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my-heart-beat-for-anime · 5 months

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HIS BELLADONA treech x mentor reader

Pt.1, Pt.2, Pt.3

The coolness on my skin was what woke me from a pleasant sleep. I roughly rubbed my eyes and sat up on the bed. With a yawn, I decided to quickly cross the small apartment to the bathroom. I tried to go as quietly as possible so as not to wake my father. Father, I still didn't know if the man sprawled across the old couch was still the same a smiling man who raised me with love. The war destroyed everything, the war took my mother, the war took my father. I slowly wash my face with cold water and stare at myself in the cracked mirror and all I see is the same face as the woman who gave birth to me and loved me, the face of the woman I watched as she slowly died next to me due to lack of food and illness. I remember the helplessness that her death brought because not only did I lose my mother, but her death destroyed the man who had once been her father. After the death of his wife, he began to seek refuge in morphine and alcohol, leaving the weight of the world on the shoulders of his eight-year-old daughter. The only thing that kept her and her father alive was her father's meager salary, the salary was high but father would rather buy morphine than make sure I had dinner and gifts from my father's friend Casca Highbottom. I tried to buy on the black market, I bartered what I could and thanks to that we survived. I was now in my final year at the academy and planned to study at university.I noticed a bruise on my hand in the mirror, my father had another rough night yesterday. Today was one of those days when it didn't fit today was a big day today was harvest for the 10th hunger games. I quickly got ready, chose my mother's favorite dark blue skirt, on which stars were embroidered with yellow thread, on top I took a black turtleneck, which very well covered my bruised arms and neck. I let my hair flow freely on my shoulders and assessed whether it was enough. Unfortunately, there was no time for any shortcomings, so I just grabbed my school bag and headed for the exit from the apartment. Just as I was closing the door to the apartment, I heard the door of the apartment above us close, it meant that Coryo was leaving, so I waited for him to run downstairs, where I joined him on the way to the academy.,,It's a miracle what Tigris did with that old shirt, you look very elegant." I complimented his appearance. Coryo just laughed, "You know snow closets are bottomless." I was the only one who knew about his situation and he knew about mine. I have known Coriolanus since I was a child, our mothers were friends with each other in the days after your mother's death, I lived with the Snows for a while, who helped me a lot at that time. On the way to the academy, we had a pleasant conversation, but when you walked in, Coryo took Clemensia away and I was left alone, but not for long because Lysistrata spotted me. "Hey (Y/N) you look beautiful." Lysistrata was the only one of my classmates that I would believe this compliment.She was very quiet but she was one of the nicest and fairest people I've ever met.,, Well miss Lysistrata it's harvest day of course I have to represent the Capitol." I said with a sneer in my voice. She rewarded me with her smile in return and we left to the hall where the harvest transmission started in no time. I sat in the back row together next to my friend and we waited patiently. But what I didn't expect was the news that each of the top 24 students will be assigned a mentoring tribute. We are going to turn them into a show for entertainment , that made me sick to my stomach. I exchanged a disgusted look with Lys next to me.,, As if it wasn't enough that they are going to die, we're going to force them to make puppets here." I whispered in Lys's ear and she just nodded in agreement. The dean began to read the names and the screens showed each tribute.,, And the male tribute from the 7th district belongs to Miss (Y/N) Belladon.” My breath hitched as I stared at the face of the boy I was to lead to his death. He was tall with dark curls and gorgeous brown eyes.

Treech was the name

Treech was the name of my tribute

#the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosas x reader #treech tbosas #treech x reader #treech x mentor reader #coryo snow #coriolanus snow x reader #the hunger games #hunger games x reader #tigris snow #lucy gray baird #7th district #love #enemies to lovers #coriolanus snow

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rabbitenn · 5 months

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so you know how Momo got jealous over Yuki and Banri reunited and bonding and felt like a terrible person for it because he still wants them to be happy and together? How about that but this time its Momo's s\o going through the same feelings he did but towards him? Maybe they're jealous because of his chemistry with Yuki or because he has a lot of friends :3

OUR INCOMPLETE SELVES.

You feel at war with yourself. Why is it that your hesitant heart keeps trying to compete with the deserved happiness and friendships he finds?

ft. Sunohara Momose x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst to comfort.

Thank you for your request, anony ! I’m sorry this took so long. I hope you can enjoy it anyway <3

You don’t deserve him, anyway.

For you to even fathom you could stand next to the sunlight he embodies is borderline ridiculous.

How could you, who has only envy and second guessing running through their veins?

You are destined to walk the shadows, your only company, the monotone padding of your steps against faded concrete.

Why did you even feel like this?

You want him to be happy, and if that means he enjoys spending his time with his groupmate and other friends, then it’s alright, no?

And yet, a small twisted voice at the back of your mind begs to differ.

‘You don’t matter’ ‘He’ll forget you’ ‘How pathetic are you to be relegated to second place after his friends.’

Your breathing quickens, as you shut your eyes, a tense frown forming on your brow.

You shake your head, trying to swat away the shrill laughter that ensues after your deepest fears have been voiced by your wicked subconscious.

A glance towards the window proves how long you have been overthinking; the citrine outline of a dusking horizon has turned to marine now. No stars seem to prevail in a sky polluted by city lights.

You pour yourself a glass of water.

It’s gotten late.

And Momo isn’t back yet.

Your grip on the glass turns knuckle-white, perhaps to prevent your trembling hands from dropping the fine china.

Though you have the impression you’re the one that would shatter at the minimum impact.

If you aren’t already broken, that is.

At the same time you put your glass down, you hear the keys click on the front door.

Not long after, your boyfriend’s perky voice resounds through the corridor.

Do you have the right to call him that, though?

“Darling, I’m back! Ah, it’s so cold outside, I want to cuddle-“

Momo’s sentence is cut midway when he sees you leaning against the counter.

Your head is hung low, and your shoulders seem to be trembling.

“Baby, are you alright?” He asks, fuchsia eyes tainted in concern.

Why is he so kind?

You don’t deserve it.

But at the same time, you wonder, is he this kind with Yuki too? With his other friends?

And so what if he is? It’s good more people get to know Momo and see how sweet and caring he is.

You just can’t help the thoughts that find their way into your brain, like vines that spread, corrosion infesting your psyche.

“I’m fine.” You reply, a choked out sound, voice a thin thread about to snap at the minimum oscillation. “I’m fine…” You repeat, more to reassure yourself than your partner.

“Are you sure, [Y/n]?” His hand moves to your temple, feeling for a temperature, his other arm around your form. “You don’t seem to have a fever.” He states, beaming softly.

You think it looks a little sad, his smile.

He pulls you closer, his warmth calming your mind a little.

“Dear, you can tell me if there’s anything worrying you.” Momo tells you, his voice gentle, as he holds your face in between his hands.

And just like that, you break a little.

You lean your side against his torso, silent tears marking the cracks of your fragmented soul.

“I’m horrible…” You mumble. “Because I should be happier… But I… Sometimes I get this feeling that your friends and Yuki… That they will replace me some day.” You bury your head in his chest. “And I’m happy, I’m very glad you have such a good connexion with him and that you always make so many friends, but I’m also… Am I bad, Momo? For fearing being left behind?”

Your boyfriend’s arms squeeze you a little tighter.

Then, he says:

“You could never be bad, my darling.” His hands trace soothing patterns over your back. In their wake, liquid gold remains, putting back together pieces of you that were falling prey to the devils that consume you.

“You could never ever be less than perfect, [Y/n].” He rests his head on top of yours. “Your feelings are valid, and they don’t make you any less loved by me, okay, baby?”

And in those words of his, memories linger.

Not all of them are shades of vivid rose and verdant, no.

Some of them are ashen, stained by the bitter taste of feeling lost.

“You are my irreplaceable lover.” He assures you, hands cupping your face again. “Never forget that, please?” Almost imperceptible tears shine at the corners of his vibrant eyes.

He understands how you feel, perhaps because once, the same dagger that’s dared to graze your heart pierced his too.

But now you have each other.

And maybe not right now, but with time, you’ll put back together the forgotten pieces of your almost complete puzzle.

Outside, two bold stars have dared to brave the city-lit sky.

They are watching over you.

