#this whole post reads like crack incarnate

[musamora]

the dreadful need in the devotee — bungo stray dogs oneshot

content. f!reader. poetic prose, discussions of mortality and death, existentialism, suggestive themes, allusions to greek and abrahamic myth, romanticized unhealthy relationship dynamics, possible continuity errors. notes and translations at the end. not proofread. 3.8k+ words. ⟶ features fyodor dostoevsky. this work is a sequel to another oneshot! reading it's not a requirement, but is encouraged. this is also a collaboration with @yonseibananamilk! please check out her half of the collab ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-

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The fire of Pyramus danced within its hearth, the crackles a plea for freedom. Wooden shelves shimmered in a spectrum of amber hues. The light married abstract shadows with the spines of ancient books, stories lost to civilizations no historian could neither name nor describe. However, the harsh rays softened as they reached the two huddled on a sofa in the corner.

The domestic flame of your shared nocturnal nook chiseled at your features. Meadowed plains melded into the hills of your cheeks before they dipped back into low valleys nestled on the cusp of your nose or at the curvature of your cupid's bow. Fresh streams fringed the waterline of your eyes, fluttering lashes portraying the underbrush that beckoned him, barely obscuring the mystery hidden beneath the murky brook. Such a delicate canvas, framed with messy hair, made his sick heart thump at such vulnerable dishevelment.

You drank every word of your book with reverence while he could hardly focus on the one he held. The careful movement of your fingers as you turned the page tainted his thoughts into fantasies where they instead traced the expanse of his skin—it was repulsive.

But he dreaded an infallible demise the moment you chose to lay against him, not a thought to the difference in your stations. That heated sensation of unfamiliar tenderness, shrouded from the world, only to be acknowledged in an unimportant room in an unimportant place, thumbed him with a sentiment he could not adhere a title to. You were powerless in the scheme of everything that enveloped you, yet held no regard for fear or fate.

Instead, you smiled.

He hid the quiver of his limbs as his finger brushed the underside of your chin. Your face craned upward, and he realized he had been parched for a taste of the features he had so painstakingly mapped to memory. Your eyes closed with leisure as you leaned into his touch and—

He cracked his eyes, unable to open them as they strained to readjust to the merciless glare of his monitors, their caustic luster a stark contrast to the imprisoned fireside of his daydreams. His muscles cried out when he stretched. The quiver in his limbs recurred in spasmodic vibrations, worsening the cramp of his hands as he flexed them. It was a relentless ache that had become all too familiar to him.

You were a distraction. He had lost whole minutes of time to fanciful delusions with you and that damning grin of yours at the center. In his preparations, he toyed with the idea of dispatching you to a remote location outside the ire of societal destruction before ridiculing himself upon further examination. If another one of his subordinates had become such an issue, he wouldn't have hesitated to snuff them out—you had to be the human incarnate of temptation, the ultimate test of his faith.

Men who had traversed the path before him did not do so without trial. He had scrutinized the warnings their stories contained—Adam, Samson, Saul—men who had strayed from their noble path only to lose their kingdom. Fleshly pleasures lured many a good man to condemnation, for how could such sweetness be considered a mortal sin?

The fallen had once been beautiful creatures of virtue, and you were but a testament to the scars left in their descent. It was temporary—you and the fragmented thoughts your presence created would pass in years' time. He only had to be patient.

A knock at the entrance to his workspace interrupted his internal toil.

"I'm not interrupting, am I?"

Patience would be easier said than done.

"Not at all."

Because you dissipated thought and reason from his frenzied mind the moment you blessed him with even a mumble. Your voice was the otherworldly harmony that strained atop his ballad of misery. Not the corrupt inflections he had become accustomed to over centuries of time, but rather a sincere, artless tune that only he was ordained to hear and that he alone could descry. He would only admit one fact—human companionship was a merciless mistress.

For he knew you were your happiest at his side as his right hand, but he could not understand the reason—it brought harm to your so-called "doorstep," and the workload was laborious at best. But even in this isolated instance, when the crooks of your smile didn't entirely brush the banks of your eyelids, a noticeable ease settled in your bones at the sight of him hunched over a desk. An ease he returned, albeit underneath the veil of his carefully crafted mask.

"The preparations for the cannibalism event are almost complete," you continued, maintaining an unusual manner of professionalism as you handed him a set of stapled documents and receipts. "I just need to receive your approval before sending out the orders." His eyes crossed each section without too much consideration for their actual contents, affirmed in his trust of your intellectual capabilities when it came to outlining critical components of his plans with the ire of a scrutinizing eye. 

"Thank you. These will do."

This was usually the time that you would dive head-first into a heated discussion about the latest novel from his collection or scurry off with a courteous farewell to complete the enormous amount of tasks you often procrastinated, but instead, you lingered. Your brows furrowed, locked in contemplation as your eyes stalled on his screens—schematics for his future "trip" to the European detention facility, Meursault. He cleared his throat, which luckily broke you from your daze.

"It'll be weird." You ran your thumbs across your knuckles, teasing at your bottom lip as you shifted from foot to foot. "Moving to a new hideout, I mean." The palms of your hands shifted to skim the dust and grime-coated surface of his barren shelves, toying with the clumps of debris that gathered on your fingers as your mind returned to its baseline. What did your thoughts stray to in times when they left you stranded, out of his reach, as they became more challenging to discern? He could only pray, in some twisted part of his dark mind, that they were a reflection of his own—then maybe those fantasies could be justified.

Outside his internal ramblings, he hummed lowly, acknowledging the truth behind that sentiment. Neither of you shared an attachment to the four walls that surrounded you—it was no home. It held none of the warmth or affection such a term required, though the idea of a home was foreign to you both.

Under those clouded waters, your eyes held a look he both adored and disdained. That muted hesitation had returned, like a criminal stood on trial, unable to utter a word of the truth lest they condemn themself. And you knew too much and said far too little. If you would surrender to your impulses, push him or pull him close so that, in some fashion, his conscience could be alleviated and he could refocus—but it seemed you were stuck within the same cycle of indecision.

You parted your lips, faltered, and closed them again, second-guessing yourself as you fiddled with your fist. But upon further inspection of your nervous disposition, he spotted an object that had been hidden in your back pocket. A book. He raised a brow as you slowly pulled it out.

"You've offered me so much reading material in the past." You handed him the book. Its cover was weathered and cracked; a once vibrant hue faded into a dark, timework brown. The delicate, diaphanous golden letters that spindled across the spin dulled with age but continued to catch onto the fluorescent light. "So I thought I'd return the favor. It's a book I've had for as long as I can remember."

"Poetry?" He couldn't withhold the amusement in his tone. You were such an adorable little woman—his heart squeezed in indescribable fondness at the incredibly fitting genre. The book cradled in his hands was even more charming, if possible. Several translucent tabs and disorder marks stacked the contents of the book, defining a distinct difference from his own analytical annotations. Part of him wanted you to leave sooner so he could delve into the contents away from distraction and be allowed to soak up every delectable notation.

"For wherever you plan to go. I hope you might find some use out of it." Your face softened. "I know it's helped me."

He huffed but knew that he was ultimately endeared. "Thank you, моя дорогая. If you enjoyed it, I'm certain I'll find it an enticing read."

A tremor trickled down your spine at the unexpected sound of his mother tongue. His thick accent sounded like velvet to the ears, but you quickly nodded and sent him the courteous farewell he had initially expected—but he couldn't allow you to leave without answering one more question.

"Which one should I read first?"

You paused, prodding the question around in your mind. The answer you stumbled upon was bold, and you contemplated your choices as your nails methodically drummed across the doorway's threshold. It was a risky choice, but one you had to take.

"Browning's Sonnet 22." Your expression could have locked him there for eternity. "It's my favorite."

And you left. You left, and indecision haunted him once more.

An abhorrent, unsightly torpor flooded within him like the Neva itself, the warmth of the Russian summer smearing any presence of intellect or acumen from his person. His limbs lay heavy from the sweltering heat as the underbrush tickled at his perspiration-laden skin, allowing him a momentary reprieve as he observed the breeze push against the bountiful flora that edged the bank of a creek older than he was in a homeland he had no way to return to.

"Федя."

He roused from the rush that engulfed his body and replaced his idleness, his mind ravenous at the mere whisper of such an intimate, almost forbidden name. Soft hands replaced the roughened roots of creekside plants, trailing his arms until their owner came into full view, beckoning him to lean forward with the purse of your lips.

You were somehow even warmer than the summer sun, and he melted like a tempered candlestick at your sheer touch, lips chasing your own as you drew away with a smirk and a laugh. The collision of your bodies onto the hardened ground drew the breath from his lungs, but he allowed himself to find it once more in your embrace, nose buried in your neck as he resisted the urge to indulge in mortal temptations and simply allowed himself to revel in the innocent embrace.

"Федя," you cooed. Your hands roamed the expanse of his hair, outlining the edges of his nape in a rhythmic motion that started to lure him into a dreamless sleep. 

That was until the sensation started to fade, and he felt the familiar stomach-dropping sensation of falling. His eyes shot open as the idyllic naturistic scene dissipated from view to leave a void. Only you remained, but he paled as even you started to fade, reassuring him with a pitiful smile that he had become far too acquainted with.

"I'm sorry, Федя. You'll have to go one without me this time."

Your presence melded until your touch was like the chill of an algid frost—it was like the expiration of a dying star, crumbling in on itself until it rematerializes once more. From dust, you came, and to dust, you shall return. The contact was the biting notion of where and who he was, with every incapability and flaw that marred his flesh. It whipped at his skin, burned at his eyes.

He shook as you slipped through his fingers, drifting out of his grasp as he looked around for something to hold onto, anything to help either of you escape from—

"That must be a pretty good book you've got there."

The blinding aura of his circular cell was not a sight he wished to become accustomed to, the chamber he had been "forced" to occupy with the French prison. And to his utter dismay, it had been the lousy half of the Port Mafia's former Double Black that had stirred him from his waking nightmare, Osamu Dazai. The bandaged man looked like the cat that had caught the rat; his eyes narrowed as if he had finally pinpointed the Russian's weakness. An unseemly smirk drew across his pale face.

"You've been staring at the same page for the past five minutes, Fyodor," the detective crooned, splayed on on his bed with his head dangling at the side at an uncomfortable angle, almost like he wasn't locked in a high-stakes match of chess. "Your eyes haven't moved an inch. Leaves me to wonder what could possibly be so enticing about that book. You should lend it sometime!"

"I'm simply concerned for the well-being of your fellow agents," Fyodor sneered cooly, allowing his demonic mask to slip back on with his signature smirk. "I just can't help but worry for them. I'll be sure to pray for a swift, painless demise."

"Hmm, I'm sure."

But the suspicion of the detective didn't matter. Fyodor had ensured that you had no connections to one another, and your identity was completely erased once you went underground years prior. So, for the time you remained hidden, you were safe, and that terrible concoction of his mind would not come to fruition. You were in the midst of correcting course on any minor deviations from his plans if the smoothness of his operation was a testament—but in other moments between consciousness and sleep, he wondered if you shared these same thoughts. The split seconds that expanded into hours of dreams he wished never to wake from. 

He couldn't help but linger on the horrific scenario that cast an ever-present shadow over his every thought. It was a possibility, and he shuddered to think of the notion that it would someday become a reality. But this was his one opportunity, and he wouldn't waste it.

He glanced down at his book. In truth, he wasn't much impressed by the pages anymore. This was one of the many books with copies in his personal collection, but it lacked the vitality he had become attuned to. It had been your book of poems that revitalized him, yet he was unable and unwilling to bring such a valuable item into a place such as this. He would not risk the desperation of his opponent at finding his weakness, nor the capabilities of the Special Division for Unusual Powers in finding a connection to the book's owner—so it was contained somewhere safe and sound, where no one else could find it.

That book had opened a separate world that consumed him, body and soul. But that poem that you had recommended—you were quite the romantic, weren't you? His face had flushed during his first reading and the several times after it, though your annotations were even more telling. But it only made the pressure on his heart increase, and he swore it would implode. Perhaps that was an underlying medical condition of his previous host.

And for the first time in centuries, he wasn't quite sure what he would do when he saw you again.

You dislodged yourself from the rubbled remains of the airport, fortunate to have been located further from the destruction Ame-no-Gozen created. The walls around you stood firm, but the roof caved in from pressure above, leaving only a sliver of room to escape to the intact remainder of the roof. Your hands ached and blistered with every inch of your ascent, halted as you took time to cough out the debris that generously clustered at the bottom of your lungs. You looked utterly worse for wear but couldn't find the time to mind given the circumstances.

After what seemed like hours of excruciating climbing, you made it to the top—but, of course, the fabric of your pants decided to snag onto a metal panel that had stubbornly remained intact.

"Oh, come on," you groaned, sitting down to tease and tussle with the ornery piece of cloth. It had been a restless last few weeks, and you simply wanted to sleep. You huffed as the shrapnel decided to release its grasp on your pants, but as you were about to stand back up, you took notice of the shadow before you.

There he was.

You could recognize Fyodor's striking eyes anywhere, even when he was clad in the attire of a fresh body without his signature hat and cloak, but you found that you didn't care much for the finer details when he was finally in front of you. His presence had formed a vacancy in your everyday routine, and for the first time in years, you found yourself completely alone. Even when there was work to be done and plans to create, the majority of his usual subordinates were killed as collateral—not that they had even been much company. But would you be forced to fall into the same line?

The question nauseated you, but you had known the possibilities when you took his hand for the first time. If there was a time for you to part ways, whether at his accord or your own, this would be it. This was your crossroads. But you knew as you slipped your hand into his, outstretched for you to take, that he wouldn't be letting go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part. It seemed your fears were unfounded since when you slipped your hand into his own, outstretched for you to take, you knew he wouldn't let you go. The grip he had held you like it was a sin to part.

You stood with his help, a contemplative tilt to your brow—but you couldn't stand the silence that continued to persist. So, in the echoes of his formulaic destruction, you allowed yourself to breathe. A release of that suspension and hesitation, unfurling your burden as you lifted your aching hands to cup his face, delighted in the widening of his eyes at the unbalanced scale between you tilted to the other side.

"Федя," you spoke, the sensation of the word foreign to your lips. A spark returned to his eyes as if you whispered the secret to raise him from the dead. "Are you alright?"

The wind rushed through him, breath tumbling with the breeze as it coasted along the metal platform you stood from. Despite reason pleading with him to run from your proximity, he instead chose to intertwine his fingers with one of your hands. He pressed kisses into the curve of your palm as he lined every scar and bruise with a tenderness that soothed your aches.

"I am."

He didn't need to utter another word—your brief separation had only strengthened your unified understanding of one another, with each crying gesture serving as the final touch. No more trials. No more secrets. The look in his eyes was one of stories. Eyes that had witnessed every dismal aspect of human nature, both in the past you shared, and in the past he traversed alone. But they had become worthless stories to him; the minuscule glimpses of resolution that had served as a sign from God of the promised end turned into the delusions of a desperate man as he found the reflection of the end in front of him—you. In every step he took since your destined encounter, you had been what he was searching for. His hope. His future. His reality. That fraudulent resolution was no longer at the end of a perilous tunnel but right before him.

You understood that the intimacy of your "relationship," with whichever label others tended to tack it with, could never be shared with another soul. Those voiceless, indulgent whispers and subtle, crinkled smiles were mere productions of your shared devotion. But more so, the hummed resonation of your souls spoke the loudest. They had remained empty for such stretches of time, so neither of you knew what to make of it when you somehow poured from your empty cups into the creation of a fulfilling bond. Your only comfort was the notion that this—this was the reason you were created. For each other.

He remembered the moment he laid eyes on you, the sensation that his long-time friend had turned foe, death no longer a temptation out of his grasp but a certainty he could not shake. Your straightforward disposition beckoned him, and he then understood why he had been made with a capacity for love despite acting as the immortal incarnation of its antonym. He had never once felt a need for fruitful devotion, not to some unseen voice from the skies, untouched by the heart and mind of humans, but instead for the one person who would take his heart to the grave with them.

