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doodle-pops · 10 months

Text

Tears of the Sun

Maedhros x reader

A/N: Since this came in 2nd on the poll, you all can have the treat you've been voting for. You all have no idea how long I've been dying to release this :) 🙈

Warnings: 3rd Kinslaying, death, blood, heavy angst, hurt and not an ounce of comfort (the bucket is dry), major character death

Words: 1.6k

Synopsis: We always regret the things we do when the worst happens, and Maedhros finally seems to have enough.

His body moved with less grace and more aggression, leaving behind a trail of victims struck down by his ruthless blade. The horror and grief in the eyes of each lifeless body meant nothing to him; they were just obstacles on his path to his ambition. Their deaths only fuelled his determination, pushing him further up the hill and past the point of no return. His once–pristine armour was now stained with splatters of crimson, matching the colour of his hair and sword. His usually well–kept hair was matted and frizzed from the chaos of the battle, and his helmet lay discarded in the heat of the mindless fight. None of his opponents were formidable enough to engage him in a true battle of skill; they were merely obstacles to be obliterated.

He found himself growing bored with the resistance he encountered. He had come for his treasured heirloom, and the stubborn defence he faced only made him scoff. He swung his sword recklessly, striking down anyone who dared to challenge him. If kindness couldn’t win him what he desired, he would take it by force. The last shreds of sanity that had held his emotionally compromised heart together had shattered, leaving him with no option but to resort to raiding and plundering. Blood was his familiar companion—it was what he had come to know intimately, the colour of his hair and the blade he wielded. The hand he had been dealt in the losing game of life resembled his sword’s hue: crimson.

Existence was his only reality, a reality driven by the notion that death wasn’t yet ready to claim him. He existed because he couldn’t die, and death toyed with his life as though it were a mere game of chess. One moment he was a pawn, the next a bishop, then a king, and back to a pawn. It was a cruel dance of fate, and he had long accepted his role as its unwilling participant. In this twisted game, he found a perverse pleasure in taking what he believed was his by-right, regardless of the consequences.

But you changed everything. You brought light into his world, giving meaning to the bleak and dreary existence he had grown accustomed to. A smile, a look from you, and his heart would soar, mending itself and allowing him to experience the simple joys he had been denied. With you, the cage he had felt trapped in was shattered, and he no longer felt like an animal awaiting its inevitable demise. You gave him purpose, a reason to believe in something greater than the cycle of violence and death he had become ensnared in.

A scoff escaped him as he remembered your influence on him. He wiped away the blood that had trickled down his brow, the metallic scent of iron filling his nostrils. The smell was familiar, a reminder of countless battles and massacres he had orchestrated. Despite the carnage around him, this was a relatively minor raid, akin to dealing with a few dozen orcs. Most of his men had switched sides to prevent further destruction, but those who had stood against him now lay lifeless, their bodies strewn across the ground. The balance between valuing his soldiers’ lives and discarding their lifeless forms after insubordination was a precarious one, and in his current state of mind, the line was blurred beyond recognition.

He continued his macabre dance, his temper a raging fire that consumed everything in its path. Lifeless bodies, once vibrant with vitality, now littered the streets. The urge to be repulsed by the sight was a fleeting burden; he was too consumed by his frustration at his failure to reclaim the Silmaril.

“Háno!” A pained voice, his brother Maglor’s, reached his ears, and his heart clenched with dread. After coming this far, losing another of his kin—his last kin—would be the final blow, shattering what little remained of his fractured soul.

He rushed forward, his steps heedless of the broken bodies that lay in his path. He cut through the streets of Sirion with a single–minded determination, following the urgency in his brother’s voice. What he found was a scene of sombre desolation. Maglor stood there, his sword hanging limply in his hand, his shoulders slumped, his legs wobbling, and his head bowed in defeat. A pit formed in the depths of his heart as he approached his brother’s broken form, his own anger momentarily forgotten.

And then he saw you, lifeless. Your body leaned against the wall of a nearby home, your form covered in your own blood. Your expression held a haunting mixture of pain and resignation.

He didn’t want to accept what he was seeing. It felt impossible, like a cruel illusion playing tricks on his senses. You were supposed to be safe, wrapped in comfort and far from the clutches of death and destruction. This had to be the work of darkness, a sinister fabrication that twisted reality into something nightmarish. This couldn’t be you lying lifeless before his eyes; it had to be some twisted trick, a distorted reflection of his fears.

Convincing oneself of falsehood, even in the face of an unfathomable and horrifying sight, was a coping mechanism that allowed one to shut their eyes and turn away. He chanted to himself repeatedly that what he saw couldn’t be true—it couldn’t be you lying there lifeless at the cost of his hands. His footsteps, once soundless, turned into thunderous beats as he rushed toward where you were slumped against the wall. The scene before him was surreal, and he desperately needed some kind of proof that what he was seeing wasn’t real. His trembling fingers inched closer to touch your form, seeking that moment of realization that would tell him the world had deceived him.

His eyes were narrowed in disbelief, his brows furrowed, lips pursed, and fingers trembling as he gingerly reached out. His boots made contact with your foot, and he half–expected to hear your familiar ‘Ouch’ in response, a playful reaction you often had to his touch. But there was no response, no movement from you. Your eyes were cast downwards, avoiding his gaze, avoiding him. He knew that after your last bitter exchange, you wouldn’t want to look at him. He understood that. Yet, the sight of blood staining your clothes and your lack of breath sent a spike of panic through him.

He blinked back tears that threatened to spill, his teeth gritted, nostrils flaring. Slowly, cautiously, he extended his hand to touch your head. He crouched over your lifeless form, keeping a respectful distance as if he feared that even in death, he was intruding on your personal space. His hand made contact with your head, and when you remained unresponsive, he slid his hand lower to cup your face, lifting it to meet his gaze. But your head lolled limply in his hold, and the puppet–like motion of your head sent waves of terror through him. A cold heat engulfed his body, sending shivers down his spine.

The motion of your head was unnaturally limp, like that of a puppet with its strings cut. His hand quivered as it cradled your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “Y/N?” he called, his voice cracking with anxiety. The silence that followed was deafening, and suffocating, and he could feel his heart pounding in his chest.

“Háno, they’re dead—” Maglor’s words were met with a feral growl that erupted from the depths of Maedhros’s chest. He snapped his head in Maglor’s direction, his eyes blazing with a mixture of rage and desperation. A mere glare and a low, menacing command silenced his brother’s words.

Sinking to his knees, he carefully gathered your lifeless form into his lap, cradling you close. He adjusted your position, holding you as you liked to be held, your head resting against his chest so you could hear his heartbeat. His mutilated hand cradled you, his fingers gently caressing your skin. He rocked you back and forth, murmuring soothing words in a broken symphony of promises that he knew he might never be able to fulfil.

“It’s alright, it’s alright,” he whispered, his voice a fragile melody of reassurance. He pressed rough kisses to the top of your head, his lips brushing against your hair. “I’ve got you now, I’m here. I’m going to keep you safe when you wake up.”

The juxtaposition between the past and the present hit him like a wave of sorrow. He remembered the times he had pushed you away, the harsh words he had spoken, and the pain he had caused. And now, here he was, holding you tightly, his heart breaking with the weight of his regrets.

“This will be over soon,” he promised, his voice laden with emotion. “You’ll be safe and happy. I promised you that, didn’t I? I’ll keep my word, my love.” He continued to sway with your lifeless body, refusing to acknowledge his brother’s pleas for him to accept the reality.

He whispered to you over and over, his tears mingling with the blood and sweat on his face. The saltiness of his tears against his wounds was a numbing sensation, a reminder that he was still capable of feeling something amidst the darkness. He was hollow, consumed by the curse of his actions, bound to live with the consequences of his choices—he took your life with words. A simple command and you fell innocent to his sword.

The cycle of violence and suffering that he had perpetuated had led him to this point, where he held the lifeless body of the person he loved more than anything. He had pushed away his chance at happiness, his heartless actions sealing his fate.

In his arms, he clung to you, the only source of light in his life, hoping against hope that this was just a nightmare, that you would awaken, and that the blood on your skin was nothing more than an illusion. But deep down, he knew that he was living the nightmare he had created, unable to escape the prison of his own making.

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shippimagines · 9 months

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heres some partybeetle scenarios nd hcs i was talkking about with my friend. first 2 are tw death (by MR), begging for death, generally just really angsty without much comfort. last one is tw for alcohol

what if poob or pest died with MR and the other didnt? if it was poob with mr i feel like theyd go Oh... but would be like oddly at peace with dying? and pest would hurt so bad and barely goes in th e elevator, avoids people or get really snappy easily until retro ends up doing smth about it .. or perhaps, hear me out, its not just poob but its mark nd poob and at least pest and wallter have someone to be sad with. and they end up getting rly close because of it. when they first see each other after it though theyre both obviously fucked up and they immediately know by looking at each other, theyre not alone if it was pest i think poob gets on the elevator as normal but theyre so dissociated all of the time, and they cry at every little thing and split and infected r there with em, but poob ends up getting rather irritable too and ends up getting really mad at some point . maybe they encounter MR again and they beg for it to kill them and MR seems to prefer them alive now. them, and nobody else anddd heres fluff to make up for that ;; after parties poob is usually really tired and ends up falling asleep standing in the elevator on the way home, so Pest has to carry them to bed. one time the drinks got spiked and pest doesnt like the punch there anyways but poob ended up having enough that it affected them and they were all over pest, and yk that tweet where its like "my drunk partner asked me if i was taken and when i said yes they started crying". thats them. occasionally there'll be slow dances at some parties nd they dance together, pests hands on poob's waist and poob's hands on pest's shoulders, and they dance together and giggle about how silly it is because theyre idiots and in love

#partybeetle #regretevator #roblox regretevator #party noob #party guest #poob #pest #doomed yaoi #angst

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sovonight · 1 year

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waiting (candle event, radri ver, 3k words) ↴

—✧✧✧—

As the light from the window recedes, casting her journal into shadow, Radri sets a candle upon the candle holder on the nightstand, then reaches over the side of the bed, rummaging around in her pack for flint and steel. As she fumbles around for it, Xan glances over from his place beside her, and extends a hand.

"Allow me," he says. With a small gesture and a whisper of a command, the wick catches flame.

"Oh," Radri says, looking up the lit candle, "Thank you."

She abandons her now unnecessary search, and opens her journal once more. Xan glances over again.

"I never found the chance to ask what you write about," he says.

"Mm?" Radri narrowly avoids leaving a blot of ink on the page, and gives her pen a dissatisfied frown, resolving to be more careful. "Normal things, I suppose. What happened today, what quests are in progress, what supplies we expended…."

"A summary of events, then, rather than a collection of personal reflections?" Xan says. "Did you keep such a journal in Candlekeep, as well?"

In Candlekeep? She had never considered it. Imagining it now, her entries would have blended together in their sameness; her days were a mixture of lessons and chores, with the only real variables being the subjects she was taught, and the people around her.

"I didn't keep a journal at all," Radri says. "I was always so tired of writing by the end of each day—the last thing I wanted to do was light a candle and write into the night." She gives her current setup a wry smile.

"But now that I'm gone… there's something comforting about the routine," Radri says. "The scent of paper, the ink… even the flame. Though Candlekeep isn't so full of candles as its name would suggest."

Then she blinks, and lifts her gaze from her journal, glancing over to him.

"I remember seeing that you have a journal, as well. Don't you keep track of similar things?"

"Of our every encounter, foe, and death?" Xan says. "If I dwell too long on what has happened to us, I soon grow astonished at the fact that we are even still alive—and against my will, the mind wanders. I prefer to keep my entries to more pleasant reflections."

"Pleasant reflections?" Radri echoes, curious, "Like what?"

"What else?" Xan says, gazing at her softly. "Thoughts of you, and our love."

—

Radri swirls the liquid wax around in the flat pan of the candle holder, drawing circles around the dying flame. Just as the wick is about to run out, she catches the flame on a fresh one, and sets the new candle beside her closed journal. Her journal entry for the day is complete; she is tired, and she is long due for reverie; and yet, something keeps her awake.

