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kaciebello · 4 months

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Bring a scythe to a sword fight

Masterlist Luke Castellan x Hades! reader (implied, fem) Percy Jackson x Hades! reader (platonic) Summary: The reader is gradually suspicious, not believing Clarisse is the lightning thief Warning: Angst?, no use of y/n authors note: Idk, I kinda blacked out writing this, sorry if it does not make sense. English is not my first language so I am sorry for any mistakes beforehand. Proofread by me and me only :( Word count: 1.6k

Ever since Poseidon claimed Percy and he was moved to cabin 3, the camp became lonely. He eats at his own table, gets to choose his camp activities, and calls ‘ lights out ‘ whenever he feels like it. The other campers think he's a monster magnet now. Most people avoid him, and even Clarisse stays clear of him. Only 4 people in this camp don't seem to be afraid of him. Grover, they often pick strawberries together. Annabeth, who took it upon herself to teach him ancient Greek. Luke, who still gives him sword lessons, although they are now more of one-on-one sessions. And the girl Luke seems to have heart eyes for. She mostly hangs out around them when they are training. Such as now.

Luke, was not going easy on him, as always. But Percy was still on his feet, meaning he was improving. Or that is what he believed in before Luke managed to tap the back of his knee and make him fall. A frustrated groan leaves him when Luke's sword touches underneath his chin.

“Giving up?” Luke asks and moves the sword away, extending his hand to Percy. He takes it and gets up. Percy can't help but curse a little.

“Don't worry bubble boy, Castellan is just a show-off, you're doing great.” Says the girl, who was sitting on a rock this whole time, nose in some sort of book he did not recognize. Scoff leaves Luke as he puffs out his chest. Percy picks up his sword and turns his whole body to the girl.

“I'm not really sure of that.” He says, hesitant.

“Trust me, once you take on one of the other campers you'll be alright, Lukes is just hardcore when it comes to it.” She says, putting her book down and getting up, stretching her body.

“ How about we give Percy a break. Why don't you fight me? A little spar?” Luke says and walks to the girl, offering a sword to her. Her face twists in disgust and pushes it away. Laugh just leaves his friend before he turns to Percy in the fastest way possible.

“ She claims I'm hardcore, but the truth is, I've never seen her with a sword in her hand,” Luke says, smirking when he hears the girl scoff. Percy's eyes widen.

“You don't fight?” He peeps out, higher than he wanted to. She just shook her head.

“I'm a healer, I don't fight. And I certainly don't play with swords” She says and flicks her hand. Luke rolls his eyes when she sticks her tongue at him.

“How do you survive capture the flag?” Percy asks, he's still not sure he understands the game. He also notices his friend now sitting down and decides to sit down on the floor as well. She, again, shakes her head.

“ I don't play, I stay in the med tent.” She says sitting down next to Luke. Although to Percy it looked like Luke dragged her to him more. He wondered if he could also do that. Just not play. Although Luke probably wouldn't let him. Percy spaces out, not noticing the older campers sitting now a little bit close to anyone's liking, giggling. He also does not notice Annabeth heading their way. But in his defense, she could have been wearing her Yankee cap, he would not know. Her voice snaps him out.

Turns out she was not there to laugh at Percy's poor fighting skills, nor was she there to spy on his progress. Luke was needed, ‘counselor duties’ she said. Completely ignored the fact the other two campers there were technically counselors of their cabins too. Luke told them both he would see them at the bonfire and followed Annabeth back to the camp. Leaving the two forbidden kids alone.

“Ya know,” she says. “I could beat him.”

“What?” Percy turns to her.

“I could beat him up in a sword fight, I just chose not to.” She says getting up, and picking up her book. Percy just gives her a confused look and she sighs.

“ You could too, with time I mean.” She extends her hand to him and helps him up. “We are children of the big three, Percy. There is a reason why they promised to stop having us. You and I, by default, can be the strongest people here. Even someone like me can beat the best swordsman in the last 300 years in his own game. You just need time.”

Till now Percy thought he was the only one. I did not accrue to him that she may understand. Now that he thinks about it, Percy can count on one hand that he has seen her interact with other campers, not counting Luke of course. Percy now realized he wasn't alone in this lonely life of Poseidon's son. She is, kinda, his family now too.

—

“ We know who’s the lighting thief.” Says Percy on the other side of the Iris message. She and Luke were just in Chiron's office discussing what to the with the other campers, as they started to take sides.

“How do you know?” “Who?” They say simutainlusly. She looks at him weirdly for a second, thinking that that's not an appropriate question. Percy and Annabeth ramble about meeting Ares, he says something about Ares knowing who the lighting thief is and protecting him.

“ His favorite daughter. Clarisse is the lighting thief.” Luke finishes Percy's thought.

“Nonsense, Clarisse would not do that.” The girl defends her. She may not like the girl very much, but her being the lightning thief is ridiculous. Luke just gives her a pointed look and promises to tell Chiron. Percy turns to say more, but the iris message ends. Luke looks at her softer than he expected.

“ I don't think we should tell Chiron anything.” He says and takes her into a hug. She wrapped her arms around him and they swayed from side to side. Nodding in agreement.

“ If we go by their deductions, it could be anyone. I mean think about it. You would not be in the clear either. Who else than Hermes's son, the god of thieves, to steal the lighting bold.” She was just saying her thoughts out loud. However, Luke's hug tightens. He narrows his eyes and she can see the anger that shows up whenever someone mentions his father.

“ I did not mean it li th-”

“ Or you, who better than a daughter of Hades, someone who hates both Poseidon and Zeus.” Luke cuts her off. His eyebrow rose, wanting to see her reaction. She sighs and wraps her hands around his neck. Her comment was not meant to hurt him, but she knows she went overboard and decided to stay silent. Her fingers tangled in his hair, tugging a bit. His eyes close for a minute. She went to play with the camp necklace hanging on his neck. When he opened his eyes again, the hatred was gone.

“Come on, I'm sure someone needs medical assistance.” He says and makes his way out of the office.

“The Apollo kids can do that.” She says but follows him nonetheless. A laugh escapes him. They stop at the outside porch. He turns to her with soft eyes, some would say lovesick one.

“Ya know, there is one thing I did steal,” he says. She just gives him a confused look. “ Your heart.”

A smile spreads on his lips as she groans. He turns around and walks down the little porch. She stops him when he gets to the bottom.

“Luke.” He turns to her with a hum.

“Whose side are you on?” She asks him, looking down at him from the top of the stairs. He was hesitant to answer, so she continued.

“ Percy or Zeus?” He just smiles, takes her hand, and helps her down.

“ I don't side with gods.” He says.

—

Before Luke could strike Percy something blocked his sword. When he looks up he sees her. Before he can react, however, a dagger is thrown his way and he dodges it. Looking that way he sees Annabeth take off her cap. This is not how it was supposed to go.

“Annabeth…” He breathes out. They were not supposed to be here. He was supposed to recruit Percy. He was gonna recruit them later.

The girl helped Percy up but kept him behind her scythe. Standing in the way of any danger that could come his way. When Luke turns to her, she points her scythe at him.

“Come on, sweetheart…” he tries, but by the look on her face, he can tell it is not gonna do anything.

“ You need to leave,” She says, her face hard as stone. Luke could not read a single emotion from her. He tries to take a step to her but she swings her scythe at him. He blocks it with ease. He knows she does not want to fight. He knows that the swing was a warning, to keep him away. He knew she would never fight him.

So when he swings it does not come to his surprise she only defends herself. Never playing offense. To others, it may look like they were just dancing, old partners getting together for a spar. It was when Luke felt the wind from the portal he realized she moved him away from his original position. He knew that Annabeth and Percy would tell Chiron right away. She was allowing him to escape.

She stood in front of him. Scythe in a tight grip. Her eyes reminded him of a momma bear defending her cubs. With tears in his eyes, he turns around and leaps into the portal. In his mind, he promises to go back for all of them.

#luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan x fem!reader #luke castellan x reader #percy jackson x fem!reader #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson fic #percy jackson x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan #percy jackson #percy pjo #percy series #luke castellan angst #luke castellan au

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blakeswritingimagines · 10 months

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Poly-dating Jacaerys and Cregan

Dating Jacaerys and Cregan is a unique experience. They are passionate, caring and protective partners, and they are always willing to go the extra mile for those they love. They enjoy having deep conversations and spend a lot of time getting to know you. They are romantics at heart but not afraid to show their playful side. With both of them, you will never have a dull moment.

Cregan is not always easy to live with. He can be cold and calculating. He is a difficult man to know and to love. He requires loyalty and devotion but if you can withstand his moods, his distance and his occasional silences he can be a very dependable and honorable partner.

Dating Jacaerys is an unforgettable experience. He is a kind, generous and loyal person. He is an excellent listener and he values communication and honesty in a relationship. He can also be passionate and spontaneous. His relationship with you is something that he treasures greatly. He is always eager to learn more about you and to spend quality time together.

It’s like walking on a tightrope dating both of them. You have to balance two different relationships and their expectations. Although Jacaerys and Cregan may seem like very different people, at the end of the day, your love for them is genuine. You’ll have to believe that they are both capable of understanding that you have complicated feelings for both of them, and hope they can make peace with that.

In addition to the deep conversations and quality time that you all spend together, one thing that they both really enjoy doing is going on walks together. Whether it’s through the city, around an ancient castle, or even just around town, walking with each other helps them to get out of their heads and experience the world in a brand new way. Spending time with them outside is always magical.

Jace’s love language is physical touch. He enjoys expressing his love and affection through hugs, cuddles, and other expressions of physical closeness with his partners. He also appreciates being shown affection through the same acts, as it gives him a sense of security and warmth in the relationship.

Cregan’s love language is mostly acts of service, though he does also enjoy quality time with his partners. He is always looking for ways to make your lives easier and show you both how much he cares. And, when you all are spending time together, there is nothing that he enjoys more than watching them smile and laugh.

Dating you has an experience like no other. They fell in love with you from the moment they set eyes upon you. Your time together was filled with passion, laughter and romance. They cherish every moment spent with you. You all shared a deep understanding of each other and your relationship became stronger over time. Your time together was also filled with love and affection.

It’s… complicated, to say the least. Having them both at your side has been a great honor and a privilege, but there are times when the attention of one causes the other to feel jealous. It doesn’t help that they’re both so attractive and capable as well. You are a lucky person to have such wonderful suitors, but it can get a bit troublesome at times.

Another great thing about dating both Jace and Cregan is the communication and trust that they promoted. You are all very understanding and accepting of one another, and you all share your thoughts and feelings openly. You’ll feel like you could talk to them about anything, and they would always listen and understand where you are coming from.

Cregan has a particular kink for outdoor sex, knowing that the chance of someone walking in or seeing you both turns both him on.

Jacaerys often likes to spice things up with a few toys, such as handcuffs, blindfolds and vibrators. And of course, they love to add a little role play to the mix, playing out your fantasies of being police officers, spies and other characters that make sex that much hotter.

They enjoy being in control at times as well, and making you behave in certain ways to please them. Cregan can be quite creative in how he disciplines and punishes his partners, sometimes even using different types of pain.

Jacaerys also gets turned on by his partners being flirty with other people, especially if you are teasing and playful in a way that makes him jealous. Cregan likes the idea of using blindfolds, handcuffs and other restraints to heighten his senses and heighten his pleasure.

They both also enjoy playing with your hair, kissing you on your neck, whispering in your ears and just generally being sensitive to your needs.

Being a bit of a voyeur, they enjoy watching you undress and get ready for the day. The anticipation of knowing that they will see you naked later always gets them excited.

They love playing with you in the shower, using the soapy water to make it more fun and teasing.

Jacaerys likes being in control but also enjoys when his partners take command and lead him to pleasure.

They also enjoy watching you play with yourself and tease you as you reach an orgasm, knowing it builds anticipation and makes for an even more intense release.

#jacaerys velaryon #jacaerys velaryon x reader #jacaerys x reader #hotd jacaerys #cregan x reader #cregan stark x reader #cregan stark #cregan x you #house of the dragon #dating would include

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asleep-in-the-keep-sideblog · 5 months

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Asleep In The Keep: A DP x BNHA fic

Summary: Danny and Aizawa talk and bond

Word count: 3284

Chapter 23: You Hungry?

Danny and the Mummy stood awkwardly in the store. Maybe Danny was the only awkward one, considering that the man not only saw him during a low point, but Danny also thought he was his dad in his haze. Danny sighed, just trying to get it out. Everything would be so much easier if the man didn’t help Danny (he would’ve been fine on his own), now he felt like he owed the man some kind of explanation.

‘Oh hey, thanks for helping except totally didn’t need it cause I’m already dead, yay!’ and what, would he just say, ‘oh totally cool and normal, have a good day!’ and leave? The ancients wouldn’t be so kind.

At least he respected Danny’s “no” for a doctor- more than he could say for most of the adults in his life. There still could be something he could do.

“Uhhh you want something to drink?” Danny pointed his thumb behind him at the counter, which he just noticed was covered in frost. He looked at the man and saw the same frost on his arms. Mummy man followed his eyes, and wiped it off, not letting his facial features betray anything. Danny eyed him suspiciously, but let it go. The guy had been the opposite of a threat so far (but that didn’t mean that he won’t be). Danny had to silence that part of him, he didn’t sense any malicious intent from the man. He was probably still strung up from his little episode earlier.

Danny walked behind the counter, entering customer service mode. The man followed behind him but at a distance to make Danny comfortable. He appreciated it.

“I’ll take a black coffee.” Danny eyed him again, but not from suspicion.

“Are you sure?” He chuckled, “You had to choke it down last time, and I haven’t gotten the best reviews since then.”

“I’m sure. I like your coffee. It’s…” He paused, obviously thinking deeply, “like an old fashioned dark roast.” his face didn’t betray him, so Danny decided to believe it.

“If you say so,” Danny rolled his eyes and started cleaning up the mess. “uhhh it’s gonna take me a minute to clean everything up, you can just sit down somewhere” he gestured to tables and booths. Fortunately the tables were screwed into the floor, so they were mostly alright. Same could not be said for the chairs. Danny groaned.

“I got it,” Mummy said, already moving to put the chairs up. There was something casual in the way he said it, like he had known Danny for a while and it was expected.

He did know Danny was Phantom, right? Like, that was what the whole, “I won’t tell anyone,” was about, yeah? Maybe he just hadn’t seen the news? Or maybe he just didn't care? Regardless, Danny would still keep an eye on him. It wouldn’t make sense for his luck to suddenly turn to gold.

Mummy had gotten a few chairs up when he moved to the door. He flipped the ‘OPEN’ sign to ‘CLOSED’.

“Thanks,” Danny called out, but his voice felt too sudden, “I probably would’ve forgotten and then someone would come in, which would be hard to explain.” He scratched his neck.

“You’re welcome,” he nodded, “I’m going to shut the blinds as well, you should try to get the power back on.

��What?”

“The power-”

“No, I heard you. What do you mean it's-oh my god!” Danny facepalm. He blew the power out. “Uhhh just stay there.”

It’s not that Danny trusted the man alone, it was more ‘what more damage could he do?’ than straight trust. He ran out the back to the fuse-box, leaving the door open to see inside. He flipped the switch but the lights remained off. Danny growled in frustration as he kept flipping it on and off, with no results.

“Work you stupid thing!” He felt a zap from his fingers and all the lights turned on. He yanked his hand away and stared at the box. He can think about that later…

The man was closing the last of the blinds by the time Danny walked in. Danny really needed to learn this guy’s name, especially if he was gonna come here often, which seemed to be the case. Instead of asking, Danny turned around to make the coffee.

It was quiet in the cafe, save for the sounds of machines and chairs scraping. There was a tense air that floated between the two, something that wouldn’t exist until it was spoken. After all the chairs were set up, the man just sat at the same table he did last time and pretended to look at the wall. They were both in a secret staring contest.

Danny only wasted 3 cups of coffee until he got one that wasn’t burnt, and walked it over to him. The man took it gingerly, and placed it down, using a napkin as a coaster. He eyed the seat in front of him.

