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12pt-times-new-roman · 11 months

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c3e65

Y'know, it only came up because I saw them in the art reel, but the Judicators do sound alarmingly like Cybermen.

"We... we spent every waking hour of every waking day trying to get back to you. And you came back with -- you have a boyfriend now? You had a little tryst? And you (Imogen) -- you have a new best friend, apparently? I thought about you every moment, and I thought you might've been dead... we didn't have downtime, we didn't have fun moments, we didn't go shopping, we didn't have threesomes -- we went to the middle of nowhere, we saved a fucked up town, and we almost had one of the Ruby Vanguard murder all of us. That was our fun time."

"We're not angry that you didn't suffer -- but it's going to take a while for us to recover." If you told me that, by episode 60, Ashton would be the Bells Hells' voice of reason, I'd laugh at you. But here we are.

Ashton says that he's feeling weirdly okay, Orym is frustrated and wants to move, and Laudna is... withdrawn? Angry? There are a lot of emotions going on, most of them conflicting.

They agree to split up for a day to go investigate different lines of inquiry -- Ashton and FCG want to visit Milo, Chetney wants to meet with Ajit Dyal. Afterwards, they plan to teleport to Zephrah to talk to Keyleth.

I feel like it needs to be restated that the temple of the Dawnfather in Hearthdale was built 30+ years ago because they were given permission to do so by wealthy landowners who bought a chunk of land and let them use it. They increased their presence in response to the solstice, yes, but in the end their prolonged presence there was the result of capitalism and wealth disparity.

We go first to the Krook House. Milo's workshop is in complete disarray -- most of their creations and projects have been disassembled because a lot of it just stopped working. "Wait, were your meds arcane?" ashton--

Ashton hands Milo a mystery note and a bag with some stuff in it. "How quickly can you do that?" "A day and a half." He hands over his hammer. "What are you plotting?" "I think I'm getting a real job. I think we're gonna save the world somehow, fuck it. I think we're gonna be some fuckin' heroes."

Ashton had a lot of time to think over the past few days. They thought about their life, everything that's happened. And they've decided that now is not the time to be worthless, now is not the time to be useless. He doesn't like having things to lose, but now he does, their time apart made him realize that, and he knows he can either risk losing them or he can go all-in with this new family.

They also call FCG out, gently, on their self-destructive tendencies. FCG agrees that if they start taking care of themselves more, the rest of the group will spend less time taking care of them (i.e. they won't have to stop them from sacrificing themselves at every turn), and that they -- between Frida and their newfound faith -- have found a reason to live.

Sometimes, caring for other people is the most punk thing you can do. Or whatever that one post said.

We go next to Imogen and Laudna. They go to visit Xhudanna, who has taken up painting.

"You don't need to listen in to hear my thoughts. I'll share them with you." "...can I kiss you?"

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"I don't think you realize, you're such an anchor for me, and when you weren't here, I did such horrible things -- I'm worried I'm a bad person --" "I've heard everything inside you, Laudna, and you are not a bad person. I said you were my tether. Whatever you did, you can tell me." She recounts what happened with Bor'dor, that she was literally hanging on by a thread when she did it. His betrayal broke her, and she couldn't let him live. She says that she lost control, even though her inner monologue in that moment told her that she was holding on to control.

"He attacked you, first of all. Fuck him. And whatever happened with [Delilah]... we'll make it right again, okay?" "Can I be honest with you? There's part of me that thinks we shouldn't. We're about to face the greatest challenge of our lives." Delilah can make her stronger, and she thinks she can use Delilah.

Meanwhile, Imogen doesn't know whether she wants to get rid of the moon's tether. Power is tempting, alluring -- maybe it's their destiny to harness it, maybe it's to challenge and reject it, but only time will tell.

There's something happening in the marketplace. People gathered around in a circle. A familiar voice. "We were never meant to be bound by their laws. We were always meant to rise above them." A hologram-like image of Ludinus hovers above the fountain, speaking of finally rising past the imposed destiny, of no longer being the "beasts of burden" to the gods but the driving force of future and fate.

Guards rush through -- "fuck, another one!" -- and pull a silver disk from the water. When they smash it, the illusion fades. In the crowd, there's mostly fear and confusion, this is adding to their anxiety -- a handful seem to be absorbing the words, but the wardens are hastily dispersing the crowd.

Lastly, Chetney, Fearne, and Orym go to visit Ajit Dyal.

Leading up to the solstice, ships from the north docked in Jrusar before heading south, but after it, there has been a steady stream of new skyships and soldiers.

When they ask about rumors, Ajit says that the people of Jrusar are afraid more than anything. The Quorum calls for calm, but it's hard to ignore the soldiers, and the "big red sign of impending doom." There's an alliance between Issylran militaries, the leader of Ank'harel (J'man Sa'ord), the Clovis Concord, and the Stratos Throne, and all of them are sending forces to the Hellcatch Valley.

There are rumors that everything has been organized by the Stratos Throne and that this is the start of a second Apex War; meanwhile, doomsayers are saying that this is the start of a second Calamity.

As far as enchantments go, many of the automatons running the gondolas have broken down, and multiple prisoners who had been bound by magic have escaped. This is mostly why Jrusar's local guards are on high-alert. The leader of the Ivory Syndicate was among those who were broken out.

The temples have been more reluctant than usual to open their doors.

They ask Ajit to point them toward someone who might know something about Old MagicTM, and he immediately returns from inside the hall with Deremon, a very elderly man who once tutored Ajit.

Chetney pulls out the El Crusty Vest de Ludinus (TM) and shows it to the pair. "This is very peculiar; I have no idea."

Because Ajit didn't hear Ludinus during the solstice either, they gather that hearing that message was related to one's proximity to the leyline nexuses. People who were close to nexus points heard the voice and had a chance of being teleported, it seems, which also means that there is a leyline nexus over both Emon and wherever Deni$e found Dariax.

From the Dyal Hall, the trio starts to head toward the Smoulder Spire to visit the temple of the Matron of Ravens. On their way, a scent catches Chetney's nose -- the most savory meat pie he's ever smelled. To Orym and Fearne, it's more of a stale grain smell. Following it, it becomes an overwhelming hunger, a bestial drive toward the source, like fresh blood on a hunt. Chet makes a WIS save and fails with a 16, sprints toward the source -- in a dark alleyway, there's a short man in a hood, and he tosses a pouch to Chetney -- he catches it, it's a herby, medicinal texture, and the moment he bites it the figure throws a silver net over him.

"Stay away, miss, this is official business!" Fearne immediately throws a spell at him for 31 damage. "It's just business--" "This is my business."

god, the fact that they're going for lethal force immediately and asking zero questions of this normal, leather-clad, dwarven dude they know nothing about is so incredibly telling. especially for Orym, who specifically goes for a gut shot first before tripping him.

"This is a problematic, cursed beast, and I'm going to bring him in." "I mean, you're not wrong, but he's our problematic beast." There's a bounty on Chetney's head, and this guy is intent on bringing him in, but notably he is not making any damaging attacks against Orym (who's blocking his path) -- he's just trying to push past.

Fearne approaches, asks if she can give Chetney a kiss with a 28 persuasion check, and casts stoneskin on him. Interestingly enough, she ignores the 100gp material component for the spell -- so I wonder if Matt is being more lenient with valued components this campaign.

Mister runs up to Chetney and uses fiery teleportation for the first time, which gets him out of the net.

"Tuyen sends her regards." This guy was hired by Tuyen Otwana, the shopkeeper of Prism Emporium -- the shop that overcharged him for a wood chisel, that he subsequently attacked.

As Chetney casts invisibility, I am reminded that we still have no idea why Chetney has the Shadow-Touched feat, nor why Imogen has the Fey-Touched feat. (If there's a narrative reason for either, which I have to assume there is.)

The dwarf picks up the net and misty steps away.

The trio continues to the Smoulder Spire, and climbs almost to its apex. There, they find the temple to the Matron of Ravens, made of a darker material and cleaner than anything else here. The doors are closed, but not locked. Inside, there is a singular figure who opens their arms to the trio. Orym leads them in. "What brings you to the Duskmaven's sight this day, little one?"

"I'm sorry -- I don't have anyone else to turn to right now. I'm having major questions of my faith, and the changes I see above have me worried." "You are not alone." "I am no stranger to death, and I have heard tales of fate. But the things I'm seeing frighten me. What's happening?" "The skein is tangled; the threads are not. The fear that you feel is felt by all... there is much sewn (sown?) -- confusion, distraction. They are doing what we all are doing: what we must do to survive. And our fates are intertwined; if they, if she, can see this through, they will see us through it with them. [How do you know that?] Faith."

The priest can still feel the Matron's influence, but that presence is different than it was before the solstice. She feels a "human vulnerability," and finds it both strange and comforting to feel that in something so grand. "She was like us once, so perhaps she has that vulnerability uniquely." "Do you know what her name was?" "There are none who live that do."

"She may not have the answers you seek, as we are in both a period of mourning and a period of preparation." "How much time you think we've all got?" "Come drink of the waters with me."

The priest leads Orym -- to pulls Fearne along -- toward the interior waterfall. Along the way, they notice that some of the interior lights are dark. She fills a steel pan with water, and offers it to Orym to drink. He leans down, closes his eyes, and drinks the (very cold, but refreshing) water.

The cold spreads through him as he drinks -- not uncomfortable, but cold. Fearne, Chetney, and the priest do the same; as the priest kneels, Orym thinks that he "is just looking for answers," while Fearne thinks loudly that she is "just feeding the root."

"Away from the warming light of the sun--" Is the Matron being portrayed as the opposite of Pelor? Is that what's happening here?

They all spend an indeterminate amount of time kneeling by the water, disassociating, listening to the sound of the water, the cold, the still, and they wonder if this is a piece of death herself. They feel cold, content, at peace.

When they emerge from this state, Chetney is visible, and the priest is gone. They open the front door to a crimson sky, a familiar crater, a beam of noxious energy firing into the sky -- inside the beam they see an orb, hear a scream that doesn't stop, a scream that encompasses the entirety of Exandria and beyond --

and they see a flash of a white porcelain mask, they emerge from their trance state. The priest stands before them -- "we are in a period of mourning for one of our own." That's why the temple's torches are low, why their doors are closed: they are mourning Vax'ildan, the Champion of the Matron of Ravens.

"How do we help? How do we help in the fight? How do we turn the tide?" "Faith."

Orym stoops down, takes a bit of the water from the pool, and smears it across the front of his shield.

The Bells Hells reconvene and share their stories. Laudna is visibly much happier than when they last saw her. Imogen gives Ashton an orange.

Orym would've heard things about "the Champion of the Matron" just as he would've heard about historical figures, and he'd know that the Champion had a tie to Keyleth, but Keyleth herself never mentioned him in front of Orym.

the Bells Hells don't even knows who the gods are. They don't know the difference between the Change Bringer and the Moon Weaver. Fearne doesn't now that Morri isn't a god. They don't know the difference between the Dawnfather and the Matron of Ravens.

And suddenly, the Bells Hells are debating whether they're trying to save the gods or trying to save humanity. Orym argues that those two causes are the same thing, but Laudna disagrees, and FCG agrees to too far of an extent. Imogen conflates a signal from a god to worship. Laudna equates leveling a block of a city to intervention of the gods. \

Ashton -- the most sensible one here at the moment -- says that there's a lot of conjecture about things that just happen. "I watched my parents get ripped to bits in a maelstrom of gods-know-what, I got thrown into a desert and picked up by shitty people and thrown into a fucking orphanage where I stayed -- more or less, what you'd expect. I fought a lot, I made friends, we did what we fucking could, and I fell out a window and woke up in a pain that has never stopped. And there were little sections ot my life where I prayed, and I begged, anything to all of them, any of them, and the only time they've ever spoken to me was the one who tried to fucking kill me less than a week ago. So, I'm here to save us, I'm here to save the people who live here, hell, I've had one fucking word I spoke to a fucking pile of earth that was more responsive and made me feel better and more connected to anything in my fucking life, that grounded itself more -- and you know what? I'm all for faith. I'm not gonna pick a god, they can pick me, they can pray to me, they can choose me more than I ever did to them."

I lied, Orym is the most sensible one. "History is littered with their positive influence here; but none of you would suggest wiping out every living being on earth because some of them are shitty. Some of them have done good, and I think that thinking black-and-white is comforting -- but it's a little more nuanced than that."

"Why can't i have faith in you all? Faith in Exandria, faith in you all, faith in those that came before the gods? The eidolons, the earth, the titans?"

There's a lot going on here, and Team Issylra is (deliciously) misinterpreting the eidolons and the Dawnfather's temple. They all have different opinions, and they're all hung up on the definition of "faith" -- but in the end, they agree that regardless of whether the gods are worthy of saving, Ludinus needs to fucking die. And that's something I can get behind.

I've said it before and I'll say it again -- the discussion of whether or not the gods should exist, of whether the should or shouldn't exhibit their power over mortal-kind, of whether mortal faith gives them life and power, of whether they are in control of fate -- all of it doesn't fucking matter right now. Those questions are ones that can be asked once this is all over. Because the Bells Hells know that, objectively, Ludinus' plan is evil, he is not the one who should fill that power vacuum, he needs to be stopped.

Fearne attempts to scry on Ludinus. As her consciousness extends toward him, she drifts in a liminal space with nothing to tether to, and she realizes that she is unable to scry on him. He has and is attuned to an amulet of proof against detection and location, the same item that shielded Caleb from Trent's eyes.

FCG attempts to scry on Liliana Temult. He focuses on the coin and sees its metal first become strands of hair, then become darker metal; his vision pushes through the coin and into darkness, which turns to redness. He finds himself in the familiar red dust storm that fills almost all the space around him -- but he sees Liliana walking, her hair and coat billowing in the wind. To her left is Ludinus Da'leth, and on the horizon, there are shapes -- structures, buildings... in the sky, a round body of a faint bluish-green coloration -- Exandria looms just beyond the dust storm above." That's all they receive.

They're on the SURFACE OF THE FUCKING MOON, on the SURFACE of RUIDUS ITSELF

It was like they were walking through a street. There is no distinction between home and building here -- it's just a street.

Laudna and Chetney think that this city was on the continent that got scooped up to form Exandria.

FCG asks the Changebringer whether Exandria is round, and she responds, yes.

The Bells Hells deduce that they need to figure out "how to ride [the beam]," that they need to find out how to get to the surface of Ruidus. Spelljammer, here we come!

FCG casts identify on the harness. "The funnel goes to the base of the neck, between the shoulder blades. It is designed, though it does not currently function, to take the essence of some sort of magic and funnel it to some sort of place on the wearer's body -- between the shoulder blades, on the neck."

Orym assumes that the device was designed to prolong Ludinus' life, because fey creatures are generally more long-lived than Exandrians.

Ashton finally asks the question of where Ira and Xandis are.

By sunset, Milo has finished the modifications on Ashton's hammer -- they have installed the immovable rod into the handle. "I'm not entirely sure what the properties of this are, aside from the fact that it's very unique, there's a refractory aspect of the crystal itself." Inside the sack was some amount of the refractory crystal they took from the Verdant Tomb, and incorporating it into the hammer has had some...... unforeseen implications.

Orym tries Caleb's sending stone. "Caleb Widogast. Bells Hells here. We survived -- where are you? Do you know what happened out there?" There's static fuzz, and no response. There is no indicator on the Treshi scry ball, and the Drixlich sensor points toward Uthodurn.

Imogen tries to cast sending on Ira. "Ira? Can you hear me, is this working?" With a 53, a familiar static of the "arcane forces in the sky."

FCG scries on Ira, but he makes his save. Ira exists, he lives out there somewhere, but he made his save.

Fearne scries on Ira. She focuses, and connects to "the pulse of life around Exandria" -- Ira is deep within a clustered, red-dust storm, not among structures or others but alone, pushing through a maelstrom, a stronger storm than they've said, trudging through an intense red. A dark shape arrives and he presses up against it, leans against a massive, smoothed boulder, and ducks into an alcove. Outside the storm, he blinks, pushes dust out of the corner of his eyes. Another figure approaches -- thick, partially patchworkly-armored torso, a muscular humanoid figure of deep red skin, oddly textured face-- features sallow and smooth, one of the Reilora. They gesture, and Ira follows. Their features are different than the figure they saw Imogen summon, and different than the gith body Team Issylra found.

Using Orym's shield as a focus, Imogen invokes the staff, and teleports the Bells Hells to Zephrah. "It's... mid-day, a beautiful cloud-dappled sky. A beautiful horizon among brown and red stones, clusters of trees, pathways that lead through the mountains, grass fields, the mountains to the east... a precipice of a cliff that is woven through the peaks of these mountains, pastels, bridges and ledges that encompass the rustic homesteads that make up this community like the existence of this village is a gift from the land itself... a tall cherry tree sits on the precipice to your right."

#critical role #note watches c3 #critical role spoilers #critical role campaign 3 #critical role c3 #critical role liveblog #long post

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danganronpa-fixation · 1 year

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Ok, I know I have been going on about Hajime's feelings for Nagito lately, but I think the MAIN reason why I see him having complicated, sexual/romantic feelings for Nagito is because, well... the way Hajime is with Nagito is pretty much identical to MY own feelings concerning someone I loved in my own life, and sadly, still do.

Post chapter 1 of DR2, after being enlightened of how Nagito really is, Hajime instantly feels betrayed. He is constantly bitter towards him, annoyed, and tries his best to keep his distance at all times. HOWEVER, whenever Hajime speaks to Nagito -- especially during his inner monologues -- I can tell that these aren't the feelings of someone who genuinely dislikes somebody and wants nothing to do with them, but instead, the feelings of someone who is feeling frustrated and hurt because they still care.

He worries about Nagito throughout the game when something happens to him, is constantly trying to figure him out and understand him, and when Nagito dies, oh boy, this is where you REALLY see how conflicted he is, but that's a post for another time.

