#the real threat of damnation

[qingxin-dream]

“Righteousness”

summary | in another timeline, kunikuzushi never redeemed himself. he took interest in a different kind of heart—not the Gnosis, not a Vision—but yours. (art credits: @/Shiqaruki on twitter).

warnings | lore, kidnapping, kuni calls you ‘little songbird,’ profanity, brief mention of physical abuse, manipulation, praise & degradation, pining, obsessive/possessive, smut [18+, MDNI], dubcon, female-bodied reader (wears a dress & lingerie), dominant kuni, choking, yandere jealousy, murder/arson threats, worship, slapping, finger-fucking, mirror sex, kuni receives oral, deepthroating, edging/teasing, orgasm denial, mention of breeding

genre | yandere, smut with plot, canon-divergent

word count | 4.5k

pairing | kunikuzushi/scaramouche x reader

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

In a time all but forgotten, a young boy sat on his knees, caressing a hand-sewn doll in his palms and looking up with childlike compassion to his companion.

“There once was a puppet solider whose greatest wish was to be with a ballerina doll forever and ever,” he began, his eyes reflecting the scene of his storytelling imagination.

He gently squeezed the doll in his hands, as if to comfort his companion before the truth spills from his lips. “But the solider didn’t have a heart and didn’t know where his feelings came from.”

“One day, his owner didn’t want him anymore and threw him away into a fire. But even in the flames, his eyes never left the ballerina,” he continued with a more somber tone, drawing attention to the gut-wrenching ending of a tragic romance.

However, his voice shifted, offering soft words of wisdom and hope to his distraught friend. “The next day, the people found a tiny heart in the ashes left by the fire.”

Instinctively, the beautiful puppet sitting before the young boy curled his lip in disdain. “Probably ashes in the shape of a heart… but that’s not a real heart.”

He could hear the affectionate smile pulling at the corners of the young boy’s mouth. “Maybe, but what if… hearts can be born from ashes?”

“What a joke. It’s just ashes,” the lonesome puppet can barely conjure up a breath in his agony. “Nothing left but ashes.”

As his chest twisted and clenched with the wretched filth of so-called human emotion, the divine puppet came to a profound realization. His body merely served as a hollow shell, cursed by the ghost of mortal weakness—a living testament to the depths of an Archon’s visceral mourning.

In his naïveté, he had trusted the boy he thought to be his friend. He had believed that silly little fairytale, that maybe he wasn’t as empty and worthless as he felt. There was no heart to be found in the cold vessel of a failed god.

Kunikuzushi would have to claim one for himself.

Sin.

The ultimate temptress of mortals. The manifestation of human greed and desire. That which demands repentance and atonement for fear of eternal damnation. It is hinged on the human condition that death is inevitable.

Mortals are easily persuaded by morals and ideology if it means life after death in a paradise that is not guaranteed. Humans create false narratives to exercise the sick satisfaction of controlling one other. When all is said and done, the real struggle is for power—namely the power to control fate itself.

For those who are destined to roam the world with no such motives, imprisoned in an earthly purgatory, sin and salvation are laughable notions.

There is no reason to live, for you cannot die; Sin knows no bounds and comes with no price.

“The sooner you accept this, the better,” Kunikuzushi laments, his face just inches from yours. The bewitching twinkle in his lavender irises has remained all these centuries, a cruel illusion masking the abyss beneath. “Nothing you say will change my decision.”

You were really quite the picture, if he was being honest, all tied up for him. Kunikuzushi loathed that just the sight of you was enough to make the void in his chest cavity ache with longing. A reminder of his imperfection.

Anyone else would have died a violent death for such a transgression. But you presented a unique opportunity.

“Kuni, please,” you whimpered, your pleas falling on deaf ears. On the contrary, he loves hearing your voice, especially when you beg so earnestly. “I-I don’t know what I did wrong… I’m scared. Please, let me go…”

The puppet hushes you lovingly, his lips brushing against your delicate skin toward your ear. “Hey, now. There’s no need for that. You’re safe with me, little songbird.”

You flinch, gasping and recoiling in fear, turning your head away defiantly. It’s not like you could push him away, your little limbs bound to a tall column in the kitchen nice and tight. Hot tears pricked at your eyes. It burns like hell.

“Untie me, Kuni!” you shrieked, squirming and struggling against the binds to no avail.

He snatches your face firmly between his thumb and two fingers, squishing your cheeks to the point you felt pressure on your skull. “Ungrateful slut. Didn’t I explain this to you already? Your heart beats for me from this day forward.”

Frozen in shock, your body stiffens involuntarily as fear floods your veins, rendering you utterly helpless. Even as he gazed upon you with an icy, detached stare, you couldn’t find it within yourself to fault Kuni for this act of desperation. He could never make sense of himself and the pain that came with betrayal after betrayal.

Why even try to embrace humanity if it would mercilessly punish you for not having a heart?

You still remember the day you found him, it was but a coincidence you both crossed paths. Kuni was a wandering traveler, or at least that’s how he introduced himself. He seemed kind enough. You were particularly taken by his appearance, so lovely it was almost inhuman.

It just so happened that you were willing to offer him a place to stay. It took a bit of convincing on your part, actually, but you were worried about the string of murders near your village recently. Someone must have had an insatiable vendetta against the blade-smithing arts, striking them down one by one.

A small knowing smile pulled at his lips, his eyes creasing slightly with amusement as he marveled at how you opened yourself up so easily. This was the first time he had talked to a human in who knows how long. Perhaps since the young boy’s passing many dreadful seasons ago.

Kuni found the void in his chest persuading him to entertain his curiosity about you.

He had to admit, once you both got to know each other, it was quite the impeccable arrangement. During the day, you provided the kind of mundane tranquility and domesticity he had always dreamed of. Thankfully, your residence was in a rural part of the countryside, which offered much appreciated security and seclusion from the world.

Once you were safely tucked into bed and sound asleep, he would lie restlessly in the guest room. Puppets have no need for sleep. On some lonely moonlit nights, he would entertain his own fantasies of you. In the absence of such desires, he was compelled to satisfy his blood thirst.

Though Kuni had long forsaken the human emotions that afflicted his existence with disappointment and abandonment, his burgeoning relationship with you had quickly proven to be the last remaining vestige of his innocent supplication for a purpose.

In fact, he demanded it, after witnessing you day in and day out slipping from his grasp. He was growing impatient, waiting for something more. You had always stopped short of taking a little leap of faith to hold his hand or kiss his forehead, leaving him yearning for your touch and attention. Why?

Even in your presence, he was not alleviated of his turmoil. A number of possibilities plagued him. Were you dissuaded by his artificial constitution? Did he make a fatal miscalculation? God forbid, was there someone else?

No matter how many times he twisted, folded, and bent reality in his mind, trying to make sense of you, he never came to an agreeable conclusion. By the time Kuni realized just how deep you had nestled yourself into the empty husk of his heart, it was too late for the both of you.

All of this mental anguish and pining was unbearable. Unacceptable. He loved you, yes, but needed you more.

The puppet’s chest fluttered as you willingly complied, tears staining your cheeks, but that’s okay. His soft pink lips brushed against your cheek once more, kissing away your precious tears. It was his first taste of you.

Kuni cradled you in his palms like a delicate doll, his thumbs ghosting your cheeks. He leaned in closer, indigo bangs tickling your face and his mouth parted with a breathless question. “Is your heart… truly mine?”

He had broken you, and you had no choice but to nod slowly.

“Say it for me, little songbird,” he encourages you with a warm intonation. His eyes were trained on your lips.

“I-I’m yours,” you replied weakly.

No sooner than you could speak were his plush lips pressed to yours, a breathy hum of relief exhaling through his nose. In turn, you muffled a whimper, overwhelmed by the sensation. He had untied you, knowing you couldn’t hurt him but he could certainly hurt you.

Kuni was gentle at first, relishing in his first kiss with you. He carefully took your wrists to guide your hands to his body, and he wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you against him. Still, you trembled in his grasp.

“There’s no need to fear,” he whispers between kisses, holding your face to his. “I will take care of you.”

He can’t bear to leave your lips. Guiding you towards him, he leans against the kitchen counter and tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. A small prayer barely escapes his lips. “(Y/N), hold me… touch me… please.”

“Kuni,” you choke out, tears forming in the corner of your eyes again. You are silenced with increasingly fervent kisses, one of his hands trailing down to your neck just by his fingertips, giving you goosebumps in the wake of his featherlight touch.

“You are going to give yourself to me. Your heart is my heart, and I will not have you hiding any part of yourself from me,” his voice grows a bit more insistent, closing his fingers around your throat as a threat, but not yet squeezing. “Do you understand?”

You give a feeble nod, unable to look at him directly. Every time your gaze locked with his, it sent a pang of terror jolting through your fragile body. He brings you closer by your neck, kissing you with more confidence than before. There is a little part of you that is worried you are unable to discern fear from excitement.

The puppet lets his hand slip further, fingertips finding the contour of your chest. He hesitates briefly, then allows his palm to feel your plump breast. The act was enough to elicit a little whine from you, and he knew right then and there that he had to hear it again.

“Do you… have any inclination of how long I waited for you?” he whispers hotly onto your lips, feeling down your waist at an excruciatingly slow pace. He smoothed each wrinkle of your dress with his thumb, tracing the silhouette of your figure down until he felt the hem of your underwear through the thin fabric. His breath caught.

You were still not as receptive to his advances as he would like, and suddenly he scoops you up to hook your legs around his hips, pressing your back against the nearest wall in the hallway. Kuni was beginning to reveal his desperation for you in more ways than one, breathing a little heavier. He was determined to have you submit to him and if you weren’t responsive to his soft side, then so be it.

“Answer me,” Kuni lowers his voice with a commanding edge, his lips just inches from your neck while his messy indigo bangs tickled your jaw. You whimpered, involuntarily moving your hips against him at the mere thought of his mouth on you.

At long last, you found your voice—delicate and decadent with a tinge of spine-prickling anticipation. Perhaps you had lost part of yourself, your humanity, in him too. “H-how long, Kuni?”

You shivered slightly, feeling his mouth spread into a satisfied smile against the sensitive skin of your neck. His voice deepens further, sultry and needy, “Lifetimes… I’ve been so goddamn purposeless for too many fucking lifetimes, just waiting for you.”

Without warning, the touch-starved puppet sunk his teeth into the crevice of your shoulder at the base of your throat, sucking at the weak spot to bruise the skin with his mark. A surprised yelp fell from your mouth, and you so nicely turned your head to offer him more. He clutched your curves tightly, as if he was secretly wishing your bodies would just melt into each other.

Ba-dum… ba-dum… ba-dum…

Your precious heartbeat echoed through his chambers of his chest. Kuni craved that little pulse of yours, chasing it up your neck in heated, sloppy kisses. All the while, you encouraged him with sweet little sounds of pleasure, softly asking for more under your breath.

“It’s mine,” he reiterated, perhaps to help immortalize the sensation against his lips. With a faint growl and yet another love bite, he added, “You’re fucking mine, you hear me?”

If only he could be bothered to pull back and catch a glimpse of how the puppet had unraveled you beyond recognition, equally as intoxicated by the heat of the moment. No matter. He will have his fill of you in due time.

“Y-yours, mhmm,” you capture his wet lips halfway, experimentally swirling your tongue with his passionately. You were clinging onto his shoulders, entangling your fingers in the soft ends of his pretty hair resting on the back of his neck.

With a faint moan against your mouth, Kuni lifted you once more by slipping his hands under your dress to feel his digits press into the soft flesh of your ass. It was light work to carry you, giving him the opportunity to squeeze and smack your ass with a smirk.

Slipping into your bedroom, he set you down and turned you around by your hips so that you were facing the tall mirror just a few feet away from the mattress. He leans over your shoulder from behind and you blush heavily at the image reflected by the mirror. Both of his beautiful hands traveled up your body simultaneously, one feeling your stomach, ribs, breast, and resting around the bottom of your throat.

