#bandit doing what I wish I could have done | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

ofoceansandtombsanew · 6 months ago

Text

Real Talk: Ace Didn't Need to Ask For Help, It's On Garp

i always hate when i see comments about how ace was an idiot or ace should have just asked garp for help because, no? like dawg wtf do you mean?

the one thing we have been told repeatedly across the manga and anime is that ace could have lived his entire life being perfect and he still would have ended up on that podium

he could have become a marine, a police officer, a teacher, a chef and all of that would have been reduced to nothing the moment his parentage was discovered

yes, ace became a pirate of his own volition, but sengoku never mentioned his piracy

he never mentioned all the criminal activity ace did as the captain of the spade pirates or even later as the second division leader of the whitebeard pirates

you know what sengoku did bring up though the moment he got on that damn podium? ace's parentage

he mentions nothing that gained ace his bounty to begin with when he gets that den den mushi in his hand. why?

because it doesn't matter that ace is a pirate. what matters is that they are eradicating the last gol d roger's bloodline

bear in mind that they were killing pregnant women and young children who could have even had the slightest possibility of being roger's lover or kin

akainu deadass says that he doesn't care if every other pirate at marineford escapes as long as ace and luffy died and he would ensure their deaths personally. and for what? not their piracy. none of their crimes. not even for ensuring that the truth that certain countries and lands that were actually saved by pirates instead of the marines never got out

but because their fathers were gol d roger and monkey d dragon respectively

solely because of that, he deemed neither of them deserved to live

and as far as garp goes - i love garp as much as the next person but garp has never done anything for ace to trust him enough to ask for help even if he felt he deserved to ask

garp's negligent parenting coupled with the abusive words ace grew up hearing led ace to believe he didn't even deserve to be born. when he even asks garp if his being born was a good thing, garp can't even tell him 'yes'. he just says 'time will tell'. my brother in the blue seas, that is an elementary schooler questioning his right to exist

ace is defeated by blackbeard in episode 325 (chapters 434-441), luffy hears about his execution being set in episode 416 (chapter 522) and then finally ace is killed in episode 483 (chapter 574). that is 158 episodes and 140 chapters total and in that time what ace receives from garp are conversations that boil down to

"you did this to yourself"

"i just wanted you to become a fine marine"

"i don't have sympathy for criminals but i do have sympathy for family"

and garp actively preventing those who wish to save ace from reaching him. yes after akainu strikes ace, garp does react viscerally with instinct to protect his grandson, but that's too little too damn late at that point

garp having his moral dilemmas mean nothing when, however long ace spent in impel down, he isn't trying to help him

garp having his 'wishing things had been different' thoughts mean nothing when garp is preventing people from saving his grandson

there's a reason garp lets dadan beat and berate him when they reunite in windmill village and it's because he knows she's right

over the course of 20 years, garp has consistently chosen work over ace and luffy. as much as i love dadan and co, bandits are not a good choice to have raise your grandkids and then be the surprised pikachu meme when neither of them wish to become marines

garp's inability to see past the system he disdains yet clings onto actively shoots him in the foot

prevents him from seeing that ace is right when he says he never could have become a marine

luffy could have never become a marine. i do hear arguments saying that luffy might have had a fair chance considering garp is biologically his grandfather but i say that's truly up in the air considering how, even with that knowledge, akainu still wants to put luffy on a poster

but that's all to say, asking why ace never asked garp for help is ridiculous

the fuck would ace look like asking the man who has done nothing but

unintentionally fostered ace's resentment towards luffy in their early childhood

told ace it was his own fault he landed where he did

falcon punched marco halfway across marineford

for help?

and that's not even mentioning the fact that up until that point, ace didn't believe he deserved to live. he didn't think he had the right to exist. the only thing that kept him going up until that point was hoping he'd find an answer that justified his being born and his love for luffy and sabo. ace tells luffy in his dying breaths if it weren't for the two of them, he would have gave up on living a long time ago

yes, garp loves ace and luffy

he loves them both dearly but he is also incapable of putting them before work, before his ideals of justice. these two truths can coexist at the same time. garp's stubborn to a fault and his moral dilemma resulted in both inaction and the prevention of ace's escape

so to say that marineford would have gone differently if ace had asked is seriously undermining the character work. because in reality, it's up in the air on whether or not that would have done anything. ace asking garp for help could have gone either way and that's the beauty of the gray area regarding garp's actions during the summit war

and yes, i can get why it's frustrating that ace turned around to fight akainu when he could have just left and got it back in a blood a different time

but aside from ace having a temper about specific topics, we do get an answer as to why he couldn't bring himself to runaway when we finally are able to dive into his past with luffy and sabo:

he doesn't want to run away from any situation because ace is deathly afraid of losing something if running away ends up being the bad call

and in that moment, luffy was behind him

even if akainu hadn't talked down whitebeard, ace would have inevitably turned back around because he wouldn't have been able to shake his fear of losing something or someone he cared about

as long as there is something precious for him to potentially lose, ace will never run

he was doomed from the start

his being the son of gol d roger doomed him from the start

and that's what makes ace so tragic

#look she's not writing #one piece #portgas d ace #fire fist ace #monkey d garp #gol d roger #monkey d luffy #sabo #revolutionary sabo #one piece sabo #animanga thoughts #ppl get too comfortable slandering my husband i had to say something #hash and i were talking about this last night #TAT like y'all tf ace need to beg garp's old ass for help for???#please explain i am confusion

766 notes · View notes

erosiism · 8 months ago

Text

GENSHIN MEN AND…

prompt: HOW THEY WOULD REACT IF YOU SACRIFICED YOUR LIFE FOR THEM

character(s): diluc, zhongli [part one] childe, ayato [part two, out]

warnings(s): angst ofc—mention of blood, my first post on tumblr so my writing style may be a little icky, inaccuracies since I haven’t looked up genshin lore for a hot minute

note(s): male reader, second person, present tense, not beta read

DILUC

There’s a lot of things you haven’t told him yet. Things you wished you had told him—but everything’s fine, because in this single action you are willing to do for him—your feelings will come inevitably with it and it’s a torrent of emotions that you’re about to burden him with.

He’s been your childhood friend for seventeen years now. All those times you have seen him, smiling, his merry laughter carrying over the breeze, his lips purple from sampling grapes, to the time where that very laughter and smiles disappear to smoothen into a stone face. After the death of his father, Diluc has become reserved, cold, and rather distant. Bitter.

You two were close, once.

You two had a bond that many could not quite interpret— it was as clear as day that you both trusted each other fully, but each always had secrets to hide. Some say proximity is the reason why both of you got close — your manors were near to each other, but truthfully, it was as simple as it was: you two had the same social standing. Both you and Diluc were, for each of their families, supposed to be close for the sake of future alliances and unions, but the friendship soon turned genuine, only for it to crumble under the weight of guilt and grief.

Only for it to crumble on the day Crepus died.

You still remember it vividly; in all its sickening, gruesome, heart wrenching detail. You were fortunate enough not to witness it, but etched in your memory, all you can think of is Diluc’s ravaged expression when he trembled before his father’s corpse.

You were helpless then. You could have extended an arm, you could have done something.

You didn’t.

But now would be different. You know the archons have it in for him when the incident happens the same way it happened with his father: via a carriage incident.

You laugh then at its bitter irony.

Bandits come, a whole load of them, and this time Diluc fights while you are there helpless once again, trembling when you hear the clash of swords and arrows. When you hear his claymore smash against flesh. You don’t have a vision. Diluc has. You don’t have any particular skill in handling a sword; Jean has tried to teach you once, but it has failed. Your brain may be quick and witty, but your steps aren’t.

The bandits have delusions. The archons really are cruel.

You see it before he does. There’s a burst of electric power that he's battling, the elementals clashing with each other—you’re still lagging behind, barely missing the whizzing arrows that skim your flesh, your heart wrenching as you see Diluc’s pained expression. You know what he’s thinking of, and it isn’t you. His memories are reverting back to his father’s death. His birthday. And perhaps that’s why his usual sharpness is wearied down.

You see the sword about to plunge his back before he does.

You scream to tell him.

Your body moves before anything.

Your fingers fumble to clasp the fabric of your clothes, before you tug him out of the way. You feel the weight of a sword against your back; you feel the way it slices through your skin before it presses against your flesh. You taste blood on your tongue, before a myriad of colors burst out; crimson, carmine. All the shades of red. You wobble then, choking out blood, before you stumble. You hear a few slices; razor, swift sharp ones. Then the last of the assailants falls down, and you are made aware that your decision has been the right one.

Diluc has survived.

You stumble. You feel your body hit the ground. Murkiness runs your vision.

“[Name],” you hear a soft, whispering voice carry to your ears. You try your best to cling onto the words. But pain is burning within you—it’s ironic, how they feel more scorching than Diluc’s flames have ever felt. You try your best to swallow down your pants and your pained noises, but it ends up slipping from your mouth in broken, mottled syllables.

Your blurry vision makes out a face.

He cannot be Diluc. He’s crying. And the last time you have seen Duluc cry is when—

Oh.

“Don’t cry,” you say weakly. “Don’t cry, Diluc. I’m sorry I wasn’t of much help.” You try to reach out to his cheek. You regret it a split second afterwards because blood stains his cheeks wet from tears. You end up smearing red all over his face.

“Why?” Diluc says, and it sounds guttural, like the words have been punched out from him. “Why, [Name]?” You hear a flurry of footsteps behind. You assume it’s some surviving witness who has gone to call for backup. But you doubt you’ll survive.

You don’t even know why. To begin with, you aren’t even sure if you are in love with him. The swirling butterflies that flutter about when you see him tells him you are, but society’s expectations push those down. You have been in love with him for as long as you can remember; you have loved him. You have annotated every inch of him down to your memory, every contour, every bit. In your dreams he visits you, smiling sweetly. And you try to remember him when you wake up, trying to pretend that he’s still there, that he’s no longer bitter.

“I don’t know.” Your words come out broken, punctuated by the gurgling of blood from your windpipe.

It’s a half truth. You love him. You don’t know if you do.

“I’m sorry.”

Diluc is sobbing now. It’s uncharacteristic of him. You are brought back to the night when you saw him break down in front of his father’s corpse. And you aren’t yet a corpse: your heart is still beating faintly, your lips are still moving, your body is still trembling. “There’s a lot of things I wanted to tell you, Diluc.”

“Don’t die,” he pleads fervently. His lips graze your forehead, then—and before you know it, he’s embracing you, his tears wetting your shoulder. His begging is childish. Does he not know that the Archons have long abandoned their people? Does he know the sky is empty, and that no amount of pleads can bring a person back to life? You doubt so. “Don’t die, [Name]. I love you.”

He loves you. You smile. He loves you. Words have never felt so sweet befor, and it curbs the bitterness of death upon your tongue. “I love you, [Name]. I love you, so don’t die.”

He loves his father too. But still his father had perished. Similar to you.

“I’m so happy to hear that,” you smile weakly. Your finger starts to fall. “I’m really happy to hear that.”

You don’t have enough time to say those three words back, but it’s fine.

Your actions already did.

ZHONGLI

note(s); reader is an adepti, takes place during archon war

A God has seen their fair share of grieving. So have Adepti. Some come with age—it’s normal for mortal alliances to die before those who are immortal, after all. There is also the Archon War, which has already torn away Zhongli’s beloved companion, Guizhong. And everyday he chokes down the bile in his throat and continues to annihilate and fight. He’s always been built for this, after all, he’s an Archon. He’s a ruthless one at that, known for his brutality and his power. And everyday he looks at you and can only pray again and again to Celestia, that you remain alive.

Guizhong and you have both been his favorites since you two have met. It was Guizhong and you first, before Zhongli met you. Both you and Guizhong were best friends; almost; like sisters and brothers. Guizhong was gentle and sweet, reprimanding at times. You were sweet too, but could be more uncouth. Strong language littered your sentences at times, and Zhongli would see it then; the way Guizhong tugged at you to scold you, or the way you would smile at her. Brother and sister.

Naturally, when Zhongli grew close to Guizhong, he grew close to you. It was funny to see that you hardly knew much about history, though Guizhong clearly loved it. And so it was almost a cycle. Whatever Guizhong taught Zhongli, he taught you. Guizhong had remarked a few times, what an incredible person he was to make even you listen to facts you had earlier called boring.

(“You mellowed a lot, Morax,” Guizhong had told him once. “[Name] mellowed you. You really do care alot for him, don’t you?”

“I suppose.”)

Gods aren’t meant to be mellowed. They are meant to be powerful. Strong enough emotionally so as to not bat an eye when it comes to deaths.

But everything falls apart when Guizhong dies.

He sees you fall to the ground, sobbing and sobbing and crying at the loss of your beloved sister. He sees the way you touch her statue, turned to stone, cradling her face and wishing you were touching soft skin, instead of cold stone. Not sister by blood, but sister in name. He sees the way you break apart after that; Zhongli feels a human sense of emptiness and pain that comes with her death.

It’s all right, he told himself repeatedly. In his grief he has started to flood himself with reassurances. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name]. I still have [Name].

