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ak-vintage · 7 months ago

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Quarry - Chapter 7

Pairing: Din Djarin (The Mandalorian) x f!reader

Summary: Din Djarin is on what he expects to be his last bounty hunt for Greef Karga. After all, Nevarro is swiftly moving away from its previous reputation as a Guild member’s paradise, and Din has more important concerns now, like finding a Jedi to train his mysterious foundling. However, after capturing a wanted starship engineer who would rather go anywhere other than “home,” the Mandalorian is forced to reassess his priorities.

Your taste of freedom had been brief but glorious. Now you are a prisoner of the most infamous bounty hunter in the Outer Rim – it’s only a matter of time before he turns you in. There isn’t much you would not do to keep from being sent home, but as you find yourself growing closer to your captor and his strange little companion, you start to wonder whether escape is really what you want.

Set after Chapter 13: The Jedi but before Chapter 14: The Tragedy.

Chapter Tags & Warnings: Please note new TWs in red!!! Reader is Mando's bounty, second-person POV, Din Djarin POV, no use of Y/N, minimal descriptors of reader character, intimidation, physical abuse (not perpetrated by Din or reader), discussions of slavery and indentured servitude, power dynamics, trauma

Series Masterlist | Read on AO3

Three days later found the Razor Crest descending through the atmosphere of a planet quite unlike any you had ever seen. It was just barely sunset local time, and endless plains of black, volcanic rock and charcoal sand stretched out before you, painted in hues of red and gold as the sun sank in the pale sky. The matte black surface was broken up by a complex spiderweb of lava rivers, flowing almost too slowly to be perceived, throwing jets of steam into the air. Nestled in the valley of two large rock formations, a sprawling settlement of whitewashed buildings and colorful market stalls poured into the surrounding flats. A small spaceport could be seen just on the edge of it all, marked by glowing outlines of designated landing zones and manned by a variety of staff in yellow jumpsuits milling about the place.

“So that’s it, huh?” you asked from your spot in one of the co-pilot’s chairs at the rear of the cockpit. “That’s Nevarro?”

Mando nodded once, the bright light of the setting sun reflecting off the beskar dome of his helmet. “Yes.”

You brought your hand up to block the light from your squinting eyes. “Quite an operation. It’s bigger than I expected.”

“Most of what you see is a relatively recent development,” he explained. His gloved hands moved expertly, almost absent-mindedly over the landing controls, bringing the Crest into a steeper decline as you approached the landing zones. “The people in charge have become pretty invested in turning this place into a major trade center. Sure is a step up from the back-water Guild town it used to be. Looks like they’ve done even more with it since the last time I was here.”

“But your Guild agent is still based here?”

“Last I heard, he made himself ‘magistrate,’” he said wryly. You could hear the dry amusement in his voice even through the vocoder.

An answering smile tugged at your mouth, and you let out a soft laugh. You supposed it wasn’t entirely uncommon for members of the Bounty Hunters Guild to end up in positions of power. It was a lucrative profession, and credits could buy more than just material goods. Still, there was something entertaining about imagining a hardened Guild agent settling himself into the cushy life of a politician.

As the Mandalorian deftly settled the ship between the well-lit lines of the nearest landing zone, however, all of the good humor seemed to evaporate from your body, and anxiety settled in the pit of your stomach like a ball of lead.

This was it. Your time was up, for real this time.

“I need to go unload the others,” Mando announced, rising from the pilot’s chair.

You swallowed thickly, then nodded and stood, as well, Grogu in your arms like always. “What – what would you like me to – ”

“You’re not going with them,” the bounty hunter interrupted with a shake of his head. “I’m handing you over to Karga personally.”

You felt your eyebrows raise in surprise. “Oh. Okay. Sure,” you replied dumbly. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting him to say, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“You can come down into the cargo hold with me, but stay back from the rear doors. We’ll head into town once the other bounties are taken care of.”

You nodded and gestured for him to precede you down the ladder.

By the time you made it to the lower level with Grogu in tow, Mando had opened the rear blast doors, and the ramp was halfway extended to the dusty soil below. Before it could touch the ground, however, an unfamiliar face, bright and cheerful, popped up at the foot of it.

“Hey there, Mando! Long time, no see!” the man called out with a wave. His voice was chipper and warm, and he was dressed in one of those yellow jumpsuits you had noticed from the air, the ones indicating spaceport staff. He carried an official-looking datapad in a well-worn protective casing.

The Mandalorian greeted the other man with slightly less enthusiasm. “Darro,” he acknowledged, inclining his head in his direction.

“What can I do for you? The Crest looks in a much better state than she was the last time we saw her,” the man named Darro said. His gaze flickered over the ship, assessing.

“No repairs today,” Mando confirmed. “I’m turning over six quarries. I need them unloaded, cataloged, and prepared for transport.”

The lively expression on the dock worker’s face melted away, and he stared back at the bounty hunter with something akin to awe. “Six? You brought in six quarries? All at once?” Mando nodded. “Dank farrik, man! I hope you’ve got plans to live it up for a while. You’re gonna be rolling in credits.”

Rather than respond directly, Mando reached into a small leather bag tied to his utility belt and pulled out a handful of heavy, round disks. “Here are the bounty pucks for each. Feel free to verify their identities against them,” he said, passing them to Darro. “I’ll return the tracking fobs to Karga in town.”

Darro accepted the stack of pucks with a nod. “Sure, sure. The Magistrate should be in his office. You want me to get in touch with his protocol droid for you, let him know you’re on your way up?”

The Mandalorian seemed to hesitate slightly at that, as though taken aback by the question, but he recovered quickly enough. “That won’t be necessary. He’s expecting me.”

“Okay, no problem.” The dock worker shoved the bounty pucks into one of the many deep pockets of his jumpsuit before climbing up into the Razor Crest’s cargo hold. He raised his datapad, tapping it a few times as he began to examine the bounties suspended in carbonite on the rack near the door. However, he wasn’t at it for long before he seemed to notice you, still hovering near the ladder, watching silently.

“Oh, hello there,” he said in greeting. His thousand-watt smile was back in full force, and you watched as his stance shifted, affecting a more confident, masculine swagger. “Now, I know I’d remember that face if I’d seen it before. Who’s your new friend, Mando?”

The bounty hunter drew himself up to full height, stepping in the dock worker’s line of sight to break his interested gaze. “She’s no one. Just take the quarries, Darro.”

The other man chuckled good-naturedly, appearing entirely unbothered. “All right, all right.” He brought up his free hand and offered a placating gesture. “I can see she’s already taken.”

“The quarries,” Mando repeated. His voice was hard and cold as ice, and even though it wasn’t directed at you, you couldn’t help but shiver at the sound.

“I got ‘em, I got ‘em.” Darro peaked around the rounded pauldron on Mando’s shoulder and offered you one last smile, smaller than the first, and then turned back to the carbonite slabs. He flipped a switch on each one, and you heard the faint, telltale whir of repulsorlift projectors coming online.

Leaving the dock worker to his task, the Mandalorian finally turned back to you. “It’s time to go,” he said.

You worried on your lower lip and nodded wordlessly. “Do you mind if I say good-bye to the kid?” you asked, your voice small and weaker than you wanted it to be. Mando had informed you that Grogu would be staying behind on this trip for his safety, and while you trusted his judgement, you found it odd that he would leave the boy on his own for something like this.

A part of you wondered whether he wanted to avoid Grogu causing a scene when he handed you over. You supposed you couldn’t blame him, if that was the reason.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice solemn.

You offered him a tight smile in return before lowering yourself to your knees on the deck plating. You sat the child down gingerly, your eyes meeting his huge, black ones. His little wrinkly brows were drawn up and inward on his forehead, his mouth turned down. Tears welled behind your eyes at the pitiful expression, and you fought them down. Still, your voice trembled when you spoke.

“I am…so happy to have known you, buddy. Thank you for having so much fun with me while I was here,” you said earnestly. “Now, you be a good boy for your dad, okay?”

Mando spoke up behind you at that. “I am not his – ”

But you pushed onward and added, “He loves you very much. So you two have to take good care of each other, okay?” Gathering the kid’s tiny frame against yours one last time, you hugged him tightly. Grogu cooed and squealed in your arms, a distressed, unpleasant sound, but you couldn’t bring yourself to acknowledge it. If you stayed with him for a second longer, you were going to lose the battle against your tears, and you couldn’t do that. It wouldn’t do anyone any good. Instead, you let him go, rose to your feet, and extended your hands toward the Mandalorian.

“Okay,” you said firmly. “I’m ready.”

The bounty hunter stared back at you silently for a moment, glancing between your face and your extended hands, wrists together, fingers balled in tight fists. “What are you doing?”

“I’m your quarry, remember? You can’t take me into town and hand me over to your Guild agent without restraints.” You nudged your hands in his direction again, giving him a wobbly smile. “Promise I won’t try to bust out of them this time.”

Mando hesitated, but after a moment, he crossed over to the forbidden silver cabinet along the wall, punched a code into the control panel, and pulled it open. Inside, it was as you had begun to suspect – full of an intimidating collection of firearms, blades, incendiaries, and ammunition. He reached in and produced a medium-sized set of silver binder cuffs. Wordlessly, he closed the cabinet and crossed back to you.

You wondered if perhaps you imagined it, but as he sealed the cuffs around your offered wrists, you thought he might have swiped the warm, leather pad of his thumb across the inside of your palm. Goosebumps erupted up your arm at the sensation.

“There,” he said, his voice heavy and dark. “Now let’s go.”

___

“Welcome to the Nevarro Municipal Center.” The voice of the protocol droid behind the oversized reception desk was cool and posh, and Din felt his hackles raise instantly. “Do you have an appointment?”

At first, after leaving Darro and his crew to manage the offloading of the quarries in stasis, the Mandalorian had led you across town to the quiet, modest office space Karga had been renting the last time he had been on Nevarro. However, rather than finding his Guild agent, he had instead come upon Mythrol shutting down his computer console and packing up for the night, the desk across from him empty and covered in a thin layer of dust. It was only then that the bounty hunter learned that Karga had packed up and moved into one of the larger buildings in the city center, claiming a need for something more “official” to match his new political title.

Following the blue, fish-like man’s directions, Din had back-tracked toward the central plaza, and the two of you had eventually found yourselves in the polished, echoing lobby of a large building with a whitewashed exterior. You were conspicuously the only living beings in sight, the lobby’s only other occupant a bronze TC unit holding an official-looking datapad.

“Sir? Do you have an appointment?” the droid repeated when he didn’t respond.

The bounty hunter gritted his teeth and fought back a sigh of irritation. “I’m here to see Greef Karga,” he said curtly.

“Unfortunately, sir, the High Magistrate is otherwise engaged. I would be happy to set up an appointment for you, perhaps sometime next week?”

Din shook his head and took a step forward, closing the distance between himself and the desk. “He’s expecting me. Please tell Karga that the Mandalorian is here to see him – he will know it’s me.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, sir. The High Magistrate is currently in a meeting with a very important client – the senior foreman of the New Republic’s shipyards, if you can believe that!” The TC unit sounded deeply impressed, almost reverent. “I’m sure you understand – he will not be interrupted.”

Din, of course, was entirely unmoved. And it was becoming increasingly clear to him that this droid would be of no assistance. Swearing under his breath in resignation, he wrapped his fingers around your upper arm and swiftly escorted you down the hallway on the other side of the reception desk.

As he had ushered you through the city, he had watched as your clear sadness at saying good-bye to Grogu morphed into a profound, growing unease. You had taken to keeping your eyes on the ground in front of you, refusing to look him or anyone else you met on the street in the face, and your calloused, capable hands were balled into fists so tightly your knuckles shone white in the blue light of your binder cuffs. From where his hand held your arm, he could feel that you were trying not to tremble, and he could see you chewing mercilessly on your bottom lip.

You were terrified, and it set Din’s teeth on edge in a way he couldn’t fully explain. All he knew for certain was that he needed to get this over with, as quickly as possible.

As the two of you shoved your way past, the protocol droid let out a mechanical gasp of outrage and immediately began toddling after you. Din, however, paid it no heed and simply walked faster, urging you along. He refused to allow some stuffed-shirt bucket of bolts delay him any further.

Luckily, after a few turns and a brief flight of stairs, Karga’s glass-walled office came into view.

The cool protests of the protocol droid, who was still doing its very best to catch up, took on a shrill tone then. “Sir. Sir! I must ask you to – now, you wait just a minute! You cannot simply barge in – ”

But that was precisely what Din did. Before the droid could stop him, he turned his shoulder into the office door and slammed it open with more force than was probably necessary.

As the door swung inward, the Mandalorian took in the sight of two men standing in the center of the room, clearly in the middle of a tense conversation. One, he would recognize anywhere, with his dark skin, precisely trimmed goatee, and heavy, sumptuous red robes. Karga’s hands were extended in a placating gesture, but his eyes were tight and closed off. The other man was entirely unfamiliar, though it took Din less than a second to determine that he didn’t like him.

