#was fighting for my LIFE with the halo armor

[calwasfound]

you 🫵 ever ⁉️ wonder 💭 why 🤷 we're 🤝 here ❤️ ?

[iamgonnagetyouback]

midnight strolls and nosy portraits

sirius black x reader where a nosy portrait causes some feelings to be revealed

↬ word count : 868 words ˎˊ˗

↬ warnings : mutual pining, nosy portrait ⭑.ᐟ

navigation┆sirius black masterlist┆request here 𝜗𝜚

The common room was quiet, the crackle of the dying fire the only sound besides your restless sighs. You weren’t sure what had woken you, but sleep refused to return. You sat on the arm of the couch, watching embers glow faintly, when a familiar voice broke through the silence.

“Couldn’t sleep either?” Sirius Black leaned casually against the doorway, hair falling into his mischievous grey eyes, wearing that signature smirk that both infuriated and charmed you.

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched upward. “Something like that. What’s your excuse?”

He shrugged, stepping closer. “Thought you might need rescuing from the endless boredom of staring at burnt wood.” He grinned, jerking his head toward the portrait hole. “Fancy a walk?”

Before you could respond, he was already holding the portrait open, his hand outstretched toward you. Despite knowing this was likely to end in detention—or worse—you slid your hand into his. His touch was warm, his grin infectious.

The corridors were bathed in silvery moonlight, the castle’s usual hustle stilled into serene silence. Sirius led you through the halls, whispering jokes and pointing out the few stray suits of armor that seemed to move just a little differently when no one was looking.

Eventually, he stopped in front of a large portrait of a woman in an elaborate purple gown. Her sharp eyes glimmered with curiosity as they landed on Sirius, then you.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice rich with intrigue, “what have we here?”

“Just a midnight stroll, ma’am,” Sirius said, his grin widening.

“Is that so?” The portrait raised a brow. “You two make a beautiful pair. A couple, I presume?”

You felt your cheeks heat instantly. “Oh, no, we’re not—”

“Yes, of course we are.” Sirius cut you off smoothly, sliding an arm around your shoulders.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “Sirius—”

“Don’t be shy, darling,” he teased, leaning closer, his voice dropping into a mockingly sweet tone. “We wouldn’t want to upset the nice lady, now would we?”

The woman in the portrait clapped her hands together, beaming. “Oh, how lovely! Tell me, how did this romance blossom?”

You opened your mouth to protest, but Sirius spoke first, his arm slipping away from your shoulders as he turned to face the painting, one hand casually leaning against the frame.

“It all started when I first laid eyes on her,” he began dramatically, his voice light and teasing. “She was sitting in the library, glaring at her Transfiguration notes like they’d personally offended her. Naturally, I had to go over and charm her.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “You threw a paper airplane at my head!”

“Exactly. I needed your attention, didn’t I?” He winked.

The portrait woman laughed, clearly entertained. “And when did you realize you loved her?”

Sirius faltered, the smirk slipping from his face for a moment. He glanced at you, his grey eyes softening in the moonlight. When he spoke again, his voice was quieter, almost shy.

“It was... the Yule Ball last year,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “She was standing at the top of the stairs, laughing at something Lily said. I remember thinking—” He broke off, his cheeks coloring. “I remember thinking I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life.”

Your heart felt like it might burst. “Sirius...”

He ducked his head, suddenly nervous. “I—I mean, that’s when I knew. But there were... other moments. Like when she stayed up with me all night after my fight with my brother, or when she helped me ace that Charms test even though I’d skipped half the lessons. She makes everything better, just by being her.”

For a moment, the world felt impossibly still. The portrait was forgotten, the moonlight casting a halo around Sirius as he hesitated, his hands fidgeting at his sides.

“I love you,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have for ages. I just... didn’t know how to tell you.”

You stared at him, your heart hammering in your chest. “Sirius Black, are you serious right now?”

"Actually, I am-" He stopped when he noticed the glare in your eyes and a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. “Only if you want me to be.”

You laughed, stepping closer until there was barely any space between you. “You absolute idiot,” you said, your voice trembling with joy. “I love you too.”

His face lit up, a grin spreading so wide it was almost blinding. “You do?”

“Of course I do.”

Before he could say anything else, you reached up, pulling him into a kiss. It was soft and sweet, his hands tentatively settling on your waist as if he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

The portrait clapped enthusiastically. “About time!”

When you pulled back, Sirius was grinning like he’d just won the Quidditch Cup. “You’re never getting rid of me now, you know.”

“Good,” you said, your own smile matching his. “I wouldn’t want to.”

Hand in hand, you walked back to the common room, the castle seeming a little brighter than before. As you climbed through the portrait hole, Sirius whispered, “Best midnight stroll ever.”

And you couldn’t agree more.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A digital drawing of Gabriel and V1 from Ultrakill in super-saturated, pixellated colors. It seemingly takes place during phase two of his second fight, judging by Gabe's bright yellow-cyan wings and the consequent blush shining through his helmet. Gabriel is pictured on the left, facing the left side of the screen with his head turned to V1, preparing to strike them with the bloodied spear in his right hand. Small but frequent splatters of blood dot his armor and outstretched wings, fabrics torn through in places. V1 is on the right, aiming its piercer revolver at his face. Their arms are stacked in pairs on either side, idle Feedbacker and Knuckleblaster on the left and Whiplash tucked atop their default arm on the right. Both parties are stylized to resemble insects, Gabe with beetle wings and a halo in the shape of antennae, and V1 with the four wings, four arms, short antennae and bristles expected of a dragonfly. End ID]

woah.... happy 1 year anniversary to gay people

also a couple alts (background removed, just gabe, and just v1, respectively) in hopes it'll be a little easier to understand what's going on and all!

additionally once again: special thanks to @magnumopos and @muzzleroars , neither of which I have actually spoken to in my life but both of which are credited with partially inspiring this! (dedicated section under the readmore due to the fact I do not generally tag people at all ever and wasn't sure if I should, but thought it was worth mentioning!) The former for giving me the wonderful idea of dragonfly V1, the latter for drawing V1 like a strange little creature + for the feedbacker plate, I enjoy both your works :]

(retroactively, on march 27th of 2024, assigning them a full bingo with credit to deep-space-lines. ehehehehe)

[short-honey-badger]

Shore Leave

Summary! Captain Lasky orders the Master Chief a two week shore leave. Overwhelmed by his lack of armor and unused to the flow of civilian traffic, he parks himself on a bench and meets you.

Pairings! Master Chief x Reader

Set after the events of Halo 4 and influenced from my love of the game and how good season 2 of the TV series. I wanted to try my hand at something new. I hope you enjoy.

Part 2 -> HERE Part 3 -> HERE

Master Chief Petty Officer Sierra 117, or John to his friends - the few he had left, cautiously strode through the throngs of civilians. Captain Lasky had ordered him a full two weeks shore leave, no combat, no weapon, no MJOLNIR. Lasky had suggested he take some time to himself, grieve if he needed to after fighting for so long with little reprieve in between battles. To be honest, John wasn't sure what he should do with his time. Despite being one of the last of the original Spartans, the chief had hardly ever been completely alone.

Cortana. She'd always been there, a soft hum in the back of his mind, and John wasn't proud enough to admit that he felt a little lost without her.

Even though the armorless spartan towered above the crowd, he began to feel surrounded, overwhelmed with how densely packed the city was. He wasn't used to being out of his armor, and it made him feel naked, vulnerable in a way that John didn't like. Luckily, he spotted a bench not too much farther away, situated at the beginning of what looked like a small park. John sat heavily, back straight and blue eyes casting around as he took deep breaths to regulate his breathing.

No one bothered him, and John took the time to watch the hoards of civilians go to and fro. He watched couples hold hands, and families carefully guide their children along the sidewalks, each man and woman heading to whatever their destination may be. After a while, and now that John had been able to relax a little, he realized that he enjoyed watching the flow and allowed his mind to wander.