The other, however, caught the frilly ends of your dress, sliding it up your skin at a painstakingly slow rate. Kuni’s violet irises shimmered with obsessive desire, admiring every inch of your body that was exposed to him. He bunches the dress in his fist as he raises it above your hips, revealing the most angelic lacy undergarments accented with cute little ballerina pink ribbons. Kuni chuckled, his breath tickling your neck.

“Do me a favor, darling,” he whispers into the shell of your ear, kissing it lightly. He takes his time to unveil your breasts, each one perfectly shaped with lovely nipples begging to be pinched. “Open your mouth.”

You comply, watching yourself in the mirror with curious fascination, before Kuni stuffs the thin, light fabric of your dress into your mouth. He nibbles your ear playfully. “Hold that for me.”

His eyes marvel at your body. If you told him you were a goddess, he would believe you without hesitation. Divine or not, the puppet was hell-bent on worshipping you like he had been dreaming of. Kuni played with the intricate lace of your snow white lingerie, his thumb brushing your pelvis teasingly.

Instead, he takes two fingers and caresses your folds outside of the undergarment, pleased to feel your panties dampened with excitement. You quiver at the touch, moaning faintly. Kuni is enthralled by the sweet noise, taking the tiny lingerie by his thumbs and sweeping it down your pretty legs.

He immediately sits down on the edge of the bed, quickly pulling you into his lap and spreading your legs apart with his knees. There it was in the mirror. Your glistening flower framed with the loveliest soft petals.

Kuni couldn’t possibly restrain himself when you were presented so exquisitely, wasting no time to slide his fingers over your pussy. You groaned in pleasure, muffled by the dress in your mouth, relaxing against his chest as the puppet focused on rubbing circles around your clit. He kissed your neck and shoulders endlessly, admiring your reactions in the mirror and whispering lowly, “So good for me. So, so good for me, aren’t you, (Y/N)?”

Your thighs trembled. You desperately wanted to close your legs as his movements became faster on your clit, the stimulation swiftly overcoming you. Breathy moans soon evolved into incoherent pleas. Kuni held you steadfast with his legs, keeping you spread all nice, admiring how you twitched beneath him.

“What did I tell you?” his tone is one of warning, groping your right breast and littering your skin with a few more marks. “There are consequences to hiding yourself from me.”

The puppet suddenly swipes his middle finger over your leaking hole—causing you to moan lewdly—before slapping your pussy. It was a light but firm slap, sending an addicting concoction of both pain and pleasure through you.

After a brief moment, he returns to your folds to trace and admire it, then continuing his ministrations on your clit. Occasionally Kuni would let a finger slip to tease your entrance, finding that it drove you crazy.

“P-please, please, Kuni,” your words quivered like your body, bending easily to the pleasure he was so kindly bestowing you. It had to have been the hundredth small cry for relief tumbling from your throat, you were on the precipice of your climax. “I-I need it. Something, anything… fuck me.”

“You better not cum on my fingers,” the puppet orders, gathering your slick and gently inserting two fingers into your warm walls. You whined in frustrated pleasure as he stretched you slightly, pumping his digits in and out of you barely an inch but keeping you stuffed.

“I c-can’t, I’m…” you babble. Kuni knew you were on the brink already, but he wanted to at least try to prepare you for his cock. He suddenly pulls his fingers out, and with it escapes your climax. Tears were almost pricking your eyes. You could definitely feel them beneath the surface.

He slaps your pussy again as punishment for not listening to his commands. “Greedy sluts are not rewarded.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you mumble and he grunts, pushing you off of him and to your knees in front of the bed. Kuni makes quick work of his clothes, tossing his shirt aside and pulling his pants down enough to spring his throbbing cock free. You had certainly felt his hard length while you were in his lap, but seeing it rendered you speechless.

No different from the rest of the puppet’s beautiful body, Kuni’s cock was perfect. A few veins wrapped around his hard member, bulging under the flesh. Towards the tip, it was gradually flushed pink with hot need, a pearl of precum on his slit. You took him in your hand, butterflies swarming your stomach with the realization that he had more girth than you expected.

Kuni grabbed a fistful of your hair and shoved your face toward his cock with a simple demand. “Suck.”

You experimentally drag your tongue underneath his cock, licking your lips, and working your mouth on his tip to lubricate him first. Kuni’s eyes roll in the back of his head, resting one hand behind him on the bed as he moans deeply. “Fuck, (Y/N)…”

The sensation of you smiling with his cock in your mouth sent warmth through him. You eagerly fit more of him in your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue just the way he likes it when you received praise. Yet, Kuni needed more.

“You can do better than that,” he scoffed.

His grip on your hair tightened, pushing your throat completely down on his cock just to feel it once. The puppet twitched in your throat, letting out a seductive growl of pleasure. You gagged slightly, before pulling back with a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. You coughed a little, but he cupped your chin and wiped it from your mouth sweetly.

“That’s my girl,” Kuni coos, guiding you up on the bed next to him and pushing you down onto your back. As much as he’d love to see you taking him in your mouth all evening, he had a prize more tantalizing waiting for him. Clothes on the floor, moonlight pouring over you both, the puppet vowed to never forget how you mewled as he dragged the pulsing tip of his cock along your wet folds.

Gasping, you achingly bucked your hips in tandem, utterly drunk on the delicious sensation of his thick length parting your pussy lips. You loved to be teased, that much was for sure and Kuni ate it up—the desperate crinkle of your brow in pleasure and how your breath became short.

He presses his tip at your warm hole, but never pushes it in.

You groan dramatically, sweat already forming on your forehead and you haven’t even began. Every bit of pressure he applies has you smitten, imagining the moment he finally fills you. “K-Kuni…”

The smug puppet smirks down at you knowingly, grinding his cock against you repeatedly, rubbing your clit just right. “Yes, my little songbird? Have something to say?”

Before you can speak, he kisses you to muffle your answer. You grow even more impatient, using your legs to keep his hips locked close to yours. Kuni peppers your jawline and neck with kisses and little playful licks of his tongue. “I’m listening.”

“Please,” you beg.

Kuni’s tone is unreadable. “Please what? Use your words.”

You give him a flustered look of desperation and he pins your hands on either side of your head, interlacing your fingers with his. You reply, biting your lower lip, “Fuck m-me, Kuni.”

A smile graces his face and his eyes soften, thumbs caressing your hand comfortingly to brace you for his length. “Is this… your first time, (Y/N)?”

Though you were a shy and kindhearted person, he should’ve known from the way you deepthroated his cock earlier that it wasn’t your first. He wasn’t your first. That means someone else was. Someone else defiled you.

Kuni’s electric purple eyes darkened like an impending storm as you shook your head.

“Indulge me,” the puppet asks. “What other men have been in my position?”

You are not in the right state of mind, still insatiably yearning for your climax and grinding your wet folds on his length. However, Kuni doesn’t accept your nonsensical mumblings and half-answers. His hands tighten around yours, pushing his cock into you with a guttural moan inch by inch until he bottoms out completely.

“Oh my fucking god,” you sputter out, sighing in sweet relief and a bit of pain. Your pussy is filled to the brim with his cock, stretching you out good. You try to turn your head away and close your eyes, but Kuni refuses to let you.

“That’s right,” Kuni’s voice is nothing short of alluring in the most raw way possible. “Treat me like your god and fucking look at me while you take my cock.”

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t also utterly euphoric as he sinks his large member into your tight walls. Gritting his teeth, he’s taken aback by how you squeeze him unknowingly, even your subconscious is unable to deny the pleasure he’s giving you. It took you a few seconds to adjust to his girth, your eyes drifting down his muscular chest and toned abdomen in admiration.

With the first drag of his cock out of you to his tip, hushed hum of pleasures are murmured by each of you, until he buries himself all the way back into you. Kuni continues in this rhythm with a few thrusts, unable to his stifle his own moans. He was no better, his climax already building within.

Pulling back, the puppet releases your hands to push your legs against your chest by your thighs to get just the right angle and perfect view of your folds. He hovers above you, fucking just his hot bulbous tip into your needy hole. In mere seconds, you cursed to yourself at how good it felt when he brushed against your sensitive entrance.

Your clit pulsated for attention. How could he not press his palm onto your pelvis and drag his thumb across the slightly swollen bud? His half-thrusts became shakier as you unexpectedly tightened around his cock—moans freely and loudly erupting from your throat. The feeling was beyond exhilarating and convinced him to push you to your limits.

“You think I’m going to let any other man put his hands on you like this?” Kuni sneers with jealous envy reflecting in his irises. “I’ll fucking snap his neck. I’d kill him.”

Impulsively, the obsessed puppet roughly plunges his entire cock into your soft pussy. He relishes in your loud moan of shock at the pleasure and slight discomfort in splitting you wide open. His cock pushes against that wonderful spot deep inside you, incredibly sensitive after all his torturous teasing. You were seeing more than stars.

“I bet they couldn’t fuck you like I can,” he scoffs, possessively pulling your closer by your legs and holding your ankles on his shoulders as he fucks you mercilessly. “Make you scream like I can. And—nghh—breed you.”

You were finer than a work of art, truly, in all your fucked-out glory as you chase your high on his thick cock. His thumb flitting over your clit messily, primal groans of bliss echoing throughout the bedroom at every divine flutter of your pussy milking his cock so well. Your words were simply unintelligible, mumbling breathy prayers wishing for his seed.

“No one can take you away from me,” Kuni himself is beginning to tremble with pleasure, but nevertheless he keeps up his brutal pace. Every crevice of your walls and your womb will know his essence. “You’re mine, and I’ll burn the whole damn world for you if that’s what it takes.”

In a rush of jealous envy at the mere thought of losing you, the puppet abruptly pushes your legs back onto your beautiful breasts by his chest. The erotic melody of your fluids coating the base of his cock and v-line with every sloppy thrust pushes you both over the edge of an impossible free fall of euphoria.

“Cum on me, (Y/N). C’mon, cum all over my fucking cock,” Kuni demands with salacious desperation, pounding into you again and again until you’ve ridden out every second of your climax. The sensation is indescribable as he swears he could feel your rapid heartbeat through your walls—your heartbeat in his hands like he’s the supreme god of your body.

And as such, he blesses you with ropes of hot cum to drown your pussy in his everlasting love. Kuni collapses and cradles you, wiping the tears of pleasure from your sweet, angelic cheeks.

Righteousness means nothing to gods, for whom salvation is too late and sin knows no price.

thanks for reading! reblogs are appreciated! my masterlist

[dee-morris]

Aziraphale Does Not Have Religious Trauma

We talk a lot about Aziraphale's trauma when we discuss his motivations and choices, particularly the ones we don't like. But what we don't talk enough about is the KIND of trauma he has, and it's not what we think of when we think of religious trauma. We have to remember that everything that Aziraphale has been threatened with and terrified by in his existence. It's REAL.

When a human has religious trauma it's generally because they've been abused and conditioned by threats of hell and damnation and judgement and so forth, and part of the healing process is realizing that it's a bunch of bullshit from an abuser with a power trip. That's not the case with Aziraphale. The angels are mostly bastards, but I'm willing to bet most of them believe in the Great Plan and genuinely believe in what they're doing. Because God is real, hell is real, and you really can be tortured for eternity if you step out of line. Aziraphale saw it happen. I can't even imagine what that must have been like.

When he tries to stop Elspeth from digging up bodies, it's not from some vague moral qualm; it's very practical concern for her future. He knows hell is real and doesn't want this young woman to suffer. And the excitement in his face when he realizes that it's more complicated than that and there are moral justifications for it. "Good news, I've found a work around!" Aziraphale the rules lawyer my beloved. He's managed to survive all this time by finding justifications for evading the rules, but when the most powerful angel in heaven drops in for coffee and a chin wag, that's not an option anymore.

