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atsadi-shenanigans · 7 months ago

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Feeding Alligators 65 - Into Thin Air

Y'all walk, walk, walk, walk, walk, run into a gith patrol.

On AO3.

Y’all walk. And walk. And mcfucking walk. You notice Wyll taking a shine to the dog—who says his name is Scratch and you cannot believe you get to talk to a dog, this is the greatest thing to ever happen to you. Y’all’re taking a break, and Wyll still has the energy to throw a ball either he or the dog found. You plonk down next to him.

“I’ve always wanted a dog,” Wyll says, taking the ball once Scratch returns and giving the little guy some really good ear scritches. “My lifestyle never really seemed safe enough for that, though.”

You look at him. Intently.

“Wyll, I think you have a new dog,” you say.

And the man gives you the sweetest smile you ever seen. Even Scratch wags his tail.

All of this draws the owlbear over, and dogs are great, but this little dude seems to want to spend every waking moment when he’s not with the dog, trotting next to you or curled by your side.

You let him scent you before reaching in to give him his own scritches, because that’s good manners. It’s amazing how soft his feathers are. And Halsin nearby smiles as the little dude chirps and trills at you.

“He says, ‘You smell delicious, but I will not bite you. Big brother Scratch says I must not bite,’” Halsin translates.

Scratch wags his tail. Proudly. And you know then and there that if anyone ever hurts this little, feathered murder baby, you will rip their face off.

“Does he have a name?” you ask Halsin.

He does not. So through the druid you ask if he would like one, and his fuzzy ear feathers lift straight up in what you think is excitement.

You consider the tiny ball of potential carnage, and the name pops into your head. It’s stupid. It’s perfect. You don’t even hesitate. “How about Sweetums?”

Someone chokes nearby. Halsin’s grin turns amused and the owlbear tries to crawl up into your lap to nibble at your chin. So he likes it. And now you’ve got a baby owlbear named Sweetums.

And then the trudgery really begins. Three godforsaken days of it. The road turns steep. Turns real rocky. Your thigh muscles shake so hard you start using your whacking stick as an old lady cane. You consider swiping Gale’s so you can go full German hiker with two sticks.

Lae’zel takes point on day one and stays there. She keeps pulling too far ahead, realizes the distance between her and y’all (mostly you) is too far, and stops to wait while muttering swears. Though “mutter” is generous, as y’all can absolutely hear her.

Everybody gets kinda quiet by the second day as the mountain keeps fucking existing. Halsin studies the landscape, pauses to watch birds. You’d write it off as typical hippie shit, except there’s a sharpness to his gaze. The man ain’t just some tree-hugging nature guy. He’s—as he tells you when you ask—fucking four hundred years old and really likes turning into a goddamned bear.

Cool. Okay. You try not to be too intimidated to talk to the guy, which you suspect he picks up on and he starts to engage with you instead. Mostly about stuff you remember from nature documentaries. He seems fascinated when you get to whales and the deep ocean stuff.

So is Gale, who makes y’all take a break so he can bust out his notes. To be fair, the only person complaining is Lae’zel; even Wyll finds a rock to sit against while he fans himself and pets the dog who sprawls over his lap.

Halsin says y’all are making good time; should only be a couple of days more if y’all keep this pace—you assume a bird told him, since y’all been hemmed in on both sides by steep, rock walls dotted with trees clinging at odd angles and can’t see further than the next bend.

The weather holds. There’s less bugs. And clumps of mountain wildflowers burst into color here and there.

Karlach cooes over the first one y’all find. Kneels down and traces the air around the petals just shy of singing them.

“A hearty breed, those,” Halsin says. “Mountain Quartzpetal. The color of the flower will change depending on the type of soil from which it grows.”

“It’s purple,” Karlach says, all soft and awestruck.

Nearby, you catch Astarion roll his eyes. You two ain’t talked a whole lot since he found you shit-faced in the woods. But that nasty tension seems to have eased. Enough for you to say, “You don’t like flowers?”

“They’re rather garish,” he says. “And useless for anything else.”

“They’re aces at being pretty,” Karlach says, not taking her eyes off them as they sway in the breeze.

Astarion only harrumphs and looks away. He’s starting to turn pale again. Looks more like when y’all first met, and you actually notice the faint, dark smears beginning to stain under his eyes. How washed out and chapped his lips are.

Has he been eating?

He still takes first watch when y’all set up camp. You assume he goes off to hunt, but now you wonder how successful them hunts have been.

The words are right there, in the back of your throat.

Then you realize you been studying him too long when he looks back, catches you, and a frown ticks on his brow.

Maybe Halsin can find him something?

You’ll ask tonight. See if there’s prey around.

Naturally, having made up your mind and resumed the never-ending slog, y’all round a bend and come across a bunch of gith. And their—

That. Is a motherfucking dragon.

***

Gith are cunts. You, for an American, ain’t shy about using that word. They got it coming. Only a raggedy ass band of cunts roasts some patrol that was out here. And only a whole bag of cunts listens to Lae’zel trying to turn herself in or whatever, and decides to murder y’all.

The dragon and the guy riding it fuck off (thank god). Lae’zel shouts something, and then the others fall on you.

You stay the fuck outta it.

Baby spiders, you can handle. Short bandits, you can mostly handle if you freak out. Anything bigger than that? Not happening.

Lae’zel is actually the first one to holler for you to get the fuck away. So that’s how fucked y’all are.

The fight is nasty. Lae’zel puts her sword through the head of one of them, splitting off a piece of helmet and a sizeable chunk of skull under that. Karlach chops one with her ax—the lizard manages to get her sword between the ax and her guts, but Karlach hits hard enough the gith gets thrown ass over end. Where Wyll comes in and fries her with an Eldritch blast.

Your ass takes cover behind some rocks. It works pretty well for you, this time. Right up until somebody—Gale—shouts a spell and thunder cracks, and the blast roils through your rib cage even sheltered behind stone.

And the body of a gith slams and skids into the dirt nearby.

You think it’s dead. It don’t move. One eye is cracked open, jaw hanging slack, armor dented to shit.

Then it twitches. You got a second to register that, say “fuck” and then the guy pops back to his damn feet.

He spots you. Snatches a knife from his belt. You scrabble for your stick and hope poison works on these fuckers.

You jab. He only spins past the end of the stick in a tight little fucking twirl, and then he’s too close, knife raised—

An arrow sprouts out the back of his hand. The knife falls. The gith hisses and starts to turn.

The second arrow bursts from the back of his unprotected skull. The gith makes a low, loose sound in the back of his throat. Starts to fall.

You’re on that motherfucker. Swing down again and again, over and over. The first hit catches the chest and the impact from the metal shivers hard up your forearms. So the shining line shifts you down to the knees.

Which you destroy.

The elbows.

You crunch.

The neck.

Three hits.

At some point in there, you end up smashing the face. Over and over, can’t stop won’t stop, he’s a threat. He’ll hurt you. You have to make sure he stays down. Can’t give him a single opening, a single fucking chance to retaliate—

A hand catches your arm. You start to whirl and then your brain registers the white hair.

Astarion stands there. Blood spatters his face, and in the golden light of the afternoon, it’s the same shade as his eyes. He watches you for just a second, and then lets go of your whacking stick.

“I do believe he’s dead, darling,” he says.

You look to the dead gith. He’s a mess. You start to shrink away. This is bad, this ain’t normal, people don’t do this.

But Astarion just clucks his tongue. “Rather systematic, aren’t you? Though he was dead the second I put that arrow into his brainstem. Still, marks for committing to it, I suppose.”

Wha…he…?

He notices you gawping. “Oh, don’t look so surprised, dear. This is hardly the first time I’ve seen you beat a corpse.”

Heat washes up your chest and neck and flares hot over your cheeks.

“Look, even Lae’zel seems less disgruntled than usual.”

Lae’zel glares from you, down to her dead…kin? Oh lord, are they all kin? Then she hocks a wad of spit to the ground.

“Shka’keth!” Lae’zel says. “This is pointless. Kithrak Voss is a traitor, and I will reach this creche and reveal his vile treachery!”

Astarion makes a little humming noise. Unstrings his bow and starts to put his gear away.

“Thank you,” you say.

“Whatever for?” he says, not looking at you—too busy wiping his knives down so he can resheath them.

The fuck does he always gotta make this weird? Can’t just take the thanks or even deflect it like a normal person. It’s like he wants to rub it in your face using reverse psychology. Like he’s forcing some kinda confession outta you.

Part of you want to shrug and walk away. If he wants to play weird mind games, let him. But you’re all adrenalined up, and you been so buttoned down lately, making yourself both small and trying to live up to expectations every waking goddamn moment that you can’t help yourself and you jab back.

Not quite directly. You don’t fight like that. You go for an unguarded flank.

“You been eating?” you say. Classic auntie move.

Because he’s paler than usual and his movements are a touch sluggish.

But his mask is on tight when he gives you a simpering look. “Oh, I’ve had a bite here and there. Why?”

“Just asking.”

You’d…bleed into a cup for him, if he asked. You offered it when y’all had that godawful conversation (is this being too friendly? Is he gonna read something into this?). And you realize you do still mean it.

You know hunger. It’s a vile thing to use against somebody.

Speculation glints in Astarion’s eyes. “I thought we were keeping our distance? That’s awfully intimate, you know.”

“I’d get Shadowheart to open my arm so I could give you a glass of it. If…” You ain’t gonna say “if you wanted.” That’s too close. Too intimate. “If it’d help.”

The glint disappears. And you can’t read him at all. Man shuts up tighter than a bank vault. “To what would I owe such a generous contribution?”

…what?

“Um.”

Owe? You open your mouth to ask what he means.

“Oi, Soldier!” Karlach says from up the trail. “Might wanna double-time it back there!”

Ah shit!

Astarion mutters something you can’t catch, and then you’re grabbing up your shit and hustling after him to catch back up to the group.

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#feeding alligators fic #these two shitheads #astarion #astarion x tav #tavstarion #astarion x eleanor #slow burn #demisexual tav #plus size tav

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owlespresso · 1 year ago

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pollen, chapter 6 tags: fem!reader, reader has a personality, mind-fuckery, non-consensual kissing a/n: it's about 8.5k words. thank you all for your patience. read 1-5 HERE.

The thickets of the Eastern Shroud are labyrinthine. Tangles of bramble and clusters of thistle seem to dog your every move as you stumble through the brush. Whatever path you had been following is lost to you now. You’re not sure how long or how far you have wandered.

The thick canopy makes it nearly impossible to tell whether it is day or not. You have to squint to catch a few thin, silvery beams of moonlight, and they don’t even reach the forest floor. Instead, the ground is illuminated by large bulbous flowers and mushrooms which sport an unearthly glow. Some of them even seem to breathe, exhaling clouds of spores which you’re careful to keep your distance from.

The noises of the forest are suddenly cut through by a round of loud, whooping cheers. You rush towards the sound, past bundles of giant flowers, under and over stray branches and thick vines. Your heart thrums in your ears as you break through the treeline, stepping foot into a wide open clearing.

What first draws your attention is the long table, nearly large enough to touch both sides. It's draped in white, pearlescent cloth. Plentiful platters stacked sumptuously with scrumptious seeming snacks line the surface from end to end. Puffy pastries are unceremoniously snatched by Sylphs and Moogles. It’s a massive gathering of them, more than you have ever seen at once. Yet, most seem to pay you no mind, even as you gawp openly. They’re more interested in each other, their chatter already rising to a dull roar. They pour tea into mismatched cups and down olive-colored bottles of swill, lost to their own revelry.

You can’t entirely recall your reason for being here, but you are almost certain it has nothing to do with this mysterious trouvaille.

Just as you turn to exit, however, a soft voice calls out from close by.

“Wait!” A Sylph of pinkish hue floats frantically towards you, looking awfully haggard. The disheartened slump of their posture makes them look like a puppet on limp strings. “Don’t go! This one cannot remember the last time we entertained a human guest!” They plead. “This one’s name is Lixio—delighted to make your acquaintance!

You frown. “My apologies, but I have business elsewhere.”

“And it can’t wait? Even for a few moments?” Lixio pleads. You hesitate. “Only a few seconds, even! Mixia and Xixia will not believe this one if this one tells them a human attended the party! Stay long enough for others to witness your presence, at least!”

Mixia and Xixia are this sylph’s friends, you hazard a guess. As desperately as you would like to get back on track and accomplish whatever you had come here to do, fostering amicable relations with the sylphs is crucial to keeping them peaceful. Gridania is already beset by the Ixal and the constant, looming threat of Garlemald’s invasion. You frown.

“I won’t be a very entertaining guest,” you inform them.

“It is the host’s humble duty to entertain,” Lixio chirps. “And you have already captured this one’s most vested interest!”

“You’re putting me on.” You accuse them flatly. They give a mock-gasp, pressing their hands to their cheeks in faux-astonishment.

“This one would never lie about something so important! You would have been shown the door without so much as a toodaloo if you were not so interesting!” they scold, turning around and beckoning you. “Come, come! This one spies an open seat just for you!”

For a reason beyond you, you stumble in tow, through the dark purple grasses and glowing patches of fungi. Lixio leads you to the tail end of the table, where another sylph is facing down two moogles, body shaking with rage as she shrieks.

“Such indolence! This one should banish you to the bogs! A hundred years of the mossy ones sneezing upon you!” they seethe.

“Our deepest apologies!” the moogle clad in a black, pointed hat shouts back above the noise. Several of his fellows at the table’s other end clink their bottles together. “We will replace it at the earliest convenience!”

“Meaningless! The party is happening now!” the sylph cried back in dismay. The moogles offered no response, another coming to tug the both of them into the dense crowd. Staring at where they had once been, you can’t help but take note of the way the black edges seem fuzzy and writhing in ways most mysterious.

Towering pitcher plants of violet hue spit sparkling pollen clouds into the air above the side of the clearing where you’re seated. You’re not familiar with the species, but you know enough to not trust any of the region’s mysterious flora. You should move, but a steaming cup of tea is unceremoniously shoved in front of you.

“Made from the best milkroot in all the Shroud!” Lixio crows with no small amount of pride. You swallow, observing the deep rosen liquid with no small amount of skepticism. Pink petals float on the liquid's surface.

“I appreciate it, but I’m not thirsty.” The corners of your lips twitch into what you hope is an appeasing smile. Is not being thirsty a good enough excuse to turn down a drink from your self-declared host? Should you have said you’re allergic? Lixio doesn’t seem to appreciate your refusal, little face scrunching up.

“It is most impolite to refuse your host’s hospitality,” Lixio fumes. Your lips press into a thin, straight line at the shrill pitch of their voice. With each moment, your tolerance rapidly dwindles. The cute charm of the sylph wares off with their newfound brattiness. It is one thing to be patronized by primals and Garlean commanding officers. It is entirely another to have this brussel sprout of a creature attempting to scold you. Why did you humor them at all? The voices around you grate your sensitive ears more with every passing moment, nose growing expeditiously agitating when combined with the bright luminescent colors which crowd every corner of your vision.

“I apologize,” you reply tersely. “But I am not comfortable—”

“Not comfortable!? What else must be done to please you?” Lixio inquires. They lean forward, into your space. One of their little arms knocks into the teacup they dropped before you. Several drops of the rosen liquid splatter onto the tablecloth.

A shriek splits the air.

“You have ruined this one’s precious dining cloth!” the sylph who was tussling with the moogles mere moments ago turns their attention to your gracious host. They descend upon your gracious host, seizing and pushing Lixio by the shoulders. If not for their innate ability to float, they would have toppled out of their chair and onto the ground. “Ungrateful! Ungrateful, all of you are!”

“Fixia!” Lixio cries. “This one is sorry! This one will clean it—make it look all new and shiny! This one swears!”

“No! This one has had it with lies!” Fixia snaps, curling their tiny, leaflike fingers into the stained cloth. “No more! No! More!” With a strength belied by their slight frame, they pull at the cloth’s edge—and the entire table is upended. Porcelain flies into the air and shatters, drinkware clanging into sterling silver forks and spoons. Pale pastry cream slaps onto dry earth and dark dark grass, tea of scalding temperatures soaking the earth and splashing onto several, unfortunate bystanders.

They shriek and howl, the crowd thrown into immediate disarray. The fae folk dash and fly in all different directions. You slip away in the height of the panic, grateful to be seated so close to the thick treeline. The sounds of the chaos are soon in the far distance. The bright lights halo your silhouette in a smattering of kaleidoscopic color, fading in intensity the further you stray, diving back into the wood with less certainty than you had before the disastrous party. You hadn’t known Sylphs and moogles to mingle so freely. Perhaps they’ve been driven to cooperate by recent threats to the Shroud?

A matter to contemplate later, you decide. You can’t stray from your goal—which happens to be remembering what’s driven you out here in the first place.

In the distance, a river rumbles underneath a curved, wooden bridge. Vines of ivy and purplish leaves intertwine over the suspiciously thin railings. This is the deepest you’ve ever delved into the Eastern Shroud, often put off exploring by the hostile, tempered Sylphs which inhabit the wilds in great abundance. Whatever brought you here was deemed worth the trouble, but your memory remains out of your grasp. Perhaps Meteor would—

You freeze. Hardwood gives way to soft, loamy grass.