Could he ever have something like this? Such a mundane and easy life, never worrying if the next battle he faced would be his last. If he would ever see his brothers and sisters again? Would he ever live such a simple existence where his only fear is missing the train? The Master Chief doesn't think that he could, not when so much of himself has been lost to war and death. Not when it was his duty to protect the civilians here so that they could have that life.

“Sir, you've been sitting here a while now. Can I help you with anything?”

John is brought out of his thoughts by the soft voice. He turns his head and sees that you have somehow snuck up on him, and he silently berates himself for not noticing. However, you had asked him a question, and the Chief didn't want to come off as rude.

“No, ma'am. Just…watching,” He says slowly, and he feels his cheeks heat up a bit. Was that odd to say? John didn't know, but he felt reassured when he spots the smile that curled your lips.

“Well, good. I don't think I’d be strong enough to haul you anywhere if there was something wrong,” you say, and huff a little at your own words.

John doesn't know what to say to that. He doesn't have any kind of experience with civilians, not like this, anyway. He wracks his brain for something to say and wishes that Cortana was still here to walk him through this.

However, you don't seem to mind his silence. Instead, you sit back on the bench and look out at the busy stream of people. You are quiet for a while, but the spartan is prepared when you speak up again.

“I like to people watch too. Makes you feel a little less alone in the universe, ya know?” You say and grin again, suddenly scooting down the bench to sit beside the big man who seemed far too lonely when you'd seen him outside the café across the street.

John tenses, not expecting to have you so close, but he doesn't deny that feeling the heat from where your arm is pressed into his feels…nice. He nods slowly, agreeing with your quiet statement.

“It makes you realize that you aren't the only one out there having a hard time, or becoming successful, or even falling in love. We are all human, and even if it doesn't seem like it, we're all in this together,” you pause, and then your smile becomes a bit mischievous.

“And it's kind of fun to make up stories about them.”

John blinks, a bit confused about that. He turns and looks down at his guest, feeling his cheeks heat up again when he sees you looking right back, eyes cheerful and face far too close to his own. He looks away quickly and sits up straight from his slight slouch.

‘What do you mean?”

Bravely, you lean into his space and gesture subtly at an older couple that are walking down the sidewalk, a heated discussion going on between them. The man looks annoyed as his wife babbles on about who knows what, and you giggle softly and say.

“She's probably upset because her husband - they are definitely married, by the way - forgot to take out the trash. Look at him, he's heard this a thousand times.”

John takes in the look of fond exasperation that paints the older man's expression, squinting his eyes to try and see it the way you are. It doesn't make much sense to him, but he thinks he understands.

You poke your new friend in the arm and nod your head at a gaggle if girl's who are giggling and fawning over a data pad.

“They're probably looking at the cute boy who invited one of them to prom. Or maybe a famous celebrity crush.”

You point out a few other civilians, and one or two of your little stories get the stoic man to crack a tiny smile, and eventually relax again, even with you pressed so close to his side. It feels good to have someone near. Someone who can so easily take up the quiet space that he still isn't used to feeling. The Master Chief finds that he rather likes your company and would like to know more about you.

John finally speaks up again when there is a lul in the rather one-sided conversation, turning to face you completely.

“Do you think you could show me more?”

You take in the careful way he asks, the soft timbre of his voice, and you find yourself nodding easily, and you offer your hand, introducing yourself properly.

“I'd love to. My name is _.”

The Spartan carefully takes your offered hand and marvels at just how small it is compared to his own. He meets your gaze, his blue eyes striking in the city lights.

“My name is John.”

[avatrice-week]

Avatrice Week 2023 Masterpost

Day 1 - Fake Dating or Undercover

Title: Tell Me You Don't Know Me Author: quietblueriver Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Ava and Beatrice run into Beatrice's parents.

Title: Always a pleasure Author: orphan_account Rating: General Audiences Summary: “And this is the, uhm, wife, I presume?”

Title: Serenading in the Trenches Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Beatrice and Ava are reunited after almost a year apart. They're immediately tasked with going undercover, posing as a married couple of prolific assassins in the hopes of putting a stop to Adriel's criminal activies.

Title: Missions and Love Author: Creativityx Rating: General Audiences Summary: Ava has been assigned to work with the OCS' top agent, Beatrice. It was a simple mission, pretend to be girlfriends, capture one of Adriel's followers and return to the OCS. What Ava wasn't planning for was her fake girlfriend being so beautiful.

Title: when dividin' up the universe (you could have mine) Author: organicdonut Rating: General Audiences Summary: “Okay, so. I have, uh, some updates,” Beatrice does not like the way Ava said updates, “About last night.” “Will the updates explain why everyone in the bar is looking at me like I’ve forbidden alcohol?”

Title: Will you be my fake girlfriend? Author: jessnope Rating: Not Rated Summary: “Wouldn’t people think it weird?” Ava asked, looking genuinely thoughtful. Somehow, Beatrice could sense it was a trap even through the state of tiredness she found herself, Ava had a spark in her eyes.

Title: Philanthropy for the Heart Author: SharonSharpe Rating: Explicit Summary: The Areala General Hospital is hosting its annual charity gala and everyone is excited for the social event of the season. That is everyone except Dr. Beatrice Young. When she makes the mistake of saying Ava is her date for the gala the two are forced to address their flourishing feelings for the other.

Day 2 - Injured or Sick

Title: Life is About More Than Just Fighting Author: strongwomenunited Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: At the end of 2x06, you can see that Beatrice clearly had an injured side, yet in 2x07, it's magically healed. In this story, Ava finds Beatrice after Mother Superior has been brought back to life trying to get her armor off, but her side is in pain. So we will see some hurt/comfort, but you know emotions come out and their relationship changes...

Title: A Sick Day Author: strongwomenunited Rating: General Audiences Summary: During the two month period, Beatrice gets a cold after a busy night at the Bar, do they end up training or does Ava make her rest?

Title: That Lilith Voice Inside My Head Author: quietblueriver Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: AU - Lawyer!Bea tries to bring Ava soup. Lilith helps. Sort of.

Title: I'll Hold You (Blood, Bruises and All) Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: The Halo pulses as Ava roars with rage, knocking Beatrice’s assailant backwards into the stone wall. He falls, limp and unmoving. Ava can distantly hear all the times Mother Superion has told her to check the body but she doesn't care. She's already halfway to Beatrice’s side.

Day 3 - Jealousy

Title: What Love Feels Like Author: strongwomenunited Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: In 2x02, what if Miguel didn't walk into Bar La Vasseur while that woman was flirting with Beatrice? What if Ava took things into her own hands to end that conversation...? This story explores the idea of Ava spilling some drinks on a certain woman flirting with Beatrice. How will she react?

Day 4 - Soulmates

Title: Soulmarked Author: Creativityx Rating: General Audiences Summary: That fateful day when she was seven, saw her soulmark left incomplete with only the letter 'B' on her wrist. Ava learns to wear long sleeves that day. With little hope of finding her soulmate, she puts herself to work as a mechanic fixing cars to stop anyone else from experiencing the same as her.

Her life is ordinary until one client walks through the door with a need for repairs.

Day 5 - Hear Each Other’s Thoughts

[None}

Day 6 - Smut or Creator’s Choice

Title: I Can Taste You In My Rage Author: spaceosshy Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Lilith returns to the Cat's Cradle in the hopes of making amends. Beatrice has some things to say.

Title: The One Time She Knew Author: JetpackingPenguin Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Summary: Five times Beatrice didn't think Ava returned her feelings and the one time she did

Day 7 - Domesticity

Title: The Teddy Bea-r Author: Lapincobra Rating: Not Rated Summary: Fanart and a little draft for Day 7 Of Avatrice week - Domesticity

[possibilistfanfiction]

argument pt 2?

