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separatist-apologist · 7 months

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How The Mighty Fall

Summary: In the centuries after the war, a treaty demands humans are compensated for the horrors wrought on them by their Fae overlords. A maiden is chosen from a village, her family cared for, in exchange for immortality.

Or so the stories go.

But beneath the pretty promises and the lush, magical world of Prythian, something is rotting. Elain Archeron has found herself swept up in the mystery, racing against the clock and a ritual that promises to end her human life for something better. What happens on Fire Night?

And where are all the missing women?

Read On AO3

Thank you @velidewrites for the moodboard and @highladydawn for betaing this for me back in 2021.

Choosing Day was always a big deal in the village. Elain helped her sisters with their hair, having bathed in frigid water the night before. Their dresses—unchanged for the last five years, were laid neatly atop the bed they shared. Elain helped Feyre and Nesta helped Elain just so Elain and Feyre could work the complicated laces and buttons on Nesta’s own dress.

Choosing Day was practically a holiday for the villagers. One woman was picked each year to accompany the High Lord and though the Lords did not speak to the humans any longer, the story was told that the treaty erected between humans and Fae demanded the High Lords be allowed to change one human to Faerie in exchange for peace. He didn’t always come to their village of Wol, just one of many that dotted the stretch of land between the Fae and human territories, and there was no way to know if this year he would, either.

It was why there was so much excitement. The families of those who were chosen were sent wealth far beyond anyone’s expectations and that was what motivated Nesta, Elain, and Feyre to get dressed and go out. Their father was badly injured with a leg that kept him from working. They were always on the brink of starvation, always worried about money and food. If one of them were picked, they’d never have to worry again.

He was lovely and unchanged. In the fifteen years of memories she had of him, the blonde High Lord looked exactly as he always had. A young man, perhaps no older than twenty-five, stepped from the woods in his fine green tunic. She didn’t find him particularly attractive but it hardly mattered when the end result was still the same. Besides, she reflected. She could always fake attraction if that was what was required. He wasn’t tragically ugly…but there was a hardness about him that Elain did not prefer.

He paused in front of her and her sisters, reaching for a strand of Feyre’s golden brown hair. She watched, fascinated, while he inhaled the air. and she wondered what he smelled. His eyes drifted towards her and that was how she knew it would be her. Something sparked in his gaze even as his nostrils flared. Elain was grateful she’d bathed.

Beside her, Nesta stiffened as if she’d protest but there was no point to it. He could kill them all if he wanted, judging by the baldric of knives across chest. They’d decided, five years before, that they’d continue to try and hope the High Lord chose one of them in an effort to lift the rest of the sisters out of poverty. Elain was grateful to be picked at all—there were more than a few beautiful women in the village that might catch his eye.

“You,” he murmured, offering her a broad, calloused hand. Elain couldn’t help the tremor in her own, nervous when he lowered his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. “Do you require a moment to say your goodbyes?”

She nodded, grateful when he released her. Heart pounding, Elain swiveled in the tight, lilac dress she wore to race into the house. Her father sat on his familiar stool by the fireplace, an unfinished wooden carving in his lap. Feyre and Nesta were just behind Elain, hugging her first. They’d always had an uncomfortable relationship but this was done because Elain loved them and knew they would trade places if the Fae Lord demanded it.

“Write us,” Nesta urged, face buried in Elain’s shoulder. “Just so we know you’re safe.”

“Find us, afterwards,” Feyre added, squeezing Elain from behind. “Swear it.”

“I swear,” Elain told Feyre. “We’ll be together again.”

“Elain’s been chosen?” their father asked and a zap of frustration arced through Elain’s stomach. She swallowed it, swallowed her anger like she always had and nodded instead. She went to him, kneeling at his side. “This is a good thing.”

He shook his head. “Fifty years that Lord has been taking girls. He pays their families…but not one ever returns.”

“Oh shush!” Nesta snapped. “Returned to what? Besides, plenty of families move. How do you know they never reunited?”

“Tell him no,” her father urged, caressing her cheek. Elain shook her head no.

“This is a good thing, papa. There will be no more hungry nights after this.”

“At what cost?” he lamented mournfully. “This isn’t what your mother hoped for you…for any of you.”

“We’ll never know what mother would have wanted,” Feyre said with uncharacteristic bite. “Tell Elain goodbye, Papa.”

