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ehlnofay · 19 days ago

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Martin thinks that he always kind of knew he was going to die today.

But by Akatosh, he didn’t think it would be like this – like Kvatch all over again, Kvatch folded in on itself, the streets overrun with monsters triple-time as thick, all metal and sulphur and blood. They were supposed to make it in time. He was supposed to light the fires. He was supposed to be crowned, and let some new, less visceral kind of horror begin – they were supposed to make it through – they were supposed – they supposed – but the streets are shaking with Dagon’s footfalls, and Martin can’t take a step without kicking a corpse, and the Hero of Kvatch is heavy-too-heavy against his shoulder, and it was always going to be like this. It never could have ended any other way.

He can feel prayer bubbling up from his scraped-raw throat, bitter as bile, held behind his teeth. O Akatosh, first of the gods, steady my hand… He doesn’t say it. Doesn’t mouth it. Tries not to think it, though it’s a rhythm born of years of habit, once a comfort, now just – empty. But it unspools in his head all the same. Pax is leaned heavy against his shoulder, one arm hooked loosely around his, hand pressed against the sticky-dark spot on their armour; they’re short, but they’re not light, and Martin’s arms burn as he tries to hold them up. The sky flares red. His eyes sting with smoke. Grant me the strength to endure. Onward, onward, onward.

Pax’s feet skitter uselessly against the blood-slick cobble. Martin almost trips over a leg, its silver-polished greave shining in the hellish light. The rest of the body is not there. He can taste smoke. He can taste bile. He can see the stained glass, the altars, the prayerbooks, his throat flayed raw begging for a salvation that would never be granted; this is not Kvatch, this is not Kvatch, but the sky burns and the streets are filthy with bodies and there is too much noise to talk, and Pax is damn near dead weight against his side, still holding out their blunt little excuse for a sword. Martin drags her on through the street. Just to the temple doors – just to the temple doors – the side of her head presses fierce against his ear. Martin’s knuckles are white with effort. There is blood on his fine silken robes.

Again, the streets shake; Pax staggers at his side. Akatosh, protect us. Martin doesn’t look up, doesn’t want to see the red-stained sky blurring against body – he can already see the cobbles cracked under the weight of feet too massive for his mind to make sense of it, a body – man or monster, he doesn’t know – crushed beneath the heel. Pax is gesturing at the colossus’ ankle with their sword as if they could possibly do anything at all. They’re bleeding.

“Come on,” Martin says, shallow and jagged; it stings to speak, and there’s so little point, his ears so filled with the clashing of metal and horrible, inhuman screams that there’s not room for anything else. His grip tightens around Pax’s shoulders. Her face is set, stubborn and pale – and she’s so stupidly young – and Martin –

There is an emotion so large it threatens to split him at the seams, and they don’t have time for that, so Martin runs. Staggers past the barely sketched-out shape of the devil menacing the skies, child hero in tow; every breath stinks of fear and ash. His throat prickles. If he doubles over with coughing, Pax will fall, there, onto bloody cobblestone, with their toothpick of a blade and their empty quiver, their sharp-spined bow slung carelessly over their shoulder, pearl-grey gambeson slowly darkening with blood, so Martin doesn’t cough. Blessed are we, the faithful…

They don’t fall, and they aren’t crushed, darting around the earth Dagon stands upon, slow and sluggard and so astonishingly lucky, and Martin gasps, and he does not cough, and Pax kicks at a scamp that gets too close and waves the sword at it just enough to slice a shallow cut down its scrabbly little arm. Martin’s so focused on holding them up that he can’t even cast. It isn’t even the one prayer running inescapable through his head – it’s a mess of them, all twisted and torn to pieces, shreds of one, half a sentence of another. He nearly trips over on the stairs. In the crowd, armour flashes, bright as steel and thoroughly outnumbered. He should pray for the Blades, too; he would, if he thought it would do anything. But it didn’t, last time. And this time, he has something better up his sleeve than prayer.

“Almost there,” he says through the din, and Pax keeps their sword arm raised even though they don’t know how to use the bloody thing, and there’s blood on their Kvatch gambeson, and there’s blood on Martin’s regal robes. (It was going to be him – that dremora’s blade whip-thin and wicked and dark as soot, jabbed thin as a sewing needle through the slippery-soft fabric, hooked under his ribs or pierced through the soft meat of his gut. Pax, empty-quivered, still drawing his sword, angled his own body to intercept; caught it in the thick pillow of his armour, in his own skin. Martin spat a spell from his fingers that sent the thing crashing to the ground and grabbed Pax well before they began to follow.) The earth shakes, again, and Martin’s shin hits the edge of the next step. He can’t hear anything over it all, but he sees Pax suck in a breath, sharp and pained. She takes another step. He follows.

When they reach the dark-stone door, someone screams, high and terrible, and there is no time to stand on ceremony; Martin throws himself at it, shoving it with all his weight behind his shoulder, and together, they stumble inside the temple, ash blowing in behind them to scatter itself on the sacred, stagnant floors.

The door swings closed again; the sound is swallowed up, faint and muffled. Martin can hear them both breathing, ragged, loud. Pax hasn’t lowered their sword. It looks even more dull, here, contrasted against the stonework. They’re so quiet. He hates that he’s learned how they act when they’re in pain.

(It’s holy ground. It won’t be enough – it barely was in Kvatch, it’s nowhere near it now – but it’s not nothing. There’s blood spilling over the tile.)

Martin sucks in a desperate, dragging breath. He doesn’t let go of them.

There’s not much light in the Temple, but it’s enough; it’s clear of smoke and that all that burning reddish tint, outside, and now that Martin has a moment to look them in the face Pax looks awful. His skin is ash-pale and slick with sweat, fringe sticking to his forehead, brow creased as if with concentrated effort and jaw taut. Every breath rattles in his chest and whistles out between his teeth. One palm sticks to the place in her side where her armour is dark and sodden; Martin is afraid to peel it away. It can’t be a wide wound, the cut not even enough to tear more of the gambeson than is covered by her hand, but shit it’s a lot of blood. It’s so much blood. He was never an especially good healer and he can’t even begin to accurately estimate it but it’s too much; it’s entirely too much. And it was because she was protecting him. It’s enough to make a man sick; but there’s no time, so Martin isn’t.

It's so much blood. Pax’s eyes are unfocused, drifting somewhere over his shoulder. His face is so clammy and so young – by the Nine, he’s a child. He’s a child and a hero and Martin’s friend and he’s bleeding out on the Temple floors. Martin hates himself, a bit, for going along with any of this in the first place, for letting them send a fifteen year old child out to risk killing themselves, only to get them here – this place, bleeding out onto sacred marble, where they always would’ve ended up anyway. All roads lead to this.

Inevitability. It’s an idea that showed up often in the sermons Martin used to help give. The Amulet is blood-warm and heavy round his neck.

“Pax,” Martin says; one arm is threaded under her armpits, and he lifts the other to press gently to her cheek. Just under her eye there’s a dark spot of ash; he swipes it off with his thumb, watches the slow, sticky blink she gives in response. “Hey. Are you with me?”

“Always,” she mumbles; her voice is sludgy, like it’s caught in treacle, but the word comes without delay – like it’s instinct, like there’s nowhere else she’s ever imagined being, and doesn’t that just make a man want, a bit, to throw himself off a cliff. (She’s gone to hell, on his word, who knows how many times over; Martin doesn’t need her half-dying drive to affirm her loyalty to him. He knows. He knows. He thinks he might be sick.) She blinks again, and then her eyes sharpen; she throws a tired look over her shoulder at the cool stone of the door, the world beyond muted, as if this moment occurs on its own; like they’re flies, frozen in amber. She says, “It won’t keep them out forever.”

Holy ground was barely enough in Kvatch; it will be barely anything here.

Martin’s arm is aching. He’s not that strong. “Long enough,” he says, with far more brusque certainty than he feels, and he casts a glance over the smooth marble floors, the well-wrought stonework of each plinth and pillar. “Come on. Sit down.”

Arms burning, he helps them to the side of the room, leans them against the leverage of the smooth white wall; still, they don’t sit, and Martin has to help lower them down. Pax grunts like a shot animal as he slowly sinks down to the ground, Martin’s hands still bruising tight on his shoulders, sword slipping from his sweaty grasp to clatter on the floor. His bow, slung over his shoulder, presses awkward against the wall; his empty quiver lies at his hip, useless. His hand is still pressed to the stain on his gambeson.

Martin watches him breathe out through gritted teeth, his tongue pressed ragged against the gap behind his lower canine. His head tips back against the wall. His gambeson, blood-spattered, barely protective, is tied with a row of neat leather cords; Martin reaches for one intricate knot and begins to tug on the ends.

Maybe it’s because he’s a bit frantic, that he just can’t get it to untangle – maybe it’s that the whole world is ending outside the door and they have a minute to stop it, if they’re lucky. Maybe it’s that Pax’s head is lolling, a little. Maybe it’s that it’s all on his head – has been on his head since any of it began, since he knew any of it at all, and now another city is falling, and he can still smell smoke, and he has a minute, if he’s lucky. He feels like they should have more time. He needs to undo the gambeson. He needs to make sure they’ll be all right. Martin was always going to die today – he feels it, settled comfortable and hazy over him, an unerring certainty in the very marrow of his bones, a knowledge passed down from the man they call his father – but Pax sure as shit isn’t. Not if he has anything to say about it, which he does, because it’s been on his head since the beginning and he’ll shoulder it all but he won’t bear this. His fingers scrabble, desperate, at the ties; every moment he waits is a murder, but leaving them here would be murder, too, and Martin won’t have that blood on his hands. And the knots won’t just come easy. He’s lost so much time and he hasn’t even gotten half.

Pax is looking at him, her eyes blood-dark. “You’re not going to get it,” she says, and her voice slurs, a little, in her mouth; pain or blood loss or shock, almost definitely, but Martin was never a particularly skilled healer and the magic he spent to get them through that horrible crush outside has left him too tapped to be able to probe. “They’re tied too tight.”

Martin can hear the ringing of metal outside. The earth is still shaking.

“Fuck,” he says, voice cracking on the vowel, and turns to rifle through their quiver. He hears them exhale, long and shaky, as he searches.

They don’t even have any fucking potions – he’d take anything, at this point, anything at all, he’d take the foulest cheapest draught as long as it would slow the bleeding, or even just a bandage, but there’s no bottles or flasks and no loose cloth. There’s one salve, pale and sticky in a purple-stained pot, but that can’t be used without access to the skin and probably can’t be good in an open wound in any case. There isn’t anything. There isn’t anything at all. Time is slithering away between his fingers. There are broken bits of prayer sticking like glass shards under his tongue, again. He doesn’t want to say any of it; it sticks in his throat, anyway. Lord Akatosh, sacred dragon, walk ever with me; under your gaze I will not fall short. Pax is looking at him, brow creased, face the very picture of dedicated focus; their hair, done in a long, simple braid back when they were just supposed to be speaking to the Council, has come half-loose, looping strands hanging about their face and trailing over their eye. Martin lifts a hand – notes, with detached interest, that it is shaking – and brushes it out of the way.

“I’m sorry,” he says – and he is, by the Nine, it settles with all the rest of the guilt in his gut, all to be burned soon enough – “there’s not time for me to heal you properly. How are you feeling? Are you all right?” Their skin is still clammy to the touch, sweat-damp wherever he touches; their eyes are more focused now but still screwed up with pain.

Pax gives a short puff of air. It’s not a laugh, not in his state, but it’s not all that far off; his voice is gravel-rough. “Got stabbed, Martin Priest. ‘S not great.”

Stabbed in the gut, while protecting him – bleeding all over the sanctified floors, the grout will never recover, and why is he thinking about that when the blade could have caught an organ and Martin would never know because he’s never been that good a healer. The ground is shaking again. They’ve been in here a minute, maybe, and he already feels like they’re stealing time. The seconds are slipping away quickly. He’s digging his fingers fiercely into the cloth of Pax’s shoulder; if he doesn’t hold onto her somehow he thinks he might fall down.

(He’s glad she’s here, and he hates himself for being glad. She’s bleeding. It should be his blood.)

His face must be doing something truly impressive, because Pax cracks a grin, wide and crooked and sticky-mouthed. “Calm down,” she says, the words thick as treacle in her mouth, “I got at least ten more minutes in me. What’s the plan?”

“The plan,” Martin echoes. That statement is nowhere near as reassuring as she seems to mean it to be; he shakes his head. Looks back at the doorway, still closed – noise of battle still raging, earth still trembling, but none of it imminent, probably, not within the next three seconds – and surges forward to wrap their shoulders in a fierce hug, careful to keep away from their abdomen, his cheek pressed against their hair. They smell of sweat and smoke and blood; he takes a deep breath, anyway. “I’ll do the rest, Pax, just – rest.” His voice cracks, again. “Be okay.”

(There’s more prayer pressed into those two words than in anything else he’s thought today.)

Pax reaches a hand up to pat his sleeve; her head, still, is resting against the stone, the set of her shoulders a little tauter, a little more alert. “I can still help,” she insists. The sword – blunt little instrument that it is – lies on the floor, tacky with monstrous blood; she doesn’t even try to reach for it. The bow slung over her shoulder is jabbing him in the collarbones. Martin pulls back enough to shake his head.

“No,” he says; because they can’t. The rest is for him and him only, so no-one else has to get hurt. Pax got him this far – got him out of the wreckage of Kvatch – got him out of the stagnant mire in his head – got a blade in the gut, for their trouble, and even if Martin had anything else to ask of them he couldn’t ask for more.

Pax glowers, at that, the crease reappearing between his brows; Martin could laugh, if it was another day, if they had another moment. He presses his face to the top of Pax’s head, instead, nose dug sharply into his hair; and he breathes, and he breathes, and he breathes.

He’s not an orator, but the way Pax talks they seem to think he’s accustomed to giving grand speeches; he’s certainly had enough practice lately. His breath shudders. He dredges up what words he can. They’ve been in the Temple a minute already; he doesn’t think they can ask another.

“I,” he says, and breathes; “I cannot stay to help rebuild Tamriel – that must fall to others.” He couldn’t have been Emperor, not ever – he’s never been able to fix things, not on this scale. The weight of the Empire would have run him into the ground. He would have hated it. It would have killed him. (Didn’t it?)

Pax’s hand skims the fine cloth at his elbow again. Voice slow, they say, “What –”

“I know now what I was born to do,” Martin says, and he tries to smile. He doesn’t know if they can feel it. His hands clasp the sides of their face; their hair is tickling his nose. They feel cool to the touch, dead-fish clammy; but it will be all right, because once it’s all over the healers will come in, better at flesh-craft than Martin’s ever been, and they’ll fix it. They’ll fix it all. And the Blades are here, however little Pax usually chooses to engage with them, so he won’t be alone. And the Elder Council, the whole Empire, will owe him a debt of such gratitude – he won’t be alone, again. He’ll have options. He’ll miss him – but he’ll live. And Martin will, for once in his sorry life, have actually fixed something.

His friend’s hair smells like smoke. Their skin is shining with sweat and grime. “You’ve been such a good friend in the short time that I’ve known you,” he says, and he’s smiling, he knows it, a melancholy thing pressed into their hairline. His voice is shaking, just a little. “I’m sorry I couldn’t – I couldn’t stay to know you better.”

“Martin,” Pax says, and he pulls back. Their face is creased, ash and blood smeared over their cheekbone. Suspicion lines the tilt of their brow.

Martin smiles, still. His palms, rough and dry, cradle her face. “But now I must go,” he says, gentle; “The Dragon waits.”

And Martin, for one, is done waiting.

He pushes what magic he has left into his hands, sunshine-bright; Martin is no great healer, particularly not when his reserves are tapped, particularly not when he can’t even see the wound, but he can at least soften the edge, dampen the overwhelming pull of the pain. His hands sting with the effort, his head spins, the ground shakes; and one of those has nothing to do with expending himself. Right on time, it seems; the Amulet of Kings hangs warm and heavy around his neck.

Martin stands, though his legs shake; stumbles a step backwards; turns to face the dais in the middle of the room, the shallow marble dish of it lying cold, the pillars around it as stark and foreboding as the bars of any cage. He runs.

“Martin!” he hears behind him, because Pax is Pax and of course they won’t let him go easy; the earth shakes, anticipation winding up into a wiry coil in his gut. The Amulet is hot enough to burn, bright as the sun – he heaves himself up onto the raised platform, reaches to unloop it from around his neck –

The ceiling caves in, and Martin throws an arm over his eyes, closing them against the implosion of dust and grit, scraping in a breath thick enough to choke. His ears are ringing. He manages to squint up, catches a glimpse of a massive fist swiping the rubble away from the hole, the glint of a battle-axe, a silhouette against the burning red sky, roiling and howling like a column of storm. Martin can’t even make out a face, but he knows, somewhere deep and solid, that it’s looking at him. He meets its gaze, the Amulet raised high in his hand.

