#the 'I have worshiped you and devoted myself to you ever since you saved me' /

[pangolin-404]

I want to write ferrygabe but every time I sit down and think about a plot I am always smacked in the face by how the ferryman's blind devotion and praise could very quickly spiral into something Really Bad

[prongspoet]

broken hearted | luke castellan.

first time writing for luke, so hope this is okay! tell me what u think in the reblogs i would love to know and get more luke asks!

summary: the curse of cabin 10 makes aphrodite!reader pretend to date her best friend so she doesn't have to cause a heartbreak to her actual crush. even though, at the end of it, she's the only one who had her heart broken. major inspo from this concept.

"You're staring." y/n' best friend, luke castellan, head counselor of the hermes cabin, pointed the fact out, side eying the girl right at his side, after looking at the boy sword training in front of them.

"he's staring back." the aphrodite girl said with a grin. the sunlight bathing her head making it comfortingly warm. luke would know, since he was the one caressing it while she laid down next to him. both of them on the grass, enjoying the late afternoon at camp. "so..."

michael dawson, ares' kid, was, in fact, staring. luke couldn't blame him, the way his best friend looked made everyone pay attention to her. she didn't even had to try. and still, the swordfighting happening in front of them made luke even more sure that mike needed a way so she could notice him. not naturally, but somehow, it worked, since the girl payed attention to him as soon as he started.

"oh well, like mother like daughter, huh. " he continued, in a mocking tone, holding his laugh, raising himself by his elbows, before taking one of his hands to the girl's arm. "your siblings wouldn't be too happy to see the goody two shoes dating an ares' kid, would they?"

"gods, don't fucking say that." she giggled, hiding her face with both of her hands. she went quiet for a second, still staring at the boy. "ares' kid or not.." y/n sighed, pouting slightly. "mike's nicer than the others, he wouldn't deserve to be a guinea pig."

"what do you mean?"

"you know what i have to do.” the girl muttered, with a soft sigh. she couldn't blame her mother, she worshipped aphrodite; her beauty, her power, her knowledge and her actions. that didn't mean that she enjoyed the judgment. the need to make someone else feel miserable just because she could. it wasn't fair. "the first love heart break thing."

"i'm glad i'm not in his shoes, that's for sure." the boy whispered, with a chuckle, still trying to be as quiet as possible. his thumb caressing her arm incessantly. it made her skin burn. in a second, y/n abruptly raised her chin, getting supported by her elbows, getting muffled groan from luke, once it hit his ribs. "what is it?"

"you could be!"

"am i your first love, daisy?" he raised one of his eyebrows, with a mischievous grin stamped on the boys face. the scar in his eye making itself more clear. "you should have told me sooner- ouch!"

"shut up, hero. listen to me!" he knew that tone. and as anyone else who had a single bit of sense, he kept quiet, wanting nothing more to hear her insane idea. "we could pretend to be boyfriend and girlfriend." the smile on her delicate face kept getting bigger as she explained her brilliant - yet not completely effective - idea. "i could pretend to break your heart. no one gets hurt, i can stay with mike after is over, and my mom ends up being proud of me!"

the aphrodite girl stared at him expectedly, hoping he would buy her insane plan, hoping he could save her from doing something he never imagined her doing it. luke got quiet for a minute. his eyes were darker than usual. he couldn't stand that. y/n knew her best friend well enough to know that he meant to say something. he never truly did. "you shouldn't be looking for her approval."

"i'm not searching for approval i'm just trying to prove myself.."

"you don't have to prove your devotion to her by doing this." his tone stern, more quiet. colder. "you burn offerings for her every single day. you pray, you're always expressing how incredible she is."

"you don't have to do it if you don't want to."

and suddenly, the idea seemed more appealing than ever. she wasn't using her charmspeak on him. no, luke knew how sugary and sweet y/n's words could be when she wanted to. at that moment, his best friend was just being honest. and even though he could retribute that feeling, luke felt that he needed to do it. just for her.

"yeah," he nodded. defeated. "fine, i'll do it."

"really?" the girl hugged him tight. more excited than ever. "thank you boyfriend!"

"yeah, yeah." he grinned, letting her rest her head on his chest, carefully watching y/n closing her eyes, like nothing else would ever bother her. "just don't be too mean when you dump me."

pretending was easy.

they've always been stuck to each other. having dinner with each other. burning offerings with each other. planning capture the flag with each other. training, swimming, talking, sneaking out to parties. always with one right after the other.

it wasn't supposed to be different, they just had to make it more believable.

"we should be holding hands," y/n pointed out as the couple walked calmly to the main area, where dinner was starting. "silena asked me why we never hold hands if we're dating, so i thought we could make it more..."

"real, yeah." luke nodded, grabbing her hand right the next second she spoke. "c'mon, girlfriend, hurry up." he grinned, and she couldn't help but grin back. "i'm starving."

luke could do that. he could kiss her in front of people, and tell everyone the way they got together. he could hold hands with her, caress her back and almost have a heart attack when she kissed him behind his ear. he could live with that, yeah. it was normal. it was pretending.

until it started to change. suddenly. quickly.

he noticed her. the eyes, the shape of her face, the way her eyebrows moved when she laughed, and the look she gave him every single time she entered a room he was already in, and luke couldn't help but pay attention at her soft hair, how excited she became while looking at pretty flowers, and especially, how her fingers felt against his own scalp when they needed to do some pretending. she was an aphrodite kid after all. y/n was charming. y/n was lovely. y/n was his girlfriend, at least for a while.

and she couldn't help but notice him either. how his scar looked more bright when they. the subtle, yet attentive and gentle way he taught her how to hold a sword, how to train, how to fight. the infuriating way at how he held her chin up slightly, every single time, before sealing his lips against hers.

and for once, neither of them were pretending.

the bonfire started earlier that night, but the couple came to it late; y/n helped one of her sisters who was in a small crises, and her sweet caring boyfriend waited for her by the aphrodite cabin's door, holding her hand as soon as she got out, so they could sit together at one of the logs, full of campers, chartering, telling stories, and enjoying the peacefulness that the simple event emanate.

luke choose one of the back logs for a reason, it was darker, harder to anyone else to see them. even so, as soon as the boy started to leave little pecks at her jaw, he was able to hear some whistles and exclamations. teenagers were gonna be teenagers after all.

"alright," y/n sat upstraight, taking a deep breath before continuing. "you can't do that here."

"i'm just having fun!" the boy said with a mischievous grin. he knew way to well what he was doing. she hoped he would do it forever. the teasing, the almost getting caught made her heart sink every time. "you are my girlfriend after all."

"don't get ahead of yourself, hero." she muttered, grinning at him, before sealing lips with him again. "i still have to break your heart."

"are you sure about that?" he furrowed his eyebrows, pretending to be offended, but getting right back at his job pretty quickly. "i'll just enjoy it until the time comes then."

she laughed, taking her head back so he could have full access to her neck, delicately taking one of her hands to his scalp. and he noticed how much he loved that sound. so much in a way he wished he could bottle it up so he could taste it every time he felt miserable. that wasn't possible. but y/n promised that as long as they were together, he was allowed to make her laugh any time he wanted to, if if meant getting him happy.

that's why it hurt even more when he did what he did.

when he revealed himself to be the traitor.

"come with me."

"i'm sorry, what the hell are you doing?" she cried out, feeling her heart beating faster than ever. "you're not thinking straight. you're not. you're not like this, i-" the words got caught up in her throat. y/n felt like she could pass out at any minute. "i know you luke." her voice was a mere pleading by then, hoping with all her soul he would hear. "you wouldn't do this to me."

"you mean a lot to me, daisy, but this is fucking different."

he was different, and she finally noticed. his eyes darker, his tone stern, and the way he held himself up, like he was prepared for a fight.

y/n would never fight him.

and he would never fight her, right?

and when luke turned his back against her, letting the aphrodite girl caught up with a sob, furrowing her eyebrows, feeling the tears already soaking up her eyes, y/n thought she understood.

maybe aphrodite didn't buy it. and even if she did, she knew it started out with a lie. y/n was playing house. thinking she could be smarter than her mom, she could prove it to everyone else how that curse was a lie, and that nothing would happen to the one that didn't completed it.

but it did happend.

no demigod could ever stand out a god. y/n was no exception.

and she finally understood that.

by the end of the day, y/n went back to her well known cabin, shamefully, missing her radiant aura and pretty smile, hiding a shattered heart in her pocket.

[morihaus]

Beloved

I am a Lover of the Rose. Yes, even still.

For 200 years, I have been her priestess. Since the turning of eras, I've committed my soul to her, and in return, she has lent me her guidance. Gracious Azura, she foretold of the disaster on Vvardenfell that would redden the skies and choke the sun; she led her faithful to safety, far from the troubles that enveloped our homeland. I was a novice in the cult then. I walked the pilgrimage to Skyrim with so many others who, like me, felt the warmth and compassion of our goddess in the coldest of nights.

I helped to raise that statue and establish that shrine. I tended to it, I heard her voice, and obeying her wishes I tended to my fellows and myself. Azura is a spirit of love, of true, beautiful, all-consuming love. No matter how lofty she may be, no matter where in the heavens she walks, her love is felt by her faithful. Not one of us would ever doubt it. She bade us fly to Skyrim to escape the dreadful fate of our homeland, but also, to make preparations for those who would follow in our footsteps. Those who her voice could not reach, the blind, the deceived, the lost, her soul swells with love for even them. Our people flocked to Skyrim to escape the chaos of the Red Year, of the Arnesian War, of the fall of the Tribunal and the dawn of a new era, and it was we, the Lovers of Azura, who welcomed them, who guided them as she had guided us to the embrace of her sanctuary.

It has been some time since I last visited that shrine. I spent centuries there in worship, in devoted service to the brilliant soul of my Lady. I worked with others to make a place for our people, to soothe their pain, to give them surety and guidance in those dark times, but little by little, they began to dwindle around me. Lady Azura is kind, but her prophecies are not always so. In those dark times, it was difficult to accept the fates of those around you, the horrible things foreseen. Tragedies like the collapse at Winterhold, the deaths of so many more Dunmer who had taken this place as their new home… not all were made to withstand these tests. In the end, only I remained.

And I remained because she had told me to. Because one day, her Champion would arrive in this land, to that very shrine, and defend her honor. She told me this long before her birth, over a hundred years in fact. And for all she had done, and still did for me, why would I refuse her request? Was it not the least I could do? Did I not do it out of love?

As I kneel before her image, I can feel the eyes of her Champion on my back. I am not atop that mountain, not at the feet of her statue, but instead at Windstrad Manor in Hjaalmarch, knelt before a traditional etching of Azura. The one who took me away from that place of sacred duty is standing on her porch, wrinkling her nose up at the goddess's portrait.

Azura's Champion is not fond of her. Who can say why? Why it is that she was destined to be her chosen, this I cannot surely know. I can no longer ask my goddess such things. Our tie has been severed, well and truly, with the completion of Vivynne's duty, and my own. But I can wonder-- stare up and wonder at the blending hues of twilight and attempt to decipher her scheme. Sometimes I do. Other times, I only lock my hand with hers and lean close.

Why it is that she dislikes her, she has told me herself. While it is true that she has never been fond of marching under the orders of her betters, whether her family, her house, or the gods themselves, she has quite adamantly argued that she begrudges the manner in which she has treated me. It took some time to understand what she meant. After all the wonderful things she's done for me, after saving my life and the lives of countless others, what have I to complain about? I would not have lived and loved in devotion to her for so long if there was even a shadow of doubt. Vivynne knows this and never means it to insult me, but in her eyes, it is unfair to have served her for so long only to receive nothing once my work is done.

And when she tells me this, time and time again, I smile so that the creases of well-loved centuries show around my lips, and I say this to her. "I did not receive nothing."

I said I wasn't sure why Viv was chosen, yet in my own time, I have reached some conclusion.

It had to be someone like her, ash of the earth, whose irreverence would shock me, unglue me from that stylite station of long-held duty. For so much of my life, that was all I knew. Serving the Queen of Dusk and Dawn, her intermediary, her follower, her Lover. It's who I became under her light, a mirror of her loving soul. Could anyone but Viv have coaxed me off that frigid perch? Could another devotee have roused me from that complacent pattern of true and tireless loyalty? Lady Azura knew my path- she has known it since the moment she first spoke to me, since the moment she foretold of her Champion's coming, she knew I would serve her well and never waiver, and one day, that I would be relieved of my service, and that she would need to relinquish me.

It seems cruel, I will admit. Viv said I was cast aside the moment my purpose was fulfilled. But how can we pretend to know better than the goddess whose sight extends across the twilight of time? To mortals, the actions of gods seem arbitrary, but we, their lovers, we can scarcely glimpse the depth of sentiment in each and every choice they make, and we know, I know, that she has not abandoned me. She has not let my love for her go unrewarded, unanswered. It was her who brought me a new love, a kind of love I could only grasp if I had left. If her champion convinced me to leave. If her champion was a jaded wizard without any heed for the gods or their worshipers.

So when Viv tells me I've been abandoned, overlooked, ignored by my goddess, I only laugh and press myself against her. When we lay together, our bodies so perfectly intertwine, as though they were always intended to. And here and now, when she wraps her arms around me and I bury myself in her embrace, I know, I am her most beloved.

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for obsessing over someone for centuries?

I know it sounds bad but hear me out, this man (800+M) is the most perfect, special, noble individual to every grace the face of this sorry earth, and I've (800+M) looked up to him for years, ever since he was the first person to save me as a child. He's quite literally my reason to live (he told me so himself, even if he later said that was an arrogant thing to say)

Anyway, I lost track of this guy after dying a second time as a ghost (to clarify, my dying is perfectly fine because it was for him, and the first time I died was ALSO for him- don't blame him for it, he didn't know it was me) because I was kind of a mess of particles at the time, and I spent a bunch of decades under this big mountain (volcano) sculpting thousands of statues of him (10,000 to be exact) because I didn't want to forget what he looked like. Also, my beloved is like, kind of the best god ever, even if heaven is full of biased capitalists who kicked him out, so this can also technically count as a totally normal and not at all insane form of devotion and/or worship. It's just dedication, you see? Loving him is a full-time job and I am DEDICATED. This mountain had this whole Hunger Games with ghosts where you get stronger the more you kill, so I naturally decided to become the strongest ghost possible to protect this man. Naturally.

Cut to around 800 years later, I've carefully met up with this wonderful man in an acceptable disguise and things are going great! He knows I'm a ghost but that's about it, he doesn't know he's met me before and I'm not going to ruin his mood by reminding him of one little rat he happened to meet in the past. Just because we've been through some dangerous experiences with one another by now doesn't mean anything. I'm just happy to be here, doing what I do best (which is serving him).

Now, we go under this mountain, and, well... The thing is, I also did draw some paintings of experiences I've had with him, and one of just HAPPENED to be sexual because he was once hit with aphrodisiacs by accident in front of me when I was a soldier. Two of his idiot "friends" (I use quotation marks because these ungrateful pair of baboons left him) saw that painting and were all like, "Ohhh noooo you should get away from that guy, he's creeeeepy and a stalker". Like, I'm aware I'm disgusting, but nobody wants to hear that from the mouths of two dumbasses (both 800+ M) like that, come on.