The person I love recently left my life without a word, despite us usually being there for each other during our darkest hours. Ever since he left, I have days of incessantly conflicting emotions. Some days I miss him, worry about him, and desperately want to know what's going on in his head for him to do something like this (especially since like Nagito, he has mental disorders). Then there are other days where I'm feeling bitter af, and am like "Whatever." He was the only person I've ever genuinely fallen in love with, and sadly, those feelings are still with me.

I see a lot of my own troubled feelings in Hajime's towards Nagito, and it actually took me some time to realize it.

Overall, mostly based off my own personal experience, I personally think Hajime has strong feelings for Nagito, but he is frustrated by them. Think of it as a love/hate relationship, if you will.

Thank you for joining my pointless as hell TED talk 😅

#komahina #hajime x nagito #hajime hinata

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ultimateplaylistmaker · 1 year

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Oh oh how about V3 Classpects?

Little known fact about me, I used to run a classpecting blog

Kokichi - Sylph of Void

Void players are secret-keepers, people who don't see a blank space, people who see potential. Void players like mystery and the unexplained, casting doubt upon what is already known, and would rather live in states of confusion then bow to an authority, Void players raze the old to create the new.

Meanwhile Sylph's are meddlers, some refer to them as healers, but I prefer meddlers, leaves more room for nuance. They meddle and prod and poke and have a tendency to believe themselves an authority on their aspect or parts related to their aspects. They can use their aspect to manipulate and change things, often under the guise of helping, even if it's really for an ulterior motive.

So a Sylph of Void can be translated to "one who meddles through the uncertain" and if that doesn't fit our lying leader to a tee I don't know what does. He constantly uses misinformation and misdirection and lack of information to meddle and confuse people, leading people to what he wants through not giving them the correct information, or any information at all. He helps but it's impossible to tell if the help is out of a desire to genuinely help or a desire to get something out of it.

Plus with the electrobombs he enables the creation of Void, by cutting out cameras and microphones, he creates pockets of places where no one can ever know what happened inside, which is a well known trait of Void players in homestuck, their presence makes surveillance tech glitch out.

Kaito - Knight of Heart

Heart players are obsessed with ones sense of self, of their image, their look, how others perceive them and how they perceive themselves. A sense of identity is VERY important to Heart players, they want to build a narrative of their own story. They tend to think others are just as into placing people into roles like 'hero' or 'villain' or 'sidekick' as they are. Heart players while a bit self obsessed are often very good at helping others with their own sense of identity and encouraging positive growth. Heart is an emotional core.

Knights are fighters, people who naturally understand their aspect and can easily use it to fight and protect those they care about. Knights are known for their masks, often pretending like everything is completely fine and they are okay while in reality having a much deeper and tumultuous inner core of doubt or insecurity. They hide their true feelings and pains to put on an image people can rally around. Knights often feel like they have some great purpose they need to sacrifice themselves for, to great inner conflict an distress, knights need to learn how to step away and let themselves have peace.

So a Knight of Heart could be translated as 'one who fights through ones self" which if that isn't Kaito Momota "im fine im definitely not coughing up blood im a hero you can use me as your reason to live" I don't know what does. Constantly fighting both villains and his own ego, Kaito wants to do good, but fails to truly grasp the nuance between villain and hero until the very end.

Ryoma - Rogue of Doom

Doom is a class of suffering, said to be fate's chosen sufferers. Doom plays go through great turmoil and misery but in turn learn a deeper sense of wisdom and empathy. A doom player isn't a healer, but a Doom player is one you can lean again, one who'll agree that the world sucks and give you a shoulder until you can move again. They take on hard burdens so others don't have to, if they even had the choice to not take it on in the first place. This isn't to say they're complacent martyrs, Doom players tend to be quite annoyed and frustrated with their lots in life.

Meanwhile Rogue's are an outlaw class, they take upon their aspect and the divide it up amongst the people around them, very much Robin Hood figures. They often struggle with dealing with their aspect, finding it overwhelming and trying to distance themselves, however once they come to terms with it, they're quite powerful and able to do immense feats of stealing from their aspect itself to better help those around you.

So a Rogue of Doom can translate to "One who steals Doom for the group" Taking destruction and death from someone and dividing that pain amongst their enemies. For instance if say someone killed a Rogue of Doom's family, a Rogue of Doom can take that Doom and then divide it up against everyone who's wronged them. As you can imagine this is a very dangerous combo, but due to Doom's inherent lean towards apathy, it can be hard for a Rogue of Doom to realize they can use the Doom they collect, instead of just taking it all on their own head. Ryoma fails to reach an understanding with his classpect, and so takes on the Doom of his death, failing to realize he can reach out and divide the burden into something much smaller amongst his classmates.

Kirumi - Witch of Space

Space players are patient, and tend to wait for a bigger picture. They can stand their ground firmly, but tend to act second to better pick and choose battles. Space players are innovators, recycling the old to create the new. The journey is very important to a Space player, wanting to ensure the journey is as beautiful and well meaning as the destination itself. They are masters of creation, and have one of the most important tasks in the game of frog breeding because of it. Space players can create matter from nothing, or manipulate matter that already exists.

Meanwhile Witch's are rule breakers, and one of the most powerful classes. A Witch rejects the rules if they do not like the rules, changing them to rules that better fit their own visions and styles. If something of their aspect is not as a Witch likes it, they have immense power to change and twist it to their own vision. As such a Witch needs to learn to control this ability, to not assume they simply know better then others and act as such.

A Witch of Space can translate to "one who changes and manipulates through creation" Able to change sizes, and shapes of any item, and create what they desire from just their power alone. They're likely rather smart, able to identify details like material about something just by seeing it or observing it. If someone says something can't be done or its impossible, a Witch will find a way to get passed that barrier, even if they really shouldn't. Nothing stops a Witch with a mission, not even death in some cases. Kirumi may act like she's a servant, but Kirumi is also rather bossy and tends to feel like she knows best. Willing to do terrible things to do what she thinks is the correct move. Kirumi breaks the rules of the game as well by actively running from her execution, something no one else dares to even try.

Shuichi - Mage of Mind

Mind is a bit self explanatory, as it's well, the mind! Mind is an aspect of thinking, rationality, very aware of their own mind and the minds of others. They can see choices laid out in front of them, often freezing Mind players due to just how many choices are possible from so much as a small conversation. This does however mean when a Mind player does act, they tend to know exactly what they're doing, moving with intense precision that required knowing dozens of moves in advance. Logic is more important then a sense of self, so they tend to have a more fluid identity, adapting different masks from even so much as thought to thought. This can however leave them lacking a sense of identity and may attach onto people with stronger senses of identity to build their own identity around.

Mages are a bit of a mystery class in homestuck, we only ever meet two and neither ever actually...elaborate on what it means to be a mage, and one of them's a very minor character that I actually forget is even a Mage half the time.

However from observing these two we learn that Mage's are a class about information and miracles. Doing things that seem impossible without even fully realizing that what they did was supposed to be hard. They have massive knowledge banks, but that knowledge comes at a great cost. Mage's are often at the complete whims of their aspect, experiencing intense highs, but also intense lows. All their information comes from first hand experience, for better or for worse. They tend to be very familiar with the whiplash of their aspect, being like a rollercoaster that constantly goes up and down and up and down. This brings understanding, but also pain and suffering, that can lead to the Mage reaching a sense of burn out or apathy. They have great power from their knowledge to a point of being associated with miracles, but the great cost it came at scars their soul.

So a Mage of Mind can translate to "One who understands logic through experience." which...yeah! That's Shuichi! That's Shuichi "I didnt even originally want to be a detective but i did it to pay back my uncle oh hey im good at this i like finding lost pets oh no im involved in a murder case oh yay i got the guy oh no his hate and everyone saying he was justified in that murder has scarred me for life"alright! It's a constant up and down up and down for him, he learns how to use logic and reasoning and masks to get what he wants, to learn and grow and win, but it always comes at a cost, a cost that traumatizes him and leads him spiraling. He's very smart, but he learned the skills he needed to be a detective at great personal costs.

Tenko - Page of Rage

Rage players are chaos bringers. They hate lies or false ideas, and hate fake stability. The truth is important to a Rage player and will tear down a system if it's built on lies and obedient masses. They are impossible to convince otherwise once they have an idea in their heads. A Rage player often sees the story they are within, and almost always loathes that story.

Which if that doesn't sound like Tenko let me explain what a Page is. A page is someone who does not understand their aspect at all but BELIEVES they do. They're capable of IMMENSE power that eclipses even a Witch's power, but the journey to get their is long and tedious. Having to learn the truth of their aspect, and how to actually understand and use it. A Page confidently asserts they understand their aspect, but will constantly fail at and misunderstand it. Slowly learning more and more with each failure over a very long course of time. It's incredibly hard to hurry a Page along their path, as they need to come to terms with all their failures and misunderstandings on their own, denying other peoples thoughts on it or simply twisting it to fit what they already believe. This often leads to Pages being exploited and used by those around them, because they're misunderstandings or false ideals can be in turn twisted to benefit people of more dubious morals.

So you could translate Page of Rage to "One who has potential to understand the truth of the world." Tenko throws herself into what she's been taught Rage is, Tenko has been taught that Rage means men are unworthy and that women are to be protected. Which she takes to an intense zealous, taking this as gospel and the truth that society is built on hurting women with little other room for nuance. It's extremely hard for anyone to get through to her and explain how that isn't fully true, how the story she's been told is a very dangerous mindset. Nothing really gets through to her, and when Shuichi thinks he does in the free time events, Tenko just twists Shuichi into being an exception who should get a sex change to fit into her views of the world.

She flips and attacks those who try to change how she thinks. However Tenko cares deeply for those around her even so, and actively goes against Angie and tries to take down her cult when she realizes it happening, hating what the lies and complacency is doing to people. Over the game, she starts to understand more and more about the real story she's in and that her understanding of Rage keeps failing and thus must change. Unfortunately before she can finish her journey, she is killed. Tenko has immense potential, but it's a slow burn to get to her true power.

Rantaro - Heir of Blood

Blood is the aspect of connections, bond. Blood is thicker then water after all. While Blood players rarely take on a commanding role, they inspire those around them, giving other strengths and stopping or start conflicts between people. Very "do as I say not as I do" types. Their power comes from others, and how they can understand and use those bonds to strengthen or weaken bonds to better know how to act and fight. They are ralliers, prophets, those who bring others to their cause through inspiration, giving them motivation and strength. A blood players specialty is the bonds between others and the bonds they have, which is often represented through chains. They make bonds, and mediate those around them. The bonds they make are deep, which can lead to a smaller circle then one expects from an aspect about connections, because when a Blood player makes a connection, its going to be an intensely deep one.

Heir's are loved by their aspect, they subconsciously understand their aspect and their aspect in turn actively protects them from harm or saves them from danger. They tend to do their own thing, not fully realizing the effects it has on others and inspiring them with their aspect without even realizing it was happening. They can even physically become their aspect which lets them escape danger and move around more easily, which for a Blood player is admittedly, kinda alarming! They tend to be drawn to their aspect without even realizing it, which can lead them to becoming stuck if they don't start to look outside themselves.

So an Heir of Blood translates to "One who invites change through their bonds." While Rantaro dies pretty quickly, we know Rantaro is very driven by his bonds, whether it be his sisters or protecting his classmates. When put into a corner he cant trust people in, Rantaro becomes weaker, less able to act, and becomes unable for Blood to be able to protect him. Even when he can't trust the people around him Rantaro is drawn to protect them and stop them from acting rash, stopping arguments and stopping Ryoma from killing himself. Despite being around for so long, the bonds he has and knowledge he holds make people remember him, to try and bring him back to life or to keep his effigy around as a reminder...or whatever the hell Kokichi was doing with that thing. Even while dead, bonds and connections are drawn to him.

Himiko - Maid of Breath

Breath players are independent, often seen as not fully being there, or simply going where the winds take them. Breath players are hard to tie down, going where they please simply on their whims. However this can lead others into following them, as Breath players follow their own goals, they leave impacts that make people wish to follow them. However Breath players don't tend to understand why as they just kinda do their own thing or have low self esteem. Breath players are as flexible as wind and air, but this can lead them struggling to make connections or come back to earth. This isn't to say they don't make friends, they actually tend to be quite friendly due to an easy going nature, but they can struggle to make stronger bonds and not just fair-weather friends as they can accidentally leave those they care about behind as they wander off.

Maids are pushovers, they tend to simply go along with what others say their aspect and thus they should be. They are often dismissed or underestimated as they struggle to learn how to trust themselves and their own perceptions. Once they do though they tend to be very strong, being as close to a literal embodiment of their aspect to the point of being jokingly said to be "made" of it. While still subservient to the aspect itself, once a Maid trusts themselves, they truly become one with their aspect, answering it's call to duty, and using it to better achieve their own goals.

So one can translate a Maid of Breath into "one who is made of freedom and detachment" Himiko is very spacy, caught up in her own world, but not doing much and simply letting others lead her around. She shrugs and simply lets others do as they please as she's caught up in her own world, getting confused by the bonds people try to make with her. However once she rises to the task, while still in her own world she manages to channel her magic and views into her goals, moving forward and no longer detaching from herself as completely to come a bit back to earth but on her own terms. Able to use her skills and view of the world to adapt and change things. Giving herself the more difficult true freedom instead of the easier pretend freedom of before. Nothing can chain her down, but she's awake now, and she's aware of how to come back down on her own will to those she loves and help them out.

Miu - Prince of Light

Why is their so many students I'm suffering

Light players are as mentioned in the Void portions, the aspect of knowledge, good fortune, scholars. They are able to take information from multiple sources and combine them into something even bigger. Light players go after information and knowledge like hungry hounds, getting hands dirty and ignoring pesky things like "laws" or "ethics" or "oh god what have you done you've doomed us all what have you unleashed" that get in the way of their search of knowledge. Light also has its ties in luck and good fortune, this is probably a pun on Lux which means light and sounds like luck.

Prince's are destroyers, people with great sense of importance that use their aspect to destroy or get their way. This can cause a struggle with their aspect as they both destroy through their aspect, and destroy the aspect itself, letting in it's opposite in the aspect's absence. They tend to stubborn and opportunistic, and willing to go to extremes to get what is rightfully there, even if they might regret it later or not think it through. Prince of Light can then be translated to "one who destroys with or through knowledge"

Miu has a very abrasive personality, she acts at least like she's better then everyone else, that everyone else needs to observe and worship her knowledge, that her inventions are the light of the world and the most important things. However her own self doubt leads her to hide all the details from people, but her skills of observation and deduction cannot be underestimated, like how Miu constantly calls out the killer rather quick in a trial even if no one believes her at first. She then tries to destroy an embodiment of Void, Kokichi, but fails because in doing so, she needs to destroy the Light, the truth, of what happened on that rooftop, which inherently gave someone who knows Void better then anyone else the upper hand. She destroys people through light, but by trying to destroy light, of the truth of her plan, she is in turn destroyed as she let in Void to her secrets. By her own feeling of being the most important bringing of knowledge, she brings in her downfall. Pride comes before fall.

Korekiyo - Page of Heart

We've covered both Page and Heart so thank Skaia I can just skip to the analysis but Page of Heart can be translated as "one who has potential to understand ones self"

Korekiyo thinks he understands himself, that he understands love and masks and a sense of self. He however does not and has very little sense of self, being manipulated and led into everything he does by his sister and nothing can really shake that view point. However, what he does do he basis his entire identity around, slowly very slowly it would take Korekiyo to come out of the shell that was built for him and find his true self, but if he could do it, with his skills and abilities, I wouldn't get in his way of figuring out just who Korekiyo is. He even wears a physical mask that he takes as part of his identity, but is actually an identity literally put onto him by someone else. Korekiyo isn't truly anyone yet, just an extension of his sister, but when he gets there, when he becomes truly Korekiyo, and just Korekiyo, now that'd be a sight to see!

Kiibo - Maid of Hope

Hope players do what's right, and will come to the help of anyone who needs it. They're heros, driven by their morals and convictions no matter the push back. However they can have a black and white view of things, something is bad, or something is good, and it can be a struggle to find the nuance. Hope players tend to be quite imaginative, dreaming of better worlds, of beautiful futures, of a place where things are good and kind and happy. This doesn't mean they're pacifists though, if a fight will help them make things better, they won't hesitate to blow everything up to shit.

We know what a Maid is now, so skipping straight to Kiibo. Maid of Hope can translate to "one who embodies belief"

Kiibo is constantly concerned about a better world, about robophobia and injustice. He dreams of a better world, a kinder world, where he can be equal to his friends. However the outside world keeps him from truly acting on these, feeding him a fake view of hope of complacency. When he comes into his own though, he is finally able to see that complacency and pretending to be human are injustices and he should have acted sooner. Ready to destroy everything, and risk killing everyone, just to finally get rid of the evil, to destroy what is bad and cruel to let in a potential of a future kindness. He tosses away meaningless words and fights against those who want to let injustice continue. While he never fully breaks away from black and white thinking by the end, he has come to understand that hope, that goodness, that morals, cannot be given to him, and are things he must come to find and understand on his own, and in turn, create a better world through them.

Kaede - Sylph of Time

Time players are always moving, always fighting. Time players refuse to just let things be as they are, they need to make things better, they refuse to sit still when there is work to be done. They tend to be goal focused, not caring about the how as long a they accomplish their goals. However just because they're goal orientated doesn't mean they will go the straightest path to that goals, they will instead often find a path more outside the box that ensures they get their victory. Impossible is just a word to a Time Player. They are also very aware of the passage of time, and the burdens that can put upon someone, after all, time is always ticking down.

We know what a Sylph is, so straight to the analysis, Sylph of Time can mean "One who meddles through immediate action"

Kaede is very aware of the countdown, of all the factors going on, she never stops, even when everyone else is tired and defeated, Kaede keeps pushing past those limits, because she can't bare to do anything less. She doesn't care if the mastermind dies from her trap, that's the point even, because the death of the mastermind is the best way to get them all the hell out. Kaede does not wait, Kaede does what can be done at that moment, and nothing less. Pushing and pushing and pushing until eventually her impatience catches up to her and catches her in a trap. Kaede is forceful and will do what needs to be done, for better, and for worse.