#idolish7 #idolish7 x reader #idolish7 imagines #ainana #ainana x reader #i7 #idolish7 hadcanons #sunohara momose #momo #momo x reader #sunohara momose x reader #idolish7 scenarios #idolish7 fluff #idolish seven #idolish7 x you #idolish7 x y/n #anime x reader #anime imagines #anime fluff

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shadowkira · 11 months

Text

Thasmin Fic Recs:

Action / Adventure:

Echoes of War by Eriadu (Series - 2 Works) (T) (Telepathy) ( AO3)

Ghostwalk by Eriadu (E) (3) (Angst) (Spooky)

The Curse of the Pharaoh by Mag_lex (T) (13) (AO3)

Angsty:

A frozen moment by Eriadu (E) (2) (AO3)

are you really gonna love me when i'm gone? by freefallvertigo (E) (4) (dark!Doctor) (AO3)

Cloudbursting by headcanonsandmore (T) (1) (AO3)

Corrosion by Mag_lex (M) (6) (Memory loss AU) (AO3)

Courage & Stupidity by seaunicorn (T) (1) (AO3)

Forever in a moment by Captainswanmycaptainswan (T) (1) (AO3)

The Path Erased by Eriadu (T) (4) (Two of Yaz) (AO3)

time has been unkind by seaunicorn (E) (1) ( AO3)

When it all comes crashing down by Eriadu (E) (1) (AO3)

You laugh like there's hope in the story by freefallvertigo (T) (1) (AO3)

AUs:

A Dark & Verdant Door by Eriadu (M) (27) (faun!13) (sheriff!Yaz) (AO3)

A week (and half a world) away by Eriadu (E) (7) (human!13) (modern AU)(AO3)

chance is the only game i play with, baby by timelxrd (E) (15) (nb!Yaz) (boxing AU) (human!13) (AO3)

honey don't feed it, it will come back by timelxrd (E) (4) (cryptid AU) (AO3)

Love is Blind by Might_Be_A_Zygon (T) (1) (Angst) (Gorgon AU) (Major character death) (AO3)

Never Cruel or Cowardly by Bow_Ties (E) (65) (Fantasy AU) (AO3)

Pink Elephants by TechnicolorRevel (G) (1) (daemon AU) (AO3)

Star by Star by Eriadu (E) (27) (Space Opera AU) (pilot!Yaz) (medicaldoctor!13)

The Line of Fire by mag_lex (M) (11) (Wordpress) (human!Doctor) (bodyguard AU)

where I want to go by seaunicorn (T) (12) (AO3) (human!13) (road trip AU)

Comedy:

don't sound like friends by InLust (T) (3) (AO3)

Halloween Time-Knot by edlweiss (E) (4) (AO3)

home is where you rest your bones by orphan_account (E) (1) (AO3)

Notes to Self by Eriadu (E) (1) (PWP with humor) (AO3)

Fluff:

A Home for the Holidays by mag_lex (T)(2) (AO3)

Astronomy in reverse (it was me who was discovered) by transboytwelve (T) (1) (Fake dating) (AO3)

Buttons by mag_lex (G) (1) (Wordpress)

By the light of the moon by freefallvertigo (G) (1) (AO3)

Candy Floss by Evviejo (G) (1) AO3)

collision by timelxrd (T) (1) (AO3)

Stars On The Ceiling by swallowthecap (G) (1) (AO3)

The Earring by Evviejo (G) (1) (AO3)

Hurt / Comfort:

baby, you could be the death of me by freefallvertigo (E) (1) (AO3)

dead leaves and the dirty ground by Eriadu (T) (1) (hanahaki inspired) (AO3)

keep me close, love me most by seaunicorn (E) (1) (AO3)

right here, right now by InLust (T) (1) (AO3)

OT3:

baby, it ain't right (but isn't it amazing?) By transboytwelve (E) (1) (human!13) (Riverx13xYaz) (AO3)

begging for thread by orphan_account (E) (3) (unfinished) (Fashion / Model AU) (human!13) (ClaraxYazx13) (AO3)

I've never been a natural (all I do is try) by transboytwelve (E) (1) (Billx13xYaz) (AO3)

the way you react to me - Dirty Little Secrets by how_to_sit_gay (E) (13xYazxRose) (AO3)

PWP:

A Suprising Lack of Context by Rowanthestrange (E) (1) (AO3)

Ad Astra by Mag_lex (E) (1) (fluff) (wordpress)

anodized by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

boiling point by vividfriend (E) (1) (AO3)

crave by freefallvertigo (E) (1) (AO3)

Drifting by Eriadu (E) (1) (AO3)

Drive-Through by mag_lex (E) (Crack) (1) (Wordpress)

Go Quiet by WinterTheWriter (E) (1) (AO3)

I Read It For The Articles by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

I'm the holy water you have been without by transboytwelve (E) (1) (trans!Yaz) (AO3)

On Begged and Borrowed Time by transboytwelve (E) (Angsty) (1) (AO3)

take a picture, babe (cos I'm already yours) by transboytwelve (E) (2) (AO3)

Tendencies and Bravery by GolM (E) (1) (AO3)

the way that you react to me- Good Clean Fun by how_to_sit_gay (E) (1) ( AO3)

Tickety-Boo by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

Time and Time Again by rowanthestrange (E) (Angst) (1) (AO3)

we're all born naked by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

what will be the signal be for your eyes to see me by TechnicolorRevel (E) (1) (AO3)

Romance:

come as you are by freefallvertigo (E) (1) (AO3)

Discovery by Mag_lex (E) (1) (wordpress)

in the lines of time by fictorium (G) (1) (AO3)

Love found me all disarmed by Mag_lex (E) (4) (AO3)

misplacing home by yazkhan (G) (4) (AO3)

Sneaky Little Ghost Monument by LoadsofCustardCreams (T) (2) (AO3)

Soar (when I lay down with you) by how_to_sit_gay (E) (2) (Angst) (AO3)

through the waters and the wild by TechnicolorRevel (G) (1) (AO3)

your soul calls out in a familiar voice by abcooper (G) (3) (AO3)

Whittaker!Master:

Enter at Last, Master. by Might_Be_A_Zygon (E) (2) (Paranormal AU) (AO3)

Never Cruel or Cowardly - Dangerous Liaisons by Bow_Ties (E) (39) (Fantasy AU) (AO3)

The Unraveling of Yasmin Khan by transboytwelve (E) (3) (AO3)

#Thasmin #Thasmin Fanfiction #Fic Recs #Fic Rec #Doctor Who Fanfiction #Long Post #don't @ me I'm predominantly thirsty #Still reading & will be adding to this as I go. Mostly AO3 as it is my usual go to. pls feel free to message me more recs :')#Did this for Shoot / POI too and wished I had done it for other fandoms. Mostly for me but very happy if it helps anyone else!#There's a lot of human!13 au content out there that's good but I'm a picky bish who prefers my aus to be medieval or monsters...#not coffee shops or mundane things. I left a lot of kudos for those style fics though and they definitely exist for this ship!#Fic Rec Lists

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mayxthexforce · 4 months

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⭐️ ― convincing portrayal of a canon character

💻 ― excellent writing

🌼 ― creative headcanons

🎙️ ― great to talk to

📚 ― nice threads to read

🎀 ― all-around kind person

🥇 ― well-developed oc

😍 ― admiring from afar

📌 ― a staple on the dash

🏆 ― 10/10 blog, would recommend

🧡 ― sender's choice ( sender can add whatever category they want ) - MICA I LOVE YOUUUUUUUU ❤️ you're the best mwah thanks for being such an awesome and cool friend ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ having you in my life has been PHENOMENAL!!! Thanks tons for the awesome joyride

💜 ― receiver's choice ( simply shout out whoever

🐝 * ― 𝑺𝑯𝑶𝑼𝑻-𝑶𝑼𝑻𝑺 𝑶𝑭 𝑨𝑾𝑬𝑺𝑶𝑴𝑬𝑵𝑬𝑺𝑺.

*-cracks knuckles-* alright, let's do this!

⭐️ ― convincing portrayal of a canon character

Shout-out goes to @prodijedi. I love Callie's Dooku, he has so much depth and layers and cares so much about the people he loves deep down but is too deep in the mess he made and doesn't know how to show it, but Callie doesn't erase the fact that he has done terrible things.

💻 ― excellent writing

Shouting at @tacticalvalor for this one. So far, I've only interacted with Paz but I love him, and I love how well he's written. Jay has a way of making Paz so expressive despite the fact he's covered head to toe in armor and -understandably- unwilling to take it off. His inner thoughts are always a delight to read and the things he says always manage to crack me up.

🌼 ― creative headcanons

I think there isn't a single person in this fandom that's not creative when it comes to headcanons because we're all pretty big brained with them. But if I have to name just one, I'm gonna go with @thrawnur I LOVE YOUR HEADCANONS PJ! And I love the HCs and worldbuilding we've worked on together for Chiss. Our blueberries deserve more lore!!

🎙️ ― great to talk to

Shout-out to @corruptedforce/@crowsandmurder because Tanya is that one person you can always count on to be up to talk about literally anything. Everything I know about baseball, I learned from her. I also always love yelling with her about the stupid Star Wars questions people ask on Quora (still not over the person who had the audacity to ask why Obi-Wan didn't just kill Anakin, I'm outside their house with a baseball bat).

📚 ― nice threads to read

To this day, I still go into @d4gangera's blog just to read the stuff KT writes, and not just the threads I'm in, but everything she writes. I love how she writes Dagan, his inner monologues, his trauma after spending decades in bacta, his issues with the Jedi Order and the Empire and this new era he got yeeted into. I love it all.

🎀 ― all-around kind person

@vendettavalor IS THE KINDEST BEAN EVER!! I'm still absorbing all the analogical horror stuff that you recommended me and you bet I'm going to be yelling in your DMs once I'm caught up.

🥇 ― well-developed oc

Shout-out to @gwiazdowe for Cirz. HE'S BABEY!! I love him and how kind he is and how he sees good in people that nobody else would see good in. But he's not dumb. He's a smart boy and he deserved the world, I'm protecting him at all costs.

😍 ― admiring from afar

Not really from that far because we've actually talked but I have yet to start a thread with @alootus and that is a crime I should be in jail for. But I'm admiring because the blog theme is just so PRETTY, I love the color palette and the graphics.