For reasons I can't understand (he implied something about trust?) he chose to RECIPROCATE my feelings? I had a whole entire script planned for the dialogue for when he would obviously choose to reject a loathsome creature like me, and this man?? Said all that needed to be said through a hug????

I nearly died a third time right there. I actually DID die a third time again but it was still sacrificing myself for him this time. Although, maybe I shouldn't do that again, because it made him cry and I hate to see that.

I just can't see what I did as "stalking" if I didn't know where he was. I was just looking for him. Am I deplorable? Yes. Pathetic? Also yes. See? I know exactly what and which accurate words to use to attach to myself, but a stalker? Come on. Are people just jealous I have this perfect man? And so what if I do? AITA for it? Smh.

[lichfucker]

yesterday (march 22) was the one-year anniversary of oops all dwarves' first session.

this is the first campaign I've ever gmed. I've run one- and two-shots aplenty, but this game is the first that's endured. it wasn't easy to get to that place; oops all dwarves saw a couple different iterations before it settled here, in this world, in this system, with these players, with these characters. with this gm.

besides a two-shot I ran for the reforged crew, I was the only one of us who had ever played savage worlds before. we were all far more familiar with 5e, but that system didn't work for us, for what we wanted from this game. did I think savage worlds was the perfect system? not necessarily. but it's the one I was most comfortable running. I didn't want to spend months of my life trying and failing to find something better. I was sick of waiting for someone to hand me the campaign.

in all things I do, and in dwarves particularly (with regard to starting the campaign at all), there's an element of "if you want it done right, you have to do it yourself." but I haven't done it myself. the best of this game is not what I have done myself. I sat down with my players in january of 2022 and said, "here's a homebrew world I've been working on since 2017. I know everything about one corner of one continent. let's start somewhere I know nothing about." and we built the city of Reverie, its geography, its culture, three thousand years of its history. my players made the decisions that I keep coming back to, again and again, whenever I need the world to feel alive. and I always need the world to feel alive.

what could have been a silly game of crime and poor impulse control and delayed adolescence and instant gratification has instead become a story about self-determination, about independence and interdependence, about personhood. about identity. about community. about devotion. about love.

maybe you're Fix (it/its, played by @kingfisherkink), a twelve-foot robot built during the technological renaissance of the 3300s when artificial intelligence was discovered. maybe you were built to serve as an assistant to some rich entitled bastard. maybe your ownership was passed down through the family for two hundred years until the world finally understood that robots are people. maybe you lived through the liberation movement, and changed your name, and set up a mechanical/medical clinic in the small robot enclave the city carved out for you. maybe time has passed. maybe you've been around for five hundred years, now, and you're getting old, and your systems don't work as well as they used to, and sometimes your joints get rusty and sometimes the cuckoo clock in your chest won't stop ringing and sometimes your voice box shorts out. maybe you're a creature of faith. maybe you worship the god of community and protection and the equality of all living things, and maybe you worship as well the god of choice and privacy and healing. maybe you find an innocuous but sacred artifact in the midst of some petty crime, and it fulfills you, so you keep it in a place both hidden and reverent. maybe you want to have children. maybe you start to build them in secret, because making new robots has been illegal since 3561 on the grounds of it being unethical. maybe you plan to name them Change and Kind, in the hopes they will embrace those ideals. maybe you find a friend in some teenager who has nowhere else to go, and you have no idea the limits of what you would do to protect them. maybe it frightens you that you don't know. maybe you kill someone you'd been trying not to harm, despite how much you hated him. maybe you have to tell your friend, "I'm sorry, I can't do that for you, even if it would save your life." maybe you find out that the artifact you kept would have gotten someone else out of a fatal situation. maybe you have a one-sided rivalry with some other robot doctor, because everyone mistakenly believes it's better than you. maybe you're arrogant and selfish. maybe your altruism has always been arrogant and selfish. maybe you give up every last cent you have to pay the ransom of someone who doesn't like you and will never trust you. maybe you hope Change and Kind will be both of those things without exception, without hypocrisy.

maybe you're Archie (they/them, played by @travismatagot), a human kid on your own for the first time. maybe you were raised in a secret government facility and trained to commit espionage. maybe you don't have any memories from before they took you— maybe you were just too young, or maybe the experimentation and manipulation and conditioning they put you through to give you psionic powers got rid of the memories for you. maybe you were always a bit of an underachiever. maybe you turned eighteen and graduated and your handlers send you south to a new city on a new continent so you can do your work. maybe when faced with the freedom and choice and fear of being utterly on your own for the first time, you freeze, and you don't get off the boat, and it keeps moving, and you wind up in Reverie. maybe you wind up sleeping in a hammock in a mechanic's shop in the robot district. maybe you get swindled a little bit by a pair of tempestuous twins. maybe you start growing your hair back out to cover some of the magical tattoos on your skull, though you'll never be able to mask the tattoos on your face. maybe every time you look in the mirror for your entire life you'll see the evidence of the person you were supposed to be. maybe you learn to knit and make the ugliest vest your new friends have ever seen. maybe you run into someone from home— one of your peers from the program who always hated you, and she's advanced in the ranks, and she threatens to rat you out, and she doesn't understand how you can be so ungrateful for everything your superiors did to make you special. maybe you leave a to-go box full of tapas where you know she'll find it. maybe you do that a lot. maybe she asks for your help assassinating a well-known political figure, and maybe you say yes. maybe you've been saying yes to everything lately. maybe you've been saying yes a little too much. maybe you don't know what you like and what you want, so you might as well try everything and have everything and do everything. maybe you get some more magical tattoos even though you thought you wouldn't. maybe you go to a punk show to meet people your age but you don't talk to anyone. maybe you can read minds. maybe you never do. maybe you're consciously rejecting your training, or maybe you just forget about it. maybe you know people can be awful and cruel— you were raised by the awful and cruel to be awful and cruel— but maybe people have also been nice to you here. maybe you're waiting for the consequences to come. maybe there's a part of you wondering if they ever will.

maybe you're Brontide (he/him, played by @keplercryptids), a dwarf/air genasi grifter with lightning in your blood and glitter on your face. maybe you think that that description is wrong, because it doesn't mention your twin sister, and there is no accurate description of you that does not include her, because there is no you to describe without her. maybe you have never been anything but her hands. maybe you were born to be her scapegoat. maybe you can weather any amount of vitriol and pain so long as it means she gets away clean. maybe you know exactly what to say to gain anyone's adoration and forgiveness. maybe you apologize every day of your life, and never once feel sorry. maybe you seek out any spotlight. maybe you are loud and bombastic because if they're all going to be watching you anyway then you might as well give them a show, and you might as well learn to revel in it. maybe using your magic gives you migraines. maybe they're getting worse. maybe you endure it anyway. maybe you're good for nothing else. maybe you're visited in a dream by a witch who tells you that your sister's mind is her own and yours belongs to her, too, and maybe you're supposed to feel offended, but you don't. maybe that's good and right and correct. maybe you don't want to have your own mind. maybe you don't understand why you would want anything that couldn't be hers. maybe you would do anything for her. maybe she would do anything for herself, and for you by association. maybe people keep telling you there's a difference. maybe you don't care. maybe your sister lies to you. maybe she's never done that before, at least, not to your knowledge. maybe you beg and plead and cry for her not to do something reckless and stupid— she's the one who thinks, after all, who leaves you to be reckless and stupid in her absence— and maybe she doesn't relent until you fall apart. and maybe she does it anyway, and maybe you can't stop her, and maybe you're left utterly alone until you can cash in every favor imaginable, indebt yourself to everyone you know. maybe you even tell them something true. maybe they all help without hesitation. maybe that's never happened before, either. maybe now you feel beholden to the promises you've made. maybe your life is full of new things now. maybe your sister feels entitled to the aid, feels like she's earned every penny, insists you do the same. maybe you disagree. maybe for the first time in your life you disagree. maybe it's different this time. maybe you try to tell her that you were an empty husk without her, and all these people made the world right again by putting you back in her pocket, and surely they deserve some recompense for that. maybe she says they did it for her. maybe you say they did it for you, and for her by association. maybe you tell her there's a difference. maybe she doesn't care. maybe you don't know why you do.

maybe you're me, the luckiest gm, with the most wonderful party who meet every session with enthusiasm and curiosity and delight, so invested and so inspiring. maybe you're amazed a year has gone by so quickly. maybe your heart is full of light and possibility.

happy dwarfiversary. I cannot wait for the next one.

[woundlingus]

1, 11, 14 <3

what are 3 things you’d say shaped you into who you are?

The big three would be, unironically; supernatural, being gay, trauma.

Supernatural coming first because it’s been my biggest fandom ever, since I was 17 which is almost a decade ago now! I met some of the best and worst friends through supernatural, who made me both a better and worse person. I got funnier, more confident, more expressive and artistic. I also learned a lot of valuable life skills that people don’t particularly like to think about needing until they’re suddenly trying to burn you at the stake, cyber safety for one, no more stalkers ❌ some of the worst people I know didn’t save my life because I credit that to myself, but they certainly set the wheel in motion. A decade of my life is nearly a whole third of the time I’ve been alive, I did not escape supernatural unchanged, and for the vast majority it was for the better.

what do you consider to be romance?

Romance… I know what romance is in a literary sense, and I certainly recognise it in the shows I watch. I love a good theatrical romance, but I don’t know what that looks like in reality. I don’t… get romanced. Or maybe I do, and I just don’t connect with the scraps I’m fed in the hopes of sex later. Romance is old school to me, it’s not phone screen wallpapers and talking stages.

Romance is flowers, and heart shaped lockets, and soup when you’re sick. Romance is that I wear gold and they remember that when they buy me things, though it’s not the expense that drives me but the fact they look at my face and my throat and my chest and never pay enough attention to the fact that I don’t have an ounce of silver on me.

Romance is in the devotion, it can be just as dark as it is sweet. Romance is in the ruby red stones pressed with your lovers blood, and in the bite marks left behind just for you to see in private and smile, romance is the limp prey that can fight back but doesn’t because it trusts you not to clamp down and draw blood.

Romance is in the worship of the devotee.

If any of that makes any sense?

what’s something you’ve always wanted to do but maybe been scared to do?

I don’t know, I mean, not to brag… but I’m kind of a doer. I do things scared, I do them alone, I do them dumb. I’ve joined protests; done pride; I get piercings and tattoos- done them on myself too; and I’ve been to clubs, nightclub, dirty bar, and of the sex variety; I’ve traveled overseas alone several times. I don’t like to say I’ve done it all because I certainly haven’t, but as for the wanting? I don’t really want for the experience of the free fall out of a plane, or deep sea scuba diving.

I think the only thing left is being vulnerable, that’s pretty scary. I live a little vicariously through your occasional relationship updates, same with Sally’s, I just can’t do it myself no matter how much I want it.

Ask game :)

[elfboyeros]

The Cult Vesperine

Hey, welcome/welcome back if you have read my Lloyd x OC content before, I hope you are happy to see Corlette again. The last little story I did was Lloyd confessing his feelings because I was in that headspace but now I am ready to tackle their meeting and Corlette saving from her little cult endeavors.

We are talking about sacrificing and death a little bit and organized religion.

 SPEAKING OF RELIGION! I am NOT attempting to bad-mouth organized religion, I am not making a statement about religion or the Christian system, any parallels are simply because the most well-known nuns are often linked with the Christian faith. Whereas I am not religious and have no history with faith in general,  but if you are Religious in any regard and do not like the fact that I will be writing about a cult that makes mention of a fictional god (Literally a god I have made up) and uses a system similar to the sisterhood of nuns that often found in Christianity that may do some human sacrificing, you can make your exit, I write this is good-faith and dispute not talking a religious class in college I have taken a class on Serial Killers, and we briefly touch on murdering cults, so this isn’t even a one to one of Religious cults.

Anyway, sorry for the long note, please enjoy!

“Do not mess with my girls!”

It sounds quite predatory coming from a man of a religious cloth who is much older than a large percentage of his body of worship. Especially when the “my girls” is how you refer to the nuns.

But it’s also more than that. He’s not telling Lloyd to stay away from the cloister, Father Laurent is telling the green ninja to stay away from one nun specially.

Sister Clover or Corlette Esper.

The bisque-skinned woman around his age, with thick green hair that flows out of her headdress. The only nun taking care of him ever since he ended up on the steps of the church injured from whatever battle he had just escaped.

Hah! Don’t mess with Corlette. Oh, that sounds like a challenge, and Lloyd is up for a little challenge, while in the house of what is looking more in more like a cult.

Simply because meeting her was interesting enough to want to continue knowing. She was gentle and soft, tending to him with such care, engaging in light banter with him as he watched her wrap his wounds, inquiring about his odd scars and seeming willing to listen to his stories. Yet, she often looked dejected and sad.

Now here he is a few weeks since arriving laying in the grass of a darkening courtyard after learning some interesting things from Zane. Replaying his conversation with the ice nindroid over and over in his head.

“They are worshipping a god that is known for curing illness and the being creation of medicine. Yet, reports since the merge about the cathedral of Vesperine indicate that they are displaying more extreme cult-like tendencies.”

“What are you saying, Zane? They are sacrificing people?” Lloyd asked over the phone.

“Individuals in the area have gone missing,” Zane replied.

“So, I should get out of here as soon as possible,” Lloyd remarked.

Zane hummed in agreement, “Sora, Arin, Nya, and myself are traveling to your location as we speak, we’ll be there tomorrow.”

Lloyd’s suspicions, along with jokes made to Corlette in private of nunnery’s little library over history books, are now true and it leaves a bad taste in his mouth.

“Do you often sleep in the grass?”

Lloyd opened his eyes looking at Corlette as she stood over him, her voice so tender and quiet.

“I wasn’t sleeping,” he replied sitting up.

“You fooled me,” she giggled, sitting down next to him, “what’s bothering you?”

“How tied are you to your religion?” he asked.

Corlette sighed, “If you asked me before I met you, I would have said I was devoted,” she muttered, “I… I don’t know anymore.”

“Do you want to leave?”

“I…I…”

“Because you can! You can leave, Corlette you may not realize it, but Laurent is disgusting and whether you worship Vesperine or not you should not be near that man!”

“So, if I leave where do I go?” She asked him in a whisper, “The church is all I have!”

“You could come with me,” Lloyd replied quickly, “I’ve already taken in a gaggle of teens, that me and the others are training now. We could always use an herbalist.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Corlette scoffed.

“Because it can be easy!”

“Lloyd,” Corlette sighed shaking her head.

“Corlette, I leave tomorrow! If what I suspect is going on is actually going on you are in danger, and neither Vesperine nor I going to be able to help you!” Lloyd verbalized harshly, “If you come to the monastery with me, I can protect you, all of us can! You can still worship Vesperine if you want to, hell, you can continue to wear the nun habit for all I care! But if you still here—”

“Stop,” Corlette muttered, “Please.”

