#and your mother tongue is an old language no longer in use

[sadlynotthevoid]

Do you know those characters who always know things and talk in riddles and metaphors or telling everything in the most vague or ambiguous way?

Well, have you ever considered how funny it would be if the second was because of the first?

I mean, the all knowing master who knows so much is easier letting people find their own answers than remember until which point this knowledge is "basic answer needed" and from which point it is "horrid cosmic knowledge that would break mortal minds".

Mystery person who shows up randomly and seems to have something about everyone actually only gives vague hints and makes references to things only them knows because they don't remember what curious fact was of public knowledge and what was a forbidden secret they weren't supposed to know. The references are slip ups. It doubles down if the character uses excesive suspensive points.

Ancient being who only gives prophecies in riddles because mortal civilizations keeps changing words and meanings, and they have trouble keeping up with the terms in current use. They can't even take a little nap without having to speedrun through a dictionary when they wake up.

This means that if they are tired enough, they lost filter and start saying the most cursed shit.

"My head is killing me. Pass me the fae bone powder for the potion" *points at the salt*

This also means that their PoV is full of:

"what was the word for 'X' again?"

"How do I say this without explaining all that?"

"Oh. I wasn't supposed to say that, was I? Ups. Think fast, how do I pass this up as a cultural reference?".

Constantly trying and failing to traduce themselves to normal people speak.

[ghostlynightpanda]

Can I request Chishiya x fem!reader who worried about his safety after the games?

Scenario: The reader gets extremely worried about him after he went into one the games again, which lasted way longer than before and she overthinks about one of the worst scenarios.

But then, when she finally sees Chishiya being alive, she couldn’t help herself but to throw herself at him and embracing him into a hug.

(Btw I hope that you understand my writing since English isn’t my mother tongue 😅)

The Weight of Silence

English is not my first language, so if you find mistakes, feel free to contact me!

Synopsis: After the King of Spades tears through the city, you and Chishiya split up to take down the face cards, each going after a different King.But when Chishiya doesn't return after his game, you're overwhelmed with fear and uncertainty, caught between the brutal reality of the games and the deepening emotional bond you share with him.

warnings/content: Chishiya x fem!reader, 2.763 words

The world outside was quiet, but it wasn't peace—it was the kind of silence that follows destruction. The kind that settles over ruins and makes you hold your breath, listening too long for footsteps that never come.

You sat near the window, staring out through the cracked glass at the hollowed city below. Somewhere, far off, gunfire cracked like thunder—distant, but sharp enough to twist your stomach. The King of Spades was still out there, stalking the streets like death in motion. You and Chishiya had barely escaped his last ambush. Just barely.

After the Beach went up in flames during the Ten of Hearts game, you'd chosen to stay close to Kuina and Chishiya—clinging to the bond you'd formed with them in this twisted version of your old world. But when the next stage began, and the King of Spades started slaughtering people on sight, everything fell apart. One explosion was all it took to shatter your group. You were separated from Kuina, Arisu, and the rest—lost in the chaos of smoke, bullets, and screaming.

Now it was just you and Chishiya, hiding out in a crumbling apartment you'd broken into. A temporary safe haven. A fragile pause between nightmares.

The Jack of Hearts game had come, and you'd faced it together. It was a tense, layered battle of logic, trust, and psychological manipulation—but you survived. You both survived. After the win, you returned here, hearts still racing beneath the surface, and decided—just for a little while—to stop running. To take a breath. One day. That's all you allowed yourselves.

Now, even that small reprieve was slipping away.

Behind you, Chishiya moved quietly through a dusty drawer, rifling for anything remotely useful. He was methodical. Calm. Detached. Like always. But you'd seen the way his hand had trembled, just slightly, the night after the game. He wasn't untouched by everything—you just weren't sure what it would take to make him show it.

"You're quiet," he said without looking up.

You glanced over your shoulder. "So are you."

The corner of his mouth twitched—almost a smile. "Guess we match."

You wanted to say something more. Ask if he was okay. Say that you hated how the silence had started to feel heavier than the sound of gunfire. But the words stuck. You weren't even sure how to begin.

Then Chishiya freed you from the silence. "We'll have to join another game soon," he said, closing the drawer with a soft thud.

You exhaled slowly, nodding. "The King of Diamonds and King of Hearts airships are close by," you pointed out, gesturing toward the window. Chishiya followed your gaze for a moment, then gave a quiet nod.

He met your eyes then, something unreadable flickering behind his calm expression. "I think we should split up," he said, and the words made you freeze. "If we're clearing all the face cards, then the game ends, right? Which means we might actually get home. We've got to defeat them before the King of Spades kills the rest of us. We can deal with him last. So... we need to move fast. Take down everyone else while we still can."

You stayed silent, thinking about his words. "You're right," you finally sighed. "But I don't like it."

He watched you for a beat longer. "It's just logic."

You stood, walking over to him, your voice quieter now. "I know. I just… I still don't like it."

A beat of silence.

Then, softer than usual: "I'll come back."

You looked up at him. "Promise?" Your voice cracked just slightly on the word, and you hated how desperate it sounded. "It's just… We already lost everyone else. Kuina, Arisu, Usagi—I don't even know if they're still alive. We were separated so fast, and then it was just chaos. You're the only one I know is still okay."

Your gaze lifted back to his, more vulnerable now.

"I'm not ready to lose that, too."

For a moment, something shifted in Chishiya's expression. The sharpness in his eyes softened, just barely.

He didn't say anything right away—but he nodded once, slow and certain. 

You leaned forward just slightly, resting your forehead against his shoulder. You didn't care if he stood still like a statue. You needed it. Just for a second. And to your surprise, he didn't pull away.

Neither of you said anything after that.

When it was time to go, the air between you felt heavier than before. The world was about to get dangerous again. And you had no idea what it would take from you next.

— — — — —

The hum of the drones faded behind you as you walked away from the arena, the King of Hearts emblem flickering like a dying star before vanishing into the smoke-laced sky.

You'd won. You were alive. But it didn't feel like survival. It felt like something had been torn out of you and left behind in that hellish maze.

Victory sat hollow in your chest—an echo, not a triumph.

That game hadn't tested strength or logic. It hadn't given you riddles to solve or opponents to outwit. It had twisted your perception, your instincts, your trust in others—and in yourself. The game had taken place inside a suffocating, windowless building, an endless labyrinth of narrow hallways that looped back on themselves and ended in mirrored dead-ends meant to disorient and trap. The lights buzzed overhead like insects, flickering with cruel irregularity. Shadows danced where they shouldn't.

And then… there was it. The thing they released after your one-minute head start. A monster that didn't belong in reality—jet-black skin like stretched tar, a wide jaw bristling with uneven fangs, and eyes that glowed sickly yellow in the dark. It moved like it knew the halls better than you ever could. It stalked. It waited. It tore people apart in seconds.

You could still hear the screams. Still feel the girl's small hand in yours, the way her fingers tightened around yours in sheer terror—until they didn't. The rest of her never made it. Just her hand. Her blood. Her eyes, wide and terrified, frozen in your memory like a cruel photograph.

Only four of you made it out.

You hadn't spoken a word since.

Each step back to the apartment felt heavier, like your legs were dragging the weight of everything you'd seen behind you. Your mind kept looping through moments you didn't want to remember, flinching at shadows, listening too hard for footsteps that weren't there. Your muscles were sore, but it was your mind that felt bruised—cracked in quiet places you couldn't reach.

And through it all, a thread of hope kept tugging at you: Chishiya will be there. He'll be waiting. He always comes back.

But the streets were quiet. Too quiet. No familiar flash of white hoodie in the corner of your eye. No silver hair catching in the light. No dry, sarcastic voice asking what took you so long.

Your pulse spiked.

You reached the apartment and shoved the door open, the metal creaking with a sound that grated on your nerves. Inside, everything was still—too still. The stale air hit your face like a wall.

"Fuck," you whispered, your voice barely carrying. Your hands trembled as you rubbed your eyes, trying to chase away the sting. Not now. Not yet.

"Okay. It's— it's all good," you breathed shakily, your voice cracking as you stepped inside. You closed the door behind you with a soft click, as if anything louder would invite something worse.

"Chishiya?" you called, stepping into the apartment further. "Chi—Chishiya, you here?"

Nothing.

Just silence.

The kind of silence that screamed in your ears.

You leaned back against the door, head tipping until it bumped the wall behind you. A sharp exhale escaped your lips, followed by the rise of something else—panic, cold and creeping.

He's just late. Maybe his game ran longer. Maybe he had to take a different route back. Maybe… maybe he's not coming back at all.

Your throat tightened. You clenched your jaw and pressed your lips together, trying to stop the wave of emotion that surged up your chest like a storm tide. You've already lost so many people. You can't lose him too. Not him.

Not the last person you had left.

You told yourself not to panic—but the thing about panic is, it doesn't listen.

You didn't know how long you sat in the hallway, staring at the front door. The light outside dimmed, shifting from gray to a deeper shade of dusk. The shadows in the apartment grew longer, swallowing the floor, the walls, and every last scrap of warmth you'd been holding onto.

He was gone.

Maybe not in the way the others were—lasered, broken, lost in the blood-soaked wake of this city—but gone nonetheless. And maybe that was worse.

Because this time, you had been waiting.

You sat curled on the ground, arms wrapped around your knees, your body still. Too still. The ticking of your watch echoed louder than it should have. The buzzing of a distant drone made your heart jolt. You kept thinking you heard footsteps. Kept getting up to check the door, only to be met with more emptiness.

Your mind wouldn't stop. It conjured images you didn't want—his pale hair darkened with blood, his face slack and still beneath some debris, or worse: a laser from above catching him mid-step. You saw the monster from your game again, its claws ripping through the girl's body, her scream cutting off too early—her hand still in yours.

Your stomach twisted. You pressed your knuckles to your lips, fighting back the urge to scream.

But then— A click. The door creaked open.

You jolted upright so fast you nearly lost your balance.

There he stood.

Chishiya.

Framed in the doorway, silhouetted by the dying light outside, his hoodie a little dirtier than usual, hair tousled, blood crusted near his temple—but his eyes, sharp and steady, locked on yours the moment he saw you.

And without thinking—without hesitation—you rushed forward.

Your arms wrapped around him, crashing into his chest. You didn't care that your breath hitched or that your fingers trembled where they gripped the back of his hoodie. You didn't care if this was a mistake.

You just needed to feel that he was real.

You were sure he'd pull away. That he'd scoff or say something cold—something logical. He always did.

But instead, you felt one hand press lightly against your back. The other hung loosely by his side, unmoving, unsure. He didn't quite return the embrace, but he didn't push you away either.

He let you hold on.

And somehow, that made it worse.

Tears pricked at your eyes, but you blinked them away, forcing yourself to take a step back. You couldn't meet his gaze—not when your emotions were still so close to the surface.

"Sorry, I…" Your voice cracked, barely above a whisper. You shook your head, unable to finish the thought. "I'm just gonna…"

You turned away before the rest could fall apart, retreating toward the bedroom with hurried steps. The weight of the moment pressed down on your shoulders, your heartbeat thundering in your ears.

You could feel his eyes on your back—quiet, unreadable, burning with something you couldn't name.

At the doorway, you reached for the handle and pulled it halfway closed— But it didn't shut.

A foot stopped it. Then, gently, it pushed open again.

The door creaked slightly as Chishiya entered the room. You didn't turn around, not immediately. The weight of the moment pressed down on you, heavy and suffocating, and you found yourself rooted to the spot, your back still to him.

There was a long pause, a quiet that seemed to stretch endlessly between you, filled with everything you didn't want to say. Every thought of him, every moment where you'd feared the worst for him, was still lingering in your mind. You hadn't realized how much you had been holding your breath until now. But he was here, and he was alive.

