#anyways fun little short one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cerise-on-top · 3 months

Note

hi! how would Valeria and Kate react if their wife’s got hurt because of their work, both of them working highly jobs and it ended up catching up to their s/o. hoe you are doing well and drink plenty of water! thank you!

-🍒

Hello! Both of them would be absolutely distraught, but would go about it in different ways!

Valeria’s and Laswell’s Wife Gets Hurt Because of their Job

Valeria: Whoever hurt you will wind up tortured and eventually, once she thinks they’ve had enough of their miserable life, will wind up dead. Naturally, the first thing she does is check up on you, see if you’re alright and well, that’s her priority. You’re the love of her life, there’s no one else in this world she wants to see do well. You’ll be admitted to the best hospital nearby and will only get the finest treatment. Once you’re stabilized, that’s when the hunt begins. Whoever hurt you won’t get too far since that bastard’s life will be on the line. Regardless of where they might be hiding, Valeria will find them and show them that death is actually a kind of mercy. She has pretty much everything at her disposal, everything money can buy, this sucker won’t know what hit them. If it’s revenge they want, then revenge they’ll get. Valeria promises you that their head will be on a silver plate. She’s not very good with words when it comes to comforting someone, but she will have that person killed in the most cruel ways she can imagine. In fact, she’ll take the pleasure of torturing them upon herself. Once she’s done, she’ll take some days off, which is surprising since she usually can’t afford that at all. You’ll be under her direct care for those days. Anything you want you’ll get. Afterwards there will be a slight shift in her demeanor, Valeria becomes more protective over you. Sometimes she might even assign some trusted people of hers to watch over you since she can’t afford something like that happening again. While she can’t always take some days off, she’ll try to be closer to you anyway. Always texting you, finding excuses to come home for a day maybe. She just really needs to make sure you’re okay, she wouldn’t know what to do with herself if you died.

Laswell: Laswell will try to be a bit more diplomatic about it at first, trying to coax whoever hurt you out of hiding. This person will be held accountable for their crimes against her world. Naturally, she rescues you first, gets you to the nearest hospital and won’t leave your side until you’re stable again. If it takes you a while to wake up again, she’ll leave to find the fucker and make sure they swim with the fishes. She has a pretty large, efficient network and will find out who it was fairly easily. Once she knows who they are, she won’t hesitate to find out all their past crimes as well, if they hurt you then they must have done some other awful things as well. Once that phase is over, she’ll go to their home herself and have them arrested, put in the worst prison imaginable where the inmates are treated especially badly. She won’t kill them, but she wouldn’t be surprised if they wind up dead anyway. Laswell usually isn’t an evil person, but she does hope that person dies during their time. Their sentence will be as long as possible so there’s no chance of them ever seeing the sunlight again either. Once all of this is over, she, too, would take some days off to spend with you. You’re a priority above all else, so Laswell will want to be there for you, no matter the cost. While she usually isn’t, depending on how severely you got hurt she might become a bit overbearing, a bit overprotective. That overprotectiveness will last for a few months, afterwards she’ll try to give you some space again. However, she’ll always be keeping a closer eye on you, always texting or calling you every once in a while to make sure you’re okay. If she needs to, she’ll put you under her protection officially, but the situation needs to be dire for that to happen. Either way, she’ll be keeping you safe.

#cod #cod x reader #valeria garza #valeria garza x reader #kate laswell #kate laswell x reader #fem!reader #I hit over 100k words in my document last night which is so so much #I've written so much for Call of Duty in such a short time it's unbelievable. granted there's one fic I never posted but still #I don't intend to stop now either though it's fun. I'll probably be into cod for a while still anyway so there's that too #besides Valeria and Laswell have me in a chokehold. Farah does too I love them #every time someone requests them I'm very happy. I didn't expect the girls to be this popular though in all honesty #not complaining! it's nice to get to imagine kissing girls. it makes my gay little heart sing #I actually had some art of Valeria and an OC of mine commissioned not too long ago #every time I look at it I giggle and kick my legs a bit #I want her to fluster the everloving hell out of me until I can't speak anymore and am complete mush for her #I know I've mentioned it before but I love women who could absolutely just kill me. and who absolutely would do it as well #cod has some good women. made me realise that older women are also pretty epic #I think I'd melt into a puddle if Laswell ever called me her girl or her wife

177 notes · View notes

drbtinglecannon · 6 months

Text

I don't really like posting pics, but I recently got fleece lined leggings and a variety pack of fishnets to wear over them, and the green pair perfectly matches the lunar moths skirt I bought from @mayakern ! My necklace is also the same shade of green with blue accents, so my color coordination was off the charts today haha

#unfortunately the skirt is just a little too snug for my liking so I got a size up on my last order and that one fits great!#but I was very excited to realize I had something that matched these green fishnets. and my sister made me this necklace like a decade ago #so its awesome to finally have an entire outfit that matches it perfectly!#but anyway maya kern skirts are highly recommended they're comfortable and fun. I have 2 and I'm excited to wear them more often!#I've been wearing gym leggings for the last few years and I decided I want to start wearing shorts & jeans & skirts & dresses again #tc posts #I got that trenchcoat from a local artist it's the most expensive piece of clothing I've ever gotten but it's so worth it it's so badass #only reason I'm looking forward to colder weather: I can finally wear my trenchcoat again

144 notes · View notes

honeylikewords · 1 year

Text

cubs. (jack russell)

halloween brings all the little monsters out. aka, jack gets baby fever.

(warnings: mentions of pregnancy, planning for children, allusions to sex, descriptions of physical intimacy and making out, and jack smelling his wife, if that counts. nothing technically fully n/s/f//w//, but a bit saucy. word count 2.4k )

Jack’s head tilts sideways before the doorbell even rings, one ear higher than the other to catch something she can’t hear. He turns in his seat on the couch, arm strewn over her shoulder, to look behind them in the direction of the front door, tilts over, kisses her temple, and pops up in the seconds before the slightly-jarring “ding” echoes through the house. He’s already at the door, bowl in hand, beaming down at the gaggle of children and chaperones by the time she’s even stirring on the couch to come to join him.

