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iwasntstable · 5 months ago

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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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dios-apate-megas · 20 days ago

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This is going to be a long read! Definite spoilers for those who haven’t finished the first three books so there’s another warning for those of you whom that applies to!

—The Tower is Limbo—

I theorize that the Tower is Limbo and that it is connected in some way to Cannan House due to that being where Jod “ascended” and the location being the strongest connection for human souls because of it. Possibly as the power source Harrow references in GtN. Possibly that is where the extra souls were pulled from to make Teacher and his companions, and also why they’re a little bit batshit. It would be very Jod to be like, “I wasn’t sure what to do with all the souls I ate, so I popped them all in a mind tower on the liminal plane to worry about later. Then once I felt better I pulled the ones I wanted to bring back the most piecemeal, ya know… Jenga.”

I posit the Tower is also connected to Hell in some way, or that Limbo and Hell are one and the same in TLT and I’m just making the connection messier than necessary. I also think Teacher knew about the Devils (see below) when he says, “there are worse things down there” when referencing the labs because part of him was pulled from there and he remembers being in Limbo!

Word Origins: late Middle English; Latin: limbus, 'edge' ‘border’ ‘boundary' ‘hem’ ‘limbo’

Word Definitions:

[1] (in some Christian beliefs) the supposed abode of the souls of unbaptized infants, and of the just who died before Christ's coming.

{a} an abode of souls that are according to Roman Catholic theology barred from heaven because of not having received Christian baptism

{b} In Catholic theology, Limbo, referring to the edge of Hell

[2] an uncertain period of awaiting a decision or resolution; an intermediate state or condition.

{a} a place or state of restraint or confinement

{b} a place or state of neglect or oblivion

{c} an intermediate or transitional place or state

^Varun:

“You left them too long!” - Referring to the souls that Jod had not placed back into flesh vessels and had become corrupted after so long a time left in limbo.

^Devils:

I theorize that the Devils we are introduced to are the unembodied souls that Jod “left asleep” after the resurrection in Limbo, The Jenga Tower. They became corrupted after so long being in Limbo and their envy of the living made them want to possess their bodies and met out some punishment. They are only able to possess and use freshly dead bodies because the soul is -gone-. They can infect a damaged body, but can’t take over until the soul is gone. I can’t think of a better phrasing for this, but I think they’re able to travel the river and pop up where they smell death.

After being “freed” (see Gideon/Kiriona below), the Devils sought out fresh bodies whose souls had departed to possess. I posit that the Devils possessed the bodies of the freshly dead soldiers on Antioch where they are first introduced to us as a scourge due to it being the first major plane of war/death after my Gideon/Kirona theory. I know the fleet was blown up, but those bodies were most likely also blown up and unable to be inhabited.

I theorize that they hit the Ninth House first because that’s where Alecto’s body was stored and the closer her soul came to accepting death while she was galavanting around in Nona made *something* weaker so they could possess the freshly dead old folks there.

*In the case of Collum Asht, his body was left soul-vacant while he was being siphoned and became a prime target for possession in Cannan House which I believe is directly connected to The Tower.

The appearance of the Devils give off a serpentine vibe. Flappy long tongues and sharp teeth. The eyes are the windows to the soul ya know. And they are pissed and -hungry- for life.

[1] The Leviathan is often an embodiment of chaos, threatening to eat the damned when their lives are over. Christian theologians identified Leviathan with the demon of the deadly sin envy.

^Alecto:

I theorize that Alecto is the Leviathan to Jod. We know she is set up to be his end, as she was his beginning. I posit she is the gatekeeper to The Tower, likely unknowingly due to her origin as Gaia, and her little vacation left that gate open and unguarded. Which means… yet another “tomb” unlocked.

I previously posited that Alecto was based on a humpback whale in a previous post (I don’t know how to link it here but it’s in the group!), and her abilities as The Drinker can definitely be classified as a sea monster.

[1]Leviathan also figures in the Hebrew Bible as a metaphor for a powerful enemy, notably Babylon (Isaiah 27:1). Some 19th-century scholars pragmatically interpreted it as referring to large aquatic creatures, such as the crocodile.[5] The word later came to be used as a term for great whale and for sea monsters in general.

^Gideon/Kiriona: Jebus

I theorize that when Gideon sacrificed herself at the end of GtN, her soul dipped into Limbo and “freed” the souls trapped there which is why we only start to see Devils after her “resurrection”. I’m unsure of how/if her soul being spliced will play into this but I do think it was split at least into two (a piece in Harrow absorbed for Lyctorhood and the second in her own body as the Child of Jod (the part that dipped and returned)).

