#yall gonna hate me for this one

[delopsia]

Warning: Major character death with a happy ending (depending on how you view it) ❤

Thinking about old man Rhett who doesn't know what to do when your time finally comes.

Who stands quietly at your funeral and doesn't remember how to speak because he'd always selfishly hoped that he'd be the first to go because he doesn't know how to live a life without you. This old house he built for you hurts him to stand in, but it hurts him even more to leave.

Thinking about old man Rhett who always hated cleaning, meticulously keeping your things exactly how you left them. He keeps the same bedspread and keeps repairing the bedside lamp, even though there are identical ones at the store. Dusts your photos and pours your drink into your mug every morning, but he never washes your clothes because they still smell like you.

Old man Rhett who wakes up one day to a knock at his door; some eighteen-something kid whose father still tells the tale of the time Rhett Abbott won the rodeo with a dislocated shoulder. A kid raised in a middle-of-nowhere ranching family who has dreamed of becoming a successful bull rider since he was small. And Rhett hasn't touched the sport in years, but he can hear you gently telling him that this could be good for both of them, and he recognizes this story all too well.

Thinking about old man Rhett who moves your urn around throughout the day. Carrying you up to the kitchen in the mornings, leaving you to rest in the sunroom throughout the evenings, and placing you on your favorite shelf in the bedroom when night falls. He talks to you like you can still hear him, and it's alright that you cant respond. He already knows what you'd say.

Old man Rhett who carries your wedding ring on a necklace and toys with the gem while he watches this bright-eyed apprentice of his climb onto the back of a bull. They've gotten bigger since Rhett last rode them. Stronger, meaner, but this kid has a passion bigger than all of that. He holds on for four seconds. Doesn't score very high, but it's ten points and one second more than last time.

Old man Rhett who can always be found sitting at your old favorite spot. Amongst trees who have seen your first date and your last and have heard the deepest of conversations. He talks to you here, too.

Thinking about old man Rhett who doesn't talk much, but he'll talk the ear off anyone who asks about you. His apprentice knows so much about you that he feels like he's met you a million times over. His apprentice, whose peers jokingly tell him that old Rhett has gone off the deep end because he talks to a dead lover and mutters things under his breath that doesn't make sense.

Thinking about old man Rhett who thinks back on old times, both the good and bad, when his apprentice quietly asks what he should do about the girl he's too shy to ask on a date. And he smiles when he sees that kid awkwardly kick the dirt when he works up the nerve because he did that too when he asked you way back when.

Thinking about old man Rhett who never really believed in an afterlife until he met you, and he's anything but religious, but he just knows he'll see you again someday.

Thinking about old man Rhett who finds himself standing at the Amelia County rodeo finals, cheering on his apprentice the same way you once cheered for him. It's the most he's yelled since that argument after the pipes burst and flooded the living room, and he thinks he can hear you yelling alongside him, too.

Thinking about old man Rhett who smiles when people ask if he misses you. "What do you mean? They're right here with me," and he knows they think he's gone off the deep end. Maybe he has. He doesn't care; he feels you there with him everywhere he goes.

Thinking about old man Rhett who travels a couple hundred miles just to see his apprentice debut in the PBR and has to keep the kid's girlfriend from climbing over the fence when he dislocates his wrist in the fall. Finds her a stress ball to squeeze the hell out of because that's what you always did when he rode.

Thinking about old man Rhett who looks up at the sky that night and quietly understands that its time.

Thinking about old man Rhett's apprentice, who understands when Rhett gifts him that old, worn-out buckle he won all those years ago.

Thinking about old man Rhett, who drives through the night, parking his truck lazily in the driveway in the fashion you always scolded him for because it blocked the entrance to the garage. He carries you up to that old spot and sits counting the stars with you.

Thinking about old man Rhett's apprentice, who stumbles into town and finds his old mentor in his resting place. His apprentice who puts your urn in a safe place in his home, and soon, puts Rhett right next to you.

Thinking about old man Rhett's apprentice who keeps you both side by side until the date of your anniversary rolls around. He gets up bright and early and releases you both in your favorite place, with a fumbled goodbye and a wetness in his eyes that wasn't there before. Rhett never asked him to do it, but some things don't need to be spoken to be understood.