I just really feel like we need to have this in the front of our minds when we're answering every Why? with "Trauma." I mean, yes he has trauma, but it won't be cured by developing stronger self esteem and giving heaven the finger. (Satisfying as that would be.) It will be cured by tackling the source and ending the very real physical threat that heaven poses to himself and Crowley.

[sfehvn]

intruder part 2

Part 1 | Part 3

Description: A year has since came and went following Astarion's ascension ritual. He is no longer himself, but then... Where is he? A/N: Forewarning, there is a brief portion detailing non-con voyeurism. Hope you all enjoy :) Rating: M (18+ minors DNI) Word count: 1656 Characters: ascended!Astarion x Tav

 ─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

 “What do you think you will do once this is over?” Astarion’s head rested in your lap, your fingers running through silky white hair.

  “I suppose I’ll just-” You stopped for a moment hesitantly, “Well, I’ll just follow you. I’ll follow you wherever you go. Whatever that entails.”

  The large tub of warm water offered your mishandled skin the slightest inkling of comfort. Your bones ached to jump out of your skin, discomfort settling deep and unforgivingly. Unsure if this was the work of cruel touches or the utter disgust you felt for whatever was puppeteering Astarion around. You stare at the ceiling as if the answer to the problem in your mind is etched into it. Astarion was in there, trapped. You try to imagine what he must be thinking. Feeling. 

  You can’t help but notice the similarities of where you two have ended up. While Astarion was stuck in darkness in the literal sense, you are trapped in a different type of darkness. Shrouded by the darkness of the other Astarion’s thumb. You were a plaything, a pet, a toy. 

-

  “Eyes on me.” Astarion grunts out, buried deeply in a twenty-something human’s cunt. The sight turns your stomach viscerally. It’s not him, you try to remind yourself. You watch from the oak chair in the corner of your bed chamber, allowing yourself to dissociate entirely. The woman was beautiful. 

  Hair of sunshine and eyes of the vast waters, you knew of the woman’s fate. To end up another spawn for Astarion to toy with. Humans in the area who had come to learn of Astarion’s true nature came with the proposition of trades in exchange for immortality. You felt pity for her. If she knew what she was getting into, she would never have come here, indeed. Nobody could want this.

  “He would have liked her too.” Astarion taunted as he led the woman to your bed, plans to desecrate the one place in the manor that you were able to find an ounce of comfort in. “Maybe I’ll let the dear old Astarion come out for a bit of fun.” Your heart sinks to your knees. The thought of another using Astarion’s body and soul for their own heinous intentions. You couldn’t bear it.

“Please don’t.” You pleaded with him. 

  Astarion tuts as he presses you down onto the chair. For whatever reason, he doesn’t follow through with his threat. Was it mercy? No, that can’t be it. Perhaps he simply wanted the enjoyment of watching the pain on your face while he used the body of the man you love to hurt you. Maybe he wanted the fun. You would never be sure.

-

  You’re brought back to the present, the events of last night spinning in your mind. Your punishment for entertaining the incident. That’s what he called it, anyway. You longed to free him, to free yourself along with him. To leave this cursed manor and never return with the real Astarion in tow. 

How? 

  The question that had been on your mind since your meeting with Astarion as you prepared for bed. How does one free a soul from a damnation such as this? Out of all the beasts, villains, and monsters you’ve fought, none had prepared you for a feat of this nature. On the precipice of jumping into the unforgiving sun and turning yourself into ash, that was no longer an option. Your beloved needed help. You weren’t going to abandon him. 

  The opening of the door jolted you from your thoughts, and you let out a sigh of relief upon seeing your chambermaid. “Lady Ancunin, may I be of assistance?” You nod, allowing the woman to approach the tub. You sit up to give her access to your wet hair. There was silence as she worked the knots from your strands, only sounds of meager discomfort when she tugged too hard, always followed by a heartfelt sorry from her. “What was he like?” There was a pause with her words, almost as if she expected to be scolded. Though, you both knew you wouldn’t dare. “I mean before-” She trails cautiously.

  “Wonderful. He is wonderful, Alodia.” Your eyes were glued to the bath water that engulfed your body. Lowering your voice as if someone other than her would hear, “Maybe you will have the pleasure of meeting him someday.”

  Alodia nods, “I bet he was a real gentleman to have someone such as yourself.” She couldn’t comprehend why you were with him, you could tell. Someone with such a kind soul forever paired with another who may as well be a devil ruling the Nine Hells.

  “Careful.” You whisper, eyeing the door. No conversation went too long without Astarion’s knowledge, not even amidst nothing but the bars of soap that clean you. Alodia understood and continued to work through your hair without another word. It was clear you were just as much a prisoner as her.

  Once your hair was tied into two careful braids and an obnoxious velvet gown clung to your body, you sat in the manor’s library. With Astarion out for the night, you made yourself comfortable with every piece of literature between the walls of your confinement. The stack of books grew as the night grew darker and darker. How much time had passed, you were unsure. You slammed down the last book and glanced around. A frantic sob erupted from your chest, heaving. You laid your head on the table before you and wallowed into the oak of the desk.

  You were defeated. Hopeless. This godsdamn library had every composition, novel, and prose that you could think of, and not one aided you. Trance-like, you stood from the desk and made your way to the entry of the manor. A voice briefly stops you, “Lady Ancunin, I don’t believe Master Ancunin has granted you-” 

  “Tell Master Ancunin to burn in the Nine Hells.” You spit back, making your exit.

  It had been too long. Once you’re out of the manor’s view, you breathe in the fresh air about you. As you get further into the heart of the city, chatter cultivates. Even in the middle of the night, it was lively, bringing you a hope you had not felt for a long time. Even reflecting on what punishment may await you once Astarion learns of your absence, you deemed this worth it. Of course. You would have preferred the warmth of the sun. Given your ailment, the beauty of the moon did just fine.

  Strolling to Elfsong Tavern, you hummed an incandescent tune to yourself. My, this must have been the most airy you’ve felt in just shy of a year. The little bit of gold you managed to snag from Astarion’s stash may have just been enough to get you a drink and, if lucky, a room. You knew it was only a matter of time before he came looking for you. Maybe you’ll be banished to the dungeon. You didn’t allow yourself the time to think too hard. You approach the barkeep, looking at the selection behind him. “Wine? Have you got red wine?” You were a tad rusty in the socialization department. 

  The man behind the counter chuckles, “We do indeed.” He retrieves a bottle from behind the counter, preparing a glass. “What troubles you?” He inquires as you watch the red liquid spout into spotless glass.

  “Whatever could you mean?” Your lips are pursed, accepting the drink as he offers it. You dig into your coin purse, “How much do I owe?”

  “On the house.” He smiles. Alas, it would be warmer without the pity that lies so evident beneath the surface. You’d forgotten how ill you must have looked. Astarion’s words played over in your head.

“Gods, what has he done to you?”

  “Alan Alyth.” The man offers. An introduction? It had been well over a year since you had the pleasure of introducing yourself.

  “Tav Carmine.” You return before making your way to an empty table in the corner of the lightly occupied room. You bring the glass to your lips, and the dry liquid soothes your nerves for the time being. I will enjoy this, you thought to yourself. 

-

  “Gods, you’re beautiful.” Astarion declares, his fingertips gliding across the delicate skin of your hipbone, up to your chest, cupping your exposed breast in his hand. His thumb moves in careful circles around your nipple. He sits upon his knees, watching the way your body reacts to even the smallest of his touch. His other hand moves comfortably onto your cheek, almost as if he’s relishing in the warmth that radiates from your body.

  “You’ve only told me fifty times today. Are you feeling alright?” You teased, welcoming his cool touch across your eager body. His head dips, meeting your lips lovingly. One of your hands knots gently into his hair, and you shift so a leg rests on either side of his toned body.

  “I suppose I’ll have to work on it tomorrow. Tonight, I’ll be making love to said beautiful woman.” His words are a prayer against your lips, and your heart flutters against your ribcage.

-

“I’ve been expecting you.” 

  The unknown voice causes your head to snap up in attention. “I’m sorry, have we met?” You try to recall the face, maybe someone you became acquainted with during one of many adventures, but you just cannot place them. You tip the glass to your lips, eyes never leaving the stranger in front of you.

  “I don’t believe we have.” They helped themselves to the chair across from you. “I believe I can help you. I know what ails you.” The man is older, with brown hair peppered in grey roots. His eyes radiate a sort of enthusiasm. 

  “You couldn’t possibly know what ails me.” You chortle, though the sarcasm is evident in your laugh.

“Everything has led you straight to me. Try me.”

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

[lincolndjarin]

Best Kept Secret

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa (RE-UPLOAD)

ao3 link ✿ series masterlist ✩ main masterlist ✧

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 3.5k

summary : the mandalorian does some thinking

warnings, etc. : language, angst, references to sex

A/N : i had to change accounts so this is a re-upload of my ongoing fic bks!!

He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever?

The look on your face when he had lied so blatantly to you made him want to collapse in on himself. If someone else had made you that upset he would have caved their skull in, why does he deserve any less?

He did it. That’s what matters, even if he had to lie to get you to believe it, he ended things. He doesn’t bother taking off his armor as he collapses onto his mattress. 

His eyes find the plastic flower on his nightstand. It’s a good reminder that he’s a bad person for what he’s put you through. He never should have slept with you. 

He never should have loved you. 

He deserves every form of torture that would be performed on him if they found out what the two of you had been doing. 

He deserves damnation for what he has done. 

And he gets just that when he sleeps. 

Most of his dreams follow the same theme. You, in his cabin, sometimes he finds himself entangled against your naked form, sometimes it’s just laying on his twin bed, enjoying the warmth of each other. 

Something is immediately off about the dream he’s in now.

His first thought is that this cabin is different. 

It’s bigger. There’s more dressers, the bed is twice the size of his. His confusion is palpable as he tries to find you. 

He knows he will if he looks. 

You’re always there when he closes his eyes. 

So he stands, and he walks around the house. It’s completely new to him yet so familiar and as he turns the corner and you’re there.

His breath hitches. 

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, with a genuine smile, and your hair hanging down across your face. But what catches his eye the most is the little green baby in your arms. You pinch at his cheeks as he makes those all too familiar babbles that used to fill the Crest. 

His heart is in his throat. 

He can’t move. It’s like he’s staring down the greatest threat of his life and if he moves an inch it will attack. 

Maybe he died in his sleep and this is heaven.

That doesn’t make sense, he’s done nothing to earn his place. Or it’s hell, and his torment is knowing he can’t stay here with you and Grogu, that he’ll have to wake up and live with what he’s put you through, and the kid will still be gone. 

He’s content to stand in the doorway and watch this alternate reality for as long as he sleeps. His chest heaving as he takes in the sight of everything he’s ever wanted, just a few steps away. 

The two most important people in his life, and in his reality he’s pushed you both away. 

He could have kept the kid. He hadn’t been sure about leaving, he truly believes that if he had asked Grogu to stay that they could have been happy. But he was just so scared. 

What if he got hurt while out on a hunt? What if he changed his mind and years down the road resented Din for keeping him? Or worst of all, what if plain and simple, he just got sick of Din? 

And then he did the same thing to you. 

He got scared.

He can’t already be regretting it, it’s been less than a day.

The sound of your voice calling him snaps him out of his trance. 

You say his name. 

His real name. 

Din. 

Second to the little noises the kid makes it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He’s not in control of himself as he stumbles towards you. Falling to his knees in front of your chair, scared to reach out to touch you because deep down he knows this isn’t real. 

You should be upset. Upset that he’s lied to you, told you that he doesn’t want you, used you. You should be throwing insults into his face but instead you reach down to put a hand on his cheek and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that in this particular dream he isn’t wearing his helmet. 

He’s so at ease from your touch he doesn’t care. 

You don’t speak. You just use your thumb to rub gentle circles into the planes of his face. Eventually the house is gone, the kitchen is gone, the table and chairs are gone and it’s just you. Standing above him, caressing his face with one hand, holding the kid to your chest with the other. 

