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nikolaiismysugardaddy · 1 year

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I'm under your spell // Nikolai Gogol

pairings... Nikolai Gogol x Reader

contains...! fluff! gn!reader, knocked out reader

I apologize for any mistakes in advance - english is not my first language!

Extra: I was listening to Bring me the Horizon - Follow you when the idea popped up in my head. Take a listen to it, it's pretty nice. ♡

Hope you enjoy! xx

You woke up in an unfamiliar bed. The last memory you remembered was when you were in Sigma’s casino, playing poker with some drunk folks. You won the last round, and everyone around you lost all their money. And that’s all, you can’t recall a single motion after that.

The moment you tried to sit up, you noticed that your clothes had been changed to some nice and cozy pajamas. Your head hurt so much, it felt like a hundred needles were stuck in your scalp. You turned to your left and noticed black and white striped pants placed atop your own clothes on a chair.

That’s when another memory popped up in your mind: you went to the casino with Nikolai. He was the one who came up with this whole game-night idea. “Yeah, that’s right…” you hummed to yourself. “The only reason I agreed to this was because I wanted to confess to him…” You buried your blushing face in the blanket. In the very same moment, you felt something strange wrapped around your forehead. Bandages? You tapped the fabric carefully; now it was obvious that it was bandaged.

“What the hell happened?” It was absolutely annoying, not remembering a single thing. A worn-out sigh left your mouth while you buried your face in the pillow. Your eyelids got heavier, and slowly, you fell asleep again.

----------------

“No, no, she’s still asleep.” you heard someone talking not too far from you. “I told you, I can take care of her!.. What do you mean I can’t even take care of myself? Don’t joke around, I’m the clown to make puns like this, not you!” You yawned without a sound and rubbed your eyes but the other person in the room noticed it quickly. “Gotta hung up, Sigma.” He threw the phone on the pile of clothes. “My dear Y/N, how are you feeling?” He sat down on the edge of the bed. It was Nikolai. But… Why is he here? And where the hell am I by the way?

“I… I don’t know. My head hurts so much, but…” even talking felt inconvenient. “Hah, what happened?”

A well-known goofy smile spread across his face. “Well! Quizz time, dove! Which version of the story is true?” He looked relieved that you were awake and hearing your voice put him in a better mood already. “Sigma’s version was something like, hmm, some customers were so jealous of you winning all the matches they accidentally dropped a bottle of wine on your head.” He mimicked Sigma the whole time, even distorted his voice to sound a bit like him. “The better version is mine, of course. Some customers got so mad at your impressive talent in poker that they wanted to destroy your knowledge as soon as possible and hit your pretty head with a bottle.” At the end of his monologue his face became distorted. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to get his cool again. “So!” He placed his gaze on you, forcing a foolish smile on again. “Which one do you believe is the truth?”

“I think it’s somewhere in between the two.” Your voice was still creaky but somehow you felt a little better since you knew he was here. He looked pretty much unsatisfied by your answer but it wasn’t the right time for him to persuade you why his version was the real one. “Um, could you tell me where am I?” You tried to sit up but the pain was unbearable and some solid whines left your mouth. Nikolai unconsciously placed his hand on your chest and pushed you lightly back in the bed. His whole upper body was above yours.

“Don’t!” His eyes widened from the worry. “You’re at my apartment…” he muttered lightly and retracted his hands.

“S-so this means y-you changed m-my clothes?” your face turned cherry red from the thought that Nikolai may have seen you naked.

“Of course, I couldn’t leave you in those wine soaked clothes.” He smiled self-confidently and didn’t even realized what his words meant to you until he noticed the embarrassed look on your face. His eyebrows frowned before he bursted out laughing. “My, my, you know I got my magical cloak for a reason, do ya?” He placed his palm on your blanketed thighs. “I didn’t see anything.” His eyes were as gentle as ever. “But I can mention that it’s pretty difficult to dress someone down and then back up blindly.” His giggles filled the room.

You playfully pinched his thighs while a warm smile spread across your face. The discomfort you felt before just disappeared. You didn’t even notice that you fixed your gaze on his face, your eyes exploring every small detail. All of a sudden, Nikolai laid his head down on your legs while a huge, relieving sigh left his mouth. “I’m glad you’re better.” he hummed into the blanket.