“How about you take a break?” He said. He tried to make his voice sound smooth but it ended up being more forced, like a kid standing at the front of class.

“I still have a lot to do before the end of my shift.” Danny wasn’t lying. Although the chairs and machines were cleaned, there was still a lot of debris on the floor. Coffee grinds crunched under his foot with each step he took.

“You’ve done enough for now, it’s important to take breaks. Otherwise, the people who care about you get worried.” Danny laughed at that. Even when he did have people like that, he would always lie about how much work he was doing to make them feel better. He missed that…

“Do you have people who care about you?” the man asked.

“Not anymore.” Danny sat down across from him, watching his reaction. He nodded, seemingly excepting that answer. “Does anyone care about you?” The question came off harsher than Danny wanted, but there was a smile in the man’s eyes.

“I do,” His face relaxed slightly and his lip twitched into an almost a smile, “I have a husband and a very good friend.” he rubbed his ring, and it clanked on the side of his cup. Danny didn’t say anything in response.

“Do you have a place you’re staying at? Somewhere safe?” Concern leaked into every word. He seemed to be genuine, but it was clear he was hiding something, adults always were. Kids' motivations were easier to understand, especially when they wore their heart on their sleeve like Deku. Adults always wanted something or had an angle.

“Yes. I’m safe.” That is all that he would give him.

“That’s good,” The man watched him and Danny felt studied. He became violently aware that he was still in his ghost form (his true form). He never felt self conscious of it before. In Amity, when they saw Phantom, they just saw the persona, not Danny (except the few who knew). The man in front of him saw Danny completely. It felt violating, like a stranger reading his diary.

Danny closed his eyes and pictured his human self, the life he lived before and was owed. Tingles like limbs falling asleep traveled down his body. When he opened his eyes, the man’s mouth in front of him was open.

Danny shrugged, trying to make it seem like a smaller deal. He had forgotten that people don’t usually show their quirks off in public. He may have just crossed a social norm and made him uncomfortable.

Good, the bitter teenager side of him said. He didn’t know this man enough to care.

Zzz

Tommy replaced Phantom in front of him. Shouta tried to suppress the shock on his face, but honestly how do you react to something like that? It looked like his face was melting off, only to have another face underneath the goo. At least now he knew how Phantom turned into Tommy. Phantom glared at him in a way only teenagers are able. Shouta shut his mouth and took a sip of coffee. He gagged slightly as the flavor hit his tongue. It tasted like spoiled burnt rubber, a slight improvement from last time. Fortunately he was better at hiding his disgust this time since Phantom stopped glaring.

“So,” Shouta wasn’t sure what to say, “Is that a quirk of yours?” He pretended to take another sip of coffee, his eyes scanning the teen over the brim of the cup.

“Yes.” He answered curtly. Shouta didn’t know if the boy was being honest or not, but he had to take it for what it was. If it was true, maybe his quirk was similar to Ectoplasm’s, both being able to manipulate the unique matter. In Ectoplasm’s case, he could only make clones while some of Phantom’s body seemed to be made of it. That would line up with what was said in the reports, at least with the fight last night.

The list of his quirks were so far; ice/cold manipulation and flight, both seen in the Nomu incident. Intangibility, witnessed by Fat Gum. Perhaps some form of invisibility, as detailed in the report when he disappeared. Although the last two may be limited since he doesn’t seem to be using them more. And then as he witnessed today, electrification, similar to Kaminari’s except that it doesn't affect his cognition. That could either be because he’s trained with it more or it's a different strand. And finally, ectoplasm. It was suspected Phantom also had some kind of regeneration quirk based on the reports when Stain cut him, but that could be explained by the ectoplasm. It could be that his base quirk was the ectoplasm since it's a mutation type quirk, and those can't be manipulated, then everything else was jammed in later. The source of his glowing was unknown since Ectoplasm’s quirk didn't seem to do that. He could very possibly have more powers that no one has witnessed yet. All in all, he had almost every power from a ghost, just rammed up to 11.

Shouta could feel a headache coming on.

“You hungry?” Shouta said, partly to distract himself, and partly for the boy’s sake. Using energy based powers, regardless of what they were, took a toll on the body. He was surprised the boy hadn’t blacked out yet. Possible result of quirk endurance training by All For One.

“I’m fine.” At least he was answering Shouta’s questions. At any point, Phantom could get up or kick Shouta out, and yet they both still sit together. There must be some part of him, however deep, that must want help.

“Are you sure, kid?” Shouta eyed him skeptically, “You just used your quirk a lot, you must be feeling exhausted.” On the outside, it almost looked like a quirk awakening. However, based on how causally Phantom was reacting, it must’ve been a common occurrence. That line of thought only brought up painful possibilities.

“What are you, my mom?” Although the kid sounded playful, he was starting to look uncomfortable at Shouta’s questioning. Shouta could understand that. As a teenager, he was annoyed when people asked about his well being. He wasn’t used to it. It felt like they only pretended to care, or that he was being talked down to like a child. How could he get Phantom to understand that he meant it?

“For right now, yes.” He responded dryly. Phantom rolled his eyes at that, which mitigated the tension. Shouta let a small smile travel across his face, but it only lasted a second. “I can pay for it if that’s the issue?” He intentionally didn’t let pity into his tone, in case Phantom might react negatively to it.

“No, it’s not that, uhhh,” Phantom started playing with his gloves again, “I have a…special diet?” He sounded unsure.

Shouta signed, “Alright.” It could be true, or it could be a lie, the result was the same.

“Let me grab something,” Phantom got up, but before he ran off he asked, “You like tuna?” Shouta just nodded, and with that Phantom disappeared behind the counter.

Shouta went back to focusing on his coffee. It was half gone, but even that didn’t ease him. His tongue was numb as a trauma response. It made what he was about to do a little easier. He rose it to his lips, and gulped down the rest. Although he couldn’t taste it, he could still feel it slide down his throat. He shivered.

Phantom returned before long. In one hand, he held a plate, balanced on his palm like they do at a fine dining restaurant, in the other, he limply help onto a metal cylinder. He placed the plate onto the table but kept the cylinder on his lap.

“What’s that?” Shouta asked, glancing at the chunk of metal.

“A tuna wrap. Why? Never seen one before?” Phantom cocked his eyebrow playfully at Shouta. He leaned back in his chair, “That was the only sandwich left, so you have to eat it.”

The kid obviously knew what he meant but was ignoring him on purpose it. Shouta wasn’t gonna get any answers by asking again, so instead, decided to quietly eat the wrap. Phantom was bobbing his head and body while rhombically humming, clearly thinking about something. He would occasionally glance over at Shouta, then look away. Shouta just ignored him. Teenagers were like cats; if they knew you wanted their attention, they wouldn’t give it to you. It had to be on their terms.

Seconds ticked like minutes as Shouta just sat and ate. It wasn’t uncomfortable, Shouta actually enjoyed quiet meals (or where Hizashi would talk and he would listen), but there was some sort of anticipation between then, like winding up a jack-in-the-box.

Phantom decided to act. He placed the mysterious cylinder on the table and started fiddling with something. The cylinder looked to be made of meddled together scrap metal with a few dents on the side. It looked old too, what clearly was once a silver color clouded over time and looked like iron. There were a few patches of color, neon green and black ascended the weird object. The green was a similar color to Phantom’s eyes, or at least in his true-form. Now he sported a more human blue with a slight green ring around the pupil.

It was interesting, although he was clearly looking at the boy, he wasn’t able to imagine him in his other form. If it wasn’t for the weird vibe he gave off or the white streak in his hair, Shoua wasn’t sure he would be able to pick Phantom out in a line up. Some type of hypnosis quirk? No that wouldn’t make sense. In the reports, witness weren’t able to describe him consistantly, even from far away. He would also have to be constantly emitting it, even if he didn’t think people were around. Perhaps it had to due with why he glowed? There were studies about different types of light affecting your brain, that could have something to do with it. Shouta looked at Phantoms face, studying every feature he could. Phantom was still wrapped up in whatever he was doing to notice. Shouta closed his eyes and concentrated on that visual, but it faded away like a blurry after-image. But Phantom wasn’t glowing anymore. Could it be that you only need to see it once to affect you? No wait-

Shouta looked closer at the boy. There was a slight sheen to him, around his outline and especially his eyes. He still glowed, it was just softer now, like a glowstick in a lite room. Is that intentional, or just a result of overloading his quirk earlier? No, it seemed to be intentional. The glow vanished as soon as he changed forms. It could be he uses a less powerful light since he doesn’t need to worry as much about being recognized as “Tommy” than Phantom. It could also help conserve his energy. Smart kid…

There were a few beeps across the table and Phantom smiled. It was too wide and full of teeth. Strangely, it fit the boy in front of him.

“I just had to charge it up a little and, voilà~” The thing whirled to life, lighting up a few buttons in odd places. “This thing hasn’t been charged since, I don’t know, since I woke up?” he shrugged, but his eyes were giddy with excitement. Phantom was talking as if it had been years, rather than the few hours between then and now. “It worked earlier, but I think that was because of the radiat- anyway” He laughed.

What was he gonna say? Before the question could escape his lips, Phantom hit another button and a loud ‘pop’ sounded out, surprising Shouta, and the top part of it opened. Phantom peered into it with one eye and swished it around. It glowed slightly, but Shouta wasn’t sure if it was from the device or the stuff inside. Without wasting another second, Phantom raised it to his lips and chugged it.

“Is that…a thermos?” Shouta was gobsmacked and just watched with an open mouth as the boy kept chugging. It seemed too impractical for everyday use, not if you had to do that everytime. Well, Phantom did say he has a ‘special diet’, maybe it had to be kept at a certain temperature? And all those buttons could be a security measure.

There were a few raids on abandoned warehouses and underground bunkers. They were believed to belong to All For One, and in them were found vats of a green liquid holding Nomu’s in different stages of development. Only 3 were recovered for testing. Perhaps the thermos held that same fluid to keep Phantom stable with so many quirks. How much more does he have left?

After a few gulps of, whatever that was, the color returned to Phantom’s cheeks. Whether that be an indication of his health or quirk power was anyone’s guess. It could’ve been both if what Shouta thought was true.

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Shouta couldn’t help the concern leaking into his voice. Phantom just looked at him, wiping some green goo of his face like it was a milkshake.

“I already told you, I’m fine.” Phantom’s body was immediately tense. How many people had hurt him for him to be so distrustful? “I can take care of myself.” He sat straighter and there was a look of determination in his eyes.

“I know you can.” The boy had already come this far after all, “But you can’t do everything alone.” Shouta slowly reached into his pocket for his card, watching Phantom. The boy seem to almost unravel and his form changed again- not to his true form, but a mix between the two. His hair becoming more wispy, like smoke and his sclera turned an inky black but his pupils kept a touch of blue. He vibrated in his seat. It was like he was trying to hold it in.

Shouta took his hand out of his pocket, showing nothing was in it.

“I think I should go,” Shouta slowly stood up, careful to keep his body langue open and readable to show he wasn’t a threat. Phantom was still sat down, looking at Shouta like a feral animal. He looked so scared in that moment.

“I really do want to help,” But he couldn’t help him like this, he couldn’t force him to accept it.

★

“I know you do,” Danny said to an empty room.

But the man wasn't there.

#danny phantom #dp #danny fenton #dp fic #dp cross #dp crossover #dp x bnha #mha #boku no hero academia #bnha #asleep in the keep #aizawa #mha aizawa #bnha aizawa #aizawa shouta #minor angst

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aleksanderscult · 5 months

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I think i remember leigh writing something along the lines of that 'wanted best for his people and he was a tyrant' etc, basically a nuanced view. Do you have it? I don't remember where it was.

I think you mean this, right?

It's from her acknowledgements on "Demon in the Wood" (graphic novel). If this is not what you mean, tell me.

She always gives a very nuanced characterization about him which makes me mad because I don't understand her point of view for him at all. It only confuses me more.

"I want the readers to make their assumptions about him. I don't want to affect their view of him". Look. If you give your own opinion of him which will consist of ten pages then it's going to be the reader's problem if they want to "adopt" your view or not. Also, your readers are not stupid. They can distinguish their own assumptions FROM your own opinion. And if they can't, then they're not fit to read books and complicated characters. It's called critical thinking. You take an opinion, read it, see if it makes sense with the canon we have from him and make your judgement. Easy peasy.

Now about that note. I agree that Aleksander isn't purely a hero or a villain. He sees himself as the hero while Alina and the others see him as the villain. We, the readers, mostly see him as something in-between and, at the same time, something entirely different. A human that has lived for too long and as a result of his immortality and tragic events he has reached a point of desperation that make him act relentlessly against the corrupt monarchy and in favor of a persecuted group of people and a country that he has lived and loved for almost all of his life.

Therefore, his characterization is (I believe) something more than the archetype of "good hero" and "bad villain".

Is he a survivor? Yup. In all the meaning of the word.

Does he want safety for his people? Isn't that why he didn't give up on life already? It was the ambition that drove him the most and kept his heart beating.

Is he a tyrant? I think that term needs to be studied. Back in Ancient Greece this word had different meanings.

1) A ruler who has usurped a legitimate ruler's sovereignty. The Darkling did that (good for him).

2) A person who rules without law, using extreme and cruel methods against both his own people and others. If Leigh means that then I'll have to disagree. First of all, we didn't see enough of the Darkling's rule to know if he was that cruel (unless she knows something we don't). And even from what we saw, it seems the word doesn't apply to him. He was sitting on the throne and listening to reports, signing paperwork, making an alliance with his enemy to feed his army. So where it the "cruel methods against both his own people and others" came from? He didn't have a beef with otkazat'sya that lived in Ravka and he certainly didn't want to hurt his own Grisha (unless they committed treason). So Leigh just threw that word in like it was nothing.

And, lastly, he brutalizes and exploits those who trust him most.

Brutalizes. Hmm....

Genya: she committed treason so he punished her.

Sergei: he committed treason so he punished him.

Baghra: committed treason so he punished her (and very lightly actually).

Yeah.. right...umm. Look. If he had attacked them or killed them for literally no reason then I would say "Yes, he brutalized them". But there was always a reason for his actions against them. He didn't see Genya on board and said "I'm bored. Gonna ruin your face 'cause I've got nothing else to do".

And he exploits them.

To exploit someone is this:

If my memory serves me correct, his soldiers (his Grisha) knew what they were serving him for. And he didn't use them for something completely selfish like "gaining power for myself because I like it" but he needed power to make Ravka better. So he didn't do it for selfish reasons.

The one instance where the term "exploit" may apply is when he gave Genya to the Grand Palace knowing what a pervert the King was. But then again, wasn't the Queen's responsibility to keep her safe?

#god I've missed analyzing #I need to finish my “Demon in the Wood” meta as well #also it's kinda funny how I have literally every piece of the Darkling's mention from Leigh's interviews etc.#the amount of search I've done for him is crazy lmao #anon asks #the darkling #pro darkling #aleksander morozova #pro aleksander morozova #leigh bardugo #grishaverse #shadow and bone #grishaverse trilogy #genya safin #baghra morozova #sergei beznikov

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pigeontheoneandonly · 1 year

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Would you be willing to expound on the Kaidan/Anders similarity? I’d never really considered it and would love to hear your ideas 💛

I wish I had a dollar for every time I’ve started this post over the years, and abandoned it unfinished when it got out of hand. But I’ll try my best to be succinct.

At its core, the reason why I find Kaidan and Anders to be similar is that both are centrally driven by profound compassion, and preyed upon by the consequence of profound compassion, which is an absolute intolerance of injustice.

Let’s dispense with the superficial details of their arcs. Both are outcasts in their societies due to their unique capabilities, feared, loathed, and used as tools in the same breath. Both have chosen to turn those abilities towards the service of others. When we meet Anders in Awakening, he is literally trying to survive, to hide from the templars and maintain his own freedom. When we meet Kaidan in ME1, he is metaphorically trying to survive, to keep his head down and be a “normal” marine, in hopes this will let him escape the stigma of being a biotic. Anders declares to you “this is a place of healing”; Kaidan confides that he won’t use his abilities against sentient beings. Both see their feelings harden and their willingness to accept more extreme methods expand as their enemy’s power grows.

