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wifelinkmtg · 8 months

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TUMBLR POST EDITOR WON'T LET ME TITLE THIS POST ANYMORE SO I GUESS THIS IS THE TITLE NOW. WEBBED SITE INNIT

So let's say you grew up in the nineties and that The Lion King was an important movie to you. Let's say that the character of Scar - snarling, ambitious, condescending, effeminate Scar - stirred feelings in you which you had no words for as a child. And then let's say, many years later, you're talking about it with a college friend, and you say something like, "oh man, I think Scar was some sort of gay awakening for me," and she fixes you with this level stare and says, "Scar was a fascist. What's the matter with you?"

The immediate feeling is not unlike missing a step: hang on, what's happening, what did I miss? You knew there were goose-stepping hyenas in "Be Prepared," but you didn't think it mattered that much. He's the bad guy, after all, and the movie's just pointing it out. Your friend says it's more than that: the visuals of the song are directly referencing the Nuremberg rallies. They're practically an homage to Riefenstahl. This was your sexual awakening? Is this why you're so into peaked caps and leather, then? Subliminal nazi kink, perhaps?

And then one of your other friends cuts in. "Hold up," he says, "let's think about what Scar actually did in the movie. He organized a group of racialized outcasts and led them against a predatory monarchy. Why are you so keen to defend their hereditary rule? Scar's the good guy here." The conversation immediately descends into a verbal slap fight about who the real bad guy is, whether Scar's regime was actually responsible for the ecological devastation of the Pride Lands, whether the hyenas actually count as "racialized" because James Earl Jones voiced Mufasa after all. Your Catholic friend starts saying some strange and frankly concerning shit about Natural Law. Someone brings The Lion King 2 into it. You leave the conversation feeling a little bit lost and a little bit anxious. What were we even talking about?

INTRODUCING: THE DITCH

There is a way of reading texts which I'm afraid is pervasive, which has as its most classical expression the smug obsession with trivia and minutiae you find in a certain vein of comic book fan. "Who was the first Green Lantern? What was his weakness? Do you even know the Green Lantern Oath?" It eschews the subjective in favor of definitively knowable fact. You can't argue with this guy that, say, Alan Scott shouldn't really count as the first Green Lantern because his whole deal is so radically different from the Hal Jordan/John Stewart/Guy Gardner Corps-era Lanterns, because this guy will simply say "but he's called Green Lantern. Says so right on the cover. Checkmate." This approach to reading a text is fundamentally 1) emotionally detached (there's a reason the joke goes, oh you like X band? name three of their songs - and not, which of their songs means the most to you? which of them came into your life at exactly the right moment to tell you exactly what you needed to hear just then?) and 2) defensive. It's a stance that is designed not to lose arguments. It says so right on the cover. Checkmate.

And then you get the guys who are like "well obviously Bruce Wayne could do far more as a billionaire to solve societal problems by using his tremendous wealth to address systemic issues instead of dressing up as a bat and punching mental patients in the head," and these guys have half a point but they're basically in the same ditch butting heads with the "well, actually" guys, and can we not simply extricate ourselves from the ditch entirely?

So, okay, let's return to our initial example. Scar is portrayed using Nazi iconography - the goose-stepping, the monumentality, the Nuremberg Lichtdom. He is also flamboyant and effete. He unifies and leads a group of downtrodden exiles to overthrow an absolute monarch. He's also a self-serving despot on whose rule Heaven Itself turns its back. You can't reconcile these things from within the ditch - or if you can, the attempt is likely to be ad-hoc supposition and duct tape.

Instead, let's ask ourselves what perspective The Lion King is coming from. What does it say is true about the world? What are its precepts, its axioms?

There is a natural hierarchical order to the world. This is just and righteous and the way of things, and attempts to overthrow this order will be punished severely by the world itself.

Fascism is what happens when evil men attempt to usurp this natural order with the aid of a group or groups of people who refuse to accept their place in the order.

There exists an alternative to defending and adhering to one's place in the natural order - it consists only of selfish spineless apathy.

Manliness is an essential quality of a just ruler. Unmanliness renders a person unfit for rule, and often resentful and dangerous as well.

And isn't that interesting, laid out like that? It renders the entire argument about the movie irrelevant (except for whatever your Catholic friend was on about, since his understanding of the world seems to line up with the above precepts weirdly well.) It's meaningless to argue about whether Scar was a secret hero or a fascist, when the movie doesn't understand fascism and has a damn-near alien view of what good and evil are.

There's always gonna be someone who, having read this far, wants to reply, "so, what? The Lion King is a bad movie and the people who made it were homophobes and also American monarchists, somehow? And anyone who likes it is also some sort of gay-bashing crypto-authoritarian?" To which I have to reply, man, c'mon, get out of the ditch. You're no good to anyone in there. Take my hand. I'm going to pull on three. One... two...

SO PHYREXIA [PAUSE FOR APPLAUSE, GROANS]

We're talking about everyone's favorite ichor-drooling surgery monsters again because there was a bit in my ~*~seminal~*~ essay Transformation, Horror, Eros, Phyrexia which seemed to give a number of readers quite a bit of trouble: namely, the idea that while Phyrexia is textually fascist, their aesthetic is incompatible with real-world fascism, and further, that this aesthetic incompatibility in some way outweighs the ways in which they act like a fascist nation in terms of how we think of them. I'll take responsibility here: I don't think that point is at all clear or well-argued in that essay. What I was trying to articulate was that the text of Magic: the Gathering very much wants Phyrexia to be supremely evil and dangerous fascists, because that makes for effective antagonists, but in the process of constructing that, it's accidentally encoded a whole bunch of fascinating presuppositions that end up working at cross-purposes with its apparent aim. That's... not that much clearer, is it? Hmm. Why don't I just show you what I mean?

Atraxa, Grand Unifier (art by Marta Nael)

In "Beneath Eyes Unblinking," one of the March of the Machine stories by K. Arsenault Rivera, there's a fascinating and I think revealing passage in which Atraxa (big-deal Phyrexianized angel and Elesh Norn's lieutenant) has a run-in with an art museum in New Capenna. The first thing I want to talk about is that, in this passage, Atraxa has no understanding of the concept of "beauty". A great deal of space in such a rushed storyline is devoted to her trying to puzzle out what beauty means and interrogating the minds of her recently-compleated Capennan aesthetes to try and understand it. In the end, she is unable to conceive of beauty except as "wrongness," as anathema.

So my first question is, why doesn't Atraxa have any idea of beauty? This is nonsense, right? We could point to a previous story, "A Garden of Flesh," by Lora Gray, in which Elesh Norn explicitly thinks in terms of beauty, but that's a little bit ditchbound, isn't it? The better argument is to simply look at Phyrexian bodies, at the Phyrexian landscape, all of which looks the way it does on purpose, all of which has been shaped in accordance with the very real aesthetic preferences of Phyrexians. How you could look at the Fair Basilica and not understand that Phyrexians most definitely have an idea of beauty, even if you personally disagree with it, is baffling. This is a lot like the canonical assertion that Phyrexians lack souls, which is both contradicted elsewhere in canon and essentially meaningless, given Magic's unwillingness or inability to articulate what a soul is in its setting, and as with this, it seems the goal is simply to dehumanize Phyrexians, to render them alien, even at the cost of incoherence or internal contradiction.

Atraxa's progress through the museum is fascinating. It evokes the 1937 Nazi exhibit on "degenerate art" in Munich, but not at all cleanly. The first exhibit, which is of representational art, she angrily destroys for being too individualistic (a point of dissonance with the European fascist movements of the 20th century, which formed in direct antagonism to communism.) The second exhibit, filled with abstract paintings and sculptures, she destroys even more angrily for having no conceivable use (this is much more in line with the Nazi idea of "degenerate art", so well done there.) The third exhibit is filled with war trophies and reconstructions from a failed Phyrexian invasion of Capenna many years prior, which she is angriest of all with (and fair enough, I suppose.) But then, after she's done completely trashing the place, she spots a number of angel statues on the cathedral across the plaza, and she goes apeshit. In a fugue of white-hot rage, she pulverizes the angel heads, and here is where I have to ask my second question:

Why angels? If you are trying to invoke fascist attitudes toward art, big statues of angels are precisely the wrong thing for your fascist analogues to hate. Fascists love monumental, heroic representations of superhuman perfection. It's practically their whole aesthetic deal. I understand that we're foreshadowing the imminent defeat of Phyrexia at the hands of legions of angels and a multiversal proliferation of angel juice, but that just leads to the exact same question: why angels? To the best of my knowledge, the Phyrexian weakness to New Capennan angel juice is something invented for this storyline. They have, after all, been happily compleating angels since 1997. We could talk about the in-universe justification for why Halo specifically is so potent, but I don't remember what that justification is, and also don't care. Let's not jump back in the ditch, please. The point is, someone decided that this time, Phyrexia would be defeated by an angelic host, and what does that mean? What is the text trying to say? What are its precepts and axioms?

Let me ask you a question: how many physically disabled angels are there in Magic: the Gathering? How about transsexual angels? How many angels are there, on all of the cards that have ever been printed for Magic: the Gathering, that are even just a bit ugly? Do you get it yet? Or do you need me to spell it out for you?

SPELLING IT OUT FOR YOU

There is a kind of body which is bad. It is bad because it has been significantly altered from its natural state, and it is bad because it is repellent to our aesthetic sensibilities.

The bad kind of body is contagious. It spreads through contact. Sometimes people we love are infected, and then they become the bad kind of body too.

There is a kind of body which is good. It is good because it is pleasing to our aesthetic sensibilities, and it is good because it is unaltered from its (super)natural state.

A happy ending is when all the good bodies destroy or drive into hiding all of the bad bodies. A happy ending is when the bad bodies of the people we love are forcibly returned to being the good kind of body.

Do you get it now?

ENDNOTES

It's worth noting that the ditch is very similar to the white American Evangelical hermeneutics of "the Bible says it. I believe it. That settles it," the defensive chapter-and-verse-or-it-didn't-happen approach to reading a text, what Fred Clark of slacktivist calls "concordance-ism". I don't think that's accidental. We stand underneath centuries of people reading the Bible very poorly - how could that not affect how we read things today? We are participants in history whether we like it or not.

I sincerely hope I haven't come across as condescending in this essay. Close reading is legitimately difficult! They teach college courses on this stuff! And while it is frustrating to have my close readings interrogated by people who... aren't doing that, like. I do get it. I find myself back in the ditch all the time. This stuff is hard. It is also, sorry, crucial if you intend to say something about a text that's worth saying.

I also hope I've communicated clearly here. Magic story is sufficiently incoherent that trying to develop a thesis about it often feels like trying to nail jello to the wall. If anyone has questions, please ask them! And thank you for reading. Next time, we'll probably do the new Eldraine set.

#phyrexia #not defining the ditch except by implication #thanks to all the very smart vorthoi on the flavor text discord server for helping me work through my thoughts on fascism and phyrexia #this is technically the march of the machine review also #or as much of one as i care to do

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forbidden-sunlight · 4 months

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yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [part one]

Warnings: obsessive behavior, religious themes, implied manipulation, brief mention of suicidal thoughts/ideation.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, please hit the 'back' button on your mobile device or computer and read something much more pleasant than a possible series of unfortunate events.

You are responsible for your own

Internet consumption!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Hey guys, before we get started, I’d like to address a couple of things.

First, the content here is a bit darker than my previous works, as stated in the warnings above. If you or someone you know is struggling, you aren’t alone. There are many support services that are here to help. I will leave a link to some of these sources in this link here. Tumblr also has their messaging system, Kokobot. I want you guys, my audience to feel safe when reading my stories. If you do not feel comfortable venturing any further, that’s okay. Please prioritize your physical and mental health, above all else.

Second, bullying is not tolerated. If I see any sign of it on here, I will have no choice but to take this story down. Finally, there will be some references in here from The Locked Tomb series by Tamsyn Muir, such as Harrowhark and Palamedes. I claim no ownership over this magnificent series as it belongs to the rightful creator.

With that being said guys, sit back, relax....and perhaps begin to pray for salvation. Because this is past the point of no return :)

Part Two

Part Three

Yandere!Holy Knight had always believed he was meant to serve a greater purpose. Not to accumulate wealth and power like his older brother, only to abuse his authority and hurt people who did not deserve a whipping for a cup of tea that was two degrees too cold to his liking. No. He wanted to help others in his own way, without expecting anything in return. Perhaps…that was why it had been so easy to leave his family and find his place here in the Holy Temple of Aesir. Or it was because he is the second son, the spare heir to the Emery viscounty, that his parents allowed him to leave without so much as a second thought.

He had given up his name when he was baptized by the high priest, and was reborn as Sir Palamedes. Five years have passed, and he has ascended to becoming the vice commander of the Holy Temple’s paladins.He must protect the Holy Temple, its clergy, and the people of the Helux Empire. This is the oath he took, and is proud to uphold. Yandere!Holy Knight, however, wished the Reverend Sister would take better care of herself.

The Reverend Sister is a title given to the child chosen by Aesir to deliver His message and protect His children from the wicked monsters who come forth from the swirling, black puddles of miasma. Only the Reverend Sister’s magic can purify the darkness of such an ancient evil. In his mind, there is no one more fitting to being the Reverend Sister than you. Harrowhark.

God’s Beloved.

The Possessor of Aesir’ All Seeing Eyes.

The Holiest Woman in the World.

There are many monikers tied to you. All of them are true, and all of the rumors couldn’t be further from the truth when the bards sang songs of your innocence, your enchanting beauty and ‘swan like neck’. If you had ever heard these lyrics, you would promptly take off your shoe and throw it at them with a low, irritated hiss before stomping away in a huff.

Yandere!Holy Knight would probably try very hard to not laugh at seeing, or at least imagining, your annoyance.

Yes, you were the Reverend Sister but you were not a naive beauty as everyone believed you to be. You were grumpy, diligent, kind-hearted, and knew the world can be a dark, cruel place.

The Holy Temple of Aesir had saved you in your darkest hour; instead of throwing yourself into the cold, murky river as a means to escape from the wretched place you had come from, a low-ranking priest had found you. He took you in, taught you everything there is to know about prayer, penitence, and how to embrace the worst part of yourself even when you wanted to so badly rip it out because it is still part of you. What you had experienced, the hardships, the sorrows…that is life. And to understand that no mortal is perfect, to accept it and use the gifts Aesir had bestowed upon you to help others…that is when you will truly see how beautiful the world is through His Eyes.

His Eyes that you now possessed.