Thinking about old man Rhett who finds himself walking down a familiar driveway. Who feels the ache in his bones fade away and watches the wrinkles in his hands smoothen back to a youthful, forever strong muscle.

Thinking about Rhett who realizes where he is and what he's seeing in the distance.

Thinking about Rhett who runs for the first time in years, yelling your name as he tears down the dirt driveway.

Thinking about Rhett's four long-gone horses, who appear from behind and run alongside him. Singing as the door to that house he built opens wide, and you step out onto the front porch.

Thinking about Rhett who hops clean over the railing to get to you faster, and accidentally knocks you down as he hurtles into you.

Thinking about Rhett who smiles when you welcome him home, one last time.

[daisha-mochizuki]

Jason was called to war, leading the many soldiers he liked the nickname "The League of Assassins" by their ever-so-helpful stealth skills. Ten years it's been since the start of the war. And finally, they have the perfect plan on how to end everything.

Jason didn't realize, though, how "perfect" his plan was.

[akechis-piano]

viktor was jesus for like a WEEK and then jayce had to go ahead and crucify him. this isnt "doomed" yaoi this isnt "toxic" yaoi this is something different. this is eldritch horror yaoi. this is divorce but on a biblical scale.

edit: b4 you leave your “it was actually a couple of months” comment i Know it was months i was referring to the time irl between episodes.

[luna-loveboop]

Wars and Wild as knights in Lu

They have issues.

I have a lot of thoughts on Wild and Wars and their relationship (Order of this post is talking about saluting, Wild and Wars' different perspectives, memory issues, and fire) Rant time.

No saluting!!

So Wild took a formal- almost/awkwardly saluting pose when Wars confronted him in 'Entrance pt.2'

It's similar to the first time Wild addressed Wars as 'captain'. His left hand is up from where a salute should be, and his overall posture is awkward, with his shoulders and right hand raised, but it's clear he's trying to do a salute in the presence of a fellow knight.

In the second example his hand is behind his head, but his posture is very straight and his right arm stiff- he's again attempting a formal saluting position. Which is still awkward

It is less clear but his changes in posture clued me in. He goes from like a deer in the headlights to visibly sweating to straight backed and looking up at Wars- looking at the changes in his body language

Side note but I literally love how Jojo draws the champions tunic so much-

We can't see the action of Wild's body language in a comic, just the positions he went to. But he visibly leaned away from Wars before switching to a straight backed saluting-like posture. He's clearly freaked out, hence Twilight's face: >:(

I think that Wild taking somewhat military poses around Wars is important to their relationship issues because it comes from his struggle with memory and identity

.

So like. All of them have different perspectives

Wars

I adore Wars. He is baby and I love him. I think it is also important to acknowledge that he would not speak to any of the others this way.

And the scarf man cmon it's so pretty they are so cute-

Why is Wars talking to Wild like this? He's called him out and reprimanded him multiple times in front of the others. Wild has taken it well but tbh if it was Legend I think he would be on fire.

To some extent I think he is in captain mode. I think that he has trouble seeing Wild as not a knight. Wars gives Wild respect as a knight who sacrificed for his kingdom, but now it seems he's taking it away as a knight who's not doing well enough since he 'disregarded the plan'

At least I think that's the outside (or Wild's) view of it. But Wars internally really cares about Wild and he saw him run up to a giant and lose it. Different ways of showing concern perhaps?

Who wouldn't want to keep Wild from getting more scars?

I just. Don't doubt for a second Wars really cares about Wild- even if the way he's acting still isn't cool. He has no right to treat him like a soldier any more than the rest of the chain, and right now I think Wild is acting as the more mature person.

Wild

I adore Wild. He is baby and I love him. I think it is also important to acknowledge that although he is clearly making efforts after Twilight's injury, Wild has ignored Wars for the majority of Lu, by not speaking to him much, and not thanking or acknowledging Wars when he directly helped him. (Small example being walking with Hyrule not Wars when injured and not directly responding to Wars)

Wars cares about and respects Wild, but it seems Wild wants nothing to do with him, and he's been cold towards Wars for the majority of Lu. To Wild, Wars reminds him of his perceived failure. Which is valid feelings, but still not fair. And I think that ask is talking about these two.