[here's argument pt 1 (i guess lol); u don't need to read it for this to make sense fully but if u are so inclined & haven't read it yet it might be helpful context.]

//

you don't know what else you expected. upon a very quick reflection — once your brain reorients itself from beatrice is so hot — you realize you were foolish to think anything else, especially not without a discussion. but, still —

'what are you doing?'

it's clear what beatrice is doing, standing with jillian in one of her fancy labs. she's dressed in all black, a t-shirt delightfully tight on her biceps (focus, ava) tucked into loose pants reinforced at the knees, boots that are tougher than normal but lighter than those you would typically wear in combat — ones she prefers when fighting because it allows her quiet, stealth, full range of motion. 'trying on new armor,' she says, and if it was years ago, the spike of anger that starts in your gut and shoots up your spine — anger, and sheer panic — would have set the halo off.

jillian looks between the two of you — your fists clenched; beatrice's arms crossed over her chest — and says, 'well, i'll be looking over some specs in... another room,' and excuses herself.

wisely.

it hits you, all at once, when you look at beatrice — your fiance, your life partner — that, right now, maybe more than ever, she looks like a soldier. it's not been lost on you over the years, not with her nightmares and the quiet, chronic pain she bears with little more than a tender wince some mornings, the way she loses herself after loud noises or too many people in a crowd, her usually steady hands trembling — it's not been lost on your that beatrice has been fighting for a long time.

'you can't seriously be telling me you're not going to stop.'

'i'm fine, ava. i was cleared by my surgeon and my physical therapist to return to all normal activities.'

you're so used to gentleness, now, even with demons to fight on occasion and the lingering affects of a holy war too great to fully comprehend. you're used to beatrice's loose cotton crewnecks you like to steal; the rust-colored linen pants she loves, light in the breeze off the water. you're used to her whining for posterity about couples halloween costumes, her afternoon naps with her kitten purring on her chest softly. you're used to dates she plans meticulously that you don't even try to mess up because she's so intentional with how she loves you, full of thought and care. you're used to your big house on the beach and her laugh in the afternoon, the freckles on her shoulders, her hand in yours.

'i don't understand.' you release your fists with the progressive muscle relaxation you've worked on in therapy, then take a deep breath. 'you — you want to keep fighting?'

you're the one who changed her dressings after surgery, who took her to months and months of painful and slow-going, steady physical therapy. you're the one who washed her short hair with the gentlest hands you could, even that hurting the bone bruise along the back of her skull. you're the one who filled the prescriptions for her pain meds, who held her hand when she woke up. you're the one who loves her the most. you're the one who thought she was going to die.

'i —' she seems at a loss, for a moment, and then, 'it's my duty.'

'your duty?' it comes out shrill; so much for your muscle relaxation. 'beatrice.'

she clenches her jaw.

'you're telling me that you're, what, just fine getting fitted for new armor because your last vest got punctured by shrapnel and almost killed you?'

'ava.' it's a warning, and a tired one — exhausted from over a decade. 'you're still fighting.'

'i don't have a choice.' you hate yelling but you're overwhelmed by the idea of having to go through what you did again and again. 'don't you want — don't you want to choose?'

she swallows and leans back against the counter. 'if i —' she shakes her head.

'bea.'

'i — i can't.'

'i want to live,' you tell her, an echo of one of the first things you knew years and years ago, and her lower lip trembles. 'for so long i have wanted to live so badly, bea.'

'i know.' her voice is laced with unshed tears.

'i — do you want to?'

she sniffles and tilts her head back to look at the ceiling; it's a sure tell she's trying to compose herself but you can see her shaking, holding it in. 'i never thought i would.'

you step toward her, wait until she offers her hand. you lace your fingers together and wait. 'did you want to?'

'i didn't think — i didn't think i deserved to. i didn't think that me living a good life would be nearly as valuable as, well —'

'dying young in a blaze of glory for god?'

it takes her a moment, because it's the hardest thing in the world to hold, this grief, but then she laughs a watery little sound. 'something like that.'

'okay, but — do you want to now?'

it hangs heavy in the air. you know that she goes to therapy faithfully and you've seen her cry multiple times watching the sunset; she touches you like a benediction. but the answer is impossible to come by, sometimes — worthiness, and belief. 'who am i, ava, if not... this?'

you remember a book you'd read a few months ago, one of mary's favorites, that had made you cry often — where does it all lead? what will become of us? these were our young questions, and young answers were revealed. it leads to each other. we become ourselves. it's easy, to kiss the faithful gold band on her ring finger and then take her in your arms, put a protective hand to the back of her head. 'you're a fucking miracle,' you pray into her skin. 'you're the love of my life. you're a genius, and a black belt, and someone who avidly watches reality tv and tennis, only one of which is worthy of that kind of devotion.' you feel her laugh, snotty, into your shoulder. 'you're so pretty, and so handsome, and really funny when you want to be and sometimes even when you don't. you're remarkably forgiving; an incredible friend, a wonderful sister. you're someone who surfs because the ocean is beautiful and you want to see the sunrise. you're a very hot lesbian, and you're my fiance, and you're going to be my wife. you're my life partner. you give the world so much more than it has ever, ever deserved.' you both back up, just so you can look into her eyes. you hold her face in your hands, as gently as you can, run your thumb along a cheekbone, the constellation of freckles there that have bloomed in the sun by the sea. 'you will always serve the world, i know that about you. you're a child of god,' you say. 'you're beatrice.'

it doesn't surprise you when she kisses you gently and then tucks her face into your neck and lets out a full body sob. you rub her back through it, hold her up when her legs grow weak. eventually, as she always does, she calms and composes herself, steps back and dries her tears, runs a hand along her hair. her eyes are red but she takes a deep, steadying breath.

'thank you.'

you kiss her cheek. 'you're also my favorite.'

'now that i do know.'

you grin. 'don't get me wrong, like, fuck the military industrial complex obviously, but this is kind of a look.'

she rolls her eyes but her shoulders settle and then she looks at you seriously. 'i want to live a long life.'

'yeah?'

'so badly.'

'it's a little scary, right?'

she lets out a shaky, honest breath. 'yeah.'

'well, we'll figure it out.' you kiss her, the first of a kind stretching out ahead of you, infinite. 'i have an idea?'

she sighs, and you can't help but laugh.

(you watch her slice a plum on the shore of the lake in the alps you used to train at all those years ago, the lake you knelt down in front of her and she agreed to be your wife. the fruit is juicy and a color you can't quite bring yourself to comprehend: blood, your favorite sangria at the beach, natal dahlias. the house you stay at now — a few quiet days before you head home — is small and gorgeous, with a giant bed and a wall of windows that overlook the mountains. i love you here, you tell her — i love you like this; i love you however you are meant to be — i love you in peacetime, and you watch her slice a plum, the juice red and sticky on her fingers. she puts it to your mouth gently and the taste explodes like a kiss. she smiles and you feed her too; she sucks your finger into her mouth and you close your eyes — there will be time enough to touch her later. the water is calm, and the flowers are in bloom, and the sun shines bright.)

[ageless-aislynn]

Halo: Reach, "Winter Contingency"

I don't know why, but usually at this part while you're waiting for the door to open, I'll go up to somebody and have Six (in red armor) stare at them until they say something. In this case, you hear Jorge ask if I need a little help with something. 🤗

For some reason, Emile doesn't often say anything here (I'm 99% sure he used to have a line but I can't remember for certain 🤷‍♀️) so I wanted to see if he'd say something after being stared at. At first, he just scoffs at me. And then:

"I think Jorge had to die the way he did. Nothing else could've killed him."

👀Um, this is the first mission in the game. Jorge is clearly right there. This line sounds like it belongs in "The Package" or "Pillar of Autumn" both at the very end of the game where it's (SPOILER) down to just Six and Emile.

