#your desire for vengeance against people who killed your loved ones

[givingairtomymouth]

Tric >>> Ashlinn

No, you can't change my mind.

If she was a man, people would hate her 😅 there would be complaints about the love triangle and no one would condone her...

[allthingsimagines]

So It Goes…

“I’m yours to keep and I’m yours to lose. You know I’m not a bad girl, but I do bad things with you, so it goes” - So It Goes… by Taylor Swift

Feyd-Rautha x Pregnant!Atreides!Reader

summary: What will happen when orders are given and it pits the two people you love most against one another?

word count: 3.4k

warnings: Feyd being very ooc

a/n: I woke up this morning and cranked this out because I couldn’t get it out of my head

The Freman had attacked in unprecedented numbers. They bombed the city, the whole building rattling violently from the attacks. You had been in the throne room as they broke into the palace. The room filled with smoke as the revered Muad’dib made his way in front of the Emperor.

Your husband, na-Baron Feyd-Rautha, had kept you securely behind him the entire time. You clung to him like a shadow, holding the back of his tunic in one hand and your swollen stomach with the other. Muad’dib had made quick work of the disgusting Baron, which had left you feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.

You had prayed for the downfall of the Harkonnen’s since the moment they had murdered your entire family. They attacked with no warning and slaughtered everyone you had ever loved. You were the only survivor and the Baron took you to serve as a reminder of their great power. Certainly, you would have been dead in days if not for your husband’s possessive nature.

You had been promised to him since the day you were born as a show of peace between the families. When the Baron dragged you kicking and screaming back to Geidi Prime, Feyd had declared that you were his to do with as he pleased and no one would lay a hand on you. As humiliating as it was to be reduced to property by him, it was far better than whatever fate you would have had at the Baron’s hands.

Feyd-Rautha was a brutal man. He killed as he pleased and sent a wave of terror over every person he encountered. He had terrified you as well. He did not care for your feelings or desires. You were his wife now, and he could do as he pleased with you. One thing that you had not expected with Feyd was that despite his violent nature towards everyone else, it had never extended to you.

Perhaps it was the fact that he saw you as his to own, but it kept you safe and alive. You had not anticipated for love to bloom from your marriage to him, but you did love him in your own way. He would burn the world down for you and had killed anyone who had spoken ill of you. His brutal nature was alluring and you could not resist it.

He saw you as his property, but that changed once he started to see your own ambitions come to light. You wanted vengeance for your family and you silently plotted how best to take down the Baron. Feyd had thought you to be as meek as a mouse, but you were formidable indeed. You made quite the pair and the people of Geidi Prime adored their na-Baron and na-Baroness. What they didn’t know is that the two of you had been plotting how to take out the Baron for months to take control of the planet.

Seeing the Baron die had drove you to tears. People around you suspected it was because he was family or from the brutality of the kill as he bled out on the steps of the throne. You cried tears of relief for all that he had done to your family and to your husband.

You hardly even registered anything else that had happened in that throne room as you tried to pull yourself together. The Muad’dib then sent all of you to your rooms to be held as prisoners.

You only hoped he would spare you and your husband because of your condition. You were six months pregnant with a daughter and you couldn’t have been more nervous of what would come next.

You prayed the Emperor would die, along with the Reverend Mother that had plotted alongside him. She had hated your family since the day you and Paul were born. Your mother was only supposed to have a daughter and she had broke that promise. Paul had held all of the power the Bene Gesserit looked for in daughters. While you were still trained by your mother to use the voice, you never were anywhere close to what abilities Paul had.

Now, you hoped that evil woman would pay for all she had done.

“Wife.”

You looked over from your spot on the bed only to find Feyd moving towards you at a hurried pace. Your heart rate increased at his tense form, “Yes, husband?”

“They’re calling all prisoners. You will stay by my side, understand?” Feyd said as you stood from your place to meet him.

His hand reached out to hold the side of your face while the other was splayed over your bump. You nodded and placed your hand over his own, “Will you promise me something?”

“Anything darling,” He said, stroking his thumb over your cheek bone.

“Don’t get yourself killed. I need you to try to stay out of whatever conflict arises. We need you Feyd,” You said with a shaky voice.

Feyd pressed his lips hungrily to yours and you moaned against them. He pulled away, leaving you breathless as he spoke, “No man will kill me today.”

A loud banging came from outside your door and Feyd let out a growl of annoyance. He pulled away and took your hand in his own as he led you out of the room, your ladies fearfully following behind. You followed Feyd out of the room and were met with Freman soldiers, who all tensed at the sight of your husband. You clutched onto Feyd’s hand tighter as the guards led you behind the Emperor, Princess Irulan, and the Bene Gesserit.

The guards opened the large doors to the room and you all followed in. You stuck close to Feyd’s side as you took in all of the Freman soldiers that surrounded the room. You stood in the middle of the crowd as Feyd stood slightly in front of you for protection.

“There is a mass armada in orbit. You’re facing a full invasion Freman,” the Emperor spoke as he came to a stop with the General’s signal.

The Muad’dib stood in the middle of the room facing away from you. You narrowed your eyes on his figure as he looked familiar to you.

“How can you be so sure the great houses are here for me? They might be curious to hear my side of the story, don’t you think?” the Muad’dib spoke before turning around to face the Emperor.

It was him. He was alive despite all of the odds. Paul.

You stepped forward without thinking as your eyes welled with tears at the sight of your brother. Once Feyd realized who he was he followed after you as you made your way to the front. Feyd kept his hand securely around your middle as you moved through the crowd.

“I am Paul Atreides. Son of Leto Atreides. Duke of Arrakis,” he spoke, but your brain could hardly register the words being spoke as you tried to get to him.

“Gurney, send a warning to all the ships. If the great houses attack, our atomics will bomb all of the spice fields.”

Your eyes widened as they found Gurney Halleck following Paul’s command. You couldn’t stop your tears as another one of your family members was alive.

“Are you out of your mind?” the Emperor said in shock as you made your way to the front.

“Consider what you’re about to do Paul Atreides,” the Reverend Mother said.

“Silence!” Paul shouted with the voice and you heard her fall to the ground.

Before anything else could be said or done, you pushed past a few of the nobles at the front to get a good look at your brother. You squeezed Feyd’s hand as he stood close behind you, “Paul.”

Paul’s eyes snapped to you and you saw his whole body tense. The room was silent as he stepped towards you in shock, “Sister?”

You let out a choked sob as you dropped Feyd’s hand and rushed towards your brother. He pulled you into a tight hug and you clutched onto him like a life line. He pulled away and you took a good look at your brother. His eyes were blue now from the spice and he looked much older than he did when you saw him last.

“I can’t believe you’re alive. How did you-“ you started, but Paul cut you off.

“Mother and I escaped. In all of my visions I never saw you alive, how are you here?” He asked, but all you heard was the fact that your mother was alive.

Your eyes darted around the room, but your eyes settled on the one woman of power in the room. Your mother stood next to Gurney, her hand planted on her own swollen stomach as she watched the two of you interact. She was dressed like a Mother Reverend would be, and based off of her new appearance and the group surrounding her you suspected that was right.

You pulled away from Paul and tearfully let go of him as you hurried to your mother. Lady Jessica pulled you into a tight embrace and held you close to her body.

“Mother, I missed you,” you said into her shoulder as she rubbed your back in the comforting way she had when you were a child.

You pulled away and both of you looked at your swollen stomachs before meeting eyes again. She placed her hand on yours and let out a soft sigh, “You survived, just like I taught you.”

You nodded, without all of her preparation when you were younger you certainly would have died. You looked over to find Gurney giving you a proud look that was filled with more emotion than you’d ever seen from him. You reached forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek before quickly pulling back, “It’s good to see you again, old man.”

Gurney chuckled and opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by Paul. “My own sister lives as a testament to our family’s strength. She is Y/N Atreides!”

The Freman cheered, but you only tensed as you stepped away from Gurney and your mother. Your husband would not keep his mouth shut at that. You were his wife after all.

“She is no longer an Atreides. She is Y/N Harkonnen now,” your husband spoke as you saw Paul’s eyes turn to him, filled with anger.

You quickly crossed the room and stood in front of your husband to defend him from Paul. The two had always hated each other and now it was at an all time high.

Paul watched as Feyd’s hand wrapped around your pregnant stomach securely, and you leaned back into his hold. Paul took a shaky breath to try to control his rage as you grabbed Feyd’s hand atop your stomach, “If he hadn’t married me, I would have died at the Baron’s hands months ago. He is the only reason I am still alive.”

Paul bit his lip to contain his own anger and turned to the Emperor as the two began shouting at one another. You let out a shaky breath as you tried to collect yourself. Feyd’s hand rubbed a gentle circle on your stomach as your daughter kicked against it.

You looked back at him and he moved his hand to your face. He gently wiped your tears and you pressed a kiss to his palm. You turned your attention back to Paul as he declared he would marry Princess Irulan.

“But you have to answer for what you did to my father,” Paul growled out as he stared down the Emperor.

“Do you know why I did it? It was because he was a man who believed in rules of the heart. But the heart is not meant to rule. In other words, your father was a weak man,” he spoke and the room sat in a tense silence as your anger bubbled.

Your father was not weak for loving your family. He was a strong man whose love for your family lasted until his dying day.

“Stand or choose your champion,” Paul said, his strength unwavering.

“Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen. I choose him as my champion,” the Emperor spoke.

Your heart seized at his words and you looked up to meet your husband’s eyes, but they were set on the Emperor. He stepped away from you to follow the command, but you reached out to snag his hand.

“Feyd, you cannot do this. He is my brother,” you begged as he kept his eyes forward.

“I do not turn down fights, darling,” he said walking towards the Emperor to get his blade.

Gurney handed Paul a blade and he quickly took a fighting stance on the opposite side of the room. Feyd took the blade and moved to ready himself. You went to go to Feyd, but the Freman soldiers blocked your path. You glared in anger at them, “This is ridiculous! Feyd, don’t do this.”

Feyd kept his eyes forward on Paul as the two took their positions. Paul met your eyes before he looked back at Feyd and held his blade up just like Duncan always had before a fight, “May thy knife chip and shatter.”

