#unify or die warning

[killxio]

die in it | t. fushiguro

word count: 420 (blazeitlolhaahahaimsofunny) | ✪ content warnings: squirting, a slap to the ass, toji’s bout to suffocate under you, sixnine but not the rapper, he’s a munch, uhhhh nasty sex i wrote at 6 am

toji x reader

✭ toji “bounce that ass on my face” fushiguro

he’s giving you the meanest head of your life halfway down your shared bed. you’re supposed to be six-nining but it’s more he’s spitting on it, slurping it back up and then using the lubrication to swirl your clit around before sucking on it while you struggle to keep stroking his dick smoothly rather than in jerks due to the pleasure.

he alternates between grabbing your ass, hips and thighs to keep you still and you can hear nothing but the sloshing of his mouth and your pussy, and your unified moans.

“bounce that ass on my face, c’mon” you can tell he’s taking in air as he says it, breathing so heavy you move up and down with his chest, “twerk on me, princess.”

he punctuates it with a harsh slap to your right cheek that makes you jerk a little.

your head is spinning and it takes you a second to compute his demand, but you comply as you lay your head down between his groin and upper thigh to take his dick into your mouth. the fat of your ass ripples and you put all your weight into him —knowing that’s the way he likes it and you’d have hell to pay if you did anything different— and you swear you can hear a muffled ‘jesus fuck.’

all your mental energy is put into the up and down motion of your hips and head, trying to focus on the feeling of the skin and veins of his cock across your lips rather than the burning urge to cum all over his face to maybe, just maybe, last a little bit longer.

but toji’s never had an issue getting you to come before.

you pop off his dick, breathless, pumping him instead.

“fuck- toji ‘m.. ‘m boutta cum….” the overstimulation is creeping up on you and your hip movements become jerky until they come to a stop, instead opting to try to push your cunt into his face to chase the pleasure.

“do it.” he replies- simple, short and gruff.

toji gets the hint, moving his hands to grab your hips before he starts tongue fucking you.

he’s fast, in out in out.

the way you can hear juices gushing out of you with every in and out motion of his tongue is nasty. what’s disgusting, though, is the fact his cum is spilling out into your hands at the sensation of you squirting on his face.

[slutoru1207]

Invincible!Mark x reader x Variants!Mark part 7

Warnings: AFAB Reader, Heavy Pregnancy, Psychological Distress, Possessive Behavior, Multiversal Variants, Angst, Horror Elements, Slight Yandere Themes, Escalating Tension, Action, Desperate Escape Attempt, Early Labor

A cold wind howled through the ruined cityscape where the Variants had gathered, each one wearing a different expression—rage, grief, obsession. The battle had not yet begun, but tensions ran high, each of them standing in quiet contemplation, reflecting on the one thing they had all lost: her.

Sinister Mark was the first to speak, his voice low, almost amused. “Funny, isn’t it? Some of us had her right in our hands��� and still, she slipped away.”

A more battle-worn Variant, scars littering his arms, glared at him. “You think this is funny?” His voice cracked with something raw, something broken. “I held our child. I held her hand while she screamed in pain, while she bled out. I couldn’t save her.” His fists clenched. “None of us could.”

A younger Variant, his face barely weathered by battle, looked away, jaw tight. “She never even got that far in my world. She was gone before we could have anything.” His voice faltered. “I wanted a family with her. We talked about it. We planned. But then… nothing. Just blood. Just—” He stopped himself, eyes narrowing. “I won’t let that happen again.”

One of the darker Variants, one who had given himself entirely to Viltrum, scoffed. “You’re all so sentimental. This isn’t about love. It’s about claiming what’s mine.” His gaze flickered toward the distant horizon, toward where the real Mark held you close, fighting to keep you away from them. “The moment she carries my child, she belongs to me. It’s that simple.”

Another scoffed, this one from a Mark who looked like he had long since abandoned the idea of softness. “And what? You think a baby makes her yours? That’s not how this works.” He exhaled sharply, eyes distant. “I lost her too. She died before I could even tell her how much she meant to me. And now? Now I just want her back.”

Sinister Mark tilted his head, an eerie smile stretching across his lips. “It’s fascinating, isn’t it? The way she binds us together. The way she makes us feel like we’re human when we should be above such things.” His gaze darkened. “But in the end, it doesn’t matter what we feel. It matters what we take.”

The scarred Variant stepped forward, voice like thunder. “We aren’t here to debate. We’re here to get her back.” His eyes burned with fury. “I won’t watch her die again. I won’t lose another child.”

A heavy silence settled over them.

Then, the first steps toward war were taken.

They moved as one, their purpose unified, their desires fractured but converging on a single goal.

You.

And inside the facility, your contractions came closer together, the storm approaching faster than anyone had anticipated.

[meadowfics]

nurse and patient

berlin x f!nurse!hostage!reader

you gained special accommodation after saving berlin's life

warnings: mature content

you’re a nurse at the unified korea mint when the heist hits.

red jumpsuits and dali masks swarm in, guns drawn, voices sharp.

at the time... tokyo’s shouting and rio’s hacking cameras. meanwhile berlin who is tall, cold, and a north korean ghost, takes control.

you’re shoved with other hostages, heart hammering, but you notice his hand shake, a flicker of weakness.

you’re trained to see these things.

the robbers want 4 trillion won, printed fresh.

they make hostages dig a fake tunnel to fool the cops while moscow carves the real one. you’re tasked with patching up scrapes and calming panicked workers since the hostages were aware of you being the only nurse on shift that day.

berlin watches you while taping up another hostage's deep arm scratch, his gaze heavy.

“you don’t flinch,” he says, voice like gravel.

“habit,” you mutter, wrapping a bandage.

berlin doesn’t look away.

some days drag.

however, inside of the office room where only the criminals stay, berlin stumbles mid-argument with tokyo. the man's face is pale, body seizing.

berlin's illness aka helmer’s myopathy, strikes hard.

denver and nairobi come down to the hostages dorm and drag you upstairs. they're all screaming, but you’re moving.

“chair, now!” you snap, easing him down.

your fingers find his pulse, erratic but there.

you grab a sedative from the mint’s kit, steady his breathing.

“look at me,” you say, your hand on his.

berlin's eyes, clouded, meet yours. he’s still.

the man is back on his feet by night, but he’s different with you.

“you could’ve let me die,” he says in a quiet corner.

“I didn't. i’m not that cruel,” you reply, meeting his stare.

“pity,” he says, but there’s a spark in his eyes.

after that, you’re his shadow.

he gives you a spot to sleep, extra rations, no shovel duty.

hostages glare, but you don’t care.

you’re surviving.

misun’s surgery changes everything since it expedites the bond you were growing with berlin. she is dying from the bullet in her leg, and denver is ordering you and rio to operate fast, with no anesthesia, just enough to keep her alive.

the woman's screams echo as you dig out the bullet, your hands steady but your stomach churning. you stabilize her, but when it’s over, you’re shaking, scrubbing blood off in a corner of the mint.

you’re livid.

berlin ordered denver to shoot her in the first place. misubn's pain is on him.

the man finds you, his steps quiet but sure.

“you’re upset,” he says, like it’s nothing.

you don’t turn, water running red in the sink.

“you think?” you hiss.

“you made me cut into her while she was awake. she was begging and this would not have happened if you never ordered them to shoot her.”

he’s closer now, berlin's warmth at your back, “it was the only way,” he says, softer.

“she’d have died.” you whip around, eyes burning, “there’s always another way. you didn’t care.”

berlin's gaze doesn’t waver, but it softens.

“i care more than you think,” he says, and it’s too honest, too raw.

you turn away again, stubborn, but he’s not done.

“you think i wanted her to suffer?” he murmurs, his breath warm on your neck.

“we needed to teach you hostages a lesson when it came to disobedience. at least she is alive. everyone else wanted that, just like i want you alive.”

you freeze, heart racing. his hands hover, not touching, but close.

“you’re not heartless,” he says, “and neither am i.”

before you can snap back, his lips brush your neck, a soft kiss from behind. your breath catches, anger fraying.

“forgive me,” he whispers, smirking against your skin.

“you’re an asshole,” you mutter, but you’re leaning into him.

he kisses your jaw, slow, deliberate.

“and you’re stubborn,” he teases, turning you to face him. his eyes are warm, daring. you kiss him, sudden and fierce, hands fisting his jumpsuit.

he matches you, all hunger and heat.

when you break apart, he grins.

“forgiven?” you roll your eyes, smiling despite yourself.

“for now.”

the heist frays and berlin’s furious, outing jeon yongsu, his old camp torturer, on live feed.

at some point he tells you about kaechon, the camp that broke him, his mother’s body in the river. you tell him about endless shifts, a lonely apartment, a silly dream.

“cyprus,” you say, staring at the mint’s ceiling.

“I have always wanted to live there. its so much sun, sea, with no chaos.”

he laughs while soft, “i’ll keep that in mind.”

tension spikes when youngmin tries to rally hostages. berlin notices and steps in front of you, gun up.

“try it,” he growls at youngmin, who backs down.

later, you snap at him.

“i’m not fragile.” he leans in, voice low.