Meteor. Ardbert. Where are your teammates? How could you have forgotten them? Revulsion and white hot alarm begin to churn your stomach as you comb through the possibilities, but your thoughts come slow as molasses. Think—think, god dammit! You tap your fist into your temple as if trying to knock your head clear of whatever clogs it. It doesn’t work, of course, leaving you with a sore spot and the paralyzing dread of knowing something is amiss.

You stumble forward, rib cage throbbing dully as one urgent breath shudders out of the next. The air feels thick, like you can’t get enough of it at once—and soon you’re grasping in the dark, struggling to keep yourself upright.

It’s not a horrible place to collapse, you think through the haze. Maybe resting for a while will do you some good, maybe you’re too tired to think.

You don’t realize you’re sliding down until your knees knock into the dirt. Surely, that too is fine. Surely, no bandit or other neerdowell would venture this deep into the Sylphlands, too terrified of fae magic and ferocious flora. From here, though, it's not too terrible. What you can see from underneath lowering eyelids is all beautiful in a strange, otherworldly manner. Dark purples coalesce with bright, pink petals and white shroom caps which glow soft in the peaceful dark. Yes, there will be plenty of light when you wake.

Someone calls your name. You huff and burrow yourself between the roots of the tree, bark scratching the thick fibre of your robes. You hardly mind the cold, damp bark on your cheek. Just a few minutes. Just a few—

Another shout, closer this time.

Mere a few winks of peace—

A broad pair of hands seizes your shoulders and shakes, nearly throttling you against the trunk. When your eyes snap open, it's Ardbert’s concerned countenance which greets you.

“Are you with me?” he asks, leaning close. You can count his every eyelash. Relief crashes over you, nearly hard enough to render you breathless. Ardbert. You blink several times, just to make doubly sure that this is no cruel illusion borne of Sylph magic. But you reopen your eyes and he is still crouched in front of you, familiar face wound deep with concern.

“I’m up, I’m up—” you stagger to your feet, if only to avoid another jostling. His gloved hand wraps around your forearm, carrying an alarming majority of your weight. Too often, you forget just how strong your teammates are, just how easily they could snap bone if so prompted. “Are you alright? Where have you been, this whole time?” you gather your wits enough to ask. The adrenaline shakes away the worst of your weariness.

Ardbert releases you with a haggard sigh, dragging his hand down his face.

“I should be asking you all that,” he begins, exasperated. “Do you have any idea what would have happened to you had you actually fallen asleep?”

“No, do you?” you rub a hand down your face, bleary eyes peering over your fingers as a beat of silence passes. And then another. And then—

“Well, no—but knowing the beasts which skulk around here, it would have been nothing good!” Ardbert blusters. “Now, come on. We have to find my brother.”

“You haven’t seen him?” you inquire. You have to jog a few paces to reach his side before he mellows into a slower stride, exhaling a long suffering sigh. You’ve known him long enough to peer beneath the hardened veneer he wears in the face of all challenges. He’s playing tough, but he’s just as lost as you are. The purple under his eyes is more pronounced than usual. He hasn’t been getting enough sleep. After all of this is over and solved, you’ll procure a tea or tonic to help. And maybe something for his flushed complexion.

His cheeks are a ruddy red, a thin sheen of sweat gracing his visible skin. You could have dismissed it as exertion, likely from roaming wild and reckless around the whispering wood, but the blush has only deepened since you began walking. Petal pink lips part around semi labored breaths.

“No. I haven’t,” Ardbert admits.

“Do you know how long ago you were separated? Did you come in together? I can’t remember a thing.” you confess. You’d not admit it aloud, but having another at your side—having someone to confide in and question is a reassurance you didn’t know you would miss. He’s firm and warm at your side, not as tall as some but still made steep by his warrior’s armor.

He doesn’t answer. You glance over at him a second time. Still flushed. Feverish. Perhaps he’s allergic to some of the local flora? All manner of suspicious plant and flower populates the darkened boughs of the Twelveswood—each bearing their own fruits and pollen. Gods only know what those spores will do to a person.

“Ardbert? Are you alright?” you press gently.

“I’m fine. I just want to get out of this hellhole,” Ardbert insists brusquely, frown deepening. “Worry about yourself, for once.”

“I’m not the one who’s red as a tomato right now,” you huff, but otherwise keep careful to curb your sass. Quarreling will serve you no purpose in a place so hostile, you remind yourself.

“It’s as humid as Ifrit’s arse out here,” Ardbert replies in kind, face twisted into a scowl. “And you were about to pass out before I found you—that’s worth more concern than a little bit of heat.” He argues, and you feel a near nauseating wave of deja vu was over you. It’s the beginning of a familiar dance, the steps of which only you two know. You don’t have the energy for it, right now.

“If you say so. But if you start feeling off—”

Ardbert makes a rough, irritated sound. “You always do this,” he says, exasperated and angry, voice gravelly with the intensity of the emotion.

“Do what?”

“You always get after both of us for not licking our wounds enough—but you never take proper care of yourself!” It’s an abrupt frustration that comes out of nowhere, like a flame jolting to life on a match. It reaches beyond the routine arguments you’re so used to. It weaves into the surrounding aether, not unlike the potent rage he involves on the battlefield. Pain cracks through the passion, the bottom of his lip beginning to wobble. He stops and turns on you abruptly.

“What!? Where is this coming from!?” You stumble backwards, nearly tripping over your own coattails in the process. “You can nag me all you want, but let’s just focus on getting out here for now!”

He scoffs. “Really? Going to lecture me on focus when I just found you curled up in the dirt?”

“Oh, come off it! I was exhausted! I’ve been through a lot today, Ardbert, I don’t need you adding onto it—”

“Why not? You seem to have no problem adding everyone else’s rubbish onto your plate!” he snaps.

Your eyes go wide as his shadow envelops you. “How do you think that makes us feel!?” Sticks and deadened grass crunches underneath his heavy leather boots as he approaches. “We watch you wring the near life out of yourself! Constantly! You forget to eat! You refuse to sleep!” He looms close. You don’t even realize you’re backing up until you bump into a gnarled trunk.

“Useless! It makes us feel useless!” he nearly snarls, fist pummeling into the trunk. You flinch, withering backwards. The wood splinters beneath his gauntlet, pieces spat out onto your cloak. “We can’t ever help you because you keep letting your goddamn pride get in the way!”

“I’ve never asked for your help!” you splutter, fists clenching at your sides. Animal fear and righteous anger wrestle for dominance in your churning gut.

“And that’s the entire problem! Your head is so far up your arse that you can’t even see when you need help!” he continues, voice pitching into a desperate shout. His chest is an iron wall, heaving with each labored breath. A wall in front of you, his arms bars. He’s right, you realize, and that’s the most irritating part of it.

You can’t muster up an adequate reply, too busy searching for an opening. This has gone too far, beyond your typical quarreling. He’s not even a film away, face close enough to note each fine indent of his scowl. The warmth of his body seeps through his armor, even though it really shouldn’t—defying all reason to your muddled senses. The cloying heat that makes it harder to think, harder to wriggle away.

Broad palms cup your jaw. His fingers spread across your cheeks as he forces you to look up—up into glowing, pink eyes. Something in you shatters, then, utterly jarred by the unnatural neon you’re faced with. Only now do you clock how wrong all of him is, how the actors of this play aren’t quite fitting their roles. You open your mouth—to say what you do not know, but the words never quite come. They die on your tongue, because—

He’s kissing you. With warm, soft lips, pressing in and drinking deep of you. A hot tongue pushes into your gasping mouth, chases your own even as you writhe and push at his chest. Faintly, you’re aware of your hand around his wrist. You claw and scramble for purchase on his leathers, attempting to pry away from him.

The difference in strength is too great, and the air is growing too thin. You’re making noise, little whimpers and whines which he swallows, steals them alongside each dwindling breath. Your consciousness begins to fade, black crackling at the edges—and it’s that which jolts you back into shocking awareness.

You cannot fall here. This is not your Ardbert.

Blind panic surges through your veins, levin crackling underneath your skin. The atmosphere trembles, the very fabric of the cosmos beckoned to your aid. A silvery sphere of raw aether sparks into existence behind him. The nearby foliage pulses, and is drawn into it alongside your companion’s devious duplicate. The fake is torn from you with an enraged animal sound.

You turn on foot and dash madly into the woods before the spell fully triggers, blowing everything it's drawn within to smithereens. You fumble over jutting roots and fallen branches, pulling lungfuls of precious air into your howling lungs. The world flies by in shadows of green and purple and brown, fluorescent mushrooms and flowers puffing clouds of suspicious spores. Only when you are alone do you at last come to a pause—bending over to gasp for much needed air. Your sweaty palm presses up against bark, wincing at the coarse bark against your slicked skin.

The situation is more severe and incomprehensible than it initially appeared. Something in the wood plays cruel tricks on you, to wear the faces of your companions. You’ll never forgive who is responsible, whether it be the Sylphs, the Moogles or any other manner of frivolous forest creature. You’ll slay them yourself, you decide.

With that vow made, you regain your breath and stomp back into the thickets, heading towards the gaping mouth of another treeline. Halfway, you pause, a sudden thought striking you.

If Ardbert had been a doppelganger, were either of your partners ever truly here in the first place?

The panic cooled into listless paranoia as you continued to roam. Desperately, you comb through every corner of your mind for some clue, some context as to why you arrived here in the first place. Your probing turns up frighteningly little. You can recall disembarking an airship and meeting with an official at the Adders Nest. The air was tinged with ripe lilac and honeysuckle until you took the ferry east, over murky waters and through verdant masses of algae. The skiff’s bow cut through the tranquil lake like a knife through warm butter.

That’s all you’re able to discern. The finer details pull away when you reach for them. Something, or someone, has purposefully obfuscated your memories. And all you can do is lumber exhaustedly through their crafted labyrinth, out of options and tools and sapped of every after casting impulsively and without a focus.

A flicker of familiar scarlet teases at the edge of your vision. You snap your head towards it, fears temporarily forgotten. Your gaze darts around in the dark, only to find more of what surrounds you. Deadened trunks and berry purple leaves.

Your shoulders slump, more exasperated with your own eyes for playing tricks on you than affected by the vision itself. A Warrior of Light can’t quake and crumble at the slightest of provocations. You’ve dealt with worse than this, fought stranger foes and outwitted politicians and enemy generals and gods alike. If you can’t surmount this—

A bell-like laugh echoes up and down the wood, a sound you never thought you would hear again.

“Come now, hero! Are you really going to let me run off a third time?”

Familiar agitation sweeps through you at his mocking lilt. It feels nostalgic, in a way, but you know better than to chase a dismembered voice off in the distance. No matter how achingly familiar. You turn away, and you keep on walking—

“Really? You would ignore me after all we had together?” his voice is in your head, now, flat and disappointed. You whirl around, trembling fist clenched, but your dulled reflexes are but a moment too late. You’ev shoved backwards, and where you swore there had existed solid should is instead a slope covered in sticks which snag and leaves which crunch loud underneath your tumbling body. A pained shout wrenches from your chapped lips, flank landing hard on the dirt.

You scrape your hands on bark and stone as you pull yourself to your feet. A mere film away is a tangle of bristling brambles. Count your blessings where you can find them, you suppose. Your hands raise to brush the clumped soil off your person. They never get that far.

The dark, still edge of a familiar blade tucks underneath your chin. You can’t remember seeing or hearing anyone approach, but you have often noticed that Meteor moves quieter and more discreetly than anyone in armor has any right to. But he’s keenly aware of that, too. He always makes noise on purpose, just to let you know he’s coming. To not scare you.

But not this time. His eyes are wide and wild, hair knocked into tangles, dirt and blood smudged across his face. The crimson is slick with its freshness. He’s a terrifying vision, hunched above you like a wolf looms over a wounded lamb.

“Meteor,” you rasp, quietest you have ever been, “It’s me—” you find the stones to continue after a long moment, spent in sheer disbelief that he would raise his weapon at you. His face twitches, but the eerie stillness there remains. There’s something anguished in his eyes.

“I’ve heard that, before,” he says ruefully, breathing heavily. “You won’t fool me. Not again.”

“You—what are you talking about—” you stammer. Realization crashes into you a moment later, fast and brutal as a Coerthan gale. “How many of me have you seen?” you can’t help but ask, swallowing against the pinprick of his blade.

He licks a bead of sweat from his lips. Mindlessly, you track the movement.

“Two, now. Ran them both through,” he admits, equal part confession and threat. There’s no wobble in his voice, though. No regret. Sympathy juts through the haze of your fear.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur. “That you had to—”

“No. Don’t even start.” he mutters, shifts closer.

“I’m real, Meteor. I can prove that I’m real,” you fumble backwards, pulse rumbling in your ears. Your back meets the unyielding stone of a nearby ledgeface, trapped between it and his unforgiving steel. “Ask me something only I would know!”

Meteor’s jaw ticks. “The second one said the same—and they were right,” he swallows. “—when they answered.”

“Then—Then I can just leave!” you exclaim, unable to keep the panic from your voice. You can’t even begin to fathom the implications of what he’s disclosed to you, not while the edge of his blade inches forward, kissing the column of your throat. “I won’t show my face again. I swear it!”

The space between his thick brows scrunches, for the first time breaching his glazed, wild expression. The sword wobbles against your skin, threatening to break it, before he heaves a great sigh and lowers it. You slump against the craggy wall, erupting into a series of sputtering, shaky breaths. You must make a pitiful picture, but the relief is so palpable that you can’t bring yourself to much care.

He remains there, looming and still as a statue, deadly weapon still clutched in his hand.

“I’ll—I’ll just be doing, then,” you assure him once you’ve regained your breath. It kills you to leave him here, distressed and alone, but you can’t solve this conundrum if you’re dead. You’ll have to come back for him, and in the meantime hope he isn’t visited by any other spectors wearing your face.

Though, maybe you should worry more for yourself. The phantom feeling of Ardbert’s hands sticks cold to your skin, a poignant reminder of the danger that lurks.

“There’s an Ardbert imposter running around,” you inform him, wincing as you pull yourself to your feet. A piercing ache throbs in your left side. No doubt it’ll be a nasty bruise, later. “I know you don’t believe me I’m real. I just thought you should—”

His hand cups the underside of your jaw, the cool metal of his gauntlets firm against your overheated skin. The clawed tips prick your cheeks. You blink stupidly, numbly as he seizes you, lifts your head to meet his imposing, keen gaze. He’s analyzing you, you think, searching for something you cannot quite name. Your pulse thrums against his forearm, in your throat, skin brushing against the metal with each throb of blood through the vein.

“Meteor—” you rasp, frozen in place by the weight of his attention alone. A beast brays somewhere in the far distance. The forest squirms and shivers despite a lack of wind.

His eyes shut. He exhales, trembling. He’s testing your measure, yet to what parameters you do not know. You can only linger in the space between the seconds, awaiting his judgment.

He opens his eyes. “You’re real,” he murmurs. His thumb strokes across your lower lip, careful to mind his claw. His eyes flutter shut, brown lashes tucking against pale cheeks. “I’m sorry—”

“It’s fine,” you reply automatically, rising to your feet. You know full well that he would never raise arms against you unless under significant duress, unless out of his mind.

“It isn’t,” Meteor replies coolly, raking a hand through his hair. “But now isn’t the time.”

You don’t reply nor do you give into the sweet relief his presence brings. He looks like he’s struggling with what else to say, lips pulled into a straight line.

“So, let’s pool our information,” you speak up, just to spare him the agony of his own thoughts. There’ll be plenty of time to wallow in his guilt later. You don’t need any more platitudes or pleas for forgiveness—the moment has passed and neither of you should live in it.

Meteor heaves a sigh, “After we arrived in the Shroud, a fog settled over the entire area. I could hardly see my own hands—”

“Forgive me, but why did we come to the Shroud in the first place? I…” you chew on the inside of your cheek, warmth rising to your cheeks. The idea of you forgetting the specifics of a mission is completely out of character, and horribly humiliating. The question gets stuck in your throat, stubborn pride warring with your own rampant need for context, for information. “I can’t seem to remember.”

“We…” Meteor pauses, blinking. His gaze crawls from you, eyes glazing as he stares across the empty clearing. “Came to gather milkroot.”

“...Milkroot?” your eyes narrow. This is a poor time for jokes—the notion that the Scions would send you here to do chores is laughable, but Meteor nods. Dead serious as he’s ever been.

“Over the past moon, it’s grown out of proportion. It’s making the tempered Sylphs come out from deeper in the wood.”

“Alright. So you happen to know where this particularly intrusive patch of milkroot is?” You’re still not sure if you believe him. And if you do happen to believe him, you’re still miffed at being deployed for pest control, of all things. You’ve felled three primals and beasts of equal strength. You are above getting on your knees in the dirt to clean up some random mess.

“I do,” Meteor nods. “But the thicket… It's hard to navigate. I’ve already been lost twice.”