Feyd turned his head to find your horrified look before turning back to Paul. He smirked before he repeated the phrase, “May thy knife chip and shatter.”

Then the fight began. The two fought brutally against one another and you could have been sick at the sight. You called out for them to stop, but they continued their violent dance. You looked over at the Emperor to find him watching with a pleasant look on his face. You growled as you moved towards him, “This is madness! Call off the fight!”

The sounds of swords clashing rang in your ears as you stared the old man down. He gave you an annoyed look before turning back to the fight, “Quiet woman.”

Your anger spiked and you opened your mouth to speak, but your head snapped to the fight as you found Paul on top of Feyd with his blade in his shoulder. Your mouth opened in horror as Feyd pushed Paul off of him and ripped the dagger out.

You turned to the Emperor to try to convince him, but an arm wrapped around your throat. The Emperor tightened his arm on your throat as you thrashed against him, “If they want to keep you alive, they’ll finish the fight.”

You fought against his hold, but quickly stopped as he pressed a blade to your stomach. You froze in his hold as your mother called out, “Paul! Feyd-Rautha!”

Paul turned his head to see what was the interruption only to find the Emperor holding you tightly to him. Feyd turned and his whole body filled with rage. The two men stepped away from one another and you smirked, “Now you’ve done it.”

The Emperor hated the look the men’s eyes as they made their way towards him. He tightened his hold on your throat and you grimaced, “Done what?”

Feyd was the angriest you’d ever seen him and Paul wasn’t much different, “You’ve united them in a common cause.”

The two men came towards you and everyone backed away. The Emperor pressed the knife harder against your stomach and you gasped in pain.

Feyd was filled with the urge to commit unspeakable violence at the sight of the Emperor holding a blade to his pregnant wife. You met Feyd’s eyes and tried to calm yourself down.

“I was willing to spare your life, but now you’ve threatened my sister,” Paul said, holding his blade up to the Emperor.

“Release my wife and I will make your death quick,” Feyd growled out as he stepped closer.

“You will continue the fight if you want her to live. I command it!” the Emperor shouted and pressed his arm tighter against your throat.

You gasped for air and Paul was quick to use the voice, “Release her!”

The Emperor quickly dropped the blade and let you go. You stumbled away from him, but before anyone else could act you snatched the blade from the floor and drove it into his stomach.

The Emperor gasped out in pain and stumbled as you drove the knife deeper. You met his pained eyes and glared, “For House Atreides.”

You drove the knife up higher into his stomach one last time before you stepped away and he fell to the floor. His daughter dropped to his side as he took his final breath and you turned back to face Paul. You steeled your nerves and met his eyes before you kneeled before him, “Emperor Paul Atreides.”

You heard everyone in the room kneel and your husband dropped to your side. You kept your eyes on the floor, but you reached over to grab his hand. Feyd squeezed your hand in his own as he stayed at your side. Paul began giving directions and everyone rose to their feet.

Feyd pulled you to your feet and was quick to pull you close to him. His eyes raked over your body as he scanned for any sign of injury. He took your face in his hands and met your eyes. You could tell he was furious at what had occurred as he inspected you.

“Are you hurt?” he growled out as he noticed the redness on your neck.

You placed your hands over his and let out a shaky breath, “I’m okay. We’re both okay Feyd.”

He nodded and moved to place a hand on your stomach protectively. He shakily sighed before giving you a proud look, “You did well there, I wasn’t sure if you would be able to do it.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch, “I did it out of love for my family. That includes you and our daughter, my love.”

A proud smirk appeared on his face, “You should kill more often. You look alluring when you do.”

Shaking your head at your husband, you spoke, “I’ll leave the violence to you, husband. I have other ways of gaining your attention.”

Feyd smirked before pulling you into a deep kiss. You groaned in response as you pulled yourself as close as you could to him with your bump in the way. You both pulled away and he brushed some stray hair from your face.

“Feyd-Rautha.”

You both turned to face your brother, the new Emperor, as he stood in front of you with Gurney at his side. The room was full of commotion as people began to shout and head out.

“We’re taking the fight to the great houses. Can I trust that you will keep my sister safe while I am away?” Paul asked, doing his best to bridge the wedge between them.

You looked between them as Feyd contemplated his words. Feyd looked down at you and let out a sigh before looking back to Paul.

“I will gladly give my life to keep her and our daughter safe,” he declared as he returned your brother’s intense stare.

Paul reached his arm out and Feyd reached forward and clasped it. The two stood staring at each other before Feyd said, “Good luck Atreides.”

They dropped each other’s arms and Paul gave you a nod before he headed off to lead the charge. You let out a nervous sigh, but leaned into Feyd’s hold.

“You couldn’t call him Emperor?” You asked with a teasing lilt to your voice as you leaned against Feyd’s chest.

“Now what would be the fun in that?” he asked and you shook your head at him as he rubbed gentle circles on your waist.

“Will we be alright? The Imperium is going to be after all of us after today. Especially me, since it was my hand who killed the Emperor,” you asked and his hold tightened on you.

Feyd guided your chin up to meet his eyes. He looked like a man ready for battle with how intense he was looking at you, “You are my wife. If any one dares to try to lay a hand on you again or our daughter, they will wish they were dead when I get my hands on them.”

You let out a sigh as his violent words felt incredibly reassuring. You softly kissed him once more and smiled up at him, “Good. That was exactly what I hoped you would say.”

[777gojosgf]

THE POWER OF PROPHECY

777GOJOSGF IS TYPING…

777gojosgf: morally grey!f!reader x satoru gojo

IN WHERE :: you reminisce the night you met him for the first time.

trigger warning: violence, graphic mentions, blood, assault.

a/n: part of the nightcrawler series!

THE FINAL VESTIGES OF THE clan you were exiled from marked you as the blood down your face. there were repercussions to being called a bastard, particularly after losing both of your parents. you were not just an orphan; you got the impression that the world had given up on you as well, leaving you to fend for yourself while avoiding certain death.

you have killed numerous times. sometimes it was a commission because, as a young girl, you had no other means of earning money and surviving in the world. however, that was also how you developed and the outside world got to know you. your identity became anonymous, and it was exciting for commissioners and other establishments to discover who you were.

hell, there was even a bounty on your head.

you had encountered a lot of people in this jujutsu society because of the notorious lifestyle. despite one of them being a member of the zenin clan, he refused to identify as zenin. you simply loved his courage to defy his strength and forge his own path, despite the fact that he was someone to be dreaded. maybe you two weren't as different as you believed.

however the kill this time made you shiver, the fury and vengeance surging through your body made you feel as if you were on fire.

even though you kept promising yourself that you would cease performing other people's dirty work, you had accepted a commission much against your own feelings. however, it was difficult to make money without a job, a degree, or anything else that could even somewhat assist you in that area. at the orphanage, you were undoubtedly taught the fundamental school courses—in which you excelled flawlessly— but at the age of sixteen, you left without saying anything. wishing to leave the place as soon as possible.

and your trainer, the owner of the orphanage, understood.

maybe that’s why he never reached out to you again. because he knew that you would do that yourself.

you settled into a seat in the shinjuku city casino's bar. when the barman asked whether you wanted anything to drink, you graciously declined, not wanting alcohol to tarnish your nightly commission. instead, your left-handed fingers were tapping on your thigh as you calmly anticipated your attack, while your eyes were scanning everyone in the casino like a hawk.

the assignment was to assassinate a businessman who frequently spent company money at the casino. thus individual had, regrettably, meddled with the wrong empire and tried to sue them. he apparently didn't realise how dangerous the business in tokyo is.

their money was paid in blood.

an eye for an eye.

and it was something you respected.

you had swiftly located him seated at the poker table at the rear of the casino. he had his other colleagues and an escort with him. however, your desire to murder him vanished the moment you noticed who else was seated at the poker table. you laughed out loud and attracted unusual glances from the patrons at the bar.

the reassigned heir from the clan you were banished from.

the universe really had its fun with you, didn’t it?

but that wasn’t all, so you got up from your chair right away to take a closer look at the issue. he had an unsettling grin on his face that you didn't like, and it was clear that he was intoxicated. you thought he had finished gambling with all of his money.

your fortune.

however, what enraged you was the way he got up and grabbed the female servers. the heir was discreetly followed by the dreaded clicking of your heels. he caught hold of a waitress, who yelled in shock and attempted to free herself, but she was unable to escape and no one dared to assist her.

He he led her outdoors, but he had been foolish to ignore the person he was following. ultimately, he is the heir to one of the most influential clans, and people would constantly want him dead.

as did you.

you waited two seconds before kicking the back door open through which he fled, still holding her. startled, he turned around and lost his grasp on the waitress, making her yell for help and starting to run for it. you empathized with her and it was time to make sure he wouldn’t dare to lay his hand on another woman ever again.

"who are you?" he screamed, reaching into one pocket for the pocketknife he knew was there. you could only chuckle and put out your foot as he grabbed it and attempted to reach for you, causing him to stumble and fall face-first into the floor in front of you. you gave him a stomach kick that caused him to roll over and lie on his back. the scent of intoxication, which you dismissed, drifted through the air along with the late-night breeze. "i would tell you not to touch a woman ever again, but you would still do it. would you not?”

he shook his head rapidly and tried to form up empty promises but a kick to his lower area made him scream out in pain.

"on my terms, i’ll make sure it doesn't happen again.” you continued, "i hope you know that that was my money you fucked with," and he opened his eyes, trying to figure out if he recognised you. though your mask did a good job of hiding your identity, sadly, the moonlight shone down on the two of you, allowing the violet undertones of your eyes to be seen through the black contacts that were placed over them.