“never said you were, but they don’t touch what’s mine.” your breath catches.

you don’t argue.

the final day’s a warzone. bullets rip through the mint as the task force storms in. berlin and tokyo guard the vault, the team scrambling for the sewer exit.

he grabs you.

“with me.” you nod, pulse racing.

the detonator’s busted and someone has to stay.

“not you,” you hiss, gripping his sleeve.

however berlin grins, “for you, i’ll live.”

pig balloons flood the square with cash, chaos masking your escape. you follow berlin through a manhole, slipping into the sewer’s dark.

“you’re crazy for a nurse,” he laughs, pulling you along. you reach the professor’s train, the money loaded, the team alive.

you’ve won.

on the train, berlin pulls you close.

“cyprus,” he says, voice soft.

“you and me.” you smirk, “say you love me first.”

he scoffs, but his eyes betray him, “not a chance.”

you kiss him, and he matches you, all fire and need. you both know the truth.

cyprus is golden. you love watching the.waves lap the shore, and berlin... jung-ho now since he told you his real name on the train ride... rests beside you.

the man's illness is managed, thanks to you.

you’re not a hostage anymore, not a nurse on duty.

you’re his, and he’s yours.

“is this worth it?” he asks, fingers tracing yours.

“yes, it is,” you say, smiling.

masterlist

[fastlikealambo]

The third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.|| rhaenyra targaryen x black!fem reader

In the five years since Queen Rhaenyra The Conqueror, Bringer of New Valyria, triumphed over the usurper without losing a single dragon, the realm is at peace. Having no need of husbands and taking two other wives, Queen Alicent and Queen Mysaria, the dragon queen is in need of a third and final wife to rule the seven kingdoms at her side.

You were just a girl from nowhere, watching the sky fill with dragons at peace, destined to be a scullery maid in a vicious household and the future wife of a ratcatcher until fate and blood decide your future for you. 

History will remember Rhaenyra Targaryen as the great unifier, the second coming of Visenya Targaryen who brought another golden age of dragons out of war. But they will sing songs of you, the smallfolk who ascended to fire and blood as the queen’s favorite, the one they tried to kill so many times, the third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.

Some notes: Aegon, Aemond, and Daemon are dead but their dragons were saved, and Otto Hightower and Criston Cole spontaneously combusted, I don’t know what to tell yall. Luke lived, Jace lived, Helaena lived, Jaehaerys lived, Baela and Rhaena are happy goddammit.  During the short war, Rhaenyra married Mysaria and one year after the dance of dragons ended, she also married Alicent.

Some other notes: This is dark and I drew some inspiration from Cinderella and Hurrem Sultan (the fictional representation of her from the show's magnificent century but nobody I know watches that show). Rhaenyra is in her thirties and reader is in her twenties. 

Trigger warnings for violence, murder, abuse. MINORS DNI

Chapter One.

Chapter Two: All that you are is transformed.

 “I wish to be anointed.”

   “Anointed?” 

The question did not come from Princess Rhaenys but from Queen Rhaenyra herself, who sat forward on the throne. You dared to allow your eyes to meet hers and her gaze, though formidable, was not cold, simply curious. 

  “I’m smallfolk, Your Grace.  I do not carry the rank or protection of a house, everything you see before you is all that I am. To be by your side would be a blessing, not only to me, but to those who serve you, to all smallfolk. Anoint me, Your Grace, and you anoint yourself.”

Where in all the gods did that come from?

Didn’t matter.

    “Shall we continue on, Your Grace?” Rhaenys asked but Queen Rhaenyra lifted her hand and beckoned you closer.

 You forced one foot in front of the other until you were in front of the dragon queen, your face reflecting in the famed sword Dark Sister, the queen rested one hand on its hilt, the other was outstretched to you.

No, you would not go back to mending dresses and waiting for good bread. You would not die today, not tomorrow, nor the next day.

 You bowed before Rhaenyra and her hand found your cheek, a calloused thumb brushed away your tears. 

   “You believe yourself capable to rule next to me? To forsake all that you have known, all that you are, to be mine and only mine, my lady?”

No one had called you their lady before, much less a lady.

   For your mother, for yourself, you took Rhaenyra’s hand that held your face and put it over your heart.

     “All I ask is for my mother to be safe and never know hunger again. With that I’m yours, Your Grace.”

  You released the queen, only then remembering there were other people in the throne room.

Perhaps you had overestimated yourself, you should have been more demure,curtsied better. Perhaps if you told the truth, confessed that you were wearing a dress stolen from the back of a noble lady you murdered, the queen would show you mercy.

There was no going back now.

Queen Rhaenyra stood and you curtsied again, a sudden storm of fear sweeping over you that calmed when Rhaenyra bent forward and put her lips on your forehead, each cheek,and lastly your lips. 

To know the mouth of the dragon queen was to know The Gods themselves.

  “Send the rest away, I have chosen. “ Rhaeyra ordered and took your hand in hers.

    “I believe the gods have brought you to me for a reason and you will be safe here. Come, we will get you settled in and then I will introduce you to my wives.” Queen Rhaenyra said and suddenly you felt dizzy.

Was this really happening?

Had your fate truly been transformed?

As you two took your leave, a crowd entered the throne room, the not chosen ladies clambering to see who was chosen.

 You spotted your former employer’s daughters and watched their eyes widen at the sight of you on the queen’s arm. They pushed and shoved their way to the front, shrieking.

  “Do you know them?” Princess Rhaenys asked, studying you for a moment.

You made complete and total eye contact with both girls before letting the Queen lead you on.

  “No, I do not believe I do.”

Just a little something to tide you over! Hope you liked it!

@asvterias

@nxcxllxsevens

@newcaptainofsquad9

[fieldofdaisiies]

Whisper of the Forgotten | pt. 10

pairing: azriel x reader | type: angst | words: 1,5k words | warnings: war | masterlist

“AZRIEL!” Your wail, the scream of pure pain and agony, tears through the few Illyrian warriors left on the battle ground, shaking the ground. You need to find him, but have no idea where he is. Dead bodies are scattered all over the ground, covered in blood and weapons, and dirt and fear kicks in that he is one of them. 

You haven’t felt like this in a long time, helpless and broken. Last time you had felt like that was when you had been locked into the Prison, many centuries ago. 

Your heart hammers against your ribcage when you spin around, trying to make out anything in the distance, but the dust in your eyes and fog hovering above the ground make it hard for you to see. 

Wails of pain coming from warriors who have been injured reverberate through you, making you shudder and you fold your arms around your body. 

The feeling within your soul, the tug, the bond that connects your souls, fades more and more with every ragged breath you take. The air burns down your throat, and tears start to fall from your eyes. 

Only an hour prior the battle had still been raging on, Illyrians and Darkbringers, joined by all the armies from the other courts, battling and fighting against the Death God and his supporters. It was blade against blade, steel against steel, wails and war cries sounded from every corner and then—

Then the land fell dark as an otherworldly being, a creature made of darkness and vengeance, one that you once used to call your friend, and hope to do so in the future again, landed upon the fighting warriors, upon those who supported and belonged to Koschei.

It was a nest of swirling black shadows, ruling over the land, wiping out every living being in its wake, sparing those on your side, until nothing but destruction and dust was left.

You and Nesta, your powers unified, were the ones who landed the death blow. 

Ataraxia tightly clasped in her hand, she lunged at Koschei first. You joined her on her quest, fuelling your energy, gathering all the power you had, and then, joined by the forces of the Wild Hunt, you came upon him, knives and magic working together as one — ending his life.

He had been weakened before, but had his people, his supporters, armies from the continent to protect him, shield him.

The battle had raged on for months, you had all been weakened, but you had known the day would come where you would face him. The battle would come and you would return from it victorious.

The land roared, cracked open, screamed when Ataraxia pierced through his chest, followed by the blow of your magic. You sent a gust of wind at him, at the ashes and dust, the only thing left of him, and allowed the wind to carry him away.

A mixture of tears, dirt and blood coated your face, your entire body, and when you turned back to face your family, you fell into their arms.

The Wild Hunt, brutal beasts and warriors, all came together to hug one another, screaming and weeping now that you were reunited and won the war.

But right now, you can’t waste any time, you need to find your mate. 

All these centuries, everything that has happened between you – you can’t lose him now. Not like this. Azriel doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve to die out here. You need to find him and tend to him, heal his wounds. And–

“Y/N!” Cassian calls to you from a distance and you need a moment to figure where his voice is coming from. Eventually, your eyes land on the Illyrian male who looks battered and broken, his body coated in grime and blood. He is standing in front of a healer’s tent, but walks into your direction, limping. 

“Y/N!” he calls again. “It’s Azriel!” Cassian trembles as he braces his hands on his thighs, his eyes revealing everything you need to see. 

And the pain in his voice is everything you need to hear. 

Driven by fear and terror, you dash forward, into the general’s direction, past him and into the healer’s tent and fall to the ground, a sob bursting from you when you take in your mate and the–

───── ⋆⋅ ☽☾ ⋅⋆ ─────

You wake up with a loud scream parting your dry lips, and burning fiercely in your throat. Your eyes a damp with unshed tears and—

A strong arm curls tightly around you and you feel the soft press of lips against the side of your neck.

