#i would have prefered a less horrific way | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

akutasoda · 4 months

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hi! It’s been awhile and I was playing a game and got an idea! How would Bsd men react to an enemy whose ability is with every time they kill a person the reader themselves can move faster..and every attack they do will hurt more? Reader is a hazard is basically laughing their head off while gaining kills left and right

-🌀 Anon!

what are you?

synopsis - what happens when the enemy is as dangerous as could come

includes - atsushi, dazai, chuuya, verlaine

warnings - gn!reader, heavy violence/mentions of killing, descriptions of blood, slight dehumanisation, wc - 1.8k

a/n: hi hi! it has been a while, hope your doing okay however?

atsushi nakajima ★↷

an easy mission was what he had been told. a simple situation diffusion along the ports, one that had occurred between the port mafia and some underground gang. why the agency was involved made no sense but from a reasonable perspective perhaps it was just to keep peace.

no matter the reason, he had been assigned the mission as it wasn't to take long and no one accompanied as it was just seemingly a few low grunts. so he had no reason to be as nervous as he was, yet he couldn't shake the pit of dread tightening in his stomach.

something was off and he couldn't quite figure out the reason. even arriving on site the situation seemed very insignificant and meaningless. diffused within a short while. but it seemed off, like someone was watching him. and before he knew it more mafia members made their way over.

they seemed to off horribly misinterpreted the situation, assuming the agency was the reason for whatever had transpired. now instead of low ranking grunts, he was faced with higher ranking grunts but that wasn't the only issue. members of the other underground organisation had also arrived.

but worst of all, he could finally pinpoint the source of his dread. the first sign came in form of the still mafia grunts watching as a member of the other organisation was killed in a couple fell swoops. atsushi turned around just in time to watch another fall in less time. and another. and another.

the group ensued into panic at the termination of it's members and tried fleeing, forgetting any petty argument. tried. atsushi's hairs stood upright as he heard a rather horrific laighter echho throughout the port. each member being slaughtered in less time and effort than the last.

he'd never quite seen anything like this. and in complete honesty it was horrifying. laughter seemed to ricochet off the surroundings as blood coated the floors. he couldn't move. as much as his instincts told him to run, to seek safety he couldn't. fear grasped each and every one of his limbs rendering him immobile and only able to witness the execution happening before him.

what scared him the most wasn't the bloodbath, wasnt the laughter but the following silence. the same pit of dread now rising in his throat. his eyes locked in place of the figure standing over the graveyard of bodies. he locked eyes with you and that's when he could finally take off. the fear activating his flight and he'd never ran faster.

the only thoughts occupying his mind was how vile an ability you possessed and how sinister you were to weild it in such way. he'd prefer never seeing you again.

osamu dazai ★↷

he'd like to think he was prepared for every situation. he knew he wasn't but that wasn't for others to know. and being prepared meant that going into battle he would know exactly who the enemies were. another extent of his planning considered the fact that he thought he could never encounter an ability that shook him. afterall he could just nullify any.

but that could change rather quickly with a moving target, getting faster still. so when the agency threw him and a few others a new case that would most likely end in conflict, he thought he would be prepared. especially with his colleagues at side.

yokohama territory was a rather complex thing. it seemed simple but it really wasn't, the port mafia didn't have 'port' in the name for nothing. but some really couldn't understand that and even so it seemed weird that the conflict involved a different group at the ports.

while it was weird it wouldn't be solved by sitting around and thinking about it. so with confidence, he and his colleagues welcomed the conflict when no other option was viable. but there was something different. something was off, an outside factor looking to disrupt.

but no matter where he looked or what happened, he couldn't find the reason for it going wrong. they weren't noticed at first. bodies of the enemy dropping seemingly due to exhaustion - afterall the agency would rather not kill opponents. but it wasn't until red soaked the area that they stopped.

both sides looking equally confused but the opposing group looking more horrified at the deaths of their members. then another fell. dazai and his colleagues immediately went on guard but dazai could feel dread building in him. for the first time in ages.

and as another fell in quicker time he knew exactly what was up. this was now life or death for the agency so it was most tactical for him tourge his colleagues away into safety. not the graveyard the area was about to become. and he was right, bodies dropped left and right within inhuman time.

now it seemed more logical. this was port mafia turf, of course any conflict would be resolved by them. but he didn't think they'd so quickly resort to you. every urge in him knew he'd never be able to nullify your ability in quick enough time to stop you slaughtering everything around you and so he and his colleagues took off.

he knew a fight he wasn't destined to win and while he did like the idea of dying he knew you'd make it painful for him. and even in his rare state of fear he couldn't help but look back. loom back just in time to meet your gaze riddled with bloodlust as the sound of your bone chilling laughter echoed the now desolate land.

chuuya nakahara ★↷

he'd always appreciate a good fight. he enjoyed being in them aswell. a new way to test his skills and yet still show silent awe at the skills that could rarely impress him demonstrated by opponents. and plus, fighting for him was rather fun.

that's why he never really had issue with being sent on guaranteed conflict missions. while he did sometimes roll his eyes or scoff at being sent on so many, he did always enjoy the conflict in them. and he wouldn't say he was arrogant, but he was rather confident.

and that always shone through in his fights, he had confidence in his skills and ability and that rarely wavered. he'd read somewhere in the file that the group they were meant to experience conflict with had some sort of secret weapon. something that brought them a terrifying reputation, one that chuuya scoffed at.

he doubted that it could be something truly terrifying and that was what he was wrong about. and he knew he was wrong, he knew the minute he watched a handful of port mafia grunts fall in no less than a few moments. an event that was followed by a maniacal laughter that truly put fear into chuuya.

his body no longer wanting to fight, well he still did as he rarely backed down from one but he was happy to make an exception as something felt off. another group fell in less time and he could see the smirk of the original opponents as they fled the scene.

he heard the laughter yet again and thsi tome narrowly doged what would've been a fatal blow as the group of grunts behind him fell in a small movement. corpses now mostly made up his backing group and he knew he'd have to flee. but he really couldn't.

the fear demanded that he run but his fight or flight was still saying fight. even as your laughter sent shivers down his spine as he finally caught a glimpse of you slaughtering the rest of his group. even as he finally locked eyes with you standing opposite him. would it of been cruel for him to call you inhuman?

paul verlaine ★↷

the king of assassins. a title bestowed to him and a title he took seriously. no job that he was given would be taken lightly when he had that title. he prided himself on being good at his job, quite a bit of his confidence also came from that and therefore he would always prove that he was worthy of such a title.

against better judgement, he always looked to take the best action appropriate when a new job was tossed his way. he needed to know the ins and outs of the person or people involved and aware of any outstanding abilities that could cause an issue. so when your file was tossed at him he acted the same.

but it became apparent bery quickly that you're job was entrusted to him for a reason. no information. just a loose alias and last know location. that's what he was given and from that he had to still fulfill his job and if anything he saw it as a challenge. call him arrogant, but no regular assassin could perform such a job.

he had very quickly tracked down a lead. a lead that led him to your next expected location. he had no clue what ability you held, he had a hunch you had one however, nor did he know much about you. but he didn't care or atleast he didn't. not until he started waiting for you.

an unusual sense of dread filled his very being and no matter how much he tried to shake it off, he couldn't. he tried pushing it to the back of his mind but he really couldn't. and it only worsened even though everything was going as intended.

the group you were confronting had arrived yet no signs of you. the only sign of your arrival was the swift execution of a quarter of the group. verlaine was caught off guard, there was no way that was your doing. but he was corrected when you performed the same action yet seemingly quicker.

your laugh made his blood freeze. he understood now - why you had no information, why he was entrusted your file. and so he acted quicker than he'd like, but you were quicker. avoiding his attack and slaughtering the rest of the group in seemingly the same action.

you laughed again and it felt more of a direct laugh at him. you were no human anymore. your ability made you nothing but a weapon. he dared call you less human then he was and yet he still had a job to do. he had no doubt you're horrific ability and mind could end him swiftly but he didn't care. you weren't human anymore, so why should he treat you like one?

#🌀 anon↩#x reader #x gender neutral reader #bsd x reader #bsd x gender neutral reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you #bsd x you #bsd atsushi #atsushi x reader #bsd dazai osamu #dazai x reader #bsd chuuya #chuuya x you #chuuya x reader #bsd verlaine #verlaine x reader

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pluckyredhead · 1 month

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Can you please say more about the Lanterns' politics?

I am so glad you asked me about this because I've been thinking about it since I reblogged that post but also I'm definitely about to get yelled at lol. ANYWAY THIS IS GOING TO BE LONG.

Tl;dr: John is the only one with a coherent political position or an up-to-date voter registration.

Hal:

So something interesting about Hal is that his stories are often very political but his character is not. With one extremely obvious exception, he rarely talks about politics; rather, he serves as a means through which to tell political stories, usually unintentionally.

What do I mean by that? Well, for example, in the Silver Age, his love interest would occasionally be possessed by a misandrist space jewel that would force her to attack him, but always lose because women are inherently inferior to men and prefer to be subjugated by them anyway. That's the original Star Sapphire concept. It's wildly misogynistic, but it doesn't mean Hal the character is misogynistic. But it's also a very political story, even if I don't think the writer was deliberately trying to make a point so much as...being an average, thoughtlessly sexist guy living in the 60s. (Carol continues to be the subject of mindbogglingly sexist writing and art well into the 2000s. Fucking comics.)

And so you have Hal Jordan, whose love life was ruined by his girlfriend getting promoted above him and who called his best friend by a racist nickname for decades; Hal Jordan, poster boy for chest-thumping post-9/11 kneejerk patriotism; Hal Jordan, lightning rod for a certain kind of regressive bigoted fanboyism. Choosing Hal as the Lantern for a particular story over John or Kyle has come to signify something very specific, but none of that is necessarily reflective of what Hal himself believes.

So what about Hal himself? Well, when we first meet him, he's the epitome of privilege: a white, straight, cis, Christian (I know he's canonically half-Jewish now but that's only as of the past decade or so), ablebodied, upper middle class (Geoff Johns retconned him to have a working class background, but in the Silver Age, he had one uncle who was a millionaire, another who was a judge, and a successful politician brother) man with a flashy job. Privilege tends to lean Republican; even if he is from California, I suspect Hal voted for Eisenhower in 1956.

In GL/GA, the word "Republican" isn't used to my recollection, but Hal is definitely presented as...I'm going to say conservative by I mean lower-case C. He doesn't have deeply held political beliefs, but he's traditional. He doesn't question the system, because he's never had to. He resists things that challenge the way he's always understood the world works, and that's very relatable - most people do! And he will absolutely argue with Ollie, who certainly isn't always right about everything. But he's also willing to listen, and have his mind changed, and certainly reachable via appeals to compassion and fairness.