“bastard?”

the hearing of what he called made you go into tunnel vision and you reached for the melee knife that was strapped to your thigh in a holster. without thinking twice, you plunged and the blood splattered across your face.

you felt the blood trailing down your face as you went to grab your knife and wipe it clean with the blazer that he was wearing before putting it back into your holster. “fucking asshole.” you muttered before walking away from the scene, leaving his body alone at the casino.

that would mean that your clan would need a new heir, once more.

how ironic.

sometimes you felt guilty at the lives that you have taken from others even though they were always someone that had done unjustifiable things in their life.

however, this time, every single portion of your body was devoid of any regret. and this served just to fuel the retaliation plans you had been considering ever since you were put in the orphanage. a plan to exact revenge on them all, hold them accountable, and demonstrate to them what a so-called bastard like you was capable of.

killing the heir was only the start of it all.

“you confuse me,” a voice said that was right in front of you and you snapped out of your trance. the cursed energy in front of you was unlike any other you felt, but besides that the man in front of you had a presence of his own unrelated to the energy he possessed.

you stopped in your tracks and your eyes trailed him up to down, and you were quick to recognize him.

that white hair was recognizable anywhere.

“pardon?”

“well, you know— you have so much energy residing inside of you that i could feel it from miles away. i don’t like to say it but, it’s impressive. although i can’t say that i recognize you.” he explained before walking over to lean with his back against the casino. “some would have thought you would kill others with the use of techniques, no?”

your eyebrows knitted in confusion and you debated to perhaps walk away from this conversation. not wanting to get interrogated by a stranger.

well, you were unsure if you could call the satoru gojo a stranger.

he noted that you weren’t going to explain anything to him so he decided to lead the conversation once more. “you’re not a curse user, or perhaps you are and i haven’t been across many to figure out you are one or not. nor are you a former student from jujutsu high but i’m not sure if you have attended any sorcerer establishments at all.”

“what is it to you?” you asked clearly annoyed.

“curiosity is all,” he said with a grin on his face that only added to your confusion that was mixed with your annoyance.

perhaps you should have walked away after all.

“besides, if we look past your little killing scheme,” he paused and gave you a slight side eye which only irritated you even more, “i’d like to invite you to come with me to jujutsu high. you don’t have to become anything, but maybe getting to know the energy that resides inside of you is a good thing.” he proposed while raising his eyebrow, his tone convincing and he truly thought he had you.

but the evil smile that plastered on your face was enough for him to frown.

now you would truly uphold to your promise of no more commissions.

“curiosity killed the cat, gojo. do you plan to use me as a pawn, because you’re foolish if you think you could convince me with such a poor offer.” you started to slowly walk towards him, “you jujutsu idiots have no shame, do you?” you pointed out before walking away from him to go back to haunt the streets of tokyo.

“the offer still stands.” he called out from behind you but you didn’t turn around.

"you better have a greater proposal the next time we see each other, because I'm guessing this won't be the last time." you drawled and swore that you heard a small laugh.

a/n: woah long chapter alert and i didn’t even write this fully like i wanted to…. perhaps an actual fanfic is needed. because i have many ideas for this 🤗🤗

©777gojosgf

[altocat]

Eating the drywall over Sephiroth rn. He's so,,,, Square is really hitting it home that he was a victim of prolonged and sustained abuse since the day he was born with very little in the way of reprieve. He experiences so much loss and suffering, yet tried to be kind and compassionate where he could be for so long. The only thing that separates him from the party is how his anger and rage became pointed at Everyone instead of purely his abusers.

I think one of FF7's big themes is about anger and how it's directed and manifested. Anger isn't a Bad thing; sometimes it is necessary to confront atrocities and to confront those who caused you (and others) such pain. Like Barret says to Tifa after the plate collapse "Hold on to this. This...anger. Okay?" because they all need to remember that their ire against Shinra Is justified; to not direct it at themselves or anyone else. And it's a complete mirror to Sephiroth telling Cloud in Rebirth "Hold on to that anger. Let it fill your hollow heart with rage" because it is both a manipulation tactic and what Sephiroth let happen to himself down in that library. Sephiroth's anger is ultimately directionless. It splashes on to all of Gaia without care for who are innocent or victims and who are the oppressors. His anger consumed him to the point that Humanity became who caused his pain; who caused his "mother" pain.

It's the same message that Aerith's speech after the trials is hitting that. That they can't allow the pain and hatred to consume them whole without remembering what they're fighting for because That's What Happened to Sephiroth.

And I think that what EC is doing is deconstruction, permanently, the idea of Sephiroth as this untouchable, callous person even before Nibelheim. Crisis Core started it and EC is ensuring that Sephiroth is seen not at all being different than Cloud, or Aerith, or Barret, or Tifa, or the rest of Avalanche in terms of the pain he was caused by Shinra; that his life was stolen from him the second he was injected with Jenova cells. But still positioning him as being fundamentally different from Avalanche in how he chose to handle his pain once he lost his entire sense of self (Tbh also making his narrative foil as Cloud's enemy all the stronger in the process).

That's an excellent analysis! And yes, I think there's a clear intent to show how Sephiroth's brand of "justice" differs from that of our heroes.

Not that Avalanche hasn't caused damaged of course. Their actions result in a LOT of people getting hurt and killed. But their goal is to ultimately save the world, whereas Sephiroth intends on destroying it. His hatred is limitless and directed at EVERYONE, and he essentially corrupts what was left of his humanity in order to enact it. What he forgets is that there were still people in his life who were kind to him, worth preserving. He loved many people in his life, and many people loved him in turn. It was an indicator that there WAS hope and there WAS the chance he could rise above the circumstances of his birth to become something more. But instead he succumbs to his rage, succumbs to his hate for humanity. He trades it all for Jenova, who surely could never truly love him the way he desires. But he's too blinded by his own anger and lust for vengeance to care. And subsequently, he is forever lost.

[maeve-is-annoying-about-books]

I didn't really wanna talk ahead of the Dungeon Meshi anime but I had this thought bugging me as I was skimming the manga. So, spoilers for what's to come.

I don't think it's any coincidence that Laios' party, out of a cast of infinitely more capable people, makes it to the final floor of the Dungeon. Why? Cause they aren't heroes.

Look at Kabru, he's the poster boy for anime protagonists. He has a tragic backstory, a personal beef with the dungeon, skills trained by a master of the crafts, and a large party who seems genuinely friendly together. He has everything going for him to one day dive to the bottom and gain closure for his story but he just can't. He never will, because the dungeon does not work on his logic. It turns out that there is no plot armor against hearing a siren sing for the first time.

What about Mithrun then? Personally wronged by the Demon, he's the paradigm of vengeance. A tragic hero who will do anything it takes to get to his goal and probably die achieving it. He has a party full of dark history and interesting dynamics, really laden with moral greyness. Not Berserk but a step closer to it than Kabru's story. But he is, unfortunately, also a classic hero archetype, and although his skills are impressive they aren't fit for the ecosystem around him, singleminded vengeance will see you killed by changelings, the cold, or starvation.

Shuro, it's gotta be Shuro right? A man from a distant land but a familiar one to the primary readerbase. He goes back to train, hone his mind, collect a party, and save the love interest from a cruel fate. Perhaps he will learn there is no saving her, and tragically be forced to slay the monster she's become. His journey ends the second Faligon dies, so he has no chance, ever, of becoming the Dungeon Lord. There doesn't need to be any extra traps to deter him, he'll get what he wants at the fourth level and be gone, his desire simply isn't pointed that way.

Laios, on the other hand. None of his party are heroes, they're all here for selfish reasons and have absolutely zero illusions about heroics and greater goods. Laios is here to save Falin, he only wants his sister to be safe. And to eat and document monsters. Marcille is here for forbidden magic and Falin, and her two desires coincide with her resurrection. Chilchuck is here because he got paid up front and can't leave without rumors spreading. Senshi was always here and he just wants to live in peace with nature. None of them have heroic intent, broadly. But it also means they don't have heroic conceit either.

Laios' party will eat anything. They'll run from battle, take shortcuts. They treat monsters not as grand challenges to overcome but something to fight for their lives with. With their teeth if need be. There is no honor here there is only living. Honor gets you strangled by treasure bugs. Revenge will see you abandon your party to giant spiders for the mere shot at your target. Duty sees you skipping meals because your goal is so important. It is striking how different the dungeon is between Laios and the others. They all treat the dungeon as their personal hell to be striven against and conquered, only Laios sees it as an extension of the living world and understands his place in it. And I think that is so fucking cool, it's so multifaceted. Like, their exact skill set is perfect for getting through the dungeon because of how they all treat it. But also because the dungeon wants them there, because they have very personal, strong desires. Desires that shape their skills, and desires shaped by their skills in a kind of Ouroboros.

And it's an interesting question of how much of both factors into their progress in the story.

[skiesletter]

dimitri alexandre blaiddyd - a salve for the broken

prompt ; five years after the fall of garreg mach, dimitri is in the ruins of the once-monastery. amidst the rubble, he seeks blood and the destruction of his enemies, only a shell of his former self — a shell built on blood and vengeance. you are the only one left who can save him.

word count ; 1k

the monastery is no longer what it used to be. once, the symbol of hope and peace, now, the ruins of a large building no more. dimitri, fatigued by his own suffering yet still driven by an unfounded desire for blood, sits against the wall of a monastery tower. around him are tens, if not hundreds, of dead bodies stained with fresh blood. he huffs for air, his voice a mixture of seething rage and burning pain. his spear, the only symbol left of his father, his people, is covered in so much blood he can no longer call himself a savior ( not that he has ever thought of himself as such ), and he, baggy-eyed and panting, is nothing like the angel-haired boy from five years ago.

the sound of footsteps snaps him out of his thoughts, his fist tightens around his spear, ready to take another life. his life is one that cycles, an endless repeat that he desperately searches an exit for. but that exit on comes at the end of a long, tiring road — a road of vengeance, a road full of blood, and a road of self-destruction. 

his singular eye looks on to a face so familiar he can feel his heart skid to a stop, before it begins to pound faster than ever. his scars feel like they are burning all of a sudden, like the pain that comes at the end of adrenaline, but make it hundredfold worse. it would be a lie to say he seldom feels this way — every ghost makes his heart lurk, every ghost makes him wish to take so many lives he no longer cares about humanity.

he does not wish to breathe, but his breaths come out so shaky and unstably anyhow. another ghost, another ghost who has come to haunt his past and taunt him for all the sins he has committed. 

he should be used to it by now — they come and go like this, hundreds of times everyday. he kills every single one of them, without so much hesitation he wonders if there is still any love left in his strangling heart. and yet, every time he sees another ghost, he cannot feel dread brush upon his muddied, blonde locks.

he leaps forward, thrusting his spear just beside your neck. it is a warning, not to kill, but to hear the story of another one he has failed.

