#we will not talk about the feet. feet are not real this drawing simply would not look right without some feet at th ebottom

[ari-the-arotistic]

So I was thinking about pirates of the Caribbean, and each characters unique moral code and way of approaching life, as one does, when I remembered a particular scene about our beloved James Norrington... the very first scene in which Jack and James meet. Now, as a long time Sparrington shipper, I adore the Sparrington fandoms adopted head canon of Jack's compass pointing directly at Jack when James is holding it as having a romantic connotation too it, but this is Disney we're talking about, and a Disney from 20 years ago at that, so it is of course just a head canon. And while it is a beloved head canon, I will always be a writer before a shipper, and what that scene says about Norrington from a writer's perspective is far too juicy not to share... So buckle up for a very long meta post about who James Norrington is as a person, and how it was set up in this scene(and later reinforced in the second and third movie). This is my first real meta post, and I'm very excited for it, so let's jump right in.

First of all, the compass scene.

As we can clearly see in the image above, since the red line that points to the object of the holder's desires is no where to be seen, its relatively easy to conclude that it's hidden from our view by the sun dial in the middle, and thusly is pointing directly at Jack. Elizabeth is off to James's right, and no one is standing behind Jack, so unless the compass was pointing at something in the far off distance that just so happened to be in Jack's general direction(unlikely) its pretty clear what(or who) the compass is pointing at. For most potc fans, this is fairly standard knowledge. But it's what this fact says about Norrington's character that I'd like to focus on. After all, what does it say about a man that a compass that shows you what you desire most is pointing at a pirate, and the very face of piracy at that, instead of your canonical love interest, when you're a Commodore of the Navy? As stated above, Sparrington shippers often point at this scene as proof that James has a bit of a pash on the ruggedly handsome pirate, or at the very least, a thing for men. But from a writer's perspective, this just simply isn't the case, and not because the writer's in this instance are the notoriously homophobic corporation we call Disney. The reason why this is so unlikely from a writing perspective is because given the context clues, we as an audience are meant to draw the conclusion that this is the first time that they meet(I have heard rumors of them meeting as children in the books, but having never read them, and focusing only on the movies, I'm not including that in this post). And since this is the first time they've met, it's highly unlikely that the compass is pointing at Jack because James has a bit of a thing for him. Even if James has heard of Jack's many exploits, he does not truly know the man behind the legend, so having romantic feelings for the pirate at this point in time just isn't believable. And even if James was a closeted gay/bi man, it's still unlikely that the compass would be pointing at Jack of all the men around the Commodore(of which there is a lot, some of whom he is incredibly close with) seeing as Jack is the poster boy of piracy, and at this point in the movie it's made abundantly clear that James vehemently detests the notion and all who practice it. If James were to be holding the compass in Jack's vicinity in later movies and it still pointed at the pirate, an argument could definitely be made that it was because he had developed feelings for Jack, but for their first meeting, it's just not realistic. So it's much more likely that the reason the compass is pointing at Jack is because of James's desire to send every pirate he meets to "a quick drop and a sudden stop" as he so eloquently put it to a young Elizabeth. This is further reinforced in the third movie when it is revealed that Beckett's desire to have Jack dead at his feet would prevent him from using the compass to find Shipwreck Cove if the pirate was not already at the aforementioned location, or, well, dead. This is again, relatively common knowledge. But like I said before, it's what this fact says about James that is the whole point of this post... and that is that James cares more about his career than anything else, even the woman he claims to love. Now for some, that statement alone might seem like a pretty obvious conclusion, but it's how this scene subtlety sets up this core aspect of Norrington's character before we even truly get to know who he is, and how it's brought to it's full height in the second movie, and the core aspect of his redemption and subsequent death in the third that I'd really like to talk about. Which brings us to the next segment of this post...

How James lost his commission to the navy...

And how he got it back

So let's start off with how James lost his commission... it's a story we all know pretty well, and one he tells to Gibbs in the scene shown above, when he plans to either join Jack's crew or get revenge on the man that(he believes) ruined his life. After Jack's escape in the first movie, James grew obsessed with capturing the pirate, so much so that he foolishly followed the Black Pearl into a hurricane, resulting in the sinking of the Dauntless, and the loss of countless lives that had been aboard the vessel. It's unclear aside from James himself who had been on the ship at the time, and who did or did not survive, but the death toll was heavy, with most, if not everyone who wasn't James, having perished in the storm. While it is not the most extreme example(which we'll get too in just a bit), this is a pretty clear example of James prioritizing his career above everything else, even reason and logic. And all just to capture a singular pirate, even at the cost of his own ship and crew, and rather ironically, the very career that he had been so desperately trying to hold onto in the first place. Which brings us to the next scene I'd like to discuss... James stealing the heart of Davy Jones. This moment is the absolute peak of this part of James's character. This is the moment where James takes his obsessive need for his career to the max. This is the moment where James truly prioritizes his career above everything else, even the woman he claims to love(and for Sparrington shippers, above the man he's reluctantly come to care about). At this point in time, when James decides to take the heart for himself to regain his old station, he's been on the Black Pearl long enough to know the full situation. That Jack is in some kind of trouble with Davy Jones, and that if Jack doesn't use the heart to bargain for his freedom, then the Kraken will hunt Jack, and subsequently the Black Pearl, down until he and everyone aboard are dead. And that includes Elizabeth. And yet, despite knowing that stealing the heart would basically mean sealing Elizabeth's death, he still decided to do so. Sure, the argument could be made that he thought Elizabeth would be able to escape somehow, but the chances of her dying at sea, or some other terrible fate befalling her before she could safely make it back to civilization would have been highly likely. Of course we as an audience know that this isn't the case, but James does not. So essentially, James was so obsessed with his career, and maintaining the image of the honorable Commodore that he didn't even truly register that he was putting Elizabeth, the woman he loves and has been trying so desperately to woo for the past two movies, in danger. And he won't fully realize the consequences of his actions until the third movie, in a deleted scene no less(I swear when I find whoever decided to delete some of the most important scenes to James's character...), when Davy Jones informs Governor Swann of his daughters untimely demise on the Black Pearl. Of course, almost immediately afterwards, Beckett retcons that statement by informing the Governor that Elizabeth was recently seen in Singapore, but for a few minutes, James has to sit with the fact that Elizabeth was dead, and it was his fault. And even after learning that she was in fact still alive, James has now finally come to the realization that if she had still been on the Black Pearl when it sank with its Captain, he would've been the one to send her to her death. And for Sparrington shippers, James has to sit with the unavoidable fact that he was the reason Jack had died(even if the pirate does come back), despite the fact that it was Elizabeth's betrayal that was the final nail in Jack's coffin, since she wouldn't have had to do that if the Kraken wasn't after them in the first place. Which brings us to the final scene I'd like to discuss...

James choosing a side, and paying the price

Now, before we fully delve into this scene, I'd like to take a moment to talk about James's own perception of himself, and his relationship with honor and integrity. From the very first scene in which we meet James Norrington, we are made aware that he has a strong moral compass. He firmly believes piracy is evil, and that all who partake in piracy deserve a swift end. He perceives his Commodore persona as being the paragon of honor and integrity, and the sole arbiter of justice. We can infer from the line "By remembering that I serve others, Sparrow, not just myself" that James does have honorable intentions when ridding the world of pirates, that being protecting the innocent citizens under his care, but as seen once again in the first time James and Jack meet, wherein James adamantly tries to arrest Jack despite the fact the fact that pirate had just saved Elizabeth's life, his actions to achieve that goal are not always quite as honorable as his intentions are. This is especially highlighted once again when James gave Beckett the heart of Davy Jones. James's intentions here were once again rooted in honor and integrity - he believes that the only way to keep people safe from pirates is too return to his old station, to the image of honor and integrity he had built around the title of Commodore, and the only way to return to his old station is to give Beckett the heart. But the action itself was far from honorable, seeing as James had to betray the woman he loved just to obtain the heart, and that he was now putting it into the hands of a dangerously unstable individual who planned on using it to commit mass genocide.

And now, we finally get to the scene above... Of course, it's made clear throughout his scenes in the third movie leading up to this one that James is already starting to regret giving Beckett the heart after seeing the damage being caused, but since Beckett is targeting pirates specifically(although we as an audience know that Beckett's definition of pirate is very loose) James figures that the ends justify the means, as he often does in situations regarding piracy. It is not until his reunion with Elizabeth, where he learns that Governor Swann is dead, and that Beckett lied to him about the Governor's whereabouts, that James truly realizes the enormity of his mistake. It is in this moment that James has a sudden realization that fundamentally shakes him to his core, and is the reason behind his change of heart later on. He realizes that the honorable Commodore persona that he had tried to cultivate and keep a hold of for so long had never been truly honorable at all, and that by giving Beckett the heart of Davy Jones, he had effectively tied the noose around the neck of his own honor and integrity, as well as the necks of hundreds, if not thousands of innocent people, with his own hands. And as that one vine goes, this was the moment James knew, he fucked up. Which leads to his decision to change sides in an attempt to redeem himself, and his subsequent death in the process. Of course, part of James's reason for helping Elizabeth escape was that he does care for her, but given everything I've detailed about him so far, I think it's safe to say the main reason that James decided to help Elizabeth and her crew was because he wanted to undo the damage he had done, and he had faith that Elizabeth, Will, and Jack would have some sort of plan to defeat Beckett, and stop any further damage to come from his mistake. And now, for his death scene itself... As much as I love the idea of James surviving and joining the pirates(whether at Elizabeth's side or Jack's is unimportant), I firmly believe that his death was a necessary end of this part of his character arc, and that if he were to survive he would still have to go through a major ego death for this part of his character arc to end properly. Because as Bill turner drives that wooden pike into James's gut, it's not just the physical death of his body, but also the metaphorical death of Admiral James Norrington, and the ideals that James had used to build the persona out of. So even if James survived, the Admiral would still have to meet his metaphorical end, thusly causing James to lose a core part of himself that had been guiding most his decisions so far, in the process, which would start the next part of his character arc, where he would have to deal with the loss of a key part of his personality, and rebuild himself from the ground up to finally, truly become the image of honor and integrity he had envisioned from the beginning.

And that concludes this very long post. I could probably wax enough poetics about this aspect of James's character to write a short novel, but I've said everything important to this post, and if I go on any longer, I'm likely to start repeating myself lol. Thank you for reading, and feel free to share your thoughts in the comments or a reblog! I will always love hearing more about our polished peacock <3

#pirates of the caribbean #james norrington #jack sparrow #elizabeth swann #cutler beckett #davy jones #sparrington #norribeth #meta #potc meta #a character study of james norrington

[danyvhell-writes]

Ais headcanons pt 2 ! (Touchstarved)

GN reader - no warnings | Ais, my beloved. My brain won't stop thinking about him, there's so much to say omg ! I need to draw him this is serious :')

+ Not really a headcanon but when I first saw Ais in the trailer I thought he would be a kinda pirate character :') don't make fun of me lmaouiadubgziu !! I really imagined our first encounter with him on the coast of the city/harbor and that his story would be based on pirate tales and marine legends. I'm still sticking to my idea that it would be fucking awesome to have Ais as a captain or something, traveling the seas and oceans with him and his crew. (let me dream) PIRATE AIS AU WHEN ????!!? (Helloooo sailor !!)

• Has really pretty hands for someone who fights so much ! Likes to be presentable in front of you.

• He's a simp in his own ways. Someone making a remark about how good looking you are, he's gonna brag "Damn right they are ! Look at them."

• If you're mixed or have unusual features for your ethnicity, he would try to guess your origins (and he's strangely good at it ?). And if you have a weird/rare mix it's even more fun to see him struggle a bit.

• Likes to share foods ! Please feed him, he loves it. He'll just watch your dish with insistance until you ask him "You want some ?" and lean opening his mouth. He'll gently make you taste his meal in return. You're his little sparrow after all, so of course he's gonna let you peck in his plate.

