#your entire existence over & over from this point is to die slowly or find a way to leave the world entirely. the luxury of life escapesyou

[vellichorom]

you sick little animal, even death itself pities you.

[cl-0v3r]

remember the days when you didn't like ambessa? what changed your mind about her?

HI ANONN , THATS A GOOD QUESTION!

Since the beginning I've always found it hard to trust Ambessa, it's not that I don't believe her experiences, she's one of the smartest characters in the whole show. But It's more about her relationship with Mel, I've always been so unsure about what her true feelings towards Mel are, she is a wolf, but undoubtedly a fox as well. Manipulation is like smooth sailing for her, and finding genuinity in her expressions always came with a little bit of doubt on the side, "Does she actually care? Is she manipulating the people around her -including Mel- JUST to get her way? Is she trustworthy with her intentions and feelings towards Mel?" And etc.

Only a little while ago did I realize that Ambessa is just extremely complex, she has so many layers, to the point where I didn't really have to time to clear my glasses about her character. I hated her for her morals, and i let that affect my interest towards this character as a whole, which is a huge mistake in my book. I also did take her a little personally sometimes, shes really realistic and it scared me a lot.

But ever since riot released the few beggining s2 trailers, I slowly started getting excited to see her. We did not get much screentime with Ambessa in s1, hence why I never felt a close attachment to her, and Mel was another reason on why I didn't like Ambessa because I'm attached to HER the most. Which reflects on my opinions on certain others, sort of like seeing things from her perspective. Mel is basically the base of my opinions on other characters if that makes sense?

Family, especially motherhood tropes are such a weakness for me, seeing her league voicelines and that music video they recently released (blood, sweat & tears) is what tipped the jar completely for me. We never got a clear indication on what Ambessas true perspective was, so finally seeing things from her eyes, hearing what she had to say, seeing how rough her past is made me understand why she became who she is in the current timeline.

And now I feel like I do not need to doubt everything she says, she does indeed love Mel as much as she does kino, she was not telling Mel in episode 9 all those things to weaken her for an open road, no. She'd went through hell and back just to keep her family safe despite how nuanced her actions are. seeing her lore simply made me do an entire 180⁰ turn.

She was going to accept her and her childs death and give in, but instead she chose to fight for her and their lives instead.

Kindred has the Lamb and the wolf. The lamb takes the lives of the dying peacefully, the wolf on the other hand, takes the lives of those who fight for their lives until they're dead.

And I find that interesting, gut wrenching and sickening mentally, thanks riot, good to know Ambessa is locked to the wolf in every single way <333

Thing is, what pains me is that she had no choice, she had to choose to die and leave everyone behind including the unborn child, or become the Medardas dictator, with the expense of her child's inevitable death. (Or perhaps I've taken this wrong)

From my understanding, the MV was more about Kino than it is about Mel, her letting go of the lamb was like handing the lamb for slaughter, a sacrifice, sort of like a "contract". Which lead to Kinos death despite how unrelated it was from kindred (like he didn't die by kindreds hands directly) . Hence why she was crying over the child figure/statue holding the lamb.

And later with the visual presentation of her pain too, someone please take the medardas pains and give it triple the amount to the actual worst fucking person to exist oh my god 😭 😭 😭

To summarize, I just never understood her character properly, I never got myself to do so. and that is a mistake from my side, I am a really visual person and the reason I really love arcane is because they don't really need words to express and show who their characters really are. Theres so many visual secrets and easterggs, expressionism, movements, colors, every single thing matters. And with Ambessa only appearing on the last 2 episodes?? Yeah I never felt like learning about her. But now im slowly starting to do that! She made it from my least character ever to like TOP 5 😭 😭

All of this will not change how horrible she is, she is a painted villain, ambiguous yes, but leaning on the darker sides. But that's what makes her Ambessa and no one else, I will forever hate her morals, I won't defend her actions. but her true intentions are meaningful nonetheless, with all the other characters too.

[sheeple]

Miracles don't exist | 40: As the world caves in

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): Death A/n: The epilogue follows asap lmao [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

"Can you walk?" Theo holds out both of his hands for you to take. You nod and hold on tightly to his hands. He heaves you up and you stumble before finding your footing. Holding up a hand, you stumble a few more times before finally being stable on your feet.

"How do you feel?"

You take a deep breath, straightening up. How do you feel? You don't feel any different than before. However... something feels different. Something's missing. Your best guess is that that is the part of his soul that has left your body. "I don't- I don't know. Lighter?" 

Theo hums, his thumb tracing circles around your waist. "Are you sure you're well enough? We can stay down here. Stay safe."

His suggestion makes you frown. Stay down here and wait the fight out? It's a sensible thought. But why does it make you feel so uneasy? Yes, it's the safest option to wait the war out. But you've come too far, seen too much to do nothing.

"We have to help, Teddy. I want to see with my own eyes how he loses."

A deep sigh escapes Theo and he rubs a hand over his face as he mumbles something about his wife being too good for her own good. It makes you smile widely.

He wraps an arm over your shoulders as he peeks his head outside of the potions classroom. Once he deems it safe, with his wand in his hand, he makes sure you are stable enough on your feet.

You climb up the stairs slowly and surely, finding the silence and emptiness of the entire castle jarring. "Where is everybody?", you whisper, looking around the great hall.

"There", points Theo as he sees the last people exit the castle.

Students stand around as the entirety of the Dark Lord’s army stands at the entrance of the battle-worn courtyard. A triumphant look on his face while Nigini slithers between his feet. Hagrid — bound with ropes and held in place by two Death Eaters — holds something in his arms, a sorrowful look on his face. 

Oh no… that can only mean one thing…

“Harry Potter… is dead!”

Ginny cries out while running forward. Mr Weasley manages to pull her back before she’s hit by a spell.

“Silence! Stupid girl. Harry Potter is dead. From this day forth, you put your faith in me.”

The courtyard is filled with dreadful silence, students silently sobbing as they look at Harry’s corps. Your hand reaches out to Teddy and you clutch him tightly, scared that if you don’t hold him, he’ll disappear. 

The Dark Lo- no. Voldemort. Voldemort looks back at his supporters as they laugh at their victory. He spreads his arms and looks at the crowd. “And now is the time to declare yourself. Come forward and join us. Or die.”

Bellatrix climbs on top of a broken pillar so she has an overview of the battlefield. She has a wide smile on her face, a look of pure enjoyment. It sickens you. It makes you want to hurt her. 

But the gleeful look soon disappears from both of their faces as nobody moves. Voldemort’s eyes search the crowd, searching for something it seems. And once they lock onto yours, they stay. He reaches out a hand, his palm open. “My Heir. My daughter, join us.”

Students around you step out of the way, terror in their eyes. Theo’s hold on your hand tightens and he pushes you behind him. He shakes his head, but you lay a hand on his shoulder. With a whisper you reassure it’s all going to be fine and that you won’t let him win.

Slowly, you make your way down the rubble towards Voldemort, who stands with his arms wide open. You stop just shortly out of his reach, fists balled and wand in the ready. 

“Ah. Well done, my Heir. Well done.” He expects you to come to him. But you stay where you are, staring him down.

“It doesn’t matter that Harry is gone. You’ve lost. And you helped to bring your own demise by killing him. Don’t you think I wouldn’t figure out what my special mission was? What you’ve made of me. What you made of Harry.”

Voldemort pulls his hands back to his side, an unreadable look on his face. “You insolent child”, he hisses as Nigini slithers dangerously at her master’s feet, her eyes set on you.

You glance at the snake, twirling your wand in between your fingers. You look back at Voldemort, your eyes silently telling that you know. You know that she’s the last Horcrux. And it’s only her before he’s dead. 

“You’ve grown weak, Father. And Death is waiting for you.” You fire a blast at him, but he reflects it. You jump out of the way as his spells and curses barely miss you. 

While you’ve distracted Voldemort, Harry rolls out of Hagrid’s arms and tries to set the snake on fire. It deflects and hits the Death Eaters behind her. 

The crowd of Hogwarts students flee inside while the Death Eaters either advance on the group or flee in puffs of smoke. In the flurry of people, you see a head of platinum blonde run across the courtyard, towards his parents and disappear with them.

You manage to make your way inside without getting too gravely injured. It’s mostly scrapes and burns. You’ve also lost the interest of Voldemort, as he’s going after Harry. Instead, you have Bellatrix hot on your heels. She cackles and calls after you, wildly firing curses that barely miss you. 

Somehow you’ve ended up in the Great Hall just as she corners you. You’ve stumbled over something and landed on your ass. Just as she raises her wand to give the final blow, she gets lunched off her feet. She hits the wall behind her with an ‘oof’ and slumps down. 

Theo runs towards you and pulls you back on your feet. You give him a nod before turning your attention back to Bellatrix. The two of you stand side to side, your wands raised and a determined look on your faces. 

She jumps up, running towards you with snarled teeth. She laughs as you yelp and try your best to stop her. Theo and you fight in tandem. But she’s more powerful than you thought, easily deflecting each spell. But she can’t keep this up, and it shows. Her moves become sloppy and she actually gets hit a couple of times.

While she gets sluggish, your moves only become more powerful and vicious. Blow after blow, you hit her with more vigour until you hit her square in the chest and she halts in the middle of the air, a petrified look on her face. 

You reel your arm back and just for a second the killing curse flashes through your mind. No. You won’t lower yourself to their level. Instead, you concentrate all your might and power on your wand and fire a red blast towards her. She floats for a moment before dropping dead, her body contorting strangely. Her wide and lifeless eyes stare up at you.

Your chest rises rapidly as you watch her Suddenly, it connects. You’ve killed her. You’ve just killed Bellatrix Lestrange. As your eyes keep their focus on hers, you stumble backwards in the arms of Theo. Looking up, you find comfort in his own brown ones. They say you’ve done well. It was a necessary evil.

"It's okay", he whispers, pulling you away to have you not look at the corpse. "You had to. It was you or her."

His words bounce around your head, but they don't land. You're still dazed. Theo makes sure to tuck you under his chin, keeping you safe until the air clears and the word spreads Voldemort is dead. Harry has defeated him and the Dark Lord has dropped dead like an ordinary man.

The two of you stay glued together sitting on a bench, mugs in your hands. You don't move until you see Sirius, Remus, and Tonks approach you.

You jump up from the bench and hug Sirius tightly. He engulfs you while pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. You keep your arms around Sirius until they grow numb. And even then you don't want to part ways. 

Theo replaces Sirius in holding you and you melt into his arms. "It's done", he whispers into your hair. "It's finally over."

A tired smile grows on your face. "The war is over. Let's go home."

Taglist (bold means I couldn’t tag you): @the0doreslover @lqndkxlmqma @st4rrry  @choppedpartymuffinwinner @ledtassoo @literallyobessed @lestat-whore​ @vanishingcherry @harrysnovia @pietrobae @ireallywannasleep127 @yeolsbubbles @fruityfrog505 @fluffybunnyu @theroyalmanatee @shinrjj @hegdus @kermits-bitch @m1kasawps @noah-uhhh-what @mypolicemanharryyy @fals3-g0d @decapitated-coffee @thatgirljas13 @slytherinambitious @raineisms @mastermindmiko @timmytime17 @regsg18 @supernatural-lover @bubybubsters @lafrone @hermionelove @the-sander-fander @akengii @aliciacat20 @unstablereader @burns-in-the-sun @rachelnicolee @damagelove @mqndrqke @llpovi @clairesjointshurt @222244445555 @jolly4holly @padf00ts-l0ver @fandom-life-12 @prettyb1tchsblog @pari-1 @f14ever @nopedefe @randomgurl2326 @rinalouu @yazminetrahan @ellen3101 @comfyvic

[lahooozaherr]

I Will Always Find You

Chapter 1

Word Count: 4.8K

Warnings: Kidnapping, dead parent mention, good relationship with parent, drugging (implied)

MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI. AGELESS/BLANK ACCOUNTS WILL BE BLOCKED.

My tag list (instructions & requirements)

Chapter Summary: You’re a princess attending a diplomat event on Naboo with your father, a senator. He enlists his old friend, Greef Karga, to hire the best he knows to be your bodyguard for the week. Meeting the Mandalorian sparks a mutual fascination between you and him.

A/N: This takes place between season 2 and Book of Boba Fett although I do take some liberties with canon. The Razor Crest still exists because obvious reasons. Space birth control is a thing. Trying to bring out the sassy Din I know exists. It’s been over ten years since I’ve written and posted fanfic so please be gentle with me!

Song Inspo: Safety Net by Arianna Grande

Inspo Playlist

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Read it on AO3

Present Day

Wherever you were, it was dark and humid. Sometimes the sun shined through the small, barred window of the room you were placed in. It had been a few days, or at least that’s what it felt like to you, but you hadn’t kept count. Twice a day, meager rations were placed into your room quickly by someone you never really saw.

You couldn’t help but think how this was such a pathetic way to die. Slowly, but surely, you were losing any hope or will to live and any fight left in you also diminished quickly. The timing of all of this was awful. Saying goodbye to the Mandalorian had left a hole in your heart. Life would just never be the same after him.

If only you had told him how you felt. The thought of that had only made you more depressed, given your current situation. That last goodbye, full of unspoken feelings and confessions that wouldn't leave the confines of your beating chests, was all you could think about, aside from your duties as princess, your relationship with your father, and wanting so badly to help his burden as senator. And all of that amounted to this? What a cruel joke the universe had played on you.

The jingling of keys jerked your attention towards the door. A man you don’t recognize walks in, he is probably the same person who's been bringing you your “meals”, if you can call them that. You remained on the small, creaking bed that had been the only piece of furniture in the room besides a makeshift privy.

“We’re leaving later today,” he leans forward with a cloth and wraps it around your eyes. You don’t bother to say anything, the small bruises on your body are enough evidence that asking questions will get you no answers anyways.

After wrapping the cloth around your head and securing it around your eyes, he grabs your wrists. You hear the click of fasteners and drop your hands to your lap. Finally, you hear his footsteps exit the room and you’re alone again.

What was the point of this? To make sure you can’t tell where you’re being taken? It’s hard to care anymore. That flame of self preservation has been increasingly low and dull the more the days drag on.

You had been kidnapped, you know that much at least. Not by who, though. It had happened on a random stop for fuel and supplies on the way back to your home planet. It was during your walk through the market near that stop, telling your father you’d be quick. The planet seemed safe enough but you’d guess that judgment was wrong, evidently.

The whole event was a blur after you had been grabbed back into an alley, made to smell a cloth and pass out. Since then you’ve been met with sneers and silence from the few you’ve seen of your captors. They didn’t harm you but they also didn’t care how they handled you, thus the bruising. Wherever you were, you could tell it at least housed several of them. This must be where they kept you before they decided what to do with you. For all you knew, they could have taken you to an entirely different planet while you were unconscious.

You’ve wondered if you’d be found. Would the Mandalorian find you? Or is he really long gone? Your father had to have at least tried to contact someone.

You sink back into yourself on the thin mattress, slipping back into a dreamless sleep.

—————————————————————————

Two weeks earlier…

It wasn’t long ago that Din had to leave Grogu with the Jedi. Grief had been a foreign emotion to him until then. So he dealt with it the only way he knew how: distract himself seeking quarries. Greef Karga had plenty of bounties for him under the table while he rebuilt Nevarro.

He made his way towards Karga’s office, weaving through the bustling city Nevarro had become in recent months. Merchants sold their goods and civilians worked together to build and improve their infrastructure.

The communication Karga sent to Din had been vague.

“Come see me when you’re done with this job, I have a new, interesting one for you.”