“ again. again, you have come to haunt me. i have killed you too many times, and yet you always return, ” his deep voice growls — a voice you once found so beautiful and melodic, like the warming hum of a cello, but is now so guttural, so sorrowed, and so devastatingly yet beautifully broken. it is the rage of that who suffers, the rage of that who has hurt so much and continues to inflict hurt upon self.

you do not flinch at the cold metal pressed against your neck — you, perhaps opposite of him, have been steeled from war, immune from the fear that plagues his haunted mind. ( and he does not expect you to flinch, you have never once flinched as he killed you. instead, you have always smiled. and perhaps that is what makes him hurt even more, watching you so accepting of your own death, so accepting of the horrors he continues to commit. )

instead, you push away the blade and take slow, deliberate steps towards his ragged form, your gloved hands staining with the blood that engulfs the spear. he flinches at that — never once have you done anything but die at his hands. never once have you neared him. in the back of his mind he screams at himself to back away from you — he, so dirty and sinful, should not be so close to you. but he cannot move, frozen in shock and wariness. you approach him with such a soft gaze, but he can see the caution in your pursed lips, and the weariness that rests perpetually under your darkened eyes.

his singular eye widens with a jolt, extended arm drops to his side. he has cried too many tears to feel it prick against the edges of his dark-bagged eyes, and yet something within his heart feels shaken. he has already learned how to deal with ghosts, with the dead — he cannot chase them away, but he can kill them endlessly. and he has learned how to greet his foes, for blood now feels so natural against his scarred, battle-tanned skin. but never has he learned to greet his friends whom still cling on to their lives. he swallows, tasting rust at the back of his throat. again, is the ever-reminder of all that he has lost — not only the dead, but the alive.

you recognize the realization that sinks into his soul almost immediately. of course you do — you have known him since forever, and loved him for even longer. the wind overhead stops, its bellowing sound once rapping against the stone roof silences, creating a hush akin to the endless whispers of the dead. you wonder what it must be like to hear the voices of the dead, to be haunted by nightmares even in wake, and to have to kill them one by one in order to stay sane enough to walk. you can understand the pain of war and the horror of morphed faces and the lost ability to tell friend from foe. but never, will you be able to understand the extent of his suffering.

it is quiet now, so quiet you can hear his ragged breath and see the trembling of his jaw. he can see you better now, his blank eyes settling on the blood that peeks out of your ripped clothing and the bruises sprouting across your skin. he wonders what he has even fought for, if he cannot protect what he loves most.

( and he wonders, too, if you are here to save him from his suffering or throw him back into the endless loop, this time adding an even greater pain that he would willingly embrace. )

[thevampiremarie]

Magindara

When invaders threaten your home, life, and people, you, a sirena, strike a desperate bargain with Dream of the Endless to save them all.

Dream of the Endless x mermaid!reader, one shot (for now)

Tags: war, gore, torture, death/murder, mentions of SA, slavery, things that generally come with colonialism

Inspired by the episode “Jibaro” from the Netflix show Love Death + Robots. This one shot draws heavily from Filipino mythology, culture, and history. I ENCOURAGE and INVITE people who don’t come from a Filipino background to read this story and enjoy! There is so much beauty to be had in cultures of color, for everyone. Just as I have read many stories steeped in Greek, Celtic, Norse, medieval England, etc cultures, without coming from those backgrounds, I humbly ask you do the same and entertain this little fic. Thank you. I may write a follow up if there’s interest. Glossary at the end.

-

From the banks of your river, you can hear the horses.

Metal plate clangs and screeches against itself, swords jostle in their sheaths, and shields bump where they rest on armored backs so loud that you want to scratch your sensitive ears out, just to make the sounds stop.

Your ates and kuyas hide deep below in the caverns known only to your kind. When you close your black eyes, you feel them tugging at the edges of your mind like little lights in the deep darkness of the sea. They believe that will be enough to save them.

Only you have braved the surface, because only you know what these strange men upon their strange beasts want.

They want the gold in the dark, fertile earth. You don’t understand why - it’s just shiny metal. Only the dwarves under the hills covet it. But the men who ravage your lands and your kin like wildfires, grasping everything and destroying it in the same breath, care very much. They want the never-dying orchids that line the banks and the brilliant emerald green vitality bursting from every leaf and vine that could keep a mortal alive for a thousand years. They want to feed their glory on your broken bodies. They want to take the people you protect for slaves, the women shamed and disgraced and the men subservient and humiliated.

You’ve seen it for yourself.

You’ve tasted the water of streams running red with blood, the iron like acid on your blue tongue.

You’ve swam farther and seen enough to make you hate. Families torn apart, children with their hair cut off and given names in an ugly language, forbidden to speak their own - the same language you speak. Fathers dragged onto large ships, larger than a butandíng, never to return. Altars burned. The men put your red sisters who live in the balete trees, their hair tangled with vines and lovely, fierce, flickering yellow eyes, to the flame. You witnessed their dying howls and curses for vengeance.

Some of the white-haired annani have already begun to clip their pointed ears, tear the crowns of flowers from their hair, and even cut out their tongues so as to lock away the magic these men desire, never to be spoken again. “There is no place for us,” Those tall, graceful elves told you. “We will be gone in a generation, by sword or by starvation.”

They’re coming.

The jungle is quiet as it has never been in a thousand years.

You could no more hide your tail, glittering blue and turquoise, with long, sweeping fins like ferns, than you could hide the long sweep of hair that reaches your waist, or the ink-black lines embedded on your skin, painting your face, your neck, and your arms with the story of your people and your home.

The calls that echoed from the depths of the river have stopped. It seems that your family has accepted that you won’t come back.

You look at your webbed hands, test your claws against your flesh. What is one magindara to a hundred conquistadors?

When the men spear you, they won’t just be slaughtering a mermaid. They’ll be killing the stories you keep. Centuries of stories. Countless names. Each pearl around your neck is a tribe, full of the old songs of grandmothers and the new rhymes of babies. You’re draped in thousands of shimmering strands of pearls.

You may not be the cleverest, or the most beautiful, or the one with the sweetest voice…

But you can be the bravest.

“Lord Morpheus,” You intone, frowning as the syllables ripple wrong and harsh from your throat.

You’ve never spoken to any of the gods beyond your islands before. “Dream of the Endless.” All you can do is hope and pray this one listens and comes to you in time. Will they be kind? Will it be merciful? Will he, or she, save your home?

Perhaps such a god does not exist at all, and you are praying to wind and sunlight, and soon your guts will color the cerulean water purple and black. The strange men will defile your body, no doubt. A week ago, you crawled from your river to cut down the corpse of a long-gone ate from a stake, jagged holes ripped into the tail of her corpse that made you vomit and her dead eyes full of pain.

Once you’d laid her to rest in the water, she dissolved into nothing. “Prince of Stories,” You sing. That is what faces everything you’ve ever loved if you fail.

“I beg you, save us. Save our stories, our dreams. We call for your aid.”

The men bark at each other. Any moment now, they’ll see you, your hands raised and your face tipped towards the heavens, inky flowers blooming on your forehead and cheeks and crocodile teeth tattooed on the sharp line of your jaw.

A new quiet falls over the world. Like nighttime, when things are resting, not dead.

You have called, and I answer.

A being stands on the banks of your river in the shape of a man. His hair is blacker than Bakunawa’s maw and his eyes are filled with gold and silver stars brighter than any you’ve seen before. His pale skin carries no markings.

He is as grotesquely, menacingly beautiful as the razor’s edge of shark teeth, as a great python curling in a tree, as an eagle with its claws stuck in the beating, bleeding heart of a monkey.

You feel the weight of his gaze on your brow heavier and hotter than the sun on the longest day of summer, burning out the truth in your heart. “I would bargain with you, Dream Lord. For my people, and my land, and my home, which I love more than my own life.”

What would you have me do? When Lord Morpheus speaks, his voice pours through your mind ringing like the purest, clearest freshwater.

The many jewels around your throat, pearls, sapphires, rubies, diamonds, plates of beaten gold, click as you swallow nervously.

The dream king stands so tall that he could touch the sky if he reached up. And he doesn’t look away or blink. You can’t read the inhuman planes of his face whatsoever, you can’t find any familiar sign in his long limbs that might bring comfort. For all you know, you’ve spelled your doom.

“Keep them alive. Keep our names and spirits alive. Bring our stories into your kingdom so that we won’t be forgotten. That is what the men want. They want to raze us to the ground and rebuild the world in their image but we will not go.” You pause. “We will never, ever go,” You growl, fierce and deadly, around a mouth full of fangs. In your words you pour the horrors you’ve seen, combined with the beauty surrounding the two of you.

The hot, muggy air, the warm rain, the scent of night-blooming jasmines. Orange mangoes, bursting with sweetness, bamboo sticks clacking as joyful youths dance in and out of them, laughing gaily. Rolling drums. Bright feathers tucked into black hair. A toddling child reaching out to her grandmother with a chubby-cheeked smile, pressing the back of the withered, ancient hand against her little forehead. Love, so much love.

I have not walked these lands before.

You found traces of Lord Morpheus scribbled in the margins of paper and in the back alleys of lost dreams. Your last and only hope.

When you went to Diyan Masalanta, she wept and showed how the soldiers bound her hands. When you cried out to her brother, Apolaki, the sun god called back and said the invaders took his shield.

Bathala is gone. Mayari is gone. Lakapati is dead. The conquistadors stripped her naked, cut her ribs from her chest, and planted her bones in the fields they set their slaves, your people, to work.

“They say you are Endless. You preside over all beings in all places. Please, I beg you, preside over us. Are we not worthy of your favor? Do we not deserve to live in your dreams and nightmares?”