Even their childhoods are similar. Anders was obviously taken as a child and imprisoned in a mage tower, but I’m not sure many people realize BAaT was founded when Kaidan was nine years old. Though it’s mostly assumed Kaidan was taken to BAaT as a teenager, since he’s in the first known exposure group, there’s a case that he was actually taken much younger. Regardless, both characters were strongly marked by their early experiences. Anders escapes to the Wardens because the tower is so awful it makes that option look good. Kaidan escapes to the military because it’s one of the few ways he can actually make use of his abilities, even if he has no illusions this will allow him to escape surveillance (“might as well get a paycheck for it”).

In both their romances, they view their partner with a sense of wonder, and as a grounding point, making them feel safe and like they have somewhere to belong. There is a sense that they are extending a trust that’s been buried a long time, which makes it all the worse if their partner then chooses to leave them later. But both will stand by their principles even if it costs them their partner.

Anders’ anger has been examined by the fandom at length, but we say relatively little about Kaidan’s anger and the ways it changes and hardens him, on Horizon, and especially through the arc of ME3. He clearly understands and believes that the reapers are sentient beings and even expresses curiosity about them in ME1, but by the end of ME3, he’s fully willing to wipe them out because of the evil acts they’ve committed. It takes a real act of effort for him to step back and try to understand Shepard’s role in Cerberus and reconcile that with what he knows about Cerberus. His sense of injustice is twisting his perspective every bit as much as did Anders’, but it’s somewhat easier for us as players to sympathize with someone fighting against an ancient race of machines vs. someone facing down a religious institution that has far more parallels to real life situations.

(I also believe that if Kaidan were Subject Zero, the comparison would be that much more obvious. Imagine that the side mission in ME1 where you rescue the hostage, Chairman Burns, instead becomes Subject Zero!Kaidan’s recruitment mission. Imagine a Kaidan that much more deeply impacted by trauma, who has made it his life’s work to help other biotics. Starts to sound a bit familiar, right?)

#kaidan alenko #anders #mass effect #dragon age

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roydeezed · 1 year

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One Piece-Chapter Round-Up(Chapter 1085)

Holy hell, my heart was in my throat the entirety of that chapter. There was such a sinister atmosphere engulfing the first part of this chapter. It really felt like stumbling upon something we shouldn’t have and the fact that we were so close to learning the truth was exhilarating. I don’t want to get into spoilers so I’ll put my more in-depth discussion below the cut. For now check out Franky and the cute turtles! It feels like forever since Franky’s been on one of these cover stories. To be honest I can’t remember the last one with him or Brook. But Franky’s defeated a crab trying to eat the baby turtles and is shepherding them to the sea. I swear that years after it ends people are going to find connections between these Cover Pages and details we haven’t found out. I say that because these baby turtles having to fend for themselves reminds me of how Franky had to fend for himself after being abandoned by his parents. I’m a freak about One Piece so I could go on about how I love Franky’s emotionality and how this reminds me of Tom taking care of a young Cutty Flam but let’s get to what we really should be talking about below the cut!

To save some time and space let’s just say I was very generous with the use of expletives during this entire first part because it was that harrowing. Right away we start off with Imu referring to themselves in the third person while talking in an older style of speech. They talk about how the D clan were their ancient enemy. Coba also says how Imu was the name of one of the 20 Kings. If Imu isn’t Lili, which I still consider a slight possibility, then the fact that Imu cursed her mistakes gives way to a pretty clear narrative. Imu was the one that killed Lili for her mistakes. And if I’m trusting the clues through the dialogue and trusting that cultural differences and translation haven’t obscure anything, then Imu is a child who was given Ope Ope No Mi surgery and has been alive since the Void Century. Imu being alive since the Void Century comes from their formal olden day speech and being young comes from the fact that they refer to themselves in the third person and that it would be along the lines of Oda’s comedy and the parallels we’ve seen so far. Though it could be that Imu thinks of themselves so highly that they refer to themselves in the third person, I’m sticking to Imu being a kid cause it’s hilarious. And finally Imu being given the surgery also suggests one more part of the narrative. That combined with the fact that Imu doesn’t directly condemn Lili, instead wondering at her motives, makes me believe that Lili was the one that sacrificed herself to give Imu eternal life in a show of fealty. At least that’s how I see it playing out. And I can definitely be wrong as last chapter I was speculating that Lili was actually Imu.

As we see after Imu asks Cobra the question, Cobra admits that he knew he was probably going to die, as he was only holding on to a small sense of hope that was not gonna be the case. It also seems like Lili was a secret co-conspirator to the D clan as Imu uses this moment to confirm that she indeed was a D. Now getting to the D’s. This gives us a lot of vital clues. But I think the most hope-affirming one is this: It’s not an inherited Name. Bear with me here. What does that mean? I think that the D is a chosen name. And the evidence in this chapter towards it is that there was a seemingly cute but mostly irrelevant flashback to Ace giving Sabo a D in his name. Sure, it was to show that he connected the dots but I think it’s for a deeper purpose. And the other piece of evidence backs that up. And that is that Imu didn’t know that Lili had a D in her name! Despite seeming to be comrades in arms! And the fact that Blackbeard was called a false D. And the stated fact that the D refers to the enemies of the Celestial Dragons. Do you understand? The D isn’t a family name. It’s a name that you take on when you oppose the Celestial Dragons. It’s been there all along! I literally stumbled across this while writing but I believe this wholeheartedly.

And speaking of the D itself. I’ve always been of the mind that it’s been meaning Dawn. Cause think about this. Raftel was actually Laughtale. That clears up any illusion that the D must stand a Japanese word. And then the DON sound effect from the drums of Liberation. Just as how “Laugh” was obscured by being “Raf”, so too, at least in my opinion, is the “Dawn” obscured by “DON”. And obviously Romance Dawn being the title of the first volume and chapter is a huge clue. Alongside that is the idea of passing dreams down being similar to waiting for the dawn to rise. It fits the theme. And not only that. But the sun and moon imagery. The moon, being the lunarians and the kozuki and the minks and many others, who watch over the world and wait as the sun-coded warriors of D, such as the Sun God Nika in Luffy, bring about the dawn. I had previously thought the Dragons and the Gorosei and Imu represented the Moon and the people descended from there, but seeing the hellish and demonic imagery of this chapter makes me believe they represent the darkness and Hell itself. And seeing as we haven’t yet ventured back into a Impel Down like arc, I can see an arc in the future where it utilizes that.

A few asides before we move on. First of all, the way the Gorosei literally looked like giant demons with their barbed tails, Oni and Akuma like silhouettes makes me think the naming of the Devil Fruits is a misdirect. The dragons have already manipulated history to obscure the true name of the Gomu Gomu No Mi so why couldn’t they do something similar for Devil Fruits? Maybe these powers come from the sacred treasure of Marejois. Some sort of parallel to the apples in the Garden of Eden? Another thing is that thinking of the Lunarians also brought up some ideas. While they are Moon-Coded, their name literally derives from Luna, they also wield the fire of the suns. I wonder if they were the mech pilots of the giant robots that were on Egghead as they required a lot of energy. Or if they were used as energy sources like some Omelas type thing. It would certainly fit with what I think happened to Kuma and his people.

Anyways, I know it seems like this giant figure in the back crawling down the throne in the panel above is Imu but it’s actually one of the Gorosei. As you can see there are two silhouettes on either side, and when the five are shown again, the giant figure become the second one from the left in the panel below. Also we can see the snail capture the photograph that we eventually see in the newspaper.

I wonder if they have something to do with the Giant Shadows at the end of Thriller Bark. Finally, let’s move on to the end. Wapol finds out the truth and saves Vivi, who was captured by CP0. It seems they were carrying out Imu’s orders, who was not only motivated by whatever they saw in the frozen chambers but also their personal goals.

That brings us to the end. Please let me know what you think of my theory that the D is a taken name because right now, that’s the only thing on my mind. Another thing I want to mention is that it reinforces the idea of inherited will and dreams. And spits in the face of fate and dynasties. Because Luffy chose the will of the D by following Shanks, not because he was Dragons son or Garps Grandson, those two oppose the Dragons their own way. It would also make sense why the Gum Gum Fruit chose him. He chose to oppose the order of the world by being kind. I’m still reeling from this chapter so I’ll end it here but I might reblog in the future if I have anything to add.

#op 1085 #one piece chapter 1085 #one piece 1085 #one piece #manga recap #manga discussion #manga #one piece spoilers

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naffeclipse · 1 year

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Hoooooooooooooo boy! That chapter huh! So here we go!

(Oh god I'm looking at my notes and I'm already afraid of how long this is gonna be fgkdjhñjgf they're usually like half of this)

Ok, ok so! I was already hooked before even starting to read because of how last chapter ended! The way they were all mostly silent as they fled from the motel. That certainly was a situation for everyone involved. Aaah I was having so many feelings at seeing the boys shaken by what happened with the seal! And so was y/n since they were concerned and wanted to reassure them that they would protect them from being taken away.

(As a sidenote it's a bit funny but heartwarming too, because for so much of this fic the hunter has made an effort to calm them whenever they (mistakenly) thought the boys were scared and now that there is a situation where they are actually anxious about something, they can genuinely do just that. Say they will protect them.)

And ooo the boys are very confident that FEI wouldn't be able to control them, but it seems a bit reckless to be dismissing the hunter's concerns so quickly given the spook they just went through. I'm sure their experience as an ancient being has made them sure of certain things, but just like y/n's recently got upside down and all their convictions shaken, maybe they shouldn't be so quick to discard the possiblity that FEI has some more tricks in their sleeve. If there's a seal that can prevent them from touching it, what else could be out there right?

And ohoho, we got a bit more info on the salt's effect! Of course, I already know what happens at the end of the chapter, but I'll still put some of my thoughts as I read haha. And here I was wondering if by learning of Sun's inability to cross the salt, but Moon being able to, then a possible loophole for the vow could exist. Because technicaly they can cross the salt, just not all the time, and so they would be able to go there by technicality. Although that's a bit irrelevant now kjfhgfjds

But speaking about vows and trust, aaah the way they wake them up! Because they promised they would not leave them wondering again! Though ouch, when the hunter pleads with them not to go after the hunters. It must hurt a bit, having their vow being questioned like this, but they understand why that is. And y/n understands that it must hurt, because they apologize quickly. It makes sense though, since the constant lies from before must be a nagging thought even if it is unwanted.

I gotta say, I love the bit of wholesomeness you threw at us right before crap hit the fan XD Freddy’s description was so sweet. He certainly has that politeness about him and the fondness with which his chapter was written is plain to see. Henry really had a good time hanging out with Freddy! Also I love that this gives y/n ideas to study their own demon later on, like using the voicebox to hear their real voice. They want to know if there is something they have been saying that they haven’t been able to hear and that’s pretty cute X3

And then…

Oh, as soon as that brief call from Vanessa ended I had a suspicion of what might happen next. The boys were gone, specifically to eat a heart, the hunters were in their mind, and the sounds through the receiver were terrible. Doubts, doubts, doubts. Of course to us readers it’s plain to see that it wasn’t the boys even before cutting to their perspective. We know Vanessa has been possessed and now the hunter highly suspected it too. But stuff has barely had a chance to calm down, the book mentioned the ability of demons to be cunning and play the long game, and though y/n desperately wants to trust the boys, there’s been a salt shaker full of doubts accompanying them since after the reveal.

(Sidenote: “Your lovely, tired face” You know you overdo it constantly when tired is added to the list of your descriptors gfkjhdñs)

Ahhh Eclipse’s brief section makes the ones that follow hurt so much more. They’re reflecting how y/n will trust them. Does trust them. They’re so hopeful and tentatively happy hhhhhhhhhhhh So when they see all the signals that something is wrong. That they are being regarded so carefully, just ouch. The “What are you afraid of?” Pain. Pain because just last chapter y/n assured them desperately that they weren’t afraid of them. But now it feels like they are, but Moon asks because they remember that, and it must be confusing and that fear that their heart is scared of them lingers.

And oh gosh, not surprised that no hunters survived that but darn it, of course Singh is the first one to be found. Since the trio’s appearance I had a small feeling that oh no something will happen, but I had the hope that after last chapter’s escape maaaaybe they would get to walk away (mainly Singh, sorry I got attached gfdhsgñ). But oof. What a gruesome end for all of them. Cafaro even was dismembered and a hundred percent sure that happened before he killed her. It really highlights how sadistic the cornfield demon is.

But ooooough, the heartbreak of what happens next! I have to wonder how orchestrated it all was, because dang, that notification calling attention to the phone though. Right were all the ugliness of the consumed hearts is on display, basically triggering a bad flashback for them. All factors combined made such a recipe for disaster. And how could it not? Reading Henry’s book, it would seem clear that each demon seems to specialize on eating a single type of organ and so far none of them have been repeated. It’s Eclipse’s word against the evidence, and given their history their word doesn’t hold up to much yet. (But it will after this, I think. Even when everything points at them, the truth is the truth.)

And oh. Oh, I say!

“a warning echoes your name in betrayal” That right there? Hurts.

Because god. Y/n is so sure they have been betrayed again themselves. They’re feeling used and stupid and gullible. They think the boys are trying to save face to continue fooling them (even if they actually cared a little). And so they fool them right back. Y/n thinks they are playing along with the demon’s game, and use their care (which they no longer think is genuine) for them to trick them. And what a way to do it! They know when they are vulnerable, the boys’ response is to comfort them. And I just knew they were scheming when they admitted out loud to being scared. Because, if I remember correctly, they’ve never done that before. Yes, they have expressed that they do feel fear when they hunt, but always they try to put a brave face during the fact. They hate looking weak and incapable. They’re always the one swearing that it will be fine and they’ll take care of things. And internally that’s their mindset right now. They use what they know about the cryptid to set a trap. They bait them and they trap them.

And oh!! I know it’s a tense moment but I felt a bit validated when they pointed out precisely what stood out to me when they killed the hunter back then. The fact that it was right after they got told about their encounter with the other demon. It does seem like a very damning detail after all. And they plead that they never meant for this to hurt them, but the hunter is now panicking with hurt and trauma induced panic and definitely not in a place to want to listen to them.

(Sidenote: “You are abysmal” oooo that seems like such a low blow because it’s precisely the word the boys have used before. When they asked to stay and prove they are not. That they are not a complete monster. And right here y/n tells them that no, they are)

So! What I said last time about them fearing being the hunted ones, huh? They did get to experience it in the end. And in such a raw way. Unable to flee or fight back even if they wanted to. A paper and a couple of words away from ceasing their lengthy existence. Helplessness in a way they have likely never experienced, even with the seal, because then they could still move their vessel. Sun and Moon stared at death in the face and it was crying.

But hhhh if it was their lies and casual violence that nearly brought their demise, it was their love that spared them. In every act of caring, in every moment they spent together with the hunter. Because they love them back. As much as it makes them ashamed right now they do. And it must be such a conflicting realization when they were this close to an exorcism, but I can only imagine what they saw in their face. Grief at the idea of killing them? Their steely look suddenly falling apart as soon as they looked at them? Aaaaaagh! And then the warning

(Sidenote: oh I’m just thinking of how long they’re gonna have to sit there with the corpses! I know it’s probably not much to them, and their mind is mostly occupied with worrying about how to fix this mess, but I can’t help being curious about it. They probably never lingered long around any other victims, theirs or otherwise. Admittedly, half a day is not long for a demon who has lived as long as them, but as the hours pass I wonder if they’d turn their thoughts to the fallen hunters for a bit.)

(Sidenote to the sidenote: Now they sit in a heartless room. Both physically and metaphorically :( )

Oof, and then we cut back to y/n. Facing the nightmare, but in no shape to do so. But they are very objective oriented, and so when Vanessa is right there and she needs help and they can do something about it, they push everything aside to focus. They find their strength in that. But oh gosh. Their kind heart might be one of the things that saved the boys, but right now it’s what betrayed the hunter. They saw Vanessa in distress and couldn’t resist running to her aid even when they were not finished with the incantation.