Din had originally scoffed at the statement. Interesting? Probably more like a headache. Karga was regularly roping him into weird and sometimes, very inconvenient, jobs. But he’d always at least hear him out.

Entering his office, Karga turns to him and smiles, “Mando!” The two clasp arms and shake, their usual greeting to each other. “Please, sit.” Gesturing him to the seat in front of his desk. He sits in his own chair and folds his hands out in front of him.

“I’m assuming you got my message!”

“Yes, saying you had an interesting job. Define interesting?”

Karga laughs, “you know me too well Mando. But I promise, this isn’t the usual ‘interesting’ I bring you on for. However, it is still very important.”

Din crosses his arm and leans back into the chair, tilting his helm to signal him to continue.

“A diplomatic gathering is happening in Naboo, one that I’m attending. A very good friend of mine, who is a senator, is requesting a bodyguard for his daughter. He asked me for my best and most trustworthy guy, and that guy is you.”

Din lightly hums, “a body guard while they’re in Naboo? Doesn’t that seem a bit much?”

“I see what you’re saying, my friend, but there’s more to it. We’ve caught word that a warlord seeks control of their territory and….lineage. It’s very important to him that his daughter’s protection is made a priority.”

“Lineage? Because they’re royalty?”

“That’s correct. She’s a princess. She will also be attending the events, their plan is for her to take on more of a senator role and take her father’s place one day.”

Din mulls the details over in his mind for a moment. Karga was right about it being interesting, but it’s nothing he couldn’t handle. If anything it was interesting that Karga had a friend who was royalty.

Karga continues, “you will be paid, very well if I might add. Your lodging and transportation will also be paid for. You and I will travel together.”

“Why not? Sure, I’ll do it.”

Karga claps his hands and stands up, “excellent! I’ll have my ship prepared and we’ll leave in due time.”

—————————————————————————

Naboo has to be one of your favorite places to visit. Your home planet had its own fair share of greenery, lakes and culture but it wasn’t as much as Naboo. Your family’s bloodline were far off cousins to the royalty here and thus you always had somewhere to stay when you were here.

For the entire week leading up to the trip, you thoroughly prepared yourself. You had classes and meetings to be attending soon and you wanted to do your best to properly represent your homeland. Your father had done well to provide you with everything you’d need, from learning etiquette as a senator but as well as politics and diplomacy.

A spacious room had been provided for you, already filled with some of your possessions and needed materials. You sat at a small vanity in the corner of the room, touching up your hair and makeup. Meetings didn’t start today but you’d be making rounds with your father regardless.

“You can do this,” you mouthed to your reflection in the mirror. You didn’t 100% believe yourself though. There was immense pressure to take on the responsibility, though you knew your father would never force you. You wanted to help him, the most selfless and hardworking man that you looked up to more than anyone else in the galaxy. More than that, you wanted to improve your leadership skills for the sake of your people.

But a nagging feeling you’ve tried to squash in recent years always crept at the back of your mind. Is this what you really want? It was easier to keep that thought in the dark and to not question it. But that became more difficult the older you grew.

Would your father be disappointed in you if you chose another path in life? Probably not. But he was also aging, and that worried you always. Losing your mother a few years ago had seemed to fast track that aging. He is a compassionate and caring leader, and an adoring father, all in spite of losing the love of his life. You struggled with the thought of leaving him to deal with everything on his own.

Suddenly you hear your father knocking at your door, “can I come in?”

“Yes father!” You call out to him. The door to your room slides open. You can see him from behind you in the mirror. His smile is bright and warm, as always when he looks at you. Keeping eye contact with him in the mirror, he comes up behind you and places his hands on your shoulders.

“You remind me so much of your mother.”

“You always say that,” you smile back at him.

“And I mean it, every single time,” he lays a soft kiss to the back of your head. “Are you almost ready? We have some people waiting for us.”

You furrow your brow, “really? Who?”

He smiles, “it’s a surprise, you’ll see.”

—————————————————————————

After landing the ship in a nearby port, Din and Karga soon found themselves walking through the expansive, wide halls of one of Naboo’s palaces. This one was reserved for events like this. Senators and other political figures got to stay in the provided lodging of the palace, very convenient for the activities of that week.

Much like the rest of Naboo, the palace was beautiful. Lush gardens lined several courtyards within its walls, perfect for gathering with others or even just oneself. The halls were made of a shiny granite, any steps across it left a small clicking noise that echoed in the comfortable silence.

The two came upon a small, more private courtyard. Complete with a stone bench and small fountain in the middle. To the far side there was a door to someone’s quarters, Din had figured.

“Alright, we should be meeting them here,” Karga says while looking around the area.

“This is exciting for me,” he beams. “This year I was finally invited, with a good word in from my friend. This will be great for relations for the society Nevarro is becoming.”

Din is half listening, taking in his surroundings while still as a statue. It didn’t matter so much to him, this was just another job. Another thing to keep him busy, to keep him from missing Grogu.

“Karga!” The voice comes from another man who looks about Karga’s age, emerging from the door in the courtyard. “My friend, it’s been too long!”

The two share a hearty laugh and hug, patting each other on the shoulder respectively. Pulling away, they lock hands and shake.

“Likewise, Senator,” Karga turns and gestures towards Din.

“Mando, this is the Senator, my good friend and our client for this week.”

The Senator reaches his hand out and Din reciprocates, shaking it, “so this is the Mandalorian I’ve heard so much about! I’m so grateful you took the job.”

Din nods and steps back into position.

“My daughter should be out here in just a few minutes. She’s been very nervous about this week. My own nerves are eased knowing I can trust her in your care. Karga has told me a great deal about you, and anyone he trusts that much has earned mine as well. You’ve been made aware of our situation, I hope?” He queries Karga, who nods in response.

“Of course, I made sure.”

“I’m very grateful. I will spare no costs to make sure my daughter is safe.”

Din notices the glimmer of fear in the Senator’s eyes. Karga shared more details about the warlord threatening them on the way to Naboo. He found it odd that this warlord had chosen, what seemed to him, a random planet. Despite its royalty and trading, it was a more distant planet in the outer rim not too many others knew about.

“Then what is so special about this planet?” Din asks, really more so thinking out loud.

“Probably because they seem weaker, and have similar resources to Naboo. They are smaller and lesser known, for a warlord that’s an ideal place to set roots and control,” Karga replies, nonchalantly. “It’s not exactly that they’re weak, but they’ve chosen to keep more to themselves. But times change and relations have to be made to keep their economy running. That draws attention.

“What does the daughter have to do with it then? Why target her?”

“Well, negotiation for starters. Ransom. A threat directly to their lineage. If she’s killed, there’s one less direct descendant to take on their leadership when their current senator is retired or passed on. Although, I doubt the plan is to try and kill her right away.”

“Right. Makes more sense to hold her hostage, I guess.”

Karga sighs, “You’re probably right. And without much of an army at this time, they can’t afford to take them with them.”

____________________________________________

Leaving the door to your room into its adjoining courtyard, you notice your father standing with two other figures.

“Father?”

All three men turn to face you, your father’s smiles, “There you are! Gentlemen, this is my beautiful daughter.”

With part of the gown you’re wearing bunched in one hand to give you room to walk, you descend the small stairs and approach them. Smiling and bowing your head slightly, the two other men do the same in response. “It’s nice to meet you…” shooting your father a clueless look.

Your father clears his throat, “my dear, this is a good friend of mine, Greef Karga.” Karga nods in acknowledgement, holding his hand out for you. You take it gently and allow him to give it a small squeeze before returning it to yourself.

“I’m sure you don’t remember me, the last I saw of you, you were still an infant. You have grown into such a lovely young woman.”

“Thank you, that’s so kind. It’s nice to meet you again.”

Your father quickly interjects, “And the surprise for you, my darling.” He points to the steel clad figure standing next to Karga. “The Mandalorian I have hired as your bodyguard this week.”

Distracted might be an understatement when you first spotted him. Compared to you, he was tall and intimidating. His armor is made of beskar, shining in the sunlight. You were immediately intrigued by him. Mandalorian culture came up in your studies plenty of times, and you had a vague knowledge of it stored in your memory.

The Mandalorian is silent, only giving you a small nod, and you respond in kind. Very fitting for someone like him to be silent and emotionless. You wanted to know more about him. Aside from the bodyguard detail, you understood why your father kept this as a surprise, he knew better than anyone what interests you and your thirst for knowledge.

Your father claps his hands, “Shall we show you two around?”

Karga waves ahead, “By all means!”

Karga and your father walk ahead, leaving you and the Mandalorian to follow behind, side by side. You wanted to keep staring at him but tried not to, you didn’t want to seem rude and you certainly couldn’t tell where his eyes were. Yet.

Approaching another set of small stairs, you habitually gather a corner of your gown to free up room for your feet to step down. Karga holds his hand out to you once more, this time to help you.

Once at the bottom of the small staircase, Karga points at the Mandalorian, “Mando, learn to do that for her. It’s proper.”

The Mandalorian tilts his helmet at him, your face starts to heat up, “Oh please it’s really not necessary!”

He laughs and returns to your father’s side, walking ahead. Both of you follow behind them, now in a sort of awkward silence. You mull over in your head what you could say but you’re afraid of sounding….immature? Incompetent?

“I-I’m sorry,” you begin. “Please don’t worry about something like that.”

The Mandalorian doesn’t respond right away and it makes you even more nervous. Finally, he replies, “Do you plan to wear more outfits like that?”

You felt flustered, quickly. This is the first time you’re hearing his voice, although modulated because of his helmet. Your curiosity only grew.

“Uhm, yes…”

“Then I will help you,” he says, with a hint of softness that somehow filtered through his helmet.

Your now racing heart doesn’t relent and you find yourself seriously questioning why.

—————————————————————————

Karga and your father might as well have their own bubble, leading your group while they engage in deep conversation and play catch up.

Unfortunately this left you and the Mandalorian in a sort of awkward silence. Well, awkward to you at least. He’s probably fine, probably prefers it that way. You had hundreds of questions you could ask but none that were appropriate after only just meeting him. You searched your mind for ways to break the ice.

“Do youuuu…..get jobs like this a lot?” You decided to shoot that one out.

“No.”

Dammit. Of course. New question.

“What kind of jobs do you usually get, then?”

“Bounties.”

Maker, this was almost painful. Intimidating might have been an understatement for you. Something in you wanted to fight for his attention, his actual attention. Not what he was paid to do.

Your small group would come to stops here and there, your father guiding your guests and showing them where everything is and what’s what. You’d occasionally pass others who would nod in your direction and carry on. The palace was peaceful and quiet.

“Are you ok?” His voice startled you out of your thoughts. You glance his way without turning your head.

“Yes. Why?”

“Your heart rate is spiking.”

Oh no, he can tell? Because of his helmet? How embarrassing.

You let out a deep sigh, “this is my first time meeting a Mandalorian. Admittedly, I’m trying to come up with a conversation without prying too much.”

“That makes you nervous?”

“You’re tall, silent and intimidating. Of course.”

A small chuckle escapes his helmet in response to your sudden casual attitude, taking you by surprise. Did you somehow pull a laugh out of him?

“I’ll give you that.”

You smirk and let your eyes wander. Maybe this won’t be as hard as you had thought.

—————————————————————————

The way you look at him is…..different. Din is a trained warrior, he’s skilled in being able to read others. You wear your emotions and thoughts on your face pretty clearly. What he’s not exactly prepared for is the kind of emotions you’re displaying. When he first met your eyes (unbeknownst to you) he saw you look him up and down, curiously. A small smirk on your lips and your eyes change from inquisitive to….excitement? Was he reading that right?

At some point, your father’s tour tapered off. Karga suggested going into the nearby market for food and your father insisted. All four of you are now seated outside of a restaurant. Din, of course, did not eat. So that left him with more time to sit back, cross his arms over his chest and observe you.

It was hard to get a word in edgewise with your father and Karga. It felt like they had never stopped talking, having years to catch up on each other. He’d watch as you sat silently, your eyes would flit between the two of them, him and around you. Here and there you’d stop to stare at him for a minute, observing him right back. But you didn’t have the shield of a helmet to hide the eyes you gave him.

After finishing your food you started to become visibly impatient. You finally find a small moment of silence between those two and interject.

“Father, I’d like to wander around the market for a while if that’s alright with you. I’ll meet back up with you tonight?” You shoot him a look in your eyes that Din can definitely understand. Please let me go. I'm so bored.

He smiles back at you, although cautiously. He seems to hesitate, pausing before saying “Yes. Of course. Of course!” You stand up from your chair and stretch, Din also rises from his seat and stands.

“Don’t give the Mandalorian any trouble,” he winks at you, giving your hand a small squeeze before letting go. You give him a small tch with your tongue, rolling your eyes and turning to leave. Your father and Karga laugh heartily before resuming their previous conversation.

Din catches up to you and you let out a big sigh, “I’m sorry, any longer and I would have fallen asleep!”

“Karga has that effect on people sometimes.”

“You’re lucky though, you have a helmet, you could sleep and no one would really know.”

Din hums, amused, “don’t tell anyone.”

You couldn’t help but cackle back at his unexpected quip. You know for sure now that there’s a living, breathing person under there.

—————————————————————————

You’d noticed the Mandalorian does an excellent job of making himself look broad and strong. He was definitely a man of few words, so you tried to pay extra attention to his body language and mannerisms, which was still almost scarce on its own.

His armor glinted in the early evening light. Night life was starting up in the small area of town you were in. Some shops remained open alongside merchant stands and food vendors. Perfect timing on getting away from your father and Karga, otherwise you’d probably be dozing off.

But that still meant you were left in another silent moment like before. Only this time, the Mandalorian followed you.

You want to say more and break the silence, but your mind draws blanks on what to say. You finally settle with, “So! Uh, can I call you something? Maybe your name?” He’s silent for a minute before responding, “Mando is fine.”

Ah. Yes. Mando. Very creative.

“You don’t tell anyone your real name, do you?”

He glances at you on his side and nods.

“No, I don’t try to.”

He walked beside you as you took your time looking through merchant tables down the street of the city. The choices of items were almost endless. Clothes, books, and trinkets.

“So….besides standing around and brooding, what else can you tell me about yourself?”

He does a double take at you; you’re starting to run a record for most unexpected things ever said to him before. “Brooding?”

You laugh before turning to face him, the black T of his visor peering down at you. You had gotten close enough to him to really take in how broad he really is. A tension slowly built between you.

“You ask a lot of questions.”

“I’m just so fascinated by you”

“Yeah? Why?”

“I wonder just who you are, under that cool demeanor.”

He lets out something between a scoff and a laugh.

He’s used to the mixture of camaraderie or fear others tend to have towards him. But this? His brain almost short circuits, having to take a few minutes to process what you said. His helmet system alerts him to his own pickup in heart rate.

He settles on saying nothing, as usual, and you’ve already learned to not be bothered by that. You take it as an answer itself, sort of. You turn back to the table you’re standing at, browsing the small piles of clothing.

It was like the more the ice melted away between the two of you, the more you felt attuned to him. Maybe it was real or just your imagination, but if felt like you could start to tell where you think he’s looking at. You’d see his hands move in particular ways, clenching his fists at his sides or casually hooking his thumb into his bandolier.

The evening sky grew darker and the streets were lined in lanterns and lights. Music played somewhere in the distance, the crowd slowly died down. You decided it was time to head back, with Mando following after you.

You both turn down a quiet pathway. The silence between you had grown more comfortable. Fatigue has started to settle in your bones. You yawn and drop your shoulders, “just seven days. Seven days of dressing up and making appearances.”