“Share your nightmare with me,” Azriel mumbles, his voice hoarse and low.

Your breathing is ragged but you relax immediately, pressing into his warm and solid body, finding solace in it. 

You close your eyes, hoping to ease the burning and for your heart to calm down. Your breaths start to calm as well, levelling, and you slide your hand into his scarred one.

“I dreamt of the war.”

Azriel’s body shudders in response to your answer, and his arm curls tighter around, his naked body flush against yours. 

“I dreamt of how I couldn’t find you, how I was looking for you, and how I was reunited with my family.”

“But you found me,” Azriel breathes, his voice full of emotion. 

You turn in his arms, slowly in order to not hurt him. The war hasn’t been over for too long, Azriel earned himself many deep gashes. The blades that caused him those had been drenched in faebane and the healing took much longer.

“I did,” you whisper and a tear rolls down your cheek.

“I can’t believe you could forgive me, Y/N.” Azriel‘s eyes are closed almost as if it pains him to look at you. “After I‘ve hurt you so much, after I betrayed you, after—”

Having wiggled one hand free, you place it atop his lips, stopping him. “Our souls belong to each other, they were for another and so are we — made for another. Two hearts that belong together shouldn’t be kept apart. It is true that you hurt me, but you apologised and you have shown me that you are a better male now.”

You push up on your elbow, allowing your naked limbs to tangle with his. 

You lean over him and brush your lips against his, at first sweet and delicate, then a little deeper. The kiss is bittersweet, full of tears, longing, love, pain, madness and desire.

“I love you, my mate.”

“I love you, my mate,” he says with a smile but claims your mouth in another kiss in the next moment. This one is deeper, hungrier, a dance of tongues and lips.

You are both breathless when you part, your hands resting atop his heaving chest, not all the wounds from the war now having healed yet, but bandages protecting them. 

“Shall we get up?” Azriel asks, his tone a little lighter, sparkles glittering in his hazel eyes. “We have a lot of rebuilding to do, don’t we?”

You have started to rebuild the Middle with help of the Wild Hunt, your mate and some of his family members. Both Rhysand and Feyre apologised and told you that they could, for the time being, not return to the middle — their experiences and what was done to them here has been too traumatising to be yet ready to return here.

You understood of course.

But the Valkyries join you a lot, helping you greatly.

“I think that rebuilding can wait a little longer, Azriel,” you hum and kiss his jaw. “There are other things I want to do now.”

“Other things?” Azriel drawls and pulls your leg over his waist. “What other things?”

You let your fingers dance up his chest, before curling them around his neck, bringing him in for another kiss. “Oh you know exactly what other things.” Your lips curl against his when you press against his front. 

And oh does he know! Making love to you for the rest of the morning, before you head outside and start to work on your house and the large garden beyond.

general tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @aroseinvelaris @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeridarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate123 @eos-princess @courtofjurdan @a-frog-with-a-laptop @insufferablebookaddict @azrielsmate2 @callmeblaire @lilah-asteria @berryzxx

[nolongerapileofashprobably]

Should the dev team have committed to Zelda's draconification being permanent and have her stay a dragon at the end, and would that have made for a more honest and poignant ending than the one we got? Some fans think that the ending we got renders her sacrifice completely meaningless and devoid of impact.

The dev team absolutely should NOT have committed to Zelda’s draconification. It would have ruined the entire story and narrative for Zelda’s character and Hyrule itself.

Some people think it made the sacrifice meaningless and devoid of impact. . . But it didn’t. Her choice was her own and it was a statement of dedication to Link and Hyrule as a whole. It was also utterly tragic that she had to do this in order to heal the Master Sword. I am still in utter distress whenever I play the game and watch the memories, despite knowing the ending. Because it’s the tragedy she endured willingly that makes the sacrifice meaningful, not the permanence of it. The sacrifice would hold no value had it been a choice Zelda made knowing she would be reverted.

She didn’t. She thought it was permanent.

And I’m honestly tired of some of these fans just not wanting a happy ending for her character. She deserves peace and a happy life. That’s what she got, which is absolutely justified. And those who think of a story so plainly and only at the big picture miss the details and narratives that point directly towards the ending we actually got.

Let’s talk about if she didn’t turn back.

Firstly, we can start with simple things that personally can be reworked in the future but would create a hurdle for the devs in the future— Zelda would never die as a dragon, she is an immortal being. The Zelda series is quite literally founded upon a reincarnation cycle between Zelda, Link, and Ganon. And only one of them is linked through blood: Zelda. That would cause a bump in the whole reincarnation foundation.

Beyond that, Zelda’s character development would suffer with this choice becoming permanent.

Any fan upset by the ending doesn’t understand the implications of Zelda being granted a second chance. She dedicated her entire life before the calamity to training and praying, only to have her magic awaken AFTER the champions, her father, and nearly Link are killed. Her efforts for the next century keep her body suspended in time and keeps Ganon at bay through her light power. When she wakes up, she is granted a ‘second chance’. In reality, it is simply the life she fought for and rightfully deserved.

So after she made Hyrule her home again, unifying the scarcely populated land and invigorating its culture, she is once again forced to sacrifice everything. This time, she does so as a leader and as one who holds such strong power. Her journey as a Queen leads her to become the very leader she WANTS to be, not the one she was constantly reprimanded to be by her father and the old kingdom. And she learns this throughout her time in the past, with Rauru as her guide.

And that leads us to this point: the belief that to rule is to give up everything.

But where others are punished for this choice (despite Zelda’s warnings, Rauru’s ignorance of Ganondorf’s power leads to Sonia and his own death), Zelda is REWARDED for her choices.

Because she did not just claim that another will defeat Ganondorf and seal him away until present day like Rauru.

Zelda did much more. She raised the sky islands, made a promise with Mineru, solidified the aid of the sages, collected the Master Sword and chose to give LINK the best chance he could have against Ganondorf. Zelda did every single thing she could to ensure Ganondorf would be defeated. She even aids in the final battle, as her will is to end that evil and grant Hyrule the peace she herself will (presumably, to her own knowledge) never experience.

So when she is rewarded for her efforts, by being bathed in sacred light and her body reversed to its previous state. . . It is entirely in line with the narrative thus far. Additionally, Rauru and Sonia present themselves as a ‘second chance parents’ for Zelda. A supportive, patient father in Rauru. A guiding teacher and mother in Sonia.

Tears of the Kingdom mirrors Breath of the Wild in terms of Zelda’s development and story. To give an ending where Zelda remains a dragon. . . It would have been tragic and dishonest to the story that we got.

If you want to read something more in depth and not written by someone with one eye open, this post grants a well rounded answer to this question.

[eddyiewriting]

Lead them to victory - Or die trying.

As a bastard-born, no one expected anything from you. Cast aside and forbidden to inherit anything, you never had much hope for the future. But the Face of Destiny is unpredictable, and soon you find yourself in the middle of a battle that can decide the fate of your kingdom forever, and those who once hated you, now see in you their only hope for survival.

DEMO

FORUM

PATREON

SUMMARY

You are the youngest child of King Logan, The Unifier, the first king who unified the North in centuries. But you’re not simply his child. You are a bastard, a child born out of wedlock, and as such, with no rights or hope to inherit anything. Considered to be cursed, you are hated by most of the kingdom, including your older brother, Gareth, the oldest and heir of King Logan.

But when a foreign empire invades, unforeseen events put you as the only one capable of leading the kingdom. 

Unprepared and distrusted by most of the kingdom, is up to you to lead the realm to victory or annihilation. 

Play as a man or a woman.

Navigate the intricate web of politics, forge alliances, and lead your army through the fire of war.

Choose between 3 primary skills: Warrior, Diplomat or Scholar. Each opens different types of dialogue and actions.

Evolve your character’s abilities. Start as a frail Scholar and become a die-hard Warrior.

Shape your character and their morality. How far are you willing to go to protect those you love?

Lead your people to victory – or die trying.

ROMANCE OPTIONS

Owain Dalkeith: the son of a minor noble who was sent to the capital to be trained as a knight. He became one of the closest friends of your brother, Gareth. He’s a charming man, who usually prefers parties to battles, but this doesn’t stop him from being one the fiercest knights in the kingdom.

Cerys Calenhadd: the youngest daughter of a noble. She is one of the ladies-in-waiting for your sister, Brianna. Too smart for her own good, she dislikes the perceived notions that women don’t serve for leadership or warfare, often challenging the traditions of the realm.

Arthur: a recruit for the army and possibly the tallest man in the land. Despite his size, Arthur is shy and dislikes violence or using his strength, preferring to tend horses than to fight in battles.

Teagan: is a servant of the church, a devout servant of the Face of Death. She is quiet and mysterious, with more in common with the dead than with the living.

CONTENT WARNING

There will be a lot of violence here. Also, sexism, racism, psychological trauma, sexual content, discussions of abuse and mental health, and war crimes.

[the-collector-blog]

How could Serena have become Vivian? (theory)

more of a ramble, + extension of my previous posts about this. quoted text is from various wikis, reddit threads, etc (slightly edited for readability) & an hi3 tweet.