• If your gaze meets his, he'll wink casually. It's his way to say "Hi babe."

• Completely forgot to ad this in my last hc post but !! If you use ASL, he will learn just so he can talk with you. Teach him everything you know, he's a good student >:) And if you happen to know how to read lips, this man would be thrilled to learn how to do it ! I just know he'd love to spy on people's conversation and gossip with you hehehe

• When you guys go on a walk and see sparrows he's always saying stuff like "Look, your friends' saying hi !" "This one looks just like you, cute." or "Wonder who's the real little sparrow… Sure you're not an impostor hm ?"

• When he doesn't smoke, he smells like a mix of cloves, iodine, humid air & metal (you know what i mean ?)

• Ties up his hair in a little ponytail sometimes and it's the cutest thing ever !!!

• If you're sensitive to the smell of cigarette (I personally despise that shit), he'd be careful not to smoke near you or puff in your direction. Passive smoking is not an option ! When you tell him it's fine, he responds "I don't want to screw up your healthy lil lungs !" ↑ However if you take cigs too, he'll gladly share a smoke with you. Really likes to have a calm talk with you while you guys enjoy your stuff. (+ shotgun kiss grrr)

• If you trip on your feet or something while walking, no need to feel ashamed. He would simply do the same on purpose to reassure you and act like it's something casual. "Can't watch my feet either apparently :)" You can be clumsy around him, do not worry !

• We know he doesn't like easy fights and he's kinda into brats so… give him challenges. Dumb ones, hard ones whatever you want ! He needs adrenaline and what's better than a little dare. "Bet you can't climb that tree in less than twenty seconds !" "Oh yeah ? Don't be presumptuous, I'll show you." and there he goes, perching himself on a big branch.

• Related to that... You're a snarky little shit ? Good. He likes it. Be cocky with him, that's what he needs. Of course he loves your soft side but no bickering nor teasing would be boring. This man needs a challenge.

• Loves going on walks with you and his babies (soulless). He'd show you around, make you visit nice places you've never been to and you get to play with Princess + the rest of the pack ! Sometimes his destinations are a little perilous but it's worth the risk. Two whole hours walking in the mist to watch the sunset ? Okay let's go, handsome !

• You're a trans person ? Great. He is too. Now go makeout like the T4T couple you are. (My Ais is trans and I won't come back on this statement 🏃🏽‍♂️💨)

• Always rests his hand on your hip. Number one resting place, comfortable & perfect shape for it. Sometimes the touch feels almost ghosting against you, you wonder if you're imagining things. Please, do the same for him. His waist is literally snatched with that pretty belt of his, perfect place to put your hands on ! He would really appreciate.

• He's good with makeup. Let him put you some red eyeliner so you guys can match ;) Just imagine him holding your face gently while he's concentrated on making a cool pattern with the liner. "Don't move." "I'm trying sorry !" "Am I that distracting to you ?". He won't mind if you try some on him. Dark lipstick omg, he'll rock that shit !

#touchstarved game #ais #touchstarved ais #touchstarved #ais x reader #gn reader #ais touchstarved #headcanons #touchstarved headcanons #touchstarved demo #red spring studios #so obsessed with this guy it's insane ! #okay but guys imagine trans pirate Ais i- #promise i'll write about the other guys don't worry #my hcs

[poorlittleyaoyao]

i still think the worst jgy meta is the victim blaming madam qin one

If we're thinking of the same meta--the one that goes into detail about how long the betrothal/wedding planning process would have likely gone on for--then that meta is SUPREMELY frustrating to me, because the information it brings up is worth considering, but then it draws the conclusion that "Madam Qin is the real cause of the problem here!" which is both victim-blaming and oversimplifies the whole tragedy.

The tragedy of Qin Su is that multiple people close to her decided that she shouldn't know a critical piece of information about herself. If it were just JGY, I think her reaction wouldn't have been as intense as it is, but when QS receives Bicao's letter, she receives with it the knowledge that Bicao, JGY, and her mother have all withheld this from her, and she'll never get closure on it because her mother is dead and JGY is insisting that she carry on like it never happened. QS deserved to know! This was a breach of her trust!

But at the same time, you understand why everyone makes the choices they do, and why they believe that QS will be better off not knowing. In Madam Qin's case, we can assume that she fears for the damage to QS's reputation and prospects in even a best-case scenario if she comes forward. It's fully possible that Qin Cangye could disown QS since she is not his child, or (if QCY is a real one and stands by his wife) that the Qin clan as a whole would suffer retribution from JGS for besmirching his name, since he's Chief Cultivator and they don't have any concrete proof. Madam Qin also would have feared for herself. I mean, we don't know what kind of many QCY was. He could've killed his wife for committing adultery, for all we know! Or JGS could've had her killed to shut her up! Fearing for herself isn't a moral failing!

Understanding how protracted the wedding process would have been just drives home how horrifically trapped Madam Qin must have felt. She's kept the secret of her rape for two decades, and now it's coming back to hurt her in brand new ways, and she feels so powerless that she can't do anything but watch it happen until finally, at the very last minute, she works up the courage to talk to the one man in the situation who doesn't hold authority over her (and is therefore a safer bet)... and it's too late, because her daughter is already pregnant,* and to call off the wedding now would obliterate her reputation even without the incest.

Now she has to live with the regret of not acting differently on top of everything else. It's haunting. It's awful. It's not something to point at and judge her about. And I think it's telling that, IIRC, JGY himself doesn't ever blame her, either. There is no "how dare you blame me when her own mother didn't tell her!" or "I wouldn't have done it if Madam Qin had spoken up sooner!" Instead, he simply states that Madam Qin, like him, was afraid of JGS, shutting down any questioning of either of them. JGY places the ultimate blame for all of this firmly at his father's feet, and that's where it belongs.

*(It should go without saying that I'm talking about my understanding of the novel here, because the show makes the deeply cursed choice to cut the whole premarital pregnancy thing. But it's still JGS's fault there too, and I wrote character study fic about it once if you want to have a bad time.)

[metamorphesque]

bts as poems (mary oliver edition)

The Fourth Sign of the Zodiac 

I know, you never intended to be in this world. But you’re in it all the same.

so why not get started immediately.

I mean, belonging to it. There is so much to admire, to weep over.

And to write music or poems about.

Bless the feet that take you to and fro. Bless the eyes and the listening ears. Bless the tongue, the marvel of taste. Bless touching.

On Meditating, Sort Of 

Some days I fall asleep, or land in that even better place — half asleep — where the world, spring, summer, autumn, winter — flies through my mind in its hardy ascent and its uncompromising descent.

So I just lie like that, while distance and time reveal their true attitudes: they never heard of me, and never will, or ever need to.

Of course I wake up finally thinking, how wonderful to be who I am, made out of earth and water, my own thoughts, my own fingerprints — all that glorious, temporary stuff.

How I Go Into the Woods 

Ordinarily I go to the woods alone, with not a single friend, for they are all smilers and talkers and therefore unsuitable. I don’t really want to be witnessed talking to the catbirds or hugging the old black oak tree. I have my ways of praying, as you no doubt have yours. Besides, when I am alone I can become invisible. I can sit on the top of a dune as motionless as an uprise of weeds, until the foxes run by unconcerned. I can hear the almost unhearable sound of the roses singing. If you have ever gone to the woods with me, I must love you very much.

To Begin With, the Sweet Grass

What I loved in the beginning, I think, was mostly myself. Never mind that I had to, since somebody had to. That was many years ago. Since then I have gone out from my confinements,   though with difficulty. I mean the ones that thought to rule my heart. I cast them out, I put them on the mush pile. They will be nourishment somehow (everything is nourishment somehow or another). And I have become the child of the clouds, and of hope. I have become the friend of the enemy, whoever that is. I have become older and, cherishing what I have learned, I have become younger. And what do I risk to tell you this, which is all I know? Love yourself. Then forget it. Then, love the world.

The Ponds 

Still, what I want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled -- to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world. I want to believe I am looking into the white fire of a great mystery. I want to believe that the imperfections are nothing -- that the light is everything -- that it is more than the sum of each flawed blossom rising and fading. And I do.

Dogfish 

If you asked for a picture I would have to draw a smile under the perfectly round eyes and above the chin, which was rough as a thousand sharpened nails.

And you know what a smile means, don’t you?

I wanted the past to go away, I wanted to leave it, like another country; I wanted my life to close, and open like a hinge, like a wing, like the part of the song  where it falls down over the rocks: an explosion, a discovery;  I wanted to hurry into the work of my life; I wanted to know, whoever I was, I was alive for a little while.

...

Also I wanted to be able to love. And we all know how that one goes, don’t we?

When Death Comes

When death comes  like the hungry bear in autumn;  when death comes and takes all the bright coins from his purse ... I want to step through the door full of curiosity, wondering: what is it going to be like, that cottage of darkness?

When it’s over, I don’t want to wonder if I have made of my life something particular, and real. I don’t want to find myself sighing and frightened, or full of argument. … I don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.

#bts #bts as poems #bangtan #poetry #parallels #music #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jeongkook #rm #jin #suga #j-hope #jimin #v #tae 🐻 #jungkook #bts imagine #kookie 🐰 #jiminie 🐥 #hobi 🌞 #yoongi 🐱 #jinnie 🌼 #joonie 🌼

[weministertomonsters]

"Oh come on," you sigh in exasperation as your guardian angel hesitates. "I'm doing this for a friend, alright?"

You kind of understand why he doesn't want to go into a sex shop but you've already explained why and you can only stand so long and talking before people begin looking at both of you weirdly. He's opted to be visible ever since he figured it would keep most of the unsavory people away from you. He does cut an intimidating figure, over six feet, with hair the color of gold in the sun.

"There is an entire shop for this? Why must humans be so carnal," he mutters and shuffles his wings. "I will not step over the threshold."

"Afraid all your feathers will fall out?" You roll your eyes.

He blinks. "Even the Fallen still have their wings. The feathers simply turn red and will forever smolder as if on fire."

"Okay, cool anatomy stuff and all, but I'm going in." You turn, only for him to catch your wrist.

He lets go as quick as always and tucks his hands behind his back and tries to look undisturbed. But his eyes keep flicking to the window display of skimpy lingerie. His jaw tightens and he looks away, back at you.

"I cannot protect you if you go in there," he says.

"Then come in with me!" You huff. "Either way, I'm going."

You turn and push open the door. He grabs your wrist again but you're having none of it. You give a hard tug and pull him straight through the doorway.

"God Almighty," he says, pulling his hand free and backing away, bumping into a mannequin wearing a strap-on.

"No swearing," you whisper.

"I am asking Him for strength," he replies, his wings unfolding and drawing forward like he wants to shield his eyes.

With how much he uses his wings, it's a good thing no one else can see them. You decide it's safe to leave him for a bit and wander off to find a salesperson to help you find what you're thinking will be a good present for your friend. A bit of an unusual present, but you're confident she's going to scream with laughter (and use it).

When you get back, your angel is standing as stiff as a cardboard cut-out, staring at a saleswoman who is trying to sell him some kind of vibrator.

"Your partner will love it! Is that them?" She asks, turning to give you a bright smile.

Your angel lifts his shoulders stiffly. You know he can't lie so there's no way he's going to say yes.

"Am I?" You pout at him. "We've been together for so long and you still haven't told me what I am to you."

His golden eyes shimmer with soured patience.

"Indeed?" He says through clenched teeth.

You milk the moment for what it's worth, leaning into him and smiling.

"He's my boyfriend," you assure the saleswoman

Even his silence is like an agreement. You can feel him trembling against you, probably in rage. The saleswoman perks up.

"In that case, perhaps you'd like to try our newest product. We can even give you a discount."

"Oh, discount!" You're immediately interested and reach over to examine the box.

"No. Thank you," your angel says.

"Hey, I'll pay with my own money," you protest.

"No."

"But-"

You cough slightly as he picks you up and drops you over his shoulder like an unruly baby.

"Hey!" You protest, lifting your head.