Tsumugi - Thief of Void

We've established what a Void player is with Kokichi, so I'll skip straight to Thief

Thieves are outlaws, they well...they steal! It's a bit on the nose their. They take their aspect from other and use it for purely their own gain. They tend to have high egos an airs of superiority, they have no care for rules unless they can use it for their own gain. They don't particularly like being looked down on. However at first they tend to be at the whims of the worst of their aspect, they very very quickly learn how to adapt and instead steal from their aspect, to never have to experience the worst of it again. While an inherently selfish class, a Thief determined to do good can instead steal the bad, and take it on themselves.

So a Thief of Void can translate to "one who steals from secrets" Tsumugi puts on an air of Void, of not being seen to watch and steal secrets from others. Her cameras are impossible to see, and even when you think you have privacy, Tsumugi is stealing that privacy so she knows exactly what happens while using what she's stolen to better hide herself. She steals the privacy and secrets of others, leaving it wide open for the world to see each and every little secret they have, all while using it to hide her own secrets and fade a bit more into the background. She steals away the Void aka lies and secrets for herself, leaving everyone else open to the harsh Light aka knowledge and truth. Kokichi can counter it with his own Void powers to bring back Void around him specifically, but others aren't so lucky.

Maki - Bard of Life

Life are healers, those who march forward with progress and tend to have an intuitive understanding of the people around her. They put others needs before their own, but can become bitter from it as they put their own well being into danger to protect others. Life players often have an association with nature and all life around them from animals to plants to fellow people and they care for it all. Life players tend to also be pushy, assuming everyone needs or even wants their cure. Doing what they think is best for a persons well being, even if it is actually at it's core a fake cure or would do more harm then good.

One may find themselves confused on why Maki is a Life player then, but she's a Bard, which is...one of the hardest classes to explain honestly! How the HELL do you explain a bard?? A bard is someone who rejects their original aspect, and instead embrace the opposite, which in this case is Doom, they're capable of INTENSE destruction to the point some people view any Bard as being too unstable or destructive to be anything more then a detriment to the game session. They tend to be avoidant of their original aspect, burying their heads in the sand until an incident forces them to embrace their actual aspect and destroy whatever made them do it. Often getting such a rush of power and understanding of the universe or otherwise nasty mental spiral they'll go further then they ever intended, becoming a threat to everyone around them. A Bard MUST learn control or they become essentially a ticking time bomb.

So a Bard of Life can translate to "one who can bring great destruction to and with nurturing" Which as Maki is an assassin, who became an assassin to protect someone else and then grew bitter, rejecting all forms of healing and eventually when she does realize she does want to protect someone and help them does the MOST DESTRUCTIVE MOVE POSSIBLE and then spirals further to try and do MORE destruction when she believes that FAILED. Luckily she's able to pull herself together, but Maki very much almost got everyone KILLED from her spiral. Now that she's got help she can control her bard powers to help and aid those she cares for, but BOY was that a close one.

Gonta - Seer of Life

We just covered Life it's fine

Seer's have an inherent draw towards knowledge, but unlike Mage's who grit their teeth and learn through experience, Seer's tend to find knowledge freely coming to them. Easily finding information to a point it becomes too much information, and they struggle to figure out what information is true, and how to even apply that information. Due to having so much knowledge they can be hard to understand as they speak in strange ways that make perfect sense to them, but less so to others. They struggle to understand what their aspect actually means, and how that applies to them, and what the means to them. What does Life mean, does someone have more of a claim to Life? What Life can be saved? what Life should be tried to saved? What is the meaning of life? Many questions. Seer of Life can translate to "one who tries to understand nurturing"

Gonta is constantly full of questions on lots of things from society, to what it means to be a gentlemen, who lies and who tells the truth. Who is nurturing and who means harm. As the game progresses, Gonta has to question what does it mean to be alive, what meaning does life have when everything is destroyed? is it better to die happy or live in despair? He cares deeply for nature, for his family, for even the smallest creatures but he never truly knows what is true, and what is false, constantly looking for more answers, he understand nature, he understands healing, but with so many contradicting forms of it, what can be done? What should be done? Gonta just doesn't know, but he'll keep searching for that answer, even if it kills him.

Angie - Witch of Hope

Oh thank jegus we know what a Witch and a Hope player is because this is SO MUCH classpect analysis, Witch of Hope can translate to "one who changes and manipulates through belief"

Angie wants to create a world that is better, kind, happy, and she does so by breaking rules, the rules of the killing game, the rules of morality her followers held before. While she doesn't mean harm, she twists others views of a good society, of god, to what her views are in the desire to help them reach a good end. She breaks the rules of Hope and the game to get what she thinks is good and right and just. Indoctrinating others into her views and beliefs, makes them see her hope as their hope so they can all come together and live in harmony.

She genuinely wants to help, but she only knows HOW to help by bringing people under hand, to see things as black and white and orange as she does. Angie needs to learn that she can't control the world, that she needs to let people find their good ends without her pushing them towards it. She want's to help, but she needs to learn to take a step back as well.

Feel free to ask me questions or have a discussion with me but if you're actively rude about my classpecting then don't expect me to respond or be nice if I do.

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funkymbtifiction · 2 years

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Hi! Allow me to hop on an enneagram 4 bandwagon. I can't help but wondering that wouldn't it be tiresome to live as a 4? [...] I can understand 3s, but living a life of 4s seems almost like hell... I know judging type is not a good thing since every type is as bad as one another. But I just can't wrap my head around 4s at all, I want to but their way of thinking is just so odd for me. So, do you have any input about this? Maybe some experience from 4s in your life? Thanks!

Every Enneagram number is living in a hell of their own making. 1s create hell for themselves and others by insisting everything be perfect; 2s by denying their own needs and telling themselves they have to care for other people; 3s by over-adapting to everyone's expectations; 5s by avoiding life or any kind of attachment; 6s by creating things to fear; 7s through avoidance; 8s by generating conflict where none needs to exist; 9s by going asleep to their own needs. 4s are just doing their own particular brand of hell, which is to over-identify with their inner self and by rejecting all things.

Everyone is on autopilot and doing their type all the time, often in an unhealthy manner (nobody is "a healthy" version of their number by default; we are all average or low health level dumpster fires).

In my experience with 4s, their behaviors are unconscious. They are not aware of how much they are alienating themselves, assuming others will not want to be around them, seeing themselves as outcasts or aliens born into the wrong time, and coping through elitism, criticism, frustration, or forming assumptions. They genuinely do feel as if they were born wrong somehow, and that they cannot be understood or fixed. Some of them are healthier than others, and all of them are truly able to sit with others' pain without needing to fix them, and that's why they bring necessary depth to the world. Other types avoid their feelings, skim over them, think through them, or move past them too soon, but 4s know how to sit with all kinds of emotions, to give them depth and resonance, and to let them be -- without needing to fix or erase them. They can sit with emotions without needing to move past them, ignore them, or make them better. Some types, like 6s, 7s, 3s, and 9s, could learn a lot from that example -- of just allowing oneself to be sad or negative.

The more you land in the positive or assertive centers, the more you will conflict with 4s, because to be chronically frustrated without fixing it seems odd to you; if you are an attachment type, the tendency of 4 to be strongly in defiance against others feels strange to you; basically, only frustration hexad types and fellow withdraws will understand some of what comprises the inner 4 mechanisms.

#question #enneagram #enneagram 4

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the-single-element · 9 months

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Good morning.

Last week, we heard about Simon Peter - his tendency to overdo things, but also his acknowledgement of Jesus as Messiah, and Jesus's endorsement of him.

In this week's Good News, the conversation takes a darker turn - the conflict that comes when Jesus finally explains what the work of the Messiah is to be. And Jesus goes on to exhort his disciples to walk the same path... but in doing so, I think, he reveals something about how he sees his own.

It's not strange that Peter reacts so strongly to Jesus's words, of course. Peter had just declared that Jesus was the Messiah... and he was naturally thinking of the Messiah in the way that most people would have in his time, with the land of Israel and Judah under the heel of the brutal and idolatrous Roman Empire. Surely, the promised savior's role, the salvation they've all been waiting for, is to drive out the Imperial occupiers and restore the Kingdom of Israel! Surely his destiny is to cast down the tyrants, not to be arrested, tortured, and executed by them! God forbid! Lord, say it isn't so!

But this is the fundamental misunderstanding that Jesus has been trying so hard to avoid. Remember, in last week's Good News, how he warned his disciples to keep their mouths shut about him being the Messiah? He did that, I think, for the same reason that he put so much effort into dodging everyone's attempts to call him "king": because, just as people misunderstand the true definition of "king", they misunderstood the true role of the Messiah. Far from being the conquering savior who breaks the Roman Empire and restores the Kingdom of Israel, he was sent to be the sacrifice that breaks the power of death and establishes the Kingdom of Heaven.

No, it's worse than that. I think it goes beyond the usual frustration of "people keep misunderstanding me", for Jesus. I think it's personal. Recall the temptation he faced, back at the beginning of his mission: to use his divine prerogatives and conquer the world, rather than endure the pain and hard work of facing his road as a human.

So just as it's not surprising that Peter was so horrified at what Jesus confided in him... it's not surprising that Jesus's own reaction is so frustrated, so emotional. It's not surprising that, in Peter's "God forbid such a thing should happen!", Jesus hears the echo of his temptation in the desert, and shouts "get out of my way, Satan!" lest he be tempted again.

But that also means that, when Jesus follows this up by reminding his inner circle that they, too, must travel to the Cross, everything he challenges us to do is something he knows awaits him too.

"Cling to your own life and you'll lose it; let go of your life and you'll find it. What profit is it to gain the world and lose yourself?"

This is not Jesus merely rehashing the Pearl of Great Price or exhorting us to be willing to give things up for the Kingdom. This is Jesus talking about his own path - about why he's gotta go all the way to Calvary. It's an argument that he could not turn away from the work without denying who he is. Like Jeremiah, who we hear from in today's prophetic excerpt, speaking about how he can no longer bear to muffle the Spirit's words in his mouth for long.

But this is not a mere matter of choosing to die rather than deny who you are, either; Paul reminds us, in today's excerpt from his letter to Rome, that being willing to go against what is popular or expected of us, and to give up what we thought was ours, gives us room for metanoia, and through it, for discovering the purpose of our own lives. He doesn't phrase it as "denying ourselves", but as offering up who we thought we were, so that we can discover who we were really supposed to be. Perhaps, for Paul as well, this framing is a reflection of his own cross - of the dramatic story of his conversion that he so liked to tell.

So despite Jesus calling us to take up our own crosses and follow him, it may look different for us, too. We don't have the particular temptations of Jesus, or the particular mental hurdles of Paul. And few of us, in this day and age, are likely to be martyrs in the same way that either of them were. But in order to find the Way, we need to cultivate that same willingness to listen - to follow wherever we must go, even if it's unpopular or controversial, even if it doesn't fit the picture of ourselves that we or others originally had in our heads - so that we can buy the Pearl of Great Price in the stories of our own lives.

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sluttyten · 4 years

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craving you like the devil craves heaven

summary: you’re a succubus (a female demon that seduces men to death) and you task yourself with seducing someone difficult. enter mark lee, a priest with a vow of celibacy that he’s already struggling with. you think you’ll have some fun. (based off this message from an anon)

length: 8,622

warnings: religious themes, sacrilegious, corruption, demons, priests, oral sex, masturbation, sex

As a newly-made succubus, you wanted to impress your peers and superiors, and therefore decided to challenge yourself by making your first time special and big.

“A priest?” Your direct superior shook her head in disbelief. “Most would start with a regular mortal who is much, much more likely to succumb to sin. Are you sure you want to commit to seducing a priest? You realize they swear to be celibate, and typically they’re committed to destroying demons like you and I?”

You do realize all of those things, but you’re sure if you find the right one you can do it. Not all priests are perfectly perfect and holy.

All it took was a little bit of divine intervention (or rather you intervening in the divine), tapping into that holy line of mortal prayers. A little eavesdropping, careful listening, and at last you plucked the correct line, listening to the reverberating prayers of a holy man dealing with such sinful thoughts, praying for help in remaining faithful to the vows of the priesthood.

It was night in this place where the young priest was. Cool and dark, the air was damp and would surely make you shiver if you were mortal, but the cold didn’t affect a demon like you, nor did the mist as it clung to your eyelashes and the strands of your hair. You stood across the street from the rectory, standing in the shadow of a doorway, gazing up at the faint golden light of a window on the second floor of the holy man’s house.

You could still hear a whisper of his prayers.

“Lord, it’s me, Mark, your servant. I pray you give me the strength to resist these desires, the sinful thoughts.” He prays, and you can almost picture him kneeling with his hands folded before him, head bowed, and lips moving slightly as he repeats the words of Latin prayers.

You decide to study him.

That night you stand there on the street and watch the house, listening to his dreams, and catching glimpses of his neighbors’ dreams, as well as the other two priests who share the home with Mark. And in the morning you shift yourself to match the wall behind you, to continue your observations as the young priest rises and dresses and walks down the street to the church. You watch as he passes through the cemetery tucked behind the church, and he pauses at some of the headstones to straighten flowers or offer a prayer, and then he enters through a side door, and you stand outside, waiting.

Several hours later a crowd begins to arrive, passing inside through the large, ornate front doors, and soon after music swells, voices rise, and you hear the chanting of prayers upon prayers. You watch as Mark emerges from the church among his parishioners, as he smiles and talks and shakes hands with them.

You take special note of the way that his eyes repeatedly flick toward another human, near the same age as himself. You notice the way his eyes follow their movements, how he smiles when they meet his eye.

Ah, this one. That one is the source of the young priest’s sinful thoughts.

You observe as the crowd thins, disappearing from the front steps of the church until it is only the priest speaking to a mother and her toddler that keeps tugging on her hand and crying, and Mark tries his best to pay full attention to her, but the lovely human who has attracted his notice stands a few feet away, holding a folder in their hands.

Eventually as the bell tower above the church chimes the hour, Mark excuses himself from the mother, stating that he has an appointment to get to, and you watch with renewed interest as he leaves the mother and beckons the nervous-looking folder-wielding individual to step back into the church with him.

They pass through the nave of the church—their footsteps echoing up to the vaulted ceiling, through all the empty pews—and bow at the altar before stepping around to the side, and passing through a doorway tucked behind a statue of a saint. They shut themselves away in the priest’s office, and you listen eavesdrop from your hiding place across from the church, a safe distance from all the blessed holiness that would try to keep you out.

You can’t quite hear Mark’s thoughts, but bear enough to it, sensing the fluctuations in his emotions as the parishioner shows him the divorce file, and pleads with him to help them resolve the issues in their marriage to their spouse in a way that won’t end like this.

You can feel Mark’s tension, the conflict within himself. It’s his duty to help. But the desire he feels for this person sitting across from him.... it’s sinful, it goes against his vows.

That night you watch him walk back to the rectory after another mass, several meetings, a meal at the home of one of his parishioner’s. You listen as he prepares himself for bed, as he prays once more for the strength to get passed this way he feels because he knows it’s not right in the eyes of the church and God.

And that night, after Mark’s window has at last gone dark, after he’s fallen into dreams, you decide that your time for first contact has come.

Mark’s dreams are easy to intrude upon. The boundaries upon the rectory, blessed though they may be, are old and worn and leave several gaping holes for you to slip through and into his mind.

What you’re doing isn’t possession. That’s not in your repertoire.

In his dream, you take the form of Mark’s desire. You form the dream into what you require, setting up the scene as being back in his office, that desk between him and you, the future-divorcée’s file open on the desk.

Mark doesn’t notice a thing, he just slips right from his normal dreams into this one, picking up his lines without a skip.

“....and pray to the Lord. You and Alex can get through this. Counseling and prayer works miracles.” Mark says, and just as he’d done earlier in the day, he reaches across the desk and takes the hand sitting there atop the file.

Unlike earlier though, you’re in control of this dream. You’d felt Mark’s mind buzzing when his hand came in contact with the hand of his secret desire, so you turn that to your benefit now, making your first changes.

“I know it’s wrong,” you say in the voice of the divorcee, “But sometimes I think there’s no use saving the marriage. Alex feels one way about it, and I can understand that. Alex could fall in love with someone else and be happier and I want that for my spouse, of course I do. And if I could fall in love too....” Your look up at Mark sitting across from you, his hand still on yours, and the look on your face is one that you put as much want and lust into as you can.

Mark gulps. His fingers twitch against your hand. “Sometimes people fall in love with someone else. A peaceful resolution to a marriage, the dissolvement, annulment.... that can happen and both parties can remarry happily.”

He’s trying so hard, the poor thing. One look into his eyes and you can see the nervousness and excitement, the way his mind is rushing at this news that the person sitting before him might want to look for new love.

“Sometimes the person that we’re meant to be with is actually right in front of us.” You say.

Mark nods, swallows again. You test the waters, stroke your thumb over the back of his hand.

He jolts in his seat and stands, rubbing a hand over the top of his head as he paces over to a water disperser in the corner of the office, and he fills a small paper cup for himself, gulps it down. And you take this as your next opportunity to try to twist this dream to your advantage.

“Father Lee,” you step closer and closer, coming up right behind him.

His hand shakes as he fills the cup again, but before he can quite lift it to his lips, you curl your hand against his, and take the cup, bringing it to your lips and draining it while you look at him. He watches with his lips parted, eyes wide. Mark drinks too—drinks in every detail of you wearing his desire’s face and putting your lips where his had just been. You can hear his adorable thoughts—the innocent rush he gets from thinking that’s like an indirect kiss.

Things are moving too slow now, you can tell that even in a dream, even when you’re offering everything up for him to make the move, Mark won’t take the opportunity. He’s trying too hard to hold back, and you just want to seduce him.