Once the "relevance" trend of the late 60s-early 70s was over, Hal's stories default back to ostensibly politically neutral, although obviously nothing is actually politically neutral. In the late 80s and early 90s he's the most unpleasant version of himself, and that has political manifestations, like when he allows John to be imprisoned in apartheid South Africa for a ridiculous and unnecessary crime Hal himself committed. It's extremely fucked up, but again, it's less because of Hal's actual opinions and more because Christopher Priest wanted to write about apartheid, even if it does make Hal look incredibly, horrifically racist.

Then jump to the mid-2000s and Green Lantern: Rebirth, and you might imagine that losing his hometown, getting possessed by a giant space bug, becoming a supervillain, dying, and becoming the embodiment of God's vengeance might have some effect on Hal's politics, but that is not what Geoff Johns is here to write. Johns is writing a Hal who teleported in from, like, 1967 - no nuance allowed. He's a summer blockbuster that walks like a man. He's a Baja Blast. He's never had a coherent political thought in his life. In his defense, he has had more and goofier concussions than any superhero I can think of and his brain is smooth like an egg. Still.

Anyway, all of this is to say that I think Hal tends to default to center right positions but can be easily coaxed over to center left. That said, he has never not once in his life had his shit together enough to vote in a single election, not even for his own brother.

Guy:

So Guy's deal is a little bit complicated because his most vocally political era was also in part due to severe and personality-altering brain damage.

When Guy was originally introduced in the 1960s, he had the pleasantly bland personality of all superheroes. Many years later, he suffered a series of major injuries, torture, and a lengthy coma, and he emerged from the coma in 1985 with the aggressive, abrasive personality he's best known for today. Justice League International took that even further, using him to parody the jingoistic, red-blooded American action hero of the 80s.

This version of Guy is a vocal fan of Ronald Reagan and despises the USSR. He's pro-war, proudly xenophobic, and treats women badly enough that it crosses the line into repeated sexual harassment, both physical and verbal. (To be fair...ish, this last also applies to Wally West and arguably a number of other men, and was always played for laughs. It was gross all around.)

Again, this is partially a manifestation of his brain damage. There's also a running gag in JLI where if he gets hit on the head, his personality changes to this cloying, timid, gentle one, sort of halfway between a child and a flamboyant gay stereotype. Hit him again and he goes back to Asshole Guy. I'm not going to pretend I don't find some of the gags funny, but it's obviously all highly problematic, and not just from a medical standpoint.

That said, I don't think we can dismiss Guy's politics or his usual personality as simply a manifestation of brain damage. We see in later flashbacks that he developed the abrasiveness as a defense mechanism from growing up in an abusive home, and as he matures through the 90s, he doesn't actually become a significantly different person, even after his Vuldarian healing factor kicks in and heals his brain. (It's a thing.) I think it's more accurate to say that the brain damage probably affected his impulse control, his filter, and arguably even his paranoia levels.

All of which is to say that as much as I would love to go "Guy's better now, so he's not a Republican!"...that dog won't hunt. I think a really good canon writer could make the case that Guy is pro-union-style working class and also a former teacher so he's at least center left, but as of now canon evidence is pretty firmly on the red side. It doesn't help that the GLC has been written as fetishistically pro-cop and pro-military since Johns got his grubby hands all over it. I will happily ignore the New 52 retcon that Guy was a cop, and you could even try to argue that he dislikes cops because his brother was a corrupt cop who became a supervillain, but I think it's much more likely that he identifies with cops as a Corps member. Although I don't think he would have any patience for killer cops. ("You were afraid for your life even though you were the only one with a weapon? Then fucking quit, coward.")

All of that said, I think Guy is similar to Hal: defaults to center right, can be talked into center left on certain issues but he's more stubborn about it. (They would also both be enraged by Jan 6 and disgusted by the current Republican party - I can't quite argue that Guy Gardner is a Democrat but Green Lanterns don't have any patience for traitors or cowards.) It's also kind of a moot point because he never knows what is happening on Earth and hasn't voted since his pre-coma days.

John:

Oh John Stewart, thank god for you.

John was introduced as an explicitly political character in an explicitly political story. The first time we see him, he's stepping in to defend Black men from a white cop, citing his own knowledge of the law to do so. He shows a much more perceptive and informed perspective on the issue's main plot (a racist senator running for president) than Hal does. Even in the little moment above, we see that he's sensitive to exactly what it means for him, a Black man, to be taking on this role.

None of this is a surprise, since we'll later learn that John's parents were civil rights activists. Not only would he not have had the privilege Hal and Guy did to assume his existence was politically neutral, he was explicitly educated about political realities and progressive advocacy from childhood. He's well-informed, he's passionate, and he's going to tell you when you are being fucking stupid.

John isn't immune from the GL cop/military...thing, although I can't blame Johns for that - it was the cartoon that made him a Marine, and the comics followed suit. But that's never outweighed his origin or his upbringing. Like, he's friends with the DCU's fictional version of Nelson Mandela.

This one is straightforward: John is a staunch progressive. He is, however, in outer space 90% of the time, so he's always at least a little bit out of date. I imagine every time he comes back to Earth he spends the first 24 hours watching the news in abject horror.

Kyle:

Kyle doesn't talk about politics a lot, but when he does, he lands pretty much where you'd expect a young California-born artist living in New York City to land: to the left. My read on Kyle is that he hasn't really thought any of his politics through, which makes sense - he's a character who is led by emotion over reason every time. He doesn't have John's carefully thought-through arguments or knowledge of the law behind him. I feel like when something political upsets him, he's more likely to splutter angrily than make a coherent argument (which: same). When he's given the time to think things through and speak from the heart, though, he can be very eloquent, like in his speech to Terry after Terry accidentally comes out to him.

It's also worth pointing out that his solo appearances were mostly in the 90s, which were prone to avoiding politics or only addressing them in a halfhearted both sides-y way like the story above.

That said, I don't think he ever actually does anything about his political opinions. He never votes in midterm or primary elections, and probably only voted in a presidential one because Alex dragged him along one time. I feel like Donna tried to do the same when they were dating and that was when Kyle realized he'd forgotten to change his voter registration from California to New York. Jennie wasn't responsible enough to Mom him into doing his civic duty, and he's been in space pretty much nonstop ever since, so...

Simon:

In that other post, I said Simon's experiences should have radicalized him, but instead he was created by Geoff Johns. Simon is a Muslim, Lebanese-American man who came of age in the post-9/11 era, and was wrongfully convicted of terrorism and waterboarded at Guantanamo Bay. His reaction to this was...to put on a ski mask and wave a gun around. Like, it's been a while since I've read these issues, but aside from the "ripped from the headlines!!!" of it all, I feel like Simon's experiences largely don't inform his actions or perspective except that he's super angry (fair enough).

The thing about Simon (and Jessica) is that he hasn't been around very long, and most comics don't have characters directly expressing political opinions. It's not a coincidence that these characters are in chronological order and each write-up is shorter than the last. I can think of about three times where Kyle has ever said anything I can interpret as political, and he's been around for 30 years. Simon only has a third of that history. So while one could certainly extrapolate what Simon's opinions are likely to be, I can't think of any canon where he actually says them.

Jessica:

Jessica has even less to go on in terms of explicitly political comics. You'd think she wouldn't like guns because of what happened to her friends, but she has one of her own and doesn't seem bothered by Simon's. I'd imagine she has opinions on immigration as someone whose family is from Mexico and Honduras, but it never comes up. If I were writing for DC, I'd make both Simon and Jess leftists, but as for actual canon proof? I got nothing.

I will say that she probably avoids political discussions because anxiety, and I bet she got really good at voting by mail during her years not leaving the house. She probably votes by mail from space. Maybe John's not the only one with an up-to-date voter registration.

Kilowog:

#green lantern #hal jordan #guy gardner #john stewart #kyle rayner #simon baz #jessica cruz #meta

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jackdaw-sprite · 4 months

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Hi, @ep-10 ! I was your truce gifter this year for @phandomholidaytruce and I decided to use your prompts for a Japanese ghost--kinda, but mostly for a biopunk fantasy au. You're getting some character designs for a biopunk fantasy AU set in a world suspiciously similar to Sengoku era Japan! And also backstory. Mostly backstory, really.

Warning for someone getting baked alive in a kiln.

I mean, we all know who.

Jack and Maddie Fenton are a married pair of researcher/alchemists who've been brought into the country with the influence of an old friend of theirs, Vlad. He wants them to figure out the secret to producing porcelain, an expensive and magically versatile ceramic with a production process that's a closely guarded secret in a nearby, much more economically powerful country.

To this end, Vlad has supplied the Fentons with enough wealth and resources to not ask things like "where did you get this?" and "what exactly is going to happen when it gets out that we're trying to make porcelain?"

As it turns out, this is a very important question, because together the pair piece together how to build a kiln that burns hotter than any they've ever seen before and for the very first time make the coveted porcelain.

The victory is short lived: their son Daniel goes missing that very day, and then their search for him is waylaid by another discovery: some of the porcelain is coming to life, animated by a horrific amalgam of flesh and vitriol. They must find Danny, but first they must make sure the monsters they've made are destroyed…

So! The three big players in our cast of characters here are Jack, Maddie, and poor, poor Danny. They are coincidentally the only ones I had time to do a character design for, so let's look at Jack first, who is holding an experimental porcelain vase:

That's quite an outfit. It's, uh. Not quite standard in the Sengoku: while he's wearing a hitatare, it's been modified, and he's chosen not to wear pants because it's technically not, like, a crime. I chose this for him because Jack:

a) Does not care about what everyone thinks of what he's wearing, or he wouldn't wear a jumpsuit all the time in canon b) Hates the feel of most clothes

Hitatare were growing in popularity during the Sengoku because of how comfortable they were, so it seemed a good fit for Jack. They didn't necessarily need to be worn with hakama if you were of a lower class, but it would be frowned upon to go without if you were off a higher class.

The modifications he and Maddie have made to it make it even less restrictive than a standard hitatare, and a bit more suited to their work of experimenting with kilns and clay.

The obi is stitched into place, so it doesn't actually act like a belt and put a line of pressure across Jack's stomach, and they've added a button to the side to hold the hitatare closed, instead. The stitching around the sleeve openings is pretty archaic by this point, but they've kept (or added) it so he can draw the openings closed when he wants, and a second draw string runs along his sleeve to let him draw the sleeves away from his hands when needed, while still letting him let them extend to their full length to act as a barrier between his skin and unpleasant textures.

He's got some leather gloves and a pair of very early goggles to protect his hands and eyes from the heat of the kilns.

The geta act as an additional layer of protection against bad textures, since they should keep him above mud.