📌 ― a staple on the dash

I love seeing @kylo-wrecked's posts on the dash. From the aesthetic stuff to replies to answers to ask memes, it's always god tier content!

🏆 ― 10/10 blog, would recommend

@ofthestcrs AMAZING MUN, AMAZING CHARACTERS, AMAZING BLOG! Gee is one of the first people I interacted with in this fandom and honestly, I'm holding on like an orphaned monkey. 10/10 will not be letting go anytime soon.

💜 ― receiver's choice ( simply shout out whoever you want )

#WELP this one got long #||out of character||#||answered ask||#vanillahub #ALSO VANIIIII YOU'RE SO SWEET 🫂🫂🫂🫂🫂#||positivity||

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sapphic-woes · 1 year

Text

The Zealot pt.1

A/N: Look it's really hard to describe this fic, but think Havi!Eivor but it's you who has a secret entity inside you that Fulke sets free via torture lol.

Word Count: 3k. AO3 Link

_________________

The ___ does not tire. It does not sleep. Flowers wither, seasons change, the stars die out.

Still, it remains.

A searing pain. It's hot on your thigh. Your mouth is open in a blood curdling scream. No–it twists with a sneer, goading her to do more? What's going on? It hurts so much. It feels like nothing. Does she really think this is enough to awaken me? Am I…awake?

The air is toxic with burning flesh. It heals. It melts. It molds. You go back under.

The ___ was born of the Sire's desire.

"Remarkable." Drool mixed with crimson drips from your mouth. Your vision is blurry, and your head feels like it was smashed in with a war hammer. There's a sharp pain in your chest as you breathe, no doubt a broken rib. The black spots scattering across your vision clears, and you're met with bright, intrigued blue eyes.

So blue you can see the harrowing frost within them.

Fulke. You would have never believed it if anyone told you this was the woman's true nature. She spoke of God in a charismatic, mesmerizing way, with her glorious grandeur and convictive gaze. Her teachings were sound, and her company was like sweet honey on your lips. You became her disciple because she believed in you–or so she said–certain that you were destined for greatness.

If only you'd known what such “greatness” entailed. Perhaps you would have been able to escape her grasp.

Or at least, the hot, bright red knife cutting into your skin.

"Tell me what you are." You shake your head. You hiss sob. You frantically plead as she brings the tip of the knife back up again. You answered this question before, and you've said every answer you can possibly think of…but still, she isn’t satisfied.

"I-I don’t know what you want–but I'll be whatever you wish! Please, p-please Fulke I–!" Slow and steady, she lets the hot metal pierce, melting through your skin. It divides tissue and muscle with ease. Your cries pierce the walls, but there's no one to hear them other than the woman beside you. Fulke watches you with wild eyes, slicing down your thigh without shifting her focus.

"Let it clear your mind. Let it set you free." You don’t understand. You never understood Fulke anyway. Not in her puzzling inquiries, or her roundabout speech. Not in the way she'd thread her fingers through your hair, leaning down to brush her lips against your ear with a playful whisper.

"Tell me what you are!" Now, her voice is a frightening roar.

"I s-swear Fulke, I do not know–!" Your lurch forward. You snarl. Your eyes burn with something ghastly. There's a pounding in your head, a ringing in your ears. Your thigh is slick with blood and fiery with pain. It doesn't get any better when Fulke digs her own fingers into the wound and claws, demanding you embrace the "truth." Blood oozes out in waves, sickening squelches filling your ears as she plunges in and out, thick fingers torturing your flesh. It hurts! It hurts, it hurts it–

Where is my Sire? You black out.

The ___ snaps your neck toward Fulke, and the ___watches the paladin's eyes widen with a spark of joy. A shiver rocks through your body, but the ___ pays no mind. You may be afraid, but the ___ is not. How can a being that cannot die fear death?

Instead, the ___ leans forward to bare your teeth in Fulke's face, a mixture of blood and spit hitting her cheek.

"The ___ serves none but the Sire. None." Before Fulke can answer, the ___ goes back under.

You snap awake. Tears well up in your eyes as your vision comes back. Not again. With the pain being too much for you to bear, you keep fading in and out of consciousness. But was Fulke always this close to you?

"Huh? Uh–" With a sudden tsk from Fulke, your skin is torn apart. Her rough jerk with the knife makes thick red blood spill out onto the floor. Your voice cracks with an agonizing yell, and you beg for the pain to subside.

"F-Fulke please! I truly do not know what you want–" Your consciousness fades again, and instead of sniffling, you growl so sharply Fulke jumps. It's an ominous and animalistic rumble, and you furiously jerk at your chains, kicking your legs as if a knife isn’t embedded there.

"It is the sword. It is the spear. The hand of the Sire. Always, the ____ remains. I remain."

"Yes! Yes that's it, you–you who is trapped in this measly prison of flesh! You who have persisted, who have remained…and I do the honor of awakening you." Your eyebrows furrow with confusion. What was Fulke talking about? It seems you can hardly stay awake during the torture to know. You mumble Fulke’s name, but she doesn’t respond, fervently muttering to herself as she unceremoniously jerks the knife out of your leg.

“Ugh!” You wince, panting as you feel blood ooze from the wound. You need to close it somehow, before you lose too much blood and–

The wound…what happened to the wound?

“Now then.” You flinch, abruptly looking up from the wonder of your healed leg to see Fulke with an odd bottle in her hand. She opens it, and the smell makes you gag–certain whatever is inside is toxic.

“Let’s see how fast you can heal from acid, shall we?”

_______________

On the seventh day, you feel it shatter. The fragile consciousness of the mortal girl born into this body.

So it begins. You think as you open your eyes, feeling your severed fingers slowly growing back. The world is different from last time you walked upon it. It’s aged. You can tell by the structure you find yourself awakened in, regardless of the blood and guts splattered about. Surely, it’s been quite a few centuries since you were last here.

“Y/N?” You're called a name you do not know. You assume it was yours before you became you and "you" shattered. As was the nature of your existence. You stole and did not return. Not unless your sire commanded you to.

My Sire. You look up, staring into bright, intriguing blue eyes. So blue you can see heaven in them.

Fulke. The one who awakened you stands tentatively. You bow your head in a greeting.

“Sire.”

“So it’s true.” Fulke speaks, fingers wet with that girl’s your blood, moving to tilt your face up. She moves it back and forth, examining you with sharp precision. “You are not Isu, but something different?”

“I am the Zealot.” Fulke frowns, nose scrunching up in confusion. You find it adorable.

“Where do you come from?” You sigh, listening to the shifting octaves of her voice. It’s a perfect melody, and you let yourself keel into her touch. She does not discourage you.

“I have no origin. I was not, now I am.” You speak as if that explained everything, and Fulke sighs, mumbling to herself about going over her scrolls.

“Then…this Zealot you claim to be. What do you do?” You smile, happy she asked more about you. You shift eagerly in your chair, ignoring the clack of chains as you sit up straighter.

“I am my Sire’s will. Her fury and her desire.” Fulke blinks, seeming to just realize your use of the title.

“Sire…am I–did awakening you make me–”

“You are the sole purpose of my existence. The object of my worship.” You close your eyes, humming softly, “For you, I would burn this land down to ashes. I’d destroy every last remnant of their false god. I would make them understand the wrath of the Forgotten One, and the sin of ostracizing you.” You open your eyes, fixing Fulke with a dark, promising stare.

“Should you order me to, that is.”

They’re cracks of blue lightning, those fervent, wild eyes. They shine like priceless jewels, glowing with ambition. Fulke slowly nods at first, but then her mouth twists into a sinister grin–and with it she throws her head back in a full on laugh, fingers brushing through her hair. How hauntingly beautiful. Your chest flutters at the sight, full of butterflies at her obvious joy. You watch as she strides over to you, grabbing a fistful of your hair to jerk your head back.

“How ironic that I, a heretic, is graced by the Isu with a zealot?” Her grip is wonderfully merciless, and the heat of her body is addicting. She’s pleasantly intimidating as she sneers, giving you her first command of many.

“Tell me again. What am I called?” You let out a breath, loving how she speaks down to you. With this proximity your lips brush against the metal of her armor and against the blood of your past self. It makes you shiver with delight, and you speak a prayer to her flesh and bone.

“You are my Sire. My god…and I, the Zealot who worships at your feet.”

_______________

Fulke uses you well. You like that about her. Then again, you like everything about Fulke.

“You’re back?” You stand at the doorway of her room, body in one hand and a relic in the other. Mud, blood, and some substances you can’t identify cover your body from head to toe. Of course, you do not mind. You nod, attempting to take a step inside before Fulke raises her eyebrow.

“Little lamb,” you flush at the nickname, having earned it after being so obedient, “what did I tell you before?” Oh, she minds.

You let go of the body with a thump, waving your hand immediately. The dirt and grim dissolve into thin air, and you resume dragging a now clean body into her room.

“Forgive me,” you sheepishly say, coming before Fulke to kneel and offer the relic, “at the sight of you, I was filled with longing and had forgotten your commands.”

Fulke’s eyes sparkle, taking the relic and eyeing it with awe. It was much easier to send you out in search of relics than her without raising suspicion of her heresy. Plus, you were capable of finding more relics than she could do alone. However, Fulke had never anticipated you’d be this resourceful.