"Misteln was born from Ceclila's act of splitting her body and stigma, with the Schariac Stigmata Space, and with the Abyss Flower to cut into the Imaginary Space."

Cecilia Shariac had something called "Holy Blood", and only her and her descendants could wield the abyss flower. the holy blood is a result of Otto Apocalypse attempting to make "the secret weapon Spear of Destiny, which was the HSN-b46 serum that neutralizes honkai, also considered as the completed holy blood." very similar to the Exaltist's aim to create the Sacrifice Serum, meant to allow humans to exist in and outside the hollows.

"Cecilia had used one half of her power to repel Honkai away in a massive radius. Her holy blood, which Otto warned her not to use, was used. Sadly, it was used to the extremity to stop the Core. Since the core would be foreign to the Imaginary Space, she would succeed, and then die. [Basically, she sacrificed herself.] After some time, Misteln, without a name, appearing with what was now a human form, was now living stigma, one that manifested in the world after the Second Eruption... At that time, she would constantly slip out of reality itself, since she is a being from the Imaginary Space, and couldn't exist in reality."

The Abyss Flower, which holds the power of the Herrscher of Death, the Key of Creation.... "Can split into two separate weapons, with each taking either recreation or destruction (White Flower and Black Abyss respectively)"

from Vivian's trust event: "[Without much hesitation, Vivian picks out a small pot of purple flowers.] ... This is a purple-leaf violet, one of my favorites. ... These clusters of purple-leaf violets look like butterflies, ready to take flight. ... I can't help but think... when the blossoming season ends, even though their petals seem to wither... But in truth, they deceived everyone, shedding their old form and soaring into the vast sky."

Castorice/Thanatos:

— This sea of flowers blooms on dead land because we sowed it with our tears of loneliness... Yes, the only thing "Death" is allowed to create are flowers that bloom from blood and tears.

— "You shall wither, and through that, the dead will sprout again from the remains, and be reborn again with the dead flame..."

— You've been tempered by life and death. I know you'll be able to give this wasteland its first breath of life... Like a raven butterfly flying switfly into the nether realm, perching on the twig of death.

The Reaper ("Death was originally a pair of hands.")

— [Thanatos]: If the Reaper raises their left hand, the soul is granted death and allowed to enter the nether realm to await reincarnation. If they raise their right hand, the soul is rejected by the nether realm and returned to the mortal realm to continue walking the earth.

Hugo:

— Heads represents lies, and tails, death. Yet the result has long been decided.

— "When the musician's third string breaks, the Gatekeeper whispers to me: In which hand hides the coin for the underworld ferryman?" // "The left hand holds death, the right hand holds deception — but the raven has already flown away with the answer."

— Heads for the flowers that bloom in the abyss. Tails for the dawn that sets the world alight.

— A coin for the ferryman of the dead. Guess; is it heads or tails?

— You know, the world is full of contradictions yet remains unified. A cat can be both alive and dead, I can exist in both light and shadow...

Plus. there's a trust event thing with hugo where he asks you to pick which hand he's hiding a coin in, and you can choose "right, left, or neither". i've done all options and basically both hands are holding a coin. whatever you answer, he gives you a prize in return- he sneaks something into your pocket, a flower. specifically, a flower made of folded dennies. (dennies are money, usually coins)

[tanadrin]

Stephen Shoemaker has talked at length about the eschatological nature of early Islam in other books and articles; he makes some very interesting points in The Apocalypse of Empire (which is not just about Islam, although it discusses Islam at length in two chapters), synthesizing some points made by other scholars.

Scholarly trend to view Islam as a movement that was from the beginning pragmatic, not apocalyptic. Other scholars try to portray Muhammad as basically a national unifier/Arab empire-builder, with religion as a tool secondary to this aim. This seems to amount to not taking early Islam as it portrays itself very seriously, and indeed in some cases seems to be almost an apologetic project to try to help make early Islam more relevant to the present day.

Snouck Hurgronje(sp?) argued that early Muslims saw Muhammad's appearance itself as a sign the end of the world was at hand, and that Muhammad would not die before its arrival. He and other scholars after him saw other elements of his message as more or less accessories to his concern with the impending end of the world.

Projects of empire-building and apocalypticism are not necessarily opposed! The rest of this book furnishes examples from Byzantium, Rome, Zoroastrianism. For a contemporary example, we might look at ISIS. It was relatively common in the ancient near east to think the eschaton would be realized through imperial triumph, and that the end of history was imminent. Indeed, Muhammad's religious beliefs probably played a significant role in the dynamism and success of his nascent polity.

Later Islamic tradition like the biographies deemphasized the urgent apocalypticism (again, not unlike Christianity!). But the Quran is rife with warnings of impending judgement and destruction ("the Hour"), and incorporates Christian apocalyptic material like the parable of the rich fool from Luke. Shoemaker furnishes lots of quotes like "The matter of the Hour is as a twinkling of the eye, or nearer," and "The Lord's judgement is about to fall," etc. Astronomical events will predict the Hour's arrival; doubters will soon be proved wrong, etc.

Perspectives from the New Testament help us understand why different passages portray the urgency of the Hour differently; the historical Jesus probably preached an imminent apocalypse, but the Gospels were compiled later, so they can be more ambivalent. Likewise later Muslims, when compiling the Quran, would have to deal with the fact that the "urgent" end of the world hadn't arrived yet; though the strong eschatological perspective persisted (as it did in Christianity, too), there was an effort to try to moderate some of these embarrassing passages.

Some early hadith and other early traditions corroborate the impending eschaton, emphasizing the link between his appearance and the end of the world. "According to another tradition, Muhammad offered his followers a promise (reminiscent of Matt. 16:28, 24:34) that the Hour would arrive before some of his initial followers died. In yet another tradition, Muhammad responds to questions about the Hour’s timing by pointing to the youngest man in the crowd and declaring that 'if this young man lives, the Hour will arrive before he reaches old age.'"

Donner argues the conquests were an effort to establish an interconfessional "community of the Believers" that included Jews and Christians, requiring only belief in God and the last day. According to him, Muhammad and his earliest followers didn't even think of themselves as a separate religion; rather, their earliest community was a loose confederation of Abrahamic monotheists who shared Muhammad's apocalyptic aoutlook, and who were trying to establish a righteous kingdom in preparation for the end. Cf. the Constitution of Medina, which seems to be a very early source. It has a dramatic discontinuity with the ethnic and religious boundaries established in later Islam. Traditionally held to be a brief experiment that ended with Muhammed expelling the Jews from Medina, Donner argues that in fact Muhammad's community remained confessionally diverse for decades, including Jews and Christians into the Umayyad period. Indeed, a lot of their early successes may have been aided by their nonsectarian outlook.

Only under Abd al-Malik(!) does Islam begin to consolidate, and a new Arab ethnic identity crystallizes that distinguishes Muslims from outsiders they ruled.

In variant readings of the Quran we can glimpse a view not unlike that of the early Christians, where the Kingdom of God had its inception in Jesus's works; here, the conquests of the early followers of Muhammad are part of an the initiation of the end times. Muhammad is the "seal of the prophets" in this reading because the world is about to end.

So the picture that emerges from all this is that Muhammad was an apocalyptic preacher and reformer, very much like Jesus, who wasn't aiming to found a new religion necessarily. But he preached that the world was ending, and as part of his preaching on this subject he led the creation and rapid expansion of a new polity meant to unite the community of believers. Only once he died, and the world failed to end, and his followers had to consolidate their gains and transform them into an actual, durable state did a coherent scripture (the Quran) and a coherent religious identity (Islam) emerge, both strongly affected by the new social, cultural, and political contexts his followers found themselves in. The turning point seems to be the reign of Abd al-Malik, around fifty years after the death of Muhammad, when the oral traditions of the original community of believers are approaching their expiry date, and a new generation (and new converts) need a worldview and a political system that is relevant to their present circumstances. This is extremely comparable to the transition from early Jesus-traditions to the Gospels finally being written down in the second century, when the last people who knew Jesus directly, or who knew the Apostles directly, were dying, and the community had to transition to a form that could survive indefinitely, or else be forgotten.

[epic-kotlc-crossover]

Luck Runs Out

This is the second chapter in the Ocean saga!! We both enjoyed writing this so hope you enjoy reading it!!

tags (as to be added or removed): @myfairkatiecat @sombrathedragon @bookwormgirl123 @thesfromhms @ham-cheese-toastie

@justalunaticfangirl

“Please don’t tell me you're about to do what I think you’re about to do,” Keefe said, raising an eyebrow. 

“Brother, you’ve heard the legends of the island in the sky. This proves they’re true!” Fitz replied. “This must be the home of the wind god.”

“But Captain, we don’t know that for sure.”

“How many floating islands have you seen before?” Fitz teased.

“Fine. What’s your plan?” Keefe asked skeptically.

“I’m going to climb to the top and ask him for a hand.”

“But…. what if you’re caught off guard and fall? You could lose your life, or worse! You could make him angry and delay our journey even more! Please don’t forget how dangerous the gods are,” Keefe begged. Fitz sighed, and Keefe could feel little waves of annoyance coming from his direction. Along with….was that–? Nope. Stopping that thought right there. 