You wish you hadn't because you bump your head on the threshold as he steps out.

"Jesus fucking Christ that hurts!" You whimper.

He smacks you mildly for your blasphemy without a word. But because you're over his shoulder, there's kind of only one place to smack.

You forget about the pain of your forehead.

"Did you just smack my ass?" You ask incredulously.

He realizes his mistake.

"Think nothing of it."

"But you did! I liked it. Do it again."

Your surroundings blur and your stomach turns a cartwheel as he teleports back into your house, marching you to the couch and dropping you on it. He glares down at you, coming off as quite menacing with the way his wings flare out.

"NO," he says, like he can see your dirty thoughts scrolling across your eyeballs.

You can tell you've pissed him off for real this time. You hold up your hands in surrender and he turns to take his usual post in the corner of the living room. You try to offer him some dinner later on, but he ignores you.

* * *

My top post is the one with the guardian angel. I found that... Interesting. So I made another short about corrupting angels. For scientific reasons. :)

#monster x reader #monsterimagine #guardian angel #exophilia #hierophilia #wait does it count as hierophilia #also who doesn't like corrupting the oh so holy ones?

[ithaquasbbg]

This is a fantasy au fic, more fluffy than my last few hehe. Itha and Nathaniel are once again raised together for this au with some disagreements still for funsies ☺️

Mine! - Ithaqua x reader

Pairing: Ithaqua x fairy! Reader, Nathaniel x Fairy! Reader

Tw: none

….

Mother sits in bed with her twin sons snuggled up against her, smiling brightly in anticipation for her to tell them a story as she did every night before bed. “Do you know what fairies are?” She asks, watching as both of her sons look confused. She laughs and kisses their foreheads, before finding a little story book full of drawings of fairies.

“Woah! Mama, it’s so pretty!” A little Ithaqua stares at the pages with a huge smile, clapping his tiny hands together. Nathaniel, on the other hand stares up at mother, trying to get as close as possible to her. “They are very pretty, yes Ithaqua.” She giggles and strokes Nathaniel’s hair as she flips the pages, showing Ithaqua more sketches of the lovely creatures. “When I was a little girl, my mother told me a story about fairies.”

Ithaqua’s eyes brighten as he jumps up, startling his twin brother who glares at him in the process. “Tell me tell me!” Mother laughs and motions for him to sit down while she continues playing with Nathaniel’s hair. “Now now, Itha, don’t get too loud.” He quickly quiets down and snuggles into his mothers chest, staring at the story book as she shows both of her sons more pages.

“My mother always used to tell me that fairies would come to people who have gentle souls, or sometimes people with a lot of ambition but a good heart.” She puts the story book away and stares out the window while she keeps talking. “If you could get a fairy to fall in love with you, your life would be blessed with happiness.”

“But mama..” Nathaniel looks up at his mother, tiny hands holding hers. “What if the fairy doesn’t love you??” Mother giggles and squeezes his hands, hushing Nathaniel. “That doesn’t mean you’re a bad person, baby, sometimes people don’t always love you back.” He pouts, unsatisfied with the answer but goes silent. Mother takes this as a time to leave and she stands up, tucking the twins into bed and leaving a kiss on both of their foreheads, a wide smile on her face. “Sleep well, my little ones.” With that, she leaves and turns the lights off.

“Hey, Itha..?” Nathaniel hugs his twin brother, trying to get as warm as possible. “Do you think fairies could be real?” Ithaqua takes a moment to think and smiles, hugging Nathaniel back. “I think that anything could be real!” His twin hums, yawning as he rubs his eyes. “Then we will both find a pretty fairy.. and show mama..”

….

Years later, Ithaqua walks though the forest with a basket of berries that his mother had asked him to pick, stopping at the lake to feed the ducks as he did every day. Though, he notices a glowing light behind him while feeding the ducks, turning around quickly towards the light. “Is somebody there?” He asks, eyes widening at the sight in front of him.

You stand in front of Ithaqua, wings fluttering as you wave to him, almost awkwardly. He shouts and moves back a few feet, wide eyes staring at you before he settles down, thinking enough to ask you questions. “Are you a fairy?” He asks, surprising you. Though, seeing no reason in hiding the fact, you simply nod, watching how the blondes face lights up. “You’re real?!”

You nod, fluttering your wings to show Ithaqua. “Those are so pretty…” he whispers, tilting his head to get a better look at you. After a moment he stops and offers you his hand, flashing you a big smile. “Im Ithaqua! Sorry if I startled you!” You smile and take his hand, shaking it. “No no, don’t worry, it’s not a problem. Im (Name).” He nods, repeating your name to himself before asking you another question.

“So.. do you have anywhere to stay?” You think for a moment before shaking your head. “No, not nearby at least.” He frowns and thinks for a moment before his face lights back up again. “You can stay with me! I’m sure my mother would love to see you!”

Sure enough, his mother is amazed to see you. “You’re quite amazing! I knew about fairies, but not that they were real!” You laugh as she continues looking over you, she herself still being quite interested. “…what is that?-” you hear a voice ask not long after, seeing a young man almost identical to Ithaqua entering the room.

He observes you for a while before looking at his mother with wide eyes, then back at you. “Is that.. a fairy?” You nod, watching as his eyes light up. Slowly, he walks closer to you, getting a better look at you up close, more specifically your wings.

“You’re so pretty…” he mumbles, being interrupted by Ithaqua and their mother laughing. “Nathaniel, I thought you said your heart belongs to god?” Ithaqua teases, watching as his brothers face turns bright red in embarrassment. You begin laughing as well, sitting down next to their mother.

“Do you want anything dear?” She asks to which you shake your head, giving her a smile. A few hours later, you excuse yourself for the night, giggling as you hear the twins arguing with each other.

“Nathaniel, I found them, they’re mine.” Ithaqua says, laughing as if he finds the conversation hilarious. Nathaniel, however Is much more heated, crossing his arms with a frown on his face, “you already find more people than I do, let me have just this one-”. You eventually leave when the conversation dies down, thinking about the two twins who you just met.

…

Short ending bc I’m not really feeling this fic lol.

#idv fandom #idv fanfic #idv headcanons #idv imagines #idv x reader #idv scenarios #idv matchup #idv ithaqua #idv night watch #identity v ithaqua #ithaqua idv #ithaqua x reader #night watch #night watch idv #idv

[ughthisisntright]

Puzzles & Pieces | Silco x Reader | Part 2

Summary: Jinx gives you more clues to the Silco puzzle. You realize you have to intervene somehow. You turn to an old friend.

Warnings: General Arcane warnings.

Word Count: 1,672

Next Part

______________________________________________________________

Jinx, as eccentric as she was, was nearly just as predictable as the weather patterns in the Undercity. She was promised as the mornings were, booming thunder and striking with lightning whenever she came around. There was never a doubt in anyone’s minds when she came around that she was meant to be the Eye of Zaun’s perfect daughter.

And so, when she came around you, you knew that the perfect way in which she meshed with Silco’s life would help you gather more details about the man you’d come to work for. The man you’d even come to admire.

The rain poured down hard as the young girl led, no dragged you to her workshop. Your feet only betrayed you a few times as she pulled you along. Fortunately her workshop was nearby. Anything to keep her close to her father.

“Okay,” she started with a hint of excitement. “I know you wanted me to give you some stories about Silco, but I have to show you the project I’ve been working on!” She bounded around her desk and all you could see was flashed of her blue hair, metal, and brightly colored chalk. She appeared to be drawing something.

“Well, you know I’m always up for seeing new things, Jinx,” you offered her a smile as she approached you with her hands behind her back.

“Ready?” She said with a grin.

“Ready.” Your smile never faltered, holding her gaze as she revealed what looked like a scale model of an airship. It had a crude drawing of a monkey on the side and her name signed on the side. That must have been what she was drawing. “What’s this for?”

She beamed and placed it down in your hands before scampering over to the other side of her workspace. She produced some blueprints.

“I stole the blueprints on how to make one of these things,” she explained. “Silco wants me to make one so we have some kind of arsenal against Topside! This one will be filled with my bombs. All set to trip if someone steps on the airship who isn’t supposed to be there-”

“Jinx,” you said softly. “Why would your father want to bolster our weaponry?” She gave you a funny look.

“Don’t you know?” She tilted her head. As you shook yours, she grinned again.

“He’s trying to free us!”

______________________________________________________________________

Your mind whirled and thundered with this new information. Silco was planning a revolution? You knew he was a revolutionary back when he was younger but you’d never considered he still had the same blood running through his veins at his age. You admired the idea of being free from Piltover, but the way in which he seemed to want to go about it was all wrong.

You had spent the afternoon with Jinx talking about this vision he had. Sure, you knew about his dream of an independent Zaun and the plans laid on the surface for how to achieve it. But now that you knew his true plan, you grew worried. And still, that ache in your chest perplexed you whenever you felt it.

“He always told me that you must be prepared to stop at nothing to become what your enemy fears,” Jinx had explained. “To do anything and everything to achieve real power.”

“But, won’t plunging Piltover and Zaun into war make things worse for us? Give them more reasons to push us down?” You had been trying your hardest to remain as neutral as you could. You just weren’t sure how to react to all of this.

“He says that these things are necessary for a change like this to happen,” she shrugged and turned back to her work. You quietly excused yourself after some more lighthearted small talk that Jinx was more than happy to participate in. You had to get upstairs and plan.

You simply wouldn’t let him hurl the city into war.

When you returned to Silco’s office, Sevika was stepping out with an irritated look on her face. She gave you a hard glare before huffing off down the stairs. You took the opportunity to walk back in and take your seat at your desk.

Silco never acknowledged you. It was as if what happened before you left was just in his imagination as he stared down at the papers in front of him. Did he ever take a real break?

Hours more went by in silence, the two  of you pouring into your work as the day dragged onward. You were spreading your time between filing things away as usual and devising a plan to help Silco achieve his goal without war. And you think you had it down.

The sound of him clearing his throat pulled you from your thoughts. He was standing by his beverage cart, pouring himself a whiskey. You looked back at his lanky figure and watched him pour the liquor with ease. You felt that same bit of satisfaction from before when he’d drank your cheap substitute. You had replaced the whiskey with his preferred brand since your research was complete. And once he took a sip without question, your hypothesis was confirmed - he really didn’t know the difference.

“You seem to be lost,” Silco hummed as he finished his sip. “You’re staring again.”

You shook your head and stood, walking to the wet bar and taking the whiskey from his hand.

“Not lost,” you said with a smile. “Just… Looking.” He eyed you up and down before taking another sip.

“Where did you go earlier?” How do you even tell him you were with his daughter?

“I was with Jinx,” you said softly. “She was showing me something she’d been working on. You should have seen her face, she was so excited.” You gave him a smile and wiped up some condensation off the top of the bar. 

“Oh?” His curiosity had been piqued. “And why did she show you?”

“We’ve been growing closer, sir, it’s only natural.” The narrowing of his eyes showed he didn’t believe you, but you weren’t even going to try and waste your breath convincing him. That would surely fuel his doubts more. You simply smiled a little wider and turned to walk back to your desk.

Until you felt a hand on your wrist, gripping firmly.

You turned and looked up at Silco whose face had hardened and he was studying you with that one gorgeous eye. The pounding in your chest resembled the rain that poured down outside - unceasing and obvious. He drew you in closer, his hand running up your forearm and then over your elbow. His fingers traced over your bicep and curled around your shoulder. You fought the shiver that ran down your spine and simply stared into his eyes, lips parted, and breathing becoming a touch heavier.

He took hold of the collar of your shirt between two of his slender fingers, rubbing it between them, before tracing lightly down to the first button you had buttoned. Bold, you thought. Your fingers twitched at your sides. You weren’t sure what to do with him staring you down like this. But you knew you didn’t mind it.

