#hellblade prompts Tumblr posts

  • stardustprompts
    23.01.2022 - 4 monts ago

    hellbade : senua’s sacrifice   sentence starters  change tenses/pronouns as needed !!  some lines have been edited for clarity / length / ease of roleplaying tw :  death ,  mental health ,  suicide ,  blood mention

    ‘there will be no more stories after this one.’ 

    ‘the dead don’t always lie still here. this is not a place of rest.’

    ‘you might try to ignore it, turn away. but it’s always there, just out of sight where you are the most vulnerable.’ 

    ‘bravery only means something to those afraid of death.’ 

    ‘there’s no going back.’ 

    ‘are you scared? you should be scared.’

    ‘I was just hiding. I find I live longer that way.’

    ‘you listened when everyone else laughed.’ 

    ‘you can’t just wish things away.’

    ‘you. you took him from me.’ 

    ‘I’ll give you what you want. I won’t resist anymore. just give him back.’ 

    ‘the darkness does not bargain. it does not reason.’ 

    ‘the hardest battles are fought in the mind.’ 

    ‘this is the price you pay for seeing things differently.’

    ‘once you gaze into that relentless darkness, all that lurks within it ... can see you too.’ 

    ‘it’s like crossing into another world that looks the same but feels different ... an imposter world.’

    ‘those who make it back are forever changed.’ 

    ‘just because you cannot see the threat, doesn’t mean it’s not already here.’ 

    ‘do you know what it’s like to leave everything behind?’

    ‘when darkness speaks, it changes everything. turning home into a foreign land and loved ones into strangers.’ 

    ‘exile makes sense when you realize you were never really home in the first place.’

    ‘I was so naïve to think that I could banish it myself.’ 

    ‘I wish you could have seen my home before these dark times.’ 

    ‘you have the sight. just like I do.’ 

    ‘there is nothing wrong with seeing the world the way you do.’

    ‘you cannot overcome suffering if you refuse to look at it.’ 

    ‘defy the gods, (name)! find your own path, like I found mine.’

    ‘my god(s) abandoned me! I am alone!’ 

    ‘to survive ... I did things. bad things. like you (name), the man I once was died.’

    ‘you say your world has collapsed? good. let it collapse and have the courage to shed your tears.’ 

    ‘I wouldn’t have made it without you.’ 

    ‘this darkness takes everything. everyone.’ 

    ‘we can fight this together. side by side, we always do.’

    ‘this is my battle. I must face it alone. away from here.’ 

    ‘I believe in you. you know that.’

    ‘just promise me that you will come back to me. I want you to say it.’ 

    ‘I will come back to you, I promise.’ 

    ‘(name) is getting stronger! you must stop him!’

    ‘remember your training.’ 

    ‘in the end, we all fall. even the gods have their time. yet still we go on. why?’ 

    ‘be ready to face horror in the eye, like I have, to find your answers.’ 

    ‘when the illusion of self is shattered, you simply cease to be.’ 

    ‘you can feel it, a stranger in your own body, an impostor ... and nothing is the same ever again.’ 

    ‘did you think that I would let you go?’

    ‘I’m not ready to die.’

    ‘do you still hear his screams?’ 

    ‘they can break you, but not your promise.’

    ‘even death won’t keep you apart.’

    ‘you fought for your dream, now there is no way to win.’ 

    ‘you ran from it but brought it nearer.’ 

    ‘you will walk into the lair of the beast, look it in the eye and you will go to war.’

    ‘this is your mission. this is your quest. there is nothing else left.’

    ‘why suffer the past when there is a new road ahead? the only one that makes any sense.’ 

    ‘what are you doing? you’re showing weakness! you’re not a warrior, you’re a disgrace!’

    ‘they say dreams are visions of our memories, thoughts and fears as seen by our inner eye. but what if each of us is always dreaming?’ 

    ‘did you really think you could win? how could you be so stupid?’

    ‘go on, feel sorry for yourself because there’s no one left to do that for you.’ 

    ‘if you’re too much of a coward to fight then go ahead and end the suffering.’

    ‘maybe you’re already dead.’

    ‘there will be times that you will feel alone and exhausted, like a strange little fish swimming against the tides of the big ocean. but have the faith to let go and let the tide carry you away. because the whole ocean if your home and it does not ask you to swim against it.’

    ‘the gloom lifted, and for the first time in years, I felt a ray of hope.’ 

    ‘you want to believe it’s real but it’s a trick.’ 

    ‘it only takes an instant. fear swallows you before you have a chance to make sense of it. and darkness becomes a part of who you are.’

    ‘there’s no going back to how things were. there’s nothing left to go back to.’

    ‘you will die here. and all your suffering will have been for nothing.’

     ‘i’ll find you, my love. I promise.’ 

    ‘it’s so strange that we go to such lengths to bury death, something so very ordinary, inevitable.’

    ‘it’s as if we conspire to hide death because we have no answer for it.’ 

    ‘when death comes, and it forces itself onto our friends or loved ones, then comes the reckoning.’ 

    ‘if you go down there, no one can save you.’ 

    ‘that voice, it’s not (name).’ 

    ‘I can see the darkness in your eyes.’ 

    ‘no boy is going to save you, no one can.’

    ‘you cannot escape the darkness. your curse will make everyone suffer. their blood is on your hands!’ 