He was immortal, whether by chance or fate, but it was your ability to shake off the temptations of fear that immortalized you in the end. Never once had you allowed your rift in mortality to halt the blossoming kinship between you, prodding at the walls of his solid foundations until they cracked and eroded over time. Fyodor chuckled—he thought he had a capacity for patience, between you were a godsend in comparison. He was the proclaimed "Demon of the North." The man sent to spread the wrathful will of God across the nations. So it was no wonder he had been so tempted when met with a force of benevolence, one which he had rarely witnessed and never known. He could never claim to be worthy of mortal worship when a creature like you stood before him.

You shivered at the sudden touch of his hands as they traveled across the exposed skin of your waist, soft despite his habits. They traced the contours of your figure like a sculptor transfixed on the finest marble. Time had not been merciful in his centuries alone—but it stilled for this moment. For the moment your lips met, and your odyssey was finally over. The spread of his touch was revolutionary, roaming with a cardinal fervor within this wasteland of human misfortune. It sparked a revolt within your mind—your union was taboo, but nothing had ever felt as destined to be.

The muscles of your face tendered as his thumb outlined the brushwood of your lashes. Your eyes drifted shut in a manner that wordlessly pronounced your insomnolence. He kissed a smile against your forehead as you parted, cradling your face as if you were his world. This was an intimacy that could not be replicated, and his mind shattered at the notion of loss.

"Never wander somewhere I can't follow," spoke the desperate man.

You flashed him a cheeky grin. "You won't be able to leave if you want me to stay."

He leaned in, lips close enough to brush. "I won't leave. Not ever again."

And he dipped back in for another taste, addicted to the ambrosial quality of your lips as he buried himself in the shrine of your arms. 

дорогая = dear федя = fedya

TAGLIST: @ruru-kiss @miloofc @osarina @meiluvrr @suru1990 @honeymoon38 @saeandscaralover @dazaisms @v4mpash3 @coffeeofsamu @just-another-crack-artist @snowsilver2000 @chyozai @justcallmesakira @little-miss-chaoss @himikoslove @osameowdazai @deepseafragments @aureatchi @tirasamu @kelperspelt @squigglewigglewoo @lovesick-fairy @zyilas @ishqani

a fyodor fic! very original for me, i know. nana and i planned out this collaboration months ago, and were luckily able to schedule it for the chapter release. again, please go check out her side of the collaboration! speaking of chapters, that update was certainly something. i'm intrigued to see the further development of atsushi and akutagawa through the end of this story arc, since it feels like they've switched roles in regards to the desperation, if that makes sense. and, of course, it was interesting to see fyodor express such strong emotion in reaction to atsushi, and i'm excited to see it unfold in the next installment! feel free to discussion discourse below :D

© MUSAMORA 2024 — do not repost or modify my works for any reason. do not steal graphics w/o explicit permission. reblogs are appreciated.

[captainclickycat]

So while we're on the subject, here are some other thoughts.

I found Neil Gaiman's online presence - and the more overzealous members of his fanbase - annoying. And please stay with me here, I promise this isn't me trying to be smug or claim I "knew all along" or anything. There's a huge gulf between finding someone a bit annoying and thinking that their behaviour online is less than stellar occasionally and suspecting them of being a sexual predator. I don't think there could have been any way of me "knowing all along" without reading everything in the worst possible faith, which I'm not willing to do and which I maintain is not a good or helpful approach in general. And to people who genuinely looked up to him and felt completely blindsided by the news, I'm really sorry. It wasn't your fault and I hope you can do something kind for yourself today.

Anyway, back to the subject at hand. I didn't like the way he handled criticism of his work, a lot of the time. I don't think creators are obligated to personally listen to and address every negative opinion of their work, or explain every individual aspect of it that someone disliked. But I felt like a lot of his responses to feedback tended to lean into and encourage praise, while being a little disingenuous and sometimes belittling towards criticism. (And really, why feel the need to respond to everything when you could just ignore it?)

I didn't like the way he always felt the need to weigh in on fandom debates or throw out "word of god" explanations for this or that thing, including when nobody even asked. (Want to know who inspired the "I don't care what the author said" comment in my bio? Take a guess.) Especially when some of them felt engineered to paint him and his work in the best possible light.

Again, I'm not drawing attention to all this in an attempt to claim any one thing was a blatant red flag or must have been down to some sinister motivation. That's not the point I'm trying to make.

But it is one of the reasons that I was always deeply uncomfortable by the culture of hero-worship and "touch not god's anointed" that always seemed to exist around him. Like regardless of whether or not you thought this or that criticism against him was warranted, the way people would treat him like some kind of messiah who deserved nothing but praise and lose their absolute shit whenever anyone said anything remotely negative about him was absurd. Nobody deserves that, regardless of what they've done.

But at the same time... you know, I liked his work. Not just "I liked the stuff he co-wrote with someone else" or "I liked the films and TV shows he worked on with a whole bunch of other people." I liked the books he wrote by himself. They had some parts worth criticising, sure, what doesn't. But overall I thought they were well-written and funny and thought-provoking and I enjoyed myself when I was reading them. Neverwhere is the first book I had a crack at re-reading in a different language, which should tell you how much I liked it. And I didn't even dislike everything he posted on the internet. I thought some comments were pretty funny and/or insightful. I even reblogged the odd post.

And I wasn't all that vocal about any negative feelings I had towards him, because... well, frankly because a lot of the negative feelings I'd seen expressed by other people about him tended to look like "he's the devil incarnate, his work sucks, he's the worst person alive and he secretly hates every marginalised group and people should feel ashamed for sincerely liking his stuff."

And I didn't agree with that either! I didn't want to be roped in with those people. I didn't feel comfortable around them, any more than I felt comfortable around the Neil Gaiman Defense Squad, Working Tirelessly Day And Night To Aggressively Stamp Out Any Criticism Of Our Lord And Saviour.

And honestly I'm not entirely sure what kind of broader point I'm trying to articulate here, or whether I'm just working through stuff in my head. But I will say that this kind of polarising, zero-sum-game approach to criticism is... bad. It's just bad. It makes it so people are reluctant to put forward any kind of nuanced stance, for fear that they'll end up getting pigeonholed into one oversimplified category or another, or it ends up pushing people towards one extreme stance or another out of sheer frustration or contrariness. And it makes it incredibly difficult to have any kind of actually productive debate when it comes to criticising media, or criticising creators. Inevitably people's hackles are going to be up whichever side they lean towards more, and a lot of people with valuable input will inevitably end up going "yeah, I can see how that's a good point, but also the last person who brought this topic up with me deemed it appropriate to send me a barrage of messages telling me to kill myself about it, so forgive me if I'm not interested in engaging any further."

Obviously a culture of hero worship inevitably makes it a lot easier for predators to operate, and I have no doubt that being inundated with messages about how wonderful you are and how everyone who's criticising you is in the wrong must make it a lot easier to rationalise your actions. But I feel like this tendency to paint everything in terms of "are they a pure uwu blameless smol bean angel OR the devil incarnate" is incredibly unhelpful regardless of what side you come down on. The "devil incarnate" crowd can be part of the problem too.

[tulipe-rose]

asking this on your writing blog because it's a theory (?)

what if kenji was the one picked for the pm transfer ? his ability is very strong and since he's young he would be easy to manipulate.

this theory also has angst potential too , mori starving him just for his ability , and kenji just leaving the ada in general

sorry if this was confusing to read ( ・－・)

I LOVE THIS THEORY!!! (⁠つ⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)⁠つ

It's honestly one of the most valid theories for the exchange. Kenji is so blatant about his care for his friends, If you so much as appeared to be a threat towards them, kiss your ass goodbye. He quite literally fought a hunting dog, and won if it meant keeping Atsushi safe. If he was angry for a moment more than he was, we might as well have been preparing Tecchō's funeral at the time.

Which brings us to the topic of his self control.

Once Kenji is officially recruited into the Mafia, he must resign from his post as a part timer at the agency. He's no longer under the effects of All men are equal, and Mōri is fully going to exploit that. He would go to unimaginable (yet just the right amount of subtle) lengths to emotionally manipulate Kenji. Due to losing the effects of all men are equal, Kenji might as well lose control of his emotions as whole, because of how he forgot what it was like to effortlesly contain his anger, and strength. He could go on random rampages, and Mōri could ask Chūya to direct him towards the location of any enemies he needed eliminated.

Kenji might as well turn into the next destruction incarnate. Chūya would feel pity for him; he wouldn't want such a kind soul in a place so dirty, but since he's here, Mafia is Mafia, and orders are orders, nothing can be done. He can't help but see himself in him, so he tries to spend as much time with him outside of work as possible, maybe even sneaking him a phone call with the agency members from time to time. He decided to be there for him, because surviving among demons tears you apart too painfully

How would Mōri keep Kenji under his complete control, while ensuring that the slim possibility of revolt turns non existent? Hostages. Better yet? Unknowing, blissfully ignorant hostages. Mōri is perfectly capable of threatening the peaceful life in Ihatovo, and won't hesitate to if Kenji decided to be rebellious. The deal is: Listen to my every order, eliminate the enemy, and your village will be allowed peace. Visits are limited to a month each year.

The armed detective agency have no right to interfere anymore, anymore than keeping tabs on the village, and the Mafia's recent whereabouts would be considered interference in Port Mafia business that doesn't concern them. They're brewing with anger, and are on the verge of playing Russian roulette with the Mafia. If it weren't for the calls, and updates Chūya manages to give them, they would've cracked long ago.

Kenji is absolutely destroyed, and will probably never be capable of looking at himself in the mirror again. I don't even know if he can forgive Mōri after everything. The day he cracks, and finally murders Mōri (something like that scene in beast with Atsushi, and the headmaster, except Mōri wasn't asking for a hug, he was briefing Kenji on his latest mission, and wouldn't allow Kenji to visit his sick mother on her deathbed) would be the day he finally calls the detective agency directly, with the news. 'He's dead', and the line cuts off.

[whoslaurapalmer]

Lost Scenes Thursday! Get to know your favourite authors better. Show five scenes from either abandoned fics where you regret they will never see the light of day, or five scenes from WIPs where you are impatient to see them out there. Long, short, one-liner... it's all good reading. Tag five other authors where you are curious.

!!!! oh!! okay so it should come as a surprise to no one that even after my big post of likely unfinished wips, I STILL HAVE MORE

the eternal sunshine of the spotless mind au that is sadly kind of thematically jumbled that i could never post it but i love the movie very very much and i think about this scene from the au a lot. so bea was trying to erase lemony and this was when they're trying to hide in different parts of her mind to escape him being erased

“oh,” beatrice says.

the house is small, with white siding and little windows where the breeze blows in and ruffles the flower-patterned curtains. the blue door is just as inviting as it always was, the way she almost remembers. the begonias planted right along the edge of the house. the one patch of grass that never grew in as green as the rest. the light grey roof, the brick red chimney. the dark asphalt driveway. the beautiful maples in the backyard, the oak trees lining the rest of the street, tall and shady. the whole neighborhood, calm and quiet. the corner store down the block with the best ice cream she’d ever tasted.

“this is my parent’s house,” beatrice says softly. “i didn’t—i didn’t think i could still remember it.”

“it’s very nice,” lemony says.

“it was,” beatrice whispers. “i loved this house. i knew every single floorboard that creaked and i stepped on them every morning, just to hear the sound. my father had the biggest piano i’d ever seen and he’d teach me how to play after dinner. it was old and my mother would spend hours tuning it.”

“what are we doing outside?” lemony asks.

this is the day, beatrice realizes, all of a sudden. this is the day it happened. this is why i remember.

she bites her lip. “it was today. i was six. i walked home from the corner store and no one was there,” she says. “and then—do you remember how it happened, for you? or do jacques and kit remember it more? i heard jacques insist once that he was able to finish his tea before it happened.”

“i don’t remember much of it,” lemony says. “but i certainly wasn’t allowed to finish mine.”

beatrice sits down on the curb, pulling lemony to sit beside her, and they stare out at the sunlit road.

she squeezes lemony’s hand. “what did your house look like?” she asks. “do you remember?”

lemony sighs. he’s silent for a long time. “we had blue curtains,” he says. “they were softer than average curtains. i used to hide behind them.”

“that,” beatrice says, smiling a little, “is adorable, lemony snicket.”

“i pulled them down one day,” he says, a far-off look in his eyes, “and they made a horrible noise. jacques and kit came running and found me under a pile of curtains. none of us were tall enough to put the curtains back, so we took turns wearing them as a cape.”

beatrice leans against his shoulder. “i used to try on my mother’s heels all the time. i think that’s why i wear them so much now.”

“what do you think would’ve happened,” beatrice asks, “if we hadn’t done this?”

“this?” lemony raises their linked hands. “or the situation about to happen in your house?”

“either,” beatrice says. she doesn’t look at their hands or her house, instead focusing on the cracking asphalt underneath them. “anything.”

lemony sighs. “we wouldn’t have met,” he says. “there’s that.”

beatrice looks up at him. she doesn’t want to ask it, but if she’s going to ask any incarnation of lemony snicket, it might as well be dream lemony. he can’t be any more morose than real life lemony. “should we have met?”

“you always ask the hard questions,” lemony says, “when i always ask the wrong ones.”

and then he’s gone.

beatrice squeezes her eyes shut, hot tears burning at the corners. “don’t leave me here,” she cries, “don’t leave me here—”

this was from a supposed to be short fic about jacques that was getting too miserable and too hard to write even for ME. there's more of this i could share but since the dashboard has been all about jacques and jerome lately --

sometimes, on nights when jacques cannot sleep, he walks through the city. he always winds up by jerome's apartment. jerome leaves all the lights on, because jerome has never had to be scared of anything. jacques is sure he would have, eventually, if jacques hadn't stopped talking to him. he does not regret lying to jerome; he regrets not seeing him anymore. he does not regret leaving jerome; he regrets not seeing him anymore. he does not regret protecting jerome from his life, his organization, the inherent danger in his presence, the fear that he would do something with his own two hands to break jerome's happiness and trust. he regrets not seeing him anymore.

jacques allows himself a moment to be selfish, just a moment. his family means the world to him, but the only person he wants to see is jerome.

he would give anything for jerome’s easy, unbothered company, no obligations, no fragmentary plots, no siblings, no friends, no ghosts, just the two of them. for jerome to smile at him again, for them to talk about mindless things that mattered to them alone. jacques could easily go up into his apartment, use the key he still has, lie again and tell jerome, his business trip was canceled, he won't be leaving the city, everything is fine. everything will be fine. sometimes he stands in front of jerome's door, even, ready to knock. he stands there and listens to jerome move about the apartment, humming off-key.

it wasn’t like they had really been in a relationship, not formally, at least, not like the other couples jacques has witnessed. they’d rarely gone places together, but they had been together, in one apartment or the other, not hidden away at all but just the two of them, seen by each other. they would play card games or trivia because jerome knew everything, all the things that mattered – definitions and geography and individuals and animals. he knew good things.

jerome was too kind. but jerome is smarter than he looks, and just smart enough. he hasn't sent jacques anything. he knows there is something going on, something where it would be better if he wasn't there. he pressed his hand against jacques's before they parted ways, and smiled very gently. jacques would love him even more for being so understanding if it didn't leave such an awful ache in his ribs.

so i have a long-fabled unfinished lemony/olaf fic and ugggg there's so many pieces i want to post from it. i had a hard time picking a piece but here is one of them (and isn't actually lemony/olaf whoops) --

“it’s all fun and games,” esmé says, shrugging, “until your parents die, I guess.”

esmé’s lucky. vfd never found her parents. not that she talks to them or likes them, anyway. but she’s lucky, because her parents were never dangled over her like a threat and a warning and a cage. she’s saying the most horrible things but she has an arm draped loosely over olaf, tapping her nails against his arm while he tries not to lose it into her shoulder.

esmé doesn’t talk like lemony does. she doesn’t get that decimated look on her face when she lights a cigarette, she doesn’t get philosophical about how much they’ve lost or how much of themselves they’re still losing as they fight a battle no one is ever going to win. she doesn’t question fires. she sits just on the edge, a pretty, untouchable thing, who acts for no other reason than just because she can. it’s a miracle she’s not dead, as a matter of fact, with how much she operates outside of vfd.

and lemony would have that devastated but resigned frown, but esme just looks calm and impassive and she doesn’t even care that all olaf wants to do is burn everything down anyway. she just does not care, and he needs someone right now who’s not going to make him feel sick with remorse any more than he already is.

fear spikes through him, spreading out from his stomach.

olaf pulls back, stares at some spot on the wall behind esme’s head, his eyes wide. “what if he knew,” he says quietly. his throat scratches to talk, has been like that for days now.

esmé blinks. “oh, well,” she says, “i don’t think he knew. who tells leonard anything, anyway? no, I know—leland! no, that’s not it, either. it’s a baked good, isn’t—”

olaf grabs her by the arms, pulls her too close against him, pushes his nails into the soft flesh of her biceps. he hates her. he hates every single part of her, every single damn inch, he wants to crush her in his hands. he can just feel the bones in her arms—how much more would it take? what would it take to break esmé genevieve, the way someone broke him? to twist her sideways until she pulled apart, until whatever was in her stopped? “what if he did,” he insists, breathing it into her face.

esme tries to shift in his arms, and he just holds her tighter. she stares at him, a curl of her hair falling into her face. he gets a thrill that there’s a little bit of fear in her eyes as they dart back and forth between his own. “i don’t think he did,” she says, uncharacteristically quiet. “and I don’t think he did it, either. he’s a lot of things but he’s not the type. not now.” she swallows, and then tilts her head back, her hair shifting back around her shoulders. her eyes are dangerous now, staring straight at him. “let go of me, olaf.”

he does, hurling her back into the chair. esmé wastes no time and fixes the sleeves of her dress, her hair, checks her makeup in the mirror from her purse. olaf walks away from her, but he can feel her eyes following him around the room.