All prayer has deserted him, now, all the rote lines and careful patterns he leant on for so long slipping away from his fingertips as if they were never there at all. All he has is please, weighty, guttural, and he thinks it might mean more than any of the rest of it. Please. Please. You owe me this. The Amulet of Kings burns in his hand.

“Martin!” he hears again, hoarse and desperate; he looks. Just once. Pax has dragged himself across the dust-coated floors, bow and quiver abandoned somewhere behind him; his face is covered in dirt, hair come half-loose, eyes stubborn and fierce and wild. He feels his eyes crease, the lightest echo of a smile. He’ll miss them, wherever he goes next. Pax screams, “Don’t!”

Martin Septim was always going to die today. It is, perhaps, one of the first things he’s ever done right.

Martin smashes the Amulet of Kings on the cold marble dais, and the world erupts in gold.

#most guilt-ridden guy who is experiencing like 5 different crises resolves them all by killing himself (do not try this at home)#(also a teenager is experiencing the beginnings of hemorrhagic shock nearby. for flavour)#I generally try not to reproduce game dialogue verbatim much but for this one I felt like I Needed to. yk. made a couple tweaks but #he talks with such a specific odd energy in this scene and I wanted to be true to that #my writing #fay writes #oc tag #pax #tes #the elder scrolls #oblivion #hero of kvatch #martin septim #tesblr #will post the follow-up piece. soonish #I've reread this Too Much and can't even tell if it's good anymore so.if you like it lmk. if you think it sucks also lmk but be nice with i

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thewritetofreespeech · 14 days ago

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Here Cums the Bride

words: 1.2K

rating: E

pairing: Raphael x f!tav

summary: On the day of your wedding, an unexpected, uninvited guest arrives to wish the bride well.

tags: heterosexual sex (m/f), cheating/adultery, rough sex, Raphael being Raphael, hints of a past relationship

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It was to be the happiest day of your life. The day you were to be married.

The hall was flooded with friends and well-wishers. Being the hero of Baldur’s Gate, many had come to see the bride and pay their respects. Old friends. New friends. Weaving through the throng you try to say hello to everyone, as your head spun with all the excitement.

As you linger for a moment in the crowd to catch your breath, you catch a whiff of something in the air over the scent of your wine. Cherries and sulfur.

Your eyes dart around the room to look for Raphael’s presence, expecting the worst, but find him simply leaning against a lone column in the room. Unbothered. Unburdened. Observing the crowd with a plain, almost bored look. “What are you doing here, Raphael?”

The devil smirked at your hiss. Once bored a moment ago, he seemed thoroughly amused. “I’ve come to share my fond wishes to the happy couple.” You glare at him as he looked you up and down. “You look stunning kitten.”

Your fingers fidget with your lace. “Well, when a renowned couturier owes you his life….” Raphael chuckled a bit. “Seriously though, what are you doing here?”

“It is as I said,” the devil told you, “I’ve come to pay my respects to the couple. I didn’t get you a gift though. What does one give the woman who has everything?” His hand gestured towards the crowd, but you know he meant something else.

“I thought you would be upset in my choice.”

“Upset? Why?” His face showed genuine confusion. Or at least as close as Raphael could come. “This little…tryst is only a blip in the reality of your future, kitten. He may have you now. But I will have your eternity.”

You weren’t sure if it was the wine, or something else, but the reminder of the hells and that Raphael owned your soul made your skin feel hot. “You don’t have me.”

“Don’t I?”

Raphael’s smirk was washed out by a bright flash of light. When you opened your eyes again you were in a familiar place, the House of Hope. Back to its original splendor it had been the first time, instead of the squalor of its reality. “Picture this,” Raphael began as he rounded the table, “putting up your feet after your long, mortal journey to be returned here. To your rightful place. By my side.” His hand landed on the chair at the head of the table and its mate to the right. “We’ll have your real wedding that day. Not some common affair your current groom can offer you. One truly worthy of your presence. As the world’s savior, and new Queen of the hells.”

Your eyes dart down to your dress as it suddenly began to bleed black. The material shifting to something more fitted and cut. The small tiara in your head holding your veil feeling more weighted. And although you can’t see it, you knew it had turned into a crown. “Perfection.”

“That’s all a very nice dream.” You told Raphael as he came up to you. “But do you honestly think I would go that easily.”

“Oh, I do. Because deep down, this is what you have always wanted. Why else would you be here?”

“Because you forced me to be?”

Raphael chuckled again. “I can’t force anyone to come to my House of Hope. They have to be willing. Wanting.” He reached out to take you by the waist and pulled you close. “Open.”

Staring into those deep brown eyes, something in you snaps. You grab on to Raphael’s collar and pull him in for a heated kiss. Messy and furious. You would blame it on his magic later, no matter what Raphael said, but deep down what he said had already taken root in you.

The desire to be his Queen. To be cherished. To be owned.

Raphael gripped you back with equal heat, and then suddenly the two of you were falling through the air. Your back hitting something soft. You break apart and realize that you are not in the main hall anymore but his boudoir. Naked except for your crown. Laid bare before the soon to be King of Hell. “This is where you belong, kitten.” Though he called you kitten, it was his voice that purred.

The devil crawled onto the bed. Slithering on top of you while your eyes stayed transfixed on him, and your heartbeat raced in your chest. “I just realized, I do have a gift for the bride.” You moan as his cock brushed against your entrance. Hard and firm, tapping the head of it against you. “Does the woman who has everything want this?”

“Yes.” Your legs spread embarrassingly wide for him. Open and willing. “I want it. Give it to me!”

“Anything you desire, kitten.”

He thrust his cock inside you. A delicious, burning stretch of your entrance trying to accommodate him. Trying to remember how after so long. It was nothing like your now husband. What man could compare with a being from another plane? A devil?

His thrusts were rampant and hard after that. Raphael fucking you like he was angry with you, even though he said he wasn’t. You just hold on to the sheets. Breasts heaving with every deep, powerful thrust. Eyes rolling into the back of your head. “This is where you belong, kitten.” He repeated, but you can barely understand him. “This will be your future. Every night. Every day. Every second consumed by me until I hold every piece of you. I’m going to pound the memory of this moment into your mind so that every time you lay with that pathetic excuse of a man you have settled for, you will think of me and yearn for the day when you can return here.”

You scream, legitimately scream, as you cum around Raphael’s cock. Waves of ecstasy as hot as an Avernus sea crashing over you. Raphael smirked as he watched your vision swim between consciousness and passing out. Only to hold your hips tight to him as he came inside you.

“I will be waiting, kitten.”

“….darling….darling….”

You blink quickly as your mind came back to yourself. Startled by the soft, bright light and sound of people. You were back in the hall. At your wedding. In your dress. Your husband calling your name. “Are you alright? You seemed quite out of yourself.”

“Oh…yes. Just a little overwhelmed by the crowd.” The sweet man you had pledged your heart to smiled and gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“I understand. It’s quite a lot. But, it’s time to cut the cake now. Shall we?” You smile back and took his arm to head up towards the front. It must have been a dream, you reasoned. All been a dream.

But as you sliced the first piece of your wedding cake out of it’s tower, you felt a warm wetness dribble down your leg.

“I will be waiting, kitten.”

#;pen & paper (fanfiction)#bg3 #baldur's gate fic #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 smut #baldur's gate 3 raphael #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 raphael #raphael x reader #raphael x tav #raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 smut #kinktober

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run-little-hero · 6 months ago

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T/CW // Violence, descriptions of gore, discussions of religion, religious imagery

“Get the fuck away from me.”

Hero stumbles, arm braced against a concrete pillar. They’ve found themself cornered and bloodied in a fantastic ballroom. Glittering gowns twirl and gloved fingers dance across the shoulders of their partners, lost to an enchanting, classical rhythm. But Hero, sequestered in a corner by Villain, masks their frantic pants beneath the melody, an arm clapped over their bleeding middle.

Villain pushes Hero farther back, voice low. “You’ve never liked the way I say ‘hello.’”

Hero cowers inward, gripping their arm to their chest as tight as possible. They can slow the bleeding, they won’t die here. But time is running out to evacuate safely and silently. Hero knows compromising the scene by causing commotion might lead to an explosive reaction on Villain’s part.

Hero doesn’t realize how close Villain has gotten until there’s a hand on their waist. “You look a little faint, my friend.” They pull Hero in, whispering, “Seems the crowd is too much for you. Let’s take care of that.”

The image of Villain’s chest flayed open, then crumpled facedown in the mess of their own gore strikes Hero. They feel sick. “You’re the Devil.”

Villain can’t help but smile. “And you’re such a little saint.” They mean it, too. “Don’t worry, I simply meant let’s take care of you.” Suddenly, they’re pulling Hero by the waist onto the dance floor.

“Villain.”

“Hush, we’re being discrete.”

Villain forces one of Hero’s arms behind their neck, the other fiercely gripping their stomach. Layers of frivolous clothing obscure the red seeping through their shirt. The pair sways to the slow ballad, and Hero can see Villain guiding them closer to the exit, inch by inch. They’ll take their time, and Hero leans into their weight as black spots begin to invade the edges of their vision.

“Tell me Hero,” Villain prompts. “Do you have faith in anything? Personally, I don’t see the point in religion when there’s people like us in the world.” Heroes and villains. Good and evil.

“I have faith in myself and my team,” Hero grunts, nearly tripping over Villain’s shoe. “That’s all I need.”

“You never think about God?”

“I’m more concerned with protecting innocent people myself. Can’t rely on the universe for that.”

Villain considers this. “I empathize with you, Hero.” They’re getting closer to the exit, nearly 10 feet from the stairs. “I find our conversations divine, and surely worthy of devotion. We’re magic in and of ourselves, aren’t we? A mixing of forces, alchemical.”

Hero grips Villain’s shoulders tighter. They can feel their feet growing heavier with each half-step. So close to the door. They just need to entertain Villain while they climb the stairs.

“S-some…” They struggle over the first step. “Something like that.” Villain pulls them over the second, all but carrying them.

Hero is wheezing by the time they reach the top, collapsing into Villain. They confess, “This feels more like Hell to me.”

“Hero,” Villain smiles into the crown of their head. “We will never be closer to God than we are right now.”

It sends chills through Hero. They pull Villain towards the exit, but Villain remains stood at the top of the staircase, gaze cast over the ballroom.

It’s not right, but Hero can’t move. The blood is trickling down their body, and they no longer have the strength to put pressure on the bleeding. They silently plead for Villain to move, take mercy and get them help.

“I have faith in you,” Villain says.

Hero feels a push of opposing force against their chest, and all of a sudden Villain looks far away. It’s the image they’re left with as their skull hits the bottom of the staircase with a ‘crack.’

—

snippet #5

#they’re in love your honor #i swear #hero x villain #hero x villan #heroes and villains #heroes #heroes x villains #villain x hero #villains #spilled ink #writeblr #writers on tumblr #hero whumpee #whump #whump writing

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tyran-the-tyranical · 6 months ago

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I’m currently writing a fic and writing for Raphael is a little infuriating if I’m being honest.

Mostly because he has such a way about him, and unlike the other characters where there’s some room for deviation, he’s quite rigid in his mannerisms. So I’ve literally been scraping through his dialogue and ‘analysing’ his behaviour, and this is what I’ve ‘boggled’ it down to.

EDIT: This is actually really long, and in fact not boggled down at all, Keep Reading at your own peril...

(OK, So I've completely reorganized this post to be more readable)

Raphael is a complex and multifaceted character, but here are some main character traits of his that I'll delve more into as we go on;

-Manipulative and Deceptive

-Arrogant and Condescending

-Sadistic and Enjoys Suffering

-Cunning and Strategic

-Relishes Power and Control

-Patient and Calculative

-Dark Humor

-Alluring and Subtly Flirtatious

-Dual Nature and Contradictory

-Hedonistic and Indulgent tendencies

-Ambition

Though Raphael wants to paint himself as an honest person, that still doesn’t mean he isn't Manipulative with us, he uses many tactics to gain our trust, from crafting this honest and helpful persona to literally threatening us and building pressure to make a deal to escape ceremorphosis.

"I'm here to help, not harm”

"I am master here. A prince of bargains cloaked like scarlet satin. All that hidden under sublimely obvious truths that cannot be discounted." (From Chapter 3 of his Diaries)

“Come now, why playing hard to get when you're in deep over your tadpole head all those pretty little symptoms sundering skin dissolving guts they haven't manifested yet have they?"

"I'll be around watching you squirm like a tadpole through a nice juicy brain"

As we progress his threats go from subtle to outright fear-mongering, but this also goes into somewhat of his dual nature as when he moves past his honest persona to just pressuring you, he still wants to paint himself as some sort of Saviour. Of course, this is also just another tactic of his, painting himself as a friend or helper, as though he doesn't have his own ulterior motives, which sure he admits outright but in the ending where you do give him the crown he drops this façade and tells you he's planning on taking over more than the hells and will eventually come for you next. I also think this bleeds into his own needs to be adored, you can see this further in his little plaques he has around his house.

"Am I a friend? Potentially, an adversary? Conceivably, but a savior? that's for certain. Try to cure yourself. Shop around - beg, borrow, and steal. Exhaust every possibility until none are left. And when hope has been whittled down to the very marrow of despair that's when you'll come knocking on my door. Take all the time you need but make up your mind before you're counting down with tentacles"

Additionally, this all just feeds into his performative nature - to the extent that he sometimes borders on narrator territory. He has his little monologues as he talks about us as though we’re characters in a story and he’s just recounting our actions to some unseen audience.

[His speech before the Yurgir encounter is a good example of this]

"Through the dark, she went creeping and awoke what was sleeping"

"The Shadows grow long and the hour is late" - also wherever this quote is from works well too

There are even more subtle moments where he's still being performative, even when he's not physically present, which goes into his desire and constant longing to be seen as something akin to a True or Full Devil (or archdevil). Since he is a cambion he is restricted a lot by his mortal half. He is held back by his human needs like sleep and presumably food too. I think he tries to cover for this through excess, as if you go to the HoH in Act 3, you can see the food on the table is just filled to the brim of just rotten food, basically all of it wasted. Also, there are loads of scattered areas that have fruit or wine throughout his house. I believe he does this on purpose to try to come across as though food is nothing but a pleasurable activity he indulges in now and again rather than a necessity and he doesn't care if he wastes it (Also just saying he's rich, let them eat cake, L + Ratio).

However his façade isn't perfect since he is still fallible, and he can fail/die. We can see this because, at every opportunity he possibly can, he attempts to convey this front of being omnipotent and powerful - as close as he can to an archdevil. To be fair, he manages to do this pretty really well, At times he can even come across as this truly unbeatable force, that we can’t ever truly defeat. This is exemplified by the fact that, even if we kill him, if we look in his logbook of previous visitors, it hints at him trying to find a way to cheat death by transferring his soul into a clone or something adjacent.

Now whether he ever managed to accomplish this by the time we attack him is uncertain, (though there is a non-canon / cut content line where he begs for his father's help as we fight him, kinda of insinuating he never fully realized his backup plan in time and he’s actually afraid he’ll die, but that’s also not in the game so who can say for sure)

“I cannot lose to you. Not here. Not in my home. I cannot die! Mephistopheles, hear your son! I am at your mercy - save me!” - NOT CANON BTW, but omg do I love this line

Another slight hint that Raphael might not be as indestructible as he'd like us to believe is when he is playing lance board with Mol.

"My, the double counter Gambit. Vicious. Exactly what I would have done"

Now for all intents and purposes Raphael does not need to win against Mol, that wasn't the purpose of their game, either way he already had his eyes set on her to make a deal anyway. Yet it demonstrates that whether you cheat or actually manage to outwit him, he can be beaten, since he can't hide behind a persona when playing (Mostly).

Furthermore, Raphael is like an English teacher, he loves his little similes and metaphors, and just talking in a verbose manner, and it’s not just word vomit, no no no, he makes it sound interesting, he is performing for us after all. For me personally tho, it’s difficult to replicate, unlike other characters or companions where you can deviate their dialogue, like hearing Astarion say ‘fuck you’ to Cazador, I don’t think you could get away with that for Raphael.

"The mouse smiled brightly it outfoxed, then down came the claw and that love was that"

"Perfect, one more rhyme for Old Time's sake; The master was slain within his own house, they dined on him both, the cat and the mouse."

"Like a mosquito nibbling at a dragon, be gone"

I also think it's so interesting that the man who does nothing but spout rhymes and poetry will say this if you call his poetry out for being dirt;

"I admit it isn't my primary interest not, by any stretch"

Excuse me, sir? I do think he genuinely likes poetry/writing in general, he supposedly even wrote a play before sooo, also I just think that all these contradictory things he says are on purpose, he's trying to be mysterious to some extent, and he doesn't want you to be able to gauge or understand him, he just wants you to believe in his persona he's crafted for you and that's all. Though like I've said before, his mask can slip off, especially in private or when he's enraged. An example is when he's referring to his employees who have failed him.

"[A record of various associates of Raphael's, listing their duties, and their respective performance.]