He stops rambling, looking at her and seeing the melancholy expression, “I’m sorry,” he muttered.

“You’re not the issue,” she remarked, “I just… I can’t leave… not yet.”

“Then promise me something,” he replied.

Corlette sighed, “What?”

“If things start going sideways, or if you want to leave, give me a call,” Lloyd instructed.

“I promise,” she declared, “I wouldn’t think of calling anyone else.”

That was it,  they went their separate ways for the night, only to see one another the next morning when standing in front of the church.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Lloyd asked, “You can just jump on the Bounty with me and just leave.”

Corlette shook her head after looking around to make sure no one was listening in, “It would be better right now if I stayed here,” she replied.

“My offer still stands, always,” he remarked.

“I’m aware,” Corlette commented, “Your children, look like they need you.”

Lloyd looked behind his shoulder, seeing Sora, Arin, Nya, and even Zane staring at him from the ship all looking in different directions when he stared back at him.

“Call me if you’re in trouble,” he stated, handing her a small piece of paper with his number scrambled on it.

It comes out like a soft demand something that Corlette must do, as if she has no choice.

Corlette nodded, “I would think of calling no one else.”

It was odd saying goodbye, “I’ll see you again, Lloyd.”

He nodded before turning to get on the bounty.

“Is she the new Harumi?” Nya joked once he got settled.

“No,” Lloyd scoffed shaking his head, “She just took care of me while I was there.”

“Does she have healing powers?” Arin asked.

“No, but she’s a very talented herbist,” Lloyd commented.

Nya stared at him for a moment, “what?”

“You have a look on your face.” She replied.

“What face?”

“You’re worried…”

As Corlette watched the bounty travel out of view, she sighed, feeling more separated from all the people here than she had ever had merge or not, she wasn’t like anyone here. Once she was standing in her sorrow she turned, now face to face with Father Lament.

“Father,” she gasped jumping at his closeness, “Sorry I wasn’t aware you were behind me.”

“Sister, I wish to perform a baptism on you,” he said simply.

“Father, but I’ve already been baptized,” she replied cautiously.

“Will you follow me?” Lament asked.

Corlette followed him carefully before being led to a small room with only a white dress laid out on the small bed in the corner of the empty room, and a landline phone on a side table, “Father?”

“Change, and we can perform your baptism,” he stated.

“But I—” the door was shut behind her before she could finish her sentence.

Corlette instantly went for the phone trying her best to be as quiet as possible, using the piece of paper that had been crumbled in her hand, “Hello?”

“You were right,” Corlette huffed in a hushed tone.

“Corlette?”

“I should have left with you! Father Lament says he wants to baptize me, but I’ve been baptized, there is something wrong!”

“Hang in there we’re turning around!”

“Please I’m sort—”

To Lloyd, it sounded like she was hit before the line went dead, “ZANE, TURN AROUND!”

“Lloyd!?”

“TURN AROUND,” he yelled, “Corlette’s in trouble!”

“Corlette?” Nya asked.

“The nun! That cult is I-I-I don’t fucking know, but we have to get back there!” Lloyd raved.

“Alright! Alright!”

On the land of the church is a large and deep lake, now as the skies darken, stands the clergy on one side of the lake and Lament and Corlette on the pier on the other side. The light spring dem and willow green-haired girl with her long-pointed ears and hands tied behind her back as Father Lament preached.

“Corlette the heretic!”

“Corlette the sinner!”

“Corlette the traitor!”

“Sister Corlette the nonbeliever!”

“I AM NOT A TRAITOR!” Corlette screamed struggling against her binds, “I’VE DONE NOTHING BUT WORSHIP VESPERINE FOR YEARS, I GREW UP HERE! I’M NOT A HERETIC!”

Lament pulled the back of her hair, “Then why were you getting friendly with the blonde boy?”

“YOU ASKED ME TO TAKE CARE OF HIM!”

“Taking care of the boy and flirting with him are completely different things,” he whispered.

“I didn’t—AAH!”

“Corlette!” Lloyd yelled.

She looked at the green ninja with such fear in her eyes as she stood on the pier captive.

“Lloyd, are we going to attack a group of nuns?!” Arin asked, as all the nuns watching looked behind their group seeing the ninja, battle-ready.

“… I don’t know,” Lloyd huffed, “just don’t hurt anyone… too bad if it gets too bad.”

“Prevent those heathens from preventing our ceremony!” Lament ordered before the nuns attempted to attempt to grab the ninja.

“BY VESPERINE’S GRACE AND FORTUNE, THE HERETIC SHALL BE THROWN IN THE WATER! IF SHE SHALL SWIM—”

“Lloyd! I’m sorry!” Corlette pleaded after he elbowed a nun in the ribs.

“Why are you apologizing!” Lloyd scoffed running towards the pier, “None of this is your fault!”

Corlette attempted to speak, to justify her apology, yet Laurent pushed her in the lake and of course, Lloyd jumped in after.

“Lloyd jumped in the lake!”  Sora exclaimed.

“What?!”

“LLOYD JUMPED IN THE LAKE!”

Zane, Arin, Sora, and Nya were more focused on the lake, as the nuns and Laurent began burning down the church. Lloyd soon popped out of the lake arm around Corlette dragging her out of the lake. Get her to the bank of the river letting her heave and cough while staring at the grass below her knees.

Lloyd sat beside her heaving, “The church,” he huffed, “Nya, Zane! It’s on fire!”

Nya and Zane tried to stop the fire from spreading as Lloyd continued to stare at Corlette, staring at her hair, the little dark green hair stuck to her face.

“Your hair… is gorgeous,” he sighed.

Corlette began laughing which of course made Lloyd laugh, and they both laughed for a while before Corlette laughter turned into crying leaning against Lloyd as she cried. After the fire was controlled, Corlette went to what used to be her room grabbing the few of her personal belongings that were not burned.

She left with Lloyd and the others still in that stupid white gown, for her sacrifice. Late in the evening, she sat on the deck on the bounty alone, legs close to her chest, staring at the floorboards.

“Corlette,” Lloyd asked softly draping a blanket over her shoulders, “Do you want to change?”

“No.”

He said down next to her, “Are you alright?”

“…no…”

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Corlette hugged herself, “I was one of his favorites,” she began making Lloyd cringe, “I guess... I thought… I don’t know what I thought! You really screw things up for me!”

He knows that she’s not angry, “I’m sorry,” he apologized, nonetheless.

Corlette giggled, “you are very charismatic,” she sniffled, “and you did save me, thank you!”

“You don’t have to thank me.”

The ex-nun rested her head on Lloyd’s shoulder, “Can you promise me something?” she asked quietly.

“Mhm?”

“Promise you will always save me.”

“Promise.”

He replied quickly, quicker than he probably should have, yet he intended to keep that promise for the rest of his life.

[ilcaeryx]

Cultist [Sukuna/Reader] - NSFW

Summary: You have one god on this earth.

Tags: Sukuna/Reader, NSFW, Smut, Humor, Size kink, Cock Warming, Body Worship,

Words: Cirka 2k

Author’s Note: What’s up, sluts? I’m back. This is NSFW, so beware.

---

Sukuna did regularly mention that domination and conquest were his pastime hobbies and you would tentatively add that he adhered to them with slave-like zealotry. Whenever he insulted Itadori Yuji by calling him simple-minded, your heart ached with the desire to tell him that he was not any greater regarding his obsessions with strength. However, your self-preservation kept you alive, since a bitch that talks back to Sukuna is a bitch that gets their head separated from their body, after all.

Having sex with Sukuna is somehow leagues safer than speaking to him, you thought, gaze surveying how the apex of his back muscles cast shades upon the trenches of his spine. Inhalation, the shadows grew and deepened. Exhalation, the light re-conquered its territory. You suspected he never slept, even though he physically seemed in deep slumber. His arms were splayed on his pillow, face turned away from you.

You had self-preservation to save your ass 99 percent of the time – this time was probably that one percent where he would snap.

“Sukuna,” you called out, very lightly stroking his biceps with your nails. No answer, but his arm muscles flexed subtly as he moved his arm.  “I want my side of the bed back. I can’t sleep on this side.”

You let out a shriek when his hand shot out at you, palm plastered over your lips. The sharp edge of his index nail hovered uncomfortably close to your eye, the thumb nail piercing your cheek. Out of reflex, your dug your fingertips into his upper arm and attempted to pull away from his show of force.

Sukuna turned his head to face you. His eyes glared with disinterest, though his grasp weakened slightly.

“You’ve been plenty loud during the night; why must you continue now?” he asked, squeezing your cheeks together to allow you to speak.

“I’ve slept like three hours max,” you said, ignoring his question.

“That is not my problem.” He let go of your face to return to his original position. “Go find somewhere else to sleep and I shall wake you whenever I have need of you.”

What an absolute dickhead. This was your bed, not his domination playground.

You released him and patted your face with your fingers carefully. There were no stinging scratches left behind, which was good considering his reasoning that if ‘you weren’t bleeding out, you didn’t need help’ would leave you with annoying scabs everywhere. Why you were even fucking this guy was beyond you, honestly. This was one of the top 3 worst life choices you had ever made.

You slid towards him beneath the covers and supported your upper body with your ribcage on his lower back and elbows on his upper back. His body heat intermingling with yours gave you a dull ache, from behind your breastbone flowing into a tidepool in the pit of your stomach. After pushing your hair to one side of your neck, you lowered yourself onto him. Your lips wet and breath hot across his skin, you blew softly before planting a kiss below his shoulder blade. Had it been another person under you, you would have had the gratification of seeing goosebumps forming across the area.

“Sukuna…” you said, barely audible between his skin and your lips.

The King of Curses arose from his relaxed position. “Did you not listen or are you an idiot?”

“Bit of both, to be perfectly honest.” You pinched a tuft of his hair strands between two fingers, pulling gently. “You don’t need to do anything – I just want your attention.”

He issued you a warning glare, daring you to pull some weird shit on him.

You shrugged one of your shoulders and gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s not like I can hurt you, right? I don’t have sharp claws.” To testify, you released his hair, buried your nails below his neck and dragged them down his back in one stroke. Four faint lines were left behind, a stylistic contrast to his dark markings. “I don’t have superhuman strength or speed.” You felt the muscular ridges above his ribs, your fingers travelling up and down each rib. “At my worst, I’m just very obnoxious.”

“How self-aware,” he mocked and laughed half-heartedly. He seemed to enjoy your tiny monologue, judging by the slight raise of his eyebrows. “Continue.”

His approval increased your confidence. While you scoured your brain for whatever concept that might amuse or interest him, you broke eye contact and directed your thumb to pad the black line running along his back. You followed it up to the crest of his shoulders and pulled yourself up over his torso. A low growl hummed beneath you, indicating that perhaps you were pushing your luck. When you brought your left hand down his chest the sound reverberated through your being, reminding you that you were not the apex predator in here. His eagerness showed as he willingly moved his hand into your range when you struggled to reach it.

“Look,” you said, just as eager to sate his curiosity, “at the difference.”

With his attention on your hand enveloping his, you settled your head on his shoulder, finally eye to eye with the King of Curses. You shifted so that your palms met. Even when ignoring his nails, his long fingers and thick wrist eclipsed yours. Finger pads with rough callouses created in combat, the evidence of a reign of lasting a millennium. You could feel the wisdom beneath your soft pads; you could’ve devoted your entire life to warfare and your hands would still not understand it the way his do.

“You know, I never used to consider myself a small person,” you lied, your voice perfectly stable, “but now I am not so sure anymore. It is quite overwhelming.”

Sukuna’s head tilted towards yours, almost tenderly grazing his cheek against your jawline. The movement gave you shivers, causing your toes to curl. You had no option but trusting his self-control when he dove below your jaw and put his lips to your neck. He sucked the flesh between his lips, occasionally tasting with his tongue.

You sighed, content for the brief attention you had earned. Sukuna’s heartbeat rate did not increase nor decrease beneath your hand, his chest just as firm. He detached from your neck, his saliva cooling down that particular spot. You were on the brink of complaining when the world swirled around and your back hit the mattress, your chest and stomach feeling the room’s chill without Sukuna’s body heat.

Sukuna was not playing around anymore; he aligned his forearms beside your face and blocked off whatever else existed outside with his mere presence, lips taut and eyes alert. He situated his torso on top of yours and separated your thighs with his knee. Not close enough to grind on.

“Tell me more,” he stared you down. “What does being completely outmatched feel like?”

You wondered if he meant how it physically felt or how the emotional part of being outmanned and outgunned felt like. Considering how his empathic ability was low-functioning to non-existing, you wanted to bet your money on a physical description… Yet, your tongue prepared to tell him about the terror and the uncertainty. It was not wise to divulge such details to Sukuna.

Scheherazade’s silver tongue might have saved her life a thousand and one times but not everyone’s talent was located in their mouth cavity. Like always, your hands bought you more time to think, to evaluate your words. You tentatively reached for his collarbones before changing your mind and guiding one hand to his lips. Perhaps he had meant to kiss your fingertips, perhaps he had yet another inquiry but his lower lip separated from his upper one and you cautiously pulled it downwards. A predator’s teeth greeted you.

“I can’t say it without sounding lame,” you said and crossed your arms across your chest. “Don’t laugh.”

Almost immediately, Sukuna leaned his weight on one forearm, allowing him to use the other to restrain your hand against the mattress. “I assure you,” he said, his eyes staring lazily at you, lids half-down, “you are not that funny.”

Suddenly, you wished Itadori Yuji would regain his consciousness to not have to deal with this asshole. Kind, encouraging Yuji would worship your existence. Perhaps you would eventually have learned to worship him in turn. ‘Learning’ being the key word, of course. You would fumble in the dark while attempting to appreciate him. This seemed like a good idea for about three seconds and then you returned to your occult god.

“I want to be inside you.” Sukuna, no longer interested in your thoughts, showed more interest in your body. He seldomly spoke of his wants, rousing your curiosity and – honestly – your arousal. The thigh between your leg shifted closer to your mound, touching your nether lips softly.

“You’re so demanding,” you complained, ending your sentence with a deep sigh. “You want me to be quiet, you want me to talk, you want to be inside me – will you ever be satisfied?”

You rolled your hips upwards in a slow movement, enjoying yourself as your lips parted against his flesh. It did not please you enough, so you continued to alleviate yourself.

“No.” His voice  was unusually quiet. His lower lip brushed yours as he spoke. “Do you think you deserve it?”

You moved your chin downwards, the movement nearly imperceptible for someone who was not expecting it.

“I agree… if it’ll keep you quiet,” he said, releasing your arm to steady himself above you.

And you did keep quiet. Although he remained stone-faced, Sukuna seemed attentive to the way you opened your mouth and frowned in frustration, his crimson gaze traversing across your face.

He angled his hips downwards, pressuring your clit as you ground against him. You had never been more thankful for the things he did than when he let you use his body as a tool to get off. Each upwards motion elected a pang of pleasure, a beach in ebb and flow.