He was tall, thin, and human, with pale skin and almost unnaturally red hair – dark and rich like the color of wine. He was dressed deceivingly simply in a plain, gray uniform with black boots, though upon closer inspection, Din found the fabric of the uniform to be finer than any he had ever seen on a man of his profession, and his boots shone as though frequently polished. Everything about him was neat as a pin, not a single hair out of place, and his thin mouth was twisted in an ugly sneer that reinforced the impression that the two men had been about to argue before you two had exploded through the door.

The metallic, tottering sound of the harried protocol droid finally catching up to you broke the strained, stunned silence.

“Oh, I am deeply sorry, High Magistrate, please forgive me, this gentleman and his companion stormed right past me – ”

Karga startled out of his surprise then, his expression quickly shifting from taut to welcoming. “Mando! I thought I might see you this evening – I watched the Razor Crest dropping through the atmosphere from my window. Please, come in, old friend.” He stepped forward, beckoning you both further into the room. “TC-48,” he added, “you’re dismissed for now. Thank you.”

If the protocol droid had had any ability to create facial expressions, Din was certain that it would have looked quite taken aback at the dismissal. Its voice sounded confused as it stuttered, “Well, I… Yes, High Magistrate” before slipping back out the door.

Karga offered both you and Din a smile that didn’t quite reach his warm, brown eyes. “Apologies for my overzealous droid, Mando. He’s new, still getting used to the place.” He gestured then toward the other man in the room. “And may I introduce my client, Orron Halcard. Master Halcard, this is – ”

But before Karga could offer any additional information, the man in gray stepped forward and tucked his hands behind his back. “I believe you have something that belongs to me,” he said abruptly. His voice was cultured and cold, his expression aloof, and the moment he spoke, Din could feel all of the muscles in your body seize up in response. Immediately, all of his senses were on high alert. To you, this man was a threat, and the urge to protect you from it was almost overwhelming.

“I will see that my asset is in good condition,” Halcard continued. He brought one thin, wiry hand out from behind his back and curled his finger at the Mandalorian, beckoning. “Bring her forward.”

Every instinct at his disposal was screaming at him to keep you far away from his man, but Din knew he could not refuse, not with Karga standing right there. Not with the promise he had made, to ensure that the exchange took place as planned. Wrestling his raging emotions into submission, he forced himself to nod once and draw you forward.

As he did so, he risked a glance at your face. However, to his surprise, in sharp contrast to the fear and anxiety that had been there since the Crest had landed on Nevarro, he found your expression to be carefully, meticulously blank. There was nothing behind your eyes, no tension between your brows or in your jaw. You were entirely vacant, and a sense of dread coated his tongue like ash at the sight.

“Hello again, pet,” Halcard murmured silkily as you came to stand before him. His sharp, pale eyes trailed over you, from your head to your feet, and he brought a hand up to rub his jaw in thought. “Hm. Turn around. Slowly.”

The Mandalorian watched as you obeyed, turning slowly in place as you stared into the middle distance, not looking at anyone or anything directly. You stopped when you faced him once again, and wordlessly, Halcard closed what little distance there was left between you by grabbing onto your chin and yanking you toward him. Using his index finger and thumb, he pressed down hard on the muscles of your jaw, forcing your mouth open. “Hm. Very good,” he said softly as he tilted your head this way and that, appearing to examine your teeth. Once he was satisfied, he dropped your jaw, and you stumbled slightly before righting yourself, never making a sound.

Din could feel his blood boiling under his skin. The sight of that man’s hands on you, the thoughtless way he handled you was enough to make his trigger finger itch.

“Well, she seems none the worse for wear,” Halcard announced. “Put on a bit of weight, perhaps, but that can be remedied.”

He turned his attention back to Karga then, seemingly mollified enough to discuss payment terms, but his last words proved to be the last straw for Din’s restraint. He had been hoping to allow the conversation to continue to evolve naturally, to learn more about you and about this man and what precisely you were wanted for, but he found he couldn’t hold back any longer. The implication that Halcard intended to starve you was too much – he couldn’t not speak.

“What is the nature of your relationship with her?” Din demanded, making no attempt to soften the harsh growl of his voice.

Halcard paused and turned back around, making direct eye contact with the Mandalorian for the first time. His brow was arched, his head cocked in surprise. “I wasn’t aware you were owed such an explanation, bounty hunter,” he replied coolly.

Karga chuckled awkwardly, his gaze darting back and forth between his two guests. “Please forgive my colleague, Master Halcard. What he means is – ”

Din bristled at the intrusion. “I meant what I said,” he snarled. “I want to know what you want with her.”

“What I want with her?” the pale man echoed. His voice had gone dangerously soft. “What an impertinent question. I want only what I am owed. As she very well knows.”

Before Din could demand he elaborate, however, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye, and he watched, relief flooding his chest, as you took your first autonomous step forward since you had left the Razor Crest. Your face was no longer carefully vacant. No – he could see sparks of fury in your eyes, and for the first time, you tugged against the restraint of your binder cuffs.

“I don’t owe you anything,” you spat, your tone steeped in indignation. “Not anymore.”

Your sudden surge of strength was short-lived, however. The moment the words left your mouth, before Din could intervene, Halcard swung. A powerful crack echoed through Karga’s office as his backhand landed across your face, and you were sent reeling away from him.

The bounty hunter was at your side in an instant, catching you as you fell. Your lower lip was split and had begun to ooze dark red, and you had begun to shake. Cursing under his breath at the sight, Din tucked you in close against his body, his other hand flying to his blaster holster.

You were bleeding. He had killed men for less.

Karga’s voice rang out then, cutting through the chaos. “Now, now – let’s everyone take a step back and just calm. Down.”

But the Mandalorian was the furthest thing from calm. The last few minutes had proven to him what he had already begun to suspect, what he had feared to be the truth from the moment he learned just how little information had been provided about you to the Guild. This man had not been seeking you out of any care for your well-being, nor had he been seeking you because you had committed any transgression against him. He had filed your bounty with the minimum amount of information possible to not draw any additional attention to what you were – what he should have known from the beginning that you were.

You were his possession.

“She’s a slave,” Din said then, finally putting words to the realization that had a sick, sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. “You have slave labor working at the Chardaan Shipyards.”

Halcard scoffed at that, his face twisting into something cruel and menacing. “Hardly. She is my servant, indentured to me through a contract with her family line. The most talented bunch of starship engineers I have ever encountered. And she, unfortunately, is the last of them,” he sneered. “You cannot imagine how much time, how many credits her absence has cost my operation. But no matter. She belongs to me.”

Tucked tightly under Din’s arm, you stirred, seeming to regain some strength in the face of his claim. “My family’s debt is paid, Orron! It’s been paid for years, you know this, please just – ”

But Halcard wasn’t listening. Instead, he turned his back to both you and Din, dismissing you entirely and instead giving his full attention to Karga. “The exchange is acceptable. 7,000 New Republic credits, as agreed,” he said firmly, dropping a leather bag jangling with currency into the magistrate’s hands. “Have your bounty hunter take the binder cuffs off her. I won’t be needing them.”

Karga met the Mandalorian’s gaze then, his expression solemn and resigned. Curling his fingers around the bag of credits, he inclined his head, wordlessly ordering the bounty hunter to do as the client ordered.

Din’s jaw worked inside his helmet, his grip on your body tightening of its own volition as he stared Karga down. He knew what he had to do. He only hoped that you would permit him to explain after, that perhaps, with time, you would forgive him.

Silent as the grave, he slowly eased you from his arms and turned your body to face him. He permitted his eyes to meet yours for an instant, and you gazed back at him. He found himself watching, in real time, as you schooled your expression into something placid, something far away. It was a deeply unnatural look on you, you who were so full of life, you who wore your heart on your sleeve, and a heavy ache settled in Din’s chest at the sight. Forcing himself to look away, he thumbed a few controls on his vambrace, and your binder cuffs fell open.

“Stand aside, now, Mandalorian,” Halcard commanded, once again aloof and detached. “The deal is done.”

Din obeyed and stepped back a few paces, putting some distance between you and him.

“Very good.” The foreman approached you once more, and the beginnings of a smirk played on the edges of his thin, cruel mouth. Producing his own set of binder cuffs from a deep pocket of his uniform, he gestured for you to extend your wrists. You did so without a word, and in a moment, you were cuffed again.

However, Halcard did not stop there. Clutching onto your jaw with one hand, he yanked your head to one side, exposing your long, bare neck. With the other hand, he pulled a small, blinking device about the size of a Calamari Flan out of his pocket, and the Mandalorian watched, helpless, as your eyes widened in ice cold fear.

“No, no, no – Orron, please,” you begged softly, your voice trembling, your gaze locked on the mysterious device in the pale man’s hand. With growing dread, Din realized that the device had three wicked-looking metal prongs sticking out from the back side.

Before he could protest, Halcard rammed those prongs into your neck, sinking them deep into the column of muscle just below your ear.

You let out a single scream of pain, your knees buckling beneath you, the only thing keeping you on your feet the grip of the foreman’s hand on your jaw. A thin trickle of blood dripped down the side of your neck, soaking into the collar of your boilersuit.

The red was all Din could see.

Halcard watched, indifferent, as you regained your footing, and once you appeared more stable, he wrapped his fingers around the connector between your binder cuffs and tugged you toward the office door. “Come along now, pet. Our business is finished here,” he said. He offered Karga a single, stoic nod. “A pleasure to meet you, Magistrate.”

You were nearly out the door before the Mandalorian felt it was safe for to speak.

“Wait,” he called, stepping forward.

He could feel his Guild agent tense behind him. “Mando.” His deep voice, ordinarily so jovial, was hard with warning.

Din, however, paid him no heed. “How much to buy out her debt?” he asked.

Halcard froze in place, hauling you to a stop just inside the threshold of Karga’s office. Your head whipped around, and you stared at the bounty hunter, stunned.

Tense silence hung in the air for a moment until the pale man slowly, deliberately turned around to face the Mandalorian. “Excuse me?” he murmured, his jaw tight, his tone carefully cold.

Still, Din was undeterred. “Her debt,” he repeated, more confidently this time. “You say she owes you. And that her absence cost your business money. How much to pay it off?”

Halcard’s upper lip curled in a disdainful smirk. “More than you can afford, Mandalorian.”

“Mando…” Karga echoed, more insistent this time.

Again, Din ignored him, taking another step toward the door. Although he knew it couldn’t be seen by others, there was still satisfaction in the smirk he returned to the foreman beneath his helmet. “Try me,” he said.

Cocking his head, Halcard stroked his sharp, pale jaw in thought. It almost appeared as though he was giving the proposal true consideration. Din could swear that the whole room could hear how his heart raced in his chest as he tried not to get his hopes up. If Halcard cited a truly outrageous sum, or if he denied his proposal, there would be nothing left he could do to protect you.

After what felt like perhaps the longest minute of Din’s life, the other man finally spoke.

“25,000 credits,” he said, his smirk widening with triumph.

Clearly, however, Halcard had very little experience working with bounty hunters of the Mandalorian’s caliber.

“Done,” Din agreed instantly.

He watched as the man’s pale face dropped. “What?”

By his side, you were shaking your head furiously, your lips trembling. “No, Mando, please, you don’t have to – ”

Din met your gaze and raised a hand calm you. “It’s all right,” he assured you, making his voice as soothing and confident as he could manage. Reaching into his utility belt, the bounty hunter produced all seven tracking fobs from this hunt and dropped them onto the dumbfounded Karga’s desk. The metal components clattered on the polished surface but were otherwise silent, their beeping long since silenced. “Your men are unloading each of these as we speak,” he said, his gaze now directed at his Guild agent. “They will find all of them to be legitimate. I will take the payment now.”

Karga took a moment to study the tracking fobs, his wizened face, so purposefully neutral up until now, betraying his astonishment. Din knew that he was doing the math in his head, recalling which of his remaining bounties he had sent with Din and how much each of them were worth. Silently the bounty hunter prayed that his estimation of his payout was accurate. Din had never been one for academics, but when you made your living cashing in bounties, mental math was something you got a lot of practice with.

After a few more moments of fraught silence, Karga finally spoke. “Of course, my friend. 30,000 New Republic credits.” Taking a seat in his high-backed desk chair, the older man pulled out one of his desk drawers and laid his hand upon the print scanner lock atop the safe nestled inside. The safe clicked open, and Karga reached inside, pulling out three pouches made of deep purple cloth. “Yours,” he said, passing each of them to Din at a time.