[1] The Catechism of the Catholic Church describes Christ's descent into Hell as meaning primarily that "the crucified one sojourned in the realm of the dead prior to his resurrection. This was the first meaning given in the apostolic preaching to Christ's descent into Hell: that Jesus, like all men, experienced death and in his soul joined the others in the realm of the dead."

—The River is Purgatory—

I theorize that The River is Purgatory because that’s where all the ghosts are waiting to be called back by Jod. We all know our beloved author uses Catholicism like a sneaky guide book in TLT and I found this quote, “the church's understanding has typically been that purgatory has a temporal (temporary, terminating, non-eternal) component with only God being outside of time” when I was spiraling down the rabbit hole and gasped due to just how well it fit! The River is supposed to be a temporary holding place for the souls of the dead, poor hungry ghosts, and we know Lyctors and Jod traverse The River as a way to collapse time and space to get from place to place when needed. We drove along with Nona as she did the same thing!

I’d also like to note that most of the “fire of purification” references are mostly in art and not in the theological sources I looked through. It’s just as likely to be water as water is used as a purifying substance in many different religions. Baptism is a very good example of this.

Word Origin: Middle English: from Anglo-Norman French purgatorie or medieval Latin purgatorium, neuter of late Latin purgatorius ‘purifying’, from the verb purgare (purge).

Word Definitions:

[1] An intermediate state after death for expiatory purification. Specifically : a place or state of punishment wherein according to Roman Catholic doctrine the souls of those who die in God's grace may make satisfaction for past sins and so become fit for heaven

{a} a place or state of temporary suffering or misery

[2] A state of final purification after death and before entrance into heaven for those who died in God’s friendship, but were only imperfectly purified; a final cleansing of human imperfection before one is able to enter the joy of heaven.

{a} This purification is entirely unlike the punishment of hell in that a soul in purgatory is de facto destined for heaven, but must undergo cleansing from all sin before spending eternity in the unbridled presence of God.

—

Please forgive the wonky way this is written, but this is how my brain works (*insert groan here*) when I hyper fixate on figuring something out. There are a lot of notes that are smashed together from multiple sources and some that are blatantly copy/pasted, but I’m not writing an academic paper here so forgive the laziness! Also I have absolutely no clue on how to mark things as spoilers or go back and edit my post as of right now on my phone, which is dumb but alas this is me. And I’m not a theological scholar by any means, so I did try my best to make my ideas as clear as possible with the religious themes.

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crispyjenkins · 6 months ago

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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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inf3ct3dd · 8 months ago

Text

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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pita-vegeta · 19 days ago

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2nd Castlevania Nocturne Rant: Mizrak's Anger

Here's my second observation on Castlevania Nocturne Season 2.

I have one request for the series: that Mizrak apologize to Olrox. Throughout both seasons, we see Mizrak lash out at Olrox when he has yet to do anything to deserve that amount of anger, that amount of hate. Calm conversations turn with hate-filled language and accusations when again, Olrox hasn't done anything. I believe it is all internal on Mizrak's part.

Long before Olrox brought his beautiful ass to Machecoul, Mizrak's faith, self, and sense of security were shattered by the vampires and what he and Abbot were doing.

Then along comes Olrox, whom Mizrak broke his vow of chastity to be with. It's as if Mizrak knew he would die and be punished for his deeds so why not go out with the baddest baddie he has ever seen?

If you listen closely, the lashing out at Olrox speaks volumes. It's directed at Olrox, who Mizrak believes has no soul, so he cannot hurt him (this we know is not true), but the things he gets angry about are his internal struggles and guilt.

In season 1, the iconic moment between Mizrak and Olrox, when Mizrak said some of the most awful things, was because Olrox stopped him from sacrificing himself for the "greater good".

Mizrak is the only non-powered human we really get to see other than the abbot, but he wants to fight and knows he will die and he has kinda accepted this. His raising his sword to Erzsebet is a sure death, but a death he believes will maybe erase some of the sins he has committed.

This happens again in season 2 when Drotla attacks the army. He cries clutching Olrox but then turns on him with spiteful words.

Take Episode 4 (18:54) he begins this interaction with Olrox saddened, worried that Olrox has gone over to Erzsebet's side having been branded; he states that Olrox will fade, but I don't think he was referencing Olrox with this but himself that he (Mizrak) will fade.