Maddie, here holding a shattered fragment of porcelain, is dressed far less eccentrically, because this (left) is before the porcelain came to life. She's just wearing a kosode with hakama and a leather apron. (She has gloves too, they're just tucked away at her back) The smaller sleeves stay out of the way while she works, and the hakama are roomy. She's wearing waraji, because she prefers what I assume is more stable footing and a lower center of gravity.

This is especially true after they start fighting the porcelain. Pictured here, you can see she keeps her hair out of her face with a standard low ponytail, and the Fenton Anti-Creep stick manages to still exist in this world, despite all odds.

This Anti-Creep stick is a bokken with embedded teeth of broken porcelain for a better shattering potential--metal, especially enough metal of sufficient quality for a sword, is expensive, and they're dealing with something that's only a stronger ceramic…

Which brings us to the kiln. And, to his great misfortune, to Danny.

This is a multi-chambered climbing kiln. While I don't think it's the first kiln that allowed firing temperatures to reach that required for porcelain in Japan in our world, it's the most common and appeared around the same time as that first one. The design of it encourages airflow in a way that traps and directs heat to build it on itself and distribute it reasonably evenly.

The kiln chambers would get filled with the pots to be fired, then they would set a fire in the little step down in each chamber. Then they would seal the kiln chambers entrances with fire bricks, except for a small stoking hole to keep the fires fed.

Then they'd light the main fire at the mouth to the first, lowest chamber called the stoke hole and the fire box respectively.

And then they would keep the fires lit, and feed them, wood upon wood upon wood…

Until eventually, the kiln warmed, grew sweltering, grew hot, hot like fire, like iron in a forge and then hotter still, until the whole of the inside glows.

Like the center of the earth.

…

At the lowest, porcelain requires a firing temperature of 1000 degrees. Celsius.

Brass melts, at that temperature. Porcelain itself gets its strength from melting.

And Danny…

Danny tripped. Danny was loading one of the chambers, and he tripped and he hit his head and by the time he woke he was sweating.

He tried to crawl away from where he knew the fires were. The flue, where the spent air left the kiln, has charred finger marks where his burnt away after the carbon dioxide and heat drove him unconscious a second time.

It was a mercy.

By the time he woke again, his body was cooling.

You see, the Fentons enchanted the kiln to make it try to repair pieces that were falling apart during the firing process. And, if one piece was destroyed in the firing anyway, to use the fragments to reinforce the other pieces in the kiln.

Danny was in the kiln. Danny's body failed.

Bone ash is not a critical ingredient in porcelain, but its presence makes it much, much stronger.

Danny woke up made of porcelain.

His sandals left black on the soles of his feet and the fingers on one hand that had burned looked skeletal. But he woke up.

And he ran.

Later, he'll find help. Later, he'll find a way to fight the other things in the kiln that day, and the results of later firings. Later, he'll meet a boy who loves puzzles and information and who teaches him how to use a bow and arrow to keep his fragile body intact. He'll meet a girl who loves foraging (partly because it gets her away from her parents) but loves justice more.

(Whether he'll stop wearing his clothes like a corpse is another question.)

Danny here is wearing something hitatare adjacent and hakama, along with a yugake.

Happy truce!

#danny phantom #jack fenton dp #maddie fenton dp #danny fenton dp #jackdraw-spwrite #jackdraw-sprite

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minimoefoe · 4 months

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the insistence from some ppl that 13 was just ‘letting Yaz down gently’ in lotsd is so strange and embarrassing btw bc she clearly and objectively wasn’t doing that. have your weird unreciprocated headcanon if you want but canonically that isn’t what’s happening and it’s pretty easy to follow

and the way some ppl like to take what’s in the episode and twist it to be a point towards either bad writing or 13 not feeling the same way about Yaz is truly baffling to me like do any of you actually pay attention to this show or do you just like to shout chibnall bad from the rooftops even tho your point doesn’t make any sense?

when 13 says she can’t fix herself to Yaz, she is not letting Yaz down gently. five minutes before that she compared her to River and said if she could be with someone then it would be Yaz. and let’s not forget that 13 for her whole era has been avoidant when it comes to being too close or open with ppl and just two eps before lotsd she was told by Time that she was going to die soon. so, surely, the obvious conclusion there is - 13 feels the same way about Yaz but her fast approaching ‘death’ and the fact she’s already suffered so much loss throughout her life and doesn’t want to go through that again means she tells Yaz she can’t be with her, even despite Yaz saying her Nani’s thing of ‘being brave is knowing something will hurt and doing it anyway’

like, OKAY, did 13 make the wrong choice there? imo yes, because they clearly have an attachment to each other already so leaving is going to hurt so bad they might as well just go for it and be together for what short time they have but the fact 13 still made the choice despite that isn’t like, horrific writing or proof 13 actually doesn’t feel the same at all, it’s just how shit went. like, that’s storytelling bro omg. dislike it if you want and say you would have preferred 13 to say yeah fuck it let’s be together for the time we have, but acting like it doesn’t make sense for her to turn Yaz down or like it was bad writing is genuinely just ridiculous

also, when it comes to the whole settling down thing, there’s been talk of how the doctor has settled down before, 12 with river, 14 with donna and like.. okay idk how that means 13 saying she can’t settle down doesn’t make sense? we saw her reaction to Ryan deciding to leave, and in Diodati how she obviously is still fucked up from Bill. 12 may have settled down with River but after that he went through things that clearly still affect 13. like woah maybe the reason she struggles with the idea of settling down with Yaz is bc the last time she was settled somewhere (the university), it resulted in that killed basically the entire group and left the Doctor alone once again

and then when it comes to 14 it’s like we’ll yes he’s settling down bc 15 and Donna basically talked him into it and he is slightly less emotionally repressed than 13 was so settling down wasn’t as big a deal for him. like HELLO ?? do you ppl not see how dumb you sound. there’s explanations for all of these things I actually cba

#doctor who #thirteenth doctor #yasmin khan #dw twt #if you see me tweet this exact thing no you didn’t #sorry I just cannot cope with the absolute bullshit that ppl spout about 13’s era sometimes #like confidently too #confidently spouting absolute shite #when it’s all right there if you actually watch the show and don’t just twist and nitpick #or even make things up #Anyways

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deripmaver · 8 months

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Which is worse, rape or murder? - Or, should Casca have died during the Eclipse?

Unlike most of my meta posts, this is one I'm making as a direct critique of a specific take I've seen. It's similar to my meta about apostle Casca in that regard, where I want to look at a specific idea and why I dislike it, as opposed to wanting to explore my thoughts on an aspect of canon. To be clear, this is only something I do if I've seen a take a bunch of times, enough so I know it's not a one-off. It's also not something I do because I want to engage in discussion with the people who've said whatever the take is, it's something I do in case other people who agree with me might be interested in a meta post that's more in line with their viewpoint.

I provide this disclaimer because, as I've said a few times now, the idea that it's the better choice to have Casca die during the eclipse is one that I just really dislike, and I make that preeeeetty fuckin clear. I can't control who sees this or who comments, but I did think I should make my stance explicit.

Berserk fandom is an absolute treasure trove of bad takes about rape and sexual assault. Considering the seriousness with which the manga takes rape, despite it's sometimes quite dodgy framing and portrayal, the fact that the fandom is Like That is fully a testament to cishet men's inability to consume media without turning into a brainless amoeba of toxicity.

I have to say, though, what shocked me the most was that this particular take, that Casca should have just died during the eclipse, was not from the dudebro side of fandom ('cause if she had they couldn't make their silly little "casca enjoyed it" jokes).

I'm coming right out of the gate with my opinion, which is a firm no, Casca should not have died during the eclipse, and the story would be weaker if she had. I'm going to presume during this analysis that the people who say this assume that her death would be instead of her rape, as opposed to her being raped and then dying, which would be... Horrific. Even more horrific than canon, lol.

I do have sympathy for some of the people who wish she had died, and in a way I understand, though I vehemently disagree. Some of the posts with this POV sound almost traumatized as they proclaim I wish she would have died, it would have been better. As this is something I've only noticed in the tumblr fandom side of things, where most people are women, I think this comes from women readers feeling furious and sick about one of the most vile rape scenes out there. In some ways its intentionally vile, in others - ie how grotesquely sexualized it is - it's unintentional. Then, of course, she continues to suffer in her disabled, infantilized trauma state. I hear these readers wanting to shout at Miura that he should have just killed her off rather than force her, and us, through reading that. It would have been kinder.

I have... Far less sympathy for others. There's a side of fandom that simply does not care about Casca (in a different way than the dudebros who don't care about her despite gushing about how she's peak tomboy waifu). It's amazing the veneer of progressivism these people put on as they say that Casca should have died, because she did not contribute to the narrative before the eclipse, and she certainly hasn't after. Going to get even spicier for a second and point out fandom's long history of wanting female characters dead because they get in the way of mlm ships, and how I think this is SOMETIMES simply another manifestation of it.

To be fully fucking clear, I do NOT think that being a grffgts shipper (censored so this doesn't show up in the tag LOLLLLL) precludes being shitty about Casca. I think tumblr's demographics, and those demographics' typical shipping preferences, mean that grffgts is naturally going to dominate. By simple statistics, most of the people whose opinions I hate are going to be grffgts shippers. Same with most of the people's opinions I like on tumblr tbh. I do, however, think it's prudent to point out old school fandom misogyny, and how I personally feel it's showing up in the fandom, and also point out that it pisses me off that Casca dying during the eclipse is at all presented as the least misogynistic outcome.

I'm also going to say now that this is firmly being kept in the realm of fiction. In real life, there are horrific discussions about how being a victim of rape defiles you for life, and that it's better to die without the "shame" of being raped than live with it. While I have to be blunt it's difficult for me to separate some of the discussion of Casca dying during the eclipse from that anti-survivor bias I see in real life just because ~we live in a society~, I in general think this sentiment is coming from a place of simply analyzing, narratively, which outcome is less misogynistic given how the rape in canon is portrayed.

Would it narratively have been better for Casca to have died? What about the impact of her death versus her current storyline?

First, I think I need to outline my interpretation of the eclipse rape. I don't think that the decision to have Griffith rape Casca was Miura simply being a misogynistic cishet dude who threw in rape for the hell of it. I also don't think it's OOC. Again, there's much to critique in how it's drawn, but not in the fact that it happened. Griffith, in his moments of feeling out of control and powerless, uses sexual advances to reassert his control over the situation - see Charlotte, or the wagon scene with Casca. A distaste for sexual violence committed by his enemies doesn't mean Griffith is incapable of wielding sexual violence as a weapon himself. In real life, there's a paradox where rape committed by political or social enemies is seen as the worst crime one could ever commit, while the mundane rape committed as a consequence of patriarchy is excusable and the victims should be blamed and shamed. Did Miura have the gender studies acumen to think about that when writing? I dunno, but neither does anyone who thinks he didn't.