If Lord Morpheus refuses you, you’ll cut your throat before you let your enemies have you.

He tilts his head like he can hear your thoughts. One shining hand stretches out, almost as if to touch your face. You sing prettily, little siren. You draw back with a start. Why is there hunger in his voice? A hollow, all-consuming, terrifying hunger?

You know what it feels like to starve when the fish are scarce. This is leagues away, a typhoon to your trickle of rain. Shadows bloom under his hollowed cheeks. His pupils eclipse his brilliant aquamarine irises.

He’s-

He’s aching.

Morpheus flashes his bone-white teeth as he bends at the waist to examine you further. His gaze traces your tattoos, your large, frightened eyes, and your body beneath the necklaces and bracelets.

As scared as you are, as convinced that you’ll bleed the instant his fingers brush your blue-streaked skin, your numb lips move.

“I vow to you now, Lord Morpheus, before every god and being I know, that should you render us this aid, I will give you anything within my power to grant that you wish.”

Anything?

“Name it, my lord, and it shall be yours.” With that, your eyes flutter shut as you await his judgment.

You can’t hide from him, even in your mind. You don’t see him, but you feel a straining pressure build where he prods at you, pushing on the fragile edges of your being like he’s cracking a duck egg. He claws and scrapes until-

I will aid your people.

You open for him like a sampaguita flower. Dream of the Endless picks through your soul like he’s picking blossoms, you feel how much he wants with every brush, every long moment where he sticks his fingers in and relishes the feel of you. Nothing has ever touched you like this before.

He’s on his knees on the riverbank, the dark soil pressing into his clothes. His hands clench the rocky edge of the bank. Your wet hair sticks to your back as you rise up, close enough that you can count his night-black eyelashes. There’s a dizzying amount of them.

“Thank you. Thank you. Salamat-po. And your price, majesty?”

You’ll do whatever he wants. Does his thirst demand souls? You’ll harvest them by the dozen. You can picture Lord Morpheus unhinging his jaw, swallowing those soldiers whole. Their swords wouldn’t even scrape him going down. Riches? You have no use for them if you’re dead. He can take every speck of wealth to be had.

You. I want you.

Your sisters and brothers wail. They sense the foreign king tearing at the flesh binding you together. They feel him taking a knife to your indigo heart and cutting it loose from your body. Your head tilts back as you gasp for breath and see him hold the organ aloft. Dark blood trails in rivulets down his wrists.

“I-“

There are no creatures like you in my realm. So I shall have you, in every way that I wish, and you’ll obey. Those are my terms.

Your tail lashes in the water as if you fight hard enough, you can swim away. The cavity pulses with searing, unholy pain. You’ve made a mistake. You’ve summoned- He is an aswang, a devil, a soul-eater, you’ll never see your home again, you’ll never touch the water you’ve known since birth.

Lord Morpheus brings your heart to his mouth. His lips are beautifully-formed. You can’t find it in yourself to hate such a wondrous creature. Even your amethyst ichor looks more beguiling when he’s covered in it.

It was never a question. “Yes, my lord. I accept these terms.”

His white teeth stain purple when he sinks them into your heart.

-

Glossary:

Ate (ah-tey) - sister

Kuya (koo-yah) - brother

Butandíng - whale shark

Balete tree - very cool large tree native to Southeast Asia

Annani - elves from the stories of the Ibanag people, who look like humans with pointed ears. They are kind guardians of the forest and often share healing knowledge with humans if treated with respect.

Magindara - mermaids from the folklore of the Bicolano people. Beautiful half human, half fish guardians of rivers/streams/lakes/the oceans, who sing to lure fisherman and warriors to their death but leave children unharmed.

Bakunawa - a great mythic serpent and god/goddess of darkness. Various myths place Bakunawa responsible for eclipses.

Diyan Masalanta - Tagalog goddess of love, war, childbirth

Apolaki - Tagalog god of the sun and war, patron saint of warriors, soldiers, modern day patron saint of Filipino traditional martial arts (Kali/eskrima/arnis) practitioners

Bathala - the Tagalog supreme creator god

Mayari - the Tagalog goddess of the moon, war, revolution, and justice. She fought her brother Apolaki for dominion over the heavens.

Lakapati - the Tagalog goddess of fertility, food, bounty, balance, and prosperity. She represents both male and female and has both male and female genitalia. Patron saint of queer/trans people.

Sampaguita - the Filipino name for sambac jasmine, the national flower of the Philippines

Salamat-po (sah-lah-maht poh) - thank you (utmost respect) in Tagalog

Aswang - overall name for the malicious/demonic/monstrous beings in Filipino folklore. Vampires, zombies, ghouls, organ eaters, cannibals.

I hope you guys liked this! Let me know if you have any questions or want to read more from this.

[y-rhywbeth2]

I can't help but feel there's a chunk of lore missing from stuff about the Bhaalists. Most of the other evil gods you can generally work out why these gods are revered; the Gods of Fury are forces of nature (the ocean is terrifying but many are enamoured with it, storms will kill you and yet storm chasing is a thing, etc), Bane represents an idea of order and strength rooted in fear that fuels real world dictatorships, etc etc

Lay worship of Bhaal makes sense - either you're praying to be spared from death or if you're going to be deliberately killing somebody (revenge, self-defence, assassination, etc) you'll pray for success/give a fucked up form of grace.

And it's not necessarily so strange that they happily call themselves evil - Realms morality is not supposed to operate like the real world, evil is a recognised cosmological force and it's accepted as being holy, whether the average person likes it or not these gods are viewed as necessary parts of the universe; they won't blaspheme against it.

But Deathbringers aren't just in this for serial killing: "every murder committed strengthened holy Bhaal", their kills are "a pastime", but they are also "a duty". Death is holy, murder is holy, Bhaal being stronger is a desirable thing, and you love and revere your Lord of Murder for more than the power and wealth his domain brings you: there is a purpose here but what the fuck is it? You want Death Itself to be a revered and powerful presence in people's lives that they should be beholden to, but why? What's the reasoning?

The plot we're given makes little sense (conquering the world for Bhaal and creating a society in his image, sure. But Bhaal is notably very, very resistant to dying - killing the world will kill him, he's not going to do that), I do like this fucked up "the material world is a prison, everything should perish and be freed of it" philosophy for them (although it's also a touch too Sharran), but the actual apocalypse plan doesn't work out. I can also see how we ended up with it because how the hell do you fill these blanks if your "justification" isn't euthanising the world?

Bhaalists usually target criminals, so there could be a vigilante element to the faith, but Bhaal doesn't actually care who gets murdered and there's nothing about that in the doctrine - and that's Hoar's deal as god of vengeance anyway (although he and Bhaal are allies).

Bhaalist doctrine appeals to the natural world - all creatures destroy life on a daily basis, it's a necessary part of the turning of the world (although we're getting a little too close to Malar, god of predation here). There could be something about some kind of duty to a balancing act between the kingdoms of the dead (Myrkul) and the living (Bane) to keep either from becoming too powerful, although that's never come up. (That one actually has in-world scriptures with the Dead Three receiving their portfolios and announcing their plans, so for lack of a sensible answer I think I'll lean on that one for my personal Realms.)

Hmmmm.

(This is what happens when you split your death gods up: we could've just had a god of death and a god of the dead in one being and we wouldn't have this issue, Jergal.)

[eastern-lights]

So we all know how the main theme of Veilguard is gonna be Regret, right? Why stop there? Why not assign theme-demons to the other games as well?

Origins: Despair/desperation

Aside from generally being what you feel when there's a Darkspawn horde ravaging your country, despair is what sets the whole plot in motion and keeps appearing in the individual origins and minor plot points throughout the story.

Everything Loghain does he does out of desperation. He is desperate to preserve the Ferelden he knows because he genuinely believes he is the only one who can. He turns to heinous acts because he is desperate to win and he sees no other way out.

Grey Wardens in general can be summed up by "desperate times, desperate measures". The Warden, too, can commit horrible crimes to get the power to oppose the Blight, because times are desperate.

Despair is what makes most of the origin characters join the Wardens. Cousland just lost their family. Tabris/Brosca are about to be executed. Amell/Surana are about to be shipped to Aeonar. Aeducan is dying in the Deep Roads. Mahariel is dying of the Blight.

As early as Lothering, you fight and kill people whose only reason for attacking you is desperation.

Also, what colour is the Warden associated with? Blue. What colour are despair demons? Also blue.

(me rn:)

Dragon Age II: [helpless] Rage

Where in Origins, times were desperate, but ultimately you had the power to win, few games manage to convey the utter feeling of powerlesness in the face of fate and societal change as DAII.

Despair may drive the Warden to questionable measures to achieve victory, but nothing Hawke does can ever lead to even just losing less, nevermind actually winning.

Almost every single character is a powerless victim of circumstance and their own nature. All they can do is rage impotently against the heavens.

Rage at being powerless to reclaim the Tome of Koslun drives the Arishok to his conquest of Kirkwall.

Rage is what threatens to consume Fenris throughout his arc.

And it is rage at the plight of mages that corrupts Justice into Vengeance.

Also, Hawke's colour is red. Just like that of Rage demons.

Inquisition: Fear

Or, more specifically, fear of there being no higher power, but also of it actually existing.

Pride is a very strong contender here, but please, indulge my mental gymnastics so we can fit into my demon colour scheme theory for a moment.

While pride is definitely the cardinal sin that lead Corypheus to try and usurp the throne of the gods the first time, I would argue that in Inquisition, it is fear that drives him more. He claims there is no higher power, that the Golden City was empty. And that terrifies him. He wants to become a god so there is one. In the end, he desperately wants divinity to exists in the world - when the Inquisitor defeats him and all seems lost, he calls out to Dumat, hoping he was wrong and there actually are gods.

Fear is definitely what drives the entire plot of Here Lies the Abyss.

Sera is absolutely terrified of magic and the Fade, but also the Elven gods. But she seems fine with the Maker. That is because the Maker is an absent god. She is free of His influence. But spirits and the Creators are hands-on and, if real, influence events. There is desire in her for there to be something divine, but also fear of that divinity actually reaching out.