Finally, you took a shaky breath, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you were coming back," you confessed, the weight of those words hitting harder than you anticipated. Your chest tightened, and you turned to face him, your gaze immediately dropping to the floor to avoid his.

Chishiya didn't answer immediately. He didn't need to. His presence alone was the answer you needed. But still, he stepped forward slowly, cautiously, as if unsure of how to approach you. Then, without saying anything further, he gently touched your shoulder, guiding you to sit down beside him on the bed.

You felt the tension start to drain, bit by bit. It wasn't that the fear had completely left—after everything that had happened, there was still a tightness in your chest, still the weight of uncertainty in your heart. But in that moment, you weren't alone. He was here. And that was enough.

After a few moments of silence, you finally spoke, the question that had been burning in the back of your mind slipping out before you could stop yourself. "What happened in your game... the King of Diamonds?"

Chishiya's gaze turned toward you, his expression unreadable, though there was something different in his eyes now—an edge that hadn't been there before. He leaned back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. "Kuzuryu was the King," he replied simply, his voice devoid of the usual sarcasm or teasing. It wasn't a long answer, but it told you enough.

Your heart sank a little at the mention of Kuzuryu. You knew that name. The former number two at the Beach. Another traitor, like Mira. Another person who had put on an act, pretending to be one of you while secretly playing his own game. The fact that he was the King now made it all the more real. Another piece of the puzzle that had shifted in this chaotic, blood-soaked world.

You hesitated, fingers fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, trying to find the right words. You wanted to say so much about your own game. The terror. The hopelessness. The way you'd fought your way through, heart pounding, adrenaline rushing, as the walls seemed to close in. But something held you back. Part of you didn't want to relive it, didn't want to speak the words out loud and admit just how awful it had been. It would make it real in a way you weren't ready for.

So instead, you settled for something simpler. "It was… really hard," you said, your voice shaking slightly. "I don't think I've ever been that scared in my life." You lowered your gaze, a lump forming in your throat, but you swallowed it down. "It was... awful."

Chishiya didn't press you for more. He just nodded, his face softening just a little. He didn't need to say that he understood—it was clear he did. The way his eyes darkened, the slight furrow in his brow, showed that he could read between the lines. This wasn't just about the game. It was about everything. The fear, the trauma, the rawness of it all.

You took another deep breath, feeling the weight of the silence settle around you. But this time, it didn't feel suffocating. It felt like a kind of understanding had been reached, unspoken but shared. He wasn't pushing you to talk more, wasn't asking you to reveal the parts of yourself you weren't ready to face. And in that moment, that meant more than words ever could.

"Thanks for coming back," you said quietly, finally meeting his gaze again. "I don't know what I would've done if—"

He interrupted you, not harshly, but firmly, as if he wasn't about to let you finish that sentence. "I told you," he said, his voice steady. "I'm not going anywhere."

You nodded, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lips, though it was fragile, fleeting. But it was enough. It felt like a promise. And right now, that was all you needed.

The silence between you two was no longer heavy. It was comfortable, shared, even if neither of you had all the answers. Neither of you knew what the next game would bring, or how much more you could take. But at least, for the moment, you had each other. And that was something.

Masterlist

[phantomraekens]

People on Twitter pissed me off, so now I need to talk about Kevin Day. With a new wave of "Kevin was selfish for leaving" discourse happening, I legitimately have to ask, do you all understand what a cult is??

Even putting the psychological effects being in a cult had on him aside, Kevin is not a perfect person. Nobody in the aftg series is perfect, characters are not black and white. This is one of the big points of the series. You have got to put yourself in his shoes. Imagine this:

You are 19 years old. Your mother was killed when you were a child by someone involved in this cult; even if you do not know this for a fact, you have a suspicion. The identity of your father is kept from you in an effort to keep you where you are. You are number 2, supposed second in command of the other members. You can not piss off number 1; you have seen what he does to number 3 when he is angry. You are challenged to fight number 1 and know that if you win, he will be irrationally angry, so you pull the fight and let him win. He knows you did this. He attacks you, and you start begging. First in English, your native tongue, then in Japanese, his native tongue, and then in French, the language you should not know. This implicates number 3, and number 1 lashes out and crushes your hand almost beyond repair.

You are left alone with number 3 there to pick up the pieces. Your mind is absolutely reeling; you are no longer useful to the cult like this, and you know what they do to things they do not deem useful. 3 will do anything for you. You know this to be true. You have to get out, and a solution comes to your mind: number 3 distracts number 1. It is your only opportunity. Do you take it?

Personally, I don't understand how you can read this series and not come out of it feeling incredibly sorry for Jean and Kevin. Should Kevin have used Jean's feelings for him to get out of the nest? In a perfect world, no, but this is not a perfect world. He was desperate, and scared, and vulnerable, and he did whatever he could to get away. If he was selfish, he would not have felt the insane amounts of regret we can practically feel radiating off of him during the series. Kevin is a victim, and I need y'all to stop overlooking that.

[arcadia-smith]

I'm finally publishing this. Part one is gonna be a short one.

(There are gonna be dark things happening later on).

Simon Riley x Reader

The Interpreter's Prayer.

Part 1

The bomb's whisper reached you first — a tremor through stone and soil, rippling like waves across a silent sea, before the sound ever touched the air.

Your gaze drifted across the room, finally settling on Basma Jazeem and her little ones, Sayid and Noor. They huddled in the corner like frightened birds in a storm, her lips brushing their ears with whispered words, and for a heartbeat, your eyes met hers — two women caught in the same tempest.

Basma was the key to unlocking their salvation, the wife of Nasir — a man whose soul had long since turned to ash. She'd struck a devil's bargain with the Task Force: her husband's downfall in exchange for wings to fly to American shores.

"Two hours until rescue team reaches us." Simon's voice broke through your thoughts as he settled beside you, his frame melting against the wall.

Lieutenant Riley had planted the seeds of this mission in your mind.

You speak Arabian and wear a woman's skin, he'd said, as if these were magical incantations. You'd nodded, believing Basma would open her heart to a sister rather than bunch of bulky men.

Now regret bloomed in your chest like desert flowers after rain. The abandoned building stood like a skeleton against the city's edge, while you waited for rescue and Nasir circled like a hungry wolf.

As an interpreter, you were a creature of quiet rooms and careful words, of interrogations conducted behind safe walls. The field was foreign soil, and this mission had watered those seeds of doubt.

"What stories does she tell?" Simon's voice pulled at your attention like a gentle tide. He sensed your unease like a storm on the horizon, but his faith in rescue burned bright as a lighthouse flame.

Your eyes lingered on the mother and her children, watching their faces glow in the dim light before you released a breath. "She tells them of Sinbad the Sailor, a tale of—"

"I know it by heart," Simon's words danced over yours like leaves in wind. "Mia won't sleep without it."

A smile curved your lips as you nodded. "I didn't think you knew the story."

Simon drew you close, his arm around your shoulders like a warm blanket against the night. "I'm always there, just in the doorway when you read to her. Never touched the pages myself, but those words are etched in my soul."

Words died on your tongue as another explosion shattered the air — closer now, its fury rattling windows and bones alike.

Nasir's shadow stretched longer, darker, reaching for you with smoky fingers.

Simon stood up, his hand extending toward you- a lifeline in chaos. "We need to find more secure ground." His voice carried the weight of steel, of certainty.

Basma's eyes found yours across the room, and your tongue shaped her language, Arabic flowing like water over stones. She rose like a startled deer, gathering her children close like precious gems to her breast.

Simon's rifle settled against him, an extension of will and bone. His eyes met yours one last time, a thousand words compressed into a heartbeat, before he led the way into darkness.

You became the rear guard, watching Basma and her little ones move like shadows before you, their feet whispering secrets to the floor. Your own steps fell into rhythm with their dance of survival.

The third explosion came like thunder breaking earth, so close it made the world tremble. Your heartbeat became a war drum in your ears, and your fingers found your weapon with the familiarity of an old friend.

Then- voices. Rough Arabic cut through the air like knives, each word a testament to how close Nasir's hounds had drawn. Your mind translated automatically: sweep the building... find them... alive if possible...

Simon froze ahead, his raised hand a monument in the half-light. You all became statues, breathing fear and tasting destiny on your tongues.

"Find somewhere to hide." Simon's words fell soft as snow, deadly as winter. "I'll seek an escape. Shoot if you see even a shadow move." He turned, his eyes finding yours over his shoulder- love spelled in the spaces between breaths.

Then he melted into darkness, becoming one with the shadows he'd always trusted. You guided Basma and her children in the opposite direction, each step a prayer for sanctuary.

The next explosion came like God's fury. The world tilted, spun, threw you into its chaos. Your back found ruins, and dust rained down like gray snow, coating your world in ash. Time stretched as your senses struggled through the fog- vision swimming back through murky waters, the bell in your head slowly fading to whispers.

Rising felt like climbing mountains. Your eyes searched the ruins for Basma and her little ones, hope threading through desperation like gold through stone.

One step forward sent lightning through your ankle. Your teeth found your lip, trapping pain behind them like a secret too dangerous to share.

Then- movement. Voices. Footsteps crushing debris beneath boots that had walked through nightmares. The dust parted like a theater curtain, revealing your worst fears made flesh: Nasir's men, weapons gleaming dull in the half-light.

One held Noor like a broken bird, her tears catching what little light remained.

"Where is the bitch?" English twisted through his accent like barbed wire, each word drawing blood.

Cold metal kissed your spine — a rifle's touch. Your fingers yearned for your weapon, but fate had other plans.

The rifle stock found your skull with the finality of an executioner's ax, and darkness rushed in like an old friend, wrapping you in its velvet embrace.

PART 2

[thatnightlamp]

warning: English is not my first language, I am very bad at writing in English so I will use everything I can to translate from my mother tongue to English.

You don’t remember when the letters started coming more frequently - maybe a few weeks after that night in the abandoned building. The days blur together, too many crime scenes and sleepless nights. But you do remember how they changed.

At first, they were short. Taunts and observations, always written in that same shaking script. No fingerprints, no clues - just words. But over time, they grew longer, more… personal.

The last one was a long sentence, folded neatly and slipped into your apartment mailbox. You’d stared at it for an hour before even breaking the seal, telling yourself you didn’t care what he had to say. But of course, you did.

"You looked tired last night, detective. You should be careful. The city is a dangerous place for those who try to save it."

You crushed the paper between shaking fingers, telling yourself the heat on your face was anger. But that wasn’t the worst part. No, the worst part was the way his words lingered. How they seemed to coil around your thoughts, tight and possessive.

More than once, you caught yourself staring at the letters before shoving them into a drawer, fingers brushing the edges like they might burn. He was taunting you. Trying to get into your head. You knew that.

And yet…

Some nights, when the darkness pressed in and exhaustion blurred the lines between right and wrong, you couldn’t help but read them again. Not for the clues - those were always too subtle, too wrapped in riddles—but for the strange, twisted familiarity in his words. Almost as if he knew you well.

Or worse - understood you.

----------------------------------

It’s raining again the night they come for you. The downpour turns the city streets into rivers of black and neon, and the coffee in your hand is already cold by the time you get to the parking lot. You’re too tired to notice the dark van until it’s too late - until gloved hands grab you from behind, and something sharp presses into your neck.

You fight, elbow jamming back into someone’s ribs. A grunt - then another pair of hands, heavier this time, slamming you into the concrete. Stars burst behind your eyes, and you taste blood.

You kick, curse, bite, but there are too many of them. Rope cuts into your wrists, a hood yanks over your head, and the ground sways beneath you. There’s a roaring in your ears - panic, pain, or the van’s engine, you can’t tell.