I also think it's supposed to establish his actions during the eclipse as fully over the moral event horizon. Without it, it's easy to ask if ultimately, Griffith's decision to sacrifice his followers to a cruel death is justified to create a perfect utopia. With it, it establishes Griffith as acting fully on cruel, malicious impulse in moments of emotional turmoil, which puts his future utopia in jeopardy. I can't be the only one who sees Falconia as a ticking time bomb. Of course, this doesn't mean he needed to rape Casca, but simply that I think it was necessary to his character to do something that crossed that moral line. He could have raped Guts I suppose. Killerbambi has entered the chat.

While I think this might sound strange, I actually think it's immensely validating to have a character who is a victim not just of rape, but of rape committed by someone she already knew. That's genuinely unique in media on the whole, which plays into that paradox I mentioned earlier - in real life, the vast majority of assaults are committed by someone the victim knew. Having the story surround the continual, horrific trauma of betrayal, of having to watch the person who hurt you move on while trauma keeps you in horrible stasis is almost so realistic it's... uncomfortable. Painful. Hard to read.

There's no greater purpose to what happened to Casca. She didn't grow from it, instead she regressed.

Her general lack of agency post-eclipse is much critiqued in the fandom and like. Fucking yeah fair LOLLLLLL BUT ALSO... But also. Fandom on the whole can be so cruel about traumatized female characters, like there's no way they can do trauma "right." In Casca's case, her lack of agency is turned into a reason she should simply have been killed off instead, as though there aren't so many survivors who, while not as literally as she does, retreat into a shell of themselves and are frozen with trauma as the world begins to pass them by. Of course, the critique would be that she's not a real person, she's a female character written in a misogynistic way by a man, but I personally think this overstates Miura's issues with his portrayal of rape. To me, it presents what they think are his biases as justification for their own biases.

Time and time again, I see survivors discuss feeling validated by Casca's trauma response after being assaulted. Even the parts of the rape scene that I vehemently dislike, such as the hyper-focus on Casca's body and the physical reactions she's having, I've seen more than one person say they felt validated because they too had an unwanted arousal response during an assault. I'll still critique the scene, but regardless of if this was Miura's intention, its impact is clear.

I'll again plug this article by Jackson P. Brown, How Berserk’s Casca challenges the myth of the “Strong Black Woman.” Just to show a quote from it:

All of the action of the story after Conviction Arc is in service of restoring Casca's mind. During Conviction Arc and after, Casca has groups of women who love and protect her, with women as her source of safety. Guts is single mindedly focused on bringing her back, putting his body on the line again and again to protect her and restore her. I wondered about including Guts here because I'm sure I'll get some anon about the Beast of Darkness, which again fair LOL. I have complicated feelings on that, but mostly I think the importance the narrative puts on her mind and her protection is touching, and I think this outweighs how the negative things apparently mean that she should have died.

Her story and trauma, despite its flaws, is shockingly realistic and validating to so many people. She's also a key narrative component post-eclipse, and not just ~for Guts' manpain~ or as a helpless plot device, her story is her own. I've written about Elaine as a character and what she represents, but in brief, Casca doesn't disappear after the eclipse. Miura wrote Elaine with these moments where Casca comes to the surface, and while I wish we had more of her POV I think you can look at how she's coping from how Elaine reacts to the world around her.

I also think it's necessary to have Casca at the Hill of Swords. There's Guts, who Griffith torments in the way only a bitter ex can, and Rickert, who doesn't know what happened the day of the eclipse, but I think Casca is the key component in that scene that cuts through all of Griffith's posturing and Guts' anger. She is there, making the real, human cost of what Griffith did during the eclipse unignorable in a way that no other character could. It's one thing for Guts to be furious with him and Rickert ignorant, it's another to have someone who loved him so innocently and dearly trembling just at the sight of him. Let's not pretend that the depth of betrayal in this scene would be the same if you swapped her for, say, Judeau.

It's funny, Miura is quoted as saying that his initial reason for keeping Casca alive was to provide Guts an ever-burning flame of vengeance, an eternal reminder of everything that he lost during the eclipse. What's wound up happening, on a meta level, is that Casca provides the reader a constant reminder of what happened during the eclipse. As more and more focus is given to her PTSD with her revival, the cruelty with which Griffith acted (and continues to act) becomes harder and harder to ignore. It becomes more difficult to push it aside as just bad, misogynistic writing.

And also, quite simply, I like narratives about trauma recovery, and therefore I'll always find Casca's story worth telling despite my frustration with a lot of it. It's absolutely wild to me that for how often I see the fandom complain about her being "fridged" they think it would have been better to see her ACTUALLY fridged, no chance of coming back at all, just dead to fuel Guts' revenge arc. Would it really be better to have her be just another dead girlfriend? Really?

That's really what it comes down to. I like Casca as a character, and I want her to have lived. The people who wish she had died, many of them simply don't like her as a character. Not all, particularly in that first group I mentioned at the start, but many. Everyone has their preferences of course, but I don't think I need to respect when someone thinks a character has so little influence on the narrative that they should have just died, especially if that character is Casca.

If Casca had died during the eclipse, it would not have been a good death. It would not have been brave, or triumphant, or worth anything for her as a character. Judeau died to protect Casca, but even his death was not brave, it was just sad. That's the whole point of the eclipse.

To have Casca die that way would be a disservice to her as a character, far moreso than to have her struggle on as a traumatized victim of sexual violence. That's genuinely what I believe.

#berserk #casca #casca berserk #berserk meta #casca the og victim of yaoi IN CANON

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minthara · 9 months

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i extracted files and searched for Minthara's name, some snippets (I sadly cant see who says them AND its really hard to tell one line from another) and it shows the romance is either bugged or they cut it out of the game

its all jumbled up, so theres 100 % more i cant find, but it doesnt mention her name. i did not add lines i personally encountered in game

SPOILERS

pregnancy

So, Minthara has one in the proverbial oven?

I hope we're not finished with our current labours before Minthara drops her egg. War is the perfect nursery for a child.

Minthara with child… Somehow I can't picture her sitting around the campfire, knitting baby booties…

Minthara's pregnant. A new life, a little one, sprung from all this fuckin' chaos.

companions about/to minthara (GUESSED BY ME!! IT DOESNT SAY WHO!!)

It's funny seeing you so smitten, Minthara. Didn't think you were able.

How curious - I've only ever known Minthara to moan with pleasure when somebody's losing a limb.

So, you and Minthara, is it? I suppose that little spark we shared has been snuffed out then. I don't blame you though - she is a… compelling prospect.

And you're carousing with Minthara.

Not interested in Minthara's leftovers, I'm afraid.

Any doubts about falling for a foe, Minthara? Or does that just add spice to things?

Minthara's something of a closed book, but I suspect a heart of gold lurks beneath that stern countenance.

So. You and Minthara. Wow. Impressive.

I bet Minthara is fun.

To choose Minthara over, well, anyone… It's certainly a brave decision. One might hazard to say reckless. Stupid. Fatal…

I hope you and Minthara are very happy together. Or miserable. Whatever she prefers.

Right. Well, far be it for me to stand in the way of true love. Or anything else Minthara wants, for that matter.

What about Minthara? Weren't you guys in some kind of horrific power play masquerading as romance?

Hey, so, what's romance like in the Underdark, Minthara?

And you favour Minthara, no less. I thought you valued yourself. Minthara certainly doesn't.

pc to/about minthara (GUESSED BY ME!! IT DOESNT SAY WHO!!)

Amorous passions usually make people more considerate, Minthara. Kinder. Sympathetic. Better at cooperating.

Even my people know the value of a carefully crafted coalition, Minthara. Is our own alliance not a case in point?

Who do you love, Minthara?

I'm yours, Minthara.

I've decided to pursue a relationship with Minthara. I thought you should know.

You've judged my affections wrongly - I am much closer to Minthara!

It was only sex, Minthara. Do you have to be so dramatic?

I'll do it. Just please - don't hurt Minthara.

Yes. I'm yours, Minthara.

She comes in here, into our camp, and lays hands on my Minthara?!

We'll find your family, Minthara. And slaughter them. Would you enjoy that?

You think I'm beautiful? Oh, Minthara.

narrator (GUESSED BY ME!! IT DOESNT SAY WHO!!)

You slept with the drow Minthara. You pleased her.

The guard is happy to let you pass - Minthara is rather less happy about your choice of words.

You slip into Minthara's mind while all her attention is focused on saving her own skin. You can feel her guilt everywhere, writhing and churning. All it takes is one little push…

idk

Who knows how long the real Minthara has been strapped to Orin's altar? We owe it to her to bring her back safely. She would do no less for you or I.

You're that True Soul that's been chumming around with Minthara, aren't you?

Care to share any of Minthara's weaknesses? Or would it take too long to go through them all?

And Minthara is - eh. A friend of yours, I am sure.

Distract her with thoughts of your night with Minthara.

Orin, masquerading as Minthara… That certainly explains her vociferous antipathy towards me.

And what more beautiful terror can there be than that wrought by Minthara and her love?

Why so surprised? Minthara murdered her way out of the womb.

I'm glad to know you have a softer side, Minthara. I was beginning to think you rather heartless.

Minthara Baenre. It is fair to say her intimacy is not easily won. Nevertheless, I did. Tried. (ORIN??)

My good friend Minthara is the funniest person I know.

Orin thinks Minthara's abduction is an ultimatum to kill Gortash.

status

Partnered with Minthara

Orin abducted Minthara. She told us that she'll release her if we kill Gortash.

Minthara is in Orin's clutches.

searching for "baenre"

It is true. Surface food lacks flavour. House Baenre banquets were legendary.

#bg3 spoilers #minthara #petra.txt #im gonna kms now í hope its bugged not taken out of the game #bg3 #minthara baenre

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years

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So we've established that moth Sans has sleeping pheromones that he sneakily uses to get his favorite zookeeper to stick around longer. Do the other two have pheromones of some kind? Was that established in the original moth AU, am I just not seeing it?

Don’t worry, I didn’t establish this before! My bad.

All moth monsters have pheromones, just to differing degrees. It’s mostly an unconscious thing- when they’re angry, scared, in heat, etc. Sans and Red are aware of each other’s presence in the zoo thanks to these smells, and might even use it to communicate with one another.

Sans: He has sleep pheromones, obviously. They’re unique to Sans, though it’s unclear if it’s a skill he picked up of his own accord or if it’s something about his particular species of moth (considering he’s less physically powerful than the others, and would need a few other tricks to get by in the wild). He has different pheromones too but he prefers to spend his time honing his skills with the specific scent that sends humans to sleep. He’s the only one of the three who can control his pheromones consciously, and with such a degree of precision.