Then you recalled a particularly intimate moment the two of you had shared months ago. You’d mindlessly ran your hands down his chest and he’d actually sighed. A content sigh. So, just like back then, you placed one hand gingerly over his vested chest. You slid it slowly down the front of his body and stopped when you heard his breath hitch. Looking up at him again, you felt a surge of empowerment.

He set his glass of whiskey down and used his free hand to encircle your waist. He pulled you closer to him, looking all over your face for any signs of protest. He leaned a little closer, his own lips parted as he grew ever closer to yours. You let him close in on you and placed your other hand on his shoulder, the other still against his chest. He was so close, you could smell the whiskey on his breath and cologne on his neck. You were inches apart, just close enough to where if one of you leaned a hair more, you’d have your lips pressed together.

And just when he was about to do exactly that, he leaned in close to your ear and spoke in a low tone.

“Don’t make me regret hiring you, child,” he spoke directly against your ear, drawing your head against his and growling the words. He released you slowly as you nodded your head in silence. You watched as he picked up his glass and took another sip.

When he moved to release you, you took a couple of steps back. He smirked down at you before turning to step to the window. He looked out at the rain and the puddles it formed on the streets, all while there was a storm brewing inside as well.

You sank down into your chair when you’d finally stumbled back over to your desk. You swallowed hard and stared at his back while you regained your composure. You shook your head slightly before looking down at the paper in front of you. You’d been mapping out how to free the Undercity peacefully. It wouldn’t be long before tensions became too high and Silco decided enough was enough. He’d been patient for many years before this. You were sure it wouldn’t take much now.

You stared at the list you’d written for your plan. You trusted Silco as a leader, but you didn’t trust Piltover to fight fair and clean. You had to intervene, even if you were just a secretary. You scanned the page and your eyes fell to the list of people you knew that could be of some assistance. One name was written with several circles drawn around it; the catalyst to your plan, the one person who you knew could help prevent war between these two cities:

Jayce Talis.

#silco imagine #silco #silco x you #silco x reader #silco arcane #silco fanfic #silco fluff #lol silco #league of legends #silco lol #silco smut #silco simp #silco my beloved #silco brain rot goes brrrr #arcane #netflix arcane #arcane netflix

[athenaholmesartistsguild]

Had this card finished for a while before posting, but I was kinda insecure about it lol. I talk a little more in depth on this card's Patreon post (you can view and download it for free btw), but long story short, I got stuck in my head about whether I was embodying the symbolism of The Star and then I realized I didn't have to have a one-to-one counterpart to every Rider-Waite-Smith card lol.

Once I wasn't so stuck in my head, I realized I really like the way this card came out! I usually struggle to draw fire, but I found this quick tutorial and it actually gave me a process to try! Would recommend!

But let's go ahead and talk interpretations. They'll be below the cut as always:

After The Tower's destruction, The Star rises from the wreckage-- a shining beacon of hope.

While you likely experienced a period of pain and upheaval in the past, the presence of The Star suggests that good things are coming your way.

The Star is a card of hope and renewal. It reminds us that even though we went through trauma or generally crappy situations, we can emerge from them confident that things will get better. There are good things coming and we're urged to focus on those.

A lot of the symbolism within this card is somewhat religious in nature. The original woman is kneeling down with one of her feet seemingly walking on water, an homage to the Christian understanding of Jesus. The Star appears to be very in touch with the higher power within her whether her understanding of it stems from religion or her own spiritual beliefs.

In this way, we're urged to have faith in the forces we might not be able to comprehend. Sometimes singular or series of events can happen without us putting much effort into their creation. Sometimes, something we wanted or needed comes to us even when it didn't seem at all possible. The Star urges us to have faith in ourselves and trust that what we want will come to us.

Be confident in yourself, have hope that things will change, and begin to free yourself from the fear that keeps you from living authentically.

Reversed, the once hopeful figure of The Star has lost their glow. They've become lost in their pain and struggle to find any reason to stay positive. There's only so much a person can take before they feel beaten down and hopeless.

An important distinction, however, if that a reversed Star does not mean you have no hope. There are still plenty of chances for our situations to improve and for us to heal, this reversed card simply indicates our own feelings and thoughts.

While it can be frustrating to hear that something's 'all in our head', a reversed Star can be looked at as a sign that we have the power to make things better. Whatever higher power put us on Earth also gave us the ability to alter our reality and create a better life for ourselves.

Of course we may need help along the way whether that be a therapist, doctor, support group, or our loved ones, but that help is out there.

Even a reversed Star is a message that the worst of our pain and suffering is over. The pain we suffered is real and valid, it always will be. But The Star reminds us that we have the power to heal from it and come back stronger than when we started.

When designing this card, I wanted Haruka to represent the Star in question.

After Kiryu's entire family died, he felt like he had no reason to stay alive. The whole reason he went on his journey in the first game was to be reunited with the people he loved. He was willing to forgive those that had hurt him and move on, but in a very short period of time, everything was taken from him.

Everything except Haruka.

Haruka isn't free from suffering, either; her mother was taken from her and her father tried to kill her, but she serves as an anchor for Kiryu to hold onto his desire to live (even if he continues to struggle in the future).

She's an opportunity for Kiryu to get away from the Tojo Clan-- the organization that gave him everything he loved, but also took it away so many times. A beacon of hope leading Kiryu towards the life he actually wants.

Things aren't easy. Healing from such intense trauma rarely is, but there's hope for this little girl who never had a proper family and this man who just lost his.

Fate seemingly destroyed both their lives, but it seems like it also gave them everything they needed to find new meaning in the mess left over.

#Finally remembered to run my art through Glaze to keep AI scrapers from training off it :') #It takes down the quality a little bit. not sure if it's because my images are kinda small or because of my style. #I'll run some more of my art through it to see what happens lol. #Wish you could choose the resolution tho. 72 dpi is crunchy as hell :P #I'm currently bouncing between different cards. I've started the Hanged Man the Wheel of Fortune and the Ace of Swords. #Wish I could just pick one and finish it :') #yakuza #yakuza fanart #kiryu kazuma #my art #sawamura haruka #tarot card design

[podcastenthusiast]

A new series about each spawn sibling's first night at the palace (minus Aurelia, because I hate writing Cazador, but she's in this one a lot.)

POV: Astarion/Second Person

Next up: Violet

--

Your first night at Cazador's palace is not the hardest you will experience in the coming centuries, not by half. It is, however, the night you most strongly believe there is some way out of this. You cling to that false hope as if it could save you. You just want to go home.

But your family buried you. You died and woke up six feet underground and clawed your way you out. Now you're trapped here.

None of it feels real quite yet.

A tiefling woman enters the room carrying a wash basin and a cloth which she sets down before you. Her eyes are glowing. Perhaps you are actually in the hells.

"The master says you are to be clean," she tells you, emotionless. "You will be given one set of new clothes. He wants you presentable for your first hunt."

Hunt? What in all the gods' names is she talking about?

"You're a vampire," you realize. There are more of them.

"Vampire spawn," she corrects. "Just like you."

"I'm not...I'm not a monster."

"You are to be clean," she says again.

You must look a dreadful state, to be fair. Maybe that is why this body doesn't feel like yours anymore. Fingernails broken and knuckles split, caked with dried blood and dirt.

You peer into the water. No reflection looks back at you. Scrubbing your hands vigorously, the cold water turning red, you try to suppress a wave of rising panic.

"Master Cazador wants you completely clean. Your clothes are filthy; take them off," the tiefling says, like it's nothing, when you show her your now spotless hands.

"What? N-no! I--" Your useless pleading is cut off by a painful cough. Your throat is still and raw. You screamed yourself hoarse in that coffin, and retching up grave dirt didn't exactly help either.

Cazador, the "master" himself, soon sweeps into the room.

"Is our newest addition settling in well, daughter of mine?"

"Y-yes, Father," the tiefling replies.

"And yet my orders have not been followed. I must say I am disappointed. This one has such...potential, doesn't he?"

He draws nearer, uncomfortably so.

"Let us see him. You want to see, do you not, child?"

Her eyes glow like embers. "Yes, Master."

"Don't touch me!"

You kick the basin hard, splashing murky water across the floor under Cazador's feet.

"Insolent boy," he snarls. "Have you not understood yet? We do not need to touch you. We are connected, you and I, sire and spawn. Blood-kin, if you will, in the truest sense."

Pain lances through your mind. You watch, helpless and horrified, as your very own hands move without your input to strip off first your shirt, then your trousers and undergarments.

You stand there all but frozen, your body exposed and vulnerable, completely laid bare. Cazador's cold crimson gaze scrutinizes every inch of your flesh. What he might be looking for, you don't know. Imperfections?

More likely he simply enjoys watching you squirm.

"Acceptable," he declares after a while. "You may dress once you have shown me you can behave as a respectable member of this family should. Do not forget I saved you from a rather untimely end. The polite thing, the noble thing, would be to thank your rescuer."

You meet his eyes.

"Fuck you," you spit.

The ensuing blow to your empty stomach is unexpected. Your knees buckle. In that moment you feel Astarion Ancunin the living man begin to slip away. You are a naked, shaking heap of limbs upon the wet tile floor. You are sharp teeth and shattered pride. A pathetic creature.

"Louder, boy, I did not hear you properly."

"Thank you, Master," you gasp out, unsure if it is compulsion or ordinary fear driving you to say the words.

"Manners, at last. Clean up this mess, both of you."

And with a strangely dispassionate kick to your ribs, he departs.

The tiefling quickly gets to work washing the floor, as instructed. You can't seem to move. You haven't ever scrubbed a floor in your life, anyway; you don't plan to start after death.

"It is easier if you obey him," she says softly.

A lesson you won't thoroughly learn until one dark, silent year of torturous hunger and solitude.

"Is he always like that?"

The tiefling shakes her head but, before you can feel relieved, adds, "The master was very merciful. Perhaps because you are new. I do not know."

"You call that mercy?"

"Yes. I do. Now, we must clean. I should not be talking to you. You are going to get us in more trouble."

She flings a towel at you, perhaps with more force than necessary. You feel the faintest stirring of renewed hope. There might be a person still in there somewhere after all.

"We're family, apparently, aren't we? I don't even know your name."

Her hands briefly falter but she continues scrubbing at the same steady pace. She doesn't speak for a long time.

"...Aurelia," she whispers.

"Lovely. My name's Astarion. I would say it's a pleasure to meet you, Aurelia, but, well..."

Aurelia makes a broken sound you think could generously be called a laugh.

"I have not been called that in such a long time."

"How long have you been here?" you ask, decidedly uneasy.

She shrugs.

"Is it just you and...him? Are there others?"

"Start helping me clean up your mess, Astarion. Then I will answer your questions. I may also report to the master that you demonstrated adequate obedience."

Hm. Clever girl.

"Fine. I suppose I would like to cover myself sooner rather than later."

The pair of you work in awkward silence. You get the feeling Aurelia has grown accustomed to the quiet, that she believes it's safer somehow. Familiar. She never asks you any questions.

Eventually, you are permitted to get dressed. The outfit provided for you is of finer quality than you dared to anticipate, not altogether unlike the silk garments probably gathering dust in your wardrobe back home. Unless, perish the thought, your things were donated to the less fortunate. Mother always has been a bleeding heart.

You don't let your mind drift to memories of home. You must focus solely on what is in front of you, on survival, and finding a way to free yourself.

"Aurelia?"

"Yes, brother?"

Ugh. That is definitely not happening. Not ever. You refuse to play house with these freaks. Bad enough you have to sleep in a dormitory with your new "sister" like you're at boarding school again.

"Aurelia, I can't see my reflection. Be my mirror. How do I look? Does this color bring out my eyes?"

She stares at you.

"It clashes with the red. You need something like a light blue, not magenta."

You stare at her.

"Aurelia...firstly, how do you know that, and secondly, are my damn eyes red?!"

"Shh! The master demands a quiet house."

"This is my home too, now. I can be as loud as I want."

"Pretending you are not scared won't make it so, Astarion."

"Want to bet?"

Aurelia shakes her head, frowning like you're a lost cause.