No one had dared to look upon them in fear of incurring Aesir’s wrath…yet Yandere!Holy Knight did when he was in the Holy Temple’s care for a year before you arrived, a young man at the age of fifteen. He saw them and thought they looked like a pair of jewels. Sapphires that glowed brightly under the sunlight, and could see everything. Past, present, and future for a brief time. Due to the physical and mental strain that these Eyes have placed on your body even when it was to create illusions or obscure the sight of magical beasts, you weren’t allowed to overuse them. That was why the High Priest insisted that you wore a veil over your face.

You opted to have the seamstress to make adjustments to your mother-of-pearl robes and add a hood to hide yourself from the world. You might have also bribed her to create a matching cloth to wear over your eyes, enchanted so that you could see through it without putting further strain on your vision.

Rebellious. But you were perfect in Yandere!Holy Knight’s eyes. A Reverend Sister who cared for the congregation, the people, and his men far more than she lets others believe.

He thought this peaceful life would continue as it had for the last ten years. To watch you from afar and know that you were safe so long as he still held a sword in his hands. But nothing lasts forever.

One day, the High Priest had cloistered the clergy in the temple’s pews and announced that Aesir had shown him in a vision that the Reverend Sister who had been with them for these past ten years was not the true child of the Creator. It is in fact the young lady standing at his side. A dainty, beautiful lady with pale blue hair that fell past her back, gentle robin’s egg eyes darting from the carpeted floor to the clergy and then to the High Priest. She wore a strapless white dress with matching gloves that stretched all the way to her elbows. Pear-shaped dangled from her ears, and black lace with a single blue rose attached to the side coiled around her swanlike throat.This stranger, this…noblewoman, is all but ready to accept her duties. From this moment forward, she would be known as Esther.

“Let it be known, Brothers and Sisters, that the one known as Harrowhark shall be sent into exile for her sins against Aesir. That is the will of the Creator, so let it be so.”

Yandere!Holy Knight’s heart plummeted into the pit of his stomach at the High Priest’s words. What? He thought. This cannot be true! You are the Reverend Sister, you are God’s Beloved! Why would this man (this fool a nasty voice in the back of his mind growled) deny it now? Ten years. For ten long years, you have been a faithful bride of the Holy Temple. Now, after everything you have down, the recklessness in trying to sacrifice your life for his men on missions, reaching out to the people and listening to them confess their sins in the prayer box because you did not wish to see them suffer and try to offer guidance without overstepping your boundaries….you would just be cast aside as if you were nothing to them? To the Holy Temple, to him?

No. Yandere!Holy Knight cannot and will not accept it. He knows the High Priest. He knows this man would never dare to do something so stupid lest he will incite the anger of the clergy, the people, and the Emperor himself, who is a religious man and knows the Reverend Sister.

Something is not right.

He was not the only one who believed it. You did too. You had told him as much later that night, when you found him at the training grounds, trying to relieve his anger by practicing his swings with his two-handed longsword. You were still here. You hadn’t left like the High Priest had ordered you to do so. Thank Aesir.

If he were a lesser man, he would have scooped you up in his arms and laughed joyously, waking up everyone else in the barracks and gotten smacked across the face for pushing past your five-foot rule. But he didn’t.

You had not been blessed with His Eyes just to pretend that you will unconditionally obey the High Priest’s request to leave and be branded a heretic, a false Reverend Sister, for the rest of your life. No. The woman who will be baptized as Reverend Sister Esther and become God’s Beloved is not who the High Priest believes she is, regardless that this chain of events are happening because of a vision.

All the sacred texts in the library, all the prayers you have had to learn by heart, not a single one of them contained the words Affection Level. It did not explain why those floated over this stranger’s head, why its dark-pink smoke was encircling the High Priest, a man who possessed just as much holy magic as you did, if not more due to age and experience. You had strained your sight, vision becoming blurry just to see what was the thing under Affection Level. It was…a bar with lines? Measured in tenth percentiles, from ten to one hundred? What is this sorcery? It isn’t anything you have ever seen before, not even when you have visited monasteries across the Empire for yearly sabbaticals. How did this woman attain it?

This magic did not possess the gentle warmth of Aesir’s touch, his love towards all creation without expecting anything in return.

Take. Take. Take. Conquer. Move on. Take.

That was what you could feel, and you had no doubt in your mind at that very moment, the High Priest’s words going from one ear and out the other. There is an evil presence in the Holy Temple of Aesir. This woman, Esther, is a harbinger. An anchor. She was tied to this evil and she was reveling in it as if she had finally, finally gotten what she desired without lifting a finger. And that terrified you more than anything, the possibility that this sorcery can brainwash the entire congregation and no one would be the wiser.

Shit. What the fuck is going on? Forgive me, Aesir, for saying such vulgar words in your sacred House, but what the ever-living fuck is going on?

If the sight of seeing this Affection Level and its abilities did not rattle your bones, it was seeing two tiny names hidden right under the meter. The High Priest…and Sir Palamedes. And inside tiny square boxes right, no, on the left side of their names were the words capture target.

Yandere!Holy Knight stared at you in disbelief, your confession of what you had seen earlier this afternoon ringing in his ears. “You believe that this woman will bring harm to the Holy Temple, Sister Harrowhark?” He said. “If that is true, then why would the High Priest risk the safety of the congregation? Is it because of the influence of this…Affection Level? And why is my name there?” He was aghast. “How could anyone think of conquering someone if they do not consent to it or do not desire such a thing?”

Like the Brothers and Sisters of the Holy Temple, he had taken a vow of chastity alongside the oaths to protect them and the countrymen. Only clergymen or paladins who were high-ranking would be allowed to marry so long as the union was approved by both the High Priest and the Emperor.

You blinked at him, jeweled eyes glowing in sympathy as you slowly shook your head. “I do not know, truly. But if Reverend Sister Esther is coming after you, then you must put your safety and well-being above all else. Even my own.” You put your gloved hands in your mother-of-pearls robes, digging around in the pockets before you pulled out a drop-shaped peridot on a silver chain. You placed it in his open palm, and pushed his fingers forward to clench the hand into a loose fist.

Murky, violet orbs looked at you in confusion, astonishment, and fear. “Lady Harrowhark?” He whispered.

“Keep this on you, Sir Palamedes. The holy magic stored in here should be able to protect you from whatever this evil is, or at least I hope so. I was able to persuade the High Priest to postpone the announcement of Reverend Sister Esther’s baptism and my exile until after the Festival of the Stars. That will give us one week, while the others are celebrating Aesir’s creation of the world, to find everything we need to know about the Affection Level and how to remove it from Sister Esther before it can corrupt anyone else in the congregation.” You then stepped away from him, turning your back towards Yandere!Holy Knight and throwing the hood of your robe over your head.

“Recite your prayers, steady your hand, and for Aesir’s sake keep your distance from that woman.”

Then you left the training grounds, disappearing into the night and back towards the Sisters’ sleeping quarters, leaving Yandere! Holy Knight alone in his troubled thoughts. He knelt at his bedside that night, clutching the talisman you had given in his clasped hands as he dutifully murmured the prayers of Fidelity, Honor, and Strength. To protect him from evil’s temptation.

May Aesir grant him the strength to remain pure of heart and mind before he succumbs to his unholy feelings towards the Reverend Sister Harrowhark, God’s Beloved and the woman he should not have fallen in love with.

Taglist

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©️do not repost or use any of the characters depicted here without the author’s permission. forbidden-sunlight, 2024

#forbidden-sunlight #yandere x reader #yandere male #yandere manhwa x reader #yandere #ns.fw #yandere oc #yandere!holy knight #tw obsession #tw sui ideation #tw sui attempt #fem!reader #tw manipulation #cw manipulation #cw sui ideation #cw sui attempt #minors do not interact #mdni

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fanatic-writers · 8 months

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Adventures in Baby Sitting

Chapter One: The Adventure Begins

Previous | Masterlist | Next

A/n: I have a lot of fun things planned for this series. A lot of it is going to stick to the basis of the show but I also want to add some fun filler-type fics here and there. Some slice of life if you will. If there is anything you'd like to see feel free to send me a message and I will try to incorporate it into the series. I hope yall enjoy this and I'm actually really excited to keep writing this.

Word Count: 1952

Pairing: (Eventual) Din Djarin x Mandalorian!Reader

Warnings: Canon levels of violence but it's very tame, unedited like everything cause I'm lazy lol

Summary: Reader is the Armorer's daughter and is also a foundling. She and Din have known each other for a long time but he was never quite able to break his shell. When the Mandalorians help Din escape with the child she is ordered to go to his ship to help him care for the thing.

You hadn’t seen him come in at first, focused on your work despite the assistance of the machinery crafting armor from beskar wasn’t the easiest task in the world. Although that was the least of your worries. You watched as Din, or the Mandalorian as he was simply called now, fitted in his familiar armor had taken his seat. You glanced up from your work as your mother joined him. She hadn’t beckoned you over, so you did your best to continue despite wanting to catch up with your old friend. The two of you had known each other for quite some time, both foundlings, however, the Armorer had taken you under her wing when the Mandalorian that had found you passed shortly after. You were still too young to take the oath when it happened, but your mother had come to show you everything about her job, from forging to leading. You had grown since then, sworn to walk the path and follow The Way, honing in your skills by making armor for the foundlings. She eventually raised a hand to call you over and you joined her. Standing beside her as she handed you the piece of beskar. “Imperial?” You mumbled looking to the armor-clad man in front of you through your visor. “How did you-?” “It does not matter how.” Your mother spoke up “It is back in its rightful place. I’ll be crafting a pauldron, bring it to the smelter and then finish up with your work.” You nodded, silently doing as you were told. You watched as the beskar melted down, your mother preparing her tools. It wasn’t long before your piece for the Foundlings was finished, and she was handing over the new piece of armor to your friend.

“You didn’t speak to him.” Your mother’s voice filled the room that had been taken over by silence as you cleaned up your workstation. “He didn’t wish to speak.” You responded as you pulled out a failed project from ages ago, preparing to melt it down and turn it into a chest piece for yourself. As part of your practice, the Armorer had wanted you to slowly craft your own armor set, knowing the leather that the both of you wore wouldn’t protect you in every circumstance. “You didn’t ask.” You could hear the smirk on her lips despite the golden helmet that covered her face. If you hadn’t worn a helmet of your own, she’d see the look you gave her, but you hoped she could sense your disdain for her meddling in your relationship. You knew she only wanted what was best for you and that she knew how you felt about Mando, that didn’t mean you wanted her to try and set you up with the guy. “He’ll return eventually, and we will speak.”

Your mother had finished her work for the day, but you weren’t done yet. The sooner you finished your own armor the sooner you could work on more sets for the foundlings. You remembered watching your mother work on other sets of armor, patiently waiting for the day your own would come. Eventually, you were gifted a helmet for when you took the oath but most everything else was made of leather and chainmail. It wasn’t until you were able to create your own armor that you had your own set. You’d grown out of that long ago though. Your hammer swung, the pounding of metal filling the room as you let yourself get lost in your thoughts. What in the hell was Din Djarin doing with Imperial Beskar? And if he had it did it mean they were back? You put your anxiety and fear to work, letting it strengthen your swings. If they were back, you’d need to be ready to protect the Tribe, to protect your small clan. You looked at the chest plate, the final piece you’d needed to complete your set, and smiled softly. You were rarely happy with your work but this one felt right, it felt finished. All it needed now was a coat of paint. You’d have to do that later though. Instead, you cleaned up the armory and put the pieces in their place for when you were ready for them next. After that was finished you slipped from the armory and made your way to your room. The one upside to living with the Mandalorian was that despite the overall lack of privacy provided by the tunnels and caves something as simple as a cloth over an opening was respected as a door and never moved.

You pulled the tarp open over the opening of your small room and got to work removing your leather armor and finally, your helmet, setting it on a ledge next to your bed made of a pile of fabrics and whatever could have been scrounged up. Despite the circumstances, you considered your room rather cozy and your bed comfortable. You lay down and pulled the blanket up to your chin, turning your back to the door should someone intrude for whatever reason.

Days later you had spotted the Mandalorian as he walked down the halls to the all too familiar armory, a smile gracing your lips upon seeing his return. You briefly make your presence known to him before slipping into one of the many side halls that connect to the maze you and your clan had learned to call home. You noticed that there seemed to be quite the commotion going on at the armory, so you made your way there, sure you’d heard Paz getting upset about something yet again. The older Mandalorian always seemed to be in a mood lately, so you mostly stayed out of his way. Your mother made quick work of dispersing the conflict and you joined her in the armory, watching her work. It was expected that one day you would take her mantle. Whenever it was, she retired you had to be ready to not only mold and shape Beskar into the best armor but also become a guide for the Tribe. Your mother had done her best to make sure you would be ready when she was gone, knowing she had left quite the shoes to fill. She was the one who made sure that everyone was safe, especially after the destruction of Mandalore. You stood, lost in your thoughts, along the perimeter of the armor. You moved expertly to the various points your mother had instructed you to go to long ago when you first began your training, making sure you had the best angle to view the work she was doing. It was rare that the opportunity came to make a full set of armor from beskar alone, especially all in one go. You stole glances at the Mandalorian who waited ever so patiently for his new set of armor. Once the pieces were formed you joined your mother in her work, shaping the metal to its final form and making sure that it would function properly. When she was pleased with the pieces you had worked on your mother had tasked you with the making of the whistling birds. You were sure your joy was evident as you began to work on your favorite thing to craft. You carefully placed each “bird” in its slot before handing your piece over to the Mandalorian. “You’ll have to show me your new set-in action.” You spoke as you set the piece on the table “It's rare I get to see my craftmanship at work.” Din nodded before taking the pieces and leaving for the room he rarely used, preferring the razor crest to anything here. You could hear your mother take a breath, preparing to speak. “Don’t start.” You mumbled, causing a soft, and rare, laugh to escape her.

You’d spent the rest of your day working on the finishing touches of your own armor. There wasn’t much paint to go around in the caves, but you’d managed to find a merchant in Nevarro that had some. Youd painted the edges of your armor a pale green, keeping the design rather simple. You wouldn’t have enough to cover the entirety of your set, instead settling for hints of color here and there. Your signet you painted a deep red doing your best to match your helmet. You finished off the rest of your detailing with dull blue accents. “Let's hope your paint has dried.” Your mother spoke from behind you “Din Djarin is in trouble. Put your armor on and meet the rest of us outside” You frowned and turned to her, it had been a while since you’d been caught in a fight. “You are no longer a child; this day would have come soon enough.” Your mother spoke before disappearing. You noticed the others running by, getting to the easy exit points. You quickly slipped your armor on stretching out a bit to make sure everything fit well before leaving in the same path you had watched the Armorer take. “You may need to fight your way there, but I want you on the Razor Crest. Whatever it is your Mandalorian has found is worth fighting for he will need help keeping safe. Understood.” Your mother commanded. “He’s not my Mandalorian.” You mumbled as you made your way out of the tunnel and into the light of day, or rather evening.