The pouches had hardly been in his grasp for more than a handful of seconds before the Mandalorian sat one of them down on the surface of the desk. Carefully, wordlessly, he counted out 5,000 credits and tucked them into his utility belt. Then, he closed up the pouch, closed the distance between himself and Halcard, and extended all three bags to him.

“25,000 credits. Her debt is paid. You have been compensated for the absence of your…servant,” Din growled. “Now release the binders, and get that cortical tracking device off her.”

He watched with satisfaction as the arrogance melted off of the other man’s face. “You cannot be serious,” Halcard said through gritted teeth.

Din, however, did not deign to respond. He simply held the foreman’s gaze through his visor, the credits held out between them.

“Fine.” With a grimace, Halcard snatched the proffered pouches out of the air. “You want her that badly, she’s yours.” Hurriedly and with rough hands, he opened your binder cuffs, ripped the tracking device out of your neck, and thrust you toward Din. The Mandalorian caught you effortlessly and quickly gathered you behind him, putting himself between you and Halcard.

“Well. This has certainly been a…productive evening, gentlemen,” Karga said, clapping his hands together. “Master Halcard, if you are satisfied with this exchange, I will have my TC unit escort you back to your ship. I’m sure you’re a busy man. I wouldn’t want to hold you up any further.”

“Oh, yes. More than satisfied.” Halcard rolled the weighty pouches of credits around in his thin, wiry hands with a smile. “This is far more than that pathetic harpy is worth. This should fetch me…why, three replacement assets, at least.”

Din cocked his head at the foreman. “I’m sure the New Republic would be interested to hear that. I wonder what they would think…knowing their largest starship manufacturer is using slave labor in their hangars.”

For the first time, Halcard’s pale skin flared bright red, and he began to sputter indignantly, striding forward as though about to charge at the Mandalorian. “Now, you listen here – ”

“No, sir, I don’t think we will,” Karga interrupted, polite but firm. “Ah, TC-48. There you are.” The bronze protocol droid from the reception desk had pattered into the room behind Halcard, its posture expectant as it waited for orders. “Please escort Master Halcard back to his ship. And no detours, if you please. He’s on a tight schedule.”

“Gods damn you, Karga – ”

“Of course, High Magistrate,” TC-48 said cheerfully. Taking ahold of Orron Halcard’s uniform sleeve, it ushered him inexorably toward the door. “If you would follow me, please sir.”

And Din Djarin watched with swelling satisfaction as the senior foreman of the Chardaan Shipyards was conducted, flushed and cursing, out of the office, down the hall, and into the city beyond.

#din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you #din djarin x f!reader #din djarin fanfiction #the mandalorian fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal characters fanfiction

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moreclaypigeons · 1 year ago

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Mountain Goats fans how are we feeling

Jenny 2... I will put all my analysis about what these things mean under the cut. I would also like to note that after i took these screenshots the 11th (pirate ship sunset) just... disappeared? The post was gone for a fair bit but then came back. may have been a glitch. or maybe a ghost ship.

Here's what I'm getting story-wise:

Someone rode away on their custom Kawasaki with a stinger on the back, leaving the speaker there at the curb so they had to take a bus. But they never saw them again, no one did. Flaky yellow paint of the Kawasaki.. staying up late thinking about how the relationship ended. Time passes and it's winter and they have search parties out for this person. The person crashed while on their bike. And then the speaker realizes it. And the person is dead the end

Now in terms of allusions to the song Jenny:

"You roared into the driveway of our southwestern ranch style house": the house in the first image reasonably fits that description. "Our house faced west": based on the shadows here, the house DOES face either east or west because of the direction that the sun rises.

"on a new Kawasaki, all yellow and black, fresh out of the showroom.": It's the same bike! But, based on the line in the third post, "flaky yellow paint," some time has passed.

"the big orange sun" we see in the 11th image, where the pirate ship sails into the sunset. the image also alludes to "you pointed your headlamp toward the horizon," and "the pirate's life for me!"

post 10 is interesting because it too draws from the pirate's life line, but the imagery is different, and definitely connects/foreshadows the graveyard image. Here is an excerpt from the wikipedia page for jolly rogers: When the pirates' intended victim was within range, the Jolly Roger would be raised, often simultaneously with a warning shot. The flag was probably intended as communication of the pirates' identity, which may have given target ships an opportunity to decide to surrender without a fight.

Miscellaneous:

image 7, with the grecian vase imagery is reminding me of spent gladiator.

i have no idea what the fuck the water tower means.

image 12 depicts a music staff with some notes on it. i know nothing about music but i do know the internet does so i am currently trying to reconstruct it with a program. update mmaybe will follor?

other songs:

According to what John Darnielle has said in hit podcast "i only listen to the mountain goats," Jenny has appeared in 2 or 3 other songs.

"She calls on the phone in Night Light" and "she calls on the phone in Straight Six" and was the sender of postcards in Source Decay. He says, "She is defined by an absence, she has yet to speak. She's in the song Jenny; the other two songs she's in, she's already gone. …She's not there when things are going well, and she's not remembered when things are going well. Jenny is an emblem of more difficult times for people, of wilder times. But also times that they're pretty clearly romanticizing, right, that they're also remembering as the time when they were on a motorcycle with no responsibilities, livin' the pirate's life."

Of course I'm going to listen to those three songs <3

Night light: "Jenny calls from Montana/ She's only passing through / Probably never see her again in this life I guess" oh but we WILL see her again... And then never again. "I was a red dot blinking on a screen up overhead / And then the room went dark" and "Plug a night light in / Leave the porch light on" remind me of the bedside clock and the gas station.

Holy shit Straight Six. I didn't realize this was on Jam Eater Blues until I went to its page on the wiki, but- this is significant cause on their linktree, "stream jam eater blues" is at the top and i was confused cause they also released a bunch of other shit. this is foreshadowing...

Anyways significant moments of Straight Six:

"Dull powder blue paint job / earl scheib special" this could either be the auto station (#2) or the fact that the speaker's car has an earl scheib special paint job (had to research this), which maybe he got from the same auto shop. This song talks a lot about a car. "Rabbit skull hanging from the rear-view" "And I glide down the streets of this city / All night, uptight" "There's a crack in the windshield eighteen inches long / Evaporating snow forming crystals on the chrome" it's hard to tell from the drawing of the van whether there is a crack on the windshield or whether it's just stylized, but..this does intrigue me. And when I heard them mention SNOW immediately after... when the caption to the van post says "searching in the snow".......

Source Decay also mentions driving and cars a lot. Couldn't find anything more significant than what the other songs have though.

If anyone has any other thoughts to share or disagrees or like I missed something- PLEase share i am so eager to hear/talk about this!

#sierra speaks #tmg #the mountain goats #jenny 2 #tmg jenny #mountain goats

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bcbdrums · 10 months ago

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Cadenza

A Soul Eater fanfic. Read on: AO3 | FFn

Fourth in a series of 31 prompt-based one-shots. Prompts from this list.

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A/N: Soul needs to bond with Maka's dad. Just saying. Anime-verse, post-canon. My headcanon is that the room with the piano and pictures on the wall we see in episodes 1 and 51 is actually an art gallery somewhere in the academy. 4. “Hold fast to dreams for when dreams go Life is a barren field Frozen with snow.” --Langston Hughes

Sunlight poured warm and bright through the gallery's picture windows like a curtain, bathing the room in gold. Just like any dawn, it served to bring a sense of freshness and rebirth to the surroundings and a feeling of hope for better things.

It should have been inspiring.

It was not.

Soul stared at the dust that floated through the yellow rays as he sat in the one part of the room untouched by the sun's warmth, the piano next to the wall still in shadow.

He looked down at the keys, pristine and unmarred even by fingerprints — a testament to the academy's custodial staff, he supposed. But, he also rarely heard of the instrument being played.

He set his hands in a familiar pattern, letting them rest upon the smooth ivory, but he didn't play. Countless songs were at his fingertips, but his soul denied each of them. Whatever it was he was yearning for that had brought him back to the rarely-used room, he couldn't identify it to bring it out.

And so he sat unsatisfied, letting memories of the past float through his mind like the dust in the sun and simply staring down at familiar black and white, a small comfort in and of itself even if it couldn't resolve whatever had his soul in such a twist.

"I’d expected to hear something by now."

Soul startled upright at the unexpected intrusion.

“D-Death Scythe!” he exclaimed, the name coming out less respectful and more accusatory, which only added to his sudden panic.

Outside of the collective safety of the classroom and without his meister, Lord Death’s second in command suddenly seemed very intimidating. Not that it stopped Soul's cocky tongue.

“How did you know I was down here!?”

“I saw you heading this way. And the art gallery isn’t exactly a popular student hangout,” was the man's soft reply.

Soul slowly lowered himself back down on the piano bench, seeking that small familiarity for protection as the tall man slowly approached, hands in his pockets and a gentle smile on his face.

“I was looking forward to listening. Your playing is practically legendary,” the death weapon continued, stopping just behind the hinge of the grand piano’s lid and setting a hand on the smooth, black surface.

“Huh?” Soul replied, his initial panic being replaced by confusion. “You must be thinking of Kilik, or someone else.”

“I think Maka talked for at least an hour about you and the piece you played after you two became partners,” Death Scythe continued. He paused and glanced toward the windows, the light still streaming in and quickly increasing the ambient temperature of the room. Or maybe that was just Soul’s nerves getting the better of him. “That’s a night I’ll never forget.”

'Neither will I,' Soul thought, but he wasn’t about to ask the man what had caused his eyes to grow misty and stolen the smile from his face. But before he could fumble out another response, the red-haired man had turned back toward him.

“So how about it? What can you play?”

Put on the spot, Soul wasn’t sure if he should show off, flee, or say something insubordinate. But Death Scythe’s comment about Maka talking about his playing for over an hour had caused the roller coaster of his thoughts to flatline.

She truly thought that much of it? Granted, she was wholly uneducated and slightly tone deaf when it came to serious music, but what he had chosen to play for her—in fact, what had been designed to put her off—had captivated her that much?

Death Scythe was still waiting, his expression calm but his eyes encouraging. Soul thought for another moment and then adjusted the placement of his fingers over the keys. 'Show off,' was what his racing mind kept repeating, and his fingers began flying over the keys in long-practiced patterns, filling the room with boisterous rhythms and jolly harmonies.

He didn't look up, focused on accuracy for something he hadn't touched in years, but he could peripherally see the expression on the man's face. He was impressed, and Soul smirked as he arrived at a cadence where he could stop. He wasn't about to play an entire sonata on the spot, no matter who the audience was.

When Soul finally looked up in victorious satisfaction, the death weapon lifted his hands and offered soft but affirming applause.

"You're very good," was the man's comment after several honoring claps. The words were genuine, Soul knew, but he suddenly had the feeling of being exposed—the way he used to feel during a lesson when he hadn't practiced beforehand and knew his teacher would be able to tell. Sure enough, the proof came out in Death Scythe's next words. "But that isn't what you played for Maka."

Soul wanted to snip at the man for his intrusion and for his assumptions. And he knew it would take the slightest thing—either an insult to his musical intelligence, or, it was past ten in the morning so shouldn't he be at the bar already?—to send the red-haired man spluttering angrily away. But, he found his mouth had gone dry.

As the tall man stepped around the instrument to hover over his shoulder Soul suddenly realized he wasn't seeing him as a death weapon, but as Maka's father. A man who despite flaws that could be listed from sunup to sundown (in his meister's opinion, at least) was still skilled, intelligent, and ultimately someone whose approval mattered to Soul.

"I used to play guitar, you know," Death Scythe said, reaching down to set a hand on the keys. Soul leaned away from the man's proximity and looked up at his slightly furrowed brow, where it was clear he was trying to recall something.

"What kind?" he couldn't help but ask.

"Electric. Les Paul."

Soul's brow rose.

"It's still in my closet somewhere. Haven't touched it since...I was younger than you," the man continued, pursing his lips with a small hum of nostalgia.

The younger weapon glanced between the man's face and his hand still resting on the keys not far from where Soul's had been, but he'd tucked his hands into his lap when the man came near.

"Why'd you stop playing?" he asked, unable to help himself.

Death Scythe shrugged lightly. "Got busy. Chasing souls, chasing after my meister, chasing..."

He trailed off, and Soul mentally finished with the likely demeaning comment of 'tail,' but his curiosity had been piqued now and to offend Maka's dad wouldn't get him any real answers as to why the man had followed him down to the gallery.

Before he could think of something else to say, a single chord rang through the room. It was slowly followed by another, and another. There was no added rhythm, each chord lasting a slow four counts, but it was clear almost immediately that it wasn't that type of piece as Death Scythe played. The progression was complex, having started in happy major but moving quickly to minor and drawing the tension out, approaching resolution but taking surprising turn after turn away from it. Soul glanced away from where he was memorizing the chords to the man's face, his eyes only half-watching what he was doing as they had glazed over, clearly recalling something. And whatever was on his mind, Soul knew it wasn't music theory.