He sees the way you lose yourself in battle after that. Your attacks become sloppy, you become more careless. You become more injured. Zhongli never bothered with your skill. You were talented and strong enough. But now he finds himself protecting you the times you stumble, the times you start to choke out sobs during battle, the times you go wild and bloodthirsty against those you assume have contributed to her death.

Guizhong has said once that he loved you. Zhongli never bothered to think about that. He assumed he would know it himself, when time came. He didn’t need to worry about being in what mortals called a relationship—he would get this war finished with you, become a mortal, and love you freely. It didn’t matter if you didn’t love him. Zhongli could love you at a safe distance. It would all be all right.

He never imagined your declaration of love towards him would come so easily and devastatingly.

Zhongli sees you struck by a burst of elemental power before anything. He sees the way you shoved him inside; he sees the irony. He was so preoccupied with watching you. He hadn’t seen the enemy crawl up to him or nearly kill him. Like how he was watching you, you were watching him. And now his care has killed you.

“[Name].”

There’s an avalanche of emotions. First, he’s furious. He will leach out the killer and will inflict a thousand times more pain on them. Second, he’s heartbroken. He’s terrified of losing you. He can feel your life ebbing away with each passing moment, and he has seen enough wounds to know no healer can save you. He feels your pulse thrumming beneath your skin and he knows you’re dying.

You smile. It looks more like a grimace. “Just survive this goddamn war.”

Zhongli isn’t sure if he will. He feels like he might kill himself, that he might lay his body down next to yours, so that after death your souls would be intermingled, of sorts. It sounds romantic, but there’s absolutely nothing romantic about your death. He does what the Gods are not supposed to do. He feeds into his humanity; he cries.

“Afterwards, just live as a human. I don’t know. Be a dusty collector of antiques. Be a funeral planner or something strange like that. Just live, okay? You look like you want to die.”

You continue to ramble on. Your sentences become connected with each other. Your eyes start to flutter. Your words become faint and faltering.

“I can’t live with you,” he whispers. “First Guizhong, then you…” it’s all his fault. He should have seen it. He should have been more aware. He should—he should…

It’s too late. You’re dead, and he mourns just like a human; sobbing, aching, and dying a little inside.

For a brief moment Zhongli isn’t a God.

hope everyone liked it! it’s my first post so im apprehensive haha be sure to like/reblog & leave a comment if u can

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #male reader #angst #hurt/no comfort #male #zhongli x reader #diluc x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact x you #genshin impact x male #genshin impact scenarios #first post #idk how to tag #Zhongli #Diluc #eroswrites

811 notes · View notes

synchodai · 7 months ago

Text

I get this impression that House of the Dragon doesn't get that "named" heirs aren't really the norm in Westeros. If it were that easy for someone to just give everything to their favorite child, Randall Tarly wouldn't have needed to force Sam to go to the Wall and Tywin could have simply chosen Cersei over Tyrion as heir of Casterly Rock.

If we look at the history Westeros borrows from, the concept of "naming" heirs wasn't really a thing in medieval England. Landed gentry didn't have direct say over the order of succession until the Statute of Wills in 1540. Before then, land and subsequent titles could only be inherited through agnatic primogeniture.

Agnatic primogeniture prioritized the living, eldest, trueborn son. Claims can only be passed on patrilineally. This means that a grandaughter can inherit a claim of her grandfather's titles through her father, but a grandson cannot be given the same through his mother. However, if his mother finally does have land and titles under her own name (not under her father's), only then does her son and other children enter the line of succession.

The reason it was like this was because it kept land and titles under one family. Daughters are less preferred because when they are married, they become part of their husband's family — meaning that any titles they receive will be inherited through a new line. This wouldn't be an ideal situation because it gives two families claims to the titles. The more claimants there are, the more unstable the hold the owner has.

In other words, agnatic primogeniture was practiced for stability. Because back in the day, titles weren't just property or land. They came with governorship over a people, so a stable and predictable transfer of titles was necessary to avoid civil conflicts and questions of legitimacy.

A landed lord or lady wasn't given the right to designate heirs for a few reasons:

Most of them were vassals who oversaw the land in the name of someone higher up. It technically isn't even theirs to give away (see: feudal land tenure).

The wishes of a human being are less predictable than having a determined line of succession based on birth order. What if he becomes incapable of declaring an heir either through illness or disability? What if he's captured and a bad actor forces him to name this person heir under threat of violence?

People died unexpectedly all time. This was before germ theory and modern medicine — child mortality was extremely high. With no refrigeration technology, a single poor harvest could mean dying from starvation. Bandits, cutthroats, and raiders were a constant threat. They could not afford to rely on a person choosing a different heir every time the old heir drops dead, because the landed lord/lady could die just as suddenly.

Even 21st century families stab each other in the back over who gets grandma's house — so imagine having an uncertain line of succession in the middle ages over a life-defining lordship and without a modern-day court system to mediate.

Going back to HotD, whenever Targaryens did go against the established line of succession, they could only have done it by consolidating the support of their vassals. Only royalty seemed to have the power to bend agnatic primogeniture, but even then they were beholden to it.

When Jaehaerys I ascended the throne over Aerea, it was mainly because there were those who saw Maegor the Cruel's act of disinheriting Jaehaerys as null and void. This restored Jaehaerys place in the line of succession above Aerea.

And when Rhaenys was passed over for Baelon, Jaehaerys had to convene his lords and offer compelling reasons as to why — her young age, her lack of an heir, her Velaryon last name, etc. It wasn't a given that just because she was a woman that she was ineligible. If he was doing it purely out of misogyny, he still had to legally justify his misogyny in order to strip away her rights.

Even after consolidating support, the book mentions Jaehaerys I and Viserys I's respective hold on the crown was still weakened. Even though their claims were backed by reasons cosigned by a powerful majority, they still had to ensure the security of their rule through other means. There were people who doubted their right to rule, and those people had to be placated with gifts (by Viserys) or intimidated into submission (by Jaehaerys).

So we come to Viserys I who never gave his vassals a reason why Rhaenyra should supercede his three sons other than, "I said so." Had he convened with his lords and maybe made the argument that a first marriage takes precendence over a second one, then maybe he could have set a new precedent and gathered support.

But no, he didn't. He relied on the power of his own words and the lords' personal oaths — oaths that he didn't exactly plan how he would enforce posthumously.

And the Realm did not choose to adopt a different succession law after Jaehaerys's designation of Baelon in 92 AC or the Council of Harrenhal choosing Viserys on 101 AC. If those two events did change anything, it was that now women were exempt from the line of succession for the crown and only the crown. It did not set the precedence that monarchs could freely choose heirs. It did not upend the whole system; it only made a tweak, as most lawful policy-changes do, by carving out at an exception. It was a committee, not a revolution.

Before and after the Dance, no other monarch, lord, or lady "declared" an heir that went against agnatic primogeniture, save for Dornish who have cognatic (equal-gender) primogeniture instead. Ramsay had to get rid of Roose Bolton's living trueborn son AND be legitimized by the crown in order to be recognized as heir (only a crowned monarch can legitimize baseborn children which is another world-building pillar a lot of people miss). Randall basically had to force Sam to abdicate because he wanted his younger brother to inherit instead. And of course, Tywin despite his intense hatred of Tyrion is forced to acknowledge him as his heir.

The rigidity of the line of succession is a major and constant source of conflict in the series, so it baffles me that people really thought that characters could just freely choose their heirs. That's why we have a civil war. It wasn't a misunderstanding. It's the expected consequences of someone carelessly going against a foundational tenent of the society they inhabit.

#long post #a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #hotd #had to write this up cause i saw someone insisting fire and blood showed “naming heirs” was the succession law when that's patently untrue #asoiaf #agnatic primogeniture #medieval inheritance law #a lot of character conflict stems from the fact that they can't just choose an heir #hotd critical #Phew and this is the last time I'm writing about this topic because i do not want to invite more fandom discourse

915 notes · View notes

ataraxiaspainting · 4 months ago

Text

Morningstar's Road.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader x Yan Feitan.

Synopsis: Your routine is average, to say the least. But due to Chrollo’s orders, Feitan cannot snatch you up yet – so he simply mirrors your behaviors instead for self-satisfaction. His boss does so too.

Warnings: Yandere themes, stalking, kidnapping, a few suggestive actions, manipulation, some descriptions anxiety/depression for the reader, animal death, and violence/some gore.

Word Count: 4.4k.

*~*~*~*

Feitan is so close to you that he can just about hear your beating heart. He could only see the back of your head, hair loose and surely will be knotted by the morning sun, but he can smell you whenever he is this close.

You always smell so nice, but for some reason, you smell even better – of that floral-scented oil you put on your neck and wrists before you go to bed. Maybe you added extra because it is the weekend.

You are on your right side – the fetal position was always your favorite – and hugging a plush that resembles your childhood cat. This was typical behavior for you; you had cried for days when your older sister called to say he had passed from old age. You weren’t weeping anymore, but you were when you saw the stuffed animal near the window of that dollar store you pass by daily on your way to work. You named it Silky, the same as the real thing, and tuck it in whenever you are in and out of bed. Feitan somewhat wished he could get the same treatment, to be in your arms as you sleep and to feel just a hint of your comforting warmth.

Feitan brought his own blanket.

It isn’t pastel pink like your sheets or your pillowcases or your pajamas and it has holes from moths and years of being stretched as he grew and his fights came to have higher and higher stakes.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time he was stabbed were just under the giant white skull pattern, although since most of the blanket is black it wouldn’t show even in the brightest of lights.

If he had recalled correctly the bloodstains from the first time it was stolen are still there too; on the bottom right corner.

“This type of nen won’t last forever, Fei.”

Feitan turns his neck, his bandana doing little to hide the slight scowl on his face. “I know.”

“Now, now… I never said you did not.” Chrollo responds while giving a small smile, still having the Bandit’s Secret in his right hand while your diary is held in his left. He turns to the next page while Feitan goes back to snuggling up beside you.

If Chrollo had a third arm, he could have the rest of your coffee you didn’t finish and left in your fridge. There is a lipstick stain, the color of that tint you often sport when in your office space. A light taffy color, he muses.

Very fitting.

“I simply wanted you not to fall asleep too slow or too deep, we do have to leave by dawn after all.”

Feitan said no answer. Chrollo is used to that – a little too used to it, maybe, but Feitan has always stood out from fellow people from Meteor City even by the Phantom Troupe’s standards.

“Same oil?” He asks, and on cue, Feitan gives a loud sniffing sound.

“Yes.”

“Cute.”

Around your waist Feitan’s left arm lays, and his right hand holds the blanket tighter than a noose.

If Chrollo were to guess, if Feitan had a third arm he would put two of its fingers on your lips to feel how soft they were. Chrollo had done so before, but his friend hadn’t. He almost chuckles at the irony. The member of the Troupe the most intimate when it comes to matters of anatomy and torture felt that his fingertips having pink on them was a line he could not cross. It’s almost funny in a way. It’s adorable.

“Boss.”

“Hm?”

“For just a while,” Feitan starts. His tone is shy, like a little boy about to ask his classmate crush for their hand in marriage. “Can you read it to me?”

“‘It’?” Chrollo teases slightly, yet he knows what Feitan is talking about.

“The thing in your hand.”

“‘Thing’?”

Feitan huffs a bit and follows it up with a sigh.

“The… diary. Please.”

*~*~*~*

I think I’m getting worse and wondering if I have ever been happy with myself.

There is this girl that sits at the desk across from mine, Lyra is her name, and I don’t hate her by any means.

I just wish I was her, you know? She gets along with everyone in our office, Her hair is always nice. She has only been here since February and has already been promoted to the status it took me three years to get.

Don’t get me wrong, she is incredibly nice and I always have a few laughs with her from time to time. Maybe it’s just my insecurities getting to me.

I wonder if sometimes she has similar thoughts when with other people, or even me if that were possible. I know she has a habit of procrastination and has a record of not handing in her work until a few days or weeks later – those are qualities I don’t have, but maybe she doesn’t feel anything negative about herself.

I’m known as the quiet and sweet girl at my job.

I’ve always had a bone to pick with the title, in a way. All my life that is what I was labeled as. People come to me for advice, and it does make me feel good, but I wish I could be a jokester like Lyra too.

That’s all I have… at least for now, I guess. I’m going to drink tea with honey and go to bed.

May 8th

*~*~*~*

The duo entered through the front door this time. You were gone tonight, as evidenced by the messy pile of umbrellas and house shoes that flooded the entrance, so they could break in without much sneaking around. They know where you headed to – and for now, Chrollo orders Feitan not to slit the man’s throat and gouge out his eyes. Your boyfriend, the only one of your past romantic interests not yet dead. Francis.

He’s quite the simple fellow as Chrollo had noted. Feitan was only focusing on where his organs started and ended when they both saw you with him near midnight months before.

“Not yet.”

Chrollo turns his head and looks down at Feitan as they walk down the hall.

“I know you’re still thinking about it, but your actions may cause our plan to fail.”

No verbal response, though Chrollo notices how Feitan’s steps get slightly louder.