“Is that so?” She says absentmindedly, still studying the relic. With her free hand, she brushes calloused fingers through your hair, as if she were petting a dog. You close your eyes in bliss, melting against her knee as you practically purr. This task had taken you some days to complete, and you feel as if your insides had been rotting without her.

“Have I fulfilled your will?” You murmur, ready to do more if she was unsatisfied. Fulke lets out a soft laugh, fingers tickling the back of your neck. You shudder with delight, looking up to meet her warm gaze.

“You have. As always my lamb–you have done what no other has done for me.” Ah. Her happiness is electric, making you giggle with joy of your own. After following your Sire for some time, you learned that Fulke was utterly alone. Sure, she was a part of the Order of the Ancients, and even King Alfrred respected her–but in her desire to uncover the truth of this world?

She was without allies, and that made her lonely despite being so revered. My lovely Sire, isolated from the rest of the world.

“And I shall do it again,” You vow, moving to hold the hand in your hair and press your lips against her knuckles. The flesh is worn, it's rough–carrying the proof of her toiling work, the proof of her resolve. Savoring her warmth, you sigh. You would do whatever it took to protect Fulke's dreams, and make them come to life. Such was your duty as the Zealot.

“Wherever you lead me my Sire, I will follow.”

_______________

You're unsure when it started.

Perhaps it's after you're bested by this “Eivor.” The two fools–Basim and Sigurd–had wanted one of Fulke's relics, but not for Fulke’s own goals, and so she had sent you to kill them. It was the first time a mission failed, and Eivor left you beheaded in the woods.

You hate beheadings. It takes forever for your head to reattach itself again.

When Fulke finds you hours later, head just about to fully connect back onto your neck, she hits the ground with a strangled gasp.

Her eyes.

Those mesmerizing blue eyes. They were delicate back then. So wide and glistening with what you'd recently learned were tears. However, Fulke did not let her teardrops fall.

Instead, she silently gathered you up into her arms and carried you back home.

_______________

After that Fulke is different. Somehow.

Before, things were clearly defined as master and servant. Fulke sent you out on a task, and you returned upon its completion. She rewarded you with the one thing you desired: to bask in her presence, and you were content with this routine.

Such was the way of the Zealot. You exist for her goals, and you yearn for her happiness. Nothing more, nothing less…

“My Sire, forgive me but…what are you doing?” At least, it used to be.

The situation is unfamiliar. Pressed against the wall, your heart pounds against the bars of your ribcage. Fulke stands–no, corners you–looming with an unpredictable edge.

You're dwarfed by her, and you nervously swallow. The Zealot does not feel nervous. But then, what is this hammering in your chest? You’ve never processed Fulke's full height like this, feeling awfully tiny under the weight of her stare. This vessel…it's too small.

Or perhaps Fulke was simply too tall, too wide, and too…well, big. Even her alluring voice seems too much for you, and you shiver as Fulke mutters.

“Studying you. Am I not allowed?” Like this? But why?

Fulke confuses you. Ever since she saw your neck half sliced open, she changed. Despite knowing how quickly you heal, she insisted you stay in bed for days. She completely abandoned kidnapping Sigurd, which she had told you she'd plan to do after killing Eivor. She stayed by your bedside until she deemed you able to walk again, and after that?

She never stopped touching you.

It isn't in the way you know. Without completing a mission, Fulke never rewards you. But she does now, and it's all the time.

In the mornings, her lips brush the crown of your head while her fingers intertwine with your own. She whispers good morning little lamb with a slightly rough voice, and you forget how to breathe. Throughout the day, her hands regularly gravitate to your hips, lingering over your thighs. But why? Fulke's interactions leave you dizzy, and this case isn't any different, hot as you force out an answer.

"Of course Sire. If–if it helps with your work, um." You tentatively speak, and Fulke encouragingly hums, fingers tracing the curve of your neck, her touch makes you jerk in surprise. "Ah! Uh, please feel free to…study me…?" Fulke smiles softly with a tinge of mischief, and you swallow.

"It won't help. Not in the slightest, actually." You blink, eyebrows furrowing.

Huh?

"Sire, forgive me for asking, but then why–"

"Fulke." You sharply inhale as she pushes flush against you, making your neck crane back just to meet her gaze. "I want you to call me Fulke."

You stand like a fish out of water, finding the idea absurd. The Zealot doesn't call their Sire by their name. However, Fulke has no problem convincing you otherwise.

The towering woman simply raises an eyebrow, and her voice is a low, commanding drawl.

"Say it." You don't know whether your shiver is from fear or awe.

"...Fulke," her hum of approval makes your heart skip a beat. Her large hands brush over your cheek, and you swear she smirks when you quiver in response.

"Would you believe me if I say I've had a change of heart? I thought I needed you to carry out my plans, to use you as a pawn…but when I saw you like that…" Fulke's deep eyes are like crashing waves, threatening to pull you under. It’s a stare that tingles your entire body. This is something I do not know. What was this feeling? You're hot, breaths growing heavy as Fulke murmurs.

"It hit me. Just how much you mean to me. Y/N…" her hands cup your cheeks, easily covering both sides of your head. Fulke’s long fingers are like sparks on your skin, and you worry you'll burn her with how hot you are.

"I want to kiss you." What?

“I–what–uh–” Your insides are a flustered mess. How could such a simple sentence be so damning? Your cheeks feel like they’ll melt off your face, mouth dry as you stutter. Fulke lets out a breathless chuckle, taking in your reaction.

"…Now even more so. Will you let me, little lamb? Or should I continue to gaze until you do?" I don’t understand. You simply lived to fulfill another's wish. There was nothing to want from you, let alone anything to love. Love was something only a person could have…

…Yet here Fulke was, asking you to love her.

"I, no–the Zealot–it lives to–" A finger presses against your lips, making your words die in your throat. Fulke stares into your eyes as though searching through your soul. She speaks with such conviction you can't help but tremble.

"I'm not asking the Zealot, I'm asking you. What do you want? What do you desire from me?"

Have I ever been asked that before?

You can hardly speak. The words feel hard to say without guidance. Without a role. To say what you wanted, when you didn’t know if you were a person?

"I…" The Zealot was born of the Sire's desire. I am the sword. I am the spear. I am the…I am…I…

…What am I?

"I–I want, I need…" You heave, hands gripping Fulke's wrists as you try to understand what this burning is. It makes you restless, panicked even. How could you desire what the Sire did not? You did not want anything but Fulke to be happy, so what was this yearning? What was this pain?

What do I need?

"That's it love, say what you want. You're allowed to have desires and chase after them. You're more than a tool or pawn… You're a person."

I am? You gap up at Fulke. You had never heard such words before. You didn't think they'd ever apply to you. Yet warmth fills your chest, and you don't realize you're crying till she wipes your tears away. Fulke smiles, gentle as she whispers.

"It's okay. Tell me, little lamb. I will do everything you ask. Everything." Her words are the final nail in the coffin, and the words rush out in a frenzy.

"I want you to pet me. Tell m-me I've been good." You're bawling, clinging onto Fulke as she hugs you tight. She hums in encouragement, lips brushing against your temple.

"You have been good. So good to me love. My precious baby." Her immediate compliance makes you melt, leaning into her body. You look up, and whatever expression on your face makes Fulke groan, eyes dark with lust.

"What else? Tell me." She knows the answer. You both do. Yet it's necessary to speak aloud. To have it come into existence.

"Kiss me. I want you Fulke. Make me yours, hold me–" Her lips capture your own before you can finish the last word. It's a possessive dance, and you grow weak under the will of her devilish tongue.

Fulke hardly relents. She takes and takes from you–your strength, your burning core, the very air you breathed–as though fervent to claim the entirety of your being. The kiss lingers when she pulls away, haunting your lips with a hunger for more. The paladin seems to be plagued with the same ghost, heaving as she gazes down at you.

"You've done well. Now…let me take care of the rest."

#fulke x reader #fulke ac valhalla #assassin's creed #ac valhalla #i dunno what else to tag #but like. yea i have some wild concepts sometimes #dont ask when the second part will come this took like two months lolol

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pandoraimperatrix · 2 years

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Wandering Worlds

DickKory | Core Four Centric | Cannon Divergence | Longfic

Summary:

The story begins with the death of Dick Grayson. His life taken by his own brother, Jason. Consumed by grief, Rachel gives in to despair, losing control, a portal opens, but from it no destroyer of words come through. Instead a man who looks just like him, how can he be? The Titans, and especially Kory has to mourn their fallen leader and deal with this stranger with a lot of issues of his own. After that, when everything seem to be settling, Kory is forced to return to Tamaran, but she wasn't as alone in her destiny as she thought, neither her family of choice was willing to let her go that easily. But politics in Tamaran can be as complicated as travelling across universes.

————————————–

Part Four – Voyagers

Chapter Twenty-two – I tempted fate and I acted smart

Kory’s fortune was one of extraordinary blessings. Yes, there was pain, so much loss. How many times had her life shifted to something unrecognizable? How many times had she felt alien in the widest and deepest meaning of the word? Still, one could consider fortunate to be born a Princess. To have been loved the way she had, to have loved too, in return, so fiercely. How many other souls had the luck of touching the stars and threaded the grounds of so many different worlds?

