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iwasntstable · 5 days

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✧₊⁺ 𝗡.𝗦. | 𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗡 𝗜 𝗠𝗜𝗦𝗦 𝗬𝗢𝗨

| WORD COUNT: 1.4k | RATING: SFW | CONTENT TAGS: fluff | The things you do when you're missing Noah while he's away.

➔𝐢𝐰𝐚𝐬𝐧𝐭𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞➔➔　𝘪𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘴 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘵𝘰 𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘳𝘤𝘩𝘪𝘷𝘦!+　　[𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝐀𝐎𝟯]

NOTE: Enjoy this little fluff piece to make up for the angst I posted 2 days ago 🖤

Noah has been gone for 2 weeks now. You text and call throughout the day, every day—when he has time. Preparations for their upcoming projects, music video filming, and meeting after meeting to discuss the business side of things take up all of his time. He always works hard, but this was another level that you weren’t used to.

You’ve never been one to yearn particularly hard after a partner, missing them a normal, regular amount, then feeling fulfilled when you reunite after a couple of days. But with Noah, it was different. When you parted, it felt like half of you was missing. Your place was too quiet when he wasn't around. You didn't live in a particularly big place, but it seems vast and empty now that you're alone. Even though the gaping hole his absence left in your life is indisputable, you try to carry on as best as you can.

But even while doing the most mundane tasks, your thoughts are preoccupied with Noah. Wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face into your neck, embracing you tightly from behind as you make a sandwich. Your personal space is as much his as it is yours.

“What are you doing?” You giggle, trying your best to assemble the food with his towering frame clinging to you.

“Just wanna cuddle you,” he mumbles into your neck. Your cheeks grow warm, turning as best you can in his hold to look at him over your shoulder.

But when you look, he’s not there. The hum of the fridge and the chill in the evening air are your only companions. The kitchen is too big without him clinging to your back and the smile brought to your face by the memory drops. With a dejected sigh, you place the last piece of bread on top, finishing your little meal and retreating to the living room.

Picking at the bread, you scour your streaming options for something to watch, seeing shows and movies you’re interested in, but just don’t feel in the mood to watch right now. You add them to your ‘Watch Later...’ list and keep searching.

In the “Continue Watching...” section, the show with way too many seasons you were working your way through is first in line. The preview reminds you where you left off, and you get the urge to hit play, but you were watching this with Noah. He sits forward, yelling at the screen for the characters to, “no! Don’t do that! Oh my God… It’s like they want to die!” Looking bewildered in your direction.

You can’t stifle the laugh, prompting him to hit you playfully with one of the couch cushions.

“What?!” he exclaims, his eyes bright and smiling wide, his hands speaking for him. “Why would you walk in the direction of the bomb? Is she stupid?!”

"No, you’re right,” you clutch your abdomen, the beginnings of an ache in your side from laughing so hard. “I know she’s the main character, but why is she so unlikable? Oh my God…” You let out a long breath, wiping the tears away from your eyes.

Blinking rapidly to rid them of the burn, you play Howl’s Moving Castle instead. Abandoning both the movie and the sandwich half finished when the weight in your chest becomes too heavy.

You don’t even bother to clean up, going straight to your room and crawling under the covers. Attempting to seek comfort in the sheets. But the other side of the bed is too empty and smells too much like him. You reach out, laying your hand on the pillow where he should be. Running your hand through his hair, his drowsy eyes close, a content smile on his lips as he enjoys your affections.

“I love you,” he says quietly, turning his cheek into your palm.

A tear escapes your eye. “I miss you,” you whisper to the space beside you.

You can’t sleep. You haven’t been able to sleep properly for a while now. Only 2 weeks he’s been away, and he’ll be back in just a few days time. You never thought you’d find yourself yearning like this, but the ache in your heart won’t subside, and your usual distractions are failing you. So you decide to indulge in your sadness.

Taking your laptop from where you left it on the floor, you pull up Spotify. Gravitating immediately to the Bad Omens artist page and hitting play on the The Death of Peace of Mind album. Closing your eyes as soon as his voice comes through the speakers, the soft tone of his singing at the beginning of Concrete Jungle. You push all of the loud thoughts from your mind, focussing only on him. It helps. The tracks trick your brain into thinking he’s here with you. Taking his pillow and holding it to your chest, you allow yourself to be enveloped by the sound and scent of him. You don’t even notice when you start to drift off to sleep. If he couldn’t physically be here to bring you peace of mind, at least his voice could.

When Noah unlocks your door, he’s surprised to see the TV off, a half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table, and you absent from your usual spot on the couch. It was late, but you’re a night owl; it's out of character for you to sleep so early. He re-locks the door behind him and moves quietly through the room, toeing off his shoes and leaving them next to yours. Deciding too, to place his bags down by the door. He didn’t want to knock anything over and wake you if you really were asleep.

He hears the music before he opens the door, the pang of recognition becoming clearer when he cracks it open, and sees your sleeping form in the bed. Your laptop sitting open on his side of the bed, Just Pretend filling the silence of the room. Noah can’t help but smile, his socked feet soundlessly closing the distance between him and the bed where he sits carefully beside you.

Watching you sleep for a moment, his heart feels full at this image of you. Smiling at the sight, he slips his phone from the pocket of his sweatpants, opening the camera app and double-checking that the flash isn’t on. He snaps a couple of pictures, grinning as he does so. The laptop is visible over your shoulder, clearly showing his album open and playing on Spotify. He places his phone down next to yours on the bedside table and lays a hand gently on your shoulder. He’s reluctant to pull you from your sleep, but he needs you. And it’s clear that you need him too.

“Babe,” he whispers, his palm smoothing over your shoulder. He leans in closer, calling your name just a little louder and shaking you gently.

You begin to stir. Dreaming of Noah being where he belongs by your side in bed. Your head rests against his chest as he caresses your arm gently.

“Wake up,” he says softly, and your eyes crack open. Squinting against the sunlight. “Wake up, baby.”

He’s singing too. “Weigh down on me, stay ‘til morning, weigh down…”

“Hey,” he says softly, “what’re you doing?”

“Noah?” You mumble, realising the light in your eyes was your laptop, and it was as though you could hear two of him.

“Hi, I’m here. We wrapped up early, I tried to call you,” he brushes your hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

You roll onto your back, and there he is. Hair fluffy, holding a slight wave, and an infectious grin across his face as he looks at you. He looks so soft and warm in his hoodie, and you just want to dive into his arms. So you do, sitting up to collapse into him. He pulls you onto his lap, rocking you side to side, holding you so fiercely it was as though he were trying to make up for every second you'd been separated. You hold on just as tightly, feeling the warmth of his body seep into yours.

“Let me turn this off,” he moves carefully, loosening his grip temporarily to hit the spacebar and silence his own voice, then holding you tight again. “You don’t need that now that I’m back.”

“I missed you,” your voice comes muffled against his chest, wavering as you desperately try not to break down.

“I missed you too, so much,” he sighs, sinking into you deeper. “But I’m back now, and I have no plans to go anywhere any time soon.”

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

✉ C:/SYSTEM/APP/TAG

ᯤ 𝗨𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗦 (22) :　 ⌞⬤ 10 𝗈𝗇𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ › @iloveyoutodeathbutimdrowning › @runadaggerthroughmychest › @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard › @seven-glass-kids › @english-fucker

› @lma1986 › @shayzillaaaa › @madamaaubergine › @thewrstinme › @amourtoken

⌞⬤ 5 𝖺𝗐𝖺𝗒⌝ › @livingdeceasedgirl › @alwaysfightforwhoyouare › @thecoyotescry › @romanreigns-supreme › @slutforcoffein

⌞⦵ 5 𝖽𝗈 𝗇𝗈𝗍 𝖽𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗎𝗋𝖻⌝ › @deathofpeaceofmindem › @bluestdai › @fadingangelwisp › @broken0mens › @ferduttini

⌞◯ 2 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗅𝗂𝗇𝖾⌝ › @lovesick-evangelist › @fadingintothegrey

　+[MSG : join the taglist!]

╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌╌

#like i just need a cuddle from him #it would fix me #noah sebastian #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfic #fluff #bad omens #bad omens cult #C:/PROJECTS/MYWORK/BLURB #C:/PROJECTS/SEARCH/TAG/FLUFF

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inf3ct3dd · 3 months

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ACT 1. TROUBLE

summary: the plan hatches.

warnings: mentions of death, sex joke

wc: 3k

authors note: this fic has been my wonderfully niche vision for so long.... i hope you all enjoy

next chapter. masterlist

the unforgiving blaring heat of the desert was torturous.

the sun seemed to be beaming from right above, practically frying you and your companions skin as you treaded through the sand. one suffering the consequences worse than another, skin resembling a boiled lobster.

dry, chapped lips silently begging for water, only to be met with the sting of saltwater sweat dripping onto them. you can try to lick them away, but it will only worsen the pain. pain, your muscles ache and your bones feel as if they’ll crumble if you step forward once more. you needed…out.…of the heat……

ah, alas, a river! oh, how lovely, a quench to the terrible thirst…. you reach out towards it, cupping your hands to drink, and are met with the hot, cruel surface of a car door.

“are you done, r? you’re gonna set off the alarm.” ellie had destroyed your dramatic scene , rolling her eyes and slumping down on the concrete next to the car. her long ass jorts protected her skin from the heat of the ground.

“no, it can’t be! twas a mirage, my mind has fooled me!” draping a dramatic hand across your forehead, you’re met with a moist surface that you wipe away onto your shorts, falling next to the girl. your shorts however, did not protect you. you slightly hissed in pain, before bringing your knees to your chest.

“they shouldn’t have let you read othello. i think you’re actually going insane.” she bluntly remarks, offering you a light giggle.

your english teacher, honors english if you wanna brag, had just started a shakespeare unit, and you were over the moon. being the first to volunteer to read in class, writing your own gorgeous sonnets about even more gorgeous subjects , and torturing ellie with your constant chiming of “shall i compare thee to a midsummers day?”

“ugh, you hate to see a girl being theatrical.” with a quick roll of your eyes, you crossed your arms and pouted.

“yes, i do.”

ellie knew it wasn’t one of your actual sad pouts, like when she accidentally killed the snail you two found, but simply you being….theatrical. like your wonderful performance in the school musical last year, as sharpay in high school musical. was that fuckass blonde wig a disgrace? absolutely. but your wonderful acting skills distracted from it, or so you hoped.

“you know whats actually making me go insane? the fact that you made me walk to 7-11 in this heat!!! you tryna kill me?”

the taste of the slushy was still lingering in your mouth , along with the red color on your tounge, but the cold it brought was long gone.

“oh my lady, i would never do such a thing! but alas, i required a refreshment, and id hate to go alone.” ellie counters back in her own shitty-british accent , holding a hand to her chest.

“see, told you its fun.” you nudged her elbow with your own, sweaty limbs colliding with a gross “splat”.

“yeah yeah, whatever. you’re right about everything, my glorious queen-“

“indeed!” you interrupted, pout replaced with a cheeky smile.

you both sat for a second, catching your breath. your eyes wandered to ellies arms, and you noticed she had turned into a lobster. her arms were bright red and sunburnt, and you reached out to poke her.

“ow-fuck! why did you do that!!” she winced in pain, moving her arm away.

“jesus, why do you never put on sunscreen? you trying to get tan or something?”

“i didn’t think it would be this bad outside..”

“you’re stupid.”

“you’re mean..”

after a while of you both sitting in comfortable silence, both of your eyes fall on the vehicle across the street. it was the one thing you always loved staring at on this street. the ferrari was reflecting all the beams of ultraviolet hitting it, practically glowing in the humid hellscape. the dashboard and practically everything else was smothered in dust, the cause probably being its idle parking spot, same one it had been occupying since you and ellie were 5 years old. the black detailing and the shiny silver horse enchanted you, despite the cars mildly decrepit state. 13 years later, you wondered if it would even still run. wondered how the engine would feel rumbling underneath you as you pushed against the wind down the empty streets.

people always make driving seem so crazy and thrilling in movies. sharp turns, constant speeding, drifting, it was like the road was a rollercoaster. or maybe you had just watched too many fast and furious movies with your dad.

but every time you were in a car, you were calm. always having an arm out the window, sometimes waving your hand like the ocean, and others making finger legs and doing parkour off of the other cars. when it rained, especially at night, you’d always beg your dad to drive you around. you’d try to count the raindrops on the windshield , and often times you’d let the taps on the windows lull you to sleep.

you have many memories of your dad taking you on drives to get you to sleep. especially when you were younger, and didn’t want to go to bed because you ‘weren’t tired’. every time, he’d just say “you don’t have to sleep, just rest.” sometimes he’d sing the songs he burned onto his cds, other times he’d make lists of things you wanted to do the next day. but no matter what, within 10 minutes you were always out cold. most times he’d keep driving for a bit, just to make sure you were really sleeping, and then carry you as gently as possible up to your room.

now, you knew better than to try and make him carry you up the stairs. you’d have a dramatic stretch, and practically drag yourself to your house before flopping down on the couch. half of the time face first.

you never wanted to be the one driving, though. you didn’t trust yourself behind the wheel, thinking you’d get too relaxed and doze off the second you started driving. or get into a crash. every time you did bumper carts, you’d be the one annoying all the little kids by hitting them a thousand times with your car. plus, highways are scary as fuck.

but for some reason, every time you saw that car parked down your street, you imagined yourself behind the wheel. always with some of those cool ass driving gloves on, and the scorpion jacket ryan gosling had in drive. you’d drift like all those cool dudes in your dads movies, and never ever crash into anyone on the highway. you thought it was blessed with some spell that made everyone who drove it amazing at driving.

ellie had zero faith in you though.

“you’d total that thing in five seconds. do you not remember the last time you tried to drive?”

her rude remark reminded you of the “raspberry incident”, as you called it, from last summer. you were at your grandmas in the countryside, her in the passenger of her big ass suburban trying to teach you to drive in the raspberry fields. you had been pushing a bit hard on the gas a few times, making her tell you to “calm down” , but you were a damn good driver as far as you saw. but it allll went downhill when she made you practice turning. you had turned around one of the rows of berries perfectly, and you were driving a bit too fast to the next corner. but somehow, you turned on the wrong angle and drove straight into the berries. and to make things worse, you kept pushing the gas pedal on accident instead of the brakes. your grandma screaming at you to stop didn’t help much either. you had torn down no more than 1/5 of the row, but nothing happened to the car. a trip to the carwash and it was like nothing ever happened.

“that was soooo long ago. you weren’t even there either! what if i was just over exaggerating when i told you and it wasn’t that bad?”