“Oh, who do we have here?,” Jack coos excitedly, scanning the miniature crowd. “Are you the little one from--”

“Stranger Things!,” yells a small child in a pink dress, blonde wig askew, tendrils of the plastic hair stuck to their face. “I’m Eleven!”

“Yes, sí, can you do the--” --Jack sticks his hand out and makes a face, and the child eagerly matches him, giving him their best furious expression and most powerful psychokinetic pose-- “Yes! That’s so good!”

He quickly glances up at the three adults standing behind and asks if there are any allergies in the group (and there are none, thank goodness) as his wife comes to stand next to him, smiling at the Eleven who is now turning their powers onto their group of friends. Gesturing for the kids to bring their bags closer, Jack begins dropping generous fistfuls of candy into eagerly opened pillowcases and treat sacks, small hands darting out to show off the newest snacks to one another.

“Hey there, Mirabel,” says Mrs. Russell, waving at a young girl in a blue skirt and white t-shirt, sporting a giant pair of glasses and a pink flower in her dense curls. The little one is wrapped up in a purple puffer jacket on this cold October evening, and while it is a truth universally acknowledged that a big coat is the bane of Halloween costumes, the effect of her adorable smile and ‘Encanto’ printed trick-or-treat bag is more than enough to convey the essence of the character. “Is Uncle Bruno with you tonight?”

The girl shyly shakes her head and wrings the handles of her bag in her fingers but is smiling widely when Jack speaks a few quick words of admiration for her costume in Spanish and passes her a scoop of candy for her bag.

“I’m Ariel!”, adds a small child in a green tube skirt with flared tulle flippers sewn on, a purple strip of cloth tied around their tummy over a slightly off-skin-tone longsleeve tee.

“And I’m Harry Potter!” A wand is brandished at Jack, who puts a hand over his chest in shock.

“I’m Batman!” The petite hero jumps into a pose to show off the padding of his armor, his light-up shoes kicking to life and casting green flashes over the porch.

Jack turns to his wife and grins, gesturing enthusiastically at the crowd of kids. “I think these are the best costumes we’ve seen all night, no?” She nods, and the kids all let out little shrieks and giggles as Jack procures a few extra pieces from the bowl and adds them to their bags.

The chaperones guide the straggling children into a chorus of “thank you”s before shuffling them down from the porch, past the jack o’lanterns, and on to the next house, as Jack and his wife remain in the doorway. She leans her head on his shoulder and listens to him sigh sweetly, his eyes tracing over the sunset-lit streets swarming with seas of children and their families, all screaming and laughing over one another, racing past on the sidewalks, weaving in and out of lawns decorated with tombstones and inflatable specters, plastic skeletons and felted spiders.

“You know, at the rate you hand it out, we’ll be out of candy before the street lights come on,” she teases, nudging his shoulder. Jack chuckles and puts a hand on the small of her back, shrugging as he steers her back towards the couch.

“It’s Halloween, bebé; do you want us to be known as the stingy old couple, or the cool couple that gives out extra candy to the little monsters? Besides, that Mirabel, oh my God--”

“Total heart-melter,” she agrees, sitting and cuddling into Jack’s side as he hooks his arm back over her shoulders and pulls her body close. “I think between her and that four-month-old dressed as Grogu, we may have seen the two cutest costumes in all of North America today.”

Jack lets out a groan at the memory of the adorable baby, who he had greeted at the door with a delighted peal of laughter, and squeezes his wife tightly in his arms, as if hugging her in the baby’s stead. The abrupt squish pushes a small squeak out of her, and Jack giggles, bumping the blunt tip of his long nose into her cheek.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “You okay?”

His slight frame conceals a rather intense strength, something that comforts her, even if it still sneaks up on her every now and again that he is, in fact, as strong as he is; Jack’s touch is grounding and warm when so few things in the world are, and she’s glad, especially in the cold months, for the over-active heat of his body and the power of his embrace.

He traces the tips of his broad, tan fingers along the curve of her upper arm, pale nails leaving wake trails of gooseflesh and pleasant shivers. She realizes he’s waiting for a response before going any further with his affections, and she nods, cupping the square of his chin and running her thumb along his bottom lip. When his olive green eyes fix on hers, and his lips part to reveal the brightness of his smile, crooked to the left by the jut of his snaggletooth, she feels heat wash over her face and down her body, familiar and fluttering as he dips his face close and keeps her gaze.

“You know what I’m thinking?,” Jack purrs, voice dropping low and soft as he begins inching nearer. When he’s this close, his breath falls on her skin like a warm fog, sticking sweetly to her neck and cheeks, and the scent of him gets stronger.

He smells like their bed, she thinks. Cozy, fuzzy, and tinged with a modicum of not-at-all-unappealing sweat, there is also that distinct canine note that can only be detected in this kind of proximity. His arms are still wrapped around her, and one of his hands is coasting, flat-palmed, up and down the length of her side, following the curves of her ribs and belly, while the other finds itself resting on her shoulder, idly fingering an errant lock of hair. His face is so close to hers that she swears she could count each of his eyelashes, individually, and the hairs that form his growing stubble.

This Halloween, Jack has chosen to go as a vampire, which he thinks is exceedingly funny. Dark makeup rings his eyes and the grey in his hair glows almost blue in the low light of the fading day, lending him an unearthly quality that fits his costume well. The powers of the vampire, too, seem to be his: he has her under his thrall, certainly. His smile is mesmeric, and she can imagine that if a vampire were to look like him, there would be no end to the line of people willing to be bitten by that self-same smile.