“Have a little faith in me, friend. We’ve made it this far, haven’t we?”

“Well, yes. But what happens when our luck runs out? What will we do when your wit kills us?” 

“I still believe that we could be kinder.” Keefe recognized the sadness in his tone. Fitz must be thinking of Dex. “We should lead from the heart, and see what that does before we use violence.”

“And what will we do when that tears us apart?” Keefe challenged.

Yes, wondering if anything they did would result in death was a bit morbid, but after Dex, everything suddenly seemed more real. No one from their fleet had died in the war, and Keefe almost got comfortable with that guaranteed safety.

Keefe couldn't make that mistake again. Not with the tiny needles of guilt that he could feel coming from Fitz whenever there was a moment of silence in their conversation.

"Where is this coming from, my friend?" Fitz asked gently.

"I don't want to see another life end, Fitz." Keefe's voice broke. "You're like the friend I could never do without."

Fitz smiled slightly, and put his hand on Keefe's shoulder, the touch electrifying. "And suddenly you doubt we can figure this out?"

How much longer until you can't, though? Keefe thought. He didn't want to explain his worries. Use your telepath powers and figure it out!

Breathing out, he took two steps back, shaking Fitz off. "How much longer until your luck runs out? How much longer until we all fall down?"

He gestured at the rest of the crew. "I can't lose them, too. If you keep relying on your wit and telepathy, how many more people will die?"

Fitz's eyes shuttered in, the brief flash of hurt covered by a small grin. It didn't cover the hurt coming off him in waves, though, and Keefe tried not to feel guilty.

"Thank you for your concern, Keefe, but I assure you that we're almost home." A full smile—but still fake, Keefe noticed—appeared and he pointed into the distant water. "I understand that you're tired. I understand that we're fazed. But remember, I took six hundred men to war and not one of them died there."

Except for the seven that did the minute we tried to go home, he thought bitterly.

Fitz stared at him, clearly trying to meet his eye. Keefe refused, knowing he'd fold immediately if he did.

I can't let you keep planting seeds of doubt. Keefe flinched. hands coming to rest on his head. He hated when Fitz would transmit with no warning.

I can't have you disagree on each route. Fitz paused and lifted Keefe's chin up. Piercing teal eyes seemed to beg him to agree. If we don't present a unified front the crew will grow distrustful.

Please?

Keefe sighed. "Fine," he told him. "I'll try."

Fitz brightened and clapped his back, pulling him into a side hug. "Thank you."

Keefe couldn't stop the needling worry that something bad was going to happen. That Fitz would run out of luck or run out of the gods' favor.

He hoped he was wrong.

[sasheneskywalker]

batfamily fic recs which are told through unusual formatting

a hat fashioned from tin foil by discowing (ameliafromafairytale) nightwang @karakurachou – 8 hours ago jason todd is alive and faked his death so he could become robin: a conspiracy theory thread

Batfam conspiracy theories meet social media.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

occam's razor by BeatriceEagle r/SolveIt • Posted by u/Phalangefier 3 days ago

It's the fifth anniversary of Jason Todd's death

Today is the fifth anniversary of the day that Jason Todd and Sheila Haywood were murdered, so I thought I would post a write-up unifying all of the information that we have on the case. There have been a lot of posts about Jason over the years, but this case is so weird and has so many branches to it, I don’t think that anyone’s ever compiled all of them in one place.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Dick Grayson & Jason Todd

Send to All by kerosceene I, _______________, hereby acknowledge that this form represents my wishes should I contract phytoaphrodisiac-induced delirium (hereafter referred to as “PAID”) during engagements with or while apprehending Dr. Pamela Lillian Isley (“Poison Ivy”).

-

The bats have a sex pollen release form. Because of course they do.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Tim Drake & Bruce Wayne, Stephanie Brown & Tim Drake, Barbara Gordon & Dick Grayson, Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne, Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent, Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

Batman Hits the Red Hood with His Batarang by redboard (Ink) Batman hears whispers of a new crime lord in Gotham, trailing blood and carnage in his wake. The Red Hood is skilled and ruthless, and quickly seizes control of the drug trade, seemingly for his own ends.

Red Hood, after years of planning, your moment has finally arrived. Why have you come?

An "Under the Red Hood"-themed tabletop game, for one or two players. You will need colored dice (or a dice roller), your imagination, and, optionally, a friend who has as many feelings about Jason Todd as you do.

(Yes, I'm serious. This is not a bit.)

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne

#Justice4Gotham by Havendance So, uh, Hi. I’m still alive. I didn’t die of the clench (barely). I’m kind of sorry for disappearing on you for so long but life just got really busy and I didn’t really have time to chase after Batman and Robin anymore. I’m not sure how many of you guys still check this blog, but if you are out there, I’ve got a big favor to ask you all.

On June 27th at 7:03pm, Gotham City was hit by the worst earthquake the east coast has seen in, like, ever. And now we could really use your help.

[Or: When you run out of things you can do, there’s always yelling at the world from the blog you made when you were ten.]

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

IRIS Log #1548 by deadchannelradio A Disclaimer From Your Friendly Neighborhood Oracle:

The following is a transcript of Patrol Communications Audio written by state of the art transcription technology, IRIS (Interpretation of Recorded Intelligence Software). IRIS was created to provide easily searchable records, automatically, and eliminate the need to transcribe each patrol audio log manually. That being said, IRIS is still experimental, and may not always be entirely accurate.

(01:25) Red Hood: (Mild static) (Out of breath, slurred) You motherfuckers. Put some fuckin-

Batman: (Shaking) Red Hood-

Red Hood: Shut up. Put some fucking respect. On my name. Start fucking copying me. I just got thrown fucking. Um. 40 feet. Into a fucking uh. What's it. Ditch. I'm still fucking conscious.

Batman: Red Hood, do not move, we're en route-

Red Hood: What'll I win if I stand up.

Batman: (Loud) Do not stand up.

T | No Archive Warnings Apply | No Relationships

Night Blogger by AnonDude There's a blogger catching the internet's attention with a long, insane, and twisted tale. The problem is, he seems to persist under the impression that he's just a random anonymous blogger looking for advice on his relationship. That's all.

QuillsNFrills: I like your first entry! But I'm a little unsure as to what genre you're aiming for here; it seems a little confused and all over the place. It's clear you want it to be something more lurking under the guise of a simple relationship blog, but is that…mystery? Thriller? A dark romance? Sci-fi/fantasy/magic (with the…whatever is going on with BF's head)? I'm also kind of wondering if I'm reading right that maybe there are hints this isn't a reliable narrator? Maybe that will continue…eyes. Anyway, keep up the good work! – April 15, 2023 –

BlueberryPancakes: this […] only continued to get MORE wild, and despite the "clearing up"…I still don't know whether to believe […] it's supposed to be an obvious red herring and this is all an Experience^tm, or whether this is really OP's life. – April 17, 2023 –

M | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | Tim Drake/Jason Todd

A preliminary examination of potential significant others (last saved by T. Drake) by Betty, Elf_Herself, Petra thefourthvine wrote, "I want the story where someone sits down and thinks that, and lists every single person in the canon (probably in some kind of database, with numerical codes and assigned weights for each category and stuff) and weighs all the pros and cons and finally, after a lot of careful deliberation, selects a candidate for the position of Significant Other."

This is the first step in that process.

G | Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings | No Relationships

[triciawritesstuff]

Jung Taeju x reader

Concept: You've been in love with Jung Taeju for as long as you can remember.

Warnings: angst, mutual pining, blood, slight descriptions of injury, sort of fluff at the end, mildly suicidal reader.

A/n- i finished squid game, my choi mujin obsession came back, I rewatched my name, returned to my Taeju roots.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. The plan was clear, collect the narcotics, leave. No casualties. Choi Mujin will be furious. He was adamant on not making the deal any any harder than it needed to be.

You remember arriving with Taeju, side by side. Unified. Somewhere along the way, it went wrong. The deal was off, and it was clear that they weren't going to leave without a fight. At least, hoping to dwindle some of your numbers as a warning. You really hoped that the message they were going to send didn't include Taeju at all. It was fine if you were caught in the crossfire. You were replacable. You live by the sword, you die by the sword. It was different for Jung Taeju. His life was more important, which is exactly why the honourable thing to do was ensure he didn't get hurt, even if it was at your expense. There are many ways to die, but some are better than others. To die protecting the one you love is the best death, you think.

You also remember, one of the men running at him. Serated machete in hand. You feel the air still, as if time has stopped completely. You quickly shove Taeju to the side, using your body to block the metal. Pain searing through you, the agony so intense you feel your legs becoming weak. You collapse to the ground, meeting the harsh floor beneath you.

Chaos ensues. Both parties rush towards each other, screaming wildly. Immediately, Taeju is pulled away from where you stay on the floor, snapping out of his trance, trying to recover from the events that transpired just in front of him.

----

The cement around you is covered with something viscous and sticky. a warmth penetrates through the back of your shirt, which clings desperately to your body. Your suit jacket was long discarded for increased mobility, not wanting to be restricted by the close cutting tailoring. only a white cotton shirt to act as a barrier between you and the weapon. Not that that can help you now.