“Fine.”

“Are you saying you’re fine? Or are you still agreeing to not go haywire on the man yet?”

“New one.”

“Hm?”

“New word.” Feitan’s nails retract slightly from your walls as he rolls his eyes. “Hay… wire.”

His hand stops at a photo of your dead cat framed on the wall – he’s a kitten in this one, with his first collar and teenager you hugging him – but your face is cropped out.

He moves the hand away from it for just a few steps. Chrollo finds it polite of him – as polite as Feitan can be with others, anyway.

At the same time, they consider bringing the photos you took off your walls and onto whatever penthouse walls Chrollo has rented out for the next few months or so. It would be cute seeing smiling pictures of you all over, especially since you’ll be switching locations soon enough, and in turn, that expression will soon enough become rare.

But when Chrollo thinks about the idea further, a problem arises. Your photos aren’t focused on you. They’re focused on your friends and family. You are always in the corner or hidden behind someone else. It’s of your own volition. Chrollo is sure of it. Perhaps he can get Shalnark to work his magic on them and ignore the teasing. Feitan would do nothing more than threaten to bash in his teeth, as with friends he is nothing more than a ‘grumpy wet cat’ – those are Shalnark and Uvogin’s own words. Not Chrollo’s.

“No.”

“Hm?”

“I’ll cut ‘em,” Feitan suggests while putting his sharp nails on your bedroom’s door frame.

“How do you intend to do so when there’s near nothing to cut out?” Chrollo asks. Feitan goes silent until he sits on your bed.

It’s still unmade. You must have ignored that chore list of yours again and opted to work extra hours instead.

Chrollo sits down at the small part of your room that is clean; your desk. It’s mainly used for just reading and video games, hence why the only two things not neatly in piles are a book and your computer. Shalnark told them both the password, but neither of them had decided to tread into that territory for multiple reasons. Firstly, neither of them knows a single thing about the internet and simulations. Secondly, Shalnark can just get whatever information they need without them looking inside it themselves anyway. Thirdly, they already know you enjoy wholesome things on there – the opposite of what you’re reading, if the books on your unfinished read pile mean anything to Chrollo – so there is no point in venturing for unneeded facts about you.

You’ll surely tell them yourself one day.

Eventually. In maybe weeks. Months. Years.

Eventually.

It’ll feel like forever and a day if you decide not to talk to either of them. Chrollo and Feitan have agreed without any argument that if you want something, you will ask them. Nicely, of course.

Broken fingers aren’t necessarily something people flaunt.

You wouldn’t brag about being forced onto a lap for hours out on a balcony either.

You’ll eventually tell them. You have to. For your sake.

Eventually. Nothing lasts forever, after all.

“Fei. I promise you that this will be worth the wait.”

Feitan shakes his head, scoffing. “Will it? It would have been easier to just grab her and run.”

“I know,” Chrollo leans in a little, putting his elbows on his thighs. “I know. But you’ll lament it. I would have too if I had agreed with you to go down that route.”

A stare is the response.

It isn’t anger, Chrollo knows that much.

No.

In all the years Chrollo has known Feitan, Feitan has never gone back on his loyalty to him and the Troupe.

But. But.

Chrollo hasn’t ever seen him have such a concurrence when there is still such division in his eyes.

“Are you sad?” He asks.

“No,” Feitan replies, looking at your cat plush instead of his leader of the full moon outside.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

*~*~*~*

Francis lives outside the city in a farmhouse. It’s up a tall hill with no pathway aside from little rectangular stones here and there – and if you ignore the animals and their housing, people would think that the place is deserted.

Feitan and Chrollo make their way to the white picket fence surrounding the chicken coop. They continue to bite down into the soil for worms or leftover grain. All female. Only three were brown; the others were smaller in frame and white.

“I’ve heard his eggs go for high prices in markets,” Chrollo grins a little. “Maybe I’ll raise some chickens of my own in my later years.”

Feitan raises an eyebrow at him.

“I was joking, Fei.” He clarifies.

“Ah.”

Feitan continues to walk with his hands still stuffed into his coat pockets.

Chrollo looks at the farmhouse up at the top of the hillside. The lights are still on, meaning you were most likely still up and about in there.

The rooster resting on top of the mailbox makes eye contact with him for a few moments.

“Don’t scream,” Chrollo murmurs, his words sweet as sugar.

“What?” Feitan asks, not even bothering to turn around.

“I’m talking to the rooster.”

“[First]’s rubbing off on you too much.” His friend rolls his eyes and makes sure not to step on a twig.

“Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how these animals look at us.”

“They’re animals now. What came before… that doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Maybe to you – but I find it intriguing.”

“Talk later,” Putting his hand on the fence gate that leads to Francis’ garden, Feitan turns his head for just a moment. “Near. Quiet. Look.”

For once, Chrollo is the one that does the nodding.

The gate gives off a little squeak as it is opened. It reminds them of Francis’ prized pet pig Annie – though she is only allowed to be inside.

There are all sorts of vegetables and some fruits back here. Cucumbers, chili peppers, watermelons, corn, tomatoes, peaches, pears. They’re all in pristine condition, and so are the flowers growing in pots near the far-off window sills.

Feitan considers giving you the daisies.

Chrollo considers giving you the marigolds.

They both look at the pig’s head hastily buried under the soil, her ears still popping out and facing the moon. Despite the interment being new, perhaps even being dug today, flies have already spread to the top part of the head and ears. They’re happy you didn’t see her because that would be quite an awful gift from your boyfriend.

Francis is probably happy too, not that they care.

From what Shalnark was able to gather from someone who barely has any social life, Francis moved here from another country about four years ago. He acquired this farm and its land almost immediately afterward.

From a lottery, Shalnark had explained to them. Or an inheritance. Either way, man’s life is going pretty dang good. Too good, actually, because my senses are tingling too much.

Shalnark was right in that regard. Francis may adopt animals from time to time from farmers’ markets, but a majority of them suddenly appear a few days or weeks apart. There were three white chickens he had purchased. Then after a month or so, there were twelve. The three brown ones came all at once one day.

“Where’s Annie?” They hear you ask as you open one of the windows to get some fresh air. “She usually runs to the door to see me…”

Using hatsu to conceal their presence, the pair aren’t detected among the plants.

“She ran away.”

Feitan almost snickers at your boyfriend’s answer, looking down at the flies and corpse rotting beneath his feet. He didn’t mind the smell of rotting flesh – he has almost always enjoyed it since he was in his teenage years.

Chrollo’s feet don’t dig into the soil – he has opted to instead stand on the few pieces of stone that are by the cucumber plants. He makes a note to go to the laundromat after this; even though it has already been the third time in a row this week alone.

If he can convince Feitan, they’ll steal some things from your place to wash up too – Francis has always been touchy, after all.

“That’s weird,” You say worriedly, not looking into the garden anymore but instead inside; to Annie’s little bed huddled next to the window. “Did you leave the gate open?”

“Yes, I’m still rather upset about it but I’m sure she’ll be found soon.”

Soon. Chrollo grins a bit as he closes his eyes, imagining the moment he’ll save you from this man. Soon isn’t enough. No. This…

This is the moment.

This is the day.

This is the time.

“Feitan.”

“Hm?”

Francis will die today. Or tomorrow maybe, Chrollo isn’t completely sure.

“Don’t make it too bloody,” He instructs, getting off the stones and onto the dirty tiles of the garden’s path to the back door. “I’ll focus on her. We’ll leave the others alone.”

“Fine.”

“Thank you, Feitan.”

Feitan looks confused for a moment. If Chrollo were someone who hadn’t grown up beside him, he wouldn’t have noticed the small millisecond of his friend showing emotion. ‘For what?’ He wants to ask.

Chrollo knows it. He knows it so he answers the silent question. “For being more vulnerable with her and I. [First] seems to have rubbed off on you too much too, huh?”

“I don’t like your jokes,” Feitan replies as he stuffs his pockets even more – perhaps to hide his balled-up fists. Whether they were made from the hatred of Francis or the annoyance of everything else is up to interpretation. No one will be getting an answer anyway, even Feitan himself. “You’re very happy lately.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Chrollo’s grin widens just a smidge more. “We’re about to rescue a princess.”

From that look, he knows Feitan agrees with his reasoning and is happy as well.

*~*~*~*

“You’re beautiful, darling.”

You’re laid out on Francis’ bed. It’s rather large for a room this size, but it is comfortable to undress on. You picked a periwinkle blue dress today with buttons on only its top front side. Francis wanted to help but you declined. You don’t decline a lot of things, especially when it comes to him. Francis is annoyed by that but he tries not to let it show. He hides a lot of things from you.

“Thank you.” You sheepishly smile, a light flush on your cheeks as you start to undo your buttons.

“Of course,” You’re his favorite by far. You aren’t stuck up or are with him just for his money. You’re so nice to him. You’re so sweet to him. “I wouldn’t lie to you, honey.”

You aren’t like those whores, those sluts, those fucking cheap little bitches.

“I’ll take it slow since it’s your first time and all.” He promises.

You look up at him.

Your frown is just barely noticeable – but noticeable enough for him to see.

“What’s wrong?” Francis asks.

“Lyra’s still missing… I’m worried.”

“Why?” Francis asks, getting more annoyed the more time you spend covered up. “Why are you so worried about her right now? It’s not the time for that.”

“I don’t know,” You look at the open window, cool air still blowing in along with the slight scent of flowers. “I really don’t, I just… have suddenly gotten a little sad just now.”

You’re shivering a little.

“Ah, you must be cold.” He deflects. Having only his shirt on now, he walks up to the windowsill and looks at the vegetable patch. With both hands, he pulls the window closed. “Better?”

You must not have heard him, because you keep playing with your buttons instead of being fully undressed already.

“Could you…”

Ah. You did hear him, but you seem concerned for something else. That’s fine, as long as you aren’t playing with him and will soon attempt to run away.

“Close the curtain? Please? I’d really… appreciate it.”

“Sure,” Francis replies, his smile returning to his face. “Anything for you. Just get comfortable, pumpkin.”

The wicked thing came all at once before either of you could blink. Shards of glass flew into Francis and into the bedroom walls. Francis screams as his bleeding hands are quick to go to his eyes, his fingers attempting to get the glass shards out of them before his vision is gone for good. In front of you was a stranger in a suit – he pushed you out of the way in a fraction of a second and onto the floor. The bed had shielded you and him.

“Are you alright?”

You’re too shocked for words, peeking from behind the bed to where Francis is still screaming.

In front of him was a man in all black stepping on the back of his head with one of his feet. The soles of his boots seemed lodged into Francis’ scalp, and it takes you a moment to realize why. There were spikes on them; not that you could see them much because of how hidden they seemed to be right now. They’re silver judging by the color of their slight sparkle, but the rusted kind. No. Maybe that’s just the bloodstains.

The feeling in your chest is so horrible like you’re very sick. There’s pressure on your heart. It’s strangling you, despite the taller stranger’s grasp on your shoulders being so pleasant. So tender.

“What are you doing?” You screech. The sound doesn’t make either of the intruders flinch. Francis does instead. “Let go of him!”

The shorter man doesn’t look at you, opting to wedge the spikes of his shoes further into Francis’ brain. You try to get up but the man in the suit pulls you back down, shushing you as you protest and cry. “Don’t… it’ll be over soon. I told him to be gentle, you see.”

“Gentle?” You repeat.

“Yes, my dear.” One of his hands rises from your shoulders to where your eyes are. You struggle some more and the stranger whispers something in your ear. “Behave – I can always tell Feitan to torture him the amount he deserves if I wanted to. I know he wants to.”

You deflate and your eyes are forced shut by his palm. “Please stop… I don’t know what we did, just please-”

“You didn’t do anything,” The other man – Feitan if the taller man had named him right and he wasn’t just some assassin he hired; he said his name so tenderly too like he is an old friend – interrupts you. “He did.”

You feel like you’re about to throw up all the wonderful food you just ate. Chicken pot pie, beef tenderloin, roasted pork belly – it all feels like it is about to release from your throat and onto the wooden planked floor below.

“Oh dear,” Another hand covers your nose and mouth. Instead of blood you now smell cologne – sandalwood and amber. “Can you please hurry up, Fei? She looks like she’s about to collapse.”

*~*~*~*

“It’s a wonderful time to be alive,” Chrollo says as he puts the key into his car’s lock. It’s embedded with little multicolored jewels – he had commissioned some artist to customize it for him a week or so ago while Feitan went into your home on his own. “Or at least a wonderful night. Wouldn’t you say so?”

You’re in the passenger seat. You fell unconscious after Francis’ barely alive body got its fingers broken one by one. Some of his blood got on your skirt, but Chrollo is sure that the laundromat will fix that just like the workers will fix his clothes. As long as he pays them enough or threatens them enough. The latter would be more fun for Feitan but the former would let him be seen as a kind patron. Whichever way the coin flips.

He doesn’t blame you for fainting. If he hadn’t been born in Meteor City and hadn’t been raised in a constant state of fear and a constant battle for power over others, he would most likely do the same.