He could, theoretically, totally overwhelm someone’s mind and drop them into a coma if he wanted to. He won’t do that while people are watching though.

Red: Normally, when he’s not bored, he mostly just utilises showoff ‘i’m big and strong and interested in you’ pheromones. Even if his intended recipient is totally unaware... it’s good practise.

When he’s crazy, he uses territory pheromones so intense they make even humans feel dizzy and instinctively nervous around him. Sans can smell it all the way across the zoo. Red might also be making love scents around Mc, but it’s hard to tell, the aggressive pheromone is just so strong and overpowering.

Skull: Skull is a mess. He doesn’t know how to distinguish moth scents so he has no idea the other two moths are in the zoo with him, the only smell he’s learned to recognise is Mc’s. He’s constantly, unconsciously, emitting a slow drip-feed of a traumatised smell that roughly translates to ‘leave me alone or i’ll fucking kill you’.

It’s a bit eerie for Red and Sans. They know there’s a third moth in the zoo, but no matter what pheromones they emit, they never get a response. Every day, regardless of rain or shine, this silent creature is making the kind of scent only usually made by a horrifically injured moth who thinks it’s going to die, and is on its last desperate terrified defence. The scent of a cornered rabid animal.

#llamagines #moth sanses au #zoo moth sanses au #sans' pheromones: 'lets cuddle up together and snooze'#red's pheromones: 'hey beby you like these wings? you single?'#skull's phermones: I AM IN YOUR WALLS I AM IN YOUR WALLS I AM IN YOUR WALLS I AM IN YOUR WALLS I AM IN YOUR WALLS I AM IN YOUR WALLS I AM

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quillandink333 · 1 month

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The Other’s Choice • Pt. 2

Credit to @winterxisxcomingx for the beautiful banner ♡︎

SPOILERS FOR HAZBIN HOTEL ~ Read ahead at your own risk!

Faced with the harsh reality of Heaven's steadfast opposition, the angel of joy is forced to make a drastic decision with gruesome consequences, but luckily she isn't alone for long.

WARNINGS: Abrahamic imagery (obviously), pseudocest, body dysphoria, malnourishment

Part I • Part II • Part III

It seemed the young seraph had been in a bit over her head about her decision to run away from home. She’d left for the hotel with a burning drive to help in any way she could, but it didn’t take long for her to realise she lacked any sort of plan for her own self-preservation, much less a plan for how to help anyone. She of course knew it would be the hardest thing she’d probably ever do in her eternal life, but never could she have predicted how horrific a place Hell would be. After all, what frame of reference did she have?

Already she owed so much to the six-winged stranger for taking her in under the roof of his castle—the fact that her gracious host had turned out to be Lucifer Morningstar himself didn’t negate that. She could hardly imagine where she’d have ended up if he hadn’t caught her out of the sky the day before, regardless of the harrowing stories about him with which she’d grown up.

He’d stayed awake with her that whole first night following her fall, but he didn’t mind. He saw himself in her. He wouldn’t have been able to sleep even if he’d tried. Knocking softly on the door to the empty suite she was staying in, “Miss Emily? I made some tea if you’d like some,” he announced with a clearing of the throat, then cautiously cracked it open. He greeted her with the warmest smile he could offer, setting the tray on her nightstand as he perched himself on the edge of her bed and set to work pouring her a cup.

Word Count: 1.4k

The poor thing looked up at him with dread-filled eyes, which, to his horror, he noticed were already a tinge muddier compared to the bright azure they’d been the day before. Despite sleep continuing to elude her, she’d been bedridden since yesterday, suffering from severe fatigue and fever caused by devastating shock and anxiety. He knew from experience that she’d be like this for about another month at least while she underwent the excruciating bodily changes of being reborn as a fallen angel; the process was already underway from the looks of it. Besides the change in eye colour, emerging from the crown of her head were two blunt points that would inevitably grow into horns after breaking through the skin of her scalp. She would be able to mask most of her new demonic features later on, but teaching her to do this prematurely would only prolong her pain.

“Cream?” Lucifer offered, “and do you prefer sugar or honey?” as he conjured all three condiments in front of her with a wave of his cane.

“Oh, yes, and…honey, please,” croaked Emily with a weak smile but a smile nonetheless, which caused his own to redouble.

“I hope you like it.” He held out the cup to her on its saucer. The fine china vaguely reminded her of the set she and Sera had used to host their own little tea parties for two when she was small, the memories manifesting as another stab of pain in her chest as she reached for the saucer. “It’s hot, so careful.”

The cup was heavier than she was ready for. The handle dug harshly into the bones of her delicate fingers, making her wince and recoil.

He picked up on this just in time to catch the cup with magic before it could splash into her lap, then levitated it masterfully back onto the tea tray without a single drop spilt.

“Ahh, thank you…” She simpered through the shame as she raised a trembling hand in another feeble attempt to pick it up herself.

“Hey, it’s okay. Just rest, sweetie.” He put a hand on her shoulder in encouragement. “I got it.” Her face must have turned at least a dozen shades of yellow as he lifted it again, blew on it, then raised the rim to her lips. It was altogether too much for her to look anywhere near him, but she politely complied and took a cautious sip. “How is it?”

A lump had already formed in her throat by the time she swallowed. Somehow it tasted just as Heavenly as it smelled; a singular tear rolled helplessly down her cheek. “Perfect.”

It filled his heart up with happiness in the form of relief to have brought the damsel some semblance of enjoyment in this dark time, but he was caught off guard by the tears suddenly welling up in his own eyes. Surely he couldn’t be that happy…could he?

“How’s she doing?” came Charlie’s voice through her father’s phone.

“Not good,” he admitted. “Better, but still… I’ve been trying to get her to eat more, and there’s been a bit of progress, but y’know. Not as much as I’d have hoped for by now.”

She frowned audibly. “Well, just make sure she knows that if she ever needs anything at all from us here at the hotel, we’re just one call away.”

“I will. Thanks, pumpkin.”

A couple of repetitive, trying weeks after her arrival in Hell, the symptoms of Emily’s slow and agonising transition were starting to become more bearable. The downside was that her mind was now free to wander. And wandering led to spiralling. What had she done? As a former denizen of Heaven she knew sinners would want her dead—or worse—the moment they learned of her presence down here. What if everything turned out to be for nothing? What if she wasn’t able to help at all? At this rate it seemed like she’d be stuck in this bed forever.

“No, you won’t.” Lucifer snapped her out of her anxious rant, holding her blackening fingertips as he sat perched on her bedside. “Smile for me?”

Cocking her head in confusion, “Okay…” She reluctantly spread her lips and flashed her canines at him.

“Judging by the shape of your teeth right now, I’d say you got about…a week left to go, if that.” His hand gave hers a gentle squeeze as he brought it to his lips in a solemn but sudden gesture that had her stomach doing somersaults. “You’re gonna make it through this, Em—I’ll make sure you do.”

She pulled taut the corners of her mouth in a strained smile. “But even if I do, what then?”

He sighed, “I’m not sure,” his gaze briefly falling to the duckling-themed quilt she was tucked in underneath: just a little something he’d thrown together for her the other day. “But I will do whatever I can to help you figure it out, alright?”

She could see it in his posture and in the way his fingers curled into a loose fist on his lap—the last thing he wanted was for her to have to face the future on her own, as he once had. It made sense to her for the most part why the fellow fallen angel would be so inextricably concerned for her, but understanding this didn’t do much to assuage the guilt gnawing away at her from the inside. Since as long ago as she could remember, her duties had occupied every bit of her time, thought, and effort. She wasn’t supposed to need things from people, she was supposed to be there for them when they needed her.

“Hey, here’s an idea!” Lucifer’s outburst derailed her train of thought. “Why don’t we take this as an opportunity to explore some potential hobbies for you?”

“Hobbies?” she echoed rather incredulously.

“Yeah! ’Cause from what I remember of my life in Heaven, we seraphim weren’t allowed much time for ourselves, right?” He wasn’t wrong, she supposed. Not that she’d ever given it much thought. “This could be the perfect time for you to learn a bit more about yourself and try some things you’ve always wanted to try but never got the chance to. And I’ll help you! Wha’daya say?”

She would have insistently declined if he’d only felt the need to suggest such a thing out of a feeling of obligation or whatever, but no. She didn’t even need her Heavenly gift of empathy to see his true intent. If he thought she was overreacting or getting hung up on personal issues that mattered less than the greater good she’d come here to serve, he wouldn’t have made such a kind, sensitive, and personal offer. This meant something to him—probably even more than it meant to her—and it was something she had more than the means to indulge him in.

“I guess…if it would make you happy, then okay,” she smiled softly. Because if there was anything she found comfort and fulfilment in, it was making others happy.

#my writing #applewings #pride and joy #prideandjoy #pride & joy #pride&joy #lucily #lucifer x emily #emily x lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer magne #lucifer hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel lucifer #emily the seraph #emily the seraphim #emily hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel emily #hazbin hotel #quillcifer 🍎🪶

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iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia · 3 months

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Vesuvia Weekly: Fashion Intervention

~ here's another sketch of an afternoon with my fandom self-insert :P ~

1.8k words

One of the best parts about being the type of person to prefer sitting in corners is needing to worry less about my appearance.

One of the worst parts about being the type of person who doesn't worry much about appearance is having six friends who definitely do.

The part I don't understand is when my fashion sense got so horrifically bad that said six friends actually banded together to stage an intervention. In the marketplace. While I'm writing. With Selasi, that delightful baker, enabling them.

"Ah-ah-ah, don't try to resist! You're a fine young man, my friend, but we all have our weaknesses. Appearances are easy to fix!"

My neck is going to start hurting if I keep having to look up like this. Julian is gesturing enthusiastically, his coat billowing in the breeze as he gets caught up in his monologue on self-improvement. Do I point out the irony, or -

"He doesn't look that bad, he just needs some more ... smrthrgnh." The last word of Asra's sentence is muffled by a mouthful of bread. My bread. Why is he eating my snack?

"Why are your clothes so shapeless anyways? Show off a little something! You should do like I do and get everything tailored. Work that figure!" Lucio takes a few heeled steps and then spins, striking a pose to show off his suit. Muriel frowns.

"It's okay if you don't want to show off." Thank you. "But maybe you could ... pay attention to patterns." I take it back.

"Yeah, what's up the funky looking skeleton? There's no way the fabric it's painted on is going to last longer than a few washes."

"It's merch, Portia." She huffs at my defense and plops down across from me, brushing my parchment out of the way. "I like it because of the pattern, the quality is just ... unfortunate, sometimes."