You try to count turns. Left, right, right again - your mind is foggy, but you cling to it like a lifeline. The smell of gasoline. The muffled voices, one higher-pitched, excited. Another - deeper, steadier.

"Night Haunter will reward us," one of them breathes, almost reverent. "He’s chosen us."

Your stomach twists. Fanatics.

There had been rumors - a cult, they called it. People obsessed with the Night Haunter, with his message of punishment and judgment. Conspiracy theories on late-night forums, witness reports dismissed as crackpot delusions. You’d thought they were crazy.

But you’d been wrong.

You’re half-conscious when they drag you out, boots scraping against concrete. Your head feels split in two, each breath a struggle. There’s a faint light, hazy through the hood, and the smell of rust and oil. An old warehouse, maybe, or a factory.

Someone rips the hood off, and the world tilts sickeningly.

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering in and out. Concrete walls, stained dark. A chair - steel and bolted to the ground - stands at the center of a chalk circle, symbols smeared in red. The ropes dig into your wrists, and you’re shoved into the chair, vision swimming.

A man steps forward, hooded, eyes bright with zealotry. He’s young -twenties, maybe. A knife glints in his hand.

"You don’t understand," he hisses. "You’re tainting him. Leading him astray. But we can fix that."

He raises the knife, and you brace yourself for the pain-

But the lights cut out, plunging the room into darkness.

There’s a scream - short, choked off with a wet crunch. Then another, gurgling, and a heavy thud. Blood sprays warm across your cheek, and the knife clatters to the floor.

You blink, vision blurring. Shapes move in the dark, swift and lethal. The sound of flesh meeting flesh - bones snapping like dry branches. A wet gasp, then silence.

The emergency lights flicker on, crimson and dim.

And you see him.

Konrad Curze. The Night Haunter himself.

He stands amid the carnage, bathed in red. He is no longer stay in the dark, but his presence is the same - towering, gaunt yet powerful, draped in a long black coat that sweeps the ground. His hair falls in dark strands around a face as pale and sharp as a blade, eyes like chips of ice. Even half-conscious, you can’t mistake the darkness that clings to him, a shadow given form.

He turns, and those eyes fix on you.

For a moment, you can’t breathe.

He steps forward, movements eerily smooth. The bodies of his supposed followers lie broken at his feet, throats torn apart. Blood drips from his gloves, black in the emergency lights.

But his expression is almost… soft.

You flinch when he reaches out, fingers ghosting over the rope binding your wrists. His touch is ice, but gentle, careful not to brush bruises already blooming beneath your skin.

"You shouldn’t have been here," he murmurs, voice low and cold but edged with something raw. Almost regretful. "They were never meant to touch you."

You try to speak, but the words catch, your throat raw and aching. You settle for glaring, though it lacks conviction.

He huffs something like a sigh, cutting the ropes with a flick of a knife. Your arms fall limp, wrists throbbing. The room tilts, and he catches you before you hit the ground, his arm around your shoulders, holding you upright.

The closeness is suffocating. You can feel the cold press of his chest, the faint scent of copper and something rotten. You should shove him away, fight, anything-

But your limbs won’t obey, too heavy and numb.

"Rest," he murmurs, almost… soothing. "They can’t hurt you now."

You should hate him for this. Should spit curses and claw at the monster who’s haunted your every waking thought for years. But your eyes are already sliding shut, the fight bleeding out of you with each rasping breath.

The last thing you feel is the brush of cold fingers, careful and reverent, smoothing your blood-matted hair from your face. A voice, low and distant, almost gentle.

"Sleep, detective. I’ll keep them away."

And for the first time in weeks, you let the darkness take you.

[cheezeybread]

Could I request headcanons for Scarabia + Pomefiore where they overhear their lover speaking in their native language with is neither japanese or english? Maybe they're cussing, maybe just talking to themselves, maybe singing, whatever. Here are the characters + some language samples:

Jamil - bangla: https://youtube.com/shorts/WF2LbzJDzD4?si=11V-UicSCLv8vySx

Kalim - mandarin: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_iUCZgObUDg&t=106s

Rook - egyptian arabic: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zsz0ou4VX2g

Vil - swahili: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tpol4TKeJ14

Epel - welsh: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ufKf4eORcKA

So sorry it took me a while to get around to this request, I've had it gathering dust in my drafts as I brainstormed ideas for it, hehe!

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Jamil Viper

Jamil's first introduction to your language was when you burned yourself in the Scarabia kitchen. Touching a hot pot before he could warn you that it contained boiling soup, you cried out a foreign phrase to him

"Hauar pola!" You screamed, one hand clamping over your injured palm, applying pressure as you glared at the pot "Magir Puth!"

Despite his fretting noises as he grabbed the nearest first aid kit (of course with Kalim, Jamil had made sure there was a pack in every room) and fixed your hand, Jamil had to hide his laughter. He had just assumed that you were making up gibberish like Kalim used to do as a kid- gibberish to take place of curse words.

Once you explained to him that it was indeed an actual curse, in your mother tongue, he was a bit shocked. You mean you didn't originally speak what you were speaking now??

He'll definitely ask you to teach him some words in Bangla- mainly curse words, but if he can get his hands on a book for the language, he'll attempt to learn some "sweeter" words to use with you, if only to get a little bit closer to you...or make you feel closer to home.

Kalim Al-Asim

He's no stranger to different languages! Being in a merchant family, knowing many different languages was essential to business, and Kalim has had so many tutors teaching him so many languages- he's not entirely fluent in all of them since he never gets a chance to speak them, but he knows all the basics to have a simple conversation

He probably knew that you didn't originally speak the current language that you did in Twisted Wonderland, but hadn't really heard you speak in this "Mandarin" before.

But one day, while prepping for a party, he took a small break to ask you to show him a new dance- he wasn't particularly set on what sort of dance you showed him, he just wanted some new moves to use while dancing at the party.

To his utter delight, you grabbed his hands and tried to teach him a little dance that went to an old song you heard in your childhood- of course, since your song didn't really exist in this world, you had to hum and sing it out loud.

He's definitely going to insist that you not only teach him the song, but that you start giving him lessons on your language! He figures it'll be fun to converse to you in Mandarin, allowing the two of you to have conversations in secret, where no one else knows what you guys are talking about!

Rook Hunt

Ooh, la la!

He's going to run into you whilst you're in the library after class! You were sitting at one of the tables, half-closed eyes scanning over a textbook. Of course, you hadn't been getting too much sleep recently, so it was hard for you to actually read and digest the information you were supposed to. Which led to you mumbling to yourself instead in Egyptian Araibic under your breath.

Of course, Rook doesn't greet you at first, preferring to stay back and listen to your voice for a little while longer. He enjoys the cadence of it, the highs and lows of every word...it is truly beautiful for a language, is it not?

Once he helps you get to bed and can speak to you after a good night's rest, Rook inquires as to what you were saying earlier.

To hearing you say that you spoke a different language than this one, he was flabbergasted, but intrigued.

"Read me a poem in your own words, dear, in your mother tongue! Speak your mind, call me curses, list out your errand runs, just allow me to hear you speak once more!"

He's...strange. But he enjoys the foreign language very much

Vil Shoenheit

Hearing you sing to yourself while having a spa day with Vil left him speechless, for once in his life.

He had left you alone in the bathroom to soak in the warm, bubbling water, assuring you that he would be right back once he found a certain brand of oil that he suspected Rook had mistook as his.

Once he came back to the bathroom, your words sounded so...alluring. It made his hips sway with the beat you put out with a fist slapping the side of the porcelain tub. It was rather catchy, and he couldn't help but smile as he nodded his head to your tune.

"Oh, such a wonderful language, what is it?"

He's so genuinely curious about it all, and enjoys listening to you speak about it all- how you grew up, how you felt about your culture and language itself.

And don't worry, he'll be asking you to sing to him a lot more heheh

Epel Felmier

Another curser! Aah!

Epel absolutely loves the sounds coming out of your mouth as you lose your temper and let loose at another student bothering you in the courtyard, but curbs his excitement until he properly threatens the student with a good lickin' if he doesn't scoot out!

I'm not gonna lie, Epel seems like he'd speak Welsh if he weren't in Twisted Wonderland- it just seems to fit his character so well.

And, of course, he's going to ask you to teach him all of the swear you know, so that Epel can voice his grievances against Vil and some teachers without them being able to get mad at him (because, of course, Welsh isn't technically an existant language in Twisted Wonderland, soooooo the teachers/Vil can't prove it even exists unless you become a tattle-tail, hehe!)

Once he has his fun with cursing, Epel will try his best to learn some simple words/phrases from you so he can pass you secret notes in class and talk to you in private. He's...not the best at learning a new language, so be patient with him, but he's trying his hardest!

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[mimorugk]

Inquisitor's Question of the Day - part 1

Reuploading my IQOTD from Bluesky to Tumblr. There're 43 questions in here, that I've been answering since January 2025. It's such a fun activity to build my Inquisitor and introduce him to people. All question belong to Bambi (arhimharellan on Bsky). Warning for super long post and strong language.

What is your Inquisitor's name? Does it have a special meaning?

“Hoang” means “gold” in his mother side’s language, an dying tongue that his mother no longer speaks. Gold is also house Trevelyan’s color. As a name, Hoang also means bright as the sun and precious as gold.

2. What is your Inquisitor's class? Does it reflect their personality in any way?

Hoang was raised to be either a Templar or a Chantry brother. He didn’t ask to turned out a mage, nor the Herald. But Knight Enchanter is the something he chose for himself.

It's the family default that Hoang has to learn sword fighting when he was young. He likes it and actually not bad at it. I supposed mages aren’t allowed owning swords in Circles, so Hoang could only spar a bit as a work out. He’s been using a staff until learning about Knight enchanters.

3. How would you describe your Inquisitor’s personality?

Kind, caring, well-mannered, curious, and a people pleaser. He can be quite jealous and competitive, especially when someone has it easy while he has to work so hard. He’s also a perfectionist and wields magic with cautious, instead of pride and style like Vivienne and Dorian. Usually, he’s good with putting on a brave face, acting calm and sophisticate even though he’s nervous most of the time.

All of this because of his sheltered life, his abandonment issue and the way he was raised. Deep down Hoang’s just a vulnerable, insecure man, who’s trying to survive, who cares too much about people.

4. What is your Inquisitor's relationship like with their family?

Complicated. He was conceived before his father married his mom officially, who is a commoner, so Hoang never felt welcomed. It doesn’t help when he’s a mage in a devoted Andrastian/Templar family. At first, visits was frequent. Throughout the years, time between visits start to get longer, letters are no longer responded. Then he was left all by himself. Hoang believes Bann Trevelyan already found out about his son's preference for men. Still, Hoang can't hate his parents, and love his half siblings, sure they feel the same. It’s just the shame, the pain, the mistakes keep piling up and was never resolved. Family is such a complicated thing.

5. Did your Inquisitor have any lovers prior to the events of the game?

Hoang had little experience with romance. It's hard to believe a 30 year-old man like him never had a serious relationship. Sure he has eyes on some fellow mages, even templars when he was in the Circle, but never acted on it, as it is against the rules, and it’s wrong. The closest he could get to a romance is being the sparring partner of a male templar he liked.

Hoang has feelings he couldn’t tell. Desire, needs, and wants he couldn’t name. But Hoang pushed them all down and sometimes the result is a hand down his pants in the quiet of his dorm room.

6. Does your Inquisitor believe that what happened was destiny or a fluke?

Hoang’s been an Andrastian his whole life. He believed in Andraste, in the Maker. He believed than someone has to be chosen, but why *him*? There’s nothing about him that’s worthy. As the events of Inquisition happened, Hoang’s belief started to shake.