“I can only imagine,” you mumble, sympathetic. “Well, given it's our only lead, we can head there first. Does that sound alright?”

And Meteor nods, by far the most well-behaved tank you have ever met, both in and outside of battle.

He does, taking you through winding pathways, skirting along the very edges of the darkened deepwood. In the distance, you spy purple sylphs and tall plants with wide, spikes maws. Their broad stems rise and fall as if breathing. Clouds of poison expel into the air with each breath.

“Meteor—” you say, and then swallow. The ambient aether pulses around you—and suddenly you are in that far off distance, surrounded by them on all sides. The air is sickly sweet and sparkling ripples of bright purple glisten through the gloom in undulating waves. You stagger, boots scuffing on the dark dirt. Everything seems to breathe now. Thick trunks and brambled branches, expanding and shrinking. Your gaze lifts to the canopy.

Meteor says your name. A firm hand clasps your wrist, firm and grounding. Your lungs feel tight, throat constricted. Dazed and unfocused as you are, you manage to find his gaze among the swimming dark. Have his eyes always been so bright?

But it’s not enough. You feel yourself crumple, not all at once. one part of the body after the other. Mere moments feel stretched into minutes, your world condensing to stuttered snapshots. Meteor, distraught. An oversized log up top the slope. A lone sylph, faced away from you. Strands of green and stiff purple grass, which tickles your cheek.

And then, the eerie black.

There is no time between when you shut your eyes and reopen them. A fraction of a moment at most. Your eyelids pry open and you are back on your feet, mid-step.

“Drowsing on the job again, are we?” G’raha Tia says. Your brain stutters, struggling to piece together his presence. It’s beyond jarring. It’s like seeing your smallclothes laid out on the Rising Stones’s Bar. A piece of you, something so close and intimate, dragged out and misplaced for all to see.

He looks different then the last time you saw him. Both of his eyes are blue. His hair is longer, fastened into a thick but wild braid. A greatbow slung across his back is emblazoned with golden accents and striking blue gemstones. One half of his shirt is blue, the other black. The neckline hangs low, the fabric bunched by a red and black sash wound around his waist. Sheathed daggers and miscellaneous pouches hang off two belts slung underneath it. Another is fastened around his thigh. Some of the gold bangles tied round his arm gloves and thigh high boots sport beads in the shape of the sun and stars. A bard, you think.

“I…” you begin, tongue heavy in your mouth. What had he asked of you, again? You blink, attempting to clear away the lingering haze.

“You know how that old saying goes—sleep late and you lose the worm and all that,” he says, eyes glimmering. Playful. “And if I’m not mistaken, this will be the third such occasion in which you’ve missed the goal.”

“The third?” your lips peel into a frown, familiar agitation sparking within you. “What are you counting as the first two?”

“If it truly mattered to you, you would have remembered by now,” his smile turns wry, blue eyes so bright and bitter. Your jaw locks, awareness washing over you like grains broken from an hourglass, sands of time settling heavy and suffocating atop your chest. The anger, the pain, the loss—it tastes coppery.

“It wasn’t my fault,” you protest.

His gaze softens. “You don’t believe that.”

“How would you know? You’re the one who left without so much as a word! You couldn’t even be bothered to leave a note behind, G’raha!” The anger erupts from you all at once, typical restraint worn by the day’s events—the day’s events, you realize.

This isn’t real. G’raha Tia is long gone. This is another cruel illusion conjured specifically to waste your time and demoralize you. You need to leave.

“Why would I write a note to someone who clearly couldn’t stand me? From the moment we met, you made it painfully clear that you wanted no part of me. You only tolerated my presence, as though I were a coworker’s child getting underfoot. You despised me, but you despised the fact that you needed me even more.” Every word drives into you like a rusty prong of steel, wounds just begun to close reopened and stung, skin split and stitches burst. All at once, you feel speechless and small, no better than a child.

“And you never bothered to examine why I behaved in the manner that I did! Did you not once consider that I only wanted to impress the vaunted Warriors of Light!? To prove that I was worthy to stand at your side!?”

“Stop,” you gasp, and it feels like getting sick, the back of your throat for some reason rubbed raw—like you’ve been running a marathon or screaming out your bedraggled soul.

“Perhaps, if I felt I could confide in you, I would have told you. Perhaps you could have convinced me to stay.” G’raha continues, voice soft again. The anger and agony is gone, now. Only the stillness of a soul lost or given up, looking out across the short tale of his life in pensive reflection.

“Perhaps I could have gone on to be an adventurer, too.” His voice is nearly smothered by the sound of wildlife, groans and chirps and howls and clicks erupting around you. The shadows reach out like spindly fingers. Every hair on your body stands on end. Your instincts scream for you to rush forward and shield him from the malignant presence which haunts this horrible, wild place.

Not this time, though. Not for this delusion. Your jaw clenches as the bleak, empty dark encloses on him like a flower’s petals. You stand there, and comfort yourself with the knowledge that this is too a phantasm, a vision spun for the sole sake of your distress.

You blink, and the murky depths disappear. Meteor is standing in front of you, eyes bright and face hard with concern.

“I’m alright,” the words are out of your mouth before you can even think. Automatic, at this point. “We can keep going.”

“I can carry you, if you’re tired.” he informs you. His barely flat delivery makes you wonder whether he’s offering or simply telling you a fun fact.

“You don’t have to. I’m fine,” you sound weaker than you would like, reedier. “And we should both be concerned about the doppelgangers running around. They’re likely Sylph illusions, but simple magicks cannot explain how they knew such intimate details about us.” And about your relationships. The illusory Ardbert’s words had been weighed by honest, clear agony.

“Perhaps the culprit is no mere Sylph,” he suggests.

“Who would it be, then?” you scoff, kicking a large brand off the path, which has started to thin. Up ahead lay another dark bridge, the river churning below. The area leading up to it is no larger than three films across, and populated by several tangles of bramble. It’s little wonder that the tempered Sylphs of the deepwood don’t make their own fortresses. Nature is more than willing to supply it for them.

Meteor provides you with an informative shrug, leaving you to stew with the possibilities. Frankly, you cannot name a single person who would be privy to the innermost workings of your troublesome trio. Most enemies don’t get close enough for a chance at conversation, and most allies are kept at a strict arm’s length. By you, at least.

You shut your eyes for a moment as your mounting headache returns full force, but a moment is all it takes for you to stub your toe on a stray root. You curse, voice echoing up and down the misty boughs.

Meteor looks at you pointedly, head tilting. You glare.

“No.” you say.

He takes a step closer. Into your personal space. It takes all of your healer’s patience not to unleash a volley of crass curses directly into his face.

“No, I’m fine,” you firmly insist. “I don’t need any coddling.”

Meteor looks remarkably unimpressed. “What’s your plan, then? Please, enlighten me.” he says, completely flat. “Wander aimlessly through the woods until you twist your ankle on another vine?”

Your face crinkles like you’ve just eaten a serving of Archon Loaf. Since when has he been… so sassy? So prone to backtalk?

No—it makes sense. Being forced to slay even an illusion wearing his face and speaking in his voice would shake you, likely leave you rattled for weeks. So of course he’s on edge, snappier than usual. You take in another deep breath, count to three, and exhale, willing your tempestuous temper away.

“I won’t lie. I am… unsure of the specifics of our situation. However, I have a few theories,” you lean up against the closest tree trunk and roll your head back, shutting your tired eyes. G’raha Tia comes to you in flashes, blue eyes deep and haunted. You settle for staring at the dark canopy instead.

“We could be inside a sealed space which repeats itself, where elements of terrain are randomly placed to give the illusion that we are genuinely traversing the forest. Such a complex spell requires a skilled caster and a bevy of aether at their disposal. The Sylphs are, for the most part, natural born casters and obtaining the crystals required could be as simple as leading a few unlucky merchants astray from the trodden path.” you finished with a grimace. “A likelier theory is that we’ve been trapped in some kind of dream.

“All three of us together?” Meteor inquires, placid mien betraying no skepticism. It’s a relief that your hypothesis hasn’t been met with immediate disbelief. Some of the tension melts from your body as you open your mouth.

Before you can speak, someone calls to you from across the clearing.

Meteor shifts into a defensive stance, clean steel of his greatsword aimed at the approaching, darkly dressed figure. It takes you a moment to see it, to genuinely sew the embellished black plate, the eyes deep and wide and hauntingly blue. The tips of his ruffled hair kisses the space where his stubble begins.

No, oh gods, no—the forest fades into black nothingness, silent but it must be laughing. Laughing, because you were foolish enough to not anticipate this. The air struggles to stay in your lungs. Your ears pound, your chest thuds with white hot panic, rolling up your spine and forking into the base of your skull. You can’t handle this, right now. You stare numbly at the approaching form of a second Meteor.

You should have expected this. If the mastermind was able to so seamlessly replicate Ardbert, then it is only reasonable to expect the same of Meteor.

“Stay behind me,” Meteor says, quiet yet uncompromising. As if you plan to step in front of the hulking slab of metal he calls a sword. “Leave us alone. We know you’re an imposter.”

His doppelganger, rather than responding to him directly, looks at you instead, concern writ plain across his furrowed brow. Meteor stands taller to block his view of you, black pauldon sheltering you from that pained, beseeching stare.

“You’re as bold as I expected a Sylph-borne simulacrum to be,” the doppelganger begins. He calls your name, then.

“Bold accusations from a shade with no proof.” Meteor rebuffs. “I’ll not warn you a second time. Leave, or your Sylph masters will receive what remains of you in hand baskets.”

Traveling together begets familiarity. Yet, you would never claim to know Meteor’s every facet. Yet, you cannot suppress the wave of wrongness that sweeps through you. It’s a sudden chill. In all the times he has stood firm between you and the enemy, he has never been so verbose. No, he cuts down the enemy before they can even spit a word. The sprout of dread burgeons within you, renders you near breathless as you stare at his back, desperate to get a closer look at his eyes.

The other Meteor calls your name a second time.

“I lack the time to bother with paltry words. You know that.” he says, desperate to be known, to be believed. And it’s true. It’s completely true. An idiosyncrasy that only he would be aware of. You step back, instinctively reaching for a weapon that isn’t there. Your boots scuff the dark dirt, and the Meteor who you’ve been accompanying whirls around. He looks like you’ve knocked the wind out of him, staring at you in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me you believe him,” he says. His eyes are wild and wide with horror.

“I—I—” It’s much more difficult to defend your position when he’s looking at you like that. It’s a look he only fixes you with on the rare occasions that you get a scrape or cut in battle. Scrutinizing and perhaps annoyed, but feral with concern. Like he’d reach his hands inside of you to fix any misaligned inners. Like he’d sink his teeth into the throat of those responsible. All gnashing fangs and frayed bangs, blood and soot and dirt smudged on his cheeks.

You take another step back. Where there was once a blank dirt road, there is—something, something which slithers around your ankle and pulls, sending you tumbling to the earth. You wince at the initial impact, earlier injuries sent spasming.

A few fulms away, you can see him start in your direction, outline of a curse on his lips. He’s lowered his greatsword by a hair, head craned to snatch a brief look at you. But that’s all it takes.

Sabled steel slices clean through his middle. Blood gushes onto the ground. His armor dents where it’s been cut through, gnarled metal groaning as he crashes to the floor—spasming. Bile rises in the back of your throat as you watch his lips open around strained wheezes. Here, in the dim dark, you are forced to confront your worst fear. The life bleeds out of him, the wound too gaping for your feeble aether to mend. You try, anyway, crawling over dirt and twigs to reach him. A clammy palm presses against the cold, cold curve of his chestplate.

The aether sparks feebly at your fingertips. The skin stings and burns but you push through—it is a mere fraction of the rest of the pain you have been put through today, after all. Beaten and bruised, you try and pour everything which remains into his shuddering body. His torso twitches like a fish brought to land. Fervent even now, in the throes of death.

His eyes glaze. He stops moving. He’s looking at you, still.

You choke back a scream.

The body explodes into a sparkling cloud of purple aether, before vanishing altogether. Another imposter, this entire time. Twice now, you have been so thoroughly fooled. You cannot claim to be close friends of either brother, but you know them. You know Ardbert leaves extra tips for bar keepers and inn maids and checks the doors and windows twice each before retiring to bed. You know Meteor only ever haggles in Ul’dah, and that he runs errands for the folk of every settlement and city which you visit. You know when Ardbert is close to lashing out because his jaw locks and he gets this little line on his chin. You know when something is troubling Meteor because he fidgets, most often with his gauntlet straps.

All of that, and still you readily believed their imposters, even made excuses for them! Your hands curl into fists, strands of grass crushed between them. Your eyes stay wide open, the imposter’s last few moments ingrained in your mind’s eye. You will see it every time you blink.

It was a fake, sure, but it still wore his face. It looked at you with his eyes and called out to you in his voice.

Much like the voice that calls to you know. Meteor is wearing a grimace as he makes his way over to you, no doubt disconcerted at having to bring his own doppelganger to the sword.

“I’m sorry,” he says, lips pulled into a disgusted frown. “You shouldn’t have had to see that.” He doesn’t bother asking if you’re alright, because you’re not and you know that much is obvious. You have faith that you look as much of a wreck as you feel.

You swallow, and do not take his hand, because even this too feels wrong. If you were an ilm less wise, you would reason that paranoia from today’s ordeals has set in. But you now know that nothing in this horrible, labyrinthine place adheres to reason or empathy.

A nearby cluster of tall, bulbous flowers glows bright yellow. The light catches on his armor, his sword and his eyes—which gleam that horrible, acidic violet.

“Stay away from me!” you push yourself to your feet and scramble backwards. “I know what you are, now! Stop hiding behind someone else’s face, you spineless wretch!”

It inhales deeply. Patiently.

“You’re afraid, and it’s affecting how you see things,” he coaxes, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. “There’s no need to be afraid. If you would just let me—” His eyes flash a hot pink. He goes silent, arms dropping back to his sides. His expression loses his desperate candor, glazed and empty. You don’t stick around to wonder why. A searing ache burns at your walk-weary legs, exhausted muscles crying out for sweet reprieve. You heave yourself to your feet regardless, ignoring the stubborn pain. The myriad cuts and bruises you’ve amassed since this all began sting and throb.

You still don’t know what “this” is. You’re still at square one, without a clue or a hope to get you by. All that matters now is getting as far from this newfound imposter as possible. You rush across the clearing, gritting your teeth through the agony.

The imposter says something, then. You’re too distracted to hear, but you can clearly make out the sound of his boots thudding as he gives chase. Animal fear sets your body aflame, bolts of levin dancing up and down your spine. Every heaving gasp burns the back of your dry throat, eyes watering against a sudden gust of wind. You cannot die here.If you were in better shape, if you hadn’t been run so ragged, perhaps you’d be able to claw your way out of this. But he bridges the distance between you with pathetic ease.

“This a terrible shame to lose someone so skilled,” he says. He shoves an elbow into your mid-back, harsh plate slamming into your spine. “You could have served on His Majesty’s court.”

You crash to the ground for what feels like the thirtieth time today, shuddering and clawing at the dirt, feet kicking out as you attempt to delay the inevitable. Oh god, you realize belatedly, deliriously, that this is where you die. In the dark and alone, covered in sweat and grime, last moments spent wriggling in filth like a pig. This is how they will find you—if anyone even does, rumpled and beaten and bloody—no partners to lend you aid or shield you. No one to fret over your wounds or nag you to rest.

Ardbert was right. Black spots swim at the edges of your vision. Behind you, the whoosh of a blade winds through the air. May it be swift, you pray, and shut your eyes.

The blow never reaches you.

The sound of a thousand windows shattering nearly blows out your eardrums. The noise is almost a physical force, erupting from the space only a few fulms ahead of you. Tendrils of blinding daylight reach in as the darkened skies seem to fall to pieces, starlit canopy cracking and crumbling to the earth in crystalline shards.

A blur of brown streaks past your left side, but the enraged roar it makes is familiar enough to make your eyes water with tears unshed. Steel screams against steel. In that instant, you drop. All fight leaves your body, head thunking into the soil. You turn your face to the side to avoid a mouthful of dirt.

You cannot see the full scope of the fight, because a pair of arms circle around your prone body. You’re lifted fast enough to make your head spin, nausea churning in your gut. All you can do is swallow down the acid bile, lest you stain Meteor’s dark plate and leathers.

Instead you let loose a dry, rasping sob. The nightmare is over. You have nothing else to fear. All of the mysteries you have agonized over will be explained in due time.

You fall to pieces. Above you, Meteor’s lips are moving, but you can’t make out a word over the shattering and screaming and thrumming of your traitorous heart. He looks down at you, and you would feel guilty at the abject horror and concern written plain across his face if you were not so, so relieved. You cry, and cry, and cry, not even caring when the points and hard flats of his armor jostle your wounds because he is here and he is real. He is so achingly, endlessly and utterly real.

It is relief, not fear, which blurs your vision and runs down your cheeks. Relief deeper than you ever thought you could feel. So deep that you submerge into it, sinking into the merciful empty of a well-deserved sleep.

#pollen tag #ardbert/reader #meteor/reader

17 notes · View notes

pedge-page · 10 months ago

Note

My husband, Bruce Springsteen in a fur suit ….