And then, after the episode triggered by the photo, now they see what was supposed to remain just a nightmare become a reality right there. And of course the nightmare recognizes them back. Aaaaaa when he licks the scar!!! Like, I didn’t know it was possible to rub salt over a closed wound! But then again, it never really closed in a way, did it? And now as they stare at their night terror in the flesh, now instead of (or added to) the regret of having failed as a hunter in their own eyes, there is also the regret of what they did to Eclipse, right at that moment when there is nothing they can do to fix it.

Ahhh, I was always so sure that in that first encounter the demon meant to possess y/n!! The way you describe it if I remember correctly, was that they felt trapped by those eyes and it seemed to me more like losing themselves rather than being about to die. Of course it could be he was just prolonging it, but I wonder if there is a certain affinity that would make a demon consider a human a good vessel.

(Sidenote: again very tense moment during the possession, but I was also so excited to see the reference to Help Wanted, with the locked door and the chains and the darkness as they were possessed. Even the bit about everything turning purple when it happens in game!)

Ok, ok, I also just have some rambling about predictions and stuff about the future! That seal is definitely not gonna stay in that pocket just doing nothing. I wonder if they would use it on themselves to trap the demon and guarantee an exorcism where it can’t escape, or maybe the cornfield demon somehow learns about it and uses it against the boys to hinder them when they eventually arrive (though this one seems less likely to me). And following that train of thought, I’m wondering how the exorcism might go (if there is one) to free y/n. They are certainly strong-willed, but also very quick to deem themselves as expendable to get the job done. (Twice regarding the vampires for example, willing to let the vampires drink from them to kill them with holy water even if it could kill them and also when they talk about finishing themselves if they were to turn into a vampire. Also once when just after the reveal, they contemplated not letting Eclipse have a fresh human vessel.)

Also, I’m just so unsure about what might happen to Vanessa! She has spent the most amount of time with this demon. He might kill her, but it’s just as likely that he would abandon her there. She’s dehydrated and famished, and physically weak. If he were to leave her there, it would likely be with the hope that she will die to the elements. Though it would certainly provide a moment for the boys to find her. And Vanessa has a lot of valuable info on this demon’s modus operandi.

And ahhhh I’m also just thinking about the aftermath! Y/n probably desperately wants to apologize to them. But with their self-doubt and how they told them to stay away, they might think they will not come for them. So when everything is said and done, when Eclipse does come for them, I can see a lot of teary exhausted apologies and maybe, just maybe a new vow being made.

This last part was so scattered but gjkdhñg lots of thoughts as always hehe

Awesome chapter as always, Naff! Thanks for the pain, looking forward to more! X3

And that’s it from me! I am so excited for the resolution! I can’t believe we are almost there!

Chaotik, I am spinning you around, ahhh! I have been rereading this over and over, and I am smooching your big brain *mwah*

One thing I have to talk about because you pointed out (and so far the only one to have done so) is the moment Y/N said "I'm scared" because as you put it, "...they have expressed that they do feel fear when they hunt, but always they try to put a brave face during the fact. They hate looking weak and incapable. They’re always the one swearing that it will be fine and they’ll take care of things."

That really is them using the boys' care against them, as at this point, Y/N intends to use it to play along, letting the boys' think Y/N is still so gullible and frail (much to their own chagrin) and distracting Sun with their sudden need for comfort. Y/N has never admitted to being scared in the middle of an encounter or otherwise gruesome scene. This was entirely about trapping a demonic cryptid in a salt circle.

I'm really happy you noticed that! Y/N is still a cryptid hunter and they are intelligent and cunning when it comes to their craft. Of course, they were oblivious to their dear friend being a cryptid, but now that there's little doubt in their mind that Eclipse just slaughtered fellow cryptid hunters? Y/N can't let them go. Y/N was on the hunt, they just couldn't finish it ;-; (and for the best, it would turn out hehe)

Thank you so much! I look forward to your comments and I love your analysis! I'm so excited for the ending ♥ Thanks, babe!

#chaotikanvas #cryptid sightings spoilers #moots #*mwah*

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the-kittylorian-writes · 9 months

Text

"In Dreams, We Wake" (2/?)

Fandom: Star Wars - The Mandalorian

Rating: Teen and Up Audiences Type: Multi-chapter Status: Ongoing Warnings: Season 3 spoilers, graphic depictions of violence (some chapters), ptsd, subjects on grief & mourning Story Summary: Two years have passed since Ragnar lived the creed without his father. The boy keeps a facade, hiding his true nature as he leads a double life.

Between his roles as Mandalorian apprentice and heir to an ancient House, Ragnar is willing to weave through a complex path that haunts him and the Vizsla name—if only his father were there to see him again. Perhaps, Paz Vizsla will.

The question remains for Ragnar: What would he do and how far would he go for the father he loves?

Read on AO3 (w/ author's notes) or here:

Chapter Summary: Ragnar remembers his life before Paz Vizsla came to his rescue, and the time after Mandalore’s reclamation. Axe and Ragnar make their way to a final stop before returning to Mandalore.

Chapter Warning: Child endangerment; child fatality (only mentioned) ~Chapter 2: Of Agony and Joy~

Ragnar never trusted strangers. He had been raised from infancy to be wary of the world outside of the family in which he had been born. There would always be people watching, his birth mother kept reminding him. Those people wished their family ill and wanted them to neither succeed nor prosper.

He had always been a self-sufficient and self-possessed child. He led the typical life of a youngster whose parents were high profile on his home planet; they were often dreadfully busy, and a few relatives would pay visits to watch over him, but with a detached manner Ragnar understood. It was hard to keep emotional attachments with someone whose life precariously hung on a proverbial string.

They said he had an older brother, kidnapped for ransom but was killed as he tried his best to escape. Ragnar had never met his older brother, who was but eight standard years when he perished. Two months after the tragedy, Ragnar was born.

Ragnar was the only child ever since. There was father and mother: doting, then absent, then doting again, in a maddening cycle which Ragnar eventually grew accustomed to. He decided not to begrudge his parents. He knew about their lifetsyle; he’d read about it in holobooks, sometimes articles so well-hidden in the archives—fatal harm placed on families such as his, mostly politically motivated, oftentimes—and to Ragnar’s own horror—with successful attempts. His older brother unfortunately was testament to that.

The world for Ragnar consisted of his tutors, sports on the HoloNet where he remotely played with other politicians’ children, and rare, heavily guarded trips with either of his parents but never both of them at once. He was always under supervision. He had never any real time by himself. There was always security detail with him, and they had refused to play with him despite some of them being surprisingly young, barely into their twenties.

So Ragnar played alone or with the kids through the HoloNet projector.

He had learned to only trust himself. He couldn’t even bring himself to trust his own parents. Everyone else in their household all had a job to do. They were paid well and did their work as they should, eyes glazed and almost unseeing, faces faintly smiling at a young boy who ran through the vast halls with no reprimand. Ragnar was ignored for the most part.

One day, Ragnar just developed a sensing.

He was six years old when he first felt it—a fleeting touch like a brush of a finger on one’s shoulder to get their attention. He knew how people felt somehow; he knew how sincere they were or how contrived, how happy they were or miserable or just plain nonchalant. They never had to speak to him or even glance at him. Sometimes, they don’t even have to be in the same room as him.

His seventh and eighth year of life passed by rather uneventfully, which gave the household a temporary yet false sense of peace. Perhaps they were no longer terribly important political targets. His parents adopted a lower profile afterwards, convinced that that was the solution, and their presences were only felt by the masses through their philanthropies.

The ninth and tenth year resumed with tumult. They had to move districts, and finally, they were as good as isolated—a mansion hidden in the mountains, accessible only by small hovercraft. Ragnar’s sensing returned again, and he knew very well that being far off from civilization made little difference. In fact, they were more vulnerable here, hidden away from the main city where all manner of help were situated should they direly need it.

Mother and father were properly convinced once more that this was how they would lead their lives until at least Ragnar’s sixteenth birthday. If the boy wanted, he could take on their line of work, or think of another one—but it had to be prestigious.

Ragnar didn’t know much about the Galactic War which ended a few years after he was born. He knew little of the outside world, so to speak, and he’d rather remain ignorant of it. At the back of his mind, whether his parents conceded to it or not, he would never choose their line of work. He wanted to form a different worldview for himself when he grew older. How his parents conducted themselves—none of that appealed to Ragnar. He had been left alone for most of his life and he did what he wanted despite dozens of watchful eyes upon him. He wished to do away with those overly vigilant and hard gazes. Perhaps he can be a pilot. He’d fly away from there, take all manner of hyperspace lanes and just disappear.

He had only trusted himself—and he wondered if he would ever learn to trust another. The servant droids didn’t count.

Until another, much larger inexplicable tragedy one day, a large warrior covered in armor from head to toe rushed into Ragnar’s horizon.

A sensing overcame Ragnar then. It was as if he knew of the warrior before, coming from another place and time—warm and whole like a blanket of light; yet everything else about the warrior was unfamiliar.

The sensing had told him that he could trust that armor-clad warrior.

Ragnar hadn’t known about the Force. He had also never known of Mandalorians until then. While he knew of the latter far sooner than he’d ever guessed, knowledge of the former came much later, and in quite unexpected ways. *

It was sometime on 10 ABY when Paz Vizsla needed to depart the Glavis ringworld to find others of their scattered Covert.

It had been a year since many among their Tribe had lost their lives in the desolate sewers of Nevarro, swarmed by overwhelming numbers of Imperial troops—uncanny for a mere Remnant. The Tribe were skilled warriors who had grown rusty, drowning in a routine which dulled their senses into complacency when they should have been eternally vigilant. The darkness of Nevarro’s subterranean tunnels wore them all down, save for Din Djarin who had become their sole provider. Only Din fully saw the light of day, and he had been gone many cycles at a time.

Paz was among those tasked to protect and evacuate the Covert should disaster strike. Fellow Mandalorians who had fallen in that siege were adamant that Paz should be their last resort. Let him conserve his strength and munitions for when the time came to unequivocally defend their little foundlings. Let Paz be the white-hot fire raining upon the enemy with his ruthless blaster canon as the foundlings found more avenues of escape and areas of safety.

In the end, things didn’t go as planned. Half the Covert was decimated, and their numbers were already piteously small to begin with. The surviving half needed to split into tinier groups to drift across the galaxy, hide on other worlds and wait for word. The Armorer had only been Paz’s constant companion during those prolonged days of grief which numbed him completely for a moment. No prayer or incantation stifled the pain in his soul, and he spent those long months tracking down the rest of the Covert and keeping tabs on them once they were found.

All he needed to do was go to them, and they would relocate to a new home together and re-establish everything they had lost and more.

This is the Way.

Paz had received a tenuous signal from one of the Mid Rim planets, a signal closely known only in the Covert, uniquely belonging to them and understood by fellow Tribe members. It was a more ancient mode of disseminating a signal, a response to when Paz himself carefully issued out a call—all is clear; we can recoup.

The signal was weak and it came and went; Paz nearly dismissed it as a trap, but no one among the Remnant could have known of their Tribe’s mode of communication—unless the worst happened and they were compromised all over again.

That was Paz’s job—to determine the weight of such situations, and how pursuing them was worth the already limited resources he had left.

He had been hardwired from a young age not to doubt himself or quail at times when his judgment was needed the most. You are a Vizsla, you are a Vizsla—those voices wouldn’t go away. He was indeed a Vizsla, one of the bloodline sent to the Tribe and hidden away as a small child by the Armorer’s own clan. Paz made a clear pact to himself that he would be among the better Vizslas.

The Vizsla bloodline carried with it a plethora of curses as well as blessings. There had only been the bad Vizslas, and the worse Vizslas. If one heard of a good Vizsla centuries after the passing of Tarre Vizsla, that was because they had found themselves disavowed or forgotten in the thick of the Mandalorian Civil Wars. A better Vizsla was even rarer… and since Paz realized he was possibly the only Vizsla left, now was a great time as any to be and remain the better of his bloodline.

Three times Paz needed to switch ships to leave a cold trail faster, and to mislead anyone who’d attempted to follow him. He was painstakingly discreet, and his bulk and disposition presented him with measurable challenge. Sometimes he pretended that he was a simpleton and a mute, and communicated with broken Basic typed on a datapad to strangers who can sell him clues. He walked around like a cripple or a hunchback to further cement his pretense.

Anyone who’d undermined the hulking Mandalorian with attempts on his welfare for the beskar on his back would otherwise lose limb or life. On that note, Paz made sure as much as possible that he did not expose himself as Mandalorian. Din was still out there, supposedly the last among their people who walked the galaxy. He was always hunched and hooded when out in the open, a mountain bathed in quiet shadow.

Paz sacrificed much of his dignity to track the last of the scattered groups down. When this was over, he thought, he would need a long conversation with the Armorer for guidance, for help in restoring much of his self-respect. He would give all for the Creed, and if his own self-esteem was the price, so be it. But he should never throw it completely away.

You are a Vizsla, rang the incessant voices within him. You are a Vizsla.

Paz had stopped to camp in a more isolated section of the planet before resuming his search. Technically, he had found the signal’s source, which was a distance from where he’d decided to land, away from a densely populated space port and prying eyes. He was down to a single cloaking mechanism. If he were to squeeze it dry, he would do so wisely.

The hulk of a man was spent, exhausted, lonely… he endured it all. He wondered for a moment how Din could have handled his own circumstances, and empathy hit Paz like a slap. Din returned to Glavis without his foundling. Din had been banished as an apostate. The silver-clad Mandalorian left without protest, lost and alone in spirit. Paz fought a pang of guilt, but Din had broken the Creed, after all.

On the other hand, Paz had lost his claim over an ancestral weapon through ritual combat—the Darksaber, and it remained in Din’s possession. Bitterness, shame, self-pity, a speck of rage and silent weeping—and it was over. Paz moved on from that defeat, and he took his mind to more pressing matters.

That night on this Mid Rim planet, the Mandalorian lit a low, companionable fire. He warmed some canned rations and ate quietly, lifting his helmet as he shoved spoonfuls of shredded meat and sauce into his belly. He couldn’t even take the buy’ce off entirely. Much of him had turned into hyper-alertness and nerves.

He was at the outskirts of a thick forest, populated by various non-sentient wildlife and an endless canopy of trees. Paz leaned upon a trunk of an old tree and he tilted his visor up; the fog had veiled everything over and he lost sight of the treetops from where he sat.

His cloak doubled as a sleeping bag; Paz had stomped out the fire, and in full darkness save for the myriad of stars peeking through the fog, the large Mandalorian found himself drifting to half-sleep. His breathing slowed down, his heart beat at a comfortable pace… for a precious instant, he was relaxed.

However, just as he had finally closed his eyes—he soon opened them with a start as his world was rocked by a huge explosion west of his position.

Pulling himself together, fueled by muscle memory and survival instincts, Paz had readied his blaster canon, primed it as he lay low, studying the air and the chaos which loomed closer and closer. He was sure now that while it was an ambush attack, it was not towards him.

Paz could hardly believe his eyes.

He saw three more explosions hit the same area; flocks of slumbering wild birds took flight and soon the forest was filled with the panicked screeching of fauna. The commotion was enough to give Paz the confidence to stand to his full height and behold the sight before him.

The earth rumbled from shockwaves and the sky rippled with angry flames licking upwards; it seemed to Paz that the dark clouds overhead had also been set ablaze.

The resulting fire from four detonations was huge, without a doubt. Paz was nowhere too close to the flames and yet he felt the heat seep through his thick layers. He trembled and bit back a moment’s profound agony; he recalled Nevarro, and he recalled the many years before that, where fires had become a catalyst to suffering.