Korrilla Hearthflame - field work - so far I've barely

had to singe the tips of her fingers. This one shows promise.

Archivist - naughty boy, supposed to be looking after the collection,

but has a tendency to drift. May have to start breaking his neck to

give his spine a chance to recover.

Nubaldin - little shit let Gortash get away. Not letting

him near the prisons ever again. Chamber of Egress will

do fine until I find a replacement for him."

Moreover, he’s also very condescending/patronizing. (I think even in one of his dialogues, the devs noted he should even come across that way). I think that’s just a part of his little superiority complex, he’s the chess player and we’re all just his little pawns (that is until we kill him ourselves, it almost makes me think that Tav/Durge is actually the other player in the game and to some extent Raphael knows this and tries to play accordingly). He constantly wants to portray this cool and confident personality, that he’s accounted for every possible outcome (and in a lot of ways he has) and that even if he doesn’t get what he wants, it doesn’t faze him, and in fact, he’ll try to make it seem like either way it benefits him, and sure in some ways it might, but I do believe he’s just saying that to mask his failure to achieve his goal.

"I should snuff you out and make coin of your soul, but it will be more amusing to let you see the consequences of your actions. Do you really think that the crown is safer in the hands of a goddess than in the claws of a devil?" (Look, I don't like Mystra, but do I think the crown is safer with her? UH yea)

"Such an eager little pup."

"You really do think highly of yourself. My sights are set on something much more valuable than your soul, succulent though it would be."

He's Definitely pissed at us for being a little shithead and giving the crown to Mystra (even tho in the game if you complete Gale's quests you rlly have no choice lol) But he still tries to play it off as this will be terrible for you but great for him, since if shit hits the fan, he's just gonna get more souls - Though I'm sure this is him just trying to save face, or at least to some extent. We can see him actually lose his composure if we ascend Gale.

"Do not toy with me, Wizard!" - R

"I thought you liked playing games? You can have the crown Raphael, but you'll need to come and collect it from my realm" - G

"You can't do this!" - R

"I hit him where he's most vulnerable, pricked his pride, and sent him back to the hells to lick his wounds. He'll be back, the question is will he find us side by side?" - G

This is really fun to see since even Gale knows Raphael has no power over him and can just mess with him, and initially, Raphael tries to gain control by saying like 'Oh no, I'm not going to take the crown Gale's going to give me it, like we agreed' and then when Gale fucks with him and it utterly infuriates him because there's not much else he can do really since Gale, though he might not be as powerful as Mystra, is definitely more powerful than Raphael. I also think it's very interesting that, even though we've basically gone against Raphael and screwed him over, he doesn't plan on taking it out on us, and I know he says he wants us to see the consequences of our actions but I think there's a different reason to why he doesn't take action against us. I think he's genuinely afraid of us, let me explain. He was clearly already afraid of our potential before any of the endings, shown in his dream he wrote about in his diary, and when we manage to survive everything that the game throw at us and defeat the nether brain, we've basically become undefeatable (Not really but you get what I mean) The only time he even suggests he'll take one of our souls is if Gale explodes while trying to ascend and well, there's not going to be much resistance since he's already blown up.

"There was one among them who spoke for the rest. They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me.

In waking, my courage has firmed. I progress my plans for

the tadpoled even now.

I am Raphael. I am not easily bested."

Raphael is not only fueled by his ambition but his fear (I'll talk more about that later too) and so he acts accordingly, he plans and schemes for hundreds of years trying to account for every possibility, and at times he can even come across as a total control freak lol. He has Korilla literally stalk us throughout the game, he also knows personal facts about our companions (he’s done his homework), and he’s literally planned and orchestrated events in the plot to help lean towards us giving him the crown in the end (it’s implied he helped vlaakith chain Orpheus or idk some other devil did with infernal chains, and he’s the one who helps wipe Ketherics lil army to just one justiciar) he’s had a lot of time to plan and plan he has. He’s constantly aware of your movements since he picks very specific points to appear to you. 

"[Laughter] The good thing is though there's only one little voice you really should listen to, Mine" - Total control freak behavior

"you'll be back, it's something of great importance to your master is it a love letter a warning or a deed of ownership I can give you all the Gory details"

"Carved into that Ivory skin of yours is one part of an infernal contract between the archdevil Mephistopheles and your former master"

"Karlach, why does that name ring a bell? hmm, perhaps I read it in a book somewhere."

An interesting thing to note is that I think his controlling and performative tactics are the ultimate reason to why he inevitably fails (If you decide to kill him I mean) Since he's spent so much time controlling the narrative literally and figuratively, he's literally altered events leading up to our arrival so that we can give him what he wants and he even talks about us as if we are just a character in his story he's created, he's been doing this so long he truly believes he can control the narrative, that he's predicted every outcome and he really doesn't think we'd go against that we could go against him. He's been so out of the narrative himself, an observer who might nudge things to go his way now and then but never be in the action himself that he truly believed he was untouchable, that he could just float above it all like he did with Karsus’s folly happened.

Now onto an aspect of Raphael I find very interesting – His relationship's with those around him. As I said before he’s a total control freak, and that’s clearly fueled (if not caused) by his narcissism and we can see that even outside of our protags. Look at Haarlep for instance, (there’s so much to dissect with these two) but Raphael strictly has Haarlep made to look like himself, and is the only form he’ll sleep with. There isn’t just one answer to why he’d do that, firstly, it just boils down to him being a narcissist sure, but on the other hand a point can be made that he’s doing it strategically.

Haarlep was sent to distract him, and presumably to spy and report back as well (Hypothetically, it's not confirmed) and presumably, Raphael is clever enough to realize that. So why would he reveal anything about himself in such a vulnerable way, so why not just make the incubus be in one form and one form only? It also serves as a lil bit of a punishment I suppose, since Haarlep can be 1000 different people but is forced to stay as one. There’s also another angle to this, that narcissists generally find intimacy difficult, and being vulnerable with other people. So why be vulnerable when you can stick to the devil you know?

Party member: How did you end up here?

Haarlep: Sent by Mephistopheles... distract naughty son.

He knows himself better than anyone, so why would he bother with anyone else? It’s a bit of a defense mechanism, he’s not willing to be vulnerable or let his guard down (and to be fair, for good reason) so it’d be better for him to stick to what he knows, what he’s comfortable with. I’m just going to throw this out here but he comes across as a total hedgehog dilemma sorta of guy, gives off real Shinji Ikari vibes tbh. (NOT REALLY, He's more Gman than anything but just without the charisma 💅)

Party member: Did you ever turn into forms besides Raphael's?

Haarlep: Raphael... loves... only... Raphael.

Now, this is just supposed to be a Raphael analysis but I find it impossible not to mention Haarlep and their motivations as well, since they are arguably the closest person (Literally) to Raphael. Haarlep comes across as a complete gossip type since they seem to just love to air out Raphael's little secrets, they even say how Raphael can Deny them nothing so either Raphael does trust them to some extent to make them his confidant or well, Haarlep just Wittles it out of him during their sessions. Either way, they hold some closeness to Raphael, yet I find it revealing that they immediately will expose him and actually help you (for a price ofc) and intentionally try to help you kill Raphael. Now whether they believed we could actually kill him or not is up for debate, but after you give them your form they do say that they'll enjoy misusing you and they do tell you what will happen when they use your form, so if they believed you were going to die why bother?

Haarlep doesn't seem to be the only one as in their letter to you in the epilogue it's revealed that even the devils in Mephistopheles's court seemed to hate Raphael.

"Since the timely end of Raphael's reign, I've gone back to Mephistopheles' Palace in Cania. Many of his Father's court are celebrating the demise of my little brat - behind closed doors. And I'm making a fortune selling evenings in his form now there is no contract binding me to secrecy. Rather tasteless to desire a dead man like that, even amongst devilkind, isn't it?"

Haarlep even calls Raphael their little brat, though perhaps it was out of endearment as even Haarlep remarks how low it is to desire a dead man when they use Raphael's form. This could possibly show some sort of remorse towards Raphael's death, but it's pretty unclear, yet that's also to be expected since Haarlep is a full devil and they even state they're a crueler master than Raphael so perhaps that was true as well. It genuinely seems that no one actually cares for Raphael, besides perhaps Korilla, and I mean that's fair in all honestly, considering how he treats most of his employees (Hope too) but it's also funny that the people he wants to impress or become most, the devils, also hate him or want to well.. Have some fun times with his form after he's already dead. I also think it's interesting that Haarlep refers to Raphael as a dead man rather than a devil, they don't even say 'amongst his own kind', It's interesting because Raphael himself is so adamant on calling himself a Devil rather than cambion or whatever (tbf he's not the only one, Mizora does the same or at least out characters don't care to make the distinction) Yet Haarlep doesn't care to make that distinction. Now, of course, man doesn't necessarily mean a mortal man or whatever, but it's still intriguing to note.

An interesting thing to note about Devil society is that, unlike Demons who usually just outcast or kill their cambions, Devils at least allow Cambions to intergrade into their Hierarchy, but at the same time it's a system that wasn't built for them to succeed in since cambions can't physically be promoted, they aren't guaranteed anything form their work, so everything they have, they've had to work hard for. Unlike those around him, Raphael has had to work extra for his position (though I'm sure his title of Son of Mephistopheles did help somewhat) he seems to have it quite good, and tbh I even initially thought he was his own free agent, and didn’t even have to serve under Zariel (but he does) he just has it really good, or at least better than most cambions from what it seems. At the same time, I find it intriguing that he sparsely even mentions who he is in relation to his father. Through subtle hints throughout that game, it's clear that Raphael actually probably hates his father or is perhaps extremely jealous of him, since at the same time he mirrors him in some aspects.

I think the Dungeoncast said it best when examining the devil's mindset that I also think apply to Raphael quite well too;

"Their dogma essentially revolves around seeking power over others, always adhering to an eye-for-an-eye principle. They exploit any kindness shown to them and show no compassion for the weak, exhibiting traits of a sociopath. Winning at any cost is their mantra, often cloaked in the guise of promoting personal excellence and independence. When they harm others, they rationalize it as providing motivation to succeed."

Even though his society basically looks down on him, whether he's successful or not, Raphael still believes in their mindset, mostly since that's probably how he's survived and thrived in the Hells. This mantra that the devils have has warped who he is as a person entirely and also his ambitions, he doesn't want any other than control, he sees no point in forming meaningful relationships or other interests, and he only sees domination and power as his goal since that's all his society has told him is important.

Another thing I’ve read about cambions is their sense of entitlement, especially over mortals, and well Raphael certainly fits the bill. Which might contribute to why he wants what he wants. I mean, why does Raphael want to take over the hells? To end the blood war? Sure, almost all devils want to rise the ranks but Raphael’s goals are a lot more lofty than that, and why is that? Is it solely his ego? To be seen as something kin to a god-like Asmodeus, or is it to best and humiliate his father? Perhaps both, or perhaps neither, it’s somewhat unclear, but perhaps he just feels entitled to something greater or maybe he wants out of the rat race that is the Devil's Hierarchy.

"It's the Fatal flaw of mortal kind take away their free will and they call you a tyrant, allow them to indulge it and they become tyrants"

A final point is since he’s a narcissist, he’s obsessed with his image, yea I know, very obvious. And it’s been mentioned a few times that this is probably why he and Haarlep look so different, it’s either insecurity or wanting to come across as something more mature, why he’d look older than Haarlep when they should be an exact copy. It’s the whole reason he’s been performing, curating this image to us, one that he barely even allows himself to break at home unless he’s enraged. If you look at it for what it is, it’s just insecurity and almost desperation. A desperate desire to be seen as something greater, something akin to his father (daddy issues are making their appearance) and it honestly comes across as erratic, and extreme.

He’s so obsessed with his image that perhaps when Haarlep said they’re a perfect copy of Raphael they didn’t mean as an exact copy, they meant they’re are literally a perfect version of Raphael, a better version (most likely a result of insecurities of how he's perceived). Who can say for sure what the reason is why they look so different if they’re supposed to be mirrors of each other. His whole obsession with is image really matches his father, since Mephistopheles is known to change his appearance and curates it for mortals as well (It's why he's confused with Asmodeus a lot since he just goes for a basic generic devil look).

One more thing, considering all the characters we meet throughout the game, Raphael is or is one of the oldest characters in-game, seeing as he's possibly 1000+ years old. Considering this, it makes sense that on top of him being a devil anyway, he finds himself detached from mortals as well as his own mortal half. Though he is quite proactive in his contract seeking seeing as he not only seeks us out but characters like Mol and Lyrthindor (Tho that was more towards orchestrating his own goals) Otherwise he can just sit up in his Ivory tower devoid of mortal's strive, I mean he even says multiple times that his house is a safe haven for the tired/sick/restless/etc. On top of him already trying to detach himself from his mortal half, he also has the benefit of being so old that he probably has already become numb to it, to mortal thoughts and feelings. He wouldn't be able to emphasize or understand it (tho him being a devil wouldn't have helped either) all he would understand is how to use their suffering to his own benefit. Any possibility for humanity within Raphael is either so faint it's practically not there or there is none left entirely.

"Never have I been so attracted to mortals as I am to those infested by the tadpole."

He even says this himself. Mortals have never had any impact on him, physically or emotionally. Yet in saying that, they've never really been given the chance to. The closest a mortal besides us the player to have ever gotten 'close' to Raphael or have impacted him is Hope. Raphael is not only a complex character but he has so many complex relationships with the few people he lets around him. As I said before Raphael is completely blinded to humanity, he's definitely a person who believes the ends justify the means and that has never been more evident than in what he does with Hope. He doesn't care what It takes just as long as it gets him what he wants, that's why he helps orchestrate the plot to lean in his favor, why he basically tricks Yurgir, and why he has no problem torturing Hope even though she's basically no one to him, she isn't even a debtor.

Though Raphael is almost completely removed from being anything close to a human being, even after all this time, whether he likes it or not, he still does have some human traits. His interests for one help humanize him (Which tbh he is probably aware of and uses to his advantage) Sure he likes poetry and literature, but he's also just obsessed with everything surrounding Karsus and Hope (or at least the concept) He even names his house The House of Hope and whether he renamed it that after Hope or whether that was it's original name isn't clear but either way he really likes the idea of hope in hell. You can see this throughout his house on the little plaques he has scattered throughout, he definitely wants to be people's last hope or perhaps just hope in general, it would make sense as well since he wants to literally break hope and bend her under his will.

"Karsus's folly the Bard and Scholars call it. I call it hope, the hope of creating a better world, and The Perils of unchecked hubris"

(Karsus and Hope are basically his only two special interests that he starts to literally combine them)

Another very human trait of Raphael’s is that Raphael has a fear of failure. He even has dreams about us destroying everything he's worked for and killing him.

"There was one among them who spoke for the rest. They gestured to the melting hooks, suddenly glanced my way, and in their face I saw they had the best of me.

In waking, my courage has firmed. I progress my plans for the tadpoled even now.

I am Raphael. I am not easily bested."

Even though he reassures himself that he is Raphael and cannot be easily bested it's clear he's still very desperate. The only variable in his plan that he can't truly control is Us and he definitely knows this. Even other characters like Gale can tell how desperate he is. His facade of Invincibility is one of the tactics he uses against us to keep us in check against him. To be honest, all these things lend to humanizing him far greater than any poetry or quote he could ever spout because it shows his vulnerability, it shows he's not as invincible as he'd like us to believe, that he does have weaknesses and can in fact fail. A very mortal trait to have in all fairness.

Also on another quick note, he totally has a special interest (obsession) in Karsus, like him seeing Karsus accidentally kill thousands of people in the netherese cities became a core memory for him, one that he’s never let go, even now. 

"The archdevil Mephistopheles snatched up the crown and squirreled it away in one of his vaults. He is not more than a frigid archivist"

"I want the crown that dominates the Elder brain and then we all Gather in the House of Hope me dressed in my finest silks, you skinless, hanging from a hook to watch as your world dies"

"you would have been Heroes if you only dealt fairly with me, instead you're not so different to doomed Karsus, overreaching your limits and burning your world to Ash"

"The screams oh the screams hundreds of thousands of people watching in horror as the ground came up to meet them"

His ambitions seem to be fueled a lot by his narcissism and this belief that he can achieve all he's set out for and actually do a good job in implementing order, etc. Whether this is a founded belief or not is debatable, since we don't really know what he achieves past supposedly Avernus.

"Though with the crown, I would impose perfect order, Unity, efficiency, control, my kingdom would control its borders and stay within them" (Sure pal)

OK, onto the kicker here; Raphael is a very alluring character, he can even come across as flirtatious at times (Also through his body language and I obvs can't demonstrate that here but u get it) Throughout the game he's saying how he'll wine and dine us if we give him what he wants, yet In the ending where we actually give him the crown, I think it's so telling that after all his promises of dining with him and getting to see him again if we deliver it, he literally doesn't follow through at all (There's a debate for this since we don't know if he might've once his plans were done) and this just proves what we were to him; that we were in fact just pawns to him. Even if he does invite us to dine with him, it'll most likely be with a purpose, that he wants something from us or for us to do something for him because otherwise he's gotten all we wanted from us, the facade has been lifted and he doesn't need to try charm or threaten us, he's effectively done with us (literally, since it is an ending). It's all just another aspect of his manipulation and Persona he uses against us (And I mean, It worked) We're all just a means to an end for him.

