#there were many more instances of this than i originally thought | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thankskenpenders · 12 days ago

Text

Thoughts on two specific areas of the writing in Sonic X Shadow Generations

The best new 3D Sonic game in over a decade (or even two, depending on who you ask) dropped late last year. And I didn't write anything about it! Sometimes life happens. Well, I've finally sat down to finish Shadow Generations, and by now everyone has already been singing its praises for three months. This is the rare instance where the entire Sonic fandom, and even mainstream reviewers, are in agreement on something. The level design is the best it's been in a long, long time and the cool factor is off the charts, embracing Sonic's peak cringe era in an incredibly confident way. It's great. If you're even reading this post, you probably don't need me to tell you that. So I won't!

No, what I'm really interested in here is the writing. Because this is me we're talking about. But I actually don't want to talk about the main narrative of Shadow Generations, which is really solid little story about Black Doom trying to mold Shadow into his perfect soldier. No, I'd like to zero in on two other aspects of the writing here: the revisions made to Sonic Generations, and Gerald Robotnik's unlockable journal.

The updated Sonic Generations script

The new package mostly presents Sonic Generations how you remember it. There are some tweaks, but it's not a major overhaul. Graphically, I don't think the game has been touched much, if at all. I certainly can't notice any difference without a side-by-side comparison, despite playing it on a PS5. The most notable update is that the game's script has been rewritten by Ian Flynn.

Naturally, this caught my attention. Generations always had a nothingburger story, so with Ian rewriting Pontac and Graff's lame dialogue there was nowhere to go but up. (I don't like to pin the blame for those games' stories entirely on them, as a ton of it was dictated to them by Sonic Team, but, well, I don't think they're very good dialogue writers.) But it's less a complete rewrite and more like Ian was brought on as a script doctor for some minor touch ups here and there. Many lines of dialogue are completely identical to how they were originally written in 2011, and many others only have slight wording changes. Ian was clearly not allowed to request additional scenes or extend the ones that already existed. He has to match the original beat for beat so that they can reuse 99% of the cutscene animations. Don't expect it to be a whole new experience compared to the original.

Still, I think the new script is an improvement, albeit a minor one. Various things have been tweaked to maintain characterization consistency. Cream calls Sonic "Mr. Sonic" instead of just "Sonic." Instead of calling Sonic "buddy," Rouge uses the pet name "Blue," like she tends to do in things like the IDW comics. Espio doesn't have to remind you in the dialogue that he's a ninja, and he no longer has a line making it sound like he has some kind of soul reading power. I also like that Modern Sonic now actually has responses to what his friends say when he rescues them, rather than being silent like Classic Sonic. They won't blow you away, but they make Sonic feel a little more engaged with everything.

In general, the altered dialogue just seems tighter to me, and some of the more childish or trite wording of Pontac and Graff's script has been altered. Here, let's actually make a direct comparison, just because this stuff is interesting to me as a writer. Here's a couple lines from after the Egg Dragoon fight late in the game, in the original script:

Modern Eggman: Ooooh... I can't believe this! I was supposed to beat you this time. Modern Sonic: Aw, I'm sorry! I didn't get that memo. I beat you every time! [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat this guy every time. It's like it's our job or something!

This is a simple exchange. Eggman is mad that he lost. Sonic is unflappably confident because he always beats Eggman, and he explains this to his younger self. But the wording here isn't particularly good. Eggman's simple and direct wording makes him come off like a little kid who's mad because his older brother beat him at Mario Kart, rather than a mad scientist who just had his plans foiled. It's making light of the situation.

And I've never liked Sonic saying "It's like it's our job or something!" That doesn't feel like a thing Sonic would say, it feels like a thing an outside observer would say about Sonic. This is a frequent problem with so-called "MCU dialogue," where quips meant to echo the commentary of a casual, somewhat disinterested audience are inserted into the story itself so that the writers can be like "See? We get it. We're genre-savvy, too!" It also just reminds me of bad Sonic Boom: Rise of Lyric lines like "Rings! It's like they're made for me!"

And then here's Ian's rewrite:

Modern Eggman: I recalibrated everything! This was supposed to be my time! Modern Sonic: Oh, please, keep dreamin', Egg-head. I beat you every time. [Turns to Classic Sonic] No, seriously, we beat him every time. Our score card's flawless.

Eggman's still mad about his defeat, but the line "I recalibrated everything!" makes it more specific. He put all this work into the engineering side of his latest scheme and got tunnel vision, thinking if he got his creations just right there'd be no way he could lose. "This was supposed to be my time!" also turns it into a time travel pun, which is a bonus. He's still pitching a fit over losing, but it feels more like Eggman pitching a fit, rather than sounding childish.

And then instead of saying that beating Eggman is "like his job or something," Sonic says he's got a flawless score card against Eggman. He doesn't take Eggman seriously as a threat��at least, not to his face. He acts like it's all a game. But he conveys this in a way that feels truer to the character, rather than feeling like the words of a real world observer poking fun at the tropes of the Sonic series.

Is this amazing, A+ dialogue that blows me away? No. Again, it's not a completely different scene from the one we already had. Ian had to fit the beats of what was already there. He couldn't go all out and write an all new story confirming his longstanding headcanon that the Time Eater is a remnant of Solaris or whatever. But the wording here makes the existing story land a little better and feel truer to the characters in subtle ways.

But to me, the main change is that the Sonics and Tailses seem to have a more solid understanding of what's going on with the timeline and the Time Eater, compared to how idiotic they sometimes seemed in the original game. Which is good! No more standing outside Green Hill and wondering why it seems so familiar. Thank god. As part of this, yes, there are a few more references to past games in the dialogue, like Sonic briefly being confused about the fact that they're time traveling without the Time Stones, or South Island and Westside Island being acknowledged as the normal locations of Green Hill and Chemical Plant. Yes, ha ha, insert joke about how Ian loves references here. Look, it's Sonic fucking Generations. It's a game built entirely out of nostalgic references. Just own it! And, again, in this instance Sonic and Tails come off as less stupid when they make it clear that they do, in fact, remember their adventures from presumably less than a year ago in-universe.

Eggman, too, seems to have a better understanding of the powers he's toying with. Where in the original vesion his focus was simply on going back in time to undo his previous defeats and he seemed kind of oblivious to how much the Time Eater was actually fucking up the universe, here Eggman says he wants to use the Time Eater to give himself complete control over the entire timeline. Eggman also makes way fewer references to his own failures and shortcomings. Of course he won't admit that Sonic has defeated him time and time again. To him, he's never truly lost—Sonic just keeps delaying the inevitable total victory for the Eggman Empire.

So, yes. The new Sonic Generations script is better. It won't blow anyone away, but it's better than it was. It's been elevated from "kinda lame" to "fine." No, if you really wanna see Ian flex his ability to breathe new life into old Sonic stories, look no further than...

Gerald Robotnik's Journal

Hoo boy.

The story of what happened aboard the ARK has always been... a bit confusing, to say the least. Fans with encyclopedic knowledge of the script for every route of Shadow '05 may disagree, but it's the truth. We've had all the pieces to understand the story for a long time now, but that info was given to us out of order by a pair of unreliable narrators—Gerald, who became a vengeful lunatic shortly before his death, and Shadow, who was subjected to multiple rounds of amnesia and altered memories. Some of the ambiguity left by Sonic Adventure 2 was cleared up in Shadow '05, but that game also retconned in a bunch of new elements to Shadow's backstory (aliens!) that lead to further confusion. Not to mention the fact that that game had multiple routes and only revealed the truth about Shadow if you sat on the ultimate final boss battle for WAY longer than the fight would normally last. Or the fact that Sonic X made its own tweaks in its telling of the story. Or the fact that none of these things ever had the best English translations. I can't blame anyone who hasn't played those games in two decades for not remembering the truth about these characters and getting some details mixed up.

What we needed was something to piece together all of the info we have into one coherent backstory, told in chronological order. And thanks to Shadow Generations, we have that, in the form of an official journal tying together what we knew from Sonic Adventure 2, Shadow '05, and Sonic Battle into the tragic tale of Gerald's rise and fall.

Ian Flynn was the perfect man for the job here as the guy who started his career by tidying up the mess that was the first 159 issues if Archie Sonic. This is what he excels at: taking disparate bits of weird Sonic lore from multiple different sources, boiling them down to their most interesting elements, and connecting it together in a way that will make the audience see the dramatic potential he's always known was there. Rather than feeling like a cynical exercise in franchise building, going back and explaining things that never needed explaining so that people can add more bullet points to the wiki, he puts a new spin on things that retroactively enriches those past stories. The story here means something to the characters involved and gives us a better understanding of them as people, rather than as plot devices to motivate Shadow.

(And, of course, Ian didn't do this journal alone. He wrote the story, but I also have to give a huge shout out to Evan Stanley, who made the final product. All of her handwritten journal entries, sketches, and "photos" included throughout. The physical damage done to the journal over the course of 50 tumultuous years, passing from Gerald to Eggman to a certain special someone at GUN. The way Gerald's handwriting gets less and less legible as his mental state declines. So much love was put into what could have been a mere text dump in a menu, and it really elevates it to the next level. Congrats on officially getting hired by Sega, Evan, you've sure as hell earned it!)

The main idea the journal conveys is that Gerald was under a lot of pressure from a lot of different parties—GUN, the President, his colleagues aboard the ARK, Black Doom, even his own family—and boy did it get to him. The known incidents aboard the ARK mentioned in previous games are put together here to form a story where everything slowly spirals out of control as Gerald keeps compromising his morals to further his research, thinking he'll eventually find some way out of all this because he's a genius. I won't recap that whole story here (if you haven't already played the game and read the journal entries, I would highly recommend at least reading it on the Sonic wiki), but I'd like to highlight my favorite elements of the story, as Ian tells it here.

1) The Eclipse Cannon

Here's something that never quite made sense in Sonic Adventure 2: why does the ARK have a laser that can blow up the Earth built into it? It was supposed to be a peaceful research colony. Sure, Gerald went crazy and swore revenge on the Earth, but, like... when did he have an opportunity to go back up to the ARK and modify it? Did he have someone else do it? How? The ARK was raided by GUN and shut down! And then they arrested him, held him in prison for an unclear period of time, and executed him by firing squad when he was no longer useful! It doesn't add up. Shadow 'the Hedgehog '05 would give its own answer by introducing the Black Arms and saying that the Eclipse Cannon was always supposed to be a secret trump card against the Black Comet. But, like... we know that's kind of a bullshit answer, right? You don't need enough power to blow up a whole planet just to destroy a comet.

Well, the new journal retains what we already knew, but it paints a much more complete picture.

See, long before Gerald ever made a Faustian bargain with Black Doom, he had already made one with an even greater evil: the military. GUN gave Gerald much of the funding for the ARK, Gerald's personal utopian research station in space, but it didn't take long for GUN to start pressuring him to design them weapons. Gerald tried to get GUN off his back by personally contacting the President of the United Federation, and the President gave him an alternative: how about, instead, you just use your genius brain to figure out the secret to immortality for us, so our soldiers can be immortal? Gerald was initially sickened by the notion and found it completely absurd, like chasing a shadow... but given no other option, the sarcastically named Project Shadow soon began in earnest. (Maria would later put a more positive spin on the name after Shadow's awakening, pointing out that a Shadow can show us the direction of the light, like she says in the game itself.)

Of course, this search for the ultimate life form didn't go very well, and without any results on that front GUN kept hounding him for weapons. Gerald would throw them a bone here and there to get them off his back. His research on Chaos resulted in the Artifical Chaos prototypes, which he worried would be used for warfare but could at least theoretically be used for search and rescue missions in floods, in his mind. But that wasn't enough. So he gave them Chaos Drives to power their mechs. And that still wasn't enough. He's got Emerl. He'll give them Emerl. They're not impressed by Emerl. They'll shut the whole ARK down if Gerald doesn't give them something big.

Fine! GUN wants something big? Gerald builds a huge fucking laser cannon into the ARK. However, as a middle finger to GUN, Gerald makes it so powerful that it would destroy the Earth if it was ever fired at any target on its surface. In other words, GUN now has their ultimate weapon of mass destruction, fulfilling his contract, but they can never actually use it. Oh, the delicious irony. (And also Shadow will blow up the Black Comet with it in 50 years yada yada yada.) Is this perhaps extremely shortsighted and naive of Gerald, to believe that such a weapon would never actually be used just because of the risk? Of course. But hey, that's Gerald for you. And I love this as an answer.

(Also, this, uh, kinda echoes something from real life! Remember the bit in Oppenheimer where he says all nuclear war will become unthinkable, and Edward Teller responds "until somebody builds a bigger bomb"? Yeah, Teller went on to conceptualize a superweapon codenamed Project Sundial that would have been able to kill all life on the planet, as the ultimate deterrent for war. This was never made for obvious reasons, but hey, there's a basis for this sort of thinking outside of heightened sci-fi! There's a whole Kurzgesagt video about this if you're interested.)

2) The Biolizard

The Biolizard is, of course, brought up as the initial failed prototype of the ultimate life form, from before Gerald met Black Doom. We don't really learn all that much about it that we didn't already know, but I just love the way it's framed in the story.

As you can see above, we actually get to see a picture of Maria holding up the cute little salamander that would end up mutating into the Biolizard through Gerald's experiments. (Researchers want to figure out how to replicate salamanders' regenerative abilities for humans in real life, too, so this was a natural starting point for the project.) And then, after it grows to a monstrous size and goes out of control, Gerald has to lock it away in an unused sector of the ARK. He needs to keep the poor thing alive for his research into harnessing Chaos Energy, building life support systems directly into it, but he doesn't have the heart to tell Maria what happened. So it just becomes this first dark secret weighing on his conscience. The Biolizard becomes Gerald's Tell-Tale Heart beating beneath the floorboards of the ARK. I love that.

3) Lost Impact was the breaking point for the ARK

Remember the level Lost Impact in Shadow '05? The flashback level on the hero path where Shadow is running around fighting Artificial Chaos enemies on the ARK 50 years ago? Yeah, that wasn't just a random incident. That was important, as we now know due to its placement on the timeline.

See, Emerl's rampage aboard the ARK that was chronicled in Sonic Battle and Dark Beginnings set off a domino effect. Emerl riled up the Artificial Chaos, causing Gerald to lose control of them. They became violent, and so Shadow had to stop them, as depicted in Lost Impact. The thing is, that incident sent an SOS signal to GUN telling them that shit was going down on the ARK. Gerald didsn't fully understand the trouble he was in and assumed that he'd simply be reprimanded by the higher ups, or maybe face legal action. But, well... the next time he heard from GUN, armed troopers were raiding the ARK.

So Lost Impact was the straw that broke the camel's back. I just really like that detail.

4) Maria

And, of course, there's Maria herself. Maria has often been more of a symbol than a character, this perfect embodiment of everything that's good and pure in this world who gets killed to motivate Shadow and Gerald's revenge plots. But I really like the wrinkles this journal adds to her and Gerald's story, and their relationship. This is the most fleshed out they've ever felt.

For one, the journal leans into the idea of Maria's intellectual potential. The rest of the Robotnik family is all geniuses, after all, and she was proving to be a really bright kid. She excelled in her studies on the ARK, and she even helped design Shadow's jet skates and inhibitor rings. When Maria died, the world didn't just lose a symbolic personification of purity. She genuinely could have been a hugely influential scientist who did so much good for the world. That's what Gerald wanted for her. But we'll never know, because GUN killed her.

Speaking of her family, their presence isn't just mentioned for the sake of fleshing out the Robotnik family tree. It's mentioned that as Gerald struggled to find a cure for Maria's illness through his genetic research, he faced mounting pressure from his family. They didn't want Maria to be up on the ARK forever. They wanted Gerald to hurry up and find a damn cure, or otherwise just send her back home to Earth so she could be with her family again. She'd been up on the ARK for so long that Gerald's coworkers started thinking that she had been born up there. Eventually she gains a baby sister on Earth who she's never met. A rift forms between Gerald's two sons, and he's unable to really deal with it because he's so consumed by his work. There's this sense that the family is falling apart, and that everyone is dreading the possibility that Gerald will never find a cure and that Maria will just spend her final years up in space and die far away from her family, because Gerald just couldn't let go. If that happens, it'll break the whole family. But he can't stop now. So he just keeps working. Curing Maria is the only way to win his family back, in his eyes. It can't all be for nothing.

But my favorite detail regarding Maria is this one paragraph:

Maria is growing into a lovely young woman. It breaks my heart that someone as bright and energetic as her is diminished by disease. There are no visible effects, and I've caught my fellow researchers muttering to each other, doubting her illness. It is infuriating. I find all my reason and restraint vanishes when she's slighted.

This is SUCH a great addition to the story! It's always been true that Maria doesn't really seem all that ill, just looking at her in cutscenes. With this one little comment, Ian flips that issue on its head and turns it into a story about invisible disability. She doesn't act like she's in chronic pain, so she must not be, everyone thinks. And this really, really gets to Gerald, as does the pressure from his family. He's dedicating his whole LIFE to saving her, and they think she's faking it?! It's such a small addition, never referenced elsewhere in the journal, but it adds so much flavor to the story, as does the implied family drama. It grounds Gerald and Maria and makes them feel more like real human beings, rather than being pure archetypes. It's just enough info to let my imagination run wild filling in the blanks.

You also get the feeling that Maria being such a walking ray of sunshine was the only real source of joy Gerald had left in his life before Shadow was awakened, and the only thing keeping him from snapping under pressure sooner. All this stuff just keeps piling on, everything's spiraling out of control, but at least Maria is keeping her chin up, right? It makes so much sense that losing her would make him go off the deep end when it's framed like this.

It's just... man, I never thought I'd care so much about Gerald and Maria. But that's the Ian Flynn touch. After years of less than stellar Sonic writing that seemed to be embarrassed of itself, I'm so happy to have new games coming out that fully embrace the history of the series like this, making its world feel so rich and real instead of just serving as an excuse for a string of platforming levels. I don't even like Shadow '05, but I'll be damned if Ian and the rest of Sonic Team didn't make something amazing by "yes, and"-ing Shadow's cringe past here. Sonic has truly reached levels of "we're so back" never thought possible.

#tkp post #other media

1K notes · View notes

chubsonthemoon · 8 months ago

Text

It is done! This is The Death of Translation, originally written in English by @landwriter, translated into Mandarin by @thirrith. Binding is dos-à-dos, with English version on one side and Mandarin on the other. Bookcloth was handwoven by me, on my rigid heddle loom :3

More under the cut!

Typeset: Fanbinders are Liars

Full stop, this typeset would not have been possible without Eth and all their patience, enthusiasm, and willingness to do even more translating! I reached out to them *checks watch* nearly a year ago in July 2023 (lololol), asking if I could use their translation of TDOT in a surprise bind I wanted to send along with Gloam's author copy of Flower King. They were kind enough to say yes, and even kinder to answer my questions when I reached out six months later in January, when I was finally able to start work on the typeset.

We talked about the many delicious things that are bound to come up when discussing translating not just from English to Mandarin, but also from digital space to meatspace. Some topics I had anticipated, like font questions, translating the colophon, etc. But even with the topics I thought I'd prepared for, there were still things that came up that both surprised and delighted: for example, while AO3's website allows for italics in Mandarin--

--my publishing program doesn't (or at least, it doesn't without needing to manually tilt every character by about 10 degrees). So as a workaround, Eth suggested changing these cases of italics to the font 华文楷体:

Through no one's fault but my own, this ended up being only slightly less work than manually tilting every instance of italics--I wanted to be sure that I got all of them, so I ended up doing a lot of double-checking manually anyway, instead of relying solely on the Search function. There was a lot of cross-referencing with the Word document that Eth was kind enough to provide, as well as squinting and general swearing. I also did the same for the uses of Latin script, manually styling each instance as Garamond to keep it consistent with the English edition:

The only other time I've had to do font surgery this intensive is probably for my typeset for Tell Me About the Big Bang, which I had to port over from a PDF. Folks, hell on earth. Do not recommend XD I remember squinting at my monitor as I had to visually confirm every instance of italics, thinking I will never do this again. Welp, four years later, here were are: fanbinders are liars, LMAO. At the very least, using Eth's Word document at least allowed me to search by styles, so it was a little easier on my eyes. 🙏

Is there a script that I might've been able to use if I was more code-savvy? Probably. But I figured going at it sledgehammer style would be the least hair-pulling way to get the job done, weirdly enough. Still, despite my best efforts, there are a few instances of PMingLiU to Garamond and PMingLiU to 华文楷体 that I know I missed, and I know I missed them because I caught them after I'd printed/cut/folded/sewn/glued (cue more swearing), so Gloam and Eth, my apologies >.< please consider them artifacts of a uniquely handmade object ajslkdjfs

In addition to the fonts, there were also some other fun things Eth and I discussed, like how to translate the notes I usually provide on the colophons! In addition to information on fonts, I also usually include some variation of:

This private, limited edition published by chubsthehamster (Moonham Press, imprint of Renegade Publishing) in 2024. This is chubsthehamster's personal copy. Out of three existing copies, this is the first.

The thing that came up with this, which still tickles my brain to this day, was how Eth chose how to translate "Moonham Press, imprint of Renegade Publishing." To get a better sense of what word to use for "imprint," they asked what the relationship was between Moonham Press and Renegade Publishing, which got me thinking about the relationship between my lil imprint and the wonderful @renegadeguild:

What's all very funny about all of this is that we are now, in fact, going by the name "Renegade Bookbinding Guild," per our most recently updated Code of Conduct. While this renders the wording I asked for out of date (and thus, the wording that made it into the book out of date :'D), I think it's also a testament to how cool the work @renegadeguild is doing--like any artform, fanbinding is alive, with its own evolving language, communities, and ideas about the craft. And I love it, I love it so much. (Was this also a plug for our new-ish website? Perhaps).

There's more I could say here, but this post is already going to be long enough, so I'll move on for now! If you get anything from this section, it's that @thirrith is amazing and very patient and kind, and I'm so grateful that we got to talk shop together. Thank you so much for all your invaluable help with this, Eth! I hope the typeset, though undoubtedly flawed, does your hard work justice!

Binding: Or, SO Much Math. Like, So Much, Guys. (It was worth it, though!)

Whoo, boy! So math was never my strong suit in school, but when I set out to do this bind last year, that wasn't an issue. At first. The dos-à-dos binding, if anything, just requires a little bit of finagling on the usual case-bound format--a bit more math if you want to do an all-cloth cover, like I planned on doing, but nothing I couldn't work out with some trial and error. (My prototype below!)