The fight had already begun by the time you had emerged from hiding. Most of the fire was in the middle of the street, leaving alleyways open and mostly safe. You ducked behind cover and moved in the shadows as you watched the rest of the Tribe come to Din’s aid. Despite his earlier qualms, you watched as Paz evened the playfield before spotting the Razor Crest. You booked it to the ship, noticing another form entering the hold. Frowning you picked up the pace, only slowing when you remembered you’d need to make a quiet entrance. You weren’t familiar with most of Navarro’s citizens, but it was hard not to recognize Greef Karga. “What do you think you’re doing here?” You asked the man, blaster at the ready. “I could ask you the same.” The man put his hands up, but you knew better than to trust his sign of surrender. You maneuvered so you were further into the hull of the ship, making sure his back was against the entrance rather than your own. “You could make this easy for the both of us and accept your defeat, but you look like a hard-way kinda guy.” Karga chuckled, shaking his head “Aren’t you a smart one?” His hands darted down to his blaster but before he could get a hot off you pulled the trigger on your own, shooting him in the chest. You watched as he flew back a bit before crumbling to the ground, an all too familiar Mandalorian facing you with a bundle in his arms. “Sorry to make a mess in your ship.” You smile at him under your helm, your blaster finding its spot at your hip. “We should go.” You made quick work of rolling the body out of the Razor Crest. “We?” Din asked, keeping the bundle of cloth close to him. “You think my mother trusts you to care for a living thing on your own.” You teased as you walked back over to him, trying to get a peek at just what was buried under all that cloth. “This isn’t your fight.” He contested, trying to find a way to get you off his ship. “It is now.” You shrugged, pushing past him and up to the cockpit.

#mandalorian x reader #mandalorian x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #mandalorian fanfic #grogu #star wars fanfic #din djarin #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian/reader #mandalorian/you #din x reader #din x you #din/you #din djarin/you #din djarin/reader

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babyjakes · 1 year

Text

holy ground. [blurb.]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | april '23 ddlg-themed blurb night

summary | love is an ocean; you and jake are diving in, head first.

pairing | best friend!jake jensen x little!reader

warnings | jakey and reader are exploring ddlg together for the first time. this is not my typical smut!! it's much more abstract, i just enjoyed writing it very liberally and creatively. p in v sex, not very descriptive. alludes to size difference/kink. they cum together <3. i wrote this in past tense and idk why, it just felt right. an obnoxious amount of taylor references.

word count | 548

an | okay so i had a few jakey requests hehe! you guys really get me :'-) i've never written daddy!jakey, but it's probably time given the url change lol— thanks to the sweet nonnie who sent in the idea of best friend!jakey trying out ddlg with reader, and @brandycranby for the size kink idea <3 i love this dynamic with jakey so much, just being so close and vulnerable with each other already, slipping into daddy land feels so natural for him and reader! this did turn into quite the expressive piece for me, i feel like i rarely write smut this way but with jakey i just couldn't help it lol, hope everyone likes it regardless! <3

It was an incredible scene to witness, though both of you knew not a soul beyond the other would ever know about its occurrence. It was something special for just the two of you, something sacred. A careful step forward, as big of a step as it was. A single spark blooming into a timid flame. It was new to both of you— new and special, oh so rare. Skin on flushed skin, hands intertwined, lips searching across inches of body that felt like miles; he foraged all of you, left no part of you untouched or unloved.

"So beautiful," Jake's words swam through the thick cloud of your shared apartment's warm air. "So beautiful for me, baby. All mine, aren't you? Say it."

Your droopy eyes peered up at him through tears, the beam of sun pouring in through the window hitting him at the most glorious angle; he was straight out of a movie. Outlined by the golden rays, he shone before you, beads of sweat forming on his tender forehead as he thrust himself back into you once more. His size was overwhelming, leaving no hint of you unfilled as his tip slammed up against your bruising ceiling. "Yours," was all you could manage in response, "yours. Yours. Yours."

Towering over you, Jake's gaze was so full of love that it was overflowing from his eyes in shimmering droplets as he leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. "Safe with me— always," his words were an oath, and you knew he'd be true; there was no one in the world you trusted more than the man before you. "You're safe with Daddy, baby."

"D-Daddy," the word was so sweet as it tumbled from your lips, the simple act of speaking it into existence like the birth of a spring fawn, such a tender and sacred thing. Out in some abandoned field, it was just the two of you there to see it; maybe that's what made it so holy.

"Your daddy, sweetie. Yours, all yours," he returned the words to you as his thrusts began to pick up in pace. "Daddy'll take care of you—" he swore, the sweetness in his voice slowly getting swallowed up by starvation. He had hungered for this, for you, for his whole life. And here you finally were, and you were more than willing to let him feast, "—make you feel so good, s'that what you want, baby? Tell Daddy what you want."

His tender fingers fell down to search between where your two bodies met, stroking in broad circles over your fiery core of pleasure. Your voice came out begging, "Please... please..." You sounded so foolish; it was music to Jake's ears. "Want it... want you— please Daddy..."

You fell over the edge hand in hand, warmth overcoming the both of you as your booming heartbeats aligned, lips crashing together as you searched desperately for something— not breath, not air. Only each other.

It was a beautiful sight, body on trembling body as the two of you swallowed each other down, tears mixing in your mouths through scattered breaths and 'I love you's. Noses rubbing together, you kept your eyes shut as you wept against him. And to him, there you were; he had found you at last.

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sgiandubh · 9 months

Text

'We few, we happy few, we band of brothers'

It is one thing to disprove and even despise The Shire and its netizens. It is a whole other affair to violently bash S's skills, based on absolutely nothing else than spiteful disappointment.

We are being told by Mordor's basement polymaths the man cannot act. It is probably by an unelucidated strike of luck or by charity that he was cast by *** to embody book boyfriend JAMMF, when he has only 5 (five) known facial expressions in his quiver. He was the weakest link of Season 1 cast: I suppose the BJ/Frank Randall 2-in-1 does have a fan club, after all. His acting is wooden. He has chemistry only with C and by Her grace only, because you know, gay as a bag of popcorn. He is a semi-literate hunk, with documented spelling problems. Even more so, when we conveniently toss aside the mounting hysteria during Quarantein Ha-wa-wee disgrace (hey Pooks and all the sock account Dobermans: I hope you remember your Twitter blaze of glory moment every single morning while brushing your teeth). And (also a favorite) he doesn't read, he doesn't prepare, he is sloppy, like that.

God forbid you'd try to set this colossal unfairness straight. You are automatically signed up to the Mommies for Sam Committee and labeled accordingly. Brainless victim (of what, since he is basically useless, but let's not embarrass ourselves with logic), unapologetic limerent inamorata, romantic whale, delusional rural shipper, conspiracy theory troll. Anything goes, really and we know the tune by heart, at this point in time.

Not so long ago, I was re-watching the oath sequence of (5.01) The Fiery Cross, for which I suppose all background/context is superfluous. The only clip I could find has appalling sound, but should still immediately take you back to the Return of the Kilt (starts at 0:56):

youtube

It immediately reminded me of this:

youtube

This is the extraordinary Henry V Saint Crispin's Day speech. Pure Shakespeare and unmatchable Olivier. It is also a well-documented kamikaze moment of the Battle of Agincourt (1415), when a heavily outnumbered English army defeated in an almost miraculous turn of events the French. Granted, the real speech must have been way more concise, but nevertheless a potent affair, with Henry's cunning use of rumors having it that the French would cut two fingers off each captured archer's right hand, to virtually neutralize them. And his army was, essentially, an army of longbows.

Whatever it was, it worked. It worked so well, that it even gave Winston Churchill the idea of asking Laurence Olivier to broadcast this speech for the BBC some time around 1942 and then make a movie of the whole play, in 1944. Again, context is important -it always is, by the way - and it sheds the right light on Olivier's performance. More than acting, it is damn effective war propaganda, a wonderful patriotic act and completely representative for the "we shall fight them on the beaches and we shall never surrender" spirit. It is also all about acting as summoning of energy: Olivier manages to channel Henry V, he is Henry V and this immediately gives an irresistible depth and truth to his performance.

For contrast, one could compare his version with Branagh's 1989 interpretation (https://youtu.be/y1BhnepZnoo), which I am not adding here for the sake of levity. The main difference is, for me at least, palpable: Olivier completely suppressed his ego, which I am afraid is something impossible to achieve for Branagh. His take on the speech aims to be more modern and natural, and yet it is still all about Branagh promoting his art. And we know it immediately. A fairly honest tableau vivant, but no depth and nowhere near as majestic as the other.

I am not saying here that S is on par with Laurence Olivier. That would really mean being a romantic whale and I am the one you start to get, I hope, acquainted with. What I am saying is that this guy you just love to humiliate and endlessly cackle about every single day God makes, really, deliberately knows what he is doing in there. I would bet handsome money on S carefully watching and re-watching Olivier's Saint Crispin's Day monologue, in order to prepare for that particular scene. The similarities are, to me, evident, as is the consistent hard work and - dare I say it?- massive talent. It's all about owning the scene and being in the moment. And it is arresting, at times.

All of this is not exactly some shipper far-fetched speculation. S wrote, after all, in Waypoints (and the reference is way too spot on to believe in a kind gesture of the ghostwriter) that he "devoured"

I see great things. I see a very gifted guy who has no ego (C was spot on and for an actor, that is a blessing) and also probably no idea of his (considerable) acting range. I also see a guy who, spare for OL, has been grossly, unfairly miscast and overlooked. And who was determined to take whatever was available or easy on the schedule, in order to remain relevant. I may not be a good client for his booze, but I would pay handsomely to see him in something along the lines of For Whom The Bell Tolls. Or even (if you want a more exotic but oh, so rewarding alternative) a still inexplicably missing Western adaptation of Bulgakov's Master and Margarita (probably not the best times for that one, but still: Bulgakov was, after all, born in Kyiv and not really a fan, to say the least, of tyrants). That's exactly how damn good he is.

How was it, Kidneystone BIF? Oh. "No boundaries. No respect. No class." Exactly, madam. You said it yourself.

#Youtube

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neteyamb · 1 year

Text

ashes to ashes: chapter one

pairing: loak x f!omatikaya reader

summary: as a healer, y/n had taken an oath to treat every patient with their best interests in mind. this hadn’t been a problem, until loak’s petty injuries become a routine. she has to swallow her pride and feign concern, feign kindness, and face the ugly hate that has been brewing between them for years.

tags: enemies to lovers, best friend kiri because i love her, eventual angst

word count: 1.1k

notes: i’m desperate for more loak x reader slowburns on this app. this is my first fic! (i gotta use this english degree for something lmfao) i cant do summaries but i want him so bad you guys

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

billie bossa nova: love when it makes you lose your bearings / it might be more of an obsession / you better lock your phone / and look at me when you're alone / won't take a lot to get you goin' / i'm sorry if it's torture though / that heavy breathin' on the floor / i’m yours, i'm yours

nova – a star that suddenly increases its light output tremendously and then fades away to its former obsurity

you had known loak since you were four years old. he would scoff at your small achievements and be quick to retort with one of his own. if you climbed a particularly intimidating tree, he’d climb higher. if you had perfect aim with your bow, he’d rush to shoot at your target first. he antagonized you at every corner, and you quickly grew to hate him in return. his taunting voice was acid in your ears as it ghosted down your spine. when the two of you were twelve, you had gotten into your first physical fight. he yanked at your tail, and you did the same to his queue. by the time jake had found you, you were both covered in dirt and had tumbleweeds for hair, leaves sticking out haphazardly. you had gotten chewed out good for that, all the while sharing scowls with eachother across the room. now, you weren’t an ungracious woman; it didn’t matter who started it, but you’ll be damned if he gets the last blow.

at nineteen, loak’s shoulders had filled out and his scrawny frame became a sinewy, looming presence. you two would orbit around eachother, clashing periodically–inevitably. it wasn’t pretty, it was rather captivating like a car crash; addicting to watch the insults bounce off eachother like sparks. it was jarring to others at first; the way your usually reserved and civil manner morphed rapidly into something unruly, uncontainable. you were sure he got satisfaction from this, sometimes catching the twitch of a mocking, almost-smile at the corner of his lips at the thought of you losing face infront of a crowd. you had attempted to reel yourself in on countless occasions, but his teasing, expectant gaze was all the more infuriating. one day, you swore to yourself, you’d wipe the gratification off his face and hold it hostage as your own.

✶✶✶✶

you rose from your hammock in the early hours of the morning. healing the injured and unwell, waiting on their every ailment with eager and tender hands, didn’t necessarily strike you as a career path you wanted to go down, but the cards were dealt that way; the RDA was steadily seeping into the edges of omatikayan territory, and there was a pressing need for helping hands on the sidelines. as an apprentice healer, you mainly spent your time preparing various ointments for the warriors on the frontlines. this meant you first had to gather the ingredients, most of which grew deeper in the forest than most bothered to venture to. kiri was an exception, spending her early teenage years finding solace in branches far from hometree. it naturally became a routine for you to head out with her in search of plants with healing properties. she would watch you intently over your shoulder, smiling quietly to herself as you handled the flora with delicate, yet expert hands. as the dawn bled into the clouds above, you headed over to her hut, now knowing the path like the back of your hand.

“y/n!” her face split into a grin when she saw you standing in the entrance. you felt your lips lilt to match the expression of your best friend. you notioned wordlessly to the gathering basket in your arms, taking care not to startle tuk from her sleep. as you walked the forest floor together, you easily slipped into animated conversation about your elders. “i actually think maiya’s got it out for me, she rarely lets me work with the wounded. i’ve gotta be on my best behaviour so she doesn’t rip me a new one.” kiri snorted, bumping your shoulder lightly. “keep your chin up, maybe she’s waiting for your prince charming to waltz in with a missing arm.” once you reached your destination, you crouched to your knees, resting on the balls of your feet to harvest the plants.

satisfied with your diverse collection of leaves and flowers, you return to hometree just before noon, making a beeline towards the healing hut. maiya greets you with her lips pressed into a thin line, humming while you begin to sort your pile on the counter. as you grind the juice from a large alocasia leaf with a wooden mortar and pestle, loak enters the hut with his ears low and hands at his side, clasping them repeatedly like he didn’t know what to do with them. you offer him a brief frown and peer over at your elder, who decidedly doesn’t pause her task for his unceremonious entrance. you place the pestle down and bite your tongue, begrudgingly motioning for him to sit on the mat. his shoulder carries a small gash, and you notice there is a bruise forming on his ribcage. “fell down a hill. fix it up.” he bristles, feeling your heavy gaze roam his body. you wanted to laugh in his face, jeer at his crude appearance, but without this position you’d be lost and unknown to the clan. loak, on the other hand, had his duties made clear from birth–handed to him. you envied the clarity of his future.

loak watches as you gingerly apply the medicine, stomach knotting at the feeling of your slender hands on his shoulder. your eyes burn his skin, and he restlessly fidgets in his seat. “stop moving, jackass,” you snap quietly. he hates it, hates you. he hates that you hate him. when you first met, his eyes chased after your soft hair and his ears flicked at your melodic voice. all those years ago, he tried to impress you with his skills, and you took it as a competition. it was frustrating, but his pride wouldn’t allow him to admit to the initial intention behind his actions. had you not seen him as a worthy partner? was it not painfully obvious, you’d wait for him to say it? well, bullet dodged. he didn’t consider you someone to impress anymore. instead, he relished in the igniting glare you’d give him as he casually whispered provocations in your ear. loak wanted you to feel bothered, threatened by his effortless skill.

you feel his eyes crawling on your skin as you uncomfortably shift closer to apply the cream to his ribs. your fingers dance across his torso, and he grits his teeth in irritation. once you’ve finished, you’re quick to put space between yourself and him. his mouth twists as he looks up at you, about to say something, before he seems to change his mind. he abruptly stands with hands in fists, pivoting hard on his heel out of the hut without a word.

⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ☽༓･*˚⁺‧ ‧͙⁺˚*･

notes: first chapter done, hope yall like it!

#loak x reader #loak x you #avatar loak #loak angst #loak sully #avatar twow #atwow loak #loak x y/n #avatar way of water #avatar #loak fanfiction #loak fic #loak fluff #neteyam x reader

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sirthisisa-wendys · 1 year

Note

hii! could i request AU pirate!wakasa and black dragons and other characters, maybe toman (dont do it if you dont want to)

AUR MY GAHD (let me know if I didn't write anyone you wanted!)

Let's see what the guys do when they find a stowaway on their ship. And when that stowaway happens to be the Ship Comissioner's daughter.

Stowaway: Wakasa Imaushi/ Keizo Arashi/ Shinichiro Sano/ Takeomi Akashi/ Chifuyu Matsuno & Baji Keisuke/ Ken Ryuguji x Fem!Reader

wc: 2.1k

tw: like, a little smut, but mostly fluff

masterlist

Wakasa "The Shadow" Imaushi

Wakasa's crew shouts and runs about the boat, preparing for the inevitable. A departure from shore was always the most exciting part of the adventure, and as Wakasa leans over the map in his quarters, he feels a sense of enthusiasm overcome him.

The vessel he'd been working on for years was finally on its maiden voyage, preparing to take the seas by force. Waka imagines when his nemesis, Redcliff, would encounter him on the high seas. He shudders with pleasure as he remembers the installation of world-class cannons. Redcliff wouldn't stand a chance.

"Captain!" His door bursts wide open without decorum, and someone stumbles into the small space, panting heavily. "Captain! We have a stowaway!" Waka mutters to himself, frowning. Of course, this would be his first encounter on the seas.

He follows the short fellow onto the deck, only to see you lying on the ship floor with an ashen face. "A stowaway..." Waka murmurs, eyeing you carefully. He notices the jewels around your neck and wrist, admiring them for a moment before returning to his scowl.

"What are you doing on my ship?"

"I have no ill intentions," you mutter, holding a hand up in the air as an oath. "I swear I am only here because I have to be." Chuckles erupt around the ship as it drifts into the sea unmoored.

"I didn't invite you," Wakasa replies, crossing his arms. "I don't invite wenches onto my ship."

"I am not a wench," you protest, finding your legs momentarily. You stand shakily, holding onto the main mast. "I'm the commissioner's daughter." A hush falls over the men, and you swallow hard, meeting Wakasa's eyes without fear.

"Did he send you?" Waka wonders, instinctively stepping back from you. He doesn't deal with wealthy women at all. That's not his specialty.

"I'm..." You pause, choosing your words carefully. "I ran away." You remove your bracelet and necklace, handing them over to the captain. "That's my fare." Wakasa eyes the jewels, his gut feeling raring at him to throw you overboard. But you're a woman. A rich one at that.

"Where do you want to go?" The question weighs heavily on his mind as you ponder for a moment, then raise your head defiantly.

"Wherever you're going." He scoffs at your remark.

"You want to become part of my crew?" You shrug in the face of the white-haired pirate, smirking.

"It's better than being wed to a megalomaniac." Wakasa laughs out loud, which encourages his crew to do the same.

"I'm just as thirsty for power," Waka promises, pocketing the jewelry. "But I'll bite. We're going to the Isle of Wolfgulch. If you think you can make it on my ship for a week, we'll see about making you part of my crew."

"You won't regret it," you reply, and Waka's eyebrows shoot up.

"Oh, I sure hope not," he breathes. "Or I'll toss you overboard with the other fools."

Keizo "Redcliff" Arashi

Heavy boots thud toward you. You're on the wooden deck, face down, praying to whatever god is out there that Redcliff would crush you quickly.

"It's illegal to trespass." The simple statement makes you nod once. "What should I do with you?" You lift your head to look at the icy-eyed man, praying a little harder in your head. He looks down at you curiously, but this isn't the first time his eyes have lain on your features.

You wonder if he remembers you from all those years ago. You wonder if he remembers your father or how he once looked on Keizo and told you, "That one is a born sailor." You don't see any register of memory behind his eyes, so you lower your own to the floor again.

"No answer," he finally mutters. "Hm."

How could Keizo forget the hot summer you spent on the beach, watching him redo his knots and untie them again while your toes skimmed the cool water's surface? You weren't yet thirteen, but you watched the older boy work his way around a mast and back, desire seeping into your heart as he grew stronger, smarter, more--

"Get her some clothes and a meal," Keizo grunts, turning away from you. "The commissioner's daughter is a friend to us."

"A friend?" you exhale, your heart beating wildly. Perhaps he had forgotten the illicit kiss you stole from him before he sailed away for the first time, leaving you on the shores of a fuzzy memory.

Keizo turns his head toward you, stopping on his way up the steps. You can read his expression from far away, the one that says "later" as if you were something to be dealt with. But instead of continuing his path up the stairs, he walks back down, his eyes serious.

"If your father knew you were here, what would he do?"

"Not a damn thing," you reply softly.

"Are you sure about that, y/n?" Keizo lifts your chin with a single finger, his eyes searching yours.

"I told you I'd follow you to the ends of the earth if you ever returned." A smile lifts the corners of Keizo's mouth, but only slightly.

"Both of us remembered, then."

Shinichiro "Soft Iron" Sano

Shin puts his head in his hands, considering the awful dilemma he's presented with.

"I'm so sorry," you whisper, clasping your hands together. "I just have to make sure my brother is okay..." Shinichiro leans back in his chair, wounded. Your brother! Mikey flashes in front of his eyes.

"You understand, don't you?" Shinichiro lowers his hands to look at your face. Oh! Your pleading face wounds him even more, despite the fact that he's certainly at sea and in heaps of trouble. He pauses and takes a deep breath, then lets it go before answering your pleas.

"You will see your brother," he murmurs. "We will turn the ship about and return you to your home." Your eyes widen, and for a brief moment, Shin thinks you will accept the verdict. But then you burst into tears.

"Don't cry, don't cry," he urges you, standing from his chair and coming around to comfort you. "It's just..." Shin searches for the answer among his many thoughts. "He's not on this ship. But perhaps he'll be on the next one."

"He said he was on Soft-Iron's ship," you reply quickly, unfolding the letter you stuffed into your pants pocket. "Look!" Shinichiro reads the words with mounting dread. It's a bald-faced lie, he thinks. But a damn good one.

"I've never known your brother," Shin answers, looking at the foreign signature in dismay. "He must have misled you. I'm sorry." You take the letter back while sitting and absorbing the news.

"Then we need to find him!" You stand up and take Shin's place at his desk. "We have to search for him. You'll help me, won't you?" Shin stiffens at the sight of your hopeful face turned to him. You had expertly tapped his weakness: a pretty face and a mission.

"S-sure," he hears himself say. "We'll find him together." You hurry to him and throw your arms around his neck, thanking him profusely. Soft-Iron can already feel his heart melting into nothingness in his chest as he inhales your womanly scent. Dear Lord, he prays silently. I hope we never find this guy.

Takeomi "Scar-Face" Akashi

Takeomi is above you, huffing and grunting as his hair caresses your face. "You should've... never... shown... your face... little thief."

Your fingers instinctively grip the sheets, but you release them to drag your nails across Takeomi's back. "Hate fucking is still fucking," you quip back, sweat rolling down your spine. Takeomi cries out as the pain mixes with pleasure, one becoming the other in an endless loop of insanity.

"Got caught stealing from me again." You roll your eyes at his comment, moaning despite your annoyance. Stealing from Scar-Face was too easy, you reckon. If it wasn't the booze that brought him to his knees, then it was money. And if it wasn't that, it was women. Well, you. You're the only woman in his life at present.

A hand comes up and smacks your left ass cheek, and you bite down on your exclamation, trying to hold it in as the crew circulates just outside the door. "You'll pay for that," you hiss, but Omi just huffs a short laugh.

"That and all the other shit you've taken from me, huh? Just paying out of my ass," he complains, rutting into you roughly. This is pure heaven, you think to yourself, digging your nails into his back again. "You'll pay for what you stole tonight."

"Impossible." You clench around his cock, pushing him closer to his high. Takeomi gasps, trying to hold his shaky breaths, but he continues to fail miserably. "I'm gonna take that orgasm before you can take mine," you laugh, clenching around his again. "I took your manhood once, and I'll do it again. Just like I stole your heart." Your tone is teasing, but there's a modicum of truth behind the statement.

"If your daddy wasn't who he was, I would've made you a wench long ago." Takeomi shudders, groaning sharply before spilling his seed inside of you. "Would've... made you my wife... a long time ago."

Chifuyu "Shore Raider" Matsuno & Baji "Blackmane" Keisuke

"No, no, no!" Baji grabs your arm, pulling you out of the closet. His touch isn't rough, but it's enough to set your skin ablaze. "No stowaways!"

"Hey!" you shout, stumbling behind him as he drags you into the open. "That hurts!"

"What hurts me," Baji begins, growling. "Is that Chifuyu sneaks you onto this ship without my permission and then hides you in his closet!" Chifuyu comes down from his perch at the wheel, his eyes full of concern.

"Baji!" It's clear he has every intention of throwing you into the ocean, but Chifuyu quickly stands between him and the railing. "Don't you dare--"

"Women distract us from our purpose," Baji sneers, gripping your wrist even tighter. "Or did you forget the vow we made, Matsuno?"

The vow. You stand in the salty air, watching Chifuyu pale, then blink twice as if a spell had been broken. "I know we made a promise to each other," Chifuyu murmurs, holding his hands out. "Nothing will come between us, Baji; we're co-captains. But I love y/n, too."

Baji grunts, his jaw muscles fluttering. "If you have a woman," Blackmane begins, turning his head towards you. "Then I'll need my own. You'll help me find one, won't you?"

"As sure as the sun rises," Chifuyu nods, smiling brightly. Baji lets you go and stalks off, shaking his head and muttering about the "silly spell" you'd cast over his friend.

Ken "Dragon Skull" Ryuguji

"Tell me the story again." Draken leans his mouth on his laced-together hands, eyes devoid of emotion.

"I got on the ship during the night," you repeat. "I stowed myself into the pantry, where the pickles and eggs are. And I fell asleep." Draken nods. "And I woke up when we were a ways away from the shore."

"But I don't understand why you snuck onto the ship." You roll your eyes, sighing loudly.

"Dad? Arranged marriage? The whole 'you speak when I say you speak,' 'you jump when I say you jump' thing?"

"Freedom," Draken articulates, and you nod. But it was more than that.

For years, you watched Draken hone his skills as a pirate. Every time he returned, he brought more loot and more fame. You feared being left behind in the wake of all of his success.

"I didn't want to be left behind," you exhale.

"Why didn't you just ask?" You're stunned, unsure of how to answer the simple question. "Y/n, we've been friends for so long. I would've told you that you could come along. Now, I'm sure I have the ire of your father and the whole island."

You had yet to consider how this would complicate things for Draken. You were just thinking about being at sea with your best friend, exploring the world together. You hang your head, but Draken walks toward you and touches your cheek from his bed.

"Cheer up," he urges you softly. "I'm not going to make you fish food today. Even though you scared the dogshit out of my crew."

"I brought some money if that makes any difference."

"Keep the money," Draken whispers, his eyes softening. "That's your loot. The first rule of the sea is what's yours is yours." He leans forward to kiss your forehead. "Come on, I might as well introduce you to the others... since you're stuck with me and all." You giggle as he takes your hand, leading you to the deck.

#shinichiro sano x reader #shinichiro sano #wakasa imaushi x reader #wakasa imaushi #takeomi akashi x reader #takeomi akashi #takeomi akashi smut #keizo arashi x reader #keizo arashi #ken ryuuguji x reader #tokyo revengers draken #ken ryuguji #chifuyu matsuno x reader #baji keisuke #keisuke baji x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #tokyo revengers smut #tokyo revengers

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dandorime · 1 month

Text

"Tell me a bedtime story."

"Agent?"

He was cold and wet. The generator was dead. The oxygen was running low, and the carbon dioxide was running high. Agent Phoenix had the headache and tunnel vision to prove it.

His handler's voice, ringing sharply in his ear, cut through the fog in his brain like an axe.

"Agent Phoenix, respond!"

"Still here."

"Status report!" the voice demanded. "Is the engine running?"

"...the engine's underwater."

Phoenix heard a muffled oath and the shuffling of papers over his tiny radio earpiece.

He had never met his handler -- had never seen his face, nor even learned his name -- but he knew the man had an office somewhere in the same Agency building as he did. He could vaguely imagine a figure sitting hunched over a desk somewhere, wearing thickly-padded headphones and leaning in close to his microphone.

"Look around you carefully now," the voice advised. "First thing's first, get that cabin dry. There must be a manual pump somewhere. Find it."

Agent Phoenix stared dolefully into the seawater rising around his chest, slick with fuel oil. Even though he was beginning to float, his body felt impossibly heavy.

His handler wasn't wrong; there WAS an emergency pump somewhere down there.

He had already made use of it 204 times.

The porthole windows, etched with cracks from every angle like layer upon layer of spiderwebs, were somehow still holding up against the mounting pressure. Phoenix let his eyes unfocus as he watched the cracks expand with short, sharp popping sounds.

"AGENT, are you even listening?!"

"No," Phoenix replied honestly. He hadn't meant to say it out loud. He wasn't trying to be abrasive.

He was just very, very tired.

The voice on the other end of the radio fell silent. The only sound in the failing escape pod was the soft swish of water infiltrating through the various breaches in its hull, deep below the surface. The pressure had nearly equalized against the air trapped in the upper third of the capsule, slowing the rise of the surface to an indiscernible crawl.