ALSO, A little side thing I should note is the silly lil Dark humor Raphael has. Raphael, being a devil and all, definitely has a dark humor. You can defo gather that from his dialogue but also the way he comes up with creative punishments for his debtors. Now some of it is just basic evil shit like the guy who does the Self-flagellation stuff and the one who's forced to act like a dog, but some of it is more than that, like the guy who worships his chamber pot which just so happens to be under the statue of Mephistopheles or the debtor who's forced to dance (which I think is a reference to The Red Shoes story/movie where the character is literally forced to keep dancing) or the chick who just voyeuristically watches what goes down in the boudoir, like yea it's horrible but sometimes it just cartoonishly ridiculous and you can't help but find it somewhat amusing.

"Hope [Laughter] such a tease" like when he says this, unbeknownst to us, he's referring to the real-life Hope, more of an inside joke to himself really.

On top of all that - this specific paragraph isn't really poignant to Raphael's character necessarily, it's more of a personal observation but - I think if there were to ever be a romance with Raphael the best option is to not give him the crown (tho I do kinda wanna see him with his lil crown being the prince of hell). It's similar to Gortash, in that if you want to be his equal you shouldn't grovel and just give him the netherese shards, you need to challenge him and show your mettle basically. Now I'm not saying Raphael would be pleased with this, but if you wanted to be an equal, this is the best route, otherwise, there's always going to be that power imbalance like with ascended Astarion. (AKA, kill him, Do It)

My final point that I wanna make is, that all the characters in Bg3 are designed with a fatal disbelief. Y'know Gale believes if he becomes a god he can prove himself to Mystra, Lae'zeel believes that Vlaakith is righteous and will allow her to ascend, Shadowheart believes she can find herself/ her purpose in Shar, and Astarion believes he'll finally be safe if he becomes the vampire ascendant, yet we that these believes are all unfounded and end up being untrue wif they achieve them, and the same goes for Raphael. Now, if Raphael achieves his goal of getting the crown, he most likely will still end up not getting what he wants, for two reasons; Asmodeus literally cannot be defeated - Let me explain; So there are a few origins for Asmodeus and to most popularized one (and the one I prefer) is the one where he and some of the other archdevils were actually previously angels that got corrupted while fighting demons.

Yet, in earlier editions, it's stated that all of that is just speculation and mythos surrounding Asmodeus and his real origin is that he is literally a cosmic force that was there at the beginning of time. OK. Now personally I don't care for this origin but either way, whichever one you believe I think my next point still stands the same. Whether Asmodeus is just a being that has achieved something as close to godhood as he can or a literal cosmic force of lawful evil, Raphael probably would still be unable to defeat him even with the Crown and scepter and any other of Karsus's little items, he most likely if anything could only get to the eighth layer. Now in saying this, this is still not his disbelief, because his personal belief is also one that all devils share, which is a complete lie, that being the entire hierarchy they abide by. Every devil abides by this meritocracy hierarchy, and the belief that if they become more powerful, and ascend - that they can reach Asmodeus status, but this is a complete an utter lie. Asmodeus keeps this facade that he could be defeated, but in truth, he's kinda way too powerful for any of the devils in hell, and he knows this and uses it as a tactic to keep them in his control.

Now Raphael to some extent knows that he has to basically cheat to be even able to ascend, since he's a cambion and the hells system wasn't exactly designed for him to be promoted. Yet even if he manages to conquer every layer up to Cania, he's still going to lose since he's basically destroying the hierarchy and therefore he won't have control over the devils beneath him. Now the crown can be used to literally dominate people but that's not what Raphael necessarily wants - He wants to be adored and willingly followed, and of course, he'll use the crown when he has to, but to wholly subjugate everyone in hell to mindlessly obey doesn't seem to be his goal. There are more practical reasons as well why there are certain devils that have control over the layers, and Raphael, no matter what power he can possess, is still just one individual, and inevitably it seems as though there would be a lot of chaos rather the perfect order he believes he can achieve.

I know that the crown can basically make you a god, and if Asmodeus has powers akin to a god and Raphael can theoretically do the same, then why can't he just defeat Asmodeus? well, it goes into Raphael's fatal flaw, his arrogance. If we look at Gale, for example, he made himself a literal god and still wasn't powerful enough to defeat Mystra, and yes, Raphael 'Is no mortal' but this is what I mean, he believes is above Karsus and Gale, that he'll succeed where they failed but that's just not the case. Like I've said before, Raphael desperately wants to be seen as more, his ego won't let him accept anything less but that still doesn't change the fact that he is fallible, and we don't have to look any further than when we managed to defeat him. Now in saying all this, this is all theoretical and kind of bleeds more into an opinion, since we don't know what plays out after he gets Avernus, perhaps the other archdevils managed to kill him before he achieved anything, or perhaps he really did manage to conquer Baator and the other realms, Who knows. (I might be cooked for saying this, especially since I do wanna see him be a lil prince of hell, but arguably giving him the crown, besides being our bad ending, is also his bad ending - No further explanation)

Like I know I said, this is what I’ve boggled it down to and well, it’s not very boggled, but that’s what I mean! There’s so much going on with this little guy, it’s almost hard to keep up with, you gotta write him as suave and mysterious but also somewhat threatening and intimidating, he has to be articulate and persuasive as well as theatrical, while also keeping in mind his manipulative and narcissistic/egotistical tendencies, which doesn’t come easy to write for.

This isn’t a slight by any means either, he’s a complicated character and that’s why I like him, but my sorry ass struggles to replicate it 🥲 though I hope this post will be a good reference to circle back to when writing for him.

#bg3 raphael #bg3 #raphael bg3 #baldurs gate raphael #baldurs gate 3 raphael #baldur's gate raphael #raphael the cambion #bg3 haarlep #haarlep #bg3 hope #baldur's gate 3 #korilla hearthflame

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artficlly · 5 months ago

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a dish served cold (mini series - part one)

Wild West Marvel AU

outlaw!bucky x reader after the murder of your pa, you go on a journey to find justice. fate brings you to crimson junction for a reason, and that reason is bucky barnes.

Warnings: enemies to lovers, forced proximity, violence, mentions of death, blood, mention of guns, alcohol, swearing, creepy men, period typical attitudes, outlaw bucky, protective bucky, bucky has issues, mention of robbery & crimes, mention of police (law), mention of flooding & drought, vague mention of animal death, no use of y/n, lmk if i've missed anything

Word Count: 3k

A/N: hiya! it's been awhile. i started a first draft of this story literally like a year ago? it's gone through so many changes to the plot (it was originally called queen of the gunslingers). this has been so refreshing and wonderful to write, i wasn't even sure if i was ever going to post it because western marvel au is so niche but i know a few people enjoyed me & the devil so!! this mini series is pre written so i'll be trying to post updates weekly as i edit. the series is sitting around 25k-30k words and will be 7 chapters long. if you'd like a tag list let me know. sorry for any typos - not proof read.

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Rain was supposed to be a welcome sight.

The inhabitants of Crimson Junction had been thankful for the blessing, a relief from the drought that had plagued them. The surrounding areas had been unceremoniously crowned The Dustbowl after seven years of no rain. Fierce winds had blown in, kicking up the dirt, sand, and dust, blanketing the surrounding areas. Crops failed to grow, animals suffocated, and homes were buried. Most left the area, choosing to abandon their land in search of fruitful and safe territories.

The canyons bled crimson the day the rains came; water mixed with the red soil and rock. The people of Crimson Junction celebrated, their prayers were finally answered. It was only as the valleys began to flood and the once barren riverbeds overflowed that the inhabitants considered the bleeding waters an omen.

Those who lived out in the west were familiar with danger. Out in the open, death lurked everywhere. It watched from the desert, a darkness always lingering a few feet away. Death took on many forms—a bullet, a wound, a sickness—but when the rain came disguised as a blessing, no one was prepared for its wrath.

Floods wiped away entire homesteads. Homes and countless heads of cattle were lost to the raging waters, swept downstream, and smashed between debris. Survivors, soaked and shivering in their nightgowns and nightshirts, gathered in the small crossroads town of Crimson Junction. Fortunately, the town had been spared, but it had become an island, isolated in a lake of thick, deep, red mud. Travellers and misplaced locals sought shelter, and the town came to life overnight. The canyons were unstable and too dangerous to travel due to the landslides and debris blockages, and with mud up to your elbows, it would be impossible to walk through, let alone lead a packhorse. So, you were all stranded, patiently waiting until the roads were cleared.

It appeared fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason.

The hotel attendant sighed as you descended the stairs of the rickety building, the older man muttering about the mud tracked in through the entrance. Even Crimson Junction had not been spared the sludge. The thick, red substance appeared to be a problem in every establishment in the area, gradually caked onto not only your clothes and shoes but also the flooring.

You gave the attendant a shy nod of your head as you exited into the night. The chill of the night air bit at your bare skin, and you were suddenly grateful for the layers of skirts that pooled around your legs. The road so far had been hot and sticky, with layers of dust that clung to your skin. When it was not still and scorching, the winds would whip violently. Sand and rocks had pelted you, leaving your skin stinging and your hair tangled. The floods had allowed the temperature to finally drop below the pits of hell.

You hesitantly depart the porch of the motel, the heels of your riding boots clicking as you lower yourself onto the street. Wooden planks squelched under your weight as they sank deeper into the sludge. The town had tried to combat the muck by laying out boards to traverse, but despite their good intentions, the wooden boards seemed to sink deeper and deeper with each passing day. The streets echoed something more akin to a pigsty than a walkable path.

With the chill in the air, you hugged your arms around your bodice, still making sure to hike up your skirts to prevent them from dragging through the mud. Ever since finding yourself stuck after the rains, you had resigned yourself to your hotel room. You slept and read to pass the time, and your horse was boarded at the stables for a hefty price. But after days of waiting and your funds running low, you found yourself feeling rather antsy, your impatience growing the longer you waited. With impatience came risk and rash decisions, so, against your better judgement, you opted for a strong drink at the saloon to quieten your mind.

The saloon was alive with music and chatter, with other stranded travellers slurring their words or in a state of undress despite the sun only having recently set. You expected many of them to have wondered into the establishment not long after awakening from whatever alley they had drunkenly stumbled into the night before. It certainly smelled like it, with clothing plastered in mud to match. The chaos allowed you to slip in quietly, finding an empty spot along the bar. You frowned at the coating of muck congealed onto the floor, a mixture of questionable liquids you did not want to identify. With a wave of your hand and coins slid over the sticky bar, you were content staring into space as laughter and singing broke out around you.

Your peace was short-lived. Out of the corner of your eye, you could see a looming shape as a body slid in beside you. Your eyes stayed locked on your drink, only noticing the scent of whiskey and sweat clinging to the man.

“Where have you been hidin’, Miss? I ain’t never seen a woman as pretty as you in these parts.”

You expected a lady such as yourself to be few and far between in these lands. Most of the folks who roamed this far into the desert were hardy, stocky, and rough around the edges. You did not fault them for it, but rather a sense of admiration for the determination it had taken to live through the seven years of drought. You were, arguably, a bit delicate in appearance. Though, it was a purposeful presentation. Pristine and shining among the filth. Your hands were smooth; there were no calluses or scars. Hair neatly pinned back, and a clean and tidy handkerchief knotted around your neck. Your skin was untainted by the sun, and your lips were unpeeled. Your dress, though not the height of city fashion, was impractical for such a lifestyle as farming or droving. The layers of fabric were orderly, with intermittent embroidery and lace. You had lived a comfortable life, and it was clear you were raised to be a wife and homemaker. Your Pa had worked hard to afford you such a future.

“Not from these parts.” You spoke into your glass as you raised it to your lips with an eye-roll. A gentle girl you might have been to your Pa, but he was not present. And you were not feeling particularly in favour of being pleasant.

“Traveller, like myself. Guessin’ you stuck ‘cause of the floods too?” The man mused, leaning his forearms against the sticky bar. He shifted his body forward, craning his neck as if desperate to catch a proper glimpse at your face.

“Somethin’ like that.” You respond dryly, unmoving.

“Say, you interested in havin’ a good night, sweetheart? I got a room in the hotel over yonder if you wanna join me.”

Grinding your teeth in annoyance, you jerk your head around to face the man.

“What do you take me for?” You snap at him. You take note of his greying hair and the locks thinning along his hairline. His beard, with uneven, yellowing teeth revealed by cracked lips, turned into a sneer.

“I didn’t mean no insult, darlin’.” He starts, “I ain’t insinuating you’re an easy mark, sweetheart. Just knew I couldn’t let a catch like you go walkin’ out of here without at least tryin’.”

“Charmin’,” you huff. “Did you not consider that I would never want to lay with a dimwitted pest such as yourself?” As you speak, you can see his once-toothy grin harden into gritted teeth and a look of drunken rage wash over his features.

"Well, ain’t you a quick one, huh?” He spits out, his body looming closer. Only moments before the two of you had been invisible, another set of bodies in the crowded saloon. As his voice began to rise, you could feel heads turning and eyes locking onto the both of you as the scene unfolded. “A fuckin’ tease, ain’t ya? Hangin’ around this bar all by yourself, askin’ for it. You tellin’ me a lady like yourself travelling alone ain’t some whore lookin’ for some attention?”

You roll your eyes once more, shooting back the last of your drink. Perhaps it would’ve been wiser to remain in your hotel room. Back turned, you begin to walk away from the seething man. In your brief moment of naivety and vunrablitiness, he wraps his mud-clad hands around your forearm, yanking you backwards towards the bar.

“Now where ya think you’re goin’ now, miss? I weren’t done talkin’ to you.” He hissed into your ear, the stench of his warm whiskey breath fanning across your face. You began to lower your hands, reaching for your riding boot. Your fingers gathered your skirts, entangling themselves in the fabrics as you hoisted up the layers. Your hands drew closer to your knees, your back pressing into the hardwood bar, twisting your torso away from the man.

A gruff voice quickly interrupted, drawing your attention away.

“You know this man, ma'am?” The low voice asks. You glance over at it’s owner, a dark-haired man, and look him over with one sweep.

The man was familiar to you, though he wouldn’t know you. Out of all of the towns you had visited in the past few weeks, there was scarcely any that failed to have his likeness plastered upon a bounty board. James Buchanan Barnes. Or Bucky, as he was more commonly known. The papers and gossip of fellow travellers spun a tale, one of a group of heartless butchers and thieves. He was wanted for a train robbery gone wrong in the south. A decent price upon his head, as well as that of his gang. From what you had read, the group had split in an attempt to lose the law. One had gone north, another deeper south, while Barnes had gone west.

The posse of outlaws had been lucky, as the law had hurridly dismissed the chase; a different high-profile robbery had drawn their attention away. One they had prioritised more than the livelihoods of the lowerclass who had been on the train that day. Bounty hunters still pursued, but mostly the world moved on. Some Duke from Europe had been robbed while exploring the west too trustingly, and the story had become an overnight sensation. So Barnes and his companions had become a distant whisper, a sun-bleached and fraying poster behind a bar.

But you had not forgotten Bucky Barnes.

“No.” You finally choke out in reply, your hand raising back to thigh-height as you stand tall. When faced with a killer, you had anticpated a feeling of disgust, but instead a burning curiosity roared through your veins.

Barnes lets out a slow breath, his eyes darting over the unwelcome man. Barnes was easily twice his size, with pure muscle and a wicked look in his eye. There was a charm to him, you supposed, in a rugged, dark-handsome stranger, saviour of damsels in distress type of way. Messy dark hair peaked out from beneath his hat; some pieces curled around the nape of his neck. Behind his dark lashes were icy blue eyes, with the crinkle of a smirk at the corners. Like many others, there was a hint of red earth dusted across his face, neck, and hands. The clothes covering his broad, muscled body looked well-worn, and his boots were caked in mud. You noted the two revolvers slung around his hips and a bandolier stocked with ammunition across his chest.

“Do you want to know this man?” He asks again.

You lift your chin. “No.”

“Good.”

Before you can react, Barnes has leapt forward, landing a solid upper-cut on the drunk man with a grunt. The room erupted into cheers and whistles as the two clashed, glasses smashing and furniture overturned in their wake. You stood frozen, fingers in a white fist around your skirts. There was the sickening sound of bones crunching beneath flesh, and blood sprayed in droplets across sodden floors. As quickly as it started, it was over. One of the bartenders promptly escorted the unruly man out as he seethed and yelled obscenities. The saloon crowd roared back, a pulse of excitement and adreline rushing through the saloon. Barnes put his hands up in surrender as the barkeep eyed him cautiously, but the barkeep inevitably backed off, returning to safety behind the bar. Barnes sweeps a hand through his messy locks, his eyes darting around in search of his hat, which had been knocked to the floor.