So you push things ahead just a little bit, rearrange the dream to your liking, which is you sitting on the edge of the desk, leaning back on your hands with Mark’s hands on you. He’s got one hand tangled in your hair, the other on your waist, and the overwhelming sexual frustration you taste on his tongue as he kisses you is so fucking sweet.

Mark murmurs your name.

Well, not your name. But the name that belongs with this face. You press closer, kissing him back to make him shut up, to keep him distracted and enchanted by the lust of the dream.

But perhaps doing that pushes it too far.

Mark breaks away, gasping, “No, wait. I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Irritation flashes through you, and for a split second your true self shines through.

Mark’s eyes widen and he gasps, the whole dream fluctuates, shaking and tipping to the side, and then you’re ripped back to reality, just a monstrous succubi hiding in the space beneath his bed.

You hold still as Mark staggers to his feet. Bare feet brush across the floor, and you hear him slapping his face, pinching at his inner arms, and then you hear him murmuring prayers again.

“Father, I’m sorry for my sins. Please forgive me.” and “Father purge these demons from my mind.”

You wrap your arms around yourself under his bed and smile. You don’t plan to go anywhere.

Several more days pass and you let Mark be. You even return to Hell for a few days to update your supervisor on your progress, and while it’s not as much as you’d like, they are impressed with your target.

By the time you return to watch Mark again, he seems to have calmed down a bit from that naughty dream you’d given him. You return just in time for him to say his nighttime prayers, and once more you wait for him to fall asleep before you enter his space.

You bring yourself physically into the space—at first incorporeal, but then you manifest a tangible shape that you personally admire for all of your earthly adventures, and you settle in to do your work for the night.

Even with a real body, you’re still light as a breath of wind, so when you climb onto the bed and settle over Mark’s chest, he doesn’t stir. Nor does he do anything as you step into his dreams.

This time you observe the dreams for a moment.

You seem to be in a memory. Mark’s brother and himself when they were younger, riding bikes down a street that fades off into white nothingness at the edges, not that either of the two boys seem aware. The dream shifts naturally from that bike-ride to sitting in a car, the windows rolled down, a night breeze filling the interior and raking its fingers through Mark’s hair. There’s a girl sitting in the seat beside him, talking and smiling and dressed cute with a milkshake in one hand that she pauses her story every now-and-then to take a sip at. A girlfriend or a first love. When she reaches over and lays a casual hand on Mark’s thigh, he jumps a little. It’s close enough to what you need, so you grasp onto it and take control of the dream like you’re the one driving a car.

You wear the dream-girl’s face as easily as you’d worn the one in the last dream. You move her hand higher up his thigh.

Mark turns his head to the side with a sharp inhale, staring at you. And then you realize, startling even yourself, that he’s actually staring at you.

The dream ripples and you can feel it pulling away from you, Mark resisting your attempt to control the dream.

“Who are you?” His voice asks, but the Mark in the dream before you doesn’t move his mouth. The voice echoes and booms from all around you.

Abort. Fleeing a dream, tearing yourself from the web of his mind, abandoning your victim in a situation like this seems like the absolute most perfect idea.

But tragically, it seems impossible.

The dream closes in around you, squeezing tight as if holding you there. You grapple with Mark’s mind, and then suddenly the dream releases, Mark gasps awake, trying hard to suck in breaths against the new weight of you sitting on his chest, a succubi filled with the lust and dream-energy you’d been siphoning from him.

Before you can truly flee, dissolving back to your incorporeal form and slipping out into the free night, Mark’s hand closes around your wrist, and with a strength and agility you didn’t expect, he flips you under him, pinning your form to his bed. Trapping you between his warm body and the firm mattress.

“Who are you?” Mark hisses.

You let your true eyes shine through, hoping that the dimly glowing sulphuric color of them will frighten him into letting you go.

Instead, he reaches into his shirt and draws out a cross on a silver chain. You flinch back into the sheets as Mark asks the same question again.

“I’m here to help you.” You turn your gaze away from the cross, locking your eyes on his. “You’re so loud with your lustful thoughts, and I’m here to help you feel better, to tame your lusty sins.” You buck your hips up, pressing up against his hips.

Mark swallows hard. “I don’t know what you are or what you’re talking about.”

“Ah, so you don’t want to fuck that sexy, soon-to-be singleton you were dreaming about the other night?” You bring your hands up both of his arms until your fingertips are under the sleeves against his biceps. “Oh, Father Lee, don’t you know how sinful that is? What would your fellow priests think? What must He think?”

Mark’s jaw tightens, and he brings the cross closer to your skin. Your body tingles and burns.

“Let me up.” You tell him. He doesn’t budge. “I swear to all things evil, let me up or I’ll scream and moan, transform to look like your secret desire so when your Brothers came running in here all they’ll know is I’m moaning your name, and you’re....”

Mark moves.

“Demon.” He spits the word at you like an insult.

You sit up, fixing your hair, and you wink in his direction. “You got it.”

“Get out.”

“Hey.” You stand, raising your hands innocently. “You’re the one that summoned me here. I’m a succubus, and the amount of sexual frustration radiating off of you was too delicious to pass up.” You lean in and sniff at his neck, just to take the opportunity to make him uncomfortable because he’s cute like that. “I just want to help, to show you that you can still feel good, Mark. And anyway, is it breaking your vows if I was just trying to entice you in your dreams? It’s not real is it?”

Mark shakes his head, taking an unsteady step backwards. “Even thoughts are sins.”

You roll your eyes and sink back down onto the edge of his bed. “That’s such a modern misconception. Back in the early days of your faith, people weren’t quite so... prudish. They had sex, some even saw it as praising Him, thanking him for the goodness of it all. Some people still do, why do you think people scream His name during the throes of ecstasy?”

Mark blushes. “Stop it. I know what you’re doing.”

“I’m just trying to help.” You reply, leaning back on your hands and looking up at him. “You’re horny, I can feel that. You’re channeling all of your lust toward one unattainable person because they’re married, Mark. Not to mention, they call you Father Lee, which is very unsexy, might I add. But if you would just give in to your dreams, have a hot little dream of making out, getting down and dirty in your office, then that would give you a bit of satisfaction, right? Have a wet dream like you haven’t since you were a teenager? Or at the worst, wake up with a boner, take care of it yourself. You do jerk off still, don’t you, Father Lee?”

Mark frowns at you. “Shut up.”

“Is that a no?” You gasp, sitting up. “Seriously? But you’re still so young, you’ve got all of these hormones, this energy that you need to release. Even if you feel you can’t release it with someone else, do it yourself.”

Mark turns completely away from you then, but you can still see him reflected in the mirror across the room. “Get out.”

His tone is so dour, dark and serious, that you do get out. You flee into incorporeality, still able to observe the look on Mark’s face when he turns around a second later and sees you’re gone, can still see the shape of where you’d say on his bed. He runs his fingers through his hair, and then begins to whisper prayers to his God for forgiveness for his weakness.

You let a few more days pass before you return, scared that coming back too soon would cause too much damage. But several days, you think, gives him time to think more about what you’ve said. You do watch him though, you watch closer than you’d done before, and you see Mark clumsily try to touch himself, as if thinking about what you’d said, but he always pulls his hand away after a moment with a groan of frustration.

On the fifth night since you’d last appeared to him, Mark lingers in his office at the church, pouring over papers, notes from meetings, notices from the parish school. In the yellow half-light cast off by his desk lamp, Mark looks so much older and more tired than anyone should look at twenty-five.

“You need to do something to relax,” you tell him as you manifest right behind his seat, already rubbing at his tense shoulders.

Mark spins his chair around so quickly, he nearly falls out of it. His pupils expand with fear, his chest rising and falling with the surprised, panicked breaths you’d startled out of him.

“How are you in here?” He asks, his eyes darting around the room to the closed door and the latched windows. You know he’s thinking about how the doors of the church are locked (because he’d checked them earlier after the last service for the evening), and then you can see the switch flip in his mind as he starts thinking about how you’re a self-confessed demon currently standing on holy ground. “How are you here?”

You shrug and step around him, sitting on the edge of his desk and plucking a paper from the middle of one of the piles. “It’s easy to be here. I just feel all tingly in all the good places.” You wink at him.

Mark groans and punches the bridge of his nose. “Am I going crazy? Is that what this is? You’re a manifestation of my mental breakdown?”

“Absolutely not,” you laugh. “I’m real. See?”

You take his hand from his face and bring it down between your thighs, close enough that Mark can feel the heat radiating off your skin, but before you can actually make him touch any part of your body, Mark jerks his hand away. You sigh sadly and return your focus to the paper in your hand.

“So, marriage counseling going well for the unhappy couple?” You scan the document which is notes Mark had taken during the counseling session for his crush. “From the looks of it they have issues. The unresolvable kind. Alex just won’t put out, and your sweetheart has needs, huh? But you know all about that, don’t you, Mark?”

Mark snatches the paper out of your hands. “That’s a confidential document.”

You hold out your hand, and right before Mark’s eyes another page from his desk appears in your hand, and this time you read aloud. “When we first got married, we would have sex regularly. At least once a week, usually more.” You raise your eyes to look at Mark. He’s trying so hard not to blush; you wonder how he got through the session. The next few lines of the message are more whining about the current lack of a sex life, and then it’s gets into the sordid, juicy details that you feel certain Mark had struggled to copy down, but had done so for the specific intent of reliving the rush he felt hearing about the sex life of someone he desires.

So naturally you read that part aloud to him as well, and Mark just squirms in his seat. You look up at him and see that he’s definitely blushing, his hands folded as he stares down at them with such a forceful look of concentration, that you’re surprised they’ve not burst into flames. He’s so determined to ignore you, you can hear the prayers racing through his mind.

But when you toe off your shoes and bring a foot up into his lap, you’re amused to find a raging erection hiding there. Mark shudders as the sole of your foot caresses him. His hands untwist, and one moves to your calf, curling around it, but he doesn’t push you away. Not as you keep moving your foot over him like this. His eyelids flutter.

You don’t dare speak, just let the silence hang in the room as you rub Mark’s erection with your foot, his hand on your calf, the other clenching into a fist on the arm of his chair. His lips part, small sweet-sounding sighs falling free. His eyes close, head dropped back against the headrest of his fine leather seat, and his hips shift beneath your foot.

He looks beautiful like this, you think.

Half-lit by his lamp, blushing and glowing with list and finally-felt pleasure. Your body tingles with your own pleasure, the success of doing this.

Mark’s teeth catch his bottom lip, trapping a grunt within his lips. You press your toes to circle them at the tip of his erection, and Mark’s hips lift up, chasing the feeling, grinding against your foot. He sighs, soft moans and pretty sounds, and then at last, he whispers “oh God” and then shudders and slumps back in the chair.

You feel the wet heat beneath your heel, Mark’s cum filling his trousers.

Satisfied, you vanish before he can open his eyes.

You return the following night. This time Mark is in his room at the rectory, sitting up in bed. His eyes are closed as he leans against the wall, his bedsheets pooled in his lap, his hand resting there. He’s not touching himself, but you can tell that he’s challenging himself not to. He’s hard again, and the moment you present in the room, his eyes open as if he could feel the change in the air.

“Demon,” his eyes narrow. “What did you do to me last night?”

“Why? Did it feel good?” You smile. You don’t walk straight to his bed, though you know you’ll end up there. You walk to the closet, run your fingers over the hangers, you skim your fingers through the dust gathering on the books lining the shelf on his wall.

When Mark clears his throat, it’s then that you finally look at him. “Why are you here?”

“Because you need me.” You nod at his lap, wave your hand in a long gesture at his whole body. “I’m telling you, Mark, the energy coming off of you, it’s a wonder you don’t draw every succubus in Hell to come seduce you, drinking up all this juice you’ve got, I’ve never been so full.”

Mark’s eyes flash darkly, his eyes stuck on your face. “Well you had your fill last night right? I can’t believe.... I’ve prayed to the Lord for forgiveness so many times since last night I went to confession earlier today.”

“Oh did you?” A burst of excitement goes through you, and you hurry to sit on his bed, taking up his hand. “What did you tell them about me?”

Mark shakes your hand off. “I didn’t mention you. Why would I? They’d either think I’m losing my mind, which I’m still not convinced that I’m not, or they’d think that I’m just breaking my vows and having sex with someone. I just confessed that I lost my battle against lust and took care of myself.”

You tut at him disapprovingly, shaking your head as you say, “Lying in confession? Isn’t that an oxymoron? And a sin?”

Mark’s hands clench at the sheets. “I wasn’t lying really. Not if I believe that you’re a figment of my cracking mind.”

You smirk, and when you lean closer and lay a fingertip on Mark’s cheek, tracing along his cheekbone and then dropping to outline his lips, you whisper, “And do you believe that? Truly? That I’m just a figment of your imagination?”

“I don’t know what I believe,” Mark whispers hoarsely. “I don’t know if it’s better to think I’m doing this to myself or that there’s a demon taunting me.”

“Maybe I’m actually an angel in disguise, sent in answer to your prayers.” You shift onto your knees, and lean close to Mark’s face. You hold just an inch away from his lips. He goes almost cross-eyed trying to keep looking at you. “In which case, you should take advantage of this opportunity, no? Let me help you, enjoy it.”

Mark pulls his head back, closing his eyes tight as he drops his head back gently against the wall. “This is a sin. I’m a priest, I can’t be doing this.”

You roll your eyes and move.

Mark peers curiously, and almost fearfully, through a cracked eyelid when he feels your weight leave the bed. But a split second later you’ce settled completely in his lap. He goes stiff, murmuring prayers under his breath as well as something that sounds suspiciously like some sort of chant to banish you.

You stay firmly in your spot. “Why did you become a priest, Mark?”

Your question catches him off guard. His prayers cut off and he opens his eyes, looking directly at you. “What? Because I was called. I heard His voice calling me.”

“When?”

“The first time I was young. Fifteen, I think.” He looks up at the ceiling, remembering. “Again when I was eighteen. I entered the seminary at nineteen, studied until I was twenty three, when I became a deacon, and then I was ordained earlier this year. At twenty five.”

You shift your weight. “And you never doubted it? That this was what you wanted to do? That you wanted to swear yourself to celibacy? Never have sex, never allow yourself to experience pleasure? Tell me, Mark, are you a virgin?”

Mark’s blush returns, flooding his face with heat. “Why do you care?”

“Have you ever been touched by another person?” He stays silent, and you think about what you’ve observed in him. You think about him clumsily touching himself before giving up, about how easily he’d fallen apart under your touch the night before. “Have you ever touched yourself, Mark?”

You can feel how hard his heart pounds now, and in each loud beat you hear your answer.

“Cute. Little virginal priest.” You put your hands on either of his cheeks, turning his face so he has no choice but to look right at you. “Was last night your first orgasm?”

Mark breathes through his nose, holding your gaze, trying to steady his racing heart and mind. “Can you stop.”

“But aren’t you curious? Don’t you want to feel it again?” You drop your hands from his face. “I can give that to you again. I can make you feel even better, actually. If you let me, Mark, I can open up a whole new world to you.”

When his eyes close you can tell that he’s thinking about how to banish you, to send you back to hell. You find that very attractive, particularly when a muscle in his jaw flexes.

“Mark,” you whisper, and you lift a gentle hand to his neck, tracing a finger along a vein that stands out there. “Mark, what if I’m just a figment of your imagination? It’s not wrong then, is it? To want to feel good like you did last night? I can give that to you again, I can make you feel better. Just tell me yes.”

The silence buzzes in the room as you wait for him to speak or do anything.

“Yes,” Mark’s voice comes out shaky, hoarse. “Yes, okay. Just one more time.”

You move before he can decide to change his mind. Mark just takes steadying breaths as you sink down the bed, slipping beneath the covers, fitting between his thighs. He holds his breath when you tug down the waistband of the plaid flannel pants he’s wearing, when you touch his bare erection with your fingers, the tip of your tongue, your lips closing around him.

You’re not sure that he breathes until swallow around him, pushing to take more of his cock down your throat. Your body buzzes with the heat coming off of him, the energizing power of making him feel good.

Mark doesn’t touch you. He clenches his fingers in the bedsheets on either side of his hips as you give him his very first blowjob. You can’t help looking up at him as you do this; watching every look of pleasure and satisfaction cross his face, unrestrained. And when he moans, they’re soft moans, always conscious that you’re not alone together in this house of holy men, that there’s another priest just two doors down, an empty bathroom in between.

You keep sucking him off, taking him as deep into your mouth as you can when he blows his load for the first time.

Mark bites his knuckles to keep quiet. You pull off his erection, keeping your fingers on him, playing with him as he shudders through the last waves of pleasure.

“Look at that, would you? Felt good? How could that be a bad thing?” You drop a tender kiss to his tip, and then sit up, feeling very satisfied in yourself. “Do you want more?”

“More? No. I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t.” He put his hands over his face, pinching at his nose. “Shit. What am I doing? You need to leave.”

You look at him with his face covered, his body on display to your eyes. “Well, if you want more, I’m sure you can look up a summoning ritual for me in one of your holy books, Father Mark. Call me.”

You stand up, and it’s not like you’re going to leave by the door, or anything, but you turn to look around his room one last time. You’re done here. You seduced the priest, drank energy from him, there’s nothing more to be done. You’ve enjoyed your first time, but you’re not going to do the full succubus job to this man, you’ve enjoyed him too much. You won’t drain him and leave him sick. You just hope you opened his eyes.

“Wait.” The young priest grabs your arm before you have the chance to disappear. “How do you expect me to summon you if I don’t know your name?” He says it lightly, almost joking, as if he’s still not sure that he can really take this seriously, this whole you being a seductive demon thing. But the look in his eyes is hopeful.

With a light touch to his chin, you lean in, and whisper your name in his ear.