Your face flushed again and you felt some comfort and safety wash over you. “You worried a-about me?” every word you said felt insecure. It wasn’t so frequent for Nikolai to worry for someone. Of course, he had human feelings, but he defended himself from these kinds of feelings.

“Mhm.” He buried his face into the sheets, making you feel even more nervous. “Another quizz! Why do you think I took you to the casino yesterday?” His voice wasn’t as cheerful as before; it was more likely shy now.

“I don’t know? You told me you wanted to have fun and mess a bit with Sigma, as usual…” You finally felt enough strength in you to sit up, pulling your legs out from under Nikolai’s head. Quickly, he slid up next to you, slightly pushing his body against yours. Your heart skipped a beat from the unexpected closure. His eyes were filled with excitement, but somehow bittersweet.

He took down the card from his eye to get a better look at you. “Well, surprise! It was all made up! So… do ya wanna know? The real reason?” he leaned really close to your face, his breath brushing your cheeks as he spoke. You could feel the heat radiating off of his body.

“I would like to.” you couldn’t help but wonder what was going through his mind. The tension between you two was palpable from the first time you met. Was he maybe feeling the same thing you were?

“Excellent! Excellent!” He clapped his hands like a little child, but then his expression changed in the blink of an eye. He looked more serious than ever. “To tell you the truth… my head is haunting me nowadays, and I can’t really express this weird feeling, since I haven’t had something like this before.” There was a sense of vulnerability in his eyes. He held your hand gently in his. You made him feel like it was okay to let his guard down and trust someone else for once. “Sometimes I feel like I can’t even breathe when you’re away and it’s strange, ya know? I feel like you could drag me through hell and back, I wouldn’t mind at all, as long as I could hold your hand in mine. It’s crazy, ain’t it?” He laughed to himself. You looked into Nikolai’s eyes, and saw a mixture of emotions that you couldn’t quite decipher.

You were speechless, unsure how to answer to his sudden revelation. The man you were secretly in love with had just declared his own love for you. “What do you mean?” Your hands were sweating, and your heart was beating loudly in your ears. The way he looked at you made you weak to the core.

“You really don’t get it?” He sighed, his gaze never missing yours. He squeezed your hands and gave you a light peck on your lips, causing your heart to race even faster.

“W-what?” You couldn’t decide at this point if you were awake or still dreaming. You were sure he would never confess his feelings to you.

“I’m saying I’m under your spell, dove.” He tugged a strand of your hair behind your ears to get a clear look at you. “I think I could sacrifice my freedom if your arms were my cage.” He whispered to you with some bitterness in his voice. “It feels weird, ya know?”

You couldn’t help but feel a warmth spread through your chest at his words. You leaned in and gave him a soft, tender kiss in response to his words.

“Yes, I know.” You murmured to his lips, savoring his taste on yours. And then all the energy you had before left your body. Your head fell to his shoulders. His hands wrapped around your body and pulled you into his lap, worried. The atmosphere around you felt too comforting, you felt vulnerable in his arms.

“Are you alright? Do you feel dizzy, angel? Oh my, my, should I call Sigma?” He was troubled by your well-being so much that he even forgot that you did not answer his confession properly.

You took a deep breath and tried to regain your composure, but the sensation of his warm embrace made it difficult to focus. “No, no, Kolya, it’s okay. It’s just so relieving; I wanted to confess my feelings towards you yesterday too.” You lifted your head and looked directly in his eyes. It was written all over his face that he was surprised by your words, even though he already sensed it. You have never seen him blush like this before. He tightened his arms around you, and buried his face in the careen of your neck.

“I’ll never let you go, my precious little dove.”

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little-peril-stories · 6 months

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The Queen of Lies: Hope and Healing

Story Intro | Contents [Warnings] | Mood Board | Vibey Song Lyrics | Ao3

Contents: injury, guy whump (all still leftover stuff), angst, nonsexual nudity, reference to abusive relationship

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Word count: 4900 || Approx reading time: 20 mins

Hope and Healing

Teaser: He fixed her with that stare again, beseeching her with such preposterous earnestness that she had to turn away for fear she would crumble. “Weren’t you lecturing me the other day about taking care of myself? You need to do the same.”

The fever faded quickly, and although the cough took longer to dissipate, Bree allowed herself to hope that perhaps Fox was on the mend. In the days that followed their early-morning flight from “Lucy Cooper’s” trail, Bree settled into an almost-comfortable routine: slipping out to peek at the headlines hawked by yowling newsboys, scanning the posters put up around the city for any familiar faces, working on a variety of sewing and mending projects to keep her mind and fingers busy, and ensuring the boy she’d taken under her wing was still alive.