“well? what are you going to do?” she asks.

i think last time i posted about my incredibly shattering lemonberry ice post-opera fic?? i think? did i?? idk i can't find the post. there's so much i love in it too but idk if it will ever really truly pull together. anyway this is another piece of that

bertrand is gone for weeks, trekking up the mortmain mountains in the middle of summer with the sugar bowl. summer is yellow-gold and hot and beatrice makes it hurt, turning on all the fans and standing in the middle of them with her skin bared, she imagines bertrand cold and worried so she is too. cool orange on the ice cubes in her glass, blinding white in the sun on the floor, falling across her feet. she keeps scrambling through her apartment in the middle of the night, throwing everything out of every drawer, checking for the things that are missing, reminding herself bertrand packed everything right. gold in the morning on the spaces in the bookcases, the gaps in her desk where bertrand kept his notes. yellow like a flame on the wall where the grappling hook was supposed to be and beatrice yanks the curtains shut.

the nights are too long. lemony paces on the terrace in the dark when he thinks she’s asleep. the only way she knows lemony is even out there is the little orange glow from the cigarette in his mouth. beatrice creaks one of the terrace doors open, leaning against it.

“it’s cold out here,” beatrice says quietly. it is. it’s a chilly night for july. beatrice shivers, her whole body shaking.

the glow flickers, and a thin line of smoke rises up. beatrice watches it drift and disappear in the darkness, like the evidence of a fire disappearing, like lemony falling through her fingers. her stomach twists, her hand clenching tight around the door handle. “I hate it when you do that.”

she can just barely see the edge of his face. he takes the cigarette and crushes it in his hand.

do anything for me, huh. the words are right there against her tongue and she almost says them. the longer she waits, the more sour they taste inside her. the hold he thinks she has on him is a tenuous thing. he looks at her like the whole world is in her eyes, instead of – that dark awful black beatrice feels when she thinks too much, sticking to her insides.

“what are you thinking?” beatrice asks, so she doesn’t have to keep thinking herself.

he’s silent, but beatrice knows he’s looking at her.

“was it necessary?” lemony whispers.

“what?”

“was it necessary, to steal it from esme?”

beatrice jerks back. she feels like glass, too thin and too fragile, cracking out from the middle in uncontrolled spirals. “fuck you,” she grits out, and she turns and stalks back into the apartment, slamming the terrace door behind her.

OKAY SOMETHING SILLY also to the surprise of no one, i do have a very large document of lemonberry ice funtimes. and it started with a fic i never finished where 1) bea and bertrand are performing in my silence knot 2) lemony wrote my silent knot 3) this is the last performance of the play in the city before they go on tour 4) the three of them are trying to sneak in as much sex as possible before b+b leave, which means, in between scenes

The next break sees them in the same closet, because, well, why not be consistent, Beatrice figures. They spend their whole lives being purposefully vague about every other location, the least they can do is pick the same closet again. They are practically a part of this closet now, anyway, or at least Lemony is. Beatrice thinks he stayed there the whole time, sitting on the floor until their scenes were over, patient and disheveled and contemplating the universe (The Lemony Standard, trademark pending).

“How,” Beatrice says, “are you supposed to write a review of Bertrand and my’s excellent acting if you aren’t even in the audience?”

“I already have a leg up on everyone else,” he says, which is true, because his foot is balanced on the opposite wall and it’s giving Beatrice an excellent amount of leverage where she’s sprawled over him. “I wrote the play myself.”

[writingnocturne]

At The Edge of Calamity

This is one of my contributions to @zelinkcommunity's Zelink Week 2023! Day Five: By A Thread

Look below the break to read! Make sure to read everyone else's masterpieces afterward! Today is an angsty day by nature, be prepared!!!

{ For this week, I will be posting a little peek at art/writing for memories in Call of the Forgotten, a TotK rewrite I am working on (there will obviously be direct and indirect spoilers for TotK). These memories will be posted out of order and are subject to change. They follow the Ancient Hero and Princess during the time of the First Great Calamity. }

Memory ?? – At The Edge of Calamity

( Words – 946 )

Two souls stand at the railing of a skybridge. The new castle's towers stretch to the clouds, comparable to the likes of the spires constructed by the Sheikah. From this height, they can see the field of Hyrule's future capital busy with preparation. The taller of the pair, Princess Zelda, oversees the back and forth motion of guardians. A familiar older woman, Impa, directs a wave of them far below with the motion of a slate in her hands. "By the day, the whole of Hyrule becomes closer to becoming a formidable force. Father's sister… Mineru… She left behind everything we needed to understand the rune and guardian technology we already had. Out of everyone, the Sheikah Tribe is prepared most of all…" Her eyes glimmer with fascination, but the longer she goes on… the further her wonder fades into a forlorn grief. "Yet I… I worry it may not be enough."

The second Hylian, a young man with a sacred sword upon his back, stands a small distance behind her. Her sudden shift nearly startles him, his curious gaze becoming a concerned sort. The boy's hand acts on its own and is drawn toward her, but he is quick to halt it and stay back. There's an uncertainty pulling him away.

"The Sages and my father did all they could to bring the Imprisoning War. They only succeeded with the King's sacrifice… yet even now, his seal is on the verge of cracking. Who is to say what we have will destroy what escapes of the demon?" The princess's calm facade is suddenly torn apart. How often has she wondered such a thing? She feels the light touch of Link's hand over hers on the barrier. It is only then that she realizes just how tightly she gripped the stone, as now her fingers ease into a gentle hold. Her breath ceases for a little too long from his contact, before she finally releases a deep exhale. "...Every night, I hear them. They try to warn me, but I cannot read their lips. No voice travels… yet I know what they tell me. It falls upon what remains in the aftermath of war… to prevent the true destruction of this land; one as young as ourselves compared to the other soldiers. It's…" Zelda's voice quakes in remorse, yet burns with determination. "It's close, Link. The incarnation of hatred surely returns… and it could be any day." Tears collect and roll down her face, but they seem somehow… oversized, like the tears of a dragon coming from human eyes. "Oh, Link… As much as I want to believe that Hyrule can fend for itself… I know how the legends go. The fate of Hyrule will rest with us, when all is said and done. I… deep down, I… I know that is why King Rauru was forced to make the decision he did. So we would be there to finish the Imprisoning War, even after its completion." Fate hangs in the balance. All they can do now is accept it, wait for it to arrive… and hope they hold the power over it.

Her words– this setting in reality– bring Link into a daze. Regardless, he doesn't dare break their touch. No hope truly is what it takes to ease that worry, is it? Zelda has told him stories passed down to her of events they lived through, but were too young to remember. They held Sacred Stones– gifts from the heavens– in their very palms… yet by mortal flaw, they were either consumed by it or were driven to their brink. Yes, they may have guardians… the promise of being "chosen"... and relics of a time that has been forgotten… but that still leaves one major factor: themselves. Will their own flaws push them into the grasp of their enemy? These foreboding glimpses into their potential futures whirl in the young man's head, but he is hardly the definition of vocal. He isn't sure how to spin any of these things into comforting words. He knows Zelda is right.

…

As close as the two of them are, however… it is only a matter of time until he realizes exactly what he means to say. Without even the slightest hesitation, he allows himself to say it aloud.

"...He's making a mistake in resisting the grave he dug for himself. Whether he comes back as a demon, a dragon, a boar… or whatever! The Demon King will regret taking any form in the era of those he reduced to ruin. Impa has shown me everything you've done to take care of them, even when you were still a child. Despite… everything, Hyrule is getting bigger. I've… never seen a place so… full of life before. I promise you, I do not take up the sword because it was carved that I would. It… hasn't been that way for a long time. No matter what happens in the end, my drive is why I fight. Whether or not we have error, I will fight this battle with you." He places his other hand on Zelda's shoulder, his gaze fierce with assurance. Chosen or not, they will protect them all. Why do anything else? Everything they've ever lived has led to this.

"Link, you…– Time and time again, you have seen how this battle you were… dragged into… goes deeper. You witness Hyrule at what could be the edge of its life! Yet you… stay. You stayed long enough to draw the Sacred Blade, and you stayed long enough to help me awaken the Triforce through blessings of light. …Why?"

"...Do we not share the same wish, princess?"

Thank you for reading! Check out the first concept doodles of them here! Obviously, this is all very incomplete; but most is planned out thoroughly! If you have questions, just ask!

Art Info: (Check my art blog @nocturnalfandomartist!)

Program: Ibis Paint X

Time Elapsed: 1 hour, 13 minutes

[milyz]

[ 9:40 pm ] ━━ Incarnate and met once again✧⁠*

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ info : hdc, sorry late post <3 busy with school and others ! it's also a bit rushed so I'm so sorry :(

•. °     . * .·.  . ✧ •. °    . * .·.  . ✧ •. °    . * .·.  . ✧ •. °    .

you were shot during a mission. KorTac soldiers tortured you to bits, not even letting you breathe. soap found you behind barracks, hands on your wound on your side, you lost a lot of blood.

life starts to fade before your very own eyes. you breathe heavily, your entire body felt weak making you slip down to the ground. the guns shooting, explosions and screaming made your ears deafen.

"no.. no, stay with me, [name]" soap's voice shaken trying to awaken you, hands resting on your shoulder. your head turns towards him, eyes locked not letting go.

"Johnny.." your voice croaked, your eyes soon welled up. you tried to crack a smile for him.

"we'll meet again one day.." tears made it's escape, rolling down his cheek. you couldn't bare but to break down crying.

"help is on the way! don't make me lose you" his hands made it's way to your face, softly caressing it, admiring you.

"some day, in another universe.. we'll be together again no matter how long it'll take.." soon, you took your last breath. everything turned dark, it was peaceful yet lonely.

the day of the funeral arrived. soap's eyes were focused on your coffin where your body laid lifeless, existence ceased from the universe. he hit his lower lip, each friction going harder and harder as his lips starts to bleed.

water threatened to pour out from the corner of his eyes. yet he stayed stronger and simply let out a sigh.

a shaky chuckle was all he let out as he sniffed his nose. "I'll definitely miss you a lot.." his hands clutched trying to process everything that has happened.

he was mad. he was furious with himself on how he couldn't be able to save you on time. on how he should've stayed by your side the whole time to protect you but he didn't.

year's went by like lightning. soap has retired from the military base. the park was his place to escape from reality. the birds singing, tree's waving, the air was nice and cold.

everyone reminded him of you. after years, your memories with him never grew dim. he sat down on a bench below a tree, reading a book to distract himself.

"Johnny..?" a familiar voice rang his ears. his eyes widen as he looks above to see a woman standing Infront of him.

"sorry.. who are you?" soap politely arises from the bench looking at her with a frequent look on his face.

"i'm sorry, you looked like someone i've met before" your voice rattled. A small smile appeared in your face before suddenly, everything flashes back into your mind.

"[name].." soap grips your wrist tightly, his body quivered. his eyes lit up after realising it's you all along..

"my love.." everything fell into a silent. the birds no longer chirping, the time went slow.

"we've met again, darling.."

"let's never drift apart anymore.."

IT'S YOOO MANNN SOAAAPPPP !!!

xoxo, mila<3

[glamgoblin]

Tagged by @ella-norah to do this. Thank you for tag bestie!! 🫶🏻

Rules:

Post the first lines of your last 10 fics posted to AO3. (Sort by date posted.) If you have less than 10 fics posted, post what you have!

✨Fics below the cut! ✨

Please read the trigger warnings for fics 3 and 5

1. Midnight Rendezvous - Phayu/Rain Modern Mythology AU and Crack (Love in the Air)

“When was the last time you actually raced?” Prapai leant against the barricade, waiting for Phayu to fix his bike after Prapai’s last race.

2. The Reunion - Multiship family feels and crossover (Love in the Air + Not Me) Co-written by the fantastic @ella-norah

White just finished the talk to his father. He has heard the best news ever - he’s going back home to Thailand. Finally!

3. A Little Too Much Energy - Phayu/Rain and besties, long distance relationship and difficult pregnancy issues. Omegaverse (Love in the Air)

tw: mention of potential miscarriage

When Rain first found out he was pregnant he was thrilled. Him and Phayu had been trying for awhile, and Rain was ready to be a dada. Even just looking at the little blue lines on the test made his heart swell. That day he went to the store and bought a children’s toy set to set to surprise Phayu.

4. Uncharted Waters - NSFW Phayu/Rain mermaid au (Love in the Air)

The moment Phayu’s lips touched Rain’s, Rain knew he’d be Phayu’s forever. All the butterflies in his stomach, all the times he’d convinced himself he should find someone, all the years of holding on to a memory he was never supposed to make, they all made sense now.

5. Light At The End of the World - Gen. Macau decides he doesn’t want to be here anymore and his last thoughts (Kinnporsche)

tw: suicide, self harm, graphic depictions of wounds

Macau felt whole with the gouges on his arms. Like they were always meant to be there. He took comfort in knowing it was almost over. Letting the blood drip from him he felt his heartbeat for the first time.

6. Mortal Love - Phayu/Rain, Ink Exchange and Siren AU (Love in the Air)

“Are you sure you want to do this Rain?” Sky asked for the tenth time on their walk over to the shop. Today Rain would be getting a tattoo, despite Sky’s interrogation.

“Yes, it’ll be fun.”

“It’s not just because…” Sky trailed off.

7. Mis-Match - AkkAyan getting together fic where Yok is Akk’s brother. A veryyyyy belated Christmas gift for the wonderful @wintercrushes (The Eclipse + Not Me)

“Awww!” Chaos incarnate came bounding up to the school gates. “How’s my favorite brother in law? Akk being troublesome again?”

8. Repose My Love, I’ve Sinned Enough for the Both of Us - NSFW Vegas/Pete, aka the one where I challenged myself to hide ten random song lyrics in a smut fic. Happens when Pete is captured by Vegas (Kinnporsche)

The room smelled of blood and cheap cleaner. The kind meant for when you expected something to get dirty all over again.

9. Parting Shot - Phayu/Rain, Years ago Phayu and Rain broke up despite still being in love. When on a trip Phayu runs into Rain and Rain’s daughter, who happens to look exactly like Phayu. Omegaverse. (Love in the Air)

Phayu thought he was sneaking into the house, it was three am and they both had work early in the morning. Rain should be asleep right now.