He doesn’t dare move a muscle as he tries to burn the sight of the two of you into his memories. 

He wakes up with a start, sitting upright in his bed, his hands clawing at the helmet as he gasps for air. He haphazardly tosses it onto the sheets as tries to catch his breath. 

Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his flight suit he stuffs some rations into his satchel and locks his helmet back on. 

So he can’t stay in the cabin anymore. 

He had never even brought you here but it reeks of your absence. And that dream didn’t help in the slightest. 

There are whispers of you in every corner and crevice of his home. He’s not an idiot, he knows no matter where he goes there will always be traces of you. So there’s no sense avoiding it, he makes his way to the castle and stands guard outside your room. 

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night. He stands against the wall opposite your bedroom door. He can’t go back to sleep, he can’t handle that dream again. So he stays up until the sun rises. 

He’s a bundle of nerves waiting for you to greet him, but you never do. You stay in your room the entire day, the only change in scenery is when Leo or one of the girls brings you food, he tries to catch a glimpse of you when the door is briefly open but he never does. 

His heart hurts. 

He doesn’t move. When the hallways are empty he eats his rations just for something to do. Sometimes he’ll turn up the external audio so he can hear you pacing around your room but most of the time it’s silent. He’ll stretch his legs every few hours, pacing the hall. And then he’ll sit and repeat. 

He wants to go in. 

He wants to tear the door down, kneel before you and beg for forgiveness. But he manages to resist. 

He doesn’t sleep when the sun goes down. 

When he feels his eyes starting to flutter he’ll chew on a ration. 

Sometimes if he feels sleep creeping up on him he thinks of things to say to you in the morning. 

He wants to say sorry. More accurately he wants to grovel at your feet and tell you he’s an idiot, that he was lying, that he didn’t mean a word of it and that he’s madly in love with you. 

Of course he won’t do that.

He shouldn’t say anything.

It’s better that way. It’s better for the both of you. 

Doesn’t mean he can’t fantasize about a world where he begs for forgiveness and you grant it. 

Would you want him in that world? All of him, not just moments in secret when one of you craved the other. He wants mornings, noons, and nights. Would you give them to him? 

He could take you away from here if you did. 

It wouldn’t be easy but when your job is to find people who don’t want to be found you get pretty good at hiding. You could change your names, go get the kid, he could make his dream real. 

Would you really want that though? 

Of course you wouldn’t. Even if he hadn’t ended things so cruelly, you were a princess and he was just Din. 

You wouldn’t want that cabin in the woods, you were too good for that. You deserved castles and gowns, not living in the woods with a Mandalorian. 

So he won’t talk to you. He will simply resign himself to loving you from afar. (Or more accurately he will love you from a few steps behind you.) And he will leave you alone because he’s caused enough problems. 

Well, if you came out of your room he would. But he can’t properly leave you alone if you won’t let him.

He’s exhausted as he sits against the door, willing himself to stay awake to avoid any more dreams. He turns up his audio for most of the day, listening to you mill about the room. 

He wishes you’d give him a reason to come in, the sound of a scuffle, a yelp, for Makers sake, if you stub your toe he could use that as an excuse just to check in on you. But all he hears are the sounds of your muffled footsteps. 

And he can’t keep his eyes open forever. 

The combination of the flight suit and his armor makes him heat up when he sits still, especially as the sun sets and the light through the windows hits him. He isn’t sure when exactly he falls asleep but he’s back in that big cabin when he does. 

He makes the executive decision this time to stay in bed. 

He doesn’t want to see you, and he doesn’t want to see the kid. Because neither of you are real, and eventually you’ll be ripped away from him when he wakes up. 

Of course his strategy doesn’t work because in this dream you bring Grogu to him. He tries to shield himself from his delusions, even in his dreams he knows it’s pitiful, a trained killer hiding under the blankets from a singular person and a sleeping child. 

You still don’t speak. Gods he wishes you would speak, he wishes you would scream at him, shame him for his cowardice but instead you peel back the sheets just enough to put the kid between the two of you and lay with him, Grogu snoring through that tiny nose of his as you lay down with him, giving him that smile that makes his heart melt and his brain turn to mush. You lean forward and your forehead rests on his. 

He knows he deserves this anguish but still, it’s ruthless. 

Everything he could ever possibly want, under one blanket and it isn’t even fucking real. 

He’s startled awake when the surface he’s laying on moves. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to come to his senses before he’s looking up and you’re there. The real you. The dream version could never compare to the real thing. That’s how he knows he isn’t sleeping anymore. You're clearer, confusingly you’re wearing simpler clothing. He can’t really think about that right now though because he’s hit with a wave of embarrassment. 

He was the one who had ended things with you yet here he was, sitting outside your door like a dog who got locked out overnight.

You just step over him.

Just like that you’re over him. 

Literally and apparently figuratively.

Huh.

He had assumed you had locked yourself in your room because you were trying to process everything, that you were trying to repair the parts of you that had been broken. 

He had assumed you felt as terrible as he did. 

But you seem fine, like nothing even happened. 

He should be elated. That you’re not only fine but seem to be completely over it.

Instead he feels sick. He’s worried he’s going to vomit in his helmet because he can’t stop wondering if maybe you never even cared about him in the first place. It’s wrong, it’s a terrible thing to wonder and he can’t help but think of what an awful person he must be to have such a thought.

He follows behind you, as is his natural instinct but he feels like he needs to sit down again. 

Did you ever care about him? He had only ended things with you because he couldn’t handle the idea of you loving him. If you loved him and he still couldn’t be with you he wouldn’t survive it.

Yet you seem perfectly fine. 

And he can’t help but think that he ruined everything on a bad judgment call. He hasn’t felt this stupid since he almost got himself stuck in carbonite when he first bought the Crest. 

He can’t focus on a thing you’re doing, yet he stays with you the entire time, he knows you grab books and he knows you return to your chambers and he knows that at some point he ended up back on the floor, leaning against your bedroom door again. 

Maybe you had never even liked him as a friend.

He had never considered that you might have been exactly what he had claimed to be. Bored and in need of entertainment. 

That isn’t possible, you had been so upset when he had ended things.

Of course you could have just been upset because he had been unnecessarily cruel.

He has no right to be bothered by this. This was his choice. His decision. 

Maybe he chose wrong. 

It’s a little late for thoughts like that.

He can’t just change his mind.

And he’s left to think about everything he possibly could have done differently as he fights sleep. 

He doesn’t even know how he’s still standing when the sun rises and he groans as he gets to his feet. 

Your ladies in waiting go in, and this time they actually stay in and he’s more awake then he’s been in days because he knows that you’re actually going to come out today. He braces himself to see that fire in you, tells himself that last night was a fluke, that you hadn’t been prepared to see him and now that you are you’ll want to argue and berate him and he can finally sort things out in his head.

But you don’t.

You barely even look at him and you’re already walking to the library like nothing happened. 

Like it’s any other day. 

He can’t think, he can’t form a coherent thought because you seem perfectly fine. He really hadn’t meant anything to you. 

He had hoped that this confirmation would free him. That if it was true he wouldn’t feel an attraction to you anymore and he could finally get off this kriffing planet. But his adoration doesn’t waver for a second. He still feels exactly the same way except now he feels smaller. There is nothing worse than a problem that can’t be solved with a blaster. 

He’s got big plans to spend his day trying not to give in to his mental and physical exhaustion while he does everything in his power to not think about how unbothered you look. But those plans are immediately halted when you freeze up right after you get into the library. He’s puzzled for a few seconds until he sees the nook and your voice echoes inside his helmet.

“Why is your favorite color green?”

The kid, the cabin, and you. 

He wants to fall apart. He wants to collapse right there on the floor and he’s so tired he briefly considers it until he realizes you’re still not moving. He gives you a second, he knows better than to try and talk to you right now, his helmet has been silenced since the last time he had spoken to you. 

He can’t be trusted to not beg for absolution. 

Your eyes are glued on the nook and he swears you tremble slightly.

So you did care. 

He can’t even take pleasure in that fact because his heart drops when he sees your expression. It’s like looking in a mirror.  

What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation? 

He’s faced enough deadly challenges throughout his bounty hunting career to know when to just go with your gut, so that’s what he does. He gently guides you away from the nook and sits you somewhere where you won’t have to look at it. 

You look as small as he feels, there’s something so intimate about your misery that he can’t look any longer, if he does he’ll give in and all of this will have been for nothing. You’re strong, even though he wasn’t sure for a moment there he knows that you still have your fire so of course you pull yourself together. And when you speak, you address him as you task him with finding Leo and he’s so happy to not only hear your voice but to hear you sound okay that he does it without a second thought. 

He desperately waits to hear you say more but you never do. He should have seen that coming. But he’s so weary at this point, he lets himself lean against the shelves and close his eyes, just for a second, the last thing he sees is you sketching something out on the papers Leo brought you. 

Of course you’re there when he closes his eyes as well. 

There’s no cabin, no kitchen, no bedroom, no kid. It’s just you this time. And he is trapped in a never ending loop of you. Every few minutes he’ll wake up, turning to make sure you’re still there, before drifting back into unconsciousness. You’re there too, waiting for him. It’s a funny sort of hell. To wake up and see you there, to fall asleep and see you there. He can’t escape for a single second.

What else is new?

The dream you isn’t real. He can’t bring himself to interact with her, because even the fantasy of you that he has conjured up doesn’t live up to the real thing. The real you is right there, everytime he slips back into consciousness he turns to see you. He’s never been a devout man but looking at you now he gets it. How people can be religious. The idea that you can adore something so much that you commit your life to it. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that, at this point it’s unhealthy, but he’s just so tired, and you’re everywhere, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the look of pride on your face as you stare at your drawing. 

The dream you is too polished and shiny, she always seems so quiet. This is the real you, pleased with yourself, fighting back a smile because you’ve accomplished something. 

The sound of your chair pushing backwards wakes him from his strange middle ground of awake and asleep as he straightens up. He shouldn’t have let that happen, he doesn’t sleep in front of people, there’s too much risk involved but as much as your presence torments him it also soothes him. 

You seem like you’re in a rush to get back to your room and curiosity gets the best of him, so he allows himself a glance at your work as you scramble to get your things together. 

The table is covered in sketches of weapons and ships, a lot of which he recognizes from his book.

That’s what you had been drawing. 

He sees an ink depiction of the Crest and he can’t stop himself as he shoves it into his pocket, careful not to crinkle it. 

Why did he do that? 

He shouldn’t have done that.

But it’s too late because you’re out the door already which means he needs to be out the door. He trails behind you like always and there is the faintest hesitation from you where he thinks you might just invite him in, he’s imagining things, he has to be. He doesn’t think further on it as you close the door. He can barely stay upright and when he’s sure you’re out of earshot he lets himself slump back down onto the floor. 

He reaches into his pocket and holds the drawing out in front of him. 

He hadn’t told you about the Crest. This was just a freak coincidence. It’s a nice drawing though, you did it justice. 

He puts it into his bag, careful not to fold or crease it. 

He stops fighting sleep, he can’t keep this up forever so he lets his eyes close with a sigh. 

His vision fading to black as he feels a tap on his shoulder, opening his eyes he’s expecting to see you and the kid but instead of the house he’s still in the hall and instead of you it’s a rather displeased looking Togruta girl. 

He recognizes her as one of your ladies in waiting, he’s never learned her name. When she speaks she doesn’t sound even the slightest bit frightened of him like any of the other servants in the castle, she sounds furious.

“What did you do to her?”

I am no longer doing taglists so follow @lincolndjarinnotifs and turn on notifications to be notified when new chapters are posted !!

[sandwitchstories]

I am struggling to focus at work today. Sooooo instead of doing stats, I wrote a little blurb that will definitely become an actual story.