    ‘you’re tired but you have to keep going.’ 

    ‘this is wrong, this has to be wrong.’ 

    ‘they say that I’m cursed. what if they are right?’

    ‘they’re afraid of what they can’t see. like children afraid of the dark, they make up stories to fill the void. that doesn’t make them true.’

    ‘you have to step out of this darkness. let them see you for who you are, like I have.’ 

    ‘without you this darkness has made me a monster.’ 

    ‘the world once seemed so simple: black and white, darkness and light.’

    ‘the truth of life is revealed when we can face death without fear.’ 

    ‘how can the gods understand us if they refuse to die themselves?’ 

    ‘what if this is pointless?’ 

    ‘it makes sense in your mind but it does not make sense in the real world.’ 

    ‘maybe this is the price paid for the gift that the gods have granted you. the gift that makes you so very special in my eyes. just another part of the person I love.’

    ‘your eyes were open but you were ... gone.’

    ‘I heard your voice. you brought me back.’ 

    ‘you found your own way back. all you needed was a little help. a little hope.’ 

    ‘you will pay a price for this.’ 

    ‘do you see it clearly now (name)? the suffering you’ve caused.’ 

    ‘you have blood on your hands.’

    ‘why must they pay for your heresy?’ 

    ‘why are  you fighting for someone who is already dead?’ 

    ‘I can’t fight it anymore!’ 

    ‘you said it, I have blood on my hands.’ 

    ‘I didn’t say that, you’ve done nothing wrong.’ 

    ‘who do you trust? him or me?’

    ‘do you still believe in me, (name)? in us?’ 

    ‘you don’t have to do this on your own anymore.’ 

    ‘silence is lonely.’ 

    ‘how will you save (name) if you are too much of a coward to step into the shadows?’ 

    ‘your sword is useless here.’ 

    ‘do you remember that darkness, (name)?’ 

    ‘I wont give up. I’m not going to rot in here!’

    ‘if I had stayed, I wouldn’t have survived.’ 

    ‘it was my mission to make you hate, to hate this darkness with a passion so great, it would focus your mind on the quest.’

    ‘all this time I’ve wanted to protect you from the truth that would have destroyed you a long time ago.’

    ‘I won’t stand in your way. you will not survive what is in there.’ 

    ‘I’m not here to fight my past. I’m here for (name).’ 

    ‘I will fulfil my vow, whatever the cost.’ 

    ‘that is our gift and our duty. I’m not going to look away in fear anymore.’ 

    ‘we’ll all die someday.’ 

    ‘I don’t want to die.’ 

    ‘if you don’t want to die with me, then leave me alone.’ 

    ‘there is nothing to go back to.’ 

    ‘it’s not like the old stories, is it? the noble warrior facing evil in search of victory and honor. clear dividing lines.’ 

    ‘it’s as if it knows true torment lies within memories you cannot defeat. cannot escape.’ 

    ‘don’t see me like this. turn away, (name).’ 

    ‘I remember it clearly now.’ 

    ‘fuck the gods! you did this!’ 

    ‘you created this darkness so you could hide behind it!’

    ‘only suffering brings salvation. it is the way of the gods.’ 

    ‘it was all a lie! you are a lie!’ 

    ‘look at you. running forward but moving backwards to wallow in your miserable past.’

    ‘I tried to save you from yourself.’ 

    ‘what can you do to me that you haven’t already?’ 

    ‘let go of your battle. let go of redemption. let go of (name).’ 

    ‘let go of your battle. you’ve done enough.’ 

    ‘you’re killing yourself.’ 

    ‘is that what you want me to believe? after all you’ve done to me?!’ 

    ‘you’ve crawled into me to confuse me and deceive me!’ 

    ‘you will have to kill me because i’ve got nothing left. no fear, no hate. no quest. nothing.’ 

    ‘you will have no power over me.’

    ‘a life without loss is one without love.’

    ‘the longer you hide from it, the longer the shadow grows, until all you can see is darkness.’

    ‘when our time comes, we must look death in the eye and embrace it as a friend. only then can we let go of our fear, and emerge from our darkness.’  

    ‘do not mourn the waves, the leaves, the clouds. even in darkness the wonder and the beauty of this world never leaves us. it is always there. waiting to be seen again.’

    #rp prompts #rp sentence starters #rp memes #video game sentence starters #video game prompts #hellblade prompts #hellblade sentence starters #hellblade senua's sacrifice prompts #hellblade senua's sacrifice sentance starters #BOY this took a lot of work #don't let it flop
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  • violet-warder
    19.12.2021 - 5 monts ago

    [ ✨ ] what aesthetics or symbols do you reference when writing your muse? are these backed up by canon, if your muse comes from a canon? is there any specific relevance to these choices?