Your vision is blurry, eyelids heavy, and you attempt to open them, trying to look around you half heartedly. You push up onto your forearms, ignoring the sharp blistering pain you feel in your abdomen. You scan the environment around you. corpses are littered everywhere, and the smell of blood infiltrates your sinuses. The growing pain below your ribcage pulses angrily, causing your arms to give out. Your head hits the floor again, and it occurs to you that perhaps you might actually die here. No more nights spent tirelessly sparring with Choi Mujin's most favoured right hand, Taeju. No more late evening trips to go drink soju, laughter filling the air. Nights spent pressed shoulder to shoulder, knees occasionally knocking together, neither pulling away. It would all come to an end.

Part of you considers perhaps it would be easier to just lay here, in a pool of your own blood, than be forced to kneel before Mujin and listen to him monologue about honour and rules before making you decide which part of your body you'd prefer to depart with. If it came down to it, you think you'd have to choose your face. This line of work didn't particularly have time to put it to good use anyway.

Relationships are somewhat of a delicate topic within Dongcheon. Whilst the majority of its ranks do consist of men, they are hardly what your heart really yearns for deep down. The feelings you pushed so far inside you, promising to never act on them. Romantic feelings are a weakness. People will only use it against you, and you were taught this from the beginning.

However, something inside you desperately just wanted to break the rules and throw yourself at him. To be selfish and act on your own behalf for once. You spend basically every hour of the day together. Why doesn't he reciprocate your feelings? Perhaps he was secretly seeing someone else. Personal anecdotes are often far and few between you both, but you're sure you'd have at least picked up on it somewhere.

The pain in your body subsides, and you're sure it blooms within your heart. You reach up, fingers intertwining with your tie, pulling it loose. You exhale deeply, releasing a breath you weren't even aware you were holding.  

"Get up." A voice interrupts your thoughts. You force your eyelids open, and a figure is standing above you. Silhouetted against the plethora of stars that fill your vision. Your brow furrows– trying to focus on who it is. It's him. The one who plagues your thoughts so.

He's sporting a busted lip, and blood is encrusted down the side of his face. He carries a concerned expression, and you wonder if he's injured elsewhere. Your gaze travels down his body, noticing his right arm is stretched out down towards you. You lift your arm to return the gesture, and you are startled by the warm gentleness that his fingers treat you with. He leans back, lifting you from the ground. Your arm finds its home along his shoulder blades whilst a strong arm snakes around your waist, gripping you protectively. You wince slightly against his touch. "It–hurts there." You whisper out. "Could you at least pretend to be more careful?"

"Careful?" He scoffs. "I wouldn't even have to be doing this if you hadn't moved in the way– have you thought about at least pretending to be less stupid?" He bites out. Regretting it as soon as it came out his mouth.

You tense under his grip, and you know he can feel it. He half-heartedly attempts to drag you towards one of the cars and away from the battlefield, ignoring the tiredness within his own body.

"You're right. M'sorry– I dont know -" You can feel the tears pricking at the back of your eyes. "I don't know what i was thinking." You feel foolish, head tilting  away to avoid his gaze.

"You won't tell–"

"Of course i won't." He interrupts, as if he could already sense what was going through your mind.

The reassurance calms you slightly.

You reach his black Mercedes-Benz in silence. He stumbles forward, reaching for the door for the passenger seat, propping it open for you. He gently lowers you onto the leather seat before undoing the buttons on the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up his forearms. You try to stop yourself from ogling, but you're sure that your mouth has opened slightly without even noticing.

"Lift your shirt." He breaks the silence. Which is then continued by another agonising silence as you try to decipher if what he said was just a hallucination from your exhausted state or if he was actually asking you to undress.

"What?"

"I said–" he takes a step closer, but looking away almost shyly. You'd never seen him shy. It was quite endearing. "Lift your shirt." He clears his throat. "You're hurt. Let me see."

Oh. obviously. You quickly reach down to untuck your shirt from your slacks, fiddling with the buttons. Your hands are shaking. The first button comes undone easily, but the rest seem to be proving to be a much harder task. His gaze is heavy upon you, as he watches you helplessly try to do such an easy activity.

He tuts, before quickly moving his hands toward your shirt, long, slender fingers making quick work of undoing enough buttons to move your shirt out the way, but not all of them completely. At least he was preserving your modesty to some extent, ever the gentleman.

He slowly peels the shirt away from your skin, causing you to hiss slightly.

"Shit." He mutters to himself. Reaching forward, he opens the glovebox next to you. His chest mere centre metres away from your eyes, a faint scent of aftershave and sweat fills your senses, reminding you of something more familiar. You have to resist just leaning forward slightly and resting your forehead against him.

He pulls back. "Okay, im going to wrap this round your wound—" he holds up the roll of bandage before you. "It will stop the bleeding for now– and I'll clean it properly when we get home. Okay?" His voice carries an unusual warmth to it, causing you to nod almost too eagerly. 'When we get home?' You repeat inside your mind. Was he always this concerned about your well-being? 'I'll clean it.' The way he describes it, it almost feels intimate. You're not sure if you'll even make it home when your thoughts run wild like this.

His fingers hold the edge of the bandage down, delicately wrapping it round your waist. Each time his fingers make contact with your cool skin, you're sure your temperature increases.

He finishes the job before leaning up again, resting his forearms against the door and the roof of the car. Assessing the situation and scanning your body for any other injuries. You think he must be doing it on purpose, its like he wants you to just crumble beneath him. How can you be expected to behave in these harsh conditions?

"You've been unusually quiet. What's on your mind?" He enquires, eyes searching your face for any hint of what could be troubling you. You quickly try to think of an excuse. It's not like you can admit that you are just thinking about him.

"Oh—I'm sorry about your leather seats– do you think the blood will come out?" You ask earnestly. Reminding yourself of how much blood you've lost just from the short journey to from the floor to the car with an open wound.

His face relaxes, and his brow no longer furrowed. "It doesn't matter." He says firmly. "It's only a car."

"You're more important anyway." He whispers it slightly, unsure if he wanted you to hear that part or not. It makes your heart beat faster at the prospect and warmth pools inside you.

Suddenly feeling bolder, you reach upwards, blood-stained fingers wrapping around his silk tie, pulling him down closer towards you. "Can I kiss you?" You gasp out suddenly. Years of pent-up feelings all suddenly bursting out all at once.

You both freeze, the air feeling heavy and oppressive around you.

He doesn't reply verbally, and instead, he leans in to press his forehead against yours. Strong hands find their way to rest just behind you, careful of touching anything they shouldn't. His respectfulness will drive you mad one day.

"I shouldn't—" he exhales heavily, the breath leaving his lips tickles your own. "Fuck— what have you done to me?" He whispers, as if you are both the only people left in the world.

"Let's get back first–" his arm moves back towards your own, prying your desperate fingers from his tie and lifting your hand up to his mouth. He pauses for a second before pressing a firm kiss to your bruised knuckles. "You aren't thinking straight right now." His voice is muffled due to your hand being so close to his soft lips.

He quickly pulls away, shutting the car door before you both do something you'll regret.

[petraevesplace]

An Accidental Essay on Dorias

One of the aspects of Thracia I’ve seen receive close to universal praise from players is Leif’s tacticians, August and Dorias. They have a unique, well-written dynamic with their clashing perspectives and personalities and each add to the world with interesting backstories and connected characters. But between them, there’s a very clear favorite. It’s well-deserved and August is my favorite of the two as well. But Dorias deserves appreciation too for his impact and importance to Leif, August, and the narrative and I don’t just mean through his fate.

After capturing Fort Noel, Leif admits to almost admiring how well House Friege’s soldiers fought, which Dorias encourages. Dorias openly admires how well General Largo fought and the discipline and honor House Friege’s soldiers fight with, telling Leif if he captured General Largo to never forget his knightly pride. Though this isn’t something Leif seems to identify with, it is something important for him to understand. Just as Eyvel encouraged him to spare any foot soldiers he can as most were just regular folk being forced to fight against their will and August’s explanation of the harsh position the Southern Thracians were in recontextualized their actions, Dorias’s understanding of the beliefs and expectations of knights allows Leif to see them as more than just a cruel, evil enemy that deserves to die. Leif has already been shown to be inclined to offer mercy if he can, both in sparing Rumei and his admittance to Dorias that rather than knightly pride, he thought about wanting to avoid a needless slaughter, and the game allows you to let him be, nearly every enemy including many bosses able to be captured and released. For as deep as his hate can be, it isn’t so broadly, something each of the perspectives he’s presented with makes even less so. This empathy and understanding are important for Leif to avoid making the same mistakes as the kings who came before him and successfully unify Thracia and these three groups of people are all who he needs to have them for the most in order to offer mercy when deserved in a way that will be accepted.