10. Roses are Red, Now I Can’t Get Out of Bed - NSFW Phayu/Rain sex pollen fic for the PhayuRain discord server prompt (Love in the Air)

Planning dates was always fun for Phayu. He wasn’t as romantic as Prapai, choosing to show his love in different ways, but he always had one or two surprises to show Rain how much he loved him.

Tagging @soyellowcurtainsthen @loveable-sea-lemon and @machoestofmen to show off your fics bc I love them but only if you want to! (I know these things take forever.)

[bad-artist-kira]

My headcanons/musings about Caleb, his role as the One that Binds and adjacent stuff:

After defeating Tchernobog, Caleb not only inherited his powers, but also His memories. All of them, starting from the time He first emerged aeons ago. Caleb is afraid that Tchernobog’s essence and memories will overwhelm his own and he will lose himself, becoming merely one of His “masks”. To cope with this Caleb goes into full denial, refusing to use his new powers or acknowledging he has them for a hundred years and lets the world fall apart around him.

There seems to be some sort of condition that needs to be fulfilled for Tchernobog to possess someone, thus the need for a dedicated group of people to choose a new vessel from and the whole dumbass “make your strongest and most loyal follower hate you and make him even stronger” plan. Tchernobog’s skeleton form from the first game might also be a result of a failed attempt to make a more sturdy vessel for His essence, a meat mecha so to speak. It’s also mentioned that some incarnations have altered His personality. It specifically says “altered” and “colored”, not “overwrote” like Caleb did.

My hc for that all the previous incarnations voluntarily let themselves be possessed, preparing themselves for this role for a long time; sometimes the traces of their personalities remained, but it was never enough to completely supersede the One that Binds.

Caleb, on the other hand, absolutely did not want to be possessed. He wanted his old god dead, so he was able to resist the initial flood of Tchernobog’s memories and avoid complete possession, but now he has billions of years worth of memories compared to which his own life is less than a blip, so now he’s not quite sure who he is now and whether he ever was “Caleb” to begin with, or is he Tchernobog that deluded himself into thinking he’s Caleb.

I think that’s how Revelations(Blood 2’s thankfully cancelled expansion) could work: instead of Caleb being possessed the whole time he slowly succumbs to the possession, and by the end his will and personality get entirely overwritten by Tchernobog’s(or he accepts that he is Tchernobog and sheds his “Caleb” identity), maybe have him show cracks as early as the base second game(maybe have a conflict between his desire to just keep doing whatever he was doing for a century in the world that’s falling apart and Tchernobog’s goal to take over the world like He originally intended to).

The whole theme of identity and memories could even be expanded to the other Chosen: Ophelia’s sorority girl memory might be from the body she ended up in, for example, Gabriella is reborn as a woman so the connection is obvious. Not sure how Ishmael ties into it tho.

Thanks for reading my “trying to fix Blood 2 #2837484847” post

[skyfcx]

// 🎮 — favorite video game(s)? & 📕 — favorite book/series?

It's Monday. Don't look at your calendar || Prompt 📕 — favorite book/series?

     Comic books are books. I can say Calvin and Hobbes without crucifixion. Because it's Calvin and Hobbes. I read the collection books so goddamn much when I was still in school, they'd make me absolutely crack out in laughter at so many times.

     And I don't use him a whole bunch, but Calvin is technically what I use as my mun faceclaim! It's just that I usually prefer to use the muse of the blog for OOC posts too, but he's on my mun page for the blog! He's a delight, his character and how he violently does and doesn't act his age is hilarity. The shit that comes out of his mouth... mwah. Hell, I had a blog for Calvin and Hobbes for a real short period of time!

     Calvin and Hobbes is great, go read it. This is not a request.

🎮 — favorite video game(s)?

     Short answer: Celeste. It's a pixel art 2D platformer that offers the most fair but tough series of tightly woven platforming challenges. Its story, though simple, really touched me in a personal place in my heart. It's godlike.

     The long answer I wrote first is going under the cut because it's just me rambling about Celeste and I don't want to condemn the dash to my screaming.

     i feel lawfully obligated to say splatoon 2 and smash 4 strictly due to how many hours i've sunk into those games, but i think the utter rage they've caused me in the past makes everything positive i've experienced with them level back out back into the 'obsession i ultimately wish i didn't have' category. it's akin to drug use, really. I've kicked Smash Ultimate, but Splatoon 3 continues to latch onto my skin like a leech.

     In reality, I'd probably have to say Celeste is my favorite video game! It's a game with phenomenal gameplay that's tighter than tight. And it's got a story that spoke to me on a rather personal level, it honestly made me cry a bit at a specific point in the game! I love my difficult platformers with a passion, and that game just feels so good to get right, and this game's difficulty isn't just because 'ooo retro games are diffy', no the challenge actually speaks to the underlying story that the game is trying to tell. It's a game about a girl climbing a mountain. Both physically and mentally.

     But in its difficulty, I have to say that never in my days have I ever seen a game that so genuinely wants to see its player succeed! From the gate, Celeste sets itself up as a difficult hike up a mountain that you might not see yourself ready for, but it knows you can do it. It puts obstacles in your way that deter you from breaking past its overwhelming challenge, but there are so many things that aid in the narrative of preservation in the face of a towering opposition.

     For as long as I live, I'll never forget the fact that during Farewell, the game's DLC chapter that acts as the send-off for the game as a whole... in the very last and quite lengthy and certainly challenging room, if you die enough times, you'll get a small scene where Madeline, your player character, is sitting down dejected.

     Some dialogue telling of her doubts that she can even complete this last room is shown, and it's a Part of Her (a little goth version of your character that was previously an enemy before you work it out with yourself and you two join sides) that tells her, and the player by extension, to keep going. To give it a few more tries. She knows you can do it. And it's just.... augh.

     That and so many other instances of this game believing so goddamn hard in you makes me so happy, I adore that game so much. I've gotten all the strawberries on multiple playthroughs, I've gotten all the crystal hearts, done all the B- and C-sides, completed Farewell, NO I haven't gotten all the golden strawberries I'm not GOD INCARNATE, jfc (but i have gotten them for all chapters until chapter 5. those things are fucking agony i dont think i'll ever get all of those damn things).

     AND. I even repurchased the game on Steam JUST so I could download the absolutely ENORMOUS mod called Strawberry Jam and play it! I'm still playing it to this damn day! Oh and the music is superb, Lena Raine is so mwah. And the guest musicians they got for the B-sides are fantastic. GOD I LOVE CELESTE. PLEASE GO PLAY IT. I'M SO SERIOUS.

[stockphotodumpsterfire]

Appreciation post for the friends that just say random shit with no real meaning behind it and start a whole conversation where neither of you have any idea what the fuck you’re talking about. Like “You shouldn’t always trust the stoner ducks in the parking lot” “But the stoner ducks are my besties” “I don’t care, they’re sketchy as hell” and then another friend chimes in with their favourite moon goose conspiracies and another one informs the group of the latest milestone of their fictional abandoned child. The conversation is moving a mile a minute and the ideal of coherent language has been long since forgotten. Friend 3 and friend 2 are fighting to the death and friend 1 knows a suspicious amount about being a furry. I have know idea what’s happening but keep that shit up. That’s what gets me through a shitty day/week/month. That’s what I’m gonna remember about this repetitive, monotonous, forgettable waste of a time in my life when it’s over. That’s what I’m gonna remember about being your friend if I live long enough to lose you. Thank you.

[sugar-petals]

boyfriend!KAI HAVERTZ: d u a l i t y (m.)

↳ ⎡ a chaotic headcanon all about kai’s sweet and sexy sides. 🌿 

# word count. 7.9k 

☼ genre. established relationship au, fluff/humor, smut

WARNINGS. ⚠️ hurt and comfort, x fem!reader, mature themes + explicit language (minors dni), romance mixed with thirst & possessiveness lite, oral sex: both receiving, pretty boy/prince kink (oof), sub!kai if you squint, brief mentions of alcohol and online harassment, body shaming 

♡ 【 ＮＯＴＥ】› every now & then i emerge from my cave to write for the sports fandom. i usually create football intro posts, today it’s plot and banter ✍️ featuring guess who: the supermodel incarnate. a handsome mf too fascinating not to create a detailed universe about (yep, sit back and snack a pretzel). since this football season couldn’t be any more stressful - holy hell 💀🤕 - here comes the soft!kai wholesomeness, some juicy nsfw distraction while we’re at it, and a big portion of unhinged crack. in that sense, hope this has something entertaining for everyone. enjoy!

read on AO3 

being constantly head over heels for each other is your couple energy. my goodness me, the reaction of your friends is absolutely tell-tale. they’re either going ‚aww… never seen anything like this‘ or ‚oh my god just get a room, ye freakin’ lovebirds!‘. it’s always either-or, which is where the dual nature of the whole relationship already shows. it radiates the ultimate comfort, but also… hell yeah, electrifies. that just can’t get boring. the topic of having two sides of a coin is pretty much the red ribbon of kai and you being together, and there’s a lot to say about it.

kai is a model boyfriend in every meaning of the word. a textbook cuddly romeo slash elven king /and/ an actual model stunner (geez, all that body — he’s just a masterpiece). oh, lucky you. but, even if you’re always glued to one another, you are also decisively independent people by the sheer force of irony. this goes down at the flick of a switch to suit your individual needs. kai is always in the know. you figured out in mere weeks just how to respect each other’s me zone. you’re the type to run around attached at the hip with a couple scarf at the christmas market, but also stray apart for your own business all the time when needed. makes for a nice balance. no pressure, but also no sense of feeling desolate.

if you crave your alone time, your tall ass babe — who’s really good at picking up on those things — is suddenly busy with training, paperwork, or dozing off for days like he’s now sleeping beauty. cute, pretty, gorgeous, lovely, showstopping, never done before. that way, you can live out your hermit fantasy the way you want. going feral in nature, driving your bike around anywhere, or wrapping yourself into a blanket burrito to just live online for days and days. he won’t bother you. kai himself is the type to seek retreat for healing time with his animals, you’re similar in that regard. his social media is switched off for a day or two, the phone’s for emergencies: just for him to return back home with some hay in his hair, ready to be obsessed with each other all over again.

from the outside, this might seem like an on-and-off process to a perfect stranger, but it isn’t. you really yearn for one another in the distance, and never really part for longer than a week. if possible, with a schedule of that scale. the separation being involuntary… is a different thing. repeated away matchdays without you attending the stadium are hell for needy kai who’s gonna be in a terrible unkissed mood walking and talking and looking like he morphed into some kind of lovesick robot with the exterior of kai lukas havertz. the poor lil’ babycakes honestly, he doesn’t deserve that. his teammates are always gonna hear one sentence. i miss my girlfriend, i feel so bad. it’s common knowledge that he’s perfectly capable of being a productive citizen, but the no-gf days just put his brain into a blender. you do your best being patient and send pics of you nestled into his jerseys, or random memes to bridge the time. it helps for an hour, but not a whole weekend. when germans are feeling all alone, they turn into tragic broken 18th-century poets that ran out of ink. it’s the great havertzian existential crisis, oh boy.

this shit’s gonna eat him up from the inside. you have to be with each other in person. other people around him will also start to feel the longing as if it’s their own. kai is definitely wiping away some tears when he’s switching off the light by himself in a random hotel room. dizzy from jetlag and his body hurt, he then so painfully realizes again and again how it’s precious time lost with you. if he’s not already on video call, your woeful honey boy looks through his camera roll three times a day just to see you smile or prank him for breakfast, announcing you will stan fc cologne. every picture you drop on socials is a holy grail. without his gf brainrot, kai simply cannot function. truth is, he feels incomplete when there’s no ongoing comments to sincerely tell him he’s so sweet and pretty an obnoxious amount of times a day. at least ten times. sixty is your record. forty to go. you know the drill. records exist to be broken.

and don’t think you’re the only one, showering him with compliments like that. kai is always the first to interact — even when he’s on pitch getting axed by yet another witless defender, your man carries his phone in the other hand retweeting your latest one-liners. he often types out a whole emotional paragraph but deletes it before hitting send. kai’s gonna say it to you the next time you’ll sleep with each other (which is always under the category ‚very soon‘, so don’t worry). instead, his messages are to the point. he knows heart emojis you didn’t even know existed. this man is a walking notification squad, he’s whipped, he hypes you up, he needs you, he’s fanboying 24/7, he will do anything for his queen. if you asked him to volley kick none other than break-iano phone-naldo into the rings of neptune to forever keep him floating there for the sake of mankind, he will do it. and yes, he smiles and coos at his screen so unapologetically like he’s reading fluff on ao3. post some pics cuddling the dogs? he’s blowing up your devices with likes and excited yelling in two seconds.

and meanwhile, in your world: everyone in your social environment is gonna be bombarded with the ‚i miss my idiot so much, why is he not here‘ faces of yours on the regular. even if you don’t say it out loud, everybody knows. it’s incredibly obvious to all your friends that the lack of your favorite cuddle bug’s presence has left one giant spiritual void. at home, you turn into a cryptid couch potato for days on end, cry-masturbating to some arguably stunning kai nudes (somebody hang ’em in the louvre already) or having sad phone calls at 3AM when it really becomes too unbearable. if it weren’t for the dogs, that house would be too big and too empty. almost spooky, in fact. imagine then the splendid nights when kai returns.

this is gonna be a firework of emotion and rolling around in the sheets. unless the more heated phone calls are concerned, you bet your season ticket that kai has not touched himself otherwise. even under the shower it goes, this doesn’t work man, i just can’t. let’s be real and honest: he’s all wired to you. his dick is like, „not sorry! closed hours until further notice :3“ whenever it doesn’t sense the aura of the queen. he couldn’t get it up with ten blue pills an hour. havertz junior is fast asleep downstairs. kai solely wants his one and only couch potato cryptid and no one else. man, is he in love. the prince of habsburg will really do anything for his goddess. he’ll sell his leg hair. only the scent of your skin makes him flustered and safe, and lord knows kai will always ask to steal a hoodie before going on a journey. he once made the whole chelsea bus yearn for love when he wrapped the sleeves around his upper body in his deep sleep while talking to the sweater. he also mumbled something hot which we’re not gonna recite here. play sucker for you by the jonas brothers: that’s exactly the theme.

yeah, let’s talk about some more uplifting bits as well, all in good humor. when it comes down to it, one of the best parts of the famous kai duality is that he is both a consummate living glam boy toy straight out of a 2010’s haircut magazine, but also a 100% trophy boyfriend kinda type. all built into one person, shoutout to his parents. they really created something. taking the trophy part literal here: give it up for the big game player, he has a few. regardless, and goddamn, doesn’t he kinda qualify as a glittering trophy himself? because he’s bedazzled with wonderfulness and the whole world wants to win his heart, badum-tss.

you’re very proud of him always. he has you dishing out the cutesy forehead kisses for real. theoretically. his forehead is way up high there, and the bean already has back problems from bending to tie his shoe laces (his dogs decide to help him out frequently). not to mention from carrying the entire ‚only romantic guy in a 1000 mile radius‘ agenda on his back. so, kissing his knees is also okay. easy to reach. they need some TLC from all the running and bruises, win-win scenario. and who said knees aren’t attractive. you’re gonna be out there routinely flirting with your baby in his DMs like oh hello, setting another standard there my westphalian prince, god of all leg and foot, your revealed ankles would have truly caused a scandal in the victorian age tabloids. like come on, we have to dig up the truth: every proper wag has a full-fledged leg and foot fetish. legs are literally 90% of her man’s job. do you think she won’t notice? and even if you did not once think about shit like sexy blue football shoes and a perfectly fitted pair of socks before: your boyfriend’s body changed your mind.

nice leggies aren’t even the tip of the iceberg with kai. boy can just stand there and it tells anyone that 1) your flirting game is A+ and truly unhinged, otherwise you’d not be able to bring him along now, 2) your taste is maybe a tiny bit bizarre but most definitely amazing, and 3) the viscount of vampire castle aachen is quite clearly yours. he’s clinging to you all the time anyways. moth to the flame, white dog hair to black fabric sweater. people on the street are gonna assume he is in mortal danger because kai is the type to hold onto you for dear life just as a habit. he walks while hugging you. he sits while hugging you. not even the most oblivious person will be confused as to who he belongs with, and who he came with. oh well. i’ll say it. literally came with. you know exactly what i mean. this is one hell of a physical relationship.

anyway. more on that later, basics first. talk about clothes again: you always have matching couple shirts. eyecatching, fashionable ones. you were the one picking them out: because of your faultless sense of detecting things that look super exquisite, as evidenced by your choice of sexy partner. you seriously got a feel for it, though. i’m not kidding. anyone can tell from a fucking mile away: these people color coordinated the living shit out of their fashion game, it’s them against the world. kai’s instagram is plastered in ‚#dressed by gf‘ captions, january to december and back again. the unspoken rule remains: there’s no person more taken than this man.

you do style the fuck outta him. he is your canvas. a mannequin. a statue. the male kate moss in flesh. all-black paris fashion week coats or a sweet peach-colored hoodie, he can do both. his duality extends to everything. you can put some square glossy sunglasses on him, a zip-up jumpsuit, he can rock a fancy umbrella, golden watches, high maintenance felt jackets, sophisticated chelsea boots (ah, perfect) with pointed toes, or straight up cheeky see-through detail blouses like he’s sir lewis hamilton doing a track walk on his home circuit, ready to take pole position. kai looks so good and fucking stylish.