You don’t know for how long he tolerated your grinding but your lower body ached and his thigh was slick with your fluid when he removed his leg from you, its absence pulsating throughout your stomach. Despite your fear that he would push you away, you grabbed onto his neck to heave yourself against him, anything to regain that comfort. The relief that accompanied the heartbeat after he brought you up with him to sit upright lightened your entire being. His hands felt excruciatingly hot, almost unbearably so, on your ribcage.

Although you felt ready for him, your grip on his neck remained hard as he lifted you up above his cock. Sukuna descended you slightly, his tip bulging at your entrance. You knew your limit and didn’t hesitate to sink onto him, a movement less gentle than you wished due to your legs being wrapped around his waist. Your breath was uneven, hitching up whenever you strained against him. Avoiding getting your insides impaled by a guy’s dick was surprisingly hard labour. Eventually you settled at his base, a sense of completion glowing off you.

There were no comforting touches or encouraging words from Sukuna, whose tranquil expression made him seem more like Yuji than himself. His eyes almost shut, jaw relaxed... This was the alternate universe version of Sukuna, a man who did not lust for domination and who would settle down with his loved ones for an eventless life. 

Hearing your dumb fantasies echo in your head, you rubbed your eyes with your knuckles until you saw stars. What idiocy. You had to cease these daydream scenarios or you’d be in deep shit in the future. You were an atrocious cultist.

---

I hope everyone enjoyed this. If you liked this, please give a comment/like/reblog. I listened to the Professor Tox remix of LOONA’s Girl Front and Ariana Grande’s Love Me Harder while writing this.

[amysteriousmessenger]

Rfa comforting MC who thinks that she's useless, replaceable, boring, and feels so lonely

I’m going to add Saeran and V to this because this request really spoke to me and they would Definitely have something to say about it, I’ve been there too, anon. I guarantee that neither myself nor the RFA think you’re useless or replaceable or boring! I hope I did okay! 

Yoosung Kim with an insecure Reader Headcanons 

Yoosung knows what it’s like to feel lonely, and to feel like everyone just overlooks him. He knows how much it hurts and he just cannot stand the idea of you feeling like that. He also knows all too well what it’s like to feel powerless as the youngest member of the RFA.

He’d send write you little notes in your lunchbox saying how much he loves you, or would try to draw your face in ketchup on his omurice: even though it looks terrible, he put a lot of love into it.

He’s like a little puppy, the second he notices that you’re feeling sad he’s going to come bounding over to cheer you up, whether that’s doing something you like or asking if you want to join in on a LOLOL guild expedition.

He gets easily flustered trying to convey what he wants to tell you, but everything he does comes from the heart and the fact it aches over you feeling the same way he did during his darkest times before he met you.

He specifically wants you to know that you’re not replaceable, there’s only one of you and that means you’re extra special to him.

Zen/Hyun Ryu with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Firstly, Zen absolutely worships the ground that you walk on. He never knew that someone so beautiful and perfect and understanding could just stumble into his life, which is why his heart aches so much at hearing you’re feeling so many negative things.

For a moment, Zen would worry that he had caused this with his own narcissism. He’d worry that his need to big himself up out of anxiety would have caused you to push yourself down in comparison. Which is so, so untrue. He realises that it must be... difficult for you to hear him constantly talk about wonderful and handsome he is when you’re feeling so low about yourself. He wouldn’t necessarily stop because he can’t, but he’d try to be more considerate of your feelings.

Zen would go all out to make you feel special, he’d buy you flowers, tell you how gorgeous you are and how undeserving he is of you. Zen will let you know that no one makes him feel the way that you do, ‘in more ways that one’ he’ll add in a husky whisper before flashing a cheeky smirk.

He can’t always help that you feel lonely without him when he has rehearsals, so he’d try to make the time you have together feel even more special. Whilst he wants your undivided attention and gaze, he knows it’s not healthy for you and will encourage you to reach out to friends and Jaehee specifically when you’re feeling lonely. 

When he’s at work, he can’t usually answer his phone but he’ll always answer if you’re upset or worked up and need to talk to him about it. You’re his angel and he’s not going to let you cry without being there to soothe you.

He’d also make sure you know that regardless of how pretty you think his co-stars or backing dancers are, they don’t hold a candle to how beautiful he thinks you are.

Jaehee Kang with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Jaehee knows all too well what it’s like to feel lonely, replaceable and dull. She’s treated like a tool by Jumin, both in and out of hours since he acts like her work schedule is 24/7. She feels boring regardless, and feels like her only interests are coffee and Zen’s musicals. So, she doesn’t understand how someone as wonderful, creative, and interesting as you could possibly think of yourself as boring!

Jaehee would assure you that you’re anything but boring, and would do so by listing everything she can think of that she finds unique, special or interesting about you.

If anything she’s the one that feels replaceable because of how she’s treated at work and how bland she feels overall, she knows how cold that feels inside, so she would never let you feel the same way and wants you to know that.

She also would insist on you hearing her out when she says that you’re not useless, you’re extremely competent to balance everything that you need to during the day and that she admires you for being able to do that with a smile on your face.

It turns into a little bit of a comfort cuddle and cry on the sofa because you both understand how the other one feels and don’t want to see your partner hurting in such a way.

Jumin Han with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Jumin isn’t particularly good when it comes to comforting someone, especially since he’d never really received any sort of intimate comfort before meeting you. He’d go down what he sees as the best route, which is slightly analytical and factual than you probably wanted your reassurance to be.

He assures you that you’re not useless or boring, as no one with such qualities would ever have been able to catch his attention in the way that you did, let alone catch his heart with it.

He’d feel particularly unhappy with you viewing yourself as replaceable because you certainly are not replaceable to him. You opened up his eyes and heart to so much of the world he didn’t understand or felt closed off to. His father views partners as replaceable, Jumin most definitely does not as he will not have you thinking such a thing for even a moment with him.

He does feel apologetic that he works such long hours, and would try to make some re-adjustments to his schedule (much to Jaehee’s grief) to allow the two of you to spend more time together. If you’re up for it, he would also take you away on weekend vacations to be able to relax and enjoy one another’s company without stress.

Saeyoung Choi with an insecure Reader Headcanons

Seven absolutely does not understand how you could feel that way about yourself. You’re such a wonderful person to him, you cracked through his cold shell and loved him for him, even when he tried to push you away. He feels like the useless one, you could never be so.

He just wants to pull you close, cover every part of your body in a kiss and tell you how loved you are. Seven is absolutely someone that believes he can simply squeeze the sadness out of other people, and will attempt to do that with you whilst blowing raspberries into your shoulder. Don’t trust him, if you’re still sad after you’ve been squeezed, he will move on to tickling.

If you feel boring in comparison to seven’s eccentricity, he’ll assure you that you have to be weird to have been able to put up with him for this long, and weird is never boring! He thinks you’re so interesting and funny, he loves listening to your stories and about the things you like.

Once again, Seven understands loneliness. No one has seen him for who he truly is in a very long time, so he understands how isolating that can feel so he’d make a conscious effort to see you for who you are too. 

He’d try to finish his work quicker in future so that he can spend more time with you doing things that would make you happy, such as going on a date to the cinema or for a drive in one of his cars to a cliff where you can listen to music and stargaze on the hood of his car.

Saeran Choi with an insecure Reader Headcanons 

It would probably take Saeran a little while to figure out exactly what was wrong if you didn’t tell him. He’d understand that you were upset, and would try to distract and cheer you up but he’d struggle with specifics if you didn’t explain it to him. But god, it’s hurting him inside.

He had always been the useless one and so aggressively obsessed over it after having it be driven into him so many times that even hearing you refer to yourself as ‘useless’ is a little overwhelming for him and he has to have a time out to calm down.

You were the one who saved him from such a dark place and assured him that his worth does not come from his usefulness, and that he does not need to be useful to be worthy of love, so he tells your own lesson back to you and wants you to accept the same love you offered him.

When you tell him that you feel lonely, he’d initially get a little worried thinking that he wasn’t enough for you, but once you assured him that that wasn’t what you meant, he’d be more able to help. He’d try to invite you along to more of his favourite activities such as gardening and baking, and also ask if there was anything else that you wanted the two of you to do together.

If you need a cry, Saeran would simply hold you and let you cry out everything that you need to, since he knows the damage that can be caused by bottling everything up. He’ll mutter small reassurances that you’re not boring and that he’s already had too much excitement in his life as it is, he likes you just the way you are and that you could never be replaced to him.

V/Jihyun Kim with an insecure Reader Headcanons 

He cannot believe what you’re saying. He’s always thought you were absolutely, entirely perfect. He understands that you might not feel the same way about yourself but he wants to bathe you with so much love that you forget that you could have ever disliked the person he has so much unmatched devotion for.

V would want to do something special for you, to show you how precious you truly are to him. Whilst you were out one day, he’d have gathered every single picture he had ever taken of you and hung the loose images by threads from the ceiling. 

When you’d come home, he would have come behind you and covered your eyes before guiding you into the room and presenting you with... yourself. V takes you through each picture, and god there are so many, and tells you the date, what was happening at that moment, and how he felt about you when taking that picture. 

There are so many different photographs, with so many different emotions captured; happiness, sadness, pleasure, melancholy, excitement, ecstasy, mystery... But the emotion that V always explained himself with was Love, adoration. These memories could never be replaced, and neither could you.

[hibiscusangel15]

Phantasma

Okay, so I saw an interesting, angsty post by @cruelfeline​ that wondered if Hordak could feel himself hurting Entrapta when Horde Prime possessed his body. The initial idea then kinda wrapped into a vague idea I had about the Horde clone hive mind, so here’s this lol.

Summary: Hordak's body was not his own. It had always belonged to Horde Prime since the moment he'd been created.

Or, a look into the clone hive mind when Horde Prime possessed Hordak in Heart, Part 2.

Rating: Teen and Up

*Also crossposted to AO3 and FFN!

If you like my fic, please consider buying me a coffee!

Despite everything he'd been taught, he knew Horde Prime did not know all. He did not see all.

A blasphemous thought to hold, and yet, if Prime himself did not see it—did not know it by now—then what else could he not foresee? What else did he not know?

The clone had cradled other blasphemies once, too. A life outside of the hive mind. An army he dared to call his own. A name.

Memories of a time long past. A time where in his darkest heart of hearts, he had dared to wish that Prime would never find him.

And now time had caught up to him. Now the woman at the very center of his blasphemous thoughts was on her knees jeering at Horde Prime.

He clutched the crystal he'd scavenged the other day in his hand. It was the catalyst, the first spark of defiance. A treasure that he might call his own.

The hive mind was filled to the brim with love for Prime. None dared to question his rule, and so none ever suspected this single clone's treachery.

Not until he hesitated to silence the little rebel before him.

Thoughts that were not his own trawled along the edge of his mind.

What are you waiting for, brother?

Destroy her.

Millions of thoughts grasped intangibly around him, as if his brothers wished to take the cannon from his arm themselves. Ghost hands crept along his scalp, over his face, his chest, urging him to get it over with.

She is not worthy of basking in Prime's light.  Dispose of her already.

Not worthy of his light. They were right about one thing, at least.

Entrapta was a light all her own. She outshone everyone, even Prime himself.

Go on, brother.

Hurry before you anger Prime, brother.

Do it now, brother.

Brother!

He turned his cannon onto Horde Prime and opened fire with a cry. 

“I am not your brother.”

Confusion and outrage blistered in the hive mind. The ghost feeling of hundreds of hands, once so reassuring, relinquished its awful hold over him.

"You made me in your image, but I am more than that!"

The clone carried Horde Prime by the jaw, dangling him over the edge of an endless precipice. "I gave myself a name. I made a life of my own! I made...."

He looked back at Entrapta. The woman who mocked Horde Prime to his face. The woman who coordinated a strategic counterattack against the chipped Etherians. The woman who snuck into his sanctum and dared to call his imperfections beautiful.

"A friend."

Yet another blasphemy before Prime's light. But could friendship truly be blasphemy? Could love?

If it was, he'd rather be a sinner than exalted by a god.

“I am Hordak, and I defy your will!”

His fingers went slack, and Horde Prime was no more.

It was over. Entrapta was safe.

Right as he turned to free her, everything vanished. The ship was gone. Entrapta was gone. There was nothing but a pure white void all around him. Hundreds of hushed voices echoed through the very air of this space.

Hordak whirled around. The noise ceased.

A large screen gleamed before him. It showed the image of where he’d been standing not too long ago. He walked to it, swiping a curious hand down the screen as if it would open for him. Its texture was like that of hot gelatin. No residue came off on his hand, but he wiped the unpleasant feeling off on his leg anyway.

He heard Entrapta laugh and say something. The sound rippled around the space, distorting and warping until it became unrecognizable noise.

And then his brother’s laugh rang so distinct and clear, Hordak had to clap his hands over his ears.

No.

“Ah, little brother. So it’s true. You have been thoroughly corrupted.”

A dark mass writhed behind him. Green lights hovered in the space where its eyes should be. Four very familiar eyes burned with rage and scorn.

Horde Prime. Horde Prime had seized control of his body.

“So be it!”

The mass rushed at him, through him to the screen.

His breath caught when the screen moved towards Entrapta. On her face was an expression he’d never seen. No matter how many times he’d growled at her or snapped at her to leave him be, she never seemed threatened by him. Never feared him.

Her look of abject terror etched itself into his mind, and he slammed a fist against the screen.

“No! Entrapta! Get away!” he yelled.

Horde Prime tugged her off her feet by her hair. Her scream tore something within him. He was hurting her.

Hordak could feel each individual strand thrashing against his own hand, trying to pry his grip open. Her hair was being too gentle with him. Too subdued. She was strong enough to push him, if necessary. His defect would make it all too easy. So why couldn’t she do it?

“You have forced my hand. I will unleash the Heart, and so we shall die in cleansing flame together!” Prime’s voice echoed around him.

He could feel his mouth twist up into a wicked grin, feel as his own hand tightened its grip around Entrapta’s long hair.

It was so soft. Softer than he ever thought anything could be. He wished he could have told her that. But his mouth was no longer his own. Nor were his hands, his own mind.

Everything belonged to Prime. Everything was Prime.

“Entrapta!”

Hordak threw himself against the screen, ramming into it over and over again. It did not waver.

“Little brother.”

The voice came from behind him.

He whirled back, teeth bared in a snarl. “You…. You were supposed to die!”

“And you forget your place!” The shadow pulsated like living smoke. “You have committed the ultimate blasphemy. Given yourself a name. Dared to live as if you are your own creature! But you are nothing. One of thousands of clones that all bear the image of Prime! Without me, you would not exist!”

Hordak screamed as he lunged at the shadow of Horde Prime. His singular vision was his downfall. He did not realize it hovered right above a glowing green pit.

His feet caught the edge in the nick of time, and he sucked in a stunned breath when he saw what laid below.

Countless thousands of clones were embedded into the walls of the circular pit. Many were mere half-bodies jutting out like weeds. They all raised their hands up, worshipping the dark mass far above them. Their ruler. Their brother. The all-knowing, all-powerful Prime.

It took Hordak a second to realize that they were all decrying his very existence. They called him worthless. Defective. Unworthy. Forsaken.