"I have my own orders. Come find me when you are ready to listen," she says, turning to go. "Red as blood, by the way."

"I-- What?"

"Your eyes. They are red as blood. I used to make dresses, I think. Colors were important."

She spills the scraps of her half-remembered mortal life at your feet and scurries out of the room, as silently as she'd come.

Alone, the grief and despair threaten to overwhelm you.

How do you mourn your own life?

You don't have much time to find out, as it happens. Soon enough, Cazador calls for you.

It is a very long night.

#don't i have another WIP? yes but we're doing this first #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 fanfiction #astarion

[m1d-45]

RED DEAD OF NIGHT IN HIS ASHLEY ARC (<- things that only make sense to shining nikki players. wait oh my god they’re both associated with fire it works)

BUT YEAHHHH RED DEAD OF NIGHT FULLY SPLITTING FROM DILUC… personally i’m calling him red to distinguish the two but that’s just what i’m doing everyone else can do their own thing! anyways him and diluc fighting it out….. red knowing that he isn’t the “real” diluc but honestly not caring bc he’s yours, real or not.

ALSO UNRELATED. but there is a little girl named susan who is a magician, streamer, and stylist and her younger twin brother william is an alchemist and also a stylist. i need them to meet klee. i need the three of them to be friends - teddy anon

“red knowing that he isn’t the ‘real’ diluc but not caring because he’s yours, real or not.” you…. you get me.

i’m thinking about red and diluc meeting during the hunt. maybe he’s searching for food to bring back to you. i’m thinking about diluc on patrol for his darknight hero stuff, seeing a flicker of flame and worrying. i’m thinking about him pushing into a meadow, following the dark fire, and freezing on the edge.

i’m thinking about red crouched by a bundle of sweet flowers, one hand holding a ball of fire to light up the plants. he looks up, assessing him, slowly rising to his feet. diluc drawing his weapon, wary of the one that looks like him. it’s a scarilu accurate imitation, and he fears how advanced the abyss is that they can make copies of him that detailed. the gloves, the suit, the hair.. it has to be a trick, right?

red not saying a word, not even an expression on his face as he reaches and stomps on one of the flowers, dragging it across the ground to uproot it. the ground begins to burn red as he douses his flame, turning to walk away, leaving diluc to handle the whopperflower that bursts from the ground.

i’m thinking about immediately post hunt, when people are aware of what they’ve done but you’re still wary. diluc seeing you walk around windrise, seeing himself at your side. there’s two others—a girl and someone that looks suspiciously like fischl—but he doesn’t pay attention to them, simply rushing up to greet you.

not-him and not-fischl are the first to see him, and though he slows as he gets closer, he sees both of them move to protect you and the girl. he kneels, immediately, but doesn’t get the chance to speak.

“what business do you have with the divine?” not-fischl asks, still carrying the same tone as the real thing.

“i’ve come to talk,” he says. “on behalf of-“

“and you thought now would be appropriate?”

he hesitates, looking up at the ‘him’ who’d spoken. he really was nearly an exact copy, and ut was strange to hear his own voice.

“i… you haven’t been seen, and relations must be opened at some point-“

“and you don’t think our absence is intentional?”

diluc pauses. he knows, obviously, that you’d need some time to recover, but you’d barely been seen. it was always the girl with you, or the imitations of the archons. he’d assumed you were sheltered away somewhere, kept safe from the hunt.

(he didn’t want to believe he could have hurt you.)

“what are you?” he asks finally, standing to address.. himself. “or who? why do you look like me?”

he stiffens, and the girl puts her hand on his shoulder. “red, you don’t have to.”

‘red?’

“i’m you,” he says simply. “but better.”

“what? that can’t be-“

“it is. i’m you, but not as foolish. you, but i follow the correct god.” he could tell he was a bit too eager to speak, as if he’d practiced. “i’m you. but better.”

diluc was quiet. in the silence, he turned toward you, expression softening.

“shall we go, my god?”

#m1d : [chats] #m1d : [secrets] #teddy anon #the shining nikki saga #the dark side of dawn #god me when colors #ngl. red dead of night diluc? fucks #i’m not gonna elaborate

[popchoc]

How scandalous is it that no one has written about That One Helm and Yasuda Scene yet? It's been days!!!!!! I know you've done a few, so would you could you maybe please please please? I don't even need plot lolol

"I don't even need plot" 😂😂

I'm not doing any prompts right now, but sure, I'm always open for suggestions. The issue with this one, however, is that I don't write 🔥 smut 🔥 for the sake of smut (it's different when it's a fitting part within a bigger story).

Which is basically what we're talking about here, right? What we're all picturing, as they come crashing into that room, all hot and heavy?

Taryn's hands skimming under Mika's shirt, even before the door closes properly behind them. Her voice already hoarse when she moves her lips to her girlfriend's ear, breathing that one word into it.

"Off."

And we know, Mika doesn't have to be told twice. Her top hits the floor, leaving her in her black bra that molds perfectly around her breasts. With her now exposed skin screaming for Taryn's touch, she steps closer, directing the both of them towards her bed as soon as their bodies intertwine again.

Yet Taryn has other plans. "Uh uh," she mumbles into their kiss, while gently pushing her backwards. "Up."

The second Mika's bum hits the dresser behind her, she gets the hint. She hops on to it without effort. Drawing Taryn back in between her thighs, their lips reconnect for another hungry, passionate kiss. As Taryn's hands start to roam her body, Mika's fingers tangle in Taryn's long hair, holding on for dear life - and for a minute she doesn't know anymore where one of them ends and the other begins.

Without letting go, Mika manages to kick off her shoes. This time it's Taryn who doesn't need a clue. "Up," she simply says again, while her skillful fingers easily unbutton Mika's jeans, before sliding it down when Mika lifts her hips. After tossing the garment away, she takes a moment to take it all in; this sight of Mika sitting there, her amazing body illuminated by a yellow, moonlike light, her eyes blazing with want, want for her.

"How are you real?" she sighs deeply, now swiftly delving back in to bury her face into the valley between Mika's breasts. When Mika feels Taryn's lips nipping, her tongue tasting her longing skin, she can only gasp, sharing the wonder, "How are you?!"

Taryn doesn't answer, too distracted by every inch of Mika she's crossing in her way up. She cups Mika's neck, pulls her near, her lips almost back on hers… then suddenly averts her gaze back down again, studying Mika's chest as if it's the finest piece of art—which it is—while Mika arches her back in desire, handing Taryn even more skin to explore. Taryn moves her hand to Mika's breast, caresses and squeezes it through the fabric, still amazed by the fact that she can, that this girl is hers now, that she's giving her all to her, and thrilled by the reaction she's getting in reward. There's no stopping this. Not now. Not ever.

Sounds of moaning and heavy breathing are filling the room. They're hardly aware of it. Mika shifts forward, searching for more friction from Taryn's body. Taryn knows she can do better though. Slipping her hand between them, her fingers find their way down without hesitation. Mika's damp panties tell her she waited long enough.

As Taryn starts stroking her, they lose themselves in a new series of searing kisses, until it's not enough anymore. Until Taryn wants to feel, needs to taste more. Without allowing Mika to leave her spot, she yanks down those panties, then swiftly looks up again to meet Mika's eyes. Mika can read the question in hers, and answers her by bracing herself - her palms flat on the surface, her feet just as flat against the front of the cabinet.

Mika's scent is intoxicating and delightful. Taryn's tongue is determined and sensational. What follows is a stream of breathless praises that only encourage more.

"Can I—" Taryn asks, gazing up. Yet before she can even finish her question, Mika frantically nods.

"Yes. Oh, yes!"

Slowly, Taryn slides two digits into her girl's depths. When she starts to thrust, she can feel the arousal coat her fingers, feel hot walls tighten around them.

"D-Don't stop," Mika pants, "Don't you… don't you st—"

That's when her toes curl, her eyes clench shut and her body gives in, slumping forward right when Taryn gets up to catch her.

It's also when Lucas bangs the wall right behind her. "You're done already?!" he calls from the other side.

Mika takes a deep breath, and then another one. She hops off the dresser, surprised that her legs still know how to, and takes Taryn's hand into her own. Leading her along towards the bed, a grin sneaks onto her face.

"Poor boy," she smirks over her shoulder, still somewhat out of air, "We're just getting started."

That's how it went right? It's so obvious, I really don't think I need to write all of that down.

Oh wait…..

#😇 #(let's not make this a habit tho!) #grey's anatomy #taryn helm #mika yasuda #fanfiction #writing prompt #ask

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Quidditch Culture: An honest look at The Wizarding Sport

Listen, I love Quidditch.

You love Quidditch.

We all love Quidditch.

If nothing else, it’s a funny word. But the Harry Potter books gave us a fully realized sport with rules that were easy enough to understand without being too simplistic. It was relatable to real sports, but with a bit of fantasy thrown in to make it feel other-worldly. Expanded content, like the book Quidditch Through The Ages, only fleshed the game out even further. (I’ll be referencing that book and bringing up details revealed within it, just as a forewarning.) Sure, Quidditch has been mocked over the years because of the unbalanced role the Seeker has over the other players, but they did manage to offer a counter argument in the form of the World Cup match in GOF (I’ll be talking about that too) and really, the isolation and heightened role for the seeker was basically just symbolism for Harry’s role in the wizarding community. The game is fun, plain and simple. It’s exciting. 

But it is also shockingly violent, frighteningly competitive, and practically all-consuming. 

There is no avoiding the fact that Quidditch is a dangerous sport. You play the game on broomsticks, flying a hundred feet in the air, give or take. To call that a health hazard is putting it lightly. Anyone can fall off their broomsticks at any time. It’s not just a hypothetical, either. There are numerous instances of this happening in-universe. Players fall, crash, or get deliberately knocked off their brooms. In every single game, they risk death. They risk severe, potentially lifelong injuries. While it is possible that there is some kind of cushioning charm on the field below, we don't ever get confirmation of that, even in Quidditch Through The Ages. That's literally just a head-canon. The Wizarding World itself is inherently dangerous, and that gets into a different (and much bigger) conversation. Flying isn’t exactly safe, but it at least has a purpose, that being transportation. Quidditch is a form of recreation. It’s not a necessity, despite what certain characters would have you believe, and I will get to that. 

To be fair, the existence of magic renders many of the dangers of this world considerably safer, or at least less fatal. But that’s part of the problem. An ability to magically heal wounds has resulted in this society overall taking injury less seriously. It has led to a shared sense of overconfidence. Particularly since they have no concept of mental health. Like I said, this is a bigger discussion for another day, but I’d just like to draw the conclusion that witches and wizards don’t understand trauma, and how it can affect people. If you fall fifty feet and your arm snaps in half, that’s going to be excruciatingly painful and frightening. A Healer might be able to wave a wand and heal your physical injuries, but the trauma of such a shocking, painful experience won’t simply disappear. Mental health matters. 

But if you thought that was the end of it, my friend, then I’m afraid you have forgotten about The Bludgers. Because if you take a step back to think about it, the existence of the bludgers is insane. Gigantic iron bullets that rocket around the field with the sole purpose of attempting to knock players off their broomsticks. One of the balls in this sports game will actively try to kill you. If nothing else, it’s exceedingly unlikely that you’ll go an entire Quidditch career without getting severely injured by one of them. Couple that with the anxiety, because I don’t know about you, but if I played Quidditch? I would be constantly paranoid about the bludgers. True, there are players on standby who exist to protect you from them…but that’s really not enough, especially since there are also players on standby who exist to use them against you. The two primary jobs of the Beater are to protect their team from Bludgers and hit them at the opposing team. That's not even acknowledging the risk that they might hit people in the stands. Again, we don't ever see this happen, so one can assume there are spells to prevent it...but that's still just a theory.