Against your better judgement, you bend down, retrieving the hat. You brush some of the red dust and broken glass from the brim before handing it back to the outlaw. He places it solidly back on his head.

“I appreciate your concern, but you didn’t need to do that, Mr.” You tell him, and he shrugs.

“If you say so.” Barnes goes to turn away, then thinks better of it. Sucking his teeth, he tilts his head, looking you up and down once again. His eyes linger on your hair, then your dress, before finally settling on your clenched fists. “You travellin’ alone, Miss?”

“I don’t see why that's any of your business, Mr…?” You trail off, fingers flexing as you force yourself to loosen the grip on your skirts.

“Mr. Clark. Benjamin Clark.”

A false name. Clever.

“Right.”

He chuckles with a shake of his head, tapping the bar for a drink to be sent his way. Exhaustion seems to embody his very being; fatigue hangs from his bones like his own flesh and muscle. He doesn’t seem to notice your analysing stare; his focus is instead drawn to wiping off the splatter of blood that had been spat in his face at some point during the commotion.

“Look, Miss…?” He begins with a sigh, finally looking you in the eye.

“Nellie Chase.” You lie through your teeth, watching him through your eyelashes. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he looks down at you.

“Look, Miss Chase. I don’t know yer circumstances, but it ain’t safe for a lady such as yerself to be travellin’ alone, especially in these parts. I imagine you was just passin’ through like the rest of us, then got stuck ‘cause of all that rain. But, with men and women of all sorts all trapped up together like this… well, it’s bound to cause trouble. You’d be better to stay locked up in your rooms, Miss; it would be safer than roughin’ it out with this lot.”

You hold back a scoff and instead opt to lift your chin. A smirk pulls at the corners of your mouth as you take a step closer to the outlaw, eyebrows raised and head cocked to one side. “Well, thank you for your wisdom, Mr. Clark, but I am perfectly capable of handlin’ myself.”

A glass of whiskey was now in his hand, and you coolly slid over a coin to pay for it before he could. He blinks at you in surprise, and you flash him a grin in response. With narrowed eyes, he swallows back half of the amber liquid.

“I imagine so.” He lets out gruffly. “Where are ya’ headed?”

“Saguaro Basin.”

“Saguaro Basin? Wha’chu doin’ headed that way? Last I heard, there was some bad business in those parts. Cholera and all that.”

“I’m goin’ to be married.” You make a point of flashing the ring on your finger, which is met with a half-interested grunt. He didn’t seem to question how garish it was or how the metal did not match the earrings dangling from either side of your head. Though you imagined, you could not expect a man to notice such details as a woman might.

“Yer gettin’ married and yer husband-to-be ain’t even got the time to come get’chu himself?”

“Well, I imagine he is quite busy workin’, and it is such a long distance to get there and back. So he paid for me to take the coach, as it is supposed to be safer—” You cut yourself off with a frown as you notice his eyebrows raise. You clear your throat as you decide to shift the topic. “So, where are you headed then, Mr. Clark?”

“Same as you. West. Bit further, though maybe more Marielle ways.”

“Marielle… that’s…?” You trail off. You knew exactly where Marielle was, nestled deep into the western deserts and canyons. Once, it was the home of outlaws, whores, and rustlers. These days, it had been transformed into some sort of respectable town with the help of the law and the church. In fact, it seemed the now bustling town had grown in size from it’s humble beginnings and was becoming a hotspot of trade and business in the deep west. You’d heard mention of the fearsome prison that had been erected not two years ago, where prisoners were subject to hard labour while awaiting their sentencing.

“Long past Saguaro Basin, that’s for sure.”

“Right.”

You were met with silence, but continue to pry. Would he spin a grand, elaborate tale just as you had done yourself? Or would he tell the truth—a raw, bitter confession of guilt to just another pretty, misplaced lady stuck in Crimson Junction? This was all rather exciting.

“What brings you there? Business, pleasure… family?”

“Business.”

“What kind?” You dare to push further.

“Not the type’a business a lady such as yerself would be interested in.”

“How so?” You seem to be out of luck; as the outlaws patience had grown thin. You could practically hear the tension snap as he let out a low ‘hmph’, reluctant to answer the question. Your fingers dance across the sticky bar as you ponder if you should push your questions further, but Barnes had other plans. Taking a long swig from his glass, he finishes the last of his whiskey and gets to his feet.

“Well, Miss Chase, I thank you for the drink but I must be goin’ now. And you should get back to yer rooms and keep outta’ trouble now.”

The outlaw did not stay long enough to hear your farewell, preferring to slink wordlessly out of the building. With a smile, you lean against the bar, motioning for the barkeep to get you another drink.

Fate had led you to Crimson Junction for a reason, and how gratifying it was to know why.

PART TWO

#bucky x reader #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky x female reader #james buchanan barnes #marvel fic #marvel #marvel au #western au #cowboy au #a dish served cold

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threeletterslife · 3 months ago

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37 | Legends of Darlaria

⨰ summary: You wake up in yet another unfamiliar place. This time, however, these strangers seem to recognize you. With your previous judgments and aspirations thrown out the window, you're now forced to face where your loyalties really lie. Who will you betray? And which General will you choose to stand by his side?

⨰ pairing/rating: yoongi x reader & jungkook x reader | PG-15

⨰ genre: 70% angst, 30% fluff | war!au & magic!au

⨰ warnings: profanity

⨰ wordcount: 9.8k

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⧖⧗Many, Many Circas Ago⧗⧖

Your mind was empty.

You saw the world through the voids of your eyes, but none of it evoked a reaction.

You felt hollow.

Your feet were marching forward, but you couldn’t register the movement.

It still felt like fire was all around you, engulfing you, burning away at your skin.

Someone next to you was saying something, but you couldn’t hear them.

“-N. Y/N!”

There it was again. That was your name, wasn’t it?

Someone was shaking your arms.

When had you stopped marching?

You didn’t even know you were shivering uncontrollably until the mystery person steadied you. That someone also moved to block your vision. “Hey. Hey!”

That voice… It was usually so light and delicate, but today, it was filled with a deep urgency.

“Jung… kook,” you whispered.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he said, a little breathless. “You’re okay.” He gently pushed your hair out of your sweaty face. “Hajin went to get a few medics.”

“A few…?”

“Yes,” Jungkook answered, holding your hand tightly. “We both sustained minor injuries, that’s all.”

“Minor injuries…” You couldn’t help but parrot everything he said.

“You’re in shock,” Jungkook said gently. “It’s okay. Hajin healed most of our cuts before she left, so we should be fine. She’s a natural healer, that girl. Did you know that?” When he realized you were in no headspace to answer, he tried to reassure you. “Hey, you’ll be fine,” he promised. “If you’re feeling shitty, you’ll sleep it off by tomorrow,” he said. “It’s only your first battle. Usually, they’re the worst.”

But, indeed, not all first battles were the worst. For Hajin, her first battle was spectacular. She came back completely unscathed, glowing from the memories of the small victories she made on the battlefield today. The crown princess had been absolutely ruthless, slaughtering every Solarian who dared to step her way; she was the topic of conversation for the entire city and she knew it.

Hajin bounded into the infirmary with a gigantic smile on her face and immediately beelined straight towards the bed in the corner where you were lying and Jungkook was sitting on the edge of. A wooden basket swayed from the handle around her wrist.

“I hope you two are doing better!” Hajin said, setting the basket down by the foot of the bed. “Look! I brought some bread for your speedy recovery. I would’ve brought you guys deviled eggs, but they don’t have that sort of food here.”

“I was barely even hurt,” Jungkook said.

Hajin snorted. “Shut up. You were bleeding from four different places.”

“Minor injuries,” Jungkook muttered.

“Anyways,” Hajin said, rolling her eyes. “Y/N!” She grasped your hands. “You were amazing out there! I swear, you had those damned helluvians scrambling left and right!”

But you couldn’t remember doing all that. It felt like such a blur. Like it was something you dreamed about, not experienced. All you could recall was the heat, the sharp, searing pain of being engulfed in flames, and the red. So much red. Was it the blood? Or was it the Solarians themselves? Somehow, you could still smell the bodies burning.

“Thanks, Hajin… for the bread. But I-I… I don’t know if I can do it again.”

“Of course you can!” Hajin exclaimed. “Don’t let a couple of those helluvians kill your spirit, Y/N! You were ranked first in our squadron for over a year! And look, even Jungkook, who’s a whole private, came back with scratches and bruises. Don’t be too hard on yourself, Y/N! I’m sure whatever you did today, General Son’s proud about.”

But you were so terrified to walk into that field of fire and death again. And that terror felt shameful.

“You’re resilient,” Jungkook said. “Don’t feel shame for feeling fear.” It was like he was reading your mind again. “The bravest people are the ones who do the things that they are terrified of.”

He was right. He was so right.

“I’m sorry,” you said, burying your face in your hands. “I don’t know why I… I feel like I shut down as we marched back to base.”

“It happens,” Jungkook said. “It’s normal. What’s important is that you get used to it.” He placed a delicate hand on your shoulder. “It gets easier.” But you knew in his eyes, those big doe eyes of his that he never once found this difficult. Even with his injuries, that man never felt the same trepidation you felt. He enjoyed marching out onto that battlefield, and he somehow enjoyed the aftermath of it too—preparing for the next battle, that was. You wished you could be more like him.

“I heard you sustained a few minor injuries in your first battle today,” General Son told you as soon as you walked into his office.

You saluted him. “Yes, sir. I was ordered to abstain from difficult physical activity until tomorrow.”

“No matter,” he said. “Your next battle isn’t for another few weeks.”

You nodded, sliding into the armchair in front of General Son’s desk that he was gesturing you to sit on. But the thought of marching into another battlefield made you feel squeamish.

“Does that make you uncomfortable, soldier?”

Soldier. It felt so strange for him to call you that, after years of hearing him say cadet. It reminded you yet again that you weren’t just fighting wooden dummies and performing in silly little duels anymore—you were fighting in a real war with real losses and casualties.

“U-Uncomfortable, sir?”

“Yes,” he said. “Does the idea of going to battle give you discomfort?”

You didn’t know what to say. If you answered yes, would General Son finally realize that you aren’t fit to become a General? If you answered no, would he know you’re lying?

“I just…” Your words died in your throat. “I’m just… Well, it’s only my first battle, sir. I heard that they’re usually the worst. But I promise I won’t let this taint the battles I will fight in the future.”

“Don’t make promises you cannot keep, soldier,” General Son said.

Your eyes widened.

“Fear is normal,” he said. “It is what you do with the fear that will set you apart from the average soldier. Do you understand?”

“Set me apart, sir…?”

“I hope you haven’t forgotten what I told you a few days ago.”

Train like you’re already the General of the Darlaean Army. How could you ever forget?

“I just…” You hesitated. “I… Why not Jungkook, sir?” you blurted out. Why not the numerous other officials in the army who have years and years of more experience than you?

“Why not Jungkook?” General Son repeated slowly. He didn’t look or sound incredulous, but you knew him for long enough to know that’s what he was, anyway.

“I, um…” You couldn’t repeat it. It wasn’t your intention to question General Son’s decisions, of course, for what did you know about commanding an army? But Jungkook was Jungkook. He was a prodigy, unlike you. He was unafraid and brave and charismatic. He always knew what to say and when to say it. He rarely—if not ever—had moments of doubt. He wasn’t like you at all—self-doubting, nervous, second-guessing. So why was General Son choosing you over someone like him? You couldn’t understand.

“Because,” General Son’s voice was quiet and low as he stared into your eyes, “this nation needs a military leader who innately hates her own affiliation.”

You didn’t know how to react. Was he trying to say you despised the army? “S-Sir, I think there’s a misunderstanding. I don’t hate the army at all. I know I have the background of a scholar, but I swear—”

“No, soldier, that isn’t exactly what I mean.”

You stared at him curiously.

“This nation needs a General who will do everything in her power to deliver freedom to her people. Darlae has no use for a General who simply wants to win the war and become a section in a history book. We need a General who will demilitarize after victory, not bask in the glory and power.”

“B-But—” A protest left your lips before you could help it.

“But what, soldier?” General Son said. “Will you sit here and tell me that Jungkook does not want his name to be known?”

You were too flustered to answer.

“Many people fantasize about being a hero,” General Son said. “There is nothing wrong with that, of course. Some do it for self-betterment, and others do it for the good of others. There is no right answer, but I believe it’s time that Darlae has an altruistic leader.” He glanced at you and your stunned expression. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

No. Not at all.

“It’s just… W-With all due respect, sir, I have never quite dreamed of climbing the ranks in the army. It was… Well, it was Jungkook who dreamed of becoming the General one day.”

“Sometimes power is best to fall into the hands of someone who never coveted it, soldier,” General Son replied. “He will understand one day.”

“I’m only a soldier,” you said, growing desperate. There was something in you that didn’t want to accept this. You couldn’t possibly be a good General. You were only 19 years old. You were barely able to handle your first battle without breaking down afterward. You weren’t ready. You weren’t even sure if you were qualified!

“And you were only a student at Botswana when I first saw potential in you. Titles and ranks do not matter to me as they once did. Are you done with your excuses?”

You looked down at your shoes. “It’ll hurt him,” you whispered. You knew how pathetic it sounded, but you didn’t know what else to say.

“Will it?” General Son asked, cocking an eyebrow. “I’m sure he’s already aware. As you know, he’s quite talented in divination.”

General Son had an answer for everything—just like Jungkook did—and you no longer had any excuses left.

“Your only flaw is your fear,” General Son said. “And it is not much of a flaw as it is a natural reaction. You will get used to it. And sometimes, soldier, fear fuels you to do extraordinary things.”

Jungkook was right. First battles were the worst. But that didn’t mean the second battle was a miracle, either. You still felt that shitty drop in your stomach and the nauseating urge to vomit as you marched back from the battlefield, and though you were completely unscathed this time, you still shook in fear.

The horrors of the battlefield continued to plague your mind. They showed up in your dreams nearly every night, haunting you, forcing you to stay awake. As a result, you were even more productive in finishing the assignments General Son handed you, though you “woke up” in the mornings with heavy bags under your eyes.

You used your involute assignments to distract you from your nightmares. And when you managed to finish them, you sought after more until General Son himself ordered you to take a few days off to rest. But that was the worst order he could’ve given you. Free time meant you had the liberty to drown in the depths of your mind, which was filled with death and scarlet blood and scorching hot fire. So, you began distracting yourself with your craft.

There wasn’t much room for fashion in the army, but you entertained the idea, anyway. You sketched new designs and tried experimenting by masking a few of your rough sketches on any cheap fabric you could get your hands on. By the time a rather worried Jungkook and Hajin stepped in, you’d created more than a hundred gowns for every occasion imaginable.

“You, my friend, need a drink,” Hajin said, wrapping her arm around you and hoisting you up from the floor.

Wordlessly, Jungkook held onto your other arm, supporting your weight on his shoulder.

“I-I don’t,” you tried to protest. “I’m fine,” you promised, and you doubted that Hajin even had alcohol in the first place.

But a few minutes later, it turned out that you were wrong about everything.

One, you absolutely needed a drink.

Two, you were not fine at all.

And three, Hajin most definitely had alcohol.

You lay splayed on the grass, drunk out of your fucking mind, rattling off words that you barely processed in your head. There was an empty metal cup next to you, which had been filled thrice to the brim with wine before you’d downed it all.

“It’s like… It’s like I’m still living through it,” you whispered, eyes glazed over as you stared blankly up at the night sky.

“Living through what?” Jungkook asked. He brushed a bit of your hair out of your face, and when you reached for your cup again, he held it away from you. “No more,” he said. “You’ll get yourself sick.”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest. You were aware of how childish you were being, but you couldn’t help it, and you simultaneously hated yourself for it too. “It’s like I’m still on the fucking battlefield,” you said, slurring your words. “I can still feel the scorching heat. I can see the bodies falling. I can fucking smell it too. The redness of it all… Their uniforms, their blood red uniforms…”

Hajin patted your shoulder sympathetically.

“How are you two not terrified?” you asked, suddenly sitting up. You pointed your finger at both of them but suddenly realized how rude of a gesture that was and immediately dropped it. “I’m sorry,” you whispered. You stared at the empty cup that was now out of your arm’s reach. “I’m tipsy.”

“You’re more than that,” Jungkook said. “You’re drunk, Y/N.”

“It’s okay,” Hajin said, her voice much softer than usual. “Just let it all out, okay?”

You shook your head. “I don’t get it,” you said. “Why am I the only one who is getting nightmares?”

You could see Jungkook and Hajin looking at each other, but you were much too drunk to discern what those looks meant. After a bit of silence, Jungkook spoke. “Everyone reacts to the battlefield differently,” he said.

“I hate to admit it, but he’s right,” Hajin said. “Come on, Y/N, you’ve been a soldier for less than two weeks. You’ve got so much more time to grow and adjust, don’t you think? Just because Jungkook and I aren’t getting nightmares regularly doesn’t mean the others aren’t.” She grasped your hands in hers. “You need to know how amazing you are! Soldiers come back from the battlefield absolutely dazzled by your hexes, Y/N. You’re the talk of the city!”