The thing I love about this is each of them are right and wrong in some ways, leading to the tension between them. So fully blaming either of them is not logical

The rest of the chain is just vibing. Except twilight who's mad and wants them to just grow up, but. Heros of courage not wisdom @uniquevoidflowers ;)

And that ask- '''Are any of the Links ever jealous of another Link for adventures that were less difficult/life threatening?'' ''When you hear Wild say he 'hates' someone you'll have your answer.''' somewhat leads to my next point-

Wild's identity and memory issues exacerbate all of this

In Entrance, Twilight is being stressed and defensive, that's ok. What concerns me most is that Twilight has talked with Wild through stuff like this in his rough moments

Wild has tried to be formal several times- he is not very good at it

Four's face I can't didnwidkekfjej

Wild isn't and can't be 'him'- the same 'perfect' (<actually has crippling anxiety) knight he was before, and Twilight knows this. And I agree with him a bit, I think, that Wars is making things worse in Wild's mind by being that perfect soldier, and seemingly holding Wild to a standard he isn't

Wild's attempts at saluting is symbolic of that- Wars makes him feel like a failure trying to be the person he should be. But Wild shouldn't be anyone but himself.

Anyways. Fire.

Wars and Wild have issues, and I want them to work through all their relationship drama so they can reach their PEAK dynamic, which is obviously this

I mean like. We need these two to be friends

Anyways. Wild is in this constant state of identity crisis, and being around Wars has not been beneficial- neither of them is or has been showing the other the respect they deserve. Not as knights, but as people and brothers. They need a get along shirt.

All this Art is by Jojo @linkeduniverse au!

:)

[angelpuns]

Lil hater Leo in honor of me FINALLY getting out of bed. Idk what happened to me today but I couldn't get out bed for the longest time ;-;

Anyway just like me, Leo also managed to get out of bed. Now, I for the life of me couldn't figure out what I would want someone to say to me in this situation, so I went the silly route. Probably don't actually say this to someone, I genuinely don't know what I would have wanted someone to say if there were anyone for me to apologize too :/

Anyway here's a transcript:

Leo: I'm sorry...I was supposed to cook dinner, but I did nothing all day...

Yuichi: it's okay!

Yuichi: in the wise words of my great-great-great-grandfather...it just be like that!

Leo, thinking: idk why this is making me feel better

Leo: he did NOT say that

Yuichi: he did, I swear

Anyway I once again would not recommend actually saying this and I don't think Yuichi WOULD say this, but I couldn't think of what I would want someone to say so :/

[felsicveins]

His heart belongs to another

And no other heart will do

[rewritingcanon]

jily

[incorporealbombchelle]

On Earth As It Is In Heaven

Mr.Reed x Fem! Reader (Mid 20s) (18+)

Synopsis: Pt. 3 - (y/n) is introduced to a new system of belief...

⚠️TW: Percieved Heresy, Catholicism Mentions, Condescension, Crude Language, Possible Vague and Obscure Spoilers for 'Heretic' (2024), Age Gap, Lectures, Blood, Violence, A Somewhat Graphic Depiction of Gore, Oral Sex (Male Recipient), Raw P in V Penetration, Terror & Tense Situations, General Smut.

When I come to I'm clothed, and my body is seemingly unharmed but I still feel fuzzy, disoriented.  The taste of the wine I shared with Mr. Reed remains on my tongue and I swallow, noticing a faint smell of perfume and... something else? Something coppery....

I breathe as deeply and quietly as I can and allow my eyes to open. A small room, dimly lit and painted green. It's lined with paintings of gods and prophets, shelves of books and records, and a vinyl player sits off to the side, similar to the bedroom. Looking down, I realize I'm seated in a pew, of which there are rows. Is this... a church?

Two doors line the wall ahead of me, one green and one purple, behind a large desk with a half-burned candlestick on it. From the green door, Mr. Reed emerges in the checkered cardigan I remember him in from when he first ushered me inside, and the pajamas he threw on after we...

I'm extremely confused.

"Well hello!! Look at you!! How're you feeling? Bit groggy, I'd imagine? You were just a *touch* over served, that's on me." He admits, stashing a bright green watering can under the desk and grabbing his notebook and pencil off of it to write something down.

