#I STILL can't parry

[maritoke]

I haven't drawn anthropomorphic animals in long while, how do you guys do it so well--

It was a lot of fun drawing them tho. I felt realy sad when Lady Ethereal told me to hit her. I really didn't want to do that = (

[philosophiums]

okay gaming done for the day i need to look for refs i simply must draw my ocs today

[prismit]

FINALLYYYY BEAT 5BC ALL THE WAY THROUGH WITHOUT ASSIST MODE. SHOUTOUT TO DEATH'S SCYTHE FOR CARRYING ALL THE WAY UP TO THE GIANT and then a baseball bat which was incapable of landing crits on the final boss with the set i had but pulled through with huge damage anyways lmao

[svtskneecaps]

ayo shoutout to revali for being the champion whose ability i have used the least since obtaining

[umbreonrogue]

HOW DID I GO THROUGH CONSTANTLY FAILING A LEVEL IN THE FIRST FLOOR

TO FUCKING FIRST TRYING FUCKING W A R WITH ALL FIVE TOPPINS

[nemofil]

erm um haha

highly unpopular opinion flesh prison is much easier to deal with than minos himself and YES i have a skill issue i can't react to a homing serpent straight after his two punch combos* and the most i've done is parry "judgement!" over and over

* unless i try really really hard which i did here**

** and yes i consider parrying serpents to be hard </33

[prancingintheshadows]

Is the Sonic Frontiers update supposed to be kicking my ass? Because it is.

[the-punforgiven]

What do you think about the new Ad Mortem Abomination of Lawbringer's testing ground rework?

We finally have hyper armor but god at what cost

Idk honestly, some of his moves are better and some of them are worse, but he doesn't really feel all that different to play imo, like I miss the old faster chain bash and the lights not being chainable when blocked mess with me a lot but ultimately the Designated Parry Guy has his Strong Parry Moves and they're pretty much the same as ever. I haven't really been able to play FH more than like, a couple hours earlier today since his rework dropped but idk he still feels about the same to play unless you're really dedicated to spamming lights I guess

That said I know different people play him in different ways so I may just be missing something crucial but idk I can't really see why so many people are making such a fuss over it tbh

It didn't set me on fire with elation and it didn't crush me with disappointment, it's just kinda like, fine I guess

This rework definitely didn't have as much of an impact on me as the one where they first removed shove on block, that's for sure lmao

Besides, I main this guy for his sexy armor and weapon sets, not for his moves

[heich0e]

the itadori house always smells faintly of clean laundry.

it's not because the two boys who live there are particularly diligent about staying on top of their housework—the towering pile of recyclables in the corner of the kitchen is proof enough of that—but it's because the first time yuuji had tried to do his own laundry, he used way too much detergent. the ensuing tsunami of soap suds had flooded nearly half-way across the tiny apartment—coating the floors, the baseboards, and anything else in its path, in a slippery (though pleasantly fragranced) froth that took DAYS for the two brothers to clean up. it must have sunk in to the floorboards, or there must still be traces of it lingering in nooks and crannies that they couldn't reach, because even now, years after the catastrophe, the scent still lingers.

even though the mere mention of the incident still makes a vein of irritation throb in sukuna's forehead, and makes yuuji hang his head in shame, you don't mind the smell. it's familiar after all these years. it reminds you of this place.

you burrow your face down into the cushion of the living room sofa. it's raining today, and a bit humid, so the scent of detergent is particularly strong.

you're nearly asleep when a voice interrupts your quiet moment of relaxation.

"i should start charging you rent, y'know."

you don't open your eyes, even once you hear the words that come from above you. even without looking, you can picture the scene: sukuna leaning over the back of the sofa that you're sprawled across, his weight resting on his elbows as he peers down at you with his usual scowl. it's not the same scowl he shows to everyone else—the one that makes people shrink back under his gaze—this is a softer version of the same expression, dulled by familiarity. if you were more optimistic you might even say it was blunted by affection.

"stop pretending to sleep, kid." you feel his hand grasp your hip, shaking you lightly. "i know you're faking."

you feel a smile threatening to pull at your lips so you turn your face towards the pillow—the one you bought for the sofa, since the itadori brothers' idea of home decor is limited to creased posters for old mafia movies nobody's ever heard of and women with their tits out taped to the wall—and you burrow down to hide your expression from view.

"you're such a nuisance," sukuna groans, and then you feel the sofa dip. you figure he's pulled himself over the back of it now, based on how you feel him kneeling overtop of you with your legs straddled between his own. you're on your belly, but you can feel him rest back on his haunches, trapping your feet underneath him as he sits. "can't you nap at your own house?"

"too tired," you finally rasp out, daring to peek at him over your shoulder.

"and i'm not?" he scoffs, lifting his hand and pushing his hair back from his face. he's still half-dressed in his work uniform—a pair of slacks from the security company he's been working at part-time for the past few weeks, and a white t-shirt that he usually wears underneath the short sleeved button down that matches the trousers. "i just worked a double—been up since 4."

he does look tired, now that you have the chance to look at him. his hair is a bit dishevelled and he's got dark circles under his eyes. sukuna always looks a bit exhausted—and has since grandpa passed away and he took on the responsibility of raising yuuji. but it's particularly noticeable right now.

"and i can't even come home and take a nap on my own couch because there's a freeloader here."

you bite the inside of your cheek, wiggling around a bit underneath him so you can lay on your back.

"charge me rent then," you parry back to his complaint, and he cocks an eyebrow at your challenge. "i want a bed though. s'only fair."

"we'll get bunkbeds for yuuji's room, then," sukuna quips.

"don't wanna bunk with yuuji," you counter again, "he snores."

sukuna pauses, staring down at you. he leans forward slowly, his hands pressing into the couch cushion on either side of your waist as he dips towards you. "only one other bedroom in this place, y'know—"

you do know. it's why you said it.

"—and i have no plans to give up my bed."

sukuna is close to you now. too close, in any other circumstance, but this is one entirely of your own creation. a circumstance that feels more like an inevitability than anything, given the tension that's been crackling between the two of you lately, ever since he rescued you that night at the bar.

"didn't ask you to give it up," you say quietly, your eyes flickering across his features until they eventually settle on his lips.

sukuna makes a little noise in the back of his throat, close to annoyance, but not quite. distinctly tortured in nature.

"you really, really are a nuisance, y'know that?"

his hands are on your hips now. not like when he'd shaken you awake—this touch is greedier, needier than that passing graze. his fingertips slip up underneath the hem of your shirt until they brush against your bare skin, and the contact makes your body flush with heat.

"yuuji's gonna be back from class soon," you murmur softly, your gaze flickering back up to sukuna's heavy-lidded eyes. his nose twitches a little in annoyance, knowing you're right.

sukuna backs away a little, his hands slipping back out from underneath your shirt.

you sit up and catch his wrist in your hand, and his eyes widen in surprise. your faces are close together now—so close you can smell the cinnamon gum on his breath. he stole a pack from you a few days ago, and clearly he's still chewing it.

you can't smell the laundry detergent anymore.

"i didn't tell you to stop," you remark lightly, leaning back so you're splayed out against the sofa once more. you stare up at him, waiting for him to process what you've said—watching the thoughts play out across his uncharacteristically shocked face. "i just meant that you should hurry up and do it already."

[libbyfandom]

Mizu's Little Shadow

You finish sewing the tear in your daughter's small kimono, tugging the end into a knot and snipping off the excess. You hold up the piece of clothing to your eye level and shake it out. "Little moon, come here," you call for her as you inspect it. It looks well, but you want her to try it on to see if your stitch will hold up to her energetic movements.

When you don't hear the patter of you six year old's little feet you call her again. No answer. Standing up from the chair, you stretch your back with a soft grimace as you walk to the bedroom where she last was. You do not find her.

You search the small house before quickly turning to set the kimono down and head outside to look for her. Maybe Mizu had spotted her running around while she's training.

As soon as you slide open the back door your hear your daughter's voice. She's making little grunts and huffs like she's straining herself, and you worry she's trying to climb the tree next to the house again. Bunching the bottom of your kimono in hand, you follow her voice and hurry from the south end of the house back around to the front.

But when you round the corner of the house, you're surprised to find she's not failing to scramble up the base of the trunk. She's several meters past it, stumbling around and kicking out as her eyes follow Mizu a way's away from the house near the tree line.