Hordak tried to take a step back, only to find he could not move. Several pale hands sprouted from the ground to restrain his legs. They would not let him go no matter how hard he hit or scratched at them. Such was the resolve of a clone-brother’s devotion to Prime.

“Oh, little brother. Do you honestly think you could ever be equal to my own power? All because you came to care for some insignificant creature who pitied you? I would never let myself become so weak.”

The green lights of its eyes narrowed at him.

Hordak dared to glare right back. “Let Entrapta go! She has not done anything to deserve this!”

“On the contrary, brother. I have read your thoughts. I understand in intimate detail how much you have let her affect you. How far she has led you astray from my light. For that, she must be made an example of.”

“No!”

He strained against the many hands stacking over each other to hold him down, struggling desperately to reach the screen. “Entrapta!”

“Do you know why you could never hope to match my power, brother?”

The other clones’ cries ceased. All was silent and white save for the floating shadow enveloping itself around his wrists.

It leaned close to his ear, as if to impart some final secret. “It is because you would not be able to bear the weight of the hive mind.”

Prime pulled him forward. The bodiless hands let him go.

Hordak fell into the pit.

The clones immediately went into a frenzy, clawing and tearing and dragging him down, down and away from the pure light above. The shared thoughts of his brothers he'd heard before was a mere drop in an ocean of suffering. Now all their prayers, feelings, everything they were bore down on him. It was like no gravity he’d ever felt before.

For every clone he managed to fend off, more came to tug him into the fold. And even through all this, he could hear Entrapta crying for him. Feel as her hair squirmed in his own hand. Prime would torture him in every possible way before the end. They would die here together, and the last thing he would ever hear would be his only friend in the universe crying his name.

“Entrapta!” he screamed, reaching a hand up to the edge of the pit.

And then, the hands were gone. The clones vanished. A gentle presence guided Hordak to the top, placing him far from the pit. When he looked back, it slowly closed in on itself.

“Hordak.”

That voice. She-Ra.

The screen showed the edge of a cliff. He no longer felt Entrapta’s hair wriggling against his palm. Instead, there was the brush of grass, a warm breeze on his cheek.

Something glowed just beyond the crest of the cliff. It rose higher and higher until Hordak caught sight of She-Ra. A First Ones glyph shone on her chest, radiating power.

Prime's shadow hovered before the screen, flickering like a spark that refused to light. “Though all is reduced to rubble, Prime shall rise again. So it has been, and so it always shall be.”

Hordak knew it was futile. He felt that familiar ache in his shoulders, in his legs. His defect. Horde Prime had not anticipated inhabiting a broken body.

Even so, he no longer had any other body to return to. The hive mind had closed off. All was silent again.

Ah, Hordak realized, shutting his eyes, resigned. This body belongs to Horde Prime now. She-Ra will kill me to assure her victory.

“No! I will not fall!” Prime sputtered above him in a panic. “The hive mind will open to me! I am their ruler! Their god!”

“You are nothing more than a coward looking to escape your fate. Rejoice, brother. For you and I will both die in cleansing flame together, is that not so?” Hordak said wearily.

He did not wish to die. Not now. Not until he knew Entrapta was safe.

But this was his fate. To ensure the peace of the universe, Horde Prime needed to die.

“No, you’re wrong,” She-Ra said. “It’s time for you to go.”

He pressed his forehead against the screen and shut his eyes. He was ready.

Her hands cupped his face. Warmth emitted from her palms, steady and hopeful.

Hordak’s eyes snapped open. Suddenly, he could read her thoughts, and he knew she did not aim to destroy them both.

Prime's shadow spasmed against an unseen force ripping it away. It tried to grasp onto something, anything. It even reached out to Hordak with a smoking claw, so despondent in its desperation.

Hordak merely watched the mass purge from his body back into the nothingness from which it came.

                                                   *   *   *

The scenery changed in a flash of light. He stood in an empty field. Little more than grass and sharp crystals abound the place.

It did not look familiar to him. It seemed Horde Prime had yet to conquer this strange planet. Another dead end. His faulty portal had transported him somewhere even further away from Prime’s light.

The portal itself crackled and sparked. It was unstable. The communication device he brought with him did not even emit a trackable signal.

He threw the device to the ground in his frustration. It shattered into several pieces along the dirt.

A sharp cry pierced the air. He stood up straighter, startled.

There, lying bundled on top of a rock, was a baby.

Hordak squinted and caught sight of a woman running in the distance. The mother? Had she abandoned her child here?

The bundle squirmed, hands outstretched, searching.

He glanced back at the woman’s silhouette. For a moment, she stopped. Perhaps she would come to collect her child. Perhaps it had been a mistake.

Then the silhouette took off and vanished into the woods ahead.

Hordak turned back to the portal. He’d reconfigure the coordinates again and then—

The baby’s cries grew louder. He paused.

He stomped over to where the baby laid. It shifted in its blankets. Were it not for his quick reflexes, it would’ve wiggled its way off the rock.

He held it to his chest and stared. The child stared back. Its cries settled into small whimpers then silence.

“You have been abandoned,” he said, a pang in his chest. “Your creator did not want you.”

Of course he knew that the child would not understand him. It was not a guarantee that it even knew his language.

The baby settled in his arms, pressing its small cheek to his thumb. He could not leave this child here. Not after its own mother left it to die.

“Lord Hordak!” Shadow Weaver’s voice called out through the portal.

The portal’s frame warped. Sprinting towards it would be his only chance. He clutched the child tighter in his hands and ran.

                                                   *   *   *

Hordak gasped and found himself face-to-face with that same child. She regarded him with such kindness in her eyes that it brought that ghost pang back.

“I remember you,” he whispered. Her smile told him that she remembered him, too.

She-Ra helped him stand. No sooner than that, something small tackled him in a twirl of purple pigtails.

"Hordak!"

A laugh burst from his chest when he realized who it was. Entrapta was here. She was safe and alive and so warm. He could not ask for a better future.

“I’m so glad you’re here! Oh, we have so much to talk about!” she said and hugged him once more. “I missed you!”

Hordak smiled back at her. “I’ve missed you, too, Entrapta.”

Her hair reached up to caress his face. It was only then his smile fell.

He'd hurt her. It was not by his own will, but even so.

How could she stand to be near him after that? How could she trust he would not do so again?

The rest of her hair split off and wrapped gently around his hands. Not a single strand fought against him. Her hair willingly weaved around his open palms, his fingers.

"Stay with me. Please?"

Hordak shuddered. This felt too much like forgiveness. He was not worthy of it.

"Always," he whispered.

Without warning, Entrapta shot up and pressed her lips against his. The longer she ran her thumb up and down his jaw, the more scrambled his thoughts became.

Her eyes gleamed with pride when she pulled away. “You’re free now. You can be whoever you wanna be, Hordak.”

“I…. Yes.”

It was the best he could manage.

Entrapta laughed and pressed her forehead to his. He leaned into the touch. It was nice, knowing how soft a touch could really be. Knowing how much love could flow through a simple gesture.

Eventually, she wrapped her arms around his to lead him down the hill. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re here!” she repeated. He could not help himself from laughing once more.

He made it back to her. Prime was gone. He was free, and he made it back to her.

Entrapta peered up at him with a smile. He returned it easily. 

Hordak knew then what he would do with this newfound freedom. He would spend it by Entrapta’s side. For as much as time would allow, he would spend it all with her.

A careful hand ran through her hair. He did not yet have the words to express how sorry he was for hurting her. How he should have fought harder against Prime's control.

He wanted to say so much to her. As soon as he started to speak, however, a strand of her hair pressed itself against his mouth. A gentle admonishment, one that was met with an amused smile.

Her hair curled itself around his fingers, guiding them down to cup her face. Hordak brushed away the small tears spilling down. It was not enough to repair all the damage he’d done. She must have known that.

Entrapta never cared about such matters. She never spoke about recompense, nor did she seem to desire it.

She seemed happy just to stay here like this, smiling at him even through her tears.

The warm breeze stirred leaves and stray bits of grass all around them. The planet was alive and thriving once more.

He took a deep breath in.

Entrapta was by his side. The sun felt good on his face.

He was Hordak, and he was finally free to live by his own will.

A/N: This was legit the fastest I’ve ever written something. I was struck by a sudden burst of inspiration, and I guess that’s where it all led.

Please let me know if anyone's in-character or not. I'm very new to writing for this fandom.

[senadimell]

Boromir for the character ask?

send me a character and i’ll list:

favorite thing about them: Honestly? His focus. He's a problem-solver. He focuses on whatever task is in front of him, and while he's the golden child, I honestly don't know if he'd be the best fit for Steward because he seems to be at his best when he's thinking about concrete solutions to discrete problems.

Oh! The other thing is that he evaluates the advice given to him for what it is, not based on the authority of the advisor. He’s not going to accept bad advice just because it comes from a trustworthy source, and he’s going to be honest about his thoughts. So he’ll trust and respect the advice of the council of Elrond, but not to the point where he doesn’t ask questions or question things that don’t make sense (I’m thinking about Caradhras here) It’s a good skill to have as the de-facto heir to Gondor, and it makes sense that he’s not in awe of elves or Gandalf and acts among them as a guest but also as an equal at least in political status, though his experience is vastly more limited.

At the same time, he’s not arrogant or haughty. He's a team player. He’s supportive of decisions for the most part, though where the ring is concerned, things get skewy. He’s not the kind of person to rub mistakes back in your face. He’s compassionate and understanding (which we see even in the way he treats Frodo as he strives for the Ring).

least favorite thing about them: Honestly Boromir doesn’t bother me in the slightest. I suppose his positive traits are also double-edged swords. Focusing more on the advice than the giver sort of has Feanor vibes? And you can see where his focus leads him when he talks to Frodo about why he wants the ring and how he would use it. He can see his corner of the world (Gondor) and his place in saving it (political, but primarily military leadership), and it’s his practicality, drive, and focus that the Ring exploits. He’s too busy thinking about what he must do to save the day that he misses the grander scheme (yet he’s doing it because he cares! he cares!).

brOTP: Um, Faramir, I guess. Though I guess it’d be kinda sweet if he’s got a brotherly relationship with Bergil. I can easily imagine Bergil hero-worshipping Boromir, and so I think it’d be sweet if Boromir did acknowledge him and know him by name.

OTP: none? look, I rarely ship and even more rarely out of canon.

nOTP: also none? Shelob? The Ring?

random headcanon: I dunno...

unpopular opinion: boromir has dark hair Sean Bean is an actor he’s not the only face

So I feel like there’s a bit of a structural problem with the LotR fandom. Characters are often written in pairs or as foils, and inevitably the comparison starts to turn towards “who’s better?” Then, if you don’t ship them, there’s a tendency to aggrandize one character’s virtues and minimize their flaws (which tends to happen everywhere), but then the comparison game starts. Because they have a paired character, the natural next step is to lionize your favorite by de-emphasizing the other character’s strengths and virtues (and sometimes also highlighting their flaws). (I’m not immune to this by far, btw, and am possibly about to engage in it.)

This happen the most with Frodo and Sam, but I think you also see it in Boromir and Faramir. Because obviously, in the books, Faramir is the golden child. Not in his father’s eyes, of course, but narratively speaking. And I have mad respect for him.

Most people don’t try and diss Faramir (because frankly. it’s hard. like, what are you going to say?), but there’s a tendency to downplay the fact that Boromir is his culture’s golden child, and Faramir...isn’t. Which isn’t to say Faramir isn’t beloved by those who know him, but his strengths are not valued in the same way that Boromir’s are. Faramir knows this. And given Boromir’s attitudes discussed above (how confidently he assumes his position in the world), I can’t believe he’s the 100% supportive, loving, sensitive, protective brother that fanon depicts him as. I don’t see how he can be.

Don’t get me wrong, I do believe the brothers love each other deeply. But growing up with siblings has taught me that it’s possible to love someone and yet be deeply wounded by them due to the casual and inescapable intimacy of your relationship? You can share more inside jokes and weird stories than anyone, yet you can never get away from how deeply they know you--not your thoughts, but who you are at home and who you were when you were seven and how you acted when someone broke up with you or what you did when your parents were furious.

You also know exactly how you match up against them, because you will always exist as a unit. And because your relationship is as natural as the lens  in your eye (you can’t imagine viewing the world without it), you forget about the other as a person and just say something and don’t think about how it hurts them. You can joke about this one thing and your sibling can carry around the hurt for years and you didn’t even know. And maybe the hurt isn’t even your fault--maybe they were just sensitive and you had no way of knowing, but the hurt doesn’t go away for the lack of malice. And even best-friend siblings are capable of malice towards each other at times.

So Boromir is good at things that Faramir isn’t, and Boromir knows it. He’s probably ribbed his brother in what he thinks is a playful way about when you’re going to shape up, or do X, or do Y, or why do you do that, anyways, or do you realize that’s a little unbecoming? maybe you should stop that. You know Father’s going to think that you’re... And he doesn’t realize how those slights can add up over the years. I do think he’s said things to his peers about his brother that have ended up hurting him. No matter how pure and nice he is, that sort of thing is unavoidable, and due to his cultural upbringing I don’t actually think he’d question the appropriateness of his attitude/acceptance and glorification of martial prowess at the expense of those who don’t have it in the same degree.

I think this passage is really telling:

For on the eve of the sudden assault a dream came to my brother in a troubled sleep; and afterwards a like dream came oft to him again, and once to me. 'In that dream I thought the eastern sky grew dark and there was a growing thunder, but in the West a pale light lingered, and out of it I heard a voice, remote but clear, crying:          Seek for the Sword that was broken:          In Imladris it dwells;          There shall be counsels taken          Stronger than Morgul-spells.          There shall be shown a token          That Doom is near at hand,          For Isildur's Bane shall waken,          And the Halfling forth shall stand. Of these words we could understand little, and we spoke to our father, Denethor, Lord of Minas Tirith, wise in the lore of Gondor. This only would he say, that Imladris was of old the name among the Elves of a far northern dale, where Elrond the Halfelven dwelt, greatest of lore-masters. Therefore my brother, seeing how desperate was our need, was eager to heed  the  dream and seek for  Imladris; but since the way was full of doubt and danger, I took the journey upon myself. Loth was my father to  give  me leave, and long have I wandered by roads forgotten, seeking the house of Elrond, of which many had heard, but few knew where it lay.' 

There’s so much you can read into this. Faramir has this dream, and he has it many times. We know he’s a lover of lore and no less devoted to his kingdom than Boromir, though his love is expressed differently. He is “eager” to heed the dream. So would I if I was having prophecy dreams all the time.

But is Faramir a member of the fellowship? No. Why? Because Boromir “took it upon himself.” He wanted to do it, he thought himself the better candidate (and Faramir the worse), and he argued his way into doing it against his father’s wishes. Coupled with Denethor’s later attitude towards Boromir, I’m inclined to believe Boromir was uniquely able to obtain this quest for himself because Denethor has a soft spot for him.