"Seventeen Hours. Good." He looks back to me, an excited grin on his face.

"Mister Reed?" I ask softly.

"Ms. (y/n)?" He chuckles, taking a step closer.

"What happened? What is this? How did I get here?"

"You were drugged, this" he gestures around us "is an institution of learning, and you were carried here. Anything further? No? Good. Let's get cracking!" He claps, rubbing his hands together and I jump in my seat.

"Whu-" I'm more confused than I was initially after this brief, unhelpful explanation but he prattles on;

"A few miligrams of temazepam in the wine, nothing lethal." He narrows his eyes, pointing a finger at me "You were indoctrinated into catholicism from what age?"

"I was baptized at two...why d-"

"Two. Years. Old. TWO, (Y/N)!! Forgive me but that's fucking ridiculous. You had no information and no way of consenting to whatever 'soul-protecting' rituals catholics do to children at two years of age.

You have lived your entire life by the teachings of a cult, my dear. A popular cult with a good handle on architecture and design, but a cult all the same. With their gaudy, artsy buildings and their priests wrapped up in silk and you," he looks me over, his expression sympathetic "Full of all that eternal guilt and shame for your entirely natural feelings and urges. For what? A reward only recieved after death? Heaven is about as meaningful to the living as a gold star sticker on a child's spelling test and I believe, no I know, that you're aware of this, (y/n). "

He sits on the edge of the desk as he lectures me and I take a second to look myself over.

These.... are not my clothes. A long, dark grey wool skirt with... a short-sleeved black mock neck sweater tucked into it..., the inside of the right sleeve is caked in some dark, calcified stain... These are...  comfortable clothes, modest clothes, thank God, but they. Are not. Mine. I shudder. How did he get these? And where is this lecture going? He pulls a few different versions of monopoly and the landlord game from the nearby shelves and likens them to different religions, laying a holy book atop each and telling me about 'iterations' and I am not listening and the stain on the inside of my sleeve that isn't my sleeve is almost definitely someone's blood and now I'm scared and what is going on? There's an immense pressure in my head and I'm breathing too fast -- is this how I die?

In this decidedly unholy place, amongst all these artifacts I've been told would protect me, at the hands of a man who not only led me into temptation, but now purports to have the ability to deliver me from evil? Is he the evil? I'm overwhelmed and I cry.

I cry like I have never cried before. My face is wet and I'm sobbing and I'm hyperventilating and Mr. Reed finally stops talking so I look up, flushed, snivelling, unsure of his next move.

He seems shocked for a moment, eyes widening. Then his brow furrows again as he leaves his place at the desk to stand beside me. "Shhh, shhh, come now. That's a bit dramatic, eh? Catholic school lasts what, twelve years? You can stand to listen to an old man drone on for a minute."

He sheds his cardigan, draping it over my shoulders as they shake. He produces a tissue from one of his pockets and brings it to my face, dabbing away my tears. "You've been extraordinary for me so far, (y/n)." Mr. Reed scoots into the pew next to me, his eyes catch mine and he hums, reassuring "Such a virtuous, reasonable, obedient girl." I take a breath, resenting how much I lust after his blessing, his praise.  "See, I'm just introducing you to something new. Something different than that to which you're accustomed," He resumes, snaking an arm around my shoulder "When you walked in here, you weren't used to having your beliefs challenged. Only affirmed. It was scary, mm? But you let me in. You let me experience all of you, inside and out, because somehow, somewhere, deep inside, you know I'm right. You know this is right : what we do, who we are together. You taught me your doctrine, I owe it to you to teach mine."

"But you- you requested the- why...?" My voice cracks.

He squeezes my shoulder, speaking softly into the crook of my neck "Knowledge, (y/n), is power. Power is... what? Mm? What does power give to us?"

I shiver at the feeling of his breath on my neck and silently curse myself for welcoming it. "Uhm..." I look up at him, uncertain "Control?"

"Control! Exactly! Brilliant!"

I can't help the small smile that arrives on my face at knowing the correct answer to one of his questions.