Feitan is in the back, silent. His hands now have gloves on them and are now brushing through your hair.

“Should we make the pit stop or go straight?” After the second question, the car’s lights turn on.

“Bed.”

The car starts moving into the barren street.

“Alright,” Chrollo chuckles a little at the insistence in Feitan’s tone. “We can get some of [First]’s clothes tomorrow then. She’ll probably sleep throughout the day.”

He doesn’t explain why because they both already know the reason. There is a short chain attached to the main bed. Depending on your behavior early on, it will either lengthen or become briefer.

There are also some syringes in the mirror vanity that Feitan asked him over and over to keep in case of an emergency. He doubts there will be any real threat where they would have to use them.

Feitan doesn’t. Feitan doesn’t doubt many things.

“Blankets too.”

Feitan doesn’t ask for many things either, much less demand them.

“Ah,” Chrollo makes the left turn as his fingers tap on the steering wheel. It’s a song you enjoy listening to on your avenue home. He knows you aren’t listening to it but that doesn’t matter right now. He’ll continue to do so until your mind associates the tune with small controlled adventures to and fro and not you having a life of your own. “All of them?”

“Yes. Please.”

“You don’t say that word very often,” He teases, looking at the flat glass mirror overhead.

“Hmph.”

Putting his hand on your thigh, Chrollo continues to drive while still glancing upward now and then.

*~*~*~*

Your heartbeat has calmed down. Feitan is now able to look at your face as you sleep.

You look at peace now. When he had placed you on the bed, your eyebrows furrowed for a moment – perhaps your subconscious being afraid – or disgusted – by him.

The flowery scent of your perfume vanished long ago and has been replaced by a stinging one. Feitan doesn’t mind. He doesn’t mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

Unlike the bodies of those who have died by his hands, Feitan places the white blanket on top of you gently like you would shatter if he was just a tad bit rougher.

Well… Body bags don’t really count as blankets, do they? They are meant to be ripped open and stuffed full of parts no wandering soul hopes to find.

Chrollo decides to break the silence. “After she adjusts a little, we’ll leave. Or you can stay if you want. I can carry her things on my own.”

Feitan turns to look at him.

“Pictures.”

Chrollo sighs. “Alright. But we’ll get Shal to edit them. No cutting.”

“...Tch. Fine. Silky too.” A thumb is pressed against your lips. After it is lifted, there is a light pink that covers its print.

“It’s a pretty color, isn’t it?” Chrollo muses, hanging his suit jacket on the edge of his sofa as he holds his book. “I’ll try to get the same shade for her when she runs out of it. Though I suspect it will be a while before then, huh?”

“It’s fine,” Feitan states, rubbing his thumb against your lips more. “She will always be pretty to me.”

“Never took you for the romantic type, Fei.”

“Hmph.”

270 notes · View notes

fairy-writes · 2 months ago

Text

MERCY

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Trigun Stampede

Pairing(s): Vash the Stampede x Reader

Word Count: 0.9k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Gender Neutral!Reader, Pre-Canon, Established Relationships, Possible OOCness with Vash but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head

Notes: I HAVEN’T DONE THIS IN A WHILE

BUT CATCH MY DOCTOR WHO QUOTES

__________________________________________________________________________

It wasn’t often that you saw Vash angry.

In fact, in all the time you’d known him, you never remembered him actually getting angry. Irritated? Sure, but never like… this.

Three days was enough to wear down the Humanoid Typhoon.

It should have been simple: just keep your heads down and let the bandits currently hunting for Vash’s bounty pass on through the little town.

It seemed easy enough. You’d done this a million times. You were practically pros! What would change now?

Oh, how you wished you could take those words back.

“Vash, stop!” You plead and cry and tug at Vash’s coat as you try to keep him from shooting the man in front of him. He grits his teeth, but that doesn’t stop his finger from curling around the trigger.

“I’m done negotiating.” He snaps, and you flinch back as if struck across the face.

“We can talk this out! Just like you do every time! Vash, please!”

He rounds on you, keeping the gun pointed at the bandit.

“Every time I negotiate, every time I try to understand. Well, not today. No. Today, I honor the victims first. His, Nai’s, the humans, all the people who died because of MY mercy!”

Right…

The people who died.

You can still hear a mother wailing for her dead child behind you, cradling his limp corpse in her arms as she begged whoever was listening to bring her baby back to her.

You could tell Vash heard it too, because he ground his teeth together even more. His thumb pulled the hammer back on his gun, and he stepped closer to press the barrel to the bandit’s forehead.

The aforementioned bandit was shaking in his boots. His knees knocked together, and sweat dripped down his brow. His own gun had been batted away after shooting at Vash and you. Luckily, the bullets had lodged in Vash’s prosthetic arm instead of flesh. The arm itself was fine, if not sparking a little.

But that didn’t matter.

“Vash,” You began, slowly, calmly, like trying to calm a spooked animal. Vash turned to look at you, and you weren’t surprised to see tears starting to prick his eyes.

He had always been the emotional one.

“Please, put the gun down. Have some mercy, and we can talk this out.” You tried, and his following words made your blood run cold.

“I’m so old now. I used to have so much mercy. But not anymore.” He snarled, and you flinched back.

This wasn’t the Vash you knew and loved

What had happened to him?

One of the townsfolk stepped forward,

“Mr. Typhoon… Please. Put the gun down. We will arrest the bandit and hold him until the police can arrive. you’re scaring your love.” She said, and those words snapped Vash out of his violent stupor. He looked at you with new eyes, heartbroken and horrified.

You couldn’t stop him as he stepped away and fled,

You found him in the desert of No Man’s Land two days later.

Two days. Two days of relentless searching. Two days of worrying. Two days of Vash obviously beating himself up over everything. The bandit was apprehended, as was his little posse of criminals. So you were able to search for Vash safely.

You found him in a cave, bits of his arm strewn about as he tried to get the bullets unstuck. He was muttering and cursing under his breath, eventually throwing the tool in his hand toward the mouth of the cave where you stood.

You picked up the tool and approached him, kneeling by where he sat cross-legged and offering the tool.

“How’d you find me?” He said bitterly, and you offered a small smile,

“I know you.” You mumbled, and he scoffed,

“Apparently not. I’m turning into Nai. Merciless. Cold. And—”

“You aren’t. Your reign of terror would end at the sight of the first crying child, and you know it.” You cut him off gently, and he looked up at you, something glimmering in his eyes. You took that as an invitation to scoot closer, crossing your legs as you went. Your knee brushed his, and you could practically feel him shudder at the contact.

But you didn't comment on it.

You just used the tool to dislodge the bullets smashed into his arm and palm of his hand. You were gentle, not at all like he was moments ago. Soon enough, his arm was pieced back together, and he gripped your hand as you went to stand.

“Where are you going?” He asked, practically pleading with you to stay.

“Just getting my pack. I left it outside.” You said, and he sagged in relief.

He must’ve been lonely in those two days he was apart from you.

That night, you sat by the fire you built and tossed branches from debris into the fire. Vash sat next to you, his flesh hand on your thigh and his head on your shoulder. You let him have this. This sense of normalcy. This sense of love that you tried to build around him.

Because he deserved that much.

It wasn’t long before he turned to nose your neck, pressing a fleeting kiss there. You shivered and felt him smile against your skin.

“I’m sorry for scaring you.” He whispered eventually. You hummed,

“I forgive you… Just… Try not to do it again, okay?” You replied, and he pecked your cheek before squeezing your thigh.

“I promise.”

#vash the stampede x reader #vash the stampede x you #vash x reader #vash x you #trigun stampede x reader #trigun x reader #trigun x you #fairy writes

144 notes · View notes

yourheart-inmyhands · 9 months ago

Note

hey! question/something you could turn into a concept if you wish. do you think yandere scaramouche (fatui era) would act differently than yandere wanderer? or do you think they'd act generally the same? it's so interesting to see peoples interpretations of different versions of scara lol :3

ah this was such a fun concept, i could talk endlessly about the differences between them but i kept it short and sweet for now! i hope you enjoy :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including verbal abuse, scaramouche being a douche, delusional behaviors, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

There are very noticeable differences between Scaramouche and Wanderer and some that only those close would pick up on. For one, Scaramouche always walked with confidence, drawing attention to himself and commanding everyone’s eyes, Wanderer now prefers a different approach, lingering on the sidelines and watching others, observing.

Scaramouche’s porcelain was pristine, his cracks repaired and his joints flawless. Wanderer is rougher, some small hairline fractures and other larger chunks missing from different parts of him, patched over with bandages for the time being. His joints are no better, with him always in the forest he’s prone to getting dirt and rocks in them, making it not only difficult but also painful to move them. He often has to get assistance in cleaning them.

Those are some of the more noticeable ones, but less noticeable ones are how they would speak to a darling. Scaramouche is rough, standoffish to ensure he isn’t abandoned once more, left behind and forgotten again. Wanderer is snarky, a bit rude, but there’s less of an edge to it. He’s snippy to maintain a facade, not wanting others to see how soft he’s gone despite him being wiped from everyone’s memory.

“You disgusting waste of space, you should be grateful I even spare you a minute of my time. Honestly, what purpose do you serve aside from keeping my bed warm? Pathetic.” Scaramouche doesn’t even look at you as he scoffs out insult after insult, his focus on himself in the mirror as he looks over a crack he’d recently gotten. He’d have to go to that wretched doctor to get it fixed, couldn’t go around looking broken, looking weak.

“You’re in my way, move before I make you.” The crossing of his arms and the annoyed, melodramatic tone of his voice are enough to move you away from the bookcase. Your eyes are wide, an apology caught in your throat as he huffs, grabs a book off the shelf without even pausing to look before stalking off again. It was like he’d done this before. As he walks off though, you can’t help but notice the strange way he moves, his left leg swings strangely, like there was something stopping it from bending all the way when he lifts it. Strange.

Neither are particularly nice or sweet, but you’re more likely to get Wanderer to warm up to you than Scaramouche. The cold-hearted puppet that was a Fatui member didn’t need anyone, nor did he want them, he only wanted power, wanted to be recognized for what he was and what he could do. Wanderer isn’t after that, he’s looking for himself in the trees, hoping that by rescuing another lost child, eliminating a camp of bandits, freeing one more Rishboland tiger from an illegal trap will tell him something. Will give him some hint or clue as to what he was really made for.

Scaramouche works best with a willing darling who is ok with being pushed around, ignored, and verbally degraded. He won’t ever say he loves you, won’t coddle you when you cry or get hurt, won’t buy you gifts or make things for you. But he always returns to bed with you at night, laying beside you as he watches you sleep. He’s above it, but there’s a comfort in watching you sleep, a time where he can just shut his mind down and pretend he’s nothing and no one.

Wanderer works best with a darling who is a little more forceful in asserting themselves, showing up at the bookstore he frequents, following him into the forest to see what he’s up to, asking around about him until word gets back to him and he confronts you about it. It takes a long time for him to open up to you, even more so before he starts to seek you out himself, but slowly he grows to become as much a part of your life as you have his. And he doesn’t entirely hate it.

#genshin x reader #genshin x male reader #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin x male reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x male reader #yandere scaramouche x reader #yandere scaramouche x male reader #wanderer x reader #wanderer x male reader #yandere wanderer x reader #yandere wanderer x male reader #yandere genshin #yandere wanderer #yandere scaramouche

238 notes · View notes

hyacintheros · 7 months ago

Note

Hii! Can you write headcanons for what it would be like for a female reader to share a dorm with marauders?(since first year) Maybe like girls dorms were full?? I know it makes no sense but I couldn't come up with anything else. Thanks in advance 🎀

This is such a thought though, you're cooking with this one, never done headcanons before, but I hope I can deliver your vision dovey!🥰🫡

Maybe there were too many first year females in Gryffindor, I mean record breaking and they weren't expecting it, so some girls had to be accommodated with the boys

Each dorm had 5 beds anyways, so the marauders were happy to host another person c:

First year would be a little awkward, not used to being co-ed, reader would definitely have her curtains drawn 85% of the time, made her own friends outside of the marauders treating them as roommates rather than friends

Second year is a little better, being now more used to the presence of the boys, maybe warming up to Peter's quiet personality, Remus’ bookworm behaviour, then to James’ happy go lucky attitude, then finally Sirius’ flirting. Being more adventurous and actually hanging out with them outside of their dorm, pulling little pranks here and there

By third year, she'd finally been let in on Remus’ Moony escapades, now an honorary member of the Marauders. This is also when everyone pledges to become animagi for Remus’ sake, telling the reader that she doesn't have to do this with them. She relents, wanting to do her best for Moony! When they all finally complete the animation process, reader finds out hers is a raccoon, earning the name ‘Bandit’, now attracted to anything shiny, like a niffler!