Months pass in mortal time. You move on from the young priest, seducing many men and some women, draining a few of them dry until they’re just shells of their former selves. You’re currently seducing a wannabe actor, literally sitting on his dick, when you feel a tug inside you. It’s a strange feeling, nothing you’ve felt before, and it’s not pleasant at all.

You push at the man’s chest, the unpleasant feeling spreading through you. “I’ve got to go,” you tell him, and then you turn and vanish, following the strange feeling.

You find yourself in a strange room, a small bedroom.

“So you really never came back to me.” A voice says from behind you.

You spin around, noticing all at once the candles, and then right before you--

“Forgive me, Father. I thought you didn’t want more from me.” You reach out to Mark, standing right here before him for the first time in so long. You missed him. You missed teasing him.

“I didn’t expect you really wouldn’t come back.” Mark stands there just out of reach, his arms folded across his chest. And he looks so good, so handsome in a black button-down shirt and gray pressed slacks. But he’s barefoot and his hair is messy, adding a toned-down casual level to his attractiveness. He clears his throat and you look back up to his face as he says, “I had to make do without you around, you know.”

That piques your interest. “Oh? Did you finally learn to jerk off? Have you been touching yourself? Here in the priest house?”

Mark shakes his head. “Look around, does this look like my room there?”

No, actually. It doesn’t at all. And a quick look out the window shows that you’re in somewhere completely different.

“I left the priesthood,” Mark explains. “What you said, what you did to me, I realized that the priesthood wasn’t what was the best choice for me. I can still serve the Lord in other ways, other ways that will allow me to explore the side of me that you awakened.” And now Mark steps closer to you. At last, he reaches for your face, slipping his fingers into your hair. You practically purr at the contact with him. “I’ve been busy since you left me.”

“Oh?” You lean into his touch. “From priest to manwhore in just a few passes of the moon.”

Mark nods. “I tried to stay on that path for a little while, but I just couldn’t. I craved more, that same feeling you gave me.” He nibbles his bottom lip nervously for a second before admitting, “I actually slept with a woman before I decided to give up on the priesthood. I prayed for forgiveness afterwards, but it just felt like I fucked up too much on that one, so I decided to leave. I moved away, started over, slept around, but none of them touched me the way that you did. Nothing feels better than you.”

You shrug. “It’s part of the job description really. I’m a seductress. You think I’m not going to be the best you’ve ever had? Is that why you summoned me, you want more at last?”

“Demon, I want to make you a deal.” Mark caresses your cheek. “I am a man of faith, and you’ve steered me down some side path that I had absolutely no intention of going down. In the past, I didn’t know what to do with you, but I wanted you. Now, I still want you, but I know what I’m doing. I know about you. I did research about your kind while I was looking up how to summon you again. I want to make a deal.”

“A deal?” You pull back from him, breaking all contact. “Mark, what the hell. Don’t you know what making a deal with a demon means?”

He cuts you off with a shake of his head, dismissive. “I don’t care. I know the risk, but, fuck, I swear you got me addicted to you. Just a few hits, and I crave you.”

“Why would you want to make a deal with me? A binding pact?” You push at his chest and Mark takes a step back to balance. “Are you fucking stupid? You think I want your soul, Mark Lee? You had a good soul, a pure one. That’s why I left you and never looked back! Some things are too good starting out, and tarnishing them with my hands....” You look down at your hands, and you can see through the glamor you wear, down to your real form the ashen hell-burnt flesh.

Mark’s watching you when you look up at him. But he doesn’t look afraid, doesn’t look sad or sorry.

His eyes still burn with need.

“I don’t want your soul,” you tell him, “So I don’t want a deal.”

Mark takes another step back from you. “But I want you. So take the damned deal. Fuck me.”

“And what do you get out of it? You won’t get fame or fortune or health from this deal. You literally just get to fuck a demon until you die, so no, that’s not good enough.” If you were human you’d be sick to your stomach right now. What Mark’s offering you, if he were anyone else you would take the deal, but Mark Lee was a good man when you met him; he was cute and innocent, a pure soul that you wanted to protect so you left for his own good. You couldn’t make him pay the price of being with you.

No, Mark shakes his head in denial and desperation. He comes close to you again, standing just an inch away from you, close enough that both of you can feel each other, but not close enough that any part of you is actually touching.

“Just touch me, please.” Mark pleads. “I miss your touch. The way you made me feel, I’ve been chasing that high for months, and nothing compares. Please.”

You want to touch him. You really, really do.

With a groan of frustration, you cup Mark’s face in your hands. “I’m going to be the death of you,” you tell him in the moment before your lips meet his.

The kiss is absolutely intoxicating. Mark moans and wraps around you, moving backwards toward his bed, limbs tangling together as you both collapse onto his sheets. You pin him beneath you, kissing the air from his lungs, your fingers sliding down the front of his shirt, buttons falling open just at your touch. And when your fingertips move a bit lower, grazing the front of his pants, you find that he’s devastatingly hard.

He rolls his hips up against your hand, groaning into the kiss, whimpering delightfully when you squeeze his erection.

You sit up on him, and Mark follows, needy for your kiss. His mouth crashes against yours, sharp and hot. You push his shirt off his shoulders, and you let him roll you under him, your body nestled into his sheets as Mark unbuttons his fancy slacks, pushing them down enough that you can see his cock pop out.

You grab onto the edges of his pants, dragging him forward up your body, and you all but throw your mouth onto his cock.

Much like the last time, Mark seems caught off guard by the way you make him feel. He moans loudly, fingers knotting in your hair. But unlike the last time, he quickly recovers, seems to know what to do to get exactly what he wants, using his hands in your hair to direct your mouth.

When you can see it in his face that he’s enjoying this a bit too much, you pull off, using your hand on him instead, looking up at him as you jerk him off over your chest.

“Mmm, fuck,” Mark moans, a hand running over his chest and down his abs. “No one makes me feel this good. Not with anything they’ve done to me.” He thrusts forward into your hand. “I need to feel you around me.”

You nod. You want it too. You’re ready for him, and he’s clearly more than ready for you. Mark quickly disposes of his pants, climbing back on the bed, sinking in to kiss you again, and you fall into the kiss, more intoxicating than anything you’ve ever felt. With a hand to his chest, you press Mark onto his back, and you climb over him, straddling his thighs.

You don’t break the kiss, just reach down as you move forward to situate yourself over him. Teasing the head of his erection against your wet, dripping entrance, Mark whines, shifting his hips up eagerly. “Patience,” you murmur, and you leave his lips behind to kiss down his throat, down the center of his chest, and you glance up at him as you allow his tip to slide inside you just as you circle your tongue on one of his nipples.

He bucks up, wanting to bury himself inside you, but you’ve already pulled away again.

“Thought you said you’d know what to do now?” You ask, flicking your tongue over his pebbled nipple. “When are you going to prove that? Because from where I’m sitting--” you sit upright, right down on him so his erection is trapped between his abdomen and your wet heat, “--you’re still the innocent boy who doesn’t now how to fuck me.”

You’re not entirely sure how he does it, flipping from submissive boy trapped beneath you to you suddenly being on your back with Mark’s mouth ravaging your throat, and his cock rutting between your legs, still not inside you, but now it’s you who groans at the tease. His erection glides over your clit, and each time you feel a zip of pleasure.

You grip at his arms, fingers digging into muscle, and then Mark’s cock slips and on the next thrust, he fucks right into you.

Both of you moan as he sinks inside you, his teeth catch at your throat, instantly soothed again by his lips. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Mark mumbles the words against your skin. “You’re so soft, warm. Heavenly.” He buries his face in your neck, his entire body presses against yours--chest and hip, legs tangled together as he shallowly fucks into you while sucking at your throat.

This is intimate and strange and fascinating and fantastic. Your usual partners are just quick fucks that you feed off of their sexual energy and then you leave. It’s not intimate at all, no matter how many times you’d fucked them, there was no intimacy--rarely were attempts made by them, and never by you--but here you can’t get enough of this. You just want Mark closer until you can’t feel where your form ends and Mark begins.

Your fingernails scrape the back of his neck, twisting in his hair as you bring his busy lips from your throat to your lips, needing to satiate the hunger.

This is pure lust, addiction to him and his addiction to you.

You’re not even feeding off the sexual energy of this intercourse, just existing in the moment for the carnality of it all.

Mark’s thrusts grow bigger, deeper, more powerful, and you wrestle with him, letting him stay on top until suddenly you want him beneath you. You want to fuck him, to ride him, and that lasts for a bit until you’re on your belly pressed into the bed, Mark thrusting into you from behind with his lips against your cheek as he murmurs praises. There’s teeth and nails, Mark’s hair sticks to his forehead with sweat. He shivers in delight when you press him again beneath you, circling your hips on his cock, tracing your fingers over the raised pink lines from your nails down his chest.

He looks high, his pupils wide, his skin flushed, and he’s alive with a glowing energy that calls out to you, begging you to drink it in. But you don’t want that here. You just want this, to feel a part of this, to make him feel the best you can because experiencing sex like this with Mark where you’re not using your demon powers feels absolutely insane, makes you feel even better than when you do answer that call, and drink off the energy of your partner.

His hand snaps against your ass, and you realize you’ve just been sitting there, gazing down at him in admiration. “Move, baby.” And he does it again.

“Fuck, Mark. Do you go to confession and tell the priest that you dream about getting fucked by a demon like this?” You roll your hips, sinking forward until your lips are beside his ear. “Do you confess your sins. Forgive me, Father, but I let a demon into my life. She fucked me so good I stopped being a priest because her pussy is worth it.”

Mark moans.

“Forgive me, Father, but when I was a priest, she made me cum for her in the Church, on holy ground.” You squeeze around his cock, and he lets out a beautiful sound. “Mmm, forgive me, Mark, but I think no amount of confession will make up for sinning like this, loving every single thing we’re doing right now.”

“Holy--!” Mark’s voice cuts off as you sit up, curling your delicate fingers around his throat. His eyes roll back from the pleasure, and you just smile down at him, applying pressure to his throat and circling your other thumb around his nipple. He blinks and looks up at you, his mouth hanging open in soundless awe and appreciation, his eyes glowing with lust and something else. You just want to make him feel good.

You press forward, unable to hold back, needing to feel his lips on yours as you ride him, as you feel that pleasure seeping through your body, a warm silvery-golden glow as your toes curl and your body goes warm and light and fuzzy.

Mark’s hands are on you -- on your hips and your hands and in your hair and on your thighs, touching you all over, pressing you down as he bucks up into you, and then he’s cumming and it feels so good too, better than when the others have done it.

You keep kissing him, rolling your hips down on him, wanting to keep this feeling going. It’s one you’ve never truly felt before.

But eventually it must end, and you roll off to the side, and Mark follows, not wanting to let you get too far. He tucks his face against your neck, breath hot and damp on your skin, and his thigh slips comfortably between yours. You feel sticky and sweaty all over in places you didn’t know you could be sweaty, and you feel like you need to catch your breath.

Mark drops a singular tiny kiss to the center of your chest, and then he pulls back, his head resting on one side of the pillow, yours on the other, only a few bare inches between the tips of your noses. You’ve never been this close to a human before (on multiple levels) and you don’t pull back.

“I made a deal with a demon,” Mark whispers, and he uses a finger to brush back a section of sweaty hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. “Or at least, I meant to. Don’t leave me.”

“Mark, I won’t kill you.” You tell him, absolutely refusing to let this go where he seems to carelessly want it to go.

His fingers tighten in your hair. “Then give it up. I want you. All the time. And it’s not just because you’re a succubus. I know that’s part of the enchantment, I completely understand that, but I know in a deeper place in my heart that I crave you in a way that’s separate from your crazy, mystical demon powers, okay? Give it up.”

You stare into his eyes, his wide and innocent and hopeful eyes. You want to do it for him. You want to give Mark whatever he asks for. But... “I can’t. This is who I am, I can’t just give up being a succubus. It’s what I was brought into existence to be.”

Mark shakes his head. “I refuse to believe that. You’re a demon, but what are demons except fallen angels.” His thumb strokes over your cheek. “And I see an angel when I look at you.”

You roll your eyes and push his hand away. You sit up, ready to leave his bed, to flee into the unknown from him. But Mark’s fingers circle tightly around your wrist.

“I know how to summon you, I’ll just bring you back,” he says.

“And if I asked you not to?” You flex your wrist, testing his hold. “If I told you that I truly wanted you to leave me alone. What then?”

Mark’s hand falls away and he closes his eyes, turning onto his back to face the ceiling. “I would leave you alone. I would wish I could have convinced you to stay. Because I can see that you want to be here as much as I want you to stay.” He opens his eyes, looking right at you. “You gave me your name before you left, you opened this path for me to find you again, so you must have wanted me to, right?”

Right.

“So stay. I’m a theological man, and I’ve done my research into demonology and the supernatural, into good and evil. You think you’re just a demon, but I think you’re an angel, and somewhere in between where you stand and where I stand is a happy medium, a place where you and I can have this--” he gestures between your two bare bodies in his bed “--without you being afraid of destroying my soul.”

This is absolutely ridiculous.

You want it more than you can explain.

“Make a deal with me, demon.” Mark says, taking your hand in his, guiding it to his chest. He presses your palm flat over his heartbeat. “Stay with me, and I’ll help you become the angel that I know you are.”

This story began with a demon set on destroying her sexual victims and with a priest certain of his fate as a celibate holy man, and now you’re here. Both of you have already come so far from where you began.

You take Mark’s hand, guiding it so his palm lays over where your heart would be.

“The deal is true.” You tell him, and Mark gazes into your eyes as he repeats those words back to you, and just like that a bond is formed, a pact made, and you sink down against him, pressing your cheek to his chest as his arms wrap around you.

And this time you stay.

a/n: oops, I knew as soon as I first read this message that it was probably going to end up as a drabble, but damn I didn’t think I’d make it this long lol

If you liked it please reblog, like, comment. If you’re into the corruption of religious figures thing, definitely also check out Righteous a 5-part series by the wonderful @skzctnightnight it’s not got demons but it does have seminarian student Mark being tempted by the reader and it’s very hot and good

#mark smut #mark lee #mark lee smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut

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miyagihawk · 3 years

Note

hi! i absolutely adore your account! if you’re taking requests right now, can i ask for something robby x reader that’s like angsty, but has a sweet ending? anything you feel like writing, i don’t have a specific plot in mind. thank you!!!

thank you for the request love <3

ill wait for you | robby keene x reader

warnings: just swearing :)

summary: robby’s in juvie after the school fight and he doesn’t answer your emails. (robby is your boyfriend, not sam’s)

word count: 1627

Hi Robby. How are you? I’m sorry, that’s probably a dumb question. I haven’t been able to reach you in a while, I assume you threw away your phone. I heard you stole a van too, huh? Nice. But now that you’re, you know, there, I hope you get to see this. Mr. LaRusso said I could email you and maybe even call if you’re up for it? Only if you want. Let me know.

I miss you. A lot. Look, what went down was not your fault. It was an accident. It could’ve easily been the other way around. I know how hard you can be on yourself and this whole situation is just so fucking shitty. But you’ll get out soon and I’ll be waiting for you.

I’m here, okay Robby? Forever. If you feel lonely, just think of us. Think of how it feels when we’re together and the rest of the world just goes away. We’ll have that soon, alright? You and me against the world, always.

I love you.

-Y/N

Hey Robby, it’s been a week since I sent my first email. I hope that you’ve read it, even if you don’t feel like answering. That’s fine and I understand.

School is weird now. They have these security guards at the entrance to check our bags like we’re at the airport. It’s not like they’ll find karate in there, so I don’t get the point.

I get lonely in Physics without you. There’s no one to keep me awake during Mr. Miller’s lectures. I think he misses you too by the way, you’re the smartest person in that class.

I have to go, but I love you and I think of you everyday. Hang in there.

- Y/N

Hey. How are you, Robby? I’ve gotta be honest, I’m losing hope that you’re even reading these. I mean, it’s been 10 emails and I would think that you’d at least reply by now?

I’m not mad though, I really don’t know what it’s like to be where you are now. We could call if that’s better? How about this: I’ll schedule for a call tomorrow at 3 and you can pick up if you want.

Miss you,

-Y/N

Hello Robby. I want you to know that it’s okay you didn’t want to call. Or that you don’t want to talk.

I love you.

-Y/N

3 months. 30 emails. Deafening silence. After 3 months and 30 emails, you gave up. You figured that there’s no use if he wasn’t answering and that he probably wasn’t even reading what you wrote.

For a while, you’ve been stuck between moving on and waiting for Robby. He practically ghosted you and you don’t know if it means you’ve broken up.

But you also want to be there for him. He has no one, really. And giving up on him would just make you another person who’s disappointed him. It would be shitty of you to leave when he needs you most.

The inner conflict haunts you for the following months, and you decide that you’d just wait until Robby gets out to see what happens.

That day comes sooner than you thought, and the truth you’ve been avoiding is coming at you like a train at full speed.

Mr. LaRusso is the one who lets you know that Robby is out. The car salesman sensei was fond of you, since you hung around the dojo frequently to walk home with Robby after training. He tells you that he doesn’t know where Robby is staying, but that he’ll update you if he hears anything.

The anticipation torments you knowing that you could see him any second, or even maybe never again. The next few days keep you on edge, and you drown yourself in schoolwork as a distraction from the constant turning in your stomach. But still your mind swarms with anxiety about what you’ll say when you see him. If you see him.

It’s been a week after Robby’s release, and you’re walking home from school. You have to pass the Cobra Kai dojo on the way, which always makes your palms sweat. As usual, you put your hood up and keep your eyes ahead.

You take a quick glance at the dojo, then freeze in your tracks. Chills trail up your spine when you meet a pair of emerald eyes. The eyes you love.

For a few seconds you’re both stuck with stares locked on each other, waiting for the other to make the next move. But you’re unprepared. You thought you would have more time to get ready to see him, but the truth is no amount of time would be enough.

Robby’s hair is much shorter and he exudes an aura of exhaustion and pain. He’s different and you can see it even from the good amount of distance between you two.