The water was up to Phoenix's shoulders when the voice finally returned to his ear.

"Agent, you must keep trying, I need you to understand: rescue is too far from your position. If you don't get that pod to the surface before your air runs out, there's absolutely nothing the Agency can do to save you."

If only he knew how long Phoenix had been trying. He'd pumped the capsule dry 204 times and started the motor 197 times. He'd purged the air in the pod and replaced the oxygen 191 and one-half times, the half being when he was rudely interrupted by a window imploding. How many times had he caught and disarmed the grenade in the engine box? He'd lost count -- it was all muscle memory now.

After so many tries -- so many lives -- he was simply too tired to try again.

"Agent Phoenix?"

Phoenix felt for the radio in his ear with trembling, wrinkled fingers. He thought about taking it out. About destroying it, along with the microphone, to put an end to the conversation...

"Agent Phoenix, please respond."

...but he didn't want to. He genuinely didn't want to shut off that voice, as useless and distant as it may have been. It felt comforting, somehow, to know he wasn't altogether alone.

"Agent," the voice asked grimly, "are you still there?"

"Not for much longer," Phoenix replied, his voice husky from the tainted air.

There was more paper-shuffling in his ear, the sound of wooden chair legs scraping over the floor, and a bit of static. Phoenix was sure his unfortunate handler was white-knuckling his microphone, preparing himself for the inevitable. He still felt a twinge of guilt every time he had to drag the poor guy through it with him, even after hundreds of deaths...

"Agent, please state your intentions."

Those weren't his handler's choice of words, Phoenix knew. That was a line directly from the protocols for closing communications on a failed mission.

"I've got a request," Phoenix coughed.

They both knew he meant a last request.

"Proceed." The voice in his ear was especially somber now.

Agent Phoenix took a deep breath to find enough oxygen.

"Tell me a bedtime story."

He'd meant it as a joke. He wanted to give his handler one final laugh, a sort of parting shot to ease the pain.

Truthfully, though, he did want to hear that voice for a while longer, or at least for as long as he had left; as the stale air lulled him to sleep, and the cold ocean filled his lungs.

To his surprise, his handler didn't hesitate to oblige.

"I understand. Yes, I will certainly tell you a story. Um... let's see now..."

...and the story began.

"When I was a young man, I lived on an estate in Cambridgeshire, a ways into the countryside..."

As the tale unfolded, Phoenix's consciousness wavered. He let himself sink down into the water as far as he dared, taking care only to keep the radio in his ear dry. Eventually a knot gave way in his chest, and the compound stress of trying to succeed, trying to escape, trying to survive, all seemed to dissolve into the dark water around him.

Agent Phoenix fell asleep peacefully.

(a bedtime story)

#ieytd #i expect you to die #agent phoenix #reginald crane #still writing

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freyjuseggr · 4 months

Text

i suppose its probably a good idea for me to like, outline whats been going on for me lately. a few people already know but i havent yet made it public and perhaps i should be clear about it

as many of you know/remember, i started this account as a primarily-norse polytheist, specifically devoted to Freyja. in 2018, i swore an oath and devoted myself to her.

however in 2021, i started attempting to convert to Judaism. i realize now, i was not at liberty to do so, given my prior oath. my worldview at the time was that all gods are part of one, larger G-d, and this allowed me to justify conversion and monotheism to myself. when that did not work out, i decided to pursue Catholicism, which, similarly, i was not permitted to do.

recently, i realized that i had quite quickly abandoned the idea that all gods were part of one, and that i had been attempting (because i dont think i was ever actually able) to break my oath.

she has come back to reclaim me, and thus, there will be a return to some older (pre-2021) content on here, and a renewed relationship between myself and her, which you may get to hear some of the less personal bits of

anyone who followed me for christian content, or even because of my conversion is, of course, welcome to unfollow me, but youre also more than welcome to stay, i like you guys. if anyone has questions, feel free to send them and ill answer what im able to as always. thank you for your patience with me while ive figured this out, as you can imagine perhaps, ive had a pretty emotional couple of days

#remember what i said about my flaws? yeah #if you consider me an oath-breaker i mean. fair enough i kinda do to #but thats between myself and her and id prefer strangers dont get involved thanks #gonna pin this so people can see it #rededication

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rui-drawsbox · 7 days

Note

Okay obligatory DnD person as per the Dungon Meshi post(dnd/fantasy au + our life is amazing and I love it) but also I just wanted to say that there is a subclass of elves in dnd called aquatic elves that are kind of a happy mix between a mermaid and a, well, normal elf. I stick more towards spooky rather than nautical campaigns myself, so I’m not too familiar, but if I remember correctly they’re amphibious but with two legs rather than full mermaid.

Also obviously please ignore if you have different ideas but based off of what people have written about battle roles I could absolutely see some subclasses for the four!

Derek I could absolutely see as a Paladin(subclass possibly being oath of devotion or glory) basically the more defensive tank guys bound by an oath they make to themselves or someone important to them, which gives them a little spellcasting as well as actual auras that buff their allies later on.

Baxter I could see being a Bard (College of Swords), or what I kind of think of as a sort of battledancer. It would be a little less of a full spellcaster, but you can do special flourishes when fighting with a rapier which I always imagine as pseudo-dancing, plus he’d still get all the flashy bard spells. And to top it off, Bards actually use their charm(charisma stat) to cast spells which just screams Baxter to me.

Cove is a little harder but if you were going with him having a fish/animal companion while still being a melee fighter a Ranger(Beastmaster or Swarmkeeper) would be a good fit IMO, obviously with the Cove Creater he’s harder to pin than Baxter or Derek, but Ranger is pretty flexible. You basically get to choose a companion that’s from the land, air, or sea; and they can help you out in battle and follow you around, or as Swarmkeeper he could have his swarm be a school of fish.

Ruri is obviously a bit harder because you know your OC best, but if you really wanted to lean into more into the familiar/animal buddy route. Druid(circle of the shepherd) is always a fun choice! It’s kind of like the more spellcaster version of rangers’ Swarmkeeper where you can summon a lot of critters while still having some super strong elemental spells.

But anyway! I hope this wasn’t too long, I saw some (kinda) DnD our life content and I couldn’t resist! But thank you again for the adorable art of the main boys(and your lovely OC!) in a fantasy setting!

Second ask from dnd anon:

Oh! DnD anon part two!

But basically the theoretical party composition would look like:

Derek = Tank/Damage

Cove = Weapon Damage/Companion(s)

Baxter = Spells/Weapon Damage

and Ruri = Healing/Spells.

Also one last note about Druid is while druids have a lot of elemental spells (create water, spike growth, etc.), they also have the ability to do something called wildshape, where they can shapeshift into an animal for either out of battle(wildshape into a mouse to get under the crack in a door, then returning to normal and unlocking it) or battle (at later levels imagine fighting a spellcasting bear or even dragon) but also has more silly implications like wild shaping into a songbird to sing with Baxter, or a cat or sloth to ride on Cove’s shoulder.

got these asks a few days ago but i let them marinate in my brain hope you dont mind anon KJDSAUH

anyways AQUATIC ELF THATS PERFECT i tried to stick to what i knew about dumenshi rules in that post but for my first fantasy AU ideas i was going to do Cove a half mermaid (Cliff human x mermaid Kyra or elf Kyra [shes just so pretty its insane] x mermaid Cliff) that lived in a house right on the beach lmao, im happy that actually makes sense somewhere in dnd

i tried to look at the aquatic elves wiki from the forgotten realms fandom and omg so much text in the main page

also paladin Derek canon‼‼ imagine he does his oath to his brothers right after something dangerous happens to them when they were kids (im not saying his parents should die but im not saying they shouldnt--)

and bam!! tragic backstory 10x worse than his canon that is already bad enough :DD (try to make him feel less responsable now i wanna see that)

baxter turn rn. DO YOU THINK HE WOULD PLAY VIOLIN? I WANNA SEE THAT (<-this person didnt thought about drawing him with an instrument until it was time to write her thoughts) anyway it would def be a fancy instrument, daddy and mommy wanted to keep appearances i bet

one his spells makes his sword and moves shine and when hes under the sun his enemies become fucking blind

everything about him screams I HAVE MONEY but everytime people try to rob him he just rolls a nat20 in persuasion and they end up giving him money

and omg just imagine Cove's school of fish are all his pet fishes from the game JGASDFJK

im also. not discussing roles when the most i know about dnd is bg3 and i just finished 2 playthroughs. if you say ruri is a druid she's a druid, she makes super artsy flower fields and decorates every tree she sees with organical paint or smth jkfhds

Ruri's forest has a tree that connects with the ocean and they both just hangout sometimes (as if theyre not together 60% of the time already)

DRUID RURI THAT LIKES TO BRAID COVE'S HAIR WITH LITTLE POPPIES‼‼‼

MERMAID COVE THAT LETS RURI (otter form!!) RIDE HIS BACK WHILE HE SWIMS‼‼‼‼

mermaid cove humming a song and ruri falling to the river in trance/j

anyways anon i agree with everything tbh, there's so many ways to do a fantasy AU and i adore the dnd version (id kill for a dnd group or smth in my city)

i also have another fantasy au more vanilla but not-really. basically isekai baxter LMAO mostly an excuse to make ruri and baxter being domestic but before baxter developed any real domestic skill JHASFD

#rui draw smth #our life #olba #our life: beginnings & always #baxter ward #cove holden #derek suarez #our life mc #olba mc #anyways mermaid cove will always be on the back of my brain waiting until i feel like drawing him #for baxter and cove i just say silly stupid things and when it's derek's turn i kill his parents. lovely

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 5 months

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 3)

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 3K+

Warnings: mentions of violence, human trafficking, morally gray characters, CIA Black missions = shady shit, swearing

Summary: The first flashback chapter for Rory regarding her time in Iraq working operations for the CIA (will tie into the overall story fyi, no ship stuff this chapter)

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis. Will also be available to read on AO3.

2016 - Anbar Province, Iraq / Syrian Border

“All right, people, you have your orders. This ain’t gonna be pretty. So get your shit on right.”

Rory tried her hardest to ignore the droning voice of Officer Walker, the CIA operative assigned to the squad sitting in the front passenger seat, giving his best military impersonation for the crowd of soldiers jammed together in the armored vehicle. Crammed so tight her shoulders barely had room to bump against her fellow passengers as they drove along the rocky road. They were sardines in a tin can being boiled together on a hot stove – a pressure cooker – and the situation they were about to find themselves in only made it worse.

“We are fifteen minutes out from the Syrian border. I repeat one - five minutes. This is known home turf for ISIS. We’re expecting heavy resistance. I will remind you all that this is unsanctioned. We are heading into the Black. There will be no questions. There will be no reports. There will be no crying to your mamas on the phone when you get back to base, ‘cause believe me, we’ll be tracking it. That goes for you limey fucks too,” he said with a smirk, looking up into the rearview mirror with his amber eyes. “ God Bless Homeland Security. ”

Walker’s wry smile was enough to turn Rory’s stomach, but she didn’t get to choose her bosses in the middle of warfare. She had to nod her head with a ‘yes, sir’ and a ‘no, sir’ to make her way through this. He might have been American, he might have been CIA, but right now, he was in charge.

“We are dealing with a serious piece of shit in one Abdullah Al Ghulam, he is our target. I want him kept alive at all costs. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

She said nothing while the other soldiers around her offered their oath of fealty to the man. Instead, Rory kept her head down and her mind focused on the mission. Her mind always had to be on the mission. In situations like these, knowing she was about to see some shit, she did her best to block out the conscience her mother had instilled in her – doing good things for the right people . Out here there was just getting your hands dirty and hoping that it would be for the best, that it paid off in the long run and wouldn’t come back to haunt. The end justifying the means when things went dark like this, Machiavellianism at its very peak. There were no heroes out here, no matter who was patted on the back and awarded medals.

Across from her Lt. Andrew Owen kept his eyes on her, his blue stare darkened by the brim of his helmet. The corner of his lip curled as he noticed her looking back at him with a ‘can you believe this guy’ flick of her brow, his head shaking slightly in return. He was the second in command of her unit, they seemed to never be too far away from one another, having fought in enough foxholes together to trust that the other had their six, and despite what the mission was expecting to serve them, seeing him there in the vehicle with her did add a certain sense of relative calm to the situation. There was a face in the crowd of strangers that wouldn’t just see her as some waste of space. Andrew knew what she was capable of. All too well .

As the stream of armored vehicles came to a stop, the soldiers completed their final weapons check as the sun began to fade down into the horizon, streaking the sky in deep orange and red like the hellfire they were about to rain down. Readying their thermal scopes and night vision, making sure their tac gear was strapped on tight, the doors opened, and shadows crept out into the evening.

Rory swung the strap of her rifle over her head and across her shoulder, looking out at the sky turned purple, the sun nearly completely gone down except for one lingering sliver of light along the horizon line. Pulling down on the goggles that would help lead her into the dark, seeing only in green and black as she marched forward, she followed her Lieutenant into battle. He was quick to give her a bump to the shoulder, that last little bit of comfort from a friend before hitting any possible SNAFUs.

“You good, Sinclair?” he whispered into the comm.

“Yeah. Same old, same old. Right, Andy?”

Chuckling at the nickname, a smile cracked his otherwise serious face, “Fuck you.”

Tensions were relieved for only a moment, building right back up as boots crunched slowly through the sand and small bits of gravel towards the munitions bunker American intelligence had confirmed the existence of several klicks across the border with the use of drones. It was up to her and the rest of the squad to clear out the guard of enemy combatants, neutralize the weapons, and then collect the intel that would lead to who had actually shipped them in. Weapons didn’t come from nowhere, there was always a trail that led back.

Silently stalking into the night, radio chatter was kept to an absolute minimum, hand signals being used instead. They’d crossed the border into enemy territory, they were no longer within the boundaries they were meant to maintain, they were in a country they weren’t at war with – not yet anyway. The squad broke up into two units, flanking the building in a pincer movement that would leave the resistance fighting from two opposing directions. Rory was split off with Walker and Lt. Owen, coming in from the rear of the bunker along with several other NATO soldiers of different rank and file, while the others stormed the front with charges to the doors.

Shock and awe .

Explosions rang out into the night, flashes of white light sparking from the corner of Rory’s night vision, the heat blurring her view for just a moment. She gripped her rifle a little tighter as they moved forward, heading down towards the opposite entrance of the complex. The heavy doors were locked tight, so C4 was strapped on in order to breach. Flying open along with a blast of sand, the doors were left to creak on their hinges as the soldiers entered before the ringing in their ears could quiet.