I've spent some time doing a glitch where you "save" Emile at the end of "Pillar of Autumn" by forcing him out of the gun, (seen at the top in the first pic) down onto the ground then pushing him (which sometimes requires smacking him, oops, lol) alllllllll of the way to the platform where Captain Keyes comes to get Cortana.

He doesn't have any of his usual fighting AI but he'll still do a lot of his extra lines while Six is womanhandling him across the platform and I've never heard that line about Jorge before. He usually is carping about the, you know, fact I'm smacking him. Sorry, baby boy. It's all to save your life.🤷‍♀️😉

Anyway, just a sort of interesting thing that happened while I was playing tonight. 😎 (Sorry for the lack of brightness. This was, yet again, raw footage recorded from the theater.)

Oh and in case you're wondering, even though you can get Emile in the cutscene with Six, his death scene up in the gun still plays out and when you come out of the cutscene, he's despawned from the platform. 😢Oh well, we still saved him, darn it! I'm sure he, um, stepped out to get a glass of milk before he and Six escaped from Reach in a convenient spare ship that was, uhhhhh, sitting there in an abandoned UNSC Space Rent-a-car-spaceship, all prepped and ready to launch! Yeah, that's it! Then they went and met up with the rest of Noble Team who had gone ahead to get good seats at their favorite diner and they're all going to have a delicious meal together, complete with ice cream for dessert! 🍔🍟🍨

Look, there goes Emile right now! Save me a seat, buddy! 🤗😇😜

Heh. Just leave me with my delusions, I'm happier here.

~💖💖💖~

[helix-enterprises117]

Halo Reloaded: The Spartan & The Freelancer...

In the less-than-sparkling confines of the UNSC frigate Inflexible, the ambiance was about as welcoming as a tax audit. The room's lone light flickered like it was deciding whether today was a good day to finally die, casting irregular shadows over the two figures leaning against opposite walls.

John, Master Chief to those who preferred not to get too chummy, had taken up a position that suggested casual indifference but was really just the most strategically advantageous spot in the room. Across from him, Agent Washington or "Wash" for short, seemed to mirror John's casual slouch. The title 'Agent' always felt a bit ostentatious for someone who spent his formative years tripping over his own feet.

"You know, Chief," Wash began, breaking the silence with the ease of a man used to talking to himself, "I always figured if I met a Spartan, we'd be duking it out over the last piece of pizza, not swapping war stories."

John's helmet tilted slightly—a Spartan's version of raising an eyebrow. "Pizza is a serious matter. But yeah, sharing tales from the trenches wasn't high on my list either."

Wash smirked, his tone lightening. "Glad we agree on the pizza. But seriously, being the underdog? I was practically the poster boy. My squad had a betting pool on how I'd mess up next."

John shifted, the faint whirr of his armor filling the small space. "We all start somewhere. The point is climbing up from that rock bottom. Makes standing at the top feel earned, not given."

"That's one hell of a climb though," Wash chuckled, the sound rich with irony. "My first mission was a disaster. I was known by my squad as the guy who took a grappling-gun to the balls." John’s laugh was a low rumble, almost lost beneath his armor.

"...Yeah, I specialize in the 'accidentally heroic'," Wash admitted, shrugging. "Makes life interesting, at least." John’s stance relaxed as he leaned back, the reflective visor hiding his eyes but not the thoughtful tone in his voice. "It's the unexpected victories, the ones you scrap and fight for, that stick with you. They teach more than any training drill."

"Speaking of drills," Wash mused, "ever feel like they just make up those exercises to see if we’ll actually do them?""Wouldn’t be surprised," John conceded with a grunt. "Half the time, it feels like we’re part of some grand experiment. Which, technically, we are."

Wash nodded slowly, his voice dropping a notch. "And trust... that's the hardest part. I've seen teams fall apart over less than a misfired blaster. But when you find that group, the kind you can trust with your life—"

"—It changes everything," John finished, the weight of his words felt rather than seen. "Makes a soldier into a guardian."

"Guardians with a penchant for causing trouble," Wash added with a wry grin. "Or stopping it, usually by causing more in a different direction."

John’s laugh was more pronounced this time, the sound bouncing off the metal walls. "Sounds about right. Makes for a good story, at least."

The alert from the console chirped, more a reminder of reality intruding on their brief respite. The two stood, their movements a symphony of clinks and clatters, armor meeting armor."

Guess it’s time to add another chapter to those stories," Wash said as he picked up his helmet, the lines of his face set in a determined, yet amused expression."Lead the way," John responded, a note of camaraderie in his voice as they moved toward the armory, their steps in sync. "After all, what's life without a little chaos?"

[aritaidk]

Heres my take on "What if Jonathan had a stand?"

<< My Way >>

Lots of blabbery under the cut[and bad english + spoilers of part 1, maybe]

So, I dont rlly know how to start properly w this. I've started to watch JJBA's anime not so long ago[rn on part 6] and I fell in love with Jonathan's character even with how little they've shown. Theres no specific point where he woke up his stand, but in this context he doesnt even know he has one and is just yelling at Dio.

My inspiration for this was two edits of Jojo with "My Way" by Frank Sinatra [here and here], cuz its a song thats a little bit too much of jow he lived, morr like a retelling of it once he died.

So, I love Jonathan and he deserves a stand, even tho ik it technically would be a Hermit Purple, I just think he should have his own since he is the Joestar with the biggest fighting spirit overall and a unique personality. From his goal to be a gentleman to the fact que fought for the honor and good of the ones he cared about and even those who hurt him once, being his life almost a consistent fight-for-good.

THO, My Way is still based on HP and his body is more like a can that contains hermit purples, I was thinking abt it like some warrior-god thats why the fabric around it and more hermit purples simulating a halo. Ofc Jonathan himself is a warrior but also gentleman, thats why besides the stone armor [if ome can call that armor] I added a stone bow tie, somehow representing that propper part of him. Just like Jonathan, has a sword a handle that comes from his neck and the blade is somewhat like hamon if ya wonder. It can send hermit purples from the the knuckles [just like Stone Free's wire work] but it needs the little stones to lift up for them to come out, working also as a good conductor of hamon if Jonathan grabs on them.

Something I think often is when Bruford gives his sword to Jojo, giving not just luck but pluck one after another. And I take this like those were things that he had already writen on his soul even before he became a true gentleman.

The stars are a reflection of the birthmark [that for what I know was not introducef till part 3 on manga, but aldo works like it'll be awaken once DIO takes his body, no escape from destiny] and also the proud of being a Joestar that he has.

As said I have only watch the anime til now and I know the manga has a lot more of his backstory and personality so I will [maybe] uptade this once I read it and for any question abt My Way Im up to talk abt it ! lolll

Here how My Way looks btw ! [w/o the arm and fabric covering everything too]

[yanderes-galore]

A John Forge (Halo) concept please!

I can try my hand at this, sure. He was a good character and had nice characterization as a marine.

Yandere! John Forge Concept

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Poor mental health, Violence, Mentions of War (Start of Human/Covenant war), Overprotective/Possessive behavior, Ruthless behavior, Kidnapping (not by John surprisingly), Murder implied, Blood, Dubious companionship/relationship.

I feel John will be easier to write for than Spartans in theory... then he has his personality that throws a wrench in things.

He's a marine, not a Spartan. Which means he still has all of his emotions intact.

He's strong, tough, and competitive.

He knows how to lead and knows how to get his missions done.

He's disciplined... although according to the Wiki it's said he failed his last psychological exam.

Which isn't the BEST sign....

It's said in canon he had a wife but mostly focused on military life since he couldn't cope with life outside of it.

He seems to be irritable as it says he struck an officer at one point.

So he seems to be a guy who's experienced and does his own thing... much to the chagrin of his team and superiors.