"I believe we've made our intentions clear." Nadia sails into the discussion and gives me a no-nonsense look. "It would be remiss of us to allow our friend to sit in a public space with so little care for his appearance. Especially when he is one of Vesuvia's aspiring authors."

I try a pleading look, but the only person who starts to look remotely guilty is Julian. Portia's elbow to his ribs makes quick work of that.

"I have shi- I mean, I have stuff to write. And to get done. If you want to look through my wardrobe and help me put together outfits later, we can, but I don't want to leave my corner right now."

"I cannot say this response is unexpected," the Countess gives me a sly but friendly smile, "so I've prepared something for you in advance. When the time comes to return it to me, I expect you to do so with a cleared schedule and an open mind to fresh aesthetics." She holds out her hand, an intricate set of silver chains dripping from her fingers. "From my personal collection - I expect it will suit you nicely."

I sigh. The sooner I accept, the sooner I can go back to not being scrutinized by six pairs of frustratingly kind eyes. "Thank you. I'll take very good care of it."

Nadia moves the jewelry out of the way as I reach for it. "I desire something in exchange."

"What ... what something?"

"I'd like your sweater, please."

"My hoodie? But it's so comfy!"

Her eyelids droop in poorly concealed annoyance. "Your 'hoodie' is in a severe state of disrepair. I can see the threads poking out from the seams, young man, I don't care to see my prized jewelry hidden under such a tired item."

"... okay." I squirm out of my hoodie, handing over the pile of fabric in exchange for the chains. The short sleeves of my undershirt leave my arms exposed, something that I thought I did more often, except -

"You have tattoos?!" Portia's reaching across the table, snatching up my wrist to get a closer look at the slowly growing sleeve. "That's so cool! I've heard that they can really hurt."

"That's a familiar symbol," Asra eyes the lineart on my upper arm where its stretched across the table in front of them. "What do the other ones mean?"

"There's one on your neck, too!" Lucio sounds almost scandalized. "Let me see it!" Before I know it, my freshly exposed neck and arms are being closely examined while a few more sharp eyes focus in on the hints of ink peeking out on my shoulders and chest. This is why I wear hoodies.

Muriel's quick to notice my discomfort when the attention shifts to my neckline and bound chest. "My turn," he grumbles, dropping a navy blue scarf around my collar.

"Thanks."

"Don't mention it. Now give me the second hoodie."

It's hard not to scowl, but I untie the backup hoodie's sleeves from my waist and hand it over. Dang it. "Here."

"You look chilly, my mentally decaying friend!" Good lord, when is Julian going to stop ribbing me over my pen name?

"It's brainrot." He doesn't falter.

"Allow me to rectify your situation! I guarantee you this trusty cloak will protect you from the fiercest of storms." He pulls the massive, dramatic coat from his shoulders in a rehearsed sweep and twirls it to fall behind me. He keeps the armholes open with an excited grin until I push my hands through them.

"This is ..."

"Warm? Comfortable? Touching?"

"Huge." I can barely hold back my laugh. "There's no way even your arms come out the other end of these sleeves! ... but thanks, I'm definitely not cold any more."

"I'll help you roll them up," Portia chirps. Her nimble fingers make quick work of the endless fabric, and I can see my ink stained hands again in no time. "Now give me your socks."

Oh no. My boots are sitting next to the pile of cushions, my socked feet tucked under me for maximum comfort. It's not the stink I'm worried about - for all my poor fashion sense, I never miss my daily shower, or laundry day - but to say that I walk gently would be a blatant lie. I briefly size up the determined look on her face before sighing and shucking them off under the table. "... remember, you asked for this."

Hey jaw drops. "Please tell me you have at least one pair of socks that don't have holes in them."

I shrug. "As long as I can still wear them ..."

"No!" She slams her hand on the table, rattling the now-empty bread bowl sitting in front of a shameless snack thief. "These aren't socks anymore, they're practically cobwebs! I'm knitting at least five more of these."

She shoves a pair of knit orange socks into my hands, lovingly covered with Pepi's cat hair and decorated with little blue bows. "Put these on, I'm burning the rags you gave me."

We both know my pout is just for show. It's not my usual style to wear anything that isn't black (or very, very dark grey), but the bright orange gift is supremely comfortable when I put it on.

"My turn," Asra begins with an innocent smile.

"Where's my bread?"

The dimples deepen. "Give me your head covering, and I'll tell you."

"My beanie?"

"Is that what it's called?" He holds out his hand, taking a closer look at the shabby knit fabric when I pass it to him. "I don't see why, there aren't any beanlike qualities about it. Ooh, unless they're invisible beans ..."

Nadia's sharp cough sets them back on track. "Wear this instead, until we can find a better replacement." Oh god, tell me it's not -

It is. It's his iconic wide brimmed hat, complete with the oversized neon rainbow feather nodding from the band. I don't have time to protest before they're plopping it onto my head and wobbling it into place with a laugh. "Now you're unnoticeable." I highly doubt that. "As to your bread, Selasi's been asked to bring you some of the next hot batch. Can you forgive me?"

Nothing about a smile as smug as his says "guilty", but to be fair, I was never upset. I nod. "So ... can I go back to writing now?"

"What about me?!" I glance from Lucio's outraged pout to the rest of the group. I'm fairly certain that, even if he was invited to the planning for this, he didn't follow through on deciding which offending article of clothing he wanted to replace. "You didn't tell me I had to bring something!"

Portia rolls her eyes. "Well maybe if you had listened when I was talking to you, then you would've known." I don't miss the quiet smile lurking in the corners of Muriel's face as Lucio turns bright red and sputters.

"Well joke's on you, 'cause I'm going to give him something anyways!" He starts taking a hasty inventory of his outfit. "Yeah, that's right! I'm gonna give him ... I'm gonna give himmmmm ... this!"

He unfastens his smallest medal and leans over the table, poking the pin of it through the thick leather of Julian's jacket, disregarding the whimper of protest from the doctor behind him. "It's supposed to be airtight, to keep out the bad humors ..."

"There!" The ex-count grins down at me proudly. "Now your outfit isn't boring. You can give that back to me when you have a better look."

"Thanks," I tell him, and I mean it after noticing the way he glances forlornly at the new empty spot on his sash. "I'll make sure it gets back to you."

"We should go now." Muriel's already half-turned away. "... I'm still not sure this worked."

Asra steps back to his friend, surveying my new look from a distance. "Maybe this will motivate him to let us fix his look sooner."

"It looks better with my medal on it," Lucio announces proudly. Portia lays a firm hand on his shoulder and starts heading away, dragging him with her.

"You'll look better once you make time for us, promise!"

"You should be somewhat protected from the elements, at least." Julian eyes his cuffed coat critically. "If you fasten it correctly, it's airtight, humors proof, water tight, blood proof, pus proof -"

"We'll leave you in peace." Nadia smiles again, amusement dancing in her eyes every time she looks at me. "I suggest you prioritize finishing this project soon."

The six disappear back into the crowd. I lean back against the stone wall behind me, Asra's hat knocking forward over my eyes and giving me a moment of peace. Sure, I may have looked shabby before in my all black-and-grey, well worn clothes, but now -

I'm startled out of my blissful shuteye by a surprised choke. Selasi's standing by my table, a fresh bowl of spiced rolls in one hand and the other clapped over his mouth. "Would you - would you like a mirror, my friend?"

I hold out my hand for the rolls, mentally taking it as a consolation prize for what I've just been lovingly wrangled into.

"Oh, don't think I'm not aware that you let this happen, Selasi."

#vesuvia weekly #borrowing clothes #ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fanfic #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

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therenlover · 3 months

Text

Put Me Back In It (I Would Do It Again) Chapter Four: On A Wintry Evening

Pairings: Raphael/Tav

Word Count: 5,000~

Synopsis: Raphael shows Tav exactly what he thinks of her recent behavior after finding her in bed with a pale elf.

Rating: E (+18)

Warnings: Stockholm Syndrome, Emotional Manipulation, Mentions of Vomiting, Very Mild Body Horror

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Memory Loss, Cunnilingus, Cum Eating, Vaginal Sex, Outdoor Sex, Betrayal, Raphael Continues To Be A Smarmy Bastard.

You can find this fic on AO3 Here or find the other finished chapters on Tumblr Here

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Haarlep’s body wasn’t on the bed anymore.

They lay crumpled against the wall, features contorting as they took sharp, shallow breaths. One wing sprouted from their back but only halfway, twitching and thrashing as if it were trying to worm the rest of the way out from his flesh and spine. Their face shifted endlessly between thousands of faces, all twisted in agonized, silent screams as they flailed and pressed a pale hand to their abdomen.

Death seemed to permeate the very room.

It soaked into the sheets and the air and choked Tav with its sick pungency. She couldn’t move, not with Raphael’s eyes boring into her like flaming daggers. Her body sat frozen, even as she should have been rushing to Haarlep’s aid. Where was her training? Where was the bravery? Where was her gods-damned raging righteousness, swooping in and making the choice to protect the weak from the wicked before she could think about the consequences?

Gone. Just gone.

She was all gone.

Tav shivered in the shell of her self. It was all the movement her betraying body would allow. This was the first time she’d been faced with Raphael’s true rage since she’d stolen back her first contract. The thought of his punishment scared her far more than death.

Haarlep groaned weakly.

In a stroke of horrific luck, that’s what it took for Raphael to lose interest in her. His boots came down hard on the tile with each step. Thump. Thump. Thump. Crunch. The incubus screamed as Raphael’s foot came down hard on that strange, stunted half-wing, snapping some bones from the sound of the horrifying snaps that followed the initial fleshy splat. Their hair was still a shock of white, newly splattered with the black of their infernal blood.

“To be betrayed by the one I held closest,” Raphael’s voice was low and even as he spoke. Without his words, it would sound commonplace. “To be subject to this brazen display of disrespect and disobedience… In thousands of years of your servitude, I have never been more furious with you, Haarlep. What pathetic excuse will you use to explain yourself? Hm?” There was a morbid playfulness in him, a deep boyish shimmer in his eyes like a small child smashing ants. His gaze was more petrifying than a beholder’s.

Haarlep’s many mouths stammered, tripping on ever-shifting tongues, but Raphael just brought his foot down again. They stilled.

“That’s what I thought,”

Tav wanted to vomit. She could taste the bile at the back of her throat, threatening to bring up any remains of her long-forgotten last meal. Once upon a time, the sight of that much blood and violence would have been a call to action. Now, though, she was powerless. There were no friends left to protect her from her own mistakes, not even Haarlep. Had she ever had power at all or was it simply the lent power of her allies that brought her so far?

All she really knew was that Raphael’s power was one she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of, especially now.

Blood was running through the tiles now, filling the dips in the ground and running slowly downward towards the stairs and bathing pool. It puddled under Haarlep, still breathing now but gurgling, choking on every breath. They were shifting less now, faces settling on something that looked similar to their preferred demonic shape.

