right. Someone who will protect you and provide for you. And they know what kind of a guy I am, they know I am all that and more. They can't get rid of me because of the work I do for them, and I'm not planning to get rid of you. So they'll have to accept us being together, there is no other way for them. So trust me, my love,' he smiled, 'we will make this work. If we'd get married then you'd take my name, so you'd be far less of an interesting target for your brothers' enemies. Soon, I will officially propose and then you'll come live with me… if you want all of this, of course.'

'I do!' you rushed to say, 'of course I do. I've always wanted you.' 

'Then you're mine now, love,' Sihtric smiled and kissed your lips, 'you're mine, but your freedom will be yours, I promise.'

@mrsarnasdelicious @neonhairspray @sihtricsafin @errruvande @penumbrie @lexeirikrleif @diiickbrainn @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @bubblyabs @dixie-elocin @alexagirlie @stupiddarkkside @urmomsgirlfriend1 @gemini-mama @foxyanon @man-i-be-that-pretty-motherfuckr @thenameswinter99 @m-a-s-h-k-a @superblyzanynight @hernakedmuse @ewanmitchellfanatic @lady-targaryens-world @cosmosnkaz @stronger-than-steel @cheesesandwichsanto

[oathkeeper-of-tarth]

Time for a long Aylin ramble, because I haven't indulged in a while.

I'm actually really invested in Aylin being an aasimar! I do not think it is a misnomer or mistake, as I've seen people suggest. She was referred to as a celestial explicitly in some older builds of the game, but this was changed at some point during development. And I noted aasimar enjoyer Oath, quelle surprise prefer it this way for a variety of reasons. Primarily, I think, because it lets her be larger than life, have a touch of that other-worldliness and otherness, while keeping her very much "of this world" still, very (physically and otherwise) present and part of the prime material plane, and ultimately far more human than I believe even she herself would sometimes like to be.

To bring up the most basic and rules/mechanics-bound "creature type" level of categorisation, as an aasimar she is a humanoid, and not a celestial - outsider. Her outsider status is absolutely there and a goldmine of things to explore, but that's a different post sitting in my drafts for far too long that I'll get around to one of these days (but for now you should read this post that I love). Yes, she is in a very real sense above it all, she will outlast everyone around her and whatever she gets involved with. We also get to see her dramatic poetic archaic speech idiosyncrasies (Ho!), her odd sense of the passage of time, and, of course, her oft-discussed and joked about apparent lack of filter or regard for current social graces.

(Endlessly amused at her just going: I'll do it when my mum tells me to.)

All things combined, Aylin feels more like a being of two worlds to me than a guest visiting this one, even as she is called the emissary of a goddess. She embodies a blending and an odd balancing act between the lofty divine and the mundane, duty and preordained purpose and personhood, and touches on the many ways this balance can be tipped. A classic D&D aasimar struggle, really, and a well I am happy to keep returning to.

Balthazar: She was a unique specimen even before I began my work. Aasimar. A god's blood united with mortal flesh.

She honestly isn't even that far from a regular aasimar stat- and ability-wise - Aylin does have several special abilities, but these are flavoured as blessings from her divine mother instead of an inherent property of her as a creature - though, notably, Aylin herself at one point claims she is always reborn because "it is [her] nature".

“Blessed with the favour of a goddess, Nightsong cannot be permanently killed. When unconscious, at the start of her turn she recovers 1 hit point.” “Nightsong will be resurrected by the powers of Selûne whenever she dies.”

Importantly, she does not get to reincarnate, or get a new body, or flit away to her "home plane" or anything like what celestials get to do. She is anchored to this one physical existence (again, very human of her), tied and limited to this one body as it painstakingly repairs itself over and over and over (to a sometimes extreme extent, e.g. the all but outright stated regrowing of amputated body parts in a frankly horrifying context), insistently and indomitably but ultimately imperfectly. And I think that's part of why the kintsugi design drives me utterly wild, why her immortality setup is more interesting to me than, say, a mutant healing factor, or something like the characters in The Old Guard. Her history is pretty literally engraved on her skin, and when she, in the role of a power-granting artefact and the object of a ritual sacrifice, tells you she will feel every wound you inflict upon her, it is so easy to believe her. And I'm not even that invested in physical suffering, just that it means it's all still very palpably there, forever, and she doesn't get to magically restart with a clean slate in this sense, nor does she get to forget past lifetimes as some creatures like devas do. It's just a flavour of immortality I personally find far more engaging than most.