I find myself inclined to disregard Boromir’s account of Faramir’s motive (”how desparate was our need”), because it sounds like he’s justifying the appropriateness of his actions.  If it’s just about the great need of the kingdom, it’s nothing personal that one brother goes and the other stays. That view implies  that Faramir’s interest in this mission is primarily utilitarian in purpose, with a little academic curiosity--that is, it’s nothing personal. Doesn’t matter who goes! Not as long as we protect the kingdom! Which...just doesn’t square with his description of Faramir having repeatedly cryptic dreams that he wants to understand. I can almost guarantee that Faramir wants to know what those dreams meant more than Boromir.

It’s a bit tragic, because ultimately Faramir was more suited for the quest than Boromir (tramping about in the wilderness doesn’t seem to be a problem, he’s also a team player, and he’s much more willing to accept the power of the Ring/not downplay its personal danger, and would be able to see it in a bigger picture beyond just Gondor). Ultimately, though, if Boromir was the one to catch Frodo in Ithillien, the story would have a veeeeeeery different ending. (Gollum would likely be dead, and I can’t imagine he’d be inclined to just. let Frodo and Sam go free.)

I kind of view their relationship as a much less antagonistic version of Agravain and Gwalchmai from Gillian Bradshaw. (Agravain is more of a jerk than I can ever imagine Boromir being, and has a wicked temper). 

Also none of this is to say that I don’t think he’s not protective of his brother.

So a lot of words to say: I don’t think the Boromir and Faramir relationship is as uwu cinnamon roll as it seems in fandom. I think they loved each other, but I think Boromir did have a tendency to take what he wanted when he thought he deserved it and not give it a second thought, even when it was at the expense of his brother. Sure, he’d defend his brother night and day, but I expect him to be a bit of a jerk, be unaware of the extent of his behavior, and also see little wrong with it (the ring quest seems to have crossed a line, by the way he justifies it).

Still, they do love each other deeply and genuinely. It’s just a little more conflicted.

song i associate with them: Requiem, from Dear Evan Hanson. Not a particularly creative association (and I don’t associate him with Connor at all), but his death comes as such a shock at the beginning of TTT and brings with it so many mixed feelings due to both their relationship and the circumstances of his death. Nobody’s mourning is straightforward: not Frodo, or Denethor, or Faramir, or Aragorn, or Merry, or Pippin. His absense is woven throughout TTT and even RotK, in plot and in emotion and in theme.

favorite picture of them:

Don’t really have a favorite, but this one is nice.

The Sean Bean runners-up: one, two

[aurorashka]

ATEEZ AS YANDERES (MAKNAE LINE)

- Disclaimer -

This is only an AU imagine and yes it does contain everything mentioned in the below explanation. If you're uncomfortable with such content, please don't read it. So, please do keep that in mind and proceed to read if you're interested, thank you.

Definition of a Yandere

Yandere (ヤンデレ) is a Japanese term for a person who is initially very loving and gentle to someone (or at least innocent) before their devotion becomes destructive in nature, often through violence and/or brutality.

SAN

Suuhai-Gata the Worship type

~ I will do anything for you ~

- Your friend introduced to San during a party and that's how you both started getting close and grew feelings towards each other.

- But ever since you both started dating, he became more devoted to you and your relationship.

- It's not like you were complaining but sometimes, his emotions gets out of hand and you can't help but get annoyed at his clinginess.

- One day, San kept coming to you and said things like "Baby, see I cooked your favourite food", "Baby, see I made this bracelet for you", "Baby, where did you you go? Oh, to the toilet...damn I thought you left me."

- And finally you couldn't take his clinginess anymore, you told him off to stay away from you because he's annoying.

- San quietly nodded his head and went to your shared bedroom.

- Hours have passed, but San didn't bother to come out from the room.

- You went inside the room and saw him hugging your hoodie while crying.

- You immediately ran to him and asked him why.

- "I'm such a terrible boyfriend, baby. Honestly, it breaks my heart knowing that I made you feel annoyed. I'll change myself for you." He whimpered out.

- That sight broke your heart and you comforted him and told him, "It's okay, Sannie. You don't have to change yourself, okay? I'm sorry for being straightforward to you."

- And from that day onwards you started accepting his clingy nature and tried your best not to get annoyed with him, instead appreciating the fact that he loves you so much.

MINGI

Mousou-Gata the Delusional type

~ I know our feelings were mutual ~

<Mingi's P.O.V>

- "Do you know the first time I met (Y/N) was the best moment of my life...she looked at me and smiled, it felt like a swarm butterflies hit me at once. I know our feelings were mutual."

- "The next I met her was when the teacher called me to answer a question. I didn't know the answer, so (Y/N) gave me the answer and I managed to answer it correctly. I know our feelings were mutual."

- "And some students came and bullied me, (Y/N) came to me and saved me from them. I know our feelings were mutual."

- "(Y/N), came and talked to me after that day I got bullied, (Y/N) said we can be friends. I know our feelings were mutual."

- "But after sometime I saw (Y/N) talking to another guy. They looked very close with each other but after (Y/N) saw me, (Y/N) bid goodbye to that dude and came to me. I know our feelings were mutual."

- "Prom season came, I asked (Y/N) if she's going there or not and (Y/N) said yes. So, I decided to go because I know our feelings were mutual."

- "But after I went there I saw (Y/N) was dancing with the same guy I saw with (Y/N) that day. I went to (Y/N) and asked who is that dude and (Y/N) told me something which I didn't expect because I know our feelings were mutual."

- "And then you guys brought me here telling me that I was crazy. I don't understand why you guys said things like that because I know our feelings were mutual." Mingi said to the psychiatrist.

- "Mingi, if you really loved (Y/N), why did you kill (Y/N) and that dude that prom night." The psychiatrist asked Mingi.

- "Because I know our feelings were mutual...but why (Y/N) chose him instead of me?"

WOOYOUNG

Sokubaku-Gata the Restraint type

~ You're mine ~

- Wooyoung and you have been best friends for a few years and everything was going fine.

- But ever since he found out you got into a relationship, he became more clingy.

- He always wanted to spend time with you, so he will follow you to go on dates with you and your partner.

- But it always feels like your partner is third-wheeling you both.

- Till one day, your partner couldn't handle it anymore and he confronted Wooyoung during an outing with all three of you there.

- Wooyoung smirked and said, "Do you know (Y/N) and I had a wonderful time with you but ever since you entered both our lives, everything has ruined?"

- "Wooyoung, your only my best friend remember that. Yeonjun is my boyfriend." You spoke on behalf of your partner.

- Wooyoung glared at you both but then he later started laughing.

- Yeonjun and you looked at each other confused.

- "Ahh... I knew this day will come. But I didn't expect it to come this quick." Wooyoung said sarcastically while walking towards Yeonjun.

- You tried to stop Wooyoung but before you could stop him, Wooyoung sprayed something on Yeonjun's face which caused hin to faint.

- You shouted Yeojun's name and ran to help him but Wooyoung sprayed the spray on your face which caused you to get drowsy and faint.

- Then, he placed you over his shoulder and took you to his car.

- "Now, it's time to go to our empire and live there without anyone's disturbance... not even this Yeonjun. You're mine (Y/N)." Wooyoung said.

JONGHO

Touei-Gata the Projection type

~ I can't miss you again ~

- "I know this is weird but I really like you, (Y/N). You really remind me of my dead ex-lover. Jongho said and you didn't think much about his explanation and accepted him because you like him too.

- But you were wrong...you should've really taken into consideration of his explanation.

- Because no matter what you do, what you say or how you act, he will always tells you that it reminded him of his dead ex-lover.

- One day, you were going on a date with Jongho and during the date Jongho was looking at you lovingly while you were talking to him.

- You blushed at his actions and asked him to stop staring at you.

- "I can't help, (Y/N). You really remind me of Yura (his ex-lover)." Jongho told you and pushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

- And you couldn't take it anymore, "Jongho, can you please stop comparing me with Yura. It's annoying." You told him.

- "But that's the truth, baby." He told and you're so done with it.

- "You know what, let's just end it, Jongho." You told him and got up to go away from there.

- Jongho immediately got up and hugged you tightly while crying.

- You thought he was going to say sorry and tell you that he will not do it anymore but, "(Y/N), you're just like her. I can't help it. Please don't leave me. I can't lose another Yura anymore." He sobbed out.

- To this point you can't handle it anymore, you started crying and pushed him away from you.

- "We're over, Jongho." You sobbed and walked away from there.

- Jongho fell on his knees and sobbed out, "No, I need you...I can't lose another, Yura."

[fckinsupreme]

hi,55 and 30 for older!duncan please and thank you!!

I made this one President!Duncan! He’s NOT married in this one and is single, and reader is his Vice President’s adult daughter!

————

“You wanted to see me, Mr. President?”

Duncan is standing with his back to the door, arms folded behind him. He’s gazing out the window when Y/N walks in, and the sound of her voice causes butterflies to erupt in his stomach. He felt that he was too old for such a feeling, but dammit, she brought it out in him every time. It wasn’t just the fact that she was beautiful, or that she was smart, or that she was always flirting with him in the most subtle of ways. It was the fact that Y/N reminded him so of his beloved wife, now ten years in her grave, taken far too soon as a result of a car accident. She had died at the young age of 30, not long after they had taken their vows, and they had been devoted to one another until death did they part.

But his feelings for Y/N, whatever they had been, were not only inappropriate, but they were downright wrong. Age wasn’t the factor—they were both adults—but her parentage /was/. She was the daughter of his Vice President, his right hand man, someone he looked up to as a father since his own had been absent. To pursue his daughter was something that wasn’t right of him to do, but the urge to do so was becoming too overwhelming to ignore any longer.

He turns to look at Y/N, clearing his throat as he does so. “Yes, I did. Please sit.”

She strides across the room, looking absolutely breathtaking as she does so. She’s dressed simply—a black turtleneck, a knee length skirt, heels, her (h/c) in a bun—but to Duncan, it’s the most perfect outfit in the whole world. He swallows thickly as he sits in his chair, sitting across from her as she takes a seat in front of him.

“Is everything okay with Daddy?” she asks, chewing her lip nervously. Duncan balls a hand in his lap at the word ‘Daddy,’ biting the inside of his cheek so hard that it bleeds. “He’s not sick, is he?”

“No, your father is fine,” Duncan says, leaning back a little in his chair. “This is actually about me...and you, too, I suppose.”

“What is it, Mr. President?” Y/N asks worriedly.

“This is going to be very forward and very blunt,” Duncan says. “And if you don’t feel the same for me, I won’t be angry. I won’t force you to feel the same for me. I just have to get it out.”

“Okay...” she says, her eyes glued to him as she leans forward a bit as well. “Just tell me.”

He swallows, clasping his hands on his desk to keep them from shaking. He meets her (e/c) eyes, his breath hitching as he gets lost in their depths. She had her father’s eyes, and he wasn’t sure if he should be creeped out by that. His heart was telling him no, however...or was that something else entirely?

“I’ve been looking at you in a different light for awhile now,” Duncan says. “I’ve only known your family for a few years, but your father has been the mentor and father figure that I never got to have. He’s like family to me, Y/N, and that’s why this is so difficult for me to deal with.

“I can’t help what I’m feeling, but I’m so attracted to you. This has been eating at me for a long time, and I knew if I didn’t tell you, I would slowly go crazy. I have enough stress and worry with running the country, and I didn’t want any additional worry. I know that I am taking quite the risk here, but I think you are the most interesting, beautiful, intelligent, perfect woman I’ve ever had the fortune of knowing.

“I know that this is sudden and may come as a surprise. I know it’s wrong of me to feel this way. I know that you probably have a boyfriend, one more appropriate to your age. I know this may upset your father, if he finds out what I told you. But I can’t help it, Y/N; you remind me of my wife, and I lost her years ago. I feel as though I am getting a second chance, and I hate to let it slip away without at least trying first. I don’t know if what I feel for you is love, but if it isn’t, it’s close enough.”

She is quiet for several minutes, and Duncan grows more anxious with each passing one. Finally, she meets his gaze again, and the first thing she says is: “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You...what?” Duncan asks, blinking in disbelief.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she repeats, one of those beatific smiles on her lips. “My father can say whatever he wants. I’m an adult and I can do whatever I want to do. I...Truth be told, and this may sound crude, I’ve wanted you to...well, I’ve wanted you to take my virginity from the moment I saw you. I touch myself to the thought of that so many times, I don’t think you’d believe me if I gave you a ballpark estimate.”

Duncan’s jaw is agape, and he looks at Y/N stupidly. Did he hear her correctly? Surely not. “Wait, you’re a virgin?!”

“Yes,” she says, her cheeks heating in embarrassment. “I know. A girl my age, not having had sex yet. I just wanted to save myself, but then the right guy never came along. Not until you entered my life. Not only are you sexy as hell, but you’re so kind. You care about the people of this country, you do everything you can to make sure they are safe and have what they need, you are compassionate toward people in your life...You’re the whole package. You’re the guy I’ve been waiting for.”

Duncan is speechless, unsure of how to respond. He takes a deep breath, collecting himself for a moment. Finally, he says: “You really want me to take your virginity? You don’t care about what your dad says or does, either?”

“Yes to the first and no to the second,” she says, standing up and walking over to him. She leans down, her face level with his, and he can smell the scent of peppermint on her breath. “I want you to take my virginity right here on this desk, Mr. President. Are you up for that?”

Duncan’s icy blue eyes darken, and he finds himself nodding rapidly. His black pants tighten a little, blood starting to flow more to his cock as he reaches out to grab her by the waist. He pulls her into his lap, the two of them locking eyes for a moment before he leans in to kiss her. It’s soft at first, chaste, but soon he’s craving more and begins to deepen it. She eagerly accepts his tongue as it pushes into her mouth, her hands tangling in his hair as she grinds against his hard-on. Soon, her turtleneck is flung on the other side of the office, his mouth exploring every inch of exposed skin he can reach. She mewls under his touch, her head tipped back and eyes closed as he nuzzles between her breasts. The delicious burn of his stubble against her soft skin causes her to cry out, and she clamps her mouth shut as her cheeks tint pink.

“Don’t worry about being quiet,” Duncan tells her. “It’s okay. I’ve...This isn’t the first time I’ve done this in here.”

He expects her to pull away, to storm out, but instead she grins. “Oh yeah? You have a kink for it, hm?”

“I do,” he says, helping her out of the rest of her clothing before propping her on his desk. She’s in a sitting position on the edge, his mouth sucking one of her nipples generously as his fingers rub through her saturated folds. “But now I’m with the Vice President’s daughter, worshiping her body like the goddess she is, and I don’t care if they hear us. I don’t even care if your father walks in.”

“I do!” Y/N protests with a giggle. “That would be too awkward.”

Duncan hums, kissing down her body before kneeling between her legs. “Don’t worry, darling. He won’t be back tonight; he’s on official business.”

“Mmm...” she hums, one hand in his hair as he slowly kisses over her inner thighs. “How is it gonna feel? Having meetings in here with him, knowing you fucked his little girl right here on this desk?”

“I’ll have to sit here to hide my boner,” Duncan purrs, dragging his tongue through her labia before groaning. “Fucking hell, you taste amazing.”