Then came February, when I took a weaving class with my friend, and then everything kinda exploded.

My original idea was to use some green Duo bookcloth I had on hand (this color, actually)--for those of you not initiated into the Duo cult, Duo is a Rayon bookcloth with a very devoted fan following in Renegade. It's very pretty; the Rayon weave is one color, and the paper backing is usually complementary color, so it has this cool two-toned effect. Duo is in high demand in Renegade circles because sadly, the company that manufactures it went out of business last year. (Although I've heard rumors recently that there's another company making something similar, but the cloth has a really high purchase requirement and is, like, for businesses only I think).

Anyway, I also wanted to have a gold line around the whole book as a kind of bellyband/obi to further connect the two versions of the story (another reason why I chose the dos-à-dos format to begin with heh), as you can see from my scribbled notes here--

But alas! I knew going in that adhering things to Duo is often Problematic, thanks to one very painful experience trying to get some iron-on foil on another bind (the textured surface of Duo just makes it kinda hard to stick or paint stuff on it). So if I wanted a clean, continuous line, the remaining options were to either paint it on a strip of paper that I'd somehow...adhere to the cloth? Or maybe cut different slices of bookcloth and glue them on. I wasn't satisfied with either of those options, though.

Then--the weaving class. I made a scarf, and I love it and I loved making it. But the whole time, I'll not lie, my thoughts were elsewhere.

In short, my decision to weave my own bookcloth kinda came from a few different factors:

The desire to attempt to recreate Duo, that elusive beauty, the one that got away, etc. (I have several yards in my stash, but still). Others have also attempted to recreate it, and I thought I'd throw my hat in the ring.

My current spiral into the deep hole that is fiber arts (it started with crochet, then knitting, then sewing, then weaving, then spinning, and now I'm eyeing quilting! Please help me).

The gold line. It kept bugging me. And when I found weaving, I just thought there was something very neat about the process of actually making the cloth for a dos-à-dos binding from scratch, and especially for this binding. I wanted to bind a story about translation (or rather, the death of it, and yet still the necessity of it--how we must try to communicate, despite of, or perhaps precisely because of, everything that gets lost in the spaces between people, and the tragedy of that loss, and the beauty of what makes it through, and the love always present in the effort regardless), and also, the translation of that story. Weaving is a very meditative process, and with every pass of the shuttle, back and forth, building slowly but surely the fabric that would hold the story that Gloam had written and that Eth had translated, I thought a lot about translation, and the gaps between people, and how we choose our words not just when translating, but when we speak at all. From a design perspective, I used the same colors I would've used had I chosen the Duo bookcloth--green and gold--so the design wasn't too altered in terms of color scheme. But I think the choice to weave the bookcloth--the thing that bound it all together--made the project take on a completely new meaning for me, both in process and in scope, one that hadn't been there when I started. I saw the warp, perhaps, as the original story, laying the groundwork for the weft, the translation; or maybe it was the other way around, with the translation providing the scaffolding for its own, new meaning, choices that Eth had to make with this word or phrase or another building something new, something translated, and the original a live, moving thing that wove over and under each word turned phrase turned story; or maybe it was both. Maybe it didn't matter which was which, in the end. And as I wove, the thing that connected them, that gold line that had started all of this, slowly formed.

All that to say: Good God, was there a lot of math. So much math. That prototype pictured above was actually made specifically so I could calculate exactly how much I needed to weave, lol, because while I certainly had enough thread, I didn't want to have to warp more than once. I'd learned the basics in my class, but the training wheels came off here. I wanted to make my own custom fabric, which meant calculating things like ends per inch, picks per inch, loom waste, shrinkage after washing, the width of that damn gold line, how much I'd need for the hinge, the turn-ins, the boards--the whole nine yards (I didn't actually weave nine yards tho heh). It was all absolutely worth it in the end--so challenging and so, so rewarding!

(And my final reason for weaving the bookcloth? Not gonna lie, It was because I just wanted to see if I could do it LOL. I love trying at least one new thing with each of my binds, and this was it for this project. While I've been bookbinding for a few years now, I'm still very much a beginner weaver, and I'm so excited to continue to learn and experiment! Also, here's a video of me unwinding the cloth from the loom, heh. I used 10/2 Perle cotton in gold and green colors :3)

Also, turns out, you can back handmade cloth the same way you can any other cloth! I backed it using my usual heat-n-bond method, and with some Unryu Tissue in the color Forest. Since the cloth itself is a bit transparent, there are a bunch of really fun fibers you can see when it's held up to the light, but which aren't visible when the cloth is glued down to the boards. Still, knowing they're there still makes me happy :D

Finally, capping all this off, is one final, small detail I really liked: ginkgo leaf endpapers :3 this one's for me and Eth and Gloam specifically <3

Aaaand that's all from me for today, folks! Thus ends (several months late XD) my last Binderary project for the year. This was probably my most ambitious bind to date, and gosh it was so, so much fun.

And, of course, thank you so much to Gloam for sharing your story, and Eth for translating it. I can't wait for y'all to receive your copies soon!

All my love! <3

#the sandman #The Death of Translation #bookbinding #fanbinding #binderary 2024 #<<<lol #landwriter #Ethiseth #also IF YOU SAW THIS POST BEFORE I FINISHED WRITING IT. NO U DIDN'T AJLKSDJFS #weaving #rigid heddle weaving

1K notes · View notes

faithisyours · 7 months ago

Text

Can’t Imagine Losing You

Azriel x Fem!reader

Summary: Azriel’s been acting moody lately, and you've had enough.

Warnings: ANGST! but also fluff. Smut, smut, SMUT! possessive Az, whimpering whiny Az, sort of a switch dynamic between the two, P in V, coming inside, oral both receiving, some ass stuff, i think that's it, not proof read

Word Count: 4.5k

A/N: Hey y’all! Sorry for being MIA. Here’s another fic as a peace offering. I wanted to try some angst so hopefully I did it right. This whole thing took so many turns. Hope it's comprehensible. If you have any requests for fics you'd like me to write, I'm all ears (i need ideas, please I’m begging). As always, minors go away. Majors, enjoy!

“I have some work I need to do at the House of Wind today. It shouldn't take long.”

You were sitting at the kitchen table eating breakfast, enjoying the warm summer breeze coming in through the open window when Azriel informed you he had to leave. You were disappointed, but not at all surprised. It seemed like there was always something to do, some report needing finished or some training schedule needing tweaked. And it was always your mate who needed to do it, especially on his off days, it seemed.

“Can you stay for breakfast at least?” you asked, infusing your words with hope to mask the disappointment.

“I’m sorry, my love, I can’t. I’ll see you later.” He pressed a swift kiss to the top of your head before practically running out the door. There was no, “I’ll make it up to you later,” or, “How about breakfast tomorrow?” or even an, “I love you,” before he had disappeared.

Instances like this had been happening more frequently over the past couple years, but recently it had gotten out of hand for you. You had been mated to Azriel for over a century at this point, and had known each other far longer than that. You originally assumed that these instances were caused by Azriel being distracted by his work. Being the spymaster for the Night Court was a lot to manage. But more recently you had begun to wonder if the spark had dimmed for Azriel. If he had started to feel differently than he had when you two were first mated.

You decided that tonight you would bring up your concerns with him. You prayed to the Mother it was only because he was so busy and not because he had begun to feel differently about being mated to you. For now, though, you finished your breakfast, put away the extra food you had made for Azriel, and got ready for your day.

Since Azriel wasn’t going to be home until later, you figured you could get some errands done while he was away. Azriel had been running low on his sleep tonic for a while now, so you decided to stop by your favorite apothecary and pick him up another one. While you were out, you figured you could stop by the market and get some more wine to replenish the stash you and the other ladies of the Inner Circle had drained not too long ago. You also picked up some ingredients you would need for dinner tonight.

It was nearing noon when you decided to head back home, but as you were making your way back, you passed the shop you had gotten your favorite lingerie set from. It couldn’t hurt, you thought, to go in and look around. It had been a while since you got a new set, and you thought you should treat yourself. If you found something you liked, of course. And as soon as you walked in, a rich purple satin set caught your attention. It was perfect; simple yet sexy, and looked rather comfortable as well. It had criss-cross straps that circled around the back and waist, to connect to the bottoms, which were detailed with black lace on the hips. You didn’t have a purple set yet, and you thought maybe Azriel would like it too. Maybe if things went well tonight you would let him see it.

You made your way home, purchases in hand, including that satin set, and hoped by the time you got there that Azriel would be home. But he wasn’t. You entered an empty home, warm yet breezy from the window you had left open, and started unloading your purchases. You put the wine on the rack, the ingredients for dinner on the kitchen table, and Azriel’s sleep tonic on his bedside table. Lastly, you fished that purple satin set out of its bag and tried it on.

You didn’t bother trying it on in the store because you already knew your measurements and didn’t want to bother anyone anyway. Just like you suspected, it was incredibly comfortable, and it fit you like a glove. Exhaustion washed over you then, even though it was a little past noon. Going out to run errands always seemed to suck the energy right out of you.

You didn’t bother taking off the set, but instead rifled through Az’s shirt drawer to find your favorite one of his, a flowy black cotton button down, and threw it on. Even though Az wasn’t here right now, you still wanted to feel close to him, hence the shirt. You curled yourself up on his side of the bed, enveloped in the comfort of his scent, and closed your eyes. The last thought you had before falling asleep was hoping this whole thing was a misunderstanding.

–

You awoke to the sound of a door slamming. You sat up, wiped the sleep from your eyes, and made your way towards the kitchen, the most likely source of the noise. You saw Azriel, leaning over the kitchen sink looking out the window. You glanced at the clock above the hearth, noting you had been asleep for about 4 hours.

“Hey Az,” you said groggily, “Sorry I didn’t meet you at the door, I was taking a nap. Did you just get home?” you asked, walking closer to him. He gave you a grunt in response. You noticed his shadows swirling agitatedly around him, making you stop in your tracks. “Az, are you okay? Did something happen?” A million thoughts cycled through your head in seconds. Did something happen at work? Are Cassian and Rhys okay? Is he mad at you? Did you forget something he asked you to get at the market?

“I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.” His answers were clipped, monotone. “I'll be in our room.” he pushed off from the sink and brushed right past you, not even bothering to look you in the eye, give you a kiss, or look even the slightest bit apologetic for his attitude.

“I got you more sleeping tonic. It’s on your bedside table,” you informed him. You got a closing bedroom door in response.

You had a lot of patience. You prided yourself on the amount of patience you had. But it was warring paper thin for your mate. You decided to make dinner to take your mind off it, and to hopefully give him time to calm down. It’s not like he’d never been moody before, but this was a little much. He was starting to act like a teenage son, not your mate.

–

Thirty minutes later dinner was done and on the table. You went over to your bedroom door, still closed, and knocked, then poked your head in.

“Dinner is done. I made one of your favorites,” you informed Azriel, who was just walking out of the connected bathing room when you had poked your head in. He had changed into something more comfortable since the last time you saw him.

“Be right out,” he responded, glancing at you as he said it.

You walked back out to the kitchen table and began to load up both your plates with food. Azriel joined you just as you sat down. He immediately started eating, seemingly not concerned that the food was still hot enough to burn his mouth. And it looked like you would be carrying the conversation this evening.

“Was everything alright at the House of Wind today?” you pried, hoping the question came off as inconspicuous.

“Everything is fine. It’s handled now,” he offered, still shoveling food into his mouth.

“Alright. Good. I just wanted to -”

He cut you off. “Can we just eat in silence please? It's been a long day.” The words were stern, but his tone was soft, tired. You paused at his words, letting them sink in. Maybe this was just a bad day for him. Maybe he would be better tomorrow. Maybe this conversation should wait, if he’s pretty tired already. But how long had this gone on? How long have you wanted to say something about it?

“No,” you said simply. He paused, a fork-full stopped midway between his plate and mouth. Finally, he looked at you. “No, we’re not going to sit in silence. I have something I want to talk about. And I realize you may have had a shitty day, but I also had a day. I did things I want to talk with you about. I’ve wanted to have a conversation with you since this morning. So, no, actually. I’m not going to sit here in silence. Okay?” You stayed staring into his hazel eyes until you got a nod, but you wanted his answer in words. So you kept gazing into those hazel eyes until you got one.

“Okay. Alright,” he said, lowering his fork and pushing away from the table slightly, keeping his eyes on you. “What did you want to talk about, Love?”

His use of that endearment almost makes you reconsider this conversation. Almost. “I wanted to talk about your workload. And how it’s affecting me. And your treatment of me.” He only nodded, encouraging you to continue. “I feel like your workload doesn’t leave time for us anymore. It seems like the amount of stuff you have to do on a daily basis is way more than it used to be. You barely get any time off, and even on your days off you still have to do something. Like today. And I want to know if that’s how you feel, too.” You gave him time to consider.

He cleared his throat. “I like to stay busy. You know that. I haven’t noticed an increase in my duties, but even if there has been, I’m not sure if there is anything I could do about it. Everyone’s plate is already full. I can talk to Rhys about allocating jobs, but I can’t make any promises.”

You nodded, if only to give you something to do. That was not the answer you wanted to hear, but you could work with it. You wanted to broach your next point, but you were scared he wouldn’t take it well. You took a deep breath. “This… this leads me into my next point. I feel like…I feel as though you haven't been treating me how I want to be treated recently. Like sometimes I get my mate Az, and other days I get Azriel the shadowsinger. Or I get moody, likes-to-slam-doors Az who can’t bother to answer his mate in full sentences because he's too pissed off at something he doesn’t even want to tell me, his mate, who he should be able to tell everything to, even if it “doesn’t concern me.”” Your voice had started to rise, but you couldn’t help it. You were angry. “And this was why I wanted to talk about your workload. It feels like you’re getting upset more because you have more to do, which in turn makes you unintentionally take it out on me. you regard me as a permanent fixture in this house, but I am not. I will leave if I am not treated the way I deserve. And Gods, Azriel, I hope that this is the only reason, that it is only because of you working too much, because if it’s something else, if it has to do with your feelings towards me changing, I don’t…I don’t even…” you trailed off, holding back a sob that had started climbing your throat.

Azriel was now standing, making his way over to you. He knelt down right in front of you, taking your hand in his, his eyes, full of worry and confusion, searched yours for answers. “Okay, alright, you’re right. I have been acting like a jerk to you recently. And I’m so sorry for that. Truly. Work has been a lot to deal with recently, but that’s no excuse. I'll talk to Rhys about getting more time off. So I can spend it with you, alright? But how could you think my feelings have changed? How could you even think that?” His look was incredulous.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, or rather, tried to. “We’ve been mated for a century. A lot can happen in that amount of time. I thought maybe…maybe the spark was dimming for you. Maybe you changed your mind. About me. About us. And if you did, that would be alright. I would live with that, if it made you happy.” You work your confession out between sobs. “I just…I guess I just got scared. I don't want to lose you.”

His eyes were still on yours, but the emotion in them had shifted. Now they were full of anger. Not anger for you, but rather anger at himself. How could he treat you like this? In a way that made you think he did not love you anymore. He had failed, he realized. He was failing you, your relationship, your trust in him. He had to fix this, had to try harder. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said with conviction, no room left for argument. “I love you. So much. More now than I did a century ago. Every day I love you more. I didn’t even think that was possible, but with you it is. You’re not getting rid of me even if you wanted to, okay? I’m staying, and I’m going to try harder, get more days off, spend them all with you. You’re the love of my life, ya? Nothing will change that.” He pulled you into a hug, kissed away your tears, and kept kissing you until your cheeks were dry.

He kissed you one more time, hard, on the cheek, then went back to his side of the table and sat down. He thanked you for dinner, asked about your day, what all you did, and in turn told you what had happened at the House of Wind. Apparently one of the Illarian camps had started some fights with another camp over space and resources. Rhys had thought it was taken care of, but there was another fight today, which resulted in Azriel having to go over there, break it up, and be the peacekeeper longer than he wanted. Hence him coming home late and in a pissy mood.

“You’re wearing my shirt,” he stated, cutting off your story of you in the market today. It wasn’t a conscious thought to cut you off. He had only just now realized you were wearing his shirt, and basically nothing else. He had been so distracted by what had happened today and you bringing up your concerns that he hadn’t even noticed. Possession coiled in his stomach like a serpent strangling its prey. Seeing you in his clothes, even though it was a rare occurrence, always made him hard. He couldn’t help it. Your strong, soft body wrapped in his shirt, the sleeves rolled up to your elbows, exposing all that lickable skin. It made his knees buckle.

“Is that okay?” you asked tentatively. He was looking at you now like a starved man, which you knew he wasn't, given the finished plate of food before him. You rarely wore his clothes, mainly because you swam in them due to how big they were on you. You guessed he was just surprised to see you in something of his, but that didn’t explain the heat in his gaze. “I put it on after I got home from running errands. I wanted to take a nap and I figured you weren’t using it so…” you explained, trailing off.

“You’ve been wearing my shirt all day. Only my shirt.” It wasn’t a question. More like a repetition of the fact in order to understand. But it wasn’t just his shirt you were wearing. As he said it he noticed the purple strap poking out by your shoulder. A purple strap. You didn’t own any purple undergarments. “What is that?” he asked, his gaze burning a hole in your shoulder.

Before you could even answer him he said, “Purple. You don’t own anything purple.” His gaze was lighting you on fire, his eyes full of slow understanding, pupils blown wide with lust.

You got up from your chair, pushing your empty dinner plate slightly forward, and walked around the kitchen table to his side to stand right in front of him. “Well, while I was out,” you started, your voice low and seductive, “I passed by that shop, you know, the one I got that royal blue set from.” Azriel knew exactly what you were talking about. Remembered your squirming form underneath him while you were in that set. He was starting to feel lightheaded from how much of his blood had gone to his crotch. “And I figured it wouldn’t hurt to go in and see if they had anything as good as that royal blue set.” You were teasing him now, you knew it. But it was so fun, you couldn’t help yourself.

“Please, my love. Please let me see it. Let me see you,” he begged, winned. It was music to your ears. He was so hard it looked like it hurt. He had started slipping off his chair onto his knees in front of you, his scarred hands coming up to grip your hips. He was actually begging.

“You want to see it?” you taunted. He nodded, swallowing audibly. “Alright, but no touching. Not yet.” You pushed his hands off your hips, which was more difficult than you thought it would be, and began unbuttoning the shirt. Each button you worked to undo made Azriel’s breathing heavier, until he was practically panting. His hands were clenched so tightly at his sides you were sure his fingernails would leave marks on his palms.

You felt like a goddess; the man you adored more than anything knelt at your feet, completely enraptured by you, in awe of all you are. You reached the last button, undoing it achingly slowly, just to see your mate break out in a sweat. His hands were clenching his thighs hard enough to bruise, his chest heaved like a dying man, and the only thing shining in his eyes was need. Need for you, need to touch you, need to be buried in you until neither of you could tell where one ended and the next began. Azriel was a gentleman, but right now, here in front of you, he was the embodiment of pure animalistic lust. One word from you and he would snap. Just how you liked him.

You let the shirt part, giving him a nice view of the valley between your breasts, as well as the crossing straps and lower, to where those straps connected. You dragged one side of the shirt down off your shoulder, then repeated the movement on the other side. Finally, you let the shirt drop off of you, leaving you only in that purple set. You stepped closer to him, and caressed his face with your hand.

“Please.” It was barely a whisper, but you heard it, saw his lips part to form the word. His eyes were pleading with yours. He needed you. Now.

“Okay,” was all you said before he was on you, standing, gripping your hips, kissing you, running his hands over all that satin. He was everywhere all at once, biting your lips, coaxing moans from your throat, groaning over the feel of you, and you reveled in it all. His hands came around the back of your thighs, and suddenly you were being picked up and carried down the hall, towards your shared bedroom.

You were placed gently onto the bed, which was still rumpled from your nap earlier. Azriel leaned over you, taking you all in. “I love the purple, but I need you naked,” he said, peppering your jaw with kisses. You reached down to your hips and unhooked the straps from the panties. Azriel quickly figured out how to get your top off, and in a matter of seconds he was dragging the purple satin down your breasts just so his hands and lips could cover them again.

He took one of your nipples into his mouth, rolled the other between his fingers, and sucked and licked and pinched and bit till your chest was littered with marks from him. All the while, moans and whimpers poured out of you. Azriel reveled in the divine sounds you made, the sounds he made you make.

He made his way down your body, drawing closer and closer to where you needed him most.

“Please, baby. Please let me taste you,” he whispered, pleaded, begged. You gave him confirmation, that one word he needed to hear, then he was dragging those purple satin panties down your legs and throwing them across the room. He parted your legs, exposing your glistening core to him. The look in his eyes was that of absolute hunger. He didn’t bother with teasing you. He put his tongue right on your cunt, giving you no time to adjust or think before he licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit, spreading your arousal across his tongue.

You propped yourself up on your elbows so you could watch him; watch as he devoured you, drank from you, absolutely consumed you. He licked and sucked at your clit, brought it between his teeth, and eased the bite with more licks. Your head fell back as you moaned his name, lost in the pleasure he was giving you. Sooner than you even thought possible, you were on the edge of release, that coil in your belly drawing tighter and tighter. Without warning, Azriel slid a finger into you, curling it in a way that had you falling apart. He added a second, and it was your undoing.

You came with Azriel’s name on your lips. He worked you through your pleasure, continued to lick and suck till you were shaking from overstimulation. You pushed his head away, but he wouldn’t budge. He kept on licking you, drinking every drop of your release straight from the source. You were boneless, soar from overstimulation, but you could feel another orgasm rising within you.

Azriel moaned from the taste of you, the vibration making your hips buck. He continued to work his fingers into you, curling perfectly to reach that spot that made you scream. Profanities and pleads and promises poured from your mouth, but Azriel didn’t stop until you were coming again, on his fingers, on his face, on his tongue. Finally, after drinking every last drop of your essence, he worked his way back up to your mouth.

He kissed you until you came back to reality, until your limbs regained function. You kissed him back, moaning from the taste of yourself on his tongue. And then you were pushing him onto his back, straddling his hips to keep him there. He struggled a bit, pointing to his pinned wings, but you only smiled at him. “Is the Illarian baby pinned?” you taunted him. He stopped struggling, but instead glared at you. So you dragged a finger down one of the veins in his wings, and a moan slipped past his lips.

“That's what I thought,” you muttered. He was still fully clothed, and the contrast of your nakedness only spurred you on further. You kissed him, long and deep and unhurried, while you unbuttoned the length of his shirt. He broke the kiss to shed his shirt, so you turned your attention to unlacing his pants. While you worked, he kissed and nipped your neck, working marks into your soft flesh. You worked his pants down his legs, aided with Azriel’s help, and eventually he was naked underneath you.