“What are you thinking, Puppy?,” she asks, trying to redirect her own wandering thoughts. She scratches lightly at the underside of his chin and, on reflex, his head tilts up, eyes fluttering shut as a contented noise rumbles in the back of his throat. He’s so easy to please.

“I’m, uh--” He seems distracted by the sensation of her scratching at that Just Right spot between the back of his ear and the crook of his jaw, a distraction that only worsens when she begins scratching the hair at the nape of his neck. “I was going to say that I… I was thinking we…”

His hands lie still on her, twitching every now and then when she finds a particularly pleasing spot to scratch, and she relishes the sensation of being the one who now has her beloved under her own thrall; Jack leans his head into her touch and follows the motion of her hands, chasing her attentions. A sigh leaves his lips and he unclenches his shoulders, melting into her as she leans back against the armrest of the couch and Jack follows, laying his head on her chest.

His weight is surprisingly heavy atop her as he lays himself on her belly, slotting between her knees and positioning himself for ease of scritching. He’s not a big man, by any means, but there’s a density to him, and she’s feeling it now as he presses her into the couch with his body.

She pauses her petting briefly as she adjusts to the new position, and her hands still in his hair, which causes a growl of displeasure to part his lips. At that, she looks down at him and sees one green eye peering up at her (the other still shut and squished into her chest), and sticks her tongue out at him before continuing the strokes to his salt-and-pepper pelt.

It’s rather soothing, playing with his hair like this. There’s a therapeutic element to the combination of his body weight, intense warmth, rhythmic breathing, and the texture of his hair under her fingers, and she lets instinct carry her, as salient thought drifts away into the blissful mist of repetitive motion and familiar feelings. She traces the lines of his scalp, watching his black and grey and still, sometimes, brown hair forest up around her fingers, content to just match the tide of his breaths with her own, their ribs pressed together and expanding in synchronicity.

After a moment, Jack stirs. Turning, he cranes his face so that he can look at her squarely, and she feels the irresistible magnetism of that green gaze tugging her deeper into his spell.

“I want to try for one of our own,” he says, shattering the stillness like a foul ball through plate glass. “Tonight, if you’re ready.”

It takes her a second to blink away the haze that had settled around her head, and when she does at last manage to, she finds herself staring down into Jack’s face, taking him in with utmost fascination. If she heard him clearly, and she believes she did, he asked her--

“A baby, by the way. In case I wasn’t clear.” He flashes her a smile and a breathy laugh, and he pats her side playfully. “I’m sure you could figure that out, amorcita, but I like to be direct.”

“Oh.”

It’s all she can think to say: not because she is unhappy, or undesiring of the same things, but simply because the effect of Jack Russell, staring up at her with his big, moss-colored puppy eyes, brazenly stating that he wants to try and conceive with her, is flooring. He pushes up on his forearms, and suddenly he is above her, his face lit starkly by the shadows of the setting sun and the television, marking him out in black and white. His eyes glow, even in the darkness.

The wolf’s smile slips into his features as he stares down at her, watching her reactions with delight. He can hear her heartbeat, she knows, smells the minute shifts that not even she is aware of. He knows her, inside and out, and surely knows which way she is swayed, but he waits patiently for her to give him a sign, a command, an enthusiastic yes or a firm no. He won’t move without her urging.

She cups his face and lets out a shaky, excited breath, one that shivers in her sternum and makes Jack grin. There’s that crooked canine of his, sharply glinting in his smile, and she trembles joyfully at the sight, wondering if their child would have their father’s snaggletooth. She hopes they do.

“Tonight,” she repeats. Jack’s eyes widen.

Gently, she tugs him down and presses his pouty lips to hers, and the dam breaks. Jack lets out an inhuman groan of delight, dropping his center of gravity low to lean into the kiss, and uses his blunt incisors to pull at her bottom lip, nipping and sending the wet, lapping sounds of kissing echoing through the room. He uses one hand to hold her jaw in place, then begins trailing kisses down and around her chin, working his way to her throat.

“Look so pretty in your costume,” he rasps, voice low and clouded. “‘S hard for a man to keep his hands to himself.”

Before she can snidely remark that he, in fact, has not been keeping his hands to himself for almost the entirety of the evening, Jack sinks his teeth into her neck: not hard enough to wound her, but certainly hard enough to make her forget every other thought, her mind now focused completely on the reality that her husband is leaving marks all across her throat.

“You smell,” Jack groans, “So good. And, oh, God, when you have our cubs…”

He pushes his face into the crook of her neck and inhales, a series of Spanish and English curses flowing from his lips as they wander across her skin, and his hands begin rucking up the bottom of her blouse when--

“DING.”

Jack’s head whips up, and the two of them stare with wide eyes at one another. His face is flushed a deep umber and his lips are shiny, hair a fluffed mess, and she can only imagine she looks even more sordid and knocked askew. They exchange a communicative glance before the doorbell rings a second time and Jack, ever the gentleman, kisses her forehead, rapidly apologizing.

“We’ll get back to this, querida, I promise, I swear, I want to--”

She waves him off with a smile, and sees him bolt for the door, candy bowl in hand. He throws it open with gusto, and as she watches, she sees the transformation come over him; the brightness in his eyes, the giddiness of his smile, the sincerity of his sweetness. He’s going to make a magnificent father. And she’s going to have a very, very happy Halloween.

#werewolf by night #jack russell #jack russell x reader #wwbn #wbn #marvel #(i also see people spell his name as:)#jack russel #jack russel x reader #i cant believe it a FIC and it's a slightly RISQUE one! (this is not permission for people to send me n...s....f.......w by the way)#i just am like. in a weird state and i thought married!jack and his spouse getting to do fun halloween kissing and having baby fever would #be cute and nice ghdkhgkalhgdkhg #original #it's a little short for me (i usually like to go about 5k or more?) but this is just a Test Run #if you guys want more jack lmk and i'll hopefully be doing other jack stuff for myself so :3 anyway its 3 am now gnight

808 notes · View notes

marlynnofmany · 8 months

Text

Small Noises

The air was warm, the breeze smelled of spicy alien flowers, the sun was a comforting Earthlike brightness, and something kept making a popping noise that was slowly driving me mad.