"So you play piano too?" Soul asked, though he could tell from the uncertainty of the man's movements despite the lack of errors that this wasn't an instrument he had much experience with.

Death Scythe didn't reply immediately, hesitating as he seemed to struggle to recall something, and then brought his own impromptu performance to a conclusion with the expected major chord. But everything that had come before it had left the sunlit air with a feeling of melancholy.

The man finally straightened up and took a step away and back out of Soul's personal space, for which the teen was grateful.

"No, just when I would write... To hear the song with a different sound, to see if it was really going where I wanted it to."

Soul's chest was burning with curiosity now, despite the fact that this was Maka's hated, cheating father standing next to him. Had he written the haunting song he'd just played? What was its meaning? How many other songs had he written? And was that guitar in his closet still in fair condition?

Death Scythe moved back to where he'd stood before by the piano lid's hinge, in the position a teacher might occupy. Soul felt the familiar unease of being scrutinized again, but he didn't shrink from it. His expression was open now, watching the older, more experienced scythe and waiting. What for though, he wasn't sure.

"We never had to fight the kishin itself in my day," Death Scythe began, "but we certainly had our share of defining battles."

"Oh yeah? Like what?" Soul couldn't help but quip. He doubted the older weapon had ever dealt with anything quite as painful or terrifying as the blast of the kishin's weapon.

Of course, Soul recalled then with a flash of guilt...the man had lived through exactly that.

"Entire covens of witches. Rogue wizards. Immortal monsters who couldn't hardly sustain damage let alone die," Death Scythe reminisced, glancing out the window as his expression fell to stone.

Soul bit the inside of his cheek. Despite having faced and ultimately helping Maka win against the kishin, there was something too real and ominous in what Death Scythe had said. There was still madness and evil roaming the world, and he couldn't forget his duty just because they'd been victorious against one extremely large threat.

Soul began to mentally pack away the twisting confusion in his chest that had led him to the gallery that morning. His own problems were nothing in comparison to his responsibilities to Maka, or to Lord Death and the rest of the world.

"She doesn't love you because you're close to becoming a death weapon, you know."

Soul's thoughts were arrested again, every one of them floating away like the dust in the sunbeams as his throat constricted.

'What?'

Death Scythe was looking at him again, the hardness to his eyes having softened but not to the place it was when the man had entered the gallery. He didn't speak again, simply staring at him out of the wisdom of experience that was reflected in the clear, teal depths of his eyes, suddenly extremely visible despite the curtain of red hair that was designed to hide them.

When Soul remembered to breathe, he leapt to insubordination as a defense. Because talking about Maka in that way wasn't something Soul ever wanted to do with the older scythe.

"Psht, and what would you know about love?" he retorted cockily.

Death Scythe's expression only softened further, and Soul balled his sweaty hands under the piano in unease. No one ever looked at him the way the man was now, except perhaps Maka, and it was unsettling. As if he could somehow see through him even lacking soul perception, see his thoughts and insecurities and everything in his life that had his wavelength pulsing erratically as he wondered who he was and who he was supposed to be.

Death Scythe shifted to lean against the piano and inhaled slowly. His gaze on Soul clarified in seriousness. His voice remained low and soft as he answered, as it had with every word he'd spoken.

"I know that in the lives we lead as weapons, we're incomplete without it. We belong in the hands of a meister, and that relationship in itself is part of what defines us. Trying to make it on our own, or out of sync with them...it won't work. We'll end up losing ourselves if we don't...allow ourselves to accept love. And give it in return. Because the trust that comes in love is the foundation of a successful weapon-meister partnership."

Soul ran over the words in his mind, processed them... He knew they were true. But rebellion still won out.

"And I'll say it again... What would you know about it?"

Soul didn't like how Death Scythe had seen through him so clearly, to the questions that had haunted him ever since the kishin's defeat as life had slowly begun returning to normal. But, what was normal anymore? His soul had been stirring ever since that day with questions he couldn't even put to words, but hearing one of them spelled out so clearly was a bit more than the young scythe could handle in the moment.

Just who was he to Maka now, after everything?

Death Scythe's response to the dig against him was to hum softly in acknowledgement, his gaze lowering to the floor. But the small, thoughtful smile he wore remained.

He turned back to the window, and Soul noticed the brilliance was fading from the sun's rays. He couldn't see the dust floating in the air as clearly anymore.

"You're still very young."

"Hey—"

"And I don't want you to make any of the mistakes that I made."

This gave Soul pause. He watched in silence as the death weapon's smile began to fade to seriousness again, and he wondered... This was Maka's father. A victim of tabloid fodder for over a decade, an unashamed alcoholic and flirt, an utter failure in domestic life...and the death scythe of death scythes. The way he'd always viewed the man, through Maka's eyes, suddenly merged with the man who had taken that first nearly-fatal blow from the kishin, standing bravely with Lord Death between madness and the rest of the world.

Spirit Albarn turned from the window, piercing Soul with his clear, teal gaze once more. Crimson stared back, open and almost childlike in the hope Soul suddenly found he needed.

"Don't let what you think you need to be...become so important that you lose your soul."

The younger scythe was pierced by the words as well as the gaze, again struck by how the man he'd never wanted to respect had seen straight through him. Curiosity brimmed at the back of his mind, about what could have happened to lead the man astray from the foundation of love he had so aptly named as vital to a weapon's relationship to their meister. But he ignored it, swallowing slowly as he let his grip on nothing fade, his gaze falling to his hands as he spoke.

"What if...I'm not sure I even have the key to my soul anymore?"

Death Scythe's expression fought then between impassivity and a grimace, the man glancing down as the latter slowly won, and Soul had the overwhelming impression of seeing Maka's father once again and not the death weapon.

"Then...you look to your meister. And h— She'll...know where to find it. If you trust her."

The older man pursed his lips and seemed to force away whatever discomfort he felt and then looked back at the teen with knowing, pressing eyes. Soul felt his mouth had gone dry again as he attempted to process what in essence was permission and in fact encouragement from the man to love his daughter.

"So. Soul Eater..."

The red-haired man nodded toward the piano, his soft, parental smile returning as he straightened up from where he'd leaned against the instrument.

Soul looked down. He brought his hands back to the keys and moved them into another pattern, anticipating. They were still sweating, but not for fear of being judged on a mistake.

It all started with one terrifying chord. And after taking a deep breath, he let it resound through the room—through his fingers, through the floor, feeling the vibrations through his bones until the power faded. And then, a single repeated note that increased in speed until it finally climbed.

He let everything fade. The warmth and radiance of the sunlight around him, the gnawing in his chest of something yearned for and unsatisfied, and Maka's father watching him less than two feet away. He let himself slip into the music, ignoring the constraints of tempo and rhythm as he alternated between precision and recklessness, simply playing as his soul demanded.

And through playing... Not for his family, not for aid in battle, and not even for Maka... He felt the beginnings of peace; a settling of his wavelength into the same frequencies vibrating out of the strings as he played for him for the first time in perhaps years.

And that, he finally realized, was what was missing. Ever since the crisis of the kishin's escape, he had spent every part of himself on being what everyone else and especially Maka needed. It was in his nature as a weapon. But as he felt the confusion in his heart lessen, he was forced to admit that Death Scythe was right.

He couldn't continue being everything for Maka, and everyone else, if it all ended with giving every part of himself away. And with all he had learned in his short years at the academy, he realized he was ready at last to find himself again.

These thoughts sent more peace through his wavelength as he let the song almost play him, responding to it as much as he was directing it—the push and pull of the tempo, the power and gentleness of the dynamics, everything in his soul pouring out through his fingers in the way he had always desired but felt he couldn't permit himself to express.

As he let the newfound freedom bring rest to his soul, he suddenly understood just how right Death Scythe was. The passion he felt to be what his meister needed was no longer a pressure, nor carried fear of failure. It was light within him, and he knew...if he continued this pursuit of his own soul—the reason he'd joined the academy to begin with—then he could truly be the weapon partner she deserved.

The revelations washed over Soul as he played the final chord of the song with cathartic release. And he didn't want it to be over. He wanted to keep playing, to let his wavelength spill out in the way he'd first learned before he'd ever discovered his weapon blood, and relearn himself in the way that he never wanted anyone to know was so precious to him. But before he did that, he knew reluctantly that a thank you was in order. He lifted his gaze from the keys.

"Hey—"

Soul blinked at an empty room. Death Scythe was gone, and the suns rays had shifted, lighting up the ivory in an almost golden aura and leaving him feeling empowered, his soul practically vibrating in readiness.

"Hmm," he huffed lightly as one corner of his mouth curled upward just enough to reveal a toothy grin. He shifted his hands on the keys and began another song, his soul rising with the music like the sun.

#soul eater #soul eater fanfiction #soul evans #spirit albarn #death scythe #soul eater evans #spirit #cold nights warm hearts #fanfiction #if you squint there's a Stein mention

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mango-sp1ce · 1 year ago

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Should I Write More Stone City

yknow, the story with Danny and MK as friends who are both from different dimensions and both accidentally ended up in the DC Universe. They both meet each other accidentally but they get on like a house fire, and the Gotham populace should be afraid.

yeah, that one. It’s called Stone City and I only really wrote a random one shot for it that involved Danny and MK pranking Red Robin with MK’s staff and then immediately running from Batman.

also figuring out duo names under the cut:

Not ship names, duo names. The best of friends:

StoneGhost

SunDial (cause of stars, and the sun, and stone dials to tell time)

“I technically died once club TM” (you can make this a group name. Do the car salesmen meme; you can slap a bunch of batkids in this bad boy)

SoulStaff (Or StarStaff)

StoneCrown?

StoneSoul

I know MK usually has noodle based names but it’s so hard to put that with Danny stuff. All I can think of is NoodleGhost and that’s just so silly and I feel like it might be a duo name already for MK and some other LMK character.

SoupSpectre

their colors remind me of a pumpkin. Even though people usually pair Mk with yellow instead of orange. But I don’t feel like using yellow or this will look like my Danny and Duke duo name post.

WAIT I HAVE THE BEST IDEA

AstralProjection (I don’t even know how to color code this one. It’s just perfect dude.)

#dp x dc #danny phantom #dc x dp #batpham #danny phantom crossover #danny phantom fanfic #dp x lmk #lmk x dp #dc x lmk #lmk x dc #dp x dc x lmk

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multi-lefaiye · 10 months ago

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the birth of a son - short story

oh my god i forgot to post this here. anyway this is the short story i wrote recently about my boy eden <3 this is a lil thing all about the first time he summons/creates his homunculus, eddie!

eddie is a physical manifestation of part of eden's soul, in the form of a little imp with sharp lil teeth. he's cute <3

this is based in the original campaign eden was created for and specifically mentions the other players towards the end!

anyway. uh. i feel a bit awkward tagging the whole art taglist for this one oops, so i'm just gonna tag some folks i think would be interested :'> (no pressure to any of you to read this <3) (if you'd rather i not tag you in stuff like this, pls let me know!)

@skitzo-kero @anexor @moonflowerrss @paradoxspir1t @albatris @invaderskoodge @vacantgodling @jezifster @kk7-rbs @corvus-rose

After slipping away from the rest of his ragtag little group at breakfast, it takes Eden around twenty minutes of searching before he finds a spot in the fairgrounds to practice his magic.

He’d thought it would be easier, but it seems that everywhere he turns, someone on the staff is there, taking up valuable space while they mingle and chatter. They all seem nice enough, sure, but the consistent lack of privacy has Eden’s skin prickling with unease.

Of course, in the back of Eden’s mind, he knows he hasn’t had true privacy in some time now. Perhaps he never will again.

(He absently flexes the fingers of his right hand at the thought, feeling white-hot sparks of energy crackle between them.)

But now is not the time to dwell on that.

Soon enough, Eden finds a place to hide, a small nook behind one of the larger tents. Separated from the outside by a thin, beaded curtain, it’s hardly much at first glance: just a low bench with red cushions, a single table, and a lantern bathing the space in a warm, flickering light.

This must be a place for performers to wait for their turn to go onstage. It’s decently comfortable-looking, after all, and just out of sight. Or perhaps it’s somewhere for crew members to take a break, sipping a drink away from the hot sun. Maybe it’s-

He’s getting off-track. Who fucking cares what it’s normally used for? It’ll do for his purposes, and that’s what matters.

Eden lets the curtain fall closed behind him and takes a seat on the bench, ignoring the twinge of pain in his knees as he sinks down. The cushion is thick and comfortable, sinking only slightly under his weight as he gets settled. It almost makes him uneasy for reasons he doesn’t know how to articulate, but he chooses to put that out of his mind. That’s not important.

What’s important is the gem hidden in his pocket, a glimmering black opal. It’s small, only a little bigger than a marble, but it’s worth more than its weight in gold. If he were so inclined, he could sell this marble and, presumably, live comfortably for decades to come.