Paz had spotted a mansion there, oddly so, earlier that day. He had thought it abandoned, but one couldn’t be too sure. With his rangefinder, he scanned what he could of the vicinity from afar. There were no signs of life, it seemed. The mansion was weathered and on the verge of collapsing. Something had tugged at Paz like a finger brushing over his shoulder; Paz mentally swatted it away like an insect and he never felt that sensation again for the rest of the day.

…except, now that Paz was staring, dumbfounded, at what he knew was the mansion ceasing to exist under the weight of an inferno—was that he had felt it again. It was that light touch over his shoulder, trailing almost desperately up and down his back.

Paz thought he could be losing his mind, if he had not already lost it long ago. There was urgency to that strange sensation—as if it were tugging at him like a call for help.

The hulking Mandalorian hesitated. He swung at the balls of his heels like a child uncertain of where to go and what to do. He observed the flames and then the sensation had struck at him again—Paz held his ground. Whatever it was on that mansion up the hill was not his fight.

It was not his business. He had his own, and he must remain faithful to that mission.

Settling a conversation with himself, Paz shook his head and was about to turn around and leave this disaster behind…

But the sensation was now practically pulling at him, and something like an image of small hands tugging at his entire being flashed at the back of his mind: a blink of an eye and nothing more.

Paz consequently found himself clambering to the top of the hill in bounding strides.

The mansion was no longer there, and on its stead were tendrils of flames like fingers clawing furiously at the sky. The black smoke trailed at him and he began to cough; he sealed his helmet and turned on his oxygen reserves.

He didn’t know why—what had gotten over him? THIS WAS NOT HIS MISSION, and yet he dove headfirst into the flames, letting the image of a child’s small hands pull him to where he thought he was being led to…

What he didn’t expect at all was to be fired upon by a hail of blaster bolts just as he had entered the threshold of the blaze.

It was no use, certainly, to detect heat signatures of culprits anywhere in the midst of a hellish place. He managed to resort to enhance the feedback of his HUD to detect the smallest movements other than the spiraling flames and debris threatening to fall all around him.

For the nth time that night, Paz wondered why the hell he brought himself upon this fray—

Soon, he realized that he had already been surrounded.

He had learned to estimate numbers in his Fighting Corps training, and a sweeping glance informed him that he was being targeted at and encircled by thirty armed men at least. He didn’t know of what species, but most could indeed be human.

Paz felt his heart clench. If he needed to get out of this scrape alive, he’d need to slaughter them all, even the humans. It hadn’t posed much concern before, as Imperial Stormtroopers were human and Paz had remorselessly gunned down multitudes in the past… but after a period of dormancy, this act felt as murderous as it was an act of self-defense.

That would partly be a lie.

Paz hadn’t clarified the nature of the presence and skillset of practically a private army set to attack him, but he instantly knew that he would outrun and outgun them should it come to that. They were no match for him.

Another volley of bolts pelted his beskar; the pressure threw Paz back and away from the flames, and out into the open. He grunted in irritation, yet gathered enough self-mastery to keep himself from priming his canon in clear view of unknown and unexpected enemies. Paz had relied on the element of surprise before, and he was hoping he could do so again.

Out of nowhere echoed a booming and demanding shout: “WHO SENT YOU?!”

In the wide glade surrounding the mansion burning down to nothing, Paz was quickly encroached by a small army of thugs. They didn’t bother to conceal their numbers as they all poured out of hiding, all of their blaster pistols aimed at him. A few carried rifles.

Paz thought twice about indulging them with a reply. He remained a silent statue, but his whole body was conceivably taut.

“I SAID—WHO SENT YOU?! You’re an expensive hire, and that family’s owed our boss a fortune and could no longer afford the likes of you—MANDALORIAN.”

This ticked Paz off in the best way possible. Now that they knew what he was—they all simply needed to disappear.

He seemed to have been caught in a crossfire between two warring families. Underworld business? Intense political rivalry to the point of wiping out entire families? Something twisted within Paz. He remembered that House Vizsla in its vicious past were no different…

The goons’ faces were masked, and this somehow made it easier for Paz. These masks distorted any semblance of humanity in their features. He remained quiet, unmoved, stoic. Another step, and he would wipe them all out, and whoever sent these thugs would only find out that their men had been decimated by ghosts. Paz knew how to bury his tracks.

The hulking Mandalorian was about to reach behind him and untether his blaster canon from its jetpack clip when the situation turned on him in an instant.

The head goon—or whoever he was, as he was the one who spoke on everyone’s behalf—had produced before him the slack form of a small, dazed, and quivering child.

“I know where you reach, Mandalorian,” hissed the masked thug above the roar of flames and crumbling walls. “Set that weapon of yours upon us, one false move… and this kid gets it, hear?”

The man had flung the child to the ground, and before Paz could even register what happened—the goon had issued upon the helpless small boy a swift and powerful kick. A thin, pained cry filled the air.

The brushing touches over his shoulder turned into frantic grappling.

Osik! Paz thought… and he knew that he had snapped as his vision turned into sharp and vivid greys. Everything happened so quickly, so fluidly, like a wave had shot out of nowhere to smother everything in its wake.

In a matter of seconds, he had come upon the crumpled form of the boy protectively. He hoisted the little boy over his shoulder in a thoughtful position where the child would not be hurt by the canon’s recoil… and before the next heartbeat, he’d unslung his weapon and it spat out a volley of bolts in the rhythm of drumbeats, and not a bolt was wasted as each found its mark on every single one of these thirty thugs.

An unquestionably intense couple of minutes broke as the two sides exchanged firepower, and with Paz, it could have well been one-sided. The hulking Mandalorian hunched his body forward, like a shell coiling around its softer innards—and the child was that softness; blaster bolts ricocheted off Paz’s armor, leaving the little one cocooned and secure. Two brief minutes, and it was over. The blue-clad warrior held his breath, then panted in relief. He stopped firing seconds after he realized that shots no longer fell upon him.

Paz let his blaster canon cool and the adrenaline rush subside. He blinked at the destruction he had caused. He was stricken by his own brutality, and realized how easy it had become to provoke him when the life of a child was at stake.

He wasn’t even sure how he did it. He usually needed both hands to steady the blaster canon, but this time, he managed to do it single-handedly as his other hand was preoccupied in keeping the boy safely cradled close to his body. The child squirmed a little. His chin felt like a welcome albeit justifiably frightened weight over his pauldron.

“Hold on, little one, hold on,” were Paz’s next words, whispered gently as he braced himself to fly out of the scene via jetpack. He had done so in time, for whereupon he stood not a minute ago, the mansion had toppled over completely in massive clouds of black smoke and fine dust. The fires had done their job. The mansion—and surely, the boy’s family—was no more. He could try to confirm it soon after his own derailed mission…

The boy kept eerily quiet, but Paz saw that the child was very lucid and had witnessed everything he had done to rescue him.

“It’s all right…” Paz attempted to soothe the little one. To his rewarding surprise, the boy only held on to him tighter, and obstinately clung to him until daybreak.

Paz had only heard the child sob once before the little one had fallen asleep in his arms.

It was only then did it dawn on Paz that the only place the child would feel safe from now on—and would be fundamental to the recovery of his body, mind, and soul—was in his embrace.

Paz knew he was in trouble, but more so, he felt many times blessed.

This child was his foundling… as this child had already chosen him from the very beginning.

By the time he had returned to the Armorer with the last group of the Covert and his foundling in tow, Paz felt all the nightmares of his tribulations melt away. ***

The Kom’rk starfighter which Axe had been piloting alone was still traveling through hyperspace when Ragnar woke up to a strangely precise pressure digging at his chest.

The boy sat up, realizing that he had slept on his stomach again. He sighed in annoyance. This sleeping position had always been one his body would subconsciously turn to when he felt greatly threatened, mistrustful, and needed a huge deal of comforting. He commonly adopted it in his early childhood, which he suspected had begun when his parents warned him of trust and danger.

Ragnar groaned through his vocoder. To think that sleeping without taking his helmet off would bother him more, but after two years of only slipping out of the buy’ce to bathe and when he was ill as he was ushered into brief care by medical droids, he had faithfully sealed his face in. That had transformed into his comfort zone. On the other hand, the cause of the digging sensation was relatively newer.

The youth reached under his flight suit and drew out a mythosaur pendant strung on a fine leather cord.

He stared at it for long moments as the shiny beskar kry’bes stared back at him with its hollow eyes.

“Dad,” Ragnar whispered, unbidden.

The necklace was Paz Vizsla’s, presented to him when he had completed his apprenticeship under the Armorer’s older brother. Her brother did not follow in the footsteps of a goran as she had done. Rather, he had been one of the Tribe’s great providers during the days when they still basked under the sun, never in hiding. He took in the responsibility of being Paz’s mentor just as Axe did for Ragnar.

Paz’s stories of his own apprenticeship, Ragnar noted, weren’t relayed in much detail. His father did tell a few, but in an unexpectedly impersonal way, as if Paz were seeing things through the eyes of a bystander rather than his own. Ragnar was still new to the ways of Mandalorians then, and all he did was listen and be quiet; he drank information in huge gulps and didn’t offer any queries or opinions unless he was offered the opportunity. The boy then wondered what kind of relationship his father may have had with his own mentor. Sometimes, he would detect warmth in the large Mandalorian’s robust baritone. More often, however, was the neutrality in his voice.

Then, Ragnar accounted for the fact that the man who mentored Paz Vizsla had neither been his buir nor a family member. The relationship could have been, at least, very didactic rather than familial. It was more or less the same arrangement he had with Axe Woves—someone of no clan relation taking an orphaned foundling under their wing.

The boy set his mouth into a hard, stubborn line.

Only that he was not an orphan. Not yet—and he never plans to be one.

His father was still alive. He’s just… drifting far away, but not far enough where the living could no longer follow or the ones who had passed on could carry him off to their realm among the Oversoul.

Folding his still-growing hand over the pendant and letting it rest on his palm, Ragnar let the thoughts flow to him. He regulated his shaky breaths.

In his mind’s eye, he vividly recounted how six grown Mandalorians had to carry the unconscious form of his father on a makeshift stretcher into the med bay. There had been no supply of hover-gurneys at the time, along with the scarcity of medical supplies. There was upheaval and panic barely breaking through the surface; trained warriors could only master enough self-control.

Some had perished and a few survived. Paz was among those who had survived—but the hushed whispers he’d gleaned revealed that his father surely should have been among the fatalities. High-powered energy weapons had torn through his insides, which could have caused immediate organ failure. Blaster burns covered his body, and despite the cauterizing effects of energy weapons, there had been a great amount of blood loss.

The youngster had blocked all sound and emotion out. They wouldn’t let him see his father until he was somehow patched up. Ragnar bolted far and hid in one of the docked Mandalorian ships, and he sat there, verily shocked and unheedful of everything around him. They all had looked for him, and when they finally found him he had been fast asleep for hours.

Ragnar remembered how the Armorer came to him, soothed him with no trace of condescension or coddling, much to Ragnar’s gratitude. But the boy had become inconsolable for days. While he never threw a fit or bawled and made a fuss like how some children did, he had locked all the anguish within himself and refused to be touched or spoken to unless it was someone from his father’s close circle.

Ragnar didn’t expect Grogu to be that source of much-needed support, as well as the green child’s father, whose name Ragnar knew was Din Djarin.

The youngster was crouched among the company of storage crates and didn’t budge or react much. He sported an empty stare under the helmet as he knotted his fingers over and over. Grogu, dear Grogu, had tenderly placed a three-fingered hand over his.

Din had cautiously knelt before him and never forced him to respond in a manner most adults demanded of a child when addressed to.

“Grogu found your father first,” the silver-clad Mandalorian told him, ever so gently, in a voice Ragnar decided was nearly as cherished as Paz’s. “You know, Ragnar—Grogu… he has powers. He can heal.”

That was when Ragnar’s gaze had shot up; he was suddenly paying attention. Through his visor, he searched through Din’s own for any indication of further hope.

However, the only hope Din could offer had fallen a whole parsec short.

“Grogu did what he could. Your father is out of danger now, but…”

Ragnar found the impulse to speak, and it came out sharp. “But what?!”

He withdrew into himself again, disturbed by his own impudence.

Din had tried his best to explain. The medical term was comatose—being in a prolonged state of unconsciousness, a deep sleep with the uncertainty of whether the patient would wake or finally succumb.

He’ll wake, was all Ragnar could think of and it played like a mantra in his head and heart. He’ll wake. My father will wake up. You’ll see. You’ll all see.

Grogu and Din had patiently sat with him, and Ragnar wished for that moment to go on and on until he was irrevocably reassured that Paz would indeed wake up sooner than later.

“Take me with you,” was all Ragnar could mutter, much to Din’s surprise. The man hadn’t a clue of Ragnar’s keen perception, that the boy knew of the time Din had to go off-world with Grogu for important business. “Please.”

The child’s psyche was sundered in two: a part of him wished to stay with his slumbering father, and the other part of him was too exhausted from the cruel burdens of reality and wished to be far away, even for a little while.

“That’s not for me to decide,” Din had sincerely replied, palpable regret in his tone. That was indeed true, Ragnar discovered afterwards.

Din had made Grogu’s adoption official. The man was then duty-bound to take his son with him on apprenticeship training. Ragnar could still afford an ounce of genuine joy for Grogu, who only dealt him with kindness.

“You better make your dad proud,” Ragnar had told Grogu, bleeding himself dry of any goodwill left in him. Grogu’s huge-eyed stare of compassion and scrutiny held Ragnar fast, and the boy felt suddenly bare.

I will, came a will-o’-the-wisp voice straight into Ragnar’s mind. It was a very young voice, yet inexplicably ageless and timeless.

That encounter had left a mark on Ragnar over the much longer days he went through the motions. All foundlings who had sworn the Creed were to re-take the oath in the Living Waters as it was a far more sacred spring in all the galaxy, at least in Mandalorian culture. Ultimately, Ragnar had disassociated through the lighting of the Great Forge, through the celebrations that came after, all through the night that followed and then the morning after.

“Young Ragnar, you may now see your father,” was the Armorer’s unceremonious summons of him after the first meal.

The matriarch had tipped her visored head to Ragnar in an expression of concern. Somehow she knew that Ragnar was not eating as well as he should; the boy’s appetite had all but disappeared. Ragnar knew that the Armorer had been diligently overseeing Paz’s initial treatment, and she’d now found more courage in herself to let Ragnar witness in person all the whispers the child had been enduring over the plight of his father.

Ragnar responded with an imperceptible nod and followed her.

The trek to the station which became a more permanent medical facility was an arduous one. Perhaps that was why Ragnar just wanted to go away for a while and leave his dearest father in the hands of capable physicians. He didn’t want to see a man he had deemed so powerful, so strong, so sure in himself and filled with conviction and zest towards the Way become akin to a cold lamp where the light had been put out—a dim little star where there was once a blazing sun.

But Ragnar decided that this was a test. He would take this all in. He would know what to do after, if he knew that this would be too much for him…

The Armorer had halted before a great metal door.

The boy realized that the light cruiser crash had not destroyed everything in its vicinity; there were chambers that were meticulously made to withstand the very heat of a Mandalorian Forge, which rose to temperatures higher than the hottest, unlivable planets. This was one such chamber, retrofitted by the Remnant and seized back by Mandalorian engineers.

Ragnar swallowed the lump in his throat as the Armorer punched in a code. The doors presently swished open.

His HUD registered darkness at first, and then adjusted to the ambient lighting within.

He felt frozen to the spot but the Armorer had anticipated this. She lent him strength with a gentle nudge over the small of his back.

The boy felt like a wraith, floating into the heart of the chamber with limbs and steps that weren’t his. He felt disembodied… he was disassociating again, letting the world happen to him, rather than him facing the world.

He stopped at the foot of a three large bacta tanks, huge transparisteel pillars towering over the boy and the matriarch.

Ragnar stiffened; his heart began to hurt so much and yet he held his ground. He clenched his fists as he beheld Paz Vizsla, suspended upright within the vat of bacta liquid with a tubes and circuits circling around the form of a once mighty warrior.

His father’s face was still respectfully concealed by a special helmet which aided his breathing and cycled sustenance periodically into his system.