He pressed a warbling kiss to her cheek. “Parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children.”

Elain smiled. “And they won’t. You’ll see papa. I’ll be back.”

He didn’t attempt to get up and follow which disappointed Elain. Instead, it was Feyre and Nesta who acted as her parents, standing guard while the High Lord waited. He stood without moving, without fidgeting at all and the lack of motion set the fine hair on the back of her neck on edge, though brushed it off and accepted his hand after hugging her sisters one last time. All eyes were on her, envious for the most part though she caught more than one father watching with relief that his daughter had been spared this year. She watched, using her free hand to hold the hem of her dress so she wouldn’t drag the mud that coated the wide, uneven streets. The houses all seemed the same to her, tiny wooden cottages that had weathered one too many storms.

If the poverty bothered the Fae Lord, he gave no indication of it. Perhaps he’d grown used to such things or maybe he was so far above it he just didn’t care. She tried to focus on keeping her steps balanced and elegant, but more than once, Elain stumbled over a loose stone or a clod of dirt.

He marched her into the forested tree line where the wall was held and, absently, she wondered if he intended to walk the whole way. There was no horse that might indicate any other mode of transportation. Elain screamed when, without warning of any kind, swirling darkness gobbled her up. The pressure squeezed at her ribs, stealing the air from her lungs. Mistake! Her brain cried with panic. She felt clawed hands around her waist, felt the warmth of another body too close to her own. For one horrible moment, she was certain she was about to die—to be eaten, or worse.

She relaxed when the darkness ebbed, revealing cool, rose scented air and rolling green hills of lush, swaying grass. She stood on evenly cut gravel rock that led into a sprawling marble estate. Elain blinked, her fear ebbing to awe as she took in the true majesty of this man’s home. Crawling ivy crept up the east side, snaking up carved pillars towards a glittering white roof. Balconies jutted from the sides, overlooking an expansive garden that only magic could have made possible.

“Welcome home,” the Lord murmured softly, his tone satisfied by her awed reaction. “Let me give you a tour.”

“I’ll be living here?” she asked breathlessly, following behind him. He nodded, his shoulder length blonde hair falling into his handsome face.

“For the next six months, my home is your home.”

“Is that how long before you turn me?” she questioned, swallowing nervously. He glanced down at her, lips twitching as if her fear amused him.

“Yes. Calanmai is the name of the ritual, but you needn’t worry yourself with that.”

“And…and my family?” she questioned, stepping onto a vast, black and white checkered marble floor. He set his hand on her shoulder.

“I will ensure your family is well cared for.”

Elain beamed, exhaling with relief. He dropped his hand to her elbow, guiding her through the house. Elain noticed the servants kept their eyes firmly on the floor and said nothing at all save for one small child, perhaps no older than five. She smiled, disappointed when the little, pink cheeked cherub vanished into her mother’s skirts. It was the Lord, Elain decided. He made them nervous, likely didn’t venture into their designated areas often enough. He took her to the dining room, to the ballroom, and a drawing room, all beautifully crafted of marble and wood. Huge windows allowed glittering shafts of sunlight into the room, making everything seem warmer and brighter.

A winding set of stairs took Elain up to a library so grand she nearly wept at the sight of it. Nesta would have loved it, she thought privately, though she offered the Faerie nothing but a polite murmuring of thank you. He seemed to realize it meant something to her and offered her a bedroom just the hall over.

“It’s empty over here…none of my court prefers this wing so you will have it yourself,” he informed her. Elain nodded. He knew the room was larger than the cottage she’d grown up in and she thought if she thanked him again, he might snap at her.

“What’s your name?” she asked instead, her feet snug against a round, white rug.

“Tamlin,” he told her, bowing at the waist. “Consider me at your disposal.”

She very much doubted that. Surely he was too busy to worry himself with her, though Elain also had no intention of bothering him. Six months would pass quickly and she was adept at keeping herself busy.

“Alis will take your measurements for some new clothing but for now…the estate is yours and you may roam as you wish. I only ask you for one thing in return.”

She looked over at him, dragging her eyes from the double doors that led to her own private balcony. “Yes, lord?”

“You don’t wander off the grounds. There are sentries posted at the edge of my estate to let you know if you’ve gone too far.”

She opened her mouth to ask what lay beyond his estate, but decided it wasn’t worth starting a potential argument. His generosity overwhelmed her and the request was small.