“Do you have to dress like that everyday?” He asks, not that he exactly minds. The way you dress yourself is proper, ethereal. It was one of the first things he noticed about you. Which makes sense, because you’re royalty. Right, that’s why he noticed.

“I have to represent my family, and my home, so yes. I have to look my best every day.”

You pause for a moment, your eyes staring off into the distance as if you were mentally somewhere else.

“It’s like my armor,” you add, softly smiling to yourself.

Mando notices the distant look in your eye, and the sound of your voice. A sudden sadness had seemed to creep in. Something about seeing you like that pulled at his heart.

As if returning to yourself, you snap your eyes to meet his visor and smile.

He recognizes that look, the feeling emanating off of you. That was your wall, your learned defense mechanism. He knows underneath his armor, he’s a grieving man. A man who is not sure of his path anymore. An apostate.

He wonders who you are, under the well pampered, royal facade. Underneath the manners and gowns.

He mentally agrees, the fascination between you two is mutual.

—————————————————————————-

You’ve really got to start putting on that charm you know you have.

Wait, why are you telling yourself that?

For fun, of course.

If you’re going to be stuck doing this for seven days, you might as well have fun during it. Is striking up a flirtatious banter with the Mandalorian so bad? You’re curious.

Everything about him says “don’t fuck with me.” You’d noticed the glances he got, from the town to even inside the palace. The way crowds parted for him and others looked on and whispered.

You don’t think father thought that through when he hired the Mandalorian. All in an effort to protect you from potential dangers and he has, now, brought more attention to you. But you can’t necessarily blame him. Mando seemed more than capable and his reputation precedes him just from the looks he’s getting everywhere you go.

He had a swagger in his walk and gave off an aura that says he knows he’s a walking deadly weapon.

And all of that combined was exciting to you. It made your heart stutter. Maybe you should ponder that, but you put that thought aside for later.

You have felt his gaze since you met. At first you’d thought you were being paranoid, or maybe self indulgent, you weren’t sure of which at the time. But you’re more certain of it now. Especially when you sat across from him at dinner. But that’s what he’s getting paid to do, right?

Now, as you walk alongside him back to the palace, you’re mentally bashing yourself. You told him you felt like your gowns were like armor and felt ridiculous. There is no comparison of your clothes to his cold beskar. After a smile, you change the subject, opting for the bolder route.

“I’ve felt your eyes on me all day.”

Mando remains silent, looking ahead. You half expect him to scoff. Instead, he stops walking. You stop in front, facing him. In the nick of time, you two had made it to the garden area outside of the door to your suite.

“I could say the same for you.”

Your stomach flips, even though you already knew you weren’t exactly hiding when you watched him. He leans back on his legs and crosses his arms, waiting for your reply.

Right, yes, a reply. Hurry, and think of something to quip back at him.

“Is that wrong?”

He hums, considers your question, “no, just more obvious.”

“Yes, well, not all of us have the luxury of anonymity right now,” you nod your head to him, he shrugs.

You raise an eyebrow and smile, “so you admit it? You’ve been watching me all day.”

His stance freezes, and now you know you’ve got him, you smirk.

He steps closer to you, just enough to barely brush against you. His form is wide and tense, “it’s my job.”

There’s a small tone in his voice. Darker, smooth and matter of fact.

Your eyes drift from down up and focus on where you expect his eyes to be, you can hear your heartbeat in your ears. This is suddenly a contest of confidence, and you muster any bit you’ve got left in you.

“In that case, Mandalorian,” your voice drifts, breathy and low, you run a finger across his chest plate as you strut past him, “I will just have to give you more to watch.”

You peer at him over your shoulder and smile. “I’ll see you back here in the morning,” he says. You notice his stature becoming more relaxed. One hand on his hip, knee popped out, he watches you disappear inside.

Next Chapter

A/N: Thank you @veggiestreehugger so much for beta-reading this for me 😭❤️

[zero-to-zero-to-zero-again]

Pocket-Sized Sidekick (2)

Link To Part One

Word Count: 1,970

TW's: Fear, Fearplay (Intentional and Unintentional), Violence, Injury, Implications Of Past Abuse, Threats Of Violence

Characters: C!Ranboo, C!Technoblade, C!Dream, C!Philza, C!Wilbur

Summary: Ranboo finds himself in a totally relatable situation where he's been abducted by one of the scariest supervillains in existence.

Ranboo gets bullied in this one >:)

"...dunno, the freezer?"

"I'm not putting a person in our freezer."

"He probably wouldn't take up much room."

"Don't be an idiot. He'll get blood on my ice cream."

"Scratch the hero. Why don't we just put Will in the freezer?"

"Nobody's putting anyone in the freezer."

The world was a bokeh photo. Clarity was slowly afforded to Ranboo. His mind swam as he gradually pushed himself upright. The argument had become little more than background noise. The entirety of his focus was on the sharp pain coursing through his back in bolts.

"Did you even try to get his suit off? See what we're dealing with?"

"Yeah. Things got an airlock or something."

Airlock? His suit had an airlock on it. Nobody could get the thing off without popping his head off in the process. Maybe he should mention something to...to...

Who was talking?

He could have sworn one of the voices sounded familiar and yet he couldn't place it. Ranboo having memory problems? How entirely out of character. A weary groan leaked from his lips. Dream was going to give him an earful for this one.

His eyes slowly lifted to take in his surroundings. It seemed like a normal enough room. A sofa, a television, a couple windows...all of which seemed comically larger than the hero-in-training. Nausea churned Ranboo's stomach.

Three figures jarringly proportionate to their surroundings stood around in the kitchen. As soon as one with suspiciously pink hair started turning towards him, Ranboo pulled a Toy Story maneuver. He immediately went limp as a ragdoll, dropping flat down against the wood surface beneath him.

There was a long pause.

"He's awake," the Blood God's menacing voice rattled his very bones.

"How do you know?" someone else inquired.

"Will, unless you're going soft on me, he's awake."

Shit. Ranboo made every attempt to suppress whatever fear the Blood God was detecting from him but acknowledging it alone only seemed to make grow stronger. His skin was slick with sweat beneath the impossible heat of his suit. It was like being in a greenhouse. Or an oven.

"Little hero."

The gravely voice was a stark contrast to the sing-songy tone it was forcing.

Ranboo dared to open his eyes only to find an all too familiar boar skull towering over him. A shaky sigh slipped from the sidekick's lips. His head lolled to the side like an answer to the call of darkness lulling him straight back into the state of unconscious he'd only just escaped.

A reckless pressure on his side startled him wide awake.

"Aw, don't die yet. If you keel over before we start interrogating, I owe Will twenty bucks."

Interrogating?

He really was screwed. No doubt about it. The only real question was whether the stress or the villain would do him in first.

"You'll be out a Jackson if you keep poking him like that," someone else from the kitchen pointed out.

The pressure hastily retreated.

"What'd you find on this guy?" the Blood God inquired. He canted his head like a confused puppy. "He seems kinda spineless for a hero."

Ouch. Mentally, physically, emotionally. What ways hadn't this guy wounded Ranboo?

It wasn't like the villain was even wrong. In fact, if Ranboo miraculously made it out of this alive, he swore to himself that he'd resign right then and there. Turn in his badge and what little was left of his suit and beg for his server job back.

"Nope. Our mini-man here is a ghost," a heavily accented voice replied.

"Alright, Casper, I'm going to need you to take your helmet off so we can have a little chat," the Blood God stated. Ruby ringlets in hollow eye sockets kept Ranboo pinned in place. The bright eyes cast a warm glow against the beige bone material of the skull on the villain's head.

No way in fresh hell was he taking off his helmet. It may have been busted in by the foot of the villain he'd stumbled across in the alleyway but it was the only thing standing between him and the three villains in the room with him.

"What, d'ya want me to say please?" the Blood God drawled. He brandished the dagger from his hip, giving it a skillful twirl between his fingers. Without warning, the blade was buried in the wood mere inches from Ranboo's head. "Or are ya looking for some proper motivation?"

The sidekick's heart stuttered to a halt in his chest. Where he once found fear within the red eyes bearing down on him, he was bombarded solely with promises of death. Demise. Something worse. He didn't usually make a point of considering fates worse than death but it was impossible to ignore when they were looking you straight in the face.

It was like he was frozen but couldn't stop twitching all the same.

"I-I can't," Ranboo ground out between chattering teeth. He could hardly breathe.

"Why not?" the Blood God demanded.

"Dream'll kill me if I show you my face."

The broad man let out a dark chuckle.

"You're really more scared of that homeless Teletubby than you are of me?"

There was a pause. The ever-present grin on the villain's face faltered. He leaned back only a hair's width but even that much was a mercy.

"Wait, seriously?" he asked in bewilderment. Ranboo felt the urge to apologize. Scaring people was kind of his whole brand and while he was doing a bang-up job, nothing was more terrifying than the prospect of pissing off Dream.

Someone let out a hardy laugh from the kitchen. The Blood God shot a lethal glare in their direction.

"He's more scared of a smiley face in tights than he is of you!" they wheezed. "You fell off, Techno."

The Blood God reached forward without looking. Ranboo braced himself only to find the villain's fingers wrapped around the hilt of the dagger beside him. With disturbingly little effort, he pried the knife free of its wooden prison and threw it with inhuman grace.

With the sound of something shattering into pieces followed by an indignant squawk, the laughter ceased all at once.

"That was my favorite mug!"

The Blood God scoffed. "You say that about every mug I break."

"Stop breaking my mugs!"

"Stop making them such easy targets!"

"Oh you-"

"Uh-uh," a third voice-Phil, Ranboo presumed-interjected. "Take it outside."

"With pleasure," the Blood God snarled. He rose to his full, intimidating height. It was like he'd forgotten about Ranboo altogether. Not that he was complaining, of course. He cracked his knuckles as he strode off. Ranboo pitied whoever he was planning on squaring off against.

Two sets of footsteps retreated somewhere through the house. It wasn't until a door slammed shut that the chaos resumed, only this time it was far too muffled to make any of it out.

Ranboo was slow to push himself upright. Even so, pain zipped through his abdomen in reprimand. He drew in a hissing breath.

"Take it easy, mate," Phil prompted. He slowly came into view as he shuffled around the side of the sofa to kneel before the coffee table. Even without the costume, Ranboo easily recognized him. Only one villain in his memory bank had massive black wings like those.

Corvus.

"I want to help you but I can't really do that unless I see where you got hurt," Phil tried. He had a deceptively kind smile. When Ranboo didn't respond, he seemed to try a different approach. "The crows told me you seem to be having a bit of a glitch with your suit. Maybe I could help with that?"

Right. The crows. The whole reason this group of villains in particular seemed to have eyes everywhere was because they did. The crows were like little spies. Ranboo wasn't sure how it worked but somehow, the birds always got back to Corvus.

"Are you supposed to be...'good cop' or something?" Ranboo asked between pants.

Corvus chuckled.

"Something like that, I suppose. Look, I've been through this routine a dozen times. We take a hero, we get the info we can, the hero organization bargain for them, and we give them back with only a few strings attached. But I'd really rather not return a corpse because that would look pretty bad on us, wouldn't it? So just let me take a look, we'll get you patched up, and then you'll be on your way in no time."

So much of what Corvus said didn't make sense and yet, he made it sound like the most logical explanation he could convey. Was this gaslighting? This felt like gaslighting.

The sidekick sighed.

"Dream's not going to give you anything for me. There's plenty of recruits worth wasting the resources on but I'm not one of them."

The villain tilted his head in consideration.

"Is that so? Well, then I really should get working on those injuries if you're going to be staying a while," Corvus pointed out.

Ranboo drew in a deep breath. Weighing his options, there were only a few things within the realm of his capabilities. He could just lay there and wait for the bloodloss to pull him under, he could try to make a run for it, or he could take the suit off and pray that the villain was being genuine in their concern for his wellbeing.

None of them seemed to have an assuredly good outcome so he'd just have to go with the one that might give him the best chance of living.

He raised his hands under his helmet. The glove let out a weak chime as it connected to the mechanisms within. He drummed in a quick combinations of buttons and the lock reluctantly clicked out of place. With a deep breath, slowly raised his only method of protection up off his head.

With even more hesitation, he pulled his suit down around his ankles. He was just glad protocol called for them to wear clothes beneath the super suits. Otherwise he'd feel even more exposed than he did in that moment.

When he his gaze trailed back up to meet Corvus', he found the man gawking down at him with his hands clasped over his mouth. Did Ranboo really look that bad?

"How...how old are you?" Phil blurted. His tan complexion had faded to a sickly grey.

Ranboo chewed at his lower lip. Was he really meant to answer that? Then again, what harm would it do?

"Seventeen."

Something unreadable sparked to life in Phil's eyes.

"Does Dream know that?"

Ranboo's focus shifted elsewhere.

"I-I guess? He's the one that hired me."

Phil continued on staring for far too long before hooking his index fingers into his mouth. He let out a shrill whistle that nearly shattered Ranboo's eardrums. Right on command, a flutter of wings sounded overhead. A sleek, black bird claimed its perch on Phil's waiting arm.

"Go get Wilbur," Phil instructed.

The crow let out a caw before taking off in the direction the Blood God had gone off in.

Ranboo raked through his words with a fine-toothed comb in search of something he'd said that could have shocked Phil so badly but he came up with nothing. A not-so-convincing smile was plastered on the blonde man's face as he returned his attention to the tiny hero waiting on the coffee table.

"You just wait here, okay? Wilbur will take care of you. I just have to...er...grab the first aid kit."

The villain took off before Ranboo could even get another word in. He was left standing there wallowing in his own confusion. Ranboo had learned a thing or two about identifying a lie during his time working under Dream. The only real question that remained was:

Why was Phil lying to him?

[wheels-of-despair]

Booked Pairing: Billy Knight x You Summary: Billy Knight didn't like to read... until he met you. Contains: Way-back flashback, fluff, nerves, nerds in love. Word Count: 1k

Billy Knight loved to read.

However, he did not discover this until he met you.

When he was a child, reading was something he had to do in school. He only read the books he was assigned, and they did not excite him. He went through the motions to get a passing grade - or else - and thought no more of it. The only books left in the Knights' cottage, after his father burned everything that reminded him of his wife, were either instructional or political, and those did not interest young Billy.

The first time he visited your home, he couldn't take his eyes away from your bookshelf. You'd noticed it and tried not to say anything, but eventually, you just couldn't help yourself.

"See something you like?" you asked with a smile, tilting your head into his eyeline from your place beside him on the couch.

"No… sorry." He glanced into your eyes and then down at his hands.

"It's alright. I know they're a mess, but organizing tends to be an all-day project, and I just haven't had the time," you explained, suddenly very self-conscious. Why hadn't you cleaned up more?

"S'not that. It's just… you read all those?"

You laughed softly. "That's the dream. I'd like to read everything, but somehow, I just keep reading the same ones over and over again. Y'know?"

He didn't. He looked up nervously. He did everything nervously in those days.

"Do you have a favorite book?" you asked, hoping to find some common ground. He shook his head, a blush spreading across his face and down his neck.

"That's alright. I had to read so many awful books in school, sometimes I thought I'd never voluntarily pick one up again."

"M'not very good at it," he said quickly.

"Good at what?"

"Reading."

You paused, not entirely sure what to say to that. His fingers picked at a loose thread on the sleeve of his sweater.

"You don't have to be good at it to enjoy it," you said gently. "I suppose that's true for just about everything."

He looked thoughtful, like he was considering it.

"Have you ever read a book you liked?"

He chewed his bottom lip as his eyes drifted around the room. After a moment, he spoke slowly, not meeting your eye. "My mum used to read me stories about animals."