Ragnar had seen his father stripped of his armor only a handful of times, simply in his under suit when he would make time to tuck Ragnar to bed.

Who would tuck him to bed now?

Ragnar felt fury swell towards himself when he remembered the day he told Paz that he was too old to be tucked in. That was soon after he swore the Creed. Oh, such was the arrogance a child possessed from undergoing an important rite of passage which ushered them to adulthood.

Without both armor and under suit, covered simply in compression shorts and dark compression bandages over his burned and damaged skin, Paz looked so different, so small, so achingly vulnerable.

This was the sight Ragnar had refused to acknowledge. He stood there, paying little attention to the other two patients who occupied the tanks which flanked his father’s on either side. They were parents of foundlings as well… how were those kids faring in relation to his own void of pain? Will those Mandalorians in their own recuperative slumber wake up, be well, and join their families again?

Borne out of duty, the first words which Ragnar inquired of the Armorer were, “Where is my father’s armor?”

The Armorer laid her gaze upon him awhile before leading him to the back of Paz’s tank, where a cleverly camouflaged storage closet had been installed vertically, made for the patients’ personal belongings while undergoing treatment.

The closet hissed open, and inside, much to Ragnar’s cascading thankfulness, was Paz’s full set of armor fastidiously arranged. The boy would like to think that it had been readied to be worn immediately upon his father’s waking. A small smile crept over Ragnar’s lips. His father would do that, all right. He would loudly demand for his armor as soon as he opened his eyes.

“Everything’s in order, ad’ika,” the Armorer said with moving, uncharacteristic gentleness. After a pause, she continued, “I would have to leave you now as I have duties to attend to. You may stay for as long as you like. Should you need the assistance of a baar’ur, do so with the comms attached to this storage closet. They should come to you immediately.”

Ragnar nodded weakly to the Armorer. “Th-thank you.”

The child spent the next few hours curled at the foot of his father’s tank, his back towards the transparisteel. He couldn’t bear another second seeing Paz so helpless like that, but he wanted to be close to him… perhaps, he could lend him strength with his presence alone, even when the man wasn’t conscious to see it.

He sobbed for most of his stay, a haunted weeping of a small boy suddenly wrenched from a true hearth and home. It sent Ragnar to impassioned self-abhorrence when he did know that there would be slim chances of Paz emerging out of a major battle unscathed. For the few years under this noble Mandalorian’s care, he knew his father to be wholly selfless to the point of martyrdom. Ragnar didn’t exactly expect it to happen earlier on, when he himself still needed a father to thrive in his own journey of becoming a full-fledged warrior.

The days that came after were harrowing, to say the least. Ragnar drifted in and out of alertness and awareness as a council consisting of Lady Kryze, the Armorer, and a handful of leaders from either side decided upon the fate of the child.

Ragnar didn’t pay much attention, anyway. He was the subject of hot debate. They kept saying, the last heir of Clan Vizsla, the one to lead House Vizsla one day, and all that babble.

Was he only significant due to the clan name he carried? These leaders didn’t show much interest over the fate of the other children whose parents were in the bacta tank, too.

The meeting over his future surprisingly lasted for more than an afternoon. It would take multiple sessions before arrangements could be finalized.

During those interludes, Ragnar was allowed to leave the council room. A child his age was restless and needed to burn some energy so they can settle properly again when it was required.

Ragnar explored the halls which were slowly being repaired from extensive damage caused by the light cruiser crash. The boy had learned of Commander Axe Woves and the man’s derring-do. He faintly recalled Axe standing next to him as he led the cry: “FOR MANDALORE!” and the Great Forge was alive with the wild cheers of their people. Ragnar had felt nothing, then. He had numbed himself, shut himself in. He was only there because the Armorer said he should.

The boy kept to his explorations. There would be sentries here and there, and they would nod to him, and he would nod back. Ragnar made another turn to a station definitely more damaged than the rest, but before he could take a step further—

His boot had hit something, and it reacted with a metallic clanking which drifted a bit across the hall before sliding to a full stop.

A rush of the sensing suddenly latched itself onto Ragnar’s mind. The youngster felt a pull towards that object he had accidentally kicked some paces away.

The child searched for it in the half-darkness; he picked it up.

The object was surprisingly warm to the touch. Had someone else handled it before he did? Metal left alone for so long would keep cold. There seemed to be life beating within this… thing…

A hilt?

It was partly crushed, the top split apart like a steel flower in bloom.

Ragnar wrangled in his racing thoughts and pounding heart. He had seen this before, and he knew what it was.

It was what remained of the Darksaber.

“Ragnar, are you there?”

Ragnar was transported back to the present; his eyes flew open upon the sound of Axe’s voice buzzing through the comms of his sleeping quarters.

“Yeah, I’m here,” the boy responded immediately lest his teacher worry… again.

“Good, good,” came the man’s relieved remarks. “Proceed to the cockpit soon and buckle up. We’ll be hitting Nevarro’s atmosphere in T-minus fifteen.”

“Copy that, sir.”

There was prolonged static on the other end, as though Axe held the transmission button for longer, yearning to say something more. Ragnar waited; the static cut off. The youth had felt that Axe wished to impart more caring, concerned words towards his charge. The man had thought better of it.

Ragnar knew what it was: the hesitancy of someone who was a parental figure and yet could not fully be a parent. The boy had respected it, but now he felt bereft. This was Axe’s way of compromise. He was not the boy’s father, and he was in no way replacing Paz Vizsla.

How different things would have been if it were Paz himself who’d take Ragnar to apprenticeship missions?

Ragnar choked back a cry.

Vastly different. A million parsecs different.

Before tucking Paz’s mythosaur pendant back under his flight suit collar, Ragnar partly lifted his helmet to give it a tiny kiss. His frame trembled; his muscles throbbed and his head spun for a moment.

I love you, Dad, Ragnar whispered in his mind to a sleeping man in a bacta tank a world away. He can never say it many times enough.

The mythosaur pendant had been handed to him for safekeeping by the Armorer herself when Ragnar had turned fifteen, his current age. Axe Woves had already then been his mentor for half a year, and he was about to embark in more crucial stages of his apprenticeship. He wouldn’t be strung along for the ride not only to examine and observe. He would start to actively participate in all the dealings Axe would take him to—exercises of the mind and body, and the spirit, most of all.

Mandokar.

(Paz had reminded Ragnar time and again of how much mandokar he discerned in his son. The child had the resilience of beskar itself. Perhaps his father was right on target about that, Ragnar thought sadly, bitterly. He could have been orphaned twice. What average child could live through that sort of trauma? What was he, then? A damned orphan and a half? How long will this continue?)

Can’t Dad wake up? Please… can’t he wake up now?

The only great comfort he found as compensation during this dubious time was that he would be seeing Grogu again. Grogu and his father… Din Djarin himself had a streak which was very warm and welcoming to Ragnar, so much like Paz, and yet the two men were unique of each other.

Oftentimes Nevarro would be the final pit stop after every apprenticeship mission before heading back to Mandalore. Ragnar counted six missions so far, but this one had been the least eventful as much as Axe Woves knew.

As Ragnar fell upon the seat next to Axe and strapped himself in for the jump out of hyperspace, he deftly clutched the Darksaber cocooned within its hidden belt pouch and his heart hammered.

“T-minus two minutes until we hit atmosphere,” informed Axe. He had his helmet on and the visor slightly turned to the boy. “Ready to see our friends again, Ragnar?”

“Yeah,” replied the boy in his usual succinct manner.

Yes, Ragnar continued further in his mind. More than Axe will ever know.

When the boy felt Grogu’s mind reaching out to him through the Force, sort of like an astral handshake the children forged for themselves as soon as Grogu started teaching him about what he knew of the sensing, Ragnar smiled.

It was the widest smile he’d done in a very long time.

*****

Mando'a chapter glossary:

*osik - an impolite Mandalorian word; expletive *buy’ce - helmet *kry’bes - the Mythosaur skull *goran - blacksmith *buir - father, mother, parent *ad’ika - “little one,” a term of endearment for a child age 3-13 years *baar’ur - medic *mandokar - the ‘right stuff,’ the epitome of Mando virtue: a blend of aggression, tenacity, loyalty and a lust for life

(for more extra author's notes on this chapter, please read on AO3 ^_^)

Link to "A Child of the Watch" series/collection - AO3

Link to Previous Chapter - AO3 || Tumblr

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tinycandle · 8 months

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My TouchStarved OC/MC

“I fear the Gods must find enjoyment from my misery”

Seeing as I too have fallen down the rabbit hole that is touch starved I wanted to share my character with all of you (perhaps then I can go back to living normally and not obsessing over it!)

Shynah is a quiet woman who despite seeming somber does have a very kind heart within, though this kind demenour hides the dark labryinth within her own mind.

she loves books very much and finds reading an escape from her reality, from her secret love of fairytales with happy endings she can only dream of to more factual books on ancient civilizations, myths and more. She also likes to write in many ways from keeping a note of her visions and feelings to letters that she never ends up posting she even dabbles in writing short stories or even poems ofvher own though she has never shared them with anyone She is also very wise to many a persons surprise* and seemingly knows just what to say when she does decide to speak. If you do want her to speak more ask her about whats she's currently reading or to share her knowledge and she will happily comply, (if she likes and trusts you) though then the trouble is getting her to stop to take time to breath.

*they're mostly surprise as she is usually off in her own mind and busy thinking or imagining something and so she may come off as ditsy and stupid when she is actually very intelligent.

I chose the unnamed path for Shynah as not only does it sound the most interesting to me with the fact she can sense the presence of other supernatural forces, it goes along with her back story and "gifts" very well.

Mentioned in her dislikes are her "vivid nightmares" as that is what she calls them but these nightmares that haunt her every night are actually prophetic dreams unfortunately they are never happy ones she is always bestowed with dreams of death, despair and doom sometimes the visions even occur during her waking hours. These visions aren't just about herself though commonly they show her tragedies or unfortunate events that are about to occur to others around her, she hates having them for she feels helpless to stop them and thus ensuing guilt in herself. Thankfully when she has nightmares or visions concerning her own fate she feels more in control of steering her fate to avoid the tradgedy though it doesn't make her any less anxious.

Also mentioned is her dislike of cruelty towards children and animals, while Shynah's quest for a cure for her curse is her main priority at the present moment even before she knew it was a curse (though it would be a lie if she hadn't subconsciously thought it didn't feel right to "free people from their mortal shackles and ascend them to a higher plane closer to the Gods" as the priestesses had described it to her) she had a dream of opening a free schoolhouse for children of lower backgrounds and those who were orphans, it angered her that just because they were not of a noble blood they were denied the right to education and despite the hardships she may have faced at the temple she is at least grateful for the high quality education she received under the tutelage of the many priests and priestesses though it was mainly only thanks to high priestess Sophia (Who was her mother figure during her years at the temple though perhaps a Mother Gothel in reality) that she was granted such an honour.

Finally simply explained Shynah would not be Vere's No1 fan nor even a No2 fan, she finds him annoying, bratty and unnecessarily savage. She's not so stupid as to deliberately start a fight with him she knows he's dangerous and the vision she had of him killing her only solidified her distrust and dislike of him. Let's just say she agrees with the senobium that he is best kept under lock and key. She mainly tries to ignore and avoid him if she can but if she does run into him her expressions which have always been very telling easily let him know what she thinks of him.

Seeing as I probably won't be getting time to draw anymore of her the flower I would associate with her would be angelica which represents:

Inspiration

Guidance

Divinity

A gentle looking plant that is tougher than it seems, can be found deep in the thickets and borders of dark and quiet forests.

Its is believed by many priests and priestesses that drinking a tincture blend of Angelica before sleep would bring upon prophetic visions sent from the Gods above, otherwise Angelica flowers are collected by common folk to hang above beds and doorways for their protective properties in keeping away ills and evils.

(My witchcraft side comes in handy for all this knowledge at last!!)

Other Random notes:

Other Personality descriptions I had in mind included:

The Haunted Oracle

The Curious Bookworm

I wanted to draw her body type more like Portia from the Arcana but as I am more of a writer not an artist of paints and pencils I feel I did not manage to get that point across nonetheless I will know in my own head and that is all that matters.

Her hair was actually to her waist but before leaving the temple she cut it and sacrificed her hair to the eternal fire with in the temple which represents the Goddess llywen, (who isn't a real world goddess though perhaps inspired by one) who was the main goddess the temple was devoted to, for safe travels on her journey. It didn't work out much near the end or did it?

I'm drawn towards Leander's route for her, a little bit intrigued by Ais's too, and I feel the unnamed origin caters best to his path but still Leander will be my first choice for Shynah. I feel it will be a little bit ironic if he is a cult leader like everyone else thinks for it will be her running away from one cult to end up in another! I'm not making too many guesses until the game comes out but I do feel Leander may be "a bit" yandere. Though you know what they say about Yanderes at least they're loyal!!

Anyway I've rambled on enough about Shynah even though there is more to tell I'll leave it here for next time!

Here's her full body image for those interested, never mind if anything looks off like I said I'm more of a writer not an artist: (I also never added the black cloak but every mc has one anyway)

#Spotify #touchstarved #touchstarved game #touchstarved oc #touchstarved leander #touchstarvedgame #touchstarved ais #touchstarved fanart #otome game #indie games

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reveromantique · 10 months

Text

@ofmoonlily | modern au.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire sounds like a stupid parable in theory, but in practice, it makes more sense than one would think.

Mostly, dragging yourself, five other guys, and a bomb squad dog out of a currently upside-down armored vehicle, that's on fire, and trying to avoid rest of the fire around you.

His arm is in agony, bone sticking out and blood congealing to his fatigues-- Seifer goes back for the last man anyway, yanking Raijin out of the driver's seat.

It's the kind of shit that earns you a medal (that he doesn't want), and the kind of injury that earns him an honorable discharge, because you can't fire a gun when you can barely hold a pen.

It's what gets him out of the Centran desert, and back into Galbadia, into Deling City with an equally-honorably discharged dog (Hyperion, big, intimidating Galbadian Shepherd that she is with the heart of a puppy) as a new roommate, and an endless series of trips to the hospital for surgery and physical therapy and all kinds of bullshit he could really do without.

"What do you think?" and he's very serious about it, scowling as the newest in a series of doctors pokes her way around his arm. "Worth saving, or should I just yank it off and get a robot limb?"

Because at least then, he'll be able to get back to his life, instead of going from pain pill to pain pill to pass the time.

"... So, lemme guess. You're gonna go back in there and dick around with the tendons or something to see if it makes me any better."

Another day, another surgery. Magnificent.

At least she's cute, mismatched eyes serving as an effective distraction every time he sees them, versus the ancient guy who he'd first seen, whom Seifer trusted with a scalpel about as far as he could throw him.

#ofmoonlily #v. long way home (modern au.)#lobs this at you

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in-for-a-pennyx · 2 years

Text

Kinktober 2022: October 1st

Day 1: Shibari

Din Djarin/Mando x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Shibari (I’m not an expert! Please do your own research if you want to practice), rope play, submission, restraining, suspension

|| Prompts by @absurdthirst ||

A/N: And here it is! My very first fanfic! I absolutely cannot believe it! I don't care if doesn't make sense or is silly or too simplistic, it's my first piece of fiction writing ever and I'm proud of it. Thanks to @bakulka for her encouraging words. Imma go make soup now to calm myself 😅 Not beta read.

This is only for anyone 18+ years of age, minors - please do not interact. Only proceed if you're over 18 and have read and understood the warnings and rating.

The first time you saw it, you were tracking a bounty on a distant planet in the Outer Rim with The Mandalorian. Human beings of various shapes and sizes were displayed in windows, tied up with rope. But it wasn’t the way Mando tied his quarries. They weren’t hostages. These people weren’t in discomfort as far as you could tell. They looked so… serene. Peaceful. They wanted to be there.