“Of course.”

He smiled then and she thought perhaps she’d been hasty in thinking he wasn’t handsome enough for her. There was something disarming about him despite the coldness that seemed to lurk in his eyes. Perhaps he was uncomfortable with the treaty or was just awkward in general.

“My emissary will see to anything else you might require,” he added absently, turning his back to her before closing the door and leaving alone Elain in the room. She giggled, flopping atop the four poster bed draped in breezy, lush curtains and covered in a pretty floral and cream bedding. The walls were trimmed in soft gold and green and when she managed to drag herself off the mountain of pillows, she found a bathroom with taps that pulled hot water directly into the basin.

Elain bathed in scalding hot water for the first time in her life.

She was nearly finished when the Alis strode in. She was pretty in that Faerie way, her dark haired braided around a round, sweet face. She didn’t need to introduce herself as she grabbed a towel from the nearby closet and held it open.

“Come on now,” she said crisply, not bothering to avert her gaze as Elain stepped out. “You’re a thin little thing, aren’t you?”

“I uh…” Elain wasn’t sure how best to respond to that. Alis clicked her tongue.

“We’ll fix that right up. Sit,” she added, shoving Elain into a chair at the vanity. Elain watched Alis expertly trim her waist length hair before winding it in fat curlers. Elain stood, naked as the day she was born, while Alis wrapped a tape measure around her body, jotting down each number with a put-upon sigh.

“We can take this in,” she murmured, flinging open the armoire doors and pulling out a swirling blue and green gown.”

Elain learned that taking it in meant lacing it around her abdomen within an inch of Elain’s life. Alis took the curlers out and pulled half of her hair off her face with golden combs.

“You’re lovely. Far lovelier than the last few girls,” Alis murmured, admiring her work with a satisfied smile. Elain almost asked where those girls had gone, but sensed Alis missed them. Offering a smile instead, Elain asked, “Can I go to the garden?”

Alis gestured towards the door. “Go wherever you like,” Alis murmured. “Just stay on the grounds.”

Elain didn’t need to be told twice. She flew down the hall, practically running despite the soft material of her shoes and the length of her off the shoulder dress. It took her a minute to realize she’d gone the wrong way and was in a part of the house Tamlin hadn’t shown her. She turned with a frustrated sigh, intending to retrace her steps.

“Lost?” A deep, masculine voice asked. Leaning against a wall, a half-eaten apple in hand, the most beautiful man Elain had ever seen was watching her. Like Tamlin, this man was dressed elegantly in a silver tunic and a pair of well fitted black pants, his boots stopping just beneath his knees. She could see his muscles flex beneath the fabric as he straightened. His skin was golden, a golden brown that was just a shade too dark to have been warmed by the sun itself and he’d tied long red hair from his face in a neat ponytail that made the elegant cut of his features seem almost rakish.

The only thing that marred his beauty was a series of scars cut against his right eye, which had been replaced by a strange, mechanical golden eye. Elain thought the shade complemented his coloring perfectly, adding to the luminescence that seemed to radiate from him. How had he gotten it? Strange, that starkness against the otherwise luminescent perfection of him and his kind. Did it bother him? That didn’t seem like the right sort of question to ask him, so Elain remained silent, nervous and alert as he drank her in.

“Are you lost?” he asked her again, taking a fraction of step towards her.

“I ah…yes,” she replied, flustered by his presence. “I was trying to find the garden.”

He nodded, amusement sparking against his features. “You’re quite a ways up. Allow me.”

He gestured for her to follow him, offering his elbow. Elain accepted, breathless when the contact zapped through her fingers, making her heart race as though she’d been burned. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, too overwhelmed by the sheer beauty of the man who walked beside her.

“So you’re the new human, hm? Are you looking forward to Fire Night?”

“Fire Night?” She asked breathlessly.

“Calanmai,” he prodded. “The ritual? You humans have so many names for it I can hardly keep track.”

“Calanmai, of course. I haven’t thought about it much,” she lied, her stomach clenching. All she did was think about it.

“Hm,” he hummed softly. “For the best, I suppose.”

They walked in silence towards a familiar path and she wondered how many other humans had walked beside this man, awed by his beauty. How many had walked this path with him, had asked the same questions?

“Where do they go?” she asked him when he’d taken her back outside.