You pressed him down to lay flat on the bed, then started your journey down towards his hard length. As you worked your way down, you liked and sucked and bit until his skin was littered with marks, just like yours was. You scraped your nails down his arms, down his sides, till he was shivering from your touch.

Kneeling now between his legs, guided a hand towards his length while you kissed his hips and rolled the skin between your teeth. His hips bucked at the fist fell of your hands on him, which made you smile. “So responsive,” you purred, then licked him from base to tip. He let out a moan that had your thighs rubbing together. With your tongue, you licked up the bead of precum that had frond, then promptly took as much of him into your mouth as you could.

Azriel speared his fingers through your hair, not to control your head but to steady himself. Your mouth was a dream to him; warm and wet and perfect. Second best only to your cunt. You hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper and deeper into your mouth until he was hitting the back of your throat. Az was panting at this point, his skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat. Your mouth felt so good, but he needed to be inside you.

“I’m gonna…please…I need to be inside you,” he panted out. You pulled your mouth off him with a pop, then gave him one last lick before you climbed your way back up to him. You kissed him, mainly just so he could taste himself on you. Then you positioned your hips just above his, readying yourself to sink onto his length.

Using his hand, he parted you, spreading your slick on you and on his hand. He eased you onto his cock slowly, letting you adjust to him. Every time you took him, it was an adjustment. You hoped that would never change. You both made an obscene noise when he was finally, completely in you.

“You want to be filled, baby?” he asked as he ran the fingers he had parted you with down between your ass cheeks. Yes, you wanted to be full of him, wanted to be overwhelmed by him, wanted to feel him everywhere. You nodded. “Words, love,” he chided softly.

“Yes, please Az,” you wined. That was all you had to say before he worked his fingers into you, using your slick on his fingers as lube. He gripped your hips with the rest of that hand and the other, a bruising grip that was sure to leave bruises.

Azriel was sitting up slightly now, and even though you were on top of him, he set the pace. Slow rolls of your hips guided by his hands started you off. All you could think about was how full of him you were, how overwhelming the feeling of him everywhere was. Your pace quickens, spurred on by your whimpers and his moans. Your eyes were locked with eachothers, and within Azriel’s you saw his bottomless pool of love for you. His pupils were blown wide, and so were yours.

You kissed him, hard, and he returned it even harder. You’re moaning into eachothers mouths, the only goal being to guide each other to your peaks. You could feel that ache building, that need for release drawing closer and closer. Azriel could feel it too, reveling in the way your walls gripped him. He shifted his free hand around to play with your clit, and then you were coming, harder than you had in a while, cresting on a silent scream.

Azriel was right behind you, fucking sloppily into you until you were gripping him so tightly he could barely move. He came, chanting your name like a prayer, until his voice went hoarse.

You both laid there, panting and boneless, for minutes or hours or days, you couldn't tell. Eventually he guided you off of him, pulling out of you with a hiss, to lay you next to him. He gave you a kiss on the cheek before getting up to go to the bathing room. You heard the sound of water rushing into the tub, and in the next minute Azriel came back in, picked you up bridal style, and whisked you into the bathing room.

He set you down gently into the warm water then joined you, settling in right behind you. He pulled you back so your back was against his chest, then proceeded to wash you with a soapy cloth. When he was done you returned the favor, batting his hand away when he tried to protest. You finished up in the bath, dried each other off, then slipped into some sleeping clothes and then bed.

“We’re okay, right?” he asked, pulling you closer to him. Your heart melted, warmed by the idea that he wanted to make sure.

Yes, Az. We’re all good,” you replied, giving him a kiss on the nose.

“Okay. good,” was all he said before he tucked you tighter into him and you both fell asleep.

#acotar #azriel fanfiction #azriel fluff #azriel shadowsinger #comfort #acotar fic #fanfiction #night court #azriel x reader #fluff #angst with a happy ending #angst #smut #azriel smut #acotar smut #azriel angst

1K notes · View notes

ghouldump · 7 months ago

Text

Anything For You | Lestat De Lioncourt x Reader

ෆ all he wants is for you to be his perfect companion, yet you keep chasing the fleeting things of life

it was accidentally deleted, so i’m reposting

"You should've left me to die, I wasn't worth much before, and now I'm a monster," you stared at your reflection, disgusted with the sight.

"Ma chérie, don't be stupid, do you think I would give my blood to someone who wasn't worthy?" Lestat asked, approaching you from behind, but you pulled away.

"You made me into this-

"You will learn to control your thirst, you just need to allow me to teach you, and to stay away from that pathetic excuse of a-

"I loved him," you screamed.

"-and he used you, he used you over and over, then I came. I loved you, I love you, but you continue to chase a passion that should have died with your soul," Lestat raised his voice over your own, he was growing frustrated with your childish tantrum.

However, he knew he'd hurt your feelings, as your eyes softened. Biting your lip, you ran upstairs, to your coffin, wanting to be away from the elder vampire. He would leave you alone for now, until you were done with your rage. Lying in the dark, you chewed at your lip, holding back the urge to cry, you hated crying, one of the many qualities that were a reminder that you were no longer mortal. Tossing and turning, you closed your eyes, reminiscing about your former life, and what you could remember of it.

You grew up poor, living in the Third Ward of New Orleans. Your mother died during childbirth, leaving you to be raised by your father. He never remarried, and hardly paid any attention to you, working himself to an early death. At 12, both of your parents were gone and with no other family or life insurance, you began to search for a job, along with a new place to stay - the bank eventually had taken the house due to owing taxes.

You struggled for some time, trying to find somewhere, anywhere when you ended up at Canal Belle's. You worked as a housekeeper for the brothel, until you were 18, then you were finally put to use (as they said). The high-end whorehouse was very particular about who they employed, so you were determined to gain your boss's approval.

Prostituting was in the simplest term, miserable. Knowing you had a place to stay, food, and a bit of change in your pocket were all great - but there were downsides. Constantly being used and degraded, instances of abuse or being robbed. A life like this didn't have any true value until you met William.

Average height, dark hair, green eyes, and broad shoulders, he was one of the most handsome men you had ever seen. He had recently graduated from law school and was the dreamiest man you'd ever met. Although looking back at the last year, when you were alive, he was more underwhelming than originally thought to be.

"I can see why you were a hefty penny, miss?"

"Y/n"

"Miss Y/n, you can call me Bill, thank you for your beautiful talent," he said, holding out his hand, smiling as you hesitantly accepted his hand.

"Do you sweet talk every lady of the night, after their service is done?"

"Only the ones as gorgeous as you-l'm messing around, you..are my first"

"Well, I'm glad to be apart of the experience," you smiled, climbing out of the bed, and going to the vanity. You had other clients tonight, you had to clean yourself up.

Watching as he left the room, your eyes briefly flickered at your reflection, before you began to wash up. William quickly came to become a regular at the brothel, everyone knew you were his favorite. As his paywage increased, he grew more arrogant and possessive, not wanting to share you with others.

Meanwhile, the soft spot that you once had for him, grew into genuine love. 'I'm gonna take you from this place, we'll move down to Lafayette, build a nice house, have a lot of babies', he pillow talked. Your heart nearly shattered, finding out that he already had a wife.

"You have to understand, darling, it was arranged by my old man, once he's dead, then I can divorce her, and I'm all yours," he reassured, wiping your stained face.

"You promise?"

"I promise, now take off this pretty dress for me," he said, pulling you into his lap.

In a way, you accepted your unfair situation - life had already dealt you a poor hand, so why deny yourself love? No, it wasn't proper, but nothing about your life was. that is until the mysterious French man moved to New Orleans.

The first night you'd met, you couldn't help but be mesmerized. Sitting at the small table in the corner of the balcony, you listened to the band. You always had an ear for music and it was rare moments like these, you were able to truly enjoy the sound of the instruments.

William was running late, you weren't even sure if he would make it tonight, but you didn't mind. You would miss out on money, but at least you could hear the music. Something about the melancholy of the trumpet, made the sorrows of your life fade.

"I agree, this song is lovely on the ears," hearing the voice you jolted, turning to face the man.

"May I?" he motioned at the table.

"Oh, yes," you nodded, watching as he sat near you, crossing his leg over the other.

"I don't believe I've heard this band play before"

"They're new, only play on Friday nights"

"Ah, that certainly explains it"

“I don't believe I've seen you before, are you a tourist?"

"I recently moved here," he pulled out a card, his name written in golden letters.

"Lestat, I'm-

"Y/n, yes, I've heard much about you, are you still accepting clients, Ma chèrie?"

"I-

"Y/n, come," William said, approaching the two of you.

'Do not let him speak to you in such a condescending tone'

Furrowing your eyebrows, you confusingly looked at Lestat, he had spoken to you, without moving his mouth. He hadn't even acknowledged William, tapping his glass-like nails to the sound of the music.

"Coming, it was nice to meet you, Mr. De Lioncourt," you gave him a small smile.

"The pleasure was all mine," he said, reaching for your hand, and placing a soft kiss near your knuckles.

William lightly frowned at Lestat, his arm territorially going around your waist, leading you away to your room.

'He thinks he is above you, when it is you, who is superior'

Again, Lestat's voice could be heard in your mind, making you look back at him. He now stood in the doorway of the balcony, maintaining his hypnotizing gaze, a smirk in place.

You didn't see Lestat for nearly two weeks until your madam called you into her office, the mysterious man eyed your figure, from head to toe, that same grin, and your heart fluttered at the sight. The room was much brighter than the balcony and you could see him more clearly. He looked heavenly, yet devilish, perhaps a beautiful fallen angel, gracing your eyes. He smiled, chuckling, making your blood run cold, the way his eyes stared at you, you were certain he could hear your thoughts, but that wasn't possible.

"Y/n, you won't be seeing Mr. William tonight, Mr. De Lioncourt was willing to pay double the price for you, you be a good girl now," she told you, leaving the room.

"Please, come sit," Lestat said, your feet moved on their own, leading you to the chair near him.

"Hi, Mr. De Lioncourt-

"No need to be formal with me, ma chèrie-

"Are you a magician?" You asked, making him laugh.

"Excuse me?"

"I heard you in my head"

"He speaks to you as if you are his pet, it's irritating seeing such potential being treated poorly," he said, his hand going to gently rest on your cheek.

"You are too kind, Lestat, but Bill didn't mean any harm, and I'm nothing special," you shook your head, your eyes widening as he scoffed.

"Nonsense, you will soon see how priceless you are, I would take my word for it, over your affair partner, I mean, look at me, then him"

"Affair?"

"Ma chèrie, you are aware that he is married? You are more than a fling"

"It is a misunderstanding, he was forced into an arranged marriage, once his father dies, we can-

"Did he tell you these things? I am unmarried, I wouldn't burden you with the worries of another, you'd be my angel, for an eternity," he said, as you stared into each other's eyes.

"If I wasn't broken, then I would believe you, but I have to accept what I can get"

"Not with me, I'll be there to fix every piece of you," he said, moving closer before his lips were pressed against your own. Swiftly, you were in his lap, reaching for the back of your dress.

"I can't accept this," you shook your head, backing away from Lestat, who only pulled you closer.

"Oh, but you must, it will go perfectly against your soft skin," he said, wrapping his arms around you.

"Fine, but close your eyes, no peaking," you said, stepping out of your clothes, and slipping into the gifted lingerie set.

You had only been seeing Lestat for a few weeks now, but it felt like it had been months. He came nearly every night and on nights he didn't make it, he sent a letter, apologizing. He continued to pay double, much like William, keeping you to himself, except you didn't mind. Some nights, you'd have spontaneous sex, walk the streets, or have long conversations. Lestat was making his way into your heart, and shoving William out of the way, and you found yourself not minding.

"Hey, I said no peaking," you giggled, adjusting the knickers, before looking through your new small collection of dresses. It seemed like every time he visited, he had a new gift.

"Mr. William, Y/n, is busy-

"Let be through," you opened the door confused, making eye contact with a furious William. His eyes softened on you, but noticing Lestat who now stood behind you, his button shirt open, you could almost see the steam coming out of his ears.

"Y/n, what is the meaning of this?"

"Bill, it is nice to see you"

"What are you doing with him? You are mine, you will not be with the both of us-

"I'd like to stay with Lestat," you answered quickly, your heart racing, as he chuckled, slamming the door in William's face.

"I can't believe I did that, do you think we could do something else tomorrow? Even if we just go walk down the quarter," you rambled, until his finger brushed against your lips.

"I will send for you to be brought to my home, I must go”

"Your house? Are you sure?" You asked, you had never seen his home, only hearing a few things about it being expensive. You knew Lestat was wealthy, but you never questioned how or why. You didn't question a lot of things about him, how you never got to see him during the day, why his eyes were so pale, how he was able to get into your head. You simply accepted these traits as a part of him.

"I will see you then, ma chèrie," he said, getting dressed, before softly pecking your lips.

The next day, as the sun was setting you were making your way back to your room. You had been out, searching for lipstick and perfume, but Lestat would be sending for you soon. However, before you could make it back to Canal Belle's, a sack was thrown over your head, dragging you into an ally.

As you went to scream, you couldn't, your mouth covered harshly, as you were thrown into what felt like a carriage. You could hear multiple voices, none recognizable, but they were laughing. Eventually, the motion came to a stop, before you were dragged out again. Clawing your way free, you broke into a run, before you were tackled, when they started. Taking turns, the unknown men beat you, repeatedly. The screams that wanted to escape were now suppressed. Suddenly, one of them ripped the sack from your head.

"P-please"

"Shut your mouth, whore"

They continued and continued, your breathing becoming more ragged, your vision more blurred. Unexpectedly, a harsh wind blew, and both of the men were killed soundlessly. Lestat then stooped down, lifting you into his arms.

"Lestat," you shrugged to keep your eyes open, confused to even be seeing him.

"Y/n, allow me to fix you, you'll be my companion, and I yours, and no one will ever hurt you again," he said, watching as your hand, weakly went to his mouth, wiping at the smeared blood.

"I'm damaged property-

"You are more precious than any jewel, my love, allow me to gift you an eternity of bliss," he said, a single bloody tear rolling down his face.

"Okay," you nodded, growing more tired by the second. Abruptly, you began feeling a burning sensation, as Lestat bit your neck, sucking your blood, leaving you cold and numb, before allowing you to drink his own.

Becoming Lestat's companion and fledgling was easier than you thought. Or at least, you didn't struggle in areas that you thought you would. You thought you'd miss going out in the warm sun, eating different foods, spending time with your old favored clients. None of those things matter to you anymore, Lestat filled your mind and you enjoyed every moment with him.

Except there was one thing, the fundamental problem you struggled against. Your thirst was strong, you could hardly control yourself, doing something as simple as passing by other mortals was a struggle. Lestat had been helping you with your hunting, but you still couldn't gain discipline from his techniques.

Running into a former colleague, she insisted that the two of you caught up before she went on to bring up William, he had moved to Lafayette. Hearing the name piqued your interest in a way that it shouldn't have. You began thinking back, all the fun stories he's shared, his kind and romantic words. Lestat knew something was going on, you were beginning to pull away from him, but he didn't want to force you into a conversation.

You began to plan, you knew Lestat would be jealous, and not supportive - but this felt right. Just as the sun set, you knew Lestat had plans tonight, however, you didn't intend on joining. Placing a kiss on his lips before he left your shared home, and you began to get ready yourself.

Traveling by foot, you made it to Lafayette within thirty minutes and began your search for Williams' home. By the time you found him, any traces of the sun had disappeared. You slowly approached his home, a large house, in the middle of nowhere. As a woman came out, a baby in her arms, you stopped. He wrapped his arms around her, kissing her, before doing the same to the child in her arms. A hand went to your mouth, in disbelief, watching as she went inside, you revealed yourself.

"Bill," you called out, approaching.

"Y/n? I-my eyes are playing tricks on me," he shook his head.

"No-

"I heard you died," he said, making you freeze.

Nearly six months passed and no one knew about the incident with you and the two men. It was dark, and Lestat had killed them before he got the chance to read their thoughts to figure out why they were doing this. However, standing in front of Bill, it now made perfect sense, the gears clicking in your mind. The bloody tears began to leak from your eyes.

"Well, I'm here," you held your head up, wiping away the blood before it could make it down your face.

"You were never gonna leave her, were you?" You asked a sad smile in place.

"Oh, darling, don't worry about her, come here," he said, opening his arms.

Slowly moving closer, you stood stiff for a moment, as he wrapped his arms around you. Going to wrap your arms around him, you noticed a prominent vein in his neck, triggering your teeth. Your mind began to run wild, you wanted to drain the life out of Bill, his wife, his infant, and anyone in the home. Lifting your head to bite-

"Y/n, come to me, Now," Lestat commanded. The compelling feeling washed over you, and you pulled away from Bill.

"I have to go," you said, ignoring his questions, making your way back home.

Now away from him, your emotions were everywhere, the thought of killing the child and his mother disgusted you, only a monster-

And Bill, why would he do something like that to you, was he never in love with you?

Lestat stood outside, his jaw clenching, his eyes following you as you went inside.

"You have been crying," he said, pointing out, as you went to the bathroom, turning on the water to rinse your face.

"Why did you go see him?" He asked.

"Can we not talk about this?" You asked in return, feeling yourself getting emotional all over.

"No, I need to know why my companion ran off in the middle of the night, to go see another-

"It doesn't matter, I won't go again," you said, rolling your eyes, as another tear dropped.

"Something happened, ma chèrie?"

"I'm a monster, I wanted to kill them all, even a child, am I that untamed, that I would hurt a child," you shook your head in disbelief.

"You are far from a monster, you just need time"

"You should've left me to die, I wasn't worth much before, and now I'm a monster," you stared at your reflection, disgusted with the sight.

Memories of the fight between the two of you made you open your eyes, staring up into the darkness. You were sure you had been crying all over again, by the wetness of your face.

"Ma chérie, I apologize for my choice of words, please don't shut me out," you heard Lestat's voice outside of the coffin.

"I will do anything, to make you feel better," he announced, as you finally opened the coffin.

"Your crying makes my heart ache," he said, gently wiping your face.

"I'm sorry," you told him. You felt remorseful, you hadn't fully let go of your old life as you knew it, when Lestat was right in front of you, guaranteeing a life of passion and love like no other.

"What could you possibly be sorry for?" he asked a gentle smile in place.

"I couldn't let go of the past to see to truly appreciate what was in front of me, but I couldn't see more clearly now"

"I love you too, my angel," he laughed, kissing your lips.

"Lestat, I think Bill was behind the incident, he said something questionable," you said, climbing out of the coffin, wiping your eyes, as Lestat stood.

"What did he say?"

"That he "heard" that I was dead, no one else knew about what happened, unless-

"He paid them to do it, probably out of jealousy, come, we have somewhere to be," he said in a serious tone, locking up the house and leading you to his car.

You didn't say much of anything, silently enjoying the ride, that seemed to last forever, until he pulled over.

"The rest of the way, we have to do by foot," he said, getting out, as the two of you walked down the familiar path. You felt like you knew where he was taking you, but silently, you followed, until stopping in front of the large home.

"Do not worry about the well-being of the child, I will take care of it," he told you.

"Lestat"

"As much as I want to do it myself, you deserve revenge,” he said, quietly breaking the door, and entering as it creaked open.

Going upstairs, he quickly came down with the infant, wrapped in a blanket. Grabbing a nearby basket, the child was placed inside.

"We will leave it somewhere safe," he told you, reassuringly, waving for you to go upstairs, when the baby cried out. He rolled his eyes in disgust.

Suddenly, footsteps were heard, followed by panic, they were looking for the baby. William's wife ran to wake him up, both of them soon coming into view as they ran to the stairs. Freezing, they watched as Lestat tauntingly held the basket.

"Please, give me my baby"

"Y/n, what is the meaning of this?

"Bill, you know her?"

"I truly don't understand why if someone's name starts with Will, everyone insists on calling them Bill," Lestat laughed.

Not saying a word, your teeth came out, staring at the two of them.

"Enjoy this," Lestat told you, snickering at the look of fear on Williams's face.

"Think of it like an eye for an eye, a death for a death," you told him, slowly walking up the stairs.

"Spare her," he pleaded, but you only laughed.

"I don't think you're in any position to make any commands," you smiled.

Sitting the baby outside, Lestat soon joined you as you drained the two of them, along with the house servants, before setting the house on fire.

Lestat kept his word, leaving the basket in front of a far-off neighbor before the two of you headed back to New Orleans. By the time you were back home, the sun was on the brink of rising. Hungrily kissing each other, Lestat carried you to your shared room, gently placing you on the ground.

"Thank you, for tonight"

"Anything for you," he said, pulling you into another kiss.

"May I join you?" You asked him, as he went to open his coffin.

"Always," he nodded, as you both stripped from your clothing. Watching as he climbed in first, lying down, you straddled his waist.

"I love you, Lestat"

"I love you more, ma chèrie," he held your hand, placing a kiss on it, as you reached up, closing the coffin.

If this is what your eternity looked like, then you couldn't be more grateful for such a gift.

a/n : feel free to send request if you have anything in mind

#lestat de lioncourt #lestat x reader #lestat de lioncourt x reader #interview with the vampire #amc iwtv #amc interview with the vampire #the vampire lestat #the vampire chronicles #iwtv lestat

435 notes · View notes

entitled-fangirl · 1 month ago

Text

New.

Bjorn Ironside x English!reader

Summary: With his return after helping save Kattegat from Jarl Borg, Bjorn finds himself interested in a girl who doesn't speak his language.

Masterlist

..........................................

She could feel his eyes on her as she moved through the crowd.

Bjorn had been watching her the entire time.

After taking back their home from Jarl Borg, Ragnar had a feast in celebration. Bjorn had taken that as a time to reintroduce himself to the home from his youth.

But she was new.

She'd been taken as a slave during one of Ragnar's many ventures across shores. Now, she spent her time as his cupbearer- he had a soft spot for the young Christian woman.

And he'd notice his eldest son's interest.

Ragnar's head lulled back with a knowing grin and waved his hand to motion her over.

She immediately stepped to him. But when he didn't hold out his cup, or even motion for what he wanted, she was confused. "Earl Ragnar?" She asked softly.

Finally, his attention set on her and in his eyes was nothing but trouble. He curled a finger in to get her to lean in. His lips brushed her ear as he spoke. "I want you to attend to Bjorn for the rest of the night."

Her head turned to meet his eye, but he was already anticipating her questions.