Then seconds later he is angry at Olrox about killing Julia Belmont and speaks about dishonor and being a murderer, however, this could be his guilt. He and Abbot are taking human corpses and turning them into night creatures virtually murdering human souls and dishonoring the church and God. He gets called out on this by Maria in Ep 2 (13:55).

Then the one that gets me riled is Ep 5 (13:28); we have Olrox telling Mizrak about his people, his Gods, and about how Spanish Christians came and decimated his home only for Mizrak to state that (Olrox) "...Gods were the problem", you see Olrox flinch when this is said, but Mizrak doesn't see cause he's looking away and I believe once again Mizrak is putting his quilt more specifically his religious guilt on Olrox.

Olrox takes this and even asks Mizrak to leave with him, here's my opinion on Olrox throughout the seasons. He does not want to be alone. 250+ years is a long time to be isolated with his vampirism even Alucard expressed his loneliness in this season. Olrox is willing to take the hits so to speak if it means having a companion.

His last lover was taken from him only to find what he was looking for in Mizrak. Olrox has a type, bleeding heart, fighters, strong-willed with big hearts. He finds that in Mizrak.

Now my view of Mizrak being turned, I believe he accepted it, his fear of death and the awaiting punishment he believed he would receive enough of a reason to not "die"; however, that does not mean he is happy about it and may not be for years to come.

We see that same anger after his turning and we also see that Olrox is ready to take it all to not be alone.

Mizrak has been hurting this whole time we can tell, he is hurt, and scared, feeling angry, and guilty, but that doesn't mean he has to take it out on Olrox.

#castlevania nocturne #castlevania olrox #castlevania mizrak #mizrox #olrox/mizrak

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raiynnah · 6 months ago

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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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bitethedevil · 9 months ago

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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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avocado-writing · 1 year ago

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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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quidell-fics · 4 months ago

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Snippet from Chapter 3 of "A Tale Painted with Blood"

A Black Myth Wukong Fanfic

Sun Wukong x OC/Reader

Destined One x OC/Reader

Snippet:

When I woke, there was a peach. A single peach, plump and golden in the morning light, and no Monkey.

I blinked at it, rubbing the haze from my eyes, the oddity of it settling like dust in the corners of my mind. A peach sitting near me—Monkey Boy’s version of a note, I supposed. That he would return? Maybe.

Maybe not.

I glanced around, half-expecting him to drop from the ceiling or leap from the shadows. Nothing. He must’ve gone scouting ahead, slipping away like a breeze, though why he didn’t wake me was a question that lingered like the scent of the fruit.

The wooden floor beneath me creaked as I shifted, crossing my legs and yawning without a care, the temple’s derelict walls echoing the sound. We’d holed up in this forgotten place for the night, a sanctuary once, the old walls telling a story of well-maintained care, now a skeleton of what it used to be. Monkey Boy had wiped the floor with a giant white wolfman before we settled here—the beast’s massive paws now silent, its lingering presence nothing more than a memory woven into the decaying structure.

It had a strange habit, that wolf. Every time it landed a hit on Monkey Boy, it would lick its bloodied paws, slow and deliberate, like it was savoring the taste of victory before it could claim the kill.

Savoring the taste of his blood…

A thousand questions fluttered through my mind, restless like birds trapped in a cage. Why was he here, adrift and solitary in this desolate place? Could he speak, or was silence his only companion? And why, the moment his eyes had met Monkey Boy's, did violence bloom in his veins, swift as a storm? But then again, everyone seemed to hurl themselves at Monkey Boy, as if drawn by some magnetic pull toward chaos. Maybe it was something in the wind, a call only they could hear, urging them to strike before they even thought to breathe.

When the fight had ended, I’d burst from my the stone, racing over to check on him. Deep gashes crisscrossed his chest and arms, blood slicking his fur and skin. But with one lazy swig from that gourd strapped to his back, the wounds began to knit themselves back together, as if the claws of that giant wolf had never touched him.

Naturally, I asked for a sip—just to heal the wolfman’s claw marks still burning across my own arm from a few days ago. But Monkey Boy, in all his maddening glory, held it just out of my reach, an eyebrow raised in smug amusement at my… antics.

Of course, I had to jump for it, trying to convince him it was purely for the sake of the cuts. But no, that knowing glint in his eyes said he wasn’t buying my story for a second.