    Esja is heavily influenced by Viking culture and Norse mythology. I draw from fact, fiction, and FFXIV lore (with my own headcannons peppered throughout)! Her aesthetics range from rangercore to folk/pagan horror, and which route I lean into really just depends on how I’m feeling that day. 
    As for inspiration, I listen to a lot of atmospheric playlists or folk music (Danhiem, Wardruna, Heilung, etc) or indulge in media with similar vibes such as Vikings or Hellblade. I also read an embarrassing amount of folk horror novels which has helped mold her religion and tribe’s culture. 
    It’s sad funny, but I actually haven’t gotten to write her more than a handful of times aside from FFXIVWrite or prompts so she really is just a product of my own random musings, and I’ve had years to mold her. Her story hasn’t even begun yet!
    #she'll get the chance to be more than a screenshot model one of these days lol #thanks! #ask
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  • krastbannert
    30.04.2021 - 1 year ago

    FFF98 - The Last Time

    I kept meaning to do these, but just...never had time. Thanks, college. Gotta love it. But anyways! @soozencreates said something earlier about wanting Smellershot goodness, so here you go, my guy. (Working the prompt in for this one felt a little weird on this, I’ll be honest - hopefully it works?). Like all my other fanfiction works this will be up on AO3 sometime in the next day or two.

    @flashfictionfridayofficial 

    Waiting to be Seen

    -[-]-

    “Because even in darkness the wonder and beauty of the world never leaves. It's always there, just waiting to be seen again.” - Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice ending voiceover

    -[-]-

    She leans against the post on their porch, and smiles.

    She can’t help herself. It’s been so long since she’s seen him like this: so happy, so at peace. The look on his face as he kneels in the middle of a circle of kids, gesturing vaguely at the air, whispering quiet words that she can’t hear. She’s not sure she should, and she’s not sure she wants to - she’s probably heard them before, anyways.

    Smellerbee watches as her husband (husband - somehow, that still feels strange to say, that they’re married, after all these years, that they’ve been able to achieve this happiness) cups his hands. A moment later, Longshot opens them, and a brilliantly colored, fluttering butterfly emerges, soars into the air. The kids around clap and cheer, staring at the fiery creation as it bursts into light.

    Bee chuckles as one of the kids asks for another, and Longshot cups his hands against only to release a dragon that scrambles up the boy’s arm. They’d been doing this for so long, now - ever since Longshot had learned how to make these little miracles. Creation kindling, he called it. A lost art form, tied to the true meaning of fire, and firebending. A beautiful thing, she’d always thought.

    Longshot turns back to look at her, and she can’t help but admire that smile on his face. His face is wide, smile beaming, his eyes twinkling. There’s always a sort of warm glow to his face, but here, now, it’s as bright as the sun itself.

    When was the last time, she thinks, they’d been this happy? When was the last time they’d had this peace?

    It still feels unreal. It’s only been twelve years since the war ended, and she can still scarcely believe it. It feels like only yesterday they’d been kids running through the woods, hunting down Fire Nation patrols and swinging through trees, struggling to survive day to day. And now...they have a house. They have friends, family - a life. The last time she’d been this happy, she had to have been a girl of seven or eight, before the Fire Nation had wiped her village off the face of the earth.

    Her thoughts are interrupted by a cry of,” Gotcha, mommy!” and a tiny but immensely strong force hitting her in the back.

    Perhaps it wasn’t that long ago, she thinks as she wrangles her daughter into her arms with a chuckles.

    “Hey, gremlin, be careful there,” Bee instructs. Jia pouts up at her.

    “I’ll get you one of these days,” she grumbles. Bee laughs, ruffles the girl’s hair, and sets her down.

    She gives her a little push on the back.” I’m sure you will, Jia. Go, try with your father - he’s easy.” Her daughter beams up at her, and Bee watches as the six year old runs to up to Shot. She narrows her eyes, because Jia doesn’t try to tackle her father - instead, she whispers in his ear. She watches as Longshot gestures all the children in, pulls them in closer.

    She sees it coming, but still fails to avoid it.

    Bee can’t help but laugh as she’s brought to the ground by a dozen laughing kids, Longshot smirking in the background.

    “Shot! Help me!” she stammers out. She squeals as one of the kids starts tickling her side, and then another joins in, and another, until suddenly the pile has dissolved into one massive tickle-fight and she and Longshot are losing against the combined might of a dozen neighborhood children. Now that she thinks about it, she can’t remember the last time she was this happy. But screw happiness, she thinks as the kids scream and laugh louder and louder in her ear. 

    When was the last time she had some spirits-damned quiet?

    (She, of course, wouldn’t trade quiet for anything right now - but it would be nice.)

    #fff98 #the last time #smellerbee#longshot#smellershot#atla fanfiction #avatar the last airbender fanfiction #atla
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  • dol--blathanna
    24.04.2021 - 1 year ago

    I don't know if you'll even answer this because of spoilers, but mixtape and wild card for Tye? Haha, if not, wild card for Gwenllian and Ameer

    Thank you so much for the ask!!! These are always so exciting to receive!!! :D

    Oooooh I wasn’t expecting anyone to ask about Tye!! I’m impressed haha!! Of course it’s going to be very difficult to answer this question as many facts about him are Classified™, but I like the challenge!!

    So for mixtape: Obviously I can’t give some of the very specific tracks that I’ve listened to when thinking or writing about him (because BIG spoilers), so I’ve selected a couple of tracks that don’t have much lyrical significance or anything, and that I just like because I think the ~vibes~ are cool and match his character, or scenarios with his character (both in posted chapters and unposted chapters!)

    Shadow from Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice

    Battle March from Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice

    Norupo by Heilung

    The Angry River by The Hat (ft. Father John Misty)

    The first two I chose because of vibes, I can’t explain further sorry! The last two I picked less because of how they related to Tye necessarily, but because I thought they had very spooky Velen vibes and after all Tye has been on a mission for unknown reasons to find the Crone!