Your face lit up. "I love stories about animals."

"These were for kids." He shifted nervously. "It was a long time ago."

"There's no age limit on a good book. I still have most of my childhood favorites. Just finished re-reading one last night."

"You still read kid books?" He stared at you with a mildly surprised look. If it had been anyone else, your face would have been burning at this point. But you could sense that Billy wasn't judging you for reading children's books. He was genuinely curious. You nodded.

"Sometimes when things aren't going great, diving back into one of those helps. Suddenly, I'm not a grown-up struggling to exist. I'm a kid who's learning how to use magic, or sailing the high seas, or sneaking into a secret garden. I've lived on the prairie, in castles, on a deserted island, in…" Suddenly aware that you were very close to getting carried away, you decided to cut your rambling short, before he invented an appointment he simply couldn't be late for. "Sometimes I just need to be anywhere but here."

He stared, and after a moment, asked, "You get all that from books?"

"Yeah," you admitted with your eyes on the rug, fearing you'd scared him off with your nerdy little tangent. Well done, loser, hope your books are a great source of comfort for you as you die alone.

"I think I've been reading the wrong books." Your head snapped up. You thought he'd be running for the door by now, but he's still there, giving you a shy smile. Your heart felt like it was about to burst.

"Shall we fix that?" Please say yes, you thought, trying to keep your face from showing just how happy you were to share this with him. He gave you a nod, barely containing his own excitement. "Come on," you said, beaming as you got off the couch.

He followed you over to the section where most of your childhood favorites lived. You never let anyone borrow your books - a water-damaged copy of Eragon returned without so much as a "sorry" had been the last straw - but you trusted him. You didn't know why, but you trusted Billy Knight immediately, more than all the lifelong friends and family who were now on the Banned from Borrowing list.

He wasn't a strong reader, at first. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd opened a book. But he started small and worked his way up, and found that he genuinely enjoyed losing himself between the pages of a good book. You welcomed him into fantastic worlds he never would have discovered on his own. And when you talked about them afterwards, it was almost like you were living in those wonderful worlds together. That was his favorite part.

He didn't know it at the time, but when you realized he'd be making his way through all your old favorites, you read them again. You wanted to be able to answer questions and discuss the details with him. Billy was a very observant person, and you didn't want to let him down. He'd been so impressed at how much you'd remembered about those books from your childhood, not knowing that after he left each night, you had stayed up 'til the early hours of the morning to re-read your next recommendation. Years later, when you finally admitted this, he laughed and felt himself falling a little more in love with the person he wanted by his side in his favorite world of all.

[lobautumny]

This toy's been thinking off and on about AI a lot over the last few months, and it's been mulling over a lot of arguments from both sides, and there's been something gnawing at the back of its mind: It detests the concept of AI media generation, yet it finds most common anti-AI talking points to be very ineffective. And this causes the question to keep coming up in its mind of whether it's the incorrect one, if AI art really is creatively valid, if this is simply the future of art. But then, just now, it suddenly had a realization.

Of fucking course AI is not the future of art, and it's not for any deep philosophical reason about the fundamental nature of art or creativity or any of that shit. It comes down to one simple fact: Passionate artists create for the joy of the process of creation, to put themselves into their work and lovingly craft every detail. Sure, you could use AI to massively increase your output, but if you genuinely have a love for creating art, then no matter how good the quality of the AI-generated results get, that's not going to matter to you. No matter what, until the last person draws their last breath, those who genuinely have a desire to create art are going to want to make it themselves, not automate it with a machine. And that's how it is with any hobby.

For a point of comparison, saying that AI is the future of art would be like saying that AI is the future of video games and that nobody is actually going to be playing video games themselves anymore in a few years because they can just get a machine to do it better than they could. Like, even if such a machine existed, there would be no shortage of people who actually want to play the video games themselves, because their passion lies in, y'know, actually performing the gameplay.

This has also led this toy to the realization that the fundamental reason it hates the concept of AI-generated media so much, and the notion that it is the future of artistic expression, is that these ideas hinge on a perception of art that only people who hate making art could have. Anyone who delivers these kinds of lines wants to be seen as a serious artist, but believes that all there is to art is results. They see it, consciously or not, as a consumer product, something that exists to generate capital from a market audience. This is the only framework through which optimizing the process of creating art out of art makes any amount of sense. And it happens to be the same mentality that leads to the tragedy of artists giving up a couple months in because they've bought into any number of lies about simply not having talent, or their art not being worth anything because it isn't abstractly "good" enough. The thought process behind the AI artist is part of that depressive spiral of loathing.

This is why AI, as a cultural/artistic movement, is bound to fail. The technology is still new and extremely novel and improving a lot and there's a ton of conversations going on about it and what it means for the future and its political ramifications, and that means that it's this big cultural event right now, but what happens when the dust settles? What happens when the technology is no longer novel, and it's improving slowly? What happens when the big conversations about it outside of dedicated AI communities slow down? What happens in 5 years when we see flop after flop after flop from big companies trying to cash in on the AI craze by making movies written entirely by AI, albums composed entirely by AI, games programmed entirely by AI? What happens when courts eventually rule that you're not allowed to train an AI on (or use an AI trained on) copyrighted works without the copyright-holder's express permission? This toy doesn't believe this is all actually leading up to anything grand. As far as it can tell, it looks like the hype is going to fizzle out past a certain point, the movement behind it will die, and AI will remain primarily as a niche tool for artists to use in their otherwise-manual process, a way to shitpost, and a way to quickly process bulk data.

[lollipencil]

The Crow: Cerberus #1

Here it is. Ironically, I already know the ending for this one, but have no clue yet how to get there. But, let's find out together.

General warning for canon-typical violence for this and future parts.

Enjoy and be gentle ---

Over the cource of his life, Marc Spector learned many ideas of what happens after death. From ceasing to exist entirely, to the ancient Egyptian Duat. But one stuck with him the most.

He'd overheard it one night while in the marines: "When you die, a crow carries your soul to the land of the dead," a guy who's name Marc never got stated quietly, "But, sometimes, something so horrible happens, that the soul can't rest. And sometimes, the crow will carry them back. To set the wrong thing right."

Even long after that night, those words would periodically echo around Marc's head. He never understood why.

Until he did.

---

The Raven's Nest was a source of contention for many who'd once frequented it. Many attempts were made to revamp the old pub, to restore it, but none had the money. And so, it was left to grow wild.

Then, one night, someone approached it. Bags slung over their back, they pulled free a board, and climbed inside.

Only the bar and the shelves behind it remained. But the figure did not care. It was perfect anyway. Setting the bags on the bar, three crows flew in and settled next to them. "Best get ready," one crow looked them dead in the eyes, "One's walking nearby. Alone." The figure looked up and grinned.

Minutes later, they walked along the cracked path with a almost literal skip in their step. The crows circled over head as they went. Until, finally, they found the man.

He didn't notice them, not until they were by his side. "Fuck!" the man startles, dropping his cigarette. "Nice night, isn't it?" The figure states more than asks. "Yeah, sure," the man slowly offered as he tried to edge away subtly. With a loud cry, a crow lands on the bin next to them. "Although it's still young, plenty of time." "Time for what?" "Oh, things to improve, things to get worse," the figure's eyes hardened on the later part of the statement, "Depends on who's talking."

At this point, the man finally senses danger. With the ease of repetition, he lashes out with a knife, embedding it right in the centre of the figure's chest.

No reaction.

Instead, the figure breathes in and out calmly. "Good to see that you get the picture," they smiled and grasped the knife, "Just not the role." Suddenly, they twisted then yanked the blade, black and thickened blood oozing from the hole, and grasped the man's shoulder. "But you will. You all will." They leaned in close, and the man remembered.

A dig in an Egyptian temple. One objecting to the plan. And the gunfire flooding everywhere.

And as he stared into the black and white painted face of a dead man, the man knew his fate. "Spector-" he began. Before a spike of heat in his throat created a river of blood down his neck. And the last image his living eyes saw, were three crows perched on Marc Spector as they all watched him fade.

[bnnuy-wabbit]

The cockroach incident? 👀

ok. picture me, your average flightless, featherless, biped animal. This happened roughly 2 months after i decided i wanted to drop out of college, but 2 months before classes were over, so i really was just Not Having It. I hated most of what i was studying and saw no point in continuing. I was 5 states away from my family, living in a shared apartment with a deadbeat roommate who was in the same house as me like once a week. It was the middle of the hottest summer i have ever experienced in my entire life. My apartment complex was this old moldy hole, full of spiders the size of a closed hand, bats in the attic (i had never even SEEN an attic but here we were and mine had BATS in there). and a brand new cockroach infestation. I was slowly going insane very quickly.

On top of all that I had a very stressful practical anatomy test to study for. It was hard ok? over 300 names to memorize across several different animal species. I was studying solely through videos because the teacher didn't let us actually study with the anatomical pieces. So there i was. 1am on a sunday. Sitting at the kitchen table, a white, plastic lawn table, broken. if you put too much weight on it it just came undone. Sweat is dribbling down my asscrack. I am studying to the sound of friday night funkin songs because it's the only thing that could keep my adhd ass awake while i binge studied.

Out of the corner of my eye i catch some movement and i see a Giant Flying Cockroach approaching rapidly. It was the size of my pinky EASILY. It lands on the wall opposite to my room's door. It stays there, its little antennae moving and flickering DISGUSTINGLY. I stare at it. I can't move. At that moment i am 300% sure if i move itll move and i really dont want that. I stare at it. unmoving. for half an hour. it doesnt move. but of course, im intelligent enough to know that sooner or later one of us WILL have to move, and the other one will die. So i figured, well, better for it to be me! So i get up. slowly. carefully. i walk towards the kitchen to get the broom. really fucking slowly. still staring at it constantly (it didnt move). i get closer to it again, broom in hands, shaking like a leaf. utterly terrified of the horrid animal in my house.

it begins to move.

i stop moving.

it stops moving.

every single time i moved it moved. i couldnt get my broom any closer to it without it Walking Around. It wasnt even running away or scuttling. it was just walking little steps, like it was mocking me. mocking me and my existence. mocking my every daily toiling.

i went god im SO FUCKING FUCKED! This is it! This is how i die! Death by trashbug!

so i stop moving. i dont move. i stop breathing. i become stone. my white ass camouflages within my landlord white surroundings. once again i go back to staring at it and its horribly long antennae. I just stare at it, trying to find the courage within me to stab the fucker. But one thing you need to know about me: i am a scared little animal who just happens to be very big. my soul is very small. it is puny even. i am proudly a coward. but being a coward doesnt fix the fact that there is a very scary bug threatening my livelyhood and my hopes and dreams and that im ALONE and have to deal with this myself.

and so i whack it. i whack the beast. i stab it. i shove the broom up like REALLY HARD against the ceiling. i am confident i smashed it because i very vigorously whammed a broom on the wall. it was very loud!!!! still, i keep it there for a moment, trying to gather the courage to let it go now because thats another entire beast. thats another task within itself. but like. im confident i killed it at this point. im confident my efforts paid off in the end and that courage wins every fight etc.

so i let it go!

and what does it do? It FLIES OFF! And i yell. i begin yelling. my throat gets hoarse.

the thing didnt even get a scratch! On top of that, it just flew STRAIGHT INTO MY ROOM.

At this point im this 🤏 close to a mental breakdown.

so my first idea, of course, is FUCK I SHOULD CALL MY MOM. She picks up despite the fact that it is now almost 3am. that does very little to comfort me because 1. shes 5 entire states away. thats half a country. 2. shes also terrified of cockroaches.

so yeah. dead end.

i tell my mom "im going to ask my elderly neighbor for bug spray" and she says "its past 3am dont wake up your elderly neighbor for bug spray".

so what do i do? i desperately bang on my elderly neighbors door for 10 minutes. Her 2 dogs bark a lot. Never once does she open the door, but i could very much hear her flipflops squeak on the floor, so she was just Standing There. I beg for her help, i ask for bug spray, im full on crying at this point and my voice is hoarse from the yelling from before. She begins praying like im some sort of apparition i guess. I can hear her praying to god or some shit and then leaves me to be. she doesnt ever reply to me directly. So i sit against her door like a very normal person, curl up on fetal position and lose my shit right there. i am shaking. i am crying. theres snot running down my face. im bawling.

eventually i drag myself back home. stand at my bedrooms door and i look at the fucking mess my room is. depressed grad student, ok? keep that in mind. theres dirty clothes all over the floor. actually. let me Show.

as you can see there are Many places for a cockroach to hide. so i decide to remove everything from my room. item by item. until i either find its hiding spot or die trying.

i find the cockroach. or rather, it finds Me.

It sneakily crawls up my leg just as i was about to move my clothing pile.

I scream. It fucks off.

I remove every last fucking thing from my room.

i flip the bed upside down, under it i find a lone galoshe. I figure that's where it was hiding. im too scared to touch it seeing as the thing has already flied several times and tried to CLIMB ME. I'm tired and Already out of my mind. I have no more fucks to give. Scared (still, as always) i sack the boot and throw it off my apartment. like, i just yeet the thing out. lock the door. Look at the clock. its like 3.30. i spent over half an hour hastily empting out my bedroom.

Honestly at that point i wasnt even sure the cockroach was in the boot. i felt i couldnt be sure it was dead until i found the body. it was late, so i called a friend to call down and broke into my roommate's room because my room no longer had furniture in it. I slept in his crusty ass sheets, the very ones he was fucking his very annoying girlfriend on top of a week earlier (he only had 2 sets and he hadnt washed anything bigger than socks in like a month. the apartment was small. his laundry was my business and i was Very Aware of its existence in the middle of the living room). so yeah. they were cummy. they were crusty. it was cracker solid. i could Not care less though.

i slept shittily until 7am. i ran to the store first thing in the morning to get the strongest bug spray i could find and also bug repellent.

I sprayed the entire house. I mean this. The walls were slick with bug spray. You could NOT breathe inside my room. Not even the kitchen was spared. I walked out of it smelling like mothballs and cancer and walked straight to the university so i could study to my effing anatomy test (it was monday, the test was on tuesday), eat and watch my classes.

I did just that. The entire day was unremarkable.

Oh actually. the elderly neighbor complained in the complex whatsapp group about a certain incensitive and unruly neighbor disrupting the peace late in the night. LM fucking AO.

I got home late, but still decided to clean my room from the chemicals. my roommate was home for once, so i told him what was going on, that id be cleaning the house because of the bug spray. I deep cleaned the whole house. I took special care of my room tho. At the end there was nary a speck of dust on my furniture (1 wardrobe, 1 bed, 1 beach chair). my clothes were folded. it smelled CLEAN IN THERE for the first time in weeks. i lit up the bug repelent. it was one of these babes.

I was SURE it was dead. the room had soaked all day in bug spray. i caught every single crevice in that room. i even sprayed INSIDE my box bed. it had to be dead. there was no way it wasnt dead. right???? right???????

i sat on my bed. i changed the sheets so it felt really good. i grabbed my computer and went back to studying. i was just vibing, man. i was just vibing.

The cockroach appeared from nowhere, climbed the wall, got sucked by the fan, flied, whacked me in the face.

I yelled, grabbed the my newly acquired spray can and then yelled some more. Then i remembered my roommate was home. I banged on his door until he opened it. shoved the thing on his face and dragged him into my room (me. tall guy. btw. dense. him, taller guy, confused, thin as a rail. just funny. to keep in mind). he went holy shit, thats big.

he sprayed it and everybodys biggest fear at that moment became true. again. it started flying. again. it went all over the room. he sprayed all over the room. it landed on my pillow, he drenched my freshly washed pillowcase in bug spray. it landed on the window, he sprayed the window until it was no longer see through. it scurried across the floor, he sprayed the floor. it went under my bed. then he stopped. i lifted my bed. he got it with his flipflop.

the evil was finally defeated.

but so was i... my clean sheets man......