There’s a plushies joke here somewhere

Gosh Romana I almost forgot about this in my inbox cuz I was trying to find the very specific pic BUT I DID :

- - - -

It's end of March, and the candy aisles are filled with Easter chocolate eggs and sugar coated bunny shaped marshmallows, all pastels of pink and yellows and blues saturating your senses.

You come home after grabbing some cake on sale in the bakery, to find a little trail of plastic colorful Easter egg hunt eggs on the floor. You crack one open, and it's bunny shaped chocolate. (Joel knows you are a slut for chocolate So you pop it in your mouth and collect the next one then the next, slowly inching towards the slightly adjar bedroom door.

Nothing looks out of the ordinary, except the haphazard throw of plushies that were stacked neatly on your bed before you left now on the floor.

Except for the giant Easter Bunny plush thats on the bed--oh that's just Joel.

He didn't even bother to put the head on, strutting in the fluffy giant white cotton suit complete with puffy tail. He grins at you with lidded eyes, like a slut in bed (mado posture in pic below) begging for you to paint like a French Girl or whatever the fuck they said in the movie.

Your cheeks are puffed out with so many chocolate bunnies you had been shoving in your mouth, a bit flustered because you didn't expect anything tonight except going into a chocolate coma.

"Do yoy wanna be my sexy little bunny mate tonight, baby?" He asks in his most seductive voice possible. You hsve to fight not laughing at him when he's clearly sweating in that thing. Probably sitting here this whole time waiting for you to get home.

You finish chewing the mesh of candy in your mouth and swallow some of it so you can mumble "rr weh bredin trnite?" Suggestively with your wiggling brows.

He nods, "like rabbits" trying not to let his smile crack. You run and pounce on top of him, both of you laughing as he engulfs you in fluff and rolls you over on the bed.

If I could draw I would put bunny joel over this but alas I cannot so just pretend.

#plushies!joel

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silvergolddraco28 · 1 year ago

Text

Done For- Roleplayed with @sanityisinthemusic

Chapter 1 Crash Landing

What’s a golden sage to do when he crash lands past a rather powerful barrier into a territory owned by another monkey like himself with his student/cub under the threat of getting taken from him? Surely he can’t be falling for the brooding King of Shadows after being given a ‘threat’ to play nice under the barrier was naturally thinner to let him and his cub leave. Yep, there was no *way* this golden sage was going to listen to his monkey brain screaming at him to submit and have King’s cubs.

()()()()

Ruby and gold eyes gazed down at the sleeping bundle of dark brown fur wrapped up snuggly in a bright red scarf softly purring. “Looks like my luck got us in a bit of trouble huh?” The obviously male being questioned letting his pale-skinned fingers gently caress the sleeping cub in his arms.

The being shifted slightly letting their golden tail reach over to a small bowl of dried fruit. The golden being looked over the fruit with a mental sigh before gently waking up the cub in his arms. “Time to eat Mk. Eat and then you can go back to sleep.”

The cub gave a chittering whine as being woken up, eyes slightly glazed with a mild fever as the golden one grimaced. “I know bud I know but you need to eat something.” The golden one softly spoke, picking out one of the less likely fruits to cause the cub to vomit on top of the fever. ‘Alright let’s recap while the little cub is busy… Mk and I crash-landed here after getting blown off course by one of Mei’s new gadgets. We decided to help her test it out. While I was a bit out of it from the hard landing the Kid had gone to get some help since we had no idea where we had landed. Once I got my bearings I followed Mk’s scent and came upon a group of Demons all huddled around a very scared Mk turned into a stone monkey cub… I snapped at seeing Mk in danger while surrounded by unknown demons.’ The golden being recounted already feeling some regret for lashing out with his more demon monkey instincts.

‘I vaguely recall seeing a tall black monkey demon using some sort of magic before I passed out.’ the golden monkey thought as his memory was fully caught up. His gaze trailed to the long purple-tinted black cuff covering most of his forearm with glowing runic letters suppressing most of his power but his eyes of truth, his naturally inhuman strength, speed, agility, and some of his shape-shifting.

“Shadow Lord…” the golden monkey softly muttered, raising a hand to his mouth and biting his thumb drawing golden-colored blood. Gently he lowered his thumb to the cub’s mouth and let the droplets of golden blood enter the cub’s mouth instantly seeing the cub gain back more color and a healthier breathing pattern. “…what are we going to do?” With that question hanging in the air, the golden monkey simply rested his head back against the cool stone.

The cub wiggled in the little cocoon chirping out and making the Golden monkey chirp out in response until nothing but chirps filled the cell.

The cell door opened, and Four demons entered the chamber, all in armor, all with some sort of weapon. The guards surrounded the monkey King. "Our King is expecting you," the demon that came in first, a bear demon with a battle ax on his back, said. "You're to come with us."

The Golden monkey stood from the ground gently pulling up the ‘hood’ of the cocoon on the cub. He said nothing as he exited the cell.

A young feline demoness was waiting outside the cell. "An infant doesn't belong in court. I'll look after the little one while you're there." She stepped forward, hands extended to take the baby.

A low growl came from the Golden monkey. “I'm sorry but I won't let my Cub leave my sight.” the Golden monkey coldly stated.

The cat demoness immediately stepped back in alarm as the guards tensed. The bear demon frowned. "If the child were to start wailing in the court, the Lord would be very displeased. We cannot promise the child's safety should that happen."

“I’ll take full responsibility over my Cub but I promise that if anyone tries to harm my Cub they will be missing the limb that touches my Cub.” The Golden monkey responded to his demonic red sclera and molten gold irises glowing with cold wrath of a demon parent that was waiting to be unleashed.

The bear watched him for a moment, before signing. "So be it." He waved the cat demoness off, who hissed something about stubbornness being deadly as she stalked away. "Just keep the cub quiet."

The Golden monkey seemed to loosen up slightly but didn't let down his guard as he whispered under his breath to the cub. ”…Sleep and dream little one…” He muttered softly as the cub yawned cutely before falling asleep.

The golden monkey was marched through the palace halls. Demons stopped and stared, whispering on occasion. Nobody seemed afraid though. Some demons snickered, others looked at him with disdain. It was becoming more and more clear the closer they got to the audience hall that the golden monkey was not respected here. But nobody tried to approach him while he was being escorted by the guards.

‘This is Heaven all over again.’ the golden monkey thought to himself keeping his face a neutral mask to not show any weakness.

The guards had led him through a large set of double doors into a large hall. There were more guards posted on the inside and outside of the door. The hall was lit with purple flames. Tapestries decorated the walls. There were very few demons actually within the hall itself.

At the end of the hall, guards on either side of him, sat a dark monkey on a throne. He wore flowing robes of black and purple, black nails rapping quietly against the arm of his throat as he studied him. "Sun Wukong." The low voice of the demon spoke his name slowly, black tail flicking out from behind him. "You come to my kingdom and attack my people. Surely even you know by now that's no way for a guest to behave."

“We crash-landed into the kingdom by accident during a training exercise. I know my behavior was uncalled for but just minutes prior my student was a young teen nearly an adult and the next time I saw him it was as a crying Cub letting out distressed calls.” The golden monkey, Wukong, explained but from what he already saw of the kingdom’s people, not a word he said would be taken and trusted even with proof.

His eyes flicked down to the little bundle in his arms, but they didn't linger. "Last I checked, the barrier you broke through shouldn't be able to turn a young monkey demon back into a cub."

“My student wasn't a demon,” Wukong replied.

"Really?" The Shadow Lord leaned forward, eyebrow raised. "Then I'd love to hear you explain how he became a cub."

Wukong opened his mouth to answer only to snap it shut in surprise when a sleepy chirp came from his arms with a little hand tugging at his tunic. {Hungry} the cub sleepily insisted.

The Lord’s six ears immediately perked up at the noise, eyes locking on the bundle in the King's arms again as he chirped back a reassuring chirp to the little cub.

The cub’s ‘hood’ fell revealing six little lotus-like ears colored a sunset gold with purple edges while the cub’s mask was a pale peach color yet shaped like flames with purple and gold dots along the cheeks looking like freckles. The cub sleepily looked around with gold sclera and Royal Purple irises not quite reacting to all the strangers around them before their sleepy gaze looked at the monkey on the throne and the cub gave out a calling chirp.

The Lord couldn't quite stop his instincts from making him chirp back again with a responding call, eyes wide. The guards at their stations glanced at each other, uncertain what to do. He suddenly became aware of whispers starting amongst the staff scattered at the edges of the hall. He rose gracefully from his throne. "Leave us," he commanded coldly. "I need to have a word with the trickster." The staff quickly scurried, and more reluctantly, the guards did as well.

The dark monkey didn't move again until the room had emptied of all but two simians. He glided down the steps his platform rested on, coming to stand just out of arm's reach of Sun Wuking, ears twitching at every sound from the cub. "What are you playing at?"

“I’m not playing anything. Coming here was completely on accident.” Wukong firmly stated shifting the cub in his arms.

"Drop the glamor on the cub." His tail flicked once as his eyes narrowed.

“It's not a glamor. I can't project any glamor on anyone but myself with this shackle.” Wukong stated.

"Then how?" He clasped his hands behind his back as he came closer, peering down at the cub, frowning slightly as he glanced back up at the brass monkey, head still tilted down. "He has my ears. What have you done."

“I haven't done anything to him. This is how he looked the moment I woke up in that cell after passing out.” Wukong stated as the cub squirmed and in a rather quick move latched his little paw-like hands into the flowing black robe with much clearer eyes.

Amber gold eyes shoot back down to the little cub clinging to him. He watched him for a moment before standing straight. He waved a hand over the cub. The little sets of ears turned into two normal monkey ears. His little dots also disappeared, and his mask shifted to more of a butterfly shape. "We'll say that this is a natural form, you'd managed to cast the glamor on him before you were captured and directed the magic you still had access to toward maintaining the glamor in hopes I'd be more willing to show my Cub parent mercy. I have no intention of dealing with the rumors his appearance will bring." He gently poked that little paw, trying to get him to let go. "I also put a sound suppression seal around his ears."

The cub wiggled his nose before sneezing shattering the glamor with a burst of gold and purple magic.

The dark monkey frowned. "You forgot to mention how powerful the cub was."

“This is relatively new even for me,” Wukong replied as the cub let go of the black robe to pull at Wukong’s chest plate.

{hungry!} The cub babbled his grip threatening to snap the chest plate at the cub’s insistence.

The Shadow Lord snorted, a smirk twisting his face. "I suppose we know who the mother is." He turned back to his throne and as he approached it, shadows seemed to bleed out from his robes where they trailed behind him. "I suppose I best not keep you from your nursing. For the time you will be here, you will be filling the role of the servants who you've injured. I'll send someone later on to explain what duties that entails." The shadows formed into two shadows resembling the Lord but in attire more suited for combat than sitting on a throne, shadow cudgels in hand. "You're dismissed."

“You know it's rather rube to not introduce yourself.” Wukong spoke while he kept a neutral face.

The dark monkey simply chuckled. “Shadow Lord Macaque will do for now.” He smirked rather smugly watching as the golden monkey was taken back to the cell by the two shadow clones after pulling the little one’s ‘hood’ back up. The thick doors of the throne room separating the golden monkey from the dark one.

()()()()

It was a few hours later when a guard came for him. "Our Lord has been most generous to allow you a small servant room, so long as you behave." The fox demon was smirking, tail waving in pleasure. "I'll tell you what your new jobs in the palace are after I take you to the room. Get up."

Wukong gave a small scowl but stood curling his tail around the chest plate he had taken off leaving just the dark gold tunic-like shirt to cover his chest and arms.

"Oh, you won't need the armor for a while." The fox snickered as he led the Monkey King from the cell.

He led him through the halls, and every time they passed someone in the halls, snickers or smirks seemed to follow. The scorn was still there, and a few maids took the time to glare at the King, but the general attitude seemed to shift noticeably toward amusement.

They ended up in a much simpler hall, where the Fox stopped in front of a door and opened it, revealing a simple room with a twin-sized bed, a small desk, and a small wardrobe. "Your uniforms are in there." The fox's tail swished.

Wukong narrowed his eyes slightly as he went over to the wardrobe to open it and see what exactly was inside.

"The male servant garb is for when you will be personally attending to our Lord's needs," the brown fox explained. "The training clothes will be for when you join the guard for training," A hint of sadistic glee crept into his voice at the mention of training. "And we'll provide you with fitting armor when you are allowed to join us for guard duty. The maid's uniform is for when you are days you'll be helping the staff clean the palace, and the last uniform, with its tall boots," the fox snorted, unable to resist laughing anymore, "well, those should look familiar to you, oh great and glorious Keeper of the Heavenly Horses."

Wukong clenched his jaw but kept his temper under wraps. He was not about to risk Mk being punished for something Wukong acted out on. “Anything else?” Wukong neutrally asked.

"Well that was a boring reaction," the fox said, still grinning. "Just that the Lord has been kind enough to say that he would keep an eye on the cub while you worked."

Wukong simply closed the wardrobe. “I'm sure he has more important things to take care of than a young one that will demand attention and play that will interfere with his duties,” Wukong responded with a slight frown.

"And a cub will be getting in the way of your duties even more than his," the fox pointed out. "Half your duties won't be safe to have a cub involved with." The fox shrugged. "I don't get why he wants to do this either, he just told me to tell you he'd take care of the kid."

Wukong grimaced at that point. Most of the ‘jobs’ were labor intensive and the only ones that might let him keep Mk close were the servant of the Lord and the maid of the palace.

"You'll have your first day in the stables tomorrow. A maid will be here early to pick the kid up." The guard turned to the door, and glanced back with a smirk, "See you in a few days." His tail waved as he walked out of the room.

Wukong scowled once he was alone as he walked up to the door sitting his finger and drawing a runic circle on the door with golden blood causing a shimmer of green tinted gold to spread over the door and the walls of the room creating a protective barrier and a privacy spell with a thicker shimmer covering the floor and ceiling before it settled and faded. “That should work for some time before I have to reapply it.” Wukong sighed nuzzling the cub in his arms relieved the cub had just taken a nap after being fed and slept through the whole thing. “Tomorrow will be an interesting day…” Wukong muttered with a sigh. ‘If they keep giving us rotten food I'm going to end up crashing sooner or later. Even an immortal has physical limits before they crash to ‘reset’ them.’ Wukong thought knowing he had to keep himself healthy and free of any poison and toxins that could harm Mk while the cub was feeding from him.

The cub just snuggled into his tunic holding the fabric tight.

{Ma… Ma…} Mk purred in his sleep.

#fanfiction #lmk au #lego monkie kid #shadowpeach #collab help #cowrite #amwriting #lmk rp #sun wukong x macaque #six eared macaque #sun wukong

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7-pines · 2 years ago

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Revolutionary Girl Utena Tarot Card Ideas

I cannot commit to drawing all these but I have been working out how I'd lay out the Major Arcana at least. While I'm confident in some cards, there's some where I'm not sure which visual symbols I want to use or how to capture the meaning of the card right. Feel free to reply/message me about these if you have better ideas.

Deck is Rider-Waite and meanings are cobbled together from BiddyTarot, Labrynithos, TVTropes Useful Notes, Wikipedia and me. I list these meanings, then describe the cards, and then describe how the meanings interact with the cards and whether or not they still fit. Once I feel satisfied/done with the card assignments, I'll probably just write out new suggested meanings for all of them.

A thing about Rider-Waite decks is that Strength and Justice are reversed compared to other decks. I'm tempted not to number these so that those cards can change places.

Anyways, the cards:

0. The Fool - Tenjou Utena (Prince)

upright: beginnings, innocence, free spirit, spontaneity reversed: recklessness, taking risks, naviety, inconsideration

She should be depicted in her school uniform at the beginning of the series, white rose in her breast pocket and bamboo sword and about to step (off?) onto the dueling arena and is looking above at the school's mirage. I am tempted for her to have short hair in this.

The show goes out of its way to call Utena the Fool. "Was that really such a good idea." This card is positioned as the protagonist that makes their way through all the challenges presented by the other 21 Major Arcana cards (21 duels). Both upright and reversed, this card describes Utena's personality as an innocent and naive young girl, reckless in the name of what she believes is right.

1. The Magician - Ohtori Akio (Dios/Apocalypse)

upright: manifestation, willpower, desire, creation reversed: manipulation, trickery, untapped talents, illusions

This should be the verison of Akio that's a prince, in the white suit with red cloak. Projected above him is the illusory school that reflects the real one below, and maybe sitting on the projector (should not be obvious that this is the projector, as much as like, the orb that also represents the world/egg). He is doing the "as above, so below" symbol that the magician is doing but with his hands reversed, and above his head should be a snake eating its own tail in the shape of an infinity sign like a halo, representing the dueling cycle. I'm not sure if he should be the version of Dios or the version of Apocalypse. It's possible to do both here with Dios reflecting Apocalypse but it might get too crowded.

Upright this card represents how Akio controls the world through his own desires. Reversed, this card represents the manipulation and illusions he employs.