“Because my hexes don’t kill and people think it’s ineffective,” you countered, covering your face with your hands.

“Hey,” Jungkook said. He gave you a look, which you should’ve normally been able to read, but in your state, you couldn’t at all. He seemed to realize this and verbalized his thoughts. “You’re enough, okay? Don’t get in your head, Y/N. Not so early on.”

It was too late; you were already in your head.

And besides that, the world was spinning.

Nothing seemed to make sense at all.

General Son told you that fear fueled you to do extraordinary things, but you weren’t doing anything extraordinary at all. In fact, you were ordered to rest because you’d started to write gibberish on your assignments due to your lack of sleep. You drowned yourself in your work and your penchant for fashion as a distraction, not because you sought those activities out. And that showed in the final results.

Your head was throbbing now.

You tried to grasp onto something, anything—it felt like the whole goddamn world was tilting on an axis and you were desperately trying to hold on.

Then, you felt something warm and acerbic rising from your throat.

Soon, you were hunched over, vomiting. Someone was holding your hair back and another was frantically patting your back. Your eyes squeezed shut, though a few tears leaked out. You weren’t so sure why.

“Are you okay? Y/N! Are you all right?”

“Shhh… She’s going to need some space.”

“Should I bring water? I should bring water, right? Oh no, she looks so sick! Maybe I shouldn’t have smuggled that wine over.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. Yes, she’ll need the water. I’ll stay and look after her.”

You heard some rustling, and the person who had been patting your back disappeared. You felt cold from the absence of their touch. But the other person was still there, and they were smoothing out your hair, tucking it gently behind your ears.

You could recognize his touch anywhere.

“Jungkook…” you tried to say, but it came out as more of a sad croak.

“Shhh…” he answered, then pulled out a white handkerchief and gently dabbed at your mouth. “Hajin’s gone to bring you some water.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your throat so dry that it felt like it was cracking from the inside.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” he replied.

“The world isn’t spinning anymore.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?”

You shook your head. “I still feel so low,” you said. “Like absolute shit.”

He wrapped you in a tight hug, letting your head rest on his chest, your legs brushing against his. The scent of clean soap and sandalwood filled your nose. It was his scent, the one you were so familiar with, and it helped calm your senses. “Things are going to get better,” he said. “It’s a fact. I’m not speculating anything.”

“How are you so sure?” you asked.

“I’m a divinist,” he said, running his fingers through your hair. “I’m perfectly capable of seeing into the future.”

And so he was.

Circas began to pass. Time nearly became an immeasurable metric as the days you spent in the army went by, and the battles you marched into began to bleed into the other. There was the third battle, where you’d fought side by side with Seokjin. Then the fourth battle—or was it the third?—where you and Hajin teamed up to lead the left flank of the unit. The fifth battle—or possibly the sixth—was when you reunited with Taehyung and watched him fight alongside Hajin and Seokjin. You couldn’t really recall what happened in the sixth battle. It was all such a blur. But you did remember being promoted as soon as you marched back to the 1st city. Jungkook and Hajin congratulated you, and you were happy as well, though the twisting feeling in your stomach held its ground.

The fear never ended up dying down.

But you did learn to live with it.

Even when you were up late at night, laughing over drinks (though you abstained from drinking since your previous incident) with Hajin and Taehyung, you felt the empty pit in your gut. Even when you visited Jungkook in his barrack at night, when he knew his bunkmates would be out late, and laid by his side in his bed, you felt apprehension for the next battle you would go on. Even when you had your lessons with General Son, the fear was there, sitting low in your stomach.

You were so used to it that it never really bothered you anymore.

You lived your life as you did in the 12th city, pretending you were safe, pretending your loved ones were safe too. Life ticked on like a working clock, steady and well-paced.

Seokjin and Taehyung still saluted you whenever they saw you around, and a few other soldiers (that you didn’t know the name of) began picking up that habit from your friends. You still spent every night eating dinner with Jungkook and Hajin, and you often went to bed with your boyfriend by your side.

Sometimes, when one of you sustained minor injuries, the others would visit them in the infirmary. You hated that place. It reeked of the war, and every time you went, the fear inside of you flared up, threatening to spill out and break you down once more. So you tried to avoid it the best you could.

There were a few slower days in the army, though it was rare. On those particular days, you liked to daydream, mostly about the people you missed in your past.

Sometimes, though rarely, you thought about Donghoon. It almost felt like you met him in a dream years and years ago. You were both so young then, and that fight you had between each other… Had it really been worth it? Did he ever regret it? You joined the Training Corps for your parents back then, but somewhere along the line of those five years of training, you’d shifted your motivation. Now, you wanted to be in the army—not because you were getting paid well enough to support your parents and certainly not solely because Jungkook and Hajin were a part of it, though that did help—but because you wanted to achieve great things for Darlae. So you supposed you burned down the bridges of that friendship. It felt shitty, but you couldn’t help but think it was for the better. He’d never want a soldier—much less someone expected to become the General one day—to be his friend.

More often, you thought about Joonhee, the boy whom you’ve accredited to convincing you to join the army. He had admittedly been arrogant and crass back when the two of you still attended Botswana, but he’d matured rather quickly after joining the training program. You wondered if he was well. The army was so large that you hadn’t gotten a glimpse of him in the several circas you’ve been in the 1st city, but you were waiting for the day to bump into him—to thank him. Only recently have you remembered the very words that changed everything for you: You can die and still be a hero. It helped mitigate just a little bit of that fear that sat nearly dormant in your gut.

Then, most often, you thought about Instructor Shin. She must’ve seen well over a hundred students since you’ve attended Botswana. You wondered if she even remembered you. You remembered her. Sometimes, late at night, you tried to recall the letter she wrote to you when you were only 16—the same letter that helped you put the fire back in your eyes and participate in the damn duels. May you one day change Darlae for the better, she’d written. After a long day on the battlefield, that was exactly what you needed to hear to want to wake up the next morning feeling re-energized. And may you one day still remember me, your strict, old, incompetent instructor, who nearly stopped you from achieving greatness in the Darlaean Army. You didn’t think you would ever forget someone like Instructor Shin.

It never really occurred to you to write to your old instructor again until you heard devastating news from Seokjin.

He’d jogged towards you, saluting you when he got close, though you were of the same rank. “Private Kwang,” he’d said.

“Private Kim,” you’d nodded, smiling. “You really don’t have to salute me, you know.” You told him for the umpteenth time.

“I know. But I choose to do it,” Seokjin answered, also for the umpteenth time. “Anyway, I just wanted to catch up.”

“Sure,” you said, your smile widening. It was rare for Seokjin to approach others for pleasant conversation, so you wondered if he was starting to warm up to you.

“It’s a Botswana Agate alumni reunion,” Seokjin clarified.

Your eyes widened. It had been circas since you heard that name. “There’s enough of us for that?”

“Maybe about 9 or 10 that I know of?” Seokjin estimated. “Either way, it’s not for a happy cause. One of them died recently. I think he was around the same age as you—a really talented one, too. Apparently, he ranked first or second in all of his classes at Botswana. Ranked pretty high in his squadron, too. Have you ever heard of a Joonhee? I think it was Lee Joonhee.”

The world began to spin.

And now here you were, under the candlelight, writing furiously, tears welled up in your eyes.

Dear Instructor Shin,

I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to do but apologize. I’m sorry for writing to you now, after all of these years. And I’m even more sorry I never wrote back to you. Life got ahead of me, and I know, it’s a fruitless excuse; I should’ve continued to write to you. I still cherish the last letter you sent me, and words cannot explain how much it has helped my growth in the army.

But with that said, I’m writing to you bearing awful news. I thought you should know. Please, do not feel obligated to respond to this letter at all.

Sergeant Lee Joonhee is deceased. I found out today. They have already cremated him along with the others who have fallen in his unit. I’m sorry, Instructor Shin. They’ve given me the letters you sent him over the years—as well as an unfinished letter he wrote for you. If you were wondering why this parcel was so heavy, I have returned these letters for you, along with his copy of The Wisdom Tree. It was hidden in his trunk of possessions. The book’s been loved and worn, but I know you’ll take good care of it. He probably wanted you to have it, anyway.

It didn’t feel right of me to read the letters between the two of you, but I imagine how heartfelt they must’ve been for you to write to each other for years. I learned today of his disownment from his parents when he joined the army. I wasn’t aware at all, though I’m sure you knew. So thank you for being his parent figure. It must’ve been so hard for him to go against his parent’s wishes to join the army. Thank you for believing in him and supporting him and taking care of him when his parents no longer wanted to. He was so lucky to have you.

I wish I had gotten a chance to see him one more time. Joonhee was the one who ultimately convinced me to join the army, and I was never able to thank him for it. He was so wise for his age, though now I realize he must’ve learned it from you.

He told me years and years ago that one can die and still become a hero. He trusted that his comrades would carry on his legacy if he died, and he was willing to put his life on the line for a chance at a warless Darlae. He was so honorable. It’s all coming back to me now, what he told me that day I ran into him on campus, sobbing from a fight with a friend.

He told me when the blockade was over, he wanted to explore the world. He wanted to go back to learning eventually, but the real kind—by truly experiencing it. He even wanted to publish a book. It’s so, so horrible that he would never be able to do these things, but I promise, Instructor Shin, that I’ll carry on his legacy. I promise that I will work harder and fight harder for fallen soldiers like Joonhee. And I promise I won’t disappoint you.

I want to change Darlae for the better. And I will always remember you, my kind, wise instructor. You have only pushed me harder to one day achieve greatness in the Darlaean Army.

Sincerely,

Private Kwang Y/N

Joonhee’s death had left you numb for hours. But by the time you sent the letter to Instructor Shin, hoping she would be able to decipher your nonsensical spiel, your tears had already dried on your cheeks. Soon after, you weren’t given much time to mourn. You were immediately called upon to do your duties and lessons with General Son, which kept you so well-distracted that you didn’t have the time to dwell in melancholy.

Sergeant Lee Joonhee’s unit had been a rather small one, though when it was decimated in battle, it became everybody’s problem—and especially General Son’s. He was ordering promotions now, to replace the officials who were recently deceased, and he was working the surviving soldiers day and night, piling on training and menial duties on their schedules. At first, you thought it was cruel to have those who were mourning working overtime, but later, you realized General Son was only helping them keep distracted.

Death was a nasty thing, and though it was everywhere around you, no one really liked to talk about it. There were hundreds of cremations a day, and you always passed by at least one group of soldiers mourning over the fallen. Joonhee’s words echoed in your head every time. I trust my comrades to carry on my legacy if I die. And so you began living every day for those who had died fighting for their nation.

The fear was still there, of course. But you knew that your comrades—the people you ate, slept, drank and marched into battle with—would carry on your legacy if you ever died. You could still be a hero. Your contribution to the army would have brought Darlae one step closer to winning the war. You were a private now, so you must’ve done something right to be promoted. It gave you just the smallest sliver of hope. If you died now—though you would hate to—you would have still accomplished something.

Strangely, even with so much death lingering in the gloomy air of the 1st city, Darlae was still winning the war. It came to the point that there were talks of Solaria surrendering. General Son kept level-headed about it, but he really kept level-headed about everything.

“It is not so simple,” General Son said to his officials. He began inviting you and Jungkook to these important meetings packed with all sorts of high-ranking soldiers. “The war is not over until the enemy has completely surrendered. We must not lower our guards. Do we understand? The war has been going on for too long for the Solarians to surrender now. I suspect they have switched Generals, perhaps to a lesser-skilled one. But even if this new General is a runt, they will fight back, for they became the leader of their army for a reason. We must brace ourselves and bring in more healers to our infirmary. The next couple of weeks will be bloody.”

Like always, General Son was correct in his judgment. In the next few days, the Solarians attempted to change the tide of war. It was then that you had your seventh battle, which was only so memorable because Hajin saved Jungkook’s life.

“So you’re telling me that I saved the Private Jungkook from getting seared on the battlefield?” Hajin giggled excitedly. She took a large gulp of the wine in her metal cup and grinned. “You’re forever indebted to me, private.” She drunkenly bopped Jungkook’s nose. Normally, Jungkook would not be very happy about that, but he was drunk too and only smiled.

“You just pushed me out of the way,” he said, quietly, taking a sip of his wine.

“Yeah. Pushed you out of the way of fire!” Hajin snorted. “A ‘thank you, Princess Hajin’ would be nice.”

“Over my dead body.”

“You would’ve been had I not pushed you to safety!”

You were stone-cold sober, and perhaps that made witnessing your best friend’s and boyfriend’s bickering even funnier. You were laughing, leaning back on your arms on the thin blanket that covered the grass.

“But guys, it can only go up from here!” Hajin exclaimed. She fell back on the blanket so abruptly that you had to nearly dive to move her cup half filled with wine away from her. Hajin stared up at the night sky, her eyes twinkling like the stars, her cheeks flushed from the alcohol she’d somehow gotten her hands on again. “Seven battles in and… damn. I can’t even explain it! It’s like… It’s like I’m finally doing what I’ve always dreamed of doing! Every time I go out there, I’m raining hell on those stupid helluvians, knowing Mom’s watching me from somewhere, really fucking proud.” She suddenly gasped as if she had a marvelous epiphany. “Guys, guys, guys… I just realized something! I swear, if I died now, I would be perfectly content.”

“Hajin!” you said.

“Your father would have our heads if you died, so let’s not think like that,” Jungkook replied, setting down his empty cup of wine. It seemed as if the liquor loosened his lips.

Hajin only rolled her eyes. “I bet you’d be the first to cry about me when I’m dead. I can just imagine you hunched over my tombstone sobbing your guts out.”

“You wish,” Jungkook retorted. There was a long pause. “I’d be sad, though. Don’t know if I’d cry, but I’d be sad.”

“Why, thank you,” Hajin snorted. “Now that’s what I want to hear!” She rested her head on her palms as she sighed. “I think I’ve gotten everything I’ve wanted out of my life!” she declared proudly. Her booming voice seemed to echo throughout the night sky, flying away with the sweet breeze. “I’ve killed some tree huggers, I’ve finally made it to the 1st city, and I even have two amazing bodyguards!” She giggled as her head lolled to the side to make eye contact with you and Jungkook. Except her idea of eye contact was fairly lax; she couldn’t seem to focus her vision at all. “What about you guys?” she asked, drunkenly. “I need to know if you have everything you want out of life. I demand you to tell me as my subjects!”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, lifting his cup to his lips to down some more alcohol. When he realized his cup was empty, he let out a disgruntled sigh. “When I become the General, I’d make sure no royal figure can pass orders in my army.”

Hajin only laughed. “So you want to become the General?”

Jungkook shrugged, but you knew it meant more to him than he let on. “Just a thought,” he replied. “So I suppose there’s more to come in my life. I’m not satisfied yet. I know I can be better.”

“What about you?” he turned to you, reaching for your hand. You gave it to him, though you knew how much Hajin hated public displays of affection. But then again, today felt like an exception; she was much too drunk to notice.

You stared at your cup filled with lukewarm water. It tasted strangely bitter as if the metal from the cup had tainted it. But it was still better than wine. The loss of control over most of your mental and motor abilities wasn’t exactly too appealing, and someone had to take care of Jungkook and Hajin if they went a little overboard. Besides, you weren’t very keen on having a repeat of the last time you were inebriated.

“What about me?” you repeated.

“Yeah, you,” Jungkook said, grinning. He was so very drunk; he usually never smiled that wide. “What do you want out of your life?”

The question was deceptively simple; it elicited a myriad of thoughts inside your head.

You always knew you wanted to make a difference, and you promised Instructor Shin that you were going to change Darlae for the better. But technically, every battle you went on was a step in the right direction. Technically, you’d already made many small changes. As a private, you at least held some authority over unranked soldiers, and it was up to you to relay suggestions to your sergeant to improve the skills of the soldiers in your unit. But that surely wasn’t enough.

So what was going to be enough? Becoming the General? Ending the war?

What if you were never satisfied?

Plus, there was that cowardliness inside of you. You couldn’t be fully content until it was gone. But what if it never went away? What if every time you marched into battle, you felt like your stomach was going to drop out of your ass and your breakfast was going to lurch out of your mouth?

Perhaps it was your sobriety that made it so much harder to openly admit what you really wanted out of your life. Or perhaps, you weren’t even so sure anymore.

Jungkook squeezed your hand. He tapped a few words of monocode on your skin, though you couldn’t exactly translate properly because some of the words were made up. “Thanks,” you said anyway. “I just… Well, I’ve always wanted to make a difference…”

“But…?” Jungkook asked.

He knew you too well.

“But I feel like I’m lacking so much. Yet I also feel like I shouldn’t be feeling this way. And when I think about my future, I wonder if I’ll ever even be satisfied. I mean, how much change is enough? What if too much change is bad? What if I think I’m making a good difference, but it’s actually really harmful?”