    As for the wild card, I decided that I’d try and do the microscope prompt, simply because I think it’s the only possible one to do without spoiling anything hahaha! So here are some random, insignificant details about Tye.

    He has a fringe (or bangs I think Americans call them?) and his hair is a bit longer than his jawline, but he hasn’t been taking good care of it. The back of his hair is quite tangled.

    The red strip he wears around his forehead is somewhat dirty and tattered, and it smells of sweat. It doesn’t appear to be made of any fine material – it looks poor in quality.

    Although he is a very nervous individual, he has steady hands – he was able to heal a bite wound one handed, as seen in Part 2 Chapter 2, and had the witcher Oskar not been attacked by a leshen, he would have noticed that the wound from Tye’s severed ear was an extremely clean cut. If one were to ever study his handwriting, you’d also notice it’s very neat.

    He’s ambidextrous (he was left handed first)

    Aside from the scar on his forehead (the size and origin of which is unknown) he has a small scar on his hand from where Ameer bit him.

    I also wanna do the wild cards for Gwenllian and Ameer hehehe hope that’s ok! For them both I decided I just wanted to do little fun facts about them!

    Ameer:

    Ameer loves learning languages, and can speak several: Ofieri, Elder speech, the language of Fox Mothers, Common and Nilfgaardian. Nilfgaardian was very easy for him to learn (as it’s very similar to Elder Speech), whereas Common was the most difficult language to learn, and is overall his weakest language.

    Although Ameer loves to sing, he does not play any musical instruments. Various humans across Ofier have tried to teach him how to play various different instruments as he travelled, but he never got the knack of it. He was always very jealous of those who could and had great admiration for musicians. He also cannot read music, though simply because he never bothered to learn how.

    Ameer is a tall individual, as most elves are. As a fox, however, he’s actually quite small. Fennec foxes are the smallest species of fox, but even compared to his older sisters and mother, Ameer is significantly smaller than them in his fox form, which was a source of teasing for him.

    Since Ameer is not a true Fox Mother, he possesses the ability to use magic. This was something his mother was very concerned about – she had no idea how to manage his burgeoning abilities or teach him to control them. One day, while exploring the mountains, Ameer came across an elderly man who was travelling. The man was a sage of sorts, who often came into the mountain for meditation, herbal gathering, and studying the magic sources in the area. He ended up spotting Ameer and they formed a friendship of sorts. The man believed that Ameer was some sort of fey so knew not to harm him or take him away from the mountains. His mother initially disapproved of Ameer talking to the man, until she realised the old man possessed magical abilities like Ameer. She allowed Ameer to learn magic from him, and he was able to control his abilities a lot better after that. The old man was the first ever human Ameer spoke to.

    Gwenllian:

    Gwenllian loves poetry and literature. She’s something of an expert when it comes to Nilfgaardian prose and verse. In her old home in Nilfgaard, she had a collection of books from over the decades – she found it very interesting to compare the works between generations (not just in terms of style, but also how literature became far less outspoken or critical of the empire and ruling family in recent years, as those who did often wound up dead). Unfortunately when the other vampires cast her out of Nilfgaard, she had no choice but to leave most of these behind, although she managed to save a few and bring them with her to the North.

    When Gwenllian fled Nilfgaard and was hiding in the Northern kingdoms, she was heavily injured and had huge cravings for blood. Raw and bloody meat would help satiate these cravings a little, but she was so weak she struggled to hunt any animals. Instead, she would forage for various medicinal herbs and sell them for money, which she used to buy meat for herself (then would hide and eat it raw). While selling herbs, she would try not to speak out loud and communicated through writing and gestures instead – revealing herself as Nilfgaardian to either side was dangerous, and her accent always gave her away.

    Like Regis, Gwenllian can talk to ravens. Upon moving to Novigrad, she created a network of ravens to act as spies throughout the city – at this point, she was still extremely paranoid of other vampires finding her and killing her, and wanted to be informed of any vampires or other sketchy figures entering the city. When she explained her situation to the ravens she befriended, they didn’t care about her dark past – ravens like vampires, but don’t care much for their social hierarchies or rules. Gwenllian was nice to them, so that was good enough for them! She was always grateful for that. The three ravens who would often perch on top of her roof were nicknamed Rosemary, Camelia, and Marigold.

    Gwenllian is a very good cook. When she was still struggling with blood cravings, and when she finally reached Novigrad, she tried her best to create big, heaty meals with plenty of flavours and seasoning to try and whet her appetite. As a result, she got quite good at cooking, and even after she no longer experienced blood cravings, she still enjoyed cooking and eating the meals she concocted. Aside from the fact she doesn’t particularly like Northern cuisine, the Nilfgaardian-style recipes remind her of home and help her with homesickness.    

    Thank you for sending in the ask!! Just what I needed to cheer myself up while I’m doing this damn essay ahaha!

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  • ks-sketchbook-mdxill
    01.02.2021 - 1 year ago

    During our conversation about illness and the way we discuss it through art and media, I began to think about ways in the modern world in which we are able to talk about illness. I immediately began to think of video games, which in recent years have started to break out of their ‘purely point and punch’ action approach, and become more like interactive stories. As the medium has grown, the storytelling now involved has evolved greatly, and many of the narratives in video games these days a very emotionally complex and challenging. As part of those narratives, illness is starting to be introduced as a subject. This opens up a fascinating new angle for talking about illness, both those for those who suffer from illness, and those who do not. Through the interactive storytelling medium of games, people can relate their personal struggles with pain and sickness, and others can experience it and begin to build empathy and understanding. The following 2 Games are examples of this. 