Despite this having more emotions than a Spartan, violence seems to be something constantly on his mind.

He'd never hurt you, though.

John doesn't seem like he'd be affectionate or even care too much at first.

He is capable of human emotion, but he is so used to war and fighting that he has trouble expressing such things.

Maybe you're a scientist like Ellen Anders, someone researching Forerunner tech that John has to watch over.

There's no doubt the Covenant plan to use humans to activate certain artifacts.

As a result, John is assigned to watch you similar to how he was with Anders to make sure you come out of the mission okay.

Your bond is rocky at first.

After all, you're a person of science... he's a person of violence that doesn't like to follow orders according to his file.

Despite this... John takes being your bodyguard seriously.

Originally he just saw it as "babysitting".

But he sees how important you are to humanity and even begins to enjoy conversation with you at times.

John seems like he'd be ruthless.

He is, but he is capable of being protective of you like any other.

Probably even possessive due to his competitive nature.

Other marines in his command may get too close to you, which causes John to call them out with a snarl.

You don't need to be concerned with them... he'll make sure they won't cause you trouble.

If the Covenant got their hands on you, something in John may just snap.

By this point he has grown attached and even finds comfort in your voice and smile.

So seeing you get kidnapped by the Covenant sends John into a... red rage.

Other Marines can't get close to him as he's so insistent on taking on the Covenant by himself.

He's sent with Red Team, a group of Spartans, but John's rage is feral in nature.

He wouldn't be calmed until you were back beside him.

For others, it's hard to tell why John has such a fixation on you.

But what is known is he'd cover himself in the blood of both his enemies and allies to see you safe.

He's... actually really scary.

It's hard for you to be scared if he's covered in Covenant blood, vibrant blues, purples, and oranges coating his armor.

But then when you look closer... you see splotches of red... and you begin to fear for whatever poor soul got in his way.

Despite his nature for combat, John promises not to harm a hair on your head.

It's not babysitting anymore, he actually cares for you now.

A bit too much, actually.

He doesn't just want to be a bodyguard for you... he'd sacrifice everything just to have you.

He doesn't care how many times they discipline him for disobeying.

He gets the job done... he's going to protect you... he's going to keep you for himself once this is all over.

"Scared of a little blood, dollface? Just the Covenant's blood, you'll be okay. Just let me take care of you... what do you mean you see red?"

[chickenkurage]

JUST FINISHED READING CHAPTER 8 AND OH MY GOSH..... DJ..... DJ.... OH THIS DJ IS F*CKED UP THEN I IMAGINE... AND THIS CHAPTER GAVE ME SOME SORT OF EXISTENTIAL CHRIST'S BECAUSE DANG THE WAY LIFE WAS DESCRIBED AND WRITTEN IN THIS, WHAT IN THE ABSOLUTE WORLD????

DJ'S OTHER FRIENDS SEEM TO HAVE CHANGE THEIR PERSPECTIVES ON HIM WHEN THEY TRULY KNOW HOW HE ACTS I FEEL LIKE, THE MORE THEY KNEW HIM THE MORE THEY MUST HAVE QUESTION THEMSELVES OF HIS NATURE, TO THE POINT THEY'LL START TALKING BEHIND HIS BACK BUT DJ KNEW ALL ALONG AND STILL STAYED AS THEIR FRIENDS JUST HURTS, HE DOESN'T SEEM LIKE HE CARES ABOUT WHAT THEY SAY BECAUSE HE STI LL MANAGED TO FIND FRIENDS, BUT WHEN ALAN HEARD ABOUT IT HE DIDN'T EVEN HESITATED TO STAND UP FOR HIM, FIGHTING THE LIVING HECK OUT OF THAT CYAN STICK TO DEATH BUT DJ MANAGED TO SNAP HIM OUT OF IT, AND NOT DJ TEASING ABOUT ALAN BEING HIS KNIGHT AND SHINING ARMOUR AKJBSKJSKJSHKJSHKJJSHSKJHAKJAHKJAHKAJHAKJHAKJAHKJAHKJAHKJAHAKJHAKJA EVEN IF IT'S A TEASE THAT STILL SOUNDED GENUINE, LIKE ALAN IS WILLING TO STAND UP FOR DJ EVEN THOUGH HE DOESN'T EVEN LIKE FIGHTING OR HURT ANYONE AT ALL LITERALLY, AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA THESE TWO ARE SO SICK I SWEAR, THEY ABSOLUTELY REALLY ARE- THE OTHERS ARE ACTUALLY GONNA GO BACK HOME SOMEHOW??? SEEMS LIKE NOOGAI SOMEHOW SEEMS TO LIKE THEM AND SECOND IS ALL SOFT ON HIM TOO, BUT WHY DO I FEEL LIKE..... THEY ALL REMIND HIM OF SOMEONE ELSE.... WHAT IF THEY REMIND HIM OF HOW HIS FAMILY WAS, AND WHAT IF..... OH GOSH DOES SECOND REMIND HIM OF DJ???? I'M SAYING THIS AS A THEORY BECAUSE THINKING ABOUT IT LIKE.... THAT ONE LYRIC FROM A SONG.... "I KNOW WHO YOU PRETEND I AMMMMMM, I KNOW WHO YOU PRETEND I AM." OH MY GOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- AND DJ THINKING THAT ALAN/NOOGAI DOESN'T EVEN DESERVE HIM ANYMORE, BECAUSE HE THINKS HE HAS FOUND A NEW FAMILY WITH DJ OUT OF THE PICTURE, THINKING HE ISN'T SOMEONE ALAN WOULD KNOW ANYMORE, DJ REALLY LOST HIS SHINING ARMOR OH MY GOSH..... ALSO ALMOST FORGOT TO SAY ABOUT THIS SATIN STICK, IS.... IS THIS THE ONE YOU WERE TALKING ABOUT IN THE CALL YESTERDAY.... ABOUT THERE WILL BE..... OH MY GOSH WHY IN THE WORLD AM I GETTING HALO VIBES FROM HER, GET OUT YOU STICK WHO EVEN ARE YOU AND WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM HIM, DJ DON'T TRUST HER BECAUSE I DON'T- OH MY GOSHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH- AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA- AND YEAH DJ DON'T EVEN THINK ALAN WILL KILL YOU BECAUSE OF WHAT YOU THINK ABOUT HIM AND YOU DON'T KNOW WHY HE TRULY DID IT IN THE FIRST PLACE, OH GOSH WHEN NOOGAI SEES HOW DJ IS NOW AFTER ALL THESE YEARS, I WONDER HOW HE'LL REACT WHEN HE REALIZES ABOUT DJ OF HOW HE BECAME NOW, REALIZING WHAT HIS WORDS AND ACTIONS TRULY DID TO HIM, WHAT THE HECK THESE THOUGHTS ARE SO SICK LIKE THEM, THEY BETTER TALK IT OUT I SWEAR AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-

LOL! Chapter 8 is indeed very very packed with existential crisis xDD.

DJ letting his so called "friends" talk shit about him :')). We all know he has a hard time making friends, and when he did get one, they're talking shit about him. And he doesn't even want to leave them even with the knowledge that they talk behind his back like some damn snakes!

And Alan as a teen hating having to fight, especially the pain that comes after, yet he still did those for his best friend :'')))). I love how Alan and DJ are literally the opposite of each other, DJ loves getting into fights and getting hurt while Alan hates getting hurt or even fighting.

They make me sick indeed xDDD

Maybe or maybe not with Second hehe, maybe he remembers his family or maybe he remembers DJ, we'll see that next chapter hehe x)))).

Yes! Satin is the third party that i had told you in the call :DDD. Her name also has many meanings (Like Halo). Try pronouncing Satin multiple times, and tell me how it sounds like *wink*. Hehe let's see what she would be doing :DD

The last part with DJ saying "My knight in shining armor" after calling himself the Devil it was mostly DJ telling us that he wants Alan to kill him and save him. Hence the "knight and shining armor line" Which is a bit messed up, but we're all a little messed up anyways xDDD.