Unlike Eyvel and August’s lessons though, Dorias’s is challenged by the latter. After hearing Dorias praise Reinhardt, August snaps at his fellow advisor, getting truly angry for the first and only time in the game. He’s disgusted by Dorias talking about Reinhardt in a positive light and calls all knights hopeless for thinking as Dorias does. While he’s not wrong about Reinhardt deserving reproach, what Dorias was saying is objectively true. Reinhardt is a damned fine warrior, he’s incredibly strong and skilled and potentially one of the hardest enemies you’ll face in the game. But objectivity isn’t August’s issue with Dorias’s assessment, it’s Dorias’s perspective as a whole, the traditional ways of thinking of knights and the north. To someone approaching this from a similar perspective as August, that of a common person suffering under the Empire and because of the failings of previous rulers, the willingness to respect and speak highly of someone aiding the Loptyrians in bringing Jugdral closer to destruction is insulting and just the kind of short sightedness August warned Leif about.

But that respect was also how Leif was just able to recruit Fred and Olwen. When their army first encountered them at Fort Noel, both saw Leif and his army as invaders on House Friege’s land. They had no sympathy to their cause or reason to want to join them. But when Kempf traps Fred along with Leif in his attempt to kill him, Leif’s admission of respecting the honor House Friege fought with before earns enough respect from Fred to be willing not to fight him and agree to work together, even after Leif tells Fred who he is. Fred even vouches for Leif to Olwen if he speaks with her first, admitting that even though they only spoke briefly, that was enough to convince him Leif is worth following. The boss of this chapter, Oltoph, will also express surprise and a change of mind toward House Leonster if he’s captured and released. While there are flaws in the knights’ perspective, they aren’t as hopeless as August dismissed them to be. At the core of their perspective is a belief and desire for honor, something House Friege has been falling short of with their involvement in the child hunts. Reinhardt is a damned fine warrior but not so much an honorable knight and Kempf launches himself as far from honorable as he can in every scene he’s in. While there is subjectivity to what makes something honorable, one thing it unquestionably requires is respect. Leif showing that to enemy knights on top of his opposition to the child hunts makes him a viable option for who to follow to those whose view of honor puts greater emphasis on morality than loyalty to a house or person. If he’d met Fred with the same disdain August holds for knights, one of them likely would have died to the other in that trap. Not every knight is hopeless and offering that hope and deserved respect won’t always work but will benefit their army more than dismissing all knights from the start.

This isn’t the last time August voices his dislike of Dorias’s perspective, snapping at him a second time several chapters later, not as angrily but more cruelly. To reach Leonster, August advises taking the route that’s safer for their soldiers and allows them to attack a less defended side of the castle than the main gate. Dorias, however, wants to take the route that goes straight to Castle Leonster’s main gate and through another Empire held fort. August vehemently opposes this idea, warning Dorias he’ll get innocent men killed projecting his values onto them. But Dorias isn’t making this suggestion purely out of knightly pride as we see a few chapters later, he can recognize when a battle can’t be won and it’s better to play it safe than take the honorable, knightly approach. He acknowledges his approach here would result in casualties but still had faith it would work. He believes in their army and if they take his approach, the people and their men will too, each victory raising everyone’s morale in a way August’s approach can’t. He wants to spread the hope he has and though that will mean losses along the way, at least those who die will do so feeling proud of what they accomplished while alive, giving them and those they cared about some small consolation.

August isn’t wrong to criticize Dorias’s approach though. As he rightfully points out, most of their men aren’t knights or even nobles. They don’t have the resources, training, or mentality of the knights Dorias is treating them as. They’re just regular people trying to survive fighting against their oppressor. Holding them to the same expectations all the time isn’t reasonable and is partially responsible for innocent men’s deaths when immediately after reclaiming Castle Leonster, the people of Alster plead with them for aid. Both Dorias and August advise against it but Leif insists he can’t stand by and let the people of Alster die nor can he ignore the debt he owes them for sheltering him after Leonster fell. His father would never forgive him. August calls his thinking childish but Dorias offers to lead half of their men to aid Alster, refusing to let the whole army go and refusing to let August lead them instead when he suggests it.

This moment always felt a little contrived to me, like August and Dorias gave in too easily for how serious this is. But I think I understand why now or at least came up with a perspective on this that feels more satisfying to me.

While Leif’s argument sounded childish to August, to Dorias, it sounded like an argument a knight would make, that he would make. It’s the honorable and right thing to do, to aid your allies in their time of need. But in this situation, it isn’t practical and that right there is the greatest flaw in Dorias’s perspective. It isn’t always possible to do the right, honorable thing nor does following knightly pride always lead to a good outcome. Even having faith in your army’s abilities is not enough and even dangerous on its own. Although there was value in his perspective, it’s not the one Leif needs. It won’t lead them to victory, just to the same end Leonster met thirteen years ago. For Leonster to survive, it needs to be led and advised by a more practical, realistic perspective. I think in this moment, Dorias realized this and to ensure Leif would have the guidance he and Leonster needed, and maybe as a bit of atonement for the role he’d played in leading to this, takes lead of the force to aid Alster, letting the influence of the old ways die with him so Leonster could be reborn as a better kingdom.

This isn’t the end of Dorias’s influence though. After learning of his death, there’s a six month timeskip and after it, August acts oddly. He scolds Leif for point out the army is reaching their limit, doesn’t protest Leif’s insistence on storming a prison camp despite how easily he could have stopped him by reminding him of Alster, and seems to scold himself for starting to lecture Leif after crossing the River Thracia. He’s not exactly less harsh but he does seem to be holding himself back, perhaps because he no longer has someone to balance him out. His pragmatic, logical approach is the best approach for their army to survive the war but too much of that isn’t good either. After half a year under siege, even Leif’s morale and faith in their army is low and August’s scolding does nothing to change this. Dorias was right to put importance on inspiring and raising the hopes of everyone which pragmatism and realism rarely ever do and certainly can’t right now. They need faith, to be able to believe in themselves again. That’ll be impossible for August to create not just because of his perspective but because of his lack of it as well, admitting to Leif at the end of the game he believed liberating Northern Thracia was impossible when they first met and after Leonster was liberated, attributed all their army’s successes to the Empire making mistakes.

But he does also admit to eventually beginning to genuinely believe in Leif and I believe that happened around now. He chooses to believe in Leif when he decides to storm the prison camp, taking that chance for the possibility of raising the army’s spirits by rescuing their captured men. He stops himself from lecturing Leif at the River Thracia because sharing his perspective has already affected Leif enough, Leif no longer able to admire the river’s beauty either. It’s a small, subtle character arc but August’s attempt at faith for strategic reasons becoming genuine faith would be fitting. And a nice little final impact for Dorias on the story, August seeing some of the value and positives of his perspective.

I kind of wanted to write this because of a sentiment I’ve seen of August always being right, Dorias’s advice being bad or him being a bad advisor. I can see why as August’s approach is more fitting for Thracia’s story and themes but I also think there’s still value in Dorias’s and wouldn’t be so quick to call any of it bad or wrong. Or maybe I’ve just developed a soft spot for him after writing from his perspective, who knows

Anyways, happy 25th anniversary to Thracia and all of its wonderful characters, NPC tacticians included!

Thank you to Dotted_Clouds on Twitter for this amazing art

[wolfjessedragon]

The First to Fall: How the Persecution of Disabled People Signals the Rise of Tyranny

An informal historical essay By Jesse Plaisance

Throughout history, every oppressive regime follows a pattern—a slow, creeping expansion of control that starts small and escalates into full-scale tyranny. And time and time again, before these regimes turn their sights on large swaths of the population, they begin by targeting disabled people.

Disabled individuals are, in many ways, the canaries in the coal mine—the first to suffer under the weight of growing authoritarianism, serving as an early warning sign of what is to come. Before a government openly persecutes religious minorities, LGBTQ+ individuals, ethnic groups, or political dissidents, they first test their methods on those already deemed "less than" by society. The reasoning is simple: disabled people are among the most isolated, dependent, and systemically devalued members of any society. Their persecution can be justified, ignored, or even encouraged, setting a dangerous precedent that will later be applied to others.

The Pan-Demographic Nature of Disability: A Silent, Overlooked Target

One of the most insidious aspects of ableism—and one of the key reasons disabled people are the first targets of authoritarian regimes—is that they exist as a pan-demographic group. Unlike other marginalized populations that are more visibly identifiable by race, religion, or ethnicity, disabled people exist across all demographics. They are not bound by nationality, socioeconomic status, gender, or political affiliation.

A single disabled person may be Black, white, Indigenous, wealthy, poor, conservative, progressive, religious, atheist, young, elderly—disability does not discriminate. It can develop at birth, through injury, illness, or age, meaning anyone, at any point in life, can become disabled. This unique status makes disabled individuals an ideal test population for regimes looking to enact harmful policies, because when oppression is spread across so many different identities, the connecting factor isn’t immediately obvious.

This is particularly dangerous in the case of invisible disabilities—such as chronic illnesses, mental health conditions, autism, ADHD, or neurological disorders—which make up a significant portion of the disabled population. If a government begins systematically depriving disabled people of rights, medical care, or autonomy, the disappearances and deaths will be scattered across so many different social groups that the public may not even notice the pattern unless they actively look for it.

A person who is missing may be written off as a struggling addict, an impoverished person who "fell through the cracks," a mentally ill individual who "wasn’t stable," or a medical patient who "didn’t make it." Without a single unifying racial, religious, or ethnic identity to connect them, these disappearances and acts of oppression can be dismissed as isolated cases rather than part of a coordinated, systemic attack.