Black figures stormed through the halls lined with flickering fluorescent lights, the sounds of gunshots and yelling echoing as the B squad moved to meet them in the middle. Bullets ripped through the air, bodies falling. This wasn’t a precise operation, a striking opposite from the way Rory usually worked. Shifting from shock to all out bedlam for the enemy, the dead littered the bunker as the force pushed through the halls. They weren’t taking prisoners here, no hostages, this was meant to be a clean sweep except for the target, clearing all rooms of anyone armed or considered dangerous.

Room after room, corridor after corridor, this place seemed to go on forever. Some passages ran tighter than others but would lead into expansive rooms and from them more men would appear, gun spray missing the soldiers as they fired haphazardly. There would only be casualties on one side tonight as the enemy seemed to swarm like insects, wave after wave, protecting what lay at the heart of the labyrinth of tunnels. Cut down as the soldiers expected more to rise from their place.

Heading down one of the tunnels, it steadily grew darker as Rory’s squad moved away from the main hall. The lamps above glowed with warm, golden light, yet shadows still bloomed against the walls of the corridor. Another heavy steel door blocked their path at the end, and Walker was sure that was the entrance to Abdullah’s private area, sectioned off from everyone else like the queen in a nest.

Taking point at the door, Walker motioned for one of the other soldiers to come forward with the charges to breach, and the blood in Rory’s ears began to thunder with each pump of her heart, the sweat starting to form on her brow. It didn’t matter how many times she was in a situation like this, how practiced of a routine it had become, she still had that frantic moment just before hell was about to break loose. When the anxious prey animal in her head was set free before the chomping jaws of the wolf would clamp back down again and she’d return to calm. Battle readiness swept over her as the adrenaline spread through her body, keeping her head on a swivel.

With a massive bang and a gust of rushing air, the door was breached and once more they dove headfirst into the unknown. The darkness dissipated and the lights of sconces on the walls lit their way to Al Ghulam who threw himself down on to his knees without an order, wasting no time in placing his hands behind his head, as if he already knew he wouldn’t be sacrificed despite his crimes.

Rory’s hawklike gaze travelled over their newly acquired prisoner, surprised to find a man who was still clean cut and wearing a well-tailored shirt and pants and smooth leather boots, despite having been in a bunker for apparently some time, using this as his headquarters. He was a man who still held onto his ties to the West, despite working with terrorist organizations that actively despised the nations that made up its colonial powers.

Stalking up to the man, Walker grabbed the zip ties from his vest and slapped them around Abdullah’s wrists. “Well shit, you went down easy, huh?”

“Allaenat ealayk." <Arabic: Fuck you.>

“You gonna call me an American pig while you’re at it?” He looked down at the prisoner, his brow raised waiting for an answer, but he was met with only silence. “That’s what I thought. So, Mr. Al Ghulam I think you already know why we’re down here, so why don’t you save us nice people some trouble and lead us to your stash, ‘kay?”

Dark eyes rose to look at the American through a furrowed brow. “There are no weapons here,” he said confidently.

“You can fuck right off with that bullshit; I know for a fact –”

“You know nothing, fucking CIA.” Abdullah’s eyes scoured the officer with a glare. “You are led by your masters, but you don’t know anything at all.”

Grabbing Abdullah by the collar of his shirt, Walker lifted him to his feet and looked him in the eyes. “I know what I need to. And right now, you’re gonna play your role and lead me to the containers I know you have kept here.”

“Containers yes, but there are no weapons.”

“Sure there aren’t.” Walker shoved the man forward, causing him to stumble as he was pushed past the soldiers.

Rory’s stare followed him out of the room, focused on Walker and Al Ghulam. Containers, but no weapons – what was that supposed to mean? She looked to her Lieutenant, the question caught on her tongue, but it came through in her furrowed brow. Andrew gave her no answer, he didn’t have any more to go on than she did, but his jaw sat clenched.

They followed the CIA operative down, further down into the bunker. Metal stairs clanging as the boots of a dozen soldiers stomped upon them. Finally entering a massive room with a large roll up bay door at the end of it. Storage space, a delivery system, this base was well-established. Placed in the middle of the room were six large metal shipping containers and Walker’s eyes went wide at the sight.

“Alright, people, I want those doors opened. We’re taking inventory and then sweeping for intel.”

Using large bolt cutters, the locks on the containers were removed by the soldiers, but upon opening the doors it brought no peace. There weren’t any weapons as was promised, just as Al Ghulam had said, there was something else. Something that made Rory’s stomach drop and her eyes go wide with horror.

Inside each container sat women and children. Weeping and starving, treated like cattle. Their clothes dirty, the smell of body odor near unbearable as it wafted throughout the room.

“ Jesus Christ… ” Rory could only speak in a whisper, eyes glued to the sight before her.

Bolt cutters fell to the cement floor with a heavy bang. Soldiers stood, shocked so quiet they could hear a pin drop. The flashlights of a dozen rifles travelled over the tear-streaked faces of innocent people caught in the crossfire of a war that had been going on for too long. Herded into pens, treated like property, to be sent off to God only knew where.

She seethed, a deep-seated anger in her making her blood run cold. Violence she’d seen and dealt with, able to manage it and push it down to where it no longer kept her up at night. Such abhorrent behavior towards human lives however, that was something she couldn’t shut out. Her gut twisted, the stoic exterior breaking as her mouth hung open and her eyes began to sting.

Children and women reached out towards the soldiers, seeing their captor pushed to his knees and a gag shoved in his mouth. They thought the forces were there to save them and it broke Rory’s heart. They weren’t heroes, they weren’t here to save the day, if Walker had his way these civilians would likely be left here for some clean-up crew to deal with. Lives didn’t matter, just having the upper hand in the fight did.

Walker stood, his hand pressed to Al Ghulam’s shoulder as he forced the man to stay on his knees, but his face never seemed to change. Even as his amber eyes travelled over the countless faces that sat before him, the sickening sight had little effect on the man who had filled his life with secrets, lies, and deception, all to keep the power imbalance for the empire of America going strong.

“What the fuck is this?” Rory looked to Walker, her lips drawn back in a snarl. “What the fuck is this, Walker? I thought we were coming down here for weapons.”

“Yeah, we were. Intel was wrong,” he said with a shrug.

“How did no one know about this?” She tossed her arm out towards the half dozen steel cargo containers filled with women and children.

“Calm down, soldier. You think in an active war zone we got the time to be looking for missing persons? You think that’s what we’re here for? You think we give a shit about that? We are fighting terrorists, we are not the fucking UN,” Walker snapped.

Rory took off her helmet and held onto it by the straps, stabbing her tongue into her cheek if only to compose herself. “I think that whatever the fuck this asshole has going on –” Her attention turned to the man on his knees currently bound and gagged before her eyes darted back to Walker. “It’s a lot worse than whatever you or anyone else has been led to believe.”

The CIA officer stared her down, his face growing harder as he glared at her from under his brow. Unmoved by her compassion for humanity, he had a job to do and she was hindering those efforts.

“Don’t go pulling any heroics, Sinclair,” Andrew hissed, grabbing her arm and pulling her closer to him until he could talk low enough for only her to hear. “We don’t need to go any deeper than this. This is above our paygrade already. We’re just here to shoot, remember ?” His glare stabbed into her as if to caution her next move. “I'd like to keep it that way.”

Her brow knit together, her jaw tightening ever still. It was like she was the only one who could see what was happening, the only one with clarity of mind to know that something monstrous was going on here and it sunk deep into the bowels of things. There was an unseen side to war, and she had yet to have gotten a stomach for it. “There are women and children locked up in steel boxes like cargo. I don’t care if this isn’t the weapon shipment we were sent in for. You think I'm going to turn a blind eye to that?”

“I think we shouldn’t push our CIA friend.”

It was a warning. Andrew had been around this block more times than she, he knew how bad things could get, but still she couldn’t understand how he wouldn’t object to what was happening here. “ Andy ?” She was taken aback by her Lieutenant’s sudden willful withdrawal of his conscience. They were at war, weapons were something she expected, a human trafficking ring was not on her list of things to discover in a bunker.

“Listen to me, Rory. We let Officer Walker do what he needs to with our target, and you and I stay quiet. Do you understand me, Sergeant?” Rory’s eyes drifted away from Andrew and back over to Walker, still holding onto Abdullah like a hostage before Lieutenant Owen grabbed her arm and brought her attention back to him as her superior. “There’s a reason the CIA wants him kept alive when it would be so easy to just put a bullet in his head. I’d prefer not to be privy to all that. Clear?”

“Rog’,” she said sullenly.

“Good. Now then let’s say we help Officer Walker here find a private room where he can hold a discussion with Mr. Al Ghulam. The sooner we can get out of here, the better.”

Rory nodded, her face sunken into a scowl. She hated being beholden to a law that didn’t even truly exist, a shadow of the rule of justice that was meant to be carried out, where war crimes and human rights violations were swept under the rug so long as the right hands were greased and information could be swapped between hands. It was dirty, stained in red, and going into the black meant it would never come to light.

#cod fanfic #oc: rory sinclair #john price x female oc #ship: you are the sword to my shield

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forbidden-sunlight · 3 months

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yandere!holy knight with saintess!reader scenario [part two]

Warnings: obsessive behavior, profane language, religious themes, implied manipulation, attempted sexual assault, attempted drugging.

There may be possible triggers in this story.

You are responsible for your own Internet consumption!

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Part One

Part Three

Hey guys, welcome to part two of the yandere!Holy Knight scenario! As a final reminder, the content is going to get much darker so if you do not feel comfortable continuing, please exit now. Bullying is not tolerated on here, so if there is I will take this fic down.

For those who are curious about who is the pretty lady featured in this chapter, this is the one whom the Head Priest claims to be the real saintess, the one whom God truly loves, Reverent Sister Esther. Special thanks to @deathmetalunicorn1 for helping me find this pic and writing out the difficult bits in this fic.

So, with that being said, sit back, relax, and let us return to the Holy Temple of Aesir.

Yandere!Holy Knight rose from his cot on the third morning since he had seen you, exhaustion seeping into his bones even when he should have felt refreshed and ready for the afternoon patrol. Instead, he felt his skin prickle, his calloused hands started to become wet with sweat. His heart was hammering in his rib cage. Will he be able to see you today? He thought. Will he see Reverent Sister Esther? Aesir, please let it not be so!

He could only assume that you were making yourself scarce around the Holy Temple because you were still trying to find any information on the Affection Level while the rest of the congregation began the preparation for the Festival of Stars. It was supposed to be an auspicious time. To reflect and be kind to others as the long, winter dark nights crept across the land.

Yet Reverend Sister Esther did not share those sentiments. With Aesir as his witness, Yandere!Holy Knight can testify under oath that the newest member of the congregation does not possess empathy. Why? Because…of what he saw behind those closed doors leading towards the sanctuary. He didn't mean to see it, he shouldn’t have. Yandere!Holy Knight had only dared to go there before the morning prayers began because he was concerned about the bell-ringer. In its five-hundred year history, there has not been a single morning when someone did not hear the bells of the Holy Temple announce the dawn of a new day and awaken the Brothers and Sisters from their slumber.

He pushed the doors open just a breadth and saw everyone, even the bell-ringer, sitting in the pews in awed silence at the beautiful blue-haired woman in a modest white dress standing behind the pulpit. Reverend Sister Esther smiled softly.

“There is no need to exhaust yourselves by kind to everyone. The world is a dark, cruel place.” She said, spreading her arms outwards.. “There are people we should not speak to, and those we should not lend our ears to. We must turn them away, and only listen to Aesir and what he desires from us. We are his precious children. They are the dregs of society. The common, vulgar, weak, and licentious. They do not deserve Aesir’s salvation! It is through Him, Through I, His Beloved, that we will find our Paradise!” The pews erupted into applause, some of the Brothers standing up as they declared that her words to be sacrament instead of heresy. The High Priest was in wholehearted agreement, smiling widely with flushed cheeks.

Yandere!Holy Knight’s stomach churned in awed disgust before he quietly closed the door, leaning against it to steady his wobbling knees. This is why the number of visitors, of people who have come here in search of guidance and love? Because these fools are being deceived by a devil with a honeyed tongue? He fingered the silver chain around his check, fiddling with the tiny peridot. Sister Harrowhark. He thought about you, concealed behind staggering towers of tomes, dark circles under those jeweled eyes and ignoring the growling of your stomach as you continued to search in the archives. He swallowed thickly at the image in his mind, feeling the tips of his ears burning.

Forgive me, Aesir. These feelings I have harbored for Sister Harrowhark are threatening to sear my flesh and bone. Protect me, Aesir, from Reverend Sister Esther and her wickedness. Guide me, Aesir, what can I do? What must I do? He prayed to his God. He recited the penance of Lust and Sloth, then two verses from the Book of Salvation and then pulled himself away, hoping that the morning sparring sessions and afternoon patrol would be more than enough to keep him busy until he could sneak into the kitchens when the cook was on her break. You might have a responsibility to protect the congregation as Aesir’s Eyes, but you will not do it by exhausting yourself like this, especially if you haven’t eaten a single piece of bread. Yandere!Holy Knight will be absolutely furious if he had to find out the hard way, which is seeing you passed out at a desk, using your arms as a makeshift pillow with [Hair Color] strands all over the place.

And he did. And he had every right to be angry at you. But he willed his boiling anger to a low simmer, focusing his efforts on cajoling you to rise from the chair, carefully placing a hand on around your shoulders as he led out into the hall, to your quarters. He had gotten only as far as to have you eat some sliced meat, bread, and a bit of cheese. You promised that you would take a bath as soon as he left.

Yandere! Holy Knight could only believe your words, though he had a few of his own to say to you.

“Lady Harrowhark, please…you cannot keep doing this to yourself! If you have seen what I have seen happening to the Holy Temple, to our home, then you must know that we must be at our full strength to combat this wickedness!”

You didn’t even try arguing back. You were just as upset as he was, and had seen what he had seen through secret passages located throughout the temple. You both knew who the culprit was, but without solid evidence, all claims would be dismissed as accusations created from jealousy and hate. Seeing the downtrodden frown, how you calmly dismissed him and turned away to look out the stained-glass window….the memory fractured Yandere! Holy Knight’s heart even more.

After his early afternoon patrol, Yandere! Holy Knight went to the training grounds. He swung, parried, and lunged at an invisible enemy until the wooden sword splintered at the handle, sharp pieces slicing through the palm of his hand. He inhaled deeply, feeling the pain throbbing followed the warm wetness of his blood trickling down his fingers. He carefully covered it with his other hand. He needed to get it treated.

He cut through the training grounds, entering the cloister leading to the hospital wing when he heard a silvery voice call out to him. He glanced over his shoulder and saw Reverend Sister Esther running towards him, face flushed pink and the hem of her skirts lifted just enough to expose her ankles. An expression might have been seen as the look of someone who is in love….but Yandere!Holy Knight felt nothing except disgust and wariness. He straightened his spin and just kept moving, quickening his pace.