    Hellblade: Senua’s Sacrifice 

    In Hellblade Senua’s Sacrifce, the player navigates the action adventure story as Senua, a young Pictish woman who has just survived aa viking raid on her village, and is now journeying to the underworld to recover her fiancés soul. However, as you venture through the underworld and fight the creatures that you find there, you are followed by endless whispering voices that help you, taunt you, scream at you, and comfort you. You learn through the story that Senua is schizophrenic, and that the voices that follow her are in fact auditory hallucinations, and even the journey she is on may very likely be a visual hallucination as well

    When the game begins you are prompted to try and play the game with head phones on, as that is the best way to get the full binaural experience of the voices. The developers consulted numerous historians and mental health care professionals, including professors from Cambridge and Durham, as well as the Wellcome collection to simulate the experience of living with schizophrenia, especially in a time period where it was undiagnosable and untreated. Through the development of the game they came to the conclusion that mental illness as neurodivergent, but rather the stigma and judgement they face from their communities. They tried to work this into the narrative by showing that the main trouble that Senua suffered from was being excluded from her own village and forced into isolation, exacerbating her feelings of depression and self-hatred, stressors causing a worsening of auditory and visual hallucinations. The game developers sought to break down that wall of stigma. As the player you empathise with and lead Senua through processing her grief, both from having lost her partner (to the point she honesty envisions him as lost, not dead, despite carrying hiss severed head around with her), and from her feelings of low self worth caused by her society's unwillingness to sympathise with and help her. 

    Ninja Theory (2017) Hellblade Senua’s Sacrifice [CD] Playstation 4. Cambridge: Ninja Theory

    That Dragon, Cancer

    ‘That Dragon, Cancer’ was written and developed by Ryan and Amy Green as an autobiographical work exploring their experience being the parents of a terminally ill child. Their son, Joel, was diagnosed with terminal cancer at only 12 months old, and was given just 4 months to live. Though he lived until age 5, the years between his diagnosis and death were clearly a time of intense emotional conflict for both parents.

    Throughout ‘That Dragon, Cancer’ you join them in 14 vignettes of Joels life up until his death. The game is largely exploratory, with fantastical and beautiful elements that show a young child’s imagination as he interacts with his surroundings. But throughout the dialogue and the settings, you are also forced to confront the reality of Joel’s illness. You are shown condolence cards and voice recordings, hospital appointments and hard nights. I feel like it would be wrong to call ‘That Dragon, Cancer’ a game, but it is a raw and grief filled look at the way in which we deal with cancer. One that forces you to participate. Even more trying, we are looking through the lens of a medium where we are more used to being able to battle our antagonistic forces, rather than simply being forced to let them take their course. 

    Numinous Games (2016) That Dragon Cancer [Online] Windows. San Francisco: Numinous Games

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  • koutarousangel
    25.01.2021 - 1 year ago

    ━ chaos / bokuto kōtarō.

    prompt : an angel falls in love with a demon ... quite literally.

    genre : angst ... a lot of it

    warning(s) : religious undertones, alludes to sex, mention of a blade, slight mention of violence, reader is ... well, a demon.

    song recs : falling in reverse ━ eden ; afterthought  ━ joji ; listen before you go ━ billie eilish.

    author’s note : i was doing a lucifer rewatch and the bit with maze and amenadiel came up and i was just like 🤔. this was originally meant for kuroo, but i have different plans for him so i was like HMMM who’s the perfect candidate for an angel and ofc .... bo fits the bill cmon now ! title’s inspired by this poem.

    EPISODE ONE  ━ the fallen angel.

    you had pictured yourself in this position before.

    more accurately, you had dreamt of it, your hellblade positioned at the base of his neck, ready to slice the skin open and get him completely off your back, so that you could continue to trapeze through earth, laying waste to the spoils humans had created and the ones they’re also subsequently punished for when they’re in hell.

    but you hesitated.

    there was a point when the two of you were at each other’s throats, pitted against each other as mortal enemies. fight after fight forced the string of sexual tension to grow taught and at one point it broke apart, and you’d fallen into bed one time after the next.

    you hesitated because it was supposed to be a one time thing, a mistake, but you kept looking for him everywhere, and he looked for you and the pillow talk became longer and longer and you learned about each other. you hesitated because there was something in the way that he held you, how he gazed at you, how he gave you a sense of purpose. 

    the thought of how you would be ridiculed if you had ever returned to hell disappeared whenever his warm, honey-coloured eyes fell on you, and your heart that wasn’t meant for love beat with a different rhythm, proving so many people wrong.

    a demon falling in love with an angel ; how strange.

    tears stung the corners of your eyes as you shook your head out of your thoughts, almost losing your grip on the hellblade before you grit your teeth, trying to force yourself to move and get it over with, but the hesitation lasted for a second too long.

    fingers encircled both of your wrists and you were flipped over, pinned to the plush bed underneath you as bokuto’s body hovered over yours.