Xan. She sighs, staring into the dull, abandoned pool, watching the wax slowly begin to solidify again. She doesn't know why she's still waiting for him. He prefers to study his spells alone—and she has often fallen into reverie waiting for him to finish—but never so consistently or so often as in these past several days. A shadow has fallen across his dark, gray eyes, and though she lingers in bed, pretending to still be in reverie to ensure he gets all the hours he needs, he hardly looks rested.

When she asks, Xan says nothing. But—she hasn't really asked, has she? Are you alright, is no true substitute for, I'm worried about you. Is something wrong? Is it something I did? Are you avoiding m—

Radri gives her head a sharp shake. No—it does no use to jump to conclusions, and she's been through this dance before. All she has to do is wait for Xan to come tell her everything.

…No, that's not it. The last time she had waited, in just a tenday he had formed a conviction to leave her forever.

Radri stands, sending the candle's flame flickering in the residual breeze of her movement, worry suddenly taking hold in her chest. Her heart is set—she's going to go find him. Xan is probably still at that worn table on the floor below; at this hour, there are none but the stillness and darkness of night to keep him company. Her mind made up, Radri crosses the room in three quick strides, and opens the door—

—And comes face to face with Xan, who stumbles back a step in surprise.

"Radri," Xan gasps. With the glimpse he'd caught of her expression, he sends a cautious glance behind him, before facing her again. "You—you looked as if you were about to storm a dungeon. Are we leaving already?"

Then he looks past her, into the room, where the wax carnage by the candle holder she's been using to stave off the darkness serves as clear evidence of her sleeplessness.

"…Or have you not even rested yet, at all?" Xan looks worriedly down at her. Radri feels, for an instant, abashed to have raised his concern—but no, she has to collect herself. She is worried about him. And she must say it!

"I… I couldn't," Radri says. Yes, a good start—

"I…" she continues, and now, she should ask him now—

"I hadn't yet received your kiss goodnight." NO!

But her excuse has already left her in a nervous rush of words, too late to be swallowed now. Xan, understandably, stares at her—and mentally, she buries her face in her hands. How could her resolve have fled her so quickly?

"I… did not know it was that significant to you," Xan says, slightly puzzled, and it takes her a second to remember what she'd said that he's responding to, "Forgive me for the oversight."

Leaning carefully in, as though partly convinced that she might prove to be an illusion once he touches her, Xan leaves a simple, light kiss on her cheek. When he pulls back away, he seems silently astonished at having confirmed that she is, in fact, real. But Radri's mind holds no room to process this observation; her fingertips rise to touch the kiss he'd placed on her cheek, and her face reddens in embarrassment. He'd… he'd humored her… but perhaps this is the best approach. After all, it's not in her nature to tackle an encounter head-on.

"Are you going to come in and join me?" Radri asks. Though she tries for casual, her voice seems, to her ears, to betray her hours of waiting and doubt. But if Xan thinks the same, it does not show, and he does not refuse her.

Xan moves through his nightly ritual, putting his spellbook upon the nightstand and leaning his moonblade against it, so that he might always have it on hand. Meanwhile, Radri feels as nervous inside as she did the first time they'd shared a room, and finds herself standing still at the foot of the bed, uncertain what to do with her arms.

Xan lays down on the bed, then looks up at her. Perhaps it's just her, or the distance, or the flicker of the candle—but she thinks she sees amusement in his eyes.

"Come here," Xan says fondly, and in that moment, the spell of her nervousness is broken. She hastens over and falls into his arms; Xan's soft, breathy chuckle floats across the top of her head.

"If you were in such a hurry, you need not have waited for me."

She curls up closer, nestling her head against his chest, her ear pressed to his heart. He misunderstands; what she'd waited for is his closeness.

"Will you take my hand?" Radri asks; she misses his company in reverie. Xan sighs.

"I am in no state to show you my memories of Evereska tonight, if that is what you were hoping for."

"I don't want to see, so much as I just want to be with you."

"Well, then, I am already with you." Xan kisses her hair. Her heart clenches, and she tries again.

"Xan… has something been troubling you, lately?"

"I am surprised that you would ask me this," he says. "Many things trouble me, Estel'amin, and at many times." Though his answer is neutral, something beneath it is just slightly tense.

"Does it have to do with me?"

"You are on my mind too often for these troubling thoughts to never lead back to you." But he had hesitated… just barely.

Radri finds her breath caught in her throat. This is the moment; she cannot bear to blurt out any more excuses.

"Is it why you wait for me to fall into reverie, first, before you join me?" Her heart beats so loudly that it nearly drowns out the sound of her own voice in her ears. "I—Is it… why you've been been avoiding me?"

In the aftermath of releasing those words from her mind, she barely registers the fact that Xan's body has stilled, his breath frozen in his chest; her thoughts, many and jumbled, tumble forth, fighting for the chance to form on her tongue.

"I—I'm sorry," Radri finds herself stammering. "After all… it's an uneven arrangement, isn't it? You have such a beautiful city to show me, and I only have books and repetition—the same story, day in and day out. And then I finally left, only to start having these visions… these nightmares. Why would you want to live through them with me? I understand, really. I should never have—"

"Radri."

With one swift movement, she's no longer curled up against his chest, but laying on her back on the bed itself. Xan is leant over her, his arms on either side of her shoulders, his face cast into uneven shadow by the curtain of his hair. She can't help but notice the dark circles beneath his eyes, which are still apparent even in this dim light—but more than that, what strikes her is how pained he looks by her words.

"Is that what you think?"

Radri feels, suddenly, that she's gotten the answer very wrong. She's transported back to Candlekeep: one of her tutors stares at her from the board, tutting at her, as Imoen, sprawled casually at the desk next to hers, signals secretly to her what she should have said instead.

But the Imoen of her mind's eye has no choice but to fade away without helping her; there is nowhere in the world that contains knowledge of what Xan is thinking right now, except for Xan himself.

"What," she says, quietly, "Should I think instead?"

Xan, surprisingly, does not answer immediately. He seems, for the first time in a while, lost for words—though not for a lack of emotion for them to express. She watches his expression shift, from reflection, to frustration, to helplessness, to—

"I have been trying to shield you from my struggles," Xan manages at last, "But I see that I have failed."

Pulling away from her, he continues, "I… I keep having visions."

"I am alone with you on a beautiful glade—and we are ambushed by monsters. I join you in your reverie—and wake up next to your lifeless corpse. I let down my guard, and you are taken from me—" He pauses, taking in a shaky breath, eyes glazed over by the memory, "And there are many more. You cannot imagine the perils my eyes see."

"Fear has always plagued me, Radri. Fears of dying, of losing you, of hurting you, of dragging you into the void of my lonely, desolate existence… But now they are not simply that: they are live nightmares I cannot escape, and I dread my reverie every night. How can I share it with you, when I know what my mind will show you?" Xan says, and pulls his gaze away from her, bowing his head. "I am lost, Estel'amin. Lost in darkness… and even the candles of your room are not able to drive it away."

Radri begins to reach out to him, but pauses, his words still running through her head. She feels like she's forced this from him; she's sorry to have pushed him. Perhaps, if she'd just observed in silence longer, she could have guessed that this was what troubled him… but she can't help but think back to that first night, when their shared reverie went awry. Even with her tears, her confession, his words, and his comfort, what she remembers above all is relief, to no longer be holding all of her fears inside.

So she brings herself to him, and she holds him close.

"You can show me," Radri says. "I wish I knew what to say to drive this darkness away… I wish I could do for you what you do for me. But I will always be here to listen."

"I want to know everything about you, Tahlimil," she confesses; despite having spoken it in her mind many times, his name is still new on her tongue, and she feels his breath catch to hear it. "Not just your hopes, but your fears. Not just your shining moments of happiness, but your present sorrows. I want to be here with you, through all of it. There is not a moment in which I would wish that you had spared me… I don't think it's possible for us to spare each other, anymore."

Her heart is beating loud and fast in her chest; she wonders if he can feel it, if he can tell that she feels more nervous and vulnerable now than she does when she whispers to him that she loves him, before all the eyes of the world. Xan, held close, now pulls away to look her in the eyes.

"Estel'amin," Xan says, "I…"

He looks taken by disbelief and awe; he looks as if he wishes to kiss her. But then, another thought comes to him—and she can spy this exact moment, by the sudden look of resolve in his eyes.

"There is a question that has been on my mind for far too long," Xan says. "I have agonized over when to ask it, but I think it can only be now. I feel as you do. I would share everything with you: my memories, my emotions, my life… and I would know you, in turn, as dearly and intimately as I have only ever known myself."

He takes her hand; his fingers, and the rings upon them, are normally cool upon her skin, but tonight they exude pure warmth.

"I wish to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan says. "I wish to have you in my arms, Estel'amin… will you have me?"

The building elation that she'd felt throughout his first sentences falters, stuttering to a halt. Suddenly, their closeness comes to the forefront of her awareness. His touch, his gaze, and even the mundane way the fabric of their clothes has tangled together around their bodies; to notice these things now leaves a weight in her chest.

"Are you afraid?" Xan asks, softly.

She can't respond; he does not push her.

"I know," Xan says, and if Radri were less preoccupied by her thoughts, she would note that his tone betrays a hint of nervousness, "This commitment is far too great to fathom in a single moment. An elven bond is the closest intimacy I could have asked of you; I have had many days to reflect on it, and yet I have not granted you the same. I am not so fragile that I will turn away from you if you refuse me tonight."

Hearing that, her head jerks up, startling him slightly. He thinks that this is what she would refuse? How could he imagine that she would, when even in the earliest of their days together—after she, by a miracle, had managed to convince him to stay—she had thought secretly, wistfully back to the kind of bond she had only ever been able to read about in books?

No, the cause of this pressure in her chest is from the other half of his request, tied so smoothly to the first: I wish to have you in my arms. She imagines that if she were anyone else, she would have already flung herself into Xan's waiting embrace, but though she tries to picture this, to rehearse for the actions she will surely take in the next moment, she cannot do it.

"I... I have dreamed of our bond. For an embarrassingly long time," Radri confesses, and says a silent farewell to such dreams as she admits, "But I am not ready to give you the rest of what you have asked. I'm sorry."

Ducking her head, she closes her eyes tight, ready to hear him sigh and turn away... but the sound never comes.

“Then our bond is all I ask,” Xan says.

Shocked, she looks up at him. Xan no longer looks nervous; he does not even appear disappointed, as she’d feared. Instead, he looks as if he’d received the very answer he had hoped for.

"What do you mean?" Radri asks, "You… you're still willing, to...?"

"Radri," Xan says, a fond, relieved smile pulling at his lips, "Our bond is the one part of my question that I had always feared you would refuse. The rest can wait until the day you wish for it."

For a moment, she can do nothing but stare in disbelief. That feeling of elation returns, building little by little, replacing the heaviness in her chest.

"Can you ask me again?" Radri says, feeling somewhat breathless, "S—so… so that I might accept properly?"

"I have longed to forge the bond that will unite my world with yours," Xan begins again for her, and adds, with a look of unbearable tenderness, "I love you, Estel'amin. Will you have me?"

And at last she answers in a whispered, "Yes."

—

When Radri wakes, Xan is sitting up beside her, already awake himself. She stretches her arms out to hug him around the waist, and closes her eyes again.

"You've spent less time in reverie than I," she grumbles, "How is it that you're already awake?"

"Is it your wish that I return to bed, then?" Xan asks, brushing through her hair with an idle hand. "I will… But first, I noticed that you were running short of candles, so I brought you one."

Xan presents her with a lit candle. Radri, sitting up, beholds it with bewilderment.

"I… Thank you, but… if you're already burning it now, won't it go to waste?" Radri asks, looking at him. Still new to her heart, his presence and his feelings there are not yet easy to sort through, but she manages to single one out: anticipation.

"There is more to it, Estel'amin," he whispers, pressing a kiss to her cheek, "Just trust me."

Holding the candle between them, he faces her seriously.

"I wish to give you a promise, together with this candle," Xan says. "I… I feel you, now, as clearly as I feel myself. I know your fears as sharply as I know mine. And I promise: while you are here, with me, in reverie or in the waking world, you will not run out of candles, and whenever you have need of me, you will not find me wanting. —If you do have need of me, that is."