(I mean, yes, I am also a known hurt/comfort sucker and if you're going there in order to set up a scene where she's, I dunno, getting doted on by Isobel who's invented new scar tissue pain relief massage techniques, you know I'm going to be all over that.)

I'm also not sure I'd say she can just pop over to Argentil to hang out with her mum at will. I mean, planeshifting is not that hard to achieve, and also she can just… ask Selûne, ultimately, I guess. But I wouldn't say she has spent much time there, and I think she takes her role as Selûne's champion and representative in the Realms too seriously and too much to heart to be away from them for very long.

Which also calls to mind the issue of the obvious and "simple" answer to Isobel's eventual death - namely that with Isobel picked up as a petitioner soul they'll all just go live out the better part of an eternity in Selûne's realm. Probably in some form they will - it's never guaranteed, but this time, yeah, probably something like that will happen, and there will be, as Melodia says, no loss, only temporary separation. But I'm really not into just handwaving or stripping away most of the mortal/immortal pairing issues inherent in the relationship. If we're going for the "hang out in a different plane of existence forever" option, I think at one point Aylin would have to "complete" her duties and lay down her sword, in a way, and pick between Faerûn and the Gates of the Moon - meaning she herself is effectively moving on to a completely new phase of her existence as well.

And while Selûne carving a lovely marble statue and bringing it to life and similar takes are fun and beautiful and interesting, I'm very invested in an Aylin who was born, raised, and had to actually grow up and learn and be trained. I have a ton of headcanons of Aylin being a weird glowy baby at some point (with all the Disney's Hercules jokes I've seen folks make, of course), being entrusted to a series of Selûnite enclaves and temples and cloisters, hounded by Shar and her agents pretty much all her life.

(Neither here nor there, but Aylin also comes off as a fairly "young" immortal to me - note that I am basing this on absolutely nothing but a general impression and there's no actual hint anywhere about how old she really is. Just vibes.)

To finish up, I'd like to shout out Isobel, and the big humanising factor she is presented as. For instance, a very concrete bit of motivation for Aylin to eventually "humanise" her perception of time, if nothing else.

Aylin without Isobel is horribly depressing to me mostly because she seems to distance herself from her humanity and err on the side of holy duty (see: her epilogue letter, ouch). And Isobel is definitely the person who (invaluably, imo) explicitly and consistently insists on Aylin's humanity and personhood, who cares for her as a woman and not a divine weapon, who actually treats her well-being as a priority, and who understands her so very well and so deeply. Who does acknowledge the gloriously resplendent Dame Aylin, daughter of the Moonmaiden herself in all her awe-inspiring presence and occasionally amusing foibles, but who never fails to look past the titles and fronts even Aylin herself is so keen to put up, and focus on what lies behind it all.

A moment that sticks out to me in particular is her bemoaning Aylin's disregard for her own safety, then actually getting very angry if you suggest Lorroakan can't hurt Aylin:

Isobel: Even after all she's been through, she thinks herself unstoppable - invincible. It all feels like recklessness to me. Player: Lorroakan can't harm her. Have faith. Isobel: He can harm her. Just as Ketheric did. She'll survive it, but she can suffer like any of us - and for longer.

Using Isobel's words verbatim is a good conclusion to my thoughts here, I think: the truth of Aylin being "singular among us all" coexisting with all the ways Aylin is "just like any of us".

And now I'll pay the cute Aylin screenshot tax one last time.

[makimacult]

what's the deal with this "love" thing anyways? — part two.

read part one

and now, on the flip side: the humans (a witch is still a human being according to dante, and the extras state that witches can give up their demonic contracts to be human again.) who are intimately familiar with love.

has love saved dante and verge? love certainly did not save mother rosa.

the intersection between love and duty is something mtefil interrogates. leah takes the duty of revenge for her family upon herself & ultimately her love for barbara triumphs.

dante has chosen duty over verge—and what is his thought process for doing so? he is one of the few adult exorcists, he understands verge's grievances with the church, he is clearly miserable (& suicidal. and does in fact kill himself!) so why then does he stay?

something to consider in the mtefil universe is that hell and demons are real. <millions may have died> if beelzebub was allowed to continue his rampage.

who would've stopped him if not the church? beelzebub is most malevolent of the demon lords (he's even referred to as <the worst of the worst> in the latest chapter lmao) but truly, what would stop leviathan or mammon from also cutting a path through a continent? it's not their style to do something like that, but how do ants understand the thought process of giants?