“Tav,” Raphael spat out her name, so unfamiliar on his tongue from lack of use, looking over his shoulder at her, “Tell me, what was the meaning of all this?” His usual grandiosity was gone. For the first time, wings and horns and all, he looked like the archdevil he was. His true nature had finally snuck through the charming facade. Somehow, though, his eyes held no rage as they found hers. They were… curious; probing unknown waters.

A test.

“I don’t… I-” Tav’s mouth was desert dry. Her tongue still tasted horrifically sour as she tried to find words. “I was lonely. Haarlep only wanted to help me. I promise, I never wanted… I would never want to upset you or disrespect you,”

Raphael sucked in a breath, bristling. “Lonely?”

She had to seal the deal. It was now or never.

“Yes, lonely,” Tav sat up straighter. Blood was matted into the wool of her dress, sticking the heavy fabric to her skin and the sheets, but she peeled it away enough to scoot closer to the edge of the bed, throwing her legs over the side. She had never been charismatic enough to be a bard but if she’d ever had a chance to convince anyone of anything, this was the time to do it. “I missed you so much. When you’re gone I don’t have anything to do besides wait here for you to get back, and you’ve been gone so much lately… they were just trying to be nice, but I know it was wrong. We didn’t end up doing anything because I just missed you so much. Nobody else could give me what I needed. I guess you’ve finally ruined me,”

It was a lie. Maybe not all of it, maybe kernels of truths Tav didn’t want to face wheedled their way in to strengthen the farce, but most of it was. Haarlep managed to open a swollen eye and give her a look that told her they couldn’t believe she was doing this, but she didn’t give them a second glance. All her attention honed in on the winged beast before her. She lured him in like he was the prey this time.

“Do you have any idea what it did to me to see you in bed with him,” Raphael growled, “After everything I’ve done for you to keep you safe? The risks I’ve taken?”

Tav shook her head. “I might not know everything you’ve done for me, Raphael, but I do know that what I did was wrong. This is my fault, not Haarlep’s. Let me make up for it,”

The devil took a breath. His tail whipped against the wall, chipping the masonry and sending chunks of stone scattering to the floor. “Be glad that I am feeling forgiving, little mouse,” With one great red fist, he reached down to grasp Haarlep by the shoulder, claws digging into their skin, and tossed them like a great limp doll into the water of the baths below. The water filled with inky darkness. Sure enough, though, the incubus surfaced after a moment, sputtering and coughing water from their healing lungs. “I’ll finish my dealings with you later, Haarlep. Tav and I have business to attend to at the moment,”

She looked down at her feet. “We do?”

“You said you missed me, didn’t you?” He asked. “Well let us remedy that,”

Tav opened her mouth to protest but swallowed it down. Haarlep was looking up at her from the water like she was the sun, fear wet in their eyes. She couldn’t let them down. “Just give me a second to get dressed and I’ll meet you?” Raphael raised an eyebrow and she tried her best to look demure. “I want to look nice for you,”

He softened minutely. “Very well. Don’t take too long, little mouse.” And he turned on his heel to leave, watching her his whole way out.

The second he passed the threshold Tav lost her stomach, vomiting violently onto the sheets.

Shame burned in her chest. She was a monster. The kind that lied and let bigger beasts devour her kin in the process. Worse than the shame was the relief. Raphael had believed her. He still wanted her. There was still a chance to make sure her eternity at his side wasn’t a miserable one. All it would take was her dignity, or whatever shred of it she still clung onto at least.

She wiped her mouth with her sleeve and steeled herself. “Haarlep?” She called softly.

The incubus was quick to reply, voice hoarse. “Yes?”

“Who was that? The elf. Why was Raphael so upset?”

They didn’t answer, and Tav didn’t have the time to wait for a reply. She pushed herself up from the bed and wandered over to her closet. Shaking fingers weaved through the laces at the front of her dress, pulling the ruined fabric away from her skin. She was desperate to be clean, desperate to be out, but no change of clothes or bath could do that, not in a way that would matter. She was filthy on the inside now.

She chose something light and simple, a pair of leather trousers and a flowing linen shirt with a red bodice. It was fetching despite its simplicity, though, designed to play to Raphael’s weaknesses. He had seen something he liked in the adventurer she once was. Maybe he could find that fondness again. Her life might depend on it. The clothes slipped on like a second skin and her slippers followed. It was time.

On her way past she shot one more look towards Haarlep, who had come to rest at the lip of the bath. They were already watching her. “Tav, look,” they whispered, her nickname forgotten, “you deserve answers. I should give them to you-”

“It’s ok, Haarlep. I forgive you,” she replied. “But never do that again,”

She did not even pause to see how they reacted on her way out the door.

———

Raphael was not difficult to find.

He was pacing the length of the fireplace in the dining room, back and forth, bloody shoes leaving a trail in his wake. The second Tav appeared, though, he stalled, greeting her with a broad smile that disregarded everything she had seen from him since his poorly timed homecoming. She found it oddly comforting. Her sins were not forgotten but they could be set aside and dealt with when the time was right.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, voice musical and light. “Walk with me?”

Who was she to refuse?

Tav took his arm without hesitation, practicing her smile. Her ribs felt far too small for her shuddering lungs and heart but she pushed through the terror as she had a million times before. In this human form he took, Raphael did not tower over her. Instead, he fit at her side like any partner would, monstrosity tucked away in his back pocket. Distantly, she wondered if he stayed like that for her comfort. It didn’t much to ease her now.

She followed blindly where he led either way.

They paced a quiet circle around the house, stepping in tandem as they passed wailing souls and fine portraits. Raphael was gazing up at a portrait of himself when he broke the silence. “Have I ever been cruel to you, Tav?” She almost tripped over her own foot, only keeping her balance thanks to her grip on the devil’s arm. There was only one answer he’d want to hear.

“No, not cruel,” Tav replied. “Firm maybe, but not cruel.”

“I would agree,” He nodded to himself, continuing their path down the hallway. “I feed you and clothe you. I bed you. I give lenience for your wrongdoings and praise when you succeed. Nothing within my home is withheld from you. You are taken care of.”

The hand that wasn’t on Raphael’s arm clenched hard, fingers pressing crescents into her palm. “I am,”

“Good. I’m glad our minds are in the same place,”

The pair paused in front of a great, open doorway. The door to the portal room.

Inside, shimmering mirrors towered over the floor, shedding their colored light onto the patterns already formed by the great stained glass windows on every side. Cold dread flashed in Tav’s body. She tried to keep her voice playful as he guided her past the threshold. “Where are you taking me?” Fear laced every word.

If Raphael noticed, he didn’t show it. His demeanor was still casual and sunny as he brought her right to the rippling surface of the closest mirror, watching a landscape of great mountains and hills through enchanted glass. “It’s a surprise,”

Tav did not want a surprise. In fact, a surprise was the last thing she would have wanted in that moment or ever from Raphael. There was no fighting it, though. He knew she was cornered. Her fear was probably just some sort of fucked up intoxicant to devils like him. He must have relished in the way her body shook at his side.

“Close your eyes,” He said.

She let her eyes flutter shut.

Despite everything she still clung to him like a lifeline as he guided her through the portal and into the unknown.

The first thing she felt was cold. Overwhelming, biting cold that soaked through her clothes and straight to her skin. Winds whipped around them. Her skin burned from the sudden loss of warmth. Raphael’s body was a lifeline, leeching heat into her arm and hand even through the fabric of his shirt. Then came the wet. Her slippers were soaking in an instant, flooding her skin with freezing water through the leather.

When Tav’s eyes shot open a sky full of brilliant stars was waiting to greet her.

The whole world stopped. Thousands of lights scattered through the night without a single cloud in sight to dim them. Oh, the great vast sky. She had to force herself to start breathing again, letting the frozen mountain air rush into her lungs like a balm. It all smelled so crisp, with hints of salt and smoke wafting in from the chimneys of distant cottages along the coast. Far in the distance, shimmering like a sun on the horizon, Baldur’s Gate glowed yellow with torchlight, covered in a layer of snow.

Raphael wordlessly unlinked his arm from hers.

Tav ran.

The field before her was filled with a pristine foot of snow. Not even the wildlife had had a chance to break the surface but Tav did, slippered feet crunching through the cold with reckless abandon. She threw her head back and laughed. Trees smattered the landscape, covered in their coats of winter white. Every once in a while a hard breeze would shake their branches and send a flurry of flakes drifting to the ground or off the edge of the cliff the field butted up to.

She felt like she was flying.

Her heels could have sprouted wings and carried her anywhere. Any thought of Haarlep or the terror she had felt so soon before was instantly replaced by freedom. It was ecstasy. It was the childish joy of throwing herself into the cold and creating a snow angel, wet and giggling. It was Raphael, watching quietly as she threw herself out into the world, giving her the gift of life again.

That’s what it was: a gift. Tav recognized that. Maybe a test too, but an easy one to pass. The moment he opened his arms she was sprinting back to him and throwing herself into his chest. “Thank you,” she whispered, face pressed close to his warmth. “I missed the snow,”

Raphael gave a hearty laugh. “I suppose I have… neglected your mortality. I forget sometimes how finicky your kind gets when thrust into monotony. I hope this little outing can make up for some of that,” The way he said it, it almost sounded like he was apologizing, though Tav knew better than to ever expect an apology from him. But an olive branch? An olive branch she would accept.

She savored his warmth for a moment more and then pulled away to begin her romp again, but not before reaching up to place a grateful kiss on Raphael’s cheek. Then she was off into the night again, cheeks flushed with cold and joy.

His cheeks had flushed too.

Tav ran her fill under the stars and only when her muscles were burning from exertion and her skin was pruned with the wet chill did she stop, returning to Raphael’s side. His warmth had melted a circle at his feet, exposing the damp grass below where he sat, and at some point, he’d laid down a blanket from the bag of holding at his waist onto the ground, sitting and watching her frolic with an amused expression. She sat with him then, watching the sky, lungs throbbing with exertion. It was almost romantic.

Her head in his lap, he played with a lock of her hair. “One little field mouse running through the glade, free evermore from the rat king’s blade. Two little field mice, darting through the park, dancing with the grasshoppers, singing with the lark,”

“Did you write that one?” Tav asked.

He shook his head. “No, unfortunately. This particular song was a gift from my mother,”

The thought that Raphael had a mother had never crossed Tav’s mind. She was a little ashamed of that. Was he not just a person too? A bad person, yes, but a person with a mind and a story. Of course he’d come from somewhere, from someone. “What was she like?”

“Lovely from what I can remember, though that’s not much,”

“Was she not around a lot?”