[autisticsupervillain]

It's Fictional Throwdown Friday!

This Week's Fighters...

Renee vs The Chosen Undead!

Conditions:

No restrictions. Both sides have absolutely everything.

Scenario:

The Chosen Undead hears of a legendary warrior who can regenerate from nothing but their soul and travels to Engardin to usenit as kindling for the First Flame. Renee refuses to let her soul be used in another cycle of blood and conflict.

Analysis: The Chosen Undead

The world is ending. Not with a bang or a crunch, but with a shuddering, prolonged whimper. The heroes of the land have all either died or gone mad, and the inspirational legends behind them are all nothing but ancient history. Humanity would want nothing more than to roll over and die. Pity that that is the last thing they could do.

Humanity has been cursed with fragments of the all powerful Dark Soul, ensuring that all humans are naturally undead. This meant that they would eventually live long enough to eventually go Hollow, dying a slow and painful death in the throughs of madness as their humanity left them. Exploiting this fact, the Gods used this curse as propaganda to trick humans into sacrificing their fragments of the Dark Soul to fuel the First Flame, the Sun the lights the world and whose creation and existence fuels that concept of time itself. For the Gods feared the power of the Dark Soul and wanted to keep their reign in the Age of Light going for as long as possible.

One of the humans who bore the Dark Soul was the one who would become the Chosen Undead. Shipped up to an aslyum in the North to be contained when they went Hollow, the Chosen Undead was rescued by a giant raven and informed of their destiny. Dropped into the land of Lordran, the Chosen Undead would have to fight their way through the mad gods, fallen heroes, and treacherous monsters to save the world from the Age of Dark.

...Well, I say "save". More like "torturously prolong". It is Dark Souls, after all. There is no true happy endint to your grand quest, whether you ignite the flame to keep the cycle going or let it die to condemn humanity to darkness, Hollowness, and dispair. So what's the point, you may ask? To die. Over and over again, until you succeed. It is the struggle that makes the Undead's journey worth it.

And luckily, The Chosen Undead would find countless weapons and spells to aide them in their journey. The most prominent of which is the Dark Soul itself. By using bits of it as kindling at bonfires, The Chosen Undead can resurrect from the dead, over and over again to retry whatever fight is killing them. Though this process deprives them of all the souls that they've collected and slowly drives them closer to Hollowness, the humans of Dark Souls don't need souls to survive and The Chosen Undead can, to an extent, resist the effects of going Hollow through sheer determination. As long as they don't rage quit, the Chosen Undead can return as many times as they want and eventually win.

And with pockets as deep as theirs, one of their weaons is bound to give them a winning strategy once they learn all your tricks. The Greatsword of Artorius, whose cursed varients can kill ghosts, Gough's Greatbow, a massive bow with pillar sized arrows that csn shoot down dragons, and the Dark Hand, a mark that can warp space itself to create a shield and absorb people's souls, just to name a few.

And they're also a master of sorcery and magic. With spells such as the Homing Soulmass to directly target and home in on a foe's soul, to the Hidden Caster spell to turn themselves invisible. Or, they can just say "fuck magic" and use the Vow of Silence to keep people from casting spells entirely. Helpful for managing their limited magic supply. They can even use their magic to summon heroes from other realms to aide them in combat. Or they can go to other people's realms and invade their lands to steal their things. Try it and I'll shove a great sword up your ass before you finish praising the sun, Dave. And that's on top of being able to reflect damage, control minds, shoot fire balls, and throw sunlight at people. Sunlight that they are fast enough to dodge when being invaded by other Players, mind you.

And all that arsenal isn't being thrown around by a witless dolt either. They've managed to kill Seath the Scaleless, the immortal dragon who invented sorcery in the first place, before carving his ass into the beautiful Moonlight Greatsword. They've killed Nito, the God of Death, The Bed of Chaos, the mother of all demon kind, and Artorius, the greatest knight in history.

But, for all their unrelenting stubbornness, The Chosen Undead does have limits. They are just another cog in the endless cycle of the Ages of Light and Dark. The First Flame created the very concepts of Light and Dark. Energy and Time. Like a mythological big bang. The power that the Chosen Undead would need to power it is immense.... but not limitless. The First Flame will wain again in another thousand years and the cycle will begin anew. And while the Chosen Undead can resist the corruption of Hollowing, even they can eventually succumb. Depends on if you decide to rage quit.

And doesn't that just sum up the entire Dark Souls mythos? And endless cycle of death and suffering, until everything gives up.

Analysis: Renee

Long ago, a powerful being grew bored with her eternal isolation and decided to create the world of Engardin. This being, known as God to her worshippers and Luca to her friends, created all the species of the world. She created the Sea of Souls to house the dead, the Goliaths to protect the ecosystem, the Phoenix to pull the sun into the sky every morning, and the humans to enjoy the world she'd created.

And then, for reasons unknown, God left the world she'd created. And everything immediately went to hell.

Many of the species of Engardin died off without God's power to sustain them. The Humans and the Goliaths went to war, nearly driving each other to extinction amd decimating the world in their brutality. The Goliaths severed the link between the Sea of Souls and Engardin to keep humans from reincarnating, causing the dead to rise as bloodthirsty zombies and ghosts.

Fearing the concept of a permanent death, the human leader, Eseus, begain creating human experiments so as to find a way to subvert mortality. The resulting successes, named the "Essentials", seemed to be what she was looking for, as they had the ability to cheat death by regenerating from nothing but their soul. However, the Essentials rebelled against their creator's mistreatment and escaped to live their own life.

One of the escapees was fatally injured during the escape, losing her memories. Seeking to atone for his race's genocidal atrocities, Ifree, the current Goliath of Pyro or leader of the Goliath people, fused his soul to the girl's to stabilize it, allowing her to survive until she was taken in by a small human village. The village named her Renee and raised her as an ordinary girl.

Renee grew up in the peace that came after the war, with both races trying to put the brutality behind them and survive in the world they'd created. Engardin was seeing an era of tentative hope as everyone adapted to the new normal and Renee was able to live a happy life. Until her village was slaughtered by a strange monster and her mentor was kidnapped by a mysterious figure. "Dying" and "reviving" as a result of her Essential powers, Renee survived the bloodshed and avenged her people, before setting off on a quest to rescue her mentor and discover her past.

In her travels, Renee would become the greatest hero Engardin had ever seen. She would become a master of every weapon imaginable, swords, bows, whips, and scythes among them, and a master of magic second to none. She possed the ability to go intangible, her weapons can hurt and kill ghosts, she's fast enough to dodge light, agile enough to stick to walls, and her numerous magical weapons grant unique boons that allow her to switch her combat style on a dime. Bloodbath feeds on her blood and the blood of her enemies to boost her strength, Sword of the Hermit boosts her strength so long as she believes she can wield it, and the Muramasa can devour souls, at the cost of feeding on the wielders own. Yet, her most powerful weapon is arguably the Nameless sword. The sword that her dear companion Ifree himself used to split the universe between Engardin and the Sea of Souls, cutting humanity off from the afterlife.

Renee has survived visiting the Sea of Souls, despite the experience driving other humans completely mad, and can even regenerate damage done directly to her soul. There is, however, a cost to that. As an Essential, Renee can regrow her body from her soul as often as she likes, but damage done to her soul can slow down the process and outright destruction or absorption of her soul can permanently kill her. Once she discovered this, Renee cast six spells to create a barrier around her soul, preventing the villainous Essential Red Renee from absorbing her soul.

Ultimately, Renee would go on to put her dark past behind her, defeating both Eseus and the new Goliath of Pyro to stop their genocidal plans against the other's race and stop their attempts to restart the war. With the Afterimage of the war finally put to rest and her mentor saved, Renee was free to live her life as she saw fit. After decades of brutality and hardship following the disappearance of God, Engardin would finally know peace and begin to move on...

Throwdown Theme:

Throwdown Breakdown:

Welp, time to once again ask the age old question: "Which of these characters can kill each other?"

The ability of both to absorb souls is completely irrelevant here. That wouldn't kill the Chosen Undead and Renee's barriers protect her soul from that very kind of attack. Both are about as fast as each other due to both being able to dodge light, both would be constantly switching up their combat styles as they keep dying, and both should be similarly have similarly versatile arsenals. They should even both be comparatively skilled, as they've both taken down the most skilled fighters within their universe. Even the Chosen Undead's ability to control minds is moot, due to Renee's resistance against the mind altering effects of the Sea of Souls.

There is one major advantage, however, that ultimately makes this Renee's game: Power.

The Sea of Souls and the ocean surrounding Engardin have both been stated several times to be literally endless by numerous knowledgeable characters. And Renee is swinging around the sword that split the two apart in the first place. Hell, in the bad ending, Renee is powerful enough to kill Ifree, who himself could light up the entire ocean with a single spell. The ocean is, again, described as literally being infinite in size. Meanwhile, we know full well the First Flame cannot be infinite because... well, then it wouldn't go out in the first place.

Thematically and dynamically.... this is just Frisk vs Chosen Undead again. The Chosen Undead is fighting against someone who can come back as many times as they want just like they can, but the issue is Chosen Undead will eventually go hollow due to not being able to match the infinite power disparity. The victor is from a more optimistic series and their victory in this fight ultimately ties into their series's themes about moving on from great tragedy.

That... was not intentional in the slightest when I made this matchup, that's just where I ended up. In fact, I was fully expecting CU to win this. Apparently the Chosen Undead's real weakness is optimism. If they got therapy, they'd be unstoppable.

This Throwdown's Winner is...

Renee!

[piracytheorist]

I want to know 1) What is your favorite kind of horror movie? (As in jumpscares, slasher, psychological, gothic, supernatural, etc.) 2) If you were a candy, what kind would you be? (Can be candy that exists or a combination of things)

3) If Twilight were tied up in your place, so securely that he can't get out of his restraints for a few hours, what would you do?

1) I don't like horror movies at all. Don't look at my obsession with Resident Evil Village, that was mostly because of Ethan - and one of his traits I felt I vibed with the most was his continuous commentary on how he hates he's in the horror genre. So I kinda connected with him in that because I won't really choose to watch a horror movie.

That said, I might find myself enjoying dark comedy stuff with a bit of horror inserted, like the film Happy Death Day. Its jumpscares and intense moments still make me tense, in a way I don't particularly enjoy, but I liked seeing how humor can be inserted into the genre. Case in point, one of my favourite lines in RE8? You fight Dimitrescu as the first boss, she dies cursing your entire existence, and what's Ethan's finishing line after she's dead and cannot hear him? "You're the one who's cursed." Homeboy "I am rubber, you are glue"d Tall Vampire Mommy and it's fucking hysterical.

2) I have no idea. I think I'd be something with some sort of spice and nuts added in it. Something that may get stuck in your throat and also surprise you with how tangy it can taste. I have my thorns too 👀👀

3) As a real person, I'd hug him tight to my bosom, immediately set him free and probably cook something warm for him. I can't cook for shit but if he's used to Yor's cooking then he'd certainly tolerate my cooking. I'd ask him to stay and get some sleep (on his own bed, look a) I am asexual and b) even if I weren't, ship comes first, he's Yor's and only) and if he said no I'd tie him back down until he agreed to sleep for a normal amount of time.

As a fictional whumper... first I'd ensure I have enough time with him before Yor comes and wreaks absolute havoc. Then... :)

I think I'd mostly go for the emotional pain, though. Homeboi's got angst for days. Just by forcing him to remember the horrors he went through as a child in wartime would cause enough damage, if done continuously and without pause or mercy. Remind him that he's alone (he isn't, Bond foresaw this, Anya saw it and told Yor about it so now she's coming to kick my ass and rescue him) and he'll always be because he's trying to be some damn hero that no one will remember, not fondly at least. How does it feel, you punk? To know you'll die without a single soul caring for you? To know that there would be so many people celebrating your death when it eventually comes way too soon? To know you won't get to live longer than your mother did? Or love someone the way she loved you? Do you think she'd be proud of you? That she'd be happy knowing her precious child grew into a killer in the name of "peace"? What peace, you punk? Will you fight for all war-torn countries, or will you be selfishly satisfied with ensuring peace just for your two nations?

... What? :)

In all seriousness though, I actually think most of that are thoughts he's had over the years, so I doubt any of that would be anything new. But I do think there needs to be an angsty narrative like that at some point. Just peel all the layers off and then slowly cook them up like caramelized onions.

That's it, isn't it. Twilight is like onions! He has layers, he bites, but if you cook him up well enough he'll become sweet as honey. I connected the dots!

This went from morbid to silly really fast. Anyway, still no manga spoilers please.

[acourtofthought]

Hello!

I don't know why I can't comment on your post, but I realized it's not just your account anyway. Your post was very accurate about what I think about bonds and characters.

Lucien has been rejected his entire life, he didn't choose that bond, yet the Mother and/or Cauldron made them equal.

SJM had Ccity to work on bonding refusals or even removing the idea of ​​partners. She didn't do that, on the contrary, she included four mating couples.

I would accept any refusal of a bond but Lucien's. It's too unfair, even if the partnership is fake as the Elriel insist to be equal to Rowan's would be very unfair. Rowan had a false partnership, but he loved his wife and they were going to have a child together. He grieved for their deaths and never forgot.

Lucien didn't have anything from Elain, nor did he make friends during those years. Mor says in acofas that "they weren't ready yet" and I really believed that this would be a start for them.

Elriel supporters revel in the theory of forbidden romance (which doesn't exist in their trope). They'd love to see them hiding from Lucien in the dead of night, those things make me sick. Elain has the right to refuse the partnership, just do it, there would be no point playing with Lucien.

Same case is Gwyn, why did SJM put emphasis between her and Az during acosf if it was for nothing? There were scenes that didn't even need to include details about the two of them.

What about Bryce and Hunt's extra chapter that's the same as Azriel's? (a book released a year after acosf). These jokes with the reader would be disgusting, sorry for the outburst.

SJM never gave Elriel language or signs other than an attraction, but this we had hundreds of couples like: Feylin, Chaolaena and Dorian and Sorsha. They were couples who had more romance time than Elriel and they weren't endgames.

These people need to respect the kindred spirits that SJM writes about.

I'm really loving everything you just said.

And your first point is so valid. E/riels like to claim Az needs someone to choose him so he can see his worth but, he's had 500+ years with the people who did choose him.

Sure maybe Mor didn't choose him for a relationship but she still loves him and he has an entire group of people who would die for him. Who have made him a priority in their lives. Even Nesta who disliked most of the IC was really decent to Az.

Exactly who is making Lucien a priority in their life? And he has been rejected over and over again since the series started. His family, Tamlin, even Feyre when she didn't feel all that bad using him as a pawn. Nesta certainly didn't care for Lucien before the end of SF where we get hints she's coming around.

Why even keep Lucien around, having us see the members of the IC slowly coming around to him if SJM isn't building to an accepted Mating Bond?

And yes to your comment about Crescent City! I never looked at it that way. SJM kept the Mate theme going which you're right, she didn't have to do. If as a Fated Mates author she felt it was too cliche for her characters to find their actual Mate (I hate this argument because no one accuses other trope-centric authors of writing too many books in that trope 🤦), she could have moved on from it in her new series.

I like that you brought of what Mor said because that's not in there for no reason.