However, the blessing to which Kory was most grateful for would never hold a royal title or had the grandiosity of a planet or the might of stars.

Yet, to Kory, nothing in this world or another could ever compare in beauty or value than the baby in her arms.

“How is she today?”

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Princess Koriand’r rose a soft smile to Prince Karras. He was not in his armour today, instead he wore casual courtly robes of large shimmering golden see-through fabric over the inner fitted embroidered top and trousers. Was always easy on the eyes, Prince Karras, with his copper long braids and mischievous almond eyes. There was a youthful aura that he used to carry, with his easy smiles and cracking jokes. It faded a little after his elder brother Harras died in the war, Kory could see little glimpses of it now and then, but mostly her friend was gone, buried under the responsibilities forced upon him and loss that had not time to be truly felt and worked through. Kory did not held this change against him, nor she felt the desire of stop seeing him as a friend even though they changed so much and knew so little about each other that for all practical purposes, they were mere strangers.

“Sleepy, a belly full of milk does the trick.”

“I’m glad that she is faring well…” He said, and even sounded honest, and Kory wanted to believe he was, he had helped her all this time and never once seemed hostile, but if having her by his side gave them both great advantage in this war, the baby complicated a situation that was never simple to begin with. “And the name?”

Kory sighed, and pressed her teeth just a little tighter, she was getting really tired of that conversation. She was grateful to Karras, of course, she even loved him, how could she not? They had grown together in Okaara and been lifelong friends. And if wasn’t for him, X’hal… She didn’t even like to think about it.

“Karras…”

“She needs a name, your highness.”

“It’s not my right,” she said with gritted teeth. This was not about her daughter’s name. Not at all, but a subterfuge to make her name the child and by that cut both of their ties to Earth, to the Titans, to Dick.

“Princess, she is not the first baby to be born without a father to name her.”

“She has a father,” Kory snapped. He didn’t answer, Kory sighed again and walked across the room, putting the baby on her crib and closing the veils around her sleeping form. The veils did not only protect her from the insects but also hid her away. Her daughter, after all, was a secret.

“You can’t possibly hope-“

Kory rubbed her face with her hands in frustration.

“Karras, honestly, what else can I have other than hope?”

“Tamaran, my lady, your crown.”

And it broke her a little at how delusional he sounded saying that with a straight face, even though, before her daughter, they would agree, and she would maybe not wholeheartedly, because her heart still would be in another galaxy, but earnestly their beliefs would be in unity.

“Your crown, you mean?” Kory spat, finding that she couldn’t make herself regret the words uttered despite hating to hurt Karras to whom she owed so much.

Karras’ jaw tensed, but he didn’t lose his composure.

“Let’s not fight… Please? I know you are unhappy, but it doesn’t have to be that way for ever… Word had come from the south, your return brought new life to our people, they are fighting with all their might to win back everything the Citatel stole, because of you.”

“I should be there with them, fighting too,” it was her intention since the moment she took the most difficult decision of her life. At the time, it seemed the right thing to do no matter how it hurt, no matter how ripped her heart apart to hear him begging her to stay… But when Karras’ ship found her trying to breach into the outer defences of Tamaran in the middle of the war, they scanned her over to be certain of her identity and impossible hybrid life growing inside her kept Kory away from any real fight. It had been politics and strategizing since then while her people died, bleed, and where shipped away to be enslaved and experimented on.

“I hope that it won’t come to that.”

“It is my duty.”

“Remaining safe and alive is also your duty.”

Kory tsked and turned around, she could feel Karras confused but unrelenting gaze on her back. She never thought that one of the things she would miss from Earth was their little nonverbal social cues. While most people on Earth would understand that she wanted to be left alone, Karras would only leave if she asked him too, directly. It used to drive her crazy, how people on Earth hated to say what they wanted and took offense easily at the most mundane display of verbal honesty. Now, all she wished for was an understanding silences and meaningful gazes, one meaningful gaze... The comfort of a cup of tea brought by the sweetest boy in the universe when she had never asked but appreciated so much, the tight embrace of her eldest daughter instead of a million questions that she didn’t have the answer for.

“Is that all?”

She could see in Karras’ face that he was frustrated by her and the cool tone didn’t exactly help. X’hal she didn’t want to antagonize him. She was not doing this on purpose, but just looking at him made her angry. And It was not his fault, but…

“No. There’s something else. We are moving,” that picked Kory’s interest, and fear. As if noticing her mother’s distress, the baby fussed and Kory, approached the bassinet, pulling the veil aside, relieved to find her daughter still asleep, Kory put her hand over the baby’s belly, letting her daughter feel her presence and warmth until she calmed down.

“Moving?” asked Kory, urging Karras to pick up from where he had left off.

“Yes. I have the honour to announce that our forces have taken back control of the Palace of Palamar and we intend to make it our new home base.”

Funny how nobody thought of discussing with her about it before making such decision.

“What about Queen Lyndus?”

“Unfortunately those monsters from the Citatel didn’t have the mercy to spare the Dowager Queen,” he took a shaking break and Kory approached him, sliding her hand through his arm in comfort, Karras had been knighted at Queen Lyndus court after Okaara, “General Xoyan’g is yet to report the finding of her remains.”

“So, there’s still hope?”

“No, your highness, there were many witnesses of her assassination…”

“And Princess Myndus?”

“Last we’ve heard of her, she was to be part of Komand’r’s household…”

And Tamarus was still technically under Komand’r’s rule… Of course, Komand’r was dead. But the flock of traitors and few true loyalists of her cause that aided Kory’s sister in her coup still resided in the Planet’s capital. They had helped then Princess Komand’r in killing her own parents, the true Queen and King, declaring them traitors for trying to forge a treaty with the Citatel using Komand’r as ransom. Even now, after their Pretend Queen had followed her parents to the grave by Kory’s hand – X’hal… Their bloodline must be cursed – a fact still held secret by Kory, they still were making the people and the Citatel believe that the throne was occupied by Komand’r.

“When do we move?”

“Tomorrow, first light.”

He didn’t move, that was driving Kory crazy.

“And?”

“Koria…” Kory pressed her eyes shut, he used to call her like that when they were children, and later as they grew in Okaara, and found comfort in each other, “the council and the generals think this reunion of delegations under one of the ancient Palaces is a great opportunity to show a united front and to make official our engagement.”

“Another major decision in which nobody saw fit to include me in making.”

“Your highness-“

“No.”

“Koria-“

“Don’t! Don’t call me that. X’hal…” she sucked a breath in. “I’ve already agreed to the damn engagement, I just don’t understand why those decisions are being taken behind my back? Have I complained about anything Karras? Have I shown anything other than loyalty and unity to our cause?”

“I know, I know… But you left and…”

“And they blame me for everything that happened since.”

Karras didn’t answer. That was very Earthen of him, she thought but didn’t say, he wouldn’t understand. “You too?” She wanted to ask, but feared the answer.

“I’ll be ready,” she finally said. “We both will,” and Kory turned away from him, her feet leading her back to her daughter, seeking her presence, her smell. She was the only thing that made sense in all that mess. “You can go.”

He left with a measure and Kory remained there by the crib.

Karras was right, and that was what hurt the most wasn’t it? She shouldn’t hope.

She lost the right to hope by making wrong decision after wrong decision.

That life she had, that person she were, it was over now, forever.

Dissolved like a shadow blasted by the light of the true life she was destined from birth to have. And all Kory could do was to be grateful for that part of that dream was made flesh in the form of her beautiful daughter.

Her miracle.

And just like her father, her baby did not belong. If Tamaran couldn’t accept a defective princess, there was no delusions to Kory that her hybrid offspring would be offered more grace or kindness than her full blooded Tamaranean Royalty late aunt.

Not her daughter, who didn’t have the privilege of a name.

Still…

In those first months of her return, locked away in the hideout commanded by Karras’ delegation, Tamaran felt alien like never before. It’s thick tropical forests that used to embrace Kory as a girl, to were she ran to play with the psychic animals and sentient trees, way from the eyes of her household members and various teachers, now seem to swallow. Not that she was free to roam as she wished, of course not, it was not safe, they were at war, Karras reminded her often. Spies were everywhere.

Going back meant losing her freedom, she knew, she always knew, but it still scared her how fast her autonomy was curtailed. It made Kory see how fragile that freedom had been. And when her belly began to grow, she had to hide even from those protecting her, not unlike a princess in an Earthen fairy tale, she had been moved to a tower, a construction made of actual cave stone, a keep long abandoned by the only body of water large enough to be considered an ocean in the far East.

How many nights, with only the Tamaranean twin moons as company and witness, Kory held her growing baby bump, wondering what if she made things different. She caught herself regretting Komand’r’s death, not out of selfishness or self-pity, but because, now, better than she had ever while her sister was alive, Kory understood Komand’r. But she also understood that her sister would never prosper as queen. If not for her defective sickly condition, for her choice of attachment to an alien, and, of course, because a whole life of rejection and suffering had fractured her mind. Even after finding love, even after the crown was in her head and her biggest tormentors were dead she still couldn’t find peace.

Still, Kory could have found a way. A way in which her sister lived, Tamaran was safe, and the child growing inside of her wouldn’t be condemned to the same alienation and loneliness she felt right now, her sister felt before her. Her baby should not pay for the errors of her mother, nor her grandparents’.