7. What drew your Inquisitor to their love interest?

It’s curiosity, turns admiration then attraction. The Iron Bull is everything Hoang isn’t, and that draws him in. Hoang's whole life has been living as how others expected of him, many not even see him as a person, but Bull never treated him as such.

Bull sees through the mage, hangs out with him like one of his friends, and for the first time, Hoang could be comfortable as himself without shame. He doesn't even care if it's just an act by the Ben-Hassrath agent. Then he learns about the vulnerable man behind that casual façade.

They provide each other comfort, keeping the other grounded. They can be who they really are, and complete each other.

8. Who does your Inquisitor struggle to get along with? Why?

A little bit of most people. Mostly, it was Leliana because she’s kinda scary. His first impression on Dorian was great but as soon as he commented about southern mages and slavery…eh. Fortunately, everyone ended up in good terms, except Solas, of course.

9. What religion/philosophy does your Inquisitor believe in?

Hoang was Andrastian for most of his life. He turned away from it after Trespasser and has been an atheist for years by the time of Veilguard. Atheist not in the sense of “I don’t believe Gods exist” but “You might be a god but I don’t worship you and you are not above any of us.”

10. Who is your Inquisitor closest to? Why?

Josie since they’re both nobles and feel related to each other. Hoang likes listening to her gossip and ramble (he’s also a rambler himself). Since he’s the youngest of the Trevelyans, hanging out with Josie feels like having a little sister he never had. They still write to each other years later.

Next must be Cassandra and Vivienne. Hoang admires Cass greatly. Vivienne to him is like a mentor and somewhat a mother figure.

10. Did your Inquisitor side with the mages or the templars? Why?

Templars is the easy answer. Some of the mages were his colleagues but he didn’t know the others. Considering when things happened, a mage is always behind it. However, he knows Templars, he knows what they can do, having being raised among them. Most importantly, he knows magic has is dangerous especially when in the wrong hands, in this case the Venatori. Hoang’s plan is to get to the Templars first, then come back to deal with the mages, a plan that would failed.

11. Does your Inquisitor believe they are the Herald of Andraste?

Hoang denies it all the time, but sometimes he really hopes he was chosen. That he deserves it. That he’s good enough. That everything he’s been through finally means something.

12. What is your Inquisitor's first impression of their advisers?

He warms up to Josephine right away, since they’ve met each other once or twice when they were children. He was cautious about Leliana, because, well, she’s Leliana. She scares him sometimes. Cullen, it’s the respect toward a Templar.

13. Why did your Inquisitor take on the title?

Hoang has no other choice. After Haven, he just wanted to help people, and hoped to redeem the mistake that caused countless mages to die. Plus, it was expected of him, and he always fulfills his duty despite how draining it is, been doing it his whole life.

There’s another reason Hoang won’t admit. He hoped this title could help him become someone else, someone matters, other than “the son Bann Trevelyan doesn’t talk about.”

14. Who did your Inquisitor side with during the events of Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts? Why?

Celene on the throne with Briala because Hoang doesn’t trust Gaspard to not invade the Ferelden when he has the power. Still, it was a tough decision and no one win. Hoang thought he was well prepared, that he had the skills to play the Game but shit he was wrong. I mean he was alright, but not that good.

He had to rely a lot on his companions and advisors. Earlier Hoang asked Bull for a dance but by the end of it the guy was too tired, so they just hang out on the balcony and ate the snacks Bull brought. Fuck Orlais and its politic, glad that he’s not from there.

15. What did your Inquisitor decide to do with the Grey Wardens at Adamant? Why?

Recruiting the Wardens. They were at war, there’s a split in the sky, they need every hand possible. Why would the Wardens be punished for their leader’s fault? The Warden were vulnerable, they needed to rebuild, not punishment.

16. Which events of the game affected your Inquisitor the most? Why?

What happened in Redcliffe. Mages, children included are dead, enslaved, corrupted. If he could be faster, choose better... His first big mission and he already fucked it up. What left in Hoang were regret and guilt, that's one of the reasons that made him took in the role Inquisitor.

Falling in love with Bull. When he learned how not to be ashamed of himself and embrace who he is, slowly.

Remember how Hoang wanted to believe that he was chosen? That he matters and everything was worth it? Well that went to the drain after Adamant. He doesn't know what he is anymore.

Losing his faith throughout the events. His family's devoted, he used to sing the Chant with his parents and siblings every night. When he was lonely in the Circle, when he didn't know what to do, he prayed to Andraste and the Maker. Now it's all a lie and none of it matters.

Trespasser, his breaking point. Everything that he's been bottled up, everything he suffered, everything came down and exploded. Hoang disbanded the Inquisition, released himself from duty and released people who served him. It's time for them to rest, and it's time for him to let go.

17. What is your Inquisitor's preferred mount? Why?

Horses is Hoang's thing. They are on Trevelyan's heraldry and everything. Little Hoang watched his father taking care of them, his older siblings sparred on them. He awed at them at the Grand Tourney. He has an Amaranthine Charger named Shae but unfortunately had to leave her behind after Trespasser.

He preferred to stay lowkey, and having a rare horse and a metal arm is huge giveaway. After trespasser, Hoang uses a Fereldan Forder for travelling.

18. Did your Inquisitor drink from the Well of Sorrows? Why or why not?

No. First, it's not something Hoang think he has the right to claim. Second, having the Anchor isn't enough already? Cole and Sera had made the most sense here.

19. Where does your Inquisitor spend most of their time in Haven? Why?

Just anywhere not his room. Early the game, Hoang was used to the dull Circle life, so he tried to find familiarity in Haven, like a routine. He usually goes in Josphine's office to borrow books. He would stop at the stable to pet horses, and the chantry sometimes for prayer.

From the stable, he could watch soldiers, Cass and Cullen, but he doesn't have to talk to them, so it's less lonely from just having people around. Also, the stable is dangerously close to a certain person's tent.

20. Does Varric give your Inquisitor a nickname? Why or why not?

At first it’s only Herald and Inquisitor, later one when Hoang said he just wants Varric being his friend, he started calling him ‘Dimples’. Because, well, the dimples when he smiles. Hoang would take that over ‘Inquisitorialness’.

21. Does your Inquisitor side more often with Leliana, Josephine, or Cullen? Why?

Josie works overtime 😭. Because Hoang trusts her and she goes well with his people pleaser tendency. Leliana is when he needs to be tougher but discreet, to not risk their reputation. Cullen has the least use since his way isn’t align with Hoang’s. Overall it spreads quite even between them.

22. Where does your Inquisitor spend most of their time in Skyhold? Why?

Hoang doesn’t like tight, dark space. Unlike Haven, his Skyhold room is huge, which means he spends more time there doing paperwork. If not his room or the war table, Hoang’s on the move. He has a routine he likes to keep, but comparing to Haven, he’s been venturing out more from his comfort.

He goes from places to places, checking on people and offers help, keeping himself useful, basically just overworking. Hoang still pick up books from the library and stops by the stable. Also, he’s been going to the tavern for obvious reason, even though it’s always so chaotic and crowded.

The garden is nice to stay for few minutes, and the battlements is for brooding. I like to think Bull has to lay on top of him, using his body weight to keep Hoang from getting up, just so he can have 10 more minutes of sleep.

23. What would the Nightmare demon have said to your Inquisitor to rattle them the most?

"The family's shame and now a fraud. You never matter, never done anything right. Ah,that's why they abandoned you. Worthless of a man. Are you even a man? Soon, you'll bring them to destruction, then I’ll devour you. I'm sure your whore mother would be proud."

24. What’s your Inquisitor's favorite location to travel to? Why?

Val Royeaux. It lies on the coast of the Waking Sea, has warmer climate with ocean breeze just like Ostwick, so it feels like home. The people are horrible, but the goods are nice to look at. Plus, they have his favorite Antivan wine.

25. Does your Inquisitor take any specific companions with them? Why?

Blackwall, Bull and Sera my beloved 😭😭 Sometimes Cassandra or Vivienne would take Blackwall’s spot. Varric or Cole would take Sera’s. Bull is a permanent member for obvious reason.

26. What motivates your Inquisitor the most?

It’s been validation for a long time. Don't get him wrong, Hoang cares a lot about others, he thrives for people’s well being and justice. But validation and to be wanted is a part of it. It stays deep down inside him and been there the longest. Sadly living to uphold others’ expectation only gets you so far.

At some point he’s lost himself, he exists like an empty shell, doubting his purpose. When Hoang was dragged back into the role in Veilguard, it’s like a nightmare coming back, but he must face it. Now he wants freedom, he wants peace, and Solas the only thing in between. This time he’s prepared.

27. What animal do you associate with your Inquisitor?

This is cliché but I did some personality tests as Hoang, and most of the results are dog. Golden retriever. Loyal, needs close relationships, needs to please others, full of compassion and empathy, doesn’t like changes. I would just keep it until I can think of another animal.

28. What’s your Inquisitor's least favorite location to travel to? Why?

Emprise du Lion. Hoang's mom migrated from south Tevinter, he was born and raised in Ostwick, a city by the ocean. He’s not built for snow and ice. Haven and Skyhold weather is tolerable but EdL is just horrible. He's wrapped in layers of fur it's difficult to move while Bull has his tits out, it's unfair. Fallow Mire gets an honorable mention for obvious reason.

29. What did your Inquisitor choose to do during Iron Bull’s quest?

Something inside Hoang screamed for just sacrificing the Chargers. As Inquisitor, with that much power, you need to make decision nobody can, suffer things nobody can endure. But Hoang Trevelyan isn't a good Inquisitor.

Hoang and Bull share the similarity of being seen as a tool, a symbol. He understands how important it is to find people who's true to you. The Chargers are Bull's family, and Hoang's people. Besides, Hoang has lost too many lives, he couldn't bear to do that to Bull, a man who is so important to him.

He had fear this decision has consequences, but coming back to Herald's Rest, seeing the man he has a crush on drinking and laughing with his found family. Maybe he can endure this consequence. 30. What are some random facts about your Inquisitor?

Accidentally flirted with Cassandra, which led to an awkward convo. It was a misunderstanding.

Favorite desert is Antivan lemon cake, would share it with his horse. Mom's egg tart is also a fav but he hasn't had it in years.

Tried different hobbies but not really stick with one, ended up picking knitting somewhere end-game since he can do that while working, and it's functional.

Competitive when he was a teen. Hoang ruined a classmate’s potion so his can be the best in class. Little fucker got away with it, but did NOT get the highest score.

Clean freak. Hoang dusts the chair before sitting, even brings his own utensil to taverns. Got stared at by his companions the first time he pulled them out.

Loves romance novels, even smutty ones. There was a phrase where he took novels in his dorm room to read through the night, then started fantasizing. He won’t tell anyone, and he will not read them in the open like Cassandra. A noble Inquisitor needs to appear ‘sophisticated’. Then Cole knows, Josie knows, then Dorian. And once they know, everyone know. Cassandra just smirks.

31. What could someone say to your Inquisitor that would hurt them the most?

When he was a child it’s “Why can't you be more like your brother and sister?". Now he’s heard enough from strangers to be bother. It stings, but easily dismissed. However, if the people he cares about say things similar to what Nightmare said, it’s over. It’s not about what is said to him, but about who said it.

32. What is your Inquisitor most self-conscious about?

The good: His look. Doesn’t have the suave but definitely easy on the eyes.

The bad: How easy it is for him to be nervous. His cautiousness when he wields magic, which roots in lack of confidence. How privileged and sheltered he was before Inquisition, which took him awhile to be conscious about.

33. Does your Inquisitor have any special talents outside of fighting?

His ability to focus. As a noble Hoang is well educated, and he wants to be good at everything (fear of not being good enough), so he tried different hobbies. Not a lot of them stand out, but he realizes he can focus really well. That makes him reads faster and uses magic better, making up for the nervousness.