Solas potentially leaves the love of his life because he is afraid that loving her, acknowledging there is something in this world worthy of love, would prevent him from doing what he sees as his duty.

Also, Inquisitor green, Fear demon also green or smth.

Now, Veilguard is really gonna mess with my colour scheme, isn't it...

[fairytale-poll]

LOSER'S BRACKET ROUND 2! MATCH 1 OUT OF 4

Propaganda Under the Cut:

Little Red Riding Hooded Mercenary

General Propaganda:

come on just look at her shes so fucking cool

SHES SOOOOOOOO FUCKING COOOOLL ok so like. Lobotomy Corporation takes place in an SCP type facility where a bunch of abnormalities are living. She is one of them. She is a mostly undying humanoid creature that lives for the sole sake of hunting down the Big And Will Be Bad Wolf. She lives in your facility and will BREAK OUT of her containment if she feels that the wolf is near (or if too many people are dying). You can also hire her to assist you in taking down other abnormalities, and she's actually super good at it. And her outfit is just so sooo sick? She's so cool. Please play Lobotomy Corporation it goes on sale for like $7 every Steam Sale

She's red riding hood if red riding hood had a gun. Also she kisses women

Monster based on human subconscious aka an Abnormality based on the story of Little Red Riding Hood (duh). In this story, she was mauled by the wolf (Big And Might Be Bad Wolf) who is based on all fairy tale wolf villains. Little Red then got to work plotting her revenge and making Bloodborne-esque gear for herself and the two Abnos are locked in eternal combat of hatred for one another

She's literally the coolest, just look at her. For people who might not be so familiar with her: She's one of the abnormalities that remain locked in the Lobotomy Corporation. Her past is somewhat unclear, but she has some horrid scars on her face due to the Big Bad Wolf and she swore vengeance upon him because of that incident. This lead her to become a mercenary and she looks 1000% scarier and more badass than the wolf lol. Also, asides from the fact that she may kill half of your team if she escapes containment, she is quite chill and will even help you take care of your problems if you pay her.

little red riding hood but consumed by vengeance to the point of becoming an anomalous creature hellbent on completing her eternal battle with the wolf. intense desire for revenge. baller as fuck design. will help you kill other escaping abnormalities but you gotta pay her to do it. gets pissed off every time someone escapes containment except for that one annoying bird for absolutely no discernible reason. if you let her kill the wolf she gives you bonuses but if someone else kills the wolf she goes fucking bananas. truly an inspired feral creature of a woman.

Go girl!!! We love your unrestrained violence!

She is literally the absolute coolest!!! I mean, just look at her design! Everything about it screams fucking cool! Not to mention that her story has themes of vengeance, rage, and grief!!! And Lobotomy corporation is just the fucking best and soooooo underrated.

She's starting to fall behind so GO ON AND VOTE MERC WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR! (and buy Lobotomy Corp on steam it's not even that expensive!)

Vote for Riding Hooded Mercenary she's an Abnormality serving as a hired merc that means shes a hunter of her own kind and she WILL chase them to the ends of earth lest she dies herself or knows that damn Wolf is nearby. The cursor for sending hits on something is a wanted poster. She's WAW-classed too, a step below the most dangerous category for her ilk. she shares the class with things such as insane-ass magical girls, an eyeless flower horse turns people into wisteria gardens, fucked up and evil Little Prince, a bird judge that hangs its victims, the now-animate poisoned apple that killed Snow White, and of course the Wolf itself.

Loser's Bracket Propaganda:

little red wouldve gone so so hard if she wasnt against ylfa immediately… victory for our mercenary gal.

Riding Hooded Merc is a bonafide baddie & professional

She;s so fucking cool. almost got murdered by the wolf (also in lobcorp by the way) and she wants revenge so bad. cool as hell mercenary. also just look at her come on

I feel that they all deserve a bit more recognition as just about every Little Red Riding Hood is remembered for their story, but not their character. And I believe that the few I selected are truly well rounded characters, and amazing takes on who the character is.

the Lobotomy Corp one I know nothing about but who has a sick design (I also want the fans of this one to have a win because I liked watching the first round because of them)

Ruby Rose

General Propaganda:

She has a scythe that is also a high-impact sniper rifle.

She is literally just based on Red Riding Hood and she's such an amazing character holy heck

Red Riding Hood but with a gun. (Specifically a combination scythe/high-impact sniper rifle called Crescent Rose). Also she's gone through so much she deserves it. She's trying to save the world and keep going despite all the people she's lost. Grew up dreaming of being a hero who fights monsters. She knows life isn't a fairy tale and wants to make it better. Just went through a mental health arc where she had depression from trying to live up to her (presumed dead) mom and from her friend dying for the second time. Killed the Big Bad Wolf with her magic eye powers. Her sister is Goldilocks and her friends are Beauty and Snow White. also I love her <3

She’s the little red riding hood but also a powerful fighter with a massive fucking scythe that is also a sniper rifle and she’s so skrunkly and so gender. Also RWBY’s whole thing (well one of them) is that their characters are all inspired by pre-existing ones from older stories and Ruby’s the main character so like, poster child of ‘character based off [insert relevant fairytale here]’ so I think she deserves to at least get pretty far

Aesthetics, themes, meta, personality and raw coolness.

She is the main character of her show. The most common monster they fight is a type of wolf (its been a while since ive seen it). Her job is to hunt them down before they can eat her. this story is very much about failed fairy tales, many of the side character's inspired arcs end in failure, but (having not seen the most recent bits) Ruby is still going strong, and i really like her cape, rose petals, and use of a scythe.

She is THE RRH character of all time. She has a scythe that's also a gun and she has to be the hero because she's got super rare main character powers. She is my happy girl. Also her mom was Sleeping Beauty and her sister is Goldilocks, and she fights to stop Rapunzel from destroying everything on the world, the gods, and then herself.

Ruby as a character is literally based on little red riding hood! She has a red cape with a hood

the Red trailer is better propaganda than I could ever write

She is a badass with a scythe, inspired by her uncle and fueled by her mother's death and her sense of righteousness

She has a giant scythe

Loser's Bracket Propaganda:

ruby rose makes me go :D so i picked her here <3 hope this helps

luv them

Ruby Rose is my blorbo in law and I need her in because of that

[watertribe-enya]

What are your thoughts on Scar from Fullmetal Alchemist (manga/Brotherhood)?

I have many thoughts on Scar, because I love him to pieces. Best character in both anime and manga

One thing that bothers me even among people who are staunchly pro "Scar did nothing wrong (except the one time when he was completely out of it due to immense trauma)" and "Scar should have been allowed to kill more people" , is that they completely overlook that Scar just doesn't enjoy killing people. He does it because he feels that those who denied his people the right to live would never face justice for their actions otherwise. And also because he's really, really mad at them of course. Actually the part about justice might be moreso the fandom's view of it, and Scar's desire for vengeance is his primary motivation(when you look at what he said while fleeing through the desert). So Scar feels he's doing what is necessary, but he doesn't usually take enjoyment out of it. The closest he came to show glee during a fight was when Mustang showed up to intervene in chapter 7/ episode 5. And that was more grim satisfaction than anything. He doesn't even show any joy when mangling Envy and Kimblee, who kickstarted the genocide and brutally murdered his family. Every action is trenched in anger, and that anger is born from tremendous pain and loss.

So Scar doesn't want to kill (or at least doesn't want his whole life to be centered arround it). He wants to protect. He wants to do something for his community, his people. But for the longest time he felt that he had lost the chance to do so forever. His immense relief at finding out how many Ishvalans had actually survived was wonderful to behold.

Now you might say "But he's doing the right thing by killing those unrependant war criminals! He shouldn't feel bad about it!" And while that's correct (at least from my perspective) you have to look at Scar's other circumstances too. It's not an enjoyable life if you spent your days solely focused on the people who brutalized you. And Scar is doing it all alone, with no help or support system. With no breaks from the struggle for survival and recurring death battles. It's good that he stopped killing (outside of the necessary battles), not because Edward and the other good guys kept whining at him, but for his own sake. Because he finally feels he's actually doing something for the people he loves again.

Anyhow, how painful is it that Scar who was afraid about his brother creating or turning into a human weapon via alchemy, became exactly that?

"Your brother may discover a way to gain enough power to face those state alchemists, and perhaps even enough to destroy their army. With power that far surpasses theirs, to retalitate against them with alchemy! Make them pay for their sins with blood!'

I'm crying.

Another great thing about Scar is that you can guilt trip this thirty something, hardened warrior with "You'll make your brother sad." And he has no proper reply for that.

To end this with my personal headcanon, Scar outlives all the remaining State Alchemists sans Edward, and dies aged 103 surrounded by his 20 grandchildren.

[mozywrites]

Sunshine and Vengeance

Original Characters

Rating: Mature

Content/Warning Tags: Transphobia, Abuse, some Blood and Gore, Mild Sexual Content

Updates on Thursday

Chapter 1

Aiden pulled his hood up to cover his face. His hoodie was dark and it was easy for him to blend in with the shadows near buildings. Hunger gnawed at him but hunting was too dangerous right now. He ran his tongue over his teeth while he waited in an alleyway, out of the light of the street lamp. It was almost 3am, there weren’t many people out, but it wasn’t people he was worried about. He was pretty sure he had someone on his tail tonight.

He was tired of this. It had been over a week of no sleep and barely any food. He waited anxiously each day for the sun to set and tried to cover as much ground as possible each night. It was running him ragged. The last time he’d eaten had been days ago and three states away. It wasn’t safe. The people hunting him would be on the lookout for mysterious deaths or injuries. They were too close right now.

Once he was certain he wasn’t being followed he stepped out into the street, continuing to stick to the shadows as much as he could. The only perk of being out at night was that no one looked twice at any skulking figures. He could blend in with his surroundings without risking any questions that could get him caught. He had no one he could trust. He couldn’t go back to his college friends, they’d have too many questions. He’d changed too much. He couldn’t trust anyone like him either. They’d all turn him in in a heartbeat.

Of course, that’s what happened when you killed a member of the vampire nobility.