But now it was too late for Komand’r, too late for Kory herself. Her daughter on other hand, still had a chance.

She had a family on Earth, even if they didn’t know yet. She had a father whose super-power was embracing children in need of guidance, that would never reject their daughter despite of any rightful resentment he might have of her mother, that would love their daughter, she had no doubt in her heart. On Earth, her daughter had waiting a big sister who loved to fiercely that worlds bended and ripped to help her reunite with those she cared about. And a big brother who was the most courageous and sweet soul and that, Kory was sure, once he knew of the baby’s existence he would become her favourite person in the entire universe.

A family rightfully hers, no matter if her mother had lost the privilege of belonging with them and was bound to duty elsewhere. And, if Kory played her cards right, her daughter would have almost everything that was rightfully hers. Family, freedom and love. She just wouldn’t have a mother.

Kory’s heart would just have to be a little bit stronger to do what was right.

---------------------

Hello, I’m back. I’m sorry for taking so long. Can you believe if I tell you that life happens a lot and never stops? Because it does.

Also, as I learnt about Tamaran a little more I had to change the script, I just had, it didn’t feel right before what I had planned. Even though I’m not promising a Tamaran canon compliant in any faithful way. This story, although not an AU in my understanding as a fandom dinosaur, it is a ‘What If’ and that gives me freedom to bend and twist canon as long as the characters and world setting remain plausible with the canon, whatever canon means.

Karras changed a lot, and I didn’t plan to add Mar’i initially either. But I’ll also keep a lot of what I have planned, I’m excited to show you some of my favourite ideas planning this fic soon. But it’s nice that not everything is as it was planned because, remember, I’m telling this story to myself too and if I do know everything that will happen, what’s in it for me?

So, tell me what you think, remember that comments keep me motivated to write instead of doing literally anything else in my small free time.

See ya.

#DickKory #Dick Grayson #Koriand'r #Nightwing #Starfire #Kory Anders #Richard Grayson #WW #Wandering Worlds #my fic #yep the graphics are back

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squidhominid · 1 year

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Deltarune thread: One More Final

So, a year and a half later, I've done it. I figured it out.

My Ralsei posts from October 2021, right after Chapter 2 came out, they gave METANARRATIVE threads as to Ralsei's actions. But not STORY-LEVEL MOTIVATION. The HOW, not the WHY.

I think I've cracked it.

Before we get started, if you haven't seen or don't remember my past Deltarune posts, here's a refresher: Part 1 Part 2

It all goes back to the theory that's been bouncing around the fandom for ages now, that Ralsei is the horned headband Kris had as a child.

For the sake of brevity, this video will take the place of an explanation. It's about a minute long

My realization is, this theory gives Ralsei CLEAR MOTIVATION for wanting to create an omni-narrative like I speculate about in these posts. That being that Ralsei, as the horn headband, is a literal manifestation of Kris' desire for wish fulfillment.

Ralsei, then, is acting in a way that he thinks satisfies Kris' desires. Kris demonstrably is the less-loved and less successful child. Asriel's side of the room is far more decorated, he's much more loved by his family and by the town as a whole. He is the model citizen.

Ralsei, then, by instigating the narrative of Deltarune, by having secret talks with Kris, who is then going on to create yet more dark fountains, may be acting in Kris' believed interest. Creating the framework for Kris to experience something fulfilling and interesting.

However, Kris seems offput by Ralsei. If we assume Ralsei is the headband this makes sense. Ralsei appears as the Kris Kris wishes they were. A boss monster, like their family. Like Asriel, their brother, the perfect child to their parents, who is everything they are not.

Even if we take Ralsei at face value and assume he is not behind the dark fountains, throw my theory out the window, the fact you are combining all the Dark Worlds into Your Castle Town, that Ralsei is bringing Kris on this adventure, is a sort of wish fulfillment.

No matter how we analyze this, either Ralsei and Kris are complicit, or their ends seem to run parallel to each other, even if on the surface their motives seem to be contradictory. And no matter how you slice it… This drives the point home, that Ralsei, and Your Castle Town, are representative of fans engaging with fiction. What is fanfiction, what is death of the author, what are collaborative canons like the SCP Foundation, D&D, Star Trek, Star Wars… If not ultimate wish fulfillment?

And so it all comes together. Whether Ralsei is complicit with opening the fountains, whether Ralsei and Kris are complicit or working together, both opening the fountains and building up Your Castle Town are narrative parallels to how fans interact with stories.

This even allows my theories to function free of the need for Ralsei to be dishonest. He can still be trying to fulfill his role in the prophecy, he can still be working towards sealing the fountains, as part of the narrative. Everyone playing their role.

Ultimately this fits with the themes we've seen so far beautifully. The player is not the protagonist, the player is an intrusive force in the world. But then, there is still the story. There are still forces beyond our knowledge or control. Gaster, Ralsei, the Knight.

As Toby said, there is only one ending. But there's something more important than reaching the end. The story would occur in the context of the world, with or without us. The forces inciting the narrative exist either way. We are interlopers, but also only participants.

So then, what is Ralsei? That's a question I think unanswerable until further chapters are out (this year, I hope?). But, these Tumblr posts have indicated some narrative threads left for us to pull at. And, well.

THIS NEXT EXPERIMENT SEEMS VERY VERY INTERESTING

I'll see you all again when Chapters 3, 4, and 5 are out. :)

#deltarune #deltarune spoilers #ralsei #kris dreemurr #gaster #rambling #long post

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percentstardust · 1 year

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hey aemond, have you ever thought about the fact that you and your half sister got with half siblings too? She just made Strong bastards, and Alys is one

"No, why would I think about Rhaenyra? She is the furtherest thing on my mind when I think about my beloved Lady Alys. RIP to Rhaenyra, but I'm different."

#& sunglasses emoji ( anon )#& answered ask ( aemond targaryen )#& go see a star war ( crack thread )#rhaenyra: WHY AM I IN IT #not serious rn ONLY CRACK

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neversith · 2 years

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@suchbrokenstars replied: "I didn't agree to this!"

"Too bad. Show up or you're a coward."

#suchbrokenstars #replies #who my ani should really bully is cyborg evil ani #someone point him towards a darth wheezy to bully #& go see a star war ( crack thread )#into the anakinverse

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reapcrbunny · 1 year

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DAHLIA AND SCARS

hello it is time for a masterpost of this gal's scars which, at this point, are rather extensive after all the trauma her body has gone through.

SCARS FROM A REALM REBORN. her scars from arr are an energy / fire blast scar she received from midgardsormr in the cs's post the keeper of the lake when he flavour blasted her into next week and took away her gift of light for a time. formerly her hands were burned during the praetorium when lahabrea flavour blasted her with that big ol attack of his with the revamped solo duty fight we get.

SCARS FROM HEAVENSWARD. haurchefant died. emotional scarring.

SCARS FROM STORMBLOOD. her scars from stormblood mostly come from the various fights she undergoes with zenos, the main one from the cutscenes following ghimlyt dark. the attack that ultimately takes her out of the fight ends up slicing through her WAR armour from her clavicle down to her navel which ultimately left her bleeding out with only the remains of her armour holding her guts in. the scar itself healed rather poorly due to her running around because trouble on the star never slept even when she needed it. she also picked at it because she has anxiety and she picks. at her scars. she sports other scars that she gained from their fights throughout, though none as bad as that one.

SCARS FROM SHADOWBRINGERS. cracks knuckles, here we go hoss. so basically throughout the expansion, from the moment she consumes the light her skin begins to crack. it isn't a big deal at first, at least to her, but the more she takes the bigger the cracks get and the more they spread. they begun at the small of her back and spread akin to a virus over the rest of her ; up and down her back to to her shoulders and back of her neck. the scars at first are a glowing white only to change to gold once the light has been expelled in full ( even though her troubles aren't over ). while not a scar, her eyes turned from emerald green to icy blue. her fight with elidibus leaves her, for a short time, with chain mark bruising around her arms where she was held in place when yeeted into the space between worlds before emet clicked her back to the fight.

SCARS FROM ENDWALKER. besties she's emotionally spent throughout lmfao, she's ( gordon ramsey vc ) RAW. but physically ? the fight with zenos wrecked her significantly as she returns to the ragnarök alive by a thread but broken with nyx'ael covering her like a sheet with their wings. seeing her reveals a sorry state that takes months to heal and tataru gifts the island to her for recovery over anything else. bloodied hands / claws, scars reopened and torn with fur from her ears missing in places - neck sliced through where had it been any closer to her throat she would have been unsavable as the damage would have been too extensive. for awhile after she has trouble walking as everything hurts, using her scythe as a support or allowing fray or nyx'ael to shoulder the pain she would feel so that she could even move to do things for herself. she suffers from chronic pain even worse than she had it after shadowbringers which is ongoing into 6.3

#endwalker spoilers tw #injuries tw #body horror tw #{ kind of ?? }#{ ask to tag further <3 !! }#( HEADCANONS )ㅤ ㅤ ( ㅤ 🐇ㅤ )ㅤ ㅤ — ㅤ JUST VIERA THINGS.#OUT OF CHARACTER ㅤ ㅤ ( ㅤ 🐇ㅤ ) ㅤ ㅤ — ㅤ ㅤ clown honks at the dash. its milays

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the-rovarians · 1 year

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Fare Thee Well

//final thread for @redemptionofthefallen

Draco could recall very few times he had ever seen-or rather, heard, as she couldn't actually do it, but she still made the sounds-her cry. Really truly cry. But this one was the worst for him. Because he was the reason she was doing it. He was the reason she was breaking down, her usual strength failing her. And for once, she wasn't even trying to fight it. Before, she'd put on a brave face and saved her breakdowns for later, when it was just her and him.