Her tiny green haori is dirtied, dirt clumped in patches at her shoulder and sides where she's fallen on the ground several times already. Before you can call out to her, she trips and falls into the dirty hands first. With the childish grunt of irritation and determination, she pushes herself back up. She sets her eyes on Mizu again, settling her feet in the same way your lover has hers and mirrors the rhythm of her steps. She holds her tiny hand out like she's grasping at a heavy sword.

She's copying Mizu's training movements.

A soft laugh of surprise quietly slips from under your breath as your eyes warm from this new discovery. You lean against the tree trunk and tilt your head at her to soak in this new development of your child.

Your little girl's mirroring of Mizu's slow, methodical twists and parries with her sword are adorably wobbly. Compared to Mizu's balanced, fluid motions that showcase her mastery of each movement, your little moon's dance is closer to flailing. Your hand covers your repressed giggle as your eyes brighten at her stumbling feet.

Your fingertips gently rest against your lips as your eyes follow the line from her to Mizu. The way she's moving taps at your mind, causing a soft furrow between your eyebrows. Isn't that her warm up exercises?

Mizu's never done those this late into the afternoon. She would be focused on slicing through trees during this time on any other day. And you know how long she's been out. She can't possibly still be focused on her balance and fine-tuning the flow of movement. So why...?

On the next turn, from farther away, Mizu rotates on her heel and ends up facing you as she mimics a block. Her blue eyes catch yours, and she quirks her eyebrows up at you with a knowing smile.

When your daughter's foot slides a little on the dirt, and she hops on one foot to get back into position, that's when Mizu just so happens to pause her movements. Her slowed motions only resume when your daughter finds her footing again.

Oh...

Your heart sings, unable to help the pure expression of love and adoration for the both of them from flowing from your face.

Later in the night, after you both put your little moon to bed, you press yourself up tight against Mizu in the candlelight, sealing your lips to hers as you cup her face.

"I really did give birth to your clone."

Mizu chuckles quietly, pressing her lips back into yours. "She really thought I couldn't spot her in the middle of a clearing."

She brushes her lips along your cheekbone. "I can train her, if you wish."

You chuckle. "Maybe further down the line. If she's anything like you, she wants to think she's being sneaky and doing something she shouldn't be." You push her away playfully, before you're snatched around the waist. The room tilts as you're pinned down to the bed with a squeal by a beautiful swordsman grinning devilishly.

[cringefailvox]

i am so interested in vox's very pointed use of the word "coward" to describe alastor in stayed gone. because alastor really isn't a coward, as much as we've seen. he publicly bites back at vox, he parries easily with zestial despite his visible discomfort, he openly challenges the king of hell and nearly dies fending off the leader of the exorcist army. he's definitely not someone who runs from fights unless he absolutely has to, even when he's outmatched—he frequently and recklessly picks them, actually! and i would rather call his escape in the finale a tactical retreat than anything else, because he would've been killed if he stayed. so what gives?

i think it has to do with why val seems to think alastor owes him and vox something "much more than money." val says he almost beat vox last time—"almost" implies he lost, but vox doesn't behave as though he won any great victory over alastor; instead he seems to feel cheated or slighted, like the fight still didn't end in his favor even though alastor didn't or couldn't beat him. "coward" implies that alastor retreated, which we know he only does when he really has to, but WHY would he retreat from a fight with vox? what HAPPENED?

but more to the point, it's really fascinating, isn't it, for vox to frame alastor's behavior as cowardly rather than what makes him so scary. because in one light, making overlords disappear, leaving opponents dissatisfied because he chooses to retreat rather than die for his pride, burning out security cameras, etc reads as the terrifying actions of a man who's unpredictable, intelligent, and way too powerful for his own good. his credibility as an overlord comes from his initial rise to power, most of which happened in the shadows or in total anonymity. he's the monster under the bed. but vox turns all of that on its head: no, he slinks around in the dark because he's scared. he runs away from fights, he hides his face, he doesn't let anyone see him for what he is because what he is isn't anything.

and most intriguing of all, vox seems to think this is really disappointing! he's furious at the mention of alastor not finishing their last fight; he yells at the screen like a soccer dad watching alastor run from adam. it's like he seems to want alastor to try harder, to be as big and showy and powerful as vox must know he is, because vox can't fathom why someone as intimidating as alastor wouldn't capitalize on it in every conceivable way. almost like—and here i get a little radiostatic wish-fulfillment-y—he's noticing the same thing that drove alastor to a musical breakdown at the end of s1, that alastor simply isn't at full capacity anymore. that he's limited in some way. but vox doesn't know alastor is trapped by a deal; all he sees is alastor acting like a coward who won't finish the fights he picks, who has insulted vox (and val) by not giving their rivalry his all like vox seems to expect him to, like it used to be the status quo. things have changed a lot since he left town indeed. curiouser and curiouser

[moonselune]

Hello!! Could you write one with your choice of characters and there baddie. Where tav thinks violence isn’t the answer and the bg3 characters ask“ what’s your plan then..?? To defeat them with the power of friendship….oh my gods it is….

Oooo okay so I'm going to do this for what I call the durge gang because they would have the biggest- basically the companions who stick around when you go full durge

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The air in the tent was thick with tension as you and Minthara sat across from each other, the remnants of a heated discussion still hanging in the space between you. You had been planning your next move against a band of marauders terrorizing a nearby village, and while Minthara had advocated for a swift and brutal attack, you had hesitated. Minthara's sharp eyes studied you, her expression a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"You can't be serious," she said, her voice dripping with incredulity. "You honestly think we can reason with these scum? Convince them to change their ways?"

You crossed your arms, standing firm in your decision. "I believe in giving people a chance to do the right thing. Violence should always be a last resort, Minthara."

Minthara let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, this is rich. And what's your plan, then? To defeat them with the power of friendship?"

She paused, her eyes narrowing as realization dawned on her.

"Oh my gods, it is."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly at her words, but you held your ground. "I think we can appeal to their better nature. Maybe they’re just lost, or desperate. If we can show them there’s another way—"

Minthara cut you off with a snort, her lips curling into a smirk. "You actually think these marauders have a 'better nature' to appeal to? You’re living in a dream world if you think they’re going to listen to anything but the edge of a blade." She leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "This isn’t some storybook where the hero wins with a kind word and a smile. Out there, it's kill or be killed. And you’re risking your life—and mine—on some ridiculous notion of mercy."

You sighed, knowing how deeply ingrained her beliefs were, but still unwilling to back down. "I’m not naive, Minthara. I know the risks. But I have to believe that not everything has to be solved with bloodshed."

Minthara shook her head, leaning back in her chair with a look of exasperation. "You're going to regret this. When your plan backfires and they turn on us, don't say I didn't warn you."

The next day, you put your plan into action. You approached the marauders with an open hand, speaking to them calmly, offering them a chance to surrender, to find a different path. Minthara stood a few paces behind you, arms crossed, her expression one of barely concealed disdain.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw a glimmer of doubt in the eyes of the leader. He hesitated, as if considering your words. But then, with a sneer, he laughed in your face and ordered his men to attack.

The battle that followed was chaotic and brutal. You fought alongside Minthara, who, despite her earlier mocking, had your back through every strike and parry. But as the dust settled and the bodies of the marauders lay scattered across the ground, you couldn’t help but feel a deep pang of disappointment.

As you wiped the blood from your blade, Minthara approached you, her expression a mixture of triumph and something almost like pity.

"I told you," she said, her voice low and smug. "I warned you this would happen, my dearest. You tried to reason with animals, and they bit you. Violence isn’t just an answer—it’s the only answer with scum like them."

You felt your heart sink at her words, the sting of failure weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"I just wanted to try a different way," you muttered, more to yourself than to her.

Minthara’s smirk widened, and she reached out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. "And look where that got you. If I hadn’t been there, you’d be dead. Your idealism is going to get you killed one day, and I won’t always be there to save you from yourself."

You couldn’t argue with her. The truth of her words stung as much as her mockery, but you couldn’t help but feel a stubborn resolve still burning within you. You’d tried—and failed—but that didn’t mean you’d stop believing in the possibility of a better way.

Minthara, however, seemed content in her victory. She gave you a lingering look before turning away, her voice carrying over her shoulder as she walked off. "Next time, listen to me, love. You might just live longer."