Raphael chuckled. “My father fed her to the imps as punishment for disobedience when I was no more than 10 mortal years old,”

“Oh,” Tav peeled her eyes away from the stars to watch the devil’s face. He looked unfazed. “Do you ever miss her?”

“Not anymore,” he said, “I was the eldest of many spawned by my father’s lust, she didn’t have much time for me once the next came along,” A faraway glossy look crossed over his eyes. “I carry her with me, though, in little ways. It is important to know where you’ve come from when deciding where you’d like to go.”

Tav nodded and hummed a soft affirmative. She had never shared time with Raphael like this. There were a few shared meals now and again, time spent silently together in the study and nights spent laying quietly in the same bed. There was always a level of separation, though; the division of master and servant, cat and mouse. In the starlight, sitting on a blanket in the snow, Raphael seemed exceedingly human. Maybe an eternity at his side wouldn’t be so bad if she opened her heart to him. Relief extinguished the bone-deep disgust and shame at what she’d become that threatened to bubble up again. There was a tiny glimmering chance that things wouldn’t always be as bad as they had been. That was enough.

“Did you always want to be a poet? Or was that second to gaining the power to usurp your father and rule the hells?” Tav asked.

Raphael looked down at her, amused. “My my, you’re just full of questions today aren’t you?”

“Sorry,” she shook her head. “I guess I’m just curious. I’ve sucked your cock hundreds of times at this point, we live in the same place, we sleep in the same bed, hells you own my soul and yet I know next to nothing about you,”

They both went quiet. In the distance the stars were beginning to fade, the dark of night giving way to soft purples as the sun rose behind them. Clouds were beginning their slow crawl through the sky, swarming from the mountain peaks to bring more ice and snow. It would be deadly cold soon without the right equipment. Still, Tav didn’t move, shielded from the elements by Raphael’s warmth even if she couldn’t feel her toes within her ruined slippers.

“I’ve wanted to pursue the bardic arts from a young age,” Raphael’s answer was sudden and unprompted. It looked like it even surprised him. “My father is a military man and always has been. There was little room for beauty in his house besides his concubines. I resented being deprived of that as a child,”

Tav smiled. “Tell me more?”

And Raphael told.

He told and told the story of his immortal life until the sky was pink and yellow and baby blue and cardinals sang soft songs in the cold morning air. He spoke to Tav of his time at his father's side, about his rivalries with siblings and the loss of his mother. He divulged the secrets of his very first deal, a woman’s soul in exchange for the death of her politician husband. Hours were spent poring over his writings and triumphs, his favorite paintings, and the acquisition of the soul of his favorite playwright. Tav saw him. She didn’t see all of him, but another facet of the man had been revealed and it was surprisingly pleasant.

“We should return soon,” Raphael said softly, “I’m sure you’re nearly frozen, you’ve had enough snow for now,”

She shook her head. “Just a few more minutes?”

“If you insist, though I must warn you that I’ll be extremely displeased if you succumb to hypothermia because of this little misadventure,” he sighed, leaning back. “I like you alive, little mouse. At least for now,”

“Does it even make a difference? You have my soul. Even if I did die of hypothermia I’d just be stuck in the House of Hope anyways,” Tav laughed, sitting up from his lap and resting her head on his shoulder.

He tensed at the contact at first before loosening and turning to face her, all business. “It’s different. You’re flexible now. Once a soul passes into Avernus permanently they grow stagnant, one-note. Every bit of their self is boiled down into an unchanging ghost based on their greatest longings. I quite like how you never cease to surprise me,” Raphael paused, “On second thought, though, perhaps I should let you freeze out here.”

“And why is that?”

“You would desire me above all else, forevermore my frozen bride,”

Tav hated that she was flushing with heat at his flattery. If he asked, she’d tell him it was his imagination or the cold, but he’d never believe her. She craved this odd new normalcy like a drug. It balmed every ache, calmed every fear. She didn’t even have the heart to consider that it might be a ploy anymore or a test of loyalty. It was just kindness, something that had been missing from her life for so many seasons passed below the ground.

Her friends had abandoned her. Haarlep had almost gotten both of them killed. But Raphael? Raphael had taken her into his home. He had never forced himself on her. He had helped her on her quest to defeat the netherbrain. He’d fed and clothed her. Even now, he’d seen her struggle and taken her out to see the world she missed so dearly. Surely there was something more important that he should have been doing instead, but he took the time to comfort his ward and watch her play. He trusted her to return.

He trusted her, and Raphael’s trust was very difficult to earn.

Things were easy. Things could continue to be easy. All it took was obedience and a little goodwill.

She leaned over and kissed his jaw. Her pulse thrummed like soft rain and with every breath she gave him another kiss down his neck. He welcomed all of her advances openly, even when her frozen fingers ghosted along his inner thigh, dancing through dangerous territory. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” He asked.

Tav shrugged, letting her fingers run up the seam of his trousers. “I’m cold, you’re warm. Besides,” she let her touch linger on his hardening bulge just a little too long before moving on to undo the laces, “All that frozen bride talk really got to me,”

Raphael had a look of utter disbelief on his face as his cock came free, but it was all underlined by a smug victory. “Is that so?” His cock was already leaking, veins throbbing slightly as Tav took him in hand and began to stroke, crooking her wrist just so as she went. “Just how do you intend to warm yourself up?

Kneeling on the blanket, it didn’t take long for Tav to worm her way out of her own slippers and pants. “I think I’ll ride you,” it came out nonchalant as she straddled him. “Gotta keep my muscles warm, you know?” With little warning she plunged his member into her cunt, bottoming out with a little groan. His eyes fluttered shut as he let his head loll back. Tav was quick to set a gentle pace, rolling her hips, feeling her breasts bounce with each pump. The heat of his cock juxtaposed the chill in the air enough that she barely felt the sting of the cold breeze on her cheeks. Her nipples were still peaked, though, rubbing against the rough linen of her shirt again and again and again.

She fought the pleasure. This wasn’t about her or her desires.

No, this was about paying Raphael the same kindness he had given her. He was not a sentimental man. She had no gifts to give him; no poetic prose would pierce his stony heart. But sex? Sex he liked. Sex she could do. Enthusiastic, pleasurable, orgasmic sex that gave him a reason to keep being kind.

Tav picked up her pace.

The pair dropped the banter as heat built between them, Raphael grunting softly and Tav letting out little keening sounds every time she brought her heat down again. Every muscle in her legs had overexerted itself tenfold by then. They shook with each thrust, threatening to give out under her, and yet she pushed through each time she felt herself wobble, chasing her pleasure and the little noises Raphael made when he thought she couldn’t hear them.

Grabbing her hips, he came without warning, keeping himself wrapped in her soft, tightening walls as he rutted through the waves of pleasure.

Cum dripped lazily down her thighs when he finally let her go.

“Lay down,”

“What?” Tav asked, finally letting her ass rest on the cool blanket as her legs splayed out.

It didn’t take much for Raphael to push her flat onto her back, gripping the underside of one of her thighs to bring it over his shoulder. “I said lay down,”

She had no intention of stopping him.

Raphael’s tongue was gentle and probing as it circled her clit, lapping up her wetness and his own spent with an almost casual nonchalance. It was obviously new territory for the devil. A little fire lit in Tav’s fragile mortal heart at the thought. He picked things up quickly, though. Soon she was a whimpering mess, trying with all her might not to buck into his mouth.

She had never thought about it before but Raphael’s immortality was a definite bonus when it meant he didn’t have to come up for air.

Her pleasure built slowly but exploded all at once, her legs shaking uncontrollably as she let out a cry that scared the birds from their trees. All she could focus on was the pastel blue sky and the snow clouds that had settled on the sky, beginning to blanket the world in white all over again. A flake fell and caught on her lips, melting as soon as it landed.

Life was beautiful.

As the waves of pleasure subsided the devil untangled their bodies, uncharacteristically soft as he helped her shuffle back into her soaked pants. Then he lay beside her and let out a deep breath. They enjoyed the peace and company for as long as it lasted.

“Raphael?” Tav said his name like a lover. He smiled.

“Yes, you insatiable thing?”

“Let’s go home,”

Raphael stood and offered a hand to help her up, bowing down dramatically. “As the lady requests, so it shall be done,”

Tav turned her back on Baldur’s Gate without a second glance, the pale elf all but forgotten.

———

The hearth crackled at Raphael’s feet, warming his claws as he scrawled into a little leather-bound book. “Phenomenal performance today, Haarlep. I believe our little problem has been dealt with for the time being thanks to you,”

Haarlep leaned against the doorframe behind him. They watched the reflections of flames dance across the floor. “I do what I can,”

“Nice touch with the sappy ‘You’re loved’ blabber, it inspired me,” Raphael continued, “Though your choice of body… I will say, it was a bold choice. What if she had started asking questions? We’d be in an even bigger conundrum.”

The incubus didn’t bother getting sentimental. That wasn’t their job. They were a spy and a good one at that. No pathetic little mortal would get in the way of the good faith they’d spent millennia earning at their master’s side. And yet…

“She didn’t. Just proves that even if she does see him, she won’t recognize him. Isn’t that a good thing?”

“I suppose so,” The scrawling stopped. Raphael set his dry quill within the book and shut it, placing it gently onto the low table where he rested his legs.

“Remind me again why she’s so important to keep around?” Haarlep’s voice wasn’t entirely insensitive as they approached. “Mystra has the crown, Lord Ancunin has been entirely quiet since her disappearance, and, to be completely honest, I don’t think little Tav would stand a chance on the battlefield anymore, especially against the demonic hoards. I don’t see how it’s useful to keep breaking her at this point. If anything, she’s starting to look like a liability,”

Raphael turned to face them. “And this, Haarlep, is why I make the plans and you enact them. She was the hero of Faerun! With my assistance, she was responsible for feats most mortals wouldn’t dare dream of. Once we’ve sufficiently broken her down I will build her back up at my side. She obtained the crown once so she should be able to do it again, especially with that soft spot the wizard always had for her. Besides…” he rested an elbow on the arm of his plush chair, “I’ve grown a bit more fond of her,”

Haarlep walked to his side, sitting on the other arm of the chair. “Oh really?”

The devil nodded. He reached blindly for a carafe of wine at his side and poured two generous glasses, handing one to his most trusted ally. In the corner of the room, Tav was curled in on herself sleeping peacefully in a matching chair, oblivious to the scheming and plotting. He raised his cup to her innocence.

“Happy three years, Tav. Here’s to centuries more,”

--------

(A/N: And with that, I have everything I've edited and completed posted! Thank you for reading and putting up with the sudden influx of content. I have no idea what the schedule for posting the rest of this will be, but I already have a good chunk of the next chapter ready so it shouldn't be incredibly long. If you'd like to be tagged when the next chapter is posted just let me know!)

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