Have some Sukuna brain rot! (Fyi in my mind he looks older and is going to become a totally separate body from Yuji. You'll just have to wait and see!)

Drop a comment if you want to be tagged when the first chapter comes out!!

Summary: reader is a jujutsu sorcerer but Sukuna has taken an interest in her

Read below the cut! Only implied smut at this point.

Cw: mentions of sex, dream talking, dreams reader will vividly remember

Wc: 536

Invading that womans dreams may have been the stupidest thing Sukuna had ever done. Tasting her flesh and burying his cock in her in that dream had only made him even hungrier for her; it had not sated his craving even a little. He didn't know what it was about that defiant little shit but he craved her presence and her body… not to have Uraume cook up.

He needed his own body. He wanted to fuck her with his own cock, not this losers who he was stuck in. Some trembling virgin. He wanted to please her like he had in her dreams. She had willingly given herself to him in her dreams for a week now and he was absolutely addicted.

It had started out as curiosity. She was highly intelligent had quickly picked up that while they were in a dream, they were actually talking and both of them would remember everything upon waking.

She had a vivid imagination. She had smiled at him and asked him if he wanted to visit her favorite place. He had figured why the hell not.

He has not expected her to conjure up a small lake with a waterfall. Surrounded by wisteria and weeping willows. It was gorgeous, he had to admit it. He could even feel the rays of sunshine on his face.

She had beckoned him to sit beside her and talk. She said that in the real world everyone was so filled with hatred and anger at him that it made it impossible to actually speak to him unguarded but maybe here they could.

He asked her why she would even want to speak to him with his past. She shrugged and said everyone has a past but can work towards a future atoning for their sins. He laughed and told her he had no interest in atoning for his sins, they would attempt to kill him no matter what. She had shrugged and said that was his prerogative.

She asked why he was there. He answered honestly that he wasn't sure. He just… wanted to talk to her.

She had shrugged again and leaned back on her palms, stretching her legs out in front of her and crossing them at the ankles.

She looked at him with those big green eyes and asked him what his favorite type of music was, did he have a favorite movie, did he eat things besides humans, what did humans even taste like, had he ever had a pet… just the stupidest, most mundane questions he had ever been asked yet… it felt oddly good to have someone talk to him like this.

When she woke he left a thought in her mind that he would see her again. It was not a threat. It was a promise.

He had already decided he was not going to threaten her or kill her. He would make sure she was safe until he figured out just what the hell this was and why he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

Would she be is salvation or his damnation? Only time would tell. But he was looking forward to unraveling the mystery that was her.

[aloysiavirgata]

Prompt: Jealous Mulder and Scully reassuring him, UST. Thank you!

“Can I die?” she asked him once, dreamy with wine just after Ritter.

“Of course,” he said, broody, not really believing it. He didn’t know which answer he wanted for her.

She’d smiled at him with lushly purpled lips, the way she is now in upstate New York, in Ellicottville, where they’re undercover and investigating an art gallery owner for money laundering. She’s wearing a strapless blue silk dress right now and it swirls around her ankles like the sea at night.

People look at her the way some wolves must have looked at fire once. They understand that there is warmth in her, that there is light. That she can burn and burn and burn without being consumed.

He can’t. He feels himself being used up, hollowing out inside from his own cold, unquenchable flame. Gouging, he thinks, because he is a profiler.

Lumenizing, he thinks, because Scully is a doctor.

The gallery owner has been eye-fucking Scully for four days and Mulder is growing weary of it. He’s doing it right now, at this vineyard, where he’s pretending to be surprised to see them even though he recommended it.

Scully laughs a little, flirts a little the way she’s gotten better at doing. Shows her beautiful white throat. The gallery owner smiles at her, enchanted by her tourmaline eyes, her burnished hair.

“Excuse us,” she says after a few moments. Steers Mulder towards a side table with the press of her slim fingers on his arm.

They burn too, through his clothes.

She swallows the rest of her wine in a gulp. “What an asshole,” she remarks, peering back over her shoulder.

“Hitting on my wife in front of me is a bold move,” he observes, even though it’s the point of this little game they’re playing out.

Scully waggles her fingers so that the ring catches the light. “Maybe you should be a touch more possessive,” she suggests, her voice just past throaty.

He looks at her, then past her out the window. “That you talking or Mrs. Daphne Tillyard?”

“What do you want?” There’s so much in the question.

He shakes his head. Jerse, Van Blundht, Padgett, this idiot and a hundred other idiots. He wants their audacity, their risk tolerance. He wants her toothy smile, wants to kiss her without the threat of sorrow or damnation.

“Scully I-“

“Daphne.”

“Daphne.” He reaches out, runs a finger down her temple, over her cheekbone. He stops at the corner of her mouth. Her pupils dilate, her lips part.

“Mulder,” she whispers, husky. Her tongue is visible. She leans her cheek into his palm. “He’s not… it isn’t real.”

They could do this. It’s been brewing, fermenting for years and maybe tonight, maybe here, he can let himself do what he couldn’t even after the fungus.

He thumbs her chin, watches her searching eyes a beat longer. “Leo,” he corrects. He brushes her hair from her eyes and walks out to the back deck alone.

[apelcini]

as a jewish person i’m so excited to write a small town americana horror where my protagonist and deuteragonist are indigenous and jewish respectively. so often it feels like we see small town horror exploring the fucked up implications of salvation and damnation being real, but where’s the horror of it all being snake oil? of the real damnation being the choices christians willingly made against their fellow human beings? just because this is a horror story doesn’t mean christianity gets to be the religion that Got It Right. “jesus can’t help you now” is not a threat, it’s an admission of impotence.

[sapphire-weapon]

If you're comfortable, I'd actually LOVE to hear your Ada x Wesker opinions.

The way that Ada talks to Wesker in Separate Ways is very different from how she talks to literally anyone else in the series. She is more casual/colloquial with him than she is with anyone -- with the sole exception to this being the way she talks to Leon in Damnation. Basically, the way that Ada talks to Leon in Damnation? Is how she talks to Wesker in Separate Ways.

And... what happened between Leon and Ada leading into Damnation?

Just saying.

Separate Ways tried to heavyhandedly put more sass into Ada's character in general, but it's more honest when it comes to Wesker. She cracks jokes at him and emotes openly at him. She gets openly annoyed with him at times, and even has a tone of "dude, come on" with him when he gives her a ridiculous order.

She just always seemed very... comfortable with him.

And it always struck me as weird that Wesker wanted Leon dead so badly in Separate Ways. It is the only time in all of Resident Evil that Ada is given orders to assassinate/kill someone. And it's the way he goes about telling Ada to kill him:

"And that US government lapdog, Leon -- if you do happen to encounter him, put him out of commission. We can't let him interfere with our plans. [...] He's a survivor of Raccoon City. We could do without the extra distraction. Take him out."

Like, obviously, Wesker sees Leon as a threat to Ada's mission, and the pretense that he gives overtly for it is "If he can survive Raccoon City, there's no knowing what he's actually capable of."

But the "extra distraction" part always seemed like a weird choice of words. It was like Wesker knew that Ada had some sort of attachment to Leon already and thought that he would get in the way of her mission not because he'd overpower/kill her, but because she'd be too distracted by him to do her job.

And that struck me as being a little jealous.

Later, when Ada reports to Wesker that Luis is dead and Saddler has the Sample, his response isn't... anger or frustration or irritation or even disappointment. It's:

"Have you had a chance to eliminate Leon?"

It's only after Ada says no that Wesker gets the idea in his head to use him. He didn't ask her that with the intention/plan of using Leon if he was still alive; he just wanted to hear that he was dead -- and, when he didn't get that, he drums his fingers against the arm of his chair in thought and then comes up with the idea to use him.

And what's crazy about it is that Leon plays his part perfectly and unknowingly does exactly what Wesker wanted him to do -- and Wesker still wants him dead. And since he's clearly not going to get his way and have Ada do it, that's when he decides to sic Krauser on him.

And after Krauser dies, Wesker is still on this, and he's all like: (paraphrased) "Make Leon and Saddler fight each other and then kill the winner. MAKE SURE YOU KILL HIM, ADA."

And then he fucking hangs up on her.

It's starting to feel a little personal, at this point.

And then Umbrella Chronicles happened. And it's revealed that Wesker saw all that shit go down between Leon and Ada in real-time.

Which now makes his desire to see Leon dead feel really, really personal.

When Wesker contacts Ada in Umbrella Chronicles, he does so via video chat (somehow in 1998 the tech for that existed shut up), and her reaction on seeing him fucking shocked me.

I expected that her reaction/tone would have a hint of "oh shit" behind it or "oh god here we go" or even just cold, unfeeling business -- kind of like how a soldier "Sir"s their CO. But that's not what she does.

She sighs his name in that dreamy sort of way she sighs Leon's name during Separate Ways.

At the very end of Umbrella Chronicles, Ada says in her narration:

"[Wesker and I] are both used to being backstabbed and manipulated. I have a feeling our relationship will last for a little while longer."

Ada's hookshot? That has become a huge staple of her gameplay and character design? It was a gift from Wesker -- it's what he gave her so that she could make it out of Raccoon City alive.

And she never stopped using it.

NOW, WITH ALL THIS BEING SAID

I am not trying to make a case that Wesker and Ada loved each other or that their relationship was romantic at all.

What I am saying is that I do think that their relationship went deeper than just a professional working one. I think that they were definitely sleeping together, and I think that Wesker knew and understood who Ada was better than anyone ever has in her life, and I think Ada knew that.

Wesker is a sociopath, but he still trusted Ada's ability and her judgement and seemed to, on some level, also genuinely enjoy her company.

And Ada, I think, found some comfort in Wesker's familiarity and felt a connection with him based on their similar past experiences. I think that her keeping the hookshot even after she betrayed him and after he'd been killed is her way of honoring who he was to her and what he did for her without remaining beholden to him in any way.

Leon was the reason why Ada ultimately betrayed Wesker in the end, but it wasn't a matter of "Well, I love him now, so I'm going with him. Boy, bye." Ada says in Umbrella Chronicles that her meeting with Leon changed her, and she says at the start of Separate Ways that betraying Wesker is part of her own objective -- which, presumably, has to do with the way Leon changed her. It had to do with a change in worldview, not a change of heart.

And I think that what Remake is trying to do is to show that change in her happen in real-time. That's why she doesn't go into RE4make already intending to betray Wesker; it's a decision she comes to organically as a result of Leon's impact on her inspiring her to ask questions as to where her efforts are going.

She didn't betray Wesker because she fell in love with Leon. She betrayed Wesker because she started to look at the world differently and realized that Wesker's ambitions were incompatible with her new worldview. It wasn't personal -- it was just that their lives were now going in two different directions (two separate ways, you might say ayyyyyyy).

But I think that there will always be a part of Ada that's grateful to Wesker and holds some degree of affection for him -- even if it's not at the intensity of actual love, it was still meaningful, and he still had a profound impact on her life.

In some ways, I view Ada's attachment to Wesker the same way that I view Leon's attachment to Ada in the OG timeline. It's not true love, but it was something that kept her bound to him and that she found comfort in when she felt like she had nothing else and her life was spiraling out of control.

Ada is a part of Leon that he thinks he can't let go.

And I think that Wesker is a part of Ada that she thought she couldn't let go, until she finally did.

[daughter-of-sapph0]

"if you aren't religious, what's stopping you from murdering and raping people?"

first of all, I am religious. I'm Jewish. stop pretending that christianity is the only religion in the world. and also, Judaism isn't a controlling force that tells me what I can and can't do. it's a community of people, most of whom have wildly different ideas and viewpoints than I do, all connected by our ethnicity or religion or both. it's a part of us. either by choice or not, whether you were born Jewish or converted. and unlike christianity, it's part of me all the time. not just between 9 and 10 on Sundays and whenever I need to feel morally superior to gay people on the internet. and not once ever has it ever tried to control me or manipulate me or scare me out of doing something with the threat of eternal damnation as punishment.

but secondly, are you seriously saying that the only thing stopping you from murdering and raping people is christianity? not societal norms and stigmas? not your own morality? not your empathy for others? not even the real life consequences of your actions? the only reason you don't do something horrible is because a guy said you'd burn in lava for the rest all eternity if you didn't do exactly what he said, and you believed him? and that is your only justification for why you do the things you do and your only guide on what is right or wrong?