[important editorial note: let us be perfectly distinguished and not cause a shitstorm. subject sir lewis is still the superior power dresser and undisputed sports world fashion king. we live in a democracy, and this is a football post, but nobody can contest this objective fact. he showed up at the met gala dressed as a fancy groom with an entirely transparent bridal lace gown layered underneath. he accepted his GQ award in a sexy grey bdsm harness (omg, can kai please start wearing things like that). he wears a different color every day of the year, no exceptions. he goes the extra mile for custom tailoring. he gives us something to look at. he is a spectacle. he has the best ponytail in formula 1 history. he even makes his own fashion and it’s all vegan. plus, in this dead boring day and age, lewis seems to be the only person left on the planet who knows what a proper pattern is and is not afraid to use it. do i need to go on? i rest my case. i solemnly swear i did not intend to overshadow the sparkling beauty of sir lewis by praising the venerable subject kai lukas havertz in the same breath.]

you encourage kai to take risks with his outfit and dress gentlemanly, or experimentally, not just in athleisure. kai can go pretty polished. he’s interested in how you select an outfit and goes right along (adding his favorite perfume, kai is the best-smelling person in history). you don’t have to guess: he bodies these looks so hard, serge gnabry was left shaken. the fashion chef himself. and let me tell you. the lovechild of anna wintour and the weeknd is truly the judgiest mf to ever walk the german national team ever since toni ‚beast mode‘ kroos retired, so his approval truly means something. serge likes all of kai’s fashion insta posts like it’s his morning newspaper. as if he wasn’t famous enough, kai attracts some major clout for how he is your haute couture muse, and turns even more heads than he usually does. everybody wants to sneak a peak. kai can deliver some major en-vogue moments because he has the combination of build and attitude, and the gorgeousness of the face simply cannot be hidden. facts.

kai has no problem that you’re a wee bit possessive at times, the „that’s my lovely man right here“ style. it’s charming to him. loyalty and a clear sense of belonging are super important in kai’s little private world, always, always, always. you’re never gonna give up on him, and so will he. don’t even think about him abandoning you for an arbitrary influencer from california beach so-and-so. remember, his favorite words are my girlfriend. he drops that a hundred times a day in any conversation. anyone from the outside would be hard-pressed to ignore his devotion. and you? will bust anyone’s ass if they tried to harass him and steal kai from you. when your prince gets fouled, the spirit of manager tuchel enters your body, making you run onto the field to book the player yourself. pardon, that was a joke. it’s the spirit of manager /kepa/ that enters you.

kai needs a strong hand to begin with, but a gentle one, which is another paradox about him. your resident vampire prince without caring physical affection is like cherry pie without the cherries, timo werner without the speed, jorginho without penalties, and lukaku without inter. listen, this man is touchy touchy. he needs his curly hair stroked and his tiny waist hugged all the time, he needs someone to fend for him, stick up for him, and warn him not to hit his head when the door frame is low. when you’re not home to smooch his marks and sore spots, he feels terribly isolated. but he also doesn’t want to be patronized, or be a manchild to you. you doubt the latter is achievable, but you’re not gonna aggressively direct his life, that’s not gonna happen. your philosophy is, gotta observe the person how they treat beloved animals and close acquaintances, and that’s how they wanna be treated. it’s obvious as fuck by how kai goes about handling his interest in donkeys or dogs.

one day he is shy and unsure, needing nothing short of your protection; your five minute embraces and kisses and tender words, your advice and your strength and your guidance. the other day, he’s confident and enduring, that goes for anything. he will shoulder all of your troubles, he will rebuke the haters, he is wise, he stands tall and sexy. this aspect of his duality is the most insane. how kai can go from let-me-stand-behind-you pupper to silky radiant wonderboy with the hands on his hips pose. kai’s duality in terms of esteem is pretty interesting and keeps the two of you on your toes, that’s for sure. a lot of people can’t handle someone who is both so seemingly vulnerable yet glamorously poised, but you chose kai and you own that shit.

he has an unbreakable calm (with a mind as empty as mendy’s goal), but is also batshit crazy. your camera roll is proof how there’s no limit to king kai’s facial expressions, nor is there a limit to how far he can stick out his tongue. lord have mercy when his weird ass meme-ing mimicry turns sexual and picks up on what you did together last night. he has one um unique o-face rendition he’s pulling to make you laugh, but don��t tell anyone. meanwhile, the chill he has in front of the goal translates to everyday conversations as if nothing happened. his sexual side is strictly bedroom and strictly texting. other people won’t catch him saying something explicit to you or about you in interviews or locker rooms.

kai is very ardent, stubborn, bitchy, and cranky when it comes to moral and ethical issues. it’s always clear to you he already made up his mind and stands up for what is right. this dude got a major backbone (literally. his spine is just so fucking long, oh christ). and on the other hand: kai is the most unbothered babycakes on the planet. when the situation calls for it, he looks like he doesn’t give a fuck, and he talks like he doesn’t give a fuck, he says that he doesn’t give one either, but ironically, he often does. he can’t pretend, he can’t lie to you, you see right through anyway. but the unbothered part is still true to some degree. sometimes, he always asks you to decide the most random stuff for him because he has no stance. he’s either 100% decided (e.g. on the fact that dogs deserve the world) or a floating blob with no preference at all (die or das nutella. classic german grammar debate. he shrugged it off as unsolvable.). it’s hilarious how his mentality works.

a trouble-rousing part of his duality has to do with age. after all, kai is still very, very, very young, a duckling fresh out of the pond — but seems a whopping decade older than being actually 22, especially when combined with his on-pitch mannerism or a nice black suit. people make fun of you because your boyfriend is so extremely skinny and taut in the face, or has the type of heavy glance that’s easily dubbed as uninterested, haughty, or weak. that he comes across as ‚completely spent‘ or ‚comes around looking fucked up‘ is something that gets thrown your way pretty often. you know he’s not built like leon ‚the rock‘ goretzka or glows with beaming joy like n’golo kante’s soft cutie cheeks. that’s obvious. he’s just born that way, his way, duh. but the whole critique still doesn’t sit right with you, especially since the jab is aimed at you as a couple, so the insult is double. attacking your boyfriend’s appearance is a no-go. that gives you fury.

you like that kai has a mature look to him. being a babyface heartthrob wouldn’t really suit him, let’s be realistic. his look is unique. actually, you didn’t even think too much about that until people brought it up. a face like that, why not, though? and why is it up for debate? in your eyes, kai is just kai. your cuddly boyfriend with the nice curls. he doesn’t have to look like a disney breakout star, or be ‚easy on the eye‘, or be an SLB (sweet liddol bean) at the beginning of his journey. if people want something like that, they should look elsewhere and consider the living SLB embodiment that is none other than jamal musiala. stan jamal, people.

kai’s no longer a teenage dream either, he’s of frickin’ age. he still needs a bit of bubble wrap, mostly to protect him from stumbling over his own legs, but not a fuckton of it. and, vice versa: that he’s not endless decades older than you is something you consider a pro to begin with, not a vicious con. what’s wrong with a man not being settled in life, you don’t even know what the standard is supposed to be. césar azpilicueta? and he’s a godly stupendous unmatched ideal 99% of the population can’t even remotely reach! loser or winner, you want kai.

everyone is in their own phase, all generations need one another. you enjoy that kai is young and new to the wide world out there. you don’t shame him for not being perfectly experienced, or super bossed up like he runs everything. it’s what is nice and endearing about him. he’s edgy and sexy and he learns from mistakes, looks up to others, works hard on himself, is on eye level (unless it comes to knowledge about donkeys, but you give that one to him). and, the elephant in the room when it comes to long-term relationships — him being very young means, hello: a lot more years to spend together! best believe your boyfriend’s not going anywhere anytime soon. kai hates relationship instability. he’s already made up his mind to go the distance. is his name manuel neuer? because he’s a keeper.

his age also softens any power imbalances, and: he’s in the best possible hormonal phase to be in love with making out. kai's really affectionate. what’s not to like. his age is an all-around advantage. you can come up with 29 more reasons on the fly. but also, how old he is doesn’t have to be a topic day in and day out. in your couple time, you haven’t talked about it at length more than once or twice. it’s not an earth-shattering fact to you, and everybody ages every day anyway, time flies. baby kiki (that’s how his mom calls him, you learned) will be adult kai havertz in a blink of his handsome eye anyway.

if people think he’s just a useless gay gen z bitchboy or a james charles football copy with acne, it’s on them: and you can enjoy the very fact that you’re dating a dashing cutie for yourself at the end of the day, and he dates you. that’s what it’s all about. you like him with the scarring and not just without, you think it’s sweet how he’s popular with guys wherever he goes, and that he has a structured face a camera broadcasting him to a world audience would love… is absolutely a compliment. oh honey you got all of this, and all that stellar body, too. 190 centimeters of good boy, 6’3 of sex god. who wins.

you get super defensive firing out arguments to protect kai regardless. admittedly, and that’s a guilty pleasure, you have slayed many a twitter troll like you're thiago silva’s wife. if you see some vitriol blowing up in the fandom and it crosses your feed, you’re suddenly the danny devito meme that goes so anyway i started blasting 😏💥. last week you got into an ugly tweet fight about kai's physique and began ranting that how he won’t gain weight or superhero level muscle is neither his fault nor his obligation, and if his face is exhausted, well, who’s working hard! and, while we’re at it, guess who stays up extra time at night to make his girlfriend very loved and happy? taking both his job and his relationship seriously, you know, like a great person.

you just kept dragging people left and right all day like, just get out, the uninterested look is a damn sexy bedroom gaze, by the way, learn to differentiate. kai just knows how to be seductive all the time, got a problem with that? also, no, he’s not a plastic prince, that bone structure is very real and not some wobbling derma filler shit, you tested, officially, with kisses, that’s a real fucking jaw. the brows are naturally this way, too, kai slays, he looks just fine, thank you very much. you can feel not attracted to him, but that’s no excuse to critiquing his health from your limited standpoint.

and hey, maybe, coincidentally, you know, he’s not like uh ‚radiant‘ or whatever because you sitting on his face all the time blocks out the sun with all those essential vitamin d nutrients so that’s on you. let it be known to the plebeians that the royal viscount of aachen prefers to live in the shadow. so there’s that. the raving mob of king kai fangirls and fanboys agreed and hit retweet, the haters ran for the hills after you dropped your tirade, news outlets just loved the fodder, kai felt very assured and honored, and you were moving on. no time for body-shaming. you think he’s as handsome as it gets, and not „despite xyz“, but „because xyz“. and anyone who tries to devalue his red hot appearance needs to mind their own messy biz. in a perfect world, kai would be flamed for his strange t-rex arm posing and wild rolling eyes in other people’s instagram videos, and yet he gets shit like that! this is just draining.

alas, you concede one thing. at one point, you had to admit that kai is a questionable dancer. jorginho will beat him in any tiktok battle on god, and rüdiger will shake his hip literally once and obliterate kai in five seconds. at the same time, kai is gifted with levels of foot- and leg-related skills that most other human beings can and will never even fathom. add even more hand-eye-foot coordination since he’s playing the piano… he’s gaming… he’s into formula 1 simulation… he has a lot of sex with you to practice getting really great at it… there i said it, the list goes on. he’s a physical wunderkind but also the world’s worst twerker.

last week he uploaded a recent ass parade on reels. people took to the comments writing stuff like, nothing jiggles here omg, you think your ass is austria but it’s actually the netherlands. kai replied c’mon, i’m working on it! he hates the gym but honey boy will go and try to conjure a 3D booty. tell mason to go join him and kai will stay motivated, as well as have a frame of reference. on the other hand: as i said. you like kai the way he is. everything is already in place how it should be. no improvement necessary. he couldn’t walk around flaunting a massive eden dumptruck without looking a little weird and unbalanced, could he. the only person who can pull off those #insane (hint, hint) legs and a great behind at that height is who? leroy sané. he gets a free pass. leroy’s ass and figure are top-notch. he is the moment. but we digress. the old rule remains, kai looks pretty head to toe. his name is fine. mighty fine.

more duality in the house of havertz… we’re getting more nsfw here. surprise surprise, you love to be very sexually active with him. he’s too hot not to be. the release is amazing, the couple time perfect. you are beyond infatuated with this man’s vibes and body, there’s no way you’re not fucking him back and forth all day every day, from deep and loving to wild and passionate because he is just sizzling and stunning and delicious. and when i say wild, i mean wild. kai is gonna forget in which direction the opposing goal stands after you fucked him brainless shortly before kickoff. you’re gonna scream from the edge of your stadium seat, oh god, my prince, please run the other way, your name is not mats hummels!

and then, oh wonder. kai is the most monk-like person in the world. hell, the pope himself. pater havertz innocentius XXIX (= the 29th). someone who’d rather be a farmer, a fisherman, a shepherd. no thoughts of sex in sight sometimes. his pronounced softie side cannot be underestimated. remember: even if the sky is falling down, even when n’golo kante ever stopped smiling (a truly apocalyptical scenario, not even the gods above could save us), even when tumblr wouldn’t know who mason mount was anymore, the day that thomas tuchel became an incompetent manager: kai would remain the last romantic. much like his chiseled bone structure: this is set in stone and marble.

touchy-feely is the word. hugs before fucks. smoochie before coochie. petting before sweating. no dreamy physical contact and a lot of laughter for kai is an absolute libido killer, if not the ultimate deal-breaker, the #1 reason to nag, his princely pet peeve. he needs something to smile about, and he needs comfort. both for the soul and body. you embrace him a lot, cheer him up, and make sure he feels very warm. kai gets cold so easily, it’s ridiculous. heated blankets all the way, baby. the DFB socks stay on during sex. heating bill off the charts. kai wants to have sex not to go from feeling unwell to elated, but he wants everything to feel nice throughout. it’s an extra effort to make sure the atmosphere is perfect, but your boyfriend needs his safe haven like that.

on top of that, he simply cannot have a good romp if he’s worried and preoccupied. kai lukas havertz turns into a sexless creature whenever he’s got a lot on his mind. the stress just kills his boner, and a person who would dismiss him emotionally? wouldn’t even get in the proximity of his pants. he loves you because you get his feelings and opinions most importantly. kai would not go to bed with someone who gave him real weird vibes, even if it was just all carnal, no strings attached. like picture someone who would mistreat animals in front of his eyes. oh my god. or someone who didn’t think about the environment, or tried to be pushy taking advantage when he was feeling messed up. kai is often level-headed, he tries his best thinking positively, but he has his ups and downs, too. he’s your hero for overcoming them. it would suck ass if someone was manipulating that for their own benefits. kai knows he’s someone who has something to offer, so he has to give it very carefully. if you think about it, he has a lot to lose, and it would be easy to break his heart. his sarcasm can only shield him so far. i know this sounds like a lot but yes, kai needs to be touched with velvet gloves; his feelings have to be protected from being played with.