But not this time. This time, she couldn't wait until later, or until it was just the two of them. There wouldn't be a 'later'. Not now or ever again.

Because by the time 'later' came, he would be gone. Dead.

She'd known this was how it would go. They both had. They had always known she would outlive him by far. It was to be expected, with her being a creature of metal and struts as opposed to flesh and bone. She had made the effort, though. So had Aries, who, though still very young for his species, was physically and technically an adult and was now a technology scientist and technology engineer. He was also Lily's best friend.

Draco and Lily had spent the vast majority of their lives on Mars or on other worlds, or on starships voyaging across the galaxy. It was like a rebirth for both of them once they left Earth behind, becoming official, legal Rovarian citizens, meaning an attack on them by anyone from Earth could be treated as a war crime. A new life on a new world, filled with people who were welcoming and accepting of them, and of course a family in the twins. Draco had accompanied Spirit on many adventures, even charged into battles with her and fought at the great warrior's side. He'd gone through ACTUAL training with the Rovarian warriors, and in doing so had earned the custom made suit of Rovarian armor (which Spirit herself had insisted on making and dressing him in at the ceremony where he received it) that marked the completion of his training and his new place as a Rovarian warrior, and he had worn it in many of their battles.

Lily had thrived in their schools, also completing training like Draco had, and joining the Rovarian Star Fleet. Captain Mutou upheld his promise and had a post aboard the Meronym waiting for her. This meant they weren't always together, but everyone stayed in touch, and the distance was worth it to see his pup well on her way to accomplishing her dream. It didn't take her long to rise through the ranks, and soon Lily was promoted and fitted with three separate gold bands around each upper arm with the Command symbol on them, marking her as a Captain, and placed in command of the science and medical vessel Lupus. Spirit had remarked to Draco how fitting it was that the ship named for the wolf constellation (completed before her promotion was confirmed) was now under the command of the wolf girl.

Lupus was now docked in the ground-based Meridiani Shipyards, her crew on shore leave while her captain went with her family to the place where Draco would pass on. She stood on one side of Spirit now, one hand on the Rovarian's shoulder, the other holding one of Draco's.

On Spirit's other side was her brother Opportunity, an arm around his sister, always there for her, and now wishing he could ease the pain he knew she was feeling. But he was feeling it too. That sort of cracking and breaking inside, and he knew his sister felt it much worse than he did.

Spirit was lowered to the ground, not trusting her trembling axles to hold her up. She wanted to say something but she didn't know what. Draco liked telling her she always knew what to say, and many times it turned out she did. But this time, her words were failing her. But she had to say something, dammit. She couldn't let him go with nothing.

"M'sorry." she choked out, "I don't have some big speech or anything......hurting too much to think of one. But......you did it Draco. You have proved everything people on Earth said about you wrong. You are an amazing and brave warrior. It's been such an honor to know you. To love you. And to be loved by you. You're an amazing person, and i.....I was so lucky to meet you. I....I wish I had more time......But even if I could get it, it would never be enough. I'd always want more time with you. So.....instead, I'll be thankful for the time I got. I love you, Draco. So much." There was something else she wanted him to hear also.

"And I'm sure......when you meet her again, because you're about to........I never knew her, but from what you've told me, I know for sure she's going to be so proud of you. She's going to be so happy for you, for all that you've done."

"We certainly are." Opportunity said, "You brought my sister so much happiness and joy, and in doing so, you brought me joy for her. You've been like a brother to me, and it's been an honor to have you as one of our people."

The place they had picked was the place Spirit showed him on the Artax's simdeck so long ago. She'd taken him to the real place as promised and he'd loved it as much as she had. They had considered taking him to the Whitsunday Islands, his favorite place on Earth for his passing, but he'd said no. Too many bad memories on that planet. So instead, he'd chosen Jadis Two, the subterranean bioluminescent world Spirit loved. They were now on the beach there, the jungle alight, as was the incredible world beneath the sea. He wanted to explore this amazing place one more time with her. His force field bracelets she'd made him were already on his arms, and Lily had a pair of her own.

When he said he was ready for their final trip, Spirit lifted him in her arms, held him close to her, and activated his bracelets. Flanked by Lily and Opportunity, she then rose up on her axles and drove into the warm clear water, then dove beneath the surface. Held against her like this, he could really feel how powerful a swimmer she was. Deceptively graceful in her movements as they traveled the vast undersea world again. Just as they had that day on the simdeck.

On their first visit to the actual Jadis Two, she had added to the experience, and they used that addition again now. A special device worn on her back activated as they rose from the water again. A pair of huge, lighted wings spread from each of them's back. But Spirit's were the most impressive. She'd had their appearance designed as a surprise for him the first time they did this. While Lilly and Opportunity had their own designs, Spirit's were great fiery red and orange wings. Two long, ribbonlike tails extended behind her. And the lights of Jadis Two's nature reflecting off her armor gave her the look of being on fire.

Like what he always called her, she had been transformed into a blazing phoenix. This, she had decided, would be his last image of her. In what they'd often joked was her true form. He would pass in the sky, flying in the arms of his mighty Phoenix Queen.

#yep cried here too.#muse: spirit

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cantillat-moved · 2 years

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@lunaetis ✔ [ since we already know it with rin & tifa, let's go for rima for van helsing & misaya for arthur ? ]

Sᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ✔ ᴀɴᴅ I ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴏʟᴅ ᴍʏ ᴘʀᴇғᴇʀᴇɴᴄᴇs ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴍᴜsᴇ!

Do I know your muse(s): yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

I admit I’m unfamiliar with vampire knight, but despite Van Helsing being a vampire hunter in most verses it is more complicated as it first seems. It really depends on Rima’s behavior in general, Van knows things aren’t black and white or even shades of gray -- sometimes they just are. I recall we were doing some light plotting but never got around to do anything or even talk about starters.

Do I know your muse(s): yes | no | a little | tell me about your muse

Pre-established relationships? yes | no | depends on the relationship

It depends if it is the Grail War or maybe something post. Arthur is the type of person who knows that Misaya did what needed to be done at the time and holds no ill feelings for anything she had done in the past. If they meet later in neutral grounds, he will surely be willing to get to see how their relationship evolves. I actually need to get to that starter you wrote me

HEY HIT ME UP OR I WILL SEND YOU CUTE OR ANGSTY FANART! This is a threat promise. But seriously. Feel free to IM me, even if it is just to gush over or do some planning/threading.

#. meme reply #lunaetis

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tseneipgam · 2 days

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"Close-ups of nail art, a pebble from outer space, a tarantulas compound eyes, a storm like canned peaches on the surface of Jupiter, Van Gogh's The Potato Eaters, a chihuahua perched on a man's erection, a garage door spray-painted with the words STOP! DON'T EMAIL MY WIFE! Why did the portal feel so private, when you only entered it when you needed to be everywhere? She felt along the solid green marble of the day for the hairline crack that might let her out. This could not be forced."

"Where had the old tyranny gone, the tyranny of husband over wife? She suspected most of it had been channeled into weird ideas about supplements, whether or not vinyl sounded "warmer," and which coffeemakers were nothing but a shit in the mouth of the coffee christ. "A hundred years ago you would have been mining coal and had fourteen children all named Jane,"'she often marveled, as she watched a man stab a finger at his wife in front of the Keurig display. "Two hundred years ago, you might have been in a coffee shop in Göttingen, shak- ing the daily paper, hashing out the questions of the day--and I would be shaking out sheets from the windows, not know- ing how to read." But didn't tyranny always feel like the hand of the way things were?"

"It was a mistake to believe that other people were not living as deeply as you were. Besides, you were not even living that deeply. The amount of eavesdropping that was going on was enor- mous, and the implications not yet known. Other people's diaries streamed around her. Should she be listening, for in- stance, to the conversations of teenagers? Should she follow with such avidity the compliments that rural sheriffs paid to porn stars, not realizing that other people could see them? What about the thread of women all realizing they had the exact same scar on their knee? "I have that scar too!" "

"A person might join a site to look at pictures of her nephew and five years later believe in a flat earth."

"As she began to type, "Enormous fatberg made of grease, wet wipes, and condoms is terrorizing London's sewers, " her hands began to waver in their outlines and she had to rock the crown of her head against the cool wall, back and forth, back and forth. What, in place of these sentences, marched in the brains of previous generations? Folk rhymes about planting turnips, she guessed."

"Every time she passed the model train store she clenched her fists and said, "You did this…" And it was true, it was tris life as we knew it was coming to an end because 160 years ag% of whatever, some old weirdo who was obsessed with trains had to invent trains because trains didn't exist yet. Choo-choo, motherfucker, are you happy now?"