To your surprise, Hajin snorted, sitting right up. “Bah!” she said, waving her hand as if to dismiss your worries. “You’re overthinking it!”

You turned to Jungkook, who was nodding in agreement.

“You’ll know when you’ve made the change you’ve always wanted to make,” Jungkook said, which was quite a wise thing for someone so intoxicated to say.

“Exactly!” Hajin agreed. “We believe in you, Y/N!” she giggled, grasping onto your hands.

You smiled. You wondered if they would remember any of this in the morning.

And just like that, with battles and private lessons and meetings and late-night dinners, your life in the army went on once again. Things were mostly a routine by now, one where you always knew where you had to be and what you had to do.

Sometimes, there was a break in the routine. Instructor Shin had sent a letter back to you, though it was more akin to a note. She’d written one line: It would fare better with you than me. Attached to the letter was Joonhee’s copy of The Wisdom Tree. She’d returned it to you. And so that night, you’d reread the book and the entire time, you replaced the protagonist with Joonhee’s face.

The tale made you face your doubts, but it also made you want to smother them for good. You were fighting for your comrades. You were carrying on their stories, their dreams, their legacies. There was no room for doubt.

The blood on the battlefield, the arms detached from the torsos, still warm and wet, the cries of pain, the cries of despair and the occasional cry of happiness that it was all over—you fought for the losses. You fought for the lost. Because if you didn’t, you didn’t know how else to justify their deaths.

You never quite knew how much you’d learned from General Son until he asked you to lead one of those high-profile official meetings one day.

You were so terrified that you weren’t able to eat several hours before. Even when you finished presenting a few new hexes you were experimenting with on your own, you were still shaking, terrified of the feedback you would receive. But your ideas were received with overwhelming praise, and right then and there, you were promoted to a sergeant. Now, you had two privates who reported directly to you and a captain who you directly reported to.

Everywhere you walked, you were met with eyes in awe of you, people who saluted you and respected you. You were beginning to realize that you knew more than you thought, to have people revere you as if you were of higher status.

By the time you were 20, you were a captain who directly reported to one of the 15 majors in the entire army. They began using your charms in battle, which were extraordinarily compatible with both light and dark magic. Now, entire units knew your name. It took a while to get used to everyone saluting you when you walked past. Still, even at this caliber, you felt like you weren’t making enough change.

Sometimes, General Son would give you a few battle plans to look over, and only recently did he begin to ask you to write your own. Occasionally, it was a conjoined assignment with Jungkook, who had also steadily climbed the ranks with you. But even when you were creating the formations and outlining the strategies that were implemented in battle, you felt like it wasn’t enough.

By the time you were 21, you were promoted to a major. General Son was much more attentive to you now, inviting you over for late-night cups of tea and strategy sessions. It was almost as if the two of you were acquaintances, which was hard to believe. Sometimes, he would invite Jungkook too, but it was usually just you and him.

You didn’t know how to feel about that.

There were rumors that either you or Jungkook would be appointed as General Son’s Lieutenant General—after he served seven years without one. Then, there were also rumors that either you or Jungkook would take General Son’s place if anything were to happen to him.

It was horrible, knowing that Jungkook was secretly wishing for the same title that General Son handed to you two years back. But there was also nothing you could do about it.

It was that one night, that one night you were particularly wide awake, though it was four in the morning when it finally hit you: one day, you would lead tens of thousands of soldiers in the Darlaean Army into battle. One day, everyone would know your name, either praise it as if you were Guseul herself or drag it through the dirt if they were a scholar. One day, you would make the tough decisions and the tough calls and would have to face the damn consequences if you were wrong. One day, you would be at the very top with everyone looking up at you, and it terrified you.

General Son sat across from you, carefully watching your face with his dark eyes. His hair, which had used to be black, now had flecks of gray. His naturally down-turned lips sagged, though he wasn’t exactly frowning. And there were bags under his eyes that never seemed to go away—even if he got enough hours of sleep. The job had aged him. But you knew General Son didn’t give two shits about that, anyway.

There was a running joke in the army that General Son didn’t have any other clothes other than his uniform, which you were starting to think wasn’t quite a joke anymore. Even now, at four in the morning, he donned his perfectly ironed uniform, complete with his unique silver shoulder epaulets, shining black boots, and the beautiful opal on his belt buckle. You were wearing your uniform too, of course, but from the day’s work, it was wrinkled and stained. When you looked down at your shoes, they were scuffed and muddied. If General Son found the state of your uniform disdainful, he didn’t say.

When he finally broke the silence and spoke, his deep voice echoed in his temporary office. “Do you wish I changed my mind, Major Kwang?”

You blinked. “Sir…?”

“Are you beginning to accept that you are next in line to become the General of the Darlaean Army?”

“Oh…” You began playing with your trinket, tugging on your birthstone pendant absentmindedly. “Well, I suppose I have accepted it, sir,” you said. “I have had my path cut out for me since I was 19.”

“14,” General Son corrected you.

“Sir, did you really see me becoming the General of the Darlaean Army when I was only 14 years old?” you said, eyebrows rising. “I was still in Botswana, then.”

“I’m no divinist,” General Son said, “so of course I wasn’t completely sure, but you were always a promising figure. I had an inkling, and my intuition is more often right than wrong.”

“I still have my reservations,” you admitted. “I may have accepted that the position will be handed off to me, but that doesn’t mean that I am not worried, sir.”

“Worry all you want,” General Son said. “It will help you prepare.”

“Jungkook still doesn’t know…”

“He will find out soon enough.”

“But—”

“If you cannot see your sheer talent, then you must either be blind or humble,” General Son said.

You were stunned into silence.

“I don’t think you quite understand, Major Kwang,” General Son continued. “Most people cannot draft up valid battle plans in five minutes. Most people cannot create new charms, especially not ones that work perfectly with both branches of magic. And most people do not become a major in less than two years of coming to the 1st city.”

“I…”

General Son shook his head. “You have so much, Y/N,” he said. “You were born with talent, which most people aren’t. From there, you have also been given countless opportunities to hone your talent, which, again, most people don’t get. And on top of all that?” He placed his hand on the shining opal that decorated his belt. “You’re a natural alchemist. You don’t have to work harder to understand alchemy—not like I had to.”

Your eyes widened. “Sir…”

“People like you come once in a millennium,” General Son said. “And another thing about people like you? You don’t know how lucky you are. Others had to fight and claw and scratch and kill to be in your position. For others, it’s every person for themself.” He paused momentarily to give you a solemn look. “You do not think solely for yourself because you never had to. As I’ve told you before, Darlae deserves an altruistic leader. Someone who leads with the Darlaeans in mind. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

So many thoughts whizzed through your head. General Son talked about you as if you were special, but you surely didn’t feel that way. But then again, he was right that you were lucky. How many others around you went to Botswana for a proper education, befriended the princess, resided in the castle and were given private lessons with the General? But you weren’t a saint. You were no damn Guseul. You wanted to be a hero, yes, but you were afraid of death, for fuck’s sake! You couldn’t even imagine sacrificing yourself for your nation, though you knew this was a condition of going into battle.

“I have faith in you, Y/N,” General Son said. “I do.”

“Faith in me for what exactly, sir?”

He smiled one of his rare smiles. “To be a better General than I ever was.” Then, he walked over and placed a calloused hand on your shoulder. “Or to end the war,” he said, so casually, as if it were actually possible. “Though I suppose I’ll be long gone by that time.”

It was only a few weeks after your late-night turned early-morning conversation with General Son when disaster struck.

“Stay with me!” Jungkook yelled, holding onto the stretcher that was being rushed to the General’s private quarters. “Sir, stay with me!”

You were numb from the shock. Your body was moving, and your feet were pounding on the dirt to catch up, but you couldn’t register the movement. Your ears were ringing. Your vision was blurring.

“They crushed his birthstone!” Jungkook barked at the team of healers who were scrambling to do something about the dying General. “He couldn’t heal himself!”

You’ve never seen Jungkook yell so frantically.

“Stay with me, sir!” he said, shaking General Son’s shoulders.

Why couldn’t you move? Why couldn’t you do anything?

“Where the hell is Hajin when you need her?” Jungkook cried. “What’s wrong with him? What the hell did they do to him?”

General Son was barely conscious. His eyes were open, but they stared off into the distance as if he was beginning to see otherworldly things. You walked a little closer to the bed on which he had been placed. “Sir,” you whispered. His breathing was slow, near sporadic. He was dying. He was going to die. He knew it too; you could tell. You’ve never seen him so relaxed.

“Jungkook!” you cried, tears finally falling down your face.

He was immediately by your side.

The General met your eyes.

Chills ran down your spine.

This single battle had aged him nearly ten years. His uniform was missing a single silver epaulet, the belt around his waist had been torn and the opal which usually sat in the middle was nowhere to be found. His face was caked with blood and mud, and his hair was singed off. And his eyes, his eyes looked so soft, so weak. He looked like a mere shell of himself, already reduced to a memory.

There was nobody else in that tent except for a few other majors and healers. It was dead silent, so silent that you could hear the whispering breeze outside.

Then, General Son spoke. “Y/N,” he croaked.

“Sir,” you said, regaining your voice. “There’s still time. Hajin should be on her way. She can heal you. You’ll be better in n—”

General Son cut you off with the limp wave of his hand. “Shhh…” he said. And with a shaking hand, he pressed two fingers on his bloody forehead, where his birthstone had been when he was born. He was saluting—an odd thing to do for someone of such high status. He strained to speak what would undoubtedly be his last words. “G-General…”

“Yes,” Jungkook said. “You’re the General. General Son.”

“G-General…” General Son spoke again. “General… K-Kwang…”

Silence.

Everybody turned to you.

You stepped back.

“He stopped breathing!” one of the healers shrieked.

Chaos ensued as you and Jungkook were torn away from the bed and replaced by the team of healers who tried everything to keep the General alive. But it was no use. Even magic couldn’t bring back the dead.

You were sobbing, though you couldn’t hear it. And the entire time you wept over the death of your mentor, your superior, you felt Jungkook’s intense stare on your back. Perhaps a stare of betrayal.

Your officials advised you to keep his death a secret until you had a grasp of what the hell you were doing. They did this when General Hwang died, too; you remembered now. Has it already been seven years?

It was important to have a smooth transition to power—to not warrant the development of panic in the army. But your officials weren’t too worried.

“They all foresaw it,” they told you. “Everyone knew you were going to take his place.”

But did they really?

You visited the king several days after General Son’s passing, and the two of you cried in each other’s arms. While you had lost the mentor who had built you up from the ground, Hoseok had lost his closest friend.

“He chose the right person,” Hoseok told you, wiping the tears away from your face. “You will do wonderful things for my nation, my dear.”

You wandered soullessly back into your chambers in the castle. It felt like you hadn’t been back in forever. You realized how much you missed it. So, you crawled underneath your covers, swaddling yourself in your soft blankets and cried.

You lost track of time after a while, and when there was a knock on your door, you didn’t know if it was the next day or not.

Hajin peeked her face in. She looked worried, her eyebrows furrowed as she saw your state in your bed. “Hey,” she said. “Jungkook’s in the south courtyard. They’re hosting the funeral there. Do you need help getting ready?”

You nodded.

Hajin helped bathe you. She did your hair, put on your makeup too, even though those things weren’t quite her forté. But she grew up with her lady-in-waiting doing it for her all the time, so she subconsciously learned how to do it too.

“There you go,” she said. “Pretty as ever.”

You wanted to smile, but tears fell down your face instead.

“Oh no!” Hajin said. “Don’t cry! Your makeup!” She put extra powder on your face, hoping it would help combat the waterworks. “Have you prepared your eulogy?”

You nodded. And it hadn’t just been you, your 15 other majors had helped you proofread it and rewrite the portions they deemed awkward. You weren’t even nervous anymore. The eulogy was so far removed from you that it didn’t feel like it came from the heart. It was so simple, so efficient. So short.

You stood before the crowd of thousands. They were wearing black; you were too. And despite the sadness in their eyes, most of them looked hopeful—as if you were their beacon of light.

“Good evening.” Your voice echoed throughout the courtyard. “Esteemed colleagues, friends, family, and citizens, we gather here today to remember and honor the life of a remarkable individual who dedicated his life to his nation and its people. Today, we bid farewell to a true leader, a strategist, and a visionary—a general whose legacy will forever resonate in the annals of history.

“General Son Taegi was nothing short of brilliant. He possessed great wisdom to make decisions that led his troops to many victories. His dedication to his craft was unwavering, and his innovative approaches often turned the tide of conflict.”

Your hands fidgeted with your notecards. You were supposed to announce your succession next, but you couldn’t bring yourself to. You knew you might face shit from your officials for this, who were already frowning at your prolonged pause, but the people didn’t want to hear you read off of a paper. They wanted to hear what you really thought about General Son’s passing. You turned the cards upside down, adjusted the black shawl over your shoulders and faced the crowd.

“Today, we mourn the loss of a great leader, a mentor, a friend. General Son’s legacy lives on in the lives he touched, the battles he fought, and the ideals he upheld. It is him who I owe my military career to. When I first met him, he was the Lieutenant General, and I was only 14, a student preparing to become an alchemist scholar. But he saw my potential and had faith in me to build me up to where I am now. The gratitude that I have for him is ineffable. I wish I could have shown him how thankful I was… I wish… I wish that I could’ve embraced him, just once, and told him that he was my hero. That he was our nation’s hero. And he will never stop becoming our hero, even after his passing.

“On this cloudy day, let us wish General Son to rest in honor. Your memory will forever be etched in our hearts and minds. Your legacy will continue to guide us, as we march on, following the path you’ve illuminated for us all.”

You were crying again, but strangely, your voice was clear and calm.

“Today, I stand before you with a mixture of honor, humility, and determination as I accept the mantle of leadership that has been passed on to me. I step into this role with a profound respect for the challenges that lie ahead. I understand that this is not a position to be taken lightly; it is a privilege earned through steadfast devotion to the welfare of our troops and the security of our nation.

“Our strength lies not only in our magic but also in our unity. I am committed to fostering an environment that encourages collaboration, innovation and growth—an environment where each of you can thrive and contribute to our collective success.

“By no means am I here to replace General Son’s legacy. But I do wish to build upon it. Just as he led with wisdom, I will strive to lead with prudence. Just as he inspired with courage, I will strive to inspire with unfaltering resolve.

“Thank you for your trust, your camaraderie, and your dedication. To my soldiers, let us move forward as one, united by our purpose and guided by the spirit of service that defines us as our nation’s defenders. With your support, dedication, and the honor you bring to your uniforms, we will march forward, ensuring that the legacy of General Son lives on through our actions, our successes, and our faithful commitment to duty. To my people, let us protect you and allow you to live in peace and prosperity as my soldiers and I strive to bring our nation to victory in this damned war.

“I thank you again for coming here today. Let us continue to honor the past while embracing the future, as I promise to do my best as your new Darlaean General.”

There was a roar of applause.

It was so loud that it drowned out your thoughts.

When you were ushered off of the stage, you thought you would be scolded by your officials, but you weren’t. In fact, they looked at you with awe.

“You added a personal touch to it,” Jungkook told you. He held your hand as the two of you made your way to the orchard. It’d been so long since you had walked there. “It was beautiful. And it was improvised, which is the most impressive part.”

“Thank you,” you said. “I-I… I honestly can’t quite remember what I said. The words… they just came out.”

“And they were perfect,” Jungkook said. He squeezed your hand.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“What for?” he asked, but you knew he knew what you were talking about. You gave him a look. He sighed. “I was expecting it,” he said quickly. “I think we all were. And besides, you deserve it,” he told you. “You were always better than me at everything.”

Was that a hint of bitterness in his voice?

“Doesn’t matter,” Jungkook said. “I’m here to serve you now as your lieutenant general.”

You nodded. “I trust you with my life,” you said. “And love you just the same.”

He smiled. Tap, tap, tap, tap, his fingers gently danced on your skin.

I trust you with my life, too, he answered. And I love you even more.

⨰ previous | series m.list | next

⨰ a/n: ahh only three more chapters left until this flashback ends!! as you can see, things are picking up. it will continue to get darker as we approach the flashback's end!!

please consider telling me your thoughts with a comment, an ask or a reblog :) i love hearing readers' impressions/rambles/predictions! if you want to join the taglist, send in a private message, ask, reply to this post or reblog with your request!

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mslanna · 6 months ago

Note

Raphael telling Tav, "I've grown quite fond of you, in my way. Perhaps too fond."

enby Tav without body configuration blood Read on AO3

It Takes Too

It was an utter and absolute disgrace. A devil, an infernal being of the most resplendent order and – that. Raphael looked at the heap of flesh and bone before him. Shivering. Quivering. Slowly bleeding out.

He could restore the broken body easily. A snap of his fingers. A dunk in his healing pool. But the actual sting and pain came from how much Raphael wanted to. He was a devil, by the nine hells. A being of evil and suffering. He thrived on desperation. The view before him should light up his heart and bring joy to his day.

It did not.