You watched her go, feeling the weight of the lesson she had driven home. But even as you stood there amidst the aftermath, you couldn’t entirely give up on your ideals. However, you knew better than to challenge Minthara’s approach again anytime soon. Not unless you were prepared for her to say, "I told you so."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The conversation had started out as a simple strategy discussion, but as it progressed, a divide between your philosophies became increasingly apparent.

Lae'zel, ever the pragmatist, had suggested an aggressive approach to deal with the band of brigands that had been terrorizing the nearby village. You, on the other hand, had proposed a more peaceful solution—trying to reason with them, to offer them a chance to change their ways without bloodshed.

As you finished explaining your plan, Lae'zel’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. She leaned forward, her intense gaze boring into you.

"You cannot be serious," she said, her voice laced with skepticism. "What is your plan then? To defeat them with the power of friendship?" There was a pause before her expression shifted to one of realization. "Oh by Mother Gith, it is…"

You felt your face heat up, her words cutting into your confidence. It was one thing to believe in the goodness of people, but hearing it framed so mockingly by Lae'zel made you question your own resolve. Her laughter followed, a deep, throaty sound that both unnerved and irritated you.

Lae'zel shook her head, her laughter subsiding into a smirk. "You’re too soft, too trusting. They’ll cut you down before you can utter a word of peace. This is not some child's tale where good intentions win the day."

Her amusement gnawed at you, your initial confidence wavering. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was foolish to think you could sway the hearts of brigands with words alone. But then again, you believed in the possibility of change, in the strength of diplomacy. It had to be worth something, didn’t it?

Seeing your hesitation, Lae'zel leaned back, her smirk never fading. "Your plan is as flimsy as your resolve. You’ll get yourself killed, and for what? A misguided hope that the wicked can be redeemed?"

Her words, though harsh, hit a nerve. The doubt she had planted began to fester, and you could feel your frustration growing. Defensive, you shot back at her, "It’s not foolish to want to find another way. Not everything has to be solved with violence, Lae'zel!"

But even as you spoke, the wavering in your voice betrayed your own uncertainty. Lae'zel noticed it immediately, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she had already won the argument. That smug, knowing look on her face was the final straw.

Without thinking, you lashed out, giving her a light but firm whack on the arm. It wasn’t enough to hurt her, but it certainly caught her off guard.

"Stop laughing at me!" you demanded, your tone more petulant than you intended. The words tumbled out in a childish strop, and you could feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Lae'zel looked down at where you had struck her, then back up at you, her smirk widening into a full grin.

"Oh, so the little diplomat has claws after all," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

You glared at her, folding your arms across your chest as you huffed in irritation. "I’m serious, Lae'zel. Just because I don’t want to go charging in with swords drawn doesn’t mean I’m wrong."

Lae'zel chuckled softly, her laughter more affectionate this time. She reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but not unkind.

"You’re not wrong to want peace," she said, her tone softening slightly. "But you must understand, in this world, it is strength that dictates survival. And sometimes, that strength must be wielded with force."

You wanted to argue, to insist that your way could work, but the confidence had drained out of you, leaving you feeling more frustrated than anything. Lae'zel’s words had unnerved you, and now, with the heat of the moment passing, you felt a little silly for losing your temper. Lae'zel, sensing your turmoil, gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Do not doubt your convictions," she said quietly. "But know that I will always be there to protect you, even when your heart leads you into danger."

You sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away as you leaned into her touch.

"I know," you muttered, still feeling a bit sulky but less inclined to argue further. Lae'zel smiled, her expression softening in a way that was reserved only for you.

"Good," she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "Now, let’s focus on what we can do together. Whether by word or by blade, we’ll handle whatever comes our way."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The two of you had been sitting by the campfire, discussing the best approach to deal with a group of hostile mercenaries that had been causing trouble in the nearby village. Shadowheart, ever pragmatic and wary of risk, had suggested a straightforward approach—one that involved steel, blood, and as little negotiation as possible.

But you, ever the optimist, had a different idea. "Violence isn't the answer," you had said firmly, hoping to convince her that there was another way. "We can talk to them, maybe even convince them to leave peacefully."

Shadowheart had looked at you with a raised eyebrow, her expression a mix of skepticism and concern.

"What’s your plan then?" she had asked, her tone dripping with doubt. "To defeat them with the power of friendship?" There was a pause, her eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. "Oh my gods… it is, isn’t it?"

You had bristled at her disbelief but stood your ground. "It’s worth trying," you had insisted. "We don’t have to resort to violence right away."

She had sighed, shaking her head. "You’re too kind-hearted for your own good. This isn’t going to work, and you know it."

But despite her warnings, you had gone ahead with your plan.

When you returned to the camp later that evening, the night had already settled in, and the campfire cast long shadows around you. Shadowheart had been waiting, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of you. When she finally spotted you, she noticed immediately that something was off. You were walking stiffly, your movements careful, as if every step was a battle against pain. She stood up, crossing her arms as you approached.

"So," she began, her voice deceptively casual, "how did the plan go?"

You forced a smile, trying to keep your discomfort hidden. "It was fine," you lied, your voice a little too tight. "Better than expected, actually."

There was a long moment of silence between you, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Shadowheart watched you closely, her eyes narrowing as she took in your tense posture, the way you were holding yourself as if every movement caused you pain. She didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch, waiting for you to crack.

Finally, unable to bear the weight of her gaze any longer, you sighed heavily.

"Alright," you muttered, dropping the pretense. "You were right. It didn’t go as planned."

A smirk tugged at the corners of Shadowheart’s lips, but she didn’t gloat. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes softening slightly as she reached out to touch your arm.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her tone more concerned now. "How bad is it?"

You winced as her fingers brushed against a particularly sore spot, and you nodded reluctantly.

"It’s not too bad," you said, trying to downplay it, though you knew she could see through your bravado. "But… I could use some help."

She sighed again, though this time it was more resigned than exasperated.

"I told you it was a bad idea," she said, her voice gentle as she began to examine you for injuries. "But you’re stubborn, I’ll give you that."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as she found a particularly tender spot on your side.

"I just wanted to find a better way," you said softly, meeting her gaze. "I didn’t want to hurt anyone."

Shadowheart’s expression softened, and she shook her head slightly as she tended to your wounds.

"I know," she murmured, her touch careful as she worked. "But sometimes, being too kind can be dangerous. You have to know when to stand your ground, and when to draw the line."

You nodded, the pain in your body a reminder of the lesson learned.

"I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice earnest. Once she finished patching you up, she looked at you with a mix of affection and exasperation.

"You’re lucky I’m here to take care of you," she teased, though there was a warmth in her eyes that made your heart swell. You smiled, reaching out to take her hand.

"I know," you replied, squeezing her hand gently. "And I’m grateful for it."

Shadowheart sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she leaned in to kiss your forehead. "Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time," she whispered.

You nodded, the weight of the day’s events settling on your shoulders as you leaned into her embrace. "I promise."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The two of you were huddled in your tent, poring over maps and discussing the best way to deal with the band of marauders terrorizing a nearby village. Gale had suggested a calculated approach—one that involved precise spells and strategic combat. But you had a different idea, one that made Gale pause, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

"Violence isn't the answer," you said, your voice filled with conviction as you traced a route on the map. "We can talk to them, convince them to leave peacefully. There’s no need for bloodshed."

Gale looked at you, his expression a mix of bewilderment and concern. "What’s your plan then?" he asked, his tone cautious as if he was preparing himself for something unexpected. "To defeat them with the power of friendship?" His eyes widened slightly as he realized you were serious. "Oh my gods… it is, isn’t it?"

You nodded confidently. "It’s worth a shot. If we can appeal to their humanity, show them there’s another way… it could work."

Gale leaned back, rubbing his temples as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing.

"You’re astounding, you know that? Only you could concoct a plan that defies all logic and yet believe in it with such unwavering faith." He shook his head, a mixture of admiration and exasperation in his eyes. "But go ahead, fearless one. Let’s see where your idealism takes us."

You smiled, grateful that despite his doubts, Gale was willing to let you try. So, with a heart full of hope, you set out to enact your plan.

The marauders were camped just outside the village, a rough and rugged group that looked every bit as dangerous as the villagers had described. But you approached them with open hands, speaking to their leader about peace, redemption, and the possibility of a better life.