I see only two options. either that's exactly how you think, and you desperately need therapy. or you actually do have morals outside of christianity, but you just need to make up excuses to try and forcibly convert people by saying that non-christians have no real morals. which, if you think about that for more than five seconds, is extremely antisemitic and Islamophobic and xenophobic, and a christofascist way of viewing the world.

[luckbealincoln]

Best Kept Secret

chapter thirteen : lunar interlude : vercopa

THIS SERIES HAS BEEN MOVED AND RE-UPLOADED TO ANOTHER ACCOUNT. WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE. THIS POST STILL EXISTS AS AN ARCHIVE BUT THIS ACCOUNT IS NO LONGER ACTIVE!!

pairing : bodyguard!Din Djarin x afab!princess!reader

rating : 18+ mdni

word count : 3.5k

summary : the mandalorian does some thinking

warnings, etc. : language, angst, references to sex

He did it.

He did exactly what he knew he needed to do.

So why does he feel worse than ever?

The look on your face when he had lied so blatantly to you made him want to collapse in on himself. If someone else had made you that upset he would have caved their skull in, why does he deserve any less?

He did it. That’s what matters, even if he had to lie to get you to believe it, he ended things. He doesn’t bother taking off his armor as he collapses onto his mattress. 

His eyes find the plastic flower on his nightstand. It’s a good reminder that he’s a bad person for what he’s put you through. He never should have slept with you. 

He never should have loved you. 

He deserves every form of torture that would be performed on him if they found out what the two of you had been doing. 

He deserves damnation for what he has done. 

And he gets just that when he sleeps. 

Most of his dreams follow the same theme. You, in his cabin, sometimes he finds himself entangled against your naked form, sometimes it’s just laying on his twin bed, enjoying the warmth of each other. 

Something is immediately off about the dream he’s in now.

His first thought is that this cabin is different. 

It’s bigger. There’s more dressers, the bed is twice the size of his. His confusion is palpable as he tries to find you. 

He knows he will if he looks. 

You’re always there when he closes his eyes. 

So he stands, and he walks around the house. It’s completely new to him yet so familiar and as he turns the corner and you’re there.

His breath hitches. 

You’re sitting at the kitchen table, with a genuine smile, and your hair hanging down across your face. But what catches his eye the most is the little green baby in your arms. You pinch at his cheeks as he makes those all too familiar babbles that used to fill the Crest. 

His heart is in his throat. 

He can’t move. It’s like he’s staring down the greatest threat of his life and if he moves an inch it will attack. 

Maybe he died in his sleep and this is heaven.

That doesn’t make sense, he’s done nothing to earn his place. Or it’s hell, and his torment is knowing he can’t stay here with you and Grogu, that he’ll have to wake up and live with what he’s put you through, and the kid will still be gone. 

He’s content to stand in the doorway and watch this alternate reality for as long as he sleeps. His chest heaving as he takes in the sight of everything he’s ever wanted, just a few steps away. 

The two most important people in his life, and in his reality he’s pushed you both away. 

He could have kept the kid. He hadn’t been sure about leaving, he truly believes that if he had asked Grogu to stay that they could have been happy. But he was just so scared. 

What if he got hurt while out on a hunt? What if he changed his mind and years down the road resented Din for keeping him? Or worst of all, what if plain and simple, he just got sick of Din? 

And then he did the same thing to you. 

He got scared.

He can’t already be regretting it, it’s been less than a day.

The sound of your voice calling him snaps him out of his trance. 

You say his name. 

His real name. 

Din. 

Second to the little noises the kid makes it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. He’s not in control of himself as he stumbles towards you. Falling to his knees in front of your chair, scared to reach out to touch you because deep down he knows this isn’t real. 

You should be upset. Upset that he’s lied to you, told you that he doesn’t want you, used you. You should be throwing insults into his face but instead you reach down to put a hand on his cheek and he’s vaguely aware of the fact that in this particular dream he isn’t wearing his helmet. 

He’s so at ease from your touch he doesn’t care. 

You don’t speak. You just use your thumb to rub gentle circles into the planes of his face. Eventually the house is gone, the kitchen is gone, the table and chairs are gone and it’s just you. Standing above him, caressing his face with one hand, holding the kid to your chest with the other. 

He doesn’t dare move a muscle as he tries to burn the sight of the two of you into his memories. 

He wakes up with a start, sitting upright in his bed, his hands clawing at the helmet as he gasps for air. He haphazardly tosses it onto the sheets as tries to catch his breath. 

Wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his flight suit he stuffs some rations into his satchel and locks his helmet back on. 

So he can’t stay in the cabin anymore. 

He had never even brought you here but it reeks of your absence. And that dream didn’t help in the slightest. 

There are whispers of you in every corner and crevice of his home. He’s not an idiot, he knows no matter where he goes there will always be traces of you. So there’s no sense avoiding it, he makes his way to the castle and stands guard outside your room. 

He doesn’t sleep the rest of the night. He stands against the wall opposite your bedroom door. He can’t go back to sleep, he can’t handle that dream again. So he stays up until the sun rises. 

He’s a bundle of nerves waiting for you to greet him, but you never do. You stay in your room the entire day, the only change in scenery is when Leo or one of the girls brings you food, he tries to catch a glimpse of you when the door is briefly open but he never does. 

His heart hurts. 

He doesn’t move. When the hallways are empty he eats his rations just for something to do. Sometimes he’ll turn up the external audio so he can hear you pacing around your room but most of the time it’s silent. He’ll stretch his legs every few hours, pacing the hall. And then he’ll sit and repeat. 

He wants to go in. 

He wants to tear the door down, kneel before you and beg for forgiveness. But he manages to resist. 

He doesn’t sleep when the sun goes down. 

When he feels his eyes starting to flutter he’ll chew on a ration. 

Sometimes if he feels sleep creeping up on him he thinks of things to say to you in the morning. 

He wants to say sorry. More accurately he wants to grovel at your feet and tell you he’s an idiot, that he was lying, that he didn’t mean a word of it and that he’s madly in love with you. 

Of course he won’t do that.

He shouldn’t say anything.

It’s better that way. It’s better for the both of you. 

Doesn’t mean he can’t fantasize about a world where he begs for forgiveness and you grant it. 

Would you want him in that world? All of him, not just moments in secret when one of you craved the other. He wants mornings, noons, and nights. Would you give them to him? 

He could take you away from here if you did. 

It wouldn’t be easy but when your job is to find people who don’t want to be found you get pretty good at hiding. You could change your names, go get the kid, he could make his dream real. 

Would you really want that though? 

Of course you wouldn’t. Even if he hadn’t ended things so cruelly, you were a princess and he was just Din. 

You wouldn’t want that cabin in the woods, you were too good for that. You deserved castles and gowns, not living in the woods with a Mandalorian. 

So he won’t talk to you. He will simply resign himself to loving you from afar. (Or more accurately he will love you from a few steps behind you.) And he will leave you alone because he’s caused enough problems. 

Well, if you came out of your room he would. But he can’t properly leave you alone if you won’t let him.

He’s exhausted as he sits against the door, willing himself to stay awake to avoid any more dreams. He turns up his audio for most of the day, listening to you mill about the room. 

He wishes you’d give him a reason to come in, the sound of a scuffle, a yelp, for Makers sake, if you stub your toe he could use that as an excuse just to check in on you. But all he hears are the sounds of your muffled footsteps. 

And he can’t keep his eyes open forever. 

The combination of the flight suit and his armor makes him heat up when he sits still, especially as the sun sets and the light through the windows hits him. He isn’t sure when exactly he falls asleep but he’s back in that big cabin when he does. 

He makes the executive decision this time to stay in bed. 

He doesn’t want to see you, and he doesn’t want to see the kid. Because neither of you are real, and eventually you’ll be ripped away from him when he wakes up. 

Of course his strategy doesn’t work because in this dream you bring Grogu to him. He tries to shield himself from his delusions, even in his dreams he knows it’s pitiful, a trained killer hiding under the blankets from a singular person and a sleeping child. 

You still don’t speak. Gods he wishes you would speak, he wishes you would scream at him, shame him for his cowardice but instead you peel back the sheets just enough to put the kid between the two of you and lay with him, Grogu snoring through that tiny nose of his as you lay down with him, giving him that smile that makes his heart melt and his brain turn to mush. You lean forward and your forehead rests on his. 

He knows he deserves this anguish but still, it’s ruthless. 

Everything he could ever possibly want, under one blanket and it isn’t even fucking real. 

He’s startled awake when the surface he’s laying on moves. 

He doesn’t have a lot of time to come to his senses before he’s looking up and you’re there. The real you. The dream version could never compare to the real thing. That’s how he knows he isn’t sleeping anymore. You're clearer, confusingly you’re wearing simpler clothing. He can’t really think about that right now though because he’s hit with a wave of embarrassment. 

He was the one who had ended things with you yet here he was, sitting outside your door like a dog who got locked out overnight.

You just step over him.

Just like that you’re over him. 

Literally and apparently figuratively.

Huh.

He had assumed you had locked yourself in your room because you were trying to process everything, that you were trying to repair the parts of you that had been broken. 

He had assumed you felt as terrible as he did. 

But you seem fine, like nothing even happened. 

He should be elated. That you’re not only fine but seem to be completely over it.

Instead he feels sick. He’s worried he’s going to vomit in his helmet because he can’t stop wondering if maybe you never even cared about him in the first place. It’s wrong, it’s a terrible thing to wonder and he can’t help but think of what an awful person he must be to have such a thought.

He follows behind you, as is his natural instinct but he feels like he needs to sit down again. 

Did you ever care about him? He had only ended things with you because he couldn’t handle the idea of you loving him. If you loved him and he still couldn’t be with you he wouldn’t survive it.

Yet you seem perfectly fine. 

And he can’t help but think that he ruined everything on a bad judgment call. He hasn’t felt this stupid since he almost got himself stuck in carbonite when he first bought the Crest. 

He can’t focus on a thing you’re doing, yet he stays with you the entire time, he knows you grab books and he knows you return to your chambers and he knows that at some point he ended up back on the floor, leaning against your bedroom door again. 

Maybe you had never even liked him as a friend.

He had never considered that you might have been exactly what he had claimed to be. Bored and in need of entertainment. 

That isn’t possible, you had been so upset when he had ended things.

Of course you could have just been upset because he had been unnecessarily cruel.

He has no right to be bothered by this. This was his choice. His decision. 

Maybe he chose wrong. 

It’s a little late for thoughts like that.

He can’t just change his mind.

And he’s left to think about everything he possibly could have done differently as he fights sleep. 

He doesn’t even know how he’s still standing when the sun rises and he groans as he gets to his feet. 

Your ladies in waiting go in, and this time they actually stay in and he’s more awake then he’s been in days because he knows that you’re actually going to come out today. He braces himself to see that fire in you, tells himself that last night was a fluke, that you hadn’t been prepared to see him and now that you are you’ll want to argue and berate him and he can finally sort things out in his head.

But you don’t.

You barely even look at him and you’re already walking to the library like nothing happened. 

Like it’s any other day. 

He can’t think, he can’t form a coherent thought because you seem perfectly fine. He really hadn’t meant anything to you. 

He had hoped that this confirmation would free him. That if it was true he wouldn’t feel an attraction to you anymore and he could finally get off this kriffing planet. But his adoration doesn’t waver for a second. He still feels exactly the same way except now he feels smaller. There is nothing worse than a problem that can’t be solved with a blaster. 