"For tonight, you fill Bjorn's cup. Not mine."

She had never done so for anyone other than Ragnar and his wife, Aslaug. And the only saving grace was that Ragnar spoke her language. No one else did.

So serving Bjorn, a man her age with no clue of her language- that would be difficult.

With another wave of his hand, she gave him a nod of her head, setting off to do as he wished.

Weaving through the crowd was more difficult than originally thought. They were all quite drunk, and bumping or tripping a man in this instance would result in a punishment.

Eventually, in Bjorn's eyeline, she could feel his gaze take her in entirely. His eyes widened as she neared him.

Her eyes finally met his. Bjorn was a handsome warrior, and she knew somewhere deep down, he had a better heart than most men. So being gazed upon by his eyes didn't bring the dreaded pit in her stomach like it would if it were someone else.

"What is your name?" He asked as softly as he could over the loud shouts and clamor of the room.

She frowned. She bent onto her knees to be at a better level with his seated body.

"Your name," he tried again. His eyes raked over her face and he finally decided that she wasn't quite the same as the other women around them.

She clearly wasn't born here.

"You're English," he clarified, more to himself than to her.

As the familiar word, her eyes lit up just slightly. She gave him a happy nod in hopes that he spoke English.

"A Christian?" He asked.

Another nod from her.

His lips pulled up into a smile. A genuine boyish one. "You're rather pretty."

That sentence confused her. She didn't know what he said. The word 'pretty' flashed in her mind. She had heard it before- when passing Ragnar while he spoke to his wife. And judging by the smile Aslaug had given him, or the flush to her cheeks, it was a good word.

Y/n's mind took over from there, and she stood and took off to get him a cup.

Bjorn had yet to drink a drop the entire night.

He was confused by her sudden takeoff and watched her with a close eye.

She returned with a horn filled and held it out to him, as if that was all he wanted from her.

Bjorn frowned. He hadn't planned to partake in the drinking, but if it pleased her, he'd take the cup.

Their fingers brushed, and her eyes widened.

"Thank you," he quietly said with a nod of his head.

She gave a polite excusing nod and stepped away.

…

"Father," Bjorn spoke the next day. "I wish to learn English."

Ragnar's eyes widened in surprise. The Earl was never truly a surprised man, but this was one of those few moments. "Why the sudden interest?" Then his eyes narrowed and grew amused, like he'd answered his own question. His head tilted. "You want to learn her language?"

The 'her' in question was nowhere near them at the time, and still they both knew exactly who he was talking about.

"It could be helpful for… other things," Bjorn tried to justify.

Ragnar held a teasing finger up with a grin. "Fine. I'll teach you. But do not distract her from her work later."

Bjorn nodded frantically. "Of course. I would never."

He definitely would.

…

A few hours after his first lesson with his father, Bjorn pretended to wander around aimlessly until he spotted her.

She was sitting over a fire, tending to a small pan over the flames.

The sun was beginning to set and night would soon near.

Bjorn's steps stopped across from her, the only separation now being the fire. He bent down to look her in the eyes. He watched as her own eyes widened but she said nothing. Perhaps she waited for a command- one that he'd never make.

He took his time, took a deep breath, and tried to remember what his father had just taught him only an hour before. "H-Hello," he stumbled in her language.

Her eyes lit up at the sound of her mother tongue. She sat up on her knees and spoke through the flames to him, though he didn't know many of the words she said. He caught 'English' and 'speak.'

"What is your name?" He spoke with a smile.

"Y/n," she happily gave.

He repeated it, mispronouncing it slightly. She giggled and repeated her name slowly, enunciating each syllable for him.

He tried again, knowing he failed even worse that time. He laughed and stood, walking around the fire to hear her better. Now kneeled beside her, he could let his eyes roam over her face. Her skin reflected the flames, creating a glow to her pretty eyes that had him stunned.

She repeated her name slowly and waited.

He tried, but when he missed it once again, her hand grabbed under his chin, her fingers curled around his cheeks to help his lips form the correct sound.

She enunciated her name one last time.

Bjorn tried to pay attention. He really did. But his eyes roamed over her pretty face and he knew he was done for.

Especially when a bright smile washed over her at his correct pronunciation.

He'd do anything to see it again.

..........................................

#fanfiction #bjorn ironside #bjorn ironside x reader #bjorn ironside imagine #bjorn ironside x y/n #bjorn ironside x female reader #bjorn ironside x english!reader #vikings fandom #vikings fanfiction #vikings series #vikings tv #ragnar lothbrok #drew drools over bjorn ironside

176 notes · View notes

luludeluluramblings · 2 months ago

Note

Ok I know until now it was the switched oc the yandere and manipulative one, but what if it were the opposite, let me explain.

So we've got switched reader, the biological daughter of Bruce Wayne, being raised by the most loving and supportive family ever, maybe a bit small but just so sweet, and yet she knew, oh she knew perfectly well about that dark part of herself but what did it matter, everything was perfect she had no need for it, or that was until she arrived.

Switched oc, the biological daughter of her parents, maybe she should have felt jealous, but how could she when this girl had the same eyes of the woman that eased her nightmares when she was a child? or the same laughter as the man that always looked at her with pride? no, her too kind parents had accepted her with no hesitation and she would do the same.

But then she started learning more and that's when everything shifted, her sister who had the same selflessness and naivety as their parents had suffered so much with hers, and she saw, so crearly she saw that same darkness in all of them that she herself had, so with finally a reason, she let it free.

Blood is thicker than water they say, and she's her father daughter through and through. Nothing was going to stop her from at last having her family happy and whole.

What I like most about this au is that there is so many ways switched reader can act, like she knows she got pity points for having been switched so she can play the inocent plot and destroy them slowly or she could go full force since the beginning, either way since the only ones that know about the switch are the switched oc and now her family she had the prep time advantage which for a Wayne, that's lethal.

Also she absolutelly looks like Martha Wayne and she will use it to her advantage

Link to the Original Idea...

So, what I'm hearing is, Switched!Reader is a lot more like Yandere!Bruce than everyone realizes, with their own weird habit of adopting people.

It could be their own twisted form of justice revenge for their newfound sibling when they start antagonizing the family. And, let's say in this instance, Switched!Reader always wanted a sibling, but their parent's weren't able to have anymore due to complications. Making Switched!Reader even more apalled by their biological family's neglect. They squandered their chance as far Switched!Reader is concerned.

Besides, why would they want such a failure of a family as their own? (Imagine them saying that directly to Bruce and Dick's faces.)

Sure, Switched!Reader won't have all the money and resources that Bruce has. But, they have a clean slate and the ability to manipulate.

The rest of the family wouldn't struggle as much as Bruce and Alfred with Switched!Reader looking like Martha. (Damian might, but only because sometimes he has thought about how nice it would have been to have had normal grandparents. Only occasionally and in secret.)

Bruce would basically be inviting his own hell on earth over each time Switched!Reader would come over and coddle Switched!OC while glaring at him with the same eyes his mother would give him when he really misbehaved as a child. A look that even now, after all these years, he was desperate to see just for the ghost of the past.

He'd also stand in the other family member's ways if they either pointed out how Switched!Reader was purposefully tormenting him or hated him. The damn man is a bit of a masochist to his own feelings.

Now, the constant guilt tripping from Switched!Reader to the rest of the family could result in them hating them or going full yandere for them. And, I could see the way Switched!OCis being treated by the family would constantly be monitored by Switched!Reader.

☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️☁️

The Switched idea just has so many different avenues to explore, and if someone wants to take this idea and run with it, tag me in it. I wanna read it!

#luluramblings #answered asks #anon ask #yandere batfam #yandere batfamily #batfam x reader #batfamily x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam x reader #yandere batfamily x reader #switched!reader

257 notes · View notes

nadas-dirthalen · 2 months ago

Text

The Juicy Lore that Dragon Age Day 2024 Gave Us (Yes, Really!)

— PART ONE —

THAT'S RIGHT PEOPLE WE ARE BACK! A bit of an interruption of the broad-spanning Veilguard one I've been chipping away at, but here we are!

Between the interviews and the AMA on Dragon Age Day 2024, my mind was blown. SO many delicious reveals were dropped! So sit down, make a cup of tea (and be sure to hide it from Solas), and come with me on this journey.

First up: the Evanuris, their archdemons, Solas' lyrium dagger... and how they all relate.

Cut for both spoilers and length. You've been warned :)

Yes, I know. The AMA will forever go down in infamy. Chances are that if you started thinking Dragon Age is dead forever after the AMA, I'm not going to revive you on that one. But for everyone who hasn't gone past the point of no return? Welcome.

While everyone else was declaring the devs their mortal nemeses over Invalid Pookie Takes™ (and harassing the guy who gave us Solas' face in Trespasser, no less, smh), my theorycrafting brain was churning. I mean... when is it not churning, really?

tl;dr? I think I understand how Solas purified his lyrium dagger, and why that ritual happened alone and was more dangerous than the ritual we see at the start of Veilguard.

Tonight's Discussion:

What caught my eye about the Evanuris

What REALLY happens when an archdemon dies

Remember what — and who — Solas absorbed from Mythal?

From blighted idol to lyrium multi-tool: Solas' other, solitary, more dangerous ritual

What Caught My Eye About the Evanuris

Obviously, Veilguard taught us a lot about the Evanuris. We know a lot more about their lives and deaths now, especially Mythal, Ghilan'nain, Elgar'nan, and (to an extent) Andruil.

Throughout Veilguard, it is made clear that since their archdemons died over the course of Thedas' history since the Magisters Sidereal broke into the Black City, five out of the seven Evanuris are off the table. However, in both the IGN interview from DA Day 2024 and in the AMA, John Epler hints that the truth may not be so simple, and that there is room for other possibilities.

Epler: Yeah, I mean, so we haven't been super explicit about what happens when the gods die. In my mind, they're either dead or they're the closest thing to it. [Source.]

Either dead or the closest thing to it. As I read this article before the AMA began, I was immediately firing on all cylinders.

At first, I thought perhaps it was a misquote, or something I wasn't reading properly. But then, the exact same sentiment came up in the AMA, as well as language around, "we haven't been specific!" that was used, in many instances, to suggest, "we haven't been specific... YET. Stay tuned!"

We haven't been SUPER specific about this, but at best the other Evanuris are a shadow of their former selves, and at worst they're dead. The death of their Archdemons, particularly when they were still trapped in the Fade, caused enough magical feedback that it broke their minds and bodies. A couple may have survived as shells, but they aren't in the same state as Ghilan'nain and Elgar'nan. [John]

Now, while I am not advocating for more Evanuris stories to take centre-stage (especially not at this juncture), I feel like this presents ample opportunity for a much longer discussion on Thedas' magic and what actually happens when a spirit is broken and one piece is lost.

This has amazing implications for a number of things, including an explanation on the difference between spirits and souls!

But, importantly for right now? This suggests that there is more to archdemons than we know, and there is more that goes on during the ending moment of a Blight than we think.

What REALLY Happens When an Archdemon Dies

Of course, we knew a lot of what happens when an Archdemon is killed. That much has been explained to us since Origins, and a lot of it gets repeated here—especially with how the Evanuris' Archdemons work exactly like Corypheus' Archdemon, which is something I'd theorized before Veilguard's release (even if I got other things wrong in that post! Which I did!).

But there's something new here, tucked in near the end:

Can you tell us about the fate of the other elven gods like Sylaise and June? Are these gods now mortal in the Fade after the defeat of their Archdemons, or were they weakened enough to die in their prison? Epler: Yeah, I mean, so we haven't been super explicit about what happens when the gods die. In my mind, they're either dead or they're the closest thing to it. When a Warden kills an Archdemon, in Origins and DA2 and DAI, before the Gods are out in the world, there is part of that elven god's spirit that is bound to that dragon. It finds the nearest source of Blight. Now, if it's a darkspawn, a darkspawn has a direct connection to the Blight. There's enough energy there for it to rebuild a body, rebuild itself as an Archdemon. When it goes into a Warden, that connection is very different and what ends up happening is essentially the fragment of the God spirit and the fragment of the Warden annihilate each other. So nothing to go back to the god. So if they're there, they're a shadow of their former self. But obviously when Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain come out, there's not that distance. There's not that need to use the Blight as essentially an in-between medium and they can just regain that fragment of their soul. They're now mortal, but they're just as powerful as they were before.

Not dead.

If they are there, they're a shadow of their former self.

I cannot believe so much of this fandom spent hours and hours bemoaning bad-faith interpretations of Epler's opinion on Solas when we had this! WE GOT THIS LORE!

THE EVANURIS DID NOT NECESSARILY DIE WHEN THEIR ARCHDEMONS DID!!! Do you know how HUGE that is?!

Not ONLY does it imply that we might see more Evanuris in future, but it tells us that sundered spirits go on! A person can live through that! And before you disparage John Epler for getting the lore wrong or some such thing, here's Corinne Busche immediately adding onto that:

Busche: And this is part of a theme within The Veilguard. We're tackling some pretty big subject matter, some of the largest outstanding mysteries within Dragon Age lore. So we want to tie up some of those loose ends, give really satisfying answers, but we also want to leave the door open just a little bit. So questions like that, what happens to the rest of the gods? Those are themes that we want to be able to explore, but also be able to advance the franchise.

But tonight? Tonight, I don't want to focus on what that might mean for spirits, for the Fade, and for magic.

Tonight, I want to focus on Solas.

Remember What — and Who — Solas Absorbed from Mythal?

In Veilguard, Morrigan says that Solas absorbed all of Mythal's power, while Morrigan is only in possession of Mythal's memories. This lines up with a devnote from DAI, taken from the post-credit eluvian scene:

Designer's Notes: This is Flemeth from the previous two games. In this game, Flemeth's story comes to a head -- she knew that Solas would summon her, and that he would need to steal her power to further his plans. She knew that because they are both elven gods…yet Solas has slept for a thousand years and his power dwindled, while she was killed long ago and a spark escaped from her into the body she now holds. She has nurtured that spark, and knew that Solas would need it. He was once her oldest friend, but she knows in his drive to save the elven people he will kill anyone -- even her. She intends to let him have the power, so long as she can pass the essence of her god-hood onto Morrigan, a gift Flemeth had always planned for her daughter yet one Morrigan misunderstood as hostile possession.

I remember the prologue of DA2, though, where Flemeth says that she has an "appointment to keep" in Denerim, where the Archdemon was just slain. Now, you could assume that she is going to grab Morrigan, but I think her purpose was twofold, considering Flemeth's later appearance in Inquisition.

I think she was after Urthemiel's soul. I've written before about how I think that there's no way BioWare would have her grab that soul in some world states and not others, especially considering how important Mythal is to the narrative of the entire DA franchise. I think Inquisition is how they had all those possible world states come to the same place.

I think that Mythal absorbed what was left of Urthemiel's soul after it was destroyed/sundered in Denerim. Just look at the Dalish legend surrounding the creation of Dirthamen from the broken remnants of Falon'DIn, a legend I am taking to be about them because of this video Ghil Dirthalen just released on the confirmed heads/helmets of every Evanuris. (Falon'Din is the sun! Dirthamen is the moon!!)

Elgar'nan had defeated his father, the sun, and all was covered in darkness. [...] It was at this moment that Mythal walked out of the sea of the earth's tears and onto the land. [...] Elgar'nan said he would release the sun if the sun promised to be gentle and to return to the earth each night. The sun, feeling remorse at what he had done, agreed. [...] And that night, when the sun had gone to sleep, Mythal gathered the glowing earth around his bed, and formed it into a sphere to be placed in the sky, a pale reflection of the sun's true glory. —Codex entry: Mythal: the Great Protector

I bring this up because I think Mythal is capable of taking the sundered remains of a broken/destroyed spirit and fashioning it back into something alive. When she did this with "the moon" (Dirthamen), another Evanuris was born. Therefore, Mythal is theoretically able to have taken the "annihilated" remains of Urthemiel's soul and reconstructed them into something functional, just like Dirthamen.

If Kieran was conceived instead of Urthemiel's soul being destroyed, that is why Flemeth shows up in DAI: because in some world states, she needs to grab it. (Also, the reveal was important to Morrigan, to the Well of Sorrows—but Kieran/Urthemiel is part of why.)

Therefore, in every world state, it is theoretically possible that Mythal is in possession of Urthemiel's complete, functioning soul. In every world state, it is also possible that Solas took it from her.

From Blighted Idol to Lyrium Multi-Tool: Solas' Other, Solitary, More Dangerous Ritual

This is where the small bits of lore revealed in the AMA and on IGN really got me thinking. This is because both mention something very specific and very unique: something we guessed at before, given everything in Tevinter Nights, but that we know more about now.

Solas' lyrium dagger in Veilguard comes from the red lyrium idol in Dragon Age 2. Solas purified it between Trespasser and Veilguard. But it's the description of how he did it that has me thinking.

As for how Solas cleansed the idol - another ritual. This one was much smaller scale, but a lot more dangerous. [John]

A lot more dangerous, Epler says. This is a detail that didn't have to be included, but was. A smaller-scale ritual implies that Solas was still alone, because he was alone in the Veilguard ritual as well and does not seem to like putting others through his rituals without due cause.

What could be more dangerous than bringing down the Veil and releasing the Evanuris? For a long time, I wondered this. But the context above led me down a very particular path. We know that the Archdemons' deaths don't mean the Evanuris' deaths. We also know that Mythal has the ability to scrape up the tiny, broken remains of spirits and fashion them into something functional. We also know Solas probably has possession of Urthemiel.

That's when it hit me.

Urthemiel, we know, is June's archdemon. That means it was June's spirit that was lost, then found again. June's spirit that is within Solas. And what is June known for?

The eluvians. Perfectly split lyrium crystals. The invention of all great elvhen technology, that Solas was able to alter (in the case of the Vi'Revas.)

I wondered, then, if the lyrium idol-turned-dagger would be any different than the Vi'Revas: June's technology, improved upon by Solas. I poked around to see what else Epler and Busche said on it:

Busche: One of the interesting properties of the idol has always been how inherently malleable it is. That's something very unique to it that we absolutely wanted to lean into. What was so fun for us is there were theories we saw out there in the fandom YouTube videos about what was this idol? And indeed did Solas convert it to the dagger and a credit to those fans that figured it out. I don't know how they pieced it together, but cheers to them. [Interviewer]: I've always wondered what the idol is actually to. Epler: Solas is a very nostalgic person. I'd say an idol to Mythal. It's his guilt, his regrets poured into this thing. Because, as Corinne said, it's malleable. That's the shape it took. [Source.]

It's malleable. It can be changed. It can hold regrets, which I have theorized might be spirits created by the strong emotion of regret (which would explain Skyhold's demon).

But also? What do we know it did, once, from DA:tV?

It held the splintered piece of a slain Evanuris.

What would explain all of these pieces of information? What would make sense of Solas being in possession of a piece of June? What would explain why this ritual to purify the idol was more dangerous than Solas attempting to tear down the Veil, yet we never heard of anyone who'd seen or remembered it? What would explain the nature of the purified dagger itself?

June. More specifically, I think that Solas, having absorbed June, sundered himself from that piece of June and implanted that piece into the lyrium idol/dagger. I believe this was part of purifying the dagger and making it into what we use in DA:tV.

This would also explain the dagger's nature: firstly, that it can tear through the Veil itself. We see this kind of separation magic in the Tears of June artifact.

But what else does the dagger do? It is a multi-tool that can adapt to anything. It does everything our companions can do, as if it is learning from them and replicating their abilities. Yes, this is a convenience/game mechanics thing, but I think it also has its basis in lore. After all, this has the same sort of effect that the Vi'Revas does, where Solas has built upon June's magic to change it in more malleable, versatile ways.

So there you have it: from a few responses in both the interviews and the AMA from Dragon Age Day 2024, I feel as though I have uncovered an entirely new layer to the story of the Evanuris, as well as a beautiful and grim explanation for how Solas was able to transform the red lyrium idol into the lyrium dagger we see in Veilguard.

And that, to me, is what made DA Day 2024 an exciting one.

________

Thanks for reading, if you've come this far! I know I'll do more of these, but can't promise when. IRL has me swamped in deadlines.

Rest assured, though: I won't rest until I cover the Blight, because I think it is nothing short of fascinating.

#dragon age #veilguard spoilers #dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age the veilguard #da:tv #solas #da4 #da:v #dragon age theory #dragon age meta #da theory #da meta #dragon age lore

187 notes · View notes

amoudesole · 1 month ago

Text

A Revelation. Yan!Twst x Anti-Magic!Reader

A tale spun into legend; voiced throughout the plethora of continents, becoming a diluted version of its authentic self, re-spun into versions that twisted from the original root, the original story.

Long ago, once lived a Human- brought amidst a war between Humans and Magic, and Ego; caught between the crossfire of Inky battlefields that left nothing but bloodied corpses and monsters in its wake, they were an anomaly- a being who lived on neither sides, a being who mastered a state of neutrality,

They weren’t a hero chosen by destiny to fight and bring the world into a Golden Age, far from it. However, they acted as a figure who wanted peace, a pacifist forced into the harsh and cruel reality of war.

After endless struggle they had finally claimed the lands a haven for civilization to begin once more, they aided in clearing the ink and guts, to grow flora and rehabilitate everyone- and their last contribution to the world, they taught people on how to rebuild, on how to grow, how to advance, and lastly heal.

Bringing the world into an Era of Harmony.

Rewarded by the people, they were loved across the lands and given wealth way beyond their lifetime- the Human refused it all, “ I wish to go back home! “ they spoke- but the people refused, begging the ‘Hero’ to stay and remain.

Until, suddenly one day.. disappearing and never returning to the land once more.

But this tale was one of the many retellings, a fragment of the truth- but this is a version of the said legend; a retelling which barely had any biases of a culture, or outside influences ( so as they say ) But deciphering truth from lies were hard, considering the original source was so ancient even the eldest of Fae wouldn’t be able to tell you an aboriginal rendition. ( So as Mr. Vanrouge says.. )

Well, that’s what you’ve concluded- having been stuck in this world for awhile now, you decided to stick your nose into the legends and myths of it, just like what you did in your original world- Greek Myths, and Roman Myths- History from countries you didn’t live in- it felt all the more fascinating, but now..

It was just surreal, it felt like a dream even..! Learning of the culture’s that vary, the antiquity of the world- everything! It felt so fresh, it felt so fascinating- this world was just everything your heart yearned for and more.