“you calling yourself a liar?” ellie took a sip of her slushy. the one she made you take this whole treacherous journey for. she was somehow still nursing hers, while yours was in a trash can five blocks back.

“never. how are you still drinking that thing? we’ve been walking for like half an hour!” you grab the drink out of her hand, taking a sip for a biiit too long.

“hey! you can’t even ask? i spent my hard earned money on that thing.“

“oh please, it was only like 3 dollars. you sound like joel right now.”

you both chuckled. ellies dad acted just like yours, that’s probably why they’re such best friends. that and the two dead wives thing, they had a lot in common. and coincidentally, so did you and ellie. you knew each other since you came out of the womb. well, since you came out. ellie was there three weeks before you, and she never let you forget it. constantly on her “respect your elders” bullshit every time you punched her in the arm for stealing your food. you two were fighting over the same toys and blabbering to each other since birth. your parents were convinced you were some baby geniuses that had developed your own language with how much you ‘spoke’ to each other. you two always understood each other.

“whatever dude, i’d be a driving master in that thing. it’d probably be a total chick magnet too. i’d be cleaning that backseat every day.”

ellie poked you in the side at your joke, and you both shoved each other while you laughed.

“yeah, you and your spongebob boxers are definitely soooo seductive.”

“you can’t say shit, you have the matching patrick pair!”

almost half your closet was either clothes you took from ellies house, or ones you bought to match with her. your dad has a whole photo album of old pictures he took of you and her in your matching outfits. and you have a bin in the attic stacked to the brim with your matching halloween costumes. the one matching thing the two of you never took off was your necklaces. it was one of those basic hearts, two pieces of silver that fit together perfectly with “best friends” and an infinity sign engraved on it. you had begged your dad for it while you were at a beach store, and he reluctantly gave in. you had the ‘st ends’ side, and ellie had the ‘be fri’ one. no matter the occasion, even with the excessive amount of necklaces you always wore, that one was always a part of the stack. and ellie only ever wore the one. in fact, the only jewelry she ever wore was the bracelets you two had made for each other and her necklace.

“hey, they’re comfy! i love those things.”

“you know what i’d love?”

“deez nuts in your mouth??”

you slapped ellie on the arm , and she grabbed it in pain.

“fuck you! you know im sensitive right now!!”

“you’ll live. ANYWAYS, i was talking about the car.”

“pssht, who wouldn’t. who leaves a perfect 288 on the side of the road for this long?” ellies inner car-nerd spilled out,eyebrows furrowing in question.

you and ellie had dreamed of that car ever since you were barely taller than the side doors. pretending to drive it when she came over to yours, leaning against it as you ate your ice cream and accidentally setting off the alarm, even peering in through the windows occasionally. the white envelope with a small bulge always intrigued the two of you, desperately wondering what was inside of it. you’d never seen anyone get in or out of it, and you were surprised it lasted this long on this street.

“why’re you still on this anyway? its not like we’re gonna just steal it or something.”

when you stare back at her for a bit too long, she sighs at you and rolls her eyes. your dumb ideas almost always end horribly, and she wasn’t in for all that this summer.

like last year, when you two were working at this big outdoor restaurant. you had somehow convinced her to drive around one of the golf carts, and it ended with you accidentally ramming it into some dudes car. you both quit to avoid the guy, and you’ve never been back since.

“well, why not! i mean really ellie, I’ve seen you break into joels truck before. you could do it.”

it was an isolated incident. she had locked herself out of the car, and she used a random hanger she found in the mall parking lot to squeeze through the crack in the window and unlock the door.

“thats not the same as stealing some random car!!what if the dude who owns it is some mean gangster and he finds out we took his car and he fucking kills us??? or what if its full of a bunch of illegal shit and we get arrested while we’re driving it?”

“since when do you care this much about shit like that? you convinced me to keep a lizard in my closet for three weeks once. plus, do you really think anyone’s gonna come looking for it? that things been there longer than we’ve been alive.”

“even if we do steal it, what if it doesn’t even run anymore? and if it does, are we just gonna hotwire it every time we wanna drive?”

ellie was sadly thinking logically about this , and you weren’t having it. the pout on your face was growing bigger and bigger, and you rolled your eyes at her.

“you’re so boring.”

“im not boring, you’re just insane and impulsive.”

“besides, where would we even hide it? neither of us have a garage or anything.”

“you ask too many questions. come onnnn, this could be our little sappy senior year memory!! even if it goes like, totally wrong and we get arrested or some shit.”

you and ellies high school experience was..lackluster at most. no crazy adventures, no parties, no insane hookups, nothing. every movie about highschool you two had watched had completely lied to you, because it was boring as fuck. i mean, probably not for everyone else, but definitely for you two. this car would be a saving grace for you two, it could top off senior year perfectly.

“your idea of a great senior year memory is grand theft auto?”

“i mean, the games awesome. why not?”

she chuckled a bit at your bad joke, leaving a smile on your face. everything in her was telling her it was an awful idea, but you were giving her your most convincing puppy dog eyes, hands under your chin pleading to her.

you were amazing at persuading her, and the way your eyes practically sparkled when you spoke of even the mere idea of it sent her to the stars. how could she say no to you?

“…let me think about it.”

“WOOOO”

for ellie, ‘let me think about it’ was almost always code for yes. especially when it came to you. the two of you walked back to your house, ellie finally finishing her slushy. she chucked it in your garbage can before leaving you at your door. you tried to hug her goodbye, but she pushed you away.

“lobster skin. it still hurts. youll probably wanna hug me more tomorrow.”

and the next day, at 8:30, ellie showed up at your window with a toolbox smelling like aloe vera.

#✉️ white ferari.#ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams x f!reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams x y/n #ellie x reader #ellie x y/n #ellie x black!reader #loser!ellie #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie tlou

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raiynnah · 1 month

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Rings

@wolfstarmicrofic - word count: 363

Paranoia stalks Remus like a shadow the day after his friends uncover his secret. He watches, nervously wringing his hands, waiting to be dragged out of Hogwarts, waiting to be found out as a beast wearing human skin, but it doesn’t happen. No one calls him out for not belonging, and so suspense becomes his closest companion, because surely, surely something should be different. Something must have changed. He knows something is different.

It’s only after dinner that he notices it: the glint of light over gold adorning Sirius’ fingers. Even when Sirius had worn only one ring, freshly released from the Hogwarts Express into the wilderness of education along with all the other First years, that family ring had dutifully remained its silver colour before it disappeared two months in.

“Pads,” Remus asks. “Why are your rings the wrong colour?” A prank gone wrong perhaps. Sirius flushes red at the attention, which is both rare and intriguing.

“James said I couldn’t pull it off, something or other about undertones that Mary apparently read in a magazine.” Ridiculous, Sirius can pull off anything.

“Since when does James talk to Mary about magazines?”

Through an amused smirk, Sirius tells him, “He thinks it’ll help him talk to Evans.” Sirius falls backwards into his bed with a laugh at the look that forms on Remus’ face, Remus’ snorting chuckles following quickly, both of them gripped by the good-natured teasing of friendship.

“It doesn’t look bad, Sirius,” Remus admits, sitting down on his own bed, mirroring Sirius.

“I know.”

“But the silver is nicer I think.”

“You think?”

“Yes.”

Sirius’ voice drops, whispering, “And it won’t hurt you?” Remus pauses in confusion, rolling the question over his tongue before realisation hits.

“Silver doesn’t actually hurt werewolves, that's just a story,” he says reassuringly. Warmth floods through his chest, an unfamiliar affection sweeping through him like honey.

“Oh, good then. I’ll change them back since you think silver is nicer.”

“Sirius, wear them however you want. They’re not my rings.”

“Right.” He sounds awkward, like he misplaced his step and is fumbling to find his balance again. “Never mind. Thanks, Remus.”

Remus wonders if he’s missed something.

#wolfstar microfic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #marauders #the marauders #sirius/remus #my writing #james potter

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miquella-everywhere · 6 months

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Miquella and Griffith: Why the comparisons make no damn sense

So instead of me screaming to the sky, "Waah Miquella is Griffith theories make me so mad grrrr I hate them so much" I've decided that I'm going to do an analysis between the two characters and dissect why the comparisons and Giffiths influence on Miquella makes absolutely no damn sense.

So first and foremost, warning: I will be talking about and spoiling Berserk, so if you wanna read it for yourself then steer clear of this analysis

So to start off let's discuss Griffith and his character/motivations in Berserks story: Griffiths whole goal from childhood was to establish his own country, his own paradise and to achieve that goal he first established his own mercenary group The Band of the Hawk. Griffith was beautiful and charismatic and the people who were apart of his band all looked up to Griffith and admired him, placing all of their hopes and faith into him and his dream.

But as the story goes on Griffith hits an all time low point, and after essentially being tortured for a year, which makes him emaciated, weak and practically crippled for life, all of Griffiths dreams seem like an utter impossibility as he is left as nothing more than a shadow of his former self.

That is until he decides to cast everything aside to become a God.

And by cast everything aside I mean that he betrays his companions, his Band of the Hawk, and sacrifices their lives to untold evils in what is absolutely the most genuinely horrific and unsettling imagery I have ever seen from a work of fiction in my entire life.

(Going off topic but I cannot stress this enough that if you decide to read Berserk understand that the violence shown pulls no punches with its depictions and involves both heavy gore and sexual violence. Especially the sexual violence)

Anyway, what makes the Band of the Hawks sacrifice so jarring is that these people all loved Griffith. They adored him. Backed him every step of the way and were the ones to go and rescue him as he was being tortured, and they all mourned the pitiful state that he was in when they found him. But regardless they STILL tried to be hopeful for Griffiths sake.

The Band of the Hawk loved Griffith and that is why Griffiths betrayal of them hits so hard and is why Griffith is known as one of the most evil characters in fiction.

And all of these reasons are precisely why Griffith is such a good and compelling character.

From the beginning of Griffiths introduction you could tell that something was... off about him. But at the same time his charisma and big ambitions painted him in a sympathetic light and you rooted for Griffith. But as the story went on you could see how Griffith was going deeper and deeper into the darkness and, quite frankly, his subsequent torture is entirely his own fault because he made several stupid and completely avoidable choices.

And it's all because Griffith at his core is selfish.

And it's for exactly these reasons why it's so baffling to me that so many people believe that Miquella is going to be just as evil, or worse, than Griffith.

Because in truth unlike Griffith, Miquella is not selfish.

The main problem that I have with the Miquella is Griffith comparisons is that all of those theories hinge entirely on the Bewitching Branch item description, and so many people have gone out of their way to spin Miquellas ability to compel affection as definitive proof that he is manipulative and evil, meanwhile conveniently ignoring everything else that Miquella has done in the lore.

So for a single moment, let's pretend that the Bewitching Branch does not exist and take a look at all the other lore that surrounds Miquella:

Miquella has dedicated most of his life to curing Malenia, his twin sister, of her crippling disease, and has even crafted prosthetics for her as well as an entirely new type of God Repellent Metal, which can halt the effects of said disease

He was a Golden Order Fundamentalist but ultimately abandoned it because it could not cure Malenias sickness

He created a Haven for those who are outcasts in the eyes of the most dominating and repressive Order in the Lands Between

He watered said Haven/the Haligtree with his own blood so it could grow into something that could rival the Erdtree

He used his identity as St. Trina to sing to and ease those who have been afflicted by the Frenzied Flame

There are several statues that depict Miquella and Malenia embracing eachother, 1 in Altus in an area dubbed Miquellas Hideaway and several all over the Haligtree. The fact that this statue is the dominant imagery found at the Haligtree really hammers in the fact that the twins love eachother, and that the Haligtree isn't just Miquella's, but Malenias home as well

He also has a clear affection/love for his brother Godwyn as the statue at the Haligtree depicts him embracing his siblings and even created a sword to commemorate Godwyns death and prayed for him to Die a True Death.

The soldiers of the Haligtree came across a bitter revelation as they await Miquella(presumably they feel immense guilt for being unable to protect their Lord) and explode with light, which they hope will guide Miquellas return and no Miquella did not put the light in them to make them explode there is absolutely zero proof of that, looking at you vaati

And now to be fair, lets get into the comparisons that are shared between the Griffith and Miquella:

Both are highly charismatic and beautiful individuals to the point where both Griffith and Miquella are mistaken for being girls.

The Eclispe imagery. For Griffith the Eclipse is what allows him to ascend to Godhood(after sacrificing the people who love him) and for Miquella the Eclipse is presumably how they are trying to resurrect Godwyn (Miquellas plans for the Eclipse are mostly unknown/vague at this point)

The Egg. Griffith and Miquella both go through a type of metamorphosis involving being encased in a cocoon/egg.

And honestly that's kinda it. The straight comparisons between the two are highly lacking and purely thematic in my opinion, especially when you consider everything else going on between their respective characters.

So to summarize, the good things that Miquella has done outweighs the bad and that is why Miquella is, in actuality, the exact opposite of Griffith. Unlike Griffith who is selfish, Elden Ring canon points to Miquella being a compassionate and loving individual, and if anything, he is a complete inversion to Griffiths character.

With the points listed above a majority of the in game text highly suggests that Miquella is kind and altruistic, and with the newest text regarding Miquella in the DLC:

Points to Miquella potentially being selfless and self-sacrificial.

And also, I've seen several people argue that Miquella wants to become a God so he can create his own utopia/Falconia like Griffith did. And I'm like.... Uuuum okay well, there is a big problem with that argument along with an elephant in the room that's being completely ignored, and that is the fact that Miquella has already created his utopia/Falconia with the Haligtree and Elphael.

So as of this moment Miquellas exact goals are completely unknown, what he is doing in the World of Shadow cannot be determined until the DLC arrives. But my point remains that so many people seem to think that Miquella will be evil based off of, in my opinion, evidence that is completely lacking in substance, along with the pervasive belief that since Elden Ring has drawn inspiration from Berserk/Griffith it means that Miquella will end up as a similar type of evil character as Griffith, all while ignoring the things that Miquella has done in canon that sets him apart as his own character.

So I've said my piece and what I believe in, so I'm just going to leave this analysis with this last statement:

The good that Miquella has done and committed himself too in the Lands Between completely outweighs the singular implied evil of the Bewitching Branch.

#uri posts #elden ring #miquella the unalloyed #elden ring theory #shadow of the erdtree #also yes this is griffith slander i think he is a dumbass lol

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crispyjenkins · 1 month

Text

mandalore the young cont.

original post/discussion here! it was just getting really long and i for one hate scrolling so far, so. here's this. have also added this au to my masterlist in my pinned post!