He also likes to pay attention to small details no one cares about. Back in the Circles, he would noticed the change in hairstyles, jewelries on women and compliments them. Niche but Hoang can recognizes the taste of different bottle of wine. If you swap his favorite wine with a similar one he will know.

34. What does your Inquisitor do for fun in their free time?

Free time sounds luxury. Plus, Hoang feels empty if he doesn't do anything. Even in the Circle he still find thing to do. So usually he'd make himself useful, pick up new skills, practice old ones.

He also likes to spend time with his inner circle (they make sure he don't die from overwork). But really, Hoang misses Ostwick. If he had time and can go home right now, Hoang would take Shae the horse for a ride from the hill to the beach and probably just try sitting there. And breathe.

I suppose Hoang is the type of person who has to keep themselves active. If he stops and lies down, he would never wants to wake up, because he doesn't realize how burned out he is.

35. How does your Inquisitor feel about the Tevinter Imperium?

Like most southerners, Hoang holds resentments against the Imperium, not just political, but also personal reason. His mother was still a babe when her parent fled Tevinter to the Marches. Stories about evil magisters destroyed her village and used people for blood magic sticks with Hoang. They also contributes to his fear of magic. Hoang turns out a mage is just ironic. He hates its culture and government, and he *tried* to be fair with people from Tevinter. Discussions with Dorian were awkward. Took him nerves to not be angry when slavery and blood mages were brought up.

Hoang warmed up to Dorian eventually, now that he knows they have the same family problem (homophobia 💕) and share a lot in common.

Bonus lore: There was no mages in Lady Trevelyan’s village nor her bloodline (maybe 1 or 2, but it's been so long since the last one). Therefore her hometown is at the bottom of social hierarchy (above elves since they’re human). Local noble family want their land, and they were considered disposable, hence the destroy of the village.

36. Does your Inquisitor take the time to hunt the dragons in Thedas?

Dragons scared the shit out of Hoang, but ever since Iron Bull told him about the dragon tooth necklace, well guess he has to hunt one now. People do dumb things when they’re in love, and Hoang was so pathetically in love.

He actually enjoyed the hunt, it’s the adrenaline rush. The celebration with Bull is a great bonus, especially when Bull slipped and called Hoang kadan, really made him want to get on his knees and...uh..pray. If Hoang can kill a dragon, he feels like he can do anything.

They hunt dragons when they’re a danger to the area, which is most of the time. His party switches up between Sera, Blackwall, Cole, Viviene and Cassandra with Bull as the permanent one. He loves seeing Bull happy. And, gazing at Hoang's ass and thighs as his coat tail flipped up, while dragon blood spilled everywhere, makes Bull happy.

37. Did your Inquisitor try to impress the court at the Winter Palace? Why or why not?

Hoang did. The Inquisition needs all support it can get, and as his responsibility, Hoang will get it. He even practiced ahead of time with Vivienne and Josie. Viv offered to help with the dancing since it’s been so long. Hoang actually isn't bad at dancing nor the Game especially after 2 wines for confidence boost.

Unfortunately despite how much he tried, Orlais still bite him in the ass 2 years later.

38. Who was your Inquisitor most excited to see again during the events of Trespasser? Why?

Thom. Hoang writes to the others once in awhile, and Bull sticks around between jobs, but he hasn't heard from Thom for so long. It hurts Hoang when discovering his lies, since he admired that man so much. It hurts him even more sending Thom to the Wardens, knowing he'll die eventually, but it must be done. It was a relief that Thom's doing well. Hoang picked up knitting during this time, a hobby he actually enjoys and can do during work, so he brought Thom a little griffon plush. Next is Cole, since the kid seem to struggle with being human.

39. Was your Inquisitor surprised by the reveal of Solas being the Dread Wolf?

Yes and no. Hoang has suspicion, now everything makes sense. Still, mostly anger and feeling betrayed that took over him at the moment. He has every right to, because someone who he spent the first moment of this journey with, someone who called Hoang A TRUE FRIEND, is also the one behind all this.

Solas’s plan angered him the most. He’s the final straw that broke all of Hoang’s patience and tolerance. Oh to think 10 years later when Rook asked about the Inquisitor, Solas still only sees him as “useful”, as if there wasn't anything between them.

40. If your Inquisitor could have one wish, what would it be?

To live like a normal person, no title, no politic. It might sounds selfish, but despite the world needs fixing, he won't be that person anymore. Guess wishes are just wishes.

41. How did your Inquisitor feel about Mother Giselle?

Hoang was honored to have her. He was raised Andrastian, so he respects someone like her. Giselle's been a real help. She made Hoang almost believe he was the Herald. Until he heard the rumors. It's the first time Hoang talked back to a Mother, defending Dorian and himself.

It was jarring and anxious for Hoang, since he's been keeping his preference secret (mostly). After that he remained professional, but tried to avoid her. Giselle isn't a bad person at the core, but he doesn't feel comfortable talking to her anymore.

42. From the beginning of Inquisition to the end of Veilguard, did your Inquisitor's view on Solas change?

Drastically. Hoang respects Solas and learns a lot about magic from him. His POV is fresh, nothing Hoang's ever heard in the Circle. He wouldn't consider Solas a close friend, but a friend nonetheless, and the elf's feeling seem to be mutual. Hoang was wrong. After Trespasser, all Hoang has left was anger.

10 years later, the anger is less intense, but the fire is still there. He deems Solas to be beyond saving and nothing can convince him otherwise. Varric was the proof of it.

43. If your Inquisitor could change one decision they made during the events of the game, what would it be?

He wouldn't bother kissing that many ass in Orlais, and if he can have one more, he would order Leliana to not kill that spy. Hoang was nervous, wondering if he even had the say, he didn't know how things work during those first days, so he stepped aside. When she brought that up later, it hurts. Now she seems fine, but he knows it's his fault that she's hardened.

[mimi-cee-genshin]

Old words unspoken ‘til now: Neuvillette; heartwarming, spoilers from his story quest, 0.7k

Imagine you were a history and literature enthusiast in the world of Teyvat. You collected books -old books- and you tremendously enjoyed the archaic language written between the dusty covers. The terms used, the odd sentence structure as well as the punctuation were all hindrances to the common person. With phrases slightly off-putting to the contemporary palate, one could hardly persevere through a single page.

Yet you, on the other hand, would read these books aloud with flair and drama, causing strangers to raise a brow and your closest friends to share a knowing smirk. As you walked along by Palais Mermonia, quick on your feet to run a commission, you heard a word you'd only read in the book located on the third shelf away from your fireplace.

The word? An insult. The equivalent of calling a person a buffoon.

Of course the one receiving the insult was oblivious to the fact that he was indeed insulted, as if it never occurred to him that it could be anything but a compliment. But as you listened to him wail and complain about how a certain Melusine failed to meet his petty expectations, you understood the drama that had reached your attentive ears.

The great Monsieur Neuvillette was understandably upset.

You had never forgotten the spectacle. You tucked it into a corner of your memory, next to the lines of an obscure but cherished theatre script written centuries ago. The single word brought you back to a different world that separated you not by space but by time. Old Fontaine, with all its flaws, also contained stories of bravery and love in its pages.

Then when you happened on a rare chance to greet Monsieur Neuvillette himself in person, you seized the opportunity for an experiment. A harmless one of course.

You quoted a line from your favorite play.

It was a typical form of greeting when directed to a respectful gentleman such as him. But the archaic saying revealed a brief shock in Neuvillette's eyes, just as he received the completed commission from you. He continued on with business as usual, not thinking much of your words. Yet when another sentence flowed out of your mouth, he could no longer ignore his heart. His smile could hardly be contained at hearing the equivalent of his mother tongue, the mode of words when he first lived among humans. Your intonations brought him back to his early days with Vautrin and Carole, of small gatherings and outings with those he cherished. A warm soupy aroma had wafted from the kitchen of Vautrin's mother and young children had giggled with the handful of Melusines he first brought over.

And without knowing, Neuvillette replied you. He replied in that old Teyvat language, with idioms and speech patterns he scarcely spoke ‘til now.

Your eyes grew wide, and then were replaced by an even wider grin. With glee, you spoke to him the language you only read from books, almost a little bashful from the excitement in your own voice.

He asked where you learned to speak that way and you spilled out your vast knowledge of centuries old literature, those cherished tales of characters you loved. In turn, he gave you insights into the settings and culture at the time for each of the stories you shared. And mid conversation, you couldn't help but feel the urge to write them all down.

As the people walked by you outside the Palais Mermonia, you continued to speak in a way that was unknown to the expanse of the current human world. It was awkward at first for Neuvillette, not having conversed this way in so long. But the more he spoke, the more natural it felt, and the words and phrases on his tongue made themselves home in him once again. The place in his heart that was long forgotten was brought to the surface for him to enjoy once again. It was a marvel to behold how a mere few phrases had uncovered this abandoned treasure.

So when the day was done, and the hours had passed from the moment you'd shared your good-byes, Neuvillette once again reflected on his former years. They were painful memories, but there was great joy in them as well. And you had just gifted him with a warm experience he couldn't have foreseen. An encounter that led out a forgotten part of his being.

A place he called home.

Thanks for reading! This was pretty different from my usual writing style and format, but I hope you enjoyed it.

[maarrgarr]

The Unknown Heir

part two

masterlist of the Unknown Heir

Gojo Satoru x fem! reader

Synopsis: The reader returns after being gone for two years and leaving her boyfriend, Satoru, without giving him a reason. But now she doesn't come back alone.

Warnings: English is not my first language, possible grammatical and spelling mistakes, murder, blood, some plot changes.

@mor-pheus @staygoldsquatchling02

Ryusei was possibly the most beautiful and peaceful baby you knew. He seemed to be quite intelligent and, luckily, he fit in with your sleeping hours: when you went to sleep, he went to sleep and when you woke up, he woke up. But, he was quite hungry, like his father. He would latch on to your breast and seemed to be able to stay that way for hours, in that way he also resembled Satoru.

When he was about to turn one year old, someone you didn't like visited you, your father. You remembered opening the door of your home, after the bell had been rung insistently, and feeling a shudder to see one of the people you hated the most standing there with a smile on his face.

"What are you doing here?" you asked him bitterly, he sighed in disappointment and replied "You're still just as disrespectful. I came to see my supposed heiress, although I could already consider you a clan deserter." He tried to pass your house, but you stood in front of him, "No one gave you permission to pass" was what you told him, but he just clicked his tongue, pushed you away and entered anyway. "I was quite surprised when one day your boyfriend went to the clan residence and almost wiped everyone out, just because he thought we had done something to you. I felt a little sorry for him, it seems he really thought you would be unable to run away, he didn't know you very well" you knew that what he was saying to you was meant to hurt you and he was succeeding.

For a moment, your father stood still like a statue and asked "who else is here?", you got nervous but tried to hide it "no one" you lied. A few meters away, resting on his crib after eating, was Ryusei. But, to your misfortune, the leader of the Mochizuki clan, had never been an easy man to fool, so he started walking in the direction of your son's room, but you didn't plan to let him meet him. You grabbed his arm to stop him, "I told you there is no one" your father abruptly let go of your grip and unexpectedly slapped you, "don't touch me, you are a disgrace, that instead of taking advantage of her power, she decided to flee. You are just like your mother and you disgust me".

Oh your poor mother, a victim of the clan, who had died days after giving birth to you, but not because of something in childbirth, your family had killed her. She had already fulfilled her mission of bringing the future heiress into the world, they no longer needed her and therefore she was of no use to them. That's how easy it was to get rid of people in your clan.