And I mean, who could blame me? He looked utterly rejuvenated after drinking it, his wounds gone, his posture lazy yet strong. The scent of that brew wafted toward me—rich, warm, intoxicating… and maybe just a bit alcoholic.

Perhaps that magical elixir wasn’t meant for human consumption, or maybe he was just being his usual stingy self. Either way, after a few hopeless hops trying to snatch it from his grip, I decided to let him keep his mystery drink. If Monkey Boy wanted to be greedy with his precious brew, who was I to press? Besides, the last thing I needed was to find out firsthand what kind of hangover magic brings.

I shifted uncomfortably, rubbing my sore back, eyes lingering on the peach that sat innocently on the floor beside me. Sleeping on wooden planks was somehow worse than bedding down in dirt and moss—at least the earth had a softness to it. But a roof over our heads, even one as broken as this, was a luxury I had learned never to take for granted. In my old world, shelter had been a fleeting comfort, one I couldn’t always claim.

Truth be told, I could have nestled into the stone to sleep, hidden away in its embrace. But I didn’t. I didn’t want to leave him alone, not after his earlier… apprehension toward me. Call me soft, call me a fool, but I’d glimpsed something beneath all that bravado. In the rare moments when he thought no one was watching, where he forgot I was watching—those quiet instances before we became friends—I’d catch him staring at the sky, day or night, with a sigh. Not the kind of sigh that comes from exhaustion, but the kind that carries the weight of something unspoken. Something lonelier.

It was that sigh, that sliver of vulnerability, that kept me tethered to him. It’s why I pushed so hard, why I was relentless in pushing my way into his orbit, desperate to bridge the space between us. Desperate to call him a friend, even when he kept me at arm’s length.

I reached for the peach, cradling it in my palm. It had the same weight as the first one I’d found when I stumbled into this strange world—a curious heft, like it was stone beneath that deceptively soft skin. The other fruits we’d eaten had been light, forgettable, but these peaches? They felt heavy in a way that went beyond the physical. Almost… significant. I wondered, for a fleeting moment, what it meant. But as the thought drifted away like smoke, I brought the peach to my lips and bit down—

Note: Sorry for not posting anything last week 😖

#black myth wukong #sun wukong #monkey king #black myth wukong x oc #black myth wukong fanfic #black myth wukong x reader #sun wukong x reader #sun wukong x oc #wukong x reader #wukong x oc #monkey king x oc #monkey king x reader #a tale painted with blood #snippet

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petrichorium · 2 years ago

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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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riinniies · 24 days ago

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|| ISAGI YOICHI ||

you're his wife, and he's your husband. You though, you know him well. But who would have thought that he's been hiding his true nature all this time?

TW !! Gore, manipulation, yandere Yoichi, unwanted child, unwanted pregancy, ooc yoichi, yoichi is sick in here. This is really, really disturbing for some people so pls don't read it if you don't like gore.

Wc : 2621 words

Hope you liked it!

My writings

Being the good man he is, you know him. You’ve always known him. You two grew up together. Your parents were best friends, inseparable since before either of you were born. Naturally, you two were inseparable too, always side by side.

You thought you knew him better than anyone. How could you not? He was your best friend, your childhood companion, your other half. You liked him—no, you loved him, and he loved you too. He was always glued to your side, and you to his.

Now, as husband and wife, life feels like a dream come true. Everything is perfect, simple, and blissfully easy. You’re proud to call him your husband.

One year passed. Then two. Before you knew it, five years had gone by since your wedding day. And through it all, he has loved you—deeply, overwhelmingly, almost obsessively.

"Yoichi," you said one day, a smile spreading across your face. "I’m pregnant."

After five long years of waiting, it finally happened. You’d both been trying for so long. Sometimes, you’d wondered why it was so difficult. You’d seen doctors, had tests done. They all said you were healthy. Yoichi had been checked too—no issues. Everything was fine.

So, why now? You couldn’t explain it, but the joy you felt drowned out the confusion.

Yoichi’s face froze for a moment, his eyes widening slightly. Then, slowly, his lips curled into a smile—one that felt... off. It was different from his usual warmth, but you brushed the thought aside. He swept you into his arms, spinning you around in a burst of exhilaration.

At first, you laughed, his excitement infectious. But as he kept spinning, the dizziness set in. You pressed your hand to his shoulder, laughing weakly. "Yoichi, stop, you’re making me dizzy."

But he didn’t stop.

"Yoichi," you said again, louder this time. Your voice carried a hint of unease, but he ignored it. He spun faster, his grip tightening. The room blurred around you, and nausea churned in your stomach. You tried hitting his shoulder, your movements frantic now. "Yoichi, please—stop!"