if he were single at this point in time, he would go as far as being drunk and allowing someone to grind up on his lap, but… as soon as he’d trail to a backroom with them and a moment of sobriety would hit, kai’s mood would be ruined if they were not having a working conversation. if he asked them what they would like him to do and got an ‚umm… whatever you want!‘ in reply, he’d feel frustrated. maybe it has something to do with how he’s used to having managers and mentors all his life, since day one. he isn’t wired to say, „that’s how it’s done, deal with it“. to a certain extent, kai needs a partner who tells him what to do. that turns him on. all else is just the cruel underchallenging of a pretty bottom (perfect title for his autobiography so far, would be a million seller).

monk havertz innocentius also descends from his cloister when the weather is too sunny to be ignored. leaving the house and fooling around outdoors together is really important to him. he’s a dog person, remember. if the rain stops in england, the sex can wait. he’s gonna take his less expensive football with him, the one you can kick into some river or a pit of mud from hell. you drive to a hidden place without paparazzi and have endless fun practicing super long passes on a random meadow, somewhere out there. that’s his next best-kept secret: because he can pick up your wonky crosses and strangely angled shots, kai is perfectly prepared to outsmart and anticipate even the most difficult rival teams. like. kai can run after any mile high shot you’re giving him, and even throws himself into said river to retrieve the ball (sexy. he’s hotter than daniel craig crawling back on land with that shirt sopping wet).

mind you: even if it’s tempting, you’re not mad that kai is arguably a hundred times better than you. who cares. you allow each other to shine in your own ways. there are plenty of things and situations where kai needs your input. for instance, when it comes to telling an actual, well-crafted dad joke. his are still a little lame, he admits to it. in any case, i know, this bullet point escalates into a drag-em-all buffet like it’s atleti’s defense. what i wanted to say is that sure, kai is easy to envy, but also easy to cheer on. he doesn’t roast you for looking like the harry maguire to his kevin de bruyne, but works with what you have, and it’s just outdoors football for fun anyways. you’re not a professional player, he has to be the one downsizing his skill here.

talk about envy. you might be playing outside a lot, but you also play… inside. all your friends wish they had their own personal habsburgian heir to go down on them like it’s a won world cup final. everybody wants a kai clone. oh yes. the sexual duality extends to oral in particular. admit you’ve noticed this about him already, you perv. he has a thing for that. one hundred percent. this guy is so possessed by the holy spirit of saliva, blink twice and he’s scoring with a header two times a night. we know that’s kai’s specialty. that’s why everybody wants a piece of your bf, bestie, haven’t you noticed. his rowdy daring tongue knows no time-out.

like. it begs to see the light of day all the time. why is it always hanging out right in everyone’s face, oh my god. it’s naughty, i told you he’s havertz thee stallion. but to your knowledge, that’s his intricate courtship ritual. the more he sticks it out: the more he’s down bad. hold on to your labia because santa kai is coming to town, ready to bestow you with the gift of being a slobbery maniac at cunnilingus. everybody knows that kai is not a coward. and anyone can guess he’s really unusally messy. and even if he was all neat and virginal in the beginning. that the royal ruler of havertia is in the vicinity of crazy people that radiate „i give so much head, it made me nuts“ energy — and i mean the likes of kepa, and out-of-control specimen going by supposedly biblical names such as joshua — literally does not help. one day, kai is gonna feel inspired and lose his mind completely as well.

someone’s gonna go all out between those lovely legs of yours. not an ounce of hesitation from the very start. he’s konfident with a k like kai. he literally knows he’s not gonna embarrass himself. zero performance anxiety, let’s-a-fucking go. this face is an expensive sex toy, and this man is a pussy worshipping machine. at full throttle. how much more can he scream at the top of his lungs that he wants to please and spoil you so fucking badly. his eye contact is going to drive you up the wall, the feel of his nose, the curls between your fingers. oh, have mercy. the curls. the curls! the waves at the shore of the habsburgian empire. he wants you to grip and tug at them, how else are they so long and grabbable. thanks, you’re dripping wet by that thought alone when he’s not home on saturdays.

and that’s only the beginning. he pulls out every ace from up those long ass sleeves he got. kai is gonna wind his whole face around to get fucking covered in you. you know what i’m talking about. he really does that. jesus christ my sire, please don’t get an eye infection. he really knows no bounds to his debauchery. the man who routinely wants to be held carefully in your arms for the entirety of a bus ride is really gonna suck and nip and dip at your clit until you’re screaming out loud. oh, kai. you relentless bitch. but as beyoncé sang. it feels so good to be alive.

a toast to this oral aficionado. this is truly the hardest-working mouth at cobham and we all know it doesn’t mean talkativeness, kai is just impossibly eager to feel you writhe and cum on his tongue between matchdays. yep, i said it. he is that type. he can’t imagine life without giving head. he would just give up, retire himself into a remote barn in the west german countryside, and dry some straw for donkeys to chew on until he’s old and grey. no head, no fun. even if kai’s a little tired, he won’t let that shit stop him. he’s firmly convinced you always deserve your treat, and he’s gonna carpe diem with the limited time you have together. definitely an orgasm chaser here, louder harder stronger, that’s not for everyone. but he’s always aiming high because he wants to make you blissful, and knowing his lil’ weirdo brain inside out: you date him exactly because he works that way. what counts is, you’re moaning and you’re ascending and you’re getting noisy as hell, saint joshua would be so proud of you.

in comes the uno reverse card! you almost forgot this post is about duality, did ya. kai is also one hell of a bj enthusiast like no other. there’s no denying. he’s no less capable on the receiving end: and yes, he considers it hard work. pun intended. boy can keep it hard for minutes and minutes and minutes. the rest is up to you. do whatever you want on and with and to that dick. he does not care. whatever outlandish kinky things you’ve read about in this or that pseudo-scientific article, he’s there to satisfy your greed. come on, i told you he’s a boy toy bottom. kai has huge standards for his own methods, but here? even being completely off with your skills doesn’t faze him. extraterrestrial sounds, bad technique, awkward speed, fuck it. kai says who cares, the fact that it’s resembling a blowjob is enough. if it’s your lips, your throat, your tongue, your chin, your spit, going all over him — he’s in habsburg heaven. his arms are limp on the bed as are his legs, a starfish par excellence. prince kai havertz is actually /pillow/ prince kai. it’s kinda cute, but also hot how he surrenders.

just do your thing how you see fit. he’s dying. crumbling. suffering. disintegrating. corroding to igneous dust. people think that supposedly, kai’s inner spirit already left his body anyway, but this is actually where it happens. he’s very sensitive to having someone really suck him off, especially after a shower when he feels nice and warm and comfortable. and, just so you know, like a true german: he will nitpick with the terminology (ah yes, the return of bitchy kai): „a blowjob is not a deepthroat session is not a facefuck!“ mh, very true, king, very true. these are all different disciplines. you can show him you know which one is which. nuance scores the goal, as does strawberry flavored lube. eureka, what a nice invention, makes the ample buffet even tastier. he’s all groomed and shaved, imagine the glide.

by the way. you will find firsthand factual evidence that he can work his hips for 45 minutes times straight. like not just bucking. really all-out moving like a serpent because this man is a desperate grunting hoe for you. he’s terribly, terribly slutty, like… look at him. your honor, he is thirstier than thomas müller after a match of carrying the entire national team on his back. they’re paying the prince a lot of money so he is able to muster that stamina on the pitch, so you can hold it against him (well — playfully of course). no problem: kai likes a challenge. a good facefuck that lasts a halftime? let’s plot out some stable positions and take it slow. his arms are long enough to reach your clit, he’s gonna have you soaked on either end. he has figured out the right amount of being all inside of you rested across your tongue, or pulled out in the right moments so you can toy around with all the length he’s giving, and kiss it, and lick it good, and tell him exactly how he should move. duh, he’s gonna be like say no more, let me do it for ya.

kai havertz 29 should be kai havertz 69, i’m serious. for a madman sucker of this scope, eating you out while feeling your lips on his tip? he’ll never be the same. 45 minutes, jot that down. to be entirely truthful, yes, he’ll look like you murdered him in cold blood afterwards because he really puts his heart into the flow. but it’ll be worth it. even if that’s going to surprise you, he’s gonna cry his eyes out because it was so unbelievable, and needs some major personal attention, you know, ASMR time. kai and aftercare are inseparable.

and on your part? perfectly happy. you never had to chug this much water in preparation, you never tasted that much prime dick all your life, your lips have never felt stimulated like that, and you haven’t heard a guy moan and gyrate his soul out like this. you’ll never catch yourself mumbling „mh, mh, so good“ like that elsewhere. if you can mumble at all, that is. no time for talk, you want to be busy with your mouth in a different way. that dick is so hard and pretty and flushed and basically „hi, working hours open again!“ because hey. he loves you so much.

all tension will have left your either bodies and you can sleep tight like angels after cleaning up. second shower for kai? even better, he’s snug and warm again. but don’t you think it has to be a marathon every time, okay. here goes the duality all over. if you want ten minutes of intensity and rush, kai will sweetly oblige and ask, „so what’s on the menu, then?“. tongue in cheek, ever the pleaser, ever the teaser. i told you way before, you’re so lucky. quickies are not his top-most specialty, usually because he is the deep and steady type, and calm as you like. it’s you who’s going a little rougher sometimes for good measure, and he’s down for that. kai likes upbeat and energetic people. he won’t accuse you for losing your nerve, he knows he looks like a hottie. but he can catch up with you, i promise, five minutes and he’s giving you a whole damn bucket load to do whatever you want with: gotcha. the german punctuality of it all. with a schedule like that, kai has to learn being organized.

cum play is only the next conclusion to arrive at. the nasty brat is gonna slurp it all off your fingers. the duality of him means he’s not just a romancer but also, kai’s dirty, you can swap it around on your tongues and enjoy the amazing texture. this man has the most controlled diet in the world, baby. of course he tastes astoundingly good. and kai doesn’t have a major gag reflex, bless his horny soul, so you can shove your fingers in his mouth as far as you please. he’s just gonna glare you down and stick his tongue out like it’s nothing. he knows the shit he can take. pity there’s no endless supply of his cum, so he has to practice recovering quickly every round. but we know he’s the prince of recovery, so don’t worry too much about it.

if you really want to know the details. kai has one long veiny dick for the taking, grower not a shower. he has a tendency to cum in waves at once, six to seven slow twitches, with a silky — hah, got ya, this one you won’t ever forget — clean texture. you quickly discovered his favorite way of cumming. that would be you gripping hard above the base, sort of around the middle actually, and working with the upper third, without the lips fully closing so it makes a satisfying wet noise. he doesn’t need you going balls deep. the stimulation and teasing and lip friction are enough. so, among the big three, he likes plain blowjobs the very most, with enough spit and handwork involved. brace yourself, the moans will be heavenly soft and desperate. yeah, he’s extra, and he’s vocal. unless we’re talking safe word system, of course. not many words. they’re not needed. he’s an athlete, he feels it all in his skin and bones, and his kisses will always tell you what you need to know.

the afterglow is exactly as you’d expect. after a ton of shampoo and water went down the drain, you are the classic two-big-towels-wrapped-around-us couple on the living room couch. drying off, the dogs will still stay in the different part of the house, and you will lay there humming and murmuring in silence for a while just to cuddle it all out. but they will join for bedtime when you’re both tucked into each other's serge gnabry-signed stylish PJs. now’s the time to cling and smooch for like half an hour plus. after he’s done making some silly faces, kai keeps talking and talking, staying pressed firmly against you with his eyes closed. then you keep talking and talking, until you’re both drifting off into the twilight zone. it’s just a nice and protected atmosphere. the dogs are curled up on the duvets, and so are you underneath. sleeping beauty kai is back.

you went crazy in the sheets, and now you’re right there glued together. as the germans love to say: same procedure as every year. well, every week, in this case. when you look at him doze off next to you, kai’s so cute, like the senior puppy in this bed. like, a comically elongated pupper, 6’3 is one hell of a doggo if you think about it, but since he’s in a fetal pretzel position now, it sort of counts. it’s easy to snooze that way when you spoon him, and there’s nothing left to be desired. oh, he’s the bestest boy, you can attest. and you do realize. kai is an amazing boyfriend in more ways than just being really soft on the one hand, and super sexy on the other. it’s the whole package deal we’re talking about. it’s the truth, your tall loving prince just has a lot of good things to offer.

ao3 crosspost

››››› ♥ multifandom masterlist ♥

【 final note.】my contribution to mending the chelsea heartbreak, i hope you liked this wild ass ride and enjoyed your snack. excuse any editing/spelling mistakes or related grammar issues, i happen to be german myself 🇩🇪 thank you for reading, i’m sure i’ll post some more football stuff during world cup season, in the meantime leave a comment/tag or so 👋 - caro 

© 2017-2022 sugar-petals. all rights reserved. no reposts or translations allowed. all depictions are fictional and for entertainment purposes only.

[googledocsdyke]

Do you have any thoughts/recommended texts for Cas analysis? I genuinely love the dean gender studies and I just wanna know what people might apply to Cas.

yes absolutely!! while dean studies is my first love i also deeply love cas analysis (casnalysis?) and wanna strive to do more of it. here’s some stuff off the top of my head:

1. gender, sexuality, heavenly embodiment

this is much more theological and less psychological than dean’s whole Deal because there’s so much fascinating stuff around how the angels in general experience express and conceptualise gender (@autisticandroids has a good post about angel gender & lily sunder has some regrets) but for cas in particular there’s this fascinating kind of collective fandom agreement (which i DO also agree with) that cas’ own gender kind of is gay man, that he actively chose gay manhood, but also that he’s kind of..... lacking the Insane Genderishness that dean exhibits at all times, even though he actively chose to engage in male gendering and became so comfortable housed Within Jimmy that he, as some post i saw the other day that i can’t find anymore said, “became his own body” when jimmy died. 

like on the one hand there’s an almost-canonical transness to the whole process but it also never feels fully written-into because 1) the supernatural writers for all their insanity are sometimes very boring and *most* of the time only feel interested in narratively expressing angels As Their Vessels anyways and just like leaving convenient spaces around these questions (boldest thing they ever did was hot girl cas which i WISH i had the range to unpack) 2) there’s a vague inevitabilist shrug to the whole thing since they obviously weren’t gonna recast misha collins (though they HAVE tried to get rid of him) and 3) something amorphous about cas’ entire..... personhood? makes him Empty Of Gender as a contrast to dean’s Full Of Gender (i believe it was @deanwinchestergender who said this) and like is it just the juxtaposition to dean/jensen’s whole insane Deal? or something else? 

like he actively chooses the terms of his own embodiment and yet narratively it feels like a shrug. and we’re all like “well obviously even though he’s a celestial being he was always a gay man” and like WHY. i love it idk idk much to think about! and yeah just in general the theological questions of possession and cas genuinely Becoming a man as he iterates himself consciously towards humanity it almost feels like. by doing the most boring things possible with his gender they made it interesting? idk if that makes sense.