For a moment, it seemed like they were listening. Their leader’s eyes softened as you spoke, and you felt a flicker of hope. But then, with a harsh laugh, he dismissed your words, and the marauders closed in, their intentions clear.

Your heart sank as you realized your plan had failed. They weren’t interested in peace; they wanted power, and they were willing to take it by force. You braced yourself for the worst, feeling a surge of regret for not heeding Gale’s warning.

But just as the marauders were about to strike, a brilliant light erupted around you. Gale had been watching from a distance, his keen intellect and protective nature unwilling to let you face the danger alone. With a few precise incantations, he unleashed a barrage of spells, weaving fire and force into a stunning display of magical prowess.

The marauders, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, stumbled back in disarray. Gale’s magic surged through the camp, disarming and disabling the attackers with calculated precision. In moments, the threat was neutralized, and the surviving marauders fled into the night, too afraid to challenge the wizard who had effortlessly turned the tide.

Breathing heavily, you turned to find Gale standing a short distance away, his expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. He approached you, his eyes scanning for any signs of injury.

"Well," he said, his voice carrying a hint of smugness, "it seems my plan worked after all."

You sighed, feeling the weight of your failed attempt settle on your shoulders.

"I thought… maybe I could reach them," you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. Gale’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Your heart is in the right place, my love," he said gently. "But not everyone is open to reason or redemption. Sometimes, you have to be prepared for when words fail."

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and humility. "You were right," you confessed, meeting his gaze. "Thank you… for stepping in."

Gale smiled, his eyes warm with affection. "It’s what I’m here for," he replied. "To keep you safe, even when you’re determined to save the world with kindness."

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, despite the lingering disappointment in your chest.

"I suppose I owe you one," you said, leaning in to rest your head against his shoulder. Gale chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around you.

"Just promise me you’ll listen next time," he teased, though his tone was gentle.

"I promise," you murmured, feeling the comfort of his presence and the steady beat of his heart. "I’ll be more careful."

Gale pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft in your ear. "Good. Because I’d like to keep you around for a long time."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

As you stood by the campfire, pondering the best way to deal with the bandits who had been terrorizing the nearby village, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be a better way than resorting to violence. The thought of bloodshed weighed heavily on your heart, and you were determined to find another solution.

Astarion, ever the cynic with a devilish smirk, noticed the troubled expression on your face and sauntered over, his gaze full of curiosity.

"Something on your mind, darling?" he asked, his tone light but laced with that familiar undertone of sarcasm. You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"I don’t think violence is the answer here," you began, your voice resolute. "Maybe we can talk to them, convince them to leave the village alone. It doesn’t always have to end in bloodshed."

Astarion blinked, taken aback by your suggestion. He stared at you for a long moment before raising an eyebrow.

"What’s your plan then…?" he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. "To defeat them with the power of friendship…? Oh my gods, it is, isn’t it?"

You nodded, your resolve unwavering despite his incredulity. "Yes," you replied firmly. "It’s worth trying. If we can avoid fighting, why not?"

Astarion’s eyes widened slightly, and he stared at you as if you had just suggested sprouting wings and flying to the moon.

"You’re serious," he said, half in disbelief, half in amusement. "You’re actually going to go through with this insane plan."

You crossed your arms, refusing to back down. "Yes, I am," you insisted. "There’s no harm in trying to talk things out first."

Astarion let out a long, exasperated sigh, running a hand through his silver hair. "Darling, I adore that bleeding heart of yours, but this plan of yours defies all logic. Bandits aren’t exactly the negotiating type."

You could see the concern in his eyes, masked by his usual sarcasm, but you were determined to stick to your principles.

"I have to try," you said softly. "If there’s even a chance…"

But Astarion wasn’t having it. He stepped closer to you, his expression turning from playful to serious.

"No," he said firmly, his hand gently but firmly grasping your arm. "This is madness. You can’t just walk into a bandit camp and expect them to listen to reason. You’re going to get yourself killed."

You looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his gaze. "Astarion, I—"

"Enough," he interrupted, his voice firm. "I can’t let you do this. I love that heart of yours, but I would much prefer it to keep beating."

You tried to pull away, but Astarion held on tighter, his grip unyielding. "I’m not letting go until you come to your senses," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "I’ve lost too much already, and I won’t lose you too."

His words struck a chord deep within you, and you could feel the fear and concern behind his usual teasing demeanor. A moment of silence passed between you, the tension thick in the air. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Alright," you murmured, "maybe it was a foolish plan."

Astarion let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and pulled you into a tight embrace. "Thank the gods," he whispered into your hair, his voice full of relief. "You had me worried there."

You wrapped your arms around him, leaning into his embrace, feeling the warmth and comfort of his presence.

"I just wanted to find a way to avoid more violence," you said quietly.

"And I love you for that," Astarion replied, his voice gentle now. "But sometimes, a little pragmatism is necessary."

You nodded against his chest, feeling a wave of gratitude for his stubbornness, even if it had annoyed you at first.

"You’re right," you admitted. "I wasn’t thinking straight."

Astarion chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You never do when it comes to your heart," he teased, though his tone was affectionate. "But that’s one of the things I love about you."

You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you," you whispered, "for keeping me grounded."

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Always, my love," he said, his voice full of warmth. "Always."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I loved writing this and I hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

[be-with-me-so-happily]

Could We Not?

ONE SHOT

[ or Part 1 to Not Another Time ]

<< Request >> "Hey! I was wondering if you could do a one-shot where she’s like apart of the band and she gets hit in the head with a hard object while she’s on stage and Harry is super freaked out? That would be a sanity saver!" - @samanddeaninatrenchcoat

Summary: Harry Styles is used to having things thrown at him on stage. Recently, it's been Skittles, which affected his vision. But when his band members are affected, he can't stay silent. Especially when it's YN who takes the hit.

AN: I had a lot of fun writing this! YN replaces Laura in the band, just in general, only because she plays the trumpet and I still included Parris.

Warnings: Some explicit language, wound with blood, angry Harry

He can't escape it. It has carried on from his days in One Direction, and it seems to have become a permanent, unavoidable occurrence that things are thrown at him on stage.

Most are harmless, such as boas, sunglasses, or little plush toys that he is always inclined to keep.

However, there have been a few occasions where the objects were a bit more troublesome. Phones are a big one, which internally annoys the hell out of him at this point.

The most recent culprit, and the most shocking, was a handful of Skittles, one which hit him directly in his left eye. If there is a silver lining of that moment, it's that he only had to get through performing 'Kiwi' before he was able to run backstage and immediately have it taken care of.

He tries not to show anger on stage when things like that happen. He loves his fans. He always wants to treat them with kindness, acceptance, and gratitude. So he doesn't draw much attention to it. There has only been one occasion or two where he has subtly asked for some fans to stop throwing things.

Tonight, however, might be his tipping point.

Harry has brushed off the frustration from the rock hard candy incident, because tonight is a new night and a new show.

There is also the new trumpet player, YN. Well, she isn't new per say, she's been there since the tour came back to North America, but she is the newest member of the band, and the one Harry has become extremely fond of.

She fits in perfectly with the rest of the group. She is so kind, so joyful, and everyone seems to be energized just by her presence. Including Harry. Especially Harry. The moment she walked into the trial rehearsal, he felt an electricity course through his veins that he's never felt before. He shook it off as a mere, and mild, physical attraction. Then she started to play, and he was taken into a trance by her talent and passion. Then she spoke, and he felt his heart flutter more than ever.

He knows he has a crush, one that he can't talk about or act on, but it doesn't stop the forming of a grin when the horn players walk up onto the stage. It doesn't stop the goosebumps he feels when they all begin to play, being able to pick out the sound of her specific instrument. It doesn't stop the thought that those songs, the ones where they get to be there together, may just be his favorite ones to perform.

So when 'Satellite' ends, and after a good chat with the crowd, reading their signs, the four horn players make their way up the stairs as 'Cinema' begins, causing his heart to flutter and his current smile to stretch out into a wide grin.

When they play an extended introduction for 'Music For A Sushi Restaurant', he takes the opportunity to get some water and give her a quick smile, hoping that he actually does see a blush form on her cheeks, even behind her trumpet.

He stays on the outside of the stage for that song, but gets even more excited when the band begins to play 'Treat People With Kindness'. This means YN will move to one of the outside corners, which also means he'll get to be closer to her as he moves around during the song.