“Not far,” he replied easily, a smile on his face. “Who wouldn’t want to live out their days in eternal Spring, after all?”

Eternal Spring. That did sound nice. “Are there other territories?

“Six others,” he agreed with an amused smile. “Do you prefer a different season? Warmth? Snow?”

In truth, eternal Spring was probably the best place for her to live out her days, too. She shook her head no, momentarily silenced by the sight of the sprawling garden laid out before her.

“Is there anything else I can assist you with, Lady?”

Inclining her head to look at him, Elain asked, “Is that your job?”

He grinned, one hand on his chest. “For you? Yes. I am Lucien Vanserra, Tamlin’s emissary.”

“Oh!” she cried, clapping her hands together with delight. “He mentioned you.”

Lucien grinned. “My reputation precedes me, then. If there is nothing else, I will leave you to the safety of the garden.”

He bowed deeply, eliciting the strangest sensation from her body. It was only a moment, though it might have been lifetime. She had the strangest feeling they’d met before, that they’d lived an entire life together…that she knew this man better than she knew herself. The feeling raced through her body, heating her blood with recognition. Lucien, too, was no longer smiling when he straightened, his brow furrowed.

It passed with a lavender scented breeze, leaving her confused.

Magic, she told herself, watching his retreating form.

But uncertainty lingered.

Lucien blew out an unsteady breath. Another human and another Calanmai. Elain was doe-eyed like the rest of them, blissfully unaware of what Calanmai truly was. The humans used to know why the High Lords were still allowed to collect one human a year, but that knowledge had become eroded over the centuries until their little fairytale was all that persisted. Not all High Lords participated anymore, the prophecy considered more legend than truth at this point. Lucien’s own father in Autumn had abandoned the tradition at the behest of his wife, who was tired of burying bodies. Dawn and Day had also stopped when their younger, more progressive High Lords took power. Summer had very recently joined them, which left Winter, Night, and Spring still collecting human women.

Lucien did not enjoy the role he played. Keep them docile, amused and unaware right until that final night of Calanmai. It didn’t matter, then, if they learned the truth of the matter. There was nowhere they could run that the High Lord could not track. Not many unraveled the truth in time which, to Lucien, made things a little easier. They were already in love with Tamlin and believed every promise he made.

They went to the grave believing in that love. Tamlin, to his credit, dealt with their bodies in the aftermath but it was Lucien who attended to them in the months leading up to their demise. He helped facilitate the falling in love with the High Lord and Tamlin’s courtiers watched the entire thing as though it were an amusing play they were seeing for the first time.

There were bets placed already on how long it would take the newest human to offer Tamlin a dance, a kiss…and everything else.

Lucien sighed, sitting at the dining room table by himself as he ticked off what he needed to do. A virgin sacrifice was required for Calanmai, untouched until the rightful Lord came to claim her, more beast than male. Most humans didn’t survive the coupling but those who did were then sacrificed at the stone altar in the hopes she would be the one from the prophecy.

Seek out the maiden, untouched by man

Bring her forth to the golden land

A kiss that glows hot with fire

Only one is worthy to sire

When she turns the sky from day to night

A High King will emerge to set things right

Hundreds of girls had died in service to a prophecy that could have been interpreted wrong or been pure nonsense from the start. Lucien wondered how much longer Tamlin intended to try and find the right human woman in an effort to be chosen High King of Prythian. Lucien suspected Tamlin would stop when Rhysand did, determined not to let the High Lord of Night rule all of Prythian.

The prophecy never said the maiden needed to die—that had come later. In five hundred years, the tradition may have shifted entirely, but for now, it was generally agreed the fires of Calanmai were what was needed in order to absorb enough magic that would crown someone High King.

The previous year had been a disaster for Spring. Their maiden had not been a maiden at all but a married woman with a child, invalidating the entire ritual. Lucien had watched Tamlin rip the female into pieces, furious at the deception. The memories still lingered, infesting his nightmares until Lucien woke in a cold, miserable sweat.

Elain though…she had the look of innocence about her. She smelled like honey and jasmine without any hint of a male on her. She didn’t seem like the type to fight back, either. She’d go willingly to her death, gazing upwards at Tamlin with those sweet eyes. Lucien had no intention of getting close to her or learning anything about her that might make him feel sympathy.

Tamlin stepped in, closing the doors softly behind him. “How did it go?”