[1] the church exists out of a fear that is concrete in the mtefil universe & i really do appreciate the manga's writing in this regard. it would be very easy to make the church tropey one-note jrpg villains, yet the extras (im too sleepy to add sources rn, but if you send an ask i will note them) take pains to confirm that the church is not a monolith, believers exist within the church that disagree with the overall direction, there's even a schism between the pope and cardinal heisenberg—

and of course ultimately this does not cancel out the church's crimes against innocents.

the church styles itself as benevolent defenders, but to the more cynical church adults (i count daniel and dante here) they see themselves as a necessary evil. see how clinically dante and daniel talk about priest here.

these are adults who have internalised being a cog in the greater machine. they're aware that they are fighting a losing battle (demon lords after all, regenerate and humanity's sins can never be completely cleansed) and they have resigned themselves to that. they feel for the younger generation, but they're all of them soldiers that have been conscripted into a war that's been going on longer than they ever existed.

the demon lords are an unstoppable force, and the church is an immovable object, and witches, human victims like leah's family, and demons like imuri who want to find a peaceful existence—will be stuck between them unless the status quo changes.

the question of god.

this section is just my conjecture—but i personally think we will never really see god in mtefil. we get both views of god:

god as terrifying, high-handed and cruel, and god (or faith) as salvation for the people to hold onto when they have very little else.

schrodinger's cat—two important panels i think of when it comes to god's position in the mtefil universe is priest telling verge that it sounds like he believes in god (and indeed, priest uses scripture from the gospel of john to save people later in the chapter) and dante accusing verge of wanting to "take even god away from people."

verge has come to the conclusion that the current story must be destroyed and rewritten, and god as currently conceived is evil. dante (my interpretation here) insists that god as currently exists is still preferable to no god at all (& remember that this is a practical line of thought given we haven't seen how sinners and the damned are treated in gehenna...)

imagine: you know hell is real; would you still kill god (who is ineffable and ambiguous, for the chance of creating a better world? it's a decision only someone who is extremely determined can make-and i am so interested in what the witches' endgame is.)

lastly: i personally think it would be rather cheap of the manga to straightforwardly state that the faith the church cast has in god has been misplaced, and that god is malicious. like dgmw—growing up, his dark materials was one of my favourite books. im familiar with and love narratives about killing aod. tonally however, i do not think mtefil will go here.

reference to the page where imuri watches in awe while the exorcists save people—this, to me, is what potentially the endgame of the manga could be. a reordering of the world where exorcists do not have to fight demons, and miracles can be used to save people, and not just kill demons.

if you've read this far, thank you. i'd love to hear other people's takes (must add that i am very bad at replying on tumblr tho. i shall try my best.) also tumblr deleted half of this post while i was typing it up so. apologies if i sound incoherent as fuck.

[breadandlottery]

I think I'm going to make people upset but let's go Do you think Gi Hun has grown in terms of character development? In my opinion, what bothers me most about round 6 is the lack of significant growth in gi hun because he doesn't seem to have lost several people in the first season he remains naive I expected an improvement or development from a person who has already won the games. I would like you to answer me, I love your analyses.

My dear anon, apologies in advance for what is sure to be a very lengthy response…

I would like to say first that this is a tough question for me to answer with confidence since we haven’t seen season 3 and because it feels a little like a season 2A and season 2B situation. 

I’ve been working through scenes that I’m flagging in my mind for moments that should have raised red flags for Gihun but, from what we’re shown, didn’t. As I often tag ramble about, I do hold out some hope that he had legitimate suspicions of 001 and a loose backup plan. I have also noted that, interestingly, s2 does not have any of the flashback/realization scenes we were given several times in s1 and honestly, that feels very intentional? Like we’re supposed to notice it’s missing (I also have thoughts about ADHD Gihun, but that may just be me projecting because I’m real familiar with the exact kind of lightbulb moments he has, lol). My hunch/hope is that the show has been misdirecting us to make us believe everything you just said about the apparent lack of character development.

Now, I do think there has absolutely been character evolution. I can understand fans not seeing it as “development”, because I think we tend to think of character development as positive growth, but honestly, it doesn’t have to be… like a villain arc is still character development (just an example, I do not think this is a villain arc situation). I think instead of a lack of character development, I’d be more apt to call it a lack of “learning his lesson” or a lack of apotheosis (the point of realization/epiphany).