(At least, that was what that ringmaster fuck had told him when Eden had explained what he needs for this spell. He isn’t sure how much he trusts that fucking freak’s assurances on anything, but that’s not the point. Like the room and the strangely disquieting bench, the marble will work for what Eden needs.)

Eden takes the marble out, staring down at it as he rubs it lightly with one clawed finger. At first glance, the gem’s surface is smooth and inky black, but as he stares closer he sees flecks of other colors hidden in the darkness. Shining yellows, vibrant greens, burning reds, icy blues, and dozens more all swirling together. It’s beautiful, Eden supposes, but he’s never been a particularly good judge of that sort of thing. It almost reminds him of-

The thought dies a swift death before it can finish forming. He needs to stop stalling and letting his mind wander. He has work to do.

With that in mind, Eden holds up the opal, allowing it to catch the light from the lantern, and closes his eyes. Then, in a low voice, he begins to speak, the long-forgotten words falling off his tongue with practiced ease.

“Ex hac gemmā, nāscere, homuncule.”

As he speaks, he feels the gem grow warm between his fingers, vibrating as each word washes over it. All at once, the air in the alcove seems to warm by several degrees, the air around Eden’s head swirling and churning with potential. Eden’s breath slows, and he opens his hand, allowing the opal to float slowly upward. He says the words again.

“Ex hac gemmā, nāscere, homuncule.”

There’s a loud crackle in the air, deafening in the otherwise silent space, and something deep inside Eden’s chest aches. His heart is pounding behind his ribs, a trapped bird desperately trying to escape its cage, and for one brief, hysterical moment, he fears it’s going to burst. But rather than frighten him, the knowledge only sends a thrill through him. And he says the words again, one more time.

“Ex hac gemmā, nāscere, homuncule!”

As he says the words one final time, his eyes fly open, glowing white, and watches as the gem pops. He feels a burst of agonizing, searing pain in his gut, strong enough to make him double over and bite back a shout, as the opal shatters in a shower of white and gold sparks. The flame in the lantern snuffs itself out, plunging the little nook in darkness, and all at once the air is still, silent, and cold.

Eden lets out a shaky breath. The pain is beginning to fade, but he rubs his abdomen for a moment nonetheless. It’s never hurt that much to perform this spell before, but he chalks that up to how long it’s been. After all, he last summoned the creature when he was still in university, finishing his doctorate.

“Doc?”

Eden lifts his head, eyes wide as he stares at the little creature sitting on the table before him. It’s small, just enough to fit in the palm of his hand, and looking up at him with its head tilted to the side. He can’t discern its features in the darkness, though, and that just won’t do. Almost unconsciously, Eden lifts a hand and snaps his fingers at the lantern, willing it to light again as he casts produce flame. It does so with a flash of gold, and once again the room is bathed in low, warm light. Despite that, it feels strangely cold.

He hardly notices, though, instead turning his attention to fully regard the creature looking up at him--his homunculus.

The homunculus looks different from how he remembers him, but at first it takes a moment for Eden to figure out what’s wrong. He looks mostly the same. Small, bipedal, with hind legs like a rat. Two nubby horns. Pointed ears. Mop of curly golden hair, hanging just past his tiny shoulders. Bat-like wings, connected to his forelimbs the same way. Sharp claws. Round, humanoid facial features. Short tail. Fluffy-

It’s then that it strikes Eden what’s wrong. The homunculus is covered in a fine layer of lavender fur, only broken up by patches of scales on his face and legs. That’s new.

The homunculus blinks at him, then smirks wryly as he tilts his head to the other side, like a puppy. “What’s wrong, Doc?” he asks, his voice just as high-pitched as Eden remembers. “You forget how to talk?”

He’s just as rude as Eden remembers, at least, and the realization is such a relief that he laughs, a wide grin spreading across his face.

“No,” he says, “I was just making sure you didn’t come out dangerously deformed this time. You’re no use to me if you die after five minutes.” The homunculus scoffs, offended.

“I’ll have you know, any problems in my physical form are your fault, as the alchemist in this situation,” he says matter-of-factly. “You should know that, Doc. That’s the first thing they teach you at that stupid magic college. Or did you lose your fuckin’ brain cells when you graduated?”

“I can send you right back,” Eden reminds him, reaching out to flick the little creature. “Don’t sass me, brat.” It’s an empty threat, and it seems they both know it, if the way the homunculus’ eyes light up are any indication.

“Yes, yes, go ahead!” he squeaks, flapping his wings as he swats at Eden’s hand. He seems to be balancing well, not swaying even slightly as he bats at Eden. “Waste the precious resources you used to summon me!” Eden reaches around to poke at the homunculus’ back, grinning at the indignant squeal he receives in response.

“Motor skills look good so far,” Eden hums thoughtfully. “And, clearly, not existing for 634 years hasn’t done anything to your cognitive ability.”

“Why would it have?” the homunculus drawls. “You look like you’re doing fine.” If he’s surprised to hear how long it’s been since he was last summoned, it doesn’t show on his face.

“Fair point,” Eden agrees. He knows the homunculus is created from the essence of his very soul, so perhaps it isn’t too surprising that the little freak is doing just fine. After all, occasional aches and pains aside, Eden’s been remarkably unaffected by his own resurrection. Though… if the creature came from his soul, is that why it’s covered in fur this time?

Perhaps the curse has more of a grip on me than I thought.

It’s a disquieting realization, but Eden puts it to the side for now. He has more pressing concerns, like catching up with the homunculus.

“Things have changed since you were last here,” he begins, reaching out one hand. The homunculus has the audacity to look offended, rolling his eyes as he climbs onto Eden’s outstretched palm.

“No shit,” he says. “For one thing, you look--and smell--a lot more like a corpse than usual. When’s the last time you took a shower?” Despite his grumbling, the homunculus gladly clambers up Eden’s arm, digging in his tiny claws to keep his balance, before settling on the tiefling’s shoulder. “And when’s the last time you got a good night’s sleep?”

“Fuck you, I’m perfectly fine.” Eden flicks the creature’s nose, smiling as the homunculus nips his fingers in response. The creature’s teeth are sharp, but far too small to cause any more pain than a slight prickling sensation. It reminds Eden of a teething puppy.

“Anyway,” Eden continues, “that’s not the point. I’ve been… traveling, let’s say, so you’re gonna have to get used to that while you’re sticking around.” He can’t imagine that’s going to be a problem--the homunculus is a notoriously adaptable creature. Really, all the creature needs is food to eat, a place to sleep, the chance to relieve himself on occasion, and the presence of his creator.

“Eh,” the homunculus says, “that’s okay. Didn’t think you were the adventuring type, but whatever.” He’s making himself comfortable on Eden’s shoulder, curling his tail around himself. “That why you smell bad?”

“I don’t smell bad,” Eden says. He moves on before the creature can protest, shifting his stature automatically to account for the additional weight on his shoulder. His joints ache at the movement, but he ignores them. “Anyway, I’ve also been doing a lot of fighting. There’s a lot of things that want me dead, turns out, and we both know that you aren’t built to handle a situation like that.”

“I could be,” the homunculus offers. “I could bite the shit out of someone. I could kill them. I could disembowel them with my powerful fangs-”

“You couldn’t bite through the skin of an apple without help,” Eden tells him. “Stop lying.” In response, the homunculus bites his neck, only serving to prove Eden’s point as the action prompts nothing more than a snort. “You’re not helping your case here.”

“I hate you,” the homunculus grumbles. “You’re the meanest alchemist alive, Doc.” He settles down on Eden’s shoulder, curling up like a little kitten. “You’re so mean to me, your only son.”

“That I am,” Eden agrees, ignoring the way something in his chest flutters at the homunculus referring to himself as Eden’s son. He’ll have to remind him not to do that. “Anyway, we’ll have to figure out a plan to keep you out of the fray the next time a fight happens, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.” The homunculus hums in agreement. It seems the creature’s initial burst of energy is waning, and now it seems to be growing tired.

“Anything else, Doc?” the homunculus asks. “Or can I take a nap? Being born is very tiring, you know.” Eden hesitates briefly before he answers.

“Well,” he says, “I’m traveling with some new… friends. I should give you a primer on them before you meet them, so you don’t embarrass both of us.” The homunculus lifts his head to shoot Eden a dirty glare. Before the creature can protest, though, Eden continues. “Look, I can already tell some of them are going to adore you, you annoying shithead, but the other ones would probably gladly swat you like a fly if you get too close.” At that, the homunculus’ eyes widen in unease.

“You have bad taste in friends, if they’d kill a piece of you that quickly,” the homunculus tells him gravely. It’s Eden’s turn to roll his eyes.

“Stop being dramatic,” he warns the creature. “I just mean that you’re an annoying little gnat. If any of them wanted to smack you for it, I probably wouldn’t be able to stop them.” That doesn’t seem to offer the creature any comfort, but he nods.

“Okay,” the homunculus says. “Alright. Tell me about them. I need to know which ones to avoid.”

And so he does. He starts from the beginning, telling the homunculus about each new ally in order of meeting them.

Pevier, the gentle aasimar. Naive at times, sometimes frustratingly so, but full of a genuine desire to help and do good that Eden can’t help but admire. At times, Eden believes Pevier doesn’t deserve to be here, but he supposes that just speaks to the cruelty of the world they’re in. It may be impossible to do forever, considering the threats they face, but Eden wants to protect that naivete, if he can.

Hyndrol, the sharp-witted elf. Clever and quick on her feet and with her words, trading barbs with Eden with an ease that makes him feel remarkably at home just as much as it drives him up the wall. He can tell she has her secrets, but he can’t exactly begrudge her that, all things considered (after all, they’re all hiding one thing or another). She’s loyal to the end when it matters, for better or for worse, and he respects that.

Barley, the cursed tabaxi. Unlike anything Eden has ever seen in his life, with a charming smile and a ferocity boiling just beneath the surface that has him deeply curious. Eden genuinely cares about what Barley thinks of him, much more than he has with anyone in a long time, and the realization makes him deeply uncomfortable. He can’t quite escape the feeling that he’s not measuring up, no matter how hard he tries.

Strata, the powerful dragonborn. Tall and brutal, overwhelming in her strength and awe-inspiring to see in action, and remarkably intimidating even when relaxed. Eden normally wouldn’t put much thought into the feelings of someone he’s known for such a short amount of time, but he can only imagine how strange this all is for her, a literal fish out of water in a world that thinks her kind is extinct. He admires her strength, physically and otherwise, but he’s sure the feeling isn’t mutual. No matter. As long as Strata stays with the group, Eden can accept her disdain.

And, finally, James, the mysterious elf, the newcomer. Dark and intriguing, cloaked in shadow despite his generally friendly demeanor. Eden still isn’t completely sure what possessed him to approach the stranger with the offer of joining them at the circus, aside from sheer impulsiveness and a need for someone to want him around, but here he is nonetheless. He seems decent enough, but… well. Time will tell how poor that decision turns out to be, Eden supposes, but if nothing else, he seems like a good ally for now.

Predictably, most of the nuances of Eden’s relationships with his new friends go over the homunculus’ head. All the creature cares about, of course, is how easily he’ll be able to convince each of them to pat his head and give him apple slices.

“You’ll get to meet them soon enough,” Eden sighs. Absently, he lifts one hand to stroke the creature’s back, smiling despite himself at the ragged little purr he receives in response. “And you can get started on your diabolical scheming to kill me in my sleep and take my place.”

“Sounds like a plan!” the homunculus chirps, nuzzling his hand. “Give it a week! They’ll like me better in no time.” He then yawns. “But… wanna sleep right now. We can meet ‘em later.” He closes his eyes, making himself cozy, and then reconsiders after a moment, opening one eye to look at Eden curiously. “... No. Sleep now. Then food. Then friends. I haven’t eaten in 600 years.”

“You haven’t existed in 600 years,” Eden points out. “You haven’t had a stomach to feed.” The only response he receives is a quiet little snore, and he huffs a sigh, rolling his eyes fondly. Still, he settles back into the bench, letting the creature snooze on his shoulder.

He can find everyone again later. For now, he can just enjoy some peace and quiet with his creation.

#multi makes text posts #Multi's Writing #eden linnaeus #doesn't use eddie's name in here but trust me. that's who this is. lil guy of all time

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aquostrainer · 6 months ago

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Where my Power Rangers fans at? This is a mini project that spawned out of a random sketch over the course of a couple days...

Power Rangers: Rainbow

(I wanted to call it Prism, but I recently found out an unadapted Sentai team was labeled as the Prism Rangers in PR lore. Anyways...)