I tried to figure it out. The hoversled that Mur and I sat waiting on was inert and parked. There was no cargo on it because the client was late (thus the waiting). Our ship lay behind us on a relatively quiet landing pad, with crewmates bustling around inside and a variety of locals going about their own business at some distance.

The door to our ship was closed. Maybe it was something from another ship? I turned my head back and forth, trying to pinpoint the direction.

Mur noticed, glancing up from where he was idly braiding his tentacles like a particularly arts-and-crafts-inclined dark blue squid. “Something wrong?” He sounded like he was hoping I’d say yes, because it would mean something to do.

“I’m trying to tell where that sound is coming from,” I told him, cupping a hand to one ear. Of course it stopped when I was actively trying to find it.

“What sound?” Mur asked.

“The little popping noise,” I said. “It happens every few seconds. I thought maybe it’s that ship over there, but I don’t know.”

“This noise?” Mur separated his tentacles and lay one against the deck of the hoversled, popping it upward with a suction-cup smack.

“It was you??” I spread my hands in exasperation. “I was trying to see which ship engine was making the weird cooldown noises, or maybe somebody on this spaceport chews bubblegum!”

“Nope,” he said cheerfully, popping a different tentacle even louder this time.

Shaking my head, I pulled my lips in and made a popping sound with my mouth. I’d meant it to be a frivolous imitation, but Mur gave me a sharp look.

“You do know that’s a swear word, right?”

“Ha! No, I didn’t.” I grinned. “Good to know.”

Still visibly bored, Mur lined up two tentacles against each other and separated them in a cascade of sound like undersea popcorn. “Bet you can’t do that.”

“You’re right,” I said. “But I can do this.” I breathed on my palms and squished them together in a respectable imitation of squeaky flatulence. Third-grade me would have been proud.

“That’s not a swear,” Mur said.

“Probably for the best,” I told him. “Humans have been known to make that sound accidentally, and I can just imagine the diplomatic kerfuffles that it could lead to.”

Mur twirled a tentacle in assent. “Like we need more of those.”

I thought of another one. “Hey, I know you can’t do this.” I pressed one long fingernail against another, letting it snap back with a tiny click. “This only works when I need to trim my nails.” I snapped away in a flurry of clicks.

“Well, yeah,” Mur said. “You’ve got more hard parts to hit against each other than I do.”

“True.”

“Good thing there are no Mesmers here to put us to shame,” he said. “With all their clicky bits.”

I nodded, picturing the mantislike species that came in wild colors with egos to match. “Yeah, they’d definitely win the clicky-tappy competition. You know, I bet they’d make amazing tapdancers. I should ask Zhee if that’s already a thing.”

“Or you could ask these guys,” Mur said, standing abruptly.

I looked up to see an irritated-looking procession of Mesmers towing their own hoversled in our directions, loaded with shipping crates. There were many taps, clicks, and hissing grumbles.

I did not ask the late clients about tapdancing. Mur and I simply accepted the delivery with patience and grace, making sure everything was accounted for and all payments were squared away, promising that we would do everything in our power to get the crates to their destination in the agreed-upon time frame or better.

The clients agreed in a huff, leaving with a flair of red and bronze limbs, still muttering. Some of it was barely-veiled insults that they clearly didn’t care if we overheard.

I didn’t say anything as they clicked away. Neither did Mur.

But I did swear in his language once they were out of earshot.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come!

#my writing #The Token Human #this one's a short bit of nonsense #those can be fun #haso #hfy #humans are weird #writblr #writeblr #writerblr #I love how no one can agree on how to spell that tag #we 're writers; we have opinions about deliberate misspellings #and we don't necessarily agree #something something spice of life #anyways enjoy this silly little story #I'll probably have something Deep and Significant next week #or different nonsense #only time will tell

147 notes · View notes

mediumgayitalian · 1 month

Note

i’m so very invested in ur naomi fic; it’s both kinda tragic but also very heartwarming to read abt her struggle to hold everything together but have so much determination to make everything work out, and i’m rooting for her so hard (even though i know she’ll be ok, it’s still that feeling, ya know?) all this to say i love ur version of her very much (and di is a delight tbh)

it IS upsetting….she is scraping the barrel!!!! she is nervous!!! things are only going to get harder!!! and yet. she is GOING to handle it because she has to. because there is no one resilient and stubborn like naomi solace. and of course di is there even if she’s grouchy about it :D

#i’m obsessed w the idea of a girl forced to become a maternal figure by circumstance and scared of it #and a woman forced to become a maternal figure by circumstance and being scared of it #and handling it in very different ways #because the circumstances are very different #di has never had children and never really wanted them but this little brat who does not respect her authority and never stops singing for #one fucking second #well.#she can’t just leave the bitch to sleep in a CAR.#that’s not on her.#anyways di i love you too #and i want y’all to think of what di might be short for #and how that might be a fun on the nose name in a universe w the gods lol #ask #naomi solace

23 notes · View notes

luck-of-the-drawings · 4 months

Text

(OLD OC SKETCHES) Meet Sunnabelle Von Sunnoviche, final daughter of the Sunnoviche family. Peeking from behind a window, she witnessed a wizards final spell, one that reduced the world to a wasteland. Her noble blood damned her to [HELL], but unwanting to suffer with her family, she made a deal with the devil. She now hunts in his name. The top of her head was taken by the blast on that day. The fires of her spirit have boiled her blood into a super-heated plasma.