And then when you about to threw up.

Finally, he stopped.

Yoichi’s gaze lingered, his hands warm but unyielding against your cheeks. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. His words, his actions—they were drenched in love, but there was an edge to them, sharp and unsettling.

And then, there was his gaze.

At first, you couldn’t place it. It was fleeting, a shadow that passed behind his usual tenderness. But as the days stretched on, you began to notice it more. Sometimes, when he thought you weren’t looking, his eyes would darken, and you’d catch a glimmer of something you didn’t recognize.

Something that looked like hate.

It didn’t make sense. Yoichi adored you—he always had. He was the boy who protected you from bullies, who shared his dreams of your future together, who vowed to make you happy forever. But now, there were moments when his love felt too heavy, almost suffocating, and those flashes of disdain… they left you questioning everything.

°°°°°

One evening, as the rain drummed against the windows, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You were curled up on the couch, a book in your hands, but you hadn’t turned a page in over ten minutes. Yoichi sat across from you, sipping tea, his eyes fixed on you in that way they always were—watchful, too watchful.

“Yoichi,” you began hesitantly, closing the book. “Can we talk?”

He set down his cup, tilting his head slightly. “Of course, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?”

You hesitated, your fingers nervously tracing the edge of the book. “Do you… are you okay? Lately, you’ve been acting… different.”

“Different?” His smile remained, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Yeah,” you said, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “It’s hard to explain, but sometimes… I feel like you’re angry with me. Or… maybe even resentful.”

The room fell silent, the only sound the steady patter of rain. For a moment, Yoichi’s face was unreadable, and then he laughed—a soft, hollow sound that sent a chill down your spine.

“Resentful?” he repeated, standing up. He walked over to you slowly, his steps deliberate, and crouched down so that his face was level with yours. “Why would I resent you, my love?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “I—I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

His hand reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. But his touch, once comforting, now felt like a trap. “You’re imagining things,” he murmured, his voice low. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. Everything I do is for you.”

“But—”

“No buts,” he interrupted, his tone sharp enough to make you flinch. His hand lingered on your cheek, his fingers pressing slightly harder than they needed to. “You’re carrying my child. My everything. I could never hate you. Do you understand?”

You nodded slowly, fear creeping into your chest. “I—I understand.”

“Good.” He stood up, his smile returning, but it didn’t erase the tension in his eyes. “You should get some rest. Stress isn’t good for the baby.”

As he walked away, you sat frozen, the weight of his words sinking in. You told yourself it was just your imagination, just hormones playing tricks on you. But deep down, you knew the truth.

Yoichi’s love wasn’t the same as it once was. And whatever was hiding behind his gaze—it terrified you.

°°°°°

The truth revealed itself in the most horrific way—one you could have never prepared for, no matter how much your instincts had screamed at you to run.

Yoichi waited. Patiently. Lovingly, even. He catered to your every need, made you feel cherished, adored, and safe. Yet, beneath the facade, there was something festering—a darkness that only surfaced in glimpses, in the shadows of his gaze and the unnerving tone of his words.

It was the night of your eighth month. The baby was active, its tiny movements inside you a source of joy amidst the growing unease. Yoichi had been unusually quiet that evening, his smiles fewer, his touches lingering longer than usual.

You were sitting in bed, reading, when he entered the room, carrying a tray with tea. “I made your favorite,” he said softly, placing the tray on the nightstand.

You smiled faintly, but the pit in your stomach warned you. Something was wrong.

“Thank you,” you murmured, taking the cup he handed you.

He sat beside you, watching intently as you sipped. His eyes never left yours, and it took everything in you not to shiver under his gaze.

“You know,” he said after a long silence, “I’ve been thinking a lot about us. About this baby.”

You set the cup down carefully, your hand trembling. “What about it?”

His smile returned, but it was wrong—twisted. “I’ve realized something,” he continued, his voice calm, almost soothing. “This baby… it’s going to change everything. Us, our lives, our love.”

Your heart raced. “That’s normal, Yoichi. Having a child—”

“No,” he interrupted, his tone sharp. “Not in the way you think. This baby… it’s taking you away from me.”

“What?” Your voice broke.

“I can’t let that happen,” he whispered, reaching out to stroke your belly. His touch, once tender, now felt invasive. “You’re mine. You’ve always been mine. And this baby… it’s ruining us.”