“She’s in the garden,” Lucien replied, grateful when Tamlin uncorked a bottle of wine and slid him a glass.

“Did she know anything about Calanmai?” Tamlin questioned, his eyes flashing with fear. They had dungeons, of course, but generally it was believed the humans should offer themselves willingly, at least in the beginning. Chasing one down, while fun, was thought to ruin the ceremony. It also made the entire ordeal worse. Killing wasn’t borne of enjoyment, afterall—killing a female shaking and begging was too much, even for battle hardened, centuries old males like Tamlin.

“Nothing. It seems the humans have completely forgotten why we come.”

“Good,” Tamlin breathed, pacing the room. “And her scent?”

Lucien glanced at his friend. “I didn’t notice anything male about her.”

“But you’ll ask?” Tamlin prodded.

“Shall I court her, too?” Lucien bit back, irritated that so much of leading the humans to the slaughter fell on his shoulders. Tamlin shrugged. Neither of them truly wanted the job, but Lucien’s resentment burned hot given he was the only one to mourn them and one day Tamlin would be High King.

“I wish you could. Give her what she asks for and keep her occupied.”

“Do you plan to take her to the starlit pool?” Lucien asked, creating a timeline of events in his mind.

“Yes, and the Winter Solstice ball,” Tamlin added. “Keep her away from the servants. They’re still upset about last Calanmai.”

As they should be, Lucien thought privately. It had been their job to clean the mess Tamlin made when he tore the girl to shreds.

“And the courtiers?” Lucien pressed. More than once, someone tried to dally with the human sacrifice either from boredom or attraction. They also weren’t above dropping little hints to amuse themselves, betting on everything from when the human might kiss Tamlin all the way if she’d figure out their deception.

“I’ll deal with them,” Tamlin growled softly. “Let’s avoid the same hiccups as last year.”

“Have you paid her family?” Lucien asked, wondering if that task would fall to him as well. Tamlin waved his hand.

“It was done moments after she arrived, along with the usual glamours. If you asked them, they would tell you she is visiting a sick relative. After Calanmai she’ll run off with a suitor, just as they always do.”

“And her memory?” Lucien continued, ticking each thing off in his mind.

“Alis knows to pour a tonic into her beverages with each meal. She won’t remember them in a month.” Lucien nodded. “Do you require anything else of me?”

Tamlin collapsed into the chair at the head of the table, face buried in his hands. “Can you fuck her for me, too?”

Lucien was grateful he didn’t have to.

#elucien #i forgot what an asshole lucien is for the start of this #oh well

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worshipper-status · 2 months

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Literally so happy because my God is actually excepting of my obsession, but I’d kinda like to know how to worship him better less directly? (Ie. tips on digital alters/general worship tips?)

An excuse to ramble! Thank you :D

Worshipper's Guide to Indirect Worship

This is going to be my sfw guide for less direct methods of contact and digital altars, I may make an nsfw guide at some point on my own as a counterpart to this but for now...

(long post below)

Digital Shrines

Digital shrines are a good format for indirect worship, because you can curate it from anywhere, and no one will know. Technically I have two digital altars but one is more a back up of the other. One is I have a folder on my computer that contains all the media of the shrine, and the shrine itself is on my personal discord server. Usually I separate the shrine itself into media, devotionals, personal devotionals, writings, and links by using different discord channels. The channels breakdown like this for me:

Media: photos and videos of solely them

Devotionals: images I find on the internet that I feel embody our relationship, media created by someone else. Also picrews usually

Personal Devotionals: Visual media I have personally made to embody our relationship and can take full credit for creating. (This is a specific folder I made just to keep my art and others art separate)

Writings: Poems, songs, rambles, gushing, fantasies, etc. Any thought you have about them that's important enough to write down, put it here.

Links: I use this as a dumping ground for ideas I got from articles, purchases I want to make, or anything that requires a link to something else but directly relates to my worship of My Goddess.

Tumblr can also be a general dumping grounds kind of shrine, where I would not be too honest tbh, but it's a start. I prefer keeping my shrines private for the most part. My general advice is to stay away from tumblr for everything because you're not going to feel 1000% comfortable expressing your worship to its full extent because of the possibility of it being found by strangers. Also some things are just tmi to be honest. I have writings in my folder documenting times me and My Goddess have banged in detail so I don't forget. Tumblr doesn't need that kind of detail on here. So try and keep shrines at least somewhat private for your own sake. People are dicks.