He extinguishes the candle, and looks at her with a slight smile.

"I almost do not believe it, but I feel… hopeful," Xan says. "And there, the candle is out. Do you forgive me for squandering it, now?"

"Yes," Radri says, barely managing to voice the word with how touched she is, and clearly past the need for any apology of his. "I'm… I…"

Xan just gazes contentedly at her, looking more at peace this morning than he has in days, and rather than trying to put into words what she feels after hearing what he said, she just wants to hold him. So she does.

"I suppose you will want us to return to reverie now," Xan says, his voice slightly muffled by the arms she's thrown around his neck. "I appreciate your offer to serve as my blanket, but it will be difficult to kiss you goodnight in this position… and I know how you cannot bear to forgo it."

"What even are you talking about," Radri mumbles, having reached her limit for deciphering spoken words the moment Xan's candle went out. There's simply too much information: from her heart, her head, this bond, and even the sun, whose rays are now peeking irritatingly in from the gap in the curtains at the window.

"Nothing," Xan answers, feeling all of this from her, and deciding to postpone his teasing for later. They have time. This hour, this day... and yes, perhaps even tomorrow.

—

full xan/radri compilation

#a remix/rewrite mushing two of his events together for my fav bhaalspawn #xan x radri #sovo writes

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nevereverthem · 4 months

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imagine this: cat and mouse!bonkai but they're in the real world and not the prison world

TVD Imagine request :

I'm not particularly familiar with the cat and mouse trope. However, it gave me some ideas that I wanted to share.

Words : 2.7k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

1. 6x22 Damon abandons Bonnie dying at the wedding. He walks out of the venue, going straight to the hospital where Elena is waiting for him in her magic coma.

_ That's it ? He's just gonna let you die ?

Nothing. The only thing that's heard is Bonnie sobbing on the floor.

Kai walks up to her, crouching beside her dying form.

_ I admire your loyalty. But I'd like you to answer this. Why do you stay like that ? I mean, loyal to them. Clearly, it's not reciprocated.

She avoids his gaze, facing the opposite direction.

Kai cups her chin with one strong hand, turning her head back to him.

_ I asked a question.

Bonnie doesn't answer. She coughs, blood leaving her lips, running down to the newly heretic's hand.

Kai takes his hand to his face, licking the Bennetts' blood that just stained his skin. He closes his eyes at the taste, humming in contentment.

_ Delicious !

He looks back at her, searching her face. She's clenching her jaw, clearly mad, and hurt, fighting the tears threatening to escape her eyes. She doesn't want him to see her cry any more. He's not getting that satisfaction.

His smile drops a second before being replaced by a slight pout of disappointment.

_ Right. You're not in the mood. I get it.

She's dying. It won't be long now. She knows it. She can't even see straight anymore. Her vision's so blurry she doesn't notice Kai biting in his own wrist before presenting it to her mouth.

_ Drink.

At his word, she manages a confused frown, batting her eyes a couple of times. It doesn't help her vision. Although she doesn't need her sight to feel the bloody flesh brushing against her lips.

_ You dying that soon is not part of the plan.

He presses his wrist closer to her mouth.

_ Come on, Bon.

She wants to decline the offer.... but her survival instincts take over. Eyes closed to imagine someone else giving her blood, she grabs his wrist with both her fists, drinking hungrily as though her life depends on it.... which is actually the case. She could swear she hears him sigh in relief. Is it just a near death experience hallucination ? It doesn't matter. She's going to live. A bit longer that is.

When she's had enough of his blood to be completely healed, she lets go of his arm, moving in a sitting position.

_ Better ?

She glances at him, staring daggers through his eyes for a moment. A smile then grows on her face.

_ Feelings are hard, right ?

Kai scoffs, incredulous. Before he can answer, Bonnie mimics his signature wink.

_ Invisique.

She's gone.

Kai stands up from the floor, surprised, and quite impressed. He checks around him. She's nowhere to be found. That filthy little witch has learnt a lot. He grins uncontrollably, staring into space, lost in thoughts....

2. After the wedding massacre, Kai stays around, avoiding most of the fights. The Heretics settle in and take over the town.

One day, Kai receives an invitation to a party hosted by no other than Lily Salvatore. It's supposed to be a 'bury the hatchet' occasion.

The one thought that crosses his mind is the possibility of Bonnie's appearance at that 'peaceful' reunion. It's been a while since their last encounter. He can't wait. He doesn't believe one bit of this agreement bullshit. But he's not denying a little entertainment.

Once at the party, he quickly notices Bonnie in a corner, surely plotting with one of her friends.

_ May I have this dance ?

Hearing this familiar voice makes her shiver out of fear and anger. She turns to face him, repressing the desire to throw him away with magic.

_ I won't bite, I promise. At least not today.

He winks, offering her his right hand.

Bonnie looks back at the person beside her. They both nod, exchanging a knowing silence.

_ One. For peace.

He gives her a smile, repeating ironically.

_ For peace.

He leads them to the middle of the crowd, hands intertwined. He places an arm around her hip. Her hand wrapping around his neck. Bodies pressed against each other for slow dancing. They've never been this close. He's never been allowed anyway....

He's got a restricted amount of time, so he doesn't waste any. He bends his head down to her neck, whispering.

_ I know what you're planning to do. Not the details, but I can imagine. I won't stop you. I don't care what happens to them. They treated me like their personal walking blood bag. They can burn in hell. I came just for you.

They're swaying in synch, as if everything was normal.

_ You're disgusting.

_ Yeah ? You're alive because I decided so.

She huffs in disbelief, biting back.

_ You're the one who had me dying.

_ True. Let's say it's an apology for my mistake.

They keep dancing, moving accordingly to the music's rhythm. He adds.

_ You've never apologised for yours.

She abruptly steps back, frowning in confusion. She doesn't understand.

He presses her back against him. Of course she doesn't recall her mistake. Is she even aware it was one ?

The song's ending. He takes advantage of the remaining seconds.

_ I haven't forgotten how it felt.... I can't wait to taste your blood again.

The moment she finally decides to get him out of her way for good, he's gone. He doesn't reappear for the whole eventful day. He'd told the truth this time....

3. Bonnie is now under the control of the Huntress power. She has to kill vampires. She can't go against her duty. It's literally stronger than her.

The day she becomes that relentless huntress, a certain heretic makes an apparition.

_ Got yourself in trouble yet again ? You can't stop yourself, can you ?

She's almost happy to see his cocky expression staring at her in the dark. The fact that she can't refrain her killing desire might come in handy this time.

_ What are you doing here ?

He smiles at her annoyed tone.

_ I hear there is a new huntress in town. Came to introduce myself !

_ I'm gonna kill you.

_ I figured. You'd rather kill me than your friends, right ? That makes me the perfect bait.

She approaches cautiously, confusion spread on her face.

_ You're willing to die to protect my friends. Have you gone totally insane ?

He chuckles at her insinuation.

_ I'm not protecting their lives. I'm protecting yours.

She frowns, not able to stop her feet.

_ We're both aware that you've got shitty ungrateful friends....

Kai starts stepping back, keeping a safe distance between them.

_ ....still, you wouldn't be able to live with yourself if you ever hurt one of them.

Does he feel some sort of pity ? Is he truly trying to help her ?

_ I'm not completely against the idea of you being desperate and out of your mind....

Here it is.

_ ....but I'd rather be the reason you end up that way.

He gives her his usual psycho smile. That's more like it.

They're now walking in circles, as if slowly chasing one another.

_ You're not much of a talker tonight.

_ I have other plans.

That's when she throws herself at him, weapon in hand. One hit and he's trapped into that hell of a stone.

Luckily he's got some vampire speed to help. He dodges in time. While concentrating to avoid her attacks, he continues speaking.

_ It's funny how it's the second time you try to kill me since I've saved your life. And I'm not talking about the wedding.

The information get to her mind, but she's so caught up in the killing spree, she can't stop her movements.

_ You've never saved me. All you did was threaten me, shoot me, and leave me for dead.

When trying to reach him, Bonnie plants her sword in the nearest tree trunk, earning Kai a bit more time.

_ I was right then. They didn't tell you.

_ Tell me what ?

She takes her sword back, ready to stab him in the right place this time.

_ When you tried to kill yourself in the prison world, I came back for you.

She doesn't answer. Her anger mixes with the huntress power. Kai doesn't stop, dodging every hit.

_ You think that door opened by itself ? Nope ! I almost died doing that spell. Your ex boytoy pushed that switch 'cause I gave my last bit of strength so he could actually do it.

_ You're a liar !

He chuckles bitterly at that word.

_ How come I know your grandma told you to be strong and that's why you tried getting up ?

Bonnie's mind is stunned, but her body's still moving.

Kai's exhausted. The magic he's absorbed right before the encounter is running out. And his vampire abilities are not enough to keep on escaping her blows.

_ You'll have to ask your so-called friends. I did my best.

And just like that, he's gone, again.

Since she didn't mark him he's out of reach for now. She's got another job at hand.... Stefan.

4. Bonnie's finally back to normal. No huntress duty. No monster controlling her friends. She's found a way to get her powers back. More than that, through all the terrible events, she's had a little conversation with Damon. She's definitely not forgiven him for choosing Elena over her that very night.... But since all that happened.... They've come to a truce.

The things Kai had told her while she was under the huntress power.... That always bugged her and she finally asked Damon about it. All of it is true ! More than that, he did risk his own life to save hers. That's the least he should have done after what he put her through.... but it still itches something in her.

Since she got her magic back, as if he's felt it, she's seen the Heretic appear in random places she went to. He's always here, watching her from afar. That teasing's starting to get to her. She needs to take action before he drives her completely mental, or worse.

That's why that day she cuts her palm and casts a spell that indicates Kai's exact whereabouts. The woods, the snow.... As if he's been waiting for that exact moment. A reminder of the day it all went wrong.

_ You're late !

_ We didn't have an appointment. How-

_ Bonnie.

He smiles fondly, like he's reunited with an old friend.

_ I constantly feel your magic. It's got that special taste to it. You know, that aura.

He inhales deeply, as if he could smell it too....

_ You've been following me.

_ Told you I wanted to be the one to make you go insane. How am I doing so far ?

_ Stop that ! You were right.

Kai's stopped in his amusement, but if she wants to get to the heart of the subject, they will.

_ That's what you want me to say. That you were right. What you told me the last time was true.

_ What did I say ?

He knows perfectly what he told her, but he wants to hear the words come out of her mouth.

_ You came back for me. In the prison world. You prevented me from-

_ I did.

She's not sure if he wants to acknowledge that fact once more, or if the mention of attempted suicide is somehow too much now....

_ I did, and you left me.

_ I didn't know-

_ You could have let me back home, to the present. Then you could have just let me go or kill me, whatever. But no, you did the worst thing you could do to me. You left me in that damn prison !

His voice's louder, angrier. He's come closer, a few steps. She can feel the heat of his anger emanating from his body.

_ You're a murderer Kai ! You think I was gonna let you go ? You left me for dead.

_ And I came back ! You didn't.

She stays silent.

_ I changed, and you still left me. You didn't believe me.

_ And you murdered most of a wedding's guests because of a heartbreak ?

_ Yeah, 'cause your friends are so pure as the driven snow. That's why you forgive them every time. But I was never deemed worth it, right ? It all comes back to the same at the end.

He comes even closer, walking up to her with each word.

_ I'm not even the black sheep anymore. I'm the big bad wolf. That's what you think, huh ? Maybe you're right.

He grins wickedly. He's so close she can feel his breath when he speaks.

_ And you know what wolf do ? They bite !

The moment his eyes change colour and his fangs appear, she gets him flying away.

_ Motus !

Kai's back hits a tree and Bonnie begins chanting. Chains appear around him, binding him to the trunk.

Kai groans out of pain but he's soon composed again. He raises his head to her, pulling on the chains.

_ Getting a bit kinky ? I'm not complaining.

A playful grin on his lips, and that's what it takes for her to pull out the stake she has in her back pocket. She places it right on his chest, before his heart.

_ Oh, so that's it ? You've finally decided to kill me. What took you so long ?