If we view squid game as monomyth/hero’s journey, he’s kind of not to the point yet where that would have happened (because the end of S2 would be the abyss?). Now, am I certain that the story being told is a hero’s journey? No, although I am somewhat confident.

So— I'm working under the assumption that we have a hero’s journey told in trilogy format. We have a LOT of comparison media out there… the Matrix, Star Wars, LOTR, among the most popular. What does the end of the middle installment of all of these have in common? They’re bleak af. 

Matrix: Neo unconscious, Agent Smith breaking into the real world

Star wars: Luke battles  Vader and loses his hand/almost dies, Han encased in carbonite

LOTR: Gollum’s betrayal, battle of Helm’s Deep (a win but with an ominous warning accompanying it)

The psuedo trilogy structure is where I do feel slightly perturbed at netflix for passing off a split season as 2 separate seasons. With a “real” trilogy, each component should be able to stand alone (like with 3 act structure-- set up-> conflict -> resolution) which is true of the examples above because the primary narrative conflict is actually resolved but super not true of squid game s2. Which means s2 and 3 combined could be the middle of the trilogy, with the mystery future season being the final part, but I don’t know that that’s in the cards. 

As an aside, we could just be totally wrong about the direction this is going in. Narrative arcs that involve the protagonist “learning a lesson” isn’t a universal concept. I always think of James Bond movies (especially the older ones) as an example of a “flat arc” character, because like, if you sleep with her she’s probably gonna die James, didn’t you learn this last time? If you’re too reckless there will be consequences, didn’t you learn this last time James? Like. That guy never learns. Not every character learns from their mistakes. Do I think Gihun is ultimately gonna be a flat arc character? No. Is it possible? I guess, man, look at the world, anything’s possible!!

So, ugh, sorry that’s a ton of speculation and uncertainty that isn’t directly answering your ask, but I do think that any of these possibilities can explain what we’re calling a lack of character development because we’re just not at that point in the story yet.

NOW.

Personally, I do think that Gihun is very perceptive, and I hold out hope that he wasn’t as trusting and oblivious as we’re made to think. I also believe that even if that is the case, he’d still have further to go/more development needed before he could actually reach the end of his journey. The reason for this (and I think one of the reasons people sometimes think of him as not smart) is the narrowness of his worldview. Not narrowmindedness, just literally not having broad knowledge about the world. Like not knowing where Pakistan was. Or not really getting that neither he nor the Frontman have the power to end what's happening because it is a symptom of a much larger, systemic problem. And in complete fairness to this sweet man, lack of perspective and a narrow worldview is an incredibly common flaw in people. 

So a few things that can be interpreted as Stagnation or Lack of Development:

Still a gambler: as seen in Russian Roulette and in going back into the game. Definitely risky, definitely reckless. He is like kinda suicidal though, so I don’t know that the underlying cause of this behavior is the same as it was in s1.

Still just out here trusting everyone: Yeah. That’s what he does, though. He came right out and said it, he doesn’t do it because he thinks people are trustworthy, he does it because what else is he gonna do? Is this a dumb-as-shit approach that should be “character-developed” out of him? Or is it a very important key defining feature of who he is as the hero of the story? I could go either way on that, tbh.

Naïve/easy to fool: I don’t think he ever was all that easy to fool, I think he consciously chose to let a lot of things slide and/or second-guessed his intuition because people called him stupid and slow all the time. 

Things that I think are Character Development

Ability to Focus: Maybe I’m ADHD projecting again, but this guy was all over the place in the beginning of s1, now he’s running a whole ass operation (maybe the medicine Mr Kim brought over was secretly adderall lol).

Leadership: I’ve said all along he just naturally exudes leadership, but he wasn’t really aware of it or comfortable with it in s1. In s2 he’s really embracing decision-making (even if they’re bad decisions) and seems comfortable being the one planning and leading, which is impressive.