“Y/N,” he interrupts the silence, and you snap out of the shocked trance you were in.

“Robby,” you echo back with a dry throat. He hesitantly walks towards you with careful steps and with every inch forward, your heart pounds faster.

It almost doesn’t feel real. You haven’t seen his face in only months, but it’s felt like years. And you don’t know how to feel or react. Should you cry? Or smile, or hug him or kiss him or yell at him? All of the conversations you’ve played out in your head to prepare for this moment... you can’t even remember them.

Once he’s in front of you, there’s another awkward minute of quiet and he doesn’t seem to know what to say either. There’s a thick tension in the air, neither of you wanting to address what happened.

“I like your hair,” you break the ice.

“Thanks,” Robby offers a small smile, scratching the back of his neck.

“So... Cobra Kai?” you gesture to the dojo he was just standing in front of. You try your best to not sound judgmental; you feel like you have to be careful with your words as if he’s a stranger.

“I have nowhere to go,” he says dryly, not meeting your gaze.

“You know that’s not true. Mr. LaRusso cares a lot about you. Your dad cares,” you say. Robby flinches at the mention of the two men and you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“They don’t give a shit about me, Y/N. Mr. LaRusso’s the one who put me in that place. And Johnny hates me because I’ve broken his precious new son,” he scoffs and you can hear the hurt in his voice.

“That’s not true. Mr. LaRusso did what was best for you. Do you really wanna be on the run your whole life?” you question, almost scolding him like you’re his mother.

Robby shakes his head. “You don’t know what it was like in there.”

“Yes Robby, I don’t know, because you never answered any of my emails or calls,” you snap, getting frustrated. But immediately you feel guilty. “I’m sorry. I- I was just really worried about you, okay?”

There’s a pause and Robby frowns. “Y/N... I wanted to answer. At one point those emails were the only thing that kept me going. But I wanted you to move on. From me.”

“W-What are you talking about?” you furrow your eyebrows in confusion.

“How was I supposed to let you wait for me all of those months? It’s not right. You deserve the world, Y/N. You’re too good to wait for someone to get out of juvie,” he explains. You search his green eyes and they’re sincere.

You hate it, but you understand. It’s the most Robby thing that could ever be done. Selfless and sacrificing for other people’s happiness, even if it means that he’ll suffer. But he also gave up on you. He took a route to leave you behind, even when he vowed to stay with you forever. You start feeling emotional; the long awaited truth is a lot to take in.

“That isn’t fair. You don’t get to decide for me what I’m “too good for” and just cut me off. You hurt me more than you spared me pain. You broke every promise you made to me,” you pour your heart out.

He thinks for a moment. “I-I’m sorry, I thought it was right. I didn’t want to be selfish and make you put your life on pause for me,” Robby says, his eyes turning glassy like yours.

You don’t even think about it before you get closer to wrap your arms around him. He freezes in momentary surprise, then recovers and embraces you.

Tears trickle down your cheeks before you can stop them, leaving stains on his shirt where you lay your head. His scent, his warmth, his hold on you; it’s all overwhelming and you missed everything about it. You miss him.

“I love you Robby. And I don’t care what you think, I would’ve waited for you for forever. You deserve the world too,” you mumble into his chest, hugging him tighter.

You pull away for a moment to hold his face in your hands and look at him. It’s like you can see his guard go down as he takes in your words. “I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Y/N.”

You don’t answer, you just pull his neck down to meet your lips with his. As you kiss him, your heart swells with a joy you haven’t felt in months. The feeling of being strangers is a distant memory because Robby is yours again and kissing him reminds you that no amount of time apart could make you strangers.

“You and me against the world,” he says, repeating the words you wrote to him.

#cobra kai #cobra kai imagine #cobra kai x reader #cobrakai #robbykeene #Robby Keene #Robby Keene x reader #Robby Keene imagine

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umiarumi · 3 years

Text

fucking three houses | prologue/claude von riegan

afab she/her reader, originally posted on my ao3, myukyu <3

Twirling my sword, an excited grin fell upon my face as I jogged alongside Dorte and Marianne. "Hah! Marie, ya think I can keep up your old steed's pace?" I asked excitedly, huffing slightly. The academy had really buffed your stamina, shit, enough to keep up with a damn horse.

"Oh, (Y/N)! I-um, don't strain yourself since we have nearly reached the monastery." She hesitantly called out, brow furrowing. I laughed it off, nodding as I slowed my pace to meet Raphael jogging, carrying a very unamused Lysithea.

"What's up, you two?" I asked, grinning. The behemoth of a man beamed back, motioning his head to the pouting smaller girl in his arms.

"Lysithea here was starting to struggle, so as a good big bro- I mean, uh, friend! As a good friend, I'm helping keep up!" He cheered, laughing.

"I'll remind you, you thoughtless fool, I am not a child! I am quite the opposite, now." Lysithea barked out at Raphael, folding her arms.

I chuckled, shaking my head. I missed these guys, and once we make it to the monastery... well, teach better have kept his promise and not died on us. ~~~~ ~~~~ PROLOGUE END ~~~~ ~~~~ "Ahh... now this one is gonna fill the spot, thanks, prof!" You cheered, excitedly flicking your eyes between your delicious meal of Beast Meat and your slightly concerned professor.

"That smell... it's amazing! My fav, in fact. Do you like it too?" Claude nodded with you, looking to Byleth out of curiousity. Easygoing, huh?

"I like it."

Usually, you'd laugh at your teacher's blunt speech, yet that meat was begging you to devour it and hey- who are you to deny its wishes? Being back at the monastery with your class and teacher as much as you'd loved being back in your home country, you had a soft spot for the Golden Deer. But five years had changed the lot of you, various glowups being noticed, by the way. Yet, Claude caught your attention the most. Which, being honest, wasn't out of the norm, hell, for anyone!

As you tore through your meat, you caught your former classmate stifling a chuckle at your pure ferocity.

"Oi! Got thomething to thay," You quickly swallowed. "What's so funny!?" You annoyedly accused, slamming a hand on the table. He let out a laugh, shaking his head.

"Easy tiger! You just looked awfully cute with your cheeks stuffed."

You felt your cheeks darken, clicking your tongue as you went back to your meal. "Smooth, dickhead..." You mumbled as your teacher let out a sigh at the two of youse antics. As you all continue to eat, a comfortable silence fell upon your trio.

"That aside, I am glad to see you also returning. I heard from Lorenz that you had disappeared for a while." Your teacher finally spoke, looking to you. Your eyebrows rose in surprise as you let a crooked grin creep up your face.

"Funny you say that. How about yourself, five years asleep! Did any lucky gal or guy come to give you that awakening kiss~" You cooed, switching the topic onto him. You had no idea what you could say without getting yourself and Claude in an unknown amount of trouble.

He raised a brow at your dodging of the question but ultimately let it go. "I did not get kissed, no."

Claude piped up from his suspicious silence, leaning in to pester teach. "Ya sure? You were pretty popular back at the academy!" You snickered after this comment, nodding to egg him on.

"I believe we've finished the meal. I shall see the two of you later." He promptly stood up with his plate and cutlery, returning them to the kitchen before strutting off in his usual stern demeanour.

"Aw, we scared him off!" You jokingly whined, leaning onto Claude. Teasing your no-nonsense teacher was great since he's as clueless as Seteth with three times the patience.

"How will we ever apologise?" Claude moaned alongside you, resting his head on yours melodramatically. You tittered together before recovering and bringing your dirty dishes to the kitchen. Leaving the dining hall, you two walked in silence.

You walked with no aim for a while until Claude stopped. You turned to him, intrigued. Tilting your head, you asked him a question.

"Something up?"

He smiled softly, shaking his head.

"Nah, but I would like to ask you some things." He said, and the lack of a comedic tone set off a minor alarm in your brain. You were no stranger to his inquisitive nature, having known him for a good portion of your life. Yet, you had a feeling this related to before. Even Claude wasn't aware of your whereabouts.

"Sure thing, here?" You asked, folding your arms defensively.

"No... let's go somewhere more private." He said, walking off. You jumped, quickly following him.

~~~~

Following Claude up the spiralling stairs of the Goddess tower was quick, that you could confirm. Nearly stumbling over your steps as he transcended so damn fast, you couldn't even call out for him to slow the hell down.

As you finally made it to the top, avoiding the rubble which had gathered after the battle at the monastery, you had leant against the wall, quickly regaining your breath. Yet as soon as you blinked, Claude seemed to have moved from the centre of the room to a few inches away from your face.

"C-Claude! What the hell...?" You jumped, backing fully up against the cold, stone wall. Feeling the cool stones against your back, you shivered as your former leader stared at you.

"Answer teach's question for me, friend? Where were you while we were stopping the whole damn alliance from being chipped away by the Empire?" He asked, frustrated. He took a step towards you.

You gulped, shaking your head as your eyes darted around the tower, looking everywhere but him.

"That's not the answer I was looking for, (Y/N)."

Your breath hitched as he grabbed your chin to look you in the eyes. His voice lowered, a conflicted emotion on his face. A crooked grin tugged at his lips and yet his brows were furrowed, annoyed.

||Translation: فاک - Fuck||

"I-I was in Almyra!" You yelped, quickly realising what you said as you cursed under your breath, "فاک..." You hissed, embarrassed.

"First, you avoid our questions..." Claude listed, cruelly running his thumb across your lip. Your heart skipped a beat, your eyes finally set on his figure.

"Second, you leave us... breaking our promise," He continued, striking your heart where it hurts.

You bit your lip, eyeing him as he let his hand drop to your shoulder. He pushed you further against the wall. You shivered, yet not from the freezing stone this time.

"I-I... even you said you had no attachment to Fodlan! I thought you wouldn't..." You trailed off, searching for an excuse.

"Everyone thought you died! I thought you died! And yet..." His voice rose, yet less out of anger. He finally brought his face to your extremely red own.

"Where was I? Oh yeah, finally..." You stiffened, knowing what he was going to bring up.

"Leaving me hanging."

Before you all reunited, you had made a short trip into Fodlan to grasp the situation. Yet, your undercover mission soon became an open one as a fateful night in Derdriu occurred.

~~~~

It was a warm evening the night you had made it into the lively streets of the city. Even after the effects of war, the city still seemed to bustle. Unassumedly passing by citizens happily talking, you looked for any Knights of Seiros stationed nearby or even members of the Leicester military. Noticing a particular armoured woman, you tapped her shoulder.

She turned, giving you a pleasant smile. "Do you need anything, ma'am?"

You nodded, playing with the sides of your bodice. "I live a while from the military posts, so could you please tell me... um, how is the war going?" Embarrassed, she laughed softly before explaining.

However, you were unaware of a keen eye watching you. The familiar bobbing of unruly hair, gleaning of sun-kissed skin tied in with a confident stance clued Claude onto just who it was he saw. He waited patiently behind market stalls, keeping an eye on you as you bid the woman goodbye. And oh-so luckily for him, you headed his way.

You passed by him, oblivious to the archer's presence. A sudden hand on your shoulder caused you to jolt, your hand reaching to the hilt of your sword. Whipping around, your eyes soon met the green ones of a certain Alliance leader.

"C-Claude!?" You shrieked, hand still cautiously resting on your sword, unsure if he would take well to your sudden appearance.

"So you decided to show up, huh?" He remarked, and if you knew him any less you'd think that easygoing smile meant he was happy. But that smile never reached his eyes.

Yet, despite his obvious inner conflict, you expelled a breath as he pulled you into a hug. You soon wrapped your arms around him. It had been four years since you left after Edelgard and her forces attacked. You felt his grip loosen as he rose a hand to your chin, that oh-so teasing thumb brushing against your lip.

"May I?" He muttered, and in response, you leant into him, lips locking. What started innocently quickly grew messy and needy, your lips growing red.

As you pulled back, you felt the hard pressure as your fronts brushed together. You blushed before turning your head away.

"I'm sorry Claude, I have to go." You muttered solemnly, pulling yourself together.

"Wait, what? Showing up randomly after four years and then blue-balling me?" He teased yet yearningly reached out his hand.