2. The High Priestess - Himemiya Anthy (Rose Bride)

upright: intuition, subconscious/unconscious, internality, magic reversed: secrets, withdrawal and silence, repressed feelings

It shouldn't be obvious that Anthy's in her coffin, but there's a shadow over her that represents that. Her expression is neutral, doll-like and she is wearing the rose bride dress with the crown on her head. Chu-chu should be in this card, dressed as Akio, maybe eating/holding a pomegranate. She is in the rose garden that's flooding around her feet, with other roses and the moon reflected in that. Behind her is a red rose on the veil, and the shadows of A/B-ko are both going into the rose as they fight each other. In general, the colors and composition should reflect the Empress, so more purple in this one.

This card is a lot about secret power and manipulation. Reversed, it leans more into emotional repression and withdrawal.

3. The Empress - Kiryuu Nanami

upright: feminity, motherhood, nature, abundance, harmony reversed: dependence, smothering, lack, nosiness

Posed like the High Priestess, Nanami has a smug demeanor to her. Wherever Chu-chu was, should be replaced with a colorful egg. She should also be wearing a crown, and in the background should be the mountains as seen in the episode where she turned into a cow.

Nanami represents the queen in the way she has social power over her classmates from her proximity to her brother, the Emperor. She is literally the only person I could think of in this show that has a scene that one could describe as maternal (trying to raise the egg). Reversed, this card signifies dependence and lack, both things that characterize Nanami. She is dependent on her brother for power, and she lacks a true emotional connection with literally everyone (she thinks she has one with her brother but that's proven false). Maybe also including the cat whever Anthy has one of the duelists.

4. The Emperor - Kiryuu Touga

upright: masculinity, fatherhood, authority, control reversed: tyranny, rigidity, coldness, domination

This card should probably reflect the Devil more than the Magician, though Touga models himself after both in relationship to Utena. Touga should be wearing red and sitting on the chair as though he were dead, on the Student Council rooftop. He is carrying a sword in one hand and maybe he's holding a white envelope or telephone in the other one. On the table should be the recordings he made for the student council meetings. I feel like I should include the cabbage butterflies from the movie since they are a visual symbol associated with him. I don't know how to depict coldness other than the ways he destroys the relationship he has with Nanami and Saionji, so maybe the diary burning should be near him and he should be bleeding from the hand holding the sword.

Touga and Nanami reflect Akio and Anthy. All together, these four make a story about a kingdom where it looks like the power is in the hands of Touga and Nanami, but it's really Akio and Anthy that are influencing things as the Magician and High Priestess.

5. The Hierophant - The Shadow Play

upright: religion, conformity, traditions, morality reversed: personal beliefs, rebellion, subversiveness, freedom

This one is complicated. I don't feel like there's a particular religion that's believed in (especially not Christianity). I was debating putting the teacher here for her role in enforcing the school's norms, but she's pretty ineffectual in the face of Utena. The thing that's a much larger controlling force in the school is the Narrative. The story that says that one boy is the prince and all girls are the rose bride (except for the witch) and so forth. I feel like the Shadow Players are the most aware of the narrative and the story they're acting out. This card shows the different masks the girls wear, roles they act out, and the play they're putting on is the one they invite Utena to. I haven't figured out which props should be in the foreground but probably a crown, a sword and a monster mask/witch hat?

Upright, this card represents the narrative and social constructs that the world is expected to adhere to. Reversed, this card represents rebelling against those things and staying true to yourself.

6. The Lovers - Utena & Anthy

upright: love, harmony, duality, union, synthesis reversed: self-love, disharmony, imbalance, one-sidedness

This has to be Utena and Anthy having tea together, as equals, both of them with their hair long and down. Some canvases on easels in the background, referencing the scene in the movie where they perceive each other, and the implication that this is in the future or outside the school. There's tea on the table next to a plate of biscuits, but under the table, there should be two swords. I would love if I could make the swords only visible if the card is reversed, and it's not necessary for those to exist, because maybe the tea and biscuits are enough to call back the scene where they joke about poisoning each other. I want them to be holding hands across the table as well, and smiling, truly happy. Maybe car keys in the foreground, and a world stretching out around them in the back.

Upright, this is their relationship as equals. Reversed, this is their relationship as prince and bride and princess and witch, one-sided projections of the other, jealousy, and taking advantage of or minimizing the other.

7. The Chariot - Akio's Car

upright: control, willpower, success, direction/leadership reversed: self-discipline, opposition, lack of direction

This one's kinda obvious, what else is a chariot but Akio's car? Akio sits on the hood of the car, shirtless, as it speeds past the word "stop" written on the road, which is turning towards the left, this car is not trying to escape the school. I'm tempted to draw the car so large that Akio's face isn't really visible.

The additional meaning afforded to this card by the show is coerced sexuality. The word "Stop" should be reversed so it's easier to read from the driver's point of view and when the card is reversed, and I'm debating whether writing it in English or Japanese.

8. Strength - Shinohara Wakaba

upright: courage, bravery, compassion, gentleness, self-control reversed: inner strength, self-doubt, weakness, insecurity

Wakaba's a normal girl going through it and dealing with feeling inferior and the heartbreak from the guy she likes mocking her feelings for him. I'm really not sure what to include in this, maybe her in her dormitory with her kappa water dispenser and food she likes cooking, like one of the bento boxes she makes for Utena. The other symbol here is the carved wooden leaf and her love letters, but I'm not totally sure how I want to include these, maybe reversed or falling from something behind her. Also maybe actual onions for both her and the onion prince.

Upright, it's about the forms of strength besides just physical, besides the type that stands out and is special. Quiet and emotional strength and compassion. Reversed, it's insecurity about not being special or important.

9. The Hermit - Saionji Kyouichi

upright: wisdom, introspection, solitude, search for truth reversed: isolation, loneliness, withdrawal, lost

I don't really have a lot of Saionji thoughts. But, he is like Utena in that he also has no family and no one to rely on, except Wakaba and he sure does end up fucking that up in the end. He doesn't really have any inner knowledge but when he gets expelled, he doesn't go home and lives in the woods for a few weeks, I guess he grows a little in this time? Maybe? Anyways, that's this card. Him camping out in the woods, and wearing an apron and cooking eggs, I guess. He's also the first duelist to point out/realize that maybe the upside-down school is just a mirage.

Upright, this card is about having time alone and trying to figure out what you're doing. Reversed, this card is about not having anyone to rely on, being isolated and withdrawn.

10. Wheel of Fortune - The Duels

upright: good luck, cycles, destiny, change in fortune reversed: bad luck, resistance to change, breaking cycles

The cycle of duels is the only thing that makes sense to me here. All of the main duelists (Utena/Saionji/Miki/Juri/Nanami/Touga/Akio) pointed at a rose like the spokes of a wheel. Maybe also a light that points upwards, representing the power of Dios, or a light coming from Anthy to represent the hearts that these are coming from. Surrounding this is either the shape of the school or the shape of a coffin (the shape of the school is also the shape of a tomb), filled with roses of different colors.

I think something about this card is being complicit in the cycle you're stuck in. Upright means success within the system, and reversed is failure within the system, but there are reasons why succeeding in the system may perpetuate a terrible cycle and reasons why failing or rebelling against a system is a good thing.

11. Justice - Tenjou Utena (duelist)

upright: objectivity, fairness, truth, cause and effect, law reversed: unfairness, unaccountability, dishonesty

There's actually a version of this card drawn by the mangaka artist, Saitou Chiho, here in 1997. The other card here is Utena as the High Priestess, but I really think that should be Anthy. There's some stuff here about how Utena rides a black horse in the opening sequence and how (of the four horsemen) that rider is Famine who also carries a scale.

I think this card should be Utena in the pose that she uses when the spirit of Dios possesses her and there should be rose petals fallilng to the ground behind her, purple and/or red maybe because that's Akio that she's defeating but that's also Anthy.

Upright, this card is being the chivalrous and honorable prince, to revolutionize the unjust world. Reversed, this card is the way a prince never quite let the princess protect herself, and that you cannot revolutionize the world with the methods used to enforce control.

The really fun thing about Utena being Justice and Wakaba being Strength is that Rider-Waite decks actually have the order for these two reversed, compared to other decks (Strength is the 11th card, Justice is the 8th card) and this really neatly fits in with the last episode of the series.

12. The Hanged Man - Mikage Souji/Professor Nemuro

upright: surrender, sacrifice/matyrdom for knowledge, release reversed: stalling, resistance, indecision, needless sacrifice

Mikage should be upside down in his elevator, with a leaf framed on the wall next to him. He should be holding the candles, representing this belief that he sacrificed himself for Mamiya. The bottom of this card should be up in flames, and maybe a red outline around him like the other princes that died in the school in the past and were cremated. He has a black rose in his breast pocket and the black rose ring on his finger. He should be looking downwards, mirroring Utena's pose as the Fool. There should be a desk behind him, somewhat reminiscent of the table the Magician has, with the things that the other black rose duelists had on their school desks.

This card upright is about sacrifice for knowledge, sacrificing people for the sake of information or revenge. Reversed, this card is about nostalgia and fixation on the past, being unable to move forward. It's also about needless sacrifice, and the way everyone's memories of the Black Rose Duelists were totally lost after the arc.

13. Death - Tokiko Chida

upright: endings, change, transformation, metamorphosis reversed: resistance to change, stagnation, decay, inner purging

Tokiko should be upright, wearing all black and looking like an old woman. On the wall behind her should be a framed butterfly representing metamorphosis. It should be sunset, mirroring the flames that consume Mikage. I want to somehow represent that she's left flowers on Mamiya's grave and is moving forward with her life, maybe a coffin behind her with the stalks of floweres on it.

Tokiko is only figure that is able to change between the memories and now, and one of the first to escape. While Utena and Mikage mirror each other, Mikage sees Utena as Tokiko and able to enact change.

14. Temperance - Arisugawa Juri

upright: balance, moderation, patience, synthesis reversed: imbalance, excess, self-healing, extremes

Juri is casting off things, the broken locket falling into the water while the orange rose, torn from her breast pocket, falls onto the land. I was going to use Shiori as the Lovers so that I could cast Juri as the angel in both of these cards, but I think this also works out.

I think upright, it can work to be patience and reversed it can be repression or imbalance. Juri's patience in hoping that Shiori will understand her feelings without her saying them, which doesn't work out for her but sort of works for the card. And reversed, there's an imbalance and block that's keeping her from progressing.

15. The Devil - Ohtori Akio (Chairman)

upright: shadow, restriction, addiction, sexuality, material attachments reversed: release, freedom, detachment, restoring control

This card should be framed to be inside the observatory that keeps everyone trapped, with Akio standing above Utena and Anthy, who don't look at each other. Utena's dressed like a princess wearing earrings, Anthy is dressed like the Rose Bride and the night sky is projected above them, Venus directly above Akio.

He literally draws a line from the planet Venus to Lucifer to his own name and role in this story. Not a lot to really say about this one, it mirrors the Lovers and the way Akio uses sexuality and family and attachments to control people.

16. The Tower - The Observatory

upright: sudden upheaval, broken pride, chaos, revelation, disaster reversed: averting disaster, fear of change, fear of suffering

Feels self-explanatory. It's the tower, it's the birdcage, it's the garden, it's everything that's keeping Anthy trapped. The swords should be in the process of destroying it, with the silhouette of Utena getting hit by them.

This is the scene of destruction, Utena's broken dream of being a prince, understanding Anthy, and the reality of being a prince. This revolution is going to hurt. Reversed, it's about Akio's fear of the swords, of change, of destruction.

17. The Star - The Projector/Miracle

upright: hope, faith, purpose, renewal, spirituality, peace reversed: faithlessness, discouragement, disconnection

commentary: The star is the projector of the castle reversed. I think it should be front and center, and projecting the upside-down school and a constellation above it. It's the hope that people have to gain power and attain their dreams at the same time keeping everyone stuck within the system and used to discourage true freedom.

18. The Moon - Kaoru Miki and Kozue

upright: illusion, intuition, fear, subconscious/unconscious, true colors reversed: confusion, fear, misinterpretation, repression

commentary: I think this works best if I use both of the twins on this one. Miki represents illusion and the tame dog while Kozue represents true colors and the wild wolf. They should both be in the garden but Miki's resembles his memory while Kozue's side represents the current reality, while she looks up at the moon and between them is the pitcher of milk creating a river that divides-connects them.

Upright this card is about nostalgia and the illusions created by memory, thinking of Miki's perspective of the events. Reversed, this card is about hedonism and expression of true feelings, seeing Kozue's side of the same events.

19. The Sun - Tsuwabuki Mitsuru

upright: positivity, fun, warmth, success, celebration, reward reversed: inner-child, negativity, overly optimistic

commentary: A baby. I want the film to be projected above him, with the idea of being a prince just out of reach above him and maybe holding the bar of chocolate or the potted plant that he dropped on Nanami's head upside-down.

I think this ends up mirroring the Fool a bit, with naivety and impulsiveness. And nothing Tsuwabuki tries to do succeeds because he's a child. Maybe leaning more towards that, being a child and powerless.

20. Judgement - The Swords of Hatred

upright: judgement, rebirth, reflection, reckoning, awakening, absolution reversed: doubt, self loathing, ignoring the call

commentary: A circle off the swords pointed at a coffin filled with roses, mirroring the Wheel of Fortune. The roses in the center should either all be white or be rainbow overflowing from the coffin. This should be happening at the observatory.

21. The World - Himemiya Anthy (leaving)

upright: completion, fulfillment, accomplishment, travel reversed: short-cuts, delays, no closure

commentary: Himemiya is wearing her outfit from the end of the anime. The road she walks on fades into the wilderness.

#revolutionary girl utena #rgu #sku #tarot #fandom tarot

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iudiex · 1 year ago

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@icerberus: “There is … one matter before we adjourn, Chief Justice,” Wriothesley says on a small sigh. He made a promise to a certain melusine to deliver a letter and knowing her, it’s one of her crayon drawings she wants to gift to monsieur Neuvillette. Regardless of the embrassment, Wriothesley still hands the envelope over. “Sigewinne wanted me to pass this onto you. She said … it’s of great importance and awaits your reply.”

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐪𝐮𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐥𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 to him, though not for lack of trying on the part of the warden himself and the employees that staffed it. neuvillette knew, simply, that the walls radiated loathing for him personally - simply due to the fact that he was... well, responsible for sentencing the majority of the souls here. as such, his visits were usually brief... never curt, but clipped and quick, as if he couldn't get out fast enough. today is different though, for some reason - the chief justice lingers in wriothesley's office, gaze fixated almost mechanically on one of the walls near the younger's salt and pepper hair.

❝ ⸻ oh? ❞ curiosity finds him, attention drifting now to the man before him. a slow, measured blink and the most imperceptible lilt of soft, pretty lips. he takes the envelope with his usual grace, and opens it with steady, careful fingers - so as to not tear even the edges of that. from it, the chief justice withdraws what is indeed, a crayon drawing, and even the sovereign himself cannot stop his lips from fully curling into a soft, endeared smile. warmth curls in his gut, and neuvillette... well, he outright chuckles. ❝ have you seen this? she grows more talented each time. ❞

turning the paper around, neuvillette points to a red and black figure in the corner - complete with very clear canine ears and a tail, as well as the most startling shade of blue for the eyes. ❝ the resemblance to you is striking. ❞ and yet, a forlorn sigh befalls him, as he sets the drawing down, leaning forward in his seat a moment longer. his trip to the surface could wait. ❝ do you have a paper and some coloring utensils handy, your grace? i must pen my reply immediately for you to carry back to her. a few shades of pink or blue should do the trick... ❞

#icerberus #help this is so cute #art project time #⋅ ♛ ⋅ — › ᴊ'ᴀᴠᴏᴜᴇ ᴊᴇ ᴍᴀᴜᴅɪs. — ⌜ answered ⌟#⋅ ♛ ⋅ — › ᴍᴀɪɴ. — ⌜ verse. i ⌟

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jacks-stupid-doodles · 1 month ago

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A set of solar system based dragons I’ve been trying to finish for awhile!

Design notes:

• Sun- I tried to base a lot of their characteristics off of the way solar flares look. Additionally, since the sun is at the center, it isn’t orbiting like the rest of the set so they are posed in more of a curled position than most of the dragons.

• Mercury- Honestly, a surprising amount of the design decisions here were based off of a greyhound. The speckled pattern and broken horn are supposed to show the collisions that have occurred on this planet. Since it is one of the few without atmosphere, this poor fellow does not get fur, but to make up for that, I added in its magnetic field since apparently that does the most to protect from the sun for this planet.

• Venus and Earth: Venus and earth were designed to look very similar. They are often referred to as twins, so it was fitting. Venus was designed to have a much more rocky looking exterior and a lot of thick atmosphere, while earth was supposed to look more animal-like (Earth has patches and antlers for example). Additionally, earth’s design includes its most important feature: water to set the dragons apart from one another.

• Mars- This dragon has a few different patches and ridges to represent its surface and icy sections, and a ample helping of atmosphere. Not much in particular to say about them, but I do like their short tail :).