He was distracted by a nearby heartbeat and ducked into another alley, trying to ignore how hungry it made him. His fangs ached with the desire to plunge into the soft skin of a neck, to release the warm gush of blood that would bring him satisfaction. He crouched down and held his breath, waiting on the balls of his feet for the human to pass. His hands shook as he waited and once the heartbeat faded he collapsed against the wall behind him, letting his breath go slowly.

He always thought it was odd that he needed to breathe.

“Oh look, how suspicious.” A low voice commented from farther in the alley. “Who’re we hiding from, love?”

Aiden scrambled to his feet as the speaker moved closer. How had he not noticed earlier?

The man who had spoken was not tall but carried an air of danger that made him an imposing figure. His long dark hair was pulled back into a half ponytail that revealed the shaved and tattooed sides of his head. On his hands were gothic style rings that drew attention to slender fingers and fingernails that were painted black. His tattoos curled in lines of magic up his dark arms and disappeared under the black tank top he was wearing. He smirked at Aiden’s surprise, revealing pointed fangs.

“How can you tell I’m hiding?” Aiden asked, taking a step away from the man.

“Please, you’re not doing a very good job of hiding your hunger but you’re not hunting or else you would have been on that man in a heartbeat…” The man crossed his arms and looked Aiden up and down. “Unless, of course, you’re new to this.”

Aiden frowned at the man. At least he didn’t seem to recognize Aiden. “What do you mean?” He asked suspiciously. A vampire that didn’t recognize him could be a useful ally. Or a worse enemy.

“New to hunting, love. Newly turned.”

“No, I’m not, I’m just…”

“Hiding.” The man finished helpfully. He stepped closer and the street light glinted off of two lower lip piercings that mirrored the tips of his fangs. “I could help you, for a price.”

“I don’t have any money.” Aiden was reluctant to accept help so soon, but he had a hard time thinking past his hunger.

“I’m sure we can figure something out. Consider it a favor, for now.” When Aiden didn’t respond the man shrugged and held out a card. “If you reconsider, here’s how to find me.”

Aiden hesitated and then took the card.

Vengeance (555)555-1234

“Call me.” The man said with a grin and a wink as he walked past Aiden to the street.

Aiden blushed faintly, staring at the card. Help would be nice, but he didn’t intend to stay in one place for that long and he didn’t want to get anyone else caught up in his mess.

Besides.

Had he been flirting?

—

The next night Aiden hadn’t managed to move on. Other vampires had caught his trail again and he’d been forced to hide in an abandoned building until night fell again. He was pretty sure there were human hunters on his trail too but where they’d come from and who they were working for was a mystery to him. Had word of his crimes gotten far enough to inspire monster hunters to try and take him down? If so, they’d be disappointed. The only reason he had any power now was because of his vampiric abilities. Against trained fighters he was bound to lose.

He pulled Vengeance’s card out of his pocket and stared at the number again. He was hungry. Maybe it was worth it. Maybe he’d be able to get a good meal and stay somewhere warm and safe for a few hours…

He shook his head and shoved the card back into his pocket before he pushed himself up from the floor. His tail had to have moved on at this point. He was fairly sure no one had seen him duck into the building. He shook a little as he stood. He was starting to feel weak from the lack of food. That wasn’t a good sign. He had to keep moving tonight, though. The longer he stayed in one place the more likely it was he would be found and killed. Or worse.

He stepped out onto the street and a figure jumped from a rooftop to meet him.

“No one believed me when I said you’d have to emerge soon!” They exclaimed, grinning down at him, their mask unable to hide the dangerous tips of their fangs.

Aiden froze and glanced around. There was a back door or maybe he could jump out a window…

He made eye contact with his assailant before he turned and ran. He expended a small amount of his waning energy to appear at the top of the stairs.

Pain exploded from his side and the scent of blood was overwhelming. He felt claws dig into his side, twisting painfully as he turned to face the person chasing him.

“It’s been too long since you fed, hasn’t it?” The vampire said with a grin. “At least this will be easy.”

The claws retracted from his side as he was flung against the railing of the stairs, crashing through it and hitting the floor hard. He tried to push himself up, stunned, as he heard a thud next to him. A foot collided with his ribs and he gasped in pain.

“There’s a pretty nice bounty on your head, you should have known you couldn’t run forever.”

He was barely healing as he pushed himself shakily to his feet. He could get away. He knew he could. He felt another blow connect with his abdomen and he hit the wall, winded. His vision swam.

He should have eaten.

He should have gone with Vengeance.

He was going to be caught.

There was a cry and a crash. Aiden struggled to focus his sight on his assailant as they lay lifeless, slowly turning to ash from a stake in their chest.

In front of him a man stretched his arm out and smirked at Aiden.

“I told you to call me.” Vengeance said, reaching out to help Aiden up.

Aiden winced as he stood and put a hand to the wound in his side. It should have closed up by now. It would have, before. Vengeance caught him before he fell. He was stronger than he looked…

Aiden’s head fell against Vengeance’s shoulder and he became acutely aware of how the other man smelled. Had he just fed? It was close enough to the scent of fresh human blood that it aggravated his hunger. A small feral noise escaped the back of his throat and his fangs ached.

Vengeance tilted his head slightly to expose more of his neck.

“This is a one time offer, love. Don’t go so long between meals next time.”

Aiden looked up, red bleeding into his eyes. He shook his head slightly, focusing on keeping his balance as he pushed himself off of Vengeance.

“I’ll be fine. I don’t want to be in your debt.”

“Free of charge.” Vengeance pushed into his space. “I don’t need you dying on me because you refused a snack.”

He ran his fingers into Aiden’s hair and pulled him close, settling in to hold Aiden’s weight as the other man weakened.

“Thank you…” He said, still hesitating. He’d never fed from another vampire before.

“You’d better hurry, love. They weren’t alone.”

Aiden grumbled and hesitated a moment longer before giving in to his hunger. He sank his fangs into Vengeance’s neck and felt the pain in his side subside almost immediately. He started to lose himself in the sensation, the fog in his brain lifting somewhat as he fed. It tasted better than he had anticipated… The hand in his hair tightened after a long moment and tugged. Aiden looked up reluctantly, a drop of blood falling down his chin as he met Vengeance’s eyes.

“Better?” Vengeance said with a smirk.

Aiden nodded, his eyes straying to the puncture marks in the other man’s neck.

“Don’t worry, I’ll get you a real meal soon.” Vengeance said, bringing his hand up to the bite and wiping away some of the blood. Aiden’s eyes followed his hand and Vengeance stepped away, his smirk widening.  “Unless you still don’t want my help, of course.”

Aiden felt his still-healing side and then looked back at Vengeance as he left the building. He’d just accept the meal and then leave. It would be easier to run with his strength returned.

Just one meal and then he’d move on.

Right?

[that-angry-noldo]

You voted against my boy and I demand recompense. A fic with Eldacar please!! Some suggestions if you like (though you don’t have to use them): his childhood in Gondor, or maybe something about the moment he found out Ornendil had been executed, or (to satisfy my bloodlust) a cool battle scene where he kills Castamir at last?

His mother, Eldacar remembers, told him stories of grace and mercy.

She told him tales of knights in white armor, with their valiant deeds and swift swords. She told him of those who were proud and strong and feared no hardship; she told him of people who, when presented with choice to kill their enemies, lifted them from their knees instead, and granted them forgiveness, and were rewarded with life long and full of blessings.

Eldacar yearned for another reward. Reward dark and bitter, but so sinfully, so fiercely desired.

"My King!" his captain yelled, pointing his hand, and Eldacar retrieved his blade from the body of the man he just killed. He followed the direction with his eyes. "There!"

An arrow whistled just above Edacar's ear, only swift reflexes saving him from sure death. He growled, sound low and dangerous.

He saw the patch of black hair on one of the hills, a flash of deep red robes, and roared.

~

When he was younger, he told Ornendil stories of heroes brave and noble, of their valour that moved mountains, and of their loyalty, so praised, and of their sacrifices, so valued.

When he got older, he wished to tell Ornendil of the beauty of the spring and the song of nightingales. When he got older, he wished he could tell his son he loved him, and valued him above any throne, above any power, above any glory available in this marred world.

He couldn't.

Eldacar couldn't even bury him.

"We hanged the boy in the middle of the city, for everyone to see," Castamir snarled, blood trailind down his chin, eyes gleaming with wild fire. In his bloodstained hands was a sword, and Castamir cackled madly as he brought it down on Eldacar.

Eldacar spat and parried the blow. Ducked down, swinged at Castamir's side.

The man was older than he, but he still had his strenght and swift movements. He blocked, attacked. "We left him there," he hissed when their swords crossed at a momentary stalemate. "We left him to rot. Your poor, precious, loyal son, made a crow's feast," Castamir pressed further, and Eldacar bared his teeth. "I will make sure you join him. I will make sure the crows of Osgiliath remain fed."

Eldacar thought back to his Ornendil, to his brave, brilliant Ornendil. Earlier, the thought would bring him nothing but guilt and tears. Now, he snarled and sprang forward.

~

When Vinitharya was a child, his mother told him tales of mercy.

When Eldacar was a father, he told his son tales of loyalty.

When Eldacar became a king, he never felt the first, yet learned the bitter, bloody, painful taste of the second.

He pushed his enemy to the ground. The steel of his blade sang a song of vengeance.

[gameguy20100]

Baldur's Gate 3 Companions ranked.

So I’ve played BG3 a few times. And Id like to rank the companions. I’ll be judging them on usefulness in gameplay and personality. Keep in mind, my list so don’t pounce on me in the reblogs. And let’s begin.

1) Shadowheart

Usefulness: 5/5. Shadowheart is a cleric. This makes her the most useful companions due to her healing and buffs. I’ve almost never done a playthrough without her. Her thief skills are also extremely useful. Lockpicking and disarming traps is always useful. 

Personality: 4/5. Shadowheart is a very reserved person who doesn’t like talking about herself. And always tries to make out that she doesn’t care. But she’s clearly a lot less selfish than she thinks she is. I see a lot of potential in her character development 

2) Gale

Usefulness: 5/5 Gale is a wizard. Wizards are amazing due to their vast selection of spells. While he is dependent on the amount of spell scrolls and gold you can find, it’s worth it.  Buff, debuff, utility, damage. Wizards can do it all!