Fourth year is when she starts to realise that maybe there's more to her friendship with the marauders. Keeping her curtains open most nights, reading books with Remus on his bed, often falling asleep there. Listening to Jamie talk about quidditch while she does homework, picking flowers and leaves with Peter, and gossiping with Sirius about McGonagall. Though, she doesn't want to ruin the current dynamic they've got going on, instead, resigning to keeping her feelings bottled

Fifth year has reader in a twist, trying to balance a social life while studying for her O.W.Ls, while also trying to keep her feelings afloat. She spends most time hidden in a corner in the library, a spot none of the marauders are privy to. By Christmas, the boys feel as if they've done something wrong, their best friend and partner in crime won't hang out with them anymore. Before the break, they confront Bandit, needing to repair their friendship before any more damage is done. Confessing her feelings to them in the astronomy tower, she's ready to bolt. Before she can, James pulls her in, expressing that she's not alone in her feelings. Promising to work through a 5 person relationship, they are officially together by the end of the year.

Sixth year comes along, and so do rumours. Hogwarts had never seen a relationship like theirs, confused and oddly weirded out by its nature, turned to bullying the poor girl. She'd often hide out in the dorm after class and before meals, the pressure getting too much at times. Sirius is the one to bash the rumours, standing on the Gryffindor table before Easter break, shouting his undying love for Bandit and the other marauders! The rumours die down after that, and Bandit can finally walk the halls without being ridiculed again.

Last year, seventh year comes, a melancholic air around them, wishing they could spend more and more years at Hogwarts. What will they do after? James wants to be an Auror, Sirius a Quidditch star, Remus an Author, Peter a Herbologist. And reader? She's still trying to figure that out, thus taking all possible courses to help her out later. Most days are filled with endless studying, wishing she knew how to plan her life, yet she still finds time to pull some senior pranks on the younger kids, all harmless and joyful. Graduation comes sooner than expected, eager to see what life will bring across her path.

They all find an apartment in muggle London with the help of Bandit's parents. They had to custom make a bed that would accommodate all 5 of them with much room to cuddle with. James does end up being and Auror, Sirius following suit. Peter is furthering his studies on Herbology and Caring for Magical Creatures, while Remus attends a muggle University for an English degree. Bandit ended up for applying as a Potions teaching assistant back at Hogwarts, her love brewing at the cauldron ♡

I feel like headcanons are supposed to be short, maybe I'm silly *insert that cat voices gif*

#marauders #marauders x reader #james potter x reader #sirius black x reader #remus lupin x reader #peter pettigrew x reader

110 notes · View notes

apomaro-mellow · 2 years ago

Text

Part B

I just wanted a bit of Eddie losing control while protecting Steve and their unborn child and this word vomit came out.

“He’s making FOOLS of us Juliana!”

Alric Harrington ripped up the invitation that had been sent. His wife sat in a corner, rubbing her round belly worriedly.

“He gets himself kidnapped, then fornicates with this beast, IS CARRYING HIS SEED, and now...” He breathed in deep. After his outburst his next words were deceivingly quiet. “Now he is planning to parade under the legitimacy of marriage.”

“You don’t really think that he could be...that he could be carrying, do you?”, Juliana’s eyes were glistening. “It’s not possible. It’s-”

“Blasphemy. He has been a stain on the royal family for too long. And I have neglected my duties as a father.”

“My love-”

“I will do what needs to be done! For the sake of our name. So our next child can come into a pure world.”

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

The castle had been buzzing with activity. The kind that Steve would love to oversee. If only his groom-to-be could find it in him to let him go.

“I would like to get out of bed sometime today”, Steve said.

Eddie growled against his ear, hands pressed protectively around his torso. Most of their mornings for the past month had been like this. Ever since they realized their coupling had taken and Steve was pregnant. With him only being a few weeks along, there wasn’t an official announcement but everyone in the castle knew which meant the rumor was probably flying outside the walls of their home as well.

The day they confirmed it, Eddie immediately went to the balcony and shouted it to the heavens for all to hear. He had been ecstatic, elated. And then horny. And then fiercely protective.

Usually, they were slow to get out of bed for more romantic reasons. Now, Steve couldn’t get Eddie to let him go until his baser instincts were satisfied and knew he and his child wouldn’t meet their end the moment they left the bedroom.

When he was finally able to leave, he was able to look on the wedding preparations. Steve couldn’t help but think about how he had started in this place. Stolen from his kingdom and sulking in a cold dungeon. Now he was a king in all but name.

Preparations went on and just a few weeks into them, Steve received a message from his parents. It was an official announcement. The birth of the new crown prince, Tristan Harrington. When Steve read through it, his hands shook. Eddie held them to ground him.

“They don’t deserve you, love. You don’t need to involve yourself with them anymore.”

“Eddie, it’s not about me.” He put a hand to his belly, thinking of their own future child. “They’re going to ruin him. That’s my brother, I can’t ignore that.”

Eddie kissed his knuckles. “What do you want to do?”

Steve separated the announcement from another letter. “This came with it. My father wants to meet with you.”

Eddie growled. The last time that man called on Steve, his carriage just happened to be accosted by bandits. Eddie still wasn’t convinced that wasn’t somehow his father’s doing.

“I think he wants to negotiate. Maybe, in his own self delusion, he’s seeing this as a political marriage. Which means opportunity for him.”

“He doesn’t get to use you like a pawn after he threw you away”, Eddie said, wishing he’d used softer words when he saw how Steve flinched. “I don’t have to meet with him. I am a king, he does not order me.”

“Eddie...if we play our cards right maybe...”, Steve sighed. What he was hoping for seemed so lofty but he just had to believe it. “Maybe they’ll let me be in my brother’s life.”

Steve knew what would probably happen if they didn’t try. His name would be wiped from the royal record, his brother would be left completely in the dark about him and grow up under the same oppressive hand as he did. Or things could be worse to keep him from going down the same road as Steve.

Any anger Eddie had dissipated when he looked into his love’s eyes. He’d do anything for this man. Eddie leaned over, putting their heads together.

“I’ll talk to him. But you owe me~”, he grinned, starting to kiss at the side of Steve’s face.

“Oh? Pledging myself eternally to you and bearing your heirs isn’t enough”, Steve teased.

“Heirssssss?”

“It appears I’ve bedded a snake.”

“Steve, my light, are you...?”

“I’m barely showing. But Jeff is predicting twins.”

And then Eddie purred and Steve knew he’d lost him. He kept going anyway.

“Robin is saying it’s gonna be a whole litter but I know she’s just teasing like she does-”

Eddie pushed him to the bed and all conversation stopped right there.

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

Unusual for a royal procession, they kept their party small. Eddie didn’t trust the people they were going to. He kept their most loyal back at the castle. Both to keep up with the wedding preparations and to make sure nothing happened while they were gone. Robin had protested but she was the only one Steve trusted with his vision for his wedding day and he needed someone who wouldn’t rile Eddie up the whole time. He loved Robin, but she could be an instigator, which was why they brought Jeff.

When the castle gates were in sight, Steve held Eddie’s hand and looked to him.

“Now when we get there, you have to promise me-”

“Anything, sweetness.”

“No theatrics.”

“Hm, almost anything.”

“Eddie.”

“Steve, I can’t not make an entrance, I have a reputation to uphold.”

“They’ll be less flexible if they see you as the literal incarnation of darkness. Just try and tone it down a little?”

Toning it down ended up meaning sending a very large horde of crows ahead of them to perch on the walls and rooftops of the castle. When Steve exited the carriage, he gave Eddie a very controlled look before seeing his parents awaiting them. It was the first time he’d seen them in months. Steve had hoped Tristan would be there, cradled in his mother’s arms so that he could meet him right away. But he wasn’t. If Steve had to guess, he was away in the nursery.

“The kingdom welcomes you”, Alric said, with a very obvious undercurrent of ‘but I do not’. His father didn’t even spare him a glance. “I’m sure you must be tired after your long journey-”

“I’d actually like to get right to business”, Eddie interrupted. “But I would like Steve to rest. Wouldn’t want to put any stress on your grandchild.”

Somehow they managed to keep from grimacing, but neither of his parents’ expressions could be called pleasant. Eddie was taken to discuss things with his father, while Steve followed behind his mother. Eddie had ordered Jeff not to leave Steve’s side, so he came along as well.

Walking down the halls that had housed him until recently, Steve felt very much like a child again, under his parents’ thumb. It didn’t matter that he had grown and changed and was even about to be a father himself. One stern look from his mother and all he wanted was to please her.

They came to one of the sitting rooms. Steve remembered spending plenty of nights here when he was very young and still loved in the king and queen’s eyes. Jeff stood at attention at the door while they were served tea.

“Congratulations on bringing my brother into the world.”

“It was an easy birth”, his mother said tersely.

Steve bit his lip. He knew the situation and the events leading up to it were unorthodox, but typically mothers were happy when their children were having children of their own. Couldn’t she look at him and smile a little? Offer up some motherly wisdom? Anything?

“Do you have any advice? For when it happens?”, he asked, putting a hand to his belly.

Her eyes narrowed at the movement but she was saved from answering when a nursemaid came in, holding who could only be his brother.

“We need to talk”, his mother said.

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

“You’ve written quite the essay here”, Eddie said, fingers brushing against the parchment Alric had presented. They sat across from each other. There were royal guards standing sentry all around, which was normal. But Eddie clocked how tense they were. “How about you just give me the broad strokes.”

“Your reputation for eschewing formality precedes you”, Alric glared.

“I find that people use decorum as armor. It means they’re trying to hide something unsightly. Just say to my face that you want to use your own son as a bargaining chip.”

“Are you not a king?”, Alric challenged. “You know as well as I do that we do not live for ourselves, but for our people. We are all bargaining chips from the day we’re born. Steven is no different. Neither are you.”

“And I suppose your newborn is just as expendable?” In fact, Eddie was willing to bet the queen was using the infant to get Steve to fall in line.

“He is the future of this kingdom. And I won’t let anything get in the way of it.”

Eddie laughed. “It’s funny. Had you done this months ago, we could have been over and done.” Having a sit down with this man had been all Eddie wanted. Kidnapping Steve to coerce him had been a last resort and not even that had worked.

“I’d say things ended up in your favor. You got a plaything in the form a crown prince.”

“Your son is more than a plaything. He’s more than a pawn! If you don’t have the decency to respect him now, when he’s the only thing holding me back, then we have nothing to discuss.” Eddie stood and more guards mobilized around them.

Alric crossed his arms. “That boy hasn’t done a damn thing to earn my respect. And neither have you. I could have declared war on you long ago. I didn’t. But playtime is over.”

Three guards tried to tackle Eddie but only managed to get him down for a second before he was shoving them off. But one had gotten a noose around his neck and tightened it. Others began to tie down his limbs.

“Get him to the dungeons for now. We’ll have a public execution in the morning. Juliana should be done with Steven by now.”

Eddie’s struggling paused and all he saw was red.

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

Steve and his mother stood over a crib that had been brought to the room. There, Tristan laid, napping peacefully.

“Can I hold him?”, Steve asked.

“Steven...this baby will be king one day”, his mother said in response.

“....I’m aware”, Steve said, a little confused.

“I intend to do right with this one. I don’t know where exactly I went wrong with you, but I did.” Her eyes began to wet as if she were truly heartbroken by what her firstborn had become.

“Mother, I-”, he stopped when she held up a hand. It upset him that the move still worked on him.

“I am not your mother anymore. I just can’t be. If any child of mine cavorted with a beast like that I would...” She shook her head and swallowed.

Steve’s own grief was starting to be tempered with anger. “You would what? Say it.”

Juliana moved away from the crib, turning her back to him as she took a deep breath. “I would take my own life, as penance. And if I thought, for just one second that you would turn out this way...”

Steve waited for her to finish. When she didn’t he walked briskly to her side. “You would what? Send me away? Disown me? You’ve already done that.”

“I would have slit your throat”, she glared.

She rendered him speechless. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Jeff tensing.

“Better to start over than allow a stain to spread. Steven, know that I say this with love. As my final act as your mother, to save your soul.”

“What are you talking about?!”

Steve got distracted when one of the royal guards attacked Jeff. Juliana got the jump on him and tied a cloth around his neck, pushing him down onto one of the many couches in the room. As his air was cut off, he thought about how easy he normally escaped something like this. But just because this woman had held the title ‘mother’ over his head, he hesitated.

Had he really been that spectacular of a failure? Was he so wrong for wanting to do right by them? If he just let her kill him, would that fix everything? Would they finally be happy?

Then the skies outside got dark. A screech rumbled through the castle as all warmth seeped out and was replaced by a chill. Steve pushed his mother off and while he was gasping for breath, Jeff came from behind and cracked a serving tray against her head. She fell limp onto the floor.

The air around them crackled and the shadows in the room got bigger. Something was clawing up the walls and Steve ran to the window right before Eddie burst through it. He was a mass of pitch black. Like he couldn’t decide what form to take. The only discernable parts of him were wild eyes, claws, and a maw of sharp teeth which had Alric’s body, slack and covered in blood.

Eddie dropped him at Steve’s feet, presenting. He gave a low groan, the only sign he was still alive. Steve heard his brother crying but had to tend to Eddie first.

“Jeff the, the baby”, he said.

Jeff went right over to soothe the infant while Steve reached for the darkness that was his love. Steve let it surround him, whispering things soft and sweet so that his king knew that he and their child were safe; that he’d done his duty and protected them.