“Yoichi, what are you talking about?” you asked, panic rising in your chest. You tried to move, to put distance between you, but he grabbed your wrist, his grip like iron.

“I waited,” he said, his eyes burning with something you couldn’t recognize. “I waited for the right moment. For you to see that it’s just us. It always should have been just us.”

Your breath hitched as he reached into his pocket, pulling out something gleaming. A knife.

“Yoichi, no!” you screamed, thrashing against his hold. “Please, don’t do this!”

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice trembling with an eerie mix of sorrow and resolve. “I love you too much to let anything take you away from me.”

What happened next was a blur of pain, terror, and desperation. You fought, screamed, begged—but he was unrelenting. The love that had once been your sanctuary had twisted into something monstrous, something inescapable.

By the time the world faded to black, you realized one thing: Yoichi’s love was never about you. It was about control, obsession—and in the end, destruction.

The blood that soaked into the sheets felt sticky and cold, a sharp contrast to the warmth of the room. It was the kind of heat that made your skin crawl, the kind that belonged to something wrong, something twisted. Yoichi sat there, unmoving, his eyes trained on you with an unsettling calmness, as if the chaos he had caused was just another part of a plan he had long ago decided was inevitable.

You could still feel the pain. It was a deep, throbbing agony, as though your body was trying to reject the very thing that had been inside you. The crushing weight of it stole your breath, but it wasn’t just the physical pain that made your vision swim. It was the realization—the horrifying understanding—that Yoichi had orchestrated it all.

"Yoichi..." you whispered, your voice barely a breath, trembling with disbelief. "What... what did you do?"

He didn’t answer at first. Instead, his fingers tightened around your wrist, and you felt the coldness of his touch seeping deeper into your skin, into your bones. "I did what was necessary," he said, his voice disturbingly smooth, as if explaining something as mundane as making tea. "You were too blinded by love, by the baby. I had to make you see."

You tried to speak, but your throat felt raw, constricted, like the blood that no longer flowed freely through your body. Your hands were slick with it. You could feel it pooling beneath you, soaking into the fabric of the bed, creeping slowly toward the edge. You couldn’t even feel your legs anymore—your entire body felt numb, except for the sharp, burning pangs where he had... where he had torn you apart.

The knife had been so cold when he first pressed it against your skin. His hands were steady, careful, like he was savoring each moment. The first cut had been shallow—quick, like a flick of the wrist—and you thought for a moment, just a fleeting moment, that maybe it was a mistake. But then, as he dug deeper, as he twisted the blade, you knew it wasn’t. It was deliberate.

You had screamed, but the sound was muffled by the thickness of the pain that came with each fresh incision. The world around you had blurred, but Yoichi's face never wavered. He had looked down at you, almost tenderly, as though it was all part of a gentle ritual. His hands had been so steady, so precise, as he carved his way through you.

"Yoichi, please..." You could barely speak anymore, your body trembling, barely holding together. The room spun. Your vision blackened at the edges as the blood loss made your heart stutter in your chest. "I... I loved you..."

He didn’t flinch. He didn’t react. He just wiped the blade slowly, deliberately, on the edge of the blanket as though it were nothing more than a simple chore. When he looked at you again, his eyes were empty—cold, almost disinterested.

"Love," he repeated softly, almost mocking, "It’s just a distraction, isn’t it? Something that gets in the way of what we really need. And now, we’ll have everything. Just you and me. It’s going to be perfect."

Your heart was pounding now, not from fear, but from the growing numbness that spread like a dark wave, seeping into your limbs. The last thing you could feel was his hand, caressing the blood-slicked skin of your belly. A strange tenderness mixed with a quiet madness.

In that moment, you realized Yoichi wasn’t just your husband anymore. He was something else—something monstrous, something irreparably broken. His love had never been love at all. It had been a cage. And now, you were trapped inside it.

As your consciousness faded, slipping like water through your fingers, the last thing you saw was Yoichi’s face—his smile, wide and twisted, reflecting the gleam of the bloodstained knife.

Your world was dimming, the edges of your vision blurring in and out like static on a broken screen. Every breath you took felt like it was tearing you apart, but the worst part wasn’t the pain—it was the realization that Yoichi was still there, still so calmly present. His presence was suffocating, inescapable.

You tried to move, tried to reach for something, anything, but your body refused to respond. Your fingers twitched, but they felt foreign, unrecognizable. The blood had pooled beneath you, clinging to your skin, staining everything it touched. The room smelled of iron, of decay, of something irreversible.