“Thanks,” she says with a wink, head tipping back as she moans hotly, his fingers parting her lips to run his tongue through them a bit more. “Fuck...”

“You can call me Daddy, if you want,” he rasps. “Or Mr. President. Anything you want.”

“Mmm, Daddy,” she says, as if she’s testing the word out. “I like it for you.”

He eats her pussy with enthusiasm, and she responds in turn. Her moans are like sweet music to his ears, her milky arousal pooling on the desk below. He looks up when she begins to chuckle, confusion on his face as she shakes her head. She’s still giggling when she says: “I want you to do something when you fuck me.”

“What would that be, princess?” Duncan questions, two fingers plunging into her tight, soaking cunt as she cries out in pleasure.

“I want you to be rough with me,” she says. “When the pain wears off, I mean. I hear the first time hurts, and I want you to be gentle for that, but...Once that’s over, I want you to be as rough as possible with me.”

“I can do that,” he says, his lips wrapping around her clit for a moment. “Anything specific you want me to do?”

“Choke me,” she says immediately. “I want you to choke me, Daddy.”

“I can definitely arrange that. Be a good girl and cum for me, and your wish will be my command.”

“As you wish, /Mr. President/.”

———

Baby taglist: @littledemondani @wroteclassicaly @littlegirlsdontplaynice @llangdvns @dark-mei-rose @blakewaterxx @melodylangdon @lvngdvns @langdonshellion @xavierplympton @xavierplymptons @guiltyfiend @apocalxpsetime @whatcodysaid

[cosmic-navel-gazin]

In which I chronicle my Legacy of Kain journey and bridge it with your boy Adam Warlock! (Part 5 of many, and MASSIVE, I MEAN, HUMOUNGOUS SPOILERS for Soul Reaver 2 and the 1970’s Warlock)

Awwwwwwwww yeah we are going there, these compositions are most definitely on purpose.

This is where I realize that my true purpose in this world is to draw and talk about obscure or forgotten works of fiction, and I embrace this destiny. 

Ladies and gents, laughing times are over (not really though), sh*t gets very real again.

I guess it’s a bit late for this but if you have even the slightest interest in checking any of these properties out, do yourself a favor and go experience them first hand. If you just want to see me lose my mind and don’t really care about spoilers then please, proceed.

You know, when I started this little crossover of sorts, I was just having a laugh you know? It was just a cute little thing, I’ll write this one post and maybe I’ll get enough material for a second one and that’s it. THIS IS THE SEVENTH POST (even though it says Part 5). 

Never, and I do mean never in my wildest dreams did I think I would be here one day, talking about having your past and your time-travelling-future selves meet and clash, of seeing your sanctimonious attitude and overall the worst about yourself personified and given free reign to go on bloodthirsty crusades showing off how much of a hypocrite you’ve bee- but wait, I am getting a bit ahead of myself. 

I’ll get there I promise, let’s go back a bit.

Where we last left off, we managed to travel back to an even more distant past than we’ve been before. To the time of the great Vampire Purge, so that Raziel can meet this infamous ancient vampire who knows all the lore and might have the answers we seek on what exactly is causing the corruption of our world.

As we step out into this era of History we notice the fields covered with the Sarafan Order banners, and the impaled corpses and chopped-off heads of vampires. No different no doubt from the kindness vampires showed mankind later when they gained the upper hand during Kain’s 1.000 year old reign. Raziel seems a bit distraught by the sight since he assumed the Sarafan to be virtuous and heroic:

“For all the butchery of Moebius’s crusade, this massacre was somehow more chilling. The killing fields of the Sarafan betrayed a kind of orderly ruthlessness, the cold-blooded righteousness of the true believer.”

“Here at last in the flesh, I beheld my former brothers-in-arms, the warrior-priests of the Sarafan order; their lives devoted solely to the annihilation of the vampire plague. And while I confess I felt a twinge of longing, a pang of grief for what I had believed was my lost virtue, I regarded them now with none of the reverence I formally felt. For I had seen the human face of the vampires, and now I beheld the monstrousness of these men.”

While on the topic of genocidal holy wars, my boy Adam here had a bit of a run with a similar pious little group that goes by the name of Universal Church of Truth, who were going about doing a bit of cleaning throughout the galaxy:

Things don’t go so well:

Interestingly enough, I’ve learned of a deleted cutscene for Soul Reaver 2 that plays out very similarly to Adam’s first encounter with this “holy” order. There was this minor female vampire character that was being hunted down and would be executed by vampire hunters right in front of Raziel.

This scene was probably removed because they knew that almost 20 years later there would be some asshole on the internet trying to compare their games to obscure marvel comics of the 70’s.

But yeah bummer for Adam here, we’re a couple of pages in and he’s already failed to save someone. However, through the power of the Soul Gem, he’s able to retain her soul for a brief moment, letting us know more about these holy inquisitors:

Some of these methods don’t seem that far off from the Sarafan, especially on the twisting of good intentions part, but on a galactic scale:

Aye, a great bunch o’ fellas all around, if you submit and “fit in”:

Damn.

Hush Adam, I’ll get back to your predicament give me a moment. I just want the good people at home to keep both this church and the Magus, the god they worship in mind for later.

Now, back to the game. In the Sarafan Stronghold during the first hour of gameplay, Raziel made comments on the vampire he’s currently seeking while looking at some stained glass depictions:

“So this was the legendary Janos Audron - reputed to have been the most ancient and diabolical vampire to have ever existed. According to folklore, he lived high in the cliffs of Nosgoth’s northern mountains, and preyed mercilessly on the defenseless villagers below. His reign of terror ended when the Sarafan finally hunted him down and tore his throbbing heart from his still-living body. (…) But I wondered - could Janos Audron truly have been as monstrous as depicted here? Or was this merely artistic licence by the Sarafan, who sought to lionize themselves by demonizing their darkest enemy?

Keep these stained glass images in mind, they’ll also be important shortly. Neetheless to say, the hype was very real to meet this Janos Audron.

And as I kept hearing about this gentleman, I thought: “I really love this cast of pricks, where everyone speaks in half truths and is hiding something and has some hidden agenda, but you know, I kind of wish there was some slim ray of hope, of goodness and honor, just some good old plain chivalry and honesty. Maybe this Janos lad won’t be as bad as he was depicted back in the Sarafan Stronghold.” 

It took us a while but we’re finally make it to his retreat.

I really love the entire segment, the hopelessness and feeling of dread while making your way through this place, probably my favourite puzzle area of the game.  I also really love the music and architecture here.

When we do make it to the top, BOY OH BOY were my prayers answered!

Lo and behold, enter Raziel’s new daddy/mentor figure, my man JANOS AUDRON! Proabably the one decent and kind creature I’ve seen yet in these games (if you don’t count helpless human npcs who are just trying to live their lives but are caught in all these wars, slaughter and destruction).

FINALLY an understanding, moderate, compassionate man in the midst of all the lies and deception. I love him! Oh and he has what seems to be a Romanian accent. Maybe a nod to the granddaddy of all vampires: Dracula? I think his design is cool as well, so that helps.

Before we go into huge lore dumps and while on the topic of having a brief father/mentor figure for your protagonist when he’s utterly lost, alone and confused, I thought I’d bridge it with Adam’s own once foster parent, the High Evolutionary:

From the few minutes you get to know these dads they’re very different characters with different backstories and motivations. Janos is this sad lonely old man, the last of the ancient vampires and one who has been keeping himself alive solely for his sense of duty. 

While the High Evolutionary was once a man called Herbert Wyndham who performed an experiment that evolved him into a godlike being. This experience proved to be such an assault on his senses and perceptions that he chose to encase himself in this armour. Like the name suggests he is obsessed with genetic manipulation and tampering of various kinds, it is his life’s ambition. 

Despite his somewhat villainous appearance, he’s never portrayed as such from what little I’ve read, he’s just…a bit creepy. Like, he takes Adam in and is super stoked about adopting him, but he also values him not so much as a person per se as you and me would, but more as one would value an impressivly carved piece of work:

I don’t know, maybe it’s his metal face that doesn’t emote much; his sometimes questionable morality; maybe it’s the fact that Adam was 5 years old at this point, a baby boy, and this pink armoured deity is super hyped about him; there’s something a bit unsettling about this guy. Have some more dubious quotes I’ve stumbled upon:

All in all, I think he did care about him, in his own strange way:

Anyway, what’s important is that these adoptive dads serve a somewhat similar purpose, and that is to push/urge our ”“”“"heroes”“”“” (I say with many quotation marks) into a more benevolant role: to guide them in their messianic mission and save a corrupted world. Basically there to provide a chance for them to be good boys. Up until now their track record leaves much to be desired, and they’ve been quite lost on what they’re supposed to be and do.

Raziel:

“So it’s all true, then - what Kain and Vorador have told me - I really am some kind of unholy vampire messiah…”

Janos:

“Unholy? -no. Messiah… perhaps.”

Raziel:

“I don’t like that word - it smells of martyrdom.”

Janos:

“Raziel, your role in this world’s destiny is more crucial - and more benevolent - than you’ve allowed yourself to believe. Your journey will not be easy - dark powers are allied against you.”

Oh and both dads give their sons their toys (Soul Reaver and Soul Gem):

Back to the meeting with Janos, we finally learn tons of things, both new and others that have been hinted at throughout, namely:

Janos has been living a life of a recluse, alone, on top of the Aerie;

Janos knows of Raziel (some old legend I think) and has been waiting for him to hand him over the Soul Reaver, saying it is the key to save Nosgoth;

The Pillars of Nosgoth were erected by the ancient vampires and they were the rightful guardians. Janos was called to be th 10th guardian, the Keeper of the Reaver;

Over time this ancient race started to die out, with their history slowly being forgotten;

Humanity prospered and since the Pillars choose their guardians from birth and vampires were no longer born, humans were called to be their guardians but were “wholly ignorant of their true purpose.”

The Circle of human guardians is led to believe (by whom we do not yet know) that vampires are a cancer in the world. Janos warns that “with their vampire purge, the members of the Circle have assaulted the very architects of the Pillars they are sworn to protect (…) With every vampire they kill, the humans are slitting their own throats.”

Janos being a cool level-headed guy here when Raziel says he must hate mankind for all the suffering they’ve brought to him:

“They fear what they don’t understand; and they despise what they fear. But no - I do not hate them.”

I find it funny how Raziel asks if humanity should be forgiven for trying to exterminate the vampire kind and doesn’t realize that: one, he himself was exterminating vampires just a couple of moments ago back in SR1; and two, how he is just like how Janos describes humanity to be:

“They don’t understand what they’re doing. They are simply unenlightened… and vulnerable to manipulation.”

Again, this last line, completely unlike a certain blue shambling corpse I know. Not like him AT ALL.

Then, as they head inside, we learn something odd as Janos presents Raziel with the Reaver. You see, the two times Raziel has been close to the Soul Reaver still in its physical form, reality started to bend and distort (I show it off in this previous post). 

When we met Kain and decided not to kill him, he explained that when: “two incarnations of the blade meet in time and space, a paradox is  created, a temporal distortion powerful enough to derail history”

This distortion, or sense of displacement however, is nowhere to be found now when Janos presents the blade to him. Raziel feels nothing and says that “this nothingness is somehow worse…” and to get it away from him.

We learn the Reaver was forged by the same ancient vampire race that erected the Pillars (which we’ve seen hinted at when we explored the land and came accross all sorts of old murals).

But now THIS is when the game first impales me through the heart.

Me and Janos are interrupted by the Sarafan warriors who arrive carrying Moebius’ Staff (which disables vampires to the point of being barely able to move at all).

And of course! OF COURSE! Of course the moment my boy Raziel finds a truly positive influence in his life to guide and enlinghten him, and that was willing to put himself in danger in order to save him… he is axed! HEART RIPPED FROM HIS CHEST!

And by whom you ask? Who would do such a deed and kill my last ray of hope?

WHY, ME! 

TWICE!

“Me” because I was the one to open an entrance to Janos’ up until then impenetrable retreat, and literally me: human Raziel of the Sarafan that lived during this time period and was head inquisitor!

A bit different from what was depicted back at the Sarafan Stronghold, we found several centuries later (putting the same image here again so you don’t have to scroll up to compare, am I swell or what?):

The Sarafan escape with Janos’ heart and the Reaver, while wraith Raziel has a final moment with Janos. 

This part destroys me:

Raziel:

“Forgive me; I’m sorry… I failed you.”

Janos: (gently)

“No, Raziel. Perhaps this was my true purpose - simply to save your life this once.”

Raziel: (distraught)

“While I have taken yours…”

That last bit is probably my favourite line-read in the entire series so far (which is the most impossible thing to choose since there are so many great ones). But I think it’s the overwhelming sadness in Raziel’s voice that makes it memorable, you’ve never seen him feel like this for another creature.

Breaks my stone hardened heart every time I listen to it. And here’s why I think it’s an effective emotional scene, even though we only get a few minutes with Janos before he is murdered - it is because of contrast. Up until now everyone you meet is some degree of a bad or manipulative person, and you don’t really have a true friend or someone to confide in, there’s no one that really brings out the best in Raziel and it sucks because there is potential there.  So when you introduce the apparently only decent and noble person in this god forsaken land and you’re so used to by now suspect and mistrust everyone, it is impactful because he was truth and honesty in a sea of deception and moral relativism. He was my light in the midst of the fog and the one who saw good in me. And right when you’re finally relaxing and getting confortable the game pulls the rug from under you.

Now, while on the topic of having your past and future meet, there was a little something about the meeting between Adam and the Universal Church of Truth that I’ve been saving up until now. If you remember, Adam was interrogating the young woman who was killed by the inquisitors about the church and the god they worship. When suddenly:

Good news is, Adam must’ve taken a left turn somewhere and ended up on the set for “Monty Python’s Life of Brian”, where he learned some latin:

This helped him quickly figure out the Magus’ identity:

Learn your dead tongues kids, you never know when it might come in handy when meeting your time travelling, thousands of years old future-self:

So as you can se, we have a similar self-discovery journey going on but reversed in a way. In Raziel’s case you play as his future self, who time travels back in time, meets his past self and sees what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. In Adam’s case you follow his present self, who meets the Magus (his future self), who has travelled back in time 5.000 years, in which time he has built his empire. Meeting and confronting said empire/future self, leads Adam to see what a hypocrite he’s been his entire life. You see, both Adam and Raziel have always been their own worst enemy (their own shortcomings and character flaws). So it would be only natural that we get embodiments of the worst in them: Raziel, the human Sarafan Warrior and the Magus, their past and future selves respectively.

Oof, this was a long one, and I’ve reach the character limit. In the next post I’ll elaborate more on their characters and different selves; and we go through the roller-coaster of emotions that is the endgame for both these stories.

Look foward to me losing my mind even further while I go into time travelling, paradox shenanigans… oh, and look foward to happier times with COSMIC SUICIDE! See you in the near future.