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

Calling the royal council with such short notice was rare. But today was just the day for that sort of thing. They waited in the throne room to know the reason they had been summoned when two figures entered.

Eddie held Steve’s hand as they walked to the two thrones, meant for the king and queen. Eddie led his lover to the throne that was always meant to be his, and sat him in the king’s place. He bowed his head and kissed his hand, then sat next to him.

The council was stunned to silence.

“Alric and Juliana have committed a terrible crime against us, and are awaiting their punishment in the dungeons”, Steve announced.

That got the men out of their shocked stupor and talking. Eddie wanted to rip out all their throats, but he let Steve control the conversation. Steve held a hand, prompting them to silence. It was as Eddie said, they were relying on decorum and rules to make sense of the madness before them. It honestly was the only thing keep Eddie from painting the walls with their blood.

“They attempted to assassinate King Edward and made an attempt on my life as well. For that, they have been stripped of their titles and any claims to the land.”

“Don’t tell me you propose to take their place”, one of the councilmen chortled. “You have no rights to the throne!”

Eddie growled and Steve rubbed his knuckles to soothe him.

“Fortunately, that won’t be necessary, as the kingdom does have an heir. I have no intention of stealing my brother’s birthright. But he is just a child.”

“Then the law dictates we should induct a regent until he is of age”, another said. “So if you will leave us to that-”

“The law dictates that we are well within our rights to march our armies and take you for all you have”, Steve said. “Do not mistake the grace I give for fragility. I know you all had a hand in that assassination attempt. I only keep you alive because appointing an entirely new council is not worth the hassle. That being said, you will see a decrease in your reach as the merge happens.”

“The merge?”

Eddie grinned, then looked to Steve like an angel of justice.

“Appointing a regent will only encourage infighting and problems down the road. Tristan will be king one day, if he so chooses. And will receive all the education he needs to do so under my wing. Until that day, these lands, which will one day be his, shall fall under King Edward’s rule.”

They were stunned into silence again and Eddie just couldn’t help himself. He was smiling so hard he thought his face might split.

“Welcome to hell bitches!”

Part 1 bc it’s a series now; Read on AO3

#apo writes #stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #this is not an official series #i just get brainworms for it sometimes and dump em on tumblr

435 notes · View notes

mii-ruby · 7 months ago

Text

Theory about the "Price to pay"

Spoilers 'till chapter 260

So we're finally at the point where Yona has to talk to the dragon gods herself. We knew this was bound to happen and it was honestly the most logical turn of events. What we don't know however is the price she'll have to pay to get such a wish fulfilled.

Two theories come to mind:

1/ The first and most popular one is that Yona will have to leave the mortal realm and return to heaven to be the Crimson dragon King again.

No need for the dragon warriors anymore, they'll simply lose their powers, and the gods can finally have Yona back like they always wanted, which could be the interpretation of the last line from the prophecy "And The Red Dragon Shall Return At Dawn".

This theory, although logical, is just too cruel. Akayona is not a tragedy, I can't imagine Kusanagi will end a story about found family, self growth and overcoming your trauma with the death of the main character. I desperately tried to find another suitable price that didn't envolve Yona sacrificing herself, which leads us to the second theory:

2/Yona gets to stay on earth, but all the people she knew forget about her. I know this might sound just as cruel if not more than the previous one💦, but please hear me out 'till the end!!!!

Yona had done much more to the country as a normal girl than a princess. She went to different tribes on foot, bonded with peasants, pretended to be a bandit, pirate, an entertainer... etc, and fought off traffickers and dealers without ever mentioning she was a princess. Yes those people she helped will probably forget about her, but she can return to them and help them while being herself again. She doesn't need recognition as "Princess Yona". She draws people no matter her title.

On the other, since she'll no longer possess warriors with divine powers, she won't be a target for greedy individuals or people from enemy nations, so the gods can rest assured about her safety.

Lastly, everyone forgetting about her means that the red dragon no longer exists on earth. It's like his memory left the mortal realm and ascended to heaven again "And The Red Dragon Shall Return At Dawn". This could be an interpretation of the prophecy. The red dragon won't literally return to heaven. It's his memory that will leave people's minds and return to be a property of the heaven.

Now, even though I said that everyone will forget about Yona, I'm sure there'll be one exception to this rule. Only one individual will never forget about Yona while everyone else will, and it's Hak. The first reason is obviously the romance that'll just get reset to zero if he forgets about her. I mean, knowing him he'll probably fall in love with her again, but it's like all their moments and all the development in their relationship will disappear and restart from zero which is something a lot of readers won't accept.

The second and most powerful reason (literally the reason that made me write this post) is that one scene from chapter 25 that everyone hated. Remember when Yona asked Hak to be the only one to call her "Princess"? Remember when she told him even if EVERYONE IN THE COUNTRY FORGETS ABOUT HER, HE HAS TO BE THE ONLY ONE WHO REMEMBERS?

What if that scene was actually foreshadowing the ending of the series? That everyone will forget about who Yona was, and that he will be the only one to remember? Ofc I'm sure it won't be that easy. Hak will probably have to pass some kind of test to prove that he's worthy of remembering Yona, but I'm sure he'll succeed and the gods will begrudgingly yield to his request so Yona won't live a sad and lonely life after they cast their spell.

Ofc I'm aware this is still a cruel predicament. The family she fought so hard to save will forget about her, but she'll be able to start a new relationship with them. It'll prove that their bond was always genuine, that it had nothing to do with the dragons' blood, and I'm sure they'll love her as much as they loved her before.

The country also will forget about princess Yona. Her achievements will probably all be attributed to Soowon (but it's not like she cares about fame or recognition anyway).

Speaking of Soowon, it's kinda fucked up that he gets to forget the girl he hurt so much. He'll forget that he ever had a cousin, that it was her father he murdered that night, that she was the one who got the gods to heal the descendants from the Crimson illness...etc, It's unfair but we can't do much about it I guess.

What do you guys think about this theory? Would you be okay with it if it happened at the end?

#akatsuki no yona #yona of the dawn #yona #hak #the dragon gods #the ending

63 notes · View notes

drabblesandimagines · 1 year ago

Text

Lessons

Joshua Rosfield x female reader Big ol' FF16 spoilers (though not endgame)

“My apologies for disturbing your meal, but would you entertain my company a moment?” You’d been too distracted at picking through today’s soup to hear Clive approach.

Or at least you thought it was soup, maybe it was stew. Is there a proper difference? You just asked for whatever’s hot. The novelty of warm food in your stomach never seems to wear off.

“Of course – I’m pretty much finished anyway.” You reply, placing the spoon back in the bowl and gesture to the seat opposite. “How can I help?”

The Fire Dominant sits and smiles sheepishly, lacing his fingers together as he places his hands on the table.

“It has been brought to my attention that you are interested in learning your letters.”

“Oh…” You’re embarrassed that, somehow, it’s landed under Clive’s remit. You’d only confided in a handful of your fellow Cursebreakers - it had been necessary when you obviously couldn’t read reports that had come in, or send updates in return, and discussed the possibility of learning with Dorys on a handful of occasions but it had never seemed a good time. You’d arrived at the Hideaway a few months before Clive had, spending a brief period getting accustomed to a free life before you fell in with the Cursebreakers, wanting to assist fellow Bearers in having the same second chance you had been given. Your former master had been a traveling merchant and it had been either you defend him from fiends and bandits on the road, or he’d have no qualms leaving you as bait to gain him passage. After going under Tarja’s steady hand, your Brand had been removed and you’d been sent out with a blade. The past five years had been filled with re-establishing the new Hideaway and Cursebreaker responsibilities.

“I didn’t mean for it to be brought to you, Clive. It was just a passing comment…”

“I wish you had. You’ve toiled with the Cursebreakers for years for those to live on their own terms, and that should include learning letters, if they so wish.” He hesitates a moment, looking a little bashful. “I am afraid I have come with a somewhat selfish notion in my proposition.”

“What do you mean?” If he needed a Cursebreaker who could read, there were plenty on hand…

“I heard from Dorys that you didn’t seem particularly keen on sitting in with the children in Miss Shirleigh’s lessons, and I know that Harpocrates is often kept busy with research on other matters. However, I am aware of someone who is a fine scholar and suddenly finds themselves at a loss of what to do with their time.”

“Who?” You frown, trying to think of who else in the Hideaway would befit a title. One of Mid’s Engineers, perhaps?

“My brother – Joshua. He’s been prescribed a moon’s cycle of rest by Tarja and it is going to be difficult to get him to comply. I thought if he had something to focus on in his period of convalescence, it might at least keep him within the Hideaway, and help you fulfil your goal.”

“But if your brother is meant to be resting, he surely shouldn’t be attempting to tutor me.”

“Resting from anything physical – I assure you his mind remains at full health. Please, at least think about it. He is getting through the contents of our shelves at a fair pace, I think he’d enjoy acting the tutor.”

You hesitate. “Have you broached this idea with him?”

“Not yet. I thought it best to speak with you first.”

“I am not sure. It doesn’t feel the best time. I mean, with the growing number of aetherfloods and akashic…”

“You’ve done so much for the Hideaway over the years – please, allow yourself to be selfish. And, if you still struggle to do so, please do it as a favour to me. I would be in your debt.”

“All right. But see how your brother feels first. If he doesn’t want to, please don’t push it.”

Clive grins.

You were nervous ahead of your first meeting with Joshua. Clive had offered his chambers as a makeshift classroom – Founder knows he was hardly in it – and he thought the two of you would appreciate the solitude it provided.

You knocked hesitantly on the doors before they were swiftly opened by a smiling Clive.

“Come in.”

The Phoenix is already sat at the solar’s desk – a bit more colour in his cheeks than there had been when you’d seen him limp past the mess, on his way up to the infirmary after their return from Kanver. The map that’s usually found spread across Clive’s desk is carefully folded away and instead blank parchments, ink pots and quills fill their place, and another chair has been sourced, sat the opposite side of the blonde.

Joshua gets to his feet with a charming smile, approaching you. He kneels swiftly, taking your hand and kissing the back of it in greeting. “My lady.”

“Joshua, did you not learn your lesson from Mid?” Clive laughs, noting your shocked expression as the blonde gets back to his feet and lets go of your hand.

“I cannot help it, Clive.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.” You nod, trying to regain your composure. “And thank you, my lord, for agreeing to help me.”

“Not at all. And, please, call me Joshua.” He gestures for you to take the seat in front of the desk before looking to his brother. “Clive, if you’d be so kind…”

“Of course.” The outlaw nods, heading towards the door. “Enjoy your studies.”

The next few hours were spent with Joshua establishing how much you did know. Some letters were familiar, but your grasp on the full alphabet was patchy. Your penmanship needed attention – non-existent before this morning, truthfully - as he kindly helped position the quill between your fingers after enquiring as to your sword hand.

At noon, when your head had started to swim and your fingers cramped from copying out letters, there had been a hesitant knock at the door before Jote, the Phoenix’s attendant, entered, carrying a tray bearing a vial of medicine and some food.

“Your grace, forgive the interruption but it is time for your medicine,” she nods at the tray in her hands. “I also bid you do not overtire yourself with your tutoring.”

“Thank you, Jote. I assure you I am fine, but…” He pauses, watching you scribble out a poor attempt at the letter Q once more. “..I do believe that is probably enough for us to cover today, my student?”

“If that would be acceptable, m… Joshua.” You correct. “I do not wish to appear work shy.”

“Not at all. We have covered a fair amount this morning. Here,” he slides over some blank pieces of parchment, alongside your list of letters and another one with a single word on it. “Good tutors assign their students exercises. Practice your letters when you can, and try to say them aloud too. We can meet again tomorrow, if you’re available.”

You nod, “I can check in with Dorys and send word. Thank you.” You take up the papers in your hand, before pausing and pointing at the one with the single word upon it. “What’s this one?”

“That,” the Phoenix grins, charmingly, “is your name.”

More lessons pass, a little longer in nature as your hand adjusts, though a little spread out due to your Cursebreaker responsibilities. You’d been away two nights and word had been sent to Joshua for a lesson on your return.

You bid the blonde good morning before sitting down and retrieving a pile of papers from your pack with your other hand. “My apologies, I did complete the exercises whilst away, but we got caught in a storm and the parchment got a bit… soggy.” You slide the pitiful bundle of paper across the desk. It’s dried out now at least, but there’s patches of smudged ink on a few lines.

“I intended to re-do them before our lesson but, well…” You place your writing hand on the desk, revealing it to be bandaged up. “I can’t quite hold the quill. Tarja said it might be a few weeks before I could – sword hilt included, I must add. But I do hope this won’t hamper our lessons too badly.”

Joshua’s eyes widen and he takes your hand in gentle, inquisitive fingers. “What happened?”

“It was foolish of me. We were intercepting some Black Shields in Rosaria. I’d dropped my blade and one of theirs was aiming true for a Bearer. I panicked, I supposed, grabbed his blade with my hand and kicked him back.”

He winces at your tale. “May I take a look?”