Yoichi leaned in closer, his face hovering just inches from yours. He didn’t speak at first, just stared at you with that detached, almost clinical expression, as if the whole thing was no more than an experiment to him. He was studying you, waiting for your last breath.

"Don’t worry," he said softly, his voice a sickening mixture of tenderness and finality. "I’ll take care of everything. You won’t suffer for long." His fingers brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, his touch cold, but strangely comforting.

But his words were a lie. There was no care, no comfort. You could feel the life draining from your body, the weight of it pulling you deeper into the darkness. The emptiness inside you was growing, a hollow pit where the baby had once been, and you realized—too late—that Yoichi had taken that from you, too. It wasn’t just your body that he had destroyed; it was everything you had been, everything you had hoped for.

"You should have seen it, you know," Yoichi continued, his voice still soft, almost tender. "The way you smiled when you found out you were pregnant. The way you talked about the future. I knew then. I knew I couldn’t let that happen. I couldn’t let him—" He paused, as if the name of the child still tasted bitter on his tongue. "—take you away from me."

Your heart stuttered in your chest, but it was slowing, weakening, the sound a distant echo now. The horror of his words twisted in your mind, but you couldn’t make sense of it. There was no sense to make anymore.

"You never belonged to him," Yoichi murmured, as though confessing a secret. "You’ve always belonged to me."

He stood slowly, and the chill of the room seemed to grow, the darkness creeping closer with each passing second. The sound of his footsteps was muffled, but you could feel the finality in every movement. Every breath felt heavier, as though the air itself was thickening.

In the brief moments of clarity before the world completely consumed you, you saw him. His back turned, moving toward the door. He didn’t even look back.

And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying thing of all.

Yoichi had no fear, no regret. He had won. And in his eyes, you were nothing more than an obstacle he had moved aside to claim what he had always wanted. You were just another part of his twisted, broken fantasy.

The world darkened, and with the final breath you could muster, the last thought that flickered through your mind was that there was no escape—not from Yoichi, not from the nightmare he had made of your life. You had never been more trapped than you were now, in the blackened void where his love had destroyed you.

And then, nothing.

|| moral of the story, be careful.. and.. what the heck is wrong with my brain🧍‍♀️

#isagi yoichi #bllk isagi #isagi x reader #yandere isagi #yandere yoichi #yoichi x reader #isagi yoichi x reader #gore #disturbing #unwanted pregnancy #unwanted child #manipulation #yoichi isagi x reader #yoichi isagi x you #bllk

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oops-all-concrete · 1 year ago

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BG3 fandom! I have more headcanons- but first!!

I must issue a very loud

⚠️SPOILER WARNING⚠️

For The Dark Urge playthrough of Baldurs Gate 3! There is no further warning below the cut, so if you care not to be spoiled, do not continue to read!

For those of you interested- ahead lies: Angst, hurt/comfort, canon-typical violence, blood, mentions of death, no MCD or any perma-death anyway, and lots of love. Greif and pain and emotional hurt are heavy themes as well!

Last warning! ⚠️Spoilers ahead⚠️

I've just gotten to this point in the Dark Urge run (where you reject Bhaal and fucking) DIE, and DUDE- I am stunned companions say NOTHING to your LITERAL DEATH after rejecting Bhaals gift or whatever. (Not in the scenes anyway) So, I'm writing how I think they'd respond cinematically, because your lively Durges deserve to be mourned and loved.

(Of course in-game this would be limited to the dialogue, but I've describes how they would be animated anyhow)

Lae'zel -

She's running to Durge the moment they start lifting from the ground, but pauses once their eyes start rolling back and blackening. There's something beyond her control happening, and she needs it to stop- and it does. With Tav hitting the floor eyes black, soul gone. She's immediately yelling at the others to do something, hand her a scroll, something- but nothing is working. Her shoulder slump after a good few minutes. And finally her voice breaks. She holds a hand to her chest as she wails in agony, holding her Tavs body like it's the last time- because to her- it is. "My angel, my moon. My great protector. I have failed you" She hisses, eyes scrunched shut.

Shadowheart -

She's been afraid her whole life. But even in the face of Bhaal, she will not be afraid if it means Tav will be safer. She immediately casts warding bond, if they're in danger, she'll halve it. If you're going to get hurt, so shall she- and she's okay with that. "Hang on-!" And then it all goes black, she falls without a word or scream, but she's content. If she dies protecting Durge, she cannot ask for better.