2. discipline, free will, metanarratives

cas is like a tool (“i am not a hammer, as you say”) held in constant discipline and surveillance by the system that enmeshes him and it’s really, really fascinating to watch the way the angels hold each other to conformity. especially pre-god they kind of produce each other as foucauldian disciplinary subjects (which i posted about here) in perpetual visibility through angel radio, generating their own and each other’s conformity rather than being directly ruled through like a single centralised source of power. only the spectre of a god. and obviously cas’ whole thing is that he has ALWAYS disobeyed and the narrative affords him this psychological interiority never given to the foucauldian subject, an internal will and desire for freedom in a way that fits more with the liberal subject (super roughly and not with the same pro-capitalist implications but he has this internal drive for self-liberation. 

and that’s also where the metanarrative comes in ofc! i think it was @dykecas who said that cas is a real person written by people who hate him, and there’s this crack in the narrative (mirroring the crack in his chassis) where cas gets in, over and over, despite all the order imposed by the show’s authorfathergod. like we’ve all seen the analysis about how it was Never supposed to be this way they DID try to fire misha collins in 2012 and yet this gay man literally cannot be stopped! i think actually his appearance in scoobynatural is a neat little distillation of this — he drops into this animated world originally with a singular purpose (Save Sam And Dean) the same way he dropped into lazarus rising with a single 3-episode arc (Save Dean). huge hammer behaviour. his “utility” diminishes within the narrative (he finds that he can’t fly in the scooby doo universe) and so he is no longer a tool/means to an end that salvation moves Through. and in the process (and huge creds to @lesbianyuugi for this) he does something ENTIRELY unrelated to his original cas-as-tool aim, and learns, like, the meaning of laughter from shaggy and scooby. WHICH brings me onto the third point

3. love, queer kinship, family-making

HE’S GAY AND HE’S A DAD! i feel like a lot of tumblr throws around the term “found family” in a very flat and tropey way (which is fine it’s cute and fun no matter what!) but like . GOD there’s so much specific stuff going on here. like the way that cas (unintentionally) obliterates the midwestern white christian nuclear family (made incarnate in the novaks) which like could be uniformly portrayed as an act of deep malice and villainy but instead grows to serve as a surrogate (if imperfect/complex, but DEEPLY loving) father figure for the gay daughter who has now escaped that nuclear family/seen it destroyed depending on how you read it? like he remasters the entire concept of fatherhood and it’s a very interesting (if DEEPLY) unintentional subversion of the homewrecking non-nuclear gay trope. cas is so good because his character arc doesn’t say “look, gay people can be normal and have perfect settled families just like you” it says “gay people DON’T have normal settled families actually and they are full of love anyways! or Because of the abnormalcy itself!) 

to cite ziz lesbianyuugi again he DOES queer fatherhood in his parenting of jack particularly because it really is one of the ONLY parent-child relationships in the show that breaks the incessant cycle of abuse and control and cold indifference perpetuated by the authorfathergod (a cycle reified in 15x20 lol). like god’s treatment of cas and his siblings mirrors john’s treatment of sam and dean (particularly dean) mirrors victor’s treatment of krissy and her crew mirrors dean’s later treatment of jack. there is a CONSTANT reiteration of the story of authorfathergod (often a father tightly entwined in biological kinship) treating a child as a mechanism or a tool or a means to an end. and cas looks at ALL that he has suffered and all that he is ever known and chooses constantly to reject it with every piece of love he expresses for his child. and not to sound like the kind of academic people make fun of on twitter but there is an INHERENT queerness to that. gay love will pierce through [the veil of death/the thick silence of abuse/the mechanism of godly control/hegemonic american masculinity] and save the day

anyways here are some very haphazard recs on everything above for further reading:

angels in america (tony kushner)

histrionics of the pulpit: trans tonalities of religious enthusiasm

the public universal friend: religious enthusiasm in revolutionary america

discipline and punish (michel foucault)

friendship as a way of life (michel foucault)

the genesis of blame (recommended by @pietacastiel who has GREAT theology content in general

all about love (bell hooks)

the chapter “when hated characters talk back” in anti-fandom: dislike and hate in the digital age (is actually explicitly about cas)

also cannot recommend enough following the ppl i tagged above!! most of the unlinked stuff is available through http://libgen.li/ and bookshop is a good alternative to amazon if ur american and want physical copies

[femininenachos]

Thank you for your response. Clexa will always remain special to me. The manips, my goodness the art and in-depth clever stories written by so many thoughtful people, such as yourself. It was a fun time when it became so dark. It helped us all deal with the dreadful trope of killing the lesbian off for a prop. People, like you and others, gave Clexa life. I will always be eternally grateful.

Thank you 🥺, and I also want to emphasise how grateful we writers are to those who have stuck around and continue to read, leave kudos, comment, send asks, and otherwise hype our work. Your support is a huge part of what keeps us motivated 💜💜💜

Totally agree, the period post-3x07 felt like we were processing our collective trauma through fic, art, edits, vids and meta, fuelled by our great love of Lexa and Clarke (and spite towards Jatan). It was an unforgettable time of tremendous creativity in direct response to a horrific trope perpetrated by an unusually cruel and stupid showrunner. I don’t miss the outpouring of grief that followed in the immediate aftermath, but I do miss the sense of togetherness, they way we rallied to give Lexa a better story in whatever incarnation we could come up with. God, I miss the supremacy of Clexa crack. This fandom was salty and hilarious, even in the face of tragedy.

Honestly though, Clexa still has my whole heart. I can’t even flirt with other ships.

[a-series-of-whumpy-events]

This is not March 20th, even though I said I was going to start reposting on March 20th.

But this is March 17th, and it’s St. Patrick’s Day, and I just couldn’t wait another three days to get my Irish OC Devin (back) into the world!

So yeah. Here’s the repost of the first historical whump piece I ever wrote! Welcome to my Thrall series, take two!

A note about the taglist: a lot of people on this taglist already liked/reblogged/commented on the first upload of this piece. This is the only taglist for this series that I have due to The Incident, so if you were one of those awesome people who interacted with the first incarnation of this piece, absolutely feel free to ignore it and the rest of this series until I start posting new content again. If you’re just now encountering this series and like what you read, just ask to be added to the taglist! (Or removed, if you’re not interested anymore! I completely understand- it’s been awhile!)

Also please note that, while I use a bit of Irish Gaelic at the end of this piece, I have literally no idea how to pronounce the words. I also disgrace my Irish heritage with my clumsy attempt at writing accents later on in this series. Whatever. I had fun, and I can’t wait to move on to the new pieces!

Taglist

@rat-father @whump-it @whump-me-all-night-long @tears-and-lilies @cupcakes-and-pain @abitefullofwhump @hearse-song @sola-whumping @caspia-writes @cursedandtired @oswaldinator3000

Warnings

As a blanket warning: this whole series deals with slavery in the Viking age.

This chapter has: a mention of slave collars and a character who wears one, mild-ish physical abuse, and threats of violence.

Thrall

Lightning cracked open the sky. Rain slashed down like knives, accompanied by rolling thunder. It relentlessly pelted the Norwegian countryside, tearing through the trees at the edge of the forest with freezing claws, coming down hard on the back of a young man struggling with a load of firewood.

Devin bowed his head against the wailing wind, brushing rain out of his eyes. He set his feet and tugged, stumbling backwards as the bundle of wood finally moved. Crouching down, he shouldered the heavy load and let it slide down, finally coming to rest against his back.

He flinched as he moved out from the relative shelter of the trees and into open space, the rain pounding at him mercilessly and the wind howling through his thin tunic. Carefully steadying the load of wood with one hand, he used the other to shield his eyes from the storm.

The rain, thick and heavy, made it hard to find his way. Puddles of water dotted the ground, chilling him whenever his bare feet splashed into one. Twice the bundle of wood slipped, and he had to reposition it. But at last he reached the trodden-down earth that told him he was near the longhouse.

He made his way to the end of the dark shape veiled by the rain, breathing a sigh of relief as he found the door. He pushed open the heavy wooden door, slipping through like a shadow.

Hardly anyone spared a glance for him as he let the door close, standing still for a moment and allowing the warm, smoky air inside the longhouse take some of the chill from his body. Three or four families lived all together in this one house, their animals in a stable at the darkest, coldest end, a fire pit crackling in the center of the other end. Devin made his way carefully to that side of the longhouse. An old woman stirring a pot turned sharply, throwing up her hands and hurrying over to him.

“Devin! How long have you been outside in the rain, lad? Look at you! Poor lamb, you’re shaking! You’ll have a rough time of it this winter if you don’t get some warmer clothes.”

“I don’t have anything else, Ilka,” Devin answered, shifting the load of wood to a better position.

“No, and the fault’s not yours.” Ilka huffed. “Here, tend the fire. That’ll keep you warm for a bit.”

Gratefully, Devin set down his burden, crouching at the end of the fire pit and carefully feeding the flames. The heat from the fire wrapped him in its embrace, soothing his aching body and banishing the cold sharpness that had been piercing him down to his bones. Even his tunic- soaked through from the rain- began to dry a little, though the wool still stayed damp. Devin balanced on the balls of his feet, trying to judge whether the fire needed more wood or whether it was hot enough.

A hand grabbed him from behind, strong fingers seizing the short black hair at the back of his head. Devin gasped, dropping the piece of wood he had been holding.

“What are you doing?”

A low voice, smooth as molten silver, cold as an icy river, with the same undercurrent of danger both carried with them. Devin flinched at the sound. “I’m...feeding the fire,” he answered, barely managing to keep his own voice from shaking.

“Did I tell you to do that?”

Devin’s shoulders dropped as some invisible force tried to press him into the floor. “No.”

The hand released him. Devin dared not move. A pair of sturdy leather boots appeared beside him, and he looked up instinctively. He found himself confronted by a young, handsome face, surrounded in tousled blond hair and set with a pair of sky blue eyes that would have driven almost any girl mad with passion.

To Devin, however, those eyes were cruel.

The man had his arms crossed, looking down on Devin with a sneer on his face. He was young, only two or three years older, but Devin was afraid of him. He would have been a fool not to be.

“If I didn’t tell you to do it, then why are you doing it?” the young man asked, his voice rippling with danger. “For that matter, why are you in here at all? I told you to fetch firewood. I never said you had collected enough.”

“I-“

“I don’t care. I don’t care who told you to disobey me. I don’t care why you disobeyed me. You belong to me, remember.” Long fingers tapped against the iron slave collar around Devin’s neck. “Your master is Mikkel Haldorsson and none other. You obey me.”

Mikkel leaned down and picked up some of the wood. His lip curled in irritation. “This wood is drenched! It’s worthless for the fire!” Angrily, he tossed it down again, kicking the neat pile and sending the wood scattering over the floor.

“It- it’s raining outside,” Devin said.

Mikkel backhanded him across the face, nearly knocking him to the ground. “Did I say you could speak?” he demanded.

Devin got no chance to answer, as Mikkel’s grip suddenly tightened on his collar. The young Viking dragged him to his feet.

“Now,” Mikkel said sharply, “fetch another load of wood at least that size. I don’t want to see your face in here again until you have it. And it had better be dry this time, or I’ll break every one of these useless sticks across your back.” He kicked at the scattered wood again.

There was no chance to answer this time, either. Mikkel pulled him by his collar to the door, shoving it open with an elbow. He roughly threw Devin out of the longhouse. Devin fell hard into a puddle of muddy rainwater. He picked himself up, turning once only to see Mikkel’s angry face as he stabbed a finger toward the edge of the forest. “Go!”

Devin fled, stumbling up the hill. The rain hailed him gleefully, as if enjoying the chance to pound down on him again. Within moments, all the warmth from the longhouse dissipated, leaving Devin shivering with cold. The fat drops of rain punched through the trees with ease. It would be hard to find a single stick of dry wood in the downpour. He had been set an impossible task, and he knew it just as surely as Mikkel did.

He wasn’t sure when the tears came to his eyes. He suddenly realized that the wetness on his face was not all from the rain, and blinked fiercely, trying to hold back the sting. “Is fuath liom é,” he whispered. He knew he would be punished if someone heard him speaking Gaelic, but for once he didn’t care. The familiar Irish words tasted sweet on his tongue, even dripping with the helpless half-anger that filled him. “Is fuath liom é, is fuath liom é.”

I hate him. I hate him.

———————————————————————

Read the next part here!

[thejudgingtrash]

Annabeth is a good person,but not a nice or pleasant one,IMO.

YES.

That’s it. That’s the post. Pack it up everybody, we just cracked the case and cleared up one of the most compelling fights in the PJO fandom since forever. Good job everybody, clap it out and there’s the door! Don’t forget ordering the drinks at Starbucks, Mitch! They’re on me!

Okay, but on a more serious note: YES. YES EXACTLY.

And before some of you roll your eyes or grab your pitchforks – put your biases aside and hear me out for once. I like Annabeth. She’s my in my top three characters only second to Percy himself. I love Percabeth. It’s my favorite ship in the entire series and to be frank, the only ship that I care about PJO wise. Hell, I spend my time creating my own headcanons or writing my own fanfics with Percabeth being the star in them.

But that is not to say that I’m unable to see how certain things have developed over the years or where they stand now in regard to Annabeth. I’m not here to ignore things that have been said and/or done due to or in the name of Annabeth and I’m not here to vilify anyone that doesn’t like her. And I’m here to admit that I’m guilty of some of the things that may be addressed in this meta essay that you will read in just a second. However, I try my best to assure you, that I’m for once able to recognize my own bias.

Warning: a monster essay lies right upon you.

This should count as a paper of its own.

Back to the statement on top: I would go out even further to reframe your claim, anon:

Annabeth Chase is a good character but not a nice or pleasant person.

Annabeth is a wonderful character but she isn’t a nice one. Or at least not nice to everyone. She is (construction wise if I dare say) the best character out of the series. She has her positive traits (she’s caring, she’s emotional, she’s encouraged and volunteers, she fights for what she believes in, she forgives (even if doing so begrudgingly)) but she also has her negative traits (she’s stubborn, she’s brash, changing her mind takes forever, she is prejudiced, she baits others). That balances things out. She is branded as the intelligent kid but does irrational things (like I’ve just said a) she’s a kid and b) she’s not a robot). She should probably know better, but we all make mistakes and hopefully grow and learn from them. The clouds in the sky do blur and cover our visions sometimes.

Annabeth had clashes with other characters or was about to have fights due to her stubbornness or jealousy (Rachel, Reyna, etc.) and has of course her problems with the mortal world and her family but she also found new friends, some things cleared up throughout the narration and she was/is quite popular in Camp Half-Blood.

The thing is: she doesn’t have to be nice or pleasant (as a character). Or at least not all the time. Her character is humanized. That is what or who she is. Human. She does stand out as a character, not just because she’s the (future) love interest. She feels like someone you could meet in real life and either adore from the top to the bottom or declare as your biggest enemy. And that’s totally okay if you lean either way – liking or disliking her. Or even feeling indifferent about her. Also great!

To say that she has been the best character that Riordan has crafted is easy to say, because she has been sculpted after Riordan’s wife. He had a model he could rub some of real-life events or traits on. That’s not the problem. The problem truly doesn’t lie on Riordan’s side for the most part for once.

The problem is inherently on the fandom’s side. What the fandom does, how it acts and how it treats Annabeth as a character is the problem. The problems vary but it’s mostly the mischaracterization of Annabeth, starting fights and fan/ship wars, internalized misogyny (in some cases) and how some of the Annabeth stans lash out (ha, got firsthand experience in that field among many of my friends and mutuals!). There is a reason why many people are wary of people that have Annabeth or Percabeth related URLs.

The fact that we see Annabeth mostly through Percy’s lens and (until the Heroes of Olympus saga hits) we never really see her in chill everyday situations is essentially Riordan leaving the back door of the house open, ready for all of you asshats to rob his mansion in Boston. Because a frame on a character means that we don’t get to see the character in its entirety (unlike we do with Percy in PJO for the most part). That means a bunch of stuff is left open for interpretation which is the reason why Annabeth gets so many polarized headcanon and opinions tossed around. I think that is one of the true appeals of Annabeth. You can add on stuff and it necessarily doesn’t have to contradict itself.

We have people calling her abusive due to a (n admittedly stupid and unnecessary) judo flip and we have people that act like she’s never done anything wrong. People sorta use this excuse to form and shape Annabeth however they want and distort her characterization.

People in the fandom act like Annabeth is some weird prized possession. We perceive Annabeth mostly through the eyes of others (Percy, Apollo, etc.) and when we had some sort of insight in her ways (MOA, HOH) it felt… weird? Somewhat? Like Riordan left two bullet points of her characterization and told the ghostwriter: aight, fuck it up, gringo, see you on Tuesday and greet Fred the next time you see him for me. 

There have been many posts lately (by Tharini, Simi, Sawasawako, Jewishpercy and Annie I believe?) that HOO Percabeth felt weird. That they felt weirdly constructed, that there was no conflict, no growth. It felt stagnating, like we’re turning back. We had five books prior where we had Annabeth and Percy slowly shifting from disliking to liking and crushing each other. True development. And when we finally got the cake it felt… dissatisfying. Like the cheap box stuff and not the delicious exquisite taste that we were promised.