You stopped and observed them more closely. You couldn’t see any knots. No knots on a rope? It was as if the rope was following the curves of their bodies. You couldn’t tell where it began and ended. There were intricate patterns in some places where the rope overlapped but mostly it was just following the planes of the bodies it was on. What startled you the most was that these people were naked. Stripped bare except for the rope on them. The rope curved around their respective sexes in such a sensual way that it caught your breath. Heat rose to your cheeks and you felt something stir inside you. The way they were bound – arms behind their backs or stretched out, shoulders pushed back, legs apart or tied up – almost made it look like their bodies were blooming from their core. Their bodies were blooming beautifully, gently, like flowers in nature.

It felt like a declaration: here is my body. It is mine and I present it to you, I share it with you. My body is my gift to you. I trust you with it in my vulnerable state. But my vulnerability isn’t my weakness, it is my strength. I invite you to share it with me.

You walk back to the ship in silence but your mind is loud with thoughts and visions. Once the quarry is put away, you pluck up the courage to ask Mando if he’d seen those people too.

“Do you know what that was? I’ve never seen anything like it”. Mando hesitates to answer, which makes you even more intrigued. “What is it, Mando? I can tell you know what it is, why won’t you say?”

“I, uh, it’s called Shibari. It’s an ancient art of using rope for relaxation, meditation and uh…” The usually confident Mando was hesitating. You’d never seen him hesitate. Always so confident and imposing, why was he stuttering over naked bodies and some rope?

“And what?” you push.

“And sexual pleasure. It can be used by partners to heighten sexual pleasure”, Mando breaths out.

Oh.

The heat that had risen to your cheeks was returning and spreading through your body, pooling low in your belly. It’s not that you’re inexperienced, but this is completely new to you. It excites you for some reason. Who would offer themselves to be bound willingly, you had mused earlier. Now you have the answer: You. You would.

You take a deep breath and straighten your spine, looking directly at Mando’s visor where you think his eyes are. “I want to try it”, you state simply. “I want you to do it with me”, you add before you lose your resolve.

You start to get tense when Mando doesn't say anything after several moments. Did you cross a boundary? Did you offend him? Did he think you too base for wanting to try something you saw in the street? You’re starting to sweat when he whispers through the vocoder, his voice even more gravelly than usual, “Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure. I’ve seen you use ropes hundreds of times. You know how to handle it. You’re a practiced hand and could probably do it with your eyes closed”, you state. It’s all true. He is the Mandalorian after all.

“Yes, but always with quarries. I didn’t care how rough or forceful I am with them. I don’t want to hurt you, mesh’la”. Mando, this man who has taken you roughly and softly so many times inside this very spaceship, is cautious because he’ll have to restrain you. His display of care and affection cracks something deep in your heart.

You’re taken aback by his sincerity but it only makes your decision firmer. You step closer to Mando and place your right hand on his chest plate, aiming for his heart. The cool beskar sends a shiver down your spine. “I trust you, Mando. I trust you more than anyone.” You assure him.

“But if it makes you uncomfortable, I understand,” you add, your voice going lower.

Mando gently places a gloved hand on your cheek, his helmet tilting towards you, “Okay, but you have to promise you’ll tell me if it gets too much.”

“Yes, I will. I will tell you. I promise”. Satisfied, Mando nods and moves away from you. “I’ll get the ropes and you get undressed. Stay right here”.

You start undressing as soon as Mando turns his back. You can hear him rummaging through his tools in the lower deck. Your veins are coursing with adrenaline and anticipation. You divest yourself of all your clothes and take a few calming breaths. The cool air of the ship makes your skin break out in goosebumps and you wrap your arms around yourself, waiting.

Mando comes out with a few lengths of rope, a crate, and a bamboo pole. The rope is new and untarnished, which you’re thankful for. He puts his tools aside and comes closer.

“Are you ready, mesh’la?” he asks.

“Yes, I’m ready” you answer confidently, head held high, submitting with courage. He positions you under two hooks in the ceiling, and slides the bamboo pole through them horizontally, effectively making a bar above you. He places the crate next to you and helps you up. That simple touch launches butterflies in your stomach as you lay down on your belly. Mando runs a gloved hand from the top of your head down to your feet, and then he begins.

Mando starts with your chest, looping the rope above and below your breasts and going through the valley of your breasts. You’ve never felt rope so soft and sumptuous. When did he get it? Where did he get it? Your thoughts are soon lost in a fog that descends over your mind as he continues with the rope. He moves to your arms, positioning them behind you, hands to opposite elbows, with loop after loop of rope along your forearms. He crosses your wrists and binds them with rope behind you. He goes to your legs after that, your left leg folded in half, ankle tied to your upper thigh; your right thigh brought close to your chest and tied off.

You don’t even realise he’s finished until you feel yourself being lifted off the crate. All your mind was aware of were his gloved hands, the soft roughness of the rope, and your breathing. Through the haze, you notice that he is pulling a rope that is tied to you and looped over the bamboo pole. The bindings are tight but well tied, distributing your weight so that no part of your body is uncomfortable. You have a moment of terror but Mando’s hands running over the ropes and your skin soothes you.

Trust. That’s what this is about. You trust him with this, and the familiar rasp of his leather gloves grounds you. This was the Razor Crest, this was Mando, this was your home. You’ll always be safe here.

Mando steps away to admire your displayed form. You thought you’d feel embarrassed, and ashamed but instead, you feel revered. “You look beautiful, mesh’la. I’ve never seen a sight like this”.

He takes off the glove on his right hand and gingerly brings it to your face, afraid he will break this reverie if he touches you. Like a mere mortal coming too close to something holy, something magical.

You feel struck by a lightning bolt the moment his hand touches your face, the tips of his fingers supplying the sparks floating down your spine to your sex, which in this suspended position is fully displayed, open. Mando starts walking around you, his hand running over the rope and on your body. With each brush of his hand on your skin, you can feel your sex becoming wetter. You’re a quivering mess by the time he finishes his tour of your tied-up body and stands in front of you.

“Touch me again, Mando. Please touch me again,” you beg, your mind consumed by need and your core dripping with desire. He gives in to your needy petition, going around again. You moan his name over and over as he drags two fingers from the top of your drenched folds to your entrance and finally plunges them inside you. You wonder if this is what euphoria feels like. It’s short-lived to your absolute dismay as Mando withdraws his fingers much sooner than you’d like him to.

“Please," you beg again, voice cracking. "Please, please, please," as your voice grows hoarse in desperation. Drowning in your own wave of frustration you miss the gentle hiss of Mando’s helmet as he raises it above his nose. What you don’t see is him bringing his fingers to his mouth and tasting your wetness like a pilgrim partaking in holy nectar.

Weapons are a part of his religion, but ritual and devotion are part of religion too. This is his devotion to you, your submission is your devotion to him. The rope - your ritual.

END

Possible interest, no pressure tag - @iamskyereads 😇

#the mandalorian #mandalorian x you #the mandalorian fanfiction #din x you #din djarin #kinktober 2022 #pedro pascal character #mando fic #mando x you #din x reader #mando x reader

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after-witch · 2 years

Note

could we please get smiling man with a changeling reader?

(sorry if i sent this when you had closed the requests. i was a little confused since the askbox said requests closed but you said they were open for smiling man and you hadn't announced closing those yet. i hope you're feeling better btw!)

Title: To Frighten the Fairy From Its Bed [Smiling Man x Changeling Reader]

Synopsis: “You don’t belong here,” he said. And it was true enough. But you had no desire to return to the other side of the mist, when the human world offered such wonders.

Word count: 1536

notes: vague non-graphic mentions of potential torture; makes a bit more sense if you’ve finished ‘Empty Smiles’ but no direct spoilers

“You don’t belong here.”

It was not the first time you had heard such words. You were strange enough that people had always told you such things, trying to exclude you, dismiss you, send you away.

However, it was the first time you had heard them from someone who wasn’t exactly human. The first time you had heard those words fall from the lips of someone who understood that the words were completely true.

You looked up from the book you were reading, some pulp horror thing full of twisted secrets, and saw the fair face of a young man wearing ordinary clothes and an extraordinary smile. You knew such faces for what they were: deceptions and tricks. Guises to pull people in and keep them there until it was too late for them to do anything about being ensnared.

You had such a face.

“Nor do you,” you said mildly, placing a bookmark in your book and crossing one leg over the other. You felt the first prickles of wariness slide over your skin. You had seen things that came from other places, of course--ghosts and such creatures--but none of them had known you, nor had any of them bothered to converse with you like this.

The young man tilted his head, and his smile deepened. It widened until it was impossible, until it stretched from ear to ear, until any human would have frozen in terror at the sight. Their blood would have run cold, their mouth would have gone dry, their heart would have pound in their chest.

But you were not a human. And it did not scare you.

“What do you want?” You felt your hands tighten on your book. You could run, if necessary. But running did not always work in such cases. With such creatures.

The man’s smile retreated, turning back into the kindly smile he’d worn at the start. It looked kind, that is--but you knew better.

“I’m here to take you back.”

Ah. That wouldn’t do.

You crossed your legs again, switching positions, feigning nonchalance.

“No, thank you.”

You turned your gaze to the street, to the ordinary people walking by, carrying about the tasks of their day. Holding coffee cups and purses, phones pressed to their ears, tugging toddlers in their wake. You took in their chubby little hands, the way their eyes stared up at the adults, complete trust and adoration seeping out from every pore. A couple holding hands, an almost imperceptible skip in their step, passed by; you could practically feel the love thrumming under their skin, a dedication to one another that was mostly pure, selfless.

Did they know that what they viewed as so mundane was so precious? Did they know what some would give for such ordinary delights? No, no, and no.

The man followed your gaze. Followed your thoughts, it seemed like, which did finally scare you. He wasn’t just from the other side. He was someone… something… above. Above you, certainly.

“Who are you?”

He casually thrust his hands into the pockets of his jeans. You felt the familiar sense of mimicry in his movements. The appearance of being human. You had much practice with that.

“Manners, dear.” He smiled thinner. “I have many names. You’re perhaps familiar with some of them.” And then he spoke, not in English, but in an ancient language that was lost now, the people who once spoke it now nothing more than dust. And then he spoke in another tongue, one that wasn’t human at all, and the prickles of wariness became the tight, cold dread of fear in your chest.

You uncrossed your legs and pressed them flat on the ground. It didn’t help you feel any less terrified.

“There is a balance,” he said. “And you interrupted it, you know. Switching with a human baby like that.” His words were weighty, but his tone was light, chastising. And he merely shrugged. “But that’s not exactly why.”

You pinched your lips together.

“Then why?”

He turned his head back towards the people, carrying phones and stuck to screens; towards the traffic thrumming by; towards the streets lit up with electric lights and signals. Towards all those unnatural things that humans erected in the world, dulling their senses to the natural order of things bit by bit. You liked it that way. It made it so much easier to get by without anyone sensing who you really were--what you really were.

If you had changed places with a human baby even a few centuries ago, oh there would have been trouble. You would have been found out much sooner; they would have tried to dispel you through torture, putting you in an oven or whipping you.. They would have known you for what you were: a changeling. And all those human tricks to mark you out probably would have worked, and that human baby would find itself thrust back into its mortal world, having seen things very few did and lived to talk about.

But here and now? Oh no. No one suspected you were anything but an oddball. Someone with quirks. Someone who was just a bit “off,” but no one could exactly say why, if they were asked. And so you stayed, and grew and grew in this facsimile of a human body with skin that was too smooth and a face that was too knowing, too pinched, to be completely ordinary. But no one knew what you really were, and they likely never would.

So when you saw all the electronic gadgetry, all the ways people kept themselves stuck to it, you felt grateful for the distraction.

But you knew what he was thinking as he looked at all the human mess, and it wasn’t gratitude for the ability to cloak yourself from people who were increasingly disconnected from the other sides of the world. The sides that were strange and uncanny, awful and great, wondrous and terrible. Where you came from. Where he came from.

He was annoyed. He was angry.

He inclined his head towards it all, and he wasn’t smiling.

“It can be quite burdensome to keep the way open nowadays,” he said, almost sighing. “But taking you back through will certainly help.” And he smiled again, and there was something almost nasty in it now. “And bringing the human you stole back on through will help even more.”

You hadn’t thought about that human baby in ages. Now and then, when you were younger, staring at yourself in the mirror while your “mother” combed your hair, you wondered what it was doing. Was it alive? Fairies didn’t always keep the humans that their kind sent back, especially if they were too sick or weak. But perhaps they did. Perhaps it was learning the ways of your world, as you learned the ways of the human world.

“So it did live,” you said, with no particular emotion. You didn’t really feel anything for it, other than mild interest.

He shook his head, almost chuckling. “Yes, indeed. And I’m sure she will be an interesting addition to this little town, seeing what she’s seen. Knowing what she knows.”

Your fingers gripped tighter on the paperback book. It suddenly felt very ethereal and fragile, like it would simply disintegrate underneath your fingernails.

You didn’t want to go back. Not at all. You had no interest in going through the mist, in leaving the world of people behind, in dropping all those little extraordinary mundane things that delighted you so much that you simply had to take a human’s life for your own.

“You don’t have an option,” he said, and his voice was almost kind. “You should know that.”

It was then that you realized the distant fog was not human fog, but mist. Thick and unrelenting. You were already going through, with or without your consent.

“It’s not fair,” you said, voice tight and bitter. “I wanted to stay longer.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Was it fair to take that human baby’s life? I’m sure they would’ve loved to have grown up on a little Main Street instead of fending for themselves with your kind.”

He was right. That was why you had left, after all. Why you had taken their place. But what did human fairness matter to you?

The book did disintegrate, then, the pages flaking away to nothing as the mist around you grew thicker. It left a salty, bitter taste in your mouth.

“I’ll find a way to come back,” you said, but your words were hollow. You knew that once you were back on the other side--and once the human was back in their place--that you could never cross again. Not without help, anyway. His help, and by the looks of him, he wasn’t certain to give it.

“You can try,” he said mildly, standing in front of you, waiting for you to stand. “But you won’t succeed.”

You stood. It wouldn’t do to put it off any longer. There was no point.

Twenty-some years was as good a run as any, you thought wearily, taking those first steps back into the thick of the mist. Especially considering that it would have been impossible three hundred, even two hundred years ago.

But even a fairy’s luck will run out eventually.

#smiling man #small spaces #afterwitch writes #folklore #I loved this idea 'non!!

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i-bring-crack · 1 year

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Angel & Demon Headcanons.

Lucifer was once the angel of Love, bc while all other angels have a lot of responsibilities, none of the angels have been given the title of "Angel of love" Instead there is God who delivers love and is love... which actually would make the theory that "Lucifer was once the angel of Love" make more sense because he was the closest one to perfection, that being God, and no other love can compare to that of God. So no other love could compare to the Love of God, not even the angel said to be so. Yes I know Hanael/Anael is considered as the star of love, but that's actually in the Longfellow's work The Golden Legend. And while there is Mihr considered as an angel of friendship and love, he will be placed in Persian Lore.

ADDING ON onto the theory that Lucifer was once the angel of Love, it could also be used to explain Raphael's association with love too. At the beginning Lucifer was one of the chief angels, or at least powerful since he managed to instigate a third of the angels to fall, and after his fall there probably needed to be another angel that substituted his title and rank, which is why despite Rephael being considered as mostly a healer, he is also sometimes associated with other things like love and science.

—

For Raphael, I can't help but consider him as this geeky kind of angel that loves invetning things and screwing with the creation of physics, he is the sole reason why you need letters in math, he was probably present during the double slit experiment and thought "You know what would be a fun way to make >:)))"

—

On the other hand I think Raphael also loves his title as an(other) angel of Love. Considering his enemy is also the demon of lust Asmodeus, they are likely in a constant battle between whenever or not having kinks is good or bad.

—

Asmodeus is a yandere.

—

Lucifer(fallen Satan) has not only daddy issues but also mommy issues. Although it would be cool to see Mary trying to handle Lucifer on his own, seeing that she is the most purest being, just like Eve once was. Flashbacks to that tree in the garden?