@malcontent-crow

#i had a whole wall of tags and it didnt save! lets try this again#i am loving this. the potential for world building and the consequences of knowing more than you should (literally)

#i had forgotten that DW wasnt in peoples thoughts as a threat during the Clan Wars#and the idea that Pre was so far underground with the movement is a very good thing to remember as well! #on one hand you have this driven and spirited young verd that is inspiring Clans to start reassessing who they are fighting and why#on the other you have this clanless outsider that knows waaaaay too much about all the potential major players and is saying#that this major threat isnt really as gone as everybody thought and hoped. sith parallels out the wahoo for ppor obi#and hes standing there watching them all argue over his head about this threat that he KNOWS needs to be dealt with#he is seeing himself as pretty on par or above with the Old Guard in terms of mental age or prowess or large scale battles#so he sees them doubt him maybe even to his face and knows he'll need to get things started on his own

#and becauae everything in the galaxay has at least one person watching it from the outside... how quickly does the news of a jedi padawan#going off the rails on this mission get out? whos keeping track and who points fingers at the jedi for attempting to control the outcome#of the war of their historical enemies in their favor? the senate (read sith) want mandalore defanged before their war but what does it look#like the jedi want? how does the council answer for his actions? do they condemn or condone him? do they try to stay out of it?

#the world building potential of the Manda and the Ka'ra is delicious.#what does it mean to be a mando or darmanda? can you walk around and have people look at you and know you have failed in your oaths?

#and ouch! Obi-Wan considering the fact that he has never been allowed to be his own person.#from padawan to knight/master and then a general and councilor and sheesh. hes really never had the chance to see who he is as a person#outside of his responsibilities to everybody around him and right now hes a war worn adult in a war worn teens body#hes always had somebody else there. as a battle companion a teacher a student as somebody to protect and guard and guide#and now he has this entire culture looking at him and waiting for his next move. and im guess it still feels like less than a burden than#the care and raising of an entire child on his own. sure he had the temple resources and other jedi to lean on but anakin always looked to#him first to solve any problem or teach him something new or cuddle him after nightmares as hes trying to hide his own dreams#and grief and flounding to find his footing as an independent adult

#so right now hes looking around at the entire mando population and realizing thats he might need to reshape himself again for somebody else#to make himself what others need and knowing he can and will do it if it means saving somebody else

#and when exactly did he come back from the war? did he have satine die in his arms and see the ruin that is madalore after a pacifist reign?#does he see the potential for that ruin to happen right now if he doesnt succeed? where does he see himself in regards to the jedi?#has he considered the consequences of stepping up to be the Mand'alor to this culture he has never seen as his own?#has he let himself think about the choices he needs to make and how some things you cant always come out the other side the same as before?

(following the trend of each of these getting longer, this has hit just under 5,000 words, so just a heads up lol? so much world building is happening in this one)

sorry you had to rewrite so much! that last exchange was cursed, it seems lmao

it's so easy to write Obi-Wan as prescient, or the route I'm going with in Dha Kar'ta, so i think it's a fun change-up to have him knowledgeable for completely different reasons! I'm actually going to avoid visions almost at all for this Obi, but everyone else certainly won't know the difference, and he doesn't tell them otherwise (though he won't encourage it either. I do actually have a Naruto time travel where Nart pretends to be psychic à la Shawn Spencer, so that isn't the route I wanna go for this Obi). the consequences of knowing too much, indeed

hmmm many of these questions depend on how deep into Jedi and galactic politics I wanna go, and I'm not sure it's very deep at all. or at least, not very dragged out. i'll explain in a mo

SO first: yes, this Obi is from after Satine dies, in 19 BBY, maybe a month or so after, but before the bombing of the Temple so before Ahsoka left the Order. He was back on the front, no time to properly mourn, though he was doing his best, and was meditating on the whole war, but especially the Sith and their hand in everything that happened on Mandalore. It went deeper than Maul, he knew, had been going on longer than Maul and even Dooku, and it occurred to Obi-Wan that the Sith either wanted a Mandalore that will side with them but not be too much a threat, or they wanted them not a threat at all. He realised his hand in that, in helping put the New Mandalorians on the throne that led to the demilitarisation of the entire sector. Obi-Wan had practically teed Mandalore up for Dooku and then Maul's interference, and if the Republic won the war, he could all too easily see them doing another excision. won't get too much into it to save it for the fic, but he is mediating with something beskar, and he gets a lil too deep into the Force, and of course this is post-Mortis so...... 👀

so this Obi-Wan, back in time, is helping Mandalore to prevent any more Sith machinations in the future, to change the future for the whole galaxy, but even before he's Chosen, he realises he's also doing all of this for Mandalore. for his own hand in its destruction, for the Jedi's hand in the Excision, for his personal connection to Satine drawing Maul to it. it's for atonement, for reparation, and also because Mandalore deserves to be saved, and Obi-Wan is in a place he can help do that. it isn't just about the health of the galaxy, anymore.

I usually shy away from having Obi-Wan leave the Order, no matter what AU I'm throwing him in because I believe in the fundamental goodness of the Order and the people in it, and Obi-Wan is fundamentally a Jedi, one of the best, one of the best. however, in this case, I don't think he can have his cake and eat it too. if Dooku had to leave the Order to accept his countship, then Obi-Wan would have to leave to become Mand'alor. Jedi are (supposed to be) politically neutral, and Obi-Wan is all too aware he'd nullified his own neutrality the moment he decided to go for Keldabe to find Jango.

one of my favorite... tropes? in time travel fic is Obi using his future fellow councilmembers' access codes to get into things he shouldn't, and he certainly knows how to work the Order's internal systems in his favor, so he

wait so i was gonna have him go in and tender his resignation from the Order directly into the systems, and backdate it for before the Mandalore mission, so that anything he's done on Mandalore so far cannot be blamed on the Jedi BUT WHAT IF he just. deletes himself. like completely. from admin to the Archives to the crèche's own internal systems to the Shadow's private servers, Obi-Wan Kenobi was never a Jedi, was never a Temple bastard, was never Qui-Gon Jinn's padawan. his mission records are all in Qui-Gon's name now, his medical file simply doesn't exist, his crècheling clan is listed as simply having been a person short compared to other clans that year. he goes so far as to delete comm histories with him or mentioning him, it's like Obi-Wan Kenobi just doesn't exist anymore.

he does this first thing after leaving Jango, he spends the entire week back to Mandalore ensuring he's been completely erased from absolutely anything relating to the Jedi, and then uses his future councilmember knowledge (and lessons from Quinlan) to erase himself from Republic systems, too. any planet he'd helped as a padawan will suddenly have no records of him as having been there with his master, so the senate or Order can't subpoena them for the info, though Obi-Wan knows he can't have gotten everything (such as any planet not in the Republic, or who don't have holonet access to their files, or both, like Melida/Daan), but he figures he's done enough to absolve the Order if anyone comes knocking about what he's doing.

he buries his lightsaber in the deserts of Mandalore, not knowing that in his old future, he'd have done the same on Tatooine.

so as far as the Jedi are aware: Obi-Wan went on a mission with Qui-Gon that (predictably) went to hell, got separated from his master for weeks to months, then suddenly changed, at the same time their Jedi with the highest prescience collapsed due to his visions, which have also changed. Obi-Wan left Qui-Gon behind to hightail it through the Mandalore sector, and Qui-Gon couldn't catch up or find him, and then Obi-Wan disappeared from anyone's radars for two weeks. then Qui-Gon senses him reenter the Mandalore system, right before breaking his training bond with him, and the Order wakes up to Obi-Wan completely erased from their systems like he never existed in the first place. everything is going so so wrong, and yet. and yet.

and yet the Force is telling them all that this is right, that this is the least Dark course of action, that whatever Obi-Wan is doing is indeed the Will of the Force

so the Order mourns one of their own, and tells Qui-Gon to let him go. and then the Order ups their cyber security because what.

i think he leaves an unsigned letter/comm message for a few people. Bant, Quinlan, Mace, Feemor, his old crèchemaster, Yoda, maybe Jocasta Nu. it's short, basically thanking them for their hand in his upbringing (Feemor hasn't even met him before so is very confused by this), apologising for leaving abruptly, but to follow the Will of the Force, he had to leave; the first part of the message is all the same, but ends with little individual notes. he apologises to Madam Nu for fucking with her archives and hopes she can one day forgive him; he asks her to keep her friends close and to mend the tension between her and Dooku, that Obi-Wan should not know about. He tells Yoda that the future is always in motion but they must move with it; he asks Yoda to meditate on his dwindling lineages and learn to accept all that he cannot control. He reminds Quinlan to wear his gloves and asks him to thank Tholme for looking out for him when Qui-Gon wouldn't or didn't; he thanks him for their years together, and asks him to check in on Feemor every now and then. He apologises to Mace for all the shatter-points he likely caused and will continue to cause, and suggests he put a permanent reminder in his comm to remember to refill his migraine prescription that sixteen year-old Obi should not know about. He asks Bant to look out for a young Togruta initiate that will join in seven years, and suggests Bant might like the healer track rather than the knight corps; he thanks her for being his longest and most dearly-held friend. He thanks his crèchemaster for realising his visions were more than dreams (which will inadvertently lend credence to that theory for why Obi-Wan changed so suddenly), for supporting him when Bruck was at his nastiest, and for always being someone he could turn to even after he became a padawan. For Feemor, Obi-Wan apologises that they hadn't had the chance to meet before then, and for the relationship they won't have anymore; Feemor has no idea who this message is from, until he starts hearing the gossip that Obi-Wan Kenobi has left the Order again. He too mourns never getting to know his padawan brother.

and Obi-Wan sends Qui-Gon a message, of course, thanking him for his teachings, apologising for "leading him on" as an apprentice, leaving and coming back so many times only to permanently leave this time. he reminds Qui to reach out to his friends and his support system, asks him to at least consider talking to a mind or soul healer about Xanatos (knowing that once it gets out that Obi-Wan is a planetary leader, it will likely badly trigger Qui-Gon), and asks him to at least try and mend his relationship with Dooku, though understands if that's not something Qui-Gon is willing to do. asks him to keep Satine safe, but to deeply think about why the Republic is so intent on helping her faction, and why Qui-Gon had questioned so little of the New Mandalorian ethos.

so by the time Obi-Wan finds the Old Guard, he's broken from the Order completely, has buried his saber, has broken his training bond, has cut his braid. I think he shaves his head entirely to let it grow out at the same rate, because the padawan cut is *Eliot Spencer voice* Very Distinctive. he paints his armour white for, yes, his men, his vod'e, but also for cin vhetin. he can't be the man he was before, nor the teen he was before, neither are who Mandalore needs, and as long as he can stay true to his morals and upbringing, he will be what Mandalore needs him to be.

okay now onto the Manda vs. the Ka'ra vs. the Force. the Force is a scientific concept of an energy connecting absolutely everything in the universe, and the Jedi have a religious view on the scientific concept. for both purposes, the Force just is. I really like the idea of other non-Jedi ideas just being different aspects of the Force, different religions and cultures based on the same scientific concepts. for Mandalorians, their "aspect" of the Force is the Manda, the collective souls of every Mando'ade that's ever marched on. just what it means to be Mando'ade has varied greatly through history, and is varied between different groups even now, but none of that changes what the Manda is, which is an aspect of the Force only Mando'ade can touch. sort of like their beliefs of it being separate from the Force have made it so?

now I haven't really talked about this before, but from the beginning of me writing Mandalorian related things, i've separated Ka'ra from ka'ra, which was a little bit me misremembering there was another term for "stars", and then it became it's own thing. kar, meaning "star", with it's plural kar'e or kare, to me, means physical stars, the way we'd call our sun a star. ka'ra, uncapitalised, is the more poetic and/or spiritual "stars", the way we might say something is "written in the stars", which actually aligns with how jate'kara is spelled; for my writing, i've used this form for Mandalorian Force-sensitives being Star-touched ka'ra-touched. Ka'ra, capitalised, is that "ruling council of fallen kings", the Mandalorian myth and it, the way I've always interpreted it, is a separate part of the Manda made up of specifically the souls of every Mand'alor already marched on. So, Tor Vizsla could have joined the Manda after death, but not the Ka'ra; make sense? all that ka'ra vs Ka'ra worldbuilding was done very early in my writing for star wars, and has since expanded to include the idea of the Manda as something separate, and I would now actually consider Manda-touched over Star-touched to describe Force sensitive Mando'ade, because that's really what I think Mandalorians would consider causes their supernatural powers: ancestors rather than the stars.

so what does that mean for this fic? the Manda is directly influenced by all those that consider themselves Mandalorian, Force-sensitive or not. it is, however, not affected by New Mandalorians, unless they worship the Manda in some facsimile, and I think many, many, many do not, not the way they were raised to. this worship looks different for every clan and every individual, and I've always interpreted it as more of a broad spiritual practice across the whole culture rather than a religion, per se, the way a real-world broader culture might pray at shrines at New Years even if individuals themselves or their family aren't religious. this is what I'm referencing when I say the Will of the People: the alive Mando'ade and their choices and emotions affecting and influencing the Manda, the collective amalgamation of every passed-on Mando'ade, and it's when these two are in tandem that they "pick" a Mand'alor. HOWEVER, such a pick is also up to the Ka'ra, the Mand'alor'e that have all marched on; to one day enter the Ka'ra themselves, a Mand'alor must be "picked" by both the People/the Manda, and the Ka'ra. Tor would be "picked" by a significant part of the People and the Manda, and so would Jaster have been, but (according to me, myself, and i, obviously), only Jaster had been chosen by the Ka'ra. Pre is "Mand'alor" only in name, only in a tenuous loyalty existing in House Vizsla and Death Watch, not even by the Manda; just simple human (et al) loyalty. Jango had a weaker "pick" from the Manda than Jaster did, but was picked by the Ka'ra, meaning if he did not declare himself dar'manda (even just internally; I don't think he's ever said it out loud), he would have joined the Ka'ra after death; if he ever reconnects with himself as a Mandalorian, I like to think he'd have that chance again. Canon Jango, though, who went on to make the clones? Absolutely not.

what does this all mean for Obi-Wan? he'd spent weeks inadvertently drumming up support in the people and therefore the Manda, and maybe most haven't really looked at him and thought "sure I'd follow him as Mand'alor", but they have looked at him and thought "that one has mandokar, that one wants what's best for Mandalore, that one is touched by destiny". I dunno, man, like. Obi-Wan is their hope before he is their leader. That will make all the difference when he does end up uniting them. His searching out Jango had made Jango finally confront that he feels dar'manda, until then he hadn't really lost the Ka'ra's support, but that severs that connection. and now the Ka'ra are without a Mand'alor, but look at that, there's a mandokar'la little idiot right there, already strong in the Manda, already rallying hope and purpose, already so invested in the nurturing and the future of Mandalore, how could the Ka'ra not choose him?