Quidditch is more violent than the likes of boxing, and there is little doubt that it can cause lasting damage to players just as easily. It could probably do so a lot faster. How any of them still have teeth, how most of them don’t have brain damage, is absolutely beyond me. Beaters literally exist to attack opposing players. In particular, the Seeker, because of their crucial role. What’s more, the Seeker has no counterpart like the Beaters and Chasers. They’re completely on their own, and frequently a target. Nowhere is this better demonstrated than in the World Cup game. Apart from establishing that The Seeker isn’t actually that overpowered if you have Chasers who are skilled enough, this match gave us an insight into just how ruthlessly violent professional Quidditch can be. 

I say this unironically - Aidan Lynch sustained serious brain damage after that game. There is no way that he did not. He crashed into the ground at least twice. At least one of these crashes was deliberate on the part of Krum. I cannot stress this enough - there is an entire maneuver, a famous Seeker move, designed around tricking the opposing Seeker into crashing. This is something that the characters don’t see as a problem, either, beyond lamenting that it was done to the team they were supporting. Arthur condemns Lynch, the victim, for falling into the trap. Charlie writes it off by saying “He only got ploughed!” The characters, even the adults, are completely oblivious to the real problem here, and the lack of self-awareness is truly disturbing. Even Harry is susceptible to this. Muggle-borns (and those raised by muggles) are not immune to Quidditch Culture. To Harry, like everyone else, the Wronskei Feint isn’t horrific, it’s cool. The mark of an exceptional Seeker. The only bad thing about it was that Krum put himself in danger, apparently.

The utterly cavalier attitude that fans have toward the violence is not an isolated incident, either. It is the norm. It’s not only socially acceptable for Quidditch players and their fans to be bloodthirsty, in some cases it is even expected, and brings out viciousness among even the most level-headed people. Did you know this game has seven hundred fouls? At one point Slytherin gets in trouble for attacking Oliver Wood, but only because, and I quote, "You do not attack the Keeper unless the Quaffle is within scoring area." Apparently it's just fine to do so otherwise. There is a team in the British/Irish league known as the Falmouth Falcons, who are infamous for their violent playstyle. To the point where their motto is, I kid you not, “Let us win, but if we cannot win, let us break a few heads.” How in god’s name does a professional sports team get away with something like that? I’ll tell you how. Because Quidditch fans are nuts. Because Quidditch fans are no less desensitized to the dangers of this game than the players are. 

This can be observed in virtually every character we see who becomes invested in the game. Oliver Wood is one of the finest examples, as is Skye Parkin from HPHM. While it's usually played for laughs, these tendencies are unhealthy and disturbing if you look at them realistically. Both of these characters take the game of Quidditch, specifically their goal of victory, way too far. To the point where they seem to value a match victory over things like the well-being of their team. There’s nothing wrong with a bit of healthy enthusiasm for team sports, nothing wrong with being passionate for a game that you love. But when Oliver tells Harry to “get the snitch or die trying” and it’s not entirely clear if he’s joking…then he’s putting the game itself over his team. Which, as the literal team captain, is simply not acceptable. Then Harry himself falls into this tendency. Even though a bludger is actively trying to kill him, Harry prioritizes defeating Slytherin over his own safety. Harry’s not even the competitive type, not usually. But he's never been one to take his own life that seriously this game brings out that side of people, and does so to dangerous levels. 

Almost everyone who ever touches this game comes off worse for it. (The only exception I can think of being Ginny Weasley.) Ron playing Quidditch caused his inferiority complex to act up and gave him a healthy dose of stage fright. The HPHM Quidditch storyline sees multiple characters suffering for the sake of Quidditch, from Skye Parkin being pressured to live up to her family’s legacy, to Erika Rath being subjected to bullying and pressure from all sides, thanks to her own talents. Gwenog Jones, as we learn in HPHM, was a short-sighted cheat who never took responsibility for her actions. Ludo Bagman is no different. He’s a gambling addict who winds up stealing the life savings of two teenagers to cover his debt. The only character to ever criticize the negativity that Quidditch creates is Hermione, and like most of the time, she’s absolutely right. But the conversation never goes anywhere because she is always shut down, swiftly and without mercy. The other characters in the room act as though she’s blasphemed. All because she doesn’t like a sport. 

This is what I mean. Quidditch is not simply a game to these people. To the witches and wizards who are into it, Quidditch is worshipped. It’s a lifestyle, a philosophy, that is shared across this society. There are no “casual” fans. People who follow this sport become invested, to an unhealthy level. To the point of rioting if it's taken away, to the point where Lee Jordan and Murphy McNully can't even pretend to be impartial, and this is treated as basically normal. When I use the phrase “Quidditch Culture” I’m not simply being pretentious. There really does seem to be shared understanding between the fans, and all of them take the game that seriously. I think the greatest example of this can be found in the Daily Prophet. When “stooging” was banned, people were outraged. Including one boy who claimed that he and his dad “liked watching them Keepers get flattened.” He tearfully claims that he doesn’t want to go see Quidditch games anymore. Kid was six years old, by the way. 

I really feel like the culture speaks for itself at this point.

#Quidditch #Quidditch Culture #Harry Potter #Oliver Wood #Harry James Potter #Ron Weasley #Hermione Granger #Harry Potter Analysis #HPHM Quidditch #Fandom Analysis #Ludo Bagman #Skye Parkin #Erika Rath #Gwenog Jones #Aidan Lynch #Victor Krum #The Wronskei Feint #Falmouth Falcons

[sansloii]

“Come on, Evan…! It’s close...” – she was holding his hand, trying to make him walk faster; Nunnally was not sure if he was opposing her (as he didn't want to engage in that tomfoolery), or if simply she was too excited about that silly idea of hers – “Santa is giving presents just around the corner. We can also get our silly photo… It’ll be fun…” – she didn’t stop babbling until…yes, until she realized they ended up standing under the mistletoe. In any other situation, or most likely with any other person, Nunnally would pretend she didn’t see it and simply continued walking. But it was (slightly) different with Evan. He didn’t make her truly embarrassed (at least not too much). She could have fun with him. As if she was still free. At university. Still outside “the firm” (as she often called her family): -- “Oh, and it seems I am getting a present…” – she pointed out to the hanging decoration; standing on her toes, even wearing the high heels, she was still significantly lower than Evan – “Or perhaps it is actually you who’s getting the present.” – yes, she was flirting with him; she knew he didn’t think about her in such way and neither did she, but they could be flirty sometimes? Right? He wouldn’t think bad about her? – “Come on, Evan. It’s just a silly tradition…” - was she talking about Santa or the mistletoe.

It was less that Evan was dragging his feet ( though, one could argue that he was less than enthused about the whole “Christmas” thing ) and more that Nunnally was just a little faster than him, in his opinion. He expected her to just guide him forward but he found that she was actually pulling him along with purpose. To him, all these festive activities were nice and a good way to pass the time… but he didn't truly care all that much for them — not as much as Nunnally seemed to. When she turned to him, the excitement on her face was brighter than the decorative christmas lights he's seen all too much of. At the very least, she was getting something out of it; and honestly, did it matter much if he wasn't?

He didn't think so. So he'd just listen as she talked on about the what she'd planned out for them that day. If she wanted presents from “Santa” and a silly photo, then he'd indulge her a teeny bit.

Just a teeny bit, though.

Lips part, ready to ask her which of the two she'd like to do first, the young woman points out the mistletoe perched high above their heads. Brown eyes drift up and there it is. Some part of him suspected that something ( maybe the spirit of Christmas ) was poking fun at him for not being so engaged with the holiday, but that thought comes and goes as his attention drifts back down to Nunnally.

“And why does it have to be one or the other getting a present? What if we're both getting a present, hm?” he asks, a casual smile tugging at his lips. “Or… you've got two and I've decided to help myself to one~? Either way, we should both be able to enjoy one at once.”

He didn't deserve a present, honestly, and he know that. It's why he opted to take one instead. He keeps that thought to himself, though, as he adjusts his hold on the shorter blonde's hand. Evan then pulls her in closer by a step ( or two ) and uses his free hand to curl a finger under chin, his thumb pressing against the front to hold it in place. He tips her chin up a bit and, without another word, leans in.

It's just a silly tradition… it's just a silly tradition…

…but the kiss he gives her seems real enough.

It wasn't pressed to her cheeks or nose. It wasn't a joke, where his lips pressed to hers for a fraction of a second before he pulled back. It doesn't last much longer than couple moments, but it was the type of kiss that lingered on the lips for a bit longer than it should. That part felt purposeful — Evan tilting his head a bit to drag the affection out longer, his eyelids drooping a bit when the kiss stretched on a moment too long. Even the way he breaks it is unnecessary, with the man drawing his head back oh so slowly. As he stares down at Nunnally, there's another glance down to her lips as if he might take yet another present from her. It lingers, like he does, for a moment too long… and perhaps, if this was someone he had that kind of relationship with, he'd follow up with another similarly drawn out kiss.

However… this was Nunnally and this — their relationship — wasn't like that.

“I hope that was a good enough present.” he tells her with a slight grin, the tip of his thumb brushing against her bottom lip right before his hand drops away. “Now what would you like to do first? I'm thinking the photo will be quicker than waiting in a line.”

Unprompted | @lured-into-wonderland

#lured into wonderland #🗪 ┊ ⧼ you all are some chatty cathys! ⧽ ⇹ ( asks. ) #✖ ┊ ⧼ the guns aren’t just for show ⧽ ⇹ ( e. ) #⚜ ┊ ⧼ it’s a wonderful cat’s life ⧽ ⇹ ( main verse. ) #.:) merry christmas Nunnally

[lilies-and-forget-me-nots]

👀 , 🍓 ,💧 <33

muse talking about the mun!

👀 Do the mun and you get along? 

“Of course we do!”

“I think she’s sweet, but she has a very… strange obsession with Vampires. Scratch that, any kind of demon as long as they have fangs and a taste for human blood.”

admin: bitey sexy

“Hah… I wonder if you’ll change your mind if something actually bites you one day. I hope nothing does.”

admin: i like vampires

“Of course you do, Yna. Of course you do.”

“She certainly likes drawing me. I can’t say we get along personality-wise, however.”

admin: you’re sexy but you’re a freak good thing i’m into that tho

“Right. How about you show them the mountains upon mountains of ‘doodles’ you made of me and let them judge who’s the real freak between us?”

admin: okay listen

🍓 What is something you and the mun disagree on? 

“There’s not a lot we disagree on… but recently she’s been having this, well, quote-on-quote ‘Rukimania’. I don’t get it. We used to mutually dislike the guy, but you’re suddenly kicking your feet every time you think of him!”

admin: hear me out,

“No, I’d rather not. That guy is nuts! I don’t want to say it’s something wrong with your own taste in men, but… there's definitely something wrong with your taste in men."

admin: hear me out,

“I think I’m very straightforward to write.”

admin: no u are not

“Is it because our personalities are vastly different? Relatability shouldn’t factor into good writing… you must be an ineffectual writer, then. Why give yourself the mountainous task of writing me when you don’t have the ability to do so? In fact, the fact that you think I'm hard to write compared to miss goody-two-shoes coward over there says a lot about you."

("Why am I getting dragged into this??")

admin: wfkjfhshdfdf

“Wha— are you really enjoying this? You really are a huge weirdo."

💧 How often do you annoy the mun? And with what? 

“I can’t say it ‘annoys’ her, but apparently she always gets secondhand embarrassment when she’s writing me. I don’t get it, what’s so embarrassing about me?”

admin: would you like to read about your first day at the sakamaki manor again

“You wouldn’t fare much better. I was panicking!”

admin: i would simply throw myself into shuu’s arms and call it a day.