Your curiosity spiked an all-time high, many of your.. Acquaintances say that the Library was more of a home than the Ramshackle Dorm..( In your opinion who would ever call that dilapidated and haunted manor- home? ) But living 23/6 in the School Library had more perks than you thought, for instance! It held lots of information that dated thousands of years ago, and in all honesty, it was a goldmine for you- it helped reignite something you thought you lost so long ago, an emotion that somewhat held a negative connotation... ardor,

And what's even better, having been transported here wasn’t so bad after all- you even got friends, got better grades, and.. Sure you got teased here and there for your inability to use magic whatsoever, but compared to what you dealt with before.. It was bearable.

At times you’d question the authenticity of the relations and bonds that you’ve formed, but the itch in the back of your head couldn’t leave you alone no matter how much you tried to repress it, ignore it, forget it.

It wasn’t right.. To feel this anger bubble inside you, you’ve already been accepted into this school ( Being incredibly underqualified so.. )- a free home, a scholarship of some sort.. Was it selfish to want more? Or were there maggots forming in your head? That had to be it, while yes— the maggots were imaginary it helped ease the confusion, it helped give a reason, more importantly so it brought you comfort that these thoughts were not yours.

But you noticed it, whenever you were around magic- it always lost that spark, from a passionate flame turned into mere ash, and whenever magic was cast upon you- barely even a strand of your hair was moved, as if the magic disappeared the second you arrive.

Or was it just your imagination?

...

Helloo, this is honestly just a for funsies thingy- an introduction to the chaos im about to write, but what do you think? This was a basic premise it couldve been more elaborate and all but yeah i wanna know and hear ur thoughts on Anti-Magic!Reader and her Yandere classmates and upperclassmen :^)

This was inspired by alot of stories ive read, watched and so-on-so forth

#yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #twisted wonderland #twst wonderland #twst #disney twst

114 notes · View notes

captainthisshipinmyhead · 7 months ago

Text

Terms of Agreement

Giyuu x Fem!Reader

You'd agreed to a friends with benefits type of situation with Tomioka, thinking that it would be easy to keep feelings out of it. How stupid of you.

Warnings: SMUT, slight angst, fluff, possibly basic and overdone plot, poorly written fight scenes, use of y/n if you don't like that, Giyuu is cold to you but not too mean bc he is a sweetie :(

WC: 5,262

!! This contains SMUT!!! DO NOT INTERACT if you are a minor!

A/N: Hi hi, as I said in my previous post this is my first fanfic in like 11ish years and only my second fanfic ever so I'm excited to post it. I've never written smut or combat scenes before, which... may be obvious lol. I'm open to feedback, but please be nice. I hope you enjoy. <3

“If you insist on this, it has to be without meaning.”

Those were the words the Water Hashira spoke to you just before you agreed to a friends with benefits situation with him. Your attraction to each other upon meeting was practically palpable; something had to be done about it. It clearly wasn’t a one-sided attraction either, as the typically elusive Pillar never fled from a room you were in, seeking your eyes at corps meetings, and seemed to be content conversing with you when you decided to chat with him over meals. His eyes rested on your lips when you spoke, and when he thought you weren’t looking they dipped lower. This continued until you finally ran into him outside of a secluded onsen and, figuring bluntness would be the best way to approach this subject since it would pretty much be awkward either way, blurted out that you would like to sleep with him if he were interested. After a stunned silence, he nodded his head, wide eyed and pink-cheeked.

Tomioka’s original terms of this agreement were simply that no feelings were involved and that you kept this arrangement a secret from the other members of the demon slayer corps. Terms you agreed to without hesitation as you assumed that they would be easy to uphold, and the both of you were wound up tightly with need of an outlet. Unfortunately, it seems that any similar instances in the past that you were reflecting on when making this decision were not at all similar to the one you found yourself in with Tomioka. With Tomioka, your growing feelings for him became undeniable quickly.

All it took was your first night together for you to become putty in his hands- his soft caresses, gentle words, and deep eye contact throughout the whole encounter had you breathless. You had never experienced such tenderness from any romantic partner in the past. You had to practically repeat a mantra to yourself the entire time- no feelings, no feelings, no feelings. It had been futile, proven the next morning when you roused from dreams of being lovingly held in Tomioka’s arms in front of a golden sunset. Ever since that night six months ago, you had been hooked. Try as you might, you couldn’t shake the near-constant thoughts of being more than a hookup with him. You blushed when he made eye contact with you at training sessions, and when he entered a room you had to excuse yourself for fear of him being able to hear how embarrassingly loud your heart was beating. At least in your nighttime trysts, that could be chalked up to the physicality you were experiencing...

You managed to keep your arrangement a secret from other demon slayer corps, though you had run into Shinobu a few times as you returned in the early morning to your room in her mansion to freshen up for the day. She sometimes questioned your whereabouts, sometimes just gave you a sly smirk, though she never asked too many intrusive questions, so you were able to remain tightlipped.

As you walked leisurely back toward your room at the butterfly mansion to retire for the evening you were confronted with Tomioka’s crow stopping short in front of you, flapping to stay upright while he delivered a simple message:

Please report to the Water Hashira residence. One hour.

As quickly as he had come, he flapped off into the direction of his master’s mansion, where you now knew you’d be heading to shortly as well. You continued you way to your room with a quickness to your gait that wasn’t present before. Once you’d had some time in your room to freshen up and gather a few essential items you wished to take with you, you hurried on your way to Tomioka’s mansion.

When you arrived, the front gate of Tomioka’s estate was unlocked and you let yourself in. He stood waiting to greet you on his engawa with a pursing of his lips (meant to be a smile) and a nod. You blushed and cast your eyes downward as you crossed his courtyard.

“You look pretty.”

You raised your eyes to Tomioka as you heard his words, now only a few steps away from him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to compliment you when you were alone; after all, of course he found you attractive if you’d entered into such a situation with him.

“Thank you,” you practically whispered, a blush gracing your full cheeks.

Seeing your reaction, Tomioka’s smile that resembled more of a grimace relaxed into something genuine. He gently looped his pinky in yours and tugged you toward the direction of his bedroom.

As soon as you stepped through the doors and slid them shut behind you, his lips were on yours.. Your eyes fluttered closed, and he softly cupped one cheek as his other arm pulled you in tightly by the waist. Sweet pecks gave way to sensual kissing, as his tongue began to prod at the seam of your lips. You opened up for him without hesitation, just like usual.

He kissed you like he’d been waiting for you much longer than three days, when you’d last been a nighttime guest at his residence.

He kissed you sometimes as if he were making love to you—all your clothes were on but the sensuality of his lips and tongue pulled moans from your throat and goosebumps to the surface of your skin as if you were already naked beneath him.

You’d never get tired of this, not as long as the two of you had this arrangement. Kissing him was sometimes almost better than the sex itself. Almost.

He pulled back, breathless, and looked you in the eyes, giving you another shy smile. You returned his expression, unable to resist his kind face. You nodded toward his futon and began taking steps toward it.

Back hitting the mattress, Tomioka leaned down over you once again in search of your lips. As you made out, you hands pushed his haori off of his shoulders, and his fingers deftly pulled at the ties to your yukata. You both made quick work of each other’s clothing and soon enough his fingers were traveling down, down, down until they reached your sex and teasingly ran up your slit.

You gasped into his mouth as he circled your clit, and he ducked his head down to suck on the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

“To- Tomi-,” you tried to gasp out, but he quickly kissed you again, shutting you up.

“What did I tell you to call me?” He rasped, continuing to rub your clit.

“Giyuu, Giyuu please,” you corrected.

“Please what? What do you want baby, say it.”

“Y-your mouth. Please Giyuu, I need you there. Please,” you continued to beg, but he kissed down your neck between his responses, clearly not intending on granting your wish.

“C’mon sweetheart, you know you’ve gotta say it. Where do you want my mouth?”

You were practically whining; you were embarrassingly close already.

“Please eat my pussy Giyuu, please, I need your mouth.”

“Good girl.”

Then he was down at your core, mouth on you faster than you could blink. He pushed your thighs apart, devouring your wetness as if it were water and he’d been in the desert all day. His tongue expertly flicked between your clit and your entrance, and your eyes rolled back in your head at the sensation. There was a reason you’d beg for his mouth-- he knew how to please you this way. Your hips wriggled without any sort of rhythm, unknowing what it is they were in search of-- just wanting more more more… He pulled your legs on top of his shoulders, caging his head in, and pressed a palm flat and firm against your lower stomach to still your frantic movements. His other hand tickled its way up your sensitive stomach and pinched a nipple, rolling it between deft fingers.

“Giyuu I- I’m gonna-“

“Go on,” He mumbled against your clit, lips brushing against it with every word.

The timbre of his voice sent you over the edge. He continued to lap at your entrance through your release. As your shivers of pleasure subsided, you reached out to him, curling your fingers toward your upper half in an indication for him to come back up to your face. He complied, once again sealing your lips with his, now coated in your flavor. He sighed and you moaned into the kiss, both grinding your hips into one another, always aching for more.

You pressed your fingers tips onto his chest and dragged them downward, until you reached his belt. When you got it unbuckled he helped push his pants down his hips; just as eager to feel you as you were him. He positioned himself at your entrance and looked into your eyes as if asking if it was okay. You nodded and surged upward for another peck to his lips; you couldn’t help it. He pressed in- you didn’t feel any pain; only pleasure despite his girth. You’d long ago been carved out to the shape of him, as your nighttime visits never went longer than maybe 5 days between.

Your breath caught in your throat as he sank all the way in, cervix stopping his tip. His eyes squeezed shut as he muttered,

“Y/n….you’re s-so tight, so wet f’me.”

You didn’t try to hold back your moan at the praise, and his head sank into your shoulder as he began to move.

His thrusts were languid and deep, you were whimpering each time he bottomed out. Your legs wrapped around his waist and pulled him closer. Though missionary was basic, you both enjoyed being like this; faces buried into each other’s hair, chests touching as you both breathe heavily in each other’s ears. The intimacy of it all was something you both craved, though you don’t think either of you would admit it out loud.

Giyuu rose up briefly to hook the back of your knees with his arms, planting his hands on the bed and folding you up nearly in half. He got even deeper inside you this way, and you couldn’t help the pathetically loud moans at the new angle.

His groans next to your ear while he fucked you in this new position caused you to tighten around him, building you toward your second orgasm. He took notice of the way you clenched tighter than before, a dead giveaway you were going to finish soon. He increased his speed and worked a hand between your tightly pressed bodies to circle your clit again, just the way you like.

Your hands flew to his shoulders, gripping him tightly at the stimulation. You couldn’t help the way your nails dug into his skin, probably leaving marks; everything felt too good.

Your peak hit you, causing you to tighten your legs around his hips, though he didn’t slow the pace of his thrusts or his fingers. As you came, you could only make garbled noises of praise, whispers and whimpers combining his name with affirmations of so good sprinkled in.

Giyuu, who had been holding his own orgasm off with great effort on his part, began to nearly whine as he came deep inside you, giving a couple more thrusts before he went limp above you and nuzzled into your warmth.

You savored this: Giyuu breathing into your neck and your hearts beating against each other’s, both of you coming down from your high, arms and legs tangled…. It was routine to lay together like this as both of your breathing slowed back down, and though it was truly just a resting period meant for recovery it felt like love. Knowing that it wasn’t an embrace with real emotion behind it sucked, but you took it selfishly each time all the same.

After a few moments your breaths had slowed, and Giyuu removed himself from you and went to fetch a warm cloth to clean up the remnants of both of your releases from between your legs. He tossed it to the side when finished, returning again to your side as he pulled you into an embrace.

This part was what really made you feel like maybe there was some emotion behind what the two of you had. Surely if he didn’t harbor feelings for you as well he would send you on your way back to your residence, right? In your experience with guys before him, they didn’t care so much about aftercare once they finished. They made it clear that your shared night was a one night stand and that you were not to get comfortable enough to stay until morning. You pondered this as Giyuu nuzzled his face further into your neck, pressing kisses lightly to the skin there. His arm lay across your chest, and his hand tanlged in your hair on the other side of your head. He twirled strands lazily around his fingers—the picture of contentment.

Surely... surely this level of comfort is only achieved with someone who you feel romantic emotions toward, right? Since your directness is usually a trait of yours that your value, and what had gotten you into your current position, you made your mind up that it was once again the best course of action to speak up and say what was flitting across your brain.

“Giyuu...”

“Hmmmm?” He hums lazily in response, not loosening his grip on you.

“I... I think I, well... Um, I think I maybe have feelings for you. Like, romantic feelings. I mean like, I’m sure that’s kind of obvious, given.... y’know, but I mean I want-“

You’re cut off by Giyuu sitting up sharply, head turning away from you to face the small windows letting in moonlight from high on his bedroom wall. You immediately miss his warmth and your mind floods with worry, knowing that you said something wrong.

“We can’t do this anymore.”

He said it with such finality, your heart sank low into the pit of your stomach. This is why you worried- Giyuu, such a hard person to get to know, hard person to read, can easily cut ties at a moment’s notice. You figured it’s probably for this reason that he kept himself at a distance from others; it makes everything having to do with emotions so much easier.

“N-no, Giyuu- Giyuu why? I don’t- I don’t want to-“ you work on stammering out a reply, while he shakes his head and begins to turn back toward you, wearing a stern expression.

“We have to, y/n. This isn’t healthy for either of us. I think I may have given you the wrong idea about what this is and I.... For that I apologize. But this can’t continue any longer.”

His eyes never met your face as he said this. Your mouth opened in response, but no sound came out.

“Y/n... I think it’s best that I take you to my guest room. I won’t let you leave now in the middle of the night, but I don’t think it’s wise to share a bed tonight considering these circumstances.”

He stood, pulling his pants back on and folding the blankets back so that you could get up too. Your legs somehow felt like lead and like jelly at the same time so it took you a few seconds longer than it normally would have to stand and re-dress yourself. Giyuu stood by silently, facing the door to the room, waiting for you to follow him out.

You walked without speaking, without hardly breathing even, not wanting to make any noise for fear of upsetting him further and making him change his mind about letting you stay. Not like you couldn’t hold your own, but you’d prefer not to go toe-to-toe with any demons tonight given how fragile your emotional state is. Giyuu stopped in front of a door and slid it open, gesturing for you to step inside. You stepped past him, trying not to tear up as you looked at the floor.

“Please don’t hesitate to come get me if you need anything tonight, Y/n. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, or at least not any more than you probably are.” You could feel his eyes boring into your face.

“Y/n, please say something. Anything you want to say to me, I’ll take it. If you’re angry, I understand.”

You still stood silently, trying to regulate your breathing and formulate a response. You finally came up with something to say, but it wasn’t anywhere near all that you wanted to express to him.

“After tonight, please just leave me alone. I can’t be friends with you after this... after all of this. Thank you for letting me stay. I’m going to lay down now.”

“Y/n....” he trailed off, his expression having softened as you spoke.

“It’s probably best that you don’t address me that way anymore. We don’t know each other intimately anymore and we won’t be able to remain friends, so please address me accordingly.”

Giyuu’s eyes dropped before he nodded and turned his back to you, making toward the door. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think his eyes glistened with emotion. He paused briefly on his way out, to say once more to come get him if you needed anything tonight, then he slid the doors to your temporary residence shut.

As soon as you lay your head onto the pillow of the plain and neat futon you began to cry. You cried until you exhausted yourself and fell into a deep sleep.

It had been two weeks since you’d left Tomioka’s house in the early morning, holding back a fresh wave of tears. You hadn’t seen him except for a couple of brief sightings of him at group training sessions at the houses of other hashiras. You did well at avoiding his gaze, choosing instead to channel the anger and hurt you felt over how you had ended into maximizing the power of your attacks. You had received a few letters from his crow within the first week of your separation, but you tossed them into the fires needed by Aoi to cook dinners since you often helped her prepare the kitchen in the evening for meals.

Shinobu was the first to notice that you weren’t staying out all night at some mystery location anymore. “No midnight rendezvous tonight?” She questioned you cheekily after the first few days, an eyebrow raised teasingly. You had tried to respond with a short no, but you were so choked up at the wave of emotion that ensued that you could only look at your feet and shake your head. Shinobu became concerned as you stayed shut in your room night after night, sometimes skipping dinner with everyone. The other girls in the mansion noticed that you were not acting as your typical chipper self and tried to get you to confide in them in attempts at easing your sadness, but you refused to speak about the source of your heartbreak.

By the third week, the pain lingering in your heart had subsided to a dull ache that only turned stabbing at the sight of him, or the thought of him, or the mention of his name. You were relieved when you received word that you were being sent on a mission to a nearby village with reports of children being stolen from their beds at night. Your strength and agility had improved with the increase in your training intensity, so you felt more than ready to take on this task and save the lives of the innocent village children.

You had been on the mission for 2 days without finding any trace of the demon. This confused you; this was a low level demon and they often were clumsy and unable to disguise themselves cleverly from slayers. You strolled seemingly aimlessly, twisting and turning down paths between homes and shops that were all locked up for the night, seeing nothing with each survey of the streets. As you turned what felt like your thousandth corner, you froze.

There was a demon standing at the end of this alley, back turned to you. He was just standing, like he were waiting for someone. How hadn’t you sensed it? You knew it had to have heard you approaching, but you still took slow and quiet steps to close the distance between the two of you. Your body was tense as you prepared to launch into an attack, hand at the ready on your nichirin blade.

Just as you got within blade’s distance of the towering figure, it whipped around, long taloned hand stretched to you, and slammed your body into a nearby wall.

Ouch. You mentally scolded yourself for not being faster on your feet, but then again you’d never fought a demon with such speed before either. You couldn’t even take a breath as you stood up because it already had its claws wrapped around your torso, lifting you high above his head. You had somehow managed to hold onto your blade, so you slashed with all the force you could muster at the demon’s head and neck. You were able to inflict a deep wound in the creature’s face, though of course not fatal. Its grip on you loosed, and you were able to wriggle out of its grasp and drop back down on your feet to the ground below.

At this point, you locked in and began fighting the demon with a vigor you’d never had on missions before. Your recent heartbreak fueled a new passion in you that strengthened your grip on your sword and sharpened your mind to form battle strategies. You were able to slash wildly and accurately enough with your blade that you had backed the demon into a corner in its retreat, crouching as it reformed the arm you had slashed off seconds ago. It appeared you had the upper hand, so you raised your sword for the killing blow while the demon was looking at his new limb regrowth.

Suddenly, a scorching hot pain consumed your left side. The demon had scored large and deep cuts across your torso while you had been too focused on its other arm and hitting its neck. You muttered a curse—both at the demon and at yourself for your failure—and fell to the ground. Your ears rang and your eyes blurred, mouth filling with cotton as you lay on the ground. You thought you heard your name being called faintly, but as your eyes drifted closed, you couldn’t find the will to care.

Blinking against harsh light, you hissed at the brightness of the room you were currently lying in. You felt groggy and exposed at the same time, beginning to move your head side to side in search of someone else nearby who could answer some questions that were slowly populating in your mind. It looked like you were in the infirmary at the butterfly mansion, but why would you be here as a patient? Nothing had happened to you that you could remember....

To your left, you noticed that there was a pillow and blanket draped across a chair in the corner of the room nearest your bed. A book lay open on the side table, a half empty cup beside it; clearly someone had been sitting with you and hopefully they were coming back before too long to retrieve their things.

Movement caught your eye on the other side of the room, and looking over you saw Shinobu step through the doorway. Her eyes were already on you as she crossed the room’s threshold, and you noticed the falter in her step and the widening of her eyes as she registered that you were awake.

“Y/n! I’m so happy to see that you are awake. I was just about to re-check your vitals while you were asleep, and I’ll proceed to check them now that you’re awake. Once I get them, I will go fetch Tomioka and let him know that you’ve woken up.”

“T- Tomioka?” Your voice was rough as you questioned the mention of his name. Why would he come see you? He didn’t even like you really, he had cut things off with you with such detachment he surely didn’t care about your wellbeing too much. Bitterness flooded your mind at the memory of your secret relationship with him and how hurtful the end of it had been.

“Yes of course! He was the one who brought you in; he found you on your last mission greatly injured- it turns out the demon we had thought to be a lower level threat was a lower moon. He’s been sitting with you every day since you’ve been recovering here in the infirmary. He even denied a mission that he had been assigned so that he could remain here to watch over you.” Her eyes sparkled as she told you this, as if she knew something that you didn’t quite yet.

What? Surely you were still unconscious. There’s no way that this was true. Tomioka had never refused a mission for any reason, especially not a reason as trivial as a.... friend.... being injured.

Shinobu had already left the room before you could ask further questions, so you settled back against your pillow as your mind raced. Not even two minutes later, Tomioka rushed through the door with a quickness normally reserved for battle.

“Y/n, are you feeling alright? Do you hurt anywhere? I can ask Kocho to bring you something for pain...” He trailed off, looking back toward the door he had come through, already having kneeled by your bedside.

“T- Tomioka, I’m confused-“

“Giyuu. Call me Giyuu, y/n, please.”

Your brow furrowed further than it had been already, Giyuu’s eyes finally having reached your face and registering your expression.

“Okay, Giyuu. I greatly appreciate you saving my life of course, but I’m confused about why you are here. Shinobu said you’ve been here the entire time I’ve been unconscious also, which is... actually I’m not sure how long, but-“

“A month,” he answered matter of factly.

“A month?! You’ve been by my bedside for an entire month? Tomioka, you-“

“Giyuu.”

“Giyuu, you don’t even like me to my knowledge. Please don’t interrupt me anymore, by the way. You cut things off between us with hardly an explanation as to why. I was perfectly content with the arrangement we had but you cut me off, quite coldly. I was hurt by it, deeply.” You couldn’t help the way your expression arranged into a scowl at the memory of the pain you’d felt.

“And I saw that. I’m so sorry, y/n. I never meant to hurt you, I thought that by ending things with you I was doing you a favor. That last night with you, when you ........., I realized that the feelings on your end were real also and I didn’t want to hurt you further by denying you later on and leading you on.” He reached for your hand as he said this, grasping your cold one in his strong, calloused warmth.

“Wait, also? What do you mean by also?”

“I... Y/n, I thought it was obvious. I love you. I have loved you since the first time we spoke, and I’ve been terrified of you finding out when we would see each other in the night. But how could you not know? I called on you so much, I... I thought I was being transparent, but I couldn’t make myself resist you if you were willing to be with me that way. I’m sorry, Y/n, I’m so sorry to have ever hurt you.”

Your brows remained scrunched in confusion. He loves you? Then why...?

“But, that last night, you told me we couldn’t see each other anymore. I don’t understand why you did all that if you felt the same way.”