"I promise, I will return and finish what I started!" You called out, running off into the night.

~~~~

Your face grew hot at the memory. Shuffling nervously, you looked into his eyes.

"Then, will you finish what we started, miss?" He asked, running a hand across your face.

Inhaling, you nodded and answered him. "Yes... please."

With your consent, he pushed himself against you, lips squishing as he brought you upon his own. He soon ran his tongue along your bottom lip, asking for permission.

You parted them quickly, his tongue invading your mouth as your tongue danced with his. He began to unclasp your armour as you shifted to help them come off easier.

Before you knew it, you had both shed to your undergarments, all knowledge of this being an open area quickly leaving your mind.

His hands reached behind your back to fiddle with your bra for a few moments, soon letting it fall to the cold, stone ground. His eyes fell to your breasts, your nipples perk from a mix of the cold air in the Goddess Tower and the heat of the situation.

Quickly, his hands began to fondle and grope your tits, your hand slapping on your mouth as to not alert any patrolling guards.

"These really are great. Your armour disguises you, a good thing that is since you'd probably take a few hits otherwise." He commented cheekily, observing your tightly shut eyes and fluttering breaths.

God, he'd tease you even now!?

One of the hands dropped from your breast, the other continuing to squeeze and roll it like wet clay. The forgotten breast soon regained heat as the scruffy head of the brunette quickly moved to suckle on your aching nipple, causing you to let out a quick yelp.

"How cute." He mumbled into your tit, the vibrations sending a delicious shiver up your spine. Whilst you were focused on the pleasure at your chest, your throbbing cunt soon found a welcoming hand cupping it through your underwear.

"Soaked! Were you wanting this all along? Hah! Pretty slutty for an Almyran warrior." He cooed, fingers running against your clothed slit.

"A-ah... fuck you!" You hissed, deciding on paying back the offer. Your free hand reached down to cup his hidden boner, hand rubbing slowly.

"Ffffuck... fine, you want to do it right here, against this wall sweetheart?" He asked, grinning.

You nodded brashly, slipping out of your drenched underwear. He too shed his remaining clothes and your lips locked in a short kiss before he pulled away.

Grabbing onto your thighs, he lifted you as you hooked your legs around him. Pushing you against the wall, he angled his dick at your pussy. Rubbing slowly, teasingly. The two of you groaned, as finally, he stuck his dick in your needy cunt.

You gasped, feeling it stretch you out, slowly, inch by inch. Bottoming out, the two of you stilled for a moment, catching your breaths. Once you adjusted, signalling him with a nod, he pulled out to the tip, before slamming back in. You moaned unabashedly, eyes fluttering open to see Claude's face scrunch up.

He looked up to you coyly, smirking. "Do you want all of the monastery to find us? Would you like them to see you like this?" Your breath hitched.

"Sweating, being fucked against a wall by your former leader? After five long years, you decide to help." He hissed, continuing to thrust as you gasped with each thrust.

The fulfilling feeling of Claude's dick rubbing against your inner walls gradually inched you to your orgasm, the added brushing of fronts stimulating your clit.

"I could get used to this, you'll really help the war efforts this way. Those poor, exhausted knights who you could've helped. A nice cocksleeve like you, you'll do more by getting fucked than you have the past years." He grunted, venting his frustrations.

Yet, despite all the guilt you should've felt, it only made the aching buzz of your clit all the more stronger.

Your cunt spasmed with each thrust, the routine rubbing and brushing working you towards your end as you felt Claude's dick shudder every time he bottomed out.

"Maybe you could motivate Ignatz? He'd be shy though, but a girl so open like you would be perfect for that." He mumbled, watching your face darken.

"Or Raphael? He could use you as training. You'd be spent by the time he was even finishing, yet a slut like you would be okay with that, right?"

His dick continued to twitch in your pussy, your walls clamping around his cock like a vice. Fluttering as you were so close to your end.

"Shit... even Lorenz... he could use you as practice for his- ngh, noble duties!" He choked out a laugh, breath stuttering.

"But I think I like you best as my little runaway slut, yeah? You fit so well on my cock!" He emphasised the last word with a sharp thrust, your walls clamping shut on his cock, your head hitting the wall as you moaned in ecstasy.

He quickly pulled out, dick spurting ropes of cum on your chest and stomach. As you both caught your breath, you caught Claude smiling at you.

"It's good to have you back, my friend."

#fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #claude von riegan #claude von riegan x reader #claude x reader #fire emblem smut #smut #fe3h #fe3h x reader #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem x reader smut #claude von riegan x reader smut #claude x reader smut #claude von riegan could totally be into angry sex

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ruby-whistler · 3 years

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the difference between static and dynamic characters on the dream smp

Hi, hello, it's Ruby, back with another PSA because this fandom (specifically the people on Twitter) keeps getting worse.

/dsmp /rp

Recently, people started claiming c!Techno was boring because he never had any character development.

Now, this may come as a surprise to some of you, but if you in any capacity decide to study the ins and outs of creative writing, you'd learn that characters don't need to have character development to be compelling, loved by the audience, and have a complex personality.

This is what is called a static character. Not to be confused with flat characters. What's the difference?

Most articles seem to agree on this;

"Static characters should not be confused or mixed up with flat, one-dimensional characters. Though neither changes as the story progresses, if a character remains unchanged, it does not mean that he is one-dimensional like a flat character. A static character can be perfectly interesting, like Sherlock Holmes, who is completely ingenious, eccentric, and sometimes jerky. He never changes, but the audience still loves him. Thus, a static character could be the protagonist too, and a flat character, on the other hand, only plays a side role in the story." - ( link to definition )

Static characters are ones that don't experience any personal growth during the span of the story. They're often used in writing, because they're realistic and can be interesting if well-written. This article provides examples such as the aforementioned Sherlock Holmes, Captain America from The Avengers, and TommyInnit from the Drea- [gunshots]

But in all seriousness, c!Tommy is very easily a static character; a lot of the criticism of his character is about the fact that he doesn't change. He does gain experience and new relationships, he does suffer and becomes more and more traumatized, he does make choices out of impulse or emotion, but none of that is character development - he never overcomes his character flaws, including selfishness, stubbornness, and a lack of compassion or empathy for others. And I do not blame him for it as a person, and I do not consider him a badly-written character, even if he's a little frustrating to watch sometimes.

c!Tommy has two main reasons why he remains a static character.

a) he doesn't live in a constructive environment

It is normal for boys Tommy's age to be low on empathy. It's completely normal for them to be chaotic, immature pricks, because that is part of their growth. All of this would be just fine if c!Tommy was growing up in a highschool; however, he in actuality grew up on a land ruled by politics, wars and conflict.

I do not like using the age excuse, because I do not believe it makes his bad choices any more justified, but it's easy to realize why him being in such a position could stunt his personal growth.

At that age, you need guidance, whether it be from teachers, parents, or whatever other figures you're able to find around you. Usually, it is not difficult to find good people to look up to in today's world, but for c!Tommy, that isn't true.

In the pre-L'Manberg, post-Tommy era, there was moderate peace. Yes, there were conflicts, but none of them were damaging in the long term for anyone involved, and they were chaotic scuffles more than fights of ideals.

Once c!Wilbur came along, c!Tommy latched onto him. We all know how that went.

None of the adults Tommy had looked up to were in any capacity helpful to him growing or becoming a better person. He helped lead a revolution to help Wilbur gain power, he was lead to help Wilbur lead and unfair election, and witnessed the breakdown of the man he trusted shortly after. He was subjected to emotional manipulation by Dream, and then came to the wrong person for help. None of these things are reasons for positive change.

b) it's his major character flaw

Even in the few chances he had at genuine change, at forgiveness, at letting go, all provided by the environment or people around him, he didn't take them. Tommy doesn't like change, he fights it, and that is why he always loses. He doesn't want to change for the better, and he despises himself when he changes for the worse.

He looks for peace in a lack of activity, growth, or development. He searches for happiness in not letting go of the past, but hanging onto it for dear life, terrified that the people around him might change because he doesn't want to. And that is why, as long as he keeps this mindset, he'll never find it.

While other characters, such as Tubbo, Dream, Wilbur or Quackity seek to change the world around them, for the better or the worse, to rewind or to progress, and are willing to change themselves accordingly, Tommy does the opposite, because his biggest fear is people drifting apart and leaving him behind.

Let's get back to the point, then; what makes Technoblade a static character, and a good one at that?

His motivation is simple; he is a lawful character who sticks to his morals through thick and thin, follows a strict inner code, and is loyal to people above all.

On top of that, he is given no reason to change his morals.

No one's arguments against c!Techno have ever made much sense, let's be honest, and ever since he'd entered the server, Techno's been proven right over and over and over again.

He saw Wilbur face the consequences of having power over other people and then losing it, seeing the influence of corruption on the man he worked with. He was forced by the government to kill another person, to kill an ally, to kill an innocent. He was betrayed and used by the Pogtopian revolution, which knowingly kept things from Techno and fought to seize power, rather than destroy it. He was unfairly executed without a trial by corrupt politicians just absolutely demolishing the Geneva convention, holy crap people call Techno a war criminal, just in that one stream New L'Manberg commited so many war crimes-

Point stands that people say one thing and then do the other. Talk of freedom and then force people to do things (and no, forcing people not to force other people to do things doesn't count nor does it make Techno a hypocrite, get a better argument). Techno was never manipulated or swayed to someone's side against his ideals because he's not a man of words; he believes in what he sees, not what people tell him, especially since he's been repeatedly lied to.

That is the first thing a good static character needs; a strong motivation. Through everything that's happened, I'd say without a doubt that Technoblade has the strongest motivation out of everyone, which is to emancipate people from the tyranny of their rulers - not just sing about it and then establish a dictatorship - but to in fact do it, no matter the cost.

He's a very Paragon-type character, which is a common type of static; his moral code is too strong to allow emotional change.

Another thing a static character needs is personality. And Techno - if you watch his streams, not just others' perspectives - has a lot of that. From his bond with Phil and Ranboo to fondness of animals to sense of humour, the character is entertaining to watch and follow. You know what to expect of him, you know he won't betray, and that despite the flaws he has he will not let personal issues hold him back. He wins because he trains, and he puts hours into pulling crazy stunts, and he's persistent - it's satisfying for the people watching his perspective to see his efforts pay off.

His interactions with others are characterized by an attempt at kindness, no matter how many times he might fail at separating his personal life from the ideals he's pursuing.

And that is compelling! To draw parallels to Tommy again, the kid has so much personality that other characters could borrow from him and he'd still be fun to watch!

Neither Tommy nor Techno are flat characters, and I think that is the mistake a lot of people make when misinterpreting both the characters; Tommy and Techno are amazing examples of great static characters in fiction, and I'd like to applaud cc!Tommy and cc!Techno for being brilliant writers.

#dream smp #c!techno #c!tommy #dsmp analysis #c!techno analysis #c!tommy analysis #tommyinnit #technoblade #writing #dsmp fandom critical #long post under cut

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bitsandbobsofwriting · 3 years

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The Magic Reveal fic we deserve, in which Merlin gets as angry as he deserves to get:

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Don’t get me wrong I LOVE a magic reveal with a Merlin who feels bad about lying. I love a reveal with Arthur being furious and Merlin crying but then they talk it out and all is well. I think it's pretty in-character for Merlin to want to see Arthur come to his own conclusions about magic, without being influenced by Merlin’s opinions

BUT I also kinda wanna see Merlin get angry? Like, why should he feel bad about hiding himself in a kingdom where "himself" gets him nothing but a pyre?? Yeah, he and Arthur are close, but unless you've lived with a secret like that (one that will get you shunned, hated, or even killed) then, and I CAN'T STRESS THIS ENOUGH, it doesn't matter How Close you are with someone, how certain you are that they would never hurt you, or care either way, it will almost ALWAYS be scary to tell them. So like. Let Merlin get angry:

I'd say Arthur has been king for maybe a year at this point. He's still a new monarch, still a lot on his plate, BUT also still plenty of time for him to have repealed the ban on magic, or at least started working on it.

But he hasn't.

Granted he hasn't executed anyone in a while (banishments and prison time are the norm, executions are only used nowadays for high treason). BUT the law still remains, it's still technically punishable by death, to be a sorcerer.

Arthur and Merlin have little hunting trips, when Arthur is getting too stressed and losing too much sleep, when he trains the knights too hard and snaps at even Gaius, Merlin (or sometimes even Leon, if they're both being grumpy arseholes) insists that they leave the city for a day or more, to go hunting.

The council have been told it's so the King can keep up with his fitness, can keep familiar with his lands, and keep his skills sharp (he only has enough time to train with the knights a couple times a week nowadays, a far cry from the several hours he used to do every morning without fail), and that keeps them satisfied.

The Gang (the Knights, Gwen, Gaius, and Morgana (she's good in this because that's what I want let me have this)) know the truth, that sometimes the two of them just need a few days to goof off and be themselves, to finally get some time to relax. They'll grab a couple hares and maybe a stag on the way back if they can, so they can at least pretend that's what they've been doing the whole time.

These trips can last anywhere between a day, to two weeks, and Arthur leaves the same set of instructions with the council and the knights every time:

"The safety of Camelot’s people is your highest priority. I leave Sir Leon in charge of everything to do with the knights, patrol, and should any form of conflict arise. If there is an emergency, you are to consult the Inner Council (I don’t know if that's a thing but let's say it is; its The Gang), and send a squire on horseback to fetch me immediately. There's one boy in the troupe who always manages to track me the down the quickest, so make sure he's the one sent, Sir Leon knows who I speak of."

(He's improved over the years, but Arthur is still very... cagey, when it comes to compliments, and his trust. Leon will never mention it, but the fact that Arthur leaves the safety of the kingdom to him, without hesitation or worry, makes him feel greatly honoured. That is the highest form of trust Arthur is capable of giving.)

ANYWAY I feel like most of this has just been backstory so let's get into it:

Normally it's Merlin or Leon who demand that the trip needs to happen.

This time

It's Arthur.

Arthur has tried to ignore it (he's trying to get better but he's not great with emotions and stuff, the big dummy) but Merlin has been in a sour mood for weeks now. He's been quiet and withdrawn, snappy, and has been avoiding Arthur whenever possible.

At first it was easy to ignore, when it started a few months ago it was barely noticeable to anyone who didn't know the two of them Very Well, but in the last few weeks it's become a problem.

Arthur reckons a trip might do them some good. Merlin can relax, and will either get over whatever is bothering him, or be comfortable enough to talk to Arthur about it.

So they head out. Merlin doesn't seem too happy about the trip but he doesn’t complain.

(Odd in itself, if Merlin is unhappy about something he usually makes it known.)

The first couple of days are... odd, to say the least. It seems that every time Arthur notices Merlin relax, he quickly tightens up again. One short, joking conversation is followed by a few more hours of painful, awkward silence.

Arthur comes to the daunting realisation, that if he wants to help is friend (and the love of his life but like... baby blondie has hardly reached that conclusion himself, he might need a bit more time on that) is to confront it head on.

So they're settling down in the evening. The fire is roaring, the horses have been fed and watered, dinner has been eaten, and the two of them are sat at opposite ends of the fire (Very Odd, they're usually glued at the hip, especially when it's just the two of them).

Arthur looks at his friend properly for the first times in a while and he Does Not Like what he sees.

Merlin is visibly exhausted, big bags under his eyes, and his skin paler than normal, scowling ever so slightly into the fire. Shoulders tense, and hands gripping each other until the skin on his knuckles is white. And despite all that, Arthur thinks that Merlin looks more sad, than angry.

Maybe Merlin notices Arthur's staring, they hold eye contact for a little while before Merlin becomes sort of... resigned?? To the fact that he's gonna have to have this conversation whether he wants it or not? He goes to say something but before he can, Arthur interrupts him:

"So Merlin. How do you think I'm doing so far?"

(Which is a stupid thing to say, really. But Arthur is, as we've already established, extremely emotionally constipated, and he figures that finding out what's wrong with Merlin indirectly, and then subtly fixing it behind his back, is a far better idea than asking him to his face.)

Merlin clenches his jaw and looks away it this, his reply and his body language clearly sending different messages:

"You know what I think. You're going to be a great king."

Arthur thinks : "(Going to be? I've been king for a year, there's been no war and far fewer attempts on my life than when I was a prince. There's been a good harvest, all diplomatic meetings have gone well, and more peace treaties, and trade agreements, have been signed in the last twelve months, than in the ten years before it. I know I can still do better but... does Merlin not think I'm good?")

Arthur says : "Going to be? I think I'm a pretty great King already if I do say so myself."

"Then why ask? Besides. There are a few things you haven't done."

Merlin's tone is biting, even though he tries to force it out casually. Arthur notices. ”There are a few things you haven't done”... that means something specific.

"Hmm. I suppose. What things did you have in mind then, Merlin?"

Arthur also tries to sound casual, but the question comes out very pointed

Merlin desperately doesn't want to say it out loud, in fear of revealing too much of himself, so he goes with the vague answer of:

"Promises were made. I guess I just figured you weren't the type to break them, that's all. I'm sure you'll get there in time."

Merlin sounds sort of hopeful there. But the sort of hope that he's been living with for years, the sort of hope that has a layer of sadness and resignation laying over the the top like a tablecloth.

Arthur notices:

"Promises?" He doesn’t want to talk too much or too loudly, in fear that Merlin realises that he's speaking openly and clams up again.

Arthur has realised, over the last year or two, that despite their closeness, despite the endless conversations they seem to have, he doesn't really know all that much about Merlin. He knows he doesn’t spend as much time picking herbs, or in the tavern, as he and Gaius would claim. He doesn't know his favourite colour, or season, or holiday. He doesn't know when abouts his birthday is, or what he likes eating. He doesn't know much about his childhood, he's never mentioned his father.

(Despite all this, he's still in love with the idiot, but again, a revelation for another time.)

Merlin responds "To the druids. You promised they would be welcomed, that magic would return. I know your opinions on magic-"

(The manservant visibly shuffles at this, uncomfortable.)

"-but I figured a promise is a promise. Keeping your word had always seemed so important to you. Before."

Arthur notices the past tense. Like Merlin doesn’t believe that Arthur holds importance to his word anymore:

"I'm not my father Merlin. There have been no executions just for the sake of it since I took the crown."

Merlin’s reply comes quickly, in a harsh tone:

"Yes I know that. But your fathers law still remains. It's technically still punishable by execution just to exist as a sorcerer in your kingdom."

(Arthur notices the thinly veiled disgust in Merlin's voice when he mentions Uther. Arthur knew that Merlin disliked the previous king, but he didn’t think he hated him that much.)

Merlin is getting more and more visibly frustrated at this point. Both at Arthur, and the topic of conversation, but also at himself, for letting himself become so worked up over something he'd sworn to keep Arthur away from.

"You really didn't like my Father did you Merlin?" He says it with a chuckle, trying to keep the conversation light and casual.

(This is NOT a conversation that should be light and casual, his friend is in pain, and revealing more of himself than he ever had before, this should be serious. But Arthur isn't quite sure how to do that, so inappropriately light and casual is what he goes for.)

Merlin responds with a quiet, but forceful:

"I hated him. I still do. He's your father, I know that you're not him, and I know you can't help your heritage. But I'll never forgive Uther for what he did. And I'm not angry that he's...gone."

Arthur's very much taken aback at that. He knows everyone has... strong opinions on Uther, but they've never voiced it in front of him.

"Why?? I mean I know he put you in the stocks a couple of times, but so have I to be fair. Why do you hate him so much?"

(This is the point Merlin gets angry. Or angrier. This is when he stops trying to hide it, stops trying to hold it in. Arthur hadn't gotten angry at Merlin for talking about Uther in such a way, he was just curious. Merlin had been planning on telling him the truth at some point anyway, so he might as well do it now, with no one else around, and Arthur in a goodish mood.)

Merlin jumps up, clenching his fists and staring Arthur in the eye for the first time since the start of the conversation, breathing deeply.

Arthur is taken even further aback at Merlin's sudden unwillingness to hide his true reaction to the topic at hand, but he doesn't say anything, and just waits for Merlin’s response

"Why?? Why do I hate him? Maybe because he was blinded fear and selfish hatred."

Merlin stops and looks away, but doesn't sit down, still tense.

I imagine he's waiting for Arthur to say something, but he doesn’t, opting to wait for Merlin to carry on himself, unwilling to remind Merlin exactly who he was talking to, and about what.

After a few moments of silence, Merlin continues, getting angrier with each word as he paces:

"Your father, the Great King Uther, murdered thousands of people. He committed genocide, because he insisted on blaming other people for his own mistakes. He didn't pay attention to the fine print, and killed his own wife and in return, he executes THOUSANDS of MY people. Just for daring to exist. He was so full of hatred, but he, of course, was infallible so it MUST have been someone else's fault. He was incapable of admitting his own mistakes and the injustice that went unpunished is indescribable, he was a tyrant, and a murderer, and I'll never forgive him."