Reader: Boy! Why hasn't Elain done anything about the bond?! Or even Lucien?!

SJM through Mor: “Stay out of it. She’s not ready, and neither is he, no matter how many presents he brings.”. “Let him live with his Band of Exiles. Let him deal with Tamlin in his own way. Let him figure out where he wants to be. Who he wants to be. The same goes with her.”

I mean, is that not currently what's going on in SF? They're both trying to find if their new lives "fit" but I think we're going to see they don't. But that's ok, it's normal to explore and make mistakes before finally ending up where you're supposed to. Figuring out who you want to be takes a little more than a year after you both experienced some extreme changes.

Really, 👏👏👏 to your entire message.

[uroborosymphony]

Their time, being endless, does feel suspended whenever Calista basks in Sarang's presence ; in Sarang's voice. Time is counted. Time is singular. Time is running out. Is it how it feels, to feel alive? To be alive? This silent fear is grabbing her by the throat, this rush, this need for a moment with her to never end, praying for it to remain inifite, one she wishes to exist in as long as she can. The lamia's pull towards the huntress was undeniable, the constant seek of her eyes to connect with, the silent dreams of her touch. Was it real? A reality anchoring Calista in ways she never thought she would be, her desire to die fading slowly. There was something running under her skin, electrifying, a state the Lamia hasn't felt in centuries, from before she turns into an apocalypse bringer from the seven hells. A smile lingers on Calista's lips as the other's words find their way to her soul. Her features that are usually so cold and stern and harsh, now wear a shy, demure, genuine smile - Calista's rare bliss and desire - as she wanted more and more even though she did not know how to fully express herself when it came to something as gentle and pure, as these pieces of intimacy shared with Sarang. Her wrists now in the other's fingers, the Lamia's skin in leaning into Sarang's touch, craving for it. Came a slow laughter from Calista's lips as her huntress does mention the place she hit her in. "Mmm have I?" Calista replies in a whisper - perhaps amused, fascinated by how grand violence from each other turned into such care now. And she listens, to every single word landing, her golden eyes following her hand guided through Sarang's skin. It felt almost innocent, the shivers under Calista's fingers tips, caressing the huntress' temple before leading to her throat, to her heart. Every single piece of her is a gift, wrapped with words that have never been adressed to the Lamia before. And at this words, of devotion, Calista's smile keeps on growing as her lips are pressed together. The creature's heartbeat was usually monotonously slow, dormant, like a serpent, even in moments of manic madness, there was a terrifying and cold calmness to her. It only was Sarang's words and touch that could make her entire heart and veins and soul race in this frantic way, only.

"All the places I have hit you made me feel you in ways no other soul has. I was possessive, in my violence, I did not want any other sword to cut your skin as deep if not mine. I did not want any other soldier I encountered to make me shiver the way you have." First answers Calista, her fangs digging into her bottom lip. "To penetrate your layers with my rage only lead to me, on this day, to adore every inch of your skin, my Renagade and Runaway." Calista's voice echoes timidly, her fingers then tightening over Sarang's chest, her desire for her building,on each spoken word that felt like a confession. Words she never imagined herself speaking as she closes the distance between their, even more than it already was, her body slightly pressed against hers.

"I think... I have for the first time, devoted myself too. I offered a piece of my dead soul to Life, as I saw Life through you. To the point of wanting to celebrate my day of birth with you... It must be." Her eyes are intense never leave Sarang's. "I will admit, I don't quite understand what it is that's taking over me, Huntress. " Calista adds, her fingers then moving down Sarang's side, cascading down her waist and hips to reach for her hand to hold. "I simply know that you offering me yourself, body and soul, only makes me want to explore you in ways the Gods wouldn't approve of." The lamia then states, her fingers lacing with Sarang's, the other now exploring Sarang's jaw to cheekbone, seizing the base of her neck, watching her still. "Let's take the road now? I wish to open on this earth the deepest hells, but before that, I don't want anything to disturb my heavens in the forest with you."

CONTINUTION FROM HERE. ft. @mythvoiced

[anothersecretdiary]

His hand trembled as he let go of the knife buried in my side and backed away slowly, shaking. I felt his warmth leave and stared in astonishment at the hilt of the dagger in my side. Tearing my gaze away I looked at him, making eye contact.There is something very wrong, my vision is fading. The world fell from beneath me, he lunged forward to ease me to my needs. “What have you done? I never wanted this.” He said to the sky. “I am truly sorry, my love.”

“What do you mean ‘what have I done?’” I wanted to be angry, but I was in utter shock. The air grew cold around me and a rolling darkness swept through the clearing. 

I…I don’t understand. There has to be a reason. He would never… It’s too much effort to keep my eyes open. One last time I made the effort to open my eyes, to drink in all of his features. If this is the last that I’ll see of him I want to remember everything, to find him in the afterlife. “Wha… What did you mean?” I rasped. The dark mist grew thicker, the sound of the forest grew silent. He looked around as if something had gotten his attention. “I have to leave you now. I will pay for what I’ve done. Rest easily knowing I’ll find you on the other side.”

NO!... NO, you will not leave me like this. He gently laid me down in the snow and walked off in the tree line. Damnit what did you mean! What is goin on? It was warm and sticky around my middle. He left the damn blade in my side! I’m not ready to die. This is not how I’m supposed to die. I’m not ready…

“You’re right, young one. It’s not.” There was a warmth on my side for a moment before I felt the blade slide from my abdomen. There was no pain. Like being numb, feeling a pressure but not the pain or pleasure for that matter. I opened my eyes and sat up. My clothes were stained like refined rubies. The snow around me, stained red, sparkled as fresh flakes fell. I checked my wound. There was a deer like symbol with an eight point rack, a star in the center above the stag's horns. where I should have had a scar.

“There is more at play here than meets the eye. Unfortunately, you were just a pawn in a game you had no idea was being played. But that changes now. That mark signifies this… favor I've done for you.” I don’t like the way they said favor. 

“Wait, what do you mean ‘favor’? Who are you? And why did you save me?” What this being said brought me out of my shock. This person, no that's not right, being, thing? The warmth it was them. They were in leather hunting gear with a hunting bow slung across their back. They had a certain glow to them. They knelt to get a better look at me. They made a face that says I wasn’t much but there's no other option.

 The beings pointed ears flicked, the copper chain that ran between the lobe and clipped to the highest point of cartilage on the ear jingled. The being sighed and adjusted the circlet atop its head. I noticed that they didn’t just seem to glow, they were glowing.

“You will find out soon enough. As for who I am, I am the person who saved you from a most unfortunate fate, for a favor in return.”

“Why? What could you possibly need me to do?” I asked tentatively. 

“Didn’t you say that you weren’t ready to die? I thought you wanted to live.” The being sighed again. “I don’t have much time. As much as it pains me to say this, we are in need of your assistance. Take this and follow the path. I will meet you at the gate.” 

They handed me a necklace made of silver and held a small vial that gave off a lilac glow, their hunting bow, and a small satchel. Their entire body started to phase in and out. Small bits of them were solid one moment and ghostly the next. 

“Who are you?” I stuttered again dumbfounded. “Silvas.” They replied before blinking out of existence entirely.

 The cold and the snow blew in full force as the being left. Exhaustion seeped deep into my bones. I looked over the few items they had left behind. So cryptic, and he didn’t leave any arrows for the bow. It’s sturdy at least. The necklaces lilac glow pulsed every so often. I tucked it under my shirt to dull the glow and headed toward the tree line. The same direction Julien went.  

You sacrificed everything to get this far, and at the last moment you were betrayed by the one you thought most dear. You lay dying one the snow, praying to any god, demon, or anything that would listen. You receive an answer.

[anonymouslylovesyou]

Season 2 episode 8 Season Finale babyy @whoblewboobear

At least ppl know they are missing

OH SHIT SHES BLEEDING

I know that Kate would hate the princess carry if she was conscious

Anthony buddy head would always look worse than they are she will probably be ok

Penelope sneak out to see Eloise

Theo and Eloise making up!

The Queen is missing Whistedown

COLIN BE NICE TO WILL DAMN IT HES TRYING TO HELP YOU

Noo Jack is leaning in for a kiss gross, kiss averted

Edwinda!! She must feel so bad this happened while they were fighting

SHES AWAKE AND ALMOST IMMEDIATELY ASKED ABOUT ANTHONY CRINGE

I forgive her she's in love I guess

Violet is such a trooper for her dumbass children

Oh my god fully if my mom gave me an apology like this I'd die in my sleep the next night

---

Ok boys break bc I'm eepy and emotional putting this bad boy in drafts hopefully I remember it exists

----

Good news did remember about this draft

Do not be rude to the tailor Eloise I mean it

MEETING PENELOPE OUTSIDE

Oo baby Eloise is heartbroken

OH NO A LARGE DONATION TO THE ACADEMY RIPP

Usually I don't care about that plotline but occasionally it fucking gets me

Straight to the Kate plotline! We're moving so fast

Not "was there something else my lord"

TO ASK HER TO MARRY YOU

TELL HER YOU LOVE HER. SAY THE EORDS I LOVE YOU

Eloise and Theo having another investigation date

RIP MOVED AWAY FROM THE KISS

And he's being mean about the breakup yikes fuck off asshole, I don't know that I mean that I liked Theo but also Eloise is literally doing her best

Edwinda and Kate relearning each other <3

Eloise sitting on that swing again where she was smoking

Oo Eloise knew that Anthony bought that seat

Oo Gregory we never see the younger Bridgertons

Violet eavesdropping <3

Kate's mom is calling her out for running away

Oo and it immediately makes her cry she has some blocked up emotions baby

Kate darling his ass did not ask you out of duty you're so stupid <3 fully your sister couldn't marry him *because* he loved you and not her

Aww Eloises family supporting herr

Eloise: Thank you for protecting me you're a true friend

Penelope: slowly dying of guilt

Oh shit Eloise is starting to put the pieces together

KATE AND HER SISTER DANCING

Oo interesting strat Colin with getting Cressidas necklaces

OH NO COLIN FOUND OUT but he's so sweet being protective of Penelope

AA THEY'RE DANCING

Anthony swooped in so fucking fast

NOT ONE LAST TIME

Also its so funny bitches never have to wait for a song to start one always starts at the perfect time

Damn everyone is staring

"No one else matters" truly the Bridgertons specifically are living inside a romcom

Crazy that's she's still lying to herself about going back to India babe he's crazy about you

ELOISE ARE YOU SERIOUS BUT ALSO OH NO WHAT A TRULY TEERIBLE TIMING FOR HER TO FIND OUT THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS COOKED

NOOOOOO MANN

I know that Penelope marries Colin so her and Eloise have to make up at some point

Go off Portia! She said we Scheme for the entire family or we don't scheme at all.

Oh no she's looking for Eloise AND COLIN SAID HE'D NEVER COURT HER

Bad day for Penelope overall

OH HE SAID I LOVE YOU JUST AS I TOLD HIM TO

And he thought he was bad at poetry

Damn who is going to promise to vex me everyday?

Lady Whistedown voice over is now Penelope!!

COLIN BROUGHT PROSPERITY TO WILLS BAR LETS GO

Oh no not both Eloise and Penelope crying!

Penelope writing a new issue :O

And Lady Whistedown voice over is back

Timeskip they are married

God Kate's hair is soo pretty

Daphne for sure knows from experience that they were busy fucking

Babes stop making out on the battlefield, fully your siblings are here

[ineylesian]

MY FRIEND IN MISERY

─ PHILLIP GRAVES X FEM! READER

AO3 | MASTERLIST | CODENAME: FANGS MASTERLIST

WORD COUNT | 7k+

SUMMARY | there are times when you draw the line, glorifying the cracks that sever right and wrong.

upon realization that you’d been trapped under ice, you had watched graves freeze over, hardening against the cruel world before him… until he cracked.

WARNINGS | smut, angst, brief descriptions of torture, finger fucking, unprotected p in v, slight oral asphyxiation, biting, hair pulling, switch! graves, semi clothed sex, cunnilingus, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, slightly shell shocked graves, blood kink (kinda), graves is a masochist

AUTHOR’S NOTE | AYYY i finally got around to writing for my babygirl graves,, we’re pushing along in the cobra series!! also, some parts of this are a lil sloppy, my bad, i’m tired.

THIS WORK IS MEANT TO BE WRITTEN IN AN ADULT READER’S POINT OF VIEW. READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

AUGUST 13TH, 2020.

AL MAZRAH, SYRIA.

“SHEPHERD, we need to send in backup, now!”

“Negative, Shadow-2. You will use what. You. Have.”

Ragged breaths fought against faint waves of radio static, dying out with the start of a exasperated sigh. Your teeth grit furiously against one another at the sudden intrusion of Shepherd on your mens’ safety, digging one of your boots into the ground in a feeble attempt to contain your anger. He knew your entire squadron would die out there without help, and it was clear as the rising smoke in the ruins that he would make anyone else pay for his mistakes than himself.

It was good riddance and salvage, now. Avoid casualties, save the fortunate, and find Graves.

Your head turned at the rising sound of footsteps, sinking into the shallow channel at the sudden flash of light in your direction. Noisy sloshes rippled frigid water against your arms as two Russian soldiers approached, their proximity leading your hand to slide into the water, slowly pulling your pistol off of your waist.

A wave of murky water splashed against your face as you lunged forward, jabbing one solider in the knees with your elbow, swiftly putting a bullet in the other before his flashlight could piece your existence together. Screams of agony bubbled foam waves at the mercy of your knee, holding the less fortunate soldier under the surface while you unsheathed your knife. A messy slash reigned you safe, lifting yourself out of the water as droplets of muted red dripped off of your forearms.

“182, so you copy?”

Silence.

“Shadow-1, evac went dark.”

The soft buzz of grasshoppers answered your call, leading you to switch your comms off with a low string of curses. Fireflies danced along the wafting embers spreading to the arid valley around you, each spark followed by a distance chorus of explosions.

You shook your head, subconsciously raising a hand back to your shoulder before stepping off of the dead body beneath you, knees bending to tug at the zipper of the jacket.

“SC, this is Shadow-2 actual. Going dark.”

Cool water slithered over your chest as you lifted one of the Russian’s jackets over your own, feeling the soaked material sink into your skin. The helmet was next, followed by a pair of night vision goggles, and a scarcely damp ski mask pulled from one of the pockets. You bit back a cough at the scent filling your nostrils, traveling down to rest on the surface of your tongue, each breath leaving the faux residue of sand along your throat.

Each drag of your feet through the polar depths caused your teeth to dig further into the side flesh of your cheek, overpowering the taste of minced soil with blood with every numbing step. Upon reaching solid ground, your knees buckled, forcing you to grab onto a nearby column of debris, gloved fingers digging into the slight char to keep yourself standing. Stray winds of warmth flowed against the icy mass that consumed you, the first flush against your face so sickening you had no choice but to pull down your mask and retch.

Vile, warm, and filled to the brim with remorse on behalf of your dead soldiers.

You stood straight, wiping any signs of struggle off of your face. The last to go was your M16, American branding kicked deep into the mounds of sand below. Left with nothing but your own sopping facade, you stepped out into the main road, squinting down the stretch of rural ground. Not even a klick ahead sat a mass of hungry flames, igniting the winds billowing around you unsettlingly hot.

It was then that you felt the heat creeping along every dampened crevice of your — the Russian’s jacket, aggressive tendrils of changing temperature making your skin crawl. To make matters worse, you were approaching an entire field of aggravated hostiles. One mistake, and you would join the polluted sea of dead Shadows, marked up as one more KIA on Shepherd’s plate.

And just as much as you wanted him to suffer, you were not dying here. Not like this.