So. To sum up a very very long answer:

I do see character development, if not the “hero finally learned his lesson” kind

I do still think it’s possible that Gihun wasn’t quite as clueless as we’re shown, and I’ll cling to this delusion until at least June 27th lol

I think it’s possibly too early in the narrative for his full revelation, anyway, but-

Part of why that feels “off” is because s2 is missing the “last Act” of the story it was telling (like don’t split a sequel in 2 and try to shoehorn it into a trilogy if it’s not an actual trilogy please for the love of god it throws off the balance)

[ohwatson]

sherlock escape rooms & london debrief yay!

i’ve finally had the chance to write some of my takeaways from the great london tumblr mutual meetup of 2025, who cheered! i’m fairly sure i blacked out from sheer excitement while doing the escape rooms, so this is probably going to be a list of some highlights rather than something more meta-based. also hello @queerholmcs @betweendoctorsanddetectives and @heartduct (as well as my lovely off-tumblr uni friend)!

we started out the day with the sherlock holmes museum and north gower street/speedy’s frolicking around before lunch in preparation for the escape rooms. we also kind of got lost in westfield but we rose and persevered.

starting with escape room number one (the game is now):

i need to know how many people walk into westfield shopping centre thinking the escape room is truly just an opticians because it does look fairly convincing (not accounting for the massive 221b posters plastered across the windows).

all the employees (stamfords, as they’re called) are very charismatic. if any of them have a tumblr account and see this, this an invite to be mutuals xx

really loved a bearded john (or, martin freeman, who looks as though he was yanked off the street and held in front of the camera at gunpoint. free him.) telling us not to do anything stupid

really glad they made an IKEA joke in relation to sherlock being in sweden

mycroft has been kidnapped. diva down. however will we save him! btw he was kidnapped by moriarty. but moriarty is dead! lol yeah okay sure totally and definitely. this we must remember.

also put a script for moriarty back in andrew scott’s hands STAT. he’s ready.

room number one is molly’s office/bart’s morgue, where my personal highlight was a stock image of lestrade hanging on the wall that said, “greg gave me a copy of his passport photo, i’m not sure why. i hope he’s not coming on to me.” (not verbatim but i was feining for these lestrade scraps).

once again, we are visited by bearded-john, to whom molly says “nice beard, by the way!” … yeah.

the corpse in the morgue is gay btw. his name is also stephen. free me from this prison.

stephen died of some virus, so from there the game became about finding a cure/stopping moriarty from spreading said virus.

we then entered mycroft’s office, the most important part of this room was discovering mycroft is a pisces. happy belated birthday to my february 28th diva. hope you enjoyed les mis.

jones’s phone call. that’s all.

the last room entailed jones and i frantically using our entire body weight to push some pump-thing. it was designed to resemble lungs & a heart……..yeah. it was so humbling that i kind of forgot what time and rachel and marley were doing behind us. i’m convinced i blacked out during this part so i’ll let jones recap.

hello cardboard cut out john. how’s it going x

after successfully completing escape room number one, we then have a reprieve in the mind palace bar, where there was a selection of character-themed drinks. to my dismay, there was no lestrade beverage, so i settled for a cherry-flavored moriarty drink. we had some lovely discussions about season four, as one does, and then headed back in for the mind of moriarty room.

escape room number two (mind of moriarty):

moriarty is so super, totally, one hundred percent, completely, definitely dead. got it? it’s important to me that you’ve got this.

it’s also very important to note that, while moriarty is a villain, the real villain is actually chatgpt. according to mycroft. (can always count on you to be right, diva.)

moriarty has combined his mind with AI, and the goal of the room is to get into the nexus and dismantle it.

one mycroft holmes is already too great a gift for this world. two would be an indulgence.” - mark gatiss, 2025.

hello semtex john from the great game! don’t worry diva, we have come to free you with the power of chemistry and codebreaking.

oh but sherlock’s excellent. really excellent. three signs is not enough. too many thatchers.

thoroughly enjoyed diving on the floor to avoid some lasers. that was good fun and not at all humbling.

hey crown jewels moriarty. how are you? you look great, btw.

there was also one further piece of lestrade scraps in the last room. lots of code-breaking in that one too, but any mention of my favorite guy and i’ll never be locked in again!

this was all followed by a lovely dinner at the dishoom in battersea power station, which has now been refurbished into a shopping mall and apartment complex. i firmly believe we should have a scandal in belgravia re-filmed to have john crashing out at irene adler in the blank street coffee.

jones and i decided to have a little excursion to the london aquarium the following day, where i eagerly eyed the sharks surrounded by happy families who were completely unaware of the significance of the room they were in. also hello bisexual lighting jellyfish hall. i mourn what we could have had if you existed at the time of filming.

we then hopped over to the lovely diogenes club before i ranted about all the things that irk me about lestrade fanon over lunch in pret. we could not complete our sherlock theme park—i mean london—tour without walking across vauxhall bridge and stopping by bart’s hospital. it’s been a week and a half and i’m still reeling over how lovely these friends are and i yearn for the day that third escape room inevitably drops. okay bye!