Or he would have liked to. He couldn’t act too out of the ordinary. After all, he and Lady Harrowhark are the only ones immune to the Affection Level spell casted by Reverend Sister Esther. Inhaling a deep breath through his nostrils, he lowered his head to the heathen.

“Reverend Sister, how may I help you?” He asked cooly.

“You’re hurt!” She gasped. Her blue eyes were wide with false concern, the faintest hint of cunning wickedness glimmering in the sunlight as she ever so slowly cradled his injured hand in both of her hands, fingers languidly grazing the outside of his palm. Yandere!Holy Knight felt his skin prickle. Aesir, grant me strength! He exclaimed in his mind. He was about to pull away when he felt something enter the open cut with a soft shick. He almost missed it. He looked at her, now frightened.

“What did you -” His words were soon cut off when she covered his wound with a handkerchief that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. “At least bind it to slow the blood flow!” Esther smiled brightly. He nodded, quickly pulling his hand away. That was when he felt it. Nausea. Then something crawling under his skin, like the roots of a tree, slithering and making his body hot and please Aesir help help help HELP!

Yandere!Holy Knight stumbled backwards, landing on his side and the warm fog in his mind worsened. He couldn’t think….he…needed….he needed what? What? WHAT?! When he glanced up at Reverend Sister Esther, his hammering heart thudded harder against his ribcage. The look on her face was foul, evil.

Like a cat who had finally caught a canary in its claws.

Terrified out of his mind, he pulled himself up from the stone floor and ran. He ran until the exertion and whatever poison that she had placed in his body had taken its toll. He vaguely remembered entering a room, but not locking it. Another wave of pain surged through his body, and more blood…it went south. Yandere!Holy Knight felt ashamed, disgusted. And he needed you. He needed you so much right now.

Somehow, Reverend Sister Esther found him. And her grin had become impossibly wider at seeing like this. She was giggling. Kneeling in front of him, her dainty hand reached out and stroked his reddening cheek, causing the already overwhelming heat in his body to bloom again and make his…problem get worse.

“Now, let’s have a little fun, shall we~? My dear, sweet little bias~.” Esther purred, dragging her hand down his face, his neck, and then to his chest before she gave a gentle push. When he collided with the floor, she raised her skirts and straddled his hips. Yandere! Holy Knight tried to push her away, but he felt so damned weak. What in Aesir’s name had she done to him?!

“What is the meaning of this?” A cold, calm voice broke through the stifling silence. Esther stiffened, her beautiful face contouring into disbelief and anger, the irises of her eyes becoming slitted like a cat’s before she looked over her shoulder. He did too, and saw a tired-looking woman in mother-of-pearl robes. You.

“You!”

“I asked you a question. Answer me.”

“I don’t answer to an extra, screw off!”

The uncomfortable heat was soon replaced with relief, followed by the lewd desire to have The Possessor of the All-Seeing Eyes in his arms and succumb to his touch. So lost in this haze of lust, Yandere!Holy Knight barely registered seeing you stride across the room and flinging white powder into Esther’s face. The heretic immediately fell forward, and you easily caught her, though she was heavier than she looked. Glancing around the room, you turned your attention to him.

“Get to my room. I’ll be right there, I promise.” You commanded quietly, swinging one of the heretic’s arms over your shoulder and placing your hand around her waist. You looked left, then right, and then disappeared, the tail of your robes billowing from the corner of the doorway. Exhaling a shaky breath, Yandere!Holy Knight stood up and went to your room as fast as his legs could carry him.

He waited on your bed for ten agonizing minutes before the doorknob turned to the right, and you entered, quickly locking the door behind you. Yandere!Holy Knight barely contained a sob upon seeing your ethereal form. Unlike the disgust he felt earlier in Esther’s presence, he only felt relief. Comfort. And another feeling blossoming deep inside of him, something that he liked as he gazed upon your scorching eyes.

He watched as you went to the bookcase on the opposite side of the room, pulling a heavy book from the second shelf on the left. He heard the grinding gears of the secret passage spring to life click-click-click-click-shhnk.

“Come.” You said urgently, grabbing him by the arm and hoisting him upwards. Hot energy coursed through him, his body screaming for wanton release even as you repositioned your body in the exact form as you had carried Esther. You stumbled down the stone steps, almost losing your footing more than once on the way down because he tried to press her against the wall, to press her body against his, anything to make him feel good, to make you feel good - it wasn’t his fault!

You just scowled. “When this is over, you and I are going to have a very long talk.”

“So…long as I am with you…I do not care. Please, Lady Harrowhark, touch me.” Yandere!Holy Knight moaned. “Touch me, the light of my life, and let my desire for you burn inside of me forever more, a pyre that no can ever extinguish -”

“Aesir forgive me but shut the ever-living fuck up and sit down on the bed, Sir Palamedes.” You snapped impatiently. Yandere!Holy Knight quickly obeyed the command, not wanting to anger God’s Beloved any further because if you are angry, you will not touch him like you are doing now.

Seemingly satisfied with his obedience, you quickly rummaged around the workspace and collected supplies but not before you illuminated the secret room with a flick of your wrist. You threw a rag in a bowl of cold water, you pushed him on his back to lie down, and rung out the cloth, laying it over his face.

“This is going to hurt.” You warned him.

“I know.” He said.“

You need to keep still.”

“I know.”

“I’ll be as gentle as I can.”

“I know.” Yandere!Holy Knight whispered. “I know…you would never hurt me…as Reverend Sister Esther. No, the heretic would have. So please…do whatever you want with me just please let me feel you, please.” He pleaded. Instead of receiving an answer, he heard the clink of a knife being removed from its leather sheath, and his shirt being ripped open from the bottom to the top. Yandere!Holy Knight arched his back, moaning.

“Lady Harrowhark!”

“Shut. Up.”

That was the last thing he remembered before Yandere!Holy Knight lost consciousness. When he awakened, there was no trace of the fog in his mind nor the heat in his body. He could think. He could feel his pulse…it was normal. His eyes widened. Wait, if this is normal!

He shot up from the bed, the rag falling from his face. He saw you hunched over the desk, panting loudly and grunting before you turned around. In your hands was a large jar, filled with holy water and a writhing black mass of roots. He paled. What was that thing? Is that what the heathen had placed inside of his hand, letting it fester? What you had removed from his body with your holy magic? Dear Aesir.

When you turned around, saw him…you smiled. You smiled with those jeweled eyes and flushed face and blood sweat trickling down your nose and mouth. You staggered towards him, trying hard to keep yourself steady. And you did until you reached the edge of the bed….and you fell forward. Yandere!Holy Knight caught you. He hadn’t expected to feel as weak as he did. It took a tremendous amount of effort to pull you up from where you had landed, right on top of his legs, and repositioned himself…so that you could lay your head against his chest.

He remembered meeting with Esther in the cloister. She treated his hand, then…

Murky violet orbs widened in horror and shame as one fragmented memory after another fell into place, filling the gap between then and now. He looked down at you. How could he have called out to you like that, shamelessly lusting after you like the foolish, licentious sinner that he is. Yet you risked your health yet again, this time to save his soul from damnation.

Yandere!Holy Knight felt tears welling up in the back of his eyes, choking back a sob as disgust and guilt somersaulted in his stomach.

How could you forgive him after what he had done to you? What he might have done? He didn’t deserve it. It was his fault for allowing Sister Esther to get close to him when you told him to stay away from her. He turned to the jar that was rattling on the desk, the….seed, if he could even call it that, wriggle and tap its inky tentacles incessantly against the glass. It wanted out.

And as much as he wanted to destroy that thing with his own hands, you would never keep this foul thing unless you had planned to use it as the evidence they needed to convict Esther of her crimes against the Holy Temple of Aesir.

In a moment of selfishness, Yandere!Holy Knight took one of your hands and pressed his lips against the knuckles. He recited the penance of Lust in his mind twice, murmuring under his breath. He prayed for Aesir’s forgiveness, for your forgiveness, for you to wake up soon.

The Holy Temple needed you. You were the only one who could save the congregation from being condemned by the Empire. It was his home, your home.

He needed you. You were the only one who could ever quench the flames of his desire, even if you were to never feel the same towards him for the rest of your days. So long as you are by his side, he will never ask for anything else.

Taglist

@certifiedsimpinggalore

@queenmimis

@amidst-the-tempest

@yandere-dark-cupid

@mochinon-yah

@average-yandere-enjoyer

@thatstrangesheep

@lxdymoon0357

@faux-ecrivain

@cassanderasblog

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eccentricmya · 2 months

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In defence of Maedhros

A couple days ago I vilified him, read his character in a truly unfavourable light, arguing that he was never a good guy. Well, this time I'll defend him! I don't think he was truly a bad guy either.

I start once again by summarising the general opinion on him: he was good then he turned bad, very bad, or even villainous. The phrase that caught my eye was "he ended up doing the enemy's work". Well, yes, if we assume the enemy only wanted to eradicate the free people. But I'm of the opinion that Morgoth was erasing dissension and opposition to his 'rule', his goal was not wiping out people but subjugating them.

Maedhros never did that. Yes, he killed refugees (an act when seen through the perspective of the world we live in seem even more horrific), yes he ruined Doriath, but he did not do these 'unprovoked'. Had his demand of the return of the Silmaril been fulfilled, there would've been no second and third kinslayings. One may argue that his reaction to not getting the gem was disproportionate to the offence. And I will counter-argue that the same logic can be applied to the people of Doriath and Sirion, who valued a jewel over their lives. The fact that the Silmaril escapes with Elwing shows an unwillingness to give up the jewel, even at the cost of the lives of their people. The Sons of Feanor were not asking them to give up their freedom and live under a tyrant, like Morgoth was, they were asking for a mere trinket, the return of which would've prevented all that bloodshed. The kinslayings in Beleriand did not happen in isolation or for some grand evil plan. They happened because both sides put pride before lives. (At least the Falmari at Alqualonde had he excuse of defending their own creations, not a stolen one.)

All this on top of the Oath as a driving factor. The text gives it an almost sentient quality in its wording of its presence. For the third kinslaying the Silm says this: "the third of the great wrongs achieved by the accursed oath." Not by Feanor or his sons but by the Oath. To me, this reads like the Oath has taken an evil turn of its own, much like the One Ring. And you will bend to its will, whether for good reasons or not, and few will be able to resist its call. As many have pointed out, Maedhros did resist the Oath, both before Doriath and before Sirion in repentance of Doriath. That is not how a villain works for me.

Some speculation- it is said that Feanorions did not have the guts to assail Luthien while she wore the Silmaril, and I raise you this: what if they did not attack her and kill her as the Oath demanded because she had turned human and could no longer be reborn?

Which brings us, at last, to a very controversial idea. Why is killing elves so bad? Elves who have the option of rebirth with no loss of memories? I think most of us forget that they're not human who, once dead, will never return in the same form, or if they are indeed reincarnated, then unable to recall their previous lives or meet their loved ones from before. Elves get to return to life and resume their lives from before. Indeed, that is one of the prerequisite for rebirth- that they're ready and willing to take up the life they had before dying. So how is it as bad as killing humans? I feel callous and heartless saying this, but ending an elf's live is like uprooting a tree. It'll take years for it to grow back from the seed again, but it will grow, not in the same place or time but it will exist again. Not like animals who die. Once they cease to be, there is no coming back for them.

In conclusion, I don't think Maedhros is a true bad guy, which is why I used 'anti-hero' for him, though maybe 'anti-villain' would fit better. He's simply someone working with the cards dealt to them, chiefly the Oath. Now sure, that is as much a defence as voluntary intoxication is in hit and run cases, but even the Oath was not of his own wording or sworn in isolation or with full awareness of what it truly entailed (otherwise words like 'torment' would not have been used in relation to its effects). The one who chose to swear to Eru was Feanor, while his sons chose to follow him. It's a minute difference but it's there, which is why Feanor is still the far more condemned one in the eyes of the Valar.

#opinions are my own take on the silm not a comment on yours #maedhros #i can have five different readings of him and none would do him justice lol #silmarillion #he's neither truly bad nor truly good #he just is #like me and you #i swear this is the last I will say on this #but he's so 'compelling' lmao #JustBizarre

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neeneee · 11 months

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Say It {Rengoku Kyojuro x fem!reader}

SPOILERS AHEAD!!! If you haven't watched Mugen train and finished the manga do not read below the cut xoxo

Based on Yorushika's 'say it', idk if y'all will enjoy this, but it honestly made me cry while writing it, I hope it does you guys too. :) It's much sadder if you kinda imagine the scenes like in a movie, its very touching, if i say so myself.

3.5k words bro, I'm so proud of myself!!!

“You’re being reckless, (Y/n),” Giyuu admonished the girl, frowning a little at her behavior. “You’re acting impulsively, it’s going to get you killed.”

She shrugged and turned her back on him, walking away from the water pillar; She made no effort to loosen her cramped finger form the hilt of her chipped weapon. The metal of the katana had been stained by the demon’s disgusting blood, but she ignored it, like she’d been ignoring everything for the past five months.

Tomioka had reprimanded her many times for how she’d been acting, throwing herself at danger whenever it presented itself. He knew she was a skilled slayer, and her position was proof enough, but she still had to take time and assess the situation, not throw herself into battle and just hope for it to go well.

His blue eyes watched her march into the butterfly estate; she said nothing and simply allowed them to tend to her wounds, never letting go of her weapon.

(E/c) eyes stared up at the ceiling; She made no sounds of discomfort as the girls cleaned the cuts and gashes all over her body, pouring alcohol over them and bandaging them.

Suddenly a memory flashed in her mind; she could see her beloved’s face and feel the warmth of his skin against hers. The sun over her and the feeling of the breeze softly caressing her back. She could clearly see how his eyes set on her and the emotions they held. The warmth of his gaze enveloped her and lulled her to ease.

“When I return from this mission there is something I must tell you!”

A small smile formed on the girl’s face; her eyes softened at the blonde’s comment.

“Goodbye, Kyojuro-san,” He smiled and patted her head, a habit he had picked up ever since they met. Her lips parted once again to say something, but the words died in her throat, so she shut her mouth again and continued to smile. The man’s back turned and he left; She mentally praised how confident he was, how the security radiated off of him in waves, she could almost see the burning passion he so often spoke about and promised herself that she’d tell him as soon as he returned.

The words were forever left unspoken between them, and there was nothing she regretted more than that.

Her throat burned with unreleased sobs as she watched his image slowly fade into nothingness, the perpetual state she found herself in ever since that night. She had tried to forget the words he’d told her before his departure, they represented another weight in her heart, an incognita that would never be solved. She was left with the burden of every story, now forced to live and deal with every memory on her own, no one to share it with. Part of her knew what he wanted to say, but she needed to hear him say it.