When you realized it, he was already in front of your baby's cradle. He was still, anodized, watching his grandson and after a while he reacted and laughed bitterly "this is really interesting" he said "so you had a son with Gojo" "Get away from him" you ordered him, he ignored your order and lifted the little one, Ryusei opened his eyes when he felt the movement, but he didn't cry, he just stared at his grandfather. Your father looked at you "you finally did something right" he said with a smile from ear to ear, "I won't let you take him away" you said.

You knew what they were capable of, when they saw someone with potential they exploited it, that's what they did with you. And while that had made you a great sorceress, it wasn't what you wanted for your son.

"Why not? This child is the union of two powerful clans, in the future he will be the best of all, therefore he has to be trained by someone at his level and that someone is me" he answered you sure of himself. "The only one capable of training my son is his own father or me, no one else. Besides, as you can see, he has nothing of Mochizuki, he is a Gojo from head to toe" you said while you snatched him from his arms, and hugged him protectively. "Don't make me laugh, I doubt Gojo Satoru wants to train his bastard! You know he won't accept it, because who would want to have a child with you? You are a disaster and you will also be a disaster as a mother, and that's why your child will also be a disaster and-" you didn't remember very well what happened, only that you felt a great fury run through you, and as your father's voice stopped and out of nowhere his body was lying on the floor, his head seemed to have exploded, the blood had stained you and your baby and he began to cry.

You had killed your father.

When you reacted to what you had done, the first thing you did was to clean Ryusei, who couldn't stop crying when he felt your nervousness, and luckily you managed to calm him down a little. Then you cleaned yourself and called Emma, a friend you had made who lived near you. You asked her if Ryusei could stay with her that night, while you resolved a small altercation you had had. Well, if you could call "small" having murdered your father.

After leaving your son with her, you returned home to dispose of the body. You took it to an open field on the outskirts of the city, made sure there was no one around, threw gasoline on it and burned it. You stayed there for a long time, waiting for it to burn and when it finally did, you went back home to finish cleaning up.

You were in a state of shock for what you had done, that's why you decided that your son would stay with Emma, you wanted to be stable for him.

Your father had been a son of a bitch all his life, but you had never considered killing him and of course you didn't plan to. Your damned energy had gotten out of control for the first and only time. You were obviously sorry, but only for doing it in front of your son. Your father never loved you and you never loved him either, so you felt no pain for his loss.

You considered calling Ieiri, but you didn't want to involve her, so you didn't tell anyone and probably never would.

You would take this secret to your grave.

[byghostface]

//long rambling

There is a vent in the last part (about pro ship:/+ wired shipping + block list) it's naturally negative so reading at your own risk.

So in the new Batman and Robin issue #7 Nika's sister making an appearance, got me thinking of other possibilities for sibling characters to come back.

Mostly I’m thinking about Respawn since he is Joshua Williamson's own character. And He made Respawn appeared in the last issue of Robin(2021), he also brought back Mara in that run too (just some appearance in the later issue).

And now Joshua Williamson is writing Batman and Robin, so naturally he can bring some characters back in this run. He had said in an interview that he might have figured out a way(try) to bring back Maya.

Throwback to 2022 of this old wip/art I made, is about what I think the emo teens of Lazarus squad dynamic would look like.

I imagine Nika and Respaw are irritated/tolerate with each other but would stay for Damian because Nika is Damian's girlfriend and they want to stick together. Meanwhile, Damian likes to include his half-brother in some fun activities (Respawn is acting reluctant bc of his own issues but he actually likes to have friends and feel include).

I haven’t finished this art bc I was going to add more wips (with other characters like Rose and Hawke) to make it a post. I didn't finish this art back then bc I was afraid Talia fans would be mad at me for drawing Respawn.

Trust me, I hate that Talia gets associated with Deathstroke like this, but I think Respawn is a confused/mistreated teen character and Damian (bless his heart and soul) still wants to be his brother regarding the whole mess. I will explain/talk more about my thoughts on Respawn as a character and his situations once I finish these drawings and get ready to post them.

Writing/typing words is harder than drawing for me personally. Drawing is like channeling my energy into a picture and forming an atmosphere and hopefully people will understand what thoughts and feelings I was trying to convey. Writing is using more brain powers to choose the correct and cohesive words, so people would not misunderstand what I'm talking about. Especially when English is not my first language, and even so I normally don't talk(write) much in my mother tongue either…(I'm not a quick thinker, it took me a longer time to think things through, writing literally exhausted me physically and mentally more than drawing.)

It doesn't mean I don't enjoy writing, it's just not my first choice to convey thoughts… but considering I can't draw everything I have in my mind and it takes even longer time to finish any art, I just need to write down things first from now on. Tumblr is the only place I can think of that has this longer text feature blog post and I'm more familiar with this platform format. So I will still be here posting my fan content.

.

(↓Vent, if you want to avoid being block by me then read down below.)

I must say I will forever hate respawn x flatline as ship, cus I know who started this ship and their reasons behind it—Don’t let the new character develop naturally as the story goes, let’s put them in made-up weird situations first so I can prop up my own ship!😍 And get both of the new characters out of the way, since no one would defend them so I can fanon the hell out of them by making them look bad all around!🤞 (What if I stone you first hand🪨🪨💥)

And I will continue to dislike/against any shipping Damian's sibling to Nika. I simply don't like the unnecessary sibling conflict just for romance tropes! So go away boooo I hate you‼️ Not to mention the ignoring of different age range multi-ship hide behind poly… that's straight up proshipping I hate you even more!!👎

Also for people who said Nika should be crush on Damian's mother instead of him… I hate you twisted proshipper rotten smooth brain‼️‼️ She dating a boy her age and has mutual connections with him, why would she crush on her boyfriend's mother instead?? Just because Nika is a big fan of Talia??? So you telling me young ppl can't idolize adults normally without being labeled as romantic nowadays huh??( Not saying you can't crush on adults, but why crush on your boyfriend's mom? ) Your weird ass mind is showing with this ass hc be fr. Again, why would you imagine that? You just wanted to push a fake narrative of Nika being wired so you could have an excuse to make Talia and Damian dislike her (which is not true), but in fact is YOU are the weird one projecting your twist thoughts/hate onto Nika‼️💥🪨🪨

I will start to block ppl who are shipping/liking respawn x flatline (+proshipper) and STILL interact with me, read the room!! My art is not for you weirdos‼️Go away BOOOO💥 🪨🪨🪨💥💥

Can't believe I need to type this all out cuz some of you weirdos will still do these things and think is okay to interact with me and my post/showing in my notifications BOOO👎🪨🪨💥🪳🪳🪳🩴🩴🩴

(sorry for venting about random weirdos/Nika haters again, and thanks for reading.)

[thatsmybook]

Just as Simon is disappearing and slowly 'deleting' himself (either deliberately or subconsciously) in season three in order to date Wille publically, so is Wille deleting himself in order to be the Crown Prince that his mum and the Royal Court needs.

Wille's decision to be the Crown Prince that Erik would want him to be is his goal this season because he has secured Simon as his boyfriend and his support. Though it's never been something he's wanted, he's decided to do his duty because of Erik's legacy but also because he wants to not be a burden on his mother.

As the pressure increases through the season from Farima, his mum's illness and Hillerska in crisis as a consequence of his speech, he slowly starts to conform to his role and we no longer see Wille standing up to the Royal Court. He starts to use Royal Court language to duck out of stating his opinions either to the third years or to Simon in private. The Wille we saw before, who grew to make the speech that took a political stance declaring some old traditions not fit for purpose, has disappeared. Being forthright about his own actions in lying to cover up the truth about his queerness, reverts to him towing the party line of: I can't choose to support political charities, or I can't take a stand.

Simon has stopped speaking Spanish at home, holds his tongue when talking to Wile about his feelings, deletes his social media and starts to not enjoy singing anymore. We have no solo song from Simon at all this season. We only get his recorded voice in a private song just for Wille's ears. This all, because he feels that he is becoming too much for Wille's world, and has to dial it all back to fit in for Wille's sake.

When both Wille and Simon make resolutions for their own sake, that is when they reappear.

Some of the audience were frustrated about this backwards step in both Simon and Wille's growth and personalities this season. Many thought they were acting out of character. If anything, I think the selflessness in both of their natures came to the fore this season. Both of them were thinking about their duties to others. Both of them ended up trying to fulfill their duty to the monarchy. But as Rickard says to August in the first episode when August says he loves the monarchy, "Does the Monarchy love you?" Theirs is a thankless and bottomless task.

They both dimmed their lights in order to assimilate. They're lying about who they really are. Their struggle with this I see as a metaphor for lgbtqia+ people assimilating to heternormativity in order to have a 'normal life'. Normal is what Wille really wants, and assimilating with Simon by his side seems simple. But it doesn't work. It's hard to fully be yourself out and proud in any big or small way with the Court standards of behaviour or in heteronomative standards of behaviour.

They both have the weight of the Crown on their heads. They both have the resolution to their problems in their hands.

As Elias in the song Revolution said in the closing scene of season one:

"Running, with the Crown on your head

A resolution written on your hands

And the lies they will hurt you no more

Human kindness deserts you no more

Let's start a revolution

How beautiful it is."

[mariaxxxxx]

Chapter 4 For now, we are married

Summary: To save your nation You are given as a bride to a sea god.

Warnings: 18+ ONLY/ Minors DNI, Angust, Hurt comfort, Sex, Apologies, Crying, Creampie, Passionate sex, virgin!reader, size difference, smut, soft!dom!, HEA, somnophille, slight degradation, duvious consent, pregnancy, arranged marriage, inexperienced reader, abortion commented, unprotected sex (don't do that wrap this thing), kidnapping, aftercare, curse words.

A/N: English is not my mother tongue. I apologize for any errors.

A/N: Reader is heavily implied to be Mexican but i tried to keep it as free to the imagination as possible

Work count: 2.006

Serie materialist

🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊🌊

The next day your anxiety was making you dizzy. You couldn't eat anything that was there on the small food table, full of pies, teas and water. He shuddered when he thought about the great moment he would have in a few hours. One night. He had given her a night to rest and prepare to be presented to the people of Talokan as their queen.

The day before, You and him shared conversations for many hours. He told how his nation was very well developed and hidden from the evil eyes of the surface inhabitants. You told him how losing your brother fractured your family and how sassy you used to be as a child. Within hours, you and he shared stories, fears, secrets and plans for the future. He confessed to you that he intended to hold another wedding ceremony, this time, just You, him and a small Talokan group made up of family members and tribal leaders.

You repudiated the idea, claiming that you were already married to him according to the ceremony between him and your father. K'uk'ulkan mocked your words by saying that he had chosen to marry You and not your father. You shared with him the fear of not knowing how to behave in a Talokanil wedding ceremony; You were a foreign queen with habits, customs and a foreign language.

He promised to teach you everything you needed to know for the ceremony. He taught him just to say yes and no in his language. “That’s enough for now,” he said. You only noticed time pass when the first yawn came, then another and another. K'uk'ulkan laughed at her effort to stay awake and hear more of her teachings. When You decided not to fight sleep anymore, Her husband guided You to a private chamber where You could rest in peace. He said goodbye to you with a kiss on the forehead.

His heart palpitated and his face flushed as he remembered such an intimate gesture. You were surprised to feel so at ease in the presence of that man, no, K'uk'ulkan is what you must call him now. No longer a God, entity, just K'uk'ulkan.

The blue-skinned girls, given to You by your husband to serve You in whatever was necessary, appeared to groom You for marriage. You were washed, scrubbed, dressed, painted, and adorned in jewels of gold, jade, and sapphires. They whispered and smiled as they fixed you up. You would like to understand them for just a moment.

In your home, you always got along well with the maids who served you, making them confidant friends. They followed you wherever you went, being responsible for your physical well-being; You were always so grateful to them.