He's 'calm', totally unperturbed.... He was expecting it ? And he came all the same ?

_ You want to die ?

She's horrified by her own statement. The man who fought so hard to get to live is willing to die at her hands.

_ I surely thought I'd stay on earth a while longer.... but perish at the hand of my own nemesis. What an end !

She realises something.

_ That's what you wanted last time ? When I became the huntress. You wanted me to kill you ?

_ Oh, no. I wanted to get your friends a little more time, and it worked.

_ Why ?

_ Why what ?

_ Why did you do it ? Why do you keep me alive ? You've shot me, you've stabbed me, you've brought me to the brink of death.... And you've always kept me there.

She pauses a moment. That man saved her from suicide. She's one of the few he kept alive at the wedding, even if it was out of spite and how terrible it sounds. He kept her busy when she was the huntress so her friends had more time to escape and find a way to break the link. It's hard to admit but he does cares for her in his own twisted way....

_ You're a challenge, Bonnie Bennett.

In that instant, she's attracted by his eyes. He wears so much confidence on the outside, but his eyes say otherwise. The more she looks into them, the more she seems to grasp glimpses of the man she's known. The man who said he's changed. The man who looked so scared when she stabbed him that snowy day.... She's so lost in his eyes that she doesn't catch his murmuring.

He's played with her life in that awful special way. She's gonna give him the same treatment. A final fatal encounter.

When she plunges the stake in his flesh, she hears his painful moans. Without thinking twice, she leans to put her lips against his, muffling his cries in a kiss.

She's always had that repressed desire for him. She knows she shouldn't, but it's been here since the beginning. He's reaching the end. She can at least make it slightly bearable.

When she pulls out, his cries have stopped. The stake is planted deep in his chest....

_ I'm not sure what's best. This or your blood. I'd be tempted to say your blood, but this comes close second. I say that again, I'll have another taste one day.

He did not desiccate? Why did he not desiccate ?

Her eyes go wide. She takes a huge step back, appalled. The chains fall from Kai's body.

_ Ahh, Bonnie Bennett. Still that easy to be fooled.

Kai removes the stake from his chest in one swift movement, dropping it to the ground.

_ Plastic.

He stretches his arms then cracks his neck.

_ See you soon my sweet Bonster.

He smiles warmly, gives her a quick wink, then suddenly disappears.

The man came to verbally fight. He let himself get hurt. She kissed him. He obviously siphoned the magic from the chains. And he transformed the stake into plastic with a murmured spell....

He got away. Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Thank you for reading, did you like the short stories ?

I spent all night writing this. It took me basically 6 hours. That's alright.

Thank you for your suggestion 'anonymous'. I took a long time to respond and I'm sorry. I hope it lives up to your expectations. If not, please tell me more about what you expected me to write. I might understand the cat and mouse trope a lot more.

If you find any language mistake please feel free to let me know in DMs.

XO 🩷

The Vampire Diaries Masterlist

#the vampire diaries #tvdu #kai parker #bonnie bennett #bonkai #writing #the vampire diaries imagine #gemini coven #1994 prison world #the heretic #the huntress #suicide attempt #magic #bonkai fanfiction

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loneberry · 6 months

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Yi Yi by Edward Yang

Kaili Peng (wife of Yang) + Haden Guest, Sean Yang (son)

This film has been on my watchlist for ages. When I saw the Harvard Film Archive was doing an Edward Yang retrospective, I waited to watch a glorious 35 mm print. The film was introduced by Yang's wife, pianist Kaili Peng, and son, Sean Yang. Sean spoke of his father's early death, about only getting to know his dad through his films. After the screening Kaili describe Yi Yi as a "prelude to his own passing," his last "love letter to the world." She described Yang as a moody and passionate person, prone to bouts of anger. Yet while making Yi Yi, he was always in a good mood--that "sweetness" (her word) is captured in the tone of the film.

Why is it that the films of the Taiwan New Cinema + Second New Wave (especially Tsai Ming-liang) capture urban alienation so powerfully? What is the root of this melancholia? You'd think Taipei was the loneliest place in the world. I don't know. Maybe it is. I've never been, even though my father immigrated from Taiwan and I've long wanted to go there to scatter my grandfather's ashes.

Yi Yi contains sadness and levity in equal measure. In that sense it is true to life. The adult characters are haunted by their disappointments. Min-Min is plagued by a lack of meaning she tries to counter with Buddhist retreats. NJ is troubled by the counterfactuals of his life—the career he did not pursue, the great love he abandoned, who he encounters 30 years later. The children repeat the disappointments of their parents, continuing the cycle, ad infinitum. Strange, the night before watching Yi Yi, I watched Abbas Kiarostami's Where Is the Friend's House?. Both films stage an encounter between a child and an elderly person as a way to meditate on life and time. In both films there is affinity between the child and old person, who exist on the outer edges of the life cycle. Yes, you can't help but feel, watching Yi Yi, that the little boy Yang-Yang is an old soul (see the films final lines). Yang-Yang is the film's comic relief. I love what that boy sees—the photographs he takes of the backs of people's heads, how I dreamed them (see the photos that open my Sunflower book).

Ting-Ting, too, is beautiful in her loneliness. Her guilt, her insomnia. She dreams of relief: "Now that you've forgiven me, I can sleep."

How am I supposed to address the dying? Every soliloquy to the comatose grandma is the character confronting themselves. NJ mumbles that speaking to someone in a coma is like praying. Do they hear you? Are your words sincere?

The way the film is shot, too, adds to the feeling that the characters are self-enclosed. Much of the action takes place in cramped interiors. The camera is often placed outside the building or train, just beyond the windows, giving you the feeling the they are ensheathed by glass. The window becomes a nexus between the interior and exterior: in the glass we can see what is happening outside at the same time we are observing the facial expressions of the characters. The headlights of the nighttime traffic dance on a woman's face. This is truly the hand of a director with a powerful vision.

Kaili said, after the screening, that Edward's autobiography is manifest in many of the characters. Edward was turned down from piano lessons, as was NJ. The music only meant something to him after the first time he fell in love.

What can I say. It's a beautiful film. Watch it.

[Read more film reviews on my Letterboxd.]

#film #Edward yang #yi yi #一一 #loneliness

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novafire-is-thinking · 8 months

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🗣️Talk about your favourite WIP

At the moment, I have two or three favorites, so I’ll go with the one I’ve added to most recently.

The title is currently Remember Me As You Will, but that may change between now and completion.

It started out as a two-part story, but it’s turned into a multi-chapter fic. lol

Each part is a glimpse into a key point in Shockwave’s life: mostly pre-shadowplay and post-Unicron.

The majority of it is written from Shockwave’s POV, with the occasional glimpse from the perspective of someone else he encounters. The goal is to capture both Shockwave’s self-reflection, and also how he may have been perceived from without.

Two songs for this WIP:

The Lament of Eustace Scrubb by The Oh Hellos (Spotify | YouTube)

Lyrics:

Brother, forgive me / We both know I'm the one to blame / 'Cause when I saw my demons / I knew them well and welcomed them / I knew them well and welcomed them

But I'll come around / I'll come around

Father, have mercy / I know that I have gone astray / 'Cause when I saw my reflection / It was a stranger beneath my face / It was a stranger beneath my face

But I'll come around / I'll come around / Someday

When I touch the water / They tell me I could be set free

Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night from Interstellar (Spotify | YouTube)

Lyrics / Poem:

Do not go gentle into that good night, / Old age should burn and rave at close of day; / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right, / Because their words had forked no lightning they / Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright / Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, / And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, / Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight / Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height, / Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. / Do not go gentle into that good night. / Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

For this ask game

#novafire is writing #senator (affectionate)

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kawaii-queen-kaiju · 7 months

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🎵I have died in your arms tonight🎵

Angel of Death/Jason Todd AU

(Prev. Chapter)

All throughout the lecture Jason and Lea passed notes back and forth, like giggling teenagers in high school, and Jason was not embarrassed in the slightest. Who cares if he's blushing like a schoolboy, heart going a mile a minute just talking with a pretty girl? A pretty, smart girl, who laughed at his macabre jokes and made her own. Sue him. When the class finished, she smirked and passed him one last note, before slipping out the door. He was disappointed for a moment, before he realized what was on the small strip of paper. Her phone number.

(No, he did not do a little dance, you have no proof.)

He programmed the number into his phone, flip-flopping on the name. He eventually decided on just 'Lea'. He'd change it later, after their coffee date. Holy shit, he had a date! Take that, Dickface.

He quickly changed out of the plain getup he had on for sitting in the dim college classroom, and into something more presentable, yet still casual… a t-shirt and jeans would be fine, right? Across the room, on his nightstand, his phone dinged. It would have to be. She sent him the address for an overpriced little coffee shop on the Gotham U campus. Perfect.

He walked into the small cafe, noting the absence of a certain angel woman. So, he ordered his drink and sat in an easily visible booth, trying to keep his bat-paranoia in check. She wouldn't stand him up, would she? She seemed interested in class… what if it was an act?

The bell above the door rang and he looked up on instinct. His mind stopped in its tracks, frozen on the sight in front of him. Lea seemed to have had the same idea he did, now wearing something different than an hour before. Her oversized, black sweater came to her knees, over top of fishnets and Doc Martins. She had a pile of necklaces around her neck, and her braids were pulled back, revealing heavily pierced ears. The rare Gotham sunlight came in behind her, shrouding her in a halo of light.

She spotted him and smiled, only adding to the divine comparison in his head. "Just Jason!"

He chuckled a little, the sound dying in his throat as she approached. "You look beautiful." He blurted out, embarrassed but not dissuaded. "Like an angel."

Her eyes twinkled with mirth. "Why, thank you. You're not so bad yourself, handsome."

Yes, his face was on fire. So what? He cleared his throat. "So, what do you want to drink?"

Her face brightened, like a kid on Christmas. "Coffee. One of my siblings brought me some once and I've been dying to have it again." He raised an eyebrow, laughing a little. "Right."

She repeated her order to the barista at the counter, who looked at Lea with less amusement than Jason. The barista rolled her hand, beckoning Lea to continue. "Yes, but what do you want?"

Lea frowned, confused. "I want coffee. Jason, I'm speaking English, right?"

The barista's eyebrows shot into her hairline, and Jason muffled his laugh in his hand. He glanced down at Lea, expecting literally any other emotion to be present on her face. She was looking at him, concerned and confused, hand hovering over his back. Jason straightened up, turning back to the offended woman behind the counter. "She'll have a black coffee. Sorry about that." He slid a hundred to her and quickly walked Lea back to their table.

"What was that?" He asked, huffing a small laugh. She frowned (still looking gorgeous while doing so). "She was misunderstanding me, and I was worried I was speaking the wrong language."

Jason nodded, remembering some of Damian's moments like that. More often than not, it was insulting, but sometimes…

"English isn't your first language." He realized, looking on the encounter from moments prior differently. She shook her head. "No. Far from it actually."

"I get it. My little brother's first language isn't English either."

She looked at him with wide eyes. "You have siblings?"

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. "Hundreds of 'em." He joked. She blinded smiled at him. "Me too!"

"Older or younger?"

"Both." She groaned. "They're so annoying, and only one of them has visited me in thousands of years!" He's never heard that metaphor before. Maybe a phrase in her language? "Can't relate. I wish mine would just leave me alone."

She looked at him with sad eyes, looking ages older than she actually was (then again, so did he sometimes). "No, you don't." He blinked at the tone shift, but the moment was ruined by the barista calling Lea's coffee order. He got up and grabbed the cup, coming back to her looking herself again. "Here." He handed her the drink and she stared at it with hearts in her eyes (no, he was not jealous of a coffee cup, that's ridiculous).

She took a sip and her face scrunched up, looking like Tim when Jason managed to catch him in a sleep-deprived state and trick him into biting a lemon. "Ugh! What is that?!"

He stifled a laugh, disguising it as a cough. "Coffee." She shook her head, glaring at the cardboard cup like it had personally offended her. "No, coffee is delicious. That is infernal." She growled.

He let himself laugh this time, offering her his cooling cup. "Why don't you try this?"