#luckys original content #GRAAHH MY OCS OCS IM SORRY MY OCS I NEVER FUCKIN DRAWW YYAALLL #i was cleanin stuff on my pc again n found a buncha stray doodles of her that i made like. 1 or 2 yrs ago. so i cooked em into smth edible #shes a gunslinger rogue i think! mechanically aasimar bc plasma blood #played her once for a very teeny tiny improved oneshot me n some buddies did forever ago #would love to play as her again... someday a cowboy themed game will find me.. n she will live again...#SUNNABELLE VON SUNNOVICHE! the last name was sposed to sound like 'son of a bitch' ehehehe #bc she is ONE HELL ofa son ofa bitch. shes mean shes short tempered she takes NO SHIT #and she loses her mmIIIIND when she meets a delightfully stupid pretty person #i didnt play her for long so her personality hasnt evolved that far. thats the fun thing abt playing characters! u meet them when u play em #SUNNABELLE FUNFACTS: she is the 6th child of 11 siblings. middlest a middle child can be. bc o this she was often overlooked or ignored #she grew up in a family of obnoxiously rich nobles. all the other siblings were trained and focused on to be the best a sunnoviche can be #meanwhile. sunnabelle often stuck to herself. drawing and creating little fantasy worlds. was always a fan of wild wests n cowboys n guns #she was the only one that saw the WIZARD coming. she was peering over a window when the blast went off. taking the top of her head #GUHH IM ACTULY SO PROUDA HER DESIGN SHE LOOKS SO COOL.. LIKE WHATS WITH THE PLASMA HOW DID I DRAW THAT SO WELL. IM SO PROUD.#I lov all the sun symbolism.. its so fun.. what a fun character ive made.. hell yeah.... anyway hope u guys like her too.#if u got questions ive got ANSWERS!!! my askbox is always open. im pretty sure.

27 notes · View notes

laddertek · 7 months

Note

shoutout to you giving us the tangtho highlights of the decked out 2 streams

hahaha thank you. I'm far from providing all the highlights because there are simply Too Many. that I just don't post about all of them. but hooo boy are the tangtho enjoyers living well right now!!

#like. it's the little things like #etho's “don't you giggle at me”#*and etho laughing a lot at tango's bdubs short joke :')#it's all just A Lot. there are so many great little moments between them at the moment haha it's great they're very fun #and sweet #you know it'd also be fun to collect some past ones too but who has the time haha #but for example I think during season 8 on a stream tango was asked what his favourite thing about season 7 was #and he thought about it. and he said becoming better friends with etho #like #that's so sweet #anyway sdfghj thank you for the ask! I appreciate people being here with me too #also reminder that everyone and anyone can please word vomit and post and art about tangtho whenever they like sdfghj #I for one will eat it all up <3 #decked out 2 #hermitcraft #tango tek #tangotek #ethoslab #etho #tangtho #hermitshipping #asks

27 notes · View notes

shady-tavern · 9 months

Text

Deals and Revelry, Quin's Backstory

The lovely @fyrenwater requested some more pieces for Deals and Revelry and I started with Quin's backstory. Hopefully it's a fun read! With Quin there is of course a warning ahead for implied murder.

***

The temple was old and not in the broken, long abandoned kind of way, overgrown and damp and too dangerous to enter. Quin had seen plenty of old places, had walked through plenty of runes. He lived for the danger, made a living out of going where no one else wanted to thread.

The upper temple had looked like one would expect, half swallowed by the swamp, covered with plants and little pieces of walls and fallen pillars stuck out of the knee-deep water and morass.

He had even found the remains of a statue's face, nearly whittled to be unrecognizable by time and the environment.

The place clearly had been looted to hell and back, but something had felt different. Something had compelled him to stay. So he had looked around, using every single ounce of his talent and bullheaded tenacity until he had found it three days later. A hidden entrance.

The temple that laid below the broken skeleton husk above ground was not destroyed or crumbling. It was perfectly preserved, even if water had clearly found its way in. Nothing had grown, however. There was no slick algae, no signs at all that nature and the elements had wriggled through the cracks.

A few roots dangled from the ceiling, but they were all dead, crumbling when he reached up to touch them.

The temple was old, old in a way that told Quin it had withstood the tooth of time without a single scar for centuries. Something was still alive in these halls, even as everything that touched it died.

For just a brief moment he felt like he inhaled something otherworldly, a strange kind of power permeating the air. Whatever was down here wasn't even hiding that it existed, even if its presence had barely made it above ground.

This was what he had felt, what had made him trudge through mud and water and get bitten relentlessly by mosquitos for days.

His steps echoed as he walked, a heavy presence to the silence around him. The sort of presence that only came with something ancient that refused to disappear. That refused to die even after it had been forgotten.

Quin wasn't a fool, however. He took his time, carefully examining his surroundings, disarming traps and escaping the few he didn't notice in time by the skin of his teeth.

The first time his blood spilled he felt the entire temple around him sigh and tremble. As if a great beast had tried to move in its cage.

And this temple was a cage, he realized as he walked and considered the ancient writing on the walls, his rations dwindling by the day. But he couldn't leave, it was almost feverish how he kept looking and searching, being drawn ever deeper into the temple.

Or rather, the tomb. This was meant to be a final resting place for something too powerful and ancient to comprehend.

A part of him knew he was pulled along by whatever was entombed here, but he allowed it to happen. He wanted to know what was down here.

He found his answer in a comparatively small, circular room. Paintings glittered on the wall as through freshly finished, the paint still wet.

Plaques with text were left below the artworks, as well as big words pressed into the floor. A strange kind of metal had been used to form the letters of a civilization long gone.

The presence was strongest here and Quin set up his camp, studying the ancient texts. A warning was on one part of the wall, showing two giant beings battle it out. The next text was easier to guess, if only because of the depiction of one giant being slain and the people at its feet using its blood and bones to seal the other.