    “if you wanted to do it, you shouldn’t have hesitated,” his voice came out in an angry growl, but you could discern the disappointment weaving through the tone of his voice. his hair fell over his eyes, a stark contrast to the spiked upstyle it usually sits in, but even though the trusses of grey hair partially obstructed his golden eyes, betrayal had taken adoration’s place in them. 

    a coherent sentence couldn’t make it past your lips, words coming out in a string of babbles, punctuated by a gutteral sob, silent prayers to try and find the right words running laps through your head.

    a demon caught in prayer ; how unique.

    “i’m sorry,” your voice was a whimper. it was uncharacteristic, seeing as your voice usually drips confidence, accompanied by your snarky words and scheming smirk, traits he’d grown to find endearing, “kōtarō, i’m sorry.”

    he grimaced and looked away, holding back his emotions and deciding to stand his ground instead, “no, you’re not,” he pressed down on your wrists more, frustration seeping through his fingertips, “this was your plan from the start.”

    “only after i figured out why you were sent,” your confession came out through gritted teeth as you tried to get angry again, hating the helpless feeling that had taken over your body, but then letting your bottom lip tremble again as you let go of the tension in your shoulders, “i don’t want to go back kō, i don’t … please.”

    his grip loosened and his eyes glazed over with tears that threatened to stain his flushed cheeks, “i was ready to follow you,” his words came out in a pained whisper, his breath fanning over your face.

    wind swirled around the two of you as he extended his wings, items in the vicinity clattering to the ground and making a mess. as you peered up, a small gasp fell past your lips. instead of the pure white you remember seeing the first time, the feathers were greying, some of them had already turned black and some were singed.

    your eyebrows knitted together and a frown befell your features as you gently ran your fingers along the blackened feathers, catching his slight wince out of the corner of your eye and you flinched away from his wings.

    “i’m not worth it,” all the confidence that is usually present in your voice was snuffed out, replaced with uncertainty. the façade broke even further and the tears streamed freely and steadily down your face as you shook your head, “you don’t deserve hell, you’re good… you can save yourself and go home.”

    bokuto let go of your wrists and shushed you as you broke down underneath him, pulling your frame onto his lap and letting you wrap your legs around his waist, cradling your face in his hands and placing his head against your forehead, “you’re worth it all,” he whispers, “screw heaven and hell, wherever you go, i follow.” 

    but even after his words managed to calm you down and pressed kisses to every inch of your body, you couldn’t help but feel guilt settle at the pit of your stomach. you gazed at his innocent face as he slept and imagined him amongst the demons of hell and it made you sick.

    in the morning he woke up to an empty, cold bed, for you loved him far too much to let him go through hell. and after figuring out that you had left your phone behind, he yelled and broke nearly every single thing in the room, wings extended and pain running through them as more feathers darkened. as he dropped down to his knees and his wings drooped on either side of him, he looked like a broken renaissance painting; the fallen angel.

    as you stood in front of the gates of hell, the elder demon towered above you and looked down at you with pure disgust.

    “your heart has started to purify.”

    that meant you couldn’t get back into hell and you had nowhere to go, “how? i tried to kill an angel.”

    the demon tuts and shakes their head in disappointment, looking at you as if you were a toddler and not a high ranking demon, “the angel,” they all but spit, “you fell in love with him and spared his life … it’s pathetic.”

    you had nowhere to go … nowhere except earth.

    over the span of a couple of hours, you’d gone to hell, gotten banished and sent back to the mortal world, alone. the elder demon was right … it was incredibly pathetic.

    sitting at the bar only added to how pathetic the situation actually was; as you swirled your drink over and over, eyes following the amber liquid as it chased itself in circles. a huff exhaled past your lips as you felt a presence beside you, not ready to deal with some sleazebag who wanted to get into your pants. 

    but when you looked over, ready to pick a fight, your breath caught in your throat as honey-coloured eyes met yours. 

    “heaven doesn’t want me,” he shrugged simply, smile settled on his face, the same blinding smile you’d fallen in love with, the one that had purified your heard.

    you let out a small giggle, “and hell’s afraid i’ll take over,” your voice had the same cocky lilt in your voice, smirk crossing your features as you looked up at the fallen angel with pure love in your eyes. the kind of love that neither heaven nor hell could handle.

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  • waiting4inspiration
    06.01.2021 - 1 year ago

    Cursed (Ivar x Reader)

    Summary: The whispers have come back, taunting you and mocking you. You’ve kept your curse a secret for so long, but everyone has a breaking point. And what do you have left to lose now that you’ve lost everything?

    Warnings: angst (obviously), mentions of death, trauma, psychosis (see Author’s Note), signs of mental illness 

    Word Count: 2,303

    A/N: Okay, so this is my entry for @youbloodymadgenius and her 1k Celebration. My prompt is in bold (I see dead people). And I just want to mention that I was so excited for this piece. Reader is based on Senua from the game Hellblade and she does suffer from psychosis. I tried to replicate it and what Senua calls ‘Furies’ as much as I could but it was a bit challenging and I wanted to keep to my story too. Hope you enjoy it!

    Vikings Masterlist

    The whispers are nothing new to you. Although they have been quiet for some years now, you’re not really surprised when they return again. Especially with all the people you had lost on the recent raid in England and then the plague that ravished the city the following winter. 