He makes sure to pass by her any chance he gets, but tries hard not to make his intentions too obvious, to the crowd or to YN. She's a part of his band, and he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable, even if she does appear to reciprocate any smile or slightly flirtatious comment he makes. He wants any move made to be on YN's terms. However, that won't stop him from taking this opportunity to share a little dance with her.

"Wait for it… wait for it… wait for it. One, two, three, four!"

As the crowd shouts out the chorus, Harry stations himself next to her, moving his hips side to side, causing her to pull back from her instrument and let out the most amazing laugh.

He's going to do that every time from now on, just so he can hear that again.

That song ends, and she moves into the center with the rest of the horn players, walking through to the other side of the stage as they start their intro for 'What Makes You Beautiful'.

He moves back to the mic stand in front of the walkway, trying to catch glimpses of her every so often, as she stands near the corner to his left.

"I don't know why you're being shy, and turn away when I look into your eyes."

He takes a few steps to his left, pointing his arms out to the fans and encouraging them to sing the bridge.

At that moment, something whizzes over in his direction and lands by his feet. He takes a quick look down, and then to his left, noticing that YN has moved a few feet over to the other side of the stage. He sees Mitch taking a couple of glances over to her as well, mouthing something, but she nods and continues to play.

As the final chorus nears, the four horn players move back to the center of the stage to play the last parts of the song.

He grabs his mic from the stand and engages the crowd, instantly requesting that they applaud for the horn players. He watches as YN gives a wave to the crowd, confused as to why she isn't doing it as vibrant as normal. She could just be tired, though she usually pushes through it, but it's been an intense leg of the tour in Los Angeles.

The time between that and 'Late Night Talking', while Parris plays his beautiful solo, is usually one of his favorite moments, because he has a little bit more time to interact with her on stage. Even if it's only a quick comment or joke, he loves it and takes what he can get. But as he moves closer to grab his water bottle, he sees her talking to Pauli, who swiftly hands her a spare face cloth that he keeps by him.

Harry immediately frowns and quickens his pace over to her.

"What's wrong?"

She wipes herself off and shakes her head, keeping her gaze downward. He can't remember a time where she wasn't happy and bright. But now she looks embarrassed, and sad, which pains him to see.

"Some… something hit me."

"What? Where? How?" He blurts out, not even fully able to process what she is explaining had occurred.

"A fan threw something. I don't know what it was." She sighs, flickering her gaze up to him with a troubling expression across her face.

"Shit. Are you alright?" He steps closer to her, unintentionally placing his hand on the middle of her back, and he feels her shiver under his touch. He removes it, his eyes fixated on her, and he feels some relief when he sees a small smile appear on her face.

"I'll be okay." She assures him. Her trumpet lifts up to her lips, the ones he has wondered what they would feel like against his, and he realizes that Parris has finished his part. "Let's get on with it."

He bites his lower lip as she gives him a wink, and feels a blush form on his own cheeks. If she knew what she does to him, she probably wouldn't be doing that. But he'll take it.

He sings through the second chorus on the closest walkway, still giddy at the fact that he can pick out her trumpet from the others, and he just knows she is swaying back and forth to the lyrics as she always does.

However, he turns around to make his way back, pointing his mic back out to the crowd, and when he sees YN again, she is holding her fingers against the spot over her left eyebrow.

Instantly his chest tightens and he bounces back over there as the song ends. She makes her way back to the center with the others while he takes a quick gulp of water, turning around when they begin to play 'Watermelon Sugar'.

"I'm bleeding." He hears her state to Parris.

"Okay. Go." Parris replies, and Harry follows after her.

"YN." He tries to shout without causing too much of a fuss, but she steps down the stairs, and he clenches his jaw as he watches her make her way backstage.

This isn't good, and he really hopes he can get through this song now.

"Alright, if… if you know this one, please… please do sing along." He stumbles through his words, his eyes still glaring over to the spot where YN exited.

Performing this one isn't as fun this time, though the crowd are probably none the wiser, as he keeps his professionalism as intact as possible. But it is different. She's usually on the walkway in front of him, dancing away as she plays, causing his heart to flutter each time she moves.

He either closes his eyes or moves around the stage a bit, hoping to momentarily distract himself from her, and stay focused on the music. At least to get through the song.

And thankfully he does.

As soon as it ends, the rest of the horn players make their way off the stage, and Harry immediately rushes over to his little setup in front of Pauli.

"Start playing, but I want to talk with the crowd for a moment." He states into the band mic, for only the crew to hear.

They softly play the melody of 'Love of My Life' and he raises his hand as if to signal that he has something to say.

"Thank you Los Angeles, so much, for all of your support. I, more than anyone, know that I couldn't do this without all of you. I hope you have had a great time." The crowd cheers, and stomps, and he responds with some kisses blown around the venue. Then his expression becomes a bit more solemn and he turns back to the mic. "I want to say that my number one priority for everyone here tonight has been safety. That includes everyone on stage as well."

The crowd immediately hushes, which usually doesn't happen without his lead, and it shocks him. But hopefully it means they'll hear his message.

"I always encourage you to dance, sing, and interact. I always suggest that you treat everyone with kindness. And now, I also ask that you please think about these amazing people on stage, and refrain from throwing things that could potentially hurt someone. One of our members was hurt during a song tonight and unfortunately had to leave." He pulls back, clearing his throat in an attempt to keep his frustration at bay. "We want to be able to keep doing this with you for as long as possible, so we all need to make sure that safety is our top priority. So let's keep it safe and have some more fun. How does that sound, Los Angeles?"

He holds two thumbs up to the fans, swiveling around while everyone begins to cheer again, and walks over to his mic for the next song. The last one before their little break, and before their encore. He'll be done soon.

He knows his energy has diminished a bit, which is fine for 'Love of My Life', because his mind is back on YN. He desperately wants to know if she is okay. Needs to know, at this point.

During the break before their encore, Harry rushed underneath and pleaded with the crew to find out what had happened to YN, and whether she's being taken care of. They assured him that she is fine, but he couldn't get rid of his worry.

He put on his best entertainer persona for the last three songs, feeding off the excitement of the crowd to get him through until the end.

But once 'Kiwi' was finished, he blew kisses to the fans and sprinted backstage, immediately feeling frantic.

"Jeff-"

"H, man, you doing okay?" His manager asks, concern all over his face.

"Where is YN?" Harry quickly asks, not even bothering to answer about himself.

"Huh?"

"Where's YN? She got hit by something. She had to get off stage. Where'd she go?" He asks, feeling frazzled like he never has before.

"Oh. Uh, I haven't seen her, maybe-"

Harry strides off, not really knowing which direction to head, but willing to walk all over the place to find her.

He sees another familiar face, feeling some hope that she'll have an answer.

"Lorren, where's YN?" He asks, hoping his tone is a bit more calm than it was with Jeff, but knowing he could be failing.

"She's in the common room." Lorren replies, a small smirk forming suddenly. "She's okay, Harry."

His eyes grow wide and he stands up straighter, more stable, more casual. Or at least trying to.

"Yeah. Of course. I just… wanted to check in with her." He utters, but her intrigued, raised eyebrow tells him that she doesn't accept his answer.

"Harry…" She chuckles. "I know you care about her more than that…"

"What? No-... I mean…" He sighs, running a ringed hand through his sweaty hair. "Shit."

Lorren laughs again and she puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Your secret is safe with me."

He nods and feels a hot burn flooding his cheeks, not even attempting to hide it since she clearly knows she's right.

"Does she fee-" He begins, immediately stopping as he sees her pull her lips inward. "Nevermind. Doesn't matter. I'm just… gonna check on her."

Lorren nods and smiles, squeezing his shoulder then pointing down the hallway.

"Good luck…" She teases as she walks away.

"What?"

"Nothing." She replies, already opening the door to another room.

He takes a deep breath and turns back around to the direction he needs to go, his steps faster the closer he gets to the room she is occupying.

He opens the door without hesitation, instantly seeing YN sitting on the sofa with an ice pack held on her face, and her phone in the other hand.

He clears his throat as he takes a few steps towards her, slower than they were in the hallway, and his heart pounds faster than it just had been.