You were pulled from grasping thoughts of your general at the brief flicker of shells hitting a half crumbled wall not far off, followed by a ricochet of amused laughter. Dropping down, you cautiously approached the recoil pattern spread out across brick, sucking in a breath at the sound of footsteps just around the corner. The shuffles moved on, and you trailed, slipping a pistol from your waistline at the rise of a Russian voice.

Smiling, conceited teeth poking out from the faint dance of a cigar. The smoke wafted up in one last coil before plummeting down at the crude pluck of fingers, stopping to rest just below a quiet mass of black on the ground.

The cigarette fell gently to the ground beside him, resting trim against the bleeding hole in his collar. You pocketed your pistol, moving to stand above the two bodies and push the corpse to the side. Amidst the dust and blood, your eyes trailed to the embroidered patch on his shoulder. Shadow Company. Your mask was pulled down at the sight of widened eyes, shaking his shoulder lightly to ensure the dead’s gaze hadn’t mistaken you.

“Lieutenant..?”

He didn’t sound good, but bad was better alive. You swiftly nodded, pulling half a roll of gauze from your pocket.

“Listen, soldier.” Firm, yet coaxing words followed the tight pull of a bandage. “I need you to do something very important for me, can you do that?”

A curbed nod answered. Your radio was pulled from under the Russian’s jacket, placed in his slowly outstretching hand.

“You run, you don’t look back, and you get somewhere safe.” You waited for his nod, sighing once it was delivered. “When you’re safe, you flip to channel 11, get in contact with Task Force 141, and tell them we need a CASEVAC, ASAP.”

Anything would do at this point, but it didn’t hurt to be specific.

You pulled the solider up to his feet, sending him off with a harsh pat on the back and a reinforcing smile. Once he had disappeared from the outstretch of smog curtaining the area, you pulled your mask back up, turning for the main road. A quiet rip followed graveled footsteps, flipping a small patch in between your fingers, and curling them against your palm.

Two Russian soldiers, a mere 50 meters away. Your breath hitched at the sudden turn of one, hesitantly stopping to eye you whilst whispering to his comrade.

“HEY, THE HELL ARE YOU DOING STANDING THERE LIKE THAT?”

It was a good thing the military prepared you well concerning foreign encounters. Countless missions in Russia had taught you plenty, but the problem didn’t lie there. It was the cruel reminder that you’d been ambushed in Syria that tied your tongue, biting back the spiting hatred coating your saliva at the sight of the Ultranationalist patches on their — your chest.

“GOT DISTRACTED, IT WAS WORTH IT!”

The soldiers turned their heads in curiosity as you approached, a self proclaimed smile falling to your lips at the unveiling of your hand.

“A real trophy, no?”

Shadow Company’s insignia, laced with thin lines of gold. A small strip on the bottom displayed a “L” in italics, bearing the title of second in commandment to whoever wore it. Silent prayers through fraught eyelashes held the hope that you’d get the chance to wear it again, that is, if you made it out of this alive.

Seeing the stretch of one’s arm out, you placed the insignia in his hand, watching as he lifted it just inches away from his face. The other joined his mindless ogling, sharing sneers of scorn towards the Shadow Company whilst laughing about how stupid their Lieutenant must have been.

If only they knew who was standing right in front of them.

“It’s not every day you get one of these, eh, drook?”

His arm hooked around your shoulder, pulling you between them as they began to walk.

“Seen any stragglers?”

The smoke logged in your throat was enough to neutralize any identifiable feminine vocals. While you did sound a bit strange, no questions were asked.

“Nah, wouldn’t be surprised if we killed them all!”

Nervous laughter joined in with the choruses beside you. The hood over your head provided enough cover for your eyebrows to knit coldly together, swallowing the rising tides of guilt that sloshed in your stomach.

Nearly 300 men had been sent on this exchange mission.

“The Commander.” The rise of your voice was sudden, barely concealing the panic within. “Is he alive?”

“Of course, boss wanted the American to have a little taste of Russian prison torture before we killed him.”

Prison torture. Russian prison torture.

You were blankly shoved into the transport car, left only to yourself for a moment before a hand wrapped itself around your neck once more. Your eyes were shaking in their sockets, blood beneath your hands buzzing with frenzied nerves as you looked over. Upon seeing your expression, the soldier laughed, jerking you to the side.

“You okay, comrade?”

A shake of your head upward and a small smile followed. Forced, almost painful.

“Fine.”

ONE WEEK LATER.

A PRISON IN AL MAZRAH.

“GET YOUR FUCKING HANDS OFF ME!”

A sea of encouraging cheers rose throughout the courtyard, booming in excited waves at every splatter of blood painted across concrete. You ran a hand over your face before stepping amidst the mass of men, firing a shot of your Saiga just centimeters away from their feet. The crowd went silent at this, shuffling to the side to reveal two prisoners lying next to one another, battered and bloody.

“You know what happens when you disrespect orders, no?” Your tone was chipper, coldly sliding a pair of handcuffs onto the first prisoner. “The chamber is waiting for you.”

“Wait, no .. no- PLEASE! DON’T SEND ME THER-“

Ragged breathing were silenced by the wrap of a cloth over his mouth, double knotted around his neck to keep him still. Another officer took the man beside you, dragging him up to his feet before sending a nod your way.

Sand crunched against boots and bare feet, rousing muffles of pain from the man in your grasp. His eyes widened in fear at the tug of your hand over his collar, discreetly pulling his ear next to your mouth.

“Tell you what. Make a scene, and I’ll make sure you get out of here alive.”

A desperate nod answered your whispers, leading your grip on his handcuffs to loosen. Your gaze hardened, watching as he lunged for your weapon, only receiving a crude stomp on the hand, slamming his skin into the blistering sand.

“Got quite the disrespect for authority, huh?” The guard beside you nodded, smiling down at the writhing disobedience underneath you. “Take him to sector 2.”

“Hear that? Today’s your lucky day.”

The words molded falsely aggressive, allowing you to breath a sigh of relief once the guard had started heading off.

“Once I drop you off, ask to use the bathroom.”

You straightened up, pulling him to walk steady at the loss of prying eyes. Words were no longer exchanged between the both of you, as nearing the compound ahead had captivated your attention plenty. A lone building amidst the desert’s barren landscape, appearing as nothing but a mirage to wanderers.

You’d seen Graves hauled this way countless times the past week, growing to serve as a searing case of déjà vu following the third day. Nerves found haven along your spine at the recollection of the change, the way he was stripped of resilience, snapping and snarling morphed to willful silence. In a matter of days, he had went from fighting guards to trailing lifelessly behind them, not sparing a look anywhere else but the sand that carried him as he was taken away, again and again.

For a man with such tough resolve, you feared for him.

Two heavily armored guards stood posted at the entrance of the building, waving their greetings to you at the clearance of whirling dust. You roughly pushed the prisoner forward, watching as he stumbled into the grasp of the man before you, crinkling eyes of amusement giving way to an invisible smile under the mask.

“Here again, durak?” The guard sneered, holding the slouched neck of the prisoner up. “Not gonna piss yourself this time, are you?”

Ironic.

“Maybe you should take me to the bathroom, first.”

His plead was answered by a malicious string of laughter, tugged forward to round the building in silent acknowledgment. The other guard followed suit, completely unaware of the extra spurts of sand being kicked up behind him.

Shoved up against the wall, the prisoner flicked a finger in your direction.

A quiet pattern of shuffles rang out from beside him as you grabbed the first guard, callously gliding a knife against the bare spot on his neck. The other turned to you, fumbling for his gun whilst wide eyes watched you pull a pistol from your chest holster. His movements fell stale at the addition of a bullet hole to fearful features, right between the eyes.

You stepped back, the corpse wrapped around your forearm slumping to the ground at its retraction.

“Get out of here, before I change my mind.”

His eyes shot open at the sudden change in language, frantically grabbing one of the guard’s guns before scurrying off. Deciding not to take your chances, you dragged the bodies beside a mound of sand behind the building, rutting your boots into the ground to cover the trail of blood that followed.

You didn’t know what your expected from a Russian torture hideout, but you definitely anticipated something less.. normal. The creak of your hand on the door roused at least 5 pairs of visible eyes, all reflected dimly off a large pane of glass.

“Another one. Man, boss really has it out for the American, huh?”

A harsh pat fell to the broad of your back before pulling you forward, eyes shifting to gaze past the glass.

There he was. Phillip Graves, slumped over in a small wooden chair. Dim light filtered over crimson streaks and purple bruises alike, his hair decently tussled and damp with blood.

“Come on, let’s see if you can get anything out of him before dinner.”

“Of course.”

The words mindlessly slipped past your lips, eyes glued to the ground with every step you took. Upon the sharp groan of metal scraping against concrete, his head raised all but a fraction, taking your presence in with complete stillness.

A small table sat in the corner of the room, every inch adorned with familiar and foreign weapons alike. Feeling the eyes of the guards hounding you from behind the glass, you stepped in front of the small armory, spinning a silver knife to your grasp.

Dirtied hair was taken in a harsh tug of fingers, lifting his head high enough to level with your own. The burning urge to reveal yourself to him ate at your every movement, yet the thought of his reaction was too big a risk to take.

“How many times have you been tortured today, American?”

The heavy accent of Russia washed over your English, making a convincing argument to the slight use of broken nouns and slurred speech. His leer reflected glassy, clouded with boredom at your feeble attempt to scare him.

Graves had always been a pretty expressionate man, but all you saw now was the frozen over exterior of a wronged commander who had lost everything, including his dignity.

Your next breath was heavy, blinking at the thought of what you were about to do. As much as you didn’t want to, you had to present yourself. You had to make him talk.

Luckily, you were the only one in this country that knew what made Graves tick.

Gloved fingers slowly rose to grasp his chin, lifting the knife to dance along the mute lights hanging above. The tip of the blade shimmered against drifting particles of dust, moving to rest flat against the base of his right cheek.

“How about a token to remember this moment?”

The edge jutted upward, sliding into his skin at an agonizingly slow pace. You watched as his eyes began to part, teeth gritting in the slightest, just as you knew they would.

You remembered it, clear as day. The time he let it slip. He’d spent weeks obsessing over a nick on his forehead, threatening to shoot anyone who brought it up. A lack of clarification sat in the reason, but you knew it for sure.

Graves was horrified of scarring his face.

“Shadow Company.” The words came out dangerously nerved, eyes never leaving the blade dragging across his skin. “We were delivering missiles.”

You stopped in the middle, delving a little deeper. A shuddered breath responded, the flesh vibrating under your touch silently begging for you to stop.

“Who were the missiles for?”

Oh, he’d hate you for this. There wasn’t much doubt that he’d kill you, the chances only increasing with each droplet of blood streaking against his cheek.

“The Middle East.. the URA.”

Physically unable to continue, you stopped near the bottom of his eye, taking a step back before tossing the knife onto the table. The door creaked once more at your exit, welcoming you to a series of praise and cheers alike. Your stare was blank, fixed on the three soldiers surrounding you.

Cries of joy washed over grim at the first snap, followed briskly by your own blade to the nearest visible weak spot. Blood dampened your gloves, staining the noir fabric you grasped, pulling a guard in front of you to shield oncoming gunfire. Hearing the click of a dry mag, you ducked under the but of a gun, hurling your last knife across the room. In succession, the blade found its way nestled into the chest of the gunman, leaving you with two more close by.

You dodged the swipe of one’s arm, locking his wrist in your hand before stomping on his foot. The stagger sent him tumbling into the other, who had just finished loading his clip. Your eyes narrowed at the sight of his finger curling for the trigger, grasping the gun’s stock, and turning it away from you.

What you didn’t notice was the small canister of gasoline sitting against the crates of ammunition you had pointed the gun at. Eyes wide, you watched as the spark of flying bullets singed wood, horizontal recoil moving straight for the friction hungry fuel. You only cursed yourself for watching, as the guard had taken your extended hand before you could move, twisting your shoulder in perfect syngery with the knife in his hand. In a last ditch effort, you pried his hand off of the knife’s handle, pushing him toward the bullet just centimeters away from impending disaster.

You could only lift one foot before you were sent flying through the observation window, subconsciously crying out at the deafening explosion hammering into your ears. A dizzying hum erupted in your skull as you rolled against the concrete, welcoming your face to a scorching patch of fallen debris at rest. Your teeth clenched impossibly close together at the rising pain in your shoulder, only managing to scoot up against what was left of the wall, head hanging in an attempt to level yourself.

The ashes fell slowly, mixing your bloodied hands to a coat of muted grey. Flames licked at your back, illuminating the ravaged space before you, and pushing back against your shoulder in smoldering waves.

You raised a hand to the knife’s handle, curling it firmly against your fingers before tugging. A sharp hiss slipped through gritted teeth following the thick splat of blood amidst the darkness, your eyes fluttering in surprise at the sheer amount you were losing. You pressed a hand against the dampened patch of heat on your shoulder whilst the other moved up to your neck, clicking the flashlight nestled against your collar on.

Amongst the billows of smoke, you could see the chair Graves had been in. Only problem was, he was missing.

A shallow breath pushed its way from the depths of your smoke infested throat, wheezing out in protest at the grasp of your hands along a column of debris. Pulling yourself up, you stumbled forward, head spinning in acclimation to the blood-loss.

It wasn’t physically possible for you to hate the Russians more than you did now. This land had been a breeding ground for misery, leaving you just as defenseless as you had been the last time you were stranded here. Part of you wished you’d just been dumped into the fires back on that road, accepting a somewhat honorable death instead of.. this.

Rocks crumbled in unstable patterns, shaking the world around you in hefty crashes. You stepped past the metal table, now across the room, kicking weapons to the side in an attempt to preserve your boots. The black of night became visible as you emerged from the building, swirled alongside thick tendrils of smoke, allowing you only a moment to observe the sky before you were tackled to the ground.

Your hand mindlessly reached out, seizing the mystery weapon heading straight for your throat, and directing it to the sand beside you. Blinking against the rising swells of dust, you saw a familiar silhouette through the grit, prompting you to pull your mask down before it was too late.

The whisper of currents accounted for the silence, leaving you to watch as Graves backed away, eyes quivering in shock.

“…Fangs?”

“Yeah.” You breathed, taking in the flash of disbelief across his pupils. “It’s me”

You lay in strained wait, eyes scrolling over the discarded weapon just inches from your head. Certainly he’d kill you right here for what you did. It wasn’t like you could fight back, anyway, with his knee holding you against the ground.

The sight bestowed upon you resembled something much worse than death. His eyes were hung low, sunken further by the dark pools of sleepless nights settled beneath. You never thought he could look so.. lifeless, the stark, blank stare of his pupils making you squirm against the sand.

And then, he breathed. Low, quiet, scared.

He ran a hand over your hood, tugging it off to reveal the last of you. A swallow followed the full sight of your face, a look of contemplation dancing across his irises. You tensed, following the drift of his eyes to the weapon, and back to you.

“You.. forget it, shit.”

Unable to retaliate, you were pulled to your feet, left to reclaim your balance as his arms retracted, almost reacting as if your skin had burned him.

“Don’t..” His breathing slowed, a sigh following the ever so faint soften of his gaze upon straying over yours. “Don’t do that, ever again.“

“Graves, you’re not making any sense.”

You took a step back as he stumbled forward, holding back a hiss at the sudden grip of his hand on your forearm. Panicked breathing filled your ears at his notion, growing closer with every waking moment you stood there, eyes fixed on him with an inability to look away.