Just as his last crumb of food was devoured and his last sip of water swallowed, Quin figured out the ritual. He still didn't understand too much about what exactly was down here and what exactly had been done to it to put it there, but he knew how to at least...wriggle loose the bars of its prison a bit, so to speak.

He used his blood to write, each ancient letter precisely placed between the metal writing on the floor. The moment he finished, his blood glowed a dark and deep red and he heard a sigh in the very air itself.

The being's presence became cloying and overpowering and while he couldn't quite make out words or any kind of spoken language, he could make out intent. A pact. A promise of power and wealth and everything he could possibly ever want, so long as he carried it out into the world.

Quin didn't hesitate so much as he turned the offer over in his head. He knew the stories of deals made with devils, with sealed away entities and rumored demi-gods and of course with very human monsters. He knew they were always a bad idea.

One could not trick or out-deal creatures that lived and thrived on such things.

But this deal was the very thing he had been searching for when he had first started dungeon delving. Power. Purpose. To be more than he was now, to no longer walk with blunt teeth and hidden daggers.

He wanted to be sharp and dangerous and deadly and powerful.

So he reached out with all that he desired and the being accepted. His world turned dark and black as, in his mind, a maw massive enough to swallow the sky opened wide.

*.*.*

The thing was in his head now, kind of. Quin was not fond of this part, but he managed to figure out how to shield his thoughts as he traversed the ruin, collecting the treasure the thing was guiding him to. Wealth was a part of power after all and power was what he had wanted, first and foremost.

It was...exhilarating. He was no longer human, he knew that in the very marrow of his bones. He bled red still, he learned and his emotions and thoughts were the same as before. He hadn't lost his humanity, however much of it he had possessed in the first place.

But he was stronger, faster and sharper now. As dangerous as he had always wanted to be and he reveled in it.

His bags filled with gold and jewels he emerged from the tomb-temple and the world was just slightly sharper around him, his senses stronger. He knew he could actually track something down by scent alone if necessary and it made him grin.

He set out with a confident stride, tall and fierce in ways he hadn't been able to even emulate as a human. He was different now and as he traveled, he slowly got used to all the changes.

Of course, every pact came with its downsides. People who had spoken freely with him before or had been willing to share information or even secrets over a couple of drinks shied away from him now.

Quin found that no one dared to meet his gaze and he checked his small pocket mirror multiple times, but his eyes were still the same. Dark and soulful, as his mother had once said. Gods rest her soul, she had always encouraged him to do what he wanted. To take what he wanted.

Quin traveled on swiftly, outstaying his welcome at every new place within mere moments. The thing in his head wanted something, but communication was still iffy and frustrated the both of them.

Then Quin stumbled across a whip-thin young woman, left bleeding at the side of the road. She was dying, that was easy to see, but her eyes told a different story. She did not shy from him the way everyone else did, a defiance to her as though she believed him to be the reaper and she was going to cling to this life with all she had.

Quin wasn't her end. If anything, he was her knew beginning, as he produced a contract for her through his...what was the thing, a patron? It was no benign entity, that was for damn sure. It roiled with malice and bloodlust whenever he focused on it.

The woman took the contract and found herself healed and changed, much like Quin had. They traveled onward together and Quin realized that people avoided her as much as they avoided him.

"What are we?" the woman asked as they camped outside a village that had refused to house them.

Quin shrugged. "Better," was all he said with a smile he knew was too sharp, dangerous in a way human smiles weren't. "Eat up, we're having a long road ahead tomorrow."

Treasure weighed heavy and it soon brought the unsavory attention of bandits and robbers. Quin had never shied from bloodshed, from protecting what was his and this was no different.

The fight was almost too easy with all that he was capable of now. He and the woman stood over the dead once it was done and dealt with. He inhaled the smell of blood, sweet and coppery, iron and salt and smiled to himself.

"You are right," the woman said quietly as she helped him loot the bodies. "We are better now."

They continued on together, picking up a couple more people along the way. A man tossed out on his ear by his family for loving another man, twins who were rumored to be born with black magic, a couple that had fled from their wrathful noble families. A betrayed merchant left in rags.

They all accepted the contract Quin offered them and soon he called them his hunters. They were vicious when necessary, absolutely deadly and no longer quite human. They weren't as strong as he, the contract he could offer a diluted version of the pact he carried in his soul and mind.

They approached a city a couple of weeks later and the thing in the back of his head stirred, hungry and greedy, feeling all those souls within calling out. It pressed images into his mind, of deals and contracts, of all the ways he could feed it. Make it stronger. Help it break its cage in given time.

Quin did not like that he didn't have much of a choice in this matter. The thing would take back the pact if he didn't listen and that would kill him and his hunters. And curse him, but he had grown fond of this lot of lost souls that followed him like he was their shepherd.

Maybe he was, in a way.

His treasure got him what his charm no longer could: people willing to listen. He found an empty, unexpectedly large tavern and settled in. It was nice to have a home, he had to admit, after traveling for so long.

He soon had to concede the business side to employees who had no deals with him. For if he or his hunters were behind the bar or walking around with serving trays, the few that had shown up left swiftly.

It took time and effort to build a bit of a reputation, but slowly he carved out a place for himself in this large city. Mostly he was known for his deals and his tavern for offering nice ale and food to acceptable prices.

As he sat in his usual booth, waiting for people to approach him for a piece of his patron's powers, he realized that this wasn't quite the life he had wanted for himself.

Sure, he had gotten quite a lot out of the pact, but mostly he had wanted to be free. To do whatever he wanted. To have all the different versions of power to be untouchable and uncontrollable. To be really, truly free.

He watched a man gather the courage to approach him, his arms gripping a clearly sick babe. He'd get the mildest contract Quin could create.