• Jupiter- The first gas giant! I decided to differentiate the gas giants by giving them a different type of body to fit their composition: they have more skeletal frames with a ton of fluff covering or obscuring it. Also since Jupiter is covered in storm spots, this dragon got almost butterfly-like patterns on its wings as well as a fun eye spot. They ended up being one of my favorites.

• Saturn- I don’t know how successful this was, but I tried to incorporate Saturn’s rings through their pose and their horns. Plus the octagonal storm living on their forehead.

• Uranus- this was the first ice giant! I tired to give them a more spikey, crystalline appearance. This also was a favorite to me (and not just because of the jokes I could make while talking about drawing them).

• Neptune- like Venus and earth, I tried to draw Uranus and Neptune in a similar manner. Neptune has more mass, but less volume than Uranus, so they had more ice and spikes, but less fuzz than Uranus.

• Pluto- last, but certainly not least, Pluto! Their design ended up pretty similar to mercury, but according to the Pluto Wikipedia page, it has an atmosphere and possibly water as well. This means this little guy got some fluff and a bit of water on top of their patches of color!

I cannot wait to color these! I also plan to do the asteroid belts and a few more of the dwarf planets and significant objects in our system.

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cheswirls · 10 months ago

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a:tla la thoughts 1.3

oh my god i forgot abt cabbage man being introduced in omashu. he was at the gate but he didnt' say anything! i was waiting for that scream. hopefully next time

oh is this jet. at first i thought it was haru but the shorter hair. sokka's immediate disapproval. this is jet huh. ok. ok i see you

NOOOOOOOOOOO he didnt say it aaaaaa whyyyyyy theyre teasing meeeeeee

OH they're putting this kid in the first season < i said that they looked it up and they do visit the northern air temple in s1. the fact that he and assumedly his father are in omashu instead is. hm. a choice.

jet also being in omashu is weird considering they made it a point to say there's no fire nation presence in omashu. what business does he have here. like why. that's his whole thing. hunting soldiers.

teo's design is sick tho, love the hair. love the goggles. thought his father caused that explosion but if not that was a weird way to show katara and aang are benders.

OH ok now i get it. jet and co are bombing parts of the city as a way for the ppl to rise up. trying to drag omashu into the war. i do like that if that's the case. good angle

i!!!!!!! don't like mai's hair. are they like space buns? what was wrong with her original hair? they had that sort of ornate hairstyle down for suki's mom. i like thalia tran's voice but the hair is rly throwing me off, not to mention the scene they're all introduced in is rly dark for some reason????? if it's colored black i cannot see it.

ty lee is cute tho!!! and i do like azula so far. i like them all so far. just not mai's hair.

hehe :) the cabbages

i don't rly have full context so idk that i can give a complete opinion based on conjecture. the significance behind having teo and sai inhabit the northern air temple was about sharing culture and more than just idk... sai giving weapons to the fire nation to protect their livelihood. like that is a part of it, sure, but by removing the setting, it's taking away a lot of nuance the whole situation had.

jet and co being behind the bombs makes sense but idk in what context. if they're tailing fire nation spies outside (outside???? or does omashu having a woodsy side to it where they've set up camp and i just missed it?) the city to eliminate them, then why also bomb them inside the city? that part to me still seems like indiscriminate attacks meant to incite the army to fight. but i will hold back bc i dont wanna give these writers credit if thats not the case and its smth stupid instead rhgowhgqeg

speaking of stupid. can we live in an era (as someone who knows very little about showrunning) where actors voice if something pertaining to their character is bad or doesn't make sense. didn't emilia clarke wander around london or whatever in absolute turmoil bc she hated the ending for her character in game of thrones but in the end she still went thru w it bc what else could she do. i wanna live in a world where an actor reads a script or tries to act smth out and stops and goes no. no this is stupid i don't like this he would not say that. and it like, have weight and significance?? like if bad writing exists, instead of letting it slide, can ppl in the making of the show voice their opinions? if smth is bad then it's bad.

this is all bc of the senseless iroh pushing zuko to the ground and drawing attn to himself scene at the end of e3. like why. the gate was right there. no one was checking faces. cover zuko's head again and run out in the crowd. do anything aside from the needless sacrifice like what was the point, whyyyyyy, i don't understand.

(this was an interesting mashup episode but tbh all i was thinking thru watching it was 'wow! ppl who get into atla thru the netflix adaptation r gonna be so confused when they watch the cartoon and learn jet and teo are introduced at different points of the season from each other and omashu. completely different points. omashu is first half, jet is middle, teo and sai are end. not a bad thing it was just jarring to think abt.)

once again i do not like anything they've done with iroh's character.

idk i'll probably go in depth next episode when everything hopefully gets explained better but. maybe bc they're making atla into a drama instead of the action/adventure it was originally, they feel like everything has to be "dramatized" and it's sucking the soul out of the show? the comedy isn't there really, which is a shame. atla's comedy is like the golden standard of cartoon kids-rated comedy. i would've loved to see them get into omashu by disguising aang and katara running with the absurd surname and that whole element, instead of sneaking in with jet with what tries to be humor maybe but falls short of such. this show needs to be funnier to be successful in my eyes.

also i know i said this last time but i wanna say it again re: the change in genre. taking this show from a global journey adventure serial and trying to make it a drama is removing a lot of what made atla work so well. there was so much planning and nuance in everything, and it worked bc of the genre it fit into. trying to slice and dice certain elements of a season to fit a not even 8 hr runtime isn't great to begin with, but like. you can make the show more adult-oriented without changing what it is at its core, y'know?

now that there's definitely gonna be a good chunk of next episode also set in omashu, i rly hope there's some nod to haru and that it's not smth they cut entirely. tbh, i said everything connects throughout atla's three seasons, and this rly makes me wonder if they get a s2, what they're planning on doing then. i thought before this came out that if they were gonna cut anything, that i actually didn't care for jet's episode that much, but if you cut out jet, then you get rid of one of the more iconic scenes of s2, if not the whole show, where he's being brainwashed by the dai li. everything connects. the friends you make along the way come back to lend their assistance. i really hope the rest of what they'll do with omashu is decent and not wasted time.

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hobidreams · 4 years ago

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november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi angst #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #things only continue to shift don't they?

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miraclecherryblossomsblog · 4 years ago

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I been so in love with @miggiisdumb cowboy deku so I decided to draw him with my lil cow Author! (Couldn't help it and made him harier u//w//u)

Some headcanons with Author and her feelings with deku:

Cw: cringy writting, fluf.

- Author didn't notice deku until the 3rd day.

- At first she just saw him as another Human, que wouldn't really talk to him at first.

- Until he made himself known.

- Deku started coming more often to her stable were she mostly likes to stay by herself and draw a lil bit.

- At first he would just clean and organize stuff and Author being the shy cow she is would just sit in her bed(?) And draw.

- She would steal glances sometimes (mostly for his hair color) but she wouldn't pay him any mind.

- But one of those cleaning days he started to talk to her.

- At first he would ask her tipycal 'get to know' questions.

- Author was hesitant at first of answering him...but as the time went on she became more comftable with him.

- The questions became conversations and from then on she started to notice small things of him at first. From the color of his eyes to how his muscles would flex when moving or carrying stuff.

- She glances more then she woulded like to admit these days.

- But ever since then she became infatuated with him..her heart starts to beat so fast everytime she sees him.

- It is to the point that now she wait for him in the stable to talk now, tail wagging and all. Izuku would scratch her ear and she would uncounciously lean to his touch almost humming.

- Izuku is the first human she runs to everytime she cant find Azgo when she's running away from a bull.

- She became the reason why Bakuguo and Izuku would fight constantly... (but don't tell her that or she'll feel bad..)

- Author just loves being close to him and his compliments make her ears turn red and butterflies would appear in her stomach.

-but....she didn't understand why

- Thats until she until talks about it to Azgo.

- oh.......Oh...OH FU-

- Now she cannot even see him without having rosy cheeks in her face.

- She gets pouty everytime Deku talks to other cows but tries to hide it.

- Well apparently shes didn't hide it well cuz everytime she looks back she sees Lua smirking-

- But yeah

- Our lil heifer is in love people

- Just dont tell the bulls if ya'll don't want wwlll to start.

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starxscream · 3 years ago

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Color-Coded Deck

“ Once again Rouxls challenges Swatch to a battle of wits- though this time it doesn't exactly go as planned. “

SwatchKaard fic!

Bc I saw that there were none and so I had to do smth about it, click the read more to view! (Also check it out on ao3 if it’s easier for y’all to read there!

It had been another long day at the cafe, working various loud-mouthed customers that seemed never ending in Castle Town. Swatch has to wonder if moving out here was worth it, putting up with some of the patrons here almost made it not. The bird sighs, making the final rounds while the swatchlings finish cleaning up for the night. As the final chores and tasks are completed, Swatch excuses the swatchlings to head home and rest for tomorrow, staying behind to finish up the managerial paperwork. There was always more work to do, and Swatch had no time to rest until it was completed. Such was life. The same routine that they were so accustomed to, it didn't truly bother them really. In fact, Swatch enjoyed the brief moment of quiet and privacy of being alone in the cafe.

As the last swatchling exits, Swatch double checks the store before meandering towards to flip the sign from "open" to "closed". However, as they move to flip the sign, there's a glowing flash of light, causing Swatch to lift his arm to block out the glare before it dissipates. Oh no. A feeling of knowing dread nestles in their gut.

Before Swatch can react, a blue hand rattles the door, pushing it against Swatch who had finally moved to try and hold it shut. Of COURSE it just had to be him…

A loud shrill voice echoes through the crack in the door, "Greetings thou most commonest worm-avian! I haveth decided to graceth thine nighteth with thy presence!" Swatch inwardly groans, releasing the door and taking a step back to allow the other to dramatically swing it open and saunter through the now open doorway.

Rouxls Kaard.

Truly, could Swatch ever catch a break?

"What might you be doing here Kaard? Need I remind you that you have been banned from the premises." Swatch crosses their arms across their chest, false niceties dripping off of their voice, trying not to let their impatience shine through.

Rouxls tuts, wagging a finger in the air, "That waseth at thou previousth establishmente, whiche waseth the highesteth forme of slandereth I haveth ever been subjectedeth too mindeth thou, howevereth, I haveth not been bannedeth here! So thy musteth allowth my graciouse presence to be bestowedeth upon thy grounds." A smug look sits on his face, chest puffed out proudly, 'sneakily' gesturing to the sign that was still flipped to "open".

Swatch resists rolling his eyes, a part of them wondering if Rouxls even knew the cafe's hours...probably not. Though they supposed Rouxls was right, he had not been banned from this cafe. Maybe he would be within the upcoming days, it was inevitable really, but for now he wasn't and Swatch was left with their hands full. With a sigh, they consider trying to explain that to Rouxls, but they figure that Rouxls wouldn't listen to that...whenever the self acclaimed "duke of puzzles" set his mind on something there was no way to get him to listen to anything else. Swatch knew that firsthand.

"Well, here you are then...arriving just as I was closing. What can I do for you Kaard?" Swatch keeps it simple, but not without a small jab, moving his arms behind his back, standing straight with his beak perked up just slightly. A mixture of professionalism and their own pettiness that made them want to show off how much better he was, especially around Rouxls. They wouldn't admit it, but they did enjoy the competition that Rouxls consistently brought to their doorstep…that is, if you could call it a competition.

Grin widening, Rouxls whips out a foreign deck of cards, sauntering past Swatch, and slamming it down onto a nearby table. Then he spins on his heel to face Swatch once again, face nearly splitting into two with how wide his grin was, and threads his fingers together. Swatch raises a single eyebrow, gaze looking over the strange deck of cards, before looking back at Rouxls, awaiting whatever long-winded explanation that was about to be given.

“I have cometh to challengeth thee to a duelth of wits!” Rouxls makes a grand gesture towards the table, "Thoust three heroes bestowedeth upon thy a gift,” Meaning, Rouxls probably whined until they gave it to him, “A supremeth gifte thou shalt not be wastedeth! I shall knocketh thou offeth thine pedestalth like a batteringeth rame knockingeth downeth thy castle doorsth! ” He motions for Swatch to sit down at one end of the table, waiting expectantly with shining eyes. Swatch opts not to say that a battering ram knocks open doors and not off, but that was their petty side talking.

Inhaling deeply, Swatch slowly moves over to the seat, placing a hand on the seat and pulling it out. Sure the polite thing to do was pull the seat out for Rouxls- as was their job, but they were not going to give Rouxls that satisfaction. His eyes bore into Rouxls, half expecting the guy to pull out another handful of worms and run off, but he seemed much too invested in the task at hand. Always with the games and puzzles that one, truly Swatch had to wonder how many times would Rouxls have to lose before he gives up?

“I foughte againsteth thy three heroes valiantlyth, takingeth thou on in thine own gameth. Sucheth a nobleth duty of thy to do, no?” Rouxls laughs, swiftlying moving to the seat across from Swatch, “Twas a longe and arduousth battle of brainse, and beingeth thy generouse and benevolenteth soul thy am, could not beareth to standeth thy thoughte of thrashingeth thine darling water-beetle’s closesteth allies. So I humbledeth thyself and allowedeth thine three hereos to besteth thy in battleth unscathedeth to spareth thine ailsth.” Meaning, Rouxls utterly lost.

“So you...‘valiantly’ turned tail and came crawling to me instead?” Swatch lets out a quiet scoff, unable to keep it contained at Rouxls’ blatant attempt to save face when anyone who knew Rouxls would know better than to believe the theatrics he was spouting. Easing himself into the chair, Swatch crosses his arms across his chest, “Alright then, I can spare a moment on your childish games. Would you care to explain the rules of the game you have so dutifully brought to my doorstep while I was trying to close up shop for the night? I would like to get this over with so that I may go home.”

Rouxls’ eyes narrow at Swatch, dramatically pointing across the table over at the bird, “Thou do not intimidateth me worm-avian!” Rouxls huffs, “Our battleth will be througheth the mighty gameth of what thy lightenereths call “Uno”! Whereupon thy willeth finally proveth my titleth of butler supremeth over thy worm-avian!” His point moves towards the deck, “Draweth foulest beast!”

Swatch makes no indication of moving, “I cannot draw if I do not know how to play, or are you resorting to needing unfair advantages to win? Truly, I expected more from you...” The bird trails off, feigning a sigh, watching Rouxls’ face light up in a vibrant embarrassed flush. He was so easy to read...it was kind of amusing really. A small smirk etches onto Swatch’s face at the sight.

“Of couseth not! I wouldeth never bringeth thy illesteth omens upon thy nameth! I haveth no need for sucheth ‘advantages’, thy willeth win no mattereth the circumstanceseth of oureth battleth as thy am thy grand duke of puzzles!” Rouxls covers for his mistake quickly, moving to cover the back of his hand with his mouth, “As for thine rules…” He hesitates for a moment, thinking, “I...shalt not wasteth my time explaining! Thereth is rule cardeths for a reason!” The irony… Rouxls paws at the deck, pulling out the card with the written words littered over its surface, before sliding it towards Swatch.

“Make haste! I do not haveth all nighte.” Rouxls puffs out his chest, arrogance dripping from his voice. Swatch gives Rouxls a cold glare at his words, a part of them still bitter they were the one being kept up this fine night. Quickly Swatch skims over the rules of this ‘Uno’ game, a simple color and symbol type of card game- first to get rid of all the cards in their hands wins. Easy enough.

“Alright, daresay I believe that I am ready now.” Swatch carefully sets the card back down on the table, reaching over to draw seven cards off of the top of the deck. There was a wide arrangement of colors, mostly blue ironically, and a couple of special cards with effects that they would need to play strategically. After Swatch draws his cards, Rouxls quickly follows suit, flipping over the top card to reveal a green number card to begin the game.

“With thy graciouseth self, I shalt allow thee to make thy first moveth!” Rouxls confidently announces, leaning forward with a tight grip on his cards. Swatch rolls his eyes again, looking over his hand and rubbing the bottom of his beak with his free hand. Then, without a word he places another green number card on top of the discard pile, a simple play to begin with.

The game continues on like this for a few rounds, with every turn Rouxls announcing how great he was or how he was going to win and Swatch shooting back with some sort of rebuttal that only served to fluster and make Rouxls even more agitated. Swatch isn’t sure why he liked poking at Rouxls as much as he did, truly Rouxls was the only one who managed to consistently break through his customer service facade.

It was...nice Swatch supposed. As idiotic as Rouxls was and his constant pestering to try and best Swatch, it was nice. A break in an otherwise methodical and boring day. As much as Swatch hated to admit it, they had grown to have fun playing with Rouxls.

However, the peaceful part of the game soon came to an end when Swatch placed down a draw two card onto the discard pile as Rouxls hand seemed to lessen with every turn, complete with the biggest smirk on their face.

“Now, if you could please draw, I can make my next move.” The bird hums, watching in curiosity as Rouxls sputters, slamming his hands on the table.

“Whateth is this sorceryeth!?” Rouxls glares at the cards as if they were the ones at fault, “Why musteth I loseth my turne? Draweth two!?” He huffs indignantly, Swatch raising an eyebrow.