This is exactly how regimes test the waters of authoritarian control—by first targeting those whose suffering is the easiest to overlook. If no one notices when disabled people are stripped of rights, institutionalized, or killed, then those same methods can later be scaled up and expanded to other groups.

Historical Patterns: How Tyranny Evolves From the Persecution of Disabled People

Ancient and Early Modern Precedents

Ableist persecution is not a new phenomenon—it has been woven into the fabric of governance and power for millennia. Ancient civilizations often abandoned, killed, or institutionalized disabled individuals under the belief that they were cursed, unworthy, or useless.

- Ancient Sparta: Infamously, Spartan society practiced eugenics-like policies, where infants who displayed visible disabilities were left on Mount Taygetus to die. This was justified under the guise of creating a "stronger" society but set a precedent for state-sanctioned violence against disabled individuals.

- Medieval & Early Modern Europe: During the witch trials, many of those accused and executed were disabled, neurodivergent, or mentally ill individuals who displayed "unusual" behavior. Those with epilepsy, schizophrenia, or other conditions were seen as "possessed" or "corrupted by the devil."

- The English and American Poor Laws: These laws, dating back to the 16th century, created "workhouses" where disabled and poor individuals were essentially imprisoned and forced into labor under horrific conditions. These institutions laid the groundwork for later mass institutionalization.

20th-Century Atrocities

Nazi Germany: Aktion T4 – The Precursor to the Holocaust

One of the most explicit examples of disabled people being the first targets of totalitarian control comes from Nazi Germany’s Aktion T4 program. Before the mass extermination of Jewish, Romani, LGBTQ+, and other marginalized groups, the Nazis first developed their methods of state-sanctioned murder through the killing of disabled individuals.

Between 1939 and 1941, over 275,000 disabled individuals—including children—were systematically murdered under the pretext of "euthanasia." This was not mercy killing but rather the deliberate extermination of those the Nazis deemed "useless eaters." Doctors, nurses, and caregivers turned into executioners, practicing mass killing techniques that would later be expanded to the Holocaust. Gas chambers, initially designed for Aktion T4, were later scaled up for Auschwitz, Treblinka, and other death camps.

The American and British Eugenics Movements

While Nazi Germany’s eugenics program is well-known, fewer people acknowledge that the United States and Britain had already laid the groundwork for such policies.

- In the early 1900s, forced sterilization programs targeted disabled individuals in the U.S., with over 60,000 sterilizations performed under eugenics laws.

- The infamous Buck v. Bell (1927) Supreme Court ruling upheld the constitutionality of sterilizing disabled people without their consent, with Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes declaring, "Three generations of imbeciles are enough."

- Britain had similar sterilization proposals, and while they weren’t enacted as aggressively as in the U.S., institutionalization of disabled individuals remained widespread.

Soviet Union: Psychiatric Abuse as a Political Weapon

Under Stalin and later Soviet regimes, psychiatric hospitals became tools of political repression. Dissidents, intellectuals, and anyone who deviated from state-approved ideology were often labeled as mentally ill and locked away in psikhushkas (political psychiatric hospitals).

This practice was built on existing ableist structures—long before political dissidents were imprisoned, disabled individuals were already confined to these facilities with little hope of release. The Soviet government simply expanded an already oppressive system to control its enemies.

China’s Mass Institutionalization and Forced Treatments

Throughout the 20th and 21st centuries, China has faced numerous human rights violations related to the treatment of disabled individuals. Many disabled children are abandoned due to strict societal pressures, and those with intellectual disabilities are frequently institutionalized in horrific conditions. The One-Child Policy also resulted in widespread sex-selective and disability-selective abortions, reinforcing the devaluation of disabled lives.

---

Conclusion: Tyranny Doesn’t Start with the Obvious—It Starts with the Overlooked

The persecution of disabled people is not a historical relic—it is an ongoing reality, one that should alarm anyone who values human rights. Every authoritarian regime, every totalitarian movement, and every oppressive system begins by targeting those society already devalues.

Because disabled people exist across all demographics, their persecution is often dismissed as a series of individual injustices rather than a widespread systemic issue. This makes them the perfect testing ground for authoritarian control.

To protect human rights for all, we must first protect those who are the first to be targeted. We must listen to the canaries in the coal mine before the gas fills the chamber—because by the time the warning signs reach the rest of the population, the machinery of oppression will already be in motion.

[r3g-p14y3r]

I’d like you to know, anyways…

Yippee!!! Tis another Gun x 713 drabble. Angst this time though. (Don’t worry it isn’t canon!) Be warned I teared up myself, but again, I might just be emotional.

CW: death, swearing

Well, this isn’t how he thought he’d die.

Sure, sure, back when he was a droid he thought he’d die then in the Unified, and the multiple times he’d been jumped before the laws for automaton rights were set in motion—

But this? This? Oh, this is just pathetic in his opinion.

He can feel— sense— the numerous footfalls approaching this spot he’s hidden away the both of them under. It’s…definitely not comforting in any way, knowing what used to be the law in this world was closing in like a pack of animals. Makes him think of being hunted. “Tsk. Dammit…”

There doesn’t seem to be a way out of this. His range of motion is severely limited due to his stupid choice of not getting anything in him fixed for the past few decades— and that stupidity has only been aggravated by his current injuries. There are humans surrounding him, and… and, well, the one right in front of his frozen form is unresponsive.

No, he isn’t going to use another word for that. He refuses.

Gunvor can’t understand most of the words being spoken by the humans, what with the blaring sirens in his head saying to get going. Move, they urge, it can’t end here. Not like this.

But why should he? There’d be no point, would there? After all, the only reasons he stayed in this life are destroyed and have no way of being mended at this time.

The last bit of Ari’s memory had been torn from his hands during the scuffle.

Missile, the adored yet pain-in-the-ass pet that they were, is lying in pieces somewhere a klick or two away.

713 is…

…

. . .

“I’m sorry I couldn’t do a better job.”

Fine. Fine, he’ll accept the bitter truth. His partner is injured as well. Unresponsive? That’s true, but also— “Bullshit. It’s bullshit,” he forces out.

—the better word would be crippled.

He can’t move his arms anymore, which leaves him with said partner in them just like that accursed dream did. The difference is that this situation is very much real, and very much something that he is not going to wake up from.

Which means 713 is not going to be coming back from this. He can’t get them out of here. He also won’t just… be jolted out of bed and be able to call the other like the anxious person that he is to make sure they’re alright.

Again, there’d be no point in trying to survive this, even if he could.

Can 713 even hear him? He can’t tell; its screen is blank and cracked to oblivion.

The people are getting closer.

Gunvor mimics taking a breath before he speaks again. “Hey…love, don’t know if you can hear me.”

He sounds so tired, so strained.

“I’m just going to hope that you can.”

The bot doesn’t know where he’s going with this; he didn’t plan to make some sappy speech before an inevitable death, so he’s just spitting out whatever comes to the front of his mind.

“Remember the first time you asked me out to a date? I-I know, I know it didn’t look like it since I’m stuck with this stupid frown on my face, but I swear to you that I was so happy when you made that scrappy crown for me on the way home. I can’t smile, but I’d like you to know anyways that I felt like I was. Kinda…kinda fell for you right then and there. Stupid of me to get attached so fast, yeah. I got no excuses.”

Oh, he can make out what those bastards are saying now. He should’ve picked a better spot.

Please no not yet— I need more time.

“I-I-I. I wasn’t expecting to fall for some neon green, idiotic beanstalk,” he babbles, “but hey! Here I am! Stuck with said beanstalk who…”

Who might not even be hearing my spiel right now.

“Never mind what I was going to say. I just…I wanted to have more moments like that, you know? You’re sweet— and stupid— and also get on my nerves whenever you tease me but we-don’t-talk-about-that— I love you for all of it.“

“…They’re here,” he hears a voice call from what can’t be more than a few meters away.

Please. Not yet.

Gunvor lowers his voice as he continues. “I’m glad you loved Missile as much as I did. I’m glad that you stumbled upon me when I was chasing the little guy like a fool. I’m…”

His vox finally cracks.

“I’m glad I met you, okay? It’s overly sappy and makes me cringe inside the tiniest bit, but still. I’m glad. I’m glad I met you. And again, I’m sorry. I should’ve done better. I don’t think there’s much time left and I can’t say all I want to say. I’d love to hear your laugh again. I—“ I feel like crying. I want more time with you. This was too short. I still can’t believe I met you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

“Found them.”

No. No, please. Please.

He doesn’t bother with listening to the authority’s demands, whatever the hell they may be. He isn’t letting go. Even when he hears the telltale clicks of a few dozen barrels, he doesn’t. He can’t.

In what he hopes to be a last attempt at comfort, he hunches over himself with the last of his strength and presses his forehead to 713’s. He doesn’t want the last thing he sees to be some scummy humans who aren’t Marie or his daughter.

“Anyways, you’re probably tired. It’s alright, really. Just rest,” he whispers softly.

They’re yelling now. Fine. Let them.

He doesn’t fucking car—

BANG.