Quin would help the guy for free if his patron allowed such things, which it of course didn't. For all of Quin's occasional depravity and ease at murdering, he did not like to take advantage of the truly helpless.

Of the people his parents had once been.

'Well,' he thought to himself as he smiled as mildly as he could when the father walked towards him at last. 'If this is my lot in life, I better make it a damn fucking good one.'

So he remodeled the tavern, hired performers and grabbed his carefully hoarded treasure. He spent and invested the gold, bartered and made deals that had nothing to do with the coiling darkness connected to his mind and soul.

He set himself free in almost all aspects. The pact had given him many things while shackling him down and even if the shackle was something he had to live with until his dying day, there were still other chains to break.

Chains made by society and stupid rules even he had stuck in his head despite his best efforts.

So Quin set himself free as much as he could and built his reputation anew. He built the Revelry and it grew beyond the bounds of his tavern with every year, gold flowing back to him first in a small trickle and then in a big river and he took it and invested it into his business, his street. His life.

Within a couple of years he was as powerful and untouchable as he had always dreamed of being. He had the sort of reputation that made people avoid his gaze for more reasons than one.

Some days he could delude himself into thinking that it was his bloody and dangerous reputation alone that made folks inch away from him, rather than what his patron had turned him into.

Sometimes it was a lonely life, sure, but he had a...yes, a family now. His hunters meant the world to him and he cared for his employees, making sure they had everything they needed to be happy.

In return, they were fiercely loyal, bringing him rumors and secrets and warning him of backhanded deals and impending betrayals by business partners. He grew untouchable in more ways than one thanks to them.

He kept his patron fed and content, made sure it had everything it could possibly want. He was careful, however, never quite feeding it as much as it really wanted.

He didn't want it to get out of its tomb and while he knew some day it would happen, he'd drag it out as long as he possibly could.

Quin made the Revelry and dedicated himself to it, gave it his heart and blood and most of the time it was enough. Most of the time he felt like his life was nearly perfect.

As long as his patron was quiet, he pretended as though every part of him, his everything, could be dedicated to what he had built. That all his choices were his own and could not be controlled by another.

This was a good life, he reminded himself, trying to ignore the greed for more within him. The greed to reach that extra little inch to true freedom, the shackle on his foot keeping him firmly grounded.

He had a rich, free, powerful life. The sort of life written about in stories and that he had dreamed about as a boy while helping his mother scrub pots and pans and his father with mending clothes.

He almost wished they were still alive to see him now. Sometimes he poured a drink in their honor and hoped they were watching from whatever afterlife they were in now.

He hoped they were proud, that he had taken all their lessons and challenged the world. That he had come out the other side as the person he wanted to be.

He hunted and made pacts, terrified foolish nobles and bartered for information to get the city guard fully under his thumb. He already had a number of people on his payroll, but he really wanted to get his claws into the captain. Then the city really would be his at long last.

He had no idea how soon his wish would be fulfilled.

It was a night like many others, filled with joy and laughter, wild partying and people cutting loose in a way that fed his very soul and spirit. Quin was in a very good mood as he made a contract with a burly man who could scarcely stand to even glance in his direction.

"My right hand will take care of things," he said, gesturing lazily and his first hunter melted out of the shadows.

His oldest friend, sometimes pain in his ass and a stalwart, loyal companion. Quin knew, deep down, that he would have withered away emotionally without his hunters at his side.

The deal made and on its way to being fulfilled, he got up just as someone tripped, stumbling towards him. He caught that person just in time, casting a brief glare at the drunk woman that had decided shoving his guests was a good idea.

The woman hurriedly looked away and Quin plastered on his best smile, straightening up the one in his arms. "Now there, usually I have to put in some work to make people swoon like this."

And the first thing he noticed was that the stranger met his eyes, unafraid and unflinching, before listing a bit to the side. Ah, a drunkard.

Or not, he realized when, for the first time, someone refused to be parted from him. Cold fingers clung to his silk doublet and the feeling that something was wrong tingled in the back of his mind.

So he reached out, hooking his finger under an equally cold chin, not yet knowing that he was looking at the one who would change his life forever in all the best ways.

The one to set him free, truly free, at long last.

*.*.*

Tag List:

@those-damn-snippets @the-cash-cache @queenofbooknerds @14-lizards-in-a-trenchcoat @fern-writes-whump @bexterbaileyw @setsailforthestars @piperjistic @addrai @catloverlawyer @permanentlydepressedpigeon @tama-on-vetta @marateleam @transparentdiplomatlandgoth @cheesecakev2 @myst3rious-figur3 @warriorofbooks @aprilraine

#my writing #short story #quin was so chatty #I hope this is an enjoyable read #implied murder #i have no idea why the tagging didn't work for everyone #going to look into it #anyway #hope you enjoy this little thing I cobbled together for quin #and his very much not really tragic backstory #he's just one greedy mf #it's a bit weird to me that there is so little dialogue #but it just worked better this way somehow #anywho #there might be a Drabble for Deals and Revelry later #for quin and his love #he's really just a very fun character to write for #hope I didn't overlook too many spelling mistakes

53 notes · View notes

kirkwallguy · 5 days

Note

can i get your mary having Realizations. maybe at the day of her wedding?

omg TY for this prompt i love talking about mary but very rarely actually write about her. this stumped me for a little while because everything that happens at her wedding requires SOO much context that i had no idea how to start, and it felt ooc to just have cullen suddenly do something so terrible. so here's him and mary just kind of sucking in unique and strange ways. this takes place juust before the wedding when everyone is beginning to gather at the winter palace.

mild tw for vomit mention and templar ptsd-esque nightmares (???).

Mary awoke in Cullen's arms. Their bed at the Winter Palace was bigger and softer than any she'd ever slept in - she and Cullen gravitated towards the middle of the feather mattress together, leaving a large indent that would inevitably linger after they crawled out of it in the morning, waiting for their return later that evening.