At a wedding held in her nation, a bride could not bring anything that reminded her of home. No clothes, jewelry or handmaids. A bride should enter her husband's house immaculate, wearing garments sewn by the firm hands of the priestesses of the time and jewelry carved from iron and wood. The bride must walk through the city with her blood family behind, always looking forward with firm steps and chin high. When she arrives at her final destination she is greeted by her fiancé. The groom should receive her with magnificent gifts. Then, the newlyweds clasp hands and enter the house where they will share a lifetime. The bride leaves behind her family ready to build a new one.

It was inauspicious for the bride's old family to visit her in her first year of marriage. A woman only returned to her family when she was pregnant; There she should be cared for and protected until the birth of the child, after fifty days of protection the husband should look for his wife and newborn child, bringing gifts to compensate his wife for the effort of bringing his seed into the world. A rude tradition, you think, her mother once confessed that she cried for seven whole days missing her family. “Your father had to be very patient with me,” she said.

You feared that K'uk'ulkan would not be patient. He had only been away from home for a day, but the urge to cry came with every breath he took. You were in a strange place, a foreign nation, with a language you didn't understand. The cry stuck in her throat could escape at any minute and that could enrage her husband. Stories of impatient husbands were not uncommon, and even though K'uk'ulkan proved to be a peaceful man, you didn't know him long enough to feel safe.

One of his maids muttered something, taking you out of his thoughts. A mirror was placed in front of her for You to contemplate the work well done. You were dressed all in white with details embroidered with black lines that formed the figure of a large serpent. They painted your skin with red paint with symbols unknown to you. Her arms, neck and ankles were decorated with gold jewelry with jade and sapphire details. Her hair had been braided and pulled into an elaborate updo, golden snake-shaped hairpins holding the braids in place.

She was beautiful, indeed. If her mother could see her now she would say that she is the reincarnation of the Goddess of love and beauty herself.

"Is perfect." You said in a whisper. "Thank you very much."

They couldn't understand his words, but they seemed to understand the gleam of gratitude in his eyes. The handmaid with the mirror walked away.

“Much Ko’oten tin wéetel. (Please come with me.)” One of them said as she made back and forth movements.

The wedding would finally take place. The handmaids looked at you expectantly. A handmaid approached You and placed her hand on your hip, giving you a small push to follow the indicated path. Without much of a choice You followed her.

Wandering through the connected caverns, You were led down a route that took you deep into the earth. His eyes were filled with wonder as he witnessed the irregular rock formations with sharp points being structured into carefully placed limestone blocks that formed a floating stage surrounded by blue-green water.

He was there, sucking all the beauty out of the place and causing all the attention to be focused on him. His clothing was extravagant and spectacular, making his masculine beauty even more eye-catching. On his head was a large serpent-shaped ornament with colored seaweed that resembled the feathers of a colorful bird. On his broad shoulders, golden shoulder pads with designs carved into hands made his bronze skin shine; Her ankles and wrists also had gold bracelets.

What caught his attention the most was his bare chest and his modesty being preserved by green shorts with white details. A cape, the same color and details as her dress, was attached to her golden shoulder pads, giving her an even more divine appearance.

You walked towards him. There was no one leading You, or, a procession behind You; breaking the marriage tradition in their nation. In any case, the ceremony was nothing like the weddings he had once attended. It was unique. In their nation, brides did not participate in the marriage ceremony. Everything was done between the groom and the father, or any man of greater authority who was part of the bride's family.

His father performed the traditional ceremony at his home. There was a contract established between them, You were prepared and given as a highborn bride to your husband. Therefore, the weddings symbolized the union of two traditions, as well as two peoples.

You arrived and were greeted with the most beautiful smile. You looked away, suddenly feeling shy.

“You look magnificent, my queen.” He said as he guided You to his side.

"Thanks."

“The shaman will perform our wedding ceremony, everything will be done in my mother tongue. Don't worry my love. When the time is right, I will dictate the words and you will repeat them.”

His face took on an even redder hue when they heard the words ‘’my love’’ being spoken by him. His presence caused funny reactions in her body, her stomach fluttered as if birds were flapping their wings.

The shaman quoted a lot of words that You didn't understand. When the time came K'uk'ulkan instructed him to say the words that confirmed his willingness to carry out the marriage. The shaman tied your feet and hands to represent the marriage bond, a vase with soil and seeds was given to You. K'uk'ulkan instructed you how to put the seed in the earth and give it back to the shaman.

Finally, You and your husband were placed facing each other; He recited words in his mother tongue and You repeated them when the time came. The ceremony ended when her husband placed a kiss on her forehead and the guests present filled the room with applause.

Hand in hand, You were guided by your husband to a chamber of black stones lit by blue fireflies, where a table with various culinary delicacies waited for You. You were introduced to tribal leaders, generals, ambassadors and chiefs of major trade routes. You smiled at each of them, repeated the gesture of bowing and said lovely words that your husband was willing to translate. They seemed to like the words spoken by You and your husband seemed proud to have You by his side.

After the greetings and introductions, You sat at the large table with your husband by your side. While he laughed and talked to his advisors, You carefully observed everyone present in the room. You didn't know those faces, You didn't know those customs, You didn't know that language. At that moment, the only one who represented your home was You, and whether you liked it or not, even with all those people around you congratulating you and wishing you well, you felt alone. She would give her heart for her mother, her father or at least some of her brothers to be there, to see her happily married or even help her with advice.

Her husband's hand fell gently on her arm, suddenly reminding her that he was there, by her side.

“Did something upset you?” He asked as if he could feel the tension and sadness in her heart.

You swallowed hard, looking at the rest of the fruit on your plate, as well as the still water in the golden goblet. He hadn't even been able to drink something to get rid of the bad feeling.

"I am fine." You said sincerely.

“Should I believe that these tears are tears of happiness?”

You hadn't realized you were crying, you quickly wiped them from your cheeks.

"I am really sorry." You said as you lowered your gaze.

“Tell me what troubles your heart.”

“I miss my family.” You said. “I know it’s been a little over a day, but I’ve never been this far from home.”

He leaned his body closer to You and wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“The distance can be difficult, but I know you will get used to it.” He said." I will do my best to make you a happy woman.”

His words made you spill like butter. Before he could say anything to him, one guest shouted a dozen words and the others clapped and shouted excitedly.

"What is happening?" You asked your husband when she witnessed the excited screams and exaggerated clapping. Her husband didn't respond, but the set jaw and arched eyebrows indicated something wasn't right.

What came next was a confusion of hands, arms and legs. You were taken from your chair by a handmaid and carried by one of the guests present.

“What are you…” You couldn’t complete the sentence, as the man carrying you walked down the stone corridors, with you on his lap, while your maids followed close behind. You tried to look at your husband, but the last thing you saw was a dozen men surrounding him.

[brciniac]

(  savannah  lee  smith.  ciswoman.  she  +  her.  )  did  you  hear  ?  camilla  bennett  is  stuck  in  stonehaven  for  the  for  the  foreseeable  future  …  they've  lived  here  for  twenty  years  and  are  known  around  town  as  the  brainiac,  though  back  in  high  school  they  were  better  known  for  being  voted  most  likely  to  become  president.  if  i'm  not  mistaken,  they’re  a  twenty  two  year  old  junior  studying  law  (  i  really  hope  that  translates  well  into  their  role  as  an  archivist  in  the  ‘new  world'  ).  according  to  my  records  they  were  originally  on  the  trip  because  it  would  look  good  on  their  transcript  —  which  checks  out,  given  they’re  intelligent,  adaptable  and  conceited.  if  you’re  ever  trying  to  find  them,  your  best  bet  is  to  start  at  bell’s  bookstore  and  listen  for  someone  humming  vienna  by  billy  joel.  oh,  and  don’t  forget  to  try  calling  out  cami  or  picturing  plaid  skirts  matched  with  knee  high  socks  and  a  tight  ponytail;  the  scent  of  a  freshly  opened  book;  facial  expressions  providing  enough  evidence  of  internal  monologue  with  a  silent  tongue;  the  excessive  push  to  do  better  despite  being  the  best  you  can  be.  let's  hope  the  chaos  doesn't  get  to  them.

✗     𝖲𝖳𝖠𝖳𝖨𝖲𝖳𝖨𝖢𝖲

full  name  :  camilla  penelope  bennett.  age  :  twenty  two.  birthday  :  september  18th,  2002.  astrology  :  virgo  sun,  taurus  moon  +  aries  rising.  gender  +  pronouns  :  ciswoman  /  she  +  her.  sexual  orientation  :  bisexual  +  biromantic.  spoken  languages  :  english  +  french.  height  :  5'7.  tattoos  +  piercings  :  'stay  gold'  along  the  outside  of  her  left  arm,  sunflower  on  her  right  ankle  +  cartilage  (bar),  daith  and  belly  button.  allergies  :  lactose  intolerant  +  peanuts.  addictions  :  n/a.  drug  /  alcohol  use  :  both  socially  but  rarely  uses  drugs.  family  tree  :  jonathan  bennett  (father),  violet  bennett  (mother).  character  inspo  :  spencer  hastings  (pretty  little  liars),  rory  gilmore  (gilmore  girls),  monica  geller  (friends).

✗     𝖡𝖨𝖮𝖦𝖱𝖠𝖯𝖧𝖸

a  patient  child,  a  child  that  her  parents  never  thought  would  enter  the  world,  but  that  never  stunted  any  sense  of  love  they  had  for  their  daughter.  that  was  their  pride  and  joy,  someone  that  they  held  close  to  their  heart.  father  holding  her  up  to  show  everyone  in  his  agency  while  mother  would  pride  herself  with  photos  are  her  office.  camilla  bennett  knew  nothing  but  the  spotlight,  from  the  moment  she  was  wrapped  tightly  in  a  bundle  and  put  into  the  arms  of  her  mother.  

it  didn't  help  that  growing  up  meant  everything  was  a  competition.  if  cami  was  tired,  her  father  was  more  tired  from  running  an  agency  with  himself  and  only  himself.  if  she  had  a  headache,  her  mothers  body  ached  since  giving  birth.  once  old  enough  to  push  back  to  their  ideals,  she  was  no  longer  the  daughter  of  their  dreams;  they  saw  her  as  someone  they  needed  to  compete  with.  bringing  home  the  best  grades  in  the  class  wasn't  enough  because  she  could've  studied  harder  and  gotten  extra  points  if  she  dedicated  herself  enough.

she  tried  to  be  the  best  daughter,  bringing  him  the  best  grades,  having  outstanding  recommendations  and  even  joining  every  extracurricular  that  they  wanted  her  to  join.  she  was  burning  herself  out  at  the  age  of  fifteen,  struggling  to  stay  awake  during  the  days  and  drinking  coffee  late  into  the  evening  so  she  could  get  extra  hours  of  sleep  in  the  evenings.  but  it  never  seemed  like  it  was  enough,  her  father  saying  her  last  goal  could've  been  smoother  and  her  mother  critiquing  every  landing  she  would  make  during  gymnastics  or  ballet.

anxiety  became  her  best  friend;  biting  down  on  nails,  pulling  at  the  skin  that  was  chapped  on  her  lips,  pulling  at  her  cuticles  and  having  to  suck  the  blood  afterwards.  busying  herself  with  multiple  things  was  the  only  thing  that  could  support  the  internal  storm  brewing  …  that  was  until  she  hit  a  full  burnout.  having  fainted  in  the  hallway  at  school  due  to  dehydration  and  stress,  causing  her  parents  to  finally  get  forced  into  their  roles  of  parental  figures  …  and  mandatory  family  therapy  for  camilla  to  open  up  about  the  stress.

despite  having  to  take  many  steps  back  (no  more  ballet,  no  more  debate  and  drama,  no  more  working  overtime  and  studying  in  the  backroom),  she  didn’t  hesitate  to  submit  her  application  for  college  the  moment  she  was  able  to  with  her  transcript.  and  it  also  didn’t  stop  her  from  applying  to  one  of  the  most  competitive  programs  :  pre-law,  with  the  hopes  to  continue  into  their  law  program  and  follow  in  her  fathers  footsteps.

pre-law  had  been  something  that  she  fully  enjoyed,  even  though  there  was  so  much  to  do.  with  her  parents  constantly  checking  in,  there  was  obvious  worry  that  she  would  overwork  herself  once  again;  being  on  the  student  union,  debate  club  and  working  as  a  tutor  as  well  as  in  the  schools  bookstore  halftime  —  but  the  difference  between  then  and  now  …  cami  felt  in  her  element  and  did  not  find  herself  overstressing  over  the  small  things.

signing  up  for  the  trip  wasn’t  something  that  was  shocking  for  someone  like  cami;  although  the  panic  began  to  set  in  the  moment  realization  set  in  that  they  were  on  their  own.  cuticles  once  again  beginning  to  become  sore  from  picking,  anxiety  rising  as  each  second  passes  and  overworking  herself  seem  like  the  only  way  to  actually  handle  the  situation.