“Honestly, as scared as I was of losing you, I was more scared of truly being with you in a relationship. I didn’t think I could give you what you need, what you deserve....” He cast his eyes down. “Y/n, you deserve better than me, and I thought that by cutting you off before things got too real I could spare you.”

Your mouth hung open in disbelief at what you heard, a laugh without humor bursting forth from your lips before you answered.

“Spare me? The pain I felt was unbearable, Giyuu. I fell for you long before that night. It was way too late at that point. You should’ve talked to me.”

“I know that know. But when I found you with that demon, there was so much blood and you looked so hurt I... I didn’t know if you’d make it, and it scared me more than anything else I’ve ever gone through. And though I still think I’m undeserving of having the privilege of calling you mine, I can promise you that I will try every day to be the man you need me to be. I want to be worthy of you, I just.... I just want you, Y/n.”

His eyes met your gaze with an intensity that made your heart leap in your chest. Or maybe that was the weight of his words, or the warmth of his hand covering yours, or a million other tiny perfect aspects of this moment that you shared with him. You couldn’t fight the tears that flooded your eyes, your lips turning up into a watery smile. All you could muster was a nod, a confirmation that you wanted this with him, that you wanted him just as badly. Unable to refrain any longer, you reached your arms out and looped them around his neck, pulling him into an embrace that he was more than happy to return, wrapping his strong arms around your waist and burying his face into your neck. After a few moments of holding each other Giyuu pulled his face back slightly, a question in his gaze as he glanced between your eyes and your lips. Without hesitation, you brought your mouth to his and sank into his kiss. You could feel his lips turn up into a smile as they moved against yours, and your body relaxed further into his embrace as your fingers reached around to tangle in his hair. You’d missed this so much, and now you’d never have to be without it.

Someone cleared their throat and you both broke away, turning to look at who it was, though neither of you broke your embrace. Shinobu stood holding a tray of varying medicines along with some food and water. Her ever-present smile adorning her face held a genuine warmth looking at the two of you.

“I apologize for interrupting, but Y/n, I need to administer your medications. It won’t take very long. Tomioka, you can stay if you’d like.”

He backed from your bedside, though his fingers remained tangled in yours and his lips remained upturned. His hand stayed locked in yours through the administration of your medications, and after that, your meal and your nap was well, and when you woke up from it he was still at your side, brushing the hair back from your forehead and smiling down at you tenderly. He gave you a peck right above your eyebrow before pulling away.

“I love you, y/n. I’m here now, I always will be.”

#kny giyuu #giyuu tomioka #demon slayer giyuu #demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #anime #demon slayer fanfic #kny fanfic #giyuu x reader #anime and manga #smut

244 notes · View notes

everparanoid · 1 year ago

Text

Wholesome Delinquent Behaviour┃Wriothesley

pairing: f!reader x wriothesley

genre: fluff , smut, light Angst

rating: 18+

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !

tags: consent is hot, it's all good till the backstory, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Reader is Not Traveler, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Angst with a Happy Ending, Squirting, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Cunnilingus, biting kink, inappropriate use of cuffs, spoilers for wriothesley story quest, No use of y/n, Past Murder, Minor Original Character(s), Facials, PWP, Blowjobs, handjobs, everything between reader and wriothesley is consensual

wordcount: 9.5K

synopsis: The first time you met Wriothesley was completely by accident. Not that you remembered it too well; if you did, he wouldn’t confirm it without putting you through a gruelling test. No, the first time you remembered meeting Wriothesley was much later.

You are a prisoner at Meropide who meets and falls in love with Wriothesley over the years of knowing him, and he falls harder.

Originally posted: 30.10.23 on AO3

a/n: I am now reposting my AO3 stuff onto tumblr. If you know me....no, you don't. ;) Also check out my AO3 for more wriothesley fics.

Song Inspiration: ''Safeword'' by TV Girl.

I don't own any of the artwork used.

If everything could come to a stop, just for something she says,

The first time you met Wriothesley was completely by accident. Not that you remembered it too well, and if you did, he wouldn’t confirm it without putting you through a gruelling test. No, the first time you remembered meeting Wriothesley was much later.

You wiped away the sweat coating your brow with the back of your dirtied hand, heaving a deep sigh. The production zone, despite being at the bottom of the ocean, was like what you imagined the hot springs of Inazuma to feel like. You wanted to go there one day—to Inazuma. Although the borders were closed to the outside, the stories you heard of the beautiful Sakura blossoms filled you with the determination to get there. One day, you would. You were sure of it. If you didn’t get struck down by their archon first.

“Inmate, stop slacking! Unless you don’t want to eat tonight,” the guard manning the floor yelled at you.

You rolled your eyes and continued hammering at the heated chunks of metal. Your arms were weak, and your palms were sweaty. It was times like this when you wished you had a cryo vision. You wished for many things. You wished you hadn’t been caught. You wished Fontaine were a better place. You wished that Monsieur Neuvillette felt even an ounce of sympathy for your case, but beggars couldn’t be choosers, and the court of Fontaine was as ‘fair’ as they came. The sky had down poured the night you were sent to Meropide. It was the worst Fontaine had seen in four hundred years. You hadn’t seen the sky properly since you probably never would. People rotted down here. So, all you could rely on was the glistening memory of bitter water, and your dreams.

It was better, you decided, to be punished here than in Sumeru, Inazuma, or even Monstadt. You’d been to Liyue once, but you weren’t there long enough to have a clear judgement of whether their form of justice would be any better. Then again you had been arrested before you got out of Liyue and they handed you straight back to Fontaine to be judged by your home region’s laws.

“Inmate!” The guard yelled snapping you from your thoughts. “You’re wanted at the administration area.”

You dropped your hammer, relieved for the break, and shoved past the guard on your way to the lift.

I thought the whole point was you were living on the edge,

“It’s your lucky day, kid,” another guard said as you meandered leisurely toward them.

This guard you liked.

Meropide inductions didn’t happen often. Most of the time the convict was thrown into their dorm and made to figure it out themselves. In the instances of special cases, you were brought out like a friendly face before the storm. You had no clue why it was you they chose, but you always got paid handsomely in credit coupons, so the particulars didn’t matter to you. You had long since abandoned the idea of fairness down here where the sun doesn’t shine.

“What have we got this time?” you asked cracking your knuckles.

“A kid, your age.”

You paused. It wasn’t often you met people around your age down here. Everyone was either one foot in the grave or an adult.

What could this kid have done to end up down here with the downs and outs? You looked out the large glass window, it stared out into the deep blue Fontainian waters. The sea was dark, so you guessed it must be night. Time was more of an idea, a concept if you will, down in the depths. So, you enjoyed rare moments like these to re-calibrate yourself. It was a shame. You had hoped to at least feel the sun’s rays through the water’s refraction, but it was like you said beggars couldn’t be choosers.

The lift lowered down behind you, and you turned to greet this so-called new inmate. You were greeted by a tall scrawny boy, probably not even a year older than yourself with dull icy eyes and jet-black hair. He was drenched in that same bitter water.

You put on your brightest smile and offered your hand.

“Welcome to hell,” you said.

Not your best work but it caused a small snicker from the boy, and your favourite guard who stayed close by. Strange. They never stayed around. Were they that concerned about your ability to induct a fellow teenage delinquent?

Wriothesley paused. When he was given his verdict by the Monsieur Neuvillette he didn’t expect such a warm welcome. Well, warm as far as being greeted at its entrance.

He didn’t take your hand, instead opting to stare at you with those haunted eyes. You were disheveled at beast and downright filthy at worst. Nothing to sing or dance about. Nothing to fall head over heels in love with either, but you didn’t care. Who wanted to find happiness in misery anyway?

“Hell?” Wriothesley echoed. His voice was steady and stern like he was aged beyond his years; by the lack of life in his eyes, he probably was. “Is it that bad down here?”

You shrugged one shoulder.

“Depends,” you said.

“On what?” he asked, calculating. You could feel his brain working from where you stood.

Fascinating.

“Depends on how stupid you are,” you looked him up and down, chewing the inside of your cheek absentmindedly. Then, as if a rocket had been shot up your butt, you spun on your heels and gestured for him to follow with a lazy flick of your wrist.

He did so, catching up to you easily with his long legs and just as long stride.

“I didn’t catch your name,” you said as the lift doors closed behind you taking you down to the actual entrance of Meropide not the fancy entrance for visitors too afraid to see the truth. Fontaine was a giant opera, and you lot in Meropide were the hidden stage crew, slaving behind the scenes after losing your spot in the limelight.

“You didn’t ask,” he responded flatly from beside you.

“Clearly that was the hint for you to tell me.”

“It’s Wriothesley,” he said.

It didn’t sound like it was his actual name. Hell, it didn’t sound like a name at all, but who were you to judge? Meropide was a place to start a new; to redeem yourself from your sins, and nearly burn to death in the production zones breaking your back for an administrator who was a tyrant. What was a kid reclaiming their identity going to do to you?

“Nice to meet you, Ricecake.”

“Ricecake?”

“Hey, you give me a name I can’t pronounce you live with the consequences, Ricecake.”

The doors opened and the lift groaned as steam poured out of its pipes and vents. Some unfortunate soul was going to have to clean those later, and you prayed it wasn’t going to be you. You had a burn on the inside of your arm from the last time you cleaned those steaming pipes, it was a jagged ugly thing to look at, so you kept it hidden. Out of sight out of mind, right?

The receptionist sat behind the desk looking as melancholy as everyone else in this place. Wriothesley was going to fit in just fine, you thought, as you remembered that same almost dead look in his eyes.

“You coming?” you asked the boy who stood gawking at you from the lift. “It won’t take you back up you know. I mean you can try. It’s your sentence you’re lengthening.”

“You don’t recognise me?”

“No?” you said. “Should I?”

You tried to recall when you would have seen him before but only drew blanks. You’d seen so many of the same faces and watched so many of them die that telling anyone apart was a pipe dream for you. However, for some reason, you knew that Wriothesley would stick in your head. Not just because the name was so peculiar but because something about him intrigued you. He didn’t seem upset down here yet. No, he looked curious. Curiosity was dangerous. Curiosity got the smartest people in here killed or beaten half to death. No, Wriothesley stuck in your head because he reminded you of hope.

So, when those sounds start to drift down the hall, and stat to freak out the neighbours,

“No coupons, no meal,” the chef said, his voice booming through the place. You wondered over questioning who would be stupid enough to get into conflict with the head chef. He was a burly man, tall with a glassy eye and a wooden spatula the size of a person. The rumour was that he had been a Fatui skirmisher in the overworld. The truth was he was like every other soul in here, beaten and trapped. Upon seeing the familiar woolfy black hair, spiked in random places you inserted yourself into the conversation.

“Sorry about that boss. He’s new,” you said to the chef.

He waved his beefy, greasy hand at you to leave.

“Don’t let your friend come back unless he has coupons. This isn’t charity,” he said with a thick Snezhnayan accent.

“Gotcha,” you said and gave the chef a salute. Hooking your arm under Wriothesleys, you pulled him out of the cue. He nearly tripped over his foot. You dragged him to a secluded table a little away from everyone else, where your singular special box of bread and curry waited for you.

You let him go.

You pointed to the wall where it read, ‘If a man will not work, he shall not eat.’

“Sit,” you commanded pointing to the chair opposite yours.

Wriothesley stared at you like you had grown four heads.

“I have no food,” he said.

“I can see that,” you responded, opening your box and letting the steam waft out. Both of your stomachs groaned at the same time. It had been a while since you had had decent food from the chef, it would be even longer till you had another one; credit coupons weren’t easy to come by and they were better spent on other things like making sure you didn’t get smothered in your sleep.

“How much did that cost?”

“More than you’ll make in your first year,” you said breaking up the bread in your hands.

He gulped dryly.

“How do you know that?”

“You’re a fresher. You’re basically free labour until you have some experience behind you, and some meat on your bones. You’ll be lucky if they pay you a tenth of what you should be getting in your first year. Unless you can fight.”

You let your words settle in the silence between you.

“What did you do?” you ask.

“What?”

“Your crime? What did you do? The guards treat you like a danger to humanity,” you said glancing at the guard who watched you both intently. You could understand them glaring at you but why him?

Wriothesley shifted in his seat, straightening up as if preparing for something.

“I killed my parents,” he said.

He didn’t say anything more than that, he didn’t need to.

You blinked.

“Both of them?”

“Yes.”

You let it sink in for a minute and then nodded.

“I will not be offended if you run, after all this is the entire truth,” he said bluntly. His stomach growled again, and he clutched it willing it to silence itself.

“We’re all crooks and criminals down here,” you said. “But that doesn’t mean we are all bad.”

He lifted an eyebrow at you. You supposed it was because he was expecting you to run. Which meant he obviously didn’t know you.

“What if I am just a bad guy?”

You shrugged. It was not like you were the dog’s bollocks yourself.

“I have a good enough instinct to know that you aren’t, Ricecake,” you said and pushed your now broken-up bread and curry meal toward him. You were going to regret it. You hadn’t eaten a full-fledged meal in three months, but still, you gave it anyway. “Eat.”

You would have wanted someone to do the same for you when you got here. Friends weren’t made under the sea. His eyes widened and his pale face brightened for the first time since you had met him.

“This is yours,” he said, sounding flabbergasted.

“Now it’s yours,” you said. “Eat up and get some rest. You need to be strong if you want to survive around here.”

You noticed something in his eyes then, a spark. It was dull but it flickered. Your stomach flipped again.

You took a sip of your water before pushing it over to him. He was going to need it more than you.

“Thank you,” he said.

You shook your head.

“There is no need for thanks between us. See it as me looking out for a fellow delinquent.”

“Delinquent?” he said taking his first bite of the bread drowned in curry sauce and rolling his eyes in bliss at the flavours. He began to hoover up the box like it was running away from him.

You remembered when you were like that with every small crumb of bread you got when you first got here. Your stomach flipped. What kind of hell had Wriothesley come from?

“Slow down buddy meals like this don’t come around every day,” you said. “Take it slow, no one can kick you out of here to work anyway. Seems they’re too afraid of us.”

He did as you said. Licking off his fingers, he looked around the floor at the glaring stationed guards and occasional inmates. He faced you his eyes glimmered with light like a shooting golden star flying across an icy sky.

“So, how do I get them to trust me?” he said leaning in.

You leaned back in your seat, your arms crossed and a smile on your face. You were sure now, that feeling in your stomach was hope.

remember that it's good, clean fun,

“Happy Birthday!” you grinned, setting down a box you had smuggled up from the cafeteria into his room. He raised a brow up at you. It was the 23rd of November, the day he’d decided was his birthday; the same day he was sentenced to Meropide.

“Ah, thank you,” he said politely. His stomach growled at the delicious aroma coming off the box revealing, despite his calm thanks, his eager anticipation for your yearly gift.

Guilt riddled him, as he dropped the gauntlet he had been upgrading, next to the cashflow machine he had found and tinkered back to use. He had wanted to pay you back. Every year, on the day he arrived you came with a box and another ten pieces of meshing gear for his tinkering, and as much as he secretly loved it, he felt like he wasn’t doing enough to pay you back.

It had been six years and yet he hadn’t gotten you a single thing he considered worth the amount of your kindness. Aside from a necklace with a piece of meshing gear that he had forged into a Cerberus insignia. You wore it everywhere. You wore it then, the rustic insignia rested on your chest. He had already put aside the pieces for a matching bracelet, a little trinket from him to you. A subtle hint to show that you were his, even if he hadn’t said it yet.

He unravelled the box and two tea bags fell out of the wrapping.

You picked them up and shook them before him.

“Tea for the occasion,” you said.

He smiled and closed his eyes.

“I fear, you know me too well.”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know your favourite colour,” you said, brewing the tea in the teapot he kept on the wonky table.

“I don’t have one.”

Meaning he couldn’t choose one without them all tying to you. Maybe it was the colour of your hair, or eyes, or even the colour of your lips, he’d stare at those often. Too often lately. He was staring now. He looked away.

“Well, I guess I do know everything about you,” you chirped.

He thanked you as you handed him a cup of tea with two sugars just as he liked it. You knew these things. It wasn’t like you had spoken about them. No, you had been around him so much in the last few years that these things came naturally to you. It was like breathing. You sat beside him on the ground. Your tea warmed your hands.

“What else does the birthday boy want on his birthday?”

He fought back the blush though he was sure the colour still painted his skin.

“Nothing.”

“Come on! There has got to be something?”

Wriothesley shook his head and opened the box.

“Okay then if you insist. Share this box with me?”

“But it’s yours.”

“And I want to share it with you. Are you really going to deny me on my birthday? Remember, you are the one who asked what I want.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine.”

He broke up the bread inside one of the compartments in the box, the same way he'd watched you do it countless times. You reached in and dipped a large unbroken piece of bread into the soup before bringing it up to his lips. He stared at your hand.

“Open up. Come on, birthday boy, if we are sharing then you’ve got to have the first bite,” you said.

When it became apparent that you weren’t going to give up any time soon, he opened his mouth enough for you to slip the bread between his teeth. Both of you without the other's knowledge held your breath when he bit down, and his lips brushed the tips of your fingers.

A shiver ran through your body, one you knew would follow you to bed and into your filthiest dreams.

He pulled back and quickly cleared his throat, as he chewed without tasting.

“It’s delicious,” he said.

“It is,” you choked out, though you hadn’t tried it yet.

He didn’t bother to correct you, too lost trying to calm the riot in his chest. When he felt like he had better control of the battle in his chest he picked up a piece of bread, dipped it into the curry sauce and held it toward you. You blinked.

“You should try some too. You know since we are sharing and all.”

You took a bite from the bread letting the flavours wash over you. They too were lost to the way you noticed his eyes watching your lips enclose around the bread. You nodded and covered your mouth as you chewed.

“It is good,” you agreed, with a mouth full of mush.

He nodded and looked away from you, scooping up another piece of bread and popping it into his mouth. You would have thought he was unaffected until you saw his ears were deep shade of crimson.

Just wholesome delinquent behaviour,

“What’s this about?” You asked as he guided you with his large cold, calloused hands over your eyes. You envied his cryo vision, and his ability to stay cool down in that heat pit. He hid it well, but you knew he had one. You’d seen it one day by accident and not breathed a word about it since. Vision holders were targets down here and the last thing you wanted was to put him in any more danger.

“Patience. Don’t you know all good things come to those who know how to wait,” he said.

He had dragged you out of the production zone after finishing his work and disappeared off like he usually did only to reappear an hour later with that confident stride he had. You barely ever saw him these days, but when you did it would be like he was still the fresh-faced delinquent but older. You were both older. He guided you into a seat and then removed his hands. You missed the cool touch on your skin. It took a second for your eyes to adjust to the poor lighting.

“What is this?” you asked, staring at the giant box in front of you.

You looked up at Wriothesley. It had been twelve years since he came to the fortress and the once soft baby face was gone, lost to the grit of Meropide. Wriothesley commanded the trust and respect of everyone around him much to the administrator’s dismay. When you were working away in the production zone, to he would be off swaying the inmates and the guards, working his natural charisma on those around him.

“What happened?” You asked reaching up and grazing his split lip with your finger. He caught your wrist and dipped his head out of the way flashing you a half smile. He had grown even taller over the years and now you had to reach up to touch him. He glanced at the ring on your finger, and you snatched your hand away, your face flushed with embarrassment.

“I won some more coupons,” he said.

In reality, he had scrapped up the coupons that he’d hidden away in the case of a rainy day and used them to buy you the meal. A week earlier he had lost all his accumulated credit coupons in a single night to the Fortress’s administrator.

“You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Is that so?” he sassed. “I suppose I should write a will.”

Your expression darkened.

“Kidding, of course,” he said.

“Of course.”

“I went to Sigewinne,” he assured you. “She said I would be fine as long I rested.”

“Good,” you said.

You turned back to the box.

Metal screeched on the floor as Wriothesley pulled his chair closer directly across from you. The place was unusually empty—only a few guards manned the area, but no other inmates could be spotted on the floor.

“So, what is this?” You could smell the faint fragrance of something familiar. Something you hadn’t smelt in years.

“Open it,” he said and gestured with his chin to the box.

You gave him a cautious look and lifted the lid. Inside sat four rolls of bread and two bowls worth of curry. Your heart fluttered. When you looked up at him, he was already watching you; his icy eyes shining like stars. You didn’t want to think anything of it… to hope. Hope was stolen from you. Hope led to you becoming trapped in a loveless engagement with one of the crooked guards.

“You really did it?” you said and ached a little inside.

This was supposed to be a happy moment but all you wanted to do was weep bitter water.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his toned scarred arms over his chest. He looked so broad and solid; all that boxing had morphed his physique into something godly. “I told you I would pay you back.”

“That was twelve years ago, and this is more than triple what I gave you.”

“I added the interest,” he said.

“Why now?”

He looked down at your ringed finger again and frowned. His brows drew together in the way they did when he was annoyed or thinking more than he was going to let you in on.

“I’m going to fight the administrator,” he said bluntly.

You paused mid-snap of your bread.

“You’re going to fight the administrator?” you repeated, unsure of whether you heard him correctly. “Your sentence is up. Why would you do that? You’re going to die.”

He shrugged.

“I refuse to watch people suffer under the crooked ruling of a tyrant,” he said and eyed your ring again. Your finger felt like it was on fire; you dipped a bit of bread in the curry and handed it to him. He waved it away.

“Why are you like this?” you said, and dropping the piece of bread into the curry, you watched it drown and disappear into the thick liquid. “Is it not enough that you’ll be free?”

You blinked back tears, your hands clenched on your thighs. You had watched nearly all of his fights and every single time your heart was in your throat. Every time he bled, every time he shook hands with his opponent; every time the ringleader held up his beaten-up arm to declare his victory. You hated it. You hated all of it.

He said your name with a tenderness he reserved only for you. A tenderness you didn’t want to hear. A tenderness you blocked out with everything in your soul.

“Is it so strange that I would want to fight for those whom I promised a better life out of genuine care?”

“Why did you do that?” you yelled, your voice came out harsher than you intended but it was too late to take it back. That was the thing about words, they could never be unspoken. He cleared his throat.

“As I recall, I didn’t come here to live under the thumb of another driver, and I thought you would understand that more than anyone else, but I see now that I was wrong and clearly you have been broken down after all.”

You bit down hard on your lips, and your jaw clenched so tight that you were sure you would crunch a tooth.

“Ric—Wriothesley. That’s not fair,” you whispered.

“Indeed, it’s not but it’s the truth.” He glanced away for a second. “Look, I am in love with you, and I have been for the last twelve years. I can’t simply watch you be with someone you hate just to get a sentence lowered that you still won’t tell me about. I could have helped you. I am helping you. I’m helping everyone,” he pushed his chair back and stood.