The joy was postponed and relocated. When he had his hands on the perpetrators of this – incident. It helped his mood that all three of them, the three that survived capture that was, were currently secured in his private cells in his House of Hope. Future pleasure was guaranteed. He had many hours of delightful torture before him until, eventually, he'd suck out their souls like well-aged wine. It might take decades indeed.

But first, there was the matter of his little mouse. What was left of them. Raphael was tempted to poke the heap with a foot, but it wasn't worth soiling his boots over. This should have been the easy part. The shadowcursed lands were healed, the road to Baldur's Gate was free. And this is what Tav did with their triumph. Let themselves get overwhelmed by bandits. Bandits!

Pathetic.

A minuscule mewl of pain reached up to Raphael's ear. He'd have to intervene soon. If he wanted to. A question he had avoided until now. Yes, his plan rested, rather squarely, on the shoulders of this mortal. And yes, so far they had done well enough for themselves. And him. He enjoyed watching their progress.

But was it because it brought him closer to his own destiny? The Crown of Karsus was within reach. Tav was this close to figuring everything out and handing it over on a silver platter. His trap was laid out well. The mouse came back to nibble on the "free" cheese ever so often. Once in the city another meeting, maybe two should seal their fate.

Tav was bound to him, of that he had made sure. Raphael sighed. It was a fragile thread as yet. Too fragile for his liking. He wanted – Raphael paused. It didn't matter what he wanted until he had the crown. Everything else had to wait. Even Tav. Maybe, especially Tav. He dammed off the deluge of images intruding his thoughts. Later. Soon.

Not soon enough.

He crouched at the side of the broken adventurer and waved his hand over their body. Close, but not close enough. Tav moaned and moved in pain. A little punishment for their recklessness. Also, the noise was so close to its pleasant cousin. Raphael licked his lips. Later.

A little more magic and Tav opened their eyes, blood-shot and bleary. But their face brightened when they recognised him. "Raphael?"

"The very same." He put an appropriate amount of sarcasm into his tone. "You are reckless, little mouse."

Under the blood and sweat Tav blushed. They tried to speak but Raphael put a finger over their bloody lips. Close enough. Soft. His mind conjured those lips onto his skin everywhere and Raphael pushed the images away resolutely. No time for that yet. "Do you plan to get into debt with me until I can just ask anything from you in a deal?"

The blush deepened. "You didn't have to come."

"No, I did not. But as I said, you are my favourite future client. Am I going to forgo this because you throw away your life on a whim?"

"I want to live." It was a soft murmur. Tav looked away as they said it and their eyes went dark.

"Well, lucky for you then, that I want the exact same thing." Raphael stood and offered his hand. After some hesitation, Tav took it and let him help them to their feet. He gave them a critical once-over. They'd make it to camp.

Raphael ignored the urge to take Tav to the House of Hope. The healing pool beckoned and he could almost see the droplets glistening on Tav's bare skin. Unthinking, he licked his lips again.

"Why, though?" Tav raised a brow and tried to brush of the worst of the mud and gore.

"I've grown quite fond of you, in my way. Maybe too fond." It was enough of the truth.

"Do I owe you now?" Tav asked.

"And what if you did, little mouse? What do you have to offer?"

In return, the mortal looked him over. Raphael wondered what they saw. The devil despite his human form? The saviour he positioned himself as? Or still only a fiend after their soul?

"I can think of a thing or two," they finally replied. "To make sure you are not really too fond of me but just- an appropriate amount of fond." They smiled as they said it and though it wasn't in anyway suggestive, it cut Raphael to the bone.

"Cat got your tongue?" Tav still smiled and held out their hand. "Let me get cleaned up and look into any remaining injuries and I am all yours. For now."

On impulse, Raphael took Tav's hand, pulled them close and teleported into the House of Hope. They could treat any lingering ailments there, much better than in the field or camp. All his for now was good enough. For now.

#bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3 fanfiction #prompt fill #sleazy second-hand car dealer #anon answered #mel writes fanfic

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leviabeat · 1 year ago

Text

Michael in The Devil's Bleeding Crown music video

#volbeat #michael poulsen #the devil's bleeding crown #music video #volbeat gifs #my gif

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deadlyflames · 10 months ago

Text

This is a playlist I made for a fic I'm working on to explore an au post 3x09 where Klaus actually reacts to the MFG recruiting Mikael to try to kill him. And things go down hill for everyone from there.

This is definitely a dark (kinda toxic) version of Klonnie, but I like dark ships ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Let Me Crawl Inside Your Veins

I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME - Choke ~ "if I could burn this town, I wouldn't hesitate to smile while you suffocate and die"

MILCK - Devil Devil ~ "to think I would ever settle for that devious dance between you and me"

Scissor Sisters - I Can’t Decide ~ "I can't decide whether you should live or die"

Melanie Martinez - Tag, You’re It ~ "little bit of poison in me, I can taste your skin in my teeth"

Shinedown - I Own You ~ "strip down, show me flesh and bone, cause now I own you"

Nicole Dollanganger - Dog Teeth ~ "you draw blood just to taste it, you hold bones just to break them"

Depeche Mode - Corrupt ~ "you'd be calling out my name, begging me to play my games"

Florence + The Machine - Seven Devils ~ "I've come to burn your kingdom down, and no fires and no lakes can put the fire out"

Sickick - Mind Games ~ "once I grip onto your mind and soul your brightness starts to dim"

Ellise - Nightmares ~ "so sick of thinking of all the things you need from me, who you think that I should be"

I DONT KNOW HOW BUT THEY FOUND ME - Bleed Magic ~ "to drain you, and bleed your magic out"

Blood Red Shoes - God Complex ~ "you left me high and you left me dry, then you fed me to the wolves"

Shayfer James - Villainous Thing ~ "cause youre a villainous thing, and I don't think anyone knows"

Digital Daggers - The Devil Within ~ "I'm gonna make you suffer, this hell you put me in, I'm underneath your skin, the devil within"

Muse - Undisclosed Desires ~ "I want to satisfy the undisclosed desires in your heart"

Valerie Broussard - A Little Wicked ~ "to that king I will bow, at least for now; one of these days a-comin', I'm gonna take that boy's crown"

Miike Snow - Genghis Khan ~ "but you can't be free, cause I'm selfish, I'm obscene"

Blue Foundation - Eyes on Fire ~ "and I'm not scared of your stolen power, see right through you any hour"

Rosenfeld - I Want To ~ "your on my mind, been there all night, I've been missing seeing my midnight queen"

renforshort - mind games ~ "taking up my headspace, sleeping in your brain, I swear this boy is deadly, he loves these silly games"

Air Traffic Controler - This Is Love ~ "you could kill me and you should, I'm an idiot for thinking this was anything but blood"

BANKS - Beggin For Thread ~ "strapped down to something that you don't understand, don't know what you were getting yourself into"

Three Days Grace - I Hate Everything About You ~ "I hate everything about you, why do I love you?"

Halsey - Hold Me Down ~ "I sold my soul to a three-piece and he told me I was holy, he's got me down on both knees, but it's the devil that's tryna hold me down"

The Bravery - Hatef - - k ~ "I will show no mercy for you, you had no mercy for me, the only thing that I ask, love me mercilessly"

Florence + The Machine - Howl ~ "drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart, my fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in"

Troye Sivan - BITE ~ "you can coax the cold right out of me, drape me in your warmth"

Daughter - Landfill ~ "'cause this is torturous, electricity between both of us, and this is dangerous, 'cause I want you so much, but I hate your guts"

Super Pipo - I Wanna Be Your Slave ~ "I wanna make you quiet, I wanna make you nervous, I wanna set you free but I'm too fucking jealous"

girl in red - bad idea! ~ "you pushed me up against my wall, threw my clothes down on the floor, 'darling, are you ready for more?'"

Nine Inch Nails - Closer ~ "I wanna fuck you like an animal, my whole existence is flawed, you get me closer to God"

Halsey - Young God ~ "there's a light in the crack that's separating your thighs, and if you wanna go to heaven, you should fuck me tonight"

SIAMES - The Wolf ~ "out of my head, of my heart and my mind, 'cause I can feel how your flesh now is crying out for more"

Lana Del Ray - Once Upon a Dream ~ "yet I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem, but if I know you, I know what you'll do, you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream"

Dutch Melrose - RUNRUNRUN ~ "run for your life, gonna tear out your heart, it'll always be mine, oh, there she go losing my head, say you'll love me to death"

Melanie Martinez - Toxic ~ "with a taste of your lips, I'm on a ride, you're toxic, I'm slippin' under, with a taste of a poison paradise, I'm addicted to you, don't you know that you're toxic?"

Aesthetic Perfection - Big Bad Wolf ~ "because, my dear, you look so good, you're good enough to eat, I'll never let you, once I have sunk in my teeth into you"

AURORA - A Dangerous Thing ~ "something about you is soft like an angel, and something inside you is violence and danger, I knew from the moment we met, you are a dangerous thing"

Reignwolf - I Want You ~ "I get the feeling that you just don't understand, I'm crying wolf and I'll always be your man"

BANKS - Waiting Game ~ "what if the way we started made it something cursed from the start? what if it only gets colder? would you still wrap me up and tell me that you think this was smart?"

The Brobecks - If You Like It Or Not ~ "oh my girl, just give me a chance, I don't want to explain, I just want to dance on the graves, on the graves of every girl that I knew before you, they're all dead to me too"

Zella Day - Shadow Preachers ~ "I close my eyes, just close the door, you want a minute, I'll give you more, maybe I don't want you either, we're both unsettled, nighttime creatures"

Neon Trees - Your Surrender ~ "I got close to your skin while you were sleeping, I taste the salt on your hands, I reached out to touch you, the morning light disarms you, won't you let me in?"

Charli XCX - enemy ~ "you’re the only one who knows the way I’m really feelin’, now it’s really clear to me, you could do a little damage, you could cut me deeper, maybe you’re my enemy"

Sleeping At Last - Dark Horse ~ "So you wanna play with magic, girl you should know what youre falling for, baby do you dare to do this"

Billie Eilish - ocean eyes ~ "I'm scared, I've never fallen from quite this high, falling into your ocean eyes"

The Neighbourhood - A Little Death ~ "I want you to touch me there, make me feel like I'm breathing, feel like I'm human"

Of Monsters and Men - Silhouettes ~ "a thousand silhouettes dancing on my chest, no matter where I sleep, you are haunting me"

Hozier - NFWMB ~ "give your heart and soul to charity, 'cause the rest of you, the best of you, honey, belongs to me"

Melanie Martinez - Carousel ~ "and it's all fun and games 'til somebody falls in love, but you already bought a ticket and there's no turning back now"

Muse - I Belong to You ~ "How much pain has cracked your soul? How much love would make you whole? You're my guiding lightning strike"

Billie Eilish - hostage ~ "let me crawl inside your veins, I'll build a wall, give you a ball and chain, it's not like me to be so mean, you're all I wanted, just let me hold you like a hostage"

BOBI ANDONOV, Son Lux - Smoke - Son Lux Remix ~ "now you got me where you want me cause I'm on the ropes, baby, don't make me rush, 'cause I only wanna save you slow and breathe you in like smoke"

Taylor Swift - Wildest Dreams ~ "Nothing lasts forever, but this is gonna take me down, he's so tall and handsome as hell, he's so bad, but he does it so well"

The Civil Wars - Poison and Wine ~ "oh, your mouth is poison, your mouth is wine, you think your dreams are the same as mine, oh, I don't love you, but I always will"

Stateless - Bloodstream ~ "I think I might've inhaled you, I could feel you behind my eyes, you've gotten into my bloodstream, I could feel you flowing in me"

Beyoncé - Crazy In Love - Remix ~ "it's the way that you know what I thought I knew, it's the beat that my heart skips when I'm with you, but I still don't understand just how your love can do what no one else can"

Måneskin - FOR YOUR LOVE ~ "I wanna be a good man and see you smile, and I wanna swim between your thighs, I wanna fuck you 'til you scream and cry, I wanna hold you in my arms tonight"

Florence + The Machine - Cosmic Love ~ "The stars, the moon, they have all been blown out, you've left me in the dark, no dawn, no day, I'm always in this twilight in the shadow of your heart"

Fall Out Boy - The Last Of The Real Ones ~ "I am a collapsing star with tunnel vision, but only for you, my head is stripped just like a screw that’s been tightened too many times, when I think of you"

Paris Paloma - the fruits ~ "As you eat it up whole, my body and my blood, you've claimed it now, so come drink up"

Tamino - Persephone ~ "indeed, it's wrong to keep you near me, one could call me cruel and deceiving, but in your sacred air I am full of light, your loving arms are the true delight"

Halsey - Graveyard ~ "it's funny how the warning signs can feel like they're butterflies, 'cause I keep diggin' myself down deeper, I won't stop 'til I get where you are"

Tom Odell - Can’t Pretend ~ "oh, feel our bodies grow, and our souls they play, yeah love I hope you know how much my heart depends"

Lana Del Ray - Dark Paradise ~ "every time I close my eyes, it's like a dark paradise, no one compares to you, I'm scared that you won't be waiting on the other side"

Arctic Monkeys - R U Mine? ~ "satisfaction feels like a distant memory, and I can't help myself, all I wanna ever say is, 'Are you mine?'"

Avril Lavigne - I Fell In Love With The Devil ~ "got me playin' with fire, baby, hand me the lighter, tastes just like danger, chaotic anger"

Hozier - Sunlight ~ "I had been lost to you, sunlight, and flew like a moth to you, sunlight, oh, sunlight, oh, your love is sunlight"

Fleurie - Love and War ~ "broken pieces of the night, sing like hollow lullabies, you and I, always in disguises; lover, hunter, friend and enemy, you will always be every one of these"

Tamer - Beautiful Crime ~ "take what you need, say your goodbyes, I gave you everything and it's a beautiful crime"

The Crane Wives - Pretty Little Things ~ "but trust is now something I make people earn, so I'm not inclined to just give it away to a pair of blue eyes with some nice things to say"

alt-J - Breezeblocks ~ "please don't go, I'll eat you whole, I love you so, I love you so, I love you so"

Billie Eilish - Bored ~ "givin' you what you're beggin' for, givin' you what you say I need, I don't want any settled scores, I just want you to set me free"

Steve Lacy - Dark Red ~ "why I feel this way, I don't know, baby I think of her so much, it drives me crazy, I just don't want her to leave me"

Melanie Martinez - EVIL ~ "took me way too long to put this to bed, lovin' you was lethal, guess that makes me evil"

Set It Off - The Haunting ~ "no one will love you like I did, will touch you like I did, so good luck finding something better"

Olivia Rodrigo - Can’t Catch Me Now ~ "I'm in the trees, I'm in the breeze, my footsteps on the ground, you'll see my face in every place, but you can't catch me now"

Ramin Karimloo - You’ll Be Back ~ "when you're gone, I'll go mad, so don't throw away this thing we had, 'cause when push comes to shove, I will kill your friends and family to remind you of my love"

Taylor Swift - my tears ricochet ~ "and I can go anywhere I want, anywhere I want, just not home, and you can aim for my heart, go for blood, but you would still miss me in your bones"

Arctic Monkeys - 505 ~ "when you look at me like that, my darlin', what did you expect? I'd probably still adore you with your hands around my neck, or I did last time I checked"

Olivia Rodrigo - vampire ~ "I see the parties and the diamonds sometimes when I close my eyes, six months of torture you sold as some forbidden paradise, I loved you truly, gotta laugh at the stupidity"

Taylor Swift, Bon Iver - exile~ "we always walked a very thin line, you didn't even hear me out (you didn't even hear me out), you never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)"

The Neighbourhood - Baby Came Home ~ "baby just came back around, told me she's leaving this town, said she needs time to explore, she said I can't love her no more"

Taylor Swift - Would’ve, Could’ve, Should’ve ~ "I can't let this go, I fight with you in my sleep, the wound won't close, I keep on waiting for a sign, I regret you all the time"

The xx - Fiction ~ "were we torn apart by the break of day? you're more than I can believe would ever come my way"

Paramore - Interlude: I’m Not Angry Anymore ~ "I'm not angry anymore, well, sometimes I am, I don't think badly of you, well, sometimes I do"

Black Math - Flesh and Bone ~ "this bleeding heart that's in my hands, I fell apart, I walk alone, beside myself, nowhere to go, my flesh and bone"

Penelope Scott - Feel Better ~ "of course I don't wanna feel better! can you fucking imagine?! no one's ever gonna love me like that again, I don't wanna get over it, I wanna rip the stars to shreds"

Coldplay - The Scientist ~ "come up to meet you, tell you I'm sorry, you don't know how lovely you are, I had to find you, tell you I need you, tell you I set you apart"

Florence + The Machine - Shake It Out ~ "and it's hard to dance with the devil on your back, and given half the chance would I take any of it back? it's a fine romance, but it's left me so undone, it's always darkest before the dawn"

#klonnie #Tvd #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson #bonnie bennett #klaus x bonnie #playlist #Spotify

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