I posed the question previously whether or not Mando'ade can tell who has been chosen to be Mand'alor, and I think I've ironed out what that'll mean for this fic. non-Force sensitive Mando'ade will have this sense when near their Mand'alor, a subconscious and inherent trust in them, and indeed, some will be disturbed by this and fight it. that's alright, that's their right. Some never clock this extra sense, some are aware of it always, some just chalk it up to "gut feelings" and the like. The more spiritual or religious Mandos maybe put a little more stock in this feelings, I think especially goran'e and other spiritual leaders, but the fact that the Manda can technically pick more than one person at a time (like Tor and Jaster, and then Jango), this extra sense isn't a perfect indicator of a properly chosen Manda'lor.

now. what about Force sensitive Mando'ade? Well, the Manda is an aspect of the Force, and is in fact how said Force sensitive Mando'ade connect to the Force, by going through the Manda, first. their relationship with sensitivity is inherently different from others in the galaxy, at least those that connect to it directly. they are the ones that can sense or see if someone is chosen by the Ka'ra, depending on their sensitivity. Some see the ghostly line of previous Mand'alor'e stretched out behind them (like the Avatar cycle lmao), some see a wavering crown of stars around their head, some just sense there is a duplicity (/neutral) to their Force presence that doesn't exist in anyone else. how common is Force sensitivity in Mandalorian space? not fuckin very. Jaster had three in his entire faction of aprox. 2 million (fanon number), at least that were aware they were sensitive. Jango only had a few more, and only because he had gained a couple hundred thousand more followers before Galidraan. so i'll make the nearly-arbitrary number that Force sensitive Mandos are 1 in 1,000,000, across the entire sector. by some calculations, in the whole galaxy at around the time of the Clone Wars the number of Force sensitives is 1 in 5,000,000 but these calculations do not generally include societies and species with a near or 100% chance of Force sensitivity, because we simply don't have the data for it. does this all make Mandos slightly more likely to be Force sensitive than others, by my own numbers? sorta. which i'm making an issue of underreporting, based on Mandalore not being a part of the Republic, and also contention with the Jedi and Sith; they don't consider those Manda-touched to be Force sensitive, and with the way I've built this, they aren't exactly wrong.

for the purposes of this story, there are maybe eight Manda-touched Mando'ade in the Mandalore system at this time, and all but one are goran'e. that single non-armorer is part of the Old Guard. I have the roster for the Old Guard decided, so I'm debating whether the Manda-touched one is Cort Davin (a journeyman protector), or one of the women. Instinct wants Vhonte Tervho, but I have plans for her to be related to the goran Obi-Wan got his armour done by, who I wanted to be one of the seven Force sensitive armorers, soooo. lmao how fucked would it be if Isabet Reau is the Force sensitive one? I like the angst of that, since I definitely do not plan on redeeming her, but I kind of want the only Old Guard that can sense Obi-Wan is Chosen by the Ka'ra to be really quiet and accepting of it, while everyone else is arguing. hmmm I have an unnamed Wren as part of the Guard, that I haven't fleshed anything out for yet; perhaps them?

okay I think I've solidified what it makes a Mandalorian, at least for the function of this fic. it is tied to the Resol'nare, and following it, which does allow those who had Chosen Tor Vizsla as their Mand'alor to technically still be following the Resol'nare, and are therefore not dar'manda. at least not for that. but part of the reason the Resol'nare is even able to determine who has a Mandalorian soul, is because they believe it does. Those alive and those dead influence the functionality and reality of the Manda, which also allows for those pre-Resol'nare to still exist in the Manda. What causes someone to become dar'manda, if they are technically following the Resol'nare?

maybe it's reductive, or over-simplified, or maybe even too broad, but it makes sense to me and allows for many many different types of people to still fail, and this is obviously not the only way to become dar'manda, but one thing that will always strip someone of their Mando soul? treatment of children. caring for children. not harming children. this allows many of Death Watch to still maintain their Mando souls, but still be fucked up awful people in other ways. It allows even True Mandalorians to have lost their souls and not realised it because they otherwise adhered to the Resol'nare, because they'd chosen to interpret "defending oneself and family" and "raising your children as Mandalorians" to not include other peoeple's children. Or maybe they were abusive in the belief they were caring for their children. This would also make every single one of the Cuy'val Dar dar'manda, which I think is a fascinating concept.

to answer your question directly, no, one cannot look at someone and know they're dar'manda, even the Force/Manda sensitive ones. one will only know in death, whether or not they have a place in the Manda.

NOW what does this mean for New Mandalorians?? well, by technicality and the way I've set the Manda up, one can interpret the Resol'nare in ways that could align with New Mandos. Perhaps they interpret "armour" as more than specifically "beskar'gam", maybe they wear armourweave or other protective fabrics. Maybe they interpret "defending one's family" as putting down arms instead of raising them, in order to create a peaceful future for their children. I think there are plenty of New Mandos that technically tick off all the boxes, and believe in themselves and their fellows so much that the Manda is like "yeah sure why not, we'll make that count". I think some tenants are more easily... bent, like swearing to the duchy in place of the Mand'alor, but I think an easy one New Mandos miss, is "speak Mando'a." I think many New Mandos were all too quick to switch to Basic for everything except religious and spiritual ceremonies, and I think those already in the Manda would find that very hard to forgive. I actually get into this a little in Dha Kar'ta very soon, but for this fic, i'll have Satine not outright outlawing Mando'a, but it is socially heavily discouraged. you're not allowed to speak it in the palace unless in aforementioned ceremonies, you cannot fill out paperwork in anything but Basic, you're not allowed to use Mando'a titles (including Mand'alor), you're not allowed to teach it to your children. no outright like. punishments for speaking it in public, but if your kids are caught, there are repercussions, including investigation into how else you're raising your kids, and if you're found to be doing anything else, they can take your kids from you. not every New Mando agrees with this, of course, and go about adhering to the Resol'nare as best they can in secret, but so many do give up the language by convincing themselves it's not as important as the other tenants and, well, the duchy hasn't steered them all wrong yet, has it?

okay so on the subject of what the outside galaxy is seeing. I like the headcanon/trope/idea of like. the one thing all factions of Mandalorians agreeing on is fuck everyone else. oh, the New Mandos will emulate the Core and the Republic, but they aren't the Republic nor want to be, and this animosity extends to keeping as many internal Mandlorian issues just that: internal. no faction can keep news from leaving the system or the sector, obviously, but there also isn't a lot of interest in Mandalorian news? "oh look all the Mandos are fighting again", except that's been the standard for like. actual thousands of years. I like when fic have people outside the sector not evening knowing there are different factions, so I'll be doing that here, too, and I like the idea of non-Republic sectors having their own holonets, separate from the Republic one. so like, if Obi-Wan happens to go a little viral during his mad dash to Keldabe, that would be on the Mandalorian holonet, not the Republic one, so even if Obi-Wan was visibly still a Jedi (and he wasn't), actual news of him wouldn't reach the Mid and Inner Rims until like. possible years after it happens.

could this maybe be expedited by Sith machinations? absolutely, though I'm not sure I want to go that route, since I don't think the Sith are overmuch interested in Mandalore at this point, at least not in any hands-on capacity. I'm unclear on whether them funding Death Watch is fanon or not, but it is a headcanon I subscribe to, and I think they'd have stopped funding DW after Galidraan, to cause worse infighting and prevent DW from gaining enough power to actually restart their imperial conquering days. Palpatine has been senator for about ten years by this point, but has very little political power overall, and Demask would be looking basically anywhere but Mandalore at this point in time, both of them having written it off until they actively need something from the sector. if anyone had clocked Obi-Wan as a Jedi, this all would have gone very differently, news would have spread much further and quicker and I think undoubtedly would have reached Palpatine, but since I have Obi-Wan just... cutting ties to anything Jedi, news of him remains in-sector. is this perhaps unrealistic? maybe, but I kind of want to focus on Mandalore and not worry about galactic-wide politics for once, lmao, actually very much like Obi-Wan is doing. however, he will clock a lack of Sith interference and thinks That's Very Weird.

haven't decided how he finds Palpatine out yet, but I think it'll have to do with his Manda senses being different than his Force ones, maybe the Ka'ra even gives him a few tips or gifts to sense Sith since they've allied and fought with them so much in the past. regardless, that'll be after he's become Mand'alor and united the clans.

now to actual plot progression! Obi-Wan meets up with the Old Guard, they don't know what to make of him other than "he's kriffing weird. and young. and creepy. and probably Manda-touched." whatever other verd is Manda-touched will see him blessed by the Ka'ra, which causes them to look inwards more closely and realise they trust Obi-Wan inexplicably, which means they're blessed by the Manda and the Will of the People, too. they wonder if Obi-Wan has noticed, if any of the other Old Guard have noticed. they are one of a few that notice Obi-Wan sneaking back out while everyone is arguing.

Vhonte Tervho is another. She's at this lil summit to represent clan Tervho, tho isn't the clan head, because her ba'vodu, a Manda-touched goran, had sensed she needed to be at the summit. said ba'vodu is of course the armorer who reforged Obi-Wan's armour (need to find a name for them hmm), who had told their clan they were to cease fighting until their new Mand'alor called on them. Vhonte sees Obi-Wan, realises at the same time as everyone that he's the Kih'Manda, the Mand'ika that the entire system had been gossiping about for weeks, and she thinks of what her ba'vodu said. she looks inwards, like they had taught her to, and finds, yes, she trusts Obi-Wan, just like she used to trust Jango. And, well, her Mand'alor is obviously leaving to go do something, and she isn't going to let him go it alone.

the Manda-touched verd doesn't go with them, wanting to see what comes of this, but they already know Obi-wan is Ka'ra Chosen. they will come when he calls.

#prequel trilogy #time travel au #obi wan kenobi #star wars #crow i love the way you breakdown everyone's characters and expand on what i'm putting down #like in the two blocks of tags that i've italicised #they make me feel all warm and fuzzy that you're getting so much out of what i'm doing and also they're just a DELIGHT to read #and have informed later characterisations and changed how i've thought about stuff i've already written #mandalorans #world building #vhonte tervho #will be pulling many characters from repcom obv #but fuck karen traviss as both a person and an author so there's that heads up #also!! anyone can ask questions or comment or reply #would love to hear y'all's thoughts and ideas and i LOVE answering #this au would not exist without crow asking me all these questions. just straight up wouldn't exist #malcontent crow #still trying to figure out if i can work in luminara in a way that doesn't feel shoe-horned #several people have voted QuinObi which i am very much not against #it would be SO easy to have Quinlan just. book it to Mandalore #at first to convince Obi-Wan to COME BACK but then he sees what Obi is actually doing and realises he can't do that to Obi or to Mandalore #does Quinlan... STAY on Mandalore with him?? 👀 👀 does he accept he needs to let Obi-Wan go?#does he stay as a Jedi Shadow and help out or does he leave the Order too??#many questions many thoughts

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avocado-writing · 8 months

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Hi bestie. I would love some angst with Astarion and Tav(reader) where a shape changer turns into one of them to hurt the other and the aftermath of the hurt and the victim convinced it was real until they talk it through and make up? Sorry if that didnt really make sense

notes: none! just some angst set start of act 3. rating: T

pairing: Astarion x reader

You have a horrid feeling in the pit of your stomach as Astarion appears before you. Withers senses something in the air, something loaded, and decides to turn and count his coin; he doesn’t want to interrupt what’s about to come.

Or more likely he doesn’t want to get caught in the crossfire.

The way Astarion is staring at you… gods. You feel a tight grip in your chest as a thousand emotions flit over his face. Hurt. Betrayal. Anger. Confusion. Before you can open your mouth he shoves past you, making a beeline for his tent.

“Astarion, wait - !”

He doesn’t, so you have to jog a little to keep up. Go to put a hand on his arm, think better of it. Don’t want to upset him any further with unwanted physical touch.

“Please - ”

“Oh, now you want to talk? Suddenly changed your mind after treating me like a bloody pincushion? I thought you were…” he trails off for a second, before finishing with, “I’ve got nothing to say to you,” he sneers, eyes solidly focussed in front of him, acting as if you weren’t even there.

That stings. But of course he’s angry, he doesn’t know the whole story. You battle through the hurt and manage to stand in front of him, blocking his path and finally getting him to meet your gaze.

“It wasn’t me! It was a gods-damned Doppelganger!”

He stops. Good. That got his attention.

Your mind flits back to the other night, the horrid scene as your adventuring party for the day made it back to camp, when you figured all your companions were asleep - a horrid, faux-copy of you with a deadly blade sunk deep into your vampire’s neck. Given the secluded nature of the spot, the “two of you” may have been in the middle of a private moment. He was ripped open from several stab wounds, pale body bathed in garnet blood, and after a loud fight woke the rest of the camp…

Well. After that everyone worked on bringing him back as quickly as possible, even though you were shaking from shock and sobs.

Astarion searches your face. He’s looking for a tell. He’s looking for the slightest indication that you actually were the one tearing him to pieces. You want to tell him how stupid that is. Of course you’d never hurt him, change your mind and try to dispose of him in the worst way you could (and if you did, why bring him back?) You’d hoped he’d trusted you more than that. But, being in Baldur’s Gate, with Cazador so close… well, it’s no wonder that nerves are frayed. Logic has gone out the window until he can be forced to hear it.

“It must have been Orin. You know how she’s been hounding us. She probably saw how close we were, and decided to… well, try to hit us where it would hurt. And I hate it. I hate that she used my body to trick you like that.”

Ah. That he understands. You can see Astarion turn this over in his mind, and with a small exhale he releases all the tension in his body. The obvious relief is quickly plastered over with a light laugh and the affectation of his usual laissez-faire attitude.

“Oh. Well. Don’t I look like quite the fool, hmm? You know what they say about assumptions. They make an ass of you and… well, I’d say me, but usually that’s usually a rather difficult accomplishment.”

He’s trying to hide how genuinely hurt he was. The idea that you could turn on him broke him a little, you think. That you’d use him and discard him so casually… it breaks your heart. Carefully you reach out to take his hand. You feel him flinch just a tiny bit but he accepts the gesture.