[feelallthethings]

Songs that remind me of Sam and Dean (Part 11)

29. Your Sake by Issues [x]

I can't live with this guilt

I won't put you through hell

No more than I've already caused you

Hurts to say I blame myself

I know you're holding on

God must've built me wrong

I hate who I was in the dark

But now the lights are coming on

sam winchester (18)

He’s broken inside, he knows it. Maybe he always has been. Maybe God messed up, crossed the wires in his head wrong, took his love and devotion and hero-worship for his brother and all the feelings he should have felt for someone outside his family and twisted them together so that now he can’t even imagine wanting anyone else.

Sam’s smart, he knows it’s not normal. Knows that wanting his brother to pin him to the ground, to feel his hands around his throat, to see marks left behind by his teeth in the mirror isn’t something he should crave. Knows it’s illegal, a sin, sick and twisted, all of it. He knows all this, he’s gone over it in his head a thousand times, tried to rationalize it, figure out what went wrong in his life that he can’t look at his brother without wanting to kiss him.

It doesn’t change anything, knowing how wrong it is. If anything, it just makes it easier to see the solution. If he can’t stop the thoughts from happening, he has to make sure he can’t ever act on them. He has to leave, has to protect Dean at all costs. He knows Dean loves him, not the way he wants, but more than he loves himself, for sure, and he’d do anything for Sam. But as broken as he is inside, he won’t drag Dean down to his level. Won’t let his brother give him what he wants because he knows Dean doesn’t, knows Dean deserves better than feeling obligated to give in to his fucked-in-the-head little brother.

He wishes he could change. He used to pray for it, sob into the pillow at night until he passed out, drained from all the tears streaming down his face. Used to beg God to make him clean, to take away the filthy thoughts swirling through his mind. Worried that the desire pounding in his head would echo so loudly that Dean would hear it from across the room, would know exactly what kind of depraved and selfish things his brother wanted to do to him.

When he turned 15, he started trying to avoid Dean as much as possible. Played up the angsty teen angle, acted like he couldn’t stand his dorky older brother, complained every time John left them alone in a crappy motel room. All it did was give him more reasons to hate himself. The hurt on Dean’s face when he turned down an opportunity to hang out together made his chest ache every time. The flash of jealousy he got hearing his brother stumble in at two in the morning reeking of whisky and perfume didn’t go away, it just made him lash out when Dean tried to tell him about it in the morning.

So he’s leaving. And it hurts like hell. Has ever since he decided he had to go, over a year ago now, filling out college applications and scholarship forms like he’s a real boy instead of the screwed up monster he really is. He knows he’s doing it for the right reasons, tells himself so every time he looks at his brother and feels his heart start to race, feels the bottom of his stomach drop out, the thoughts he tries to control flood to the front of his mind. He’s leaving to save Dean. Who’ll probably hate him for the rest of his life. But he can live with the knowledge that Dean never wants to see him again if it means his brother won’t ever be forced to give into whatever has contaminated Sam.

[jade-masquerade]

Simply Stricken

Written for @tlkfanficfest 2020 Round 2 for the prompt “Stiorra/Sigtryggr and their first kiss”

Stiorra sighed, the book in front of her no longer holding her attention. There were only so many dusty old tomes full of endless burh descriptions and donations made to the church and counts of barley yields she could read, and she glanced away from the words that had long since begun to blur together.

 Instead, her eyes wandered to the most interesting part of this dull, drab room: Sigtryggr himself.

 After Eardwulf had barged through those doors and she’d spent days listening to Brida demanding her head and all sorts of her body parts in turn, Stiorra had admitted in a moment of weakness that she felt safer with him here, and he’d spent as much time in here with her and the books and table games as outside training with swords and shields ever since.  

 She knew she should have hated him. She knew that she should have been angry and afraid. She knew he was dangerous, that he had killed. But so have Father and his men, whispered that conspiratorial voice she fought often these days. Maybe it was her mother’s strength or her father’s impetuousness, but Stiorra found she couldn’t muster a semblance of fear or ire anymore, at least not when they were here alone like this.

Once she’d been certain he hadn’t intended to harm her, she had asked if she was free to go. He insisted she was if she wished, her chambers evidently not well guarded if Eardwulf deep in his cups had managed to stagger served as proof enough of that. In that moment, though, she’d realized the entire city was full of men like that waiting beyond these walls, with nothing better to occupy their time than drinking and whoring and fighting in the streets. Besides, it was far better here than out there where she imagined Brida sat contemplating a thousand ways for her to die, and if she waited here, Stiorra knew somewhere deep down that her father would come for her. And until then, the stories Sigtryggr told were far more fascinating than listening to children whining or watching Finan and Sihtric playing dice for the thousandth time.

 Sigtryggr was an odd sort of Dane, Stiorra had to admit. He strangely seemed to have taken as much of an interest in scrolls and her stories as the sprawling palace and the chests of silver they had gathered from Winchester’s stores. Sometimes he would bring an object—a relic from the chapel, a platter with a verse inscribed upon it, a painting of a saint—from somewhere in the castle, or something to occupy himself, polishing his boots or scabbard, weaving together a hempen rope, the kind of work she’d expect a handmaiden to do, not a warlord, and he would sit and listen to what she had to say, whether it was telling him about the beliefs of the Christian faith, talking about her childhood, or teasing him about if Winchester had turned out to be all he dreamed. He entertained all sorts of her questions in turn, about his homeland and Irland and the sea and all he’d seen along the way, and she couldn’t help but be drawn into his tales of the world beyond the walls of Saltwic and Coccham.

 And she wasn’t blind either, regardless of what Brida threatened. It hadn’t escaped her attention that Sigtryggr was rather handsome, with his long hair and his armbands, clad in functional leather rather than a cape embroidered with gold or jewelry that served to do little other than belie exorbitant wealth. He looked so different from the shorn haired Saxons she’d been raised alongside, and perhaps most importantly, also unlike them he clearly washed.

 “Are you overcome with admiration?”

 She shook her head when she realized she must have been staring. “No. I’m bored.”

He smirked. Then there was that, too, those smiles that would have surely bewitched her in an instant had she been a weaker woman. “So I’ve heard.”

 She rolled her eyes. “My father’s stories made all of this seem exciting. And all that’s here is a list of dead men and their vassals and their lands and who cares.”

 “Lady Aelswith has assured me that her husband was a great man,” Sigtryggr said.

 “Oh, have you been spending a great deal of time with Lady Aelswith now?” She took her turn to smirk now, and then offered mercy at the look of bewilderment he wore. “He was, I suppose. He ruled with fairness and strength and love for his people.”

 “But?”

 She could not deny he was coming to know her well. “But it wasn’t as if he did these things all himself. He didn’t fight the battles, he didn’t bring in the harvests, he didn’t build the burhs. There’s scarcely even a mention of Lady Aelswith, either.”

 “Would there be? She tells me Wessex has no such thing as a queen. Aelflaed tells me different, of course.”  

 “Does it matter? Being a queen seems utterly boring, too.”

 The corners of his mouth quirked up. “Don’t all girls wish to grow up and become queen?”

 “No,” she shuddered. “I certainly didn’t. It seems awful, to do nothing but spend your days bowing and curtsying locked up in some palace. And I don’t want children, much less a kingdom.”

 “Oh? Have you discussed this with your intended?”

 She wrinkled her nose. “My intended?”

 “The man to whom you are betrothed. That’s what Saxons like to do, is it not? Find someone who can make them richer, give them power, or grant them lands, and marry their daughters off to them in exchange for their favor.”

 “Yes,” she admitted. It all sounded rather crude when he put it that way, and she supposed it was. Her mother had told her once of the man she’d nearly been forced to marry, her father’s cruel uncle who had stolen Bebbanberg, and how her brother, Guthred, arranged the match to solidify an alliance and receive reinforcements of men with no regard for his sister’s well-being or her wishes, and how her father had returned in time to disrupt the completion of the ceremony. Knowing her father, Stiorra suspected she left out some of the gorier details to make it fit for the ears of a child, but the passion of the act had always stuck with her, the reminder of the fierce devotion and the love they shared, and how so few were ever permitted to follow their hearts as they had. “Sometimes.”

 “So your betrothed…?” Sigtryggr prompted.

 They had spoken at length about family, hers and his alike, but this was the first time their conversation has strayed into this territory. “I don’t have one,” she said. “There’s no husband waiting for me. I’m not sure I even wish to marry, either.”

 “Ah, so you have preferred to take lovers instead, Stiorra Uhtredsdottir,” he said, winking.

 She felt her face flame. “No, I never even so much as… I’ve never taken a lover.”

Stiorra expected him to laugh, for him to look at her as a child just like everyone else, maybe to tease about her evident prudishness as she’d seen her father’s men rib each other often enough. But he only nodded, though he must have read her embarrassment, for he asked, “Are all Saxons so shy about these matters, too?”

 “I’m not a Saxon,” she said for what must have been the thousandth time, but this time she said it with a smile.

 “Then your Danish mother did not tell you of the joys that can be found with another?”

 “My mother died when I was still too young to talk of such things,” she said. “And the nuns and priests in Saltwic only droned on about purity and maintaining virtue… which makes Lady Aethelflaed herself quite the deviant if half of what they say about her and my father is true.”

 She grinned, though such a secret was scarcely one anymore, not for anyone who had seem them together with their own two eyes, and she flushed at the memory of how she had stumbled upon them kissing one time when she had come to bid him a farewell on his visit to Saltwic. Stiorra turned and ran before they noticed her interruption, and while it had been a bit awkward, she owed much to Lady Aethelflaed’s kindness and wished only happiness for her.

 “Lord Uhtred and Lady Aethelflaed? The daughter of King Alfred and Lady Aelswith?” Sigtryggr seemed amused at the prospect.  

 Stiorra nodded. “My father loved her, and she him. But they say before, she loved a Dane once. That he truly fathered her daughter, not Lord Aethelred.”

 She had never been bold enough to ask Lady Aethelflaed of it, but hearing of the tale had always excited her, and retelling it now was no different. She couldn’t help but think it romantic, despite its beginning and end and the loss of what could have been.

 “A smart woman, then,” Sigtryggr said. “Except if she loved your father, then why do they whisper he waits outside these walls when he could be the ruling Lord of Mercia?”

 “Lady Aethelflaed promised to remain chaste to placate the ealdormen and their god too, I suppose.”  

 He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Their god truly wants piety and obedience rather than free will and happiness?”

 “I don’t know what their god wants,” she shook her head. “For me to devote my life to a nunnery? Or am I instead to save myself for some repulsive old man and his bags of gold? Or some cruel lord with the right name and advantageous lands?”

 “You do not believe in their god?”

 She’d long ago lost faith in the god the Christians worshipped, the one King Alfred had tried to impress upon her to punish her father, but she’d also lost count of how many times she’d asked him, pleaded with the gods of her ancestors, begged anyone who was listening to free her from the boredom of first Coccham and then Saltwic, for someone to come along, anyone, and take her somewhere else, anywhere else, back to Winchester or Northumbria, and bring her adventure. Sometimes the gods had a funny way of showing their will.

 “I don’t want to believe in the existence of a god who takes that much interest in my cunt,” she said bluntly.

  He laughed, and soon she found herself laughing along with him.

 “It’s true,” she insisted. “I don’t care what they say about pagans, if we’re barbaric and wicked. At least our gods are not petty and selfish.”  

 “Our gods don’t care so much what we do so long as we entertain them,” he said.

 “Then they also must be rather bored with this siege,” she said, though she felt anything but now with the way she felt the air shift between them.

 Sigtryggr stood up and walked towards her slowly, nearing where she sat upon the table, books discarded at her side that couldn’t hold a candle compared to the way he seemed to study her now. “Then perhaps we should take it upon ourselves to amuse them?”

 She was struck by how he was even more handsome this way, stunning, strikingly. He was utterly compelling this close, tall, imposing with his scar streaking past his eye, and strong, her gaze following the muscles from his shoulders down to his forearms. At this distance, he was only himself, not a warlord, not more god than man as some of the others seemed to tell it.

 He hadn’t touched her since he’d taken the broken glass from her hand and talked her down from using it to mar her face, but she still remembered the way his skin felt against hers, warm and rough. He was even more hesitant this time as he reached first for her hand, and when she let her fingers thread through his, he brought the other up to stroke her cheek.

 It was nothing, really, no more than what perhaps a hundred other men had done to her, claiming they wished to admire her beauty or looking for a shadow of her father in her face or attempting to evoke a memory of her mother, yet the simple touch sent heat flooding through her.

 Stiorra wondered what he would do if she was bold enough to do the same to him, and gathering her courage, she decided to find out. She began with tracing over his scar, her fingertip lightly following the curved line, skirting around the edge of his mouth, skimming along his jaw, and then continuing over the hair that brushed his shoulders until her fingers slid against the leather covering his chest and curled around the hammer of Thor he wore.

 She found herself drawn to funny things this close: his eyelashes, the bob of his throat, the wisps of a beard gracing his chin, and when she had looked her fill, she brought her eyes up to meet his. She felt as though he saw her—not Lord Uhtred’s daughter, whether that was for good or for bad, not a captive or an enemy, and certainly not a child.

 “May I…”

“Yes.” She didn’t entirely know what she was agreeing to, nor did she care; she only knew that she wanted, anticipation thrumming beneath her skin.  

 The touch of his lips to hers was softer even than the feel of his hand on her cheek. It was strange at first, all of this, the way it felt, how he moved firm but gentle, slow and deliberate, even the fact that they stood in a room where King Alfred’s scribes had written of her father’s victories and the conquests of the Saxons.  

 It was nice, though, even as she wondered how she’d know, given she had nothing with which to compare it. She felt as though she was fumbling through the motions at first, merely attempting to mirror what he did, but then it smoothed into something even more pleasant, something synchronous as they found a sort of rhythm, and she paused only when she was certain she needed to breathe.

 This time she initiated as they resumed, one of her hands winding around his wrist, the other still entwined with his coming up to rest on his chest between them. Their kisses grew quicker, deeper, more desperate until he slowed the pace again.

 He lingered there against her, and seconds or minutes or hours could have passed, but Stiorra still was not expecting it when he pulled away, and it was so sudden she didn’t even have a chance to mask her disappointment.  

 Perhaps he’d stopped for an entirely different reason, though, and before she could stifle them, the words escaped. “Was I awful?”

 He grinned at her, his eyes darkened, and when he spoke again, his voice was deep, a low rumble in his chest, and it made her want more. “No. I simply find myself stricken.”

Stiorra nodded in understanding, her breath catching as his free hand slipped from her cheek to her hip. It had been just a kiss, but it didn’t feel like just anything as Stiorra reached up and swiped her finger over where his lips had touched hers. It felt like it could be something, could be everything.

 All her life Stiorra had been told of how she resembled her mother—in her looks, her strength, her wit—and she’d been told, too, of the gift of prophecy she’d possessed, of how Gisela could cast her rune sticks and see fate in the way they fell. That had always seemed like a strange business to Stiorra, but in that moment she wondered if she had inherited something else from her mother after all because as she looked back up at Sigtryggr again and returned his soft smile, she suspected she could see a glimpse of hers.