"Control is the root of each of these doctrines." He gestures to the desk with the games and books laid out on it  "Think of your church. Sit, stand, kneel, listen to some old twat tell you you're unworthy of heaven, sit, stand kneel, stand, sing, kneel again, eat some crackers, go home. It's all programming.  They have you learn all that bovine choreography not because it amplifies your prayers to some all knowing benevolent being, but because it subdues you. It tires you out. Makes your body ache. You need something to do with your hands in those pews so you fold them in reverence because idle hands are the devil's playthings, are they not?"

"... Sure.... Mister Reed? Whose clothes are these?"

"Some things aren't for us to know, (y/n). And some are. Like how I know," he smiles "that you are going to continue to be keen for me, stop asking ridiculous questions, and do what I say. Because we're both thoroughly aware of the fact that I am your god now." His breath is hot on my neck as he chuckles, I can feel his grin, and I flinch.

He's in control. Older. Wiser. Stronger. Smarter. I look up into his eyes and he kisses me before I can even think to move away. His tongue tackles mine, fingers lacing into the hair at the nape of my neck, his other hand squeezes my thigh, my eyes roll back "mmh-" and maybe he is God. He breaks the kiss, looking me over.

His eyes undress me and I wish his hands would follow suit but they don't.

"Walk to the desk, stand in front of it."

I do as he says. There are 4 rows of pews on either side of the room and at the end of the aisle there is a door that seems to lead into a hallway. As I make note of this, Mr. Reed gets up from his place and begins stacking the books and board games, placing them on the floor beside the desk, and setting the needle on the vinyl player. He stands before me, bringing a hand up to stroke my cheek.

The song he's selected begins with a wavering guitar note, and I recognize it immediately. 'If, I could make a wish, I think I'd pass, can't think of anything I need-'

"Have you heard this song before, (y/n)?"

'No, cigarettes no sleep, no light, no sound...' the song plays on.

"Of course, Mr. Reed.  'The Air That I Breathe' by The Hollies? Everyone knows this song."

He closes the short distance between us, smirking down at me as his fingers trail the outside of my arms.

"Not. Everyone. And certainly not everyone your age. Your generation is a mess. All depression and 'memes' and vanity," he rolls his eyes "but it's obvious that you, my dear, are something totally different. You're a person of tradition, sure, but more importantly, one of great intellect. We share this trait. Because of it, people shy away from us. Ostracize us. Call us 'crazy' or 'obsessive' of our interests. Hence why no one's come here looking for you. To them," he takes my hands in his "We are alien in our entirety. But to Me, you are an angel. A lost lamb, searching for truth in every interaction, looking for a god in all things. You were destined to find me eventually, to be freed of your inhibitions and made new... "

His eyes are wide and I watch them flicker with something unidentifiably terrifying. The song ends and the record skips as the room's momentarily warm ambiance is replaced by silence again.

"Mis-mister Reed?" I blink "I won't lie, you're scaring me-"

"Enlightenment can be an entirely horrifying journey. Knowing our souls at a depth others might only see as aspirational...It is scary," he squeezes my hands and my palms are sweating but he doesn't let go, instead  lowering himself to whisper in my ear "but are you frightened more of the depth of knowledge you've acquired, in your short time here?... Or how much you've enjoyed yourself doing so? After all," he continues, "good girls aren't supposed to."

"Aren't supposed to...?"

He pushes his cardigan off my shoulders, letting it fall onto the desk behind me. He then tugs down the zipper on the side of my skirt that isnt my skirt and it slips off my hips, crumpling at my feet. He pushes the fabric of the sweater over my breasts, exposing me further, running a thumb lightly over one nipple, and I wince at the sensitivity of my own body, taking my lower lip between my teeth.

"Aren't supposed to let me do that. But you do. And good girls, (y/n)," he reaches his opposite hand between my legs, feeling how slick I've become over the course of his lecture "don't get wet in dangerous situations... with strange men..." He runs his fingers along my vulva, pressing up gently as he scans my flushed face for a reaction, which he gets easily, as my body responds before I can, bucking against his hand desperately. His fingers dip into me a few times and I moan, breath ragged as I melt for him.

"I-" I am defenseless. I know it and so does he. Mr. Reed knows I'll take anything he gives, give him anything he wants, that I'm addicted to the lightest touch of his hand or gentle word from his lips.

"You, (y/n), are not a good girl. They don't want it, need it, the way you do. Barnes would never behave for me the way you have..." He mutters, bringing his two fingers from one set of lips to the other and my core is tense with anticipation. I don't question him, though I want to. Barnes..?