I said it previously in my Percabeth ship roast, but let me repeat myself: many Percabeth related things are straight up fanon. Some of it is very old fanon so that’s been unable to distinguish unless you’ve read the books recently and subtract nearly 99,9% of things you see on Tumblr (and occasionally the other shitty parts of the fandom like Reddit, IG, Twitter. Although they mostly steal and recycle tumblr stuff oh well. But back to the topic).

The way people treat Annabeth is so strange. She’s either an innocent fluffy smush baby that’s never harmed a fly and all that she wants for Christmas is being Percy’s lapdog or she’s the devil incarnate, broke into your house, killed your parents Batman style, kicked your puppy and didn’t flush the toilet on the way out. I think this is what mostly makes people hate her or the ship Percabeth. And both extremes are wrong and right at the same time? She is multifaceted so both stereotypes are true and untrue and sorta cancel each other out in the same way.

The true reason why people dislike Annabeth is because the stans are doing the most. (The haters as well, don’t get me wrong, but oh boy. Piss of a stan and you’ll know what I mean). That isn’t inherently new. Are you guys old enough to remember the ship wars that have happened cross platform? Perachel vs. Percabeth? Oh boy, oh boy. I saw some kids on tumblr a few months ago trying to infiltrate both tags and start shit (and also fail). The fact that Rachel still gets used as the bitchy (ex) girlfriend in fanfics? It’s 2020 guys. I know this apocalyptic year is far from perfect and over but I think we can let this trope die, right? Right? I thought we’ve established that Rachel is a pretty chill charcter by now… right?

If you posted your stuff on FFN back in 2010-2013 and it wasn’t the typical cutesy Percabeth story (Goode High, the gods read TLT, punk/prep Percabeth, college AU, etc.) people would’ve come for your fucking throat. Not because the story or the narration was shit. But because the pairing wasn’t Annabeth and Percy (in the sense that Annabeth had to be paired with Percy. I mean Percy gets shipped with everyone and their mother but for Annabeth it was strictly Percy. As annoying as this whole Connabeth thing is – the people behind it actually had a point. She never had a different love interest unless it’s a Percy centered story and he goes off dating Athena, Artemis and Zoe at the same time for some odd reason. Yeah, FFN Percy ships are something). Or it wasn’t the action filled canon compliant story or it wasn’t an AU that was popular.

People were really stubborn, snobbish and wanted their stuff in the four five boxes that were the most popular ones and that’s it. People have been bullied off the site in many fandoms, so it’s not a PJO-only thing but it’s still sad that it happened. (Off-note: most of these FFN tropes are still alive and well and thriving on AO3. Don’t be so snobbish and pretend that every piece you’d find there is a holy grail. There’s a lot of trash you have to waddle through. Same with Wattpad, Tumblr or anywhere else where fanfics get posted. Also had this discussion with Annabeth stans. Sigh).

And Tumblr back then? Forget it, wasn’t much better.

That view has sorta changed (at least for people that have been in the fandom for several years or have managed to find a way to navigate through it) but some of the negative sentiment from back in the day has survived. Be it by new fans coming in or from old fans that never let their stance die. The aggression feels differently and somewhat not. (I don’t know if the anon function had been abused that much back in the day. I was an observer not a participant in the fandom).

Crack a joke at Annabeth’s expense (Kal’s famous “Annabeth is a Republican” post or Dee Dee’s and many others “Annabeth has the education of a second grader, chill with the college plans, girlie” stance) and you have people insulting you, making callout posts, unfollowing and blocking you (based on only that? Okay, honey), making aggressive counter-posts, etc. in a minute. If you respond with “It’s a joke, it’s not real” you have a 50/50 chance of either getting blown off or embarrassing them so that they apologize for once.

This isn’t just about jokes. You can make a headcanon that’s not the cozy cute convenient mainstream saga and people would react the same way. Or art piece (no, not including the whole Tannabeth Blackchase shtick done by Viria and others) or fanfics.

People project so much onto the unfinished canvas that is Annabeth Chase that any form of negative sentiment as little as someone not liking her to straight up criticism, regardless of how tiny it may be, seems like an affront. Like an invitation to a fight. Like an insult to them, their character, everything they believe in. Let me state something:

You are NOT Annabeth Chase. Annabeth Chase IS NOT you. Annabeth Chase is NOT real. Her feeling cannot be hurt. Someone criticizing, disliking, joking about her or even insulting her will not bother her. Someone making a statement about her is not an insult to YOU.

Let me repeat that:

Annabeth Chase isn’t real. Annabeth Chase isn’t you.

So think a little before you act? I get it when you’re a kid and new to fandoms or haven’t been up with fan cultures in the past and are back in the scene. But if you’re in your late teens or even older as an adult and you’re unable to understand that you aren’t what you like – you aren’t the extension of a fictional character – I feel incredibly sorry for you. Because that’s just incredibly sad. Someone disliking something you like isn’t an attack of your character. It shows you that you are you and the other person is a human just like you. That they just have different taste. Disliking something you like isn’t a crime, you know? But me feeling sorry for the way some of y’all act won’t mean that that’s even remotely okay. Especially if you’re no longer in the intended audience for PJO age wise and should know better.

This isn’t a “white stans” only thing. I’ve seen and witnessed firsthand how people of color, mainly women of color, act the same or not even worse when it comes to her character. People have projected their problems and real-life occurring events into her character (I’m sure that she isn’t the only character nor that this is the only fandom where this is happening) and in some cases like I’ve said cannot separate their own personality from the fictional world. Fights with woc happened because of Annabeth fucking Chase. So many things have happened in the fandom the past few months, mostly due to people being forced staying at home because of the quarantine but I’d say it’s 10% on quarantine and 90% on people for acting up like this.

So here’s a little story: There was the act of Riordan blowing the fandom up because of his own stupidity and being unable to apologize for his mischaracterization and lack of research (the whole Piper fiasco) back in June (?) and admits the upset fandom, people on Twitter, Tumblr and Discord legit thought that none of that mattered and that the outcry was destroying Annabeth Chase’s birthday. That’s right. People thought that Annabeth Chase’s non-existing birthday because she’s a fictional character had a higher priority than the rupture and prevalent racism in the fandom. Okay. This isn’t a great look, Annabeth stans. And this of course pissed a lot of people off. I made a post about it and someone not only berated three other people on said post but no, we had a mighty argument which had disrupted many friendships in our circle which haven’t recovered until this very day. We both had our parts in it and no one is innocent. But the cause of this still remains Annabeth Chase or how people prioritize her non-existing well-being. Anyway. I’m getting agitated just thinking about it.

Let’s go back to the characterization thing with Annabeth. Let me remind you:

Annabeth Chase is an asshole. There I’ve said it in a post ages ago (too lazy to look it up, sorry) and I’ll say it again. And that’s not me insulting her. That’s me actually loving that about her. Annabeth is one of the very few unapologetic female characters that really showed all young readers across the world that you can be a girl, a badass, smart, strong, standing up for yourself and what you believe in. You don’t have to be nice. You don’t have to hide your feelings. You don’t need a man in all cases but it’s also okay to accept help and defeat.

A large reason why I think she’s an incredibly important character in children’s literature/YA because many other novels (mostly (sadly)) have the “Oh, I’m a white skinny dark-haired girl that likes unconventional things like READING. I’m not like the other girls, that take care of themselves and pamper themselves by enjoying shopping and wearing make-up. No, I’d rather be one of the boys but a sweet cute little boy and not the jock fuck that drank vodka shots out of a filthy shoe once. Despite me calling myself hideous every man in a 10-kilometer radius falls in love with me and tells me I’m oh so sexy and by the way I’m only 16 years old” shit going on for no goddamn reason.

Yes, I do blame Twilight for this mostly in recent years, but this trope isn’t by any means knew. Pretty sure that you could even use classics as Pride and Prejudice and dissect them in the same manner (Bold statement: Lizzy Bennet is the OG Bella Swan. There. Go fight somewhere in the corner, people). The new wave of YA focuses on girls belittling themselves and only starting to believe in themselves because someone else (mostly the male love interest) tells them they’re worth it. And these books hit the mainstream because they’re incredibly bland and picture perfect white.

With Annabeth it’s different. She shows up for the job and is done with it. (Brie Larson would probably be the perfect in real life version of her. You either like or dislike her. Or you really don’t care). That is what is so refreshing about her. Her unapologetic nature. Can it be off-putting? Yes. Is it annoying? Yes! Hell, every time I read The Lightning Thief, I want to rip her goddamn head off. And it’s just so well written. Her shift from mistrusting Percy but secretly still believing in him to her opening up. Wow, Riordan did something right there.

Annabeth Chase isn’t a young character. She has existed along with PJO for 15 years. She’s on her way to the second decade. I’m pretty sure that with the success of Percy Jackson (and Harry Potter) many lives have been warped and shaped.

But when I say the problem lies mostly in the fandom, it doesn’t mean that Riordan’s completely innocent. The only problem that I have with Annabeth lies not truly with her but the fact that Riordan is only able to produce three variations of female characters:

The sweetheart (Hazel, Silena, Calypso, Hestia)

The strong feminist (Annabeth, Piper, Thalia, Reyna, Artemis)

The bitch (Drew, nearly every female goddess in the goddamn Riordanverse next to every female monster)

And these female characters only know three endings:

End up married with a mortgage, three kids, two dogs and a cat somewhere in Connecticut by the age of twelve

Get dumped into the hunt

Chill on Mount Olympus and only come down to be a nuisance and/or give a cryptic message before going back and doing a godly rave party or something

We know Annabeth as the badass strong female first (or the bitchy character we’re supposed to actually like. Choose your approach), the blueprint so to speak, so some of the other characters feel almost pale in comparison and almost not needed? Doesn’t mean that other characters can’t behave similarly, but it feels kind of redundant especially if their character arcs end in a rather anticlimactic way (Thalia, Reyna). The new additions are the much needed woc as the main story with PJO was inherently white (anyway stan black!Percy and Grover, folks). So it’s not to bash on the new characters, it’s more Riordan’s fault more than anything.

Since Riordan only knows three female character arcs it feels like he tried to copy the formula several ways with different nuances. Some more or less successful. This is where fandom actually comes in handy and helps create more distinguished and fleshed out characters in form of headcanons or fanfiction.

But even in these cases people still make it about Annabeth when it’s time for characters of colors to shine. Remember that whole spiel and discussion that broke out when people (Kal, diver-up, Caitlyn, Bee, reynaisalesbian, etc.) joked about or criticized that Annabeth thinks that she’s having it harder because she’s a blonde? In front of Hazel and Piper? If she would’ve been a real person that’s an invitation for getting decked. And then all hell broke loose because Annabeth stans couldn’t accept the fact that in the real world and/or in fictional worlds the woc/coc have it harder? That the white woman wasn’t the victim that needed the coddling? Yeah, that was mad pathetic.

I hope you people get my point?

Well fuck. I wrote so many things and have the feeling I’ve said nothing. Anyway, I hope I made sense. This is way too long.

TLDR: Chill about Annabeth please. She’s an important character but that doesn’t mean that everyone has to like her, regardless of being a character in the books or a reader/fan of PJO in real life. She isn’t nice or a sweetheart all the time. She also isn’t the monstrous asshole that some try to make out of her.

Peace out.

[m34gs]

I saw you reblog some of my merlin posts, do you have any recs 👀

Recs you say?...Recs....hmmm, recs indeed. I have recs. For what? A whole plethora of things. So I'll give you a few of each:

(This'll be long, and potential spoilers for things so I will put the rest under a cut here!)

First up, the fanfics! This is the reason I took so long to answer...it's been a long time and I first read Merlin fics when I was new to AO3, so I didn't know how to bookmark yet. I had to hunt through my history for these:

1. Connecting the Dots by Rona23: this is a funny crack fic where the knights of Camelot speculate about Merlin and all the goings on around Camelot, and what really might be happening. It's fun, lighthearted, and full of situational irony. Makes me grin just thinking about it.

2. Lost in Forever by Camelittle: A cute sort-of fix-it fic. Takes place after the big battle in Season 5. Arthur is alive and at the castle recovering with his knights. Merlin is nowhere to be found, but a crotchety old sorcerer is giving Arthur grief as he goes on a quest to find his manservant. Very endearing, I highly enjoyed this.

3. how to knight (orphan_account): this one follows some original characters who are new knights of Camelot. They are given a secret set of instructions by the older knights, mostly pertaining to Merlin and Arthur and what to Never Do. Very cute. Only 2 chapters, but I enjoyed it very much.

Alright, let's move on! Recs for books that have some similar aspects! Let's goooo:

1. The Faithful and the Fallen series by John Gwynne, a fantasy series set in a medieval time period. This is a series about a prophecy involving the Champions of two gods fighting to determine which god would win and rule the land. The fun thing here is that there is a prophecy, but it is very open to interpretation which allows everyone to have their own motives and drives. There is a variety of characters and I really enjoyed this series. The first book is titled "Malice". There may not be dragons, but there are giants, magic, spirits, wolves, and other fun aspects!

2. The Ranger's Apprentice series by John Flanagan. Medieval fantasy? Yup. Variety of characters? Yup. Underdog as the main character? Yes indeed. Enemies-to-friends(to potentially lovers if you wanna stray from canon)? YES. Will is an orphan, brought up with other orphans, and when he comes of age to start apprenticing for work, he is chosen to be a Ranger. One of his meanest bullies goes to train as a knight. Do they go through character development? YES! Do they end up fighting in multiple wars together? YES! Do they end up travelling to solve conflicts all around the country, sometimes with and sometimes without one another? YESSSS! Are there kick-ass women in this story, like princesses who know how to use their power to bargain and diplomats who are quick-witted enough to give even the oldest scholars a run for their money? Hell yesssss! So, while it may seem a bit geared toward younger audiences (as in young teens) I adore this series and highly recommend it. There are many books, and there are even spin-off series that take place in the same universe but follow a different set of characters! Very fun!

Let's talk about anime and manga! I do have a few that I think you would like based on the fact you enjoy Merlin.

1. Moribito: Guardian of the Spirit. I will never skip on an opportunity to share this title. It is set back in time, when a young prince must run from his uncle who wishes to kill him. A spear-wielding woman is hired to act as his bodyguard. They end up developing a very familial mother-son dynamic as they evade and run from everyone sent to kill the prince. To be honest, the parts of this I find most similar to Merlin is the found family aspect, magic being considered a thing to be feared, and the ending being rather bittersweet.

2. The Rising of the Shield Hero. This is an anime, and also a light novel series by Aneko Yusagi. Do you like isekai shows where the main character actually isn't immediately liked by the people in the other universe? And has to work his way from the bottom using every skill and ounce of self-preservation he has? Who is pretty much discriminated against by the king because of his power, even though he works time and time again to save the world he was transported to? Do you enjoy CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT?!!!! AND REALISTIC STRUGGLES????? Then this would be something I recommend. Again, there is plenty of magic, lots of fighting, and some very interesting storytelling as four heroes summoned from different worlds fight to save a world none of them realized existed until now.

3. Wise Man's Grandchild, another anime and light novel series, written by Tsuyoshi Yoshioka. This one is an isekai anime that relates to the story of King Arthur. In this story, Shin is a young boy in a medieval world where magic exists, whose soul was reincarnated there from our modern world, where he was an adult. Shin retains much of his knowledge from our world, and he applies this extensive knowledge of science to his innate magic abilities, making him very powerful. He is taught and raised by an old wizard named Merlin (the wise man who pretty much adopts him as his grandson). He goes to a school where other students are learning to master magic or the sword and gains a group of friends to learn more magic with in order to protect their king and country. Very fun, a short anime, easy to binge-watch.

4. Yona of the Dawn, an anime, and a manga series by Mizuho Kusanagi. A princess who has to flee for her life with a loyal servant, and needs to find the other human incarnations of the different-coloured dragons. Very fun and beautiful, I really liked this anime. Unfortunately, I have not read the manga (yet) but I found the anime very fun!

These are just a few of what's out there! Feel free to ask me for more, as I am always collecting new anime/manga/books/fics that I would more than love to share with others!!!! Enjoy :D