—

The personality of Azrael is either this happy go lucky kind of guide trying to help people accept death as much as they can until they reach the gates, or this tired and cold like angel whom for some reason is like a calm wave that will not try to elevate nor demoralize your mood, only walk with you as you begin to accept death.

—

Either way one definite trait that Azrael will seem to have is this aura of calming down others, letting your soul get over all the fears of life and send you into a waking slumber, the one you needed ever since you where born into the world.

There is this double duality which I really like about demons and angels that doesn't get talked about a lot. That regarding the more ancient books or the Old Testament, Angels and Demons aren't always just always doing good or bad things. Angels, at least in the book of Tobias and wth Abraham's visit by the angels can be seen to lie or misguide the people to think they are humans. In the book of Job they can even go against God's choices saying that those humans[Job] aren't what god thinks. If we include the Apocrypha then Enoch is an easy reference that they can be tempted or that even the Lord does not trust them.

Another temptation that is also shown is with Harut and Marut, two angels that decided to reveal the name of God back at their wives and get punished because of that. Meanwhile there are demons like Asmodeus who recite verses from the book of Moses in the Testament of Solomon, and even follow it to an extent, they can pass through heaven and earth, they can even love and come to regret, as the nephilim and watchers[fallen angels] have come to ask Enoch to help them, as seen during the fight of the watchers when God tells his angels to supress the watchers and see just how their beloved children will get killed in front of their eyes. Freaking twisted i know.

There are also the Ginns, mostly seen and made like evil entities, though they can also be good. Anyways it shows that there is no single duality for them, in the end the angels, despite doing bad things for god, they do it for god who is good, meanwhile as much as demons try to do good things, they will always be making bad things, and it isnt because they reject god, thats partly the case, its that their intentions will always be bad no matter the actions they make.

—

I absolutely love the idea that the Divine Comedy did— no, not that— I mean the concept of God taking care of Eden waiting for humans to come back one day. I'm crying, and taking this as headcanon. Imma just...

#angels #demons #angeology #demonology #christian religion #azrael #angel lore #angel of love #lucifer #satan #raphael #apocryphal #christian lore

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tomboyjessie13-artblog · 11 months

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I've decided to combine the previous fashion charts together so I wouldn't have to go back and forth between charts just to look for outfits to draw, I also took the opportunity to add new outfits and edit some of the original outfits on the chart because I felt that the original felt..."lacking" to put it bluntly.

I did however kept the original versions for documation purposes and because I felt that some of you guys may like the old outfits better.

Originals: Link Link

Outfits:

~Stardust Crusaders 1988 - 89~

- Main outfit: This is what she wears most of the time throughout Part 3, you'd think she look harmless but looks can be deceiving when you're a servant of DIO. The outfit consists of a black and orange baseball cap worn backwards (possibly a San Francisco Giants hat), a light and dark purple hoodie that exposes her shoulders, a black crop-top with white lining, a red belt, bluish-lilac jeans with rolled up legs, light purple socks, and almond colored high-top sneakers.

- Pajamas: This is what she wears to bed during 1987, just a simple baggy t-shirt and sport shorts similar to Asuka Langley's, except for the color changes to blueish gray and white and has a Morro Bay, California logo, she does however mostly forgo it for the next outfit of course for reasons.

- DIO's servant: While serving DIO during her stay in Egypt, she wears more conservative Egyptian clothing during night time hours whenever he's active at night, even when she goes to bed. This is mostly to avoid DIO "noticing her" like he does with his women but makes up the excuse that Cairo gets cold at night. This is comprised of a long grayish-purple button up gown and dark grayish-purple pants, a gray shawl, and white slip ons, I also added colorful beads and golden bracelets to spice it up and match DIO's other servants.

- First arrival to Egypt: This is what she wore during her first arrival to Egypt after agreeing to join DIO's side, taking place a year before "Stardust Crusaders". I know it looked a little too touristy, but it would make sense since this her first time in Egypt, with the only thing she knew about the country are ancient civilizations, historical monuments, and very hot weather.

- DIO's World: She wears this shortly before and during "DIO's World", the last arc in "Stardust Crusaders", right after she befriended a hospitalized Kakyoin, showing that she's slowly shedding her DIO's slave persona and becoming an unofficial Crusader, the star accessories she wears pretty much shows this. She also wear's Joseph's breathing mask rigged with Hamon to gain the Crusaders' trust, being warned that it will go off if she removes it.

- End of Part 3: This is the same outfit as the previous one, except it's all dirtied up, torn, and bloodied from her last fight with DIO, furious with him for using her and murdering Kakyoin in cold blood. It was during that fight that she lost her arm to him and got as badly injured as Polnareff, putting her out of commission. She would later get a prosthetic arm from the SPW Foundation before taking the plane to Japan with Jotaro and Joseph.

~Diamond Is Unbreakable 1999~

- Wedding dress: The dress that Medea wore for her and Keiji's wedding a few years before "Diamond is Unbreakable" took place. I mean come on, she becomes a wife and mother in Part 4, right? We might as well show off the dress for it... And yes, she wore her glove over her mechanical arm, gotta make your prosthetics look fabulous to. Sorry if it doesn't look fantastical though, that's the best I can come up with.

- School Teacher: This is what she wears during her stay in Morioh, Japan as a History Teacher in Josuke's High School. Medea had noticeably aged and takes on a more mature and feminine look while still maintaining some of her traits from her younger years, her hair also grew longer and straighter down to her lower back. She is seen wearing a orchid purple suit with a black turtle neck underneath, and grayish brown slip ons, she also has her hair tied up in a bun. I also added a white belt to spice it up a little, give it a stylish 90's look.

- Casual outfit: On her off days, she wore a white button up shirt and a pair of bluish-lilac jeans with cuffs rolled to the ankles, her hair is also let down, and wears the same slip ons from her School Teacher attire, you'll also notice that her right arm has been replaced by a mechanical prosthetic after her last fight with DIO, similar to Joseph's last fight with Kars.

- Pajamas (circa 1999): This is what she wears to bed during the 1990's, her pajamas comprised of a grassy green tank top and gray sweats. It's not much but it's a change up from the purple-colored clothing she normally wears.

- Summer time: This is what she would wear during the first few days of Summer, contains a pair of summer shorts and a baggy "Prince" T-shirt, the only downside is that she gets mistaken for a foreign tourist by the residence of Morioh before being recognized by her friends and coworkers. This is inspired by this outfit from Evangelion.

- "Great Days": This is the outfit she wore during the 2nd half of Part 4 after Kira goes into hiding as "Kosaku Kawajiri". It's based on the schoolteacher outfit she wore except she wears her hair's down and forgoes her jacket, revealing that her black sweater is actually a sleeveless turtleneck with removable sleeves. She also wears a star neckless and bracelet to go with it, symbolizing her snapping out of her depression to find and defeat Kira alongside Jotaro Kujo.

~Stone Ocean 2011 - 12~

- Main outfit: This is what she wore for the majority of "Stone Ocean", having grown a lot older and wiser since Part 4. She wears a stylized jacket with pumps and a turtleneck dress underneath instead of flats and trousers, she also wears a band on her arm with a SPW Foundation logo on it, showing that she is now affiliated with the group to bust her daughter Noriko out of prison, save Jotaro's life, and kick Pucci's ass. Her hair has also been cut short into a pixie cut, symbolizing her growth and wisdom.

~Non-Canon stories~

- "A Date with a Vampire" It's an evening dress that DIO gifts her for her 19th birthday as a way to "express gratitude" for her services, Medea of course doesn't want it because she knows DIO's just finding any excuse to objectify her or flaunt her around like a purebred puppy. The outfit mostly consists of a plum purple dress with long sleeves, short bottoms, and exposed shoulders, light purple footwear, silver braceletes, a fake wedding ring, and a silver necklace with three garnets, she also wears heavy makeup(curtosy of Mariah and Midler). This attire is mostly for RPs and dribbles, not Jojo OC canon, but I'm drawing it anyways because she looks fantastic in it.

OC belongs to me Base belongs to Rainfall-Bases Blank base here: BASE 272 - girl with no boots by Rainfall-Bases on DeviantArt

#artwork #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo oc #oc #concept art #anime base #fashion #egyptian fashion #1980's fashion #1990's fashion #2010's fashion #wedding dress #evening wear #summer wear #update #final

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high-dragon-bait · 2 years

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Dreadwolf is Ragnarok: Why It Makes Sense Thematically For Fenris To Return

Hello.

If you speak to me about Dragon Age for more than five minutes you'll learn that I really like Fenris. Like. REALLY like Fenris. Then you'll learn that I really, really want him to be in the next game.

I really want him to be in the next game

And I'm going to explain to you in a comically long post explaining a super crackpot theory about why I think it makes thematic sense for him to be in the next game.

So, let's talk about Norse mythology! More specifically, let's talk about Fenrir!

Fenrir is Fenris' namesake. With Fenris being a slightly less common/alternative translation of the name (Fenris Wolf being the full translation) Fenrir's role in Norse mythology is essentially that he's a huge fuckoff wolf who breaks from his bonds and kills Odin, the god of knowledge and king of the gods, which causes Ragnarok, the end of the world

If you don't know, Fenrir was bound by Odin, and the really really abridged reason for doing so was basically that Fenrir was getting too big and scary for Odin to handle. So he bound him up, which caused Fenrir's hate for Odin, and in turn caused him to kill him and caused him to start Ragnarok.

Does this matter to Dreadwolf? Probably not all of it! I doubt Solas is directly responsible for Fenris being enslaved, but anything is possible, the important part here is really: Fenrir breaks free and kills Odin

I have seen people argue that Solas is not a good Odin parallel, because the Dread Wolf as a character and Solas' betrayal/trickery of you is more Loki, but I think Odin has been a bit mischaraterized by Marvel in pop culture. Odin is not a wise, ancient father of the gods. Odin is a trickster, Odin is a betrayer. Odin will do whatever it takes to gain all the knowledge he can. And this is often a fatal flaw in the legends

Norse mythology is too long to summarize here so you're just gonna have to trust me, Odin does a lot of shitty things mostly in the name of gaining more knowledge. Which is an extremely Solas thing to do and would make Solas a good Odin figure

But, Loki is still a connection, because in the legends, Fenrir is Loki's son

Now... do I expect Fenris to be Solas' son? No! That's cursed! And makes my FenHawke fankid possibly getting with one of my Solavellan fankids really uncomfortable! But I do think there could be some interesting parallels there. Maybe not "son" in a literal sense, but you could do a lot with an inherent connection between them. Maybe the lyrium markings connect them somehow, maybe Fenris has some Magic Elf Blood in his veins that connect him to Solas, maybe just BEING an elf is enough. I don't know! I'm just saying that this could also be a connection and would be fun to watch.

(Loki also has... a lot of kids. Many of whom are animals. We've got Fenrir (a wolf), Jormungandr (really big snake), and Sleipnir (eight legged horse). Fenrir and the snake have a mom that's basically Just A Woman but Sleipnir's dad is straight up a horse and Loki is the mom. No I will not explain I just need you to know that)

BioWare could also combine Odin and Loki and give Solas parallels to both. It's important to mention that I don't expect any of these parallels to be 1:1, this is not a retelling, this is a parallel, and sometimes parallels aren't exact.

All that's important is this:

Solas/The Dread Wolf is a god of wisdom, pride, and trickery. Three things that are very important to Odin's character

Fenris is named after Fenrir. A huge wolf, who hates Odin for what he did to him and kills him, initiating Ragnarok

Now, like I said, we don't know if Solas had anything to do with what Fenris went through. That is honestly not important, because regardless, Fenris would HATE Solas' plan.

Fenris would not want the veil to come down! He would not want the world to be filled with inheret magic! That would HORRIFY him! And yes, perhaps if Hawke is in the Fade, his feelings may change. But I have a sneaking suspicion that any promise Solas make to bring Hawke back would be a hollow one. Remember, Odin, and Solas, will do ANYTHING to get what he wants

And if he lied to Fenris about getting Hawke back... I can't imagine Fenris would be happy

(Disclaimer: Character choices would matter, I'm not saying all of this will be unchangeable narratives, just possibilities. Though I do think Dreadwolf will have a lot of hard character-death based choices, I'll elaborate on why later)

Just to cover my bases, it is important to note that Solas already has some connections to being Fenrir himself. Mainly, also being a huge fuckoff wolf and the whole "ending the world" thing. But there is another one that I'm kind of surprised I've never seen mentioned before.

A very important bit in Fenrir's lore is that he bites off another god's hand

This god is Tyr. Tyr is the god of war and bloodshed but also of order and justice.

And well. Solas kinda bit off the hand of someone who could be representative of war and bloodshed, as well as order and justice didn't he?

But... this might not be a connection, at least, not yet. Two reasons for that

Tyr placed his hand in Fenrir's mouth as a bargaining chip. Fenrir was not easy to bind, the gods tried multiple times disguising it as a game, Fenrir "winning" each time by breaking from those binds. But when someone keeps trying to tie you up you get suspicious. The last time he was bound, he asked a god to put their hand in his mouth, and if he were unable to break free and the gods didn't free him instead, he would bite off their hand. Tyr volunteered, and Fenrir bit off his hand. There are no parallels to this story and how the Inquisitor lost their hand.

If Solas is thematically Fenrir and not the guy literally named after him I will be annoyed

But it is something to keep an eye on, because it could be important in the game. This leads me perfectly into the next section of this post which is: Doesn't mean anything now but COULD mean something in the game

It's really just one point. There's a post floating around rn joking about how maybe Dragon Age: Dreadwolf is called DA:D because Solas is, in fact, a dad!

This is where we get really crackpot

See, thing is, Fenrir doesn't survive Ragnarok. He's fated not to from the beginning, maybe he knows this, maybe he doesn't, it's kind of hard to say. But, after he kills Odin, he is killed by Odin's son Vithar

If the theory that Solas has children trapped behind the veil and if one of them chooses to avenge their father should you kill him, then we may be looking at a possible bad ending for the game, or perhaps not even a bad ending, maybe just an ending or even THE ending of the game.

Now you might be kind of freaking out reading this, because optional or not, this looks like A LOT of character death. I want to bring up a point with you that my friend reminded me of: Dragon Age is looking at a serious case of character bloat.

Without counting anyone twice (and giving me room for error cause I'm bad at basic math), Dragon Age has 27 companions, it has 29 if you count the Inquisition advisors, and it has 33 if you count the Awakening companions.

That is JUST the companions, that is not counting major/prominent characters that are not companions (Scout Harding, Sandal and Bodan, Arl Teagan), and it is CERTAINLY not counting anyone from the books and comics yet to be seen in the game (Vaea, Maevaris, Rys and Evangeline), and, obviously, not counting the soon to be four player protagonists

Because while the point of "Some of these characters could be dead" it is equally true that "All of these characters could be alive," nearly all, anyway, which can be very hard to juggle.

The point is: That's a lot of characters. You will notice that in most series that have large casts (The Walking Dead, Game of Thrones, ???, Warrior Cats) also have a large percentage of those characters that die. So what I'm saying is: Brace yourself, Dreadwolf might be part character cull.

There has been a lot of time between Inquisition and Dreadwolf, there's going to be more time, it might well be a ten year gap. Dreadwolf is going to be a soft reset of the Dragon Age franchise at the very least. To draw in new players and to show the old players something new. Regardless of your feelings on that, if that is indeed the case, a reset is a good time to cull characters

Now... how much do I actually believe my own post here? To be honest with you, not much, I'd be surprised if even 5%, maybe even 1% of this post is correct, but I do think there are some things here. Specifically the Ragnarok parallels

Another point to remember about Ragnarok is it's not actually the end, there's a lot of death and destruction, but a new world is created out of it. Like I said, Dreadwolf is likely going to be a soft reset of the franchise, and if they do choose to have Ragnarok parallels, then it ends with the perfect way to do that: A new world. Reborn out of all that chaos, and ready to be explored anew.

So that's why Fenris should be in Dreadwolf

#Dragon Age #Dragon Age 2 #Fenris #Solas #DA:D #Dreadwolf #this is unhinged. thank you for reading

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