(Arthur knows the truth about what happened to his Ma in this story, I don’t know how, he just does. And it's a topic of conversation he avoids like the plague.)

At the end of his little outburst, Merlin stills. He is shaking as he glares at the floor, and is more furious than Arthur has ever seen him before.

The King notices the little slip up.

"Your people?" He says, so quietly it's a wonder Merlin hears it.

Merlin freezes at this, at the realisation that there's no real way he can play this off. He was planning on telling him at some point anyway. They're miles away from the city in the middle of a large, barely tamed forest. If he needs to run for his life, he could get away easily enough.

"Yes Arthur. My people. You really should've let me speak first."

Arthur is reminded of the fact that Merlin had opened his mouth to say something, before he'd interrupted him at the beginning of the conversation. It felt like it was hours ago now, but it was really only a few minutes.

The King isn’t nearly as shocked as he thinks he should be. He knew there was something odd and secretive about Merlin, and he'd considered that he might have magic in the early days, but that hadn't been a genuine consideration for years.

He wants to be angry, and selfish, and furious at Merlin for lying to him all this time. But after hearing Merlin’s little speech, does he really have any right to?

Yes, Arthur hadn't executed any sorcerers, but he also hadn't changed the law. He hadn't stood up to his father and he certainly hadn't tried to stop the executions before he was King himself. Can he really blame Merlin? For being scared? For being angry?

"You're a sorcerer." It's not a question. It's a statement. In his mind he knows the truth, but it needs to be confirmed, out loud, by Merlin himself, before they can move the conversation on.

"Yes."

And that's all he says. Arthur waits. And when he's tired of waiting, when he realises that Merlin isn't just gonna carry on talking this time, he speaks up:

"And?"

"And what, Arthur? What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry I lied? Yes, I feel bad for lying to you, but I'll never apologise for protecting myself in a kingdom that would see me burn. And I would do it again in a heartbeat"

Arthur nods. He's tense, but he notices that he isn't scared and he wonders why, after all, as far as he was aware magic had only (almost only) caused him pain and fear.

(In the back of his mind he knows why he's not scared. Merlin doesn't have an evil bone in his body, and he's met the druids, he knows that some magic users are peaceful.)

He looks up at Merlin to see him staring at him, a sort of challenging look on his face, like he was daring Arthur to prove him right. Daring him to be selfish, and angry, and just like his father.

But when Arthur looks deeper. Really Looks at Merlin. He sees the fear, Arthur has no doubt in his mind that Merlin could escape, or even fight him off, now, if he needed to. But Merlin is scared.

If that wasn't enough to break Arthur's heart, the quick glance that Merlin throws to the space a few feet from Arthur's side, is.

Arthur looks over slowly, eyebrows furrowed, to see what Merlin glanced at so fearfully. His heart shatters when he realises what it is. Arthurs sword, sat underneath his bag, just out of his reach. Merlin thinks Arthur is going to kill him. Merlin is scared. Of Arthur.

Arthur looks back at Merlin, disbelief and gut wrenching sadness on his face. He resists the urge to jump up (knowing it would just panic Merlin) as he speaks, trying to keep his tone calming, but it comes out rushed and desperate anyway:

"I'm not going to hurt you Merlin, I swear. I'm...sorry, if my actions and words have led you to believe that I would EVER see any harm come to you."

It's over the last minute, the anger and fear from Merlin, that forces Arthur to realise the legacy he's dealing with. That Uther had done so much damage, had struck so much fear into Merlin, that it didn't matter how close they were. Any subtle, deliberate ignorance of the law wasn’t enough. Any small compliments, or defence of Merlin, wasn't enough.

As long as the law remained, as long as Arthur left his fathers legacy intact, with not even a small attempt to dismantle it, Merlin would be scared of him.

Merlin relaxes only slightly at Arthur's words, gulps, and glances once more at the sword before sitting down again. He’s still tense as he stares into the fire once more.

"All these years you've been putting your life at risk, to stay at my side. You could've quit at any time. You could've stayed in the relative safety of Ealdor, but you didn't. Why? I want to know everything Merlin. You... you mean a great deal to me, and it pains me to see you in fear. And I know it's no one’s fault but my own, and I want to fix it. So the whole story, from the beginning, I want to know."

It's Merlin’s turn to be taken aback now. In his mind, everything he's said and done in the last few minutes should be making Arthur angry. The disrespect of Uther, the tone of voice he had taken, the shouting. All of that even before the admittance of his greatest secret. But still Arthur wasn't angry, he was confused, and maybe hadn't quite processed it yet, but mostly he was just sad, sad that Merlin had to be angry on his own. Sad that Merlin had to be fearful on his own.

So he does. He starts at the beginning. His mother sending him to Camelot so Gaius could train him. Saving Arthurs life that first banquet. Saving his life again a few days later. And again. And again. And again

He talks about all the small insignificant magicks he did: cheating at dice games and keeping Arthur's bath water warm and making sure the fire stays lit through the night and helping the knights sleep when they're out and about.

He talks about all the big magicks he did: killing Nimueh and being the last Dragon-Lord and Balinor being his father, and all the great battles he had won and all the times he'd saved Arthur when Arthur hadn't even realised he'd been in danger.

He talks about everything in between. About every lucky fallen branch and every lucky rockslide and every lucky solution that wouldn't have worked without Merlin... nudging it in the right direction.

He talks and talks and talks until his throat is sore. And Arthur stays silent, unwilling to interrupt, listening intently and saving any questions and queries until the end.

After an hour or so, Merlin hesitates, but Arthur can tell that there's something else. Something he's not saying. Something that in Merlin's mind, is the scariest truth of all. So he stays silent, and waits for Merlin to continue:

"The old man that you think killed your father. Dragoon, the sorcerer who kept popping up but was never in the same room as me? That was me, in disguise."

He looks nervous at this and looks up at Arthur. Before, he'd been explaining everything with a blank but resolute look on his face, still staring into the fire (that hadn't been fed in well over an hour, but was still going strong).

Arthur just looks surprised, he'd never considered that Dragoon had been anyone but himself.

"I tried Arthur. I may have hated your father but I tried to save him. But the pendant around his neck stopped it from working and healing magic has never been my strong point anyway. I really did try."

Arthur nods at this. He figured there had been no reason for the old sorcerer to kill his father, and after consulting Gaius and realising the truth about the pendant, he didn't blame him. Though he never told anyone, not even Merlin, why would he? His manservant had never even met the guy.

"I know. I'm sorry, it can’t have been easy, thinking I blamed you for his death all these months. I'm sorry Merlin."

Merlin looks surprised but quietly grateful. Over the course of the last hour of explanation he had slowly become more and more relaxed, realising that Arthur really meant it when he said he wasn't going to hurt him, and just wanted the truth.

Merlin was still scared, and a big part of him still believed he'd probably be banished at the least at the end of this conversation. But it still felt good to get it off his chest.

"But you still haven't answered my question. Why? We didn't know each all that well those first few weeks. Months even. We practically hated each other at the beginning. But you stayed anyway. Despite hating me and despite being in constant danger. Why?"

Merlin once again hesitates at this. He tried his best but even after all these years, he's not quite sure how to navigate conversations about destiny, especially his own, and especially how it's tied so intrinsically with Arthur’s.

Instead he says:

"What do you know about Emrys?" He really needs a starting reference for this part of the conversation, and at this point, the best way to get it is to ask directly.

Arthur goes to question why, but Merlin has been nothing but honest and straight forward with him, so he trusts that it’s important, and answers truthfully:

"Not much. A few Druids have mentioned him to me before. Apparently they've been seeing him in prophetic dreams for centuries, the Druids have quite a few "seers" in their ranks. He's meant to be some great sorcerer, whose destiny it is to bring Magic and peace to Albion, with some King or other at his side. I never payed much attention to it, I hardly believe in visions of the future."

Merlin nods at that:

"You've got most of it. Emrys is meant to be the most powerful Warlock to ever walk the earth, past, present, and future. When Uther started culling sorcerers, an astronomical amount of magic was poured back into the earth all at once. The Triple Goddess took that magic and put it all in one place, in one unborn baby, in the hope that said baby would grow into his power, and restore balance and compassion to the world. The Druids call him Emrys but it's just a title, like King, or Sir, not his real name. He, and the Once and Future King, are meant to rule with the support of one another, uniting all of Albion under the King’s rule, and bringing magic back into the land. Emrys and the Forever King, two sides of the same coin, their destinies interwoven."

Merlin goes silent at that, and Arthur thinks he knows where this is going, but he Needs the confirmation:

"What's that got to do with anything?" is quietly muttered.

"You're the Forever King Arthur. And I am Emrys. Though it's weird enough when the druids call me that so just... let's stick with Merlin alright?"

"All those times you said I would be a great King, all those times you had unfailing faith in me, was because of destiny?"

Arthur tries not so sound hurt, but he’s never cared for, or believed, in destiny. Up until now he'd thought Merlin had had faith in him as Arthur, his friend, not as some prophetic Once and Future King that Arthur was afraid he would never be.

"At first, sure. I was angry, that my destiny had been decided for me. That I couldn't just ignore it because if I did then the world would never know peace. I never asked for that responsibility I just wanted... I just wanted to keep my mother safe. I wanted to learn how to be a physician and use my magic to help and entertain and brighten the world. Just a little bit. And suddenly I had this big important role to play. I hated it. But I did it anyway, kept you safe. And then I got to know you as a person and you weren't your father. You Love Camelot, you Love your people, you're a good man who does everything in his power to help those around him, even if they don't deserve it sometimes. And suddenly, having my destiny be to help you to greatness... well, it didn't seem so bad anymore. Maybe it was your destiny to be that Great King from prophecy, because you were already a good man."

Arthur is speechless at that. Tears gather in his eyes but neither of them mention it and he doesn't let them fall. Merlin had been almost as nice as that in the past, but never so fully, and with the weight of the truth behind it, it seemed much more meaningful.

Merlin gives him a sad smile before he continues:

"I'm your servant until the day I die Arthur. I have faith that one day, you'll do the right thing."

Arthur suddenly remember the whole point of this conversation. That Merlin was upset and angry that he hadn't repealed the ban on magic yet, that Merlin was still waiting on him. Waiting on him to do the right thing. Waiting on him to fulfil his destiny.

Maybe they head straight home? Merlin walks into Arthur's chambers the next morning to find him already up and pacing, making a start on the repeal?

Maybe Arthur demands they go to the closest Druid settlement so he can consult them on how he should go about it? Merlin’s knowledge of magic is great and all, but neither of them were alive before the purge, neither know how it would work practically.

All I know, is whenever Merlin first comes across Arthur working on the repeal, determination in his eyes, he cries a little. That everything he sacrificed is finally paying off.

I also know, that the first time Arthur timidly asks Merlin to show him something magical (maybe that's straight after this tiring conversation, or maybe its days later, back in the safety of Arthur's locked chambers) Merlin cries even harder, Arthur is still scared of magic, how could he not be. But he loves and trusts Merlin more than anything in this world, and he wants to learn to not be scared anymore.

THIS IS COMPLETED!!

All 5 parts have been posted:)

If y’all want my thoughts on anything specific, let me know✌

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impalementation · 3 years

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spike, angel, buffy & romanticism: part 4

part 1: “When you kiss me I want to die”: Angel and the high school seasons

part 2: “Love isn’t brains, children”: Enter Spike as the id

part 3: “Something effulgent”: Season five and the construction of Spike the romantic

“But I can’t fool myself. Or Spike, for some reason.”: Buffy and Spike as a blended self

Before I get into seasons six and seven, it’s worth asking: why would the show do all of this? Why would it spend all of this time developing a supporting villain and joke id character? Why would it give him a romantic arc? I see people say that the writers only gave Spike these storylines because he was popular or they wanted to keep him around, but even that being the case, there was no need to give him the specific arc that they did. It’s more than possible to read meaning into the story that they chose from the array of possible options.

Here is the thing about the id. It’s not actually something separate from you. It’s not a ravenous monster you can blame your weaknesses on while remaining pure and dignified. The id is part of you. The immediate and enduring appeal of Spike is, I suspect, strongly influenced by the fact that the things the id wants are so very human and sympathetic. His foibles and mistakes are often painfully familiar, even exaggerated through vampirism as they are. In fact, it’s precisely because Spike is allowed to show a full range of reactions to love, because the writing is under less pressure for him to do the “right” or dignified thing, that he can at times be compelling in ways other characters can’t. If Spike just did nasty things, his appeal wouldn’t be much more complicated than the appeal of Angelus, who people tend to like as a villain or storyline rather than as a relatable character. But Spike doesn’t want to dismember nuns or construct elaborate murder tableaux. He wants familiar things like love, identity and meaning, even if the ways he goes about getting them can reflect people’s worst impulses.

Which brings us to Buffy, and Buffy’s story about growing up. Buffy is Buffy’s show, which means that every writing choice tends to revolve around her arc in one way or another. And this goes for Spike’s storyline even more than most. In the final three seasons of the show, the writing finally engages with how inextricable the id--and all of its impulsive, inarticulate romantic desires--really is from a person’s self. So instead of keeping Spike at a comfortable distance, both Buffy and the writing begin to take him seriously. They begin to invite him in.

Starting in season five, it’s telling how frequently Buffy herself projects on Spike, rather than just the writing setting them up as mirrors. She tells him that he’s the “only one strong enough” to protect her family, and later assigns Dawn specifically to his protection. In “Spiral” she describes him as “the only one besides me that has any chance of protecting Dawn.” This is a very intimate role that she otherwise only assigns to herself (and which is not really based on pure practicality, considering that she’ll later describe Willow as her “big gun”--yet never gives Willow the task of protecting Dawn). She tells him that he cannot love, which is the thing she fears most about herself. Her protests that Spike is a vampire, and thus cannot express or want human things like love, mirror her lamentations that as the Slayer, she cannot have a normal life.

From the Gilliland Gothic double essay:

More than any of her other lovers, Buffy and Spike overlap one another so often that at times their character arcs become nearly indistinguishable. With Angel, Buffy traveled a parallel path in attempting to master self-control. With Riley, her journey ultimately took her in the opposite direction. With Spike, Buffy’s journey is most closely shadowed, in that her interactions with him in many ways can be seen as metaphors for her feelings about herself.

So now Spike is multiple things. On the one hand, he’s the soulless id he’s been since season two. His vampiric behavior represents a morally uninhibited way of reacting to romantic frustrations, among other things. But on the other hand, his vampirism now also marks him as like Buffy, not merely her opposite.* Nor is he only her mirror in the realm of romantic love. The part of him that is a vampire is the part of him that is supernatural (ie, Romantically larger-than-life), that sets him apart from regular people, and dictates how he can and cannot behave. Just like Buffy’s slayerness. His vampirism is what makes him capable of protecting Dawn, while also making him (supposedly, according to Buffy) incapable of human feeling--again, just like Buffy’s slayerness. Instead of Buffy’s Slayer side being aligned with Angelus, who was an unmitigated evil, it becomes aligned with Spike, who is something more complicated.

*(Though it must be noted that this was a process that began in season four, with the show aligning Spike with the Scoobies by making him a victim of the Initiative. Spike being supernatural suddenly marks him as non-normative, just like the Scoobies, in contrast to the institutional conformity that the Initiative represents. The evolution towards treating the Romantic supernatural as something positive and associated with identity plays a key role in transitioning the show to the more complicated attitudes of the last three seasons.)

This shift in the show’s attitudes towards the id affects how Spike is used. In “Blood Ties” for example, Spike assists Dawn in breaking into the Magic Shop and in “Forever” he helps Dawn resurrect her and Buffy’s mother. In both cases, Spike could be read as embodying impulsive behavior that Buffy is supposed to be better than. Yet both cases specifically involve Spike helping Dawn, who is repeatedly portrayed as Buffy’s human side. As Buffy says in “The Gift”: “[Dawn]’s more than [my sister]. She’s me. The monks made her out of me. [...] Dawn is a part of me. The only part that I--”. In other words, Buffy’s id becomes closely tied to her humanity, even going so far as to become its safeguard. “Blood Ties” ends with Buffy affirming her connection to Dawn, which Spike’s rule-breaking directly enabled, and “Forever” ends with Buffy acknowledging how desperately she wants her mother back too, and becoming closer to Dawn as a result. (Compare to “Lovers Walk”, where Buffy acknowledging her id results in her breaking away from Angel, not drawing closer to anyone). Or in “Intervention”, Spike building the Buffybot directly parallels Buffy’s own anxieties about what she thinks she should be. She thinks she’s losing her ability to love, and that effusive fakery is her only recourse (as she said in “I Was Made to Love You”: “Maybe I could change. [...] I could spend less time slaying, I could laugh at his jokes. I mean men like that right? The joke laughing at?”), a fear that even has some merit, given that her friends cannot tell her and the bot apart. Instead of Buffy and Spike having separate arcs in the episode, Spike learning the difference between real and fake dovetails with Buffy’s own relationship to her realness and fakeness. It turns out that neither of them want a bot version of Buffy. They want real emotion, things like sacrifice and heartfelt gratitude. If even Buffy’s id would let itself be killed for Dawn, then maybe she has nothing to fear from herself. Maybe there is some beauty in the emotional part of her nature that she thinks she must repress.

In other words, part of the writing (and Buffy) fully engaging with romanticism and the id, means engaging with the ways they can be bad and good. There’s this weird thing that happens with Spike as soon as he falls in love with Buffy, where suddenly his actions are more uncomfortable, and to many, off-putting, because their object is Buffy (instead of another vampire like Harmony or Drusilla, who either enjoy the same vampiric things he does, or the audience might be inclined to see as a moral nonentity regardless). His comic id quality becomes somewhat darker and more serious, almost like the way Angel’s early season two darkness becomes more serious after he loses his soul. But at the same time, Spike’s actions are also more intriguing, sympathetic, and even noble...because their object is Buffy. It makes no sense that a soulless vampire should not only fall in love with the Slayer, but genuinely attempt to transform himself into someone worthy of her love. And yet that’s exactly what Buffy inspires him to do. By loving Buffy Spike’s dual nature, and the dual nature of his romanticism, is thrown into relief: it’s something that can be selfish and creepy, yes, but also something that hints at the idea that real romanticism does exist. Something worth feeling romantically about does exist. Thus the writing can at once criticize, say, the way the chivalric mindset conflates love and suffering, while also suggesting that there are kinds of love it’s worth being transformed by. (Meanwhile, Spike’s fumbling bewilderment over how to love Buffy, and what the rules of loving people correctly even are, creates a human middle ground between monstrousness and heroism). By leaning into the way that Buffy and Spike have been used as mirrors for three seasons, and introducing the mythology-bending idea of Spike being in love with Buffy, the writing is able to fully engage with this complicated, contradictory nature of love and romance.

All of which is to say. Spike becomes a potential love interest, and is given a convoluted inner conflict between monstrousness, humanity and heroism, in precisely the season in which Buffy begins to reckon with her own inner conflict between her darker impulses, her human reality, and her supernatural role. It’s no coincidence that season five opens with Dracula, an icon of romantic vampire mythology, tempting Buffy with darkness and promising her insight into her nature. Or that a vampire kidnaps Dawn--again, her human half--in the next episode. Or that the season’s antagonist is a super-strong blonde woman who wants to destroy Dawn instead of protect her. Or that she says goodbye to Riley, the boyfriend who embodied her hopes for a more normative way of being (notice how Riley is progressively destabilized by everything non-normative about Buffy’s life, and provokes those anxieties Buffy expresses in “I Was Made to Love You”). Over and over in season five, Buffy fears that her Slayer half is cold, destructive, and otherwise dangerous. That these Romantic things like gods and vampires have it in for Buffy’s vulnerable humanity. Yet Buffy’s vampire id simultaneously gives lie to these fears by proving itself capable of heroism and genuine human feeling.

In other words, Spike becomes a potential love interest in a season that treats the Romantic--ie the grand and mythical--as something more than just an attractive lie to be disabused of. Rather, the question that season five seems to posit to me, and which will not be fully answered until the end of season seven, is this: once you do clear away the attractive lies, once you accept the hard realities, once you’ve seen the darkest underbellies, what are the things that are left that are truly grand and beautiful? What are the stories that are really worth telling, and the heroes that are really worth having?

And the show asks and answers these questions on both a very personal level, and a more meta, systemic level. On the personal level, Buffy and Spike are forced to confront their illusions not just about the world, but about themselves. They are made to ask themselves what constitutes a heroic role or a demonic weakness, versus basic, unromantic humanity. And on the meta level, the show asks questions about our expectations for how both love stories and chosen hero stories are supposed to go.

part 5: “Everything used to be so clear”: Season six and the agony of the real

#romanticism series #gen #s5 #buffy #spike #riley #btvs

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