“I’m so sorry she got to you. I won’t let it happen again. I’d never, ever hurt you, Astarion. You know that I…”

The end of that sentence hangs between you, heavy, pregnant. But thankfully, rather than chasing the end of it, Astarion pulls you to him. His arms wrap around you and you feel the softness in his embrace.

“I know. I know you do.”

And you hold him. Knowing you’d move the cosmos to keep him safe.

#astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion x tav #my writing #Request

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petrichorium · 1 year

Text

satoru tries to keep it from you, as if your reach in the court isn’t threaded more firmly even than his own. as if the royal guards do not prefer your company to his, as if you’re such a fool you wouldn’t notice how he’s come to bed long after you’ve gone to sleep every day for the past week—he tells you it’s dull financial advising, you know it’s because he’s been busy torturing a man. an assassin, you’ve been told; a poisoner who hadn’t even made it out of the kitchen before being caught.

you also know he’s back earlier tonight because he’s executed another man—the one who hired the hit, one of his own cousins. ordinarily such a thing would be dealt with swiftly, except that the food found dosed had been not your husband’s but yours, and your king does not take kindly to threats against you. the maids had told you all of that days ago; it’s the guards that tell you he assembled the court without you, hours past sunset, and made a display of cutting down his own kin for your sake. ruthless, they tell you, savage, lest there be any doubt in his affections for you.

he comes back to your shared bedchamber without a drop of crimson on his clothes, but the satisfied air about him and the heavy drum of bloodlust you can see in his eye tell you that your information is correct. still, you greet him casually and don’t bring up your discontent as he removes his blindfold and makes himself comfortable on the bed, unabashedly peering at you while you sit at your vanity pretending to ready yourself for sleep. he’s silent with his staring, and you are silent as well, busy ruminating on how you’re feeling until you come to the conclusion that the only action of his which has sparked your ire is that he has chosen not to share them with you—no, you’re not bothered by his barbaric display, but rather that he did it without informing you. with your opinion found, you are ready to initiate the conversation.

“so?” you begin casually, gaze flitting up to meet his eye through the mirror. “are the conspirators dead, then?”

at first he gives no response, but when you turn in your seat to face him he rises to stand and strides over to you. lacing his fingers with yours, he pulls you to your feet—holds you close, leans down to press his forehead to yours.

“can’t get anything past you, hm? not with your brain.”

“well, are they?”

“yes. of course. they’ve hardly earned the title of conspirators frankly, not with that pitiful display.”

“mm.” you purse your lips and pull away, turning your back on him. “lovely to know that you’d accept my death if it were at the hands of a competent man.”

he follows you swiftly, eases his arms around your waist and rests his chin in the crook of your neck. his tone is easy, light—amused, perhaps. “i don’t believe i said anything of the sort.”

“i do not find this amusing, my king.” despite your tone, you reach up to thread your fingers through his hair, drawing a contented noise from him which he buries into your nape. “i’m displeased by you.”

“are you, now?” his lips quirk against your skin, and he shifts, his whole body moving so that he can trace kisses along your jaw. “i’ll simply have to please you, my queen.”

“satoru.” the name makes him pause. you tighten your hold on his hair, pull him to rest against your shoulder again in an attempt to halt him. “you killed your kin for me and attempted to hide it. did you truly think i wouldn’t find out?”

“not this quickly,” he grumbles, petulant, entirely unsuitable for a king who had just slit the throat of his own cousin before an audience.

“people chatter, especially when you require the attendance of the entire court. but since we are being honest, i knew of the whole ordeal the moment it happened—i do believe i was made aware of the poisoning before you were, my husband. so tell me, why did you torture a man for a week and choose not to inform your wife? why did you so courteously invite my companions to witness this execution but neglect to extend that invitation to me?”

he doesn’t speak for a moment. his breath comes hot against your neck, not quite a sigh but certainly a deep breath—then he turns his face into your hand, leaves a fleeting kiss against your palm, and lifts his head.

“they need to learn, hm? how would they have learned if i’d let this go?” his eyes are manic, the closest you’ve seen to what they’d been that night—yet the moment they meet yours they soften, reverence seeping in. he stands to his full height behind you, hand coming beneath your chin to tilt your face upward so that he can loom over you and press a kiss to your brow; he’s gentle with you, but the steel at the core of his tone is more than palpable. “i won’t show mercy, certainly not when it comes to those who wish to harm you. you cannot ask me to be forgiving with such things.”

you realize with those words that he believes you’re balking at the brutality, that he thinks you timid and soft. he thinks you don’t know what he does to maintain his power, as if you’re not intimately aware of the monster he’s had to become—as if you hadn’t come face-to-face with it, with his blade.

you think you probably shouldn’t be as endeared as you are. you certainly shouldn’t turn around, wrap your arms around his neck, and tug him down into a real kiss to reward his actions, yet you still do. it’s addicting how quickly he melts to your affections; you know how intimidating his size must be to so many but it’s impossible for you to fear it when he’d drop to his knees for you at a single word.

when you pull away he doesn’t let go—he whines at you, a wordless protest, and buries his head into your shoulder to nip at your skin.

“i’m not angry with you for refusing mercy,” you mutter to him, “i’m angry with you for lying to me. i am your queen, your partner. you will not do this again, you will tell me the next time you intend to cut down a man in my name.”

he pulls back and opens his mouth, eyes wide, but you cut him off by lunging upward to peck at the corner of his lips.

“it’s in your best interest to comply, husband. you cannot hide things from me.”

“i know, wife.” his sigh is love-struck. “i’m a fool to have tried.”

usurper!gojo masterlist

#gojo x reader #gojo x y/n #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x you #jjk x reader #jjk x y/n #jjk x you #mine.🌧#char.🌧 gojo #usurper!gojo

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bitethedevil · 5 months

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Living with The Devil You Know (Raphael x Tav): Chapter 1

Chapter: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen

Read this fic on AO3 (Link)

Fic Summary: Tav broke their agreement by handing the Crown of Karsus to Mystra instead of Raphael. Not only that, but she also robbed his house and killed his incubus. Raphael is patient and he is determined to get his revenge.

…Tav isn't too bothered. She will figure something out eventually. Until then she just has to find a way to live peacefully with a devil.

Chapter Summary: Tav gets kidnapped and is surprisingly calm about her new predicament. She spends her first night in the devil’s bed. Raphael is a pain in the ass to share a bed with.

(AN: A pretty self-indulgent fic that I am working on. It is a lot more light-hearted than what I have previously written. The plot also gives me an opportunity to explore a more private and less performative Raphael. There will be more chapters.)

Warning: NSFW

It was a couple of weeks after the defeat of the elderbrain. Tav had been out drinking with a few of her companions. She had gotten very drunk and at some point during the evening she had gotten lost from the rest.

A handsome young tiefling man had approached her and bought her drinks. He had red skin, yellow glowing eyes, and a disarming smile.

They talked for a couple of hours. He claimed to be a wizard like her. She should have known something was up when he seemed to be very unknowledgeable about even simple spells, but what could she say? The man was charming, and the alcohol made it hard for her to care about him potentially lying just to get her into bed.

When they got to his place, she was half-way out of her clothes when something hit her head.

Everything went black.

When she woke up, she heard the faint sound of something...jingling? She felt a sharp poke to her ribs. She grumbled quietly, still not entirely awake. She received another poke to her ribs. She whined and mumbled in response. Then there was a full force kick that squeezed the air out of her and made her turn to her side.

She held onto the boot that had kicked her and opened her eyes. Black boots that went into a tip at the toes. She knew where she had seen those silly jingly boots before. She looked up. Familiar orange eyes looked down on her. He was in his cambion form.

“Oh shit,” she mumbled.

“Indeed,” Raphael said in a dangerously low tone.

Tav had signed his contract back then and used the Orphic Hammer to free Orpheus. She did intend to give the Crown of Karsus to Raphael, but her companions made her change her mind. The Crown of Karsus ended up in Mystra’s hands instead, in order to cure Gale of his orb.

“Thank you for bringing her here, Cassius,” Raphael said to someone else while his eyes were still locked on her. “Now leave us.”

Tav looked behind Raphael to see the young tiefling man that she had gone home with. So, he was a warlock… It suddenly made all the sense in the world why he did not know his ass from his elbow when it came to wizardry. The warlock smiled at her as he left them. Tav’s eyes narrowed at him.

“Ugh…” she groaned and looked up at Raphael. “He’s one of yours? You couldn’t have sent Korrilla or something?”

“You know Korrilla’s face, little mouse,” Raphael sighed. “You may not be the brightest person I have ever crossed, but I don’t expect you to be so dull that you would walk into my trap willingly…Then again, nothing would surprise me with you.”

Trap? Why couldn’t he just whisk her away like he did that first time they met if he wanted her there? Tav’s brow furrowed as she tried to understand. She lifted her head to look down her body. She wasn’t wearing a shirt. That was going to have to be a concern for a later time, because she noticed that she was wearing something around her wrists. They were tight metal cuffs with infernal letters inscribed in them.

Her brain was not her friend between the high levels of alcohol still in her blood and the fact that she had been hit on her head with a blunt object. She held the cuffs up to her face and studied them with all the concentration she could muster. She had seen something like these cuffs before…

“Help me out here…” she said and looked up at Raphael.

“They are constructs like those that held Prince Orpheus,” Raphael explained. “I’m aware that your mental capabilities leave something to be desired at the moment, so I will gladly explain it to you in simple terms: You won’t leave this house with those on, and you won’t get them off without the Orphic Hammer.”

“Is that what all this is about?” she sighed. “You could have just asked for it back. The damned thing has just been collecting dust at my house anyway.”

“No, Tav,” Raphael said in a darker tone. “This is about punishment. We had a deal, and you broke it. You snooped through my house, took things that did not belong to you, killed my incubus…I allowed it because I thought you still had the sense to go through with what we agreed upon.”

She winced. It had been a stupid decision to go to his house and one that did not even pay off. When Gale had been offered Mystra’s help, they went to the House of Hope to gauge their options. Everything seemed so tightly secured and locked down that they decided not to risk it in the end.

“Listen, I’m sorry about Haarlep…” she said.

“Don’t be,” Raphael replied smoothly. “I have half a mind to make you his replacement until your dear little friends bring me my hammer back…Then, I will make you watch as your friends die a cruel and slow death. After, I will take what is now rightfully mine: your soul.”

Well…fuck.

This wasn’t good. Her friends would without a doubt come to her rescue if Raphael told them that she was held captive in his home. She needed to keep them away and bide her time until she could figure out a solution.

“Say that they don’t come,” She said. “What then?”

“They will,” Raphael said. “You will be treated well until then since I need you alive and in one piece to lure them here. You will be granted free roam of the house, three meals a day, and a soft bed to sleep in. Consider yourself prized livestock that gets pampered in its final days before being sent to slaughter. Not that you deserve it…”

She took a deep breath. She had to somehow contact her friends and ask them to stay away. Then, she would have to find a way out of those damned cuffs so she could return home. How in the Hells she would manage to do that without the Orphic Hammer, she did not know, but it was not an option to gamble with her friends’ lives in order to bring it to her.

Tav had always found a way to be calm and relaxed, even in the worst of situations. She already had half a plan in her mind. All she needed was a moment of privacy to use a sending spell to alert her friends.

Raphael extended a hand to her, to help her up and off the floor. She took it and was pulled to her feet. She winced and held a hand to her head once the blood rushed to her injury from the blunt object hitting her.

“Come,” Raphael said and led her through the house.

They stepped through the barrier to the boudoir.

“I trust that you have already familiarized yourself with this room during your burglary, so I believe we can skip the tour,” Raphael said with no short amount of bitterness and then gestured to a wardrobe. “You will find clothes and essentials in there.”

Raphael turned around to face her. He looked her up and down. His gaze lingered at her bra and cleavage for just a second too long. Tav crossed her arms to cover herself.

“Bathe, rest, make yourself at home,” Raphael said with a smug smile.

Tav looked around the room and then at Raphael.

“Where will I sleep?” she asked.

Raphael’s smile widened and he gestured to his bed. Tav’s brow furrowed as her eyes went from him to the bed.

“Are you serious?” she asked.

“Deadly,” Raphael said calmly. “You killed my bed warmer. I believe it’s only fair that you take their place…Of course, I would never force you to do anything. If this little arrangement doesn’t suit you, I can have a cell in the dungeons cleared out for you. Its last visitor has been decomposing in there for a while now…”

“Alright, alright,” Tav said in defeat. “Fine. I get it…I won’t complain.”

“I thought not,” Raphael said smoothly. “I have business to attend to before retiring. Until then, Korrilla will be watching you.”

Tav sighed. She had hoped for a moment of alone time, but Raphael was not stupid. He was probably fully counting on her trying something, so he made sure to keep a close eye on her.

Korrilla entered the boudoir shortly after.

“Evening, boss,” Korrilla said with a smile, greeting Raphael before turning to Tav. “Tav.”

Tav smiled and waved casually at her. She had never minded Korrilla. After all, Tav did not know the circumstances of her pact, and she did not feel like judging her solely because her boss was a pain in the ass.

“Remember,” Raphael said addressing Korrilla. “Do not let her out of your sight.”

Korrilla nodded and Raphael gave Tav one last glance before leaving the boudoir.

Tav and Korrilla stood in silence for a moment, looking at each other. Tav was trying to figure out how she could divert Korrilla’s attention away from her.

“I think I’m going to take a bath,” Tav said casually and moved towards the restoration pool.

“Good idea,” Korrilla said, already following her. “I have to say, you look a mess. Cassius really did a number on you, didn’t he?”

“Yes. Surely, he could have used a spell to knock me out instead. Not too bright, is he?” Tav said and started slowly taking off her clothes, waiting for Korrilla to give her a moment of privacy. “He’s new, I presume?”

Korrilla seated herself on the other side of the pool, so she had a clear view of Tav.

“Correct,” Korrilla answered.

“'Correct' to which statement?” Tav asked with chuckle. “That he is not too bright, or that he is new?”

“He is new,” Korrilla said with a smile that signaled to Tav that she did not disagree with the other statement either.

Tav pulled off her pants, leaving her in her underwear. Korrilla was still watching her.

“Are you seriously going to keep staring at me while I bathe?” Tav asked.

“Oh, don’t be shy,” Korrilla said and gestured for her to continue taking off her clothes. “I promise you that no matter what, I have seen far worse within this room.”