Personality: 3/5 Gale’s personality will either make him the best in the party or the worst. He has a rather big ego and brags about how powerful he is. While he does show that he’s not all talk and has a vast amount of magical knowledge. I do understand that arrogance is a big turn off. So he’s only getting a 3.

3) Lae’zel.

Usefulness: 4/5 Lae’zel is by far the toughest of the party Her weapon and armour skills make her the best frontliner. Able to deal, and take absurd amounts of punishment. Sadly that’s all she can do. With no other skills she’s really only useful for combat. Of course, you get into combat a lot so I don’t consider that a negative.

Personality: 2/5 Lae’zel is rude, abrasive, bloodthirsty and racist. Pretty much every word out of her mouth is about how much better Githyanki are and doesn’t care about anything but finding her clan. She suffers the most from the game being in Early access because her story has nowhere to go yet. As of now. She’s the least likeable but I do see potential.

4) Wyll

Usefulness: 3/5 Wyll is a warlock. Warlocks have an issue in that they lack the versatility of wizards, or the raw power of Sorcerers. But is clearly meant to be a similar role of nuker/controller. He only has two spell slots and will burn though them quickly. So more often than not you just spam Eldritch blast. Not bad, but others can be better.

Personality. 3/5 Wyll is a hero to the core. Or at least trying to be. His ideals clashing with his hatred and desire for vengeance makes for a very interesting character. I’m looking forward to see where it goes. 

5) Astarion

Usefulness: 1/5 Astarion suffers a lot in gameplay. His damage output is at it’s best when he can sneak attack. Sadly sneak attack is only really useful against a single target. This game loves to throw groups at the party. And he has no real skills to back him up. He can pick locks and disarm traps, but so can Shadowheart. He can deal damage, but so can everyone. He can sneak around, but I never found a use for that. He’s just not as useful as the others.

Personality: 2/5 If I could sum Astarion up in one word it would be edgy. Another would be arsehole. Constantly complaining when I do anything other than mock and belittle people for their trauma, And a guy who disapproves of freeing slaves or stopping a child from being killed is not a guy I want to get to know. His only real redeeming quality is that he’s fun to watch. He would make a fantastic antagonist, sadly as a party member he’s just irritating. 

So, that’s my list. Thanks for your time. Agree? disagree? Whatever lets just have fun.

[internetcatholicism]

hi, i'm a recent convert to Catholicism and one thing that i've been struggling with is, for example when reading a horrific story of a little girl whose introduction to life is repeated rape by family members, how do you manage to not commit the sin of wrath and hate? the perpetrators deserve to be ripped apart limb from limb in front of a crowd, so how are we supposed to not say / think this? sorry hope this question makes sense

Hi Anon, thanks for asking

Part of being Catholic is having a very counterintuitive perspective of suffering and evil that some have a hard time grasping. This is why I left the Church as a young adult for about three years. Thanks to God's Grace I was able to come to a better understanding when I returned.

If you really get down to it though, it's very uncomplicated and applicable, sort of like St. Therese's little way. I have given an entire speech/talk on the subject and I am also in the process of writing a book about it (shhh). So, I'm not gonna give a complete answer here but you can message me if you so desire.

In the end, we have no right to say what evil people deserve, because that is taking on God's role, not yours. Christ calls us to see Him inside everyone, even the worst of the worst. It sounds insane, but we need to show love and forgiveness to people like this. That does NOT mean you cannot be angry at all. Anger is often justified. It's where you go with the anger that matters. St. Paul says, "Be angry but do not sin."(but as you are describing it, probably a sin in this case.)

Truly it takes total abandonment to God's will and trust in the Lord that someday, somehow EVERYONE (including yourself) will be given what is just and what is deserved.

Catechism of the Catholic Church 2302 "By recalling the commandment, "You shall not kill," our Lord asked for peace of heart and denounced murderous anger and hatred as immoral.

Anger is a desire for revenge. "To desire vengeance in order to do evil to someone who should be punished is illicit," but it is praiseworthy to impose restitution "to correct vices and maintain justice." If anger reaches the point of a deliberate desire to kill or seriously wound a neighbor, it is gravely against charity; it is a mortal sin. The Lord says, "Everyone who is angry with his brother shall be liable to judgment."

It took a lot of practice to be able to try and see my abusers the way Christ does. But it came. Prayer before the blessed Sacrament is crucial. Ask for the Grace to forgive. Ask for justice to be had and TRUST that it will be. There is great peace in knowing that everything is in God's hands.

Oh! Also I forgot to mention St. Maria Goretti's story. Here's a video about it. She's a perfect example of what we are discussing.

[soup-for-ghosts]

I would love to hear your thoughts actually!

I’m guessing this is about the crick thing? well then buckle up buckaroo because you are indulging me and my insanity here good anon and this is either gonna make total sense, or you’re gonna have no idea what the heckity heck I’m talking about

ot2 (temenos chapter 3 stormhail + a bit of his chapter 4 and a little from jftd) spoilers and also me just rambling extensively under cut

ok so first of all, let’s the establish the reason they killed off crick in canon, cause yes there is a reason. obviously they want to make you sad, it’s a tragedy. they want to make you feel shocked and sad over the death of a very prominent and generally lovable side character. but, why? it’s pretty annoying actually, the more you think about it. chances are, everyone who played this game went into temenos chapter 4 with a desire for vengeance. kaldena was the mastermind, yes, but more importantly, she killed crick. see what I mean here? crick dies to give the player a good reason to hate dena, who otherwise is a lot easier to empathize with (at least for me). did she have all those people killed? yes (god forbid women do anything), but why? she’s one of the sole survivors of the genocide against the kal, and she was a child when she witnessed it. not to mention, she, like several characters in this game, was manipulated by arcanette. does this justify her actions? no. but it’s a lot easier to understand why she did what she did when you consider all of those factors. this isn’t about dena though, it’s about crick. why did she kill crick? because he “knew too much”? it’s so out of nowhere, you blink and in the next scene he’s dead, all just to make the player have a reason to hate dena. does she deserve to be hated? that’s a matter of a opinion, and I don’t want to go on too much of a tangent here. I will get back to the characterization of dena momentarily, however.

main thing for me is just how spontaneous his death is. like one second he’s there talking and the next he’s just. gone. you could argue there’s at least some build up to it, but if you ask me, some does not equal enough. man gets all his death flags in one scene, like buddy this isn’t a speedrun… ok so here’s the part where I propose an alternate way for chapter 3 stormhail to go. crick still goes to the library alone, that part makes sense given the conversation prior. he’s trying to find out for himself what to have faith in, and if the sacred guard is not worth said faith. he finds the book of night, and so far everything progresses like it would normally in canon, until dena shows up. dena still attacks him, and the game would still have the player witness that, but I feel like it would be better if her dialogue in this scene was different. just to make an example, in chapter 4, she asks temenos to join her. why wouldn’t she do the same here?? it’s not like she believes crick isn’t capable, she knows for a fact that he is. she doesn’t have to be entirely sorry, because at this point she’s pretty much in that too far to turn back mindset, but I dunno. I just think she could have been written way better overall, tbh. but anyways, crick and dena still have their fight, and crick still gets injured. injured, not killed. he manages to run away with only the page that he normally tears from the book, while kaldena was able to take the rest of it back, and henceforth let him run, considering that he’s probably dying anyways, and she has what she wants. eventually, temenos would encounter crick trying to find him, acknowledge that he’s injured, and probably take him to some kind of healer as soon as possible. whether he tries heal him himself, whether he finds someone else, or if you’re me and you says stormhail’s got nothing on castti florenz, you let her be a miracle worker, it’s up to whatever interpretation you think is more interesting, really. regardless, once temenos can confine that he’s at least stable, the phantom guiding segment would proceed as normal, but instead of coping with the denial that he’s dead, temenos would have to cope with the unsurity of it all instead! is he dead, is he not? is he going to lose him too? no one knows (not yet at least)! so you still get that dread, you still get the sadness of it all, and if the writers so desperately want to make dena more hateable than I personally think she is, you can still extrapolate that I guess (I’d rather no one did though). as for the confrontation with cubaryi, that would progress as normal, with her still regarding crick as dead, because as far as she knows or cares, he is. after all that though, give it some time and eventually crick would regain consciousness, but there’s still that lingering fear that he almost died! it’s not unlikely for death to come back to knock so terribly soon. it’s the fear of not knowing versus the acceptance of what has already happened and cannot be undone. also ort probably has no idea whether or not crick is dead until either the events of chapter 4 or afterwards, so that’s fun for him. but yeah, crick not dying still has that fun sprinkle of tragedy and worry to it, almost more so than him actually dying if you consider that death is a set in stone thing here, and with him dying there’s that stage where it’s just accepted, and they move on. with him still being alive, but having almost died already, there isn’t a chance for that acceptance, because nothing definite has occurred. does that make sense?? I have no idea.

as for crick himself, I’d imagine he’d probably sustain an injury that would more than likely hinder his ability to act as a knight, but that kinda gets into my perception of post-canon, which isn’t. terribly relevant to this topic? but considering that this subject feeds into that, I guess it kinda is? long story short, I imagine ort taking over as the captain, considering both dena and cubaryi are dead by now and he’s kinda the next best as far as the authority here goes. and then like I mentioned before, due to the injury and ort not wanting him to get hurt any further, crick might retire from the sacred guard. that’s. just my view on things, though, I don’t expect everyone to agree. I do have thoughts on the concept of him not retiring, as well, but like. he deserves a break I think. he’d keep the sword by his side, but he’d get a break from everything that caused him such strife. lastly maybe he moves away from stormhail, maybe even to flamechurch. but I like knightlight so of course I’d say that lmao

anyways I’ll cut it there. I hope that made any bit of sense, and that I’m not just being ridiculous with my thoughts here- if I make no sense, and my imaginings are preposterous then oh well, it makes more sense in my head than on paper (tumblr post?) then.