“I— you would not get the reaction you’re hoping for if you did that.”

admin: i can fix them

“You know what? I think she annoys me more than I annoy her at times.”

admin: :(

“Wait, are you really getting dejected over that? Um... I don’t really mean it. You’re like my favorite annoying fly!”

admin: ok ill take it

“I would say that my favorite hobby is annoying her—it is, but it’s always a coin toss whether she’d actually get annoyed or find it hot. I’m a little concerned if that’s really her taste.”

admin: i wud not be writing u if i wasn’t enjoying it at least a little

“I can say the worst things about her and she’d just giggle about it. Look: you’re way too plain and unhealthy for vampires to enjoy drinking your blood. Do you really think someone who inhales milk tea like it’s air and rots in bed every time she has free time would be appetizing to vampires? You'd give that little purple freak a run for his money in terms of blood sugar levels. Let’s not get started on your personality. Do you think you’d survive a day with those kinds of men? I bet you’d either lose your mind in less than 24 hours or get yourself killed driving them crazy.”

admin: tell me something new babygrill

“Hm... I think I'm beginning to figure something out. Also, Shuu is the most boring one out of all of them and you’re delusional for thinking that he’s anything more than a good-for-nothing who only gets by because he’s the pretty tortured boy archetype.”

admin: bitch get back here

“Oh, finally. I was beginning to think you actually lost it.”

#ask #ask game #kindan-no-kanojo #bullying simulator | mun and muse interaction #is it obvious that i like getting bullied by these two #its only been a month since i made those sprites and i already hate them get ready for a revamp in t-minus 2 hours

[jtl07]

Okay so the gripe I'm starting to have with the writing in s1 of Warrior Nun (idk if the same things will apply in s2) is that the dialogue is there without any action to support it. I mentioned in my ep3 rewrite how it felt really heavy, sluggish and feeling even more of the same in eps 5 and 6. There's only so much I can take of folks literally talking at each other (no matter how pretty they are).

The thing that I'm thinking about is how action can be used to add, or sometimes even contradict, the words characters speak. I went hunting through Robert McKee's "Dialogue" book and this passage explains it best:

The axiom “nothing is what it seems” expresses the primal duality of life: What seems is the surface of life, the activity we see and hear, the outer behavior of what a character says and how she behaves. What is is the substance of life, the action the character takes below the surface of activity. … Therefore, no line of dialogue is finished until you’ve answered this question: In the subtext of my character’s verbal activity, what action is he in fact taking? Consider ice cream. We never eat ice cream simply because we’re hungry. Like all behaviors, a conscious or subconscious action underlies this activity. What is the ice cream eater really doing? … Those actions—drowning sorrows, rebelling, or rewarding—find expression in the activity of eating ice cream. The same with talk… Behind the textual activities of the characters, what subtextual actions actually drive the scene?

Now, I love action sequences as much as anyone - I grew up in martial arts, trained in it, absolutely love the work in Warrior Nun so far. The thing is, a fight is never just about the fight itself - in a sense, it's a sort of dialogue, and it has to make sense in the context of the world. It has to push the story, the characters to some sort of change - thus the fight itself has to have a story within itself (kinda like how in musicals, a song will feature the character having undergone some kind of change or having made some sort of decision). For a fantastic explanation of this, check out this video by Accented Cinema.

The problem with a lot of the "action" in episode 5 is that there is no narrative - we get kind of different beats, but there's no real emotional charge. So for my rewrite, I want to focus on both subtext and building up to the violence.

The focus of episode 5 - as I understand it, folks please lmk if you have other readings! - is Mary and Lilith chasing down Ava, leading up to the tragic fight with the tarask. Canon has Mary and Lilith literally butting heads (and fists and feet etc) but there's no tension, no build up.

So first, I'd add some level of tension by having Mary and Lilith having to cooperate with each other. Maybe they need to pretend to be employees of the ferry so as to not draw attention to themselves, to the OCS. Lilith would of course chafe at this (the woman was walking around in the open with a gd sword strapped to her back; plus there was that line from Mary about calling too much attention to them and Lilith just not caring), and Mary would try to reason with her. Maybe something like, "we've already lost one, we don't need to lose anymore."

And maybe it's unclear if she means the OCS in general or just Lilith or both, but maybe Lilith takes it to mean just herself (self-centered and self-serving as she is lately) and she shoots back something like, "Didn't think you cared." And Mary, what I would give to have Mary give an echo of that devastated look she gave Beatrice in ep 1 when Bea said "she's right" - because of course she cares but also she's still very much haunted by Shannon and grieving and angry and yeah, I want all the angst lol

So we have them pretending to be ferry employees right, maybe show off how the OCS can be secret agent-y. But of course, they start sniping at each other, verbally then physically, getting in each other's way, sabotaging each other, etc. They don't want to fight each other, at least Mary doesn't, but their intentions are at such odds at each other that it inevitably starts to escalate.

And then when they finally come upon Ava - I'd have them both happen upon her at the same time - Lilith drops the ploy completely, symbolized visually by her ripping off the ferry employee disguise.

But just as she's about to attack Ava, Mary steps in, blocks the blow. And maybe she tells Ava to run and Ava's confused - and let's have this in a sort of confined area so that Ava has to witness Mary protecting her from Lilith (because idk, I didn't feel the connection between her and Mary). Meanwhile, throughout the fight, Lilith is getting all the more aggravated by being so close yet so far from the halo - and maybe Mary's trying not to really hurt her but Lilith starts playing dirty, maybe starts pulling out weapons (blades, etc) as well.

Ava will escape somehow - maybe just phases through a wall or something - and Lilith will take out her anger fully on Mary, not just through her fists, but with her words as well. They'll burst out from whatever confines they were in, and Lilith will just rip into Mary, her fury overpowering Mary both verbally and physically - how she failed to protect Shannon, how she can't change anything (and maybe it won't be completely clear, as she's dealing some ground and pound onto Mary, if she's talking to Mary or talking about herself), and maybe even have Lilith say outright, "She's not Shannon" (which would be a lovely call back to my favorite Avatrice scene thus far).

And then she'll leave Mary, bloodied and barely conscious, a snarl on her face as she stalks off to follow Ava. Perhaps we'll have the camera linger on Mary's face, devastated and disappointed - but what if she sees some kind of sign, maybe a cross or something that reminds her of Shannon - and we see her hand tense around one of her shotguns and she whispers, "I know."

We'll cut to the warehouse place with Ava and JC, Lilith stalking them like a horror movie villain - maybe Ava obviously is looking for Mary maybe even asks about her and Lilith mocks her for supposedly caring and Ava falling back into anger. We'll keep the attempt to cut out the halo as written and Mary stepping in and the tarask appearing.

So when I initially watched this episode, I had a very loud "wtf?!" moment when Lilith gets impaled though - I had no clue what the heck she was trying to do. Was she aiming to attack Ava? Was she aiming for the tarask? (Also why the heck did she step into Mary's line of fire? Was she counting on Mary to cover her?) It just didn't make sense to me.

So I'd adjust this to have Lilith and Mary instinctively start fighting off the tarask when it first appears - but getting pushed back, literally (maybe still have Mary get thrown into that car). Then the tarask will turn towards Ava and Mary will try to distract the tarask by shooting at it but what if Lilith then attacks Mary? And Mary realizes that Lilith is counting on the tarask to kill Ava for her and Mary lets her anger out, gets Lilith off of her somehow, attacks the tarask with renewed vigor.

And what if. What if Lilith has just had enough of Mary, has had enough of her getting in the way, of her showing compassion for this girl who is not worthy, who's just in the way of her becoming the halo-bearer, and what if - what if she holds the sword with the intent of attacking Mary? And what if it's in that blind run towards Mary that the tarask swings around and gets her?

I haven't yet watched the rest of season and I'm not as familiar with the nuances of Lilith's character arc, but idk, this feels like it could add layers to what she goes through, fully turning on the OCS. Not to mention it could also add more grief and guilt for both Mary and Ava, having Lilith's death on their hands.

Anyway, just some thoughts. Kind of a fun exercise, actually

#jt rewrites wn #warrior nun #sister lilith #shotgun mary #ava silva

[elliaze]

GODS WARRIOR - CHAPTER TWELVE

Pairings: Steven Grant x fem!reader x Marc Spector

Warnings: age gape and my english as i’m not a native speaker, fighting, blood, death, curses

Italics are reader thoughts.

Words Count: 3600+

MASTERLIST

BAD IDEA, GOOD IDEA

MARC AND Y/N BURST INTO THE FLAT. 

It was early morning, the sun was blazing mercilessly and her dream was that finding the informant would go, as simply as possible. 

Of course, simple at most could be making tea, not finding someone who might know Harrow's location. 

The flat they found themselves in was empty and looked as if someone had already preceded them. All belongings were scattered about, the sofa had been cut so that a filling was coming out of the hole, and there were fresh traces of blood on the floor. 

“Marc, look,” she called out and pointed her finger at the scarlet stains that led to the window. “Do you think someone caught him?” 

“Then I'll kill him too,” he said through clenched teeth, and then stood on the windowsill and leaned out of the window. He looked around to the side and when he came back into the room he looked at Y/N. “There are more footprints on the building. Come on, it's not high.” 

Marc gave her a hand and she took it. She jumped onto the parapet and then onto the roof of the lower building. Someone had decided to use it as a cluster of rupees, but she didn't think anything of it when she saw another trail of blood leading further down towards the further. Marc was immediately next to her and stepped forward.

“He shouldn't be far away. If we hurry, we can still find him.” 

And without a word he took off running across the roofs of the next buildings. She had no choice but to follow him. She'd never been a fan of sports, her fitness was in a state of disrepair, but training on the Olympus gave her a real workout. There no one gave her a head start, and thus no one treated her favourably. That was the only reason why, until now, she had now been able to take part without any problems in a race she would never have signed up for herself. She dodged the laundry that hung on the ropes mounted against the roof walls, jumped over to the other building and continued running. Marc was a few steps ahead of her and, with a run, jumped up to the upper floor. 

“You fucking kidding me,” she muttered to herself, but she didn't stop for a moment. She bounced off the edge of the lower building, jumped upwards and grabbed the higher roof at the last moment. She struggled to pull herself up, first to steady one elbow, then the other, and finally, as she stood on her own two feet, she saw that they were too late. The man they were looking for was kneeling surrounded by three others, and one of them had plunged a knife into his body. The man dropped dead almost instantly. 

“Oh, shit,” Marc cursed loudly, drawing the attention of the other men. “You kill him? We needed to talk to that guy. About the dig site. Guess we're gonna have to talk to you instead.” 

One of them snorted, looking straight at Y/N. She knew that ironic look perfectly well. She saw it every time someone disrespected her and thought that, as a woman, she couldn't do anything and was completely defenceless. She hated the fact that she constantly had to prove to everyone that this wasn’t true. Sometimes even to herself. 

“You're too late,” one of them announced and raised the knife he had used to murder the man earlier. “You'll never gonna find Harrow.”

The man tossed the blade up into the air, it did a spin in the air, and when it landed back in his hand, he redrew a semi-circle on the roof of the building with it. Y/N watched this in surprise, and when the other man also pulled out a knife and together they began to do dance-like movements, she wondered if this was some new martial art. Or maybe it was just that she was so backward that she much preferred ordinary, traditional fighting. Although out of all this, she preferred the third option the most: they were the ones who were just crazy. She unbuckled the waist belt that held her new beige shawl and pulled it from her neck. She tied one end around her wrist, so that when she lowered her hand down, the material trailed along the ground. 

“Oh. What, are we dancin'? We fightin'? What are we gonna do?” Marc asked, and she giggled quietly. She thought it was an extremely funny text for Spector. 

“I'd prefer dancing, but fighting would be okay,” she said with amusement, and didn't wait until they were the ones being attacked, but provoked the attack herself. She threw her shawl up in the air so that it landed on the head of one of the men, and then she pulled the material towards her and smiled innocently at the confused guy. “Hi.” 

“Fucking bitch,” he growled in her direction and stabbed forward. 

Y/N quickly did a dodge, taking a step backwards. She threw her leg up and kicked him in the shin with all her strength, causing him to fall to one knee. She slammed her foot into his hand and he let go of his knife. Almost immediately she found herself behind him, wrapping her shawl around his neck. She squeezed the ends of the material and shook the man so that he straightened up and she could lean over him. 