“Erm, of course.” You watch as he deftly unwraps the bandage Tarja had re-wrapped this morning. Maybe he thought you were trying to get out of penmanship practice? He reaches your palm – black stitches hold the palm together, the cut thankfully clean rather than jagged.

“It looks painful.”

“I’ve had worse.” You reply, lightly. It’s true.

“I don’t know how much you have heard of the blessings the Phoenix provides.” He conjures a flame in his other hand, playing with it between his fingers. “One is the ability to heal, if you would permit me.”

“Oh, no.” You want to tug your hand back from his but slim fingers keep it firmly in place. “I would never ask that-”

“You haven’t, I have. May I? I would so like my favourite student to keep up her penmanship lessons.”

“Not if it causes you to suffer.”

“It won’t. Here.” He presses the flame into your palm and you brace yourself for a burn. A warm sensation envelopes your palm, like when you’ve warmed a blanket on the hearth in the ale hall, before an odd sort of feeling tickles over your palm. He removes his palm to reveal the line of thread Tarja had painstakingly sewed last night is free and not a mark remains on your palm.

“How does it feel?”

“Fine. But, Joshua, you’re meant to be resting, you shouldn’t have-“

“Do not fuss, please. It is my pleasure. I will, of course, let Tarja know of your miraculous recovery. Now,” he lets go of your hand at last, allowing you to pull it back and flex the fingers tenderly, and turns his attention back to the exercises you’d presented a few moments before. “You took these out with you?”

“Mm.” You nod, placing your hand back down in your lap before a thought crosses your mind. “I’m so sorry, I should’ve asked before I took them out of the Hideaway-”

“No, not at all.” The blonde chuckles. “They are yours to do with what you see fit. I am just surprised at the dedication to your studies.”

“I do not mean to waste your time. I know it’s not my finest work, but I didn’t want to show up empty-handed. I could re-do them now, I mean…”

“Relax. I can decipher these just fine, which means you can start on these, if your hand feels up to it. Try reading aloud as you copy, hm?” He slides over a new piece of parchment, filled with new words for the day.

You nod, eagerly, and pick up the quill.

“We are not going to read all of those today, are we?” The pile is nearly up to Joshua’s shoulder on the desk.

“No,” he smiles. “It is my fault – I was in the shelves earlier looking for some practice material and some wanted to share their favourite literature with you. This one is Clive’s suggestion.”

He lifts up a couple and picks up the book in question, placing it down in front of you.

“The Saint And The Sec… Sectary…?”

“Very good.” Joshua’s praise always makes your head feel warm. “It’s a play, so be wary that if Clive sees you reading this, he’ll probably make you run lines with him. He always plays Sir Crandell.”

“Oh, and what role did you perform?”

“I never made the cut, sadly. I could never remember my lines well enough and Clive would not let you keep a script in hand.” He smiles at the memory. “This, however, was my favourite.”

He takes a book off the top of the pile and holds it out in front of him for you to read.

“The Merry Moogle And Other Tales.” You frown, the title ringing a bell. “They read this to the children for bedtime stories.”

“Are you mocking my tastes?”

“No!” You look alarmed. “I-“

“I jest – forgive me. It truly is one of my favourites and is, in fact, the first book I read by myself. It is a selfish pick, really, I am looking forward to going through it again, if you’d be so kind?”

“I can try.” He pushes the book in your direction before getting to his feet and lifting his chair, walking around the desk and placing it besides you.

“I hope you don’t mind – reading upside down is something I have yet to master.”

“Oh, no. It’s fine.” You feel flushed, is it possible the Phoenix just emits heat wherever he goes? He leans in, flipping open the book.

“Excellent. Begin, when you’re ready.”

You nod, swallowing.

“There… once was a very merry… moogle…”

More lessons pass, growing longer in their duration. Dorys appears to have you on duties within the Hideaway rather than out, but you don’t complain. Clive has even had to chase the two out of his chambers twice to hold discussions, though he had immediately clocked the copy of The Saint And The Sectary on the desk the first time, regaling how he made a fine Sir Crandell in his youth. Joshua had rolled his eyes at that point, causing you to laugh and Clive looking a little bemused before he’d waved the two of you out.

Far too soon, though, Joshua’s convalescence is nearly at an end, alongside word that the Enterprise is mostly repaired and ready its return journey to Ash and the Mothercrystal that resides there. You’re nervous for all who will be boarding, but especially your dear tutor.

You’re sat side by side in Clive’s chambers once more, trying to ignore the fact that Joshua’s thigh is pressing up against your own, and you’ve just finished reading a passage from The History of Valisthea. Joshua admitted it was perhaps a little dry, but he wanted you to experience all sorts of genres in his lessons.

“I can’t help but notice that your confidence has increased tenfold in reading aloud and I do not think it is solely down to having me as your captive audience. Care to share your secret?”

You bite your lip in a smile. “I’ve been… I’ve been reading to Torgal.”

“Oh?” Joshua smiles adoringly at you, prompting you to continue.

“I was a little self-conscious of practicing in the bunks, but there’s a bit of decking that overhangs the lake that I’d taken to. He started to join me – I think to nap away from the children. He usually sleeps through it, but I see his ears twitch, sometimes a tail wag… Apologies, that sounds foolish now I’ve actually said it aloud.”

“Not at all. We’ve always thought Torgal a fine hound, and he proves it more every day.”

Joshua then leans over and reaches for a bit of parchment over the other side of the desk.

“Now, the true test is whether you can read my everyday handwriting,” Joshua teases, handing it over to you.

“You have fine penmanship.” The words he notes down for exercises are always clear and easy to read.

“That is just for our exercises together. I’m afraid I fell into bad habits on the road. Scrawls, more than anything.” He nods at the parchment. “Aloud, if you may.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, squinting a little at first at Joshua’s cursive.

“Forgive me for putting you to the test with my hand, but I am confident that you will meet this challenge as you have throughout our studies thus far. I must confess I have enjoyed our time together, and I am disappointed to see it come to an end.”

You look up from the parchment, wondering if this is the last time you’d ever be within each other’s company. “I’ll miss our lessons too, Joshua.”

“There’s a little more, on the back.”

“Oh.” You turn the parchment over and continue. “However, now we are no longer tutor and student, I would like to ask one thing that I will simply regret if I do not. May I… kiss you?”

You stare at the word again a moment, before looking up at him. “Did I read that right?”

“Do not doubt yourself now.” He says, softly, maintaining eye contact.

“Then my answer is yes, you may.”

He places a hand on your scarred cheek as he leans forward, his other arm slipping around your waist to bring you in closer before your lips meet. It’s clumsy, you know it’s clumsy – you’ve never kissed anyone before – but prove yourself a quick learner again, your tongue finding entrance into his mouth and deepening the kiss.

The two of you pull away after a moment and Joshua leans his forehead against yours, keeping you pulled in close.

“I am afraid I have failed as your tutor on this occasion, my darling.”

“How so?” You ask, quietly.

“I am unable to come up with a word to aptly describe the feeling in my heart at finally having you in my arms.”

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Ko-fi

#ghostdogwrites #ff16 x you #ff16 x reader #joshua rosfield x reader #joshua rosfield x female reader #joshua rosfield x you #ff16 fluff

261 notes · View notes

mad-hatter-memes · 1 month ago

Text

Eddsworld Starters (Legacy Era)

A collection of dialogue prompts from the episodes of the Legacy Era (2012-2016) of Eddsworld. From the Space Face (Part 2) to The End (Part 2) Feel free to edit quotes as necessary.

Quotes from the Goulden Era (2004-2012) can be found here!

"You know, I really captured his grassyness"

"I found a thing!"

"Does anyone else feel kind of falling-y?"

"Are we gonna crash?! We can't crash! I'm allergic to explosions!"

"You know, you've been pretty quiet today, [Name]."

"Iceberg, dead ahead!"

"The prophecy was true! You have returned to save us all!"

"[Name], what's your opinion on the zombie apocalypse?"

"Look out, that bear's got a gun!"

"[Name], did you give guns to the bears again?"

"Hmmm… This is gonna take some brains."

"[Name], do you get the feeling that something…strange is happening?"

"Stupid claw machine thinks it's so much better than me...."

"You know when I said I didn't have any spare change? I LIED!"

"We're done for [Name]! If I don't make it, I want you to give my novelty toy collection to [Character Name]!

"Heh, problem!? I don't have any problems! I'm Numero Uno! You're the one who's comin' in second place!"

"Hey! Stop undressing me with your eyes!"

"Wait! If I got superpowers, then… I should have a cool superhero name!"

"SERIOUSLY! What is your problem?!"

"You did deserve first place. My drawing sucked!"

"Well [Name], you've had that sword for a whole ten minutes and you've already destroyed the door. Good job!"

"What happened, [Name]? Have you gone insane?!"

"I can't help it, [Name]! She's inside my brain!"

"You can't possess something twice."

"[Name]?…Why won't you let us go on any magical Christmas adventures?!"

"[Name], the water followed us inside! You lied to me!"

"You lookin' at my ass, boy?"

"Anything that ain't nailed down gets taken by bandits around here."

"This town's got enough problems as it is. I ain't got time to deal with yours."

"Excuse me, chaps! But would you rapscallions be kind enough to set me free?"

"I like ladies! I wished they liked me…"

"You drink before you shoot?"

"I could use some words of encouragement!"

"We never get crime like this in England."

"I literally have no idea what you're saying, like all of the time."

"Ahh! My knee! My second favorite knee!"

"Hey, the rain stopped! Can we go home before it comes back for revenge?"

"WHY WOULD YOU DRINK A HUNDRED YEAR OLD BOTTLE OF COLA?!"

"Hey, that gigantic harpoon gun is an important member of this family."

"Leaving? I'm moving back in!"

"You want my room? Take it! This place is too crowded anyway!"

"Who needs friends when you've got rat puppets?"

"Wow! What a mess! Who wants to go out for ice cream?"

"[Name], do you think [Character] is acting a little… suspiciously?"

"Excuse me, I'm on the banana."

"Hey, [Name]! Sorry, I just couldn't leave this behind. Thanks for holding on to it for me!"

"But I thought we were… I thought we were friends!"

"What would I need friends for when I've got this? I'm unstoppable!"

"Goodbye, [Name]! World's not going to take over itself!"

"Argh! What the-? Argh! What's wrong with this thing?"

"I. AM. NOT. YOUR. FRIEND!"

#rp memes #rp meme #roleplay memes #roleplay meme #rp starters #roleplay starters #roleplay starter #rp starter #eddsworld

10 notes · View notes

snicker-dooodless · 4 months ago

Note

Just saw that you were a Billy Kid enjoyer too. Pleased to meet you. I am also screaming at the lack of Billy Kid fics on AO3, but I'm also not a writer, though I do have a thousand ideas of what could be done with him, and here on tumblr there's someone taking asks about Billy angst ideas stories, he doesn't post them on AO3 but maybe one day he will, though he's currently a bit occupied with school so we shall not rush him. I legit ate up and finished chapter 4 in literally one day, had wednesday off so I took the time to take a hundred pictures of it, then spent an hour looking through the history of my album because I took another hundred pictures on top of those so I had to go fish up my Billy pictures and lore of him, and currently I am legit indecisive to see if I should try to pull for Caesar to maybe get more Billy content (did you know her robot hand is actually a spare of Billy's? I legit cried when learning of it, you need to have her and then she suddently shows up at the Ballet Twins and tells you this and I'm like where are the freaking screenshots of it people I want to see it but well I can't so I had to take people's words for it) or wait for maybe Lighter (maybe other Billy content since he is Billy's successor as Champion and he is interested in having a rematch with him) and/or my queen Miyabi. Still I hope that one day we get even more Billy content, it felt really weird but also really neat to see him without the rest of the Cunning Hares, wish he had a bit more interactions with the rest of the Sons outside of Caesar and Lighter but oh well I'll take what I can. If you wanna talk about Billy feel free to flood my ask box about him and we'll talk about him, I also don't mind hearing about your headcanons about him either. ^^

Yippee! Another person to ramble on about Billy too! I’m collecting you people like pokemon cards oh my lord

But yes!!! I did know about Ceasar’s hand thing! I also have a BUNCH of screenshots with some bit of Billy kid lore lol

I kinda pulled Ceasar for this exact reason to get Billy’s lore lol (also I just like imagining how she and my sona would interact since ya know, she’s technically Billy’s older sister and she’s also interested in romance stuff so I just like to think lol)

Also I’m gonna pull for lighter when he becomes an option too lol. Probably not gonna use him on my team, I like my team as it is already (Billy, Ceasar, and Qingyi) but I neeeed the drama and lore and relationship between those two so bad!!!!

I’m also hoping that we get an agent story with him since they keep on dropping bits of lore for him here and there so I’m pretty sure they are soon. Hopefully! Cross your fingers! He just has SO much story that we don’t know about yet! In his agent description it says he has memory loss????

He has so much secrets! Why isn’t game theory on this man yet???