This concept is based on multiple things, mainly magic, the colors of the rainbow, elements and gemstones. These Rangers come from Earth and realms beyond to fight an enemy seeking to conquer the world across dimensions. I don't really have that much lore figured out so I'll just briefly explain the powers of the individuals Rangers:

1. The Ruby Red Ranger

No team can function without a solid leader. Therefore, the Red Rainbow Ranger represents the element of Earth. Each Ranger is gifted a magical staff as the equivalent of their morpher, and this staff provides them varying levels of power to control their respective element. They can also cast a transformation spell upon their staff to become a specialized weapon. Red Rangers are often relegated to wielding swords, so I wanted something unique that still filled that niche. Red can summon a shovel that acts as a close combat weapon or a sidearm. Its main ability allows her to cause destructive tremors in the earth. I imagine this character as a roughly 19-year-old college student.

2. The Amber Orange Ranger

Like the rainbow, I wanted every other Ranger to function as a transition from one to the next. Quick spoiler: Yellow represents the element fire. So, my idea of a combination of Earth and Fire is Metal. As the second-in-command, Orange is tough as steel, and commands all metallic substances with his power. I had this loose idea of their weapons also reflecting their number in the team, so Orange can transform his staff into two, a hammer and a sword. Out of uniform, this character is probably one of (but definitely not thee) most different of the team because he is actually the 35-year-old metal/woodshop instructor at the college most of the characters attend. Besides the actual mentor figure (a talking rainbow dragon, did I mention that?) he often acts as a secondary mentor.

3. The Topaz Yellow Ranger

Yellow burns bright as the sun, so of course this Ranger commands the element fire. Typical of Yellow Rangers, he is a high-energy team player. Beyond being a Ranger, he is an athlete who mainly specializes in cycling (clock the shape of the helmet). This Ranger pushed me to think more outside the box with his weapon. He can conjure a three-barrelled device that functions as either a lantern or a flamethrower. I was thinking it could probably use a third function to remain on-theme, but I haven't come up with one yet... I imagine him to be 20-21.

4. The Emerald Green Ranger

Functionally the "heart" of the group, as green sits in the middle of the colors of the rainbow, this Ranger commands electricity. They keep the spirit alive! Again, I don't have much lore on these characters figured out. So far, this character is disabled (missing their left eye, wears an eye patch) and they're a tattoo artist. 21-years old. They have what I think is one of the coolest weapons of the group: a bo staff that collapses into a four quarter staff, but instead of being held together by chain links, it's electricity.

5. The Opal Cyan Ranger

There haven't been enough explicitly cyan Power Rangers for any kind of archetype to be applied to them, but mine is the youngest of the group, being a high school student who participates in a summer educational program at the same college. They represent the childhood amazement of superheroes, and for better or worse, they look at their work as a Ranger as a chance at having the best time of their life. They are a dancer who goes with the flow, seeking to experience all that life has in store. Maybe you've guessed, but they command the element of air. Their staff can transform into a weapon reminiscent of ribbons used in performance. This one can extend beyond its normal size like a lasso or a whip, and it can be used to conjure gale-force winds. 16-years-old

6. The Sapphire Blue Ranger

Blue, my favorite color! Surprise, surprise, she is the genius of the group. She majors in climate studies and seeks to be an environmental scientist. Her element is ice, an allusion to the archetype of Sentai Blue, who can be the cool, calm and collected types. I struggled with coming up with a weapon that represents the number six, so I just gave her a cool-looking pickaxe. But hey, if you look at the blade as a polygon, it does have six sides! 18-years-old.

7. The Amethyst Purple Ranger

The wild card of the group, this Purple Ranger hails from the aforementioned other realms before, presumably the same one the rainbow dragon comes from. Think of her as basically Wonder Woman or Nubia as a Power Ranger. She's a warrior who fights injustice and operates from a place of compassion. Functionally she is like the Pink Ranger of the team (although I have ideas for incorporating pink into the "special" Rangers for this team, haven't designed them yet). She commands the element of water, which can be gentle and healing, but also tempestuous and unrelenting. Her special weapon is a seven-pronged trident (probably not the right word cuz 'tri' is three, I know). Note the gold and silver blades, of which the silver are ejectable, harpoon-like projectiles. She's 22-ish.

Of my recent art, I'm genuinely most proud of this. As a newbie artist, you frequently look up every now and then and get a reminder of how much your skills have grown, and I feel like this marked a significant step in my journey. Again, this is hilarious to me because it all started as a random sketch. I had no intention of making the whole idea. Suddenly I found myself churning out each Ranger every two hours or so. It was fun. I wonder if I'll ever use them for a bigger project one day. Let me know if you like these 😁

#my art #fanart #art #comics #power rangers #super sentai #pride #pride month #artists on tumblr #digital art #digital illustration #digital drawing #digital artist

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paladin-of-nerd-fandom65 · 1 year ago

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Got some more questions

1: I know you said Lois and dick definitely would say no to tattoos but what about those stick on tattoos that disappears after a couple of days or goes away when underneath water?

2: let’s say you were writing a manga/comic series about the duo, how would the series end? Happy ending, bittersweet?

3: besides comic books, do they read other types of books?, like goosebumps, diary of a wimpy kid, maybe captain underpants, etc…

4: does the duo create an in-universe comic about them and share it to the world?

5: is the comic series, war of the Superman/new krypton canon to your universe? Like Chris getting aged up and down, thara sacrifices herself to stop a red sun, etc…

1. Now those tattoos are acceptable. Here’s where also Dick and Lois differ in their approaches; Dick will allow Jake those tattoos along as the image is relatively appropriate for the public as he doesn’t want his boy to get into trouble with his school teachers and staff. Lois meanwhile is fairly lenient with whatever of those tattoos Chris wears since she can admit to having less “appropriate” ones she wore herself back in the day.

2. A happy enough sort of ending that implies future adventures to come for the two, whether it be a mere few in universe days later or probably picking up their story years later with them grown up. They remain friends and allies no matter what, any character development arcs and directions being fulfilled through the story having merit for both future expansion and as reference for any sort of sequel series. I can see also any of the more sympathetic or at least compelling antagonists the two faced in this series having been changed by their various encounters with our heroes, leading to them returning in a sequel series, possibly as allies, either genuine or of convenience.

3. Oh for sure when they were younger, Captain Underpants was one of their go to book series. As they grew older, the Duo diversified their reading levels and portfolios though in differing directions. For example, Chris found himself draw to nonfiction almanacs, factbooks and other encyclopedias about various subjects he’s into ranging from the modern history of countries around the world to the eras of prehistoric life. By contrast, Jake looks up old classic fictional literature that are usually considered ‘grown up’ for his age but nonetheless he can enjoy. As of this writing, he’s currently midway through Charles Dickens’ ‘Oliver Twist’ after just finished with Ouida’s ‘A Dog of Flanders’

4. I can see them giving that a try given Jake being inspired by the aforementioned literary classics and Chris also having some impressive art skills of his own despite a lack of true training. They’d mostly based the stories they draw based on their own daily lives, both in and out of the costume, even basing some characters especially super villains based on their cranky, kill joy school teachers. They just pray to God, Rao and X’hal that those villains don’t become a reality because otherwise, it’ll just be plain freaky and scary

5. Only tiny elements from that arc are adapted into this canon continuity, mainly the existence of New Krypton and Thara Ak Var being present albeit being a preteen more or less about Chris’ age. Aside from Chris and Thara being younger and attending school together, the main divergence comes from the fact both New Krypton and Earth in general have more stable and warm relations between their peoples and ruling classes. It’s just Kryptonians rather prefer keeping to themselves from most Earth affairs unless it’s a crisis that affect both worlds, i.e. invasions from the likes of the Gordanians, Yellow Lanterns or even most likely Darksied and his army of Apokoliptan New Gods

(Phew) Took a while to get to these but It’s sure worth it my friend @gothicghost2000

#chris kent #jake grayson #starburst duo #dick grayson #lois lane #literature #new krypton

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genavere · 1 year ago

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Magic Madness

I see magic. I have to ask.

Ahh, that one! The Magic Madness one. The one with magic that drives you mad...

To be honest, it is the same as Blinding Flames just under a different title. I had decided to go a completely different way with that story, but I still might use some of it.

It is based on the idea that some of those who suffer from Magic Deficiency Syndrome don't die, but actually go mad from the illness and the attempts to cure it. That is very rare, but possible...and Layla ends up going mad and is the antagonist in the story.

Here is a snippet of it, and I will share a snippet of Blinding Flames, too.

Magic Madness

Anna Heartfilia moved through the manor with a determination that made none of the staff approach her. None of that mattered to her, they were not who she was there to see. No, the lord of the manor, ruler of these lands, and general pain in her ass Igneel Dragneel was her target. She just hoped he remembered that he owed her. If he did not, there would be pain—in her foot and his ass after she kicked him. Coming up to his double office doors, an elaborate set up that she had told him during the designing of his home was tacky, she waved her hand and the doors swung opened with grand flourish. Two sets of golden eyes turned to stare at her. Igneel stood from behind his desk and stared at his childhood friend in alarm. “Anna?” “Teach?” Anna looked at the owner of the second voice, Igneel’s third son, Natsu. Perfect. She waved her hand again and the office doors closed behind her as she strolled to the large desk. “Igneel, I need your help, and, in a sense, Natsu’s, as well.”

And now, for a snippet of Blinding Flames, which is basically the same story concept.

She remembered that day vividly. The sun setting in the distance, shimmering off the ocean far below. Reds and oranges mixed with yellow glows. Above it, the sky melded to purples and blues. A single star glimmered where she could see it. Strands of hair caught on the wetness that stained her cheeks as the wind caught them. Rivers eroded away the blood and dirt that cracked with every twitch. The brightness of the sunset burned her eyes, too used to the crawl space she had been kept in when not subjected to the tortures set upon her. At least they had taken her blindfold off for that moment. That single moment of beauty. It had burned itself into her memory. The last clear scene she had been gifted by her tormentors before the glint of steel took it all away. Her breath, the sunset… And her vision.

I plan to still work on these some time. In between the FT Rewrite, lol.

Thank you for the ask!

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strawbebearts · 1 year ago

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D&D Tarot Set masterpost

I made a tarot series based on the PCs and significant NPCs in our dnd campaign. Feel free to ask me about any of them!

Disclaimer: I took a lot of inspiration and direction from the Hero Forge minis my group members made of their characters, especially for weapons and armour I wasn't comfortable designing myself.

[Image ID: The Fool. A jaunty fairy with curly hair, a fancy coat and green/orange butterfly wings hovers in the foreground. He carries two wands emitting various coloured lights. Behind him there is an upturned spectral hand, below him is a grimoire page on devil pacts torn in half, and above him is a branch with several oak leaves and acorns.]

[Image ID: The Magician. A haughty fairy with slicked-back reddish hair, fanciful robes and deep blue wings hovers with a polished staff in his right hand and a swirl of green smoke surrounding his raised left hand. A sword, a cup, a pentacle and a wand hover around him, wreathed in the same green smoke. A cloudy infinity symbol hangs above him and an oak branch in brown line art sits below him.]

[Image ID: The High Priestess. The drow goddess Lolth perches on a glowing half-moon seat. Cobwebs trail across her deep grey skin, her white hair hangs across her shoulders, and she wears a malevolent grin. She is gesturing over a crystal ball balanced on her knees while she holds up an aged scroll with demonic runes in her left hand. Two black pillars inscribed with her spiderweb symbol flank her, trailing more cobwebs.]

[Image ID: The Empress. A gnome woman with a long blonde braid and a confident smile lounges in a blue chair. She wears scale armour and a chainmail shirt over a turquoise tunic and a crimson cloak trails off the left side of the seat. She holds a jeweled longsword aloft in her left hand. A spiked golden crown sits on her head. At the foot of her chair is a pie in a white dish with a feminine symbol formed of pastry on top. In the distance behind her is a forest treeline.]

[Image ID: The Emperor. A purple tiefling sits back comfortably in an imposing wooden throne with one boot up on the other knee. He has small horns curving back from his forehead and long dark hair under a fancy golden crown. He wears a luxurious red robe and his fingers are adorned with rings. He holds a black crystal staff or sceptre loosely in his left hand.]

[Image ID: The Hierophant. A lion-themed khajiit with golden eyes stands between two pillars topped with sunray decorations. He wears silver and black plate armour and a white tabard emblazoned with a yellow sun, with a black and gold spiked flail tucked into a hip sheath. His left hand is placed on his chest and his right is raised in benediction. In the foreground a white cat and a black cat sit at attention. A golden key floats above him.]

[Image ID: The Lovers. Two women are embracing and kissing in the foreground. The first is shorter than the other, a barefooted kitsune with long dark-blonde hair, fluffy fox ears and a single fox tail; she wears a pink kimono with flowers embroidered on it. The second figure is a tiefling with dark blue skin and dark brown hair, horns that curve back from her temples and a slender tail with a heart-shaped tip; she wears a simple peasant blouse and skirt and a flour-dusted apron with a rolling pin tucked in her apron. The branch of a cherry tree extends above them with a small black bat hanging watchfully; pink and white sakura petals fall around the couple.]