She peered into it warily, comparing the contents of both. "They look the same…" She glanced at him, and slowly brought the drink to her lips. She took a sip and her eyes widened, sips turning into gulps. She tipped back the whole cup, impressing Jason.

When she brought it away from her mouth, she wasn't even panting, licking her lips. "That was better. Not quite what Gabriel brought, but definitely better than," She glared at her own cup, "that."

Jason leaned back in his seat, amused by her reaction. "If you think that's good, wait 'til you try it with chocolate."

(Next Chapter)

#so many words #batman fanfiction #batman #jason todd #angel of death #Angel of Death/Jason Todd #college student jason todd #coffee date #anyone who drinks plain black coffee for the taste is psychotic #tags suck

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ravenwitch45 · 1 year

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Imagine if Stella hired Striker for a hit on Bayonetta. I'll bet Striker's encounter with the witch would go similarly to and about as swimmingly as Puss in Boots' first encounter with Death, with Striker on the losing side!

Bayonetta: "A death threat? Really? In front of my martini?" ⬆

Striker's in for a surprise when he sees Bayonetta being the most expert dodger out of all his targets. (Because he doesn't know about Witch Time) ⬆

Either way, a moving target like her might make Striker unwaveringly believe that no reward is worth this! That he might, for the first time, go "fuck it!" and tell Stella to find someone else, 'cause he ain't dying for this vendetta and she can't pay him to do that!

He thought he was on a witch hunt, but ended up with the witch hunting him! ⬇

(Alternatively for fun, you could also imagine this same scenario but with a human-sized Madama Butterfly instead of Bayonetta...)

Oh lord poor Striker. I actually just watched Last Wish so I could do this the best I could so let's do this.

Perhaps he tries to sneak up on her, hearing her hum Moon River (That will come back later) Before she suddenly turns to him making him freeze "You know it's rude to sneak up on a lady, if you have something to say I suggest you say it"The witch states, Striker awkwardly recovering, pulling his hat down to hide his surprise before replying "Your a lady who has too much of habit of making powerful people upset..."to which her eyes widen as she gets up and chuckles pulling out love is blue "Oh, an Assassin I see, well then, let's dance shall we?"

Yeah Striker is way out of his league here, mainly due to two things, one witch time, Bayonetta continually dodging everything and retailating with attacks he simply doesn't see coming, and two her weapons, if Striker brought his blessed arsenal along which seems likely, he'd have a bit more of a chance, but most of Bayonetta's weapons literally have demons inside of them, not to mention she has tons she can pull out at any moment to keep him on his toes

She would certainly toy with him, literally shooting his bullets in mid air and just smirking at him as he panicks, eventually throwing his knife at her which she also shoots down, it stabbing into a wall right next to him which makes his heart race, Bayonetta just crossing her arms "You know, you do have a fire about you, and I'd hate to put that out, too few passionate people in the world these days, so why don't you run along, I won't blame you."She says, Striker looking at her in surprise, truly not expecting that, his hair standing on end as she raises a brow, cocking one of her guns and that sends him running after grabbing his knife, trying his best to keep his tail from between his legs.

He tells Stella off and checks out of that whole situation, except well... While I don't believe Striker would get as panicked or... well traumatized by the experience as Puss was from his encounter with Death, it still leaves it's marks, him remembering it as one of the few moments he ever felt truly powerless and afraid. And he get's all panicky ever hearing Moon River, terrified of ever seeing her again, though he keeps his composure despite that mostly until the memory get's stirred.

The thing I love about this most is I have an OC who's friends with both of them, so Imagine Striker and him just run into her on the street, and while there talking Striker is just scared into silence, hiding his face under his hat hoping not to be recognized, she has no ill intent or hard feelings, she isn't hunting him like Death hunted Puss but still, he's scared of her to a degree he didn't know he could be XP

#ask reply #helluva boss #bayonetta #helluva striker #puss in boots #puss in boots death #the last wish #my writing i suppose xp #thanks for sharing

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battyaboutbooksreviews · 22 days

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🌈 Queer Books Coming Out in August 2024 🌈

🌈 Good afternoon, my bookish bats! Here are a FEW of the stunning, diverse queer books you can add to your TBR before the year is over. Happy reading!

❓What was the last queer book you read?

[ Release dates may have changed. ]

❤️ Failure to Comply - Sarah Cavar 🧡 I Spit On Your Celluloid - Heidi Honeycutt 💛 You're Embarrassing Yourself - Desiree Akhavan 💚 Death of the Hero - Briona Johnson 💙 Between Dragons and Their Wrath - Devin Madson 💜 The Crimson Crown - Heather Walter ❤️ Sacrificial Animals - Kailee Pedersen 🧡 Oath of Fire - K. Arsenault Rivera 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 This Ravenous Fate - Hayley Dennings 💜 Mistress of Lies - K.M. Enright 🌈 Wolf Bite - T.J. Nichols

❤️ In the Valley, A Shadow - Samantha Tano 🧡 Follow My Lead - Adrian J. Smith 💛 The Last Woman I Kissed - Venetia Di Pierro 💚 Full Shift - Jennifer Dugan & Kristen Seaton 💙 Hers for the Weekend - Helena Greer 💜 Come Out, Come Out - Natalie C. Parker ❤️ Rules for Ghosting - Shelly Jay Shore 🧡 How to Leave the House - Nathan Newman 💛 Plot Twist - Carmen Sereno 💙 On the Far Side of a Crescendo - Kalyn Hazel 💜 Tiny Oblivions and Mutual Self Destructions - Maxwell I. Gold 🌈 Daylan and the River of Secrets - Edd Tello

❤️ The Italy Letters - Vi Khi Nao 🧡 The Gender Binary Is a Big Lie - Lee Wind 💚 The House Where Death Lives - Alex Brown 💙 Ash's Cabin - Jen Wang 💜 The Avian Hourglass - Lindsey Drager ❤️ The Heart Wants - Krystina Rivers 🧡 A Grand Love - Janna Barkin 💛 You Can't Go Home Again - Jeanette Bears 💜 Libertad - Bessie Flores Zaldivar 🌈 Her Golden Coast - Anat Deracine

❤️ Mighty Millie Novak - Elizabeth Holden 💛 Rise and Divine - Lana Harper 💚 Dying for You - L Flowers 💙 I'll Have What He's Having - Adib Khorram 💜 Changing Her Tune - Amanda Kabak ❤️ Monogamy? In this Economy? - Laura Boyle 🧡 The Rainbow Age of Television - Sayna Maci Warner 💛 Medusa of the Roses - Navid Sinaki 💙 Confounding Oaths - Alexis Hall 💜 Idol Lives - K.T. Salvo 🌈 Brother's Keeper - Quinn Cameron

❤️ Key Lime Sky - Al Hess 🧡 Crushing It - Erin Becker 💛 The Husky and His White Cat Shizun - Rou Bao Bu Chi Rou 💚 Not for the Faint of Heart - Lex Croucher 💙 Tasting Temptation - JJ Arias 💜 Ami - S. Jae-Jones ❤️ You're the Problem, It's You - Emma R. Alban 🧡 Cubs & Campfires - Dylan Drakes 💛 The Dark We Know - Wen-yi Lee 💙 Practical Rules for Cursed Witches - Kayla Cottingham 💜 Riyati Rebirth - Kalani Shimizu 🌈 The Brujos of Borderland High - Gume Laurel III

❤️ A Bánh Mì for Two - Trinity Nguyen 🧡 Dance of the Starlit Sea - Kiana Krystle 💛 Scattered Snows, to the North - Carl Phillips 💚 Beyond a World Apart - Caitlin Myers 💙 Don't Let It Break Your Heart - Maggie Horne 💜 Nothing Heals Me Like You Do - Harper Bliss ❤️ How It All Ends - Emma Hunsinger 🧡 How Do I Sexy? - Mx. Nillin Lore 💛 The Palace of Eros - Caro De Robertis 💙 Prince of the Palisades - Julian Winters 💜 Better Left Buried - Mary E. Roach 🌈 Back to Back - Jo Fletcher

❤️ DITCHLAPSE / [REALLY AFRAID] - Tommy Wyatt 🧡 The Love Archives: Bonus Scenes & Excerpts for Palestine - Various 💛 Guardian: Zhen Hun - Ying Priest 💚 The Sunforge - Sascha Stronach 💙 Queering Reproductive Justice - Candace Bond-Theriault 💜 Gender Explained - Diane Ehrensaft & Michelle Jurkiewicz ❤️ The Unlikely Pair - Jax Calder 🧡 In Universes - Emet North 💛 We Love the Nightlife - Rachel Koller Croft 💙 Lessons from Cruising - Martin Goodman 💜 Wild Ginger in the Rhubarb - Eule Grey 🌈 Not My Circus - Delicia Niami

❤️ Asunder - Kerstin Hall 🧡 The Phoenix Keeper - S.A. MacLean 💛 Encounters with James Baldwin - Various 💚 Verity's Game - Jennifer Giacalone 💙 Hunt Me! I Crave the Chase - Fae Quin 💜 The Audacity Omnibus - Carmen Loup ❤️ Haunted to Death - Frank Anthony Polito 🧡 Blood Orange - Paige Grunewald 💛 The Bad Things We Did - Chris Archeske 💙 Dark Restraint - Katee Robert 💜 Worth the Wait - Kenna White 🌈 The Maid and the Crocodile - Jordan Ifueko

❤️ Loving Corrections - Adrienne Maree Brown 🧡 The Last Witch in Edinburgh - Marielle Thompson 💛 The Duchess of Kokora - Nikhil Prabala 💚 The Scales of Seduction - Rien Gray 💙 Survival Is a Promise - Alexis Pauline Gumbs 💜 Loka - S.B. Divya ❤️ The Every Body Book of Consent - Rachel E Simon 🧡 Southern Lights - Liz Arncliffe 💛 Then Things Went Dark - Bea Fitzgerald 💙 Death at Morning House - Maureen Johnson 💜 The Last Doorbell - William Parker 🌈 The Pairing - Casey McQuiston

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catsafarithewriter · 1 year

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Day 3: Revenge

A/N: This is a continuation of this ficlet from ages back – tldr: Baron's artisan gives Haru fae immortality, and eventually she takes it despite knowing it'll change her in more ways than just her lifespan. Please take some delicious angst :)

Baron's stomach turns as he enters the ancient workshop.

Once upon a time, the smell of wood shavings and paint had been as synonymous for home as his own heartbeat, a reminder of a simpler time – but in the decades since, the wood has rotted and the paint has spoiled, and his heartbeat dances to a different tune these days.

The only illumination comes from sputtering lanterns, their weak glow lit by second-rate magic. The workshop's owner moves into the light at the sound of a guest, and Baron beholds his artisan.

The man smiles, and there is youth in his eyes that is at odds with his aged face. "Twice in as many years? You do spoil me with your visits, Humbert."

Baron drops a half-eaten apple on the dusty table between them. "Undo it."

The smile thins into something honest, something cruelly triumphant. "So she ate it. I was beginning to worry she'd leave it too late."

"Undo it," Baron growls.

"I cannot. Once one has eaten fae fruit, they can never go back." The artisan's eyes – so uncannily like his Creation's – glitter. "She's immortal, Humbert. Like you."

"She's nothing like me," Baron retorts. "Not anymore. She's..." He searches for words, to describe the change which has been wrought in Haru; to convey the lost kindness, the unfamiliar detachment, the shifting moralities which quickly forgets compassion. He shakes his head, abandons the attempt. "She's different. You saw to that."

"Immortality comes with a cost."

"One I never wanted her to pay."

"Are you sure about that?" His artisan rises to his feet, leaning against a cane which could have been the twin of Baron's. Once he might have easily met Baron's stare, but age has bowed his form. Even so, Baron doesn't miss the self-righteous smirk. "Really, Humbert; you should be thanking me."

"Thanking you?"

"You cannot honestly tell me you wanted your lovely human companion to die," his artisan says. "Because that's the fate you were dooming her to – dooming the both of you to – with your inaction."

Baron's chest went tight. "Haru wasn't dying."

"Of course she was!" his artisan snaps. "That's what humans do – perhaps not this day or this year, but she would have eventually. Sooner rather than later, perhaps," he added, "if she stayed with your little office."