"Hello." He utters, not wanting to startle her. She shoots her gaze up to him and he feels butterflies as she immediately smiles. She may have looked different on stage after the incident, but he is happy to see that her bright demeanor seems to have returned. His concern begins to melt away.

"Hi." She responds, putting her phone down, along with the ice pack. She winces as she does, and as he moves to the sofa, he finally sees the large gash on her forehead.

His heart sinks, and he is thankful for the close proximity to the furniture, because his knees almost give out completely as he takes a seat next to her, on the opposite side of where her cut is.

"Fuck, YN, are you alright?" He inquires, his gaze flickering between her gorgeous, sparkling eyes and her anger-inducing wound. His jaw instantly clenches and his palms ball into fists. He can't believe this happened, especially to her. His gaze drops, and he begins to fill with guilt. "I'm so sorry you got hurt."

Suddenly, he feels the warmth and soft touch of her hand on his, causing the tension in his palms to release right away.

"It's not your fault, H. And I'm okay."

He looks up to her again, being met with the gaze he tries hard not to get lost in, but fails every time he's close enough to see it.

"I just…" He sighs and shakes his head, not entirely sure what he wants to express, and worried it could be more than he should. "I just want to… know that you're alright."

"That's sweet." She utters, a tenderness in her tone. He smiles at the irony of her attempt to calm him, when it should be the other way around. "I am. I am alright."

A squeeze of YN's hand grabs his gaze once again, and he just sits in silence as he, once again, gets lost in her eyes.

His hand unintentionally reaches up, gently resting under her chin as he turns her head to view her wound, sighing once more at the sight of it. His thumb reaches up, gliding over her skin, right under the cut, and a tingle rushes over him.

A strong exhale leaves her mouth and he turns her head back to him, his eyes tracing the lines of her lips. He looks back to her gaze, his breath hitching at her beauty, and his body acts on his feelings as he leans in, gently pressing his lips against her own.

She lets out a small sigh, which snaps him back to reality, and he pulls back.

"Shit. I'm… fuck, I'm sorry." His hand drops and he scoots his body further away from her, feeling every ounce of embarrassment possible. He didn't want to make the first move, if there was even one to be made. What if she didn't want it? What if she hated it? "Fuck."

"Please, don't…" She clears her throat, a sudden timidness in her tone. "Please don't be sorry."

Harry's heart begins to race, and he glances up to see her smile. However, a knock on the half-closed door causes both their heads to turn that way, and they both sit up straighter.

"I finally found a bandaid." A venue staff member states, handing it to YN and walking out.

She begins to open it up, removing the strips and exposing the sticky sides, then looks around the room for a mirror.

"Here." Harry reaches out, grazing her hand, and regaining her attention. "Let me."

She hands him the bandage, and he scoots closer again, their thighs barely touching, but just enough for his stomach to fill with butterflies.

He gently places the band-aid over her cut, gliding his thumb over the corners to make sure they stay secured. His gaze drops down, and his breath hitches as he sees her gazing up to him through her lashes.

His palm slides down and rests on her cheek, and she tilts her head upwards, their lips hovering in front of each other.

"Thank you." She whispers, her own hand placing itself on top of his.

Harry attempts to swallow down the lump stuck in his throat, but is interrupted by the sudden soft pressure against his lips. He lets out a quiet whimper, and her hand moves around to the back of his neck, pulling him closer to her. His mouth begins to move with hers, and the tip of his tongue teases the gap between her lips.

She suddenly pulls away, and a frown forms on his face, until her gaze flickers to the door and he hears the chatter in the hallway that must have caused her to stop.

He pushes back, only out of caution and respect for both of their privacy, and grins when he sees her blush.

"You know, I've had recent experience with eye injuries."

"Right. You have." She giggles.

"If you want… you don't have to… but if you want to, you… you could come to my suite." He clears his throat. "To hang out. And I can keep an eye on that injury for you."

"No pun intended." She laughs, and his grin, surprisingly, grows wider. She's still so bright, and he's already down bad.

"I…" She begins, another blush instantly taking over her delicate skin. "I wouldn't mind seeing you looking at me a little more tonight."

"Oh my god." He breaths out, swiftly throwing his palms over his face.

He feels her fingers wrap around his wrist and removes his hands to find her standing in front of him. She tugs on his arm, and he lifts himself off the chair.

"Then maybe I'll get the chance to do the same." She states, biting her lower lip before letting him go and moving around the room to grab her stuff.

Yeah. He's definitely down bad, and despite her being injured, this just may end up being the best show by far.

Main Masterlist

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If your name is blue, I couldn't tag you

[howtofightwrite]

In writing a fighting scene how many sentences need to be it is always said it needs to have a variety of how long? Technical jargon better be ditched, or sometimes needs to be written? Is there any advice on how to do this, I still trying to get an idea of how to write fighting scenes? from tournaments, corridor battles (narrow and wide), room battles, field battles, war battles, or even hit-and-run battles?

So, there are multiple questions here, but some of these are going to be kind of quick.

How many sentences do you need? Enough, but no more. You need to be able to communicate to the reader what's happening in the fight. Or, at least, be able to communicate what your PoV character experiences from the fight. The more you add to it, the longer it will take your average reader to read the scene, and (to an extent) the slower they will perceive the fight.

This creates an awkward situation for a writer. If you have some, “really cool visual,” but you can't convey that quickly and efficiently, it might need to go. Especially if it's the kind of thing you'd see in a film, or comic, but that your character wouldn't be directly aware of. For example, a character isn't going to know that a blade narrowly missed their head, shaving off several locks of hair in the process, because they're probably not looking in the direction of their hair when it happens, and they're probably not going to feel it. In attempting to completely articulate that moment, you're going to slow down the fight.

Now, there is an application for this. The better a character's reflexes (really, the faster they are at processing information, which isn't technically reflexes), the more ability they'll have to actually perceive these kinds of moments as they happen, and the slow the fight will be, for them.

Technical jargon is characterization. A character who doesn't know how to fight, and has no prior aptitude for violence, probably won't have a particularly extensive vocabulary for violence. So, if that's you PoV for a fight, they don't know what they're seeing, and they might not have a vocabulary that extends much beyond hitting, punching, and kicking. This applies both to the attacks they can (intentionally) make, and what they can see and understand when other characters are attacking.

A character who is a combat veteran, with extensive training will have a much wider range of options open to them, and also a much greater capacity to accurately articulate the violence they see. They're likely to use and recognize things like stances, parries, restraints, holds, and throws.

This can lead to a specific situation that's counter-intuitive (at least in comparison to what I said at the beginning), but also very real. An inexperienced fighter, can find themselves quickly losing to a skilled opponent without really being able to understand what just happened to them. In this specific case, accurately communicating the details to the audience can be to the detriment.

So, this is all for limited narration. If you're using omniscient narration, then you'll need to make decisions on how to describe the combat. This is one situation where it's really difficult to avoid characterizing your narrator. Though, this should help make that characterization a conscious choice, rather than an accident.

Beyond that, asking about the different venues, that's a little to vague to really give any coherent answer beyond simply pointing to the earlier paragraphs. For example, when you're looking at armies clashing in a massive battle, the PoV is still the most important factor to assessing how it should be written. A general, commanding the troops from a hill behind the front lines is going to be far more interested in the overall strategic state of the battle. They'll be directing troops, trying to get orders through, watching the enemy, and trying to anticipate what they'll do. A soldier down in the melee will have a radically different experience. They may not even have the tactical background to fully appreciate the way the battle is progressing, beyond simply that there are still people trying to kill them, and they're preemptively returning the favor.

At a grander scale, a footsoldier in a war might not even have the frame of reference to really understand the state of the world beyond the scope of their orders and the battles they find themselves in. They may know who they are fighting, but, not really understand why. And, if they encounter enemy forces unexpectedly, they may have no idea what that really means for the war as a whole, where a general or commander would likely be able to understand and explain how that happened. In fact, a diplomat or spy, with extensive experience from before the war, may have entirely different understandings for how and why the enemy is maneuvering than even a general would.

Again, violence, whether it's on a personal, or a mass scale, is a venue for characterization. Who your characters are will dictate how they perceive, understand, and interact with the world around them. There isn't one way that a fight in a corridor will occur, because there isn't one kind of person who will walk into a corridor with violent intent.

If it sounds like I'm thinking of Glen Cook's Black Company novels, I am. I'm also thinking of Sandy Mitchell's Caiaphas Cain novels, and a few other stray examples.