“Where's Harrow?” She asked, but before she could hear any reply, she felt a piercing pain in her back. She fell forward, which was immediately exploited by the man she was trying to question. The man disentangled himself from the cloth and threw himself at her, pinning her to the ground. His hands quickly found their way to her neck and began to tighten their grip on her. Y/N bunched up all her muscles and then punched him in the nose with her head. The man groaned loudly, but let her go and she was able to take a quick breath. She slipped out from under his body and then kicked him in the chest with both legs. The guy fell on his back and just as she was about to get up and start questioning him again, someone once again attacked her from behind. 

When she turned around, she saw a young boy in front of her, who couldn't even be in his twenties. The kid had assumed a fighting stance, but it wasn't this that caught her attention, but the eyes that looked at her with fear. For a brief moment she hesitated, but eventually she punched the boy in the face, but lightly enough not to cause him more harm. Then she grabbed him by his jacket and pushed him against the wall, pinning him against it.

“Don't fight me, because you have no chance,” she threatened him, punching him in the face again. She knew she wouldn't have a clear conscience after that, but she was going to take advantage of the boy's fear. “Where is Harrow? TELL ME!”

“I'm not going to tell you anything!” He shouted back to her with certainty. Y/N cursed loudly. 

“Kid, do you want to live?” 

“Ammit will judge us all.” 

“Okay, I was nice,” she growled under her breath, and then put her elbow forward and pressed her forearm against the neck of the boy, who immediately began to choke due to lack of adequate air supply. “Talk, where is he!”

“Y/N, don't do that!” cried Marc, but she quickly realised that his accent changed. From American to British and she knew that somehow Steven had started to take control of his body again. “Let him go, he's innocent.” 

“He knows where Harrow is,” she replied nervously, but didn't even look at Steven. She kept looking into the boy's eyes, hoping that her murderous gaze would frighten him even more and he would start talking. “Tell me what you know!”

“Y/N!”

Steven's loud shout made her finally turn towards him and she unconsciously loosened her grip on the boy. The man quickly evaded her and took off running, as did the other two. She wanted to move straight after them, but strong arms wrapping around her waist immediately stopped her. Steven grabbed her tightly, and all she wanted was to break free from his grasp and finish the task. 

“Steven, let me go,” she said firmly, trying for a calm voice. “If we let them go now, we'll never find Harrow or Ammit's grave.”

“Violence won't get you anywhere,” he announced simply, and she pushed back against him, though she did it with a heavy heart. Steven's touch was pleasant, different from the one Marc had treated her. Steven clearly cared about her and didn't want her to do all those awful things, but she knew she had no other choice. 

“Listen, Steven,” she sighed heavily, lifting her gaze to him. “Harrow can't find Ammit. You can do what you want. Go back to England and put it all out of your mind, hand over control to Marc so we can finish this thing together. However, as much as I'd like to, I'm not moving from here until I stop Harrow and find my dagger.” 

“You have a choice. You don't have to do this.”

At this point, she regretted that Steven had regained control of their bodies. Normally, she wouldn't have minded at all, especially as Marc had his moods. However, in this situation, he was the only one who could help her. Innocent Steven, who wouldn't even hurt a fly, let alone a human being, was completely unsuitable. 

“The truth is, I have to,” she replied. “Steven, if you don't want to hand over control to Marc, I understand, but you should go. I will do it on my own.” 

“Y/N…”

“Go” she interrupted him firmly. Steven looked at her sadly, but finally turned and walked through the entrance to the building, leaving her alone on the roof.

Y/N cried out in frustration, burying her face in her hands. She continued in this position for a few seconds until she realised that she couldn't stand  like this. She picked up her shawl and stood on the edge of the roof, looking for the quickest exit from the building. Just below her was a small canopy, lower down was a rope that hung through the windows of two buildings, and at the very bottom she spotted colourful umbrellas that, at least minimally, could cushion her fall. She jumped off the roof onto the canopy of the balcony and then bounced off it towards the rope. She fell a few metres down and caught hold of the rope at the last moment. She waited a second for the rope to stop swinging and she was able to land straight down at the bottom of the street. What she didn't expect was the quiet sound she barely heard in the street bustle coming upstairs.

She looked at the other end of the rope and before she could say a loud “fuck”, the rope snapped and she landed with all her might on the wall of the building. The impact made her run out of air in her chest and she couldn't catch her breath. She groaned protractedly in pain, trying several times to take a deep breath, but each one ended in failure. Her lungs were burning with a fire and she wondered if she hadn't died after all, because it was impossible for her to still be alive.

Eventually, however, her breathing began to normalise. Her lungs were still bothering her, but enough that she could get used to it. She climbed down the rope, and when she landed on the street, she breathed a sigh of relief. She had no idea which way to go, but that was quickly resolved when she first recognised the voice of one of the men they had been fighting on the roof, and then the loud sounds of brawl. She immediately moved in that direction and when she was halfway down the alley, she saw that Marc had regained control of his body and it was he who was fighting again. Before she could reach him, however, she saw one of the attackers take a board of some sort and hit Marc's head with it. He lost his balance and, on top of that, he got pelted in the face by the other one and fell to the ground. 

“Guys!” She called out, moving on them and attacking. 

She alternated between attacking and dodging more blows, so that at one point she no longer knew which of them was fighting her at any given time. She felt that with each passing minute, she was losing more strength and just when she thought it could only end in her death, Marc woke up and helped her overpower all three of them. However, there was something different in his behaviour, something more cruel and ruthless. Something she was seeing for the first time, even if she already knew that he did not refrain from violence in any way. 

“Take the kiddo,” he turned to her, lifting the battered and bloodied two from the ground. Y/N immediately obeyed his command, but she couldn't help feeling that something had changed in his voice. It was still an American accent, but it seemed to her that it was lower than before. 

And was he softly speaking some kind of Spanish?

Marc led them to a vacant van and threw the two men into the pack, slapping them on the back of the head beforehand. He repeated the gesture with the young boy and, when all three were unconscious, opened the passenger-side door. 

“Go on, pretty girl,” he said and sent her a cocky smile.

Y/N concluded that she must have taken a decent blow to the head, because this was not normal behaviour for Marc. The fact that he wasn't in control during the fight definitely bothered her, but now, she didn't even know what she was supposed to think about it. The unexpected compliment, or nickname - she couldn't tell exactly - left her with no idea what to say. So, without a word, she climbed into the car, and after a moment he got behind the wheel and started the engine without much trouble, despite the fact that he had no keys. He corrected the mirror at the front so that it was pointing towards the rear of the car so that, if anything, he could quickly observe the movement of the unconscious three. 

“Where are we going?” She asked, glancing at him. Marc did not reciprocate, and his gaze was fixed on the road. 

“Out of town. There won't be any people there,” she nodded, and then furrowed her brow when he spoke again. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

“Just battered. I banged into the wall of the building, but I don't think I'm in any serious danger. Thank you for your concern anyway.” 

Marc nodded and muttered something under his breath, but did not reply. In fact, neither of them spoke the whole way, but she couldn't help glancing at him every so often. She didn't think she knew him particularly well, given that their acquaintance had lasted a few days, but even now she could tell that something didn't sit well with her about him. Since when had he called her pretty? Not that she had anything against it, because every woman liked to receive compliments, but she had a feeling that barely her name could pass his lips.  

Either I had hit myself too hard in the head, or it was him after all. 

After a while, the van parked on a deserted hill outside the town, and Marc immediately left the car and started in the back. In the reflection of the mirror, she saw him throw everyone to the ground one by one, and they began to wake up. The two of them moved to fight again, but it looked like the youngest one was slow to understand the seriousness of the situation. The boy stepped back to the side, and then she too decided to leave the car. As she jumped down onto the dry, sandy ground she saw Marc plunge a knife into one man's chest and immediately murder the other man in cold blood. The sight of blood was nothing new to her. Neither was murder, but the last thing she expected was just such an image. Especially as they needed to find Harrow and only the three of them knew where he was staying. 

“Marc! What the bloody hell was going on? We were supposed to question not kill them!” - She called out to him and he looked at her with eyes widened in shock. 

“What?” Marc turned to look at one of the dead bodies. Then his gaze stopped on the knife he held in his hand and he began to mumble quietly under his breath. If Y/N was shocked, she didn't quite know how she should describe what she saw on Marc's face. Terror, anxiety and she had a feeling that this was the first time she had seen him unable to control his emotions for a brief moment. “Steven what did you do?” Steven must have answered him, because there was a brief pause, and then he spoke again. “Then who was it?”

She had the feeling that she was dreaming and this wasn't happening. How in a short time, could everything get so messed up? From the moment she had started that day with Marc, then Steven's appearance during the fight, and Marc again, but she wasn't so sure anymore. The young boy groaned in pain and Spector turned towards him. He threw the knife to the ground and approached the kid. 

“Where's the tomb?” Marc asked firmly. His figure visibly tensed and he was even more determined than before to extract the information he needed. 

Just then Khonshu materialised beside them. 

“Take him to the ledge,” the god instructed.

“He's just a kid.” 

“He'll talk.” 

“Marc” she spoke his name with a warning, but he ignored her. 

He grabbed the boy, dragged him to the edge of the cliff and pushed him so that if he let go, the kid would fall straight down. 

“Where is Harrow?” Shouted Spector, and the boy grabbed his scarf and looked down. Y/N hoped that the kid would cooperate right away and understand that this was the only thing that could save him from possible death. 

“Praise Ammit,” he said. Then pulled a knife from his side and cut off the scarf Marc was holding him by. Y/N put her hand to her mouth, seeing how the kid preferred to fall and kill himself rather than divulge any information. 

Always, it ends the same way. Always.

Marc froze in place and stared in shock down the cliff, where the boy's body looked like a small, insignificant stain. 

“I thought he'd talk,” Khonshu spoke up, leaning forward over the cliff. 

“You're for real?” she growled, addressing the deity directly. Marc shook his head, signalling to her that talking about the subject was not a good idea, but just as he had done before, she now chose to ignore him. “He was just a kid! He believed in these stupid ideas, but you could have seen it coming! They always make dramatic decisions in situations like this. Always!” 

She clenched her fists and jaw tightly, trying to control her rage. She couldn't get over what the kid had done, but it was too late to do anything about it. 

“He decided to sacrifice himself, little one,” replied Khonshu remarkably calmly. 

“He did it because Harrow messed with his head! Fuck! What do we do now?” Y/N looked to where Marc was standing just a moment ago, but he wasn't there. When she turned around, she saw him standing in front of a dusty, shattered mirror and communicating with Steven once again. “Marc!” 

“Stay out of my way!” growled Marc to his reflection and then turned to Y/N and Khonshu. “Well, if we can't find Harrow's digging crew, we're gonna have to stop them another way” he took a deep breath and addressed the deity directly. “So? What about the other gods? Are they just gonna stand by and allow somebody to unleash Ammit?”

“To signal for an audience with the gods is to risk their wrath” Khonshu confessed. 

“No shit Sherlock,” Y/N snarled. “What can they do to you?”

“Anger them enough, and they'll imprison me in stone.” 

“That doesn't sound so bad for me” commented Marc. 

“See, how you fare against Harrow without the protection of my healing armor.”

“All right,” agreed Marc in exasperation, throwing his arms up and lowering them back along his body. “So, what? Do you have any good ideas?”

Khonshu did not answer immediately. He leaned his head forward for a brief moment before finally looking back at Marc and Y/N and speaking up. 

“I have a bad one.” 

She identified with it unusually. 

Why come up with good ideas when the bad ones are definitely better. 

Later, Khonshu disappeared, but she almost immediately sensed the intensification of the divine powers. When she noticed that it was getting darker and darker unexpectedly, she looked up, where the sun, shining strongly, began to change into a crescent moon that enveloped the entire city in darkness, and then took a circular form and stayed that way. 

“What are you doing?” Marc asked, and the deity immediately answered him. 

“Sending the gods a signal they can't ignore.” 

⸻

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