Some of my headcanons for him is that he’s MUCG stronger than he looks. First of all he’s one of the Sons of Colydons champions along with lighter, so clearly he’s pretty tough. But I like to think that he’s hiding all his toughness behind his goofiness. Not to say his goofiness is fake! But in one of his trust events where you go into hollow zero with him, bandits threaten him and he just plays it off, joking along, acting stupid. But then the bandits threaten eous/the proxy, and Billy suddenly gets SUPER threatening. It made me giggle and kick my feet and blush lol.

Anyway- sorry for the rambling lol!

#Arrtsy answers #Arrtsy rambles #starguardinniom #Billy kid #Billy kid zzz #zzz #zzz spoilers #Zenless zone zero #zenless zone zero spoilers #oh my god now you all know I’m a nerd

19 notes · View notes

blackjackkent · 11 months ago

Note

Letter prompts - any or all!

Minsc to Hector

Lae'zel to Gale

Rion to Karlach

Shadowheart to Isobel and Aylin

Nine Fingers to Jaheira

(Letter fic prompts!)

TY as always for the prompts, friend! <3 Sorry it took a bit to get them done, but I did all of them bc I loved the ideas so much. XD

-----

(Minsc to Hector - a note scribbled on a crumpled piece of parchment with one corner slightly chewed off. Left on Hector's bedside table in the Elfsong, three hours before dawn on the cold, rainy morning before the battle with the Netherbrain.)

My friend!

Do not fear to find Minsc’s bunk empty when you wake; know that I have gone ahead to clear the path! The sewers that stand between us and our wrinkly foe are well known to Minsc and Boo, and we shall see to it that they are well-scrubbed of evil that might hinder us in our final journey. A fine tale it would make for us to travel towards a battle for the world's fate and be delayed by a passing bandit!

Should we have no further time to speak before all is chaos, Boo wishes you to know you have been a fine companion, a hero to rank high among all those he has traveled with. And Minsc would say the same, though Minsc does not juggle words with Boo’s skill.

Boo and I have traveled across many years in an instant, and much has changed. We did not think to find a company with which we could feel heroes again, not least after Minsc was made a puppet of the Absolute’s worm. With Jaheira, with you, Minsc has remembered what it is to be alive, to fight for goodness, and this city's every shadow trembles to know it.

Though evil brings the brain, Hector and his friends shall bring the brawn! And Minsc is proud to be among them!

(signed with the letter M and a very small pawprint in ink)

-----

(Lae'zel to Gale - a note carved in the spiraling gith script into a large flat rock, lacking the fine materials of true githyanki slate, written in camp deep in the Underdark.)

When you can read this, you may consider yourself a true scholar worthy of the secrets of githyanki magic. Until then, cease your inane questioning of matters far beyond your appreciation; my time is better spent in recuperation than in the education of overambitious istik.

A note is attached to the rock, written in Common in careful, precise handwriting: Ever so sorry to disappoint you, my dear sa’varsh, but my inane questioning shall continue unabated. I do, however, thank you for the opportunity to reacquaint myself with Comprehend Languages! I so rarely get a chance to turn that one out for a bit of exercise.

Below these words on the note is scribbled a considerably less meticulous tir’su spiral scrawled in ink: That is *not* what I meant, and you know it, kainyank.

-----

(Rion to Karlach - a note sent by standard post to the Elfsong, several days after the party's visit to Elerrathin's Home.)

Karlach,

You're kidding me - you're Pluck Cliffgate's kid? I carried messages for him now and again; he talked about you plenty, and I did see you once, maybe seven years old, darting all over the Wide like a little hurricane. Small world, I guess. Odd to think that I’m more or less the same and you’ve shot up to be taller than I am. Elf blood’s a funny thing.

I know you’re hoping for exciting stories about growing up with the High Harper but the truth is I don’t have much to offer. She wasn’t any kind of “heroic adventurer” to me - she was just Mother, and she never much liked to talk about the past, not even about my father. I heard more about her from bards in taverns than I ever heard from her own mouth - and some of it I wish I could scrub back out of my brain.

You ever hear a bawdy called “The Harper’s Head”? Yeah, now imagine that was your mum they were singing about. Awful.

She was good to us, though, in her own way. I know you saw me bite her head off and her bite mine right back; that’s just how we’ve always been. But she saw to it I grew up strong, that I knew how to fight, and how to keep my head down when the time called for it. Harper things, mostly, even though I don’t think she ever wanted me to be one.

She taught me how to take no shit, too. Her mistake, because now I don’t take hers either. But I think she’d rather that than otherwise.

After a while, the other kids just started drifting in - first for a meal here or there, then a bed, then before you knew it, this was their home. Another one in the pack. It’s strange, really. I always knew deep down - even when I was a kid who didn’t have words for it yet, just knew it was confusing and it hurt - that part of her really wanted to be back on the road, not tied down with us in this mess of a city. But somehow every time one of us moved out, she’d found another to bring in, almost like clockwork.

I think she’s been looking for something, all this time. But I don’t think she knows what it is, any more than I do, or what she’d do with it if she found it.

Not an exciting story, like all the tales you’ve heard. But it’s truth; I can tell you that much.

It probably won’t surprise you that I haven’t had a message from her since you left. But you can tell her I’m off to the refugee camp in the morning. We’ll hold our end of things, and see they’re taken care of. Take care of that bloody brain, and maybe I’ll find a better story to tell when you’re done.

Rion

-----

(Shadowheart to Aylin (and Isobel by proxy); several conjoined messages by a series of Sending spells, dispatched from somewhere on the edge of Waterdeep)

> Aylin… your mother's house is beautiful. I never imagined such a place. It's… foolish, perhaps, but I wanted to let you know I've seen it.

> I still carry the spear with me. Once dark, now light. Like me. Still surprised you didn't crack us both across your knee like Lorroakan.

> You gave me a second chance. I hadn't earned it; I wanted to kill you. The great difference between Shar and Selune. Cruelty versus mercy.

> A lot’s happened since then. I found my parents. Shar's last joke at my expense. You were right about everything. That I had to act.

> So I'm free now. Of all of it. One day I will think of a way to repay you both for your kindness. Your wisdom.

> I don't know what plans call you now, but should you travel near Waterdeep in the next fortnight-- OW! Yes, yes, I'll tell her, calm--

[a slight pause]

> Please also tell Isobel that Buddy says hello. The morsels she used to slip him in camp have purchased her a permanent owlbear friend.

-----

(Nine-Fingers to Jaheira - a note left in a dead drop at Danthelon’s in the middle of the night.)

Jaheira. You’ve GOT to call off the Rashemaar. He’s driving us all insane trying to teach us the good path; on all the gods, either I’m going to beat the hells out of him or someone else will. I don’t care what you do - take him on an adventure, lock him in the cellar, turn him into a statue again, hold the hamster for ransom. But something. Fuck’s sake.

He listens to you. Starting to think you’re the only one he does listen to. Like a pup with one master. It’d be cute if it wasn’t so infuriating.

We all want the same thing - this city safe and strong. But he’s got to learn that we don’t all go about it the same way, or sooner or later there’s going to be trouble.

Astele NF

#ask meme #astreamofstars #hector carlisle #minsc #lae'zel #gale dekarios #rion bg3 #jaheira #karlach #nine fingers keene #shadowheart #dame aylin #isobel thorm #these were fun to write c:#hope you enjoy <3 #bg3 fic #bg3 fanfic #bg3 #bg3 fanfiction

38 notes · View notes

daitranscripts · 2 months ago

Text

The Crossroads Conversations

Corporal Vale (Vale’s Irregulars)

The Hinterlands Masterpost

Pre-IYHSB Vale: You're with the Inquisition? Corporal Vale. Thanks for your help. The mages and templars don't seem to care who gets caught in their war. The refugees here are in dire need of help. If the war doesn't kill them, cold or starvation will.

Post-IYHSB Vale: Inquisitor. I'm honored by your visit. The refugees will also be grateful. Even with the mage rebellion settled, there are still people causing trouble.

1 - Dialogue options:

Investigate: Any other concerns? [2]

Investigate: You said people might starve. [3]

Investigate: People are cold? [4]

Investigate (pre-IHW/CotJ): Tell me of the templars. [5]

Investigate (pre-IHW/CotJ): Tell me of the mages. [6]

Investigate: Tell me of the horsemaster. [7]

General (after obtaining “East Road Bandits”): Tell me of the bandits. [8]

General: Goodbye. [9]

2 - Investigate: Any other concerns? PC: What other problems do these refugees face? Vale: We've got some injuries that go beyond stitches and elfroot. I know healers are in short supply, but if you can find someone in Redcliffe to help us, it would save a lot of lives. [back to 1]

3 - Investigate: You said people might starve. You were concerned about refugees starving. Vale: Yes. Many of them brought food, but they expected to be home by now, or safe in a city. There's a hunter up the hill who had some ideas. [back to 1]

4 - Investigate: People are cold? Is there anything we can do to help people deal with the cold? Vale: I asked the Inquisition to send blankets. You'd think I was asking for a wagon of raw lyrium. A recruit named Whittle is trying to make what we can bring in last. If you have any ideas, talk to him across the road. [back to 1]

5 - Investigate: Tell me of the templars. What can you tell me about the templars? Vale: All the templars were called to Val Royeaux not long ago. These bastards ignored the order. Now they're killing rebel mages, along with any refugees they think are mage sympathizers. Every templar I've ever known has wanted to protect the common folk. These men defile their Order's good name. [back to 1]

6 - Investigate: Tell me of the mages. What can you tell me about the rebel mages? Vale: The real rebels are up north in Redcliffe, dug in and taking care of their own. The ones out here are just apostates. Locked up in the Circles all these years, and now they've gone mad with power. The ones out here are just apostates. Locked up in the Circles all these years, and now they've gone mad with power. The rebels in Redcliffe have washed their hands of them. I wish we could do the same. [back to 1]

7 - Investigate: Tell me of the horsemaster. What can you tell me about the man who’s supposed to be getting horses for the Inquisition? Vale: Horsemaster Dennet? He lives on a farm to the west. Tough old fellow. We haven't heard from him. Best we can tell, he's holed up until the mages and templars are done killing each other. [back to 1]

8 - General: Tell me of the bandits. What can you tell me about the bandits blocking the road? Vale: Only that they're making it hard to get supplies or reinforcements to these refugees. They're better equipped than I'd expected. They must have gotten lucky picking off them. [back to 1]

9 - General: Goodbye. PC: Farewell. Vale: And you as well.

—

After all quests are completed

Vale (pre-IYHSB): You've done amazing work out here. Vale (post-IYHSB): You've done amazing work, Inquisitor.

Vale: Thanks to you, these refugees are safe, with warm clothes and food in their bellies. The Inquisition might be able to make use of them, if you had a mind to.

10 - Dialogue options:

What are my options? [11]

General: Recruit the skilled. (Capable volunteers will join the Inquisition as new agents.) [12] +Blackwall Approves +Cassandra Approves +Iron Bull Approves +Sera Approves +Solas Approves +Dorian Slightly Approves ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: They can bring in gold. (Refugees will bring in coin for an immediate gold reward.) [13] +Sera Approves +Dorian Slightly Approves ㅤㅤ ㅤ

General: Grow our reputation. (Refugees will spread tales of the Inquisition's work for a gain in power.) [14] +Cole Greatly Approves +Blackwall Approves +Iron Bull Approves +Solas Approves +Varric Approves +Vivienne Approves +Cassandra Slightly Approves +Sera Slightly Approves

11 - What are my options? PC: What are you suggesting? Vale: We could ask the best and brightest to join the Inquisition. They would serve well. Just as easy to put them to work… or look at the whole thing as an act of charity.

Party comments:

Cassandra: The Inquisition can always use skilled volunteers.

Iron Bull: Anybody who joined up now would be loyal for life.

Sera: I bet no one's ever asked them to join anything.

Blackwall: Having a purpose makes the troubled times easier to bear. And ours is a good cause.

Dorian: At least they'd be doing something useful.

Vivienne: We need gold more than a few more scouts or the dubious goodwill of the peasants.

Varric: These people have been through a lot. They could use a little charity.

Solas: If we spread word of the Inquisition offering help freely, we would win the loyalty of every peasant in Ferelden.

Cole: They were hurt. Let their happiness be enough.

[Back to 10]

12 - Recruit the skilled. PC: Some of these people have skills that can help the Vale: Inquisition. See if any of them want to volunteer. I'm sure we'll get some good recruits out of it. [15]

13 - They can bring in gold. PC: Give the refugees the chance to serve the Inquisition. We can use whatever coin their work brings in. Vale: As you wish. I'm sure they'll be pleased to return the help we gave them. [15]

14 - Grow our reputation. PC: All I ask is that the refugees remember we were there when they needed us. Vale: Understood. I know they'll be grateful for everything you've done. [15]

15 - Scene continues.

Vale: I'll go now and set things up with the refugees, but thank you again. These people are alive because of you. None of us will forget that.

#dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dai #dragon age transcripts #dai transcripts #dragon age dialogue #dai dialogue #dragon age inquisition transcripts #dragon age inquisition dialogue #long post #the hinterlands #the crossroads #corporal vale #vale's irregulars

16 notes · View notes