DJ's thoughts really gives us the vibe of thick veil of darkness, it feels like you're drowning and how his mind is twisted than how he appears from the outside ain't it? Isn't it great that DJ wasn't the one turning into the "self imposed god"? xDD - S

[a-dauntless-daffodil]

oh dear, here's some lyrics for a vaggie country song about falling for lucifer's daughter oops~

I’m sinner down in hell a wingless angel who never fell ‘till the devil’s daughter so softly took my hand

Lived my life ‘till twenty five last year on earth I was alive I died and woke there at the pearly gates

The angels smiled and grabbed at me applauding at my destiny to have found my way- somehow- up there with them

One angel stood up from the rest with golden wings and puffed out chest said the first original man on earth was he

He whispered “I’ve a job for you a special one, just for the few!” he looked me up and down and said “You’ll do”

They gave me armor that fit too tight gave me a blade, told me to fight and earn the spot in heaven I don't deserve

They showed me how to use a spear told me to fly down once a year to cull the rising tide so deep in hell

With tarnished halo on my head I killed those souls already dead on ashen wings, by the hundreds, struck them down

Then there among the demons wild impossibly, I saw a child- crying as he cringed from me in fear

I couldn’t strike, he was so young I let him go, I told him run and turned as a shadow fell from above

A blade cut my own left eye free as the angels tore my wings from me and left me, saying “there’s no place for you up there.”

I threw away all that they’d gave with hell itself as my self-dug grave in an alleyway, awaiting for judgment’s call

Now here’s the part that’s hard to tell of how the princess, herself of hell found me, and gently bound up my wounds

Her taloned hands were soft and kind she knelt in filth, didn’t seem to mind and the only flame burning in her eyes was care

I caught a glimpse beyond divine as her brimstone breath mixed with mine without a word, I swore my soul to her

But of all the things for her I’ll do be her friend, her lover, and her armor too- one thing I cannot give is the truth

She's sure there’s a second chance found in even the darkest soul of sin if only someone gave to them a hand

So how could I ever explain how many souls of them I've slain and all the chances that I took away

She’s all I have, she’s all I need I fell to Pride- I belong in Greed- more than salvation, all I want is her

So I’ll keep quiet and tell half lies and burn in the fires of her eyes every time she shares her sweetest smiles with me

If that’s the price I have to pay then here in my own hell I’ll stay standing ever always by her side

Oh Charlie, if someday you know if you look at me and tell me go I’ll reach for you a last time before I do

Betrayal is the word for this faithless lover with every kiss in every night you held me as I cried

This sorry song will have it’s end only so far the truth can bend and when it breaks, I know that we will too

I lived my life ‘till twenty five last year on earth I was alive I died and woke there at the pearly gates

Now I’m sinner down in hell a wingless angel who never fell ‘till the devil’s daughter so softly took my hand

Like a moth drawn to the light I’ve no will in me to fight the Morningstar that leads me to my fate

Charlie- heaven can’t compare to any hell that has you there and I hope you never doubt that part is true  

even if it's sinful- how much that I loved you

[amadillo96]

Personal Kn8 USAKDF ideas.

Weapons+ kaiju-fication

this ties into my theoretical US AKDF post, btw. (This is super unfocused lol.) Here

First up, I'm gonna say I based this on my idea of a US AKDF that uses Kaiju-Hybridization cause it's cool. Though this will be partially focused around a singular character of mine bc I'm going to be packing a lot of lore into each section.

Character Idea

Who've I've affectionately codenamed Los Angeles. They're the one with the "mech-suit".

Personally, I've decided to base their abilities and Kaiju features around ✨️Salamanders✨️. I'd also imagine that each kaiju-hybrid soldier would have a kind of animal theme since the kaiju in kn8 also tend to have animal or plant themes.

Primarily around the toxins that they secrete as a defense mechanism. The kaiju-ification process creating a uni-organ capable of secreting slime or some form of lubricant that could them be used like venom. Injected into the target through a weapon.

Ignore the fact that this is of a newt.

Los Angeles, as a character, would function as a platoon leader and tactician for their group. While remaining rather headstrong and aggressive. So I gave them a mech suit!

Though. Not quite Pacific Rim style, I was more-so inspired by the suits from HALO. A heavy armor that would include mechanical aspects, though would be light enough to maintain a high-speed, aggressive fighting style. Using both aspects of grappling martial arts and rope weapons!

I'd also imagine their kaiju features to include a big old tail. So, a mech-suit would help hide their more inhuman features underneath the layers of armor.

Meteor hammer from Ancient China.

Though the rope weaponry is where an interesting thing could occur. By utilizing something like poisonous secretions alongside a bladed weapon, it would act like a venom!

My current idea for a longer ranged weapon would be a meteor hammer mixed with something like a portable hand saw. A rugged edge that could be swung around like a meteor hammer, with the armor preventing damage against its own user. When coming in contact, it acts as a saw, tearing through enemy flesh, and also administering the poison in tandem.

Kaiju-ification

Though realistically, it doesn't make much sense for a suit of heavy armor to be on a lightweight fighter. The reason I chose this was bc of the kaiju-ification process I had in mind for how the platoons of the US AKDF's "kaiju force" would be created. (Chapter 58)

The current in lore explanation of what creates kaiju.

This process would be utilizing kaiju's natural ability of regeneration to create a parasitic/symbiotic relation between a host human body and the tissue of a kaiju. I'd imagine that to avoid any legal issues dealing with the humaneness of using live human subjects, it'd be found better to use people who would be "unsalvagable" people in vegetative comas and such. Where there is no expectation of a quality of life.

This blank body would then be tested for "cell compatability," much like the number weapon users of the JAKDF. Though, since I'd imagine these trials would be much more diverse in kaiju used, there would be a fair bit of people who'd end up compatable with the kaiju cells. (Chapter 58)

The cells would be implanted, and the body would be left to allow the kaiju's near-cancerous like abilities to regenerate. The best 'batches' of experiments then going on to be trained and rehabilitated into soldiers.

It'd allow all kinds of fun shenanigans as characters who've undergone this process would essentially be stuck in a Kafka-esk scenario. Fighting biological kaiju influences while maintaining a human appearance. Possibly exacerbated depending on how human the process leaves them. ✨️✨️

Something similar to how Narumi's number suit works. Though I'm pretty sure the implanted eyes are a fan theory, they've heavily inspired my ideas of how Kaiju tissue interacts with people.

(Theory stemming from the difference between Narumi's eyes as a teenager vs. his current eyes.)

I also like to think of the process actively creating Kaiju more like a cancer than an evolutionary process.

Since it is influenced by outside phenomena and happens in the short term.

[codenamebaphomet]

So we've been out on the road all day and then we spent some time at my mom's house so I couldn't upload these till now. I did this a year ago but I wanted to redo this better.

Jela's eyes and how and why they change.

This is how his eyes normally look, no matter if he's happy, annoyed, sad or even pretty pissed off. This is just normal state in human form.

Seeing this pretty much means shit just got real. He's beyond pissed off. Listen, this man is the most chilled person you could ever hope to come across, it takes EFFORT to get him angry and it takes a special kind of EFFORT to get him so angry that his eyes turn into this. He isn't just gonna kill you, he's gonna make you suffer through it and make sure you die slow.

Having said that, his eyes also change to this when he's trying to intimidate someone or something. They'll also change to this state when he summons his weapon or when using any arcane abilities. That doesn't mean he's pissed off, it just happens. For non-divine it happens because magic can and will take its toll on the body and sometimes some magic can force certain physical traits to "surface" without the person being able to control it.