"Open." I do. Mr. Reed watches my eyes and he doesn't need to tell me to suck because I am a good girl, and my face burns with white-hot shame as I reach for his already half-hardened cock, ready to prove it to him.

I squeeze his shaft gently and it twitches in my hand, stiffening for me as if on command. He takes his fingers from my mouth and watches me play with it through the thin pajama pants, intrigued. "Go on then."

That's all the permission I need and I sink to my knees, taking his boxers and pajama pants down with me as I watch his cock spring forward, throbbing.

I wrap a hand around it, looking up at Mr. Reed as I slowly stroke. I watch open-mouthed as a bead of precum dribbles from his tip. Snapping out of my trance, I lick the underside of his length from base to tip before taking him into my mouth as far back as I can, bobbing my head over him slowly

"Ohhh..." he groans "You are dirty, (y/n). One orgasm and you're on your knees, doing anything for more... you'll get it too..." his hands find my hair again and he thrusts himself deeper into my throat, tears immediately welling in my eyes and cascading down my cheeks as I gag on him "Mmmh, you'll get over that gag reflex eventually," he grabs a fistful of my hair and yanks me painfully upwards, spinning me around by the shoulders and bending me over the desk "but today is simply *not* that day, I'm afraid..."

He's inside me instantly, ramming forcefully against my cervix as he stretches me out again. I feel myself clench a couple times around him and he slows his pace, making me groan in annoyance as much as pleasure.

"Please, Mr. Reed," I whimper

"Not... yet..." he murmurs, affixing his hands to the front of my hips as he resumes his agonizing strokes.

"Mister Reed I can't-" I moan

"I said, Not. Yet." He gives a slow, hard thrust with each word and it's all I can do not to push back onto him. As the rhythm of his hips builds I feel an internal coil prime itself to snap, and right as Mr. Reed's fingers find my clit, it does.

"Ohh my gohddd, Mister Reeeed!!"

I see white as my body pulses around him, coming entirely undone in hot, flowing waves as I convulse, glazing his length.

He keeps fucking me, forcing soft, raspy moans from my lips.

"Whose are you?" He commands, a hand wrapping around my throat as he pistons into me, his grip firm.

"Yours!" I whine.

"And to whose. Fucking. Creed. Do you devote yourself? Quickly..."

"Yours Mister Reed! I take no others before you! Just you, only you..." the words fall from my mouth as a distressed whimper before I can process their meaning and I gasp as I feel him fill me with thick, hot ropes of semen.

He groans as he comes inside me, slowing pace gradually before pulling out.

He grabs the discarded skirt from the floor and cleans himself off with it, then holds it between my legs as my tender, limp body recovers. He waits a few seconds, tugging his pants and boxers back up his legs, then walks to the purple door with the skirt in hand, tossing it into whatever room waits beyond.

"Only. Me. Hm?" He chortles under his breath. "Only you Mister Reed!" He mocks in an exaggerated American accent, circling the desk and turning me over, scooping his arms under my legs and torso to lay me across it longways. He tugs the sweater he'd dressed me in the rest of the way off my body so I'm laid out bare before him, still attempting to catch my breath. "I take it youre not a practicioner of idolatry then. " He chuckles.

"Only... you...I promise...just you Mr. Reed." I breathe, opening my eyes, my gaze focused on the ceiling.

He hums, smirking down at me. I feel him run a finger down my torso.

"Gorgeous little zealot, and so easily converted... begs a question, did you ever really believe those things you preached to me?"

"Mostly?" I cringe at the admission, exhaling deeply.

"Mostly. From my understanding this is the typical experience of Catholicism, yes? You... grow up, being hammered over the head with flawed logic, you stop believing about halfway through middle school, feeling like a complete fraud at your confirmation into the faith, and some years later, just the way R.E.M. describes it, you lose your religion either to one that makes sense, or to one that roams so far from your parents' ideals that you feel like a rebellious teen in your twenties, having cracked the code. Hm? Sound correct?"

I feel understood, yet ashamed as his words sink in. "Y-yes, Mr. Reed, I'd say that's accurate.." I mumble.