“...You read the rules too, didn’t you Kaard? Being the ‘grand duke of puzzles’ yourself, surely you know about the special cards, right?” Their voice drips with faux sympathy, sounding more condescending than nice, Swatch stifling a chuckle at the sudden turn of events.

The rule card sits open on the table, Rouxls glancing between it and Swatch with a growing scowl on his face.

“Of courseth I know thy rules! I haveth bestedeth the most strongesteth beings in thy battleth of Uno!” Rouxls mind whirs in thought, “Thy justeth...won so quickly thateth card nevereth neededeth to be usedeth!” With a burning embarrassed flush once against rising to his face, Rouxls quickly covers his own ineptitude at the game, having bitterly come here after losing to the three heroes to try and best Swatch once again to try and lick his wounds.

Rouxls snatches the rule card after that, Swatch covering his mouth as they let out a snicker while Rouxls quickly skims through it. After a few moments, Rouxls throws the card back down, once again puffing out his chest.

"I shalt do this draweth two as thou cards stateth, but feareth not! Thy shalt stille remaineth victoriouse in the endth!" Rouxls swipes at the deck, a little frustrated if Swatch had to guess, gripping the cards in his hand even tighter.

Frustration of the evening having long since melted into amusement, Swatch rests an elbow onto the table to use his hand to keep his head propped up as he continues to play. Carefully setting another card onto the pile, Rouxls following suit a little too fast.

"I am afraid that this little game will end how it always does, though, I suppose that is why you challenged me after everyone left. Couldn't bear to take the bitter taste of defeat in the face of the public again, could you?" Swatch begins to idly speak, deciding to make some conversation even if it sounded more like he was targeting Rouxls. Truthfully they just wanted to see how the man would react, it was always so entertaining to see Rouxls theatrics in action when he wasn't purposefully being a thorn in your side, and Swatch found it more amusing than they should.

Rouxls laughs haughtily, gaze focused onto his cards as he keeps playing, "Fool! I wouldeth happily beeneth a target for thine adoringeth publice, howevereth I waseth ever so busyeth with thy duties of greateth importanceth that I hadeth to scavengeth thine timeth to graceth thee withe thy prescenceth. Thou shouldeth be gratefule thy oh-so busyeth scheduleth allowede it!" Truthfully he had been lurking around the outside of the cafe for hours, procrastinating and planning out his "grand entrance" until the store had reached closing. So alas, here they were. Sure the patronizing laughter when Rouxls had lost prior bothered him but there was no way he was going to let Swatch be right!

"Ah yes, lucky me." Swatch deadpans, smirk still hanging on their beak, "I cannot imagine how else I would like to be spending my evening. Why would I want to be relaxing at home after a long day of work when I could be playing a silly card game with you?" The chirp, sarcasm edging in their words.

"Tsk tsk, thee are justeth afraide of losingeth. Thou can admite it!" Rouxls slams another card down. "For I shall sooneth claime thy victory in oneth fell swoopeth, prepare thyself worm-avian!"

Swatch scoffs, "Afraid of losing to you? My apologies Kaard, but something actually has to be a reality for me to be scared of it." Rouxls, childishly, sticks out his tongue. He would not claim it to be childish if you called it out, however.

Setting his own card down, Swatch calls out 'Uno', holding his single card in his grasp. Meanwhile Rouxl still had multiple cards left, there was no chance of him winning.

Yet somehow, Rouxls hadn't started throwing a fit yet. Usually when it was clear he was to lose, he would get even more rambunctious than usual- yet this time Rouxls still had his cocky grin, staring at his cards. Swatch's smirk fades, eyes narrowing, knowing that the other man was up to something. Of course it wasn't a normal card game, this was Rouxls, something unexpected always happens with him around.

The bird tenses, awaiting the surprise bound to happen. Rouxls grin gets wider, before he cackles wildly, "Aha! Thou hasn't madeth thine finale moveth! I, Rouxls Kaard, shalt noweth claime thy victory!" Swatch's eyebrows furrowed together, there was no possible way-

Rouxls slams down a red skip card atop the red number card.

Swatch skips his turn, Rouxls putting down a red draw two card- causing Swatch to skip his turn again. He hesitantly reaches over to draw two cards.

There's no way…

Rouxls tosses down another draw two card, this time in green. Swatch's grip on his cards get ever tighter as they stare at the pile of discarded cards.

"I dareth say this is wheneth thy say 'Uno'!" Rouxls says triumphantly, Swatch's gaze snapping up in disbelief. Their beak opens and shuts again, dragging two more cards off of the deck.

"Sayeth thou prayers worm-avian! For tonighte, I reigneth victoriouse!" Swatch watches Rouxls dramatically leap from his seat, pushing the chair back, and slamming down his final card with all the energy in his being.

The card was to choose your own color and draw four cards. The biggest insult to injury that the game of Uno could give.

Swatch stares in utter shock- he had...actually lost. Rouxls had actually made a good play and won the game. Rouxls Kaard did. The guy who could barely craft a feasible puzzle on his own- outwitting them of all people. It was an impossibility, and yet, here it was staring Swatch in the face.

Amidst the frustration of losing, Swatch couldn't help but feel...impressed. That is, until Rouxls starts speaking again.

"There!! Noweth thou see thine wretchedeth worm-avian! Thy am superiore to thou inst everyeth way! Everytimeth before noweth has beeneth nothing moreth than a fluketh! For this is thy proveth! I am trulye bettereth than thou!" He laughs loudly, kicking a foot onto the chair seat and propping himself up into a pose with one hand on his hip and one covering his laughter. "Henceforth thou shalt bowe downeth and call me butler supremethe, thy grand duke of puzzles- Rouxls Kaard!" A pause in his triumph, looking over at Swatch, " ...Thou hearest me lesser worm-avian?"

Swatch sets down his card, controlled, carefully. Rouxls boasting makes the guy much less impressive and instead Swatch simmers into annoyance and frustration. Rouxls got lucky. And Swatch was never going to hear the end of it. A scowl breaks his beak in half as he stands stiffly upright, keeping it shut to not say anything without thinking it through first. Every motion was so strictly controlled, his thoughts whirling around and around until-

Swatch was never going to hear the end of it...unless…

They get an idea, sure it was going to be demeaning and incredibly out of poor taste in Swatch's opinion- but it would be better than anyone finding out about their loss to Rouxls. Besides, after working for the Queen, demeaning had lost its meaning to Swatch. At least this time they were going to be the one in control. So a distraction, enough embarrassment so where Rouxls never wants to talk about this moment to anyone.

Swatch steps out from the table, moving over towards the side Rouxls was on, who merely stared at them in confusion.

Abruptly in one smooth motion, Swatch bows to Rouxls, who they can hear sputter in surprise. A pleased grin appears on Swatch's beak, hidden from sight.

"I surely hope that will suffice, butler supreme. You are truly the duke of puzzles, Sir Rouxls Kaard, unmatched in his fantastical puzzle prowess." Swatch pulls himself upright, feeling the grating feeling of forced praise and ridiculous titles being pulled from his throat. However, the look on Rouxls face was worth it- the bug-eyed look of pure shock combined with the fact his cocky smirk had been replaced with a nervous smile- all the while his face seemed to be a darker blue than usual. Oh this was worth it.

"Uh...Yes! Thou is correcteth and shouldeth now understande thou place beneatheth me! I maketh the ordereth now worm-avian, thou can no longere banneth thy from thou fineth establishmente and musteth admiteth always thateth thy am forevere bettereth than thou! Lest thou suffereth thy crippling humilationeth of thou defeate once moreth." Stepping off of the chair, Rouxls manages to get out, his voice wavering at the start- a crack in his carefully portrayed persona. Startled by how...well Swatch was taking it- he had expected him to get mad or bite back or just...something. This wasn't like their usual banter at all and Rouxls wasn't sure what was going on.

Swatch listens intently, nodding along to show that they were listening. Even if they, personally, thought it to be pure nonsense, they did not let it show.

Their head so carefully tilts to the side for a moment, "Beneath you?" They coo, taking a calculated step forward into Rouxls space.

An arm casually snakes around Rouxls waist, pulling the smaller man closer. He lets out a surprise squeak- trying to stammer out something before he is shushed by Swatch's next words, "Would you not prefer to be side by side? After all, you have proven yourself to be better than I- your chosen adversary since the day we met." He chuckles, "With how obsessed you are with me, dare I say you were trying to court me- hm?" A soft chuckle lingers on his lips as he watches Rouxls nearly melt out of pure flustered nerves.

It was…

Hm. Cute. For Rouxls.

"WHAT? I AM NOT-" Rouxls gasps, much louder than intended, his smarmy accent seemingly fading for a moment before he gulps for a breath trying to readjust himself, "Do not thinketh so highly of thouself! I couldeth care lesse abouteth thou, thy games were merelyeth a simpleth pastime, a pleasureth that thy bestowedeth upon thou!"

Leaning ever so closer to Rouxls, Swatch's voice lowers, a quiet coo for Rouxls' ears only, "Then why is it you always throw a fit when I'm too busy to play with you? You claim to just want to prove you're better than me, but you've done that now, so what next? Honestly, Rouxls, just spare us the trouble and tell me how you really feel."

A hum.

"If you just wanted to go on dates you could have simply asked." It's said with a wink.

Rouxls chokes, and Swatch thinks they finally have this under control, soon to be wrapped up in a nice pretty bow. Sure was this a little cruel? Perhaps, but Swatch kept finding it so damn endearing, it was frustrating. So selfishly wanting to see more of Rouxls' reactions.

But of course, this was Rouxls Kaard they were talking about here. When did anything involving him go as planned?

Suddenly there are hands grabbing the side of their head, and Swatch can feel his feathers poof out in surprise at the sudden motion. Before they can react, Rouxls practically slams his forehead into Swatch's, keeping it there and pressing hard as if to challenge the bird.

"Thou sauveth trickery shalt not wortheth on I!" Rouxls announces, before adding his own rebuttal, "Maybe THOU is thee one courting I? Thou claim to be bettereth than I but hereth you stand, arm arounde thy waist. If thou really haveth better thingeths to do, theneth why are thou hereth and noteth at thou homestead?"

The two were impossibly close now, pressed together as a different kind of tension fills the air around them. Swatch can feel Rouxls panting shaky breaths on his beak, the man's false confidence easily seen through, yet- Swatch stutters. And they never stutter.

Then suddenly- his arms are empty and the simple touch is gone as soon as it had started, and Swatch let out a breath they hadn't realized they had been holding.

"Alas, I am sureth thy leech of a darlingeth prince needs thy attentione!" Rouxls skitters towards the door, "I bideth thee a bittersweet adieu! For now thee willeth be without thine majestic presenceth, whicheth I am sureth you shalt miss. However, I must informeth thou that I, Rouxls Kaard, willeth not be easily impressedeth with thy simplest flatteries..." He pauses in his escape, looking back at Swatch before glancing down at the floor looking a little...unsure, adding on just a little quieter, "But I shalt be backe, I may haveth won thy battle, but not thy war- so...uh...prepareth thouself for thy return!"

With his final words, which were possibly just an excuse to keep seeing Swatch even though he's already gotten his win, Rouxls escapes through the door and flees faster than Swatch had ever seen him move before. The bird just...watches him go, dumbfounded at the sudden turn of events.

Swatch stands there for a moment, blinking, wondering if that even just happened. Rouxls rebuttal swirling around in his brain, them? Courting Rouxls? A ridiculous assumption, entirely out of left field. And yet…

Swatch sighs, smoothing down his ruffled feathers, Rouxls was right- if Swatch wanted to they could have easily booted out the nuisance and went home. Yet, Swatch played Rouxls game. And every game before. The bird’s fingers flex, still feeling the faint ghost of Rouxls in his grip, as if it were haunting them- taunting them really.

…

Swatch rubs his face with a hand, a flush rising to his cheeks. This whole time they had thought they were the one in control, but unfortunately they had long gotten swept up in the uncontrollable whirlwind that was Rouxls Kaard.

#sugars sweet treats #deltarune #rouxls kaard #swatch #swatchkaard #idk what else to tag this as #but. take it nlgkhgk ig #aaaaaaaaaa

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nevertheless-moving · 4 years ago

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Ohhh I love this idea. Songbird!

youtube

My first thought is pop star wars au (a lot of imagine dragons is automatic pop star wars au for me)

My SECOND thought is sith!Obi-Wan au. Which is difficult, because not falling is such an integral part of his character to me, and I need all my aus to have happy endings, but here goes:

Obi-Wan has been living on Tatooine for 10 years. It's a hard planet.

It’s been a very long ten years.

Luke dies at age ten.

...

It's a hard planet.

...

Ben doesn't fall, but he doesn't...it's hard for him to remember why he wants to stay in the light. What the point is. Of anything.

He starts chasing down legends. Old stories of fantastic deals—ways to change things, in the worst case scenario—warnings really.

(Darth Vader is doing the same, but, well. One of them was always better at research)

He finds a temple; it rejects him, of course. It's for the deep mysteries. The stones themselves are carved for dark siders, not those who wade in the shallows of the force.

All he has to lose is himself, and really, what's one more thing?

By the time he gets to the bleeding crystal heart of the labyrinth, there's not exactly a mirror to check his eye color.

Or light.

It's almost too easy—all he wanted was to go back. The temple is almost...bemused. All of those sleepless challenges, all that bloody torture, and he just wants a simple manipulation of himself through time?

That's all?

Obi-Wan steps outside a year after he went in, or roughly thirty-three years before, depending on your point of view.

A man appears before Shmi, scarcely a week after she gave birth. He's sun-weathered and battle-scarred, but his face would be handsome if it were a little less skeletal. His eyes glow brilliant gold in the dark of her hut and for a moment she is terribly, terribly afraid—certain that this dark angel is here to kill her child. Instead he steals him, and her. She sleeps heavily—too heavily—on the flight and wakes up on a strange metal world.

The man speaks. His voice is soft and his words are terrible and she can feel the truth in them.

"The boy must stay. You cannot go with him."

Kindly old monks assure her that her son would grow up in peace, inside walls that echoed with safety and warmth and light and all manner of strange and lovely things. She understands why she must leave. This is not a place for her. The stranger is waiting at his ship, which she only now realizes was stolen from Jabba's fleet. He looks as hollowed out as she feels.

"What now?" she asks helplessly.

There's a long pause. He sighs heavily, looking up at the non-existent stars.

"There's a few men I have to kill, but at least one of them is deep in the shadows—I suspect I'll have to do something dramatic to draw him out. Once I finish with all that, a Jedi will probably kill me...hopefully it's someone ironic, I could use a laugh. Is there anything you would like to do, Shmi Skywalker? I rather suspect you and I might have some common interests, but I'm not in a very creative mood right now."

"...I want to kill Grakkus."

"Oh! That sounds like fun."

"Fun?"

"Sure. I've been wanting to tear down an Empire for some time now."

"...Who are you?"

"Call me...Neimand. Darth Neimand, if you're feeling formal."

This AU has a happy ending. The Hutt empire collapses, and is replaced with a much more aimless affair. Emperor Neimand's reign is brutal, but mostly just on slavers—generally he encourages self-government, too bored by the day to day, though he can be randomly very choosy about certain things. All claimants to the line of Bane wiped are out—first Sidious's puppets, then Sidious, then Plagueis.

Neimand is at loose ends. He was rather expecting a Jedi to come after him by this point, but he didn't really want to attack them.

Well. Most of them.

Dooku's death was noble enough to be considered an accident, if Neimand hadn't made a few sly boasts in a few choice ears.

Krell's body—Krell's body is returned to the temple in pieces, rather publicly. The last thing he needed, after all this work, was for people to think the Jedi were attacking an Emperor without provocation.

He is very amused by who they send—little jokes that only he gets are his main source of pleasure these days. Well that, and killing slavers. And orgies. In any case, the look on Master Jinn's face! And Senior Padawan—sorry Knight Kenobi, knighted earlier than he expected—'hm? oh, let's just say I have a personal interest in your career'. The resemblance isn't uncanny, but it is remarkable. (Emperors have access to very good skincare, and Tatooine healers specialize in sundamage).

He's less amused when the two have to return with their tails between their legs. "Train harder!" he yells, as Obi-Wan Kenobi drags his unconscious Master away. "I'm more than happy to be killed by a Jedi but I'm not just going to throw the fight!"

This AU has a happy ending. It takes a number of years, but one day, side by side, Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker defeat the last of the Sith, bringing balance to the force. They are hailed as heroes, and the orderly collapse of the Neimand Empire into the Democratic Council of the Outer Rim ushers in a golden age of peace for the galaxy.