However, Jelani is divine so he should have complete control over it. Truth is it's a sub-conscious action. Remember, he's had that identity crisis his entire life and since berserkers's eyes faintly glow when they conjure up their weapons and/or armor he took that observation and sub-consciously makes his eyes change to that. So when he summons his weapon or uses any arcane abilities his eyes will change to that.

They also turn that way when he's injured or in some type of survival mode. Obviously he can't just go around with his eyes like this everywhere but he for the most part he can't exactly control it until he's conscious of it and even then he's got bigger shit to worry about.

*The iris is supposed to glow faintly but I got lazy so just pretend.

((This is actually my favorite look to him because it legitimately scares the fuck out of me/creeps me the fuck out. Dude, if I managed to piss off some 6'6", 237 pound eldritch deity and he's staring at me with THOSE eyes I'd piss out all of my organs. I don't like looking at 'em too long 'cause I have a far too vivid imagination and they creep me out severely but I can't help but love 'em at the same time.))

This is incredibly rare to witness. In fact, his eyes have only ever changed to this, while in human form, only three times in his entire life.

Fighting off the horde or raiders that killed his grandfather.

Fighting and killing Iain.

When fully infected by the Halo virus.

This happens when he's reached a point of no return or more like he doesn't fucking care anymore and to say that's the equivalent of DEFCON 1 is the understatement of the millennium.

*There is a caveat though. His eyes changing to this while he's in HUMAN form is cataclysmic and all around not a good thing. However, this is how his eyes normally look while in divine form so it doesn't mean anything is wrong while in divine form. Human form though...eh, that's fucking bad.

Post Halo virus:

When he got infected with the Halo virus he went through all the symptoms but the one that left a permanent mark was the ocular trauma that affected his right pupil.

Basically his right pupil internally burst. It's only noticeable while his eyes are in that state while in human form or while in divine form. I gotta do some more research into how that would affect his vision in that eye while in divine form. The Halo virus targeted deities so obviously while in human form it wouldn't show unless his eyes change to these two examples.

[inquisimer]

mer mer mer hi for Zevran and Ariya, perhaps:

But like earth heaped over the heart Is love grown perfect. Like a shell over the beat of life Is love perfect to the last. So let it be the same Whether we turn to the dark or to the kiss of another; Let us know this for leavetaking, That I may not be heavy upon you, That you may blind me no more.

ro ro ro hap friday beloved💜 I looked at this prompt tonight and it suddenly clicked as exactly the right way to explore Alistair's unrequited love for my Tabris, so here we go :3

for @dadrunkwriting

Alistair thought Ostagar would be his Great Reckoning. He thought that nothing could lay him so low as the loss of a family so recently acquired, the knowledge of Duncan’s corpse half-devoured and forgotten on the battlefield, the isolation that sank into his bones outside of the witch hut in the Wilds. All of the Wardens had them and he would need one so that someday, gray and grizzled, he could swig ale and bark laughter at foolish recruits who were eager to bathe their blades in darkspawn blood.

He thought it would be Ostagar.

As they set off, he anchored himself to Ariya. The only two Wardens left facing the Blight. If he was a bit too clingy, she didn’t seem to mind—surely she was as adrift and uncertain as he and he thought perhaps she clung to him in comfort just the same. She was the dagger in the back of his enemy and he was her shield against their swords. They were a perfectly matched pair.

Until the assassin came.

She’d lost her mind, for sure. Helping the elf up from the ground as though he hadn’t just laid a trap to kill them. Was she crazy? Alistair asked her as much and she gave him such a derisive eye roll that he wished he could shrink into his armor like a turtle.

“Half the people in Denerim would have killed me for less than however much gold Loghain offered him,” she said. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

And suddenly things were different. Ariya no longer came to finish off his opponents in a fight; she stood back-to-back with this Zevran, her style mimicking his more and more each day. There was no more crouching about the fire with her to cobble together a stew over the coals—at night the pair of elves snuck off together and they took the same watches, leaving a rather disgruntled and increasingly jealous Alistair with Leliana (if he was lucky) or Morrigan (if he wasn’t).

Still, not all hope was lost. Even if the assassin was warming her bed there were things he could never share with her that a fellow Warden could. Alistair was more interested in her  heart, anyhow. He thumbed the faded rose and stared out into the darkness of the woods, thinking of how things had been before Zevran came and wishing things weren’t so desperate, so she would have agreed to leave him behind.

Weeks, months passed. Despite the pitying looks and thinly veiled derision from their companions, Alistair wasn’t oblivious. Ariya and the assassin grew closer, as time was wont to make them, but Alistair knew the truth. Her eyes were warm when he managed to steal a moment of her time and she fit perfectly in his embrace when the nightmares wracked them both. Perhaps she just didn’t realize the extent of his feelings, he thought one night, a great epiphany. After all, it wasn’t as though he’d told her. Likely she was with the assassin because he’d been open with his affection from the start.

In the end the rose stayed in his pocket until Eamon brought them to Denerim. He just couldn’t work up the nerve. But now there was tension between her and the assassin and he knew the inevitable decline of that misadventure must be nigh, so he seized the moment. When they trudged back in from a day’s worth of running errands about the city, he drew her into one of the empty guest rooms and shut the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. She was loosening her braid and Alistair’s breath caught. He so rarely saw her with her hair down and the fiery halo the flickering torchlight gave her felt like a sign that the moment was right.

He produced the rose and spun a metaphor of beauty and faith that he’d only half rehearsed in bed at night. When he’d finished, he looked up with a hopeful smile and held the faded flower out for her to take.

“Alistair…” her voice broke on his name, and not in the way he’d imagined a thousand times before. She bit her lip.

“I—you know I’m with Zevran, don’t you?” she gave an uncertain laugh. “I mean…we haven’t exactly been hiding. Literally everyone else has noticed, trust me.”

“Well, yes, but that can hardly be serious.” Alistair gestured aimlessly, confident in his assumption until he saw how her gray eyes went cold and flat at his words. “I mean—we’re the Wardens, Ariya, he can hardly follow—“

“We don’t even know how this is going to end,” she snapped. “Don’t presume to tell me what can and can’t be done.”

Lithe fingers twisted her hair back into a braid and ran an aggrieved hand over the plait. Just like that, the moment broke. Alistair’s hand dropped back to his side and the rose crumbled in his fist.

"You should go, Alistair," she said around a clenched jaw. "Just....go."

They didn't talk much after that. She left him to stew in Eamon's study, taking Leliana or Sten in his stead. One day they came back covered in blood as usual, but her smile was just a bit brighter, her shoulders lighter than they had been in weeks.

(He wished he could stop noticing such little things about her).

When she finished her report to Eamon and turned to go, Alistair caught sight of the little gold loop glinting in her ear and he slumped so low that the arl snapped at him to stand up straight.

He thought it would be Ostagar. Instead, it was the Landsmeet.

Whatever their personal drama, Alistair had no doubt of Ariya’s capability. Denerim was her home and she was in her element here, so it hardly surprised him to see her standing over that traitor as he knelt and gave himself over to her mercy. Alistair held his breath; justice, he thought. Duncan was about to have his justice.

Except—

“He’s right.” Ariya dropped her blades at Riordan’s objection and stepped away. “Put him to the Joining.”

“What?” In his white-hot rage, Alistair didn’t even realize it was him speaking. But all the Landsmeet turned to stare at him and for once the attention didn’t stagger him. He stared directly at Ariya and she stared back for the first time since that awkward, heart-wrenching moment at the estate.

“Alistair and Anora will marry and rule together,” the elf said. Her eyes never wavered from his, even as her voice carried around the chamber. “For his crimes, Loghain will be given to the Wardens, his fate left up to the Joining.”