Baron doesn't argue that – can't, when a case only a few months ago had nearly cut Haru's life short. When he had grieved for her then. "You should never have given her the apple," he says instead.

"I merely gave her the means to achieve immortality; she was the one who willingly took that final step."

"She wouldn't have taken it at all had you not put the thought into her head!"

His artisan laughs then. "I put no thought into her head which she did not already possess – which you had not already sown the seeds of." He inclines his head. "Tell me, when did she eat the apple?"

Baron scowls. He feels himself playing into his artisan's hands, and yet cannot deny the truth. "Last month."

"Nearly a year since our last encounter." The old man smiles. "Do you think, Humbert, that if it had only been my words to push her over the edge, she would have waited so long before taking it? I must admit, if I had had my way, I would have preferred her to take that step far sooner – before she could court death further while in the Bureau." He shrugs. "But she is a stubborn one, I'll give you that. If it had been only for herself, I doubt she would have looked at that apple twice – but for you?" Another aged grin. "Oh, she must have seen you in some state of distress to take the apple after putting it off for so long."

The lanterns about them flare, and then crack.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Baron growls.

"Don't I? Then tell me I'm wrong; tell me she didn’t become immortal after a near death experience which sent you spiralling."

Baron's silence is answer enough.

His artisan sighs, and sinks back into his chair. "But maybe you're right. Maybe I should have offered her another kind of immortality. After all, there's more than one way to cheat death. Perhaps I should have handed her over to vampires, or frozen her in time." A narrow smile. "Or perhaps you'd rather I had pushed a paintbrush into her hand and taught her how to become an artisan. Taught her how to seal a kernel of her soul inside an immortal Creation so she never dies. Artisan and Creation, immortal together. Would you have preferred that?"

"I would have preferred it if you'd never interfered."

"Her death would have broken you, Humbert. Both of you knew that – she was just the one brave enough to do anything about it."

Brave – and selfless enough, Baron amends. The latter which has vanished in Haru's altered fae form.

"Look at you," his artisan croons. "Look at how much you've grown past your original limits. I never made you with the ability to love – to care, sure, but never to love in any shape – and yet, here you are. Do you think I want to see that destroyed in a spat of avoidable grief?"

Baron's hands tighten their grip on his cane, reining in the anger which would serve no purpose here. "I would believe such professions of worry," he spits through gritted teeth, "had you shown any such care before now. Why now? Why take it upon yourself to tend to my well-being when you've been the distant type all these years?"

"Louise is gone, Humbert."

Baron freezes. His heart breaks with a far-off sorrow. It has been so long since he has even thought of her, and yet... "How?"

"Like you, she fell in love, and like you, it was with a mortal. When death came to collect..." His artisan hesitates. "You would not have been the first Creation to break under grief."

Baron hardens his heart, hating himself as he says, "She wasn't the first of your Creations to break, either. Where was this paternal affection when Duke died? Edwin? Wolfgang? Ailsa? How many Creations did you have to lose before you started to give a single iota of care for us? Who is there even left at this point?"

His artisan stills, his unnaturally gem-like eyes hardening.

And this is the moment where Baron marks the decrepit state of the workshop; where he notes the dust, the rot, the dulled tools. Where he sees the age sunk into his artisan, a man who had avoided the claws of time for so long through his Creations, now old and tired.

"Who is left?" Baron repeats, softer this time.

His artisan doesn't answer immediately. His mouth thins. "You would be the last."

Despite everything – despite the keening loneliness which accompanies such a reveal, despite Haru's heartbreaking predicament – Baron smiles. "Ah, now it all makes sense. I'm your final link to immortality." And even that isn't quite enough to stave off old age anymore.

"Trust me," his artisan scowls, "I wish it weren't so."

"Then why not make more?"

"You think I haven't tried?" his artisan snarls. He throws a hand at the dust-ridden workbench. "When I realised I was aging, I picked up my tools once more, but nothing came to life! I don't have it in me to create anymore!"

"You've lost the ability to create something with all your heart, with love," Baron translates, "because you only want to create to ward off death." He laughs at the irony of it all. "Your own greed is working against you."

"We all have our own agendas. So maybe I did have my own interests at heart, but all it meant was I didn't want you hurt," his artisan snaps.

"If you had so truly cared," Baron retorts, "you would have approached us both, instead of twisting Haru's fear for me behind my back. If you had truly cared, you would have wanted to help before your own mortality scared you."

Before Baron can turn to leave, his artisan grabs his wrist, anger lining his face and his hold. "She's immortal, because of me. You'll never have to grieve her, because of me."

Baron twists his arm free and returns the white-knuckled hold. "I would have chosen a single day with the Haru I knew – the Haru I loved – over an eternity with the Haru your meddling has made her into."

His artisan blanches; the first sign of unease. He attempts to pull his wrist free, but Baron is easily the stronger of them. "What are you going to do?" he asks, reading – finally – the depths of Baron's fury. "You won't hurt me – I never made you capable of seeking revenge."

"You never made me to love either, and look how that turned out," Baron reminds him with a feline smile. And he can feel it in his soul – that anger eager to be turned outwards – and knows it to be just another way he has surpassed his artisan's original craftsmanship.

And somehow, simply recognising that, helps him wrangle the ire. He harnesses it into something focused; no longer a blind, mindless fury. He loosens his hold around his artisan's wrist – not releasing him, but claws no longer biting into skin – and relaxes his shoulders.

He manages to muster up a smile that his friends might even believe.

"But you're right," he says, and he doesn't miss the relief that lines his artisan's face. "I wont hurt you. You only ever wanted to do what was best for me, after all..."

"That's right."

"I can't imagine the lengths you went to in order to procure that fae fruit, it must have been quite the task."

"Almost impossible," his artisan agrees readily.

"Indeed. The ordeal of my well-being has obviously taxed you greatly," Baron says, "and so, as thanks for your efforts, I shall do a kindness unto you and remove that stress."

He sees the glimmer of sudden wariness in his artisan's gemstone eyes. "How?"

Baron smiles. "You can have your soul back. Then you won't need to worry about me anymore."

"You can't do that."

"I think you'll find I can."

"You'll die – that soul is all you are," his artisan hisses. He attempts again to free his wrist, but Baron's hold – though deceptively gentle – doesn't yield. "A couple of pebbles and a lump of wood is all that'll remain if you give it up!"

"That's all I was when you first made me," Baron corrects him. "But as you were so eager to tell Haru, it seems I've grown beyond my original creation. Become more than the sum of my parts. So I intent to return your piece of soul, and keep the home-grown one for myself."

"Impossible."

"Shall we find out?"

It is easier than it perhaps should be to scoop out the fraction of his soul which resonates with his artisan. It calls back to its original owner, like calling to like, conveying an echo of Baron's own innate immortality. He does not release his artisan's arm, even as the man thrashes against him, until every last drop of the mortal soul has been reunited with its origin.

"What have you done to me?" his artisan demands. Gone are the eerily gemlike eyes, that undercurrent of youth and timelessness. Now all that sits before Baron is an old, tired man.

Baron straightens, dusting an imaginary speck of dust off his sleeve. "Just returned what was already yours – I think you'll find that without your tether to an immortal being, you might start to feel the effects of time again. But, dont worry," and Baron reclaims the apple, "there's more than one way to cheat death." He smiles as he leaves. "Until then, enjoy mortality."

#tcr birthday bash 2023 #day 3 revenge #tcr birthday bash #cat writes #tcr ficlet #this was a fun way to explore the idea of artisans cheating death by linking themselves to immortal souls (their creations)#i might play with this again sometime

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mascamaiorum · 6 months

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"And finally, one day when his time on earth is up and he feels the tap of his death on his left shoulder, his spirit, which is always ready, flies to the place of his predilection and there the warrior dances to his death. Every warrior has a specific form, a specific posture of power, which he develops throughout his life. It is a sort of dance. A movement that he does under the influence of his personal power. If a dying warrior has limited power, his dance is short; if his power is grandiose, his dance is magnificent. But regardless of whether his power is small or magnificent, death must stop to witness his last stand on earth. Death cannot overtake the warrior who is recounting the toil of his life for the last time until he has finished his dance."

"A warrior is only a man. A humble man. He cannot change the designs of his death. But his impeccable spirit, which has stored power after stupendous hardships, can certainly hold his death for a moment, a moment long enough to let him rejoice for the last time in recalling his power. We may say that that is a gesture which death has with those who have an impeccable spirit."

"And in your last dance you will tell of your struggle, of the battles you have won and of those you have lost; you will tell of your joys and bewilderments upon encountering personal power. Your dance will tell about the secrets and about the marvels you have stored. And your death will sit here and watch you."

(Carlos Castaneda)

#legend of zelda #zelda #majoras mask #goron mask #loz goron #zora #zora mask #loz zora #masks #healing #song of healing #carlos castaneda

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ollypopwrites · 7 months

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Ch. 4 Damage Gets Done

Words: 4.8k

Pairing: Gale x Named Female Tav

Rating: M (I personally think it's a T but just to be safe lol)

Summary:

Warnings: language, misunderstandings/miscommunication (I know I hate it too, just stick with me), jealousy, mentions of Mystra and how creepy she is, thoughts of death and dying (cuz its Gale).

Notes: It's time to yearn, boys.

You can also Read on Ao3!

Since the time she had learned how, Isra occasionally liked to wildshape to sleep. If her bed was some particularly uncomfortable ground, being a small animal provided a way of burrowing around and finding comfort. Or if she was cold, she could transform into something with fur and be mostly unbothered by the chill for a while as she slept. It had been such a night the first time she encountered Gale by the campfire, half expecting him to realize it was her immediately. Maybe it was the wine she could smell on his breath that night, but he did not catch on.

And when he first petted her, the intoxication of touch from him, despite her wildshaped form, overwhelmed her.

If she was honest she could not remember the last time she had been given such gentle affections, and her body ached for more. And he seemed pleased to have a friend, something she could not provide the same way after showing him her feelings for him in the Weave. He had pushed her away and though it hurt, she had allowed him his space. Gale had courted a goddess and how could she or any mortal ever compare? He was always talking of her, or creating simulacrums of her visage, and constantly channeling the weave of which Mystra intrinsically was made of.

Both Selune and Eilistraee had been as dear to her as such far removed entities could be since she had emerged from the Underdark with her parents. That first night topside as a little girl, when she looked up and saw the beautiful silver orb of light, she had been moved to tears. It followed her and guided her as she traveled, and she had felt the presence of the deity gentle and comforting — what would it feel like to be scooped up and held in either of their embraces? She could hardly fathom the idea of it.

Gale and Mystra’s was a strange dynamic, one that made Isra’s stomach turn. But as she had told Shadowheart, whose Goddess was diametrically opposed to her own, Isra never found it to be her place to speak on someone else’s faith. She was no crusader or missionary, she was just a girl who loved the moon. Who was she to impede on the love affair of a mortal man and his goddess?

Despite it being sneaky and a bit dishonest, she thought the guise of ‘Vesper,’ as he called her cat form, was a decent compromise. Selfishly, she got to steal time with him, and although it created an entirely self-inflicted new form of pining, he got the gift of ignorance of her pain and a friend.

If anything, she should have known her luck was running out the day they took on the goblin outpost and freed Halsin. She had kept track of time, taking into account her exhaustion from the fight earlier in the day and left Gale’s side before her spell would have given out. Even better, he had been sleeping when she left.

As she exited his tent, however, she forgot to take into account the nightly watch. So distracted by her own thoughts of Gale and trying to remember exactly how it felt to be held by him, to carry the feeling with her to her bedroll — she dropped the wildshape spell halfway to her tent.

“You’ve got to be joking.”

It was Shadowheart. By the fire for her watch, with an eyebrow raised, lips perked up into a teasing smile and laughter dancing behind her eyes. Isra froze before immediately hiding her face behind her hands.

“Fucking hells, I’m an idiot.”

“Yes,” Shadowheart joked back, her voice at least quiet.

“Please — just — gods, don’t tell anyone.”

“I thought he had finally lost it,” Shadowheart said, “talking about a mysterious house cat no one has ever seen before.”

Isra was panicking, kicking herself; the whole thing was stupid to begin with and she had to be dumb enough to get caught on top of it.