(Luke and Leia aren't born again, but, nevertheless, Darth Neimand dies with a smile on his face)

#star wars #shmi skywalker #sith obi wan #time travel au #bittersweet #whoops gave myself feels #my au #700 celebration #inkedmyths #ask #major character death #songfic #Sith Obi-Wan AU #star wars au no 17

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upsidedowngrass · 2 years ago

Text

on that topic actually, heres some fun details abt my one character design interpretations!!! not gonna go into full detail on my interpretations of object biology bc then id get off topic :)

(ALSO. i hc that while the waiting room heals injuries, it still acts as if the injury healed! so if it wouldve scarred, it scars, if it wouldve caused permanent dmg after healing, that still occurs, etc)

Liam:

limbs are VERY kangaroo like, but with many hints of cat like structure

digitigrade when walking, but will usually stand the same a plantigrade would since it takes less energy for the leg shape. he cannot walk the way a normal plantigrade would

after getting back home, he stands with digitigrade footing more than plantigrade bc. stress

he walks like bipedal digitigrade, but the walking cycle i specifically lean to is emus! (since kangaroos walk using their tail and liam Doesnt have that)

he CAN jump like a kangaroo though. if its funny

he also tends to sit like a kangaroo and it is EXTREMELY silly

shoulder can move more than a humans can, but its restricted to the side pockets

his limbs are around average length and a bit wide!

not gonna go into complete detail for reasons mentioned earlier, but while his torsos(?) (aka his object!) fabric has a set 'max length', his limbs have longer 'fabric' (same material. its BASICALLY fur or hair? idk man objects arent normal animals)

his limbs' fur DOES stand when he is angry/scared/similarly agitated

his top handle is basically like a fucked up antenna type thing. as a result, it moves in conjunction w his expressions the same way many animals' do

his hanging straps are something of a somewhat vestigial structure, but they CAN move a little. not much, though

teeth are a bit more cat like than kangaroo. like theyre a mix of the two but more slightly more cat like, because i am not drawing him w kangaroo teeth im sorry

hands have retractable claws a la cats! the claws themselves are the same material as his zippers :)

paw pads are the same light green as the top of his front pouch!

has dew claws!

after ep 13, his left hands claws are basically impossible to retract

after ep 6, he has scars on his left leg from where it was broken

he has a lightning scar on his left arm, and the fabric around the shoulder has burn damage. once the fur grows back in this is a bit harder to see, but its easiest to see on the hand, where the paw pads were burnt

he has a few smaller scars here in there from his Adventures in ep 14. there are two easier to see ones around his pouch, and a fairly small one near the top of his object

after ep 18, he has scars on his right leg from where it was broken. there are more on this leg, as the leg was crushed rather than snapped

there is more damage to his right leg in general. the left was able to be healed after he died, albiet the damage was still done, but his right leg is more prone to pain and weakness

after getting home he uses a cane!

the fabric under his eyes is a little discolored :( his face area also has some desaturated fabric akin to grey hairs. he has some gray hairs on his arms too but theres more sparse (same way as like... irl hair and fur generally discolors near the head first)

Bryce:

fairly human like bone structure/limb positioning(?)! plantigrade and bipedal so

shoulders can move a good bit similar to liam, but the shoulders are inherently attached to his label, and theres a certain radius they cant exceed. its probably roughly 5-6 inches if i had to give an estimate?

his limbs have web/fin things from the inside of middle upper arm and middle lower arm, and the back of his knees. they are the same color as his label (YES i miscolored them in that one post. whoops)

he contains a lot of air, making him buoyant. he also has organs. no you cant see them

crocodile teeth kinda, but a little shorter!

arms have(?) scutes . i dont know how to describe this and looking it up isnt helping, but think like. crocodilian limbs basically!!! in terms of texture at least. its also somewhat dimilar to his caps texture!

crocodile claws :) these are made of the same type and color plastic as his cap, but without the ridges

no paw pads for bryce!

(debating if his hands n feet r webbed? thats subject to change)

his limbs are just slightly transparent! but not as much as, say, amelias. still very reflective, though!

long and thin arms, also!

after ep 13 his right arm has a lightning scar. his label is burnt near the shoulder. the plastic near the label is slightly 'melted,' sort of?

has some scattered scars from episode 14 as well! a noteable one of these is his impalement scar

Amelia:

arguably has one of the weirder limb structures?

her arms have a general standard human like structure but with kinda paw like hands

her legs are cat legs, but the front legs rather than the more typical back legs

kind of has fur, but its kinda quill like! like sonic..

her fur can also stand, but her fur doesnt get particularly long so its not that noticable

cat teeth :)

ironically her claws are NOT retractable. they r simply out at all times!

her claws are also almost the same texture as her arms, but much darker

DOES have paw pads!

has dewclaws, but only rly has 2 toes i guess?

mirroring this, her hands have 4 fingers, but her pinkies are MUCH smaller than the rest

her limbs are VERY transparent! but get darker farther down the limb. VERY reflective!

has visible wax in her upper arms (all four!)

leg arms are about average length, and arm arms are a bit longer! both are slightly thin but wider at the end. her limbs are fairly flexible!

sits weird bc shes got 4 arms basically, but basically imagine half of a cat sitting for her legs

her ARM arms' shoulders can move a good bit, but only as high as her wax goes, as they are attached there. width wise they can probably slide around 4 inches in either direction?

after ep 1 she has multiple cracks, as well as a missing chip at her top. the cracks look like when glass is re-glued together!

after she gets home, her wax is a little sun damaged!

Charlotte:

limbs are very reminiscent of big cats!

her arms are standard arms and her legs are lion/tiger/whatever-like back legs

has lion like teeth! her fangs overhang a little bc she does not have a lion muzzle

her arms are attached at the crust and are confined to the crust. her shoulders can slide up probably arouuuund 6-7 inches maybe?

her arms are about average length and width, but she has thr power of Being Buff

she has freckles :) and these extend to her limbs, as well!

fur is very reminiscent of a big cat on her limbs, with fur longer than amelias but shorter than liams! it can also stand similar to those two

has light fur on her hands and feet, like when cats have little mittens!

lacks claws entirely, and also lacks dew claws

but she DOES have paw pads! they are coarse like a dogs' paw pads rather than smooth like a cat's, however

after ep 16, she has a scar that goes from the top of her left eye, to somewhat above her right leg. its darker than the inside of her objects color, but lighter than her crust

after getting back home, her right arm is amputated and the top right of her head/object is removed (which includes her eye, but i dont know what verb to use when her head is bread?)

Taylor:

ok hers are like. some Amalgamation of pangolin and horse?? idk man

on the top of all her limbs, shr has rectangular scale like things? like pangolins have but less layered. they are made of glossy kinda paper, and are much thicker than her objects paper, kinda like when u stack a bunch of sheets of paper

her limbs are fairly long! but their width is JUST slightly thinner than standard. like a wider version of bryces legs basically?

her arms attach at... some point on her object? they cant slide TOO high, maybe just about 4-5 inches up or down, but i will admit im a bot stumped wrt the left and right movement. never ask me about that again (unless u have a solution. im just Stuck bc she can UNROLL? and her limbs will b at her side)

has ungulate legs

instead of hooves its like... two big claw things?

she has similar structures for fingers on her hands, but they are more articulated! 4 on each hand :)

these claws are made of paper, but thr glossy kind seen on the front pages of magazines? think of when you fold paper into a cone and thats basically what you have here, but a bit more layered

behind her knee(???) is kind of a spike of one of these? i dont know what thats called and dont know what words to use to search that and find out

she doesnt have paw pads per se, but she has like. smth akin to the scale things earlier? but its much thinner and more flexible, on her palms

her hands are also fairly flat on her arm, kinda like an elephant?? i dont know how to describe taylor im sorry

her arms themselves are more similar to the texture of loose paper!

pretty normal human like teeth i guess?

no fur!

Charlie:

bug like in nature :)

limbs are like grub limbs basically! but a bit more human like in terms of bone structure

his fingers are kind of stem like?

no paw pads

has mandibles

DOES have scars from being crushed, but theyre fairly subtle. like ... many long thin lines

#hfjone #hfjone spoilers #ask to tag #broken limb mention/#broken leg mention/#burn mention/#amputation mention/#infant death mention/#you can tell i did the most research on liam #but in my defense. i spent hours working on him and wore myself out and im trying not to do that again LOL #but i still want to develop the others as much as possible >:) its fun!!!!#anyway im tired of working on this post so im jsut gonna post this :)#if anyone reads this whole thing i think youre incredible and wel get married next week ok.#(/j (: )#ALSO only batch one bc this post is 1700 eords long and i think if i add anything else to this ill die

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critrolesideblog · 3 years ago

Text

Some snippets from the Nein’s week at the Blooming Grove.

-----

There is a shadow of something between them. Something in the way their shoulders brush as they stand next to each other, in the way the Scourger's broad shoulders relax ever-so-slightly when Caleb is near, in the intensity with which he watches Caleb's face as he speaks, in the way Caleb's eyes travel slow, lingering paths up the Scourger's muscular arms when he thinks no one is watching.

Caleb has his back to Essek, standing over a desk, perusing a book the Scourger has lent him. The Scourger is next to him, arms crossed over his chest, leaning back against the desk with an air of ease and familiarity, as if he did not try to kill them all mere days ago. He is facing Essek, but not looking at him.

Until he is.

Brown eyes catch lilac ones in their stare, and a wolfish grin curls its way around the handsome features. He says something to Caleb in Zemnian, without breaking Essek's eye contact. It sounds like a question, to which Caleb replies casually.

It is foolish, Essek knows, to maintain eye contact like this. Any number of spells may be wrought thus, but he cannot find it in himself to look away.

The Scourger asks another question, his voice dropping an octave. He forfeits the staring contest to trace Caleb's form with his eyes, down then up, and there is still a wolfish edge to his playful grin as leans in past the boundary of Caleb's shoulder.

Without looking up from his book, Caleb places a hand on the near side of the Scourger's face and slowly but firmly extends his arm out. The Scourger, chuckling, allows himself to be pushed over far enough that he has to take a step away from Caleb to maintain his balance.

His eyes alight on Essek again. He says something to Caleb with a sigh, and then lopes out of the library, his eyes on Essek's all the while. Just before he floats down out of sight, he gives Essek a wink.

Once all is still, Caleb looks up, finally, toward the exit. His shoulder dips slightly as he turns to look at Essek, but Essek's eyes are already back on his own book.

------

"Anyway, it's a really good book, Essek. I think you'll like it."

"I am sure it is, but romance novels have never been my, ah, cup of tea."

Jester draws the small brush dipped in black laquer carefully across the final nail of Essek's right hand. "It's not just a romance novel, Essek. It's literature. You're missing out." She says the last part in a singsong voice as she leans back to survey her handiwork. "Are you sure you don't want me to put some little designs on them. I could make them very tasteful, you know, like some little stars or your favorite rune or something."

They are seated in front of the fireplace in Jester's room atop a make-shift bed of soft pillows and blankets. Fey cats sit among the pillows alongside them, some with tails holding aloft trays of milk, cookies, pastries, tea, and fruit, others merely there for their evening nap.

"I will likely be returning to Vurmas outpost soon, Jester. I do not want anything that will draw too much attention from the soldiers."

"Oh, alright," she says. Her tail sways slowly behind her like a disappointed shake of the head. "You do pull off the monochromatic look really well. Next time, through, we should try something different, just for fun, you know?" She gives him a bright, fanged grin.

"Yes, next time."

Essek thought, after a century of den politics, he could hide his heart from anyone (evidence shows even himself), but hiding it from Jester Lavorre is another matter entirely. She narrows her eyes at him suspiciously.

"There is going to be a next time, Essek. You're so smart -- I'm sure you can figure out a solution for anything. So there is going to be a next time, alright, Essek? Promise me."

"Jester--"

"Promise!" She holds her pinkie finger out toward him imperiously. The logical part of Essek's mind whirs with explanations, caveats, problems, but Jester is looking at him with such determination, such faith.

Slowly, carefully, he loops his pinkie around hers.

"I promise."

-----

Essek observes, a little wryly, that it promises to be another beautiful sunlit day, when a small but bright flash of light catches his eye painfully as he walks through the Grove after breakfast. He winces reflexively, and when he looks back, the glimmer is gone. Curious. He pauses, waiting, eyes carefully scanning the mist-clung leaves and gilded treetops. There is a distant rustling, a whisper of breeze, and -- there it is again! A flash and gone, but he sees the direction of its source this time.

Diverting from his usual path, he strikes off in search of it. He drifts into one of the wilder reaches of the grove, skirting mounds and headstones, overgrown with flowers of every color, shimmering with dew. Finally, the tall brush ahead of him clears and he finds...Fjord?

Fjord is lying on the damp undergrowth, the dawning sunlight glinting off the metal buckles of his armor. His limbs are thrown aside at funny angles as though he had fallen, but Essek's keen ears tell him his breathing is normal. From what Essek can tell, he is awake and uninjured.

"Fjord?"

"Mm?" One yellow eye opens to survey him coyly.

"What are you doing?"

"I have been ... grievously injured," Fjord rasps with great melodrama, his left hand moving slightly to bring Essek's attention to a wooden dowell a few inches from his knee.

The puzzle pieces fall into place.

"Ah." Essek murmurs, "This is a trap." A toothy grin spreads across the half-orc's handsome features, but Essek is already scanning his surroundings, ears straining, for any sign to give away his hunter. He does not want to make it too easy for him.

There is a rustle of leaves to his left.

He turns toward it, casting Shield with a little more flourish than is strictly necessary, and -- twang--FWUMP! He hisses as a dowell hits him hard in the back of his right shoulder. An orange cat with familiar blue eyes pops its head out of the flowers in front of him. Catleb tilts his head playfully as victorious giggles erupt from the tree branches behind Essek.

Essek looks down at his shoulder as though surveying the damage. "I am not sure a shoulder wound is instantly mortal."

"The arrows are poisoned," Fjord supplies casually.

"Ah, of course."

"And if you don't die with enough gravitas, you'll be made to do it again."

Essek suppresses a sigh and a smirk. He supposes he cannot have enough practice faking his death.

-----

"Alright, man, that's enough for right now," Beau says as she closes her notebook. "I think we both need some food and some fresh air." She rises from her seat, stretches, and claps Caleb on the shoulder as she walks by. "Let's go, dude. Don't make me come back in here for you, 'cause you know I will." And with that, she walks past the shadow, out of the Clays' kitchen, into the sunshine.

Caleb rubs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath. Eins, zwei, drei...

Constance Clay is seated to his left. She is a calm, abiding presence, listening without judgment, a witness, an anchor. Caleb gives her a nod, and she nods back, as has become their habit in ending these sessions. Finally, he rises and walks past the other witness in the room.

"Caleb," the shadow calls softly as he reaches the door.

Caleb turns back.

There is a moment of silence as the apology dies in Wulf's teeth, and Caleb is not sure if expecting no different makes it hurt more or less.

"I know," he replies. Wulf does not flinch. He never has. He never will. "I know."

He walks out into the sunshine.

----

Caleb wakes up on a warm, sunlit patch of grass. He stares at the cloudless, blue sky for a moment before his attention is drawn by the skritch-a-scratch-scratch of pencil on paper to his left.

Jester is sitting beneath a peach tree, her sketchbook propped up against her knees. When her candy-pink eyes look up to peer at him over the pages, she grins and beckons him with a single, curling finger.

Slowly, after a nice, big stretch, he ambles up and over to her and crouches down at her side. She holds her book out at arms-length, so they can both survey her work: an orange cat fast asleep on its back in the sunshine. It's curled around on itself like a doughnut, its fluffy tummy exposed, a look pure feline bliss on its face.

"I think I got your good side."

-----

"A lee-tle more to the left," Jester says, motioning for Essek to stand closer-still to Caleb. He cannot get much closer without falling into Caleb's lap (he'll thank her later). He stares at her for a long moment, floats in just a nudge, and then shares A Look with Caleb. She considers this a small match-making success.

Gardening, truth be told, is not Jester's strong suit, so she has been spending her week in the Grove doing something much more important: drawing, drawing, and drawing some more. She draws until her hand cramps, at which point she pauses to eat a pastry or two and goes back to drawing again: Caleb and Essek conversing in the shade of an apple tree; Veth chasing Luc through the flowers; Yasha returning a baby bird to its nest; Fjord and Beau sparring amidst a shower of jacaranda petals; Constance and Cornelius Clay, each with an arm around Caduceus' shoulders, resting their heads against his in turns as they drink tea; Kingsley flirting incorrigibly with Eadwulf; Eadwulf and Astrid tending, with great care and concentration, to a plant that was half struck by the Blight; Sprinkle napping among the flowers; and a hundred other little moments, until her trusty sketchbook is almost entirely out of paper. And she knows exactly how she wants to use the final piece.

Fjord, Veth, and Caleb are seated in the garden on a motley assortment of chairs from the Clays' home, with Caduceus, Beau, Yasha, Molly, and Essek standing behind.

"You know, Blueberry, there is going to be a problem with this portrait." Caleb says, and Jester frowns, considering the composition and the lighting.

"What do you mean?"

"You're not in it.” Ah, yes, that tender grin is the exact one Jester wants to capture.

"Of course she is!" Declares Veth, tilting her head left then right to regard the rest of the Nein. "Look at all these smiles!"

#ficlets #essek thelyss #caleb widogast #jester lavorre #with guest appearances by:#eadwulf grieve #Fjord #Beau #and the entire #Mighty Nein #my writing tag

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