[Image ID: The Chariot. A brown ox with white socks and soft brown eyes, wearing a golden laurel circlet, pulls a simple wooden cart. A river flows beside her and stars hang above her. Riding on the back of the cart is a small orange turtle with a dark brown shell laced with fiery designs.]

[Image ID: Strength. A young half-elf man in leather armour with his brown hair tied in a topknot crouches to pet a mimic shaped like a treasure chest. The boy wears simple country clothing and carries a steely blue battleaxe across his back. The mimic slobbers as it enjoys its scritches.]

[Image ID: The Hermit. A tanned elf with a shaved head and a white scalp-lock stands contemplatively on a mountaintop, with other mountains fading into the distance behind him. He wears simple monastic robes and sandals, and has a wooden prosthetic left arm crossed over his right hand. Beside him stands a single brown hen, and a large six-pointed star hangs in the sky nearby.]

[Image ID: The Wheel of Fortune. Two glowing yellow figures, featureless except for elven ears and faint suggestions of masculine and feminine torsos, pirouette around a round wooden door carved with the words 'I wish to enter The God and the God'. Behind the door is line art of a huge oak tree. Paper scrolls in each corner of the image show stylized representations of a gust of air, a drop of water, a new leaf, and a flame.]

[Image ID: Justice. An unsmiling half-orc man sits in a high-backed wooden chair. He wears simple country clothes and symbols of the sun. In his left hand he holds a set of golden scales, and his right holds aloft a golden morningstar. Two plain white pillars support a translucent yellow banner. Above him, the ethereal suggestion of a white dove flies.]

[Image ID: The Hanged Man. A dark-skinned eladrin man hangs upside down from a bare branch by one foot. His foot is secured by a length of purple silk. He seems relaxed with his arms behind his head. His light-blue hair hangs downward from a loose tie. He wears deep blue robes with a bronze seashell motif and has a huge silvery sword across his back. His left arm ends in a mess of purplish flesh at the shoulder, and only the bones continue below that.]

[Image ID: Death. A very dark-skinned woman in black plate armour rides on a white horse. A golden crown (matching the one worn by the Empress) sits on her long black hair, and a skull mask slips from her face. There is a silver greatsword on her back and a white rose enameled on her breastplate. In the foreground two elven peasants sit in attitudes of prayer, and in the foreground a silhouetted werewolf howls at the moon. There is a flute in the bottom left corner and a masque and dagger in the top right.]

[Image ID: Temperance. A drow woman with long auburn hair takes a step forward in the foreground, her eyes closed serenely. She wears long boots, a bustier and a blue shoulder cape, and the left side of her face and neck are marked by a glowing violet spellscar. Her arms are spread; her left hand holds a blue orb, while her open right hand is surrounded by a violet nimbus. A pair of silver chalices floats above her head, haloed by the same violet nimbus, and a stream of water pours from one to the other. Behind her, a cave opening descends down into darkness.]

[Image ID: The Devil. An uncomfortably muscular white man snarls, his lank hair falling over his shoulder. The right side of his body is taken over by demonic marks: his right eye is a fiery orange and surrounded by dark veins, there is a fang on the right side of his mouth, and a black and red horn has grown from his skull; the black stone axe he holds in his right hand has fused with his arm, a number of pulsating veins running from his flesh into the shaft of the axe. He holds a flaming torch in his human left hand. Behind him is a pentacle drawn in blood.]

[Image ID: The Tower. A reptilian monster based on the Tarrasque roars in the centre of the image, its back covered with orange bone spikes and its mouth full of terrible fangs. In the background a flash of white lightning forks from the sky. In the foreground a featureless man and woman lie in pools of blood.]

[Image ID: The Star. A young woman with a plain face, olive skin and a brown braid sits by a small pool, leaning on one hand. She wears modest robes that cover most of her skin except her face. Fiery energy surrounds her raised left hand; a hovering ceramic jug pours water into the pool, surrounded by the same fiery energy. Seven glowing stars hang in the sky around a larger, brighter star.]

[Image ID: The Moon. A violet-skinned mind flayer with glowing hooded eyes and a face full of tentacles contemplates a glowing moon suspended between its clawed hands. A pool of some dark substance ripples below it, with the shadowy outlines of six fleeing figures reflected in the middle. In the background is a gilded cage containing a collared white dove (similar to the one in the Justice card).]

[Image ID: The Sun. A young woman with powerful avian legs and a sky-blue crest of feathers on her scalp sits cross-legged in the sun. Her eyes are closed, her head tilted back and her left hand raised to the sun in the top-left corner. Her golden skin has a metallic sheen. She wears a short white robe over a light sleeveless coat with transparent crystal bracers. In the background three sunflowers wave, and where the fourth should be there is instead a golden staff topped by a sunburst with a glass prism at its centre.]

[Image ID: Judgement. A bald-headed genasi woman with rich brown skin marked with golden energy lines stands with her left hip tilted and her right hand raised questioningly. She wears fine clothing of red and turquoise silks finished with gold thread, and a bandolier of potions hangs from her belts. She has a black staff with a serpent's head slung over a shoulder. In the background a mountain split into two halves down the middle looms. In the foreground are two tombstones: one reads 'Sinner' while the other reads 'Loser'.]

[Image ID: The World. In the centre of the image a man in a black religious robe cowers, gazing fearfully at an unseen danger. His bald head is split by an angry red scar that runs from crown to chin, and a symbol of Demogorgon hangs from his belt. Twisting green tentacles form a rough circle around him. The word 'HA' is repeated in red several times across the background. The four corners are occupied by a demon each, one flying among clouds, one swimming with a fish tail, one perched on a rock, and one breathing fire.]

#art #my art #dnd art #tarot #major arcana #dnd tarot

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wjbs-bonkle-au · 2 months ago

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If you want a little. Peek behind the curtain, here's what I assigned each option (and the reasoning for some):

Question 1: Choose a Sea Power song based on its name

Option order is randomised, this is just the order I put them in while making it.

Fire Escape In The Sea - Fire

Lakeland Echo - Water

Down On The Ground - Earth

Obverve The Skies - Air

The Land Beyond - Stone

Oh Larsen B - Ice (shout-out to anyone who knows why I assigned that element to this specific song)

We Are Sound - Sonics

Heavy Water - Gravity (because "heavy water" is another name for barium, which comes the same word as the Bionicle elemental prefix for Gravity, "Ba-")

Don't Let The Sun Get In The Way - Plasma

Want To Be Free - Magnetism (Sea Power don't really have any songs that fit with Gravity or Iron, at least on the albums that I've listened to)

Green Goddess - Plantlife

kW-h - Lightning

Folly - Iron (again, I don't know of many Sea Power songs that would fit Iron, and if they are they're either on one of the EPs that I haven't got around to listening to, or the first album which I honestly don't like)

Transmitter - Psionics

Question 2: Choose a weapon

Option order is randomised, this is just the order I put them in while making it.

Sword - Fire (the first six weapons are based on the Mata's Toa Tools, but this one kinda ended up being an accidental Tom Cardy reference because of the "Sword, fire!" line from #Inspirational)

Sickle - Water (I didn't want to make it too obvious, so where possible I avoided literally describing each Toa's tools but went with similar ones that are easier to imagine, like "hook" is kinda ambiguous and could be misinterpreted as meaning a hook-hand)

Axe - Air

Stone - Your hands (originally it was like. Armoured boots, but I changed my mind and went with this instead)

Shield - Ice (because I couldn't do "sword" again

Very Big Stick - Sonics (some of these are based on what their associated Toa carry, in this case Krakua; however, because I already did a sword, I just went with what Krakua's sword looks like to me)

Hammer - Gravity

Laser - Plasma

Railgun - Magnetism

Whip - Plantlife (because of the whole "vine-whip" concept)

Trident - Lightning (another "there is a canon Toa I based this one on", in this case Nikila)

Spear - Iron (I know Zaria's weapon is canonically a staff, but I headcanon it as looking like a spear)

Staff - Psionics (I forgot that Orde carried a mace, but also Psionics is kinda magic-coded)

Question 3: Choose a Minecraft biome

Option order is randomised, this is just the order I put them in while making it.

Nether Wastes - Fire

Warm Ocean - Water

Swamp - Earth

Jungle - Air

Badlands - Stone

Ice Spikes - Ice

Deep Dark - Sonics

Snow Slopes - Gravity (because you can roll down a slope I guess?)

The End - Plasma

Basalt Deltas - Magnetism

Birch Forest - Plantlife

Stony Peaks - Lightning

Dripstone Caves - Iron

Warped Forest - Psionics

Question 4: Choose a Fallout game

Fallout - Water, Psionics (I think that psychic powers are a thing in the earlier Fallouts? And the plot is about getting a water chip apparently)

Fallout 2 - Magnetism, Plantlife (can't remember why I went with Magnetism, but the Plantlife aspect is because of the GECK. I haven't played the first two Fallout games)

Fallout 3 - Earth, Iron (Earth because you're underground, Iron because Brotherhood of Steel)

Fallout: New Vegas - Fire, Stone (the Legion are associated with fire (and also it's a Western pastiche so there are guns™), and also Stone is kinda Bioniclese(?) for "deserts")

Fallout 4 - Plasma, Lightning (the Institute use a lot of energy-weapons (and even have their own unique variants of them), and from what I remember there is lightning)

Fallout 76 - Air, Gravity (the air part is just like. Because the world is nicer. Can't remember why I did gravity for this one, though)

None - Ice, Sonics (these were just ones that I couldn't think of a place for)

Question 5: What is your favourite colour?

Red - Fire

Orange - Stone

Yellow - Lightning

Green - Air

Turquoise - Plantlife

Water - Blue

Purple - Gravity

Pink - Plasma

Black - Earth

Grey - Sonics

White - Ice

Gold - Psionics

Silver - Magnetism

Bronze - Iron

Question 6: Which of the following Pokémon types is your favourite?

Option order is randomised, this is just the order I put them in while making it.

Normal - Sonics (people who say Pokémon should have a "Sound Type" are wrong)

Fire - Fire

Water - Water

Grass - Plantlife

Fightning - Gravity (because some martial arts incorporate gravity and momentum)

Flying - Air

Ground - Earth

Rock - Stone

Ice - Ice

Psychic - Psionics

Dragon - Plasma

Ghost - Iron (😈😈😈)

Steel - Magnetism

Electric - Lightning

Question 7: Half-full or half-empty?

Half-full! - Water, Air, Stone, Plasma, Plantlife, Lightning, Psionics

Half-empty! - Fire, Earth, Ice, Sonics, Gravity, Magnetism, Iron

Question 8: Pick a classic Doom weapon

Fist/Chainsaw - Ice, Gravity (gravity for the same reason as in Question 6; Ice because the Chainsaw can be used to stunlock certain enemies)

Pistol - Earth, Air (yeah a lot of these don't make sense)

Shotgun/Super Shotgun - Stone, Iron

Chaingun - Water, Psionics

Rocket Launcher - Fire, Magnetism

Plasma Rifle - Sonics, Plasma (because it's loud and plasma)

BFG-9000 - Plantlife, Lightning (the BFG's effects are green and have lightning-like effects)

Question 9: Which element do you hope you'll get?

Ok so this one is obvious (you get a point into whichever element you chose), but at one point I considered doing like. A thing where each one actually gave you points into other elements (either shifted forwards or being the "opposite" or whatever), but I realised that was just kinda mean so I didn't bother.

Bionicle element Uquiz! You don't need to know anything about Bionicle to participate.

#bionicle #uquiz

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nyamcot · 2 years ago

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Colors.. :-] c

ft. Rambling in tags

#don’t rb #wips #trying to figure out it’s proper colors for the 3rd time #because the initial ones I posted I didn’t like anymore :-/ like I somewhat did with sereniti though her colors are somewhat the same #I based it on the sun staff (yellows/reds)#whereas #cobalts is just smth similar to the actual cobalt blue.#it’s not an exact shade of cobalt though but it’s BLUE I guess 🙄🙄!! /silly #using dark sig and to an extent esk aya for its colors here ^__^#you don’t see it here bc I’m using an older sketch but it has suspenders. like esk Aya teehee it’s silly #the yellow on its tail are bands / fancy jewerly(??)#and it has a ring of chains with a stopwatch clinged to it #anyways #it has a silly spirit guy too

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starsfic · 4 years ago

Note

If you would like and are comfortable with it, I'd love to see a drabble based on @winterpower98's Did You Miss Me comic with dark Shadowpeach.

Did You Miss Me

A/N: Swap art by @winterpower98

The mountain was silent when Macaque landed.