“Your secret is safe with me,” Shadowheart assured her. “Consider us even for the nautiloid.”

“I hardly think saving your life is equal to -“

“Oh, shall I tell him then?”

“No!” Isra hissed. “No. Fine. Even. That’s it. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Vesper.”

Yet, this close call was not enough to make her give up being close to him. Isra had hoped to keep it going until they went to the Underdark where she could simply stop and he could believe his new feline friend was safe somewhere on the top ground. She knew she was selfish, but she promised herself that she would stop before the real damage was done.

However, she lost track of time. She used to be able to take any animal form for an entire night but with the tadpole she seemed to be starting all over. Two hours was what she could manage now.

And now she was here, in his tent, halfway in his lap with her secret out in the open to the one person she dreaded finding out.

“Fuck.”

Gale’s expression was hard to decipher but it was not a happy one and she wanted to flee. He was grimacing, eyes tightened so the vague crows feet at the corners were more pronounced than usual. He had said her name with such a sharp intensity that made her stomach drop.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I’m so sorry Gale, I - “ I wanted to be close to you, I wanted to hear your dumb hums of interest as you read something interesting, I wanted, I wanted, I wanted. She felt tears pricking her eyes, half mortification and half overwhelming guilt. “I should go.”

“I believe that would be best,” he replied and then grunted, as if physically pained.

Isra turned tail and ran, not caring if anyone saw her leave his tent.

Luckily, there was little time for personal concerns the next day, given that they were moving into a new territory. Everyone did their part as they moved camp as a whole and headed to the Underdark, scouted out a good spot to call home base for the time being and settled in.

The Underdark was just how she remembered it. Damp, gloomy, and although not without its own beauty, a generally dreary place. She immediately missed the big open sky with her beloved moon, and fresh air of the forest. Few of them had journeyed down below the surface before, so she took her time to remind everyone of the basic rules of the Underdark. She provided them all jugs, telling them that if they came across fresh water to bottle as much as possible. She warned them not to get separated, to keep a keen eye out for creatures in dark spaces and most importantly to watch their step. A tumble there would prove fatal.

Astarion kept looking at the stone ceiling, and she lamented with him the loss of the sky. Karlach was eager to get moving, just to get out of there quicker. The others seemed fine, Wyll’s spirits were not weakened, Shadowheart found the place fascinating (despite their entrance via a Selunite stronghold), Lae’zel wondered aloud what strange beasts she could decapitate and mount, all while Gale seemed quietly studious. Halsin had joined them as well, and he was adamant this route was safer than the mountain pass. She was willing to brave it, the Underdark was treacherous but it had once been her home. She knew she could lead them through it.

Isra had chosen to not bring Gale along for the first few ventures further into the dark, opting to give him his space after they had been explicitly avoiding each other. Shadowheart, Karlach and Astarion had been her team, who all had their obvious advantages in the dark spaces. After assisting a lovely myconid colony with some invasive duergar and gathering some information about Absolute cultists deeper in the Underdark, they decided to visit a mysterious abandoned wizard’s tower.

It was supposedly the place to find some materials needed by a friendly refugee mind flayer in order to do some research on their unusual tadpoles. When she discussed her plan and her party, no one seemed to protest (besides Lae’zel who reminded her a ghaik had gotten them into this mess in the first place) and they planned to head out after another night of rest. At camp, she settled in to work on some alchemy with the new extractions she had made of some of the plentiful mushrooms of the Underdark.

Every once in a while she glanced up around the camp, everyone was getting along, although most of them had taken to whispering as if something was on the verge of finding them and leaping out of the shadows. Karlach’s gleeful laughter broke the spell at something Astarion said, echoing off the walls and it made Isra smile. She caught the eyes of Gale who was watching her and she immediately looked away from him and back to her task.

It had been days since her secret was exposed, days of pushing the thought out of her head, avoiding him beyond what was polite and he had done the same. Circe slithered up her back, coiling around her shoulders and resting her head down, offering a welcome distraction as she continued her work. They chatted about the day, Circe casually mentioning that she seemed to be avoiding the resident wizard.

Isra was grateful no one else could understand the snake as she brushed off the comments. So caught up in her task of extracting essences and not allowing Circe to extract any information from her, she did not hear the footsteps approaching her.

“Do you have a moment?”

Gale had gotten little sleep the night of the revelation. The orb ached in his chest, and the absence of Vesper now that her true identity was revealed felt like a heavier loss. She was clearly mortified, he was certain she was near bursting to tears when she realized she was found out and he wanted to go tell her not to worry herself. He wanted to offer comfort, to assure her he found it rather sweet, but the ever present pain he felt was a reminder why he couldn’t.

It did not help that now she was outright avoiding him. Better in the grand scheme of things, he had reminded himself, trying hard to grasp onto the logic of it. He was trying not to lead her down a path of agony for them both. But he could not deny that he missed her.

It was silly, since she was always there just across camp. Isra, however, would not even look at him and just as she had allowed him to take his space there was little he could do but allow her to run off.

It was hard enough before but this was a special form of self-flagellation. He had borne it all with a polite smile, until she had passed him over for Astarion of all people to join her on a journey to a very intriguing wizards tower. If being denied the chance to see such a place was not enough, Astarion’s new place at her side was. He was flirty by nature, and handsome was an understatement when describing him; he was also conniving and (quite literally) blood thirsty. He knew the vampire had propositioned her at the tiefling party, and he also knew that Isra was regularly feeding him her own blood.

Jealousy was now rearing its very ugly head, and despite reminding himself he was certainly not in any position to be jealous, he knew the feeling well. The Gods were not an entirely monogamous group, as it were. He felt as he had when Mystra told him of other lovers; helpless and very, very human.

But the last straw seemed to be the fact Isra had not even considered him to join on this journey. He told himself that the only reason he was breaking the unspoken barrier between them was because he had to see that tower. So he marched over to where she was idly chatting to the snake on her shoulders, crushing up mushrooms in her mortar.

“Do you have a moment?” When she looked up at him, her eyes widened, with panic or shock, he was not sure.

“Yes,” she said cautiously, then turned her attention back to her task.

Silence rang between them, filled only by everyone else doing their own tasks and the scrape of the pestle on the stone. Irritation flared in him.

“Apologies, I meant to ask; may I speak with you privately?” His tone was polite, forced, but polite nonetheless. He added a terse, “please,” for good measure.

“Ah, sorry, yes,” she set her mortar and pestle down, a gentle word to Circe had the snake sliding down her arm to curl around the tools.

He had already turned away, walking some distance towards camp to a nightlight frond within visual distance of the camp but not close enough to be overheard. Isra followed him, chewing on her bottom lip until he worried it might catch on her sharp canines. She met his eyes resolutely, chin tilted up to do so and face set into a neutral expression.

“I understand that you have taken on a position of leadership in our merry little band,” he began, “a position well earned, I might add, but I would advise you to take into consideration the strengths of everyone before organizing your outing parties.”

Her lips parted, eyes widened in shock, and then she frowned, “I’m sorry, is this a random lecture or do you intend to say what you really mean, Gale?”

“What I mean is,” he said, slowly to counteract the flaring irritation at her retort, “Shadowheart’s healing abilities are an invaluable asset down here, as is Karlach’s brute strength, but Astarion has no place poking around an abandoned wizard’s tower.”

“Astarion is incredibly good in the shadows,” Isra shot back, “look around, Gale, the entire place is shadows.”

“A valid point,” he conceded, “and yet, not every situation requires his brand of finesse.”

“So who shall I take instead?” Her tone was sharp, “since you’re so obviously bothered by your lack of input on the matter.”

“You are much cleverer than this Isra,” he said, in the back of his mind he knew he was being condescending and not making a good case for his own inclusion in the party. His ire, however, was taking the reins. “But if you insist on playing the fool: who amongst our party is, in fact, a wizard? Not only a wizard, but Mystra’s former chosen and learned under her tutelage and that of one of the greatest wizards in the realms?”

“Oh, were you Mystra’s chosen? You’re so humble for never mentioning it before,” Isra rolled her eyes.

He ignored the sarcasm, forcing instead more brightness with his factuality. He would not take the bait. “I did indeed,” he said. “A wizard’s tower is a labyrinth of curiosities that we protect fiercely, it is a sanctuary of our own making — of all our group, I am best suited for any challenges that may face us there.” He folded his hands in front of him, pleased with his speech, “and I believe you understand that the goal of learning more about these Illithid stowaways in order to eventually evict them, is more important than whatever personal challenges there may be between us.”

The sardonic expression on her face quickly shifted to something softer and much sadder. “I —“ she started but then seemed to deflate before him. She took a deep breath, and gathered herself, once again the fearless leader he had seen day in and out for the past months. Aloof, and stoic. “You’re right. I apologize. We leave tomorrow immediately after everyone has gotten enough rest, make sure you have what you need.”

Normally Gale loved hearing someone admit he was right. This time it felt empty. “I am at your disposal,” he replied, his own tone of insincere and overt brightness making him cringe internally.

Isra looked like she might say something else, but then reconsidered and asked, “is there anything else you wanted to say?”

There were a great many things he wanted to say to her, ranging all the way from poetry to just plain and simple declarations. “No, my case has been made.”

She smiled a little, “top of the class, as always, Gale.”

His heart ached with longing at the joke and the fond way she delivered it. He forced himself to smile back, nodded and then used the last of his willpower to walk away.

Gods above, he was in love with her.

The tower was a ways from their camp, and they had to double back towards the docks where the bodies of enemy duergar were beginning to rot. It was somewhat treacherous, they had to go one or two at a time along certain ridges and up rocky walls.

At some point they stopped to take a breather, Shadowheart and Karlach down below on an outcropping of rock while Gale and Isra were above on the cliffside. Shadowheart’s heavy armor was weighing her down, she needed a breather before taking on more rock climbing and while all four of them sticking as close as possible was best, pairs were acceptable to Isra for a short rest.

“Bread?” He offered her and she declined politely. “Isra, it’ll be hours before we head back to camp and breakfast was well before we even started this trek up the side of what seems to be eternally extending stone wall,” he said, exasperated. “Have some bread.”

He half expected her to make a comment about his lecturing, she normally did, or at the very least to roll her eyes at him. But she did neither. She took the bread, took a bite and then went back to staring at a very old, very detailed map of the Underdark.

Disappointed by the lack of reaction, he hummed slightly. His next choice of words could break the wall of ice between them, or it could make it worse. Making casual conversation had not yet worked, and despite knowing that the distance between them was best he couldn’t help himself.

“Do you often take the form of a cat at night?”

The way her eyes stopped flitting about the page gave away her shock at the question, her posture did not change much and in the lowlight it was hard to tell but he thought she may be turning that lovely magenta color. Her eyes closed tight as she scrunched up her face in a cringe.

“Gale, I truly am sorry,” she said. “I’ve tried to give you your space after… after… well — you know. And then I let it get in the way of —“

“It was not meant as a slight,” Gale interrupted. “Only curiosity.”

Isra seemed unsure, she licked her lips and then nibbled slightly on the bottom one (he would do damn near anything to have the privilege to do the same). She pursed her lips slightly until she spoke again.

“Sometimes.” Was all she said.

Brain momentarily befuddled thinking about her lips, he frowned, “pardon?”

“Sometimes,” she repeated, seeming like she was forcing herself to speak. “I take to wildshaping to sleep.”

Ah, yes he had asked her a question. Coming back to himself, chest aching vaguely with his renewed interest and proximity to her, Gale rubbed the mark of the orb and forced himself to meet her eyes.

“Do you find it more comfortable?”

Isra chewed on some bread, buying herself time before she responded. “If the ground is particularly uncomfortable, yes.”

“Are there varying levels of comfort while sleeping on the ground?”

“As someone who has slept on the ground most of their life: yes,” she said.

Gale wanted to whisk her away to his tower, where she could leisure away her days (in cat form or otherwise) on his bed. In fact, thinking about his bed made him pine for it deeply, his fireplace, his favorite chair, and his extensive library.

“I’ll have to take your word for it.”

There was a silence, not tense like before but companionable, and contemplative. Isra broke it when she added, “if it’s cold I like to transform into something with fur, helps keep it at bay.”