Surely, on the last day of her life, remorse will be pulling at her and berating her for everything she didn’t say, every word that didn’t spill out of her mouth and into his ears. Now, the three words danced around her mind, scolding her for not letting them out and mocking her for being a coward.

Her limbs twitched and trembled, as if bearing a weight too big for her frail body. Faith had laughed in her face, it took all her hopes by the throat and mocked her, it mocked her for being stupid. For not accepting that this is the destiny of the demon slayers; a destiny written the moment they took the oath, they were to die for the good of humanity, for the greater good. Every dead slayer was a step closer to succeeding and even if it didn’t seem like it, they were making progress.

So why couldn’t she accept that fate, why was she trying to reject destiny, just who does she think she is?

The katana finally fell out of the grasp of her clenched finger, startling the girls working around her. Her weak hands rose to cover her face and she cried into them, not caring if anyone saw her. This had been the first time she cried since her crow hesitantly told her the unfortunate news of the flame hashira’s departure.

She’d finally come to terms with the fact that for months she refused to believe, convincing herself she was being forced to sleep through a horrible nightmare, that some cruel higher force was obligating her to sleep through the night and to live a life without him. And then the anger laced with guilt gripped at her heart, weaving rotten thoughts into her head.

She remembered the boys sent on the mission with him, and all the passengers of the train and even the children used by one of the demons.

Why had everyone but him returned? Why was she forced to see everyone nursed back to health while her Kyojuro was dead? Why?

The memories flowed into her unwilling mind, and she started to remember everything she had forcibly forgotten in hopes of curing her own heart and carrying on. Her heart and mind fought a useless battle, one to feed her delusion and empty dreams. Her heart yearned for a note to be left at her door, ‘let’s meet tomorrow morning’. The notes Kyojuro had a habit of slipping under her door whenever he didn’t want to disturb her but wished to communicate with her.

She knew he was dead, but still.

A sad laugh escaped her lips and her arms dropped to her sides, she continued to stare at the ceiling and hoped he wasn’t watching her from wherever he was, not wanting him to ever witness how truly pathetic she was, how she wasn’t as strong as he had thought she was; Surely, he would call her stubborn and beg her to move on, but how could she? She couldn’t be at peace knowing that she felt just as he did but never let him know.

Everything would’ve been so much easier if he’d just put it into words, say it loud enough for her to hear him, not expect her heart to just understand whatever he had tried to convey through actions. If she ever saw him again, even if in a dream, she’d scream at him and at everyone willing to listen, how Rengoku Kyojuro was the love of her life.

The days passed in a blur, until they became months, until she found herself standing in a mansion, growing desperate as the walls twisted and turned to a demon’s will. Again, her heart numbed and the grip on her katana tightened. She stared at the tattooed demon disintegrate out of his own will, and anger bubbled up in the pit of her stomach. A scream formed at the back of her throat, and she let it go freely, Tanjiro and Tomioka cringed at the guttural wails escaping the woman’s lips, before she fell to her knees. Tears mixed with the blood on her face, her free hand clawed at her face in a desperate attempt to wake herself up from this horrible nightmare.

Tanjiro looked at Giyuu’s knowing eyes in confusion, expecting an explanation, but the water pillar remained silent and stared at the girl. He didn’t have the heart to tell him about her and how she loved the flame pillar, about how she’d bow to kill the demon who took him from her. He understood her frustration, despite being beheaded, the creature decided not to die and instead chose to part on its own terms, a fate he did not deserve.

“(L/n)-san, please pull yourself together, this is not over!”

His words seemed to calm her, but the look in her eyes was chilling, and Tanjiro could smell the array of emotions she’d been feeling. Anger, sadness, loneliness and longing. Before they could go to her, the room shifted once again, and she was gone.

Her katana slashed through every demon she came across with a vengeance, her movements were impatient and out of control. The memories of the blonde raced through her mind and blinded her further, she searched for Muzan through the mansion, confident that she’d kill him, the cause of her misfortune. The death of her parents, her siblings, Shinobu, Rengoku.

The crow announcing the death of Tokito and Sanemi’s brother only fueled her anger further, as she rampaged through the building, killing anything that came into her path. “Muzan has revived, Pillars must gather at once!” She skidded to a halt and followed the crow, once again, she found herself in the presence of Giyuu and Tanjiro. Muzan’s figure also became clear, and he looked nothing as he did before, she had never seen him very clearly, but he looked nothing like what she remembered from that night.

Her mouth dried and the hairs on the back of her neck stood, but she wasn’t going to back down.

“(Y/n), Tanjiro,” Tomioka warned sternly, holding his arms out to stop them both. “Calm down.”

“Persistent.” Was the first thing he said, looking at the trio like scum. “You’re all seriously persisten and it bores me. It sickens me from the bottom of my heart. Whenever you open your mouth you only remember that one dumb notion that you can avenge your parents, kids, siblings. You’ve all survived, that should be enough for you.”

They all stared in disbelief at his monologue, how he undermined their feelings, their loss. He spoke about their loved ones as if they were a nuance and they should be glad they’d been exterminated. (Y/n)’s blood boiled at the sight of him, the initial fear had bubbled into pure wrath. The emotion sunk its fangs into her heart and darkened it, clouding her judgment and consciousness.

“So, your family got slaughtered, what’s the problem here? Think of yourself lucky for surviving and go back to the way you were living before.”

“What… what are you saying?” Tanjiro was the only one to speak, putting into words what they all wanted to ask.

“Think of it this way, being killed by me is like a calamity. You don’t need to think hard about it,” His tone changed, as if he was making fun of them. “Wind, rain, volcanoes, earthquakes. No one swears revenge on a natural disaster, no matter how many lives it takes.” He continued to ramble on his nonsense, uncaring of the boiling anger growing within the people standing before him. Tanjiro spoke, but the woman couldn’t hear him; Her ears were ringing so loudly she could only heart the sound of her own heartbeat, a coldness spread through her body replacing the initial heat that had consumed her.

A cloud of haze settled over her eyes, and she attacked indiscriminately. Her brain and muscles weren’t in sink, her body was acting out of survival instinct, rage and impulse. She delivered attack after attack, trying to do as much damage as she could to his body, but everything was failing. Kanroji, Giyuu and Obanai were also trying their hardest, nothing seemed to be working. No matter how many breaths he received nothing was causing lasting damage to him.

Even when the building shifted, and the pressure became too much, she continued to try to move towards Muzan. The image of her mother and father calling to her, her siblings cheering on her, Kanae and Shinobu asking her to be strong flashed before her eyes and she couldn’t allow herself to be defeated.

“The night is beautiful.”

‘Fight!’ The voice of her mother rang in her ears, causing her to frown.

“Huh?”

‘It’s not over, fight!’ Her father urged.

“(L/n)-san!” Tanjiro’s voice snapped her out of her daydream, she stood in a hurry shoving rubble off of her. The wood had made numerous cuts and scrapes on her legs and arms, but she ignored everything and pushed forward.

She pushed, and pushed, and pushed herself. Every breath form she knew and the one Rengoku taught her. Her repeated them as many times as she needed to. She watched as the younger ones stood infront of them, receiving the attacks from Muzan, dying instantly. Their words and cries rung in her airs, Kanroji screaming at them to stop and Tanjiro’s gasping, so she pushed forward, not stopping when she was severely wounded. When Giyuu’s arm was cut, when Himejima lost his leg, when Obanai lost his eyes, when her hand and eye were gone, she pushed forward, holding her katana in one hand and wrapping part of her haori around her bleeding wrist. Despite Muzan growing angrier and his attacks more vicious and frantic, she pushed herself.

Her vision clouded and she fell to the ground, not strong enough to hold her body. She could hear Kanroji’s and Obanai’s whispers of love, promising each other to meet in a different life and love each other properly; She felt no jealousy, instead her aching heart was filled with peace and slowly, she drifted to sleep.

She felt her mother’s arms wrapped around her; the rest of her family followed. Tears flowed freely and she hugged them back, allowing herself to be pulled on to her knees.

“(Y/n)-san?”

Slowly, her eyes opened, and she gasped; Slowly she pulled herself away from her family and ran to him; Rengoku’s smile never faltered, his eyes held the same intensity as they ever did, and he was clad in his priced slayer uniform. With no doubt or restraint, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him close to her.

“I missed you, Kyojuro-san.”

The words tumbled out of her mouth with no hesitation; his embrace tightened around her, feeling the tears seep onto his clothes. She sobbed loudly into his chest, refusing to let go of him, desperately searching for the sound of his heartbeat.

“Would you like to have a date with me?” He smiled, his hands rested on her shoulder, and he separated her from himself, which she reluctantly allowed. “That is what I wanted to say that day, but I decided to use that trip to build enough courage to let you know.”

“I already knew, but I needed you to say it properly.”

His laugh echoed in the garden they stood in, and she laughed along with him. When his laughter died down, his lips set a kiss on the top of her head.

“You should go back now.”

“What? No! I’m happy here!”

“It’s not your time, (Y/n).”

“I’ll search for you, in every life, as long as it takes!”

His smile widened and she was pulled away, she desperately struggled to stay, reaching out to them. Her siblings waved at her goodbye, as did her parents. She fought on, trying to stay a little while longer, her family turned to walk away, but he was still there, staring at her. Despair built within her with every inch of distance growing between them.

“Say it! Kyojuro, say it properly!”

“I love you, (Y/n)-san!”

“I love you, too, Kyojuro!” She screamed; tears started to flow once again but she made no effort to wipe them away, continuing to fight. “More, more, say it!”

“I love you; I love- “

Her eye snapped open to the glowing sun, the sun she could feel but not see; The kakushi around her cheered, happy they hadn’t lost another member. A smile formed on her face, despite the pain she was feeling, and her vision being gone, she smiled.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine now, I heard you wear an eyepatch now,” (Y/n) joked, still holding the stick that had been given to her by Aoi. “Mind giving me one?”

“You’d look real flamboyant in it.” Tengen answered, ruffling her hair with his one hand. “I never got to give you my condolences, after Rengoku.”

“Thank you, Uzui-san.”

“Is this (Y/n)-san?” A foreign voice asked, she didn’t recognize that person, it seemed to be a boy but she' couldn’t see 'd never heard him before.

“Ye’, I’ll leave you two to it, M’gonna visit Kamado-kun. Bye, (Y/n)-chan.”

“Bye, Tengen.”

“Uh-uhm, my name is Rengoku Senjuro and this is my father, Rengoku Shinjuro,” The boy spoke again, she perked up at the mention of their names. Now she knew, they were Kyojuro’s family. “We heard you and my brother were a couple, so we wanted to thank you for taking care of my brother. when we couldn't.”

The man said nothing but patted her head once again. “You would’ve made a beautiful bride for my son.”

“I-“ She muttered, trying to find the words, Shinjuro smiled weakly as he noticed the bandages around her eyes start to dampen. “We never got to be a couple…”

“It’s okay, nee-san, father decided that you’re a Rengoku now!” The boy exclaimed, setting a ring in her trembling hands. “Tengen-san told us the whole story, if nii-san loved you so much, he would surely want you to have this.”

She smiled and nodded, hugging the metal to her chest.

“Can you take me to Kamado Tanjiro’s room?”

The boy took her hand in his and helped her out of bed, she followed both men to the boy’s room, she didn’t know how many people were there, but it seemed like the room was crowded. Kyojuro’s father seemed to be reluctant, so it took her and Senjuro to pull him into the room, with Tengen encouraging him to enter.

Senjuro’s grip on her hand loosened, she could hear Tanjiro and his sister giggling. She allowed Shinjuro and the boy to speak, before she asked any questions or said anything. She didn’t even notice he was fighting with the late hashira’s emblem, she internally scolded herself for being so enraged that she didn’t notice her surroundings.

“Eh, Kamado-kun,” She finally uttered, the room went silent, and she could feel everyone’s gaze on her. “Thank you for being by Kyojuro’s side when he- he…”

“(Y/n)-san, I’m sorry for not being able to do more,” The boy apologized, but before she could protest, he continued. “I never got the chance to give you his message; He asked me to tell you that there’s a gift for you in his room.”

“How fitting…” The woman smiled as she felt the details of the kanzashi, she could feel the little flames shaped ornaments hanging from a pin; They made a pleasant little sound when they moved. She pinned it to her hair and smiled, imagining how they looked. It must’ve looked strange with her purple kimono -Senjuro had told her the color- with the yellow and orange flames, but she didn’t care.

(L/n) (Y/N) wore that kanzashi until the day of her death, with her a short and strenuous breath she uttered his name and the words she meant to tell him all those years ago. With a smile she let out her last breath, knowing she’d meet him again, soon. Nothing she’d done had been in vain, and even if she hadn’t gotten the story she wished for, she was grateful for the one she got, even the sad and painful moments of it.

“You need to stop being so hard on yourself, Toujuro-kun.” (Y/n) Scolded the boy, who seemed to have too much energy despite only sleeping a few hours.

“I know, but I just get so focused that I don’t even notice the time,” The boy said, scratching the back of his head with a sheepish smile. “Dad keeps having to slap me.”

“That’s scary.” She shuddered, sitting beside the boy, handing him a bento-box. “But he’s probably just concerned.”

“I guess so.” He laughed, gladly taking the box, accidentally brushing his hand with hers.

They stared at each other for a moment before looking away, red as beets. A familiar feeling settled in their chests; it was foreign yet nostalgic. The girl stared at him with a look he couldn’t describe.

Toujuro and (Y/n) had known each other their entire lives, and she had taken it upon herself to feed his almost insatiable appetite, and he would help her with her history homework. They had been inseparable from the moment they laid eyes on each other, and no one had been able to pull them apart. They threw monumental tantrums the moment their parents even mentioned them attending different middle-schools.

“I feel like I met you before, Toujuro-kun.”

“We’ve known each other since we were babies…”

“No, like- like in another life.”

“(Y/n)-san-“ He cut himself off, blushing profusely. She waited for him, expectantly. She silently urged him to continue, even though deep down she knew what he was about to say.

“Say it out loud.” she ordered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Eh?” Toujuro looked close to combustion, she’d never seen him that red in her life. “Wha-what?”

“Say it, properly.” She said once more, she could see him gulp and take a deep breath.

“I love you, (Y/n)-chan!” He exclaimed, startling a few of the people around them, but he didn’t seem to care at the moment, all of his attention was on her. “Would you like to go out with me?” She didn’t know if he meant for it to be so loud, and despite the embarrassment she was feeling, she nodded with a small smile.

“See you on Friday, at Obanai-san’s restaurant.”

His smile widened and he nodded. Finally, something inside her felt right, like she was complete at last.

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