His hands are warm as he pulls me up into a seated position on the desk, pressing a soft kiss into my forehead before letting his chin rest gently on top of my head. "It's so hard to be misunderstood the way you are, (y/n)," he mutters, arms wrapping around my shoulders, holding me tight against his chest "the way we have been..." Mr. Reed rubs gentle circles into my back, soothing me further, and I let my hands rest on his back, keeping him there. He goes on;

"But that's all over now, now that you've found the only true faith, my singular infallible doctrine. You do trust in my control of you, don't you, (y/n)?" He withdraws slightly, scanning my face.

A beat.

"Yes, Mr. Reed. I entrust myself to you fully. I know you'll guide me righteously,-"

"But you hesitated. I allowed you my blessing, my sacrament. I placed my seed within you, allowing our souls to entwine, and you hesitate when I ask you to verbally acknowledge your trust in me as your singular deity?"

"I'm just a little bit fatigued, from the-" I breathe, confused

"Oh, (y/n)... tsk... and you were doing so well..." a pitied expression colors his features as he stares down at me, taking a step back.

"Wait, wait, what do you me-"

"That just won't do, I'm afraid-"

I watch his arm hack an invisible line through the air and my ability to breathe is instantly diminished. My hands rush to my neck, and only when I feel a warm gush come forth does it dawn on me that he's holding a box cutter, with which he has just slit my throat open in one fluid swipe.

"Mister Reed-" I wheeze, barely a whisper "why?"

"Faith must be unwavering. There is no room here for hesitance. For ambivalence. For selfishness."

I choke out sputtering breaths in a desperate attempt to prolong my conciousness, but the edges of my vision start to tint in spite of my efforts. Tears run hot down my face as I silently plead with him, but Mr. Reed resumes his rant unaffected;

"Too innocent to prophecise, and setting you free, well that would never work... but don't worry dear, sweet angel. It's really not you... its me. I require a perfect convert with true, unwavering belief in my principles to aid in execution of these experiments...it is sad though, we really could've been something, mm?" He looks me over affectionately, even now, as fresh blood pours ceaselessly from the wound and down my chest, torso, and thighs.

I cough, tipping forward some and watch blood spatter his white cotton shirt. "Please-" I croak weakly, reaching for him. He steps back further, brows raised.

"If it's meant to be, (y/n), you'll resurrect for me, certain of your faith. And if not, well," he gives me an awkward grimace, "I bid you adieu then, and wish you comfort in the fact that you were of great use to me in your... " he checks his watch "Eight hours here." A fond smile.

I fall forward off the desk and onto the carpet, my head bouncing against the floor with an excruciating thud. I watch Mr. Reed take a seat in one of the pews as he watches me spasm in shock and struggle to breathe through a series of garbled croaks, gasps, and wheezes, stifled by the flow of my own blood coating my larynx.

My mouth opens and closes a few times, hands still weakly striving to stem the steady gush from my lacerated neck, but nothing comes out as my body goes rigid in shock, my eyes lose sight, and I lose conciousness for the last time.

There is no white light. There is no chorus of angels.

Only a profound darkness, and once I find myself wrapped in its undertoe, I've drowned completely.

[spoopy-nevermore-dump]

i'm leaving

After over two years in the fandom, I think I'm ready to go.

I've watched this fandom grow and rise to heights that I'm sure a lot of us didn't expect it to, and I've watched it fall the same.

The fandom feel is completely different now. I'm different now. I'm scared to post things. Im scared to interact with people. And it has become clear to me that: I'm not that mentally okay anymore.

I've gotten so much more anxious in these past two years, and man, it is taking its toll.

So I'm taking a step back.

With finals ending and the summer right around the corner, I think it's a pretty good time to try and remove myself. I haven't been posting as much lately, and my hyperfixation is on life support of fic and fanart.

I may be back at a later date, but I'm not quite sure at the moment, but for now, I'm gonna be leaving.

Thank you.

[anonymouscheeses]

I'm gonna be shitting and screaming and starting fights if Sera becomes a villain. I can't take sibling angst, Sera loves Emily I swear guys believe meeee.