“We ought to get you a coat, or at the very least a better blanket,” he frowned slightly.

“Coats are expensive,” she told him, with a shrug.

“But you hunt, surely,” he said, “couldn’t you make something with fur?”

“Never took to sewing and tanning,” she shrugged. “Usually I sell whatever pelts I get my hands on.”

Gale made a mental note to find a nice blanket for her next time they came across a trader. Nothing long forgotten and repurposed like clothes she wore now, or scrounged together from scraps of their enemies belongings like her tent back at camp — something new and just for her. He could tell her not to worry herself anymore about the Vesper situation, he could further mend this break between them. But it was comfortable again and comfortable conversation was all he could afford.

They chatted a bit on the way to the tower, until the building was in sight. It was magnificent, even in its deteriorating state. A large looming beacon of civilization amongst a sea of barren rock and caverns. They navigated all the way through, down into the garden — picking through personal diaries, book collections and forgotten belongings. The Sussur tree flowers made Gale wildly uncomfortable, and he noticed both Shadowheart and Isra were fascinated and befuddled by it but he found it quite clever that it powered the lift which brought them to each floor.

Isra had pocketed a book, The Roads to Darkness, that had obviously been well loved by the wizard who created the tower. They found the spores they were hunting and the rest was pure curiosity. At the top floor he saw Isra freeze in place, befuddled by what she was seeing. Several magical automatons populated what was once a workshop, most of them were in disrepair and clunking about loudly.

“Fascinating work,” Gale admired, “still running after all this time.”

He half expected them to attack. However, when Isra approached the largest, most intricate one, it did not raise a metal finger.

“New sounds through damp and dark oppression break,” it said, “is it the foe, that foul contemptuous heel?”

Isra’s brow furrowed, and she seemed to be figuring some unknown puzzle. “The book!” She whispered and dug in her bag to pull out the book. “‘Or art thou friend, a rescue from my lonely wake?”

“Come out of love for me, not love for blood and steel. Command as you see fit, my lord, my liege,” it said in its strange tinny voice and gave a small bow.

“Good manners for a hunk of metal,” Karlach commented.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Gale began, “I love poetry as much as the next wizard, but using it to command an automaton…seems a bit self-indulgent to me.”

“One of the letters, I think she said something about being holed up with only… Bernard.” Shadowheart frowned. “This must be him. It. Whatever.”

“‘The silence stretches on -’” Isra said ignoring her companions and reading from the book, “‘Please, can I hold your hands, for just a while?’”

“Of course, my love. Don’t be afraid, sweet girl.” The machine’s tone echoed, its unnatural movement and lifeless eyes mismatching the sweet words. “What can I do? Say, would you like a hug?”

Gale was aghast, as Isra agreed. The strangeness of the moment made it tense, as the unfeeling thing encouraged her into its large arms with stuttering movements. An empty charade of an intimate moment with Isra in a cage of mechanical limbs. It was meant for someone shorter than her, smaller in general.

“Remember: you are loved, Lenore,” it whispered in the imitation of a lover. “So much. You’re doing great. And everyone will be so proud of you. As I already am.”

After Bernard released her, he went about his pointless patrol of the top floor, gears whirring with each jolting step. The other constructs let them mill about the top floor and they stopped to gather their wits before heading back towards camp. Isra and Karlach sat on the ground, perched on the edge of where a fallen wall gave a view of the rocky terrain below. Shadowheart was praying, as she often did in any given downtime, and so Gale left her be and sat with the others.

“How’d you know what to say?” Karlach asked her.

Isra procured the book from her pack and showed it to Karlach, the very page with the verse she had exchanged with Bernard. “He started speaking and it was so familiar.”

“Huh, clever,” Karlach replied, then turned Gale, “watch out or she may take your job as the brains of the operation.”

“A worthy opponent she may be but I think my particular niche of knowledge will maintain my long standing position,” he said confidently.

“Think he just called you dumb, mate,” Karlach teased.

“I do have my moments,” Isra replied with mirth. “I'm sure we all remember the acid vial I mistook for a Health potion.”

“Astarion’s hair is still ruined in that same spot,” Karlach cackled along with both of them. “Strange thing, though. The old bag of bolts was made for what? A snuggle?”

“I’m certain they have security protocols,” Gale replied, “but the last thing I expected it to do was hug you, Isra.”

She was quiet for a moment. “She lost her dog, lost her lover — and after finding out she tried to tame a bulette into a house pet… Bernard doesn’t seem so far-fetched.” Isra frowned, “the things he said. How lonely must she have been.”

“Are all wizard towers lonely?” Karlach asked.

“It certainly isn’t a prerequisite for wizard towers to be lonely.”

“Was yours?”

“No,” he said confidently, but he did feel he was trying to convince himself as much as Karlach when he added, “I had Tara, and my books. Hard to be lonely in that company.”

“Isn’t Tara a cat?”

“She is a tressym,” he corrected, “and never let her hear you mix that up.”

They chatted for a bit longer before heading out. Gale behind Isra who took the lead, it was a long trek back but filled with easy conversation. Eventually, as they always seemed to be, Isra and Gale were far enough ahead of the other two that their conversation could not be overheard.

“Were you lying?” Isra asked out of the blue.

“I don’t make a habit of lying,” he replied, “but I could be more precise if I knew what you were referring to.”

“About your tower,” she clarified, “not being lonely.”

“Ah.”

“I only ask because,” she paused, chewing on her lower lip again, “well I have Circe. And I can speak to her. She’s… dearer to me than I could say. But… It is lonely sometimes, even with her there. She’s not…she can’t…”

Hug.

The word travels from her tadpole to his, unwillingly, accompanied by visions of the automaton Bernard, wrapping large unfeeling arms around her. Days of traveling through woods with no other person around. Curling up at night as a cat in a hollowed out log, hiding from the rain. His own tadpole transferred images back, sitting alone by the fire while Tara ventured out to find him trinkets to consume. Hearing people down below on the streets cajoling drunkenly at the end of the night. The lights of Waterdeep’s night markets twinkling from afar, bodies like little ants mulling around. All of those people, living lives, laughing with friends, dancing with lovers — and he could have none of it. Lonely was certainly the word he would use to describe it.

They both opened their eyes as the connection faded, realizing they stopped mid step. Gale found himself at a loss for words, it felt invasive on both ends every time any of their tadpoles connected. There was no real choice of what was revealed, no choice to look away to respect the other’s privacy. However, it had bonded them all in a way that no other situation could. To feel each other's feelings, to live another’s memories in perfect view — it was intimate.

“Everything alright?” Shadowheart said as the other two caught up, stopping along with them.

“Yes,” Isra answered before Gale could. “Tadpole stuff.”

“Damn wriggling shits,” Karlach grimaced.

They ventured on. With the other two there the conversation had been brought to an end, not that he knew what to say still. The night’s of Vesper the cat at his feet made more sense than ever. He dearly wanted them back.

Notes: thank you for reading :)

#bg3 fanfiction #gale dekarios fanfic #gale dekarios x tav #gale x tav #gale of waterdeep x tav #baldurs gate 3 fanfiction #olly writes

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litandroses · 2 years

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Book Recommendations for when you’re feeling low

Unlikely Animals by Annie Hartnett

A lost young woman returns to small-town New Hampshire under the strangest of circumstances in this one-of-a-kind novel of life, death, and whatever comes after from the acclaimed author of Rabbit Cake.

It was a source of entertainment at Maple Street Cemetery. Both funny and sad, the kind of story we like best.

Natural-born healer Emma Starling once had big plans for her life, but she's lost her way. A med school dropout, she's come back to small-town Everton, New Hampshire to care for her father, dying from a mysterious brain disease. Clive Starling has been hallucinating small animals, as well as visions of the ghost of a long-dead naturalist, Ernest Harold Baynes, once known for letting wild animals live in his house. This ghost has been giving Clive some ideas on how to spend his final days.

Emma arrives home knowing she must face her dad's illness, her mom's judgement, and her younger brother's recent stint in rehab, but she's unprepared to find that her former best friend from high school is missing, with no one bothering to look for her. The police say they don't spend much time looking for drug addicts. Emma's dad is the only one convinced the young woman might still be alive, and Emma is hopeful he could be right. Someone should look for her, at least. Emma isn't really trying to be a hero—but somehow she and her father set in motion just the kind of miracle the town needs.

Set against the backdrop of a small town in the throes of a very real opioid crisis, Unlikely Animals is a tragicomic novel about familial expectations, imperfect friendships, and the possibility of resurrecting that which had been thought irrevocably lost.

Martita, I Remember You/Martita, te recuerdo by Sandra Cisneros

A long-forgotten letter sets off a charged encounter with the past in this poignant and gorgeously told tale masterfully told by Sandra Cisneros, the celebrated bestselling author of The House on Mango Street, in a beautiful dual-language edition.

As a young woman, Corina leaves her Mexican family in Chicago to pursue her dream of becoming a writer in the cafes of Paris. Instead, she spends her brief time in the City of Light running out of money and lining up with other immigrants to call home from a broken pay phone. But her months of befriending panhandling artists in the subway, sleeping on crowded attic floors, and dancing the tango at underground parties are given a lasting glow by her intense friendships with Martita and Paola. Over the years the three women disperse to three continents, falling out of touch and out of mind--until a letter unearthed in a closet brings Corina's days in Paris back with breathtaking immediacy.

Told with intimacy and searing tenderness, this tribute to the life-changing power of youthful friendship is Cisneros at her vintage best, in a beautiful dual-language edition.

Fight Night by Miriam Toews

The beloved author of bestsellers Women Talking, A Complicated Kindness, and All My Puny Sorrows returns with a funny, smart, headlong rush of a novel full of wit, flawless writing, and a tribute to perseverance and love in an unusual family.

Fight Night is told in the unforgettable voice of Swiv, a nine-year-old living in Toronto with her pregnant mother, who is raising Swiv while caring for her own elderly, frail, yet extraordinarily lively mother. When Swiv is expelled from school, Grandma takes on the role of teacher and gives her the task of writing to Swiv's absent father about life in the household during the last trimester of the pregnancy. In turn, Swiv gives Grandma an assignment: to write a letter to "Gord," her unborn grandchild (and Swiv's soon-to-be brother or sister). "You’re a small thing," Grandma writes to Gord, "and you must learn to fight."

As Swiv records her thoughts and observations, Fight Night unspools the pain, love, laughter, and above all, will to live a good life across three generations of women in a close-knit family. But it is Swiv’s exasperating, wise and irrepressible Grandma who is at the heart of this novel: someone who knows intimately what it costs to survive in this world, yet has found a way—painfully, joyously, ferociously—to love and fight to the end, on her own terms.

Marikit and the Ocean of Stars by Caris Avendaño Cruz Pub date: October 18, 2022

A magical middle grade debut, inspired by Filipino folklore, about a ten-year-old girl who embarks on a quest in the world of gods and spirits to save her and her family from a sinister shadow god. Perfect for fans of The Girl Who Drank the Moon and When You Trap a Tiger.

Marikit is used to wearing recycled clothes. Her mother, the best seamstress in the barrio, has become an expert at making do ever since Marikit’s father and brother were lost at sea. But for her tenth birthday, all Marikit wants is something new. So when her mother gifts her a patchwork dress stitched together with leftover scraps from her workshop, Marikit vows to never wear it. That is, until the eve of her birthday, when shadow creatures creep into their home, attempt to take Marikit away, and upend the very life she knew.

When she’s swept away from the human world, Marikit discovers that her dress is a map, one lovingly crafted to lead her to safety in the magical lands of the Engkantos. She trudges through the enchanted lands of mythical creatures, making friends out of monsters and challenging gods. With the help of her friends, including an exuberant firefly and a cursed boy, Marikit journeys through the land of the Engkantos to find the key to saving her family, all without being eaten alive.

#book recs #recs #Book Recommendations #literary fiction #fantasy #middle grade #authors of color #unlikely animals #annie hartnett #martita I remember you #sandra cisneros #fight night #miriam toews #marikit and the ocean of stars #caris avendano cruz #litblr #bookblr #book blog #book blogger

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