    It wasn’t the greatest raid your people have had and many, many warriors were lost and have gone to Valhalla. It changed the lives of a lot of people in Kattegat, yourself included. Now, when you walk through the city, it’s as if you walk through Niflheim surrounded by spirits of the dead. Wrights. 

    This happened to you when you were a child, but it went away when you met the man that would be your husband. And you thought that the Gods had given you a chance to live a normal life without what you believe is a curse from the Goddess Hel. 

    Now, with the aftermath of so much death from the raid and the plague, the whispers have come back and you see the men and women that the Valkyries have not taken to Valhalla or were chosen by Freya to go to Folkvangr walking around in the realm belonging to the Goddess of the dead. 

    The whispers wake you one night, shaking you to the core and making you shoot up gasping for air. You stare into the darkness, panting as you try to push the voices muttering and hissing your head away. Even though they’re nothing new to you, you hate them and wish they would go away again. You pray every day that Odin takes mercy on you once more and takes away your curse. 

    “She’s scared,” one voice laughs, making you shake as you wrap your arms around your body. 

    “There’s nothing you can do about this.”

    “She’s stuck with us.”

    You shake your head to try and make them stop, pull your knees closer to your chest and you breathe out a long sigh. “Another nightmare?” Ivar speaks behind you and places a hand on your shoulder when he sees you shaking. 

    Nodding your head, you run a hand over your face to wipe away the thin layer of sweat on your forehead before you glance over your shoulder at him. “They won’t go away,” you say, keeping your eyes on his chest because you can’t bear to look in his eyes. 

    All Ivar knows about the whispers is what you’ve told him. Which is nothing. You thought that if you told him, he would fall out of love with you and throw you aside. Or worse, kill you because he too thinks you’re cursed. He only knows that you’ve been having nightmares and that they started when the plague ended because that is what you’ve told him. 

    “He knows you’re lying. He knows you’re keeping secrets.”

    “If you tell him he’ll think you’re crazy.”

    “What are you doing?”

    “They’re watching you. They see you.”

    Your head snaps up at the last words and you see the spirit you hoped you would never see. A young body with a sickly look on his face, sweat on his face, and his lips dry and chapped. His eyes have lost their vibrant blue color and are now white. It’s the spirit of the son you lost to the plague. One of the first children to die because of it leaving you and Ivar heartbroken. 

    A cry leaves your lips and you drop your head as your hand shoots up to cover your mouth. Ivar’s hands gently rub your shoulders and he presses his lips to the side of your face. “You’re not telling me something,” he whispers, running his hands down your arms and pulls your hand away from your mouth so he can weave his fingers through yours. 

    Ivar’s skill to tell when someone’s keeping something from you always amazes you. You told him when you married him that you do have a secret that you can’t tell him. Not until you’re ready to. He’s tried to get you to tell him, but you never had the courage to do that. You thought it didn’t matter but it does now that the whispers have come back. 

    You look back up at the ghost standing in the darkness; your son. “I haven’t told anyone,” you whisper, watching your son move towards the door and leave the room. The whispers tell you various things. Go after him, leave him, he’s leaving, he’ll never leave you. “I can’t tell anyone.”

    “You know that’s not true,” Ivar softly says, making your head turn over your shoulder and you finally look at his face. “Tell me,” he begs, reaching up to touch the side of your face. 

    His hands are cold against your skin, but it is a cold night, you think. You don’t mind. The cold is refreshing against your heat in your body from the nightmare, the frantic whispers, and the ghosts of your son you see. 

    “Mommy.”

    “Brynjar.” Your head snaps to the door when you hear your son's voice calling you and you shift towards the edge of the bed. 

    Ivar sighs sadly behind you as you stand and walk away from the bed. “(Y/n), you know he is gone-”

    “No, no he’s here,” you cut him off, quickly making your way to the door, open it and then peer out to see if you can find your son. “He’s not gone.”

    “(Y/n)-”

    “I can see him, Ivar!” you shout, jumping around to glare coldly at him. “He is here and I can see him,” you say, wrapping your arms around you as you stand in the middle of the room. 

    He stares at you, biting the inside of his cheek as he breathes out a saddened sigh. He holds out his hands for you, inviting you to join him again and you slowly walk back towards him. You place your hand in his and crawl onto the bed before sitting on your heels. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen him after his death, is it?” You shake your head. “It has something to do with the secret you won’t tell me.” Hesitantly, you nod. 

    “He thinks you’re crazy.”

    “You’re crazy.”

    “Don’t tell him. Don’t tell him.”

    “Don’t. Tell. Him.”

    You take a deep breath, run your tongue over your lips, and place your hands over his when they rest in his lap. It’s time to tell him. You can’t keep it to yourself anymore. “When I was a child, I realized that I was different from everyone. I could...I...saw things…” It’s hard to let the words come out because of the lump growing in your throat and the mocking, warning, and cursing voices whispering in your mind. “It went away but they’re back and everywhere I see…” you stop, lift your gaze up to Ivar’s face to see if he wants to hear what you’re going to say or if he thinks you’re crazy already. He’s waiting for you to speak again. “I see dead people.”

    Ivar blinks at you, his mouth falling slightly open as he comprehends your words. “Dead people?” he asks to make sure he heard you properly and you lightly nod your head. “That’s why you think Brynjar is here?”