Ultimately, this is all about characterization of your narrator, regardless whether that narrator is also a character in the story or not.

-Starke

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[thelazybard]

I'm not sure if you know anything about Delta Squad. But perhaps can I request Bad Batch x Fem Padawan reader who was first adopted by Delta Squad and when order 66 happened she was recused by Bad Batch, after attempting to use the force to stop them from harming her.

DELTA SQUAD MENTION RAAAAH!!

What a great first request!

This is gonna be a long one so buckle in

F!Reader x Bad Batch: Being saved from Order 66

warnings: Order 66, slight canon divergence, character death, Crosshair never follows Order 66, betrayal, angst, hurt/comfort, use of force speed because why did we never see that after Episode One, light fluff

This can't be happening.

What was even happening?

One second you and Delta Squad are on Kaller celebrating the death of General Grievous and the seeming end of the Clone War. The next, you're running as fast as you can, as far as you can, away from your squad; your family, who are now doing everything they can to find and destroy you.

You were Master Shaak Ti's padawan, and once helped her oversee the prowess of the clone army. But soon the war effort called you off-world to lead a special force of clone commandos. Master Shaak saw this as a way to know for certain if you were ready to be Knighted, since you were an adult now.

Boss, Scorch, Sev, and Fixer were apart of Delta Squad, and looked to you for guidance as their Commander. It was unnerving at first, being away from your master's calming presence and not being able to seek her guidance at a moment's notice.

But, you eventually proved your worth as a commander, and soon a knight. At least you would have if there was an Order to return to after this last mission.

You will never forget, Sev was the first to draw his rifle on you. At first you thought it was some distasteful joke. You weren't a stranger to your squad's pranks.

But when you sensed his index finger curl, and heard the faintest tick of his trigger being drawn back, you couldn't help the reflex of igniting your saber and swinging the blaster bolt back into your opponent's shoulder.

Sev had cried out, and even to this day his cry echos through your mind in the late of night.

Then the others drew your weapons and that's when you ran. You refused to fight them. Not because you couldn't, but because you wouldn't. They were your friends, your brothers. You lead them through their first campaign on Geonosis, laughed with them, cried with them. Celebrated victories and healed their wounds.

Clone Force 99 found you cornered between Delta Squad and the icy canyon below the ridge you stood on.

"Just stay back! Please!" You pleaded, lightsaber drawn and eyes glossed over with tears. You weren't in fear for yourself, but instead afraid of what you'd have to do to ensure your survival.

They weren't speaking to you. Why weren't they speaking to you?

"We've got her now, boys. Open fire on the target." Boss said to his brothers.

It was with those words that it was finally able to register in your head.

Something definitely happened, that was for certain. They were given orders from someone that superseded you. If that was the case, nothing you could say or do would stop them from completing their mission. You damned their unwavering loyalty before you sprung into action.

You'd always held back when sparring with your brothers. You were quicker, stronger, and could see their moves before they made them. You never let them win, only kept up with them until they grew tired, which granted took a while. But now it was life or death, you understood that now as you sliced their rifles in half, blocked their punches and parried their melee attacks before even they knew what they were moving to do.

The Batch watched the scene unfold from the treeline, still unsure of whose side they should be taking. Echo advocated stepping in right away on your behalf, but the jury was still out with the rest. Besides, it didn't look like you needed help.

Nothing like this has ever happened before. The Jedi were trustworthy, no? Especially the padawan of Shaak Ti.

They knew you in passing. You've interacted with the batch a few times, usually just accompanying Shaak Ti during their assessments. The Batch teased each other for their crush on you, and had taken every chance they could to pass you in the sterile hallways on Kamino. Now, that beautiful, calming padawan was fighting for her life.

In this moment you were other-worldly. It was nearly impossible for the batch to keep track of your form weaving through the four supersoldiers, blocking their attacks as you still clung to hope they'd come to their senses.

"She's not just killing them." Crosshair said.

"She doesn't want to." Echo replied.

Hunter had heard through the grapevine of padawan Ahsoka's alleged treason, that was later learned to be false. Could it be the same, here?

When Hunter finally finished mulling it over and called for CF-99 to aid you, they dove through the shrubs to stun your opponents while their attention was still fixated on you.

You watched in shock as Delta Squad's bodies crumbled to the ground around you, not realizing what happened until you saw the clones at the treeline.

"Commander," Hunter greeted you, worry wrinkling his brow.

"Sergeant. They tried to kill me! What is happening?" You asked.

"That's what we're trying to find out. But it isn't safe for you here."

"It doesn't appear it is safe for her anywhere," Tech interjected, eyes fixated on his datapad. "It says here the Jedi Order had commit treason against the Republic, and we are to eliminate all targets under Order 66."

"Treason? The entire Jedi Order? What could be the... Fives!" You breathed, your fingers draping over your mouth.

"Fives what?" Echo asked.

"He tried to warn me about a plot against the Jedi. I wanted to believe him, but before he could prove it he was–" You sighed and shook your head, sheathing your saber so you could dig the heels of your palms into your temples as the world you once knew was flipped upside down.

"We have to get you out of here. If the other clones planetside know you're here they'll try to..." Hunter said.

"I understand. It seems I will have to–" You nearly doubled over as an unfamiliar senstation dug through you like a vibroblade.

The tether between you and Shaak Ti was severed. She was killed.

You regained your footing with the help of Wrecker who steadied you.

"Master Ti. They- they killed her."

Hunter sensed regs closing in on your location. "Come on. We have to go, now!" He barked.

Running alongside the batch, tears streamed across your cheeks as you grappled with the fact that Master Ti, the woman who raised you, taught you, protected you, was cut down and you weren't there to stop it. Or at least die with her.

You boarded the Maurader and Echo helped you into a seat as you were overcome with emotions. Emotions you were taught to supress spilled out of you with the wound Shaak Ti's death left. Your shoulders quivered as you sobbed softly to yourself.

You were sad, angry, and scared.

"Take me to the nearest planet that doesn't have a Republic nor Separatist occupation," You finally said when the tears subsided. "I can't return to Kamino. I must hide until I figure out what is happening."

Tech nodded before keying in coordinates and making the jump to hyperspace. It would be a few days before you arrived, so it was time to get comfortable with your company.

Hunter:

The Clone Sergeant didn't know what to say to you for the first few hours.

Partly because he'd never conversed with you one-on-one and was nervous to talk to the pretty Jedi that was the object of his affections for the past few years.

Your entire squad just betrayed you. He couldn't imagine how that must feel. He didn't want to.

At first, every time he looked at you he was reminded of his greatest fear, and couldn't face it.

Eventually he decided he had to say something, gazing at your form curled up in a seat, seeming far away.

It wasn't until Crosshair literally shoved him in your direction did he finally approach you.

"Uhh, Commander... I... can't imagine what you're going through right now. If you need anything, let me know, yeah?" He asked.

"Thank you," You replied, voice small and strained now as you try to grapple your emotions.

"And, for what it's worth... You fought well. I think Delta Squad is lucky to have such a commander. I'm sorry they betrayed you. You won't get that from us."

You smiled at him and his heart stopped.

He wasn't sure of where you'd end up after they took you somewhere safe, but he was determined to cross paths with you again.

Echo:

Echo has the most experience out of the batch when it comes to working with Jedi. He understood their overall nature; Kind, calm, wise.

You were no different. It's why he was picking his brain for any reason clones would be ordered to murder you.

Echo knew you before his accident. It was your faith in him and the rest of Domino Squad that drove him to work together with his team. He'd been smitten with you ever since.

"Are you alright?" He asked, coming to sit across from you.

You looked up at him, and his chest tightened as the two of you made real, undivided eye contact with each other for the first time in years. Your eyes were wiser now, even while saddened.

"I'm... shaken. And trying to cope with the fact that I will have to leave everything I've known if it means I'll survive."

"You've still got us," Echo offered. "We don't really know what's going on either, but you can trust us. You can trust me."

"Thank you, Echo."

"Anytime. I... appreciate, all you've done for me and my brothers in the past. It's the least I can do for you now."

You reached over to touch his hand that rested in his lap, and he only froze a little. The look you then gave him when your eyes met again was a look he'd never soon forget.