For a moment, he was absolutely frozen. King? Marry Anora? Why hadn’t he heard of this plan before? Eamon had been talking about putting him on the throne all along, of course, but he’d thought that when it came down to it he’d had some say in it. Or Ariya would and she would ask him, at the least.

But they hadn’t been talking. And that was his stupid fault, but in the moment he couldn’t accept that. He felt nothing besides blinding anger.

“Absolutely not—“ Alistair stormed forward, close enough that only Ariya and the few closest to her could hear his hushed anger. “What are you doing? This man betrayed our entire Order and blamed us for the crime! He’s the reason Duncan is dead! And you would welcome him to our ranks?”

“We are not judges,” Riordan interjected. “Wardens have historically been thieves, beggars, murderers, criminals of all kinds. The Blight does not discriminate and so neither do we.”

“He’s right, Alistair—“

“No.” He cut her off, heartbroken and angry and desperately wishing he could truly blame either of those things on her. “If you do this, I walk. You all may force the crown upon me, but I’ll sever all ties with the Wardens and they’ll have no claim on me, if this is your decision.”

She didn’t even hesitate. “This is my decision, Alistair. If that’s yours well…you’ve made it, at least.”

And he had.

A week later at the coronation he stared out at the crowd. Even amongst all the nobles, she was infuriatingly easy to spot. Ashy white hair in her usual braid, griffon-stamped leathers freshly oiled and looking like they hadn’t been recently spattered in darkspawn blood.

And hanging off the assassin’s arm, of course.

He scowled at his boots.

“Chin up, Alistair,” said Anora without looking at him. He turned his scowl on her instead.

“It is good that you’ve been disillusioned,” she continued, unphased. “It was hardly going to work out between you two. Besides the political implications, just use your eyes for a moment and look at her. Really look.”

Alistair stared out across the crowd, watched how the assassin looped an arm around Ariya’s waist and pulled her flush against his side. She canted her head to let him whisper in her ear and a smile spread across her face, warm and adoring and just a hint scandalized. He couldn’t see it from here, but he could imagine how the tips of her ears were gone pink as she pressed a kiss to the corner of Zevran’s mouth.

“You see?” Anora said crisply, directly contrasting the warm smile and wave she was giving the crowd. “She is in love.”

Alistair frowned. Of course she was; that was the problem, wasn’t it?

She was in love.

And so was he.

[thischachamaru]

Dripping Wax

Summary: A knight and a peasant fight in an arena… there is a punchline. Some mild extortion takes place. In the end, Tanjiro ends up as an apprentice to a knight who doesn’t know what a joke is.

For rntnvillage prompts: chivalry / “yes, my lord”

AO3

Chainmail rattled as Tanjiro leapt sideways, dodging a blood-red axe. He scrambled to his feet, black axe in hand, as the crowd roared around the jousting arena.

His opponent laughed. "Excellent hustle, my boy!" he crowed, amusement clear in his voice. In the shadows of his helmet was a hint of gold, and two burning embers where the eyes would normally be— less of a knight and more of a demon.

Tanjiro gripped his axe tighter. "Thank you very much!" He paused, and added, as an afterthought, "um. Sir."

"You are very welcome!" The knight boomed. "Though, there's no need for such formalities. You may address me as Kyojuro Rengoku!"

"Sir Rengoku," corrected Tanjiro. He shifted back, taking a wide stance, pretending his heart wasn’t shaking. It was one thing, to chop wood. It was another to chop flesh- even if that flesh was covered in armor. “I… wish we had met under different circumstances,” he admitted.

“Hm.” Rengoku tilted his head. His eyes gleamed inside his helmet. “But I rather like this. Don’t you?”

Tanjiro didn’t know what to say to that.

Without warning, Rengoku spun on his heel, axe flashing. Metal connected— screeching past Tanjiro’s chest-plate, sparks flying, before whipping away, just missing the gap in his armor.

Before Tanjiro could so much as gasp, Rengoku pursued him, axe whirling, flashing, slicing— Tanjiro ducking, stumbling, slipping, backwards— until Rengoku slammed him into the fence. The crowd cheered.

A drop of blood plopped onto the mud. Then another. Then another.

“Got you,” huffed Rengoku. He tried pulling away, only to find his weapon embedded in Tanjiro’s axe handle. “Interesting.”

Their eyes locked. Tanjiro bared his teeth.

He wasn’t going to lose.

Tanjiro jerked away, yanking Rengoku with him— then he firmly planted his feet, whipping his head towards Rengoku.

BANG!

Both axes splashed to the ground, splattering mud over their armored boots.

“Got you,” wheezed Tanjiro.

As Rengoku stared, a crack split through his helmet. Bit-by-bit, the crack snapped over the faceplate and the helmet shattered— clanging as it clattered against his armor, to the muddied ground. In the sun, Rengoku’s ember-eyes shimmered like halos. Tanjiro recalled, then, why some men worshipped angels.

The rest of his features were equally bizarre. He had a delicate face with strong brows and bright, sweaty hair, that clung to his features like magma. The air swam around him, bubbling and popping and swaying— the sort of heat Icarus felt when he flew too close to the sun. One second, one moment of happiness.

Then he fell.

Rengoku made a choked noise.

After a long moment, he gathered himself, and shoved Tanjiro over the fence. “A very good fight!” he announced. “Though, being disarmed so easily, I am quite ashamed! Perhaps I should retire, and become a jester, hmm?” The hushed crowd burst into laughter. Rengoku picked up his axe, and twirled it elegantly, before tossing it to a page.

The nobles clapped politely as Rengoku bowed to them, and the crowd again cheered when he made his rounds, showing off an impressive display of archery as Tanjiro dazedly soaked in a puddle. Then, on dismissal, as the next competitors trotted into the arena, he hopped over the fence and squatted next to Tanjiro.

“That was impressive.” He poked Tanjiro in the forehead. “I’ve been training all my life for this. To think, I was defeated by a charcoal farmer… it’s very mortifying, you know!” he poked Tanjiro again, harder. “Regardless. It’s decided! You’ll become my apprentice.”

“Decided… “ Tanjiro blinked, trying to gain his bearings. The world tilted around him, swaying in doubles, “Decided… by who? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Decided by me! Right now.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that!”

Rengoku abruptly stood, hauling Tanjiro up, and slamming him into his chest-plate headfirst— denting it.

“Haha! You’ve quite the talent for destruction, don’t you?” teased Rengoku. “Shall I send you the repair bill?”

Tanjiro looked at the ruined armor and nearly sobbed. “I… don’t think I can afford it,” he dourly replied. “I’m sorry.”

“All the more reason to join me!” Rengoku then said. “You’re Tanjiro, are you not? I shall accept your blood, sweat and tears as payment. My word is my bond.”

This seemed more like blackmail than chivalry, but Tanjiro didn’t know enough about chivalry to disagree. “Yes, Sir Rengoku. Okay. But…”

I don’t want to fight, he silently pleaded. Rengoku watched him expectantly. I want to live with my sister. I want to live in peace. But…

In a world like this, that was impossible.

Knowing that, Tanjiro nodded, smiling weakly as Rengoku beamed.

“Very good!” Rengoku clapped a hand on Tanjiro’s back, nearly bowling him over. “To start— I’d like to use your head as a battering ram.”

“E-excuse me?!”

“That was a joke!” Rengoku yanked him closer, pinching Tanjiro between his arm and chest plates. “I hear you commoners like those sorts of things,” he added conspiratorially.

“Sorts of thi—,” Tanjiro stammered. “Do you— not know what a joke is?”

“Hm?” Rengoku did not blink. He did not look at Tanjiro. “Ah, yes. I’m quite familiar!”

“Ah,” nodded Tanjiro, as if he understood. He didn’t. Why would someone lie about that? “I’m just not used to your sense of humor, Sir. You’ll have to tell me more,” he instead offered, as Rengoku cheerily called for some ale.

Just what had he gotten himself into?