As for advice for things to do to worship indirectly (and this goes hand in hand with the shrine a little bit) here's a list with general advice and ideas:

Scrapbook/Junk Journal about them (I'm biased this is a personal favorite of mine). Get a notebook, some scrapbook supplies, and either dedicate it to photos of your beloved or journal about any time you guys interact in ways that feel meaningful to you! I keep one physical scrapbook that I use for collages for My Goddess's photos, and am planning to start a junk journal for more writing purposes. I'll probably solely be using it to write about personal interactions with My Goddess, and on slower days, things I love about Her in general. It's both kinda a traditional journal and a part of my obsessive behaviors. You can also do stuff like this digitally with moodboard and collage makers like Canva which have free options.

Document about them. This is kinda vague so I'll explain. As part of my shrine, I have a document I'm building dedicated to bullet note points about My Goddess. If She randomly drops a fact on me about Her childhood, or Her interests. I write it down there so I don't forget. I want to be a good worshipper so I want to be an expert in everything about Her. I usually use a note taking app for this that I can organize into subgroups. Notion is a favorite of mine (despite them selling their soul to the AI overlords sigh) because it allows a lot of creative freedom in organizing the documents AND it's linked to my email so I can't lose it. Obviously, a google doc will accomplish the exact same thing, however my entire personality type is best described as extra, so I have to do things with extra effort at all times.

Write for them. This is where my pagan background kicks in a little bit, but in certain pagan traditions, especially stuff like Hellenic Polytheism, writing hymns or poems or songs for the gods was very important to their practices. So why not write those things for your God? It doesn't need to be shared, it can be bad, it can be whatever it wants to be. What I usually do, is I write poems for My Goddess, and keep them in my junk journal or digital shrine, depending on if I'm working physically or digitally, and if I'm feeling brave I'll share it with Her, but most times, they stay hidden in the depths of my shrine stuff.

Biggest overall piece of advice, create for them. Nothing shows devotion, quite like the personal experience of making something for someone else even if they never see it. Honor the Gods with the act of Creation, ya know?? It doesn't even have to require you to be good at drawing or whatever. Are you someone who gardens? Name a plant after them. Like makeup? Figure out what makeup styles they prefer on your chosen gender and wear those all the time, even if they're not there to see. Sewing? Make a stuffed animal of them. Speed runs? Dedicate every run to them, create a record for them. It can be as big or as mundane as you want and none of it has to be outwardly expressed to the other person. Just dedicate whatever hobby you have to them, and suddenly you'll have tons of shrine material.

Now for the quick part, of this!

General Worship Tips! (These are more indirect tho)

When getting dressed, pick outfits you know they'll appreciate. (Just please don't sacrifice your personal style for this)

Capitalize their name/title no matter what. They deserve the respect of one extra button push.

Write letters, even if you live close, even if you see them everyday, and even if you never send them. Use this as a format to express your emotions unbarred.

Save every photo they send you of themselves. If you need to edit people out of the photo do it, but you better be saving every instance of themselves they give you.

Fill your space with things that express yourself yes, but also have stuff that reminds you of them. Do they have a favorite animal? Buy those kinds of stuffed animals. They say they like certain types of aesthetics? Put some of that decor in your space.

I don't paint my nails, but if you do, paint them their favorite color.

Have dedicated jewelry pieces for them. While My Goddess did not give it to me, I have a memory of them associated with a bracelet I wear every single day. You can just buy a piece of jewelry and assign it as a symbol to them. They don't have to know.

Interact with their interests, with passion. Do your best to care about everything they care about. It'll give you guys tons of stuff to do, and help you understand them better.

Make pinterest boards dedicated to certain moments you want i.e. first date, wedding, future house/apartment dreams, pets you want with them, nursery room ideas, etc.

Make playlists dedicated to them.

Alright that's all I really have for right now! I hope some of this advice has been helpful and at the very least legible lol. I hope everything with you and your God goes well! If you want any more advice do not be afraid to ask me more questions :)

#worshipper's oath #worshipper's answers #irl yandere #male yandere #yandere #obsessive love #obsessive love disorder #bpd yandere #yandere boy #obsessive thoughts #yandere community #yancore #yanblr #yanderecore #yandereblr #yandere coping #yandere tips #yandere male #boy yandere

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