[winterinvelaris]

i need elucien and gwynriel for several reasons but one of them is that im sick of us pretending that rhysand was wrong in the bonus chapter lol like yes he wasn't the nicest about it but he knows his brother and he knows what it looks like when az is (and is not) in love and as the high lord he doesnt want to risk the delicate situation with tamlin and lucien getting worse over azriel's lust for elain. the next book will be such a struggle to read if the conflict continues to be "fuck you rhysand how dare you do your job"

[shower-phantom-ideas]

Jazz becoming the next big Gothem villain is such a solid concept. Theres so much to explore.

She targets corrupt mental institutions. Corrupt companies who destroy their workers state of mind so they wont quit. She attacks landlords who make it impossible for people to live comfortably.

She is the staple anti-hero of anyone struggling to get back on their feet. People should have to work three jobs just to afford a crappy one bedroom, no utilities, half bath, in crime alley apartment, with a roommate.

Shelters should be aiming to gain a profit instead of using the donations to support others.

She is tired of these big name heros leaving children to clean up messes. She has watcher her own brother wither away to a shell of his former self trying to make a change and she is sick of it. Hell she herself is a child but if this is what it takes, then this is what it takes.

Enter from the left The Manipulator™️

Feared by all corrupt. People think she has mind control or something. When she targets someone they make almost a full 180 in their ways. “She will do anything to get her way or to make people into what she thinks they should be. And she mist be stopped” cries big business.

In reality she is the worlds best damn psychiatrist ever to be known. She doesn’t force anyone to change but gives them the choice to be better. To see how much more they can be. And it terrifies them. Helps them find themselves again and to move past their troubling pasts. No force and no mind control. No manipulating. No one but those who she has helped know the truth but when they tell the truth it only fuels the fire of her being controlling.

Theres one thing also fuelling the flames of mind control. Thats the fact that every single major hero to go after her can’t. Any who approach her find themselves no long near her. Superman just wants to talk, well she doesn’t, and he is then back in his city?!? Batman is stalking her to figure out how to deal with her but once he gets too close he suddenly finds himself in the batcave?

At first they think it’s teleportation but time is passing? Theres video feed and tracking of no they just went back themselves. No response from them the whole trip. As if possessed. (Lmao it’s just good brother danny pranking his sis a little by making her seem all powerful but also protecting her anyway he can. Or could be Dan instead)

[leonenjoyer69]

Goopy and non goopy version bc idk which I like more, BUT!!!! THEY GUY!!! HARRY!! HE GOT CONTROL :3 also the "I am me" is a Chonny Jash reference (from the soul eclectic, bc as I've mentioned I draw a good few things from Soul for him)

Ngl I kinda,,, don't really like coloring, especially shading, least favorite part of the art process, but I kinda ate this up, especially once I started throwing in the gradients 🗣️🗣️ still took me forever tho lmao, I hate color theory.

(Also, tysm @lesbianturrets for hyping me up about the pose, you're so cool, ily 🫵🫵🫵)

Anyways!! Other version below the cut, along with a bit of lore drop

So yeah, he gains control while barricaded in his office, after Jekyll mixes the wrong salts into a single vial he was able to find. Harry freaks tf out upon gaining control, though he doesn't have much time to as Lanyon breaks into the office and such. Of course the first thing Lanyon questions is the HUGE mess and the fact that Jekyll looks different, to which Harry says it was from a potion falling on him, which is quite believable in this situation. They talk and Harry eventually leaves the office to go fix everything, giving Frankenstein a sort of "I'll explain later" look. Well, he does seem to successfully fix everything, albeit a bit suspiciously, but he does it!

Anyways, I need to lore dump more on him on an actual text post later, bc I've got a lot of things I've cooked up while talking with @dustmint >:3 that'll come later tho bc I've gotta figure out how I wanna format/write all that

(Edit, very sick of my tumblr screwing up the composition of my posts 😍😍 why do you keep getting rid of my cuts and scattering my images I'm gonna lose it)

[laurzvahll]

that godforsaken drawing on the right was so hard and took me so long I might never color it so here you go

[milf-murdock]

*ahem*

How would we feel about a smutty lil throwback Price one shot? Based on him and his lil wifey after he gets promoted to captain? And price realizes he has a bit of a thing for when you call him by his new rank? 👀👀👀

[idontmindifuforgetme]

😐 no one told me id burst out crying in front of my best friend watching past lives