Wrecker:

After a day of being on the Maurader with you, Wrecker knew he wanted to cheer you up. But he wasn't sure how.

He started with offering you his favorite flavor of ration bar, which you politely declined. Not much of an appetite.

Nodding, he left and returned with Lula, making her dance around you as he hummed a tune, and eventually bonked you on the head with the plushie to provoke a laugh.

His brothers told him to leave you alone but you assured them it was fine.

You liked Wrecker. He was silly and said what was on his mind.

His humorous way of cheering you up seemed to be working.

He crouched down to your level, looking up at you to meet your eyes and smiled. "C'mon Commander, let's hear that pretty laugh." He said.

He thinks it's pretty?

You thought back to your handful of interactions, and found you had chuckled a few times here and there.

This encouraged a soft giggle out of you.

"Thank you, Wrecker. I really needed that."

"Anytime, Commander."

Tech:

Tech has never seen anyone cry before. Not really, anyways.

He's seen people cry in the holofilms, and knew it was something you did when you were sad.

But Clones were in many ways emotionally stunted, even moreso Tech.

So watching you cry, well... it stirred something in his chest he'd never quite felt before.

He knew you were sad, that much was clear.

But how do you comfort someone who's crying!

"Don't fret. Your tears are simply a pathological response made to relieve some of the traumatic stress you may be feeling." Tech explained sagely as he sat beside you.

"That's... good to know, Tech. Thank you."

He then passed you a ration bar. "Here you must eat. You will need your Jedi strength."

His unconventional way of displaying his affection was oddly charming. Doting on you like a mother hen while also explaining the science behind your emotions in painful detail to alleviate your worry.

Crosshair:

You'd always seen through Crosshair's stoic, brooding demeanor.

You knew there was a storm of thoughts and feelings swirling around that noodle of his.

There was so much he was thinking at any point in time, so much he could say.

And he knew you knew. Everytime you two locked eyes, he felt you looking right through him into something more than what met the eye.

It was unnerving. He didn't like being seen in that way. Mostly because he didn't know what it'd entail.

Your eyes were duller now after what transpired, like you yourself had built up your walls into your own psyche.

It was like a thorn in his heart, not being able to see you like he did. So that's what it felt like.

He wanted to be let in.

"Need an ear?" He offered when it was just you two aboard the ship.

He didn't mean to startle you right as you exited the refresher after your sonic shower, but it was on his mind since he saw you disappear to freshen up.

"What?" You said, eyes alert suddenly.

"If you need to talk, I'll listen." He reiterated more clearly this time.

You looked down, shoulders shrugging weakly. "I'm not even sure what I want to say that would help."

He nodded his head in the direction of the cockpit and you followed him to sit in the pilot chairs.

"Maybe it won't fix anything, but it will at least be off your chest."

You exhaled through your mouth, then nodded.

"I just can't believe... I was close to them. They were my brothers. I thought that no matter what, they wouldn't..." You began.

Cross listened intently to your grievances, nodding to let you know he was listening, humming occasionally. Finding out more about your personality in the process.

Finally, when you couldn't find anything else to add, you wiped your tears and sat back, sighing deeply.

He was right, it at least helped with the cinderblock weight on your chest grief gave you.

"Thank you, Crosshair." You said.

He looked into your orbs, then to the swirl of blue and white that was hyperspace. "Get some rest. You can have my bunk, I changed the linens this morning." He said.

Sorry if this took too long, I just really liked this idea and the words came spilling out.

[dayasusays]

“say i love you”

bruce wayne x reader

my first experience in translating my writing into eng 😭 it’s not my first language, there can be a lot of mistakes (ngl i’m scared)

words : 1007

tw / cw : ??hurt comfort??? angst, maybe ooc sorry T-T

for better experience:

"what's going on with you?" you ask softly and take his hand, intertwining your fingers with his. bruce doesn't resist, doesn't snatch his hand away. he looks up at you and tries to smile.

"nothing, sweetheart," he parries in an attempt to escape the exhausting conversation, "just... tired. again," he lifts your intertwined hands and leaves a kiss on the back of your palm.

god, he's not okay.

those running eyes, not typical of the strong, commanding wayne; those gentle touches in which you read the incomprehension of what's going on.

"bruce," your voice is caressing, sweet, "you're trying to get away from me," you don't sound upset, and you certainly don't sound angry.

"bullshit," his lips press together into a thin line, "you know i'm just busy."

"busy," you say again, "you're busy."

of course he's busy; being batman has never been easy, and you're someone who understands that just as much as he does, on every level. of course he's tired; the constant patrols, the scuffles, the villains leave wayne with little in the way of a normal life.

"but that's not the point, not the tiredness," you sit down next to him, parting your hands and resting one of your palms on his tense shoulder, which relaxes under your touch, "you're acting weird, more distant than usual."

bruce is silent, unable to admit to you that he's noticed it himself.

"do you even love me?"

"of course i do," wayne sighs, looking up at you, "to the moon and..."

"...and back five times," you finish for him and smile softly, "of course..."

...no. there was something in his words and behavior that you could latch onto.

"but it's like you still have something to say, love," you leave a brief kiss on his cheek, which he returns immediately.

"dunno," bruce resists, frowning, "i'm not sure."

it's as if he's completely consumed with guilt when you look at him like that, with all the love and tenderness you feel for him. all the anxiety in his chest gathers into a lump, remaining there as an uncomfortable feeling. wayne reaches up to kiss you, and of course you don't refuse - you've never refused to kiss him when he's in this state.

"talk to me," you whisper against his lips, your thumb gently smoothing the hollow between his eyebrows so he wouldn't frown, "i don't bite, bruce," you smile slightly, catching his tired breath and kissing him.

he doesn't even know what this is about, god, he really doesn't. all he knows is that he loves you to the core. he loves you for your endless tenderness, for your patience, for the fact that you never ever blame him for anything. bruce wayne just knows that he loves you deeply, but delicately, sometimes passionately, sometimes quietly, but he swears to himself that it's love.

"i dunno," he repeats, looking away for a few seconds.

"bruce?" you call to him, still softly, as he lets out a short, questioning sound, "i love you."

and inside he feels an inexplicable emptiness at those words. an all-consuming, black hole like emptiness.

"so do i."

"look at me and tell me you love me," you ask.

wayne looks up and looks into your eyes, feeling a lump in his throat.

"i..." he tries to start, a couple of times he averts his eyes, but comes back to you, "honey, i just..."

"say "i love you", bruce," you interrupt, slowly reaching up and squeezing his hand.

"i can't," he whispers as his blue eyes try to lock onto something in your shared bedroom.

you just nod.

no tears, no tantrums, no screaming; just a nod as you turn away from him.

"sorry," he squeezes your hand tighter, "i dunno why... why i can't."

it wasn't surprising to you; you may never have been the best detective in the world, like wayne, but you knew every thought in his head. you knew something was wrong just by the look in those soft azure eyes. there was probably no one in the world who knew bruce as well as you did; that's why now, when he lets himself cry on your shoulder and apologizes, you stroke his hair soothingly.

"i dunno why," he continues to whisper, "you're wonderful. you're the woman of my dreams," he grasps at you almost desperately and you catch yourself wanting to believe him, "maybe it's just a phase."

"you think so? that it's a phase?

"no, but i wanna think so."

you look around your shared bedroom and smile weakly. the windows are curtained, there's a hairbrush on your dressing table, his pen with a piece of paper; your two mugs, turned exclusively one way, with the same pattern.

you're in one of his shirts, he's in the pajamas you gave him last christmas; the soft blue one that matches his eyes perfectly has always suited him better than black formal suits.

you smell of shampoo, he smells of his cologne that he smelled of on your first date; the restaurant you celebrated each of your anniversaries in.

"this is home," you think, lowering your gaze to bruce and taking another look around the bedroom.

"even if you don't love me..."

god, it hurt so much to realize that.

"i still love you just as much."

"but this isn't about you," wayne responded, leaving a soft kiss on your forehead, "can i be honest?" he's almost whispering against your skin when you nod,"i dunno if i can love at all."

but his truth was that he loved. he really did, but probably not as much as you.

your truth is that you love him too much; so much that you're willing to put up with everything from him being batman to the fact that he's not even a third of the way to how much you love him.

you can't remember a time when that same bruce wayne looked so broken.

it hurts you to look at him like that; it hurts him to look into your eyes.