“I’m, I- fuck.. I don’t even know what I’m saying.” Solid words melted to a fevered string of mumbles, strengthening the hold on your wrists to keep himself standing. “I just know that I need you, Fangs.”

He was steadily shaking at this point, using the last of his energy to lean forward before his knees gave out. You staggered back at the mass entrusted to your hold, slowly setting him against a nearby crate before diving a hand into one of the pockets on your utility belt. Working past the clouds of confusion that dampened your mind, you flicked the cover off of an adrenaline shot, lifting one of his arms up to jab it against a non tense mass on the underside. The smaller supply was self dosed, finally giving you enough energy to think properly.

“We need to get out of here.” Your tone was low, quiet in the way hurried words slipped through a taut jaw. “Once we clear the area, we can call for.. shit.”

The adrenaline came too late to work effectively. In a matter of seconds, he had slumped over completely, heartbeat barely present against the slip of your hand under his shirt.

You swore, throwing the empty cartridges of stimulant to the side. Mustering all of what little strength you had, you pulled Graves up to rest against your back, stopping to pull a compass from your belt.

Settlements would be over the dunes, half a klick north. You just hoped your own adrenaline shot would last.

TWELVE HOURS LATER.

AN ABANDONED BUILDING SOMEWHERE ALONG THE OUTSKIRTS OF AL MAZRAH.

Click, click, click.

“Price? This is Cobra actual, come in.”

Static.

Your hand clenched against tepid air, unplugging the radio before shoving its port back into the socket. Dim rays of sunlight filtered against the table you sat at, bringing life to tiny particles of dust floating to rest against your gear. The Russian’s coat had long been dumped into the garbage, leaving you in a worn, dirty shell of your PMC, or what was left of it.

A faint spark from the radio pulled you back to reality, hovering your thumb over the PTS.

“This is Price, send traffic.”

You sighed in relief, pressing down on the button.

“I say again, this is Cobra. Immediate backup requested, Northeast Al Mazrah.”

A laugh followed.

“The Hell you doin’ in Syria?”

“I’ll tell you later, out here.”

The rise of footsteps captivated your attention, leading you to turn in your chair and set the radio down. From around the corner, you saw Graves peak his head into the room, blinking at the sight of you, as if he’d been looking for some time.

“Hey.”

You patted the side of the chair as you stood, reaching over the table to grab your utility belt. To your ease, over 10 hours of sleep had done him well. He looked much better, able to walk and move normally despite the lack of medical care given.

“How do you feel?”

Graves settled down into the chair, sending a reassuring smile your way, fading into the ghost of his lips curved upwards at the sight of you, still decently battered yourself. The stab wound on your shoulder had been sloppily bandaged, joined with the smudges of dirt and char along what skin he could see.

“I’ll live.”

What would’ve been a question to your own health was caught in his throat, pushed back down in a thick gulp at the sudden rise of your frame. Your face stopped a mere 5 inches away from his own, a hand covered in cloth steadily reaching out to close the distance. Blood caked eyelashes fluttered at the sensation of warm water, dragging down to smear days of torture down his cheek. Upon reaching the right side of his face, you stopped, frozen in abrupt fear at the sight — the thin line of your stigmata sitting firm along his cheekbone.

“Your face...” You blinked, mouth drawing into a thin line the more you looked at it. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

A hand crept along your forearm, stopping to clasp around your covered fingers.

“Don’t.” The cloth was guided down to press against the opening, rousing a light hiss from him. “You did what you had to.”

Hand lightly trembling, you watched blood trickle out of the stressed legion. He moved you down, soaking up the last of the grime on his face before letting you go.

Shifting back, Graves lifted his chin, allowing you to pop the top two buttons of his shirt off. Beneath the dark blue sat a nasty gash of contrast, glowing in agitation against pale skin. Your mouth parted in surprise, taking in the next, and the one after that, pulling his shirt down to expose a sea of heavy damage spread across his collarbone.

“Wait ‘til you see what’s below that.”

“Christ, Graves.” You muttered, fumbling for the disinfectant. “I should’ve been faster.”

Although the last words pushed off of your lips were practically silent, he heard you just fine. Before you could address his wounds any further, he grasped your chin, forcing your eyes to level with his.

“Listen, Fangs. I owe you my life, and then some.” His thumb dragged along your jaw, stopping just below your ear. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about things you had no control over.”

Your breath hitched at the sudden change in his demeanor, mouth drooping to the side in anticipation of what you’d do next.

On second thought, maybe he was just being stupid. You were just trying to clean his damn wounds, and he was letting himself get way too flustered over your proximity.

“You need me.”

Oh?

“I did say that, didn’t I?”

A lopsided smile joined raised eyebrows, completely aware that you had meant that as an inquiry. Your eyes narrowed at the rise of arrogance in his tone.

“Don’t fuck with me, Graves.”

The low bark in your throat gave away that you were on edge, and he was entirely the reason why. You never had liked when he teased you, but that wasn’t it, not this time. There was no room for that, anyway, as the subconscious press of your hand against his bruised chest was getting him more worked up than he liked to admit.

“I needed you then, and I need you now.” His head tilted, leaning up to sever most of the distance between you. “I want you, Fangs.”

The need — the want for you wasn’t new. For the past week, his thoughts had drifted to you countlessly, wondering if you were still out there, if you were as angry as he was concerning Shepherd. Guessing by the way you ruthlessly slaughtered those men for him, you were just as furious, maybe worse. After all, Shadow Company was yours just as much as it was his.

Whatever it was; between the both of you, something needed to alleviate, fast.

It was quick, his lips finding solace against your own. You sighed at the feeling, pooling warm air over his skin. He almost felt ashamed at how worked up you’d gotten him from doing almost nothing at all, latching onto your wrists to hold you against him.

Maybe the shame was partially from the guilt; he should be mourning right now, thinking of some way to get back at Shepherd for his fault in the massive loss at Al Mazrah.

He knew you were thinking the same, forcefully grasping at his hair to silence the internal war you were having with yourself. It was all solemn, mid thought, each stroke of his tongue against your teeth, sucking in every possible taste of you.

Maybe it wasn’t so wrong, then. Disaster had always loved your company, and now you had a someone to share that burden with.

Your friend in misery, perhaps.

You kissed until you could no longer feel the steady inflation of your lungs, breaking away from his face only when his fingers dug into your forearms. One of your hands was pulled up to run along the expanse of his right cheek, lathering now stale blood along your fingers as he pressed them against the laceration. Graves let out a soft groan at the sting, bringing your fingers to his mouth to lick at the mess of him sticking to your skin.

The metallic taste of blood coated your tongue as he let go of your arm, lowering his hands to circle around your waist. You were blindly set onto the edge of the couch in the living room, left devoid of prying teeth as he lifted himself off of you.

Graves’ eyes wandered down from your coat, falling to watch your hands circle around the hem of your jeans, popping the button free before tugging the zipper down. The very sight was mesmerizing, forcing him to push your hands up before he got too carried away.

“The things you do to me..”

You sighed at the feeling of his hands on your bare skin, hastily tugging your jeans off with one hand, and using the other to slide your underwear down with it. Slender fingers crawled up your thigh, stopping to rest on the inner curve.

“May I?”

Always a gentleman.

“Yes.” You whispered, thighs clenching around his arm. “Hurry.”

A soft laugh slipped from his lips at your desperation, wasting no time in dipping his fingers where you so desperately wanted them to go. You bit the inside of your cheek at the invasion of him against your folds, eagerly lathering up your arousal before prodding at your hole. Graves couldn’t help but groan himself as he pushed two fingers inside of you, now plenty aware of the painful strain of his erection against his pants.

What a great way to pay someone back.

“Taking me so well, darl’.”

Your eyes closed at the thickening of his accent on the last word, threatening to leak all over him right then and there. Graves was too busy to notice, thankfully, as his eyes yet pulled away from the sight of his fingers slipping in and out of you, canines clamping down against his lips as his skin grew more drenched with each thrust.

“Mmph, Graves.” You drawled out, pathetically moaning at the presence of him pressed knuckle deep inside you. “Gonna… cum.”

“Atta girl.” His fingers abruptly curled, rolling your eyes backward in shock. “Cum for me, Fangs.”

A low whistle pooled from his lips as you soaked his hand, glancing up to look up at you, smiling lightly at the feverish look on your face. Before you could even think of settling down from your high, Graves slinked a hand down to your thigh, softly groping the flesh as he spread you out.

You audibly gasped at the sudden glide of his tongue over your pussy, mulling over your glistening folds in needy apprehension of tasting you further. A hum vibrated against your skin as you coated his tastebuds, perfectly sweet, yet too short lived.

Without warning, his tongue snaked into your hole, greedily slithering along the shallow of your walls. One of your thighs was released of his grip as his fingers traveled up, stopping to rub harsh circles against your bud.

You’d never taken Graves as a man to shamelessly eat someone out like this. Yet here he was, licking you up like you were the last thing he’d ever taste.

His eyes drifted up at the ragged shift in your moans, growing hoarse with every ministration of his tongue against your pussy. Seeing the coats of sweat beginning to shine along your face, he winked, stuffing himself further against your walls, effectively making you cry out.

Cocky bastard.

Graves increased his pace almost knowingly, eyes drifting back down to focus on his fingers, furiously rubbing at your folds. You felt your second orgasm wash over you in blistering ripples, feeling his tongue slide out of you. He rested at your folds, lapping any of your juices that missed his mouth.

When he was satisfied, he stood from your legs, wiping the back of his hand over the tip of his nose, moving down to his mouth next. Sitting up, you pulled him to sit beside you, lashes fluttering at the pure look of haze returned. Sighing, you slowly pushed him against the arm of the couch, watching his eyes flick upward, never leaving your apprehending grasp.

A soft hiss followed the graze of your hand along his clothed erection, moving to tug at his zipper in your own anticipation. Your mouth parted in the slightest at the drag of his boxers downward, frankly taken aback at the size of him.

“Fangs..” Graves mumbled, feebly pulling one of your shoulders forward. “Need to be inside you now, honey.”

The low whine in his tone forced you to swallow a line of drool back, grasping his dick whilst sliding closer to him. You sank down onto him agonizingly slow, slapping a hand over your mouth to muffle the moan biting its way from your lips. Impossibly full was the only way to describe it, his dick stretching your walls wider than you envisioned possible.

“That’s it, baby. Taking me so well.”

Graves pulled you forward, cursing at the pained bliss working up in his shoulders. Each stretch of his wounds elicited a sweet moan from his lips, falling into a rasped symphony with your cries at his erratic pace. Your neck lowered to nip at his jaw, lightly twisting his skin between your teeth as you worked your way up. Upon reaching his lips, your teeth retracted, eagerly swallowing the pitiful vibrations pooling into your throat.

The lack of oxygen was nearly calming, pulling you away from the raging fires of blame in your head. Deep inside, you knew the shame and remorse of what happened would never go away. You’d have to learn to accept it, but accepting wasn’t always the easiest choice.

It meant going after Shepherd; sticking a deadly target on your back that would never disappear. Ending the possibility of you and Graves before you even got a real taste of it.

It was selfish, really. But who were you without that need?

Nothing. Such a simple word being the catalyst of the scorch in your chest, the fresh scar on Graves’ cheek, the raging forest fire of agony melted into desire.

Your lack of hesitation when it came to Graves wasn’t due to the stress, however. Each drag of his tongue along your skin proved you’d been pulled into the undertow long ago, as had he.

After all, it was common knowledge that you do crazy things for the people you love. And, maybe you could learn to love Graves in time.

Tears pricked against the corners of your eyes, washing salty streams of heated frustration down your face. Graves continued to devour every inch of your mouth, sucking the low song of sorrow into his own being as you cried. His own vexations fell to the ruthless piston of his cock in and out of your overspent walls, sparking a match to the kerosene coil in your abdomen once again. You spasmed against his dick, nails curling against the rough material of his shirt in a weak attempt to stay grounded.

Sensing your struggle, Graves dropped his hands down to your waist, dipping under your coat to roughly squeeze at the scalding flesh underneath. The coarse sensation of his hands on you sent your body into overdrive, crying out against his neck as you came over his dick. He was quick to follow, messily rutting into you a handful of times before pulling out, swiftly lifting your coat up to come on your stomach.

The two of you sat still, quietly panting amidst the cool dawn air. Minutes of stiff silence held you in place, breaking reluctantly at the shift of Graves against you, slowly peeling your coat off the prevent it from dirtying any further. Slightly trembling legs fell to gentle hands, setting you down where he had been as he stood, tucking himself together before leaving the room.

You stared up at the ceiling, listening to the hushed click of shoes on wood as Graves moved about. Upon his return, a damp cloth was pressed against your abdomen, wiping his mess up before folding it in half, lightly patting cool water against your face.

“What are we gonna do about Shepherd?”

The burning question, one that he had been mulling over for some time himself. Yet, despite how much he tried to craft a solution, he was left empty handed, and utterly helpless.

The couch dipped, you lifted you legs momentarily so he could sit beside you.

“I don’t know, Fangs.” He muttered, following your gaze up to the barren ceiling. “I don’t know.”

Accept it, we’re utterly screwed.

Right?

“Do you regret what we just did?”

Your eyes dropped, his followed suite. His pupils were still slightly wide, hair sticking up in unruly strands, shirt wrinkled beyond repair. He almost looked normal — you almost felt normal.

“Do you really take me for that kind of man?”

You shrugged, watching with a fleeting glint of amusement passing your eyes as he rolled his own. Silently, you beckoned him forward, allowing him to flip you over while his back took the couch’s surface. Your hands drifted up to his neck, resting in a loop around it.

The faint thrum of his heart fell intimately privy to your ears, effortlessly draping the serenity of much needed sleep over your eyes, welcoming you to the darkness as they finally shut. Seeing this, Graves slid one of his hands above your chest, stopping to brush a strand of hair out of your face before draping it around your shoulder.

“I didn’t regret it, Fangs. Not a single second.”

4 HOURS LATER.

Click, click.

“Cobra, this is Price, over. What’s your 20?”

Your eyes squinted against the fresh light of dawn, raising a hand to rub over your face. As quietly as you could, you pried yourself from Graves’ hold, pulling your clothes on before heading for the radio.

“This is Cobra. Ready to deploy a flare on your word.”

“Ready when you are.”

You tugged your utility belt forward, pulling a small red stick out of one of the pockets.

“Roger that.”

Low tides of dust greeted your skin as you stepped outdoors, popping the cap off of the pyrotechnic. A sharp scrape of the surface and the flare sparked, enveloping the area around you in a violent sea of red as it was dropped to the ground. You stepped away from the signal, watching the clouds nearly two klicks off shift, welcoming you to the sight of helicopter blades.

A quiet shuffle roused your attention away from the sky, looking back to see Graves leaning against the doorframe. Your utility belt was handed over at his approach, leading his arms to cross, eyes never leaving the approaching aircraft.

“You sure you trust these guys, Fangs?”

You nodded, waving up to the shadowed figures now visible amongst the sky. Upon touchdown, you beckoned for Graves to follow, stopping at the foot of the helicopter at the sight of Price, eyes narrowed suspiciously at the man beside you.

“I’m supposing he’s with you?”

“Yeah.” You reached up, grasping his outstretched hand. “American Special Forces mission went to shit, thanks for the help.”

Your blatant lie passed without question as Price nodded, leading you to share a look of relief with Graves before pulling him into the aircraft. A brief handshake was shared between the supposed ASF and TSF captain before he sat down beside you, biting back a laugh at the prying scroll of Price’s eyes over your injuries. Before you could spit out any excuses, he sat across from the two of you, nodding questioningly to the patch of red under your shoulder.

“So, got a story to share?”