Tav sighed quietly. She reluctantly took off the rest of her clothes and slipped into the warm water of the pool. She felt relief as the water instantly healed her head-injury and took the edge off her hangover. Tav leaned her head back on the pool’s edge and closed her eyes for a moment.

After a long bath, Tav dried herself off and wrapped herself in a towel. She walked to the wardrobe with Korrilla at her heels. She opened it and sifted through the clothes.

There was a bit of everything: dresses, shirts, pants…Tav looked at some of the underwear. She pulled out a strappy leather bra with matching panties and showed them to Korrilla.

“Is he serious?” Tav asked with a deadpan expression.

“Leftovers from Haarlep, if I should guess,” Korrilla said.

Made sense. Tav looked after any type of nightclothes. Most of it was very revealing, but she managed to find a long silk night-gown. It was still suggestive, but it was her best option out of the bunch. The neckline was quite revealing, but at least it covered more of her body than the other negligees she found.

“This will have to do,” Tav sighed and put it on.

Tav crawled into bed after. It might have been the most comfortable bed she had ever laid in. The mattress was neither too soft nor too firm, and the sheets were silk. She felt sleepy moments after she had laid down. Korrilla was watching her from a chair.

“You’re not sleepy?” Tav asked and looked at her. Was there even a small chance that Korrilla would fall asleep so that Tav had the chance to send message to her friends, she would fight her sleepiness and stay awake.

“I’m not going to cuddle with you, if that is what you are asking,” Korrilla answered, looking wide awake. “I don’t sleep on the job.”

“Oh, you flirt. Not what I meant. I was just asking,” Tav mumbled with a sigh. Her sleepiness won against her determination. She gave up on her hope to reach her friends that night and decided to try the day after as she drifted to sleep.

She stirred from her sleep when she heard Korrilla leave, and Raphael enter. She yawned quietly. She made sure her night-gown was adjusted so it covered as much as possible before closing her eyes again. She felt a dip in the mattress as Raphael laid down behind her.

She gave a surprised yelp as Raphael grabbed around her waist and pulled her closer to him. Her back was up against his chest, his arm held around her tightly, and he settled his chin on the top of her head. He placed his leg over hers, effectively making sure that she could not move during the night.

This was without a doubt the closest she had ever been to Raphael. His skin was unnaturally warm, like that of a person with a high fever. She knew that protesting would not get her anywhere, because there most likely was a reason as to why he held her like that: to make sure that she would not try anything during the night.

She tried making herself comfortable despite the restrictions to her movements. Raphael’s grip tightened slightly in response.

“Lie still,” he grumbled.

Tav felt the deep rumble of his voice through his chest, and she would have been lying if she said that it did not do things to her.

“You’re a really uncomfortable big spoon, do you know that?” she complained and squirmed again. “I’m just trying to make myself comfortable.”

She felt something through the fabric of her nightgown as she adjusted her position in his arms. It made her freeze for a moment.

“Are you naked?” she asked in disbelief.

“Mm,” he affirmed tiredly. “Sleep, mouse.”

“I can’t persuade you to put on some clothes?”

“You are very demanding for a woman in your position,” Raphael said. “No. I will sleep in my own bed as I please.”

She sighed and adjusted herself one last time before closing her eyes.

Sleeping in the arms of a devil was pure hell for a multitude of reasons. Tav had never sweated so much in her life.

With difficulty, Tav rolled over to her other side since her back was literally soaked with sweat. Raphael’s grip was so tight around her that she was almost forced to lean her head against his chest as she faced him. She refused to do so and leaned her head back and away from him. The awkward position made her snore softly in her sleep. She was rudely woken during the night by his tail hitting her thigh, as a hint for her to stop snoring.

She was rudely woken yet again, when he suddenly snaked his arm under her to grab her and move her with him like a ragdoll as he rolled over to his other side.

In the early morning, Tav opened her eyes as she felt something press up against her behind. She could hear on his breathing that he was still at least somewhat asleep.

He was rock-hard and his, what felt like, impressive size was resting against her ass.

He rolled his hips against her and groaned softly.

The arm that had been holding her tightly, moved down to her hip to push her back against him. Another soft groan.

Tav’s eyes widened, and she was suddenly very awake.

She was careful not to move, but she did feel a tinge of growing arousal despite herself.

He pushed her back against him once again and groaned slightly louder. It was followed by a sharp inhale and a stir, as he woke up entirely.

A few moments later he got up and off the bed.

Tav squeezed her eyes shut. They had both knew what just happened. Should she say something? Should she pretend that she was asleep the entire time? Pretend she was dead? The last option was honestly tempting but she decided to try her luck with option two.

She listened to his movements. After a short while, it got quiet. She waited a few moments to be sure that he had left, before opening her eyes.

This could be her opportunity to reach her friends.

She sat up quickly and looked around the boudoir. Her eyes fell on the young tiefling warlock who must have entered without her hearing a thing. He was sitting in the chair that Korrilla had sat in the day before.

“Morning,” Cassius said with a smile.

Tav groaned in frustration and slid back into bed.

#raphael the cambion #raphael bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x tav #bg3

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viktorscane · 1 month

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🐦‍⬛👑

‘in the bedroom after the war’

when technoblade left the dream smp. phil adjusted relatively quickly. after all, the two had spent plenty of time away from each other in the past and he knew it was only a matter of time before they would see each other again.

one thing he would never quite get used to though, was the quiet. while techno was never a super talkative person the creaking of the wooden floorboards, the mumbling to himself, the front door opening and closing often as the piglin hybrid went about his daily chores, the dogs barking, the scribbling of quill on parchment. all sounds that were inherently technoblade were suddenly gone.

the first few days were hard, a grief settling over phil’s heart as he tried to navigate the silence and understand why his closest companion left so suddenly. on the fourth day, though he awoke to the usual caw-ing of his crows outside. he rolls over, the sun streaming in through the window bathing the room in a beautiful pink and golden glow. it was peaceful and quiet as his new life typically was.

he stirs more and finally pushes himself up out of the large, empty bed. pushing himself down the stairs to the still smoldering fire. he throws a few logs on top, adding water into the kettle perched atop it. reminding himself to add only enough for himself, as he had been making enough to serve two the last few days.

he rubs his eyes sleepily, giving a crow a light scratch on the head as he passes it. it caws shrilly, staring pointedly at the seed bag in the corner of the kitchen. “i know, i know.” he mutters. “let me make my tea first, mate.”

he opens a cabinet to grab a mug from the shelf, he notices that most of the clean mugs were on the highest shelf. most of them being varying shades of red and pink, belonging to techno. phil sighs and pushes himself onto his tiptoes and reaching almost blindly to get one. the shelf buckles a bit under the weight and the closest mug tips and down it goes.

it hits the ground with a loud thud, phil swears and rubs his temple with annoyance.

dropza LOL dropza dropza OLD AGE LOL fallza E

he pauses, quiet voices echoing around his brain. he takes a step backwards looking around the room to find the source of the voices. only being met with more quiet chants of ‘PHIL!’

it took a moment for his tired mind to process that these voices existed in his mind, but were very much real. he wracks his brain for some sort of explanation, he hadn’t hit his head recently right? was the events of the last few weeks finally taking a toll on his psyche?

he listens to the chants for a second longer, the mumbling blended together mostly but some things stuck out to him. one phrase in particular was very very familiar.

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD!

it was a phrase that techno mumbled to himself often and had mentioned that the voices in his head spoke that phrase like a mantra. from his understanding, when technoblade had ascended to godhood the voices were a side effect. they mostly rambled about whatever he was doing in the moment but they also helped him during combat to give him information about the other party. they were bloodthirsty and violent but techno always regarded them as a part of him.

phil bends down and picks up the mug, it remarkably hadn’t broken in the fall. he turns it over in his hands brushing the dust off of it. he runs his fingers over the crown that had been carved into the front of the clay. he remembered techno sitting down with his dagger on the steps of their home and working at the clay. it was clumsily made and the crown was crooked, lines shaky and uneven. but it was so inherently techno that it made phil smile fondly.

the voices rumbled on about what felt like nonesense in the background as phil sets it down on the counter, bracing himself against it.

he could only take this as a sign from his long time companion, friend and ally. sending his greatest assets to phil as if to tell him that he’s okay. his heart ached but he persevered, tipping the boiling water into the mug and adding the tea bag in. he pushes open the curtains, staring out the window towards the brilliant pink and gold that was slowly fading away from the sky as the daylight began to filter in.

“hello there, old friend.” he says softly.

#dsmp #c!techno #c!philza #technoblade #philza #emerald duo #techza #mcyt #blood for the blood god #chat aka the voices #little blurb about an idea i had recently about phil/tommy inheriting technos voices/chat after he leaves the server #it’s supposed to be a little nod to where technos chat ended up after his passing #writing drabble #i’ll probably expand on this later #please listen to ‘in the bedroom after the war’ by stars!!#it’s very dsmp-coded #uno writes

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mcuamerica · 4 months

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The Shadowsinger: Twenty

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. Canon-level violence (blood, gore, fighting, killing, death), mentions of SA, ACOTAR series spoilers. If I forgot anything, please let me know!

Pairing: Azriel x Fem!Reader

Summary: You compete in the Blood Rite.

Disclaimer: I do not own SJM’s characters or plot lines, only the ones I create for the purpose of this story. This is a work of fiction. I do not give permission to repost my work on any other platform or medium. Please be respectful.

My graphics are my own. If you wish to use them, please give credit!

Series Masterlist

Fifteen - Sixteen - Seventeen - Eighteen - Nineteen

Day 1

Your eyes were heavy as you opened them, feeling the cold snow covered ground beneath you. You should have been freaking out, should have been getting up to run already. But the only thing that was running through your mind was, “Mate, he’s your mate. Mate… Azriel’s your mate.”

Out of all the times, why was now the time it decided to snap? Did the Mother know you were going to die here and wanted to play a cruel trick on you? If that was the case, you hope it didn’t snap for him like it had for you. Did you see a flash of gold in his eyes before you passed out or was that the gloriella you breathed in?

You couldn’t think about that right now. Your wings were bound, your head was heavy, your Siphon gone, and your shadows nowhere to be seen. You took in a deep breath, the cold air waking you up bit by bit. You rose your head and noticed a few others around you stirring. You had to get out of here. Now.

You scrambled to your feet as quick as you could, stumbling a little. No weapons were allowed in the Rite but these males were much much bigger than you. Even though you’ve been building up your strength, and learning how to easily overpower them, you knew it would only take you so far. Especially without your fae strength or senses.

You ran towards the tree line, needing to get out of sight if you could. You were glad that you had your cloak and fighting leathers on when you fell asleep last night. You weren’t sure how anyone could survive in anything else.

You ducked behind a tree, finding a low hanging branch and snapping it off as quickly as you could. You could use it as a weapon if you needed to. But your main priority was to survive this. If that meant hiding out in a cave for the week, you would do it.

You noticed more males rising and starting to fight each other. Some for clothes. Others because of revenge and old grudges. You steadied your breathing, slowly turning around to only come face to chest with a male that was near Cassian’s size.

“What do we have here? A little female trying to play warrior?” He teased. If he made any more noise you could easily be surrounded. You wished you had at least one ally here. But you were completely alone. You didn’t even know this male and came to the conclusion that he was probably from another camp. You cursed yourself for not visiting the other ones to see what you were up against.

But you stood your ground, holding onto the broken tree branch. While your main focus was on the towering male standing before you, you were also looking for ways to get out. Preferably without killing him. Azriel and Cassian both taught you how to knock out someone with hitting the right pressure points. But you were still slightly drugged. And this guy was huge.

“Not going to say anything?” He sneered, stepping forward. What was his plan? Tease you to death? He should’ve been swinging already. You perked your ears up, hearing a shift in the snow behind you. Just as the male behind you went to strike your head, you ducked, causing him to hit the male in front square in the jaw. You took that as your opportunity to run. The male who teased you didn’t seem too happy with his companion and started a brawl with him instead. You rolled your eyes. Males. Maybe you would make it out of this alive after all.

You made it far away from anyone else, choosing to go north since you knew that was the most difficult way to get to the mountain and not many males would choose to bother with it. But that also meant you had to find shelter in the deadlier part of the forest, so you quickly made your way to a stream, drinking as much water as you could and finding a sharp rock for you to hold on to. You would sharpen the tree branch into a spear tonight. You wouldn’t be getting much sleep this next week, so you knew you needed to keep yourself busy, dry, warm, and fed. It was about survival. Not being a hero. You repeated the two things you promised Azriel over and over again.

First, I will survive. Then, I’ll make my way to the mountain.

You added a third thing, for yourself.

I will see my mate again.

It quickly shortened to Survive. Mountain. Mate. Like a mantra in your mind as you trekked north. You kept hidden, either up in the trees or between rocks, when you heard others walking or fighting nearby. If you could avoid all of them for the whole week, you would survive.

Survive. Mountain. Mate.

Surprisingly, you didn’t run into another male that day. You killed two rabbits, made a very very small fire to cook them, and then found a cave to hunker down for the night.

That was the easiest day of the week.

Day 2

Somehow, you had managed to fall asleep in the cave. And by some blessing from the Mother, you were still alive and clothed when you woke up. You narrowed your eyes, getting up with the spear you sharpened last night. You grabbed some of the rabbit you cooked, ate it quickly, and made your way to the stream. You quickly drank some of the water, and then began your trek towards Ramiel once you climbed a tree to find it. You were placed in the south, as far as you could tell.

You set your pace, not too fast and not too slow. You kept your breathing even, your grip on your spear tight. You made two smaller ones that you tucked into your fighting leathers, hoping that would be enough if someone tried to come at you.

You could tell it was early morning, and a lot of the males seemed to forget that the creatures lurking around at night were not forgiving during the Rite. You picked up a makeshift canteen that one of the other warriors made or found, and slung it around your waist. You’d find water again soon.

Or at least you were planning to when you heard someone shout and fall from a tree right in front of you, landing just a few feet from you. You cursed to yourself, you should have stayed more hidden.

“Got some fancy weapons on you there.” The brunette sneered, stepping forward. He lunged to grab your spear and you knocked him back towards the next tree.

“And they’re mine. Find your own.” You growled, narrowing your eyes.

“It would be so nice to have a female for entertainment out here the next few days, don’t you think, boys?” Your ears betrayed you as you didn’t hear the others rustling in the trees, hopping down as well. Damn human-like senses. You decided then and there that the tradition of the Blood Rite was stupid. Why send so many decent warriors into the mountains just to get killed? Maybe your sentiment was because you realized you didn’t have much chance of taking down five Illyrians that had at least a few inches on you. And many pounds of muscle.