“…What?”

“I’m fighting tomorrow. Show up, if you have some time, of course; or don’t, but I’ll be looking out for you. You can find me in my dorm before then.”

You fought back the urge to chase after him, to slap him, to kiss him, to hold his hand, to hold him so tightly and cry the way you haven’t been able to since the day you were convicted. Instead, you didn’t. You sat in silence and ate the bread and curry watching your heart walk away from you.

Oh, remember your safe word,

His dorm room was across from yours. It was sparse like everything else in the underwater fortress. A pillow and scatty blanket lay atop a barely functioning mattress in a corner. Wriothesley sat at the small table barely standing on its uneven legs. A tiny pot brewed a herbal smelling tea, and two teacups sat in front of him.

“You came,” he said barely above a whisper. His confidence was a quiet one.

“You love me.”

“Would you like some tea?” he asked, gesticulating to the second cup in front of the spare chair.

You had been in here countless times; shared many cups of tea with him; helped pierce his ears and manage his wounds; watched him shadowbox the air as you sat crossed-legged on his bed; you had wondered what life would be like if Meropide was a better place; you had wondered if the people you left behind missed you as you laid next to each other on his floor staring at the giant fan on the ceiling. Not that either of you had anyone but each other. Wriothesley had said his siblings were strangers to him, and he was probably a ghost they would never want to see again. An unfortunate reminder of something they’d all rather forget, but he never forgot. He refused to. He lived his truth.

Every time he told you about his past you worried about how his view would change if you if knew your truth. However, Wriothesley never pressed too hard, never touched buttons he knew you didn’t want to be touched. Instead, he watched and observed, and took in all that you were willing to give him, just to see a glimmer behind the cracks of your mask.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked.

“Please.” He gestured to the chair. “Sit.” he filled your cup.

You took your seat and shifted around, unable to find comfort despite it being your usual chair. Feelings always made things feel different—uncomfortable. You knew this. Yet you still felt the discomfort, nonetheless.

“How did you know I would come?”

“I didn’t but I hoped and thankfully you didn’t disappoint, but you never do,” he said, filling his cup.

“No need to be modest with me, Wriothesley.”

“I am anything but modest with you,” he said your name softly.

You gulped. Wriothesley wasn’t one to mince his words, though tact was his favourite game.

“You must have heard about it already?” you brought the teacup to your lips taking a sip of the liquid. Credit coupons bought anything in this fortress, even the finest tea. “It’s all people can talk about when it comes to me.”

His expression darkened.

It was only a matter of time.

“You do, and yet you still love me?” you asked.

“I recall someone once telling me that we all are crooks and criminals down here but that didn’t mean we were all bad,” he recounted the words you had said to him when he arrived nearly verbatim. He leaned onto the table, and it shook on its uneven legs from the added weight. “Besides, I like hearing stories from their source.”

“Then ask.”

“What got you incarcerated?”

You took a deep breath. What did you have to lose? He had heard worse rumours.

For some reason, you cared about what he thought of you. You knew that feelings were fickle things, and yet, you cared that he loved you. You loved him too.

“Mariticide,” you said cooly, breaking the ice.

“But you were—“

“A child, I know.”

“I was illegally married off when I was eight years old to a man, twenty years my senior.”

Wriothesley remained neutral, you took it as your sign to keep going.

“He didn’t do anything to me until my twelfth birthday and then it started. At first, it was just touching and then it got worse. He was an influential Fontaine nobleman. One of the maids tried to help me report him but it didn’t work. So, one night when he came to my room, I had hidden a butter knife under my pillow. I castrated him and ran away, fleeing Fontaine. I wandered through Sumeru and then to Monstadt but even the city of freedom couldn’t protect me. So, I kept moving. It was when I was on my way through Liyue that the authorities caught up to me. The maid who had tried to help me was sleeping with the man and hence reported me. The hearing was quick, and I was put away fast. No one wanted to consider the implications of a thirteen-year-old being married to a thirty-three-year-old whom they all dined with. I heard he died a few years ago but my sentence keeps getting extended every time it gets close to the date of my term. I suspect it’s the maid. I was supposed to be here for eight years and well, I am still here. That’s why I must marry that Guard.” You took a long sip from your tea and then placed the cup down. “I’m damaged goods,” you said.

Wriothesley remained silent. He looked to be thinking of something and you had never seen his expression so dark.

“You’re not damaged,” he said, “and he’s lucky he lived after that.”

You smiled. It was a bitter smile; one filled with more exhaustion than remorse.

“Luck favours the rich.”

“If a man will not work, he shall not eat,” Wriothesley said, reciting the famous lines that painted the walls of Meropide.

You raised your teacup at him before taking another sip.

“Jokes aside, thank you for telling me,” he said.

He stood up and you feared he was going to ask you to leave. You wouldn’t be sad, at least that’s what you tried to convince yourself, but the sinking feeling came all the same.

He offered you his hand and you stared at it. Your brows furrowed before you hesitantly took it. He pulled you up to your feet. His cold hand intertwined with yours.

“Can I hug you?” he asked.

He’d never asked this before. Did you look like you needed a hug? Because you wanted one.

“Please,” you choked out.

You would never have described Wriothesley as warm, but when he held you in his arms and you heard his heart racing you couldn’t deny that he was undoubtedly warm. A single tear rolled down your cheek. Then another, and another, and another until you were sobbing into his shabby inmate shirt.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I know.”

You’d been holding onto these feelings for so long. Letting them fester inside you like a sickness. No one had ever stopped to hear your side of the story and you thought you were okay with that. You thought if they stayed away from you then you could pretend to be like every other inmate brought in for stealing a slice of cake meant for Lady Furina. You thought you could hide your truth, but behind every fake smile, you wore it on yourself like a body of armor.

His shirt crumpled in your hands. He swayed from side to side and traced tiny circles on your back with his thumb.

“You did what you had to do. If he was alive, I’d kill him,” he said.

You wiped your eyes and looked up at him. “Please don’t fight tomorrow.”

He brought a hand up to your cheek and brushed away your tears. He decided then that he hated your tears, and he would do anything to see to it that you didn’t feel that way again.

However, he hated the idea of you living with this pain more. He hated seeing that diamond on the finger where his should be. He hated it even more that you knew that he hated it before he had admitted his feelings for you. If his resolve hadn’t been solidified before now it would be completely. He would free you, and if you decided you wanted to be with him once you sprouted your wings, then he would accept you with open arms. He wouldn’t put you in another cage. He’d hate to see your heart break because to him you were his heart.

Wriothesley’s attention dropped to your lips; they were wet with your tears. He leaned down and brushed his lips to the corner feeling your sadness.

You turned your head at the last moment and captured his lips.

He froze.

You gripped his shirt tighter and reached up on the tips of your toes pressing your mouth further into his; willing him to reciprocate. Your first kiss with Wriothesley tasted like bitter water. It was soft and desperate. It knew what it was without the need for words or discussion.

His chest heaved as he pulled away.

“Don’t leave me,” you whispered.

“I won’t…”

He wouldn’t—at least not tonight. Although, he didn’t know whether it was day or night outside of Meropide. The underworld was a different world entirely. It never truly slept. It didn’t adhere to the rules of the sun or the moon. It was filled with endless possibilities. Possibilities that could alter both of your existences and if he couldn’t free you above ground, he knew sure as hell would free you below. Although, one night of keeping you safe in his arms couldn’t hurt.

You sat down on his mattress. You looked so much smaller than he remembered, then again it had been twelve years.

He recalled your soot-covered face, and dull eyes when you had greeted him, the day he arrived at Meropide. The day he had begun his new life; his birthday. Although the circumstances weren’t great, he knew from the moment you said, ‘Welcome to hell,’ that he would love you.

He sat beside you.

“Tell me what you want?” he said, earnestly.

You leaned into him.

“I want you to be yours.”

It was true. You wanted him. Engagement be damned. Even if it was just one night, you wanted something for you. Maybe it was selfish. Maybe it was asking for too much, but you didn’t care. You had spent too long denying yourself the things you want to maintain a peace no one else upheld.

Wriothesley gripped your wrist and groaned what sounded like your name, but you couldn’t be too sure.

“Give me a word,” he said.

“What?”

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he began.

“I am not fragile.”

Though in front of him, you were.

“I know you are not. Give me a word so I know to stop if it gets too much for you.” He tucked your hair behind your ear and rested his forehead against yours.

“Time,” you breathed.

That’s what you wanted—time. Time to love him, time to live, time to take back all the things you regretted and start again. Time to meet him before you both became who you were.

“Okay,” he said, leaving a kiss behind your ear. “Tonight, you’re mine.”

Only tonight. He reminded himself.

He could promise you that for certain. He couldn’t promise tomorrow, not because he was a pessimist but because he knew tomorrow was never certain. He had you now. He would make sure he had you forever but now would have to be enough. He would make it enough.

“Yours. Completely,” you said.

Another tear rolled down your cheek.

He pulled off his shirt.

Your mouth merged with his, your tongue slipping into his open mouth tangling, exploring searching. He cupped your face in his hands, his eyes closing despite the desire to see every expression on your face.

You broke the kiss and leaned back pulling off your shirt. His eyes dropped to your breasts.

“Just for me,” he whispered, taking them into his hands and kneading them slowly.

He traced kisses down your neck, wishing to mark you, to lay his claim to you. He wouldn’t however, not yet…not tonight.

You fiddled with the string to his bottoms, untangling it and reaching in to feel his erection. He groaned against your neck unafraid to let you know how good it felt. You grasped his cock. It was thick, thicker than you expected, and so hard. You needed both hands to grip him properly.

“Take off that fucking ring,” he hissed upon feeling it on his skin. You did, taking off the ring and dropping it with your shirt on the floor. You gripped his cock again, your hands feeling so much lighter without the mental weight of the ring.

“Harder,” he growled as you stroked him.

You tightened your grip watching as the crease between his brows grew. He rolled his hips into your hand.

“Oh, that’s it,” he panted.

You bit your lip and focused on the reddened tip.

Your thumb brushed the crown wiping away the drops of precum. He jolted, his jaw unhinging, your name falling from his lips like a prayer. You froze and released his cock. He opened his eyes, worried, only to see you on your knees between his legs.

He opened his legs wider and slid closer to the edge of the bed. He brushed your hair out of your face and gripped it in his hand as he used the other to keep him up on the bed.

“Go on,” he said. “Show me how much you want me.”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

Gripping, his cock you gave the tip a lick listening to his pleased grunts. Slowly you took him into your mouth, enjoying the sensation of his hand gripping your hair.

“Good girl, taking me so well.”

You were soaked just from listening to his praise. You slipped a hand into your underwear and began rubbing your clit.

His breath quickened, and his mouth felt incredibly dry from his inability to close it. His hips jerked, as you took him deeper. He heard you gag as he felt your throat quiver around his cock. He pulled out, letting you catch your breath before he thrust back into your throat. Your eyes rolled and drove a finger into yourself.

You bobbed your head keeping up with the brutal pace he was setting. You loved hearing his grunts and groans; you loved feeling his cock twitch and his pace stagger as he got closer. Despite how hard it was, you looked up at him. His mouth was agape, his eyes barely open. You released him just when you knew he was going to cum.

Wriothesley opened his eyes to see you waiting, mouth open, your mouth and chin dripping with saliva. You looked glorious.

“You’re stunning,” he breathed and released your hair, wrapping his hand around his cock and pumping it until the first spray of cum splattered your lips. “So perfect, with such a pretty mouth.”

You licked your lips and opened your mouth again, leaning closer till the tip rested against your tongue.

Wriothesley felt like he was in a dream or heaven or both.

“Swallow it all,” he panted as he pumped the rest onto your tongue.

You did so, licking your lips and opening your mouth to prove it.

At the sight of your flushed face, your blown lust-filled eyes, and your hand deep in your pants, he found himself hardening again. He had promised tonight, and tonight he was going to have. If he died tomorrow, he’d die a happy man.

“Get on the bed right now, naked and on your back,” he ordered.

You shimmied off your work pants and your underwear, laying on the bed under his hungry gaze. He stood and stripped the rest of his clothes away before joining you on the bed. It was barely big enough for both of you, but he was going to make it work. He kneeled before your closed legs.

“How are you?” he asked.

“Good.”

“Just good?” he teased, a smirk on his lips.

“Mhm just good,” you responded, reciprocating the expression.

“Oh, we’ll have to fix that,” he said, and scooping under your thighs, he opened your legs and pulled you closer to him.

You giggled at the speed at which he had your legs wrapped around his waist and his hard cock pressing against your soaked folds. He caged you between his arms as he rolled his hips slowly.

“I love you,” he said, staring into your eyes.

“I love you too,” you responded.

“I know.”

He kissed you with everything in his soul. At some point, he knew you loved him even if you hadn’t said it till just now. He knew it like how he knew the back of his hand but hearing it made it even better. It made it real.

He rubbed the head of his cock against your soaked hole, pushing in the tip just enough to feel you quiver before pulling out and running it over your pussy again.

“If I fuck you, you’re mine. No one touches what is mine. Do you understand?” He asked

Your heart stuttered.

“I understand.”

“After all, no one will be able to fuck you the way I can. Once I’m inside you unless you tell me otherwise, I’m not stopping until we both see stars,” he said, making sure he looked straight into your eyes as he did.

This wasn’t a game for him, he meant every single word and you knew it.

“Wriothesley, there will never be anyone like you.”

He groaned and slid in. Your back arched at the sheer size of his cock stretching you beyond your limits. You closed your eyes and clenched your jaw, grabbing onto the sheets for support.

“Breathe, relax,” he whispered. “Hold onto me.”

He continued to slowly push in bringing his knees closer giving him the right angle to get in as deep as possible. He gasped upon seeing himself completely disappear inside you. You tightened your legs around his waist, and dragged him down gripping his back, locking you into a mating press.

He waited till the need for release subsided before he began to move. The shitty bedframe, not built for the purpose it was being used for, squeaked, and hit against the wall. The sound of skin slapping against skin, and stifled cries joined the air disturbing whatever sorry soul had the misfortune of being on the other side of the wall. Neither of you cared at that moment. Within minutes you had already come twice.

Your chest heaved, and Wriothesley cupped them leaving bites all over your breasts, he avoided any place people would be able to see but needed to mark you somewhere. He moved back up to your ear and nibbled on the lobe.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he said quietly.

You slipped a hand between your rocking bodies and began to rub your clit. Wriothesley leaned back till he was kneeling. Gripping your waist, he continued to fuck you watching with hawk-like focus the way your fingers played with your clit. It was like you were under display, laid out for him to observe and study, and you were.

“So, that’s how you like it?” he said, feeling your walls clench around him for the third time that night.

You whimpered in response, your words had long since failed you. You began to slow as your hand grew tired and your body became closer to a collection of jolting nerves than functioning limbs.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. You can give me two more, right?” he said.

You moaned as he replaced your hand continuing to rub your clit just as vigorously as you had started.

“Wriothesley,” you cried,

“Ssh, you’ve got this. Let go. Be a good girl and give me two more,” he urged you on.

You bit your lip and threw your head back letting out another cry which he swallowed eagerly. Your walls clenched again, and your body began to show the signs of a squirt. You sprayed, your legs shaking, your toes curling.

“Shit, you’re incredible. One more,” he captured your lips. “You’ve done so good. Just give me one more, my love,” he said against them.

One more and he would be satisfied. One more and he could guarantee that he would have enough resolve to follow through with his plans. Just one more.

You shivered again and bit down on his bottom lip as your final climax washed over you barely a minute later. He growled at the pain, tugging his lip from your mouth, and kissing you properly.

“Well done,” he said but continued thrusting at the same brutal pace. “I’m nearly there.”

You used what little strength you had to keep him inside. He said your name for what was the thousandth time that night.

“Not tonight,” he panted, smiling against your lips. “Trust me, I want to. I do, but not tonight.”

He pulled out and kissed you softly, stroking himself until his release painted your stomach. He kissed your forehead and rolled off you to not squash you under his weight.

You turned onto your side and cuddled into him. He wrapped his arms around you and entangled your limbs. You faced each other on the damp sheets.

It felt like time stopped. Everything melted away, you didn’t know whether it had been forty or four hours, and you didn’t care. You felt sticky and wet, the only thing cooling you down was the natural coolness of his skin on yours. Sleep drifted over you like a blanket not soon after. You tried to fight it off, wishing to talk to him longer; to try and convince him against fighting the administrator; to find a way with you because as long as you had each other you knew everything would be okay…

“Everything is going to be okay,” he said quietly as if he had read your mind, sending you off to sleep. “It’s all going to be okay.”

When you woke the next morning, well when the sound of the guards woke you from your sex-induced coma, Wriothesley was gone.

Remember your safeword.

You woke to cool scarred arms wrapped securely around your waist. Wriothesley’s head rested on your breasts. Flecks of grey mixed seamlessly into the stream of black hair reminded you that you were no longer in the past. You shifted slightly to free an arm. He grumbled something and nuzzled his head further into your breasts, securing his arms tighter around you as if afraid you were going to disappear. It was a habit he had developed over the years, an incessant need to hold onto you when he slept. You didn’t mind it too much, you liked being cold when you went to bed; it helped you sleep better.

“Wriothesley,” you whispered and ran a hand through his hair. You laid a peck on his forehead, and he stirred.

“Is it morning already?” he grumbled, though his eyes remained closed.

He had been awake for as long as you had been lost in your thoughts, silently listening to the sound of your pounding heart. He couldn’t help but wonder what thoughts ailed you on nights like these.

You admired the thick dark lashes casting shadows over his face.

“No, I just can’t sleep,” you said.

You knew his skin like the back of your hand. The scar under his eye, the scar on his neck that led down to the center of his breastplate and stopped on his sternum. The ones wrapped around his arms, the ones that scattered his waist and stomach, the ones on his thighs; even the small faint one on his calf from when he fell over as a kid. He told you that was when he knew his skin was going to be littered with scars. Wriothesley scarred easily and he scarred badly. However, despite their jagged appearances, none of them were too hideous for you to bear. You didn’t like them, but you loved Wriothesley, and as they were as a part of him as any other part of him, you learnt to love them too. They represented how many battles he had won. They represented every promise kept.

You lifted his head up and kissed the scar on his face, the one right under his eye.

You could feel his hardened cock pressing against your thigh. His pupils were blown when he finally opened his eyes.

He loved you so much it hurt. Yes, physically but also mentally. He loved how you accepted him, he loved how you chose him, and he loved how you chose you too. Most of all he loved how you looked when you teased him, so raw, so ripe, so ready to dismantle you completely.

“Oh, I can think of ways to help with that,” he murmured.

“I don’t know if I have the stamina, your grace,” you teased.

He let out a guttural noise.

He nibbled and sucked on your nipple, messaging your other breast in his cold, rough hands. Your breath staggered as you gave in to his touch. The sound went straight to his cock. He had fucked you into the sheets earlier that night, till you were blubbering and couldn’t remember your own name. Still, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough; he would never get enough of you. Despite your fear that one day he would disappear, he never would. It was Wriothesley who worried that one day you would grow tired of his incessant need to be near you; to have you, to consume you. So, he savoured every squirm, every shiver, every breathy gasp of his name that you would spare him, terrified that they’d be his last.

“Ah, well it’s a good thing that I have enough stamina for the both of us,” he said switching his attention from one boob to the other. The earlier hickeys had already darkened on your skin. “Think you can cum again?”

He would kiss each one later wishing for them to last forever.

“You’re insatiable,” you blushed.

“Why wouldn’t I be? I have my favourite meal right where I want her,” he said and began to trail his tongue down your stomach towards your sensitive clit. He wanted you on his tongue, in his senses… everywhere.

“Do you remember your safeword?” he asked. It was what he always did before you both did anything sexual beyond intimate fondling and brisk kisses.

“Time,” you said.

“Good girl.” He half grinned.

He continued teasing your clit with the tip of his tongue, absorbing every twitch and shake of your body.

“Wriothesley,” you spluttered. “I need you.”

“You’ve got me,” he said.

He slipped his tongue into you, circling, lapping, like a man possessed he devoured you. His nose brushed against your skin. It was knowing his eyes were on you the entire time that made everything feel ten times more stimulating. You let out a quiet gasp and gripped his hair.

“You’re so good for me.” He gave you a broad lick. “So perfect.”

He replaced his tongue with his fingers, curling them inside you and scissoring them open to stretch you out not that you needed much with how well he had fucked you before. Still, it was the thought of giving you pleasure that spurred him on.

“Wriothesley,” you said.

He hummed to show you he was listening, the vibration made you quiver.

“I want your cuffs.”

He paused and pulled away, perking up. He secretly loved it when you surprised him.

“Oh? What for?”

You smiled and gestured for his cuffs. He scrambled off the queen-sized bed and walked butt naked to where he left his cuffs. You admired his ass from the bed. He had a great ass, he knew it too, it was why he wore his jacket around Meropide. His nickname Ricecake had gotten around the Fortress years ago and whilst it was okay when he was a convict, he didn’t need that level of familiarity as the Duke. Besides, you were the only one he wanted observing his ass.

He climbed back onto the bed and handed them to you, the spiked metal looked so good in your hands. His eyes flickered to the rings on your ring finger—his rings. The ones he gave you when he officially proposed.

He never ended up fighting that day due to the administrator’s sudden disappearance.

He recalled how you had run around Meropide searching for him, your hair a mess, the beginnings of one of the love bites he had left dauntingly close to view, poking out of one of his shirts that you had thrown on instead of your own. He recalled how you had slammed open the door to the administrator’s office, breathless, beautiful, with your eyes full of tears to him sitting behind the desk organising the abandoned files. He recalled how he claimed you again there, in that office over and over and over again. The other man’s ring was long gone somewhere down the many drains of Meropide, and your sentence cleared not long after. There were perks to becoming the administrator of the fortress of Meropide. Perks that had the maid of that man who hurt you disappear to a place only known by Celestia, the Archons, Navia, and Wriothesley. Neuvillette knew too but unless there was a trial, he would keep his nose out of it.

You knelt on the bed swinging the cuffs on your fingers.

“Where have you gone?” you cooed bringing him back to reality.

“Mm, nowhere, just admiring the view,” he said coolly.

You shook your head and pushed him to lay back against the pillows.

“You’re working too hard, your grace. I can fix that,” you said and straddled him.

Reaching above him, you cuffed his arms to the bed frame.

He cocked a brow and playfully tugged against the restraints.