“Mei!” he called, first looking around the beach and praying she was here. Hopefully, nobody had gotten deep enough. “Mei?! MEI!” There was no answer. So Macaque ran.

He dived into the jungle, calling for his successor. He found himself switching between her nickname and real name, just desperate for an answer. “XIAOJIAO!” he screeched one last time before he had a stop. His throat was getting sore.

Which shouldn’t happen...

“MACAQUE!”

There! Macaque ran in that direction and soon broke into a clearing. He found several demons, wearing the crest of the Yellow Wind Demon, all groaning in pain. And there... “Mei!” He scrambled for her, some relief being provided in the fact that he couldn’t smell any blood.

He still grabbed her face, searching her face. Nothing. “Are you okay?” he said as he checked. “Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine, but MK-”

Footsteps, behind them. Then there was a honey-sweet coo. “It’s been so long, Liu Er.” Macaque stiffened, mind rushing. For a moment, he was back to seeing Tripitaka desperately struggling against the hands wrapped around his throat, blood leaking into his eye, Red Son being engulfed in blue flames, the mountain slamming down...

He turned.

There was MK. He looked terrified, holding the staff in a white-knuckled grip. And there was a tail, possessively wrapped around his waist.

And there was Sun Wukong. He still looked noble, graceful. And his smile was still sharp.

“Did you miss me?” he cooed. “I missed you.”

#my writing #Lego Monkie Kid #Monkie Kid #roleswap au #au #Macaque #Mei #Long Xiaojiao #MK #Qi Xiaotian #Sun Wukong

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onelamewriter · 4 years ago

Text

Lantern Rite [ Baizhu ]

Summary: Where you and Baizhu are stuck at the pharmacy during the entire lantern rite, but that won't stop your from taking your boyfriend to see them on their last spectacle. Pairing: Baizhu x gn!reader Warnings: None, pure shameless fluff for my mans, male traveler also appears at the beginning, there are a few paragraphs that makes Baizhu look sus and they happened by accident lmao, also a thought but... Baizhu with a buff s/o?? That man can't lift a box on his own so he needs a big strong bae to do it for him u.u Words: 2,342

A/n: This is based off of this post from @ceciliablossoms, a true Baizhu simp intellectual and I respect that. I hope you all can enjoy this mess!

THE SKIES OF LIYUE WERE WARM, soft red and calming yellow melding together into an darkening orange hue as the sun started to hide behind the mountains, a cue to tell the people to prepare to turn their lights on for another lively night at the harbor.

You glanced up to see some birds flying above you, huffing as you shifted the large wooden crate in your arms as you spotted the Bubu Pharmacy in the close distance.

"Are you sure you don't need any help? We could stay for a bit at the pharmacy before going to the others." Aether asked, a bag of cor lapis carefully hanging off one shoulder. You had been doing a commission for Baizhu to pick up some medicines to restock, as Qiqi had already gone out to pick flowers and herbs earlier and he couldn't leave the pharmacy unattended.

On the way to the harbor you encountered Aether and Paimon, who you had already seen around for the past few days doing commissions and helping the citizens. On your walk to and fro, you talked with the duo and heard their stories (and Paimon complaining about having too much work to do, with Aether then retaliating that she does nothing, to which Paimon screeched at him for).

With what little free time they had right now, they were headed to the Wangshu Inn to visit a friend and decided to accompany you to the pharmacy. You really pitied the poor boy, a festivity in which he has to do more work than one should for a holiday. But alas, you've lived in Liyue for years now, enough to know that that was how the land of contracts worked, so there was nothing much to be done there.

That said, you weren't about to put more of a workload on the blond's shoulders, so you waved off his request to help.

"No need, me and the Bubu staff can handle everything for today. Don't worry."

He eyed the heavy crate in your arms with uncertainty, you followed his gaze and sighed, hastily ushering him away with one hand and light shoves on the back before he could retort. "It's the last day of the Lantern Rite, you won't get a chance like this until next year, Aether. Go back to the inn and keep convincing your friend to go with you before it's too late, okay? I heard everyone's cooking will be on their top game, especially today."

The last comment was meant for Paimon and she certainly got it. With both your gentle prodding and the small pixie's aggressive pulling of his hair, Aether had no choice put to rush to the inn before sundown. From what he's told you about his Wangshu friend, he was a very adept introvert, so you could wish Aether nothing but good luck on his little self-quest to make this 'Xiao' person enjoy the last bit of the rite (at the back of your mind, you could recall Qiqi telling about someone with the same name one morning).

Now with the otherworldly duo out of sight, you proceeded to walk up the large set of stairs, skipping two when the weight of the crate started to become more prominent.

Baizhu was inside behind the counter, looking down on some old, yellowing books when he heard shuffling coming near. An exhale through his nose was all he gave away to his weariness as he closed the book, Changsheng hissing at the dust it picked up before curling tighter around his shoulders. Baizhu closed his eyes and prepared a well-practiced smile for whatever customer would come, polite formalities rolling off his tongue before seeing who it was. His smile, however, quickly turned into genuine when he saw it was you, a glint in his eye only your presence could evoke as he went rounded the desk to greet you.

"Welcome back, love," he said, pressing a soft peck to your cheek as you entered the threshold. "What did it took you so long?"

You smiled at his gesture and returned it in like, lightly patting his side to tell him to silently ask to step aside, "I ran into the outlanders on my way to the harbor and got a bit distracted, so sorry." you placed the crate on top of the desk, careful to move any important papers out of the way first, and couldn't hold back a relieved sigh once the hardwood of the box didn't dug into your forearms. "I got the goods though, check if everything you need is in it so we can go back to stocking them."

"Of course, of course. Always such an efficient job done with you." Baizhu mused, golden hues eyeing the way you rubbed at your forearms to relieve some of the irritation away. Then he hummed, "Let's get you something for that too, Qiqi came back not too long ago with the flowers, so I would need your help to prepare the ailment creams since Gui hasn't returned yet."

"Aye, aye..." you absentmindedly nodded, already used to the work schedule after being with the doctor so much. Rolling your shoulders to relieve the tension and cracking your knuckles (ignoring Baizhu's side-eye at the motion) you moved to the back and started to work.

That's how it usually was, with Baizhu at the front and center, Gui outside or at the back putting medicines together, Qiqi out herb-picking, and you dropping by to aid them. You had your own commissions for the Guild to attend to, yes, but you could always lend a hand to the pharmacy every bit that you could. With Baizhu's poor condition and Qiqi's short-term memory, you worried over the pair— of course, your deepest condolences were to Herbalist Gui, as he was the most normal and healthy out of the two and often left to manage the shop and heavy-handling, he never complained though, and you had to admire his determination.

Baizhu had once warned you that juggling between Guild commissions and helping in the pharmacy was once going to take its toll on you, and while you didn't doubt such methods were going to come bite you in the ass, you wouldn't turn down the chance to help out and lighten their workload.

He's warned you, yet never seems to decline any of your offers and takes advantage of them in stride. You don't think too much about that.

Eventually, the little sun rays that were left eventually snuffed out, the streets of Liyue lighting up once again by the red lights in people's homes and business. The harbor was particularly buzzing with energy as people hurried to make lanterns and write wishes, the one moment of calm you guys had in the pharmacy while people were hurried on and about.

As the last person left the premises, Gui stepped out as well when Baizhu relieved him to find a place he could watch the lantern release. Once the herbalist was gone, it was just you, Qiqi, and Baizhu left inside, with you and him having a pleasant talk with each other; you leaning on your elbows in the desk counter as Baizhu finished writing down some recipes for the next day. Qiqi was sitting on the floor whilst flipping her notebook for small notes of today.

It was peaceful, even with the rite on-going and people moving on and about, their sounds didn't reached you here. It was a nice change from the usual lively Liyue and your hefty life as an adventurer. No fighting, no imminent danger, no Fatui. Just you and the small little family that were Baizhu and Qiqi (you'd dare to call them as such, even if not directly).

"What do you think people are wishing for this year?" you asked him, cheek on your palm as you eyed him crouch down behind the desk you were on.

"The resurrection of Rex Lapis," due to his light tone, you assumed he was jesting (you thought), and your head bobbed with quiet laughter.

"True, true, that whole... sea monster thing could have been solved with him here," you weren't blessed by any Archon, so your connection to Liyue went as far as being a native. "But Mora would also be a good wish too, no? Loads of it!"

"Oh, wouldn't you say?" Baizhu gave a small smile, peering up at you through his lashes. "You better not have jinxed me, (Y/n). Wishes are meant to be private affairs."

"Hey, I didn't asked what you wished for! So it doesn't count," you had dragged him to the harbor one day, to accompany to at least make a wish. You wished for him to get better from his unknown illness, and you hope that he wished the same thing too (is eternal life too far-fetched from that? Is it still selfish if he wished for you to be by his side through it all?).

"Either way," Baizhu grunted a little as he stood back up from his crouch, clapping his hands together to get rid of any dust. "success in business is also a desirable wish. Since the Rites of Descension are going to be over with without the Geo Archon to supply his assistance."

You nodded, "Yes, but what about— oh! Wouldn't Mora go obsolete since Rex Lapis can't make it anymore? We'd all run out eventually."

"Now you certainly want to jinx us."

"Just thinking out loud!"

"Please, love," he leaned over the desk to be face to face with your grinning form, eyes glancing to your lips for a second before locking sights with you. "don't be a bad omen to the pharmacy. I would hate to have to ban you from visiting so constantly if so."

You playfully scoffed, a laugh following after. "You ban me? Oh, Baizhu, beloved," you neared your face closer to his, just an inch separating your lips. His lips twitched when a smirk adorned your features, (e/c) eyes narrowing at sly golden hues filled with secrets you can only dream unveil, "I'd like to see you try."

"Heyyy..." a small voice interrupted your stare off, snapping both of you out of your reverie. You looked down and saw Qiqi tugging on your shirt, her half-lidded eyes staring blankly at you.

"Ah, wh-what's the matter, Qiqi?" You were about to smooch in front of the child, well done. You sort of wished she hadn't stopped you, but oh well.

Still holding onto your shirt, she used her free hand to point to the night sky outside. You blinked at her once before gasping, "Oh! The lanterns?" she nodded. "Well let's go then! Wouldn't want you to miss 'em!" looking at Baizhu again you jerked your head to the exit of the pharmacy for him to follow you both, and then took Qiqi's hand and led her out.

Baizhu watched you two leave, and then he sighed. A breathy laugh turned into a chuckle rose from his throat, he placed a strand of loose hair behind his ear and stared at the spot where you had been standing, a smile starting to form on his lips.

"You have it bad," Changsheng mused, a hint of mockery in her slithery tone, but he ignored her (he does that a lot, she knows, but just this once, she won't chastise him for it).

"Baizhu! You're going to miss the Mingxiao lantern, come on!"

He sighed — almost swooned, he'd say— your voice easily carrying him to where you were standing outside the pharmacy, Qiqi on your shoulders as you leaned forward on the railing. Your gaze caught his when he stood beside you and you offered a smile before turning back to the harbor to see the lantern release (not even all the stars in the sky could compare to the shine in your eyes, he notes).

And the sky is soon became engulfed with Xiao lanterns, floating lights softly elevating in the night, soon to become only dots adorning the midnight umber that contrasts it. A beautiful display indeed, especially when the awaited Mingxiao lantern of Skybracer was released, painting the skies with a celestial blue and golden. A worthy show to honor and their gratitude to the fallen, mighty, Adepti.

But if Baizhu had anything to say, such theatrics wouldn't even come close to hold a candle to you. He had glanced at you not long after the Mingxiao, you were awestruck by the display, regardless of how many times you had seen it in the past, your eyes reflected the lantern lights in a beautiful mix. You glanced up at Qiqi, asking for her opinion on the 'pretty lights', she answered you by draping her small arms over your head, chin resting comfortably on the crown of your head and your eyes closed when you laughed, not doubting that she had enjoyed it.

You seemed to have caught his wandering (dare he say, adoring) gaze, for you smiled at him yet again, that smile that caused his heart to go faster and stop at the same time, rapid palpitations that bounced off his ears, he was afraid you'd hear it.

"Happy lantern rite, Baizhu." your eyes crinkled at the corners, your eyes as loving as they've ever been for him and him alone. A smile, a glance, a touch of the hands, something so simple for most, yet something that meant indescribably the world to him.

There was a warmth enveloping the tips of his ears, he was glad the glow of the lanterns wasn't strong enough for you to see it. In the peaceful atmosphere where the soft light of the sky showered all of Liyue, an arm found its way around you, a tender touch against your skin that made you lean into it, pulling you as close to him as he could. This time, he could guaranteed that he had swooned and you certainly heard it. Good.

"...Happy lantern rite to you, too, (Y/n)." Please allow him to spend more with you.

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #baizhu #baizhu x reader #genshin impact imagine #perci writes

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