Cullen never looked more like a Templar than when he was sleeping. It was strange - Mary had heard (and, she was ashamed to admit, read in Varric's romance novels) that people were supposed to look innocent in sleep. Haunted heroes became innocent boys, creased foreheads smoothed, racing thoughts slowed.

But Cullen's brow remained creased as he dreamed. He muttered to himself, kicked, scratched, growled like a dog. Sometimes, he frightened Mary. She'd cling to him in the dark, heart pounding, as he whispered cruel words at some imagined threat that taunted him behind his eyelids.

Were all Templars like this? Were there thousands of people all across Thedas just like her? People who lay awake with their palms flat against their lovers' sweaty backs, thanking the Maker that they weren't born a mage? Was she just unlucky? Or was this, as Hawke had darkly insinuated that final time they'd spoken, exactly what she deserved?

According to Varric's stories, Mary had a duty here. She was Cullen's reward at the end of a difficult road, a symbol of all he had lost and gained. She was supposed to comfort him, to soothe and fix his troubled soul - her arms designed to wrap around him like bandages, her kiss the perfect antivenom.

But on nights like this, when she pressed her lips to his twitching cheek, the taste of stale sweat always made her draw back with disgust.

One night early in their relationship, Cullen had drunk far too much and vomited all down himself. Shuddering and crying, he'd reached out for comfort. The smell of his breath, beer and vomit mingling together, had made Mary turn and run, leaving him alone on the floor in his own filth. The next morning, he'd kissed her chastely on the cheek at breakfast and his breath had smelled of peppermint.

It was easy to resent him for drinking like that. Many women resented their men for drink.

"Drink doesn't make men into beasts," her mother had whispered to her one night before bed, not loud enough to cover her father's heavy snores in the next room, "it just tells us which ones have beasts hiding inside them."

After that, she'd spent years of her childhood trying to see who did and didn't have a beast inside of them. She wasn't sure about her father - if he was a beast, he was nothing but an old bear, loud but too tired and lazy to do any harm. A few of the Chantry Mothers, the ones who would rap her on the knuckles when she giggled during the Chant, seemed to have dragons inside of them. The men who fought outside the taverns late at night were wolves, howling at the moon with their hackles up. And the girl in the portrait that hung above the fireplace in Mary's bedroom stared at her with the eyes of a songbird.

Cullen had something inside of him as well, but Mary wasn't sure if it was a beast. A beast, after all, could be killed.

As his dreams became more violent, so did his body. He writhed in her arms, as if a demon was taking over him. Mary held him tighter.

"She'll regret it," he muttered, "she'll be sorry soon."

Mary shuddered. Trying to distract herself, she traced the muscles in his back with a morbid fascination, feeling as they shifted and bulged unnaturally. If she'd been a healer, she might have understood how muscles worked - the violent snap and pull of them beneath her fingers might have been cause for gentle concern rather than a sensation that revolted her. But the inner workings of the human body were as good as witchcraft.

Cullen groaned, "kill it," he said, so loud that Mary squeezed her eyes shut and prayed that nobody else could hear, "kill it now!"

Whatever he was dreaming of terrified him. He cried out and twitched, kicking Mary hard enough in the shin that she yelped and pushed him away roughly enough to wake him up.

Cullen's eyes flew open. He stared directly at Mary, panting.

"Oh, thank the Maker," he whispered.

Mary stared back at him, keeping her eyes half closed as if she'd just woken up, "hmm?"

He looked like was going to cry. To Mary's horror, his trembling lips embarrassed her; she edged away from him a little, hoping he wouldn't notice.

"I was dreaming," Cullen said, "it was just a dream. A terrible dream."

Mary didn't respond. This was exactly how this scene played out in every single one of Varric's stories. She swallowed her disgust and reached out to brush Cullen's hair from his sweaty forehead, almost gagging as her fingers met his wet skin.

"Just a nightmare." She agreed, hoping Cullen didn't notice how flat her voice was.

Cullen, Maker help him, closed his eyes at Mary's touch. He lay there and shook as she stroked his hair, tense shoulders beginning to relax. That innocence he lacked in sleep was plain on his face now - he looked like someone Mary had never met before, someone she wasn't sure she would ever meet again.

"What was the dream about?" She tried.

Opening his eyes, Cullen stared at her for a long moment. His gaze passed over her face, lingering on each detail for so long that she almost found herself blushing.

Only when Mary was sure that he'd forgotten she'd asked him a question did he answer her:

"You." He said.

It should have been a shock, should have made her blood freeze, but in that moment his answer seemed like the most logical thing in the world.

Mary continued to stroke his hair, "what happened to me?"

"You were possessed," Cullen closed his eyes again, sleepy, "an abomination."

"Did you kill me?"

He was halfway back asleep now. He leaned in closer and wrapped an arm around Mary's waist, "I did," he whispered, "I killed it."

And then he stuck his face into Mary's neck, his hair brushing her collarbone, and fell straight back asleep.

Mary didn't sleep again. She stayed awake, palms against Cullen's sweaty back, and thanked the Maker that she wasn't born a mage until the sun was high in the sky.

#iceta #ask #oh mary.... i mean this is on cullen too but i think she's disgusted by vulnerability beyond the templar stuff #i ALMOST just said fuck it and started planning a 10k thing about her wedding day but it STILL didnt do the context justice #maybe one day ill do something about the trevelyan siblings. idk how though. i like the idea of a bunch of concurrent short stories #anyway i hope you find this a fun insight into mary's twisted mind sorry it took like 2 weeks and is short #also a little purple prose-y. but when its under 1k it doesnt count ok i just wanted flowery mary being terrible..#also aware i am on the piss on the poor website and anyone can see this... this is just mary's pov i dont think addiction #or violent nightmares make you a bad person. its just terrible circumstances.#fanfic

10 notes · View notes