(After cutscene convo) Once Durge has been revived by Withers, it's up to them to get a scroll and revive her from the bloodied mess on the floor. She's stunned and confused, but the moment she sees Tav okay she couldn't care less. Why did you do that? "It might sound silly, but I was scared that you would be alone through whatever was about to happen. I don't regret it, if you're wondering"

Wyll -

"Gods- NO!" He shouts, a hand reaching out for them as they hit the ground. He's over them in a flash, holding their head in his arms, trying desperately to wake them, find a pulse, wake up himself and have this all be some sick nightmare. But of course, no such thing happens. The Tav he knows and loves just ceased living before his eyes. There's blood soaking into his every apparel and he's crying his eye out. It crosses his mind. Mizora is powerful- even if she can't fix this, she will know someone or something that can. He'd give anything- his whole life, he'd gladly be a lemure if it gave Tav back. He almost calls for her- until Withers starts his speech. (During the 'your rejection of Bhaal has earned you a place among heroes' section of his dialogue, he'll turn to Wyll and add: 'No devil's, demons or feinds required, I assure you')

Karlach -

If she wasn't raging before, she is now. A tomb-rocking scream echoes around the chamber, eyes wide with horror, body shaking and burning all over, engine out of control but she couldn't care less. One of the others will tell her to calm down. "FUCK THAT! FUCK EVERYTHING! FUCK THE GODS ABOVE AND THE HELLS BELOW." She roars. It goes on, swearing, screaming, swinging- and then, finally- collapse. She drops to her knees and punches the hard ground next to Tavs body, sobbing and exhausted. Withers walks in the the most gut-wrenching agonised scream of why

Gale -

He's frozen as it happens. His hands crackle with weave but he can't move. He needs to do something- anything, but time moves without him. All he knows is he can't breathe, all he can smell is blood and he thinks he's going to be sick. He can hear invisible bones cracking, distant blood dripping and their last choke. The wizard stumbles forward, barely making it to their body before collapsing beside them, on his knees and positively glowing from the mark on his chest. The orb can sense his distress and buzzes within him, as though it can smell the death. He pulls and hand to his mouth, kissing it gently- unable to comprehend a kiss goodbye. "Oh- Gods. Oh my love" he sobs, brows furrowed in what looks like physical pain. "I'm so sorry... I'm so, so sorry..." He wheezes out, scarcely finding breath.

Astarion -

He doesn't let their head hit the ground. He's swift as he catches them, but frantic as he sets their head on his thighs as a pillow. He pulls open their eyelids only to find a blackened core beneath, animalistic and distinctly unfamiliar. "Wake up, damn you...not after all this! You don't get to go!" He yells sounding genuinely furious- like he was going to get violent. If any of the others approach he doesn't notice. "We still have a cult to cull, we have a brain to control- I need you!" He yells, voice raw and eyes wet, the anger melting into greif. He makes a sheild of himself over Durge when Withers walks in, dagger/shortsword in hand, teeth bared, despite his damp face.

(Withers greets Astarion: 'Cry no more Spawn of sanguine- the universe is finally in your favour')

(Only Halsin is romanced for obvious reasons, but closeness is still implied for Minsc and Jaheira)

Halsin -

He catches Durge on the way down, their head on his chest as he lays them down over himself. "My heart? Can you hear me? Please say something" He begs hands glowing with healing magic, eyes aglow as well. He tries for a little, but then his breathing changes entirely, a small hushed gasp sounds from him, his he starts shaking his head, eyes wide. "Oh- oh Gods- Silvannus, please- I cannot bear to lose- oh Gods" He gasps, breath becoming harsher- finally letting tears fall. "Oak Father- please, wherever they go- keep them safe" he prays, teeth gritted in agony.

Jaheira -

She looks away as Tavs life is sapped away, unable to watch another Bhaalspawn friend suffer. When all falls still and silent, she looks among the other companions, shocked and frozen. "They're at peace now. Take comfort in knowing they chose to keep you all safe." She says with a proud nod- but her eyes are wet and her nose scrunched a little with a sniff.

Minsc -

There's small squeaking in the berserkers ear, before he sighs, almost a sob and speaks with a tired voice. "Wise words, Boo. I only wish our friend could hear you" Before he turns away, unable to look at them on the floor. "I am proud to have called them our friend. We should make them proud in return"

Hope you enjoyed! To the lovely people who have made requests, I will get to them as soon as I can!! Thank you for the requests, and please feel free to send me more!

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