He’s got big plans to spend his day trying not to give in to his mental and physical exhaustion while he does everything in his power to not think about how unbothered you look. But those plans are immediately halted when you freeze up right after you get into the library. He’s puzzled for a few seconds until he sees the nook and your voice echoes inside his helmet.

“Why is your favorite color green?”

The kid, the cabin, and you. 

He wants to fall apart. He wants to collapse right there on the floor and he’s so tired he briefly considers it until he realizes you’re still not moving. He gives you a second, he knows better than to try and talk to you right now, his helmet has been silenced since the last time he had spoken to you. 

He can’t be trusted to not beg for absolution. 

Your eyes are glued on the nook and he swears you tremble slightly.

So you did care. 

He can’t even take pleasure in that fact because his heart drops when he sees your expression. It’s like looking in a mirror.  

What the hell is he supposed to do in this situation? 

He’s faced enough deadly challenges throughout his bounty hunting career to know when to just go with your gut, so that’s what he does. He gently guides you away from the nook and sits you somewhere where you won’t have to look at it. 

You look as small as he feels, there’s something so intimate about your misery that he can’t look any longer, if he does he’ll give in and all of this will have been for nothing. You’re strong, even though he wasn’t sure for a moment there he knows that you still have your fire so of course you pull yourself together. And when you speak, you address him as you task him with finding Leo and he’s so happy to not only hear your voice but to hear you sound okay that he does it without a second thought. 

He desperately waits to hear you say more but you never do. He should have seen that coming. But he’s so weary at this point, he lets himself lean against the shelves and close his eyes, just for a second, the last thing he sees is you sketching something out on the papers Leo brought you. 

Of course you’re there when he closes his eyes as well. 

There’s no cabin, no kitchen, no bedroom, no kid. It’s just you this time. And he is trapped in a never ending loop of you. Every few minutes he’ll wake up, turning to make sure you’re still there, before drifting back into unconsciousness. You’re there too, waiting for him. It’s a funny sort of hell. To wake up and see you there, to fall asleep and see you there. He can’t escape for a single second.

What else is new?

The dream you isn’t real. He can’t bring himself to interact with her, because even the fantasy of you that he has conjured up doesn’t live up to the real thing. The real you is right there, everytime he slips back into consciousness he turns to see you. He’s never been a devout man but looking at you now he gets it. How people can be religious. The idea that you can adore something so much that you commit your life to it. He shouldn’t be thinking about you like that, at this point it’s unhealthy, but he’s just so tired, and you’re everywhere, and it’s hard to focus on anything but the look of pride on your face as you stare at your drawing. 

The dream you is too polished and shiny, she always seems so quiet. This is the real you, pleased with yourself, fighting back a smile because you’ve accomplished something. 

The sound of your chair pushing backwards wakes him from his strange middle ground of awake and asleep as he straightens up. He shouldn’t have let that happen, he doesn’t sleep in front of people, there’s too much risk involved but as much as your presence torments him it also soothes him. 

You seem like you’re in a rush to get back to your room and curiosity gets the best of him, so he allows himself a glance at your work as you scramble to get your things together. 

The table is covered in sketches of weapons and ships, a lot of which he recognizes from his book.

That’s what you had been drawing. 

He sees an ink depiction of the Crest and he can’t stop himself as he shoves it into his pocket, careful not to crinkle it. 

Why did he do that? 

He shouldn’t have done that.

But it’s too late because you’re out the door already which means he needs to be out the door. He trails behind you like always and there is the faintest hesitation from you where he thinks you might just invite him in, he’s imagining things, he has to be. He doesn’t think further on it as you close the door. He can barely stay upright and when he’s sure you’re out of earshot he lets himself slump back down onto the floor. 

He reaches into his pocket and holds the drawing out in front of him. 

He hadn’t told you about the Crest. This was just a freak coincidence. It’s a nice drawing though, you did it justice. 

He puts it into his bag, careful not to fold or crease it. 

He stops fighting sleep, he can’t keep this up forever so he lets his eyes close with a sigh. 

His vision fading to black as he feels a tap on his shoulder, opening his eyes he’s expecting to see you and the kid but instead of the house he’s still in the hall and instead of you it’s a rather displeased looking Togruta girl. 

He recognizes her as one of your ladies in waiting, he’s never learned her name. When she speaks she doesn’t sound even the slightest bit frightened of him like any of the other servants in the castle, she sounds furious.

“What did you do to her?”

tag list : dm or reply to be added !!

@stagerightlauren - @dins-riduur-anthe - @littleguy-bendy - @rarachelchel - @laurensnotsparkly - @gerardingurway - @reallyidontcare- @clear-your-mind-and-dream - @estoniacobaltpayne - @buckyandgeraltsupremacy - @cookielovesbook-akie - @diabaroxa - @love-the-abyss - @sasakipsposts

[ericas-spop-blog]

So I get a lot of comments taking issue with me calling Adora's behaviour towards Catra (specifically in Taking Control, but also just in general throughout the series prior to The Heart) abusive - that it can't be abusive because it's emergent from her trauma, that she doesn't "mean" it, that Adora is good and good people aren't abusers.

The problem with all of those is that they're incoherent.

If you don't consider this - the pervasive boundary violations, the physical assault, the use of a previous abuser as a threat, the straight up textbook DARVO of "I'm the victim because you told me no" - abusive... then what would you?

I'm being sincere here. These are fictional characters; there is no real person who needs defending. There is only your reaction as the audience, which I am inviting you to examine.

As an actual, meaningful question: What line would Adora have to cross, before you treated her actions as her actions? What would she have to do for you to call her abusive?

Can you find that line?

Because if you can't - if that line only exists for the Shadow Weavers and the Catras, the character who you've been told are "Bad" - Then you are admitting that, for "Good" characters, there is no harm they can be held accountable for, no violation for which they will not be absolved, no crime for which they will not be pardoned.

And that is fucking bullshit.

======================

"Good" and "Bad" are not intrinsic traits, which grant sanctification or damnation to those that possess them. There is no sorting of the sheep from the goats; no fundamental nature that changes the effect of one's actions.

Abusers are not a separate species; some Unknowable Other, irrecoverably tainted by the original sin of Being Born Bad. They're just people, with the same array of thoughts, feelings, and desires as everyone else. The difference is in their actions, and those actions are not modified by purity of the soul.

Abusive behaviours that are emergent from trauma are still abusive. Abusive behaviours the perpetrator believes are acceptable and justified are still abusive. Abusive behaviours done by people you love and respect and look up to are still abusive.

The fact that Adora believes her abusive behaviour is acceptable - even nescisary - doesn't make it other than the thing that it is; a fundamental hostility towards Catra's agency, manifesting in consistent, repeated attempts to control her - through conditional affection as much as through physical, verbal, and emotional violence. She is a person who engages in abusive behaviour patterns, and so she is an abuser. And, as a story element, that's fine. "Adora is abusive towards Catra thoughout much of the show" doesn't mean "Adora is an irredemable character" or "Catradora is a bad ship". It's just a conflict that needs to be resolved.

Adora has to come to grips with the toxic beliefs Shadow Weaver instilled in her - that care invokes a debt, that there are 'Bad' people who have no right to self-determination, that abuse can be justified - recognize that they are the thing that stops her from being happy, and reject them, fully and completely.

[grandhoff]

Murdoch Mysteries rewatch/catch up.from the beginning - rambles part 1

EP 1

- first episode just bring in a big name famous character, like fucking what?? Tesla man

-we love our pretty boy constable Crabtree being a hit with all the ladies

- "I actually came here to see your dog, not you, also the flowers are for the dog"

EP. 2

- just right out the gate we got a main character's life at threat IN THE SECOND EPISODE LOL WHUT

- reminder of the historically accurate prejudice is so real, my detective deserves that promotion

- straight up science with bugs man

- of course we got the old 'i totally came.up with the idea first' old jazz

EP 3

- ahh yes, racism in old timey land

- milady, our detective is pious and won't be using your body to prove your innocence

- thus begins the using of poor Georgie as the guinea pig, and man does he look cute in a pretty dress

- William, your flirting/low-key jealousy is showing with the dear doctor

- Murdoch being suspicious of the media is so on point, freaking thing nearly broke the country up

- poor Murdoch, always becoming scandalized with the sinful world

EP 4

- bring in Conan Doyle and the freaking spiritualists

- that feel when your hero flirts with your crush.jpg

- that feel when a potential quack reminds you of your dead fiance.gif

- not ACD stealing the inspector's idea for a story

EP 5

- Murdoch, we gotta refer to the gays properly in this new age of the 1890s

- I love the fancy boy outfit Murdoch wears to go undercover, but assuming the identity of Georgie Boy is rude

- oh inspector, you aren't supposed to beat the witnesses or persons of interest

- our dear detective is very good at seeing the good in people, rejecting the idea of needless eternal damnation

EP 6

- is your dad in town William, why are you allowed to stay on this case

- I love how great Murdoch is with all sorts of people... Except if it is his dad

- your trauma is showing William

6/163 episodes down, will I keep this up? Maybe, if I keep interest in recording my musings

[proxylynn]

Would you forgive Adam for attacking Charlie’s hotel?

[If he had a real reason for it, then possibly. But honestly, his reason for attacking the hotel is petty due to being made foolish in front of his boss and other higher-ups. His ego was dented and so he targets the one thing he knows Charlie cares about to make her hurt for this transgression. A blow for a blow, this seems fair in his eyes.]

{Funny enough, I find it kind of charming how Adam is with Charlie. You'd think as, well, this is Adam and his first wife is Charlie's mom and this would cause him to loathe her...but...no. Adam doesn't hate Charlie or even is bothered that she's Lilith's kid. You can tell who he sees as his real enemy by how he addresses her. "Lilith's little hottie." and "Lucifer's brat." Lucifer took his wife, possibly also his other wife too, cost him his home, and all the good that he had or could have been. That's who he hates and what he dislikes about Charlie. Because he can see Lucifer when he sees her.

During their first meeting, Adam was initially friendly with Charlie, only to begin teasing her, openly and verbally mocking Charlie because of her idea to redeem sinners. Not her. Despite being his descendants, Adam hates sinners and believes anyone who was sentenced to damnation in Hell deserved it. So Charlie's idea of redeeming the damned is laughable and goes against what he knows is the status quo.

In "Welcome to Heaven", it's implied he would have kicked her out of Heaven if it hadn't been for Lute advising him not to start a confrontation. And in "The Show Must Go On", while he still mocks Charlie about wasting her immortal soul on those who wasted their own, he is still engaging in conversation because this makes zero sense to him.

"ThEsE sInNeRs ArE mY fAmIlY! Do you even hear yourself?"

Adam wasn't even taking her seriously as a threat till she stabs him after Charlie's patience gave out. He even is genuinely surprised she hurt him because she's just "Little Miss Butterflies and Rainbows", only after that does he take the kid's gloves off, discarding the "do not harm Hellborn demons" rule, and treats her like he would any sinner demon...before daddy Lucifer shows up and things got dead.

This dynamic in a weird way kinda feels like Adam is an uncle to Charlie but he's that out-of-touch set in his ways kinda guy that doesn't get invited over but will show up uninvited, cause chaos, then bounce. Charlie, being herself, tries to get along with him but eventually sees why the family never talks to him unless it's important and the only reason she's often the one dealing with him is because they either don't want to or because she's the only one that won't punch him within the first five seconds he starts talking, only for her to explode on him after having enough leading to the cops being called on Thanksgiving.}

[Sweet lord, look at what this man does to my brain for me to analyze like this off of a simple question!]