    “I don’t think he’s here. I can see him just as I see all those that perished from the sickness and those that haven’t been chosen to feast with the Gods,” you explain, shifting so you can sit with your legs crossed under you. “And...I hear these voices in my mind, whispering things or mocking me, cursing me and I can’t make them stop. They won’t stop,” you whisper, dropping your head between your shoulders and staring at your hands folded in your lap. 

    He shifts in his spot, licks his lips, and looks to the door where you had seen your young son, his heir. He can understand now why you have kept this a secret from him, from everyone. “You’ve always had this, haven’t you?” he asks, your head lifting back up and your lower lip tucking in between your teeth. 

    You nod your head lightly before your head snaps to the side when you’re sure you hear a voice speak. Maybe it’s another ghost. Maybe it’s someone you know. 

    “They know you can see them. They know.”

    “They’re coming for you.”

    “Run.”

    “Run!”

    “They’re going to kill you.” (This voice sings and laughs.) 

    “It died down when I met you, when I fell in love with you. They were still there, but I felt as if I could control them now that I had something important in my life,” you say, your eyes scanning the room as your heart races in your chest, panicking that what the whispers say might be true. Slowly, you turn your head back to Ivar when his hand lands on your knee so he can draw your attention away from the darkness of the room. “But they came back, along with these visions of the dead in Hel’s realm. I see them, I hear them. I hear Hel’s voice laughing at me because I’m cursed-”

    “You are not cursed,” Ivar stops you, his hands shooting out to stop you from talking ill of yourself. But you pull your hands away from him and they begin to shake. 

    “She’s cursed.”

    “You’re cursed.”

    “I know what you’re thinking.”

    “What are you thinking?”

    “Do it, do it, do it.”

    “Do it!”

    “Stop!” you shout, your hands shooting to your hair so you can grip your roots tightly, hoping to get a handle on the whispers that now start laughing at you, taunting you with loud voices and stopping any other thought from entering your mind. All you can hear, all you can do, is listen to them. You fall forward, bury your face in the furs before you let out a string of sobs that shake your body. “I want him back. I can’t stand this pain anymore. I want him back,” you cry, pushing yourself up when your lungs scream for air and you turn your face to the heavens, letting the tears stream down your cheeks. “Give him back!”

    The door opens and you quickly turn your head away from whoever it is that’s coming to see if everything is alright. Ivar, instead, looks to see who it is and also to tell them to leave as he reaches out to place a hand over yours. It’s his brother, Hvitserk. 

    “Go away, Hvitserk,” Ivar orders, knowing that it’s best for him not to stick his nose in this. But Hvitserk doesn’t even look at him. 

    “Are you okay, (Y/n)?” Hvitserk quietly asks, staying by the door until you say otherwise. He doesn’t want to overstep his boundaries. 

    Ivar frowns at his brother and shifts to try and make him see the stern look on his face. “Leave me alone,” you whisper, dropping your head between your shoulder and closing your eyes as more tears escape. “Please, leave me alone,” you beg, and you don’t have to ask again because Hvitserk backs away and closes the door. 

    Outside your mind, it’s quiet except for the occasional sniff from you as you wipe your tears away. Inside your mind, the whispers won’t shut up. They all speak at the same time and you don’t have the energy to discern them. And Ivar waits for you to speak again; whenever you’re ready. 

    “They’re back. They came back,” you mutter, wrapping your arms tightly around you and lightly starting to rock back and forth. “They came back when I lost everything.”

    “You lost everything.” 

    “You are going to die!”

    “You’re going to kill us.” 

    “You’re going to die.”

    “Useless.”

    “You have nothing.”

    “Nothing.”

    “They’re coming.”

    “They’re coming.”

    “THEY’RE COMING!”

    A cackle frightens you and makes you jump around to look at what could be behind you, your hands gripping the furs under them tightly. You’re breathing heavily, sweat breaking on your forehead as you shake in terror. Then Ivar places a hand on your shoulder, making you turn around and stare at him with wide eyes. 

    He shakes his head, reaches up to touch the side of your face but you pull away from him and heave. “You still have me.”

    Laughing. The whispers are laughing. All of them. Laughing in that mocking tone that breaks you down even more. 

    “Ivar, you died three months ago.” 

    A frown grows on his face and he leans back in shock and confusion, shaking his head in disbelief. “No…”

    “Why doesn’t he believe you?”

    “He doesn’t believe you.”

    “Why would he believe you?”

    “You got sick and we did everything we could to save you but you were too weak,” you say, reaching up to touch the side of his face, but stop before you do and pull your hand away. “My love,” you whisper, your voice drowning in sadness as tears fall from your eyes again. “Don’t you remember?” you ask. 

    He shakes his head, stops for a second, and then remembers. He remembers being weak, so weak that he couldn’t eat, couldn’t drink, couldn’t sit up. He remembers lying in your arms, your fingers stroking his head as you cry, knowing that there’s nothing you can do to save his life. And the last thing he remembers is you telling him that it will be alright, that he can let go. 

    You watch the realization crossing his face and know that he’s remembered. And now that he remembers that he is dead, his figure starts to fade away, leaving you staring at the wall and being alone. But not completely alone.

    “He’s gone.”

    “He left.”

    “He’s dead.”

    “You lost everything.”

    “You’re all alone.”

    “No, not alone! She still has us.”

    “We’ll never leave you.”

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