"The only thing that bound us together was this belief: that in every other country they eat unspeakable food; worship gods more see-through than glass; string together only the most meaningless syllables, like g00-g00-g00-goo-goo-goo-goo; are war- like but not noble; do not help the dead cross in the proper boats; do not send the correct incense up to the wide blue nos- trils; crawl with whatever crawls; do not love their children, not the way we do; bare the most tempting body parts and cover the most mundane; cup their penises to protect them from supernatural forces; their poetry is piss; they do not respect the moon; slice the little faces of our familiars into the stewpot."

"The Cairns must be holy, she thought when she visited, for the air around her was doubled, tripled, with remixed and humming life. Old robes and old bones swished past her on their way to cookfires, a mist of eyes looked up to mark the place of the sun in the sky, and the ruddy cows on the oppo- site hillside spoke to each other in words that were almost comprehensible: life, death, Im spilling over, green grass. They said all you needed to be remembered was one small stone piled on another, and wasn't that what we were doing in the portal, small stone on small stone on small stone?"

"On the Isle of Skye, she and her husband ate langoustines at a restaurant overlooking a long gray ridge of rock with a light- house at the tip of it, and laughed at the herds of tourists who insisted on visiting lighthouses wherever they went. "Some things!" her husband whispered. "Are the same! No matter where you go!" But later, taking an afternoon out of the portal to read Virginia Woolf, she realized that that must have been it, the lighthouse the family sails to on the final page. Was that the final page? Or did the book end with herself and her hus- band, cracking the red backs of little sweet creatures, cutouts of each other and all the same, and laughing at the people who moved in one wave, the family who went to the Lighthouse?"

"Your attention is holy," she told the class, as her phone buzzed uncontrollably in her back pocket, for a long-ago joke she had made about a Florida politician "who nearly died during elective taint-lengthening surgery' was receiving renewed at- tention that morning. "It is the soul spending itself,"

"Context collapse! That sounded pretty bad, didn't it? And also like the thing that was happening to the honeybees?"

"CIA Confirms "Charlie Bit My Finger" Was on One of Osama bin Laden's Computers Also a file called assss.jpeg."

"We were being radicalized, and how did that feel? Like we had just stepped into a Girl Scout uniform made of fire. Like the skies had abruptly shifted to the stripes of an old Soviet poster, and the cookies we carried through green and well-watered neighborhoods had been cut by the guillotine. We were being radicalized, yes, even though we owned personalized goblets that said Wine O'Clock, even though we still read the Old Gray Lady every morning with not nearly enough of a sneer on our faces! SHOOT IT IN MY VEINS, we said, whenever the head- line was too perfect, the juxtaposition too good to be true. SHOOT IT IN MY VEINS, we said, when the Flat Earth Society announced it had members all over the globe."

"The portal's favorite stories, now, were about interracial friends who met playing online Scrabble and eventually invited each other to Thanksgiving dinner. One of them must be very old, old enough to have been on the wrong side of the civil rights movement, and one of them must be very young, young enough that their face was like a fresh lightbulb. They must encounter each other's traditional dishes with an equal amount of surprise and familiarity, they must take pictures of them- selves sitting down at the feather-flocked table, and, most im- portant, they must do it again next year. We reveled in these stories, which were not untrue. But there was some untruth in the degree to which they comforted us."

"Modern womanhood was more about rubbing snail mucus on your face than she had thought it would be. But it had always been something, hadn't it? Taking drops of arsenic. Winding bandages around the feet. Polishing your teeth with lead. It was so easy to believe you freely chose the paints, polishes, and waist-trainers of your own time, while looking back with tre- mendous pity to women of the past in their whalebones; that you took the longest strides your body was capable of, while women of the past limped forward on broken arches."

"Our enemies! ... Had they made us weak with intermittent fasting? Had they wasted our evenings with the detective show that no one could understand? Had they done this to make American novels bad for a time? Were they distracting our anarchists with polyamory and meal replacement drinks, so nothing could get done? Had they bloated us with homebrew? Had they made Christianity viable again? Had they brought back snap-crotch bodysuits?"

"What do you mean you've been spying on me? she thought- hot, blind, unreasoning, on the toilet. What do you mean you've been spying on me, with this thing in my hand that is an eye? How were we supposed to write now that we could no longer compare anything to a phantom limb? Was the phrase "the Braille of her nipples" to be absolutely retired? Were we just never to say that someone "inclined her head like a geisha" ever again? Could we not call the weather bipolar without risking the prison of public opinion? Not imply that bird- watchers are autistic? Could we not say the crescent moon was "as slender as a poor person"? Not say the sun "crashed inevi- tably into the mountains like a woman driver"? Take all shades and strengths of coffee away, if we could no longer hold it up to people's faces!"

and the only way it was possible to comfort herself anymore was to stand in front of the mirror and say out loud, "Cows don't know about him."

"MY SAFE! she found herself screaming two days later, kneeling below her husband's work window with a needle standing in every pore, a pair of balled-up panties stuck to one leg and clutching to her chest what appeared to be a dictio- nary. "GET DOWN HERE AND OPEN MY SAFE!" She had tried every number that she could think of-_the sex num- ber, the antichrist number, the twin towers number-_but he grimly took the safe from her and freed it with 1-2-3-4. "Oh," she said, slumping with relief, her body unlocking as soon as the phone was in her hand, "that's good, that's funny. Like learning to count. Like Sesame Street." That night the safe went in the back of the closet, where the words NEW EN- GLISH could not wink at her any longer, and they never spoke of it again, and that was love, that was what love was now."

"Self-care, she thought, and sprinkled in her tub a large quan- tity of an essential oil that smelled like a Siberian forest. But when she lowered herself into the trembling water, what she would have referred to in the portal as her b'ole began to burn with such a white-hot medieval fire that she stood straight up in the bath and shouted the name of a big naked god she no longer believed in, and as strong rivers flowed off her in every direction she did not remember the conditions of the modern moment at all, she was unaware of anything ex- cept the specific address of her own body, which meant either that the hot bath had worked to restore her to herself, or else that she would have sold out her neighbors to the regime in an instant, one or the other."

"and tell him to go suck a poison pussy, sweetie Was it entirely his fault? Lately it seemed every man on the planet was about to burst from a supplement sold to him by another man with exactly the same set of opinions. "Mom, I want you to check Dad's medicine cabinet," she said one day during her weekly call. "Check and make sure he's not secretly taking some supplement with a bullshit name like Destroy Her with Logic 5000 + Niacin."

"It's nonsense!" a man hollered at her, rising unsteadily on his cane. He had read about the event in the physical newspaper. He signed every one of his texts, Love, Grandpa. "It's not nonsense! It's folk art!" she hollered back. Like those early American women who painted kids with enormous fore- heads, either because they didn't know how to paint regular foreheads or because it was a stylistic choice!

"Our politicians had never been so authentic, so linked arm in arm with the common people. "My favorite meat is hot dog, by the way," one told us. "That is my favorite meat. My second favorite meat is hamburger. And, everyone says, oh, don't you prefer steak? It's like, I know steaks are great, but I like hot dog best, and I like hamburger next best." And we shivered with recognition, and a vague vote grew solid in our hands, for we too liked hot dog best, and hamburger next best. We were the common people, on whom it all rested, and we lived in diners, and we went to church at the gas station, and our mother was a dirty mattress in the front yard, and we liked, God dammit, hot dog best."

"Her cousin, born the odd year before her, was autistic, at a time when they still blamed refrigerator mothers. Before he got too strong and was sent away, her aunt had built for him in the basement of her mansion a miniature kitchen. It was thought, somehow, that this bright and well-ordered corner of verisimil- itude would help him break into real life. Little T-bones, shaped like South America, dewy ears of corn, false cans with actual labels. But he cared nothing for this, he cared only for music, he slapped his temples to the pulse, and as he grew taller and turned the beat louder and louder it became clear they had it all backward: real life was in him, trying to burst the miniatur- ization of the body, little T-bones, dewy ears."

"A certain look used to come over her aunt's face as she crossed and held her son's wrists behind his back, in that imitation kitchen full of imitation food. It made her wonder if she ought to have children, for anything could happen, and you didnt know if you were up to it, how could you know if you were up to it? But she thought just as often of a little girl with pigrails who came running down the aisle of a plane toward her once, and patted her all over her arms and legs as she passed, and it was like a rain of soft blue bruiseless plums. She felt the surprise of it long after the girl was gone, and as she contemplatively sipped vodka from a shampoo bottle in the bathroom, a bloom came suddenly all over her skin: maybe she was up to it, after all."

"Her wish for the next generation was for them to be spared an age when numbers got sick- swarmed, clumped together, went plummeting off cliffs-_and the numbers were human beings. But could what they had started be stopped? "

"because when a dog runs to you and nudges against your hand for love and you say automatically, I know, I know, what else are you talking about except the world?"

"The theme they had chosen was swans, serene and graceful, though the only swan she had ever per- sonally met had stared her down outside the Kafka Museum in Prague and then attacked. It had chased her all the way down to the water, its half-a-heart neck stretched out in a scream, but of course, she had understood later, its nest must have been somewhere near."

"She held the little hand and waited for its wilted pink squeeze, like the handshake of a lily. She stroked the heaving back--how hard it was, to haul the body through even a single day- and traced the new brown down on the baby's forehead. She leaned over the child and said something; she said, 'It is going to be just like your mother."

#book

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