[clocktowerechos]

Factions of the Hellsworn Pact

of the Brightest Night AU

"Such a wonderous galaxy. I feel it better for it to be soaked in screams and bathed in blood. Too much? Yes, too much. Let us just burn it to cinders instead~ Then we can bath in screams!" ~ "Blessed" Lady Malys, the Everqueen of Chaos

The Ruinous Powers

With the existence of both the God Emperor and Isha being active players on the galactic stage, the Dark Gods have focused significantly more resources and attention to the material universe. Breaks in their great game are more common and they pour more of their power into their greatest champions. After their failure to corrupt the Primarchs, they have turned to alternative measures. Of particular note is Nurgle and Slaanesh. Nurgle holds a deep grudge against the Alliance and is determined to recapture Isha. Slaanesh however faces an entirely separate dilemma. Wish Isha being able to contest Eldar souls, Slaanesh faces a very real possibility of starvation from said souls, a terrifying concept for a god of excess. Thus they've had to adapt an entirely new way of executing their plans, most often through the Dark Eldar or the Chaos Eldar Their greatest champion is Lady Malys, known as the Everqueen of Chaos, the Black Maiden, and the Fel Lady among other titles. She is the "Abaddon", greatest champion of Chaos. Her blasphemous union to Asdrubael Vect remains the greatest profane ritual since the Birth of Slaanesh. Where as Abaddon has stable plans, Lady Malys swings between bouts of madness and genius brilliance. It is hard for the Alliance to try and counter her as often her Black Crusades simply have the goal of wrecking as much chaos and destruction as possible. As long as they are not stopped at the Cadian Gates, it is considered a success.

The Lost and the Damned / Traitor Astartes

While none of the Primarchs were ever swayed to the side of Chaos, due in part to the more open knowledge of what they really where, and the Horus Hersey never occurring, there was never a corruption of half the legions. However, over the course of the long millennium plenty have fallen to Chaos with its more focused attention. Regiments of Guardsmen, Chapters of Astartes, Maniples of Skitarri, Orders of Sororitas, and even a Custodes according to dark rumors have fallen, to serve new masters. None are truly safe from damnation in this universe. Some are ragtag rebel bands, heretical guerillas who serve whatever master will grant them power and supplies. Others have formed entire stellar kingdoms, organized and coordinated groups who pose a much more significant threat on the Materium than their raiding Warp-borne counterparts.

The Chaos Eldar

Known as the Croneworld Eldar or Shadishari meaning "Warp Corrupted", they are the inheritors of the foul legacy of the old, depraved Eldar Empire. The birth of Slaanesh had devastated them at first, but soon the Dark Gods found ready worshippers among them, their souls blackened and minds twisted by untold eons of degeneracy and blasphemous indulgence. Slaanesh was the first to bring back a handful of corrupted Eldar who had actually enjoyed the process of having their souls devoured, to which the Prince of Pleasure greatly loved. With most of the Croneworlds trapped in the Warp, they are a hellish successor to the worst aspects of the Eldar. Frequently raiding, pillaging, and conquering in the name of the Chaos Gods, they outnumbers their uncorrupted cousins and their greatest members have achieved a level of immortality by having their souls constantly regurgitated. It is said an Shadishari Daemon Prince is amongst the most dangerous forms of one with the Imperium and the Alliance going to great lengths to stop their ascension whenever possible.

The Dark Eldar

Pirates and raiders hailing from the Dark City, many have combined forces with the Croneworld Eldar for their own ends. The greatest difference between them being their relation to Chaos, while the Croneworld actively embrace and wish for the power of the gods to infuse them, the Dark Eldar have little appreciation for the Dark Gods. They do not have the same assurances of being returned after death like their Croneworld cousins but the power their alliance brings is too great to be ignored. In canon, there is sometimes a tenuous understanding between Craftworld and Dark Eldar that they are kin and to not mess with each other too much, such an understanding does not exist here. The Drukhari will happily prey upon Craftworlds and Exodite Worlds as readily as any others and the Craftworlds call for the death of their fallen cousins. It is for this reason the Webway is significantly more dangerous to use as Croneworld and Dark Eldar prowl its tunnels without regard of who might catch their blades. Some have refused to accept the power of Chaos, especially after the marriage of Vect to Malys. They have escaped Commorragh and set up their own kabals and outposts in the Materium.

The Ashen Kyn

The Long Night was not kind to the Kyn and they were not immune to the gaze of the ruinous powers. When some holds and stations were cut off from their fellows, many became desperate. Their Votann became corrupted, either by rampant data overload, or direct techno-arcane sorceries. Bitter and hateful at how they believed themselves to be abandoned by their cousins and by their Votann Cores, they turned to Chaos and found good company with Vashtorr the Arkifane. Now they serve as critical resupply and production points for raiding Chaos fleets, rivalled only by the Hell-Forges of the Dark Mechanicum. They tend to focus on infernal engineering over daemonology, favored by the Dark Mechanicum.

The Dark Mechanicum

While the Hersey was avoided by the Imperium, the Mechanicum could not prevent the Schism of Mars. Fabricator General Kelbor-Hal refused censure by the Imperial Household and cease his delving into forbidden archeo-tech. Even with the intersession of the God Emperor Aurelian, he openly halted but kept going in secret. As he dove deeper and deeper, he became more corrupted by the whispers in his code. Telling him that he could become as powerful as the Man of Gold and then all the secrets of the universe and all the lost technology of Humanity's golden age. When he was discovered once again, Kelbor-Hal declared his intention to break away from the Imperium and called the red banners to arms. However, in his hurry, he failed to adequately access the political reality of the Mechanicum. Only half rallied to him with the other staying loyal. The following Schism broke the Mechanicum with a civil war that the Imperium intervened in. Despite claiming victory, the Imperium could not hunt down the newly forged Dark Mechanicum as in their distracted state, Chaos forces and Greenskin hordes launched the War of the Beast in an attempt to destroy the Imperium, letting the survivors flee into the war and to uncharted systems to rebuild anew. They have become masters of fusing metal and daemon in their terrifying arcane Hell-Forges

The Greenskin Hordes

The Orks are only "allied" to the forces of Chaos in the loosest sense, often being manipulated by the Croneworld Eldar to serve as cannon fodder or distractions. For their part, the Orks do not mind as they see it as an excellent opportunity to fight. Their power has been greatly increased by the appearance of "Brain Boyz" or "Brain Bosses", intelligent Ork warbosses who understand the Orks far more than their brutish nature would imply, their mere present boosting the intelligence and coordination of other Orks. Dubbed "Ork Bossmasters", they turn a fractious, infighting-prone mob into a proper military force capable of complex tactical maneuvers, long term planning, and huge engineering projects such as Attack Moons. Having first arisen during the Chaos-empowered War of the Beast, their numbers have only grown with the passing centuries to the point there is a recorded incident of a "Green Crusade", where an Ork Bossmaster led a combination Black Crusade and WAAAGH with Chaos forces.

[bigbrotherben]

Hey so, I'm finally reading Camp Damascus, and like, what the fuck? As an actively queer Christian I have almost never connected with a situation, especially in horror, this deeply. Like, I've felt that fear and horror at my own thoughts, not of a literal threat, but of abstract Damnation. I mean it when I say, I needed to see Paul in fiction, needed to see other queers in the faith, because I don't know any in person, or online. So thank you chuck, what a story. Love is real.

[thehollowwriter]

Long ass ramble about Christianity stuff under the cut idk

I roam the anti Christiaity tags quite a lot, and a common thing I've notcied, especially with atheists, is people acting like Christians are all just stupid people who believe whatever they're told.

Well, I'm sure it's very easy to sit and tout yourself as more superior and intelligent than these foolish people who believe in fictional deities, especially when you haven't been raised Christian yourself.

Just having the knowledge of the world outside the confines of Christianity doesn't magically undo being taught all your life that not only is the "outside" (non-Christians) the enemy, but they will try and trick and deceive you to pull you away from god.

It is drilled in from the start that all humans are inherently evil and without god you have no worth. You are told over and over and over that without god you are a worthless, sinful person who will suffer in hell for all eternity.

Let me say that again: over and over and over, non-Christians are described not as non-believers that are people too, but the ENEMY. They are not to be trusted or befriended because they can lead you off the righteous path to heaven and into eternal damnation because they don't have the holy spirit to protect them from Satan. Non-Christians are dehumanised and treated like a threat.

On top of that, over and over and over, you are told you are worthless and evil. Does that make you feel bad about yourself? Lower your self-esteem? Come now, silly, that's just Satan trying to pull you away from god! God will make you happy and ensure you are saved. Aren't you just so grateful that he loves you despite your evilness?

Now add the fact that Christian parents limit their children's exposure to other beliefs or non-Christians and tell them that what other people say that is against god or the bible are lies from the devil. Your entire community agrees with this. The adults in your life agree with this, and those that don't are made out to seem like poor lost souls going to hell.

Do not think about what the enemies are telling you. Do not listen to them. Those are the words of Satan leaving their mouths, you don't want to listen to Satan, do you?

Now they present "facts" about how the sinful world ruled by Satan hates good Christians like yourself and that Christians are oppressed. You can't doubt them, or you are doubting god, and if you doubt god, you are not a true Christian, and you will go to hell. Those lovely bible bedtime stories read by your parents describing terrible things happening to people who doubt god are sitting in the back of your mind.

Then add the fact that you are told that if someone is Christian, and especially a pastor, you can trust what they say because they speak the word of god. If they are wrong or a particularly bad person, then they're actually not a real Christian.

However, you are still told to spread the good news of god! Go tell people god is good, tell them they have a chance because of Jesus' love and mercy! Jesus isn't like your average man. He's not like those mean sinful people because he is the perfect son of god.

Naturally, this will get mixed or negative or even aggressive reactions. And what does that do? It will simply prove that the "enemy" hates Christians and is too blinded by Satan to hear the word of God.

The outside won't show you the kindness and love and acceptance that your church has always shown. So, you stay because to you, that is your only place of safety and love and salvation.

A lot of this mainly applies it you're raised Christian, and most people who convert to Christianity were raised Christian too and then stopped believing before falling into the manipulation once again.

But what about those who weren't raised Christian?

Oh, right! Many Christian organisations support and donate to hospitals, charities, youth hostels, homeless shelters, etc, where they then go and preach. My grandfather is a pastor, and he preaches at local prisons.

What a more perfect time to talk to the "enemy" about how they can find salvation, purpose, and safety in god than when they are at their worst mentally and physically? When they are desperate for any way to cope or a way out?

I still think about the time I sat through my church's proudly announcing that they "helped" impoverished communities by spending thousands of Rands on... giving them all bibles! Having faith in God will help them more than the church ever could, apparently.

Now they can prevent you from asking questions all the easier! And you certainly can't be educated about sex because that's bad and sinful unless it's with your god given spouse for the purpose of having children.

Lack of education is also a wonderful advantage to the church, especially when they prevent you from pursuing any further education by claiming academia spreads lies.

In fact, almost all of the kids at the church my family goes to are homeschooled by their good Christian parents who will prevent them from being exposed to the "enemy's lies". Surely keeping them from socialising with other people with different beliefs and controlling what they are taught (even if you as a parent are not qualified to teach!) will be a big help of preventing them from being a lost sheep!

You can't possibly tell if they're spreading misinformation about sex and pregnancy or sexuality as a whole. You don't know a single thing about safe sex or contraceptives or stds. All you know is sex between a married man and woman is beautiful and pure, and anything else is evil! You are tainted and no longer pure if you engage in such things.

The bible even says a married man looking another woman with lust has already committed adultery (thought crimes!), and surely sexual thoughts or feelings that you don't really understand are evil too. So, talking about sex and learning about it? Hah, absolutely not!

(Now everyone quickly act confused about teenage pregnancy or families with no access to this education having more children than they can support being extremely common)

This is basically a long-winded way of saying that acting like Christians are just foolish people who haven't been in the real world glosses over how much manipulation, fearmongering and gaslighting is used to control people and ensure they don't break from the religion. And, shocking at it may be, even if you do manage to leave, it does not magically undo all that's been drilled into you.

It's easy to sit and act like you're so very superior and far more intelligent for seeing all these *obvious* things, especially if you haven't experienced being in the actual religion.