But you steadied yourself anyway, readying for the fight that was going to come any second now. The one behind you lunged, and you stepped out of the way, ducking as the one to your left tried to grab you. They ran into each other and gave you just enough time so you could hit the brunette with the tip of your spear, sending him backwards as his blood splayed. You counted your breaths, honing in on all of the training you’d done. You could do this.

You managed to knock all five of them to the ground, not without getting a few bruises yourself. “I’m no one’s entertainment.” You ground out to them before you sprinted north again. You were going to have to be a lot more careful. You probably should have killed them because if you ran into them again, they certainly would kill you.

You panted, coming to a stop near a stream. You filled up the canteen, drank almost the whole thing, and filled it up again before you began moving through the trees again. This time, you kept your eyes not only on the ground around you, but the trees above as well.

You walked for another hour or two, coming in contact with a few other males here and there, but most of them paid you no mind as they weren’t looking for a fight. You recognized one male, the one that was kissing Ragna in the shed. You were glad he didn't notice you as you hunched behind a tree. Still, you were afraid your luck was starting to run thin.

Just as night was about to fall, you couldn’t find a cave so you began scouting for a decent tree to climb and stay for the night. That’s when something hard hit your back and you whirled around, spear raised and ready for a fight. The sun would set soon and you would have to fight more than Illyrians if you were still down here. They had to know that.

It was the male from the first morning, chuckling to himself. “Haven’t gotten yourself killed yet?” He asked, walking towards you again. You might just kill him for his rambling mouth.

“Is this how you train to fight in your camp? With your mouth?” You asked, readying your stance.

“I bet your mouth could do some great things for me. But alas, I’m going to have to kill you first.” He said, leaping towards you. You stepped to the side, landing a blow with your spear to his leg. You remembered he had a companion earlier, but a quick glance around suggested he wasn’t with anyone. With a temper like his, he probably killed the male.

“You bitch.” He growled and landed a blow to your side. You held in your wince and stepped back before going to hit him in the head, but he caught your spear and twisted it. Your arm twisted uncomfortably with it, causing you to let out a yelp. You kicked towards his shin, pulling the spear back towards you when he stumbled back. Again, you tried hitting him, but this time he ducked and tackled you to the ground. You spear went flying just as his hands came up to your neck. You gasped as he started to strangle you. With one hand you tried forcing his grip from you, the other you grabbed one of your hidden wood stake and pulled it out, stabbing him right in the neck. His warm blood splayed into your face and his hands loosened. You pushed him off you, scrambling back as you saw him choke, eyes wide in terror as he grabbed the stake and pulled it out. You winced as that only made the bleeding worse. He fell on his side and gurgled the blood coming up his throat, choking on it.

You stood up, wiped off your pants, grabbed your spear, and began walking again. Now you had to find a new tree and get away from his dead body. You also had to get the blood off you. You found a stream, tearing part of your clock to soak it and then wash the blood from your face and leathers as best as you could. You didn't even think twice about using your cloak as a rag, knowing that once you were out of this, Rhys would probably buy you a new one. And then some. Just because.

And you knew it was only going to get harder from here.

Day 3

You didn’t sleep that night, needing to keep watch and fend away any creature that tried climbing the tree. But you were getting closer to Ramiel, and you were beginning to think maybe it was possible for you to make it to the mountain. You’d have to do it soon if you wanted to try and make it to the top. You heard that climb alone took two days. You wondered what would happen if you made it to the top before the Rite was truly over. And if they would even let you have the title that came with it.

In the morning, you found leftover food on some of the fallen males as you passed them, so you took it as your breakfast. Not getting sleep that night would severely bite you in the ass if you had to fight, but there was no way you could with the amount of screams from the Illyrians. And creatures trying to climb the tree to get you. Your wrist was soar from yesterday's fight and your neck had a splatter of bruises, but other than that, you were feeling good. If not tired.

Honestly, you were surprised you hadn’t run into more trouble. And just as you thought it, you came upon three males, taking clothes and boots off a fallen Illyrian. Freshly dead, so maybe they were the ones to do it. What a horrible way to die. To have your clothes stripped from your body and lay there for creatures of the night to devour. You shuddered at the thought. That would not be you.

You tried sneaking past them, but a branch covered in snow snapped under your feet and you cursed yourself. You fought off five Illyrians. You could fight off three.

They ran towards you, one had shaped a branch into a sword, the other two had spears like yours. What happened next was a frenzie of wood knocking against wood, blood splattering from arms and legs, and one of the males going down as you stabbed him in the gut. You let out a yell as the male with the wooden sword managed to strike you in the arm, a large gash appearing. That was going to be a bitch to keep clean and covered. You growled and whirled on him, but failed to see the other male come up behind to grab your arms, restraining you. “What do we have here? A female?” He asked, the sword’s tip at your neck. You wondered how he was able to sharpen a piece of wood like that in such little time. “I’ve heard that one of you were running around, pretending to be a warrior.”

“I think your friend would agree I’m more than pretending.” You jeered, his friend’s body lay behind you, blood pooling around your boots.

The tip of the sword pressed closer to your neck and the male restraining you spoke into your ear, “I’d be careful what you say.” He growled.

“We could kill you. Or keep you for ourselves to use the next few days.” He said and smirked. “Wouldn’t even have to feed you, you could just die by the end of it.”

“Are all you males so eager to rape a female out here? Honestly it’s the only threat you can come up with. If you’re going to kill me, do it.” You said. “Because you won’t lay another hand on me again.” You growled.

He chuckled, nodding to his friend. But you were ready for it, you stomped on the top of his foot, his grip loosening. You kicked him back, but before you could go after the male in front of you, a spear flew over your head. Dead into the male’s chest.

Another one flew into the neck of the male that had restrained you. Your eyes flew up as you saw a male jump from a tree.

You stumbled back a bit as you took in the site before you. Your little brother, Varyn.

Chapter 21

A/N: Another Cliffhanger for you all! Next part will be posted at 6PM CDT (Chicago)

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#acotar #azriel x reader #acotar fanfiction #acotar fic #acotar spoilers #the shadowsinger #azriel spymaster #azriel shadowsinger #katie writes

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versadies · 2 years

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a traitor. (scaramouche x gn!reader)

SALUTATIONS. a traitor

ADDRESSED. scaramouche (w/ gn!immortal!reader)

CONTENT. angst/no-comfort, spoilers to sumeru's archon quest act 3, spoilers to scaramouche's real name, spoilers to scaramouche’s backstory, major character death, mentions of violence, mentions of blood and injury, aether is the traveler

STAMP. in which scaramouche realizes there's more to just getting the power of a divinity.

PROMPTS. 10. "don't die on me... please." and 25. "i thought i could trust you!"

PENPALS. @scaraslover @saving-for-xiao @dawgimsohot @kazu-topia @chiruru@aqualesha @renamichii @mrkamisato @shenhesl0ver @serami00 @serenareiss @hiqhkey @emperatris-rinaka @bystander36 @irisxiel @ladycoleigh @034ven @dear-dairiess @owozi8 @hadesaedes @chiro-chiro-kun @hersscherofyatta @mariusvonhangme @yuzuricebun @nejibot @hoshikistarlette @solaaresque @crowbird @lordbugs @flowersforayato @headintheclouddd @estelwrld @giyusimpsassemble @irethepotatosblog @moonlightaangel @alice0blog @shotosbrainrot @sniffoat @chihawari @mxsomn @kuni-kuzushii @jiminscarmex @mitsukii14 @nejibot @ylimeprive @sachispet @loreleis-world @sn-owo @starforecasts @someonetookmynamelmao @ceylestia @lychme @ymikkos @reallysporadicarcade @melodyyamino

POST-SCRIPT. this is my first entry for my collab event, feel free to check it out if you're interested to participate!

LINKS. MAIN MASTERLIST \ TAGLIST \ FAREWELL LOVE COLLAB EVENT \ FAREWELL LOVE MASTERLIST

You’re the only one Scaramouche had left.

Unlike the people he thought he could trust, you never wavered from your promise to him. You never once showed signs of fear, death, or hesitation when it comes to him for all the years the two of you have spent together. He was grateful, had it not been for you and your comfort, he would probably have losted it and gone insane.

He was so close to his goal of becoming a god, to have a heart at last.

So why… Why does it have to be like this?

“...Huh?” His breath hitches, watching you, who was just standing in front of the traveler as a shield a second ago, fall to the ground after getting hit by one of his attacks.

You, who once promised him that you’d never leave his side and live to see his ascension, are on the ground bleeding to death with no signs of standing up from the cold ground.

“...( Name )...” He reaches out to you, but from how high he is, you’re so far away – so out of his reach, just like how the last of his sanity. “( Name ), what…”

Without hesitation, he jumps out and head towards you, his heart beating so fast and aching at the thought that he hurted you and possibly killed you–

“You idiot! I told you.. I told you to stay out of this battle!” He exclaims as he sits next to your body, instantly lifting your head on his lap. “Why did you do it? Why? You don’t even know the traveler as much as you know me! Why did you save him?!”

You slowly look at his purple eyes, fighting to keep your eyes open. “Please.. Don’t misunderstand this. This isn’t what you… This isn’t what we wanted.” Your voice was so fragile, so shaky and so weak.

“What do you mean? This is what we wanted!” He ignores how the traveler and his small companion are watching you two in confusion and in shock, not expecting the person who has helped them come this far to be associated with the one person who’s trying to kill both traveler and paimon.

“No… It’s what you wanted.” You whispered, exhaling. “What we wanted… is a life where people won’t hurt us again… Where we can be happy for the rest of our lives.”

Scaramouche couldn’t believe what he’s hearing. He immediately shakes his head in disagreement. “No, no, you’re wrong… We’re almost close.. We just needed to– Don’t close your eyes on me!”

You smile apologetically, trying not to show your pain from your injury. “I’m sorry, Kuni.. I wasn’t able to keep my word… I hope you won’t be so harsh with yourself. This isn’t your faul–”

“What are you saying…? You can’t possibly be dying now! What about our goal?! What about.. What about me? Are you leaving me alone like everyone else?!”

You suddenly grip his hand. “I’m really sorry it has to come to this, Kuni…” You start to close your eyes with a shaky breath. “I didn’t want this either...”

Scaramouche tries to ignore the way his eyes begin to blur and watery, his lips shaking as he watches you giving in to your injuries. “No…No, no, no! I thought I could trust you – you said we’ll spend the rest of our lives together until we die together! You can’t do this, don’t you dare leave me!”

You dare not to say a word. Be it because of the overwhelming pain or how exhausted you are, it didn’t matter.

You’re just saddened that your dear companion will not hear your unsaid confession of love.

“Don’t die on me… Please!”

“...”

All fell silent.

Aether watches Scaramouche carefully, but also looks at your now dead corpse with a pained look on his face. He may have known you for only a few days, but you were surely a dear friend to him, who helped him and guided him a way to save Sumeru despite not knowing him well.

The traveler is instantly on his guard when the purple-haired man stands up, holding your corpse bridal-style despite your weight with a blank expression on his face.

“...This is all your fault.” He said in a dark tone, staring down at the injury that took you away from him, from living with him for eternity.

Aether isn’t too sure if Scaramouche was talking to himself or to him.

#farewell-love #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x gn reader #genshin impact x gn reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x gn reader #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #kunikuzushi x reader #kunikuzushi x gn reader #scaramouche angst #genshin angst #genshin scenarios

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adrift-in-thyme · 7 months

Text

I wrote this a few months ago for Febuwhump...Day 13 I think? I was super excited about sharing it. But when my schedule got crazy I had to change my plans and didn't get a chance to post it.

So here it is now!

CW for blood, injury, vomiting, and torture (including sleep deprivation)

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

Another slap snaps Time’s head back, stinging across his face. Stars explode before him and turn the semi-darkness spotty. He grits his teeth against the rising tide of nausea.

“I asked you a question.” A wiry, whiskered man leans forward, malice glinting in his small, rat-like eyes. “And you will answer me.”

Time drags in a breath. The air is stale, tinged with the sickening iron scent of metal chains and his blood. His attackers loom over him, knuckles red from their assaults upon him, faces sneering.

He ignores them. He has seen quite enough of them, after all, in the past few days. And he doesn’t doubt that he will be seeing quite a bit more.

He has no plans to give in anytime soon. It doesn’t matter how they pressure him, or how many torture methods they try. He will never give up one of their own.

“I told you,” he croaks, “I do not know anyone with the power to resurrect Ganon.”

A meaty fist grasps his shoulder, fingers digging into the stab wound there. Time just barely manages to bite off a scream.

“Wrong answer!”

The man steps closer. The magic that emanates from him is all wrong. Upside down and inside out and not his own in the least. The people he has dragged it out of, stolen it from, cry out with every movement he makes. It is all Time can do not to gag as the sounds and smells of it smother him.

“I am a sorcerer– ”

“You’re a thief and a coward,” Time spits. Fingers turn into a fist, slamming into his wound with a ferocity that makes him lightheaded. He hardly hears his own cry.

“I am a sorcerer,” the man repeats. He grabs Time’s chin, forces his head up so he has no choice but to look at him. “One who has sworn his very life to the Demon King. I have the power to do what must be done. I will bring him back and help him take his rightful place as ruler of Hyrule. I need only for you to give me the answer I seek.”

A bitter smirk lifts Time’s lips, even as blood drains down from them.

“Ganondorf would be ashamed to have a follower such as you. How long have you held me here now? Four days? And you have wasted that time on repeating the same question. Perhaps, you should use that skill with magic you pretend to possess and find another avenue to resurrect him. Because searching for someone who can do it for you is a fool’s errand.”

Another blow knocks his head back. It hits the damp stone wall with a nauseating crack. Time pitches forward, retching, and the wizard steps back and out of the way.

“You are full of pride, hero,” he sneers. “You forget your place, you ignore your situation.”

Time skewers him with as severe a glare as he can muster. “I have not forgotten either. In fact, I know them quite well. Which is why I have told you the truth. No person exists with the blood that can resurrect Ganon.”

“Truth? What truth? You have done nothing except to mock me and spew lies.”

The sorcerer whirls away and a streak of flame zips through Time’s veins. He cannot restrain his harsh cry as agony washes over him. But just as quickly as it comes, it is gone. And he has a split second to drag in a few, desperate wheezing breaths. Then, the sorcerer begins to speak once more, every word like another assault.