“Ah, I hope so,” he said.

You kissed the corner of his mouth, smirking.

His cock twitched at the memory of your first time together.

“Remember the safeword?” you asked.

Seeing you sat on him, your eyes filled with life, he couldn’t care less that you didn’t remember your past before Meropide. He didn’t care that you didn’t recall how he was the boy you gave bread to once when you spotted him wandering away from his home. How you had given him, a complete stranger what looked like your last piece of food because he was sitting alone. He didn’t care if all you remembered was your last two and a half decades together… because you were here now with him. You chose him just as he chose you.

“Time," he responded.

masterlist

Reblogs w/ tags and comments are very much appreciated! If you enjoyed this, please feel free to consider dropping a follow as well! <3

Also, if you like my writing and wish to support me, please consider buying me a coffee via Ko-fi!

#wriothesley imagines #genshin impact #wriothesley fanfic #wriothesley x you #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley smut #genshin smut #fluff #smut #angst #light angst #angst with a happy ending

525 notes · View notes

doublechocolate · 7 months ago

Text

Haibara dissecting Conan/Shinichi like he's some kind of experiment ksjksjf

I think it was around this time when I started to seriously ship them. Haibara, at this stage, was still given the "cold and mysterious" status of a character but the story didn't shy away from showing us how her empathy extended beyond her own needs. She was well aware of Conan/Shinichi's pain, and also Ran's, because she finds herself to be in that same position as them, and has gone through layers of her own emotional turmoil by this point to recognize this.

But more than that, it's blatantly obvious here that if there's anyone who can understand Conan, it's her. There's a level of understanding between them that's deep and personal. And yes, Conan has that with others too, you can argue that, but what he has with Haibara is slightly different. You see, their "friendship" was born out of pain and trauma. They were each others' "doom", in a sense. Haibara created the APTX4869 drug while Conan failed to save Akemi. They saw the sides of each other that others haven't and had to learn to trust each other in their own way. Slowly, they grew to understand one another and from doom, they became each others' hope.

(Long rambling under cut)

There are many instances of Conan being able to understand Haibara's thoughts by merely watching her actions but to me, the one that stood out the most was none other than m26 Black Iron Submarine (not canon to you but canon to me) when they were underwater and Haibara is about let Conan's hand go but he pulls her back up. The entire conversation takes place inside their heads yet they knew exactly what each other was saying. Remember that post I made about them being drift-compatible?

That's why I think Conan is still unaware just how big of a presence Haibara is in his life. He came close to that in m26 but with Pinga, BO and Haibara's kidnapping, he didn't exactly have the time to sit and ponder over it. Surely people (non-shippers) would chalk it up to you, "aakchuallyyyy he just needs her for the antidote". But... are you sure? Are you really, really sure that that's all he is to her? Is that all you understand about Conan/Shinichi as a character? Even Takayama Minami and Hayashibara Megumi commented on how Conan losing his cool and becoming short-tempered when Haibara got kidnapped was unusual of him. In their opinion, the only reason why Conan calmed down was because of Agasa and how the Prof almost risked doing something reckless to save Haibara. Only then Conan realized he needed to remain calm to keep Agasa in check.

And also, Haibara noticed Pinga and Vodka's presence in the hotel first but Conan only noticed when Haibara was in danger. His train of thought literally went; something happened to Haibara -> it's the Organization -> oh shit they've taken her. Like, hello?? Excuse me?? What is this soulmate-level telepathy going on here right in front of my salad??

I've ~kinda~ mentioned this before in a passing before, but CoAi lowkey reminds me of SyaoSaku (from CCS) but in a different font - a more painful and (perhaps) tragic one. Haibara being Syaoran's counterpart, and Conan being Sakura's counterpart. Example; Sakura's infatuation for Yukito was loud and out there, literally everyone knew about it too (Conan/Shinichi with Ran). Meanwhile, Sakura's love for Syaoran was already growing quietly within her. She was showing signs of it but was too distracted to realize it, until the time came when Syaoran was going to leave Japan and return to Hong Kong. All of a sudden it hit her like a train that it was too painful to let him go (Conan/Shinichi with Haibara/Shiho).

This is why I'm convinced that when all of this is over, Conan will have to face the reality of just what Haibara means to him. It doesn't matter if Aoyama doesn't want to explore this, or chooses to address this in a different way. It's his story, he can do what he wants. But personally for me? I know Conan simply cannot go back to his original life as Kudou Shinichi anymore. He's too far changed, forced to recognize the grayness in a world he deemed black and white, empathize with people he would have classified as "criminals" in the past, and live a life of white lie even it meant hurting the people he cared for the most - in short, Conan/Shinichi simply cannot go back to being the same person he was before Tropical Land. And the one person we know for sure who will be able to understand him despite all of this, is Haibara.

I saw a comment once saying that CoAi/ShinShi are supplementary and wouldn't work. I disagree because I think they are more of a narrative foil. Haibara's existence in Conan's life taught him that he isn't invincible (failure to save Akemi) and that not everyone from the Black Organization are cold-blooded assassins. Haibara had her life and freedom stolen from her. Conan, otoh, taught Haibara to live. To not run away from life and to learn to trust people again. All the important people in life left her at some point, but Conan was the only one who kept coming back for her when she chose to give up, holding her hand as tightly as he can.

Conan, the boy who has everything. Haibara, the girl who lost everything. Conan, the boy who keeps trying to dig deeper into the viper's nest. Haibara, the girl who has lived in the viper's nest trying to pull him back from diving further. Conan, the boy who wants to keep tempting fate to save his friends. Haibara, the girl who is willing to die to save her friends. Conan, the boy who thinks his actions of holding back his love is immature. Haibara, the girl who understands his pain enough to know he is anything but. Conan, the boy whose life changed because of the drug Haibara created but in a way also saved his life (Gin chose to not shoot him in the head but fed him the drug instead). Haibara, the girl who lost her sister because Conan couldn't save her but now he'd do anything to make sure she stays alive.

Whether you ship them or not, or see them merely as friends, you can't deny that they play huge roles in each other's lives. We know that when the end comes, Haibara will be willing to let Conan go. She might have already prepared herself for this, even, because Ran is the last person she'd want to hurt at this point. Her resemblance to Akemi is too strong now and she knows Ran adores her a lot too. And from that scene above, we know Haibara feels the same pain Ran and Conan/Shinichi are going through.

But. Will Conan be able to do the same? Can he simply let go of Haibara and return to his old life? Even if Haibara/Shiho does remain in his life, when the dust is settled, can he truly move on from the person whom he has experienced so many life and death encounters with, and in a way, shaped him into becoming the person he is today?

We know the love is one-sided now because we're almost always seeing it from Haibara/Shiho's perspective. But how can we be so sure that something isn't growing deep down in Conan/Shinichi's heart too? If it's something subtle and quiet like the flap of a butterfly's wings now, eventually growing into something that could literally change the course of his life?

If you understand Conan/Shinichi as a person, beyond the shipping lenses, then I think the answer is already obvious.

"It's not cause the creator said so. They're just friends and Shinichi already confessed to someone else". Okay, like I said, the creator can do whatever he wants with his story. I AM choosing to read between the lines based on what that same creator has presented to us. I'm also always reminded of the Akai/Jodie/Akemi love story and how that panned out. I'm saying, things can happen because feelings are complex and sometimes you go through experiences in life that changes you inside out. Both Akai and Conan have had their lives stained by the Black Organization.

Not to mention that, in terms of their personalities, CoAi/ShinShi's relationship are quite a stark parallel to Yuusaku and Yukiko's relationship as well. What Conan/Shinichi needs is someone who can match his level of eccentricity yet at the same time call him out when his head floats too high in the clouds. Haibara is that person. And the best part about it is she didn't even have to change herself to match him - that's pretty much her personality already. Fitting in exactly like a puzzle piece.

Anyway, this is long-winded already. i'll stop rambling here. Also, if this breaches containment and reaches a non-shipper/anti and you have something negative to say, please do me a favor and be a mature person. Leave this post and let's both live in peace.

Love you, CoAi nation, bye!

#i had something similar about kaishin and kaishi too #but that's for another day #coai #shinshi

329 notes · View notes

lairofsentinel · 3 months ago

Text

Since this user's posts seem to have been deleted in previous opportunities I copy-paste their words here because they express exactly what I feel about this game. Dragon Age has died, unfortunately.

I'm a big time Dragon Age lover and have enjoyed every game in the series. Personally, I think Inquisition is the best in the series. And I was excited for Veilguard right up until I actually began playing it. Now, I want to clear things up at the start as to what I look for and believe makes a good Dragon Age game. To start, I DON'T CARE ABOUT COMBAT. I. Do. Not. Care.

You can make it Origins tactical. DA2 fast tactical. DAI hybrid. God of War action, I don't care. Dragon Age has always had combat that was...fine. A nice distraction and breakup in between the bits I actually care about: narrative ROLEPLAYING, story, characters, and exploration. I don't give a crap how great the combat is if the narrative roleplaying and writing are poor, I'm not playing BioWare titles for amazing gameplay. I am here for the story, the characters, and the roleplaying. Truth is, for a time I considered DATV's combat to be the best in the series.

And this is why I feel the game is a terrible Dragon Age, because it lacks or fails to respect those elements concerned with narrative roleplaying, story, characters, and exploration. Now, in many reviews and online videos you'll hear some reference often to the drop in writing quality. And a lot of time people will incorrectly say that the writing with the characters is to "modern" or "Marvel quippy" or not "dark" enough. I think these people are wrong, they recognize there is a drop in writing quality from previous games but aren't able to articulate why that is.

Dragon Age has never adopted any sort of faux medieval speech and vocabulary (though we'll get into this more later). This is a series that used "epic fail" as a thing someone uttered in the very first game. It's always had anachronistic dialogue and banter. So why is it such a drop then? Why is it considered poor? Simple. This is a game that does not believe in the world it has setup for over a decade. It does not believe in or engage properly with its own world and lore. I mean, look no further than the title "The Veilguard" a phrase that is never uttered by anyone in our group, and further proof it was a last minute marketing change. Compare to Inquisition where the title is apparent from the start in the game and has actual meaning.

You see, characters in DATV do not feel or react to events the way they should based on the lore. Why is no one constantly asking what the hell the Inquisitor is doing? The Inquisitor is kind of a BIG DEAL when it comes to Solas and Elven Gods, my Inquisitor drank from the WELL OF SORROWS! So why are we sitting around thinking at the start, "hmm lemme think who I can contact who might know more." The Herald of Andraste! They know more Rook, the guy that is technically your boss. The Inquisitor! Who else have you been working for this entire time? Who do you think told Varric to recruit you?!

But even removing the Inquisitor, the Elven Gods being real and also near synonymous with the old Tevinter Gods is kind of a BIG DEAL. It was only a theory fans crafted long ago that slowly revealed itself to be true. And it completely upends known religious dogma on all sides. Yet, why aren't people we meet going through a massive existential crisis? For instance, the Veil Jumpers we initially meet were presumably told off-screen about Fen'Harel, and are seemingly cool with this massive knowledge alone. But then we talk about those two other Gods being released and they're like, "well, shit those two aren't good." As if they have any clue if the fables about those Gods are real when we previously just upended everything they thought about the Dreadwolf! Why are you acting like this is another Tuesday?! Your entire religion is wrong. In that same conversation, Strife notes "Solas might be a bastard, but compared to the Evunaris? Let's just say they weren't know for being kind rulers."

My brother in Anduril, what are you talking about! Elven religion teaches that Elgar'nan was so beloved by the Earth that it "the land brought forth great birds and beasts of sky and forest, and all manner of wonderful green things." And that he fought the jealous Sun that tried to burn the land and all beasts away. Custom says that he and Mythal, "created the world as we know it" after defeating the Sun. He is literally described as one of the "good" Gods. WHY ARE YOU ASSUMING HE IS EVIL! It's like finding out Satan is real, but not as evil as have come to believe and then being told Jesus Christ is back and a devout Christian going, "well shit, that can't be good." WHAT?!

The same goes for Andraste and the Chant of Light, it took me 30 hours of playing before ONE character mentioned Andraste and the implications with the Chant and it was never brought up again. Our entire party is seemingly made up of unphased atheists. Now compare to something like Inquisition which explored this aspect HARD and was amazing for it. You'd get into great debates with religious figures and party members about the implications of Corypheus actually being a Tevinter Magister of old. And you'd talk about what it means towards the religious dogma preached and how much is true. And these intense political and religious discussions are present in every previous game, and not confined to a single conversation with one party member where it is seemingly resolved.

These conversations do not happen in DATV because there is no depth to the writing or engagement with the world. The Elven Gods are evil and need to be stopped. That's it. We don't need to think about the implications this has on Dalish customs and religion. Fuck it, all the Dalish are going to still wear their Vallaslin slave brand tattoos. Let's forget about Trespasser implying Solas was removing them from followers coming to join him. Let's even forget they were likely all told at this point that they are slave brands, nope still going to wear them yet speak blasphemy with every sentence against our Gods. No one cares about Andraste or The Maker or the Chant. Big deal if these Elven Gods contradict the overwhelming majority religion in Thedas. Not a single party member has religious or cultural objections to killing the Elven Gods; not a problem. Not one single elf wants to join Solas in tearing down The Veil and getting immortality again?

Again, let's forget about Trespasser setting up Solas gathering MANY Elven followers from Dalish clans who would be super inclined to join him after experiencing CENTURIES of discrimination and slavery by humans. The better question is what Elves wouldn't join Solas at the start? And what Elves wouldn't look at the other two Gods and go, "meh, maybe we should give them a try. They can't be worse than humans, right?" In DA2 you had elves joining The Qun to escape the discrimination of humans, but not ONE ELF wants to join Solas or Elgar'nan? Those Ancient Elves in the Temple of Mythal? I guess they all died, right?

This extends to EVERY single element of Dragon Age that previously had depth to it, it now has been completely removed. Those murdering Antivan Crows? Oh, they're just good Italian Mob Family that protect their city. Tevinter? Yes, it has poor people, but we're trying to do better. Oh, slavery? No, no we don't show that here. The Qun? The what now? No, they are all Antaam now, and so that means they are all generic evil warlords. No, they don't even attempt to follow their own hardcore view of The Qun like when Templars split from the Chantry, they're just warlords now that like plunder. Dwarves and their rigid Caste society? We don't do that here. Elves and racism across Thedas? Elves used to experience racism? News to me, what's a Shemlen? Never heard of that term, we like all humans. Pirates? That is insensitive, we are Lords of Fortune and we are sure to return any cultural artifacts found to their rightful owners; it belongs in a museum after all. The fucking Fade and spirits? Wait, you mean its different than generic fantasy spirit world? I'm sorry, that's too complicated here.

This either intentional disregard of the lore or plain ignorance also extends to environmental design. The asset reuse from Inquisition is particularly hilarious and must speak to the developers not having time after the switch from MP. Why are the same statues found in Val Royeaux in DAI also in Tevinter and Antiva? Why are those stupid Fen'Harel Wolf statues EVERYWHERE? Even in the catacombs of other Elven Gods! There are no statues of Elgar'nan or Ghilan'nain. Nothing for June or Anduril. Dirthamen. Falon'Din. Nothing. No, the only Gods that seem to get statues are coincidentally the ones who already had assets created for DAI or past titles that could be reused. Hmmm.

This continues into character designs too, why do the Veiljumpers and Shadow Dragons all dress richly? They are supposed to be poor as fuck. There's a codex entry about Veiljumpers finding a lost cache of old ancient elven armor and weapons and so boom they all get to dress like High Elven Lords and not the dirty, poor, wandering Dalish clans they are supposed to come from. Why do this? There isn't even an attempt to explaining why the Shadow Dragons, an organization supposed to be secretive, has branded clothing in bright rich colors and fabrics for all members. Naturally, it must be incredibly difficult for Tevinter authorities to not identify them.

This lack of depth and verisimilitude, naturally, affects all the characters. Because in this game you cannot roleplay and you cannot ask questions. In Dragon Age Inquisition, once you started the game, you could immediately interrogate Varric about what happened to every DA2 character despite the Inquisitor never meeting them, you know because it respects its players. You could speak to shop keepers, blacksmiths, your horse master. You could interrogate every single person to learn more about them and the world. The same goes for your player character in DA2 and Origins. You show in Denermin and find yourself knee deep in a quest to help Wade the Blacksmith craft the perfect armor. Here you can't actually speak to a single shopkeeper to ask questions and get some lore bits. You can't ask party members questions about their background, religious beliefs, upbringing, their factions, etc. You can't ask any returning characters any questions either about what they've been doing. Enter a brand new area? Great, you're not asking anyone questions about this never before seen place.

How does a lost Dwarven thaig survive every single blight? How are their immortal lichs in Neverra? How long has that been a thing? Why haven't they told anyone about the Elven gods or any other knowledge they've accumulated in an immortal lifespan? If immortality is so "easy" why can't Solas just do that to restore the Elves? Why are the Venatori, Tevinter Supremacists, following Elven Gods? Wouldn't that be a major identity crisis? Why would Antaam, who still preach the Qun, follow an Elven God that speaks blasphemy with ever breadth? Sshhhh, no questions. You get what is directly told to you and that's it, no follow-up questions.

Party members do not conflict with each other or interrogate each other's beliefs which is why their banter feels inconsequential and meaningless. Lucanis is a assassin, he kills people for money. The same organization that marked Zevran for death for failing a contract. The same one that took him as a kid and trained him to murder, often brutally, for coin. And yet no one really seems to care. He's just a nice Italian assassin from a nice assassin organization. Who cares. Let's instead talk about cooking, at length. Harding, a devout follower of Andraste, has no qualms with Elven Gods wreaking havoc on known religion. We get one conversation you can tell her to believe what she wants, and that's the end of that debate. Bellara also gets about two whole conversations about the conflict concerning her Gods wreaking havoc, both easily resolved. We don't need to think about any larger implications or doubt her loyalty when the Elven pantheon are seeking to restore her people that have been discriminated against since forever. Emmerich, a necromancer of Neverra, apparently has no religious belief. A codex entry even states that those of the Mourn Watch don't know where the soul goes after death. They don't like to think about it. Buddy, Mortalitasi belief is literally that our souls return to the Void alongside The Maker, but to keep balance a exchange must be wrought with The Fade to allow a spirit to house the now empty vessel. How do you not know the religion and customs of your own faction and land? This man has a whole quest line about funerary rights, yet not ONCE mentions religion and what he believes happens after death?! Sshhhh, no questions. No thinking.

Hey, remember The Fade? Remember how mages go to dream there every night. Remember how The Black City is always visible there? No? Well, we don't either. You won't see The Black City in The Fade. You might see it in The Crossroads in a closed off section, even though it is NOT The Fade. Oh, we're going to have you physically enter The Fade in multiple quest lines and no one will think it's a big deal. No, you still can't see The Black City. Now, The Fade is reduced to nothing more than your generic fantasy spirit world. It has none of the previous rules and lore that bound it before. Demons can bind to non-mages and we won't attempt to explain it. Solas fucks with The Veil and not a single mage notices a change in their dreams when they sleep at night. No biggie.

Lastly, let's return at last to the actual minutiae of writing. I stated at the start the writing isn't bad because of Marvel quippiness, which the series has always had. I was partly lying. Yes, the series has always had anachronistic dialogue. It has had meme language in its own previous titles. But, it was just that, a small joke here and there. For the most part the series actually tried to use it's own sort of "older" speech patterns. I think a perfect example has to do with Taash, she eventually finds her own identity and declares she is proudly "non-binary." Literally stating, "so, I'm non-binary." I have no issue with this sort of inclusivity in Dragon Age, it's what the series is known for. Yet, why does that sound wrong? Simple, it's far too anachronistic. It doesn't belong in Dragon Age. In Inquisition, Dorian let's us know he's gay. But he doesn't say, "I'm gay!" or "I'm a homosexual" those terms would not exist in his world. Instead he says, "I prefer the company of men."

And it's these little subtle changes in writing that makes it feel all the more different. We went from "I once ventured in to The Fade to serve the Old Gods of Tevinter in person. I found there only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. Now I shall return under no name but my own, to champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world gone wrong. Pray that I succeed, for I have seen the throne of the Gods. And it was empty."

To: "Well, shit. That can't be good."

So, what do we have when all is said and done? Well, we have a decent generic fantasy action game. An intentional attempt by the developers to remove every edge from the world of Dragon Age in place of a very simple, easy to understand world with not much depth beyond what you see. You don't need to think, just play and have fun. This is beyond turning a MP game into a SP game, which so blatantly obvious in this game. DA2 was developed in 16 months, but is carried strong by its writing. You see, nothing prevented them from just acknowledging their own world they created. It costs very little to write around what already exists. Even if you can't make no assets or redesign the world. Writing is cheap and having characters voice these elements is not as costly as a redesign. No, they chose to remove the edge in every element because this was design intentionally for the masses with easy to understand world and zero depth.

But I wanted to play Dragon Age. I wanted to get into intense religious debates with party members as known lore is completely upended. I wanted to debate Elvish clans deciding to join Solas or the other Gods due to their treatment by human society. I wanted to debate the ethics of necromancy with the Mortalitasi of Neverra's Crypts. I wanted to engage in intense debating with Solas on the ethics of his goal. I wanted to see Tevinter react to a real push for anti-slavery and actually see the slavery in the slave capital of the world. I wanted to butt heads with the Antivan Crows and call them out for the murderers they are. I wanted to see the Black Divine and debate the Chant of Light with them. I wanted to speak to the Archon of Tevinter and see how he felt about the Venatori's past efforts in Inquisition. Hey, what happened to Meredith Reborn in Kirkwall and her idol and Red Templar worshipers? Forget about it.

We got none of this. I got a game that is pretty much disrespectful of its own world. I waited 10 years for this? Why even bother if this is the result? They may as well have just killed every previous character we ever knew, including Solas, offscreen and started anew with this game. Because as a Dragon Age game and sequel, it's terrible and no returning character is how they should be.

And when we get to the ending, that's pretty much what they did. Everything you did in all the past games? Well, that was pointless. Everyone is probably dead. King Alistair. Gaspard. Celene. King Bhelen. The Arl of Redcliffe. The Divine. The Circle of Magi. The Templars. The Seekers. Everything, everyone, and every organization that existed in the South is likely dead and destroyed. And now Dragon Age can become what they wanted, a generic fantasy IP.

But I just wanted to play Dragon Age.

#dragon age #dragon age critical #dragon age spoilers #I finished this game... and now just mourn the end of a fantasy world that was so much and now is nothing

94 notes · View notes