✗     𝖢𝖮𝖭𝖭𝖤𝖢𝖳𝖨𝖮𝖭𝖲

confidant  /  person  [  0/1  ]  :  heavily  based  off  meredith/alex  or  cristina/meredith  where  these  two  are  closer  than  best  friends.  platonic  soulmates  that  know  that  there  is  never  going  to  be  judging  of  the  other.  these  two  are  each  others  rock  and  they  listen  and  don’t  judge.

the  one  that  got  away  [  0/1  ]  :  based  off  normal  people.  these  two  have  always  had  feelings  for  one  another  but  their  timing  is  constantly  off.  if  one  isn’t  in  a  relationship,  there’s  a  situation  stunting  them  from  actually  being  together;  right  timing  is  never  there  for  an  official  title,  but  that  doesn’t  stop  them  from  grasping  onto  each  other  when  there’s  a  moment  they  can  both  fall  into  the  sheets  and  act  like  things  are  fine

sibling  -  like  friendships  [  1/?  ]  :  cami’s  an  only  child,  this  person  would  definitely  be  someone  that  takes  cami  under  their  wing.  they’re  protective  of  each  other  but  they  also  know  when  to  keep  things  secret  to  one  another  for  their  own  sanity.

competitors  [  0/2  ]  :  think  rory  and  paris.  they  are  unlikely  friends,  and  most  days,  they  aren’t  friends  but  they  push  each  other  in  the  best  ways;  a  friendly  competition  that  pushes  them  to  be  the  best  they  can  be.

ex  friends  [  1/1  ]  :  serena  and  blair  coded  …  cami  is  a  very  flaky  person  once  her  anxiety  kicks  in  and  this  person  was  someone  that  she  loved  dearly,  however  that  didn’t  stop  her  from  pushing  them  away.  details  can  be  plots   /   mari  flores  !

other  plots  i’d  like  :  exes  on  good  terms,  exes  on  bad  terms,  friends  /  enemies  with  benefits,  friends,  people  that  she  tutors,  roommate,  first  love,  unrequited  crush  (on  either  side),  enemies  !  

[spoicyjuice]

Western Odisha gothic

Everywhere you look there are hills like sleeping giants

The houses are old, rotting and so are the hearts of those that once lived there.

The doors to old houses are so low that you have to bend at the waist to enter, what were they trying to keep out.

There are signs on every road that reads, "Elephant crossing", you have never seen an elephant. An elephant trampled your neighbour.

There is writing in a language you cannot read on every store, it is your mother tongue, you have to pay a fine if you use it in school. You no longer can even remember how to speak it.

The lanes only get narrower and more serpentine as you walk around town, where is your home.

There is temple down the street, it only comes up to your shoulder. You make a turn, there is another temple, its larger than your house. You pass the temple there is another temple besides it.

There is a woman she's wearing a bandni print saree, you walk past her there is another woman in a bandhni print saree. You enter a store there are five women in the same saree.

The air smells of algae in the evening you close the window, better not let what the river wind in.

Everyday your mother gives food to the bull, everyday there is a different bull, all of them respond to the same name.

every morning a van comes to pick you up for school, it has 20 kids in it already, the van also swallows you.

you pass a funeral procession; your friend says that seeing a funeral procession is lucky. You pray for the dead man.

the morning assembly has been going on for 23 hours already they still haven't gotten to the thought of the day. 209 students have fainted from the sun they are still on the thought of the day.

[anonymousdandelion]

Thinking about language, and identity, and community, and Jewish history, and of course When the Angels Left the Old Country...

And how, to me, the characters' relationships to language feel reflective of their relationships, identities, and experiences in the context of Jewish history.

Sit down. Have some tea.

Per the book:

[Little Ash] had come from Babylon and the angel, perhaps, from the Garden of Eden.

Uriel (under one name or another) has presumably been around since the beginning, or at least something like it.

And the angel's first — and, for a very long time, only — language is Hebrew. The original language, the Holy Tongue, the language of Torah, the language of Creation, the language of a people in their homeland.

That is the language the angel speaks; the only language whose words comes naturally to its tongue; and for most of its existence the angel has never felt either the need or the ability to try to pick up another.

The angel used a certain vague sense of superiority to excuse to itself its failure to communicate with humans. What did anyone need to speak of, it sometimes thought, that could not be said in holy words?

In times gone by, speaking only Hebrew might well have been sufficient. And maybe, the angel is not ready for those times to be gone. (Can you blame it? Who would be ready — to accept that you are no longer at home, and your people are no longer at home, and even the language from which the whole world was built is no longer enough to get by?)

So, somehow, it manages to spend centuries as the Angel of Shtetl, a place where everything is Yiddish... all without speaking a single word in that language.

...Well, no, that's not quite true. The angel speaks exactly one, single word in Yiddish, but it does speak that one quite frequently. If a name counts as a word, anyway.

Ashel.

The only thing the angel says in Yiddish is its chevrusa's name.

(Yiddish to call its chevrusa by name; Aramaic to study Talmud with its chevrusa; English, later, to come to its chevrusa's rescue. Talk about love languages, hm?)

~ ~ ~

Which, of course, brings us to Ashel. To recap, here's what we know about about the when and where of his birth:

The demon king Ashmedai, over the course of several centuries of the Babylonian Exile, had taken two hundred and fifty bird-footed babies from their mothers’ arms...

And it was also mentioned in the quote cited at the beginning of this post that he comes from Babylon.

So... in stark contrast to Uriel, Little Ash was born into exile. He was the last of his father's sons, which means that by the time he came along they must have been far, far into those several hundred years.

(And from the fact that the "Babylonian Exile" is described here in terms of centuries, it seems clear that the term is being used in a broader sense than the relatively narrow, maximum-seventy-year era to which it usually refers.

Maybe, even when the Second Temple was built and the people had a temporary respite from dispersion, Ashmedai and his family never went back home. Maybe, for them, that first exile — which, for all the people, would not be the last — never ended at all.)

In any case, Little Ash was born in exile, and so the Jewish world as he knows it has always been one of diaspora. And not only does he have a demon's gift for languages, by the time that we meet him he has very specifically claimed Yiddish as his primary language. And he's gone much further than can be explained by simply wanting to be able to communicate:

Little Ash, for reasons known only to himself, had adopted a Yiddish accent in all languages, around the time of the false messiah.

As the Jewish world struggles to recover in the wake of the devastating blow of Shabbetai Tzvi (the false messiah), as they grappled with crushed hopes and deep turmoil and sorely damaged community... what does Little Ash do?

I'm Yiddish, he says now, Yiddish meaning Jewish. And he makes sure to say it with every word he speaks, no matter what language he's using at any given moment.

Yiddish: the language of exile, the language of home. For Little Ash, as for so many of us also born in diaspora, these concepts are intertwined and hard to separate, in a way that someone of Uriel's background would find very difficult to understand.

Even so, Uriel calls him Ashel.

~ ~ ~

...Oops, I didn't make to turn this post into a half-formed essay. Hope your tea is still warm.

But, one last thought: together, in learning and conversation alike, Little Ash and Uriel both know Aramaic. Judeo-Aramaic, to be precise.

An ancient language of the Jews... but, more specifically, somewhat like Yiddish, an ancient diaspora language of Jews. And the language of the Talmud, which among many other things served as a sort of bridge; a way of holding some amount of continuity from the era of Temple Judaism to the Rabbinic Judaism of diaspora.

They speak Aramaic, they study Aramaic, and they share Aramaic.

[laudys83]

Forgotten childhood

Day 3 : A letter discovered

The letter was old, its edges yellowed and curling from years spent forgotten in some archive. The wax seal had long since crumbled away, leaving only a faded imprint of an unknown sigil. The scribe, an older man with ink-stained fingers, placed it carefully on the wooden table before Flavus.

“I was cataloging old records,” he explained, his Latin formal but tinged with curiosity. “It seems this letter was meant for you… many years ago.”

Flavus stared at the parchment as if it might vanish if he reached for it too quickly. He had no memory of ever expecting a letter. Who would have written to him? He had left Germania as a child, taken to Rome as a hostage, raised among marble columns and disciplined tutors. Rome had shaped him, polished him, turned him into one of its own.

Hadn’t it?

Slowly, he picked up the fragile parchment and unfolded it with care. The handwriting was rough, uneven, written in a language he had not spoken in years. But it was his mother tongue—his true mother tongue. And as his eyes scanned the words, something deep inside him, something long buried beneath duty and ambition, stirred.

My son,

We do not know if you will ever see this letter. The Romans took you from us, and we hear nothing from their great stone city. But we have not forgotten you. Not a day passes when we do not think of you, wonder if you are safe, if they treat you as one of their own or as a prisoner behind gilded walls.

Your father is still strong. He will never say it aloud, but I see it in his eyes—he mourns you. He speaks of the boy who once ran through the forests, who climbed trees and laughed as he fell, who carried the blood of our people in his veins. I wonder if you still remember him. If you remember us. If you remember your home.

Do you dream of the rivers, of the smell of pine, of the fire crackling in winter? Or have the Romans erased all of it?

If you ever return, you will not be a stranger to us. You are ours, no matter what they have made you.

Come back, if you can.

The words blurred. Flavus realized, with no small amount of shock, that his hands were trembling.

“I assumed it was insignificant,” the scribe continued, his voice distant. “But when I saw the name… Well, I thought you might wish to have it.”

Flavus swallowed, forcing himself to remain still, composed. It was ridiculous—he was a Roman officer. This letter was nothing but an old relic from a life that no longer belonged to him. A past that had no place in the world he had built.

And yet, he could feel it—something shifting inside him, something cracking at the edges.

A shadow moved near the entrance. When Flavus looked up, he saw Marbod standing there, arms crossed, silent. He had clearly been watching.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, Marbod stepped forward, his gaze flickering to the parchment before settling on Flavus’s face. “You never told me they wrote to you.”

Flavus let out a short, humorless breath. “Because I never knew.” He hesitated, then pushed the letter across the table so Marbod could read it.

The taller man picked it up, scanning the words. His face remained impassive, but Flavus knew him well enough to notice the slight tightening of his jaw, the way his fingers curled just a little too tightly around the edges of the parchment.

When he finally looked back at Flavus, his voice was quiet. “And now that you do?”

Flavus wanted to scoff, to dismiss it, to pretend it didn’t matter. But the words on that fragile piece of parchment had already woven themselves into his thoughts, digging up memories he had convinced himself were long gone.

Did he still dream of the rivers? Of the pine forests?

Had Rome erased it all?

He didn’t answer. And Marbod, watching him closely, seemed to understand that silence was an answer in itself.

Challenge by @monthlywritingchallenges