“You are correct in one way, however. I have consistently used the same methods to pry the words from you. No torture, whether by magic or physical harm, has moved you from your stance of silence.” He pauses, hand held to his chin in contemplation. “Perhaps, it is time to try another avenue. Bring in the other one.”

With a wave of one bony hand, his companions jolt into action, rushing from the room, and slamming the leaden door behind them.

Time’s eye widens, fear slicing through him. He had thought he was the only one the thugs had captured. He had been alone, after all, scouting the far perimeters of the camp, when they had knocked him out.

The sorcerer looks back at him, now, a sly grin stretching his wide mouth.

“Your little friend happened to spot us dragging you away and decided to try and be a hero. Fortunately, my little sleeping spell worked as effectively to knock him out as it did with you.”

The door slides open with an eerie creak and Time turns toward it, heart in his throat.

“Ah.” The sorcerer sets a hand on his shoulder, fingernails digging through his tunic. “And there was another fortunate development for us. You well know that my spells are excruciating. Wonderful for convincing, to be certain. But you spared me the trouble of exerting too much magical energy on you two. You are quite the collector of masks, it seems. And while some were childish at best, others have proven…very useful.”

A familiar form stumbles over the threshold, wrists clasped in the unforgiving grip of manacles. His tunic and trousers are splotched with dirt and dried blood and his shoulders sag with exhaustion. His long, blonde hair has been freed from its hair band and falls limply forward to hide his features. But his ears peek through it and the sight of them makes Time’s stomach turn.

They are encased in a prison of wiry black metal. Time would recognize that sight anywhere.

“No,” he breathes.

Wild lifts his head and the leaden weight in Time’s gut twines itself tighter.

The cage of unyielding obsidian extends to the rest of his face, curving in web-like strands across his cheeks and forehead. Eyes once the same shade as Malon’s are now blood red and rimmed in white. They stare wide and terrible, fixed in an expression of permanent horror.

Despite it all, a shaky grin quirks Wild’s lips.

“H-hey, old man,” he slurs, fumbling to keep his feet beneath him.

His captor practically drags him the rest of the way into the room. They hurl him down beside Time and he lands on the hard floor with a grunt.

Laughter rings out, echoing off of the walls of the cell and Time drags his attention away from his cub to scowl at the wizard. The man meets his stare without fear.

“I don’t have to explain the implications of this little development to you, do I? You know full well what that horrid device of yours does.”

He turns away, arms crossed and a victorious smirk on his face. “It has been four days for him as well. Four without a wink of sleep. I wonder…how long can one go without slumber? I will leave you both to ponder that.”

The door screams as it is once again pulled open. And the sorcerer glides out in a rush of nauseating power and swishing robes.

“What a creep,” Wild mumbles, gazing at the spot where he had stood. He lists slightly to the side, bumping against Time’s uninjured shoulder. Time wraps an arm around his shoulders, pulling him close.

“Have they truly forced you to wear that for four days?” He asks, worry turning his tone sharp. His own pain seems inconsequential now, the ache of his wounds a far-off thing. All that matters is the broken boy slumped against him.

Jerkily, Wild nods. A small sniffle sounds from beneath the mask.

Time’s heart clenches. “Oh, cub, I’m so sorry.”

The champion shrugs, weakly. “Least it doesn’t…doesn’t put me to sleep. Rather be kept ‘wake.” He giggles, drunk on exhaustion, fighting against the tears Time hears in his voice. “And ‘sides…got hundred years of sleep under m-my belt. Gotta count…right? Be fine.”

With a sigh, he shifts, head slipping down to rest on Time. The harsh edges of the mask bite into his abused flesh. But he doesn’t move away. The least he can do is act as Wild’s makeshift pillow.

If he could, he would tear the mask off of him and shatter it on the hard ground. But once the cursed thing has latched onto its victim’s face, only the one who put it there can remove it. And if the blood visible beneath its dark edges is any indication, Wild has already learned what happens to anyone else who attempts it.

“They hur-hurt you too,” the champion murmurs, after a pause. His tone is more somber now and fearful. Like a lost child, pleading with a parent for reassurance. “I…I can’t really see straight anymore but…they told me…they told me they were. ‘M sorry.”

Time shakes his head. “Don’t worry about me, cub. I’m alright.”

Gently, he brushes Wild’s bangs back, trying not to wince as his fingertips touch icy metal rather than warm skin. The champion leans into his touch, curling up like the barn cats do when they are seeking warmth. Any other time, the older hero would find it amusing. Now, it only makes his heart ache.

“Can’t tell them,” Wild mumbles, barely audible now. “Can’t tell ‘bout Rule.”

Time draws in a trembling breath. “No.”

But that doesn’t mean there aren’t other ways to save his cub from this terrible fate. And by the goddesses, he is going to find them. Even if he has to burn the place down.

#trin writes #febuwhump #torture tw #blood tw #injury tw #linked universe #lu time #lu wild #linkeduniverse fic #whump #angst #sorry about the open ending #i meant to continue this one #but you know #anyway #wild and time my absolute beloveds #they're such a good duo #also that all night mask is soooo creepy #i love it

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mystwrites · 5 months

Text

The Best Birthday

Summary: Atsushi has one of the best birthdays he could possibly have all thanks to one person

CW: Tickling (don’t like, don’t read)

A/N: Atsushi’s birthday is 5/5 and that’s today’s date for me. I decided to bless my followers with a birthday fic for everyone’s favorite detective!🎊

The daily Agency break in was put on hold. Akutagawa watched as the ADA celebrated. Why? Why were they having a party? Realizing they were crowding around Atsushi, it suddenly hit Akutagawa that they were celebrating his birthday.

“The weretiger’s birthday is today?” Akutagawa asked himself, rubbing his chin in deep thought. “Why hasn’t he told me…?”

That didn’t matter. What did matter was now figuring out how exactly to give the weretiger a good birthday surprise. Akutagawa knew he was horrible with words, oftentimes way too blunt or forwards in his actions. Bold and rash. However, he promised to give Atsushi the best birthday he could.

Akutagawa started by breaking into Atsushi’s dorm…again. It’s become a very regular occurrence. Atsushi hardly had an issue with it, slowly learning that it was just Akutagawa’s weird way of checking in on him after all that had gone down. Kyouka on the other hand didn’t like it and always promptly left to crash with the Tanizaki siblings should Akutagawa break in. Of course Akutagawa was somewhat glad she left each time. He liked being alone with Atsushi for the most part…until their arguments began.

When Atsushi had returned from work, Akutagawa greeted him with a slice of cake. Akutagawa hadn’t bought him an actual gift, unsure of what to purchase but assumed a cake would do. He still felt bad about not having an actual gift but Atsushi assured him that he didn’t need any gifts and the cake along with his presence was more than enough. Agreeing, Akutagawa agreed to spend the night with him.

Akutagawa didn’t know the type of cake he bought in all honesty. He just heard the cashier ask if he wanted a simple cake and said yes since he was taking too long to decide. Much to his surprise, Atsushi was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement. He must not have cared if it was fancy or simple and Akutagawa sighed with relief.

“Oooh!! This looks good!!” Atsushi squealed, happily taking the plate from Akutagawa. “Thank you!!”

“You’re welcome.” Akutagawa replied. “You’ll have a lot of leftovers so enjoy them.”

“I will!” Atsushi giggled, digging in.

As the two ate their slices of cake, Akutagawa remembered how on his birthday, the Port Mafia members all smashed cake in his face. While he at first wanted to kill a few of them, he remembered how much fun the cake fight was. However, he wasn’t about to start another fight with Atsushi or suddenly throw cake in his face. He might prefer a gentle touch rather than a handful of cake being slapped in his face.

With this in mind, Akutagawa stuck his finger into the frosting and suddenly dragged his finger across Atsushi’s left cheek, trying to hide his smirk as Atsushi gasped. Looking to his companion, Atsushi was met with Akutagawa’s poor attempt to hide his smirk and playfully narrowed his eyes.

“Akutagawa!” Atsushi exclaimed, giggling as Akutagawa dragged his finger covered in frosting across his cheek once more. “Hey! What are you doing? Stop!!”

“This is a birthday tradition, weretiger.” Akutagawa replied, wiping another bit of frosting onto Atsushi’s cheek. “You are lucky I’m not smashing the cake into your face.”

“I already got caked today at work! Wait!! Don’t waste the cake!! Hahahaa!! AKUTAGAWA!” Atsushi squealed, holding Akutagawa’s hand back while sticking his finger into the frosting of his own cake. “WAIT!”

“Nope. No waiting, weretiger!” Akutagawa snickered, wiggling his frosting covered finger. “I’m gonna get frosting all over your face!”

“No you will not!!” Atsushi growled, laughing as he tried to smear frosting onto Akutagawa’s nose, getting his neck instead.

Akutagawa recoiled and squeaked but attacked once more, successfully getting frosting on Atsushi’s forehead as well. Laughing, Atsushi tried to get frosting on Akutagawa’s face but fell over laughing when Akutagawa got too close. Seizing the opportunity, Akutagawa smeared three more lines of frosting on Atsushi’s right cheek and smirked, licking his finger.

“Now you look like a cat.~” he teased, Atsushi squawking with shock and getting more riled up.

“I’m a tiger! I’m not a cat!” Atsushi shouted, laughing as Akutagawa wiped frosting onto his nose. “Stop!! Hahaa!!”

Continuing his playful display of affection for the younger, Akutagawa leaned down and tried to get more frosting onto Atsushi’s face. With the weretiger squirming and giggling, getting frosting on him became more challenging.

“Hahaha!! Stop!” Atsushi shrieked, somehow managing to sit up and smear frosting on Akutagawa’s lower lip and chin. “Haha!! I gotcha!”

Licking the frosting off from his lip, Akutagawa chuckled. “It seems like you have.” he replied, a wicked smirk on his face. “But now you’ve done it, weretiger!”

Before Atsushi could ask what was happening, Akutagawa pushed him down and started tickling his sides. Atsushi screamed and burst into hysterics, flailing about as he got tickled, Akutagawa fully prepared to deal with the struggle.

They’ve tickled each other before. Akutagawa knew all of Atsushi’s most ticklish spots and skillfully knew how to press into his skin to bring out the best reactions. Eyeing out the weretiger’s torso, Akutagawa dropped his hands onto the weretiger’s torso, ten fingers digging into his tummy.

“Who’s got who now?~” Akutagawa asked, straddling Atsushi’s thighs and gently scribbling his fingers up and down Atsushi’s ribs. “I’ve gotcha now, weretiger.~”

“Ihihi…Ihihi’ll gehehet you bahahack!!” Atsushi snarled, screeching as Akutagawa wiped more frosting onto his face. “Hehehey!! AAHAHAHAAA!!”

“Now your face is covered with frosting!” Akutagawa noted, lifting Atsushi’s shirt up and tickling his bare skin. “What are you gonna do now, weretiger? Are you gonna get me back?~”

“Yehehes!!” Atsushi squeaked, snorting from how hard he was laughing. “Ihihi’ll get you ba-AAAAHAHAHAHAA!!”

“Well, I can’t have that happening.” Akutagawa said, slowly walking his fingers up to Atsushi’s highest ribs. “Promise to not smash cake in my face.~”

Cheekily, Atsushi shook his head and tried to grab his remaining piece of cake. Gasping, Akutagawa shoved his hands underneath Atsushi’s arms, bringing the detective’s hysterical laughter out and forcing his arms to press tightly against his sides.

“Wow! You must really like being tickled if you’re going to throw your cake at me.~” Akutagawa teased, feeling his cheeks warm up as Atsushi threw his head back and laughed even harder.

“Ihihi dohohon’t!!” Atsushi protested, trying to grab the cake once more. “Lehehet me gohoho!! I wahahanna eat my cake!!”

“Nope.~” Akutagawa growled, tickling down to Atsushi’s hips. “Not when I know you’ll throw that piece of cake at me.~”

Atsushi whined loudly but started to grow weaker by the second. Akutagawa normally used tickling as a playful way of subtly flirting with him or to get Atsushi to agree to whatever he wanted. The best part of tickling him was that Akutagawa realized Atsushi rarely had an issue with being tickled. It explained why he was egging Akutagawa on, constantly reaching out for his cake. Smirking, Akutagawa lifted up Atsushi’s shirt even more, resting his hands on Atsushi’s warm skin.

“Nonono!!” Atsushi cried, snorting in between his fits of giggles. “Nohohot thahat plehehease!!”

“Stop reaching for the cake.” Akutagawa said, his harsh gaze staring into Atsushi’s soul.

“N-nohoho!!” Atsushi protested, throwing his head back and howling as Akutagawa suddenly placed his lips against his bellybutton. “NO WAHAHAIT AHAHA! DOHON’T BLOW ON MY BEHEHELLY!”

Out of all the possible reactions, Akutagawa found that Atsushi screams and flails for a few seconds before going limp, laughing so hard he falls silent when raspberries are given. Akutagawa couldn’t help but enjoy the sound of Atsushi’s hysterical cackling and snorting and finally realized that he just enjoyed making his partner laugh.

A few more raspberries were blown, Atsushi squeaking, snorting and hiccuping. After the fourth raspberry, Akutagawa paused, seeing Atsushi’s eyes tearing up from how hard he laughed. He knew going past someone’s limit would make this experience unpleasant and stopped, pulling Atsushi’s shirt down and letting the younger curl up and protect himself.

“You okay, weretiger?” Akutagawa asked, Atsushi giggling and sitting up.

“Yeheheah.” he replied, his cheeks still really red. “Ihihi’m okay.”

“You seemed to have had fun.”

“Ihihi did.”

Akutagawa hummed in acknowledgement and leaned forwards with a napkin. He started to wipe Atsushi’s face, cleaning up any of the frosting that had once been there. Atsushi smiled, slightly confused as to what he was doing since it was very uncommon to have Akutagawa act so gentle, playful and caring with him. Before Atsushi could ask what was happening, Akutagawa tilted his head to the right, pressing his lips against Atsushi’s. The detective gasped in shock but relaxed, closing his eyes and kissing Akutagawa back.

“What was that for?” Atsushi asked, breathing heavily as they finally pulled away.

“That was your birthday gift.” Akutagawa whispered, his lips ghosting Atsushi’s once more. “Happy birthday, Atsushi. I hope this was your best birthday ever.”

They kissed again, Atsushi smiling more than he has in his entire life. He never expected Akutagawa of all people to make his birthday so special, but it was. This was indeed the best birthday he could ask for.

#tickle fic #tickle fluff #bungo stray dogs tickling #bsd tickling #lee!atsushi #ler!akutagawa #shin soukoku #sskk #akuatsu

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