Fox rested for most of the first day, waking when she roused him to eat or drink. To her surprise, he was quiet—pensive, perhaps, or, Bree thought nervously, still wary of her. She feared to pull him into conversation, lest she ask a question he could not answer, or lest she say something foolish that would break what little trust she was trying so hard to gain.

Every so often, she caught him staring at her, but especially at first, he said little.

In the light of day, Bree beheld his bright, wicked bruises and scrapes—at times, she could not take her eyes off them. How garish and hideous were the colours that painted his skin—purple and black, yellow and green, grey and red and pink.

While he was awake, he hardly seemed to notice that he was covered in injuries. It was only at the end of the second day in the inn he’d chosen that she caught him fussing with the sling Mrs. Bristow had so kindly and so deftly made for him.

“What are you doing?” Bree demanded, all caution forgotten. “You’re supposed to leave that alone.”

“It’s annoying,” he said, paying no heed to her disapproving glare as he struggled to reach the knot.

“You’re being childish,” she said sternly. “She gave it to you to help your arm heal.”

“Well, my arm’s fine.”

She crossed hers. “Do you really expect me to believe that?”

The look he gave her was a most extraordinary blend of plea and annoyance—and the slightest whisper of mischief. “Yes?”

Pursing her lips, Bree told him, “I don’t.”

“Will you help me take it off?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “Of course not!”

“Please?”

He fixed her with that stare again, beseeching her with such preposterous earnestness that she had to turn away for fear she would crumble. “Weren’t you lecturing me the other day about taking care of myself? You need to do the same.”

But when she looked back, he had wriggled out of the sling on his own, and when he caught her eye, he grinned in celebration of his honestly won but entirely foolhardy triumph.

“You’ll likely regret that,” she told him with a sigh.

Fox shrugged. “Maybe. Oh, well.”

It was mere days later when her prophecy came true.

On the edge of the bed, he was wide awake and sitting still, clutching a cup of water, his gaze faraway. As Bree watched him out of the corner of her eye, slowly stitching the seams of a shirt she’d begun to make the moment she got her hands on some material, he reached up as if to touch his head, only to grimace and bring his arm back down.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, alarmed at the pain evident in his face.

“Nothing.”

She laid aside her sewing and stood, drawing closer. “Are you just trying to save face because you realize you should have let your arm heal longer?”

“No.”

“Fox,” she said, narrowing her eyes.

Coughing, he looked away, and bright spots appeared on his cheeks. “Okay. Fine. You’re right. It’s my arm,” he said finally. “I still… I still can’t lift it. Much. Not real high.”

Bree was quite prepared to say, Well, maybe you should have done as Mrs. Bristow said, but at the last moment, she decided upon, “What do you need?”

“Nothing,” he repeated.

“All right,” she said, turning away but not moving her feet just yet.

Waiting.

And after an endless moment, just when she was about to give up and walk away, Fox spoke again. “My head. It’s fucking itchy.”

Biting her lip, tempted to laugh yet knowing she absolutely shouldn’t, Bree asked, “You want me to scratch your head for you?”

“No,” he said, setting his jaw and not meeting her eyes, “I really don’t.”

Her mind spun as she realized what the solution was—a solution that either had not occurred to him, or he was too embarrassed to say. “I can wash your hair.”

As her face flooded fully scarlet, his did, too. “You don’t have to do that. You—we—” He swallowed. “We don’t know each other that well. I won’t ask you to…”

“You didn’t ask me,” Bree said. Part of her felt as if she were outside of her own body, watching herself make her proposition. “I’m offering.”

His clenched fists seemed to tighten, the knuckles turning white.

And then they relaxed. “I’m sorry.”

These were not the words Bree was expecting to hear. Surprise forced a soft gasp from her lips, and without meaning to, she took a step back. “For what?”

“That you feel like you have to take care of me.”

“You can’t lift your arm,” she pointed out. “Though I might argue that part of it is your own fault. Perhaps you should have let it heal properly?”

His mouth twitched. Bree thought of every moment she’d seen it do that before, when he was about to grace her with some kind of wicked or vulgar comment, or a sardonic laugh, or perhaps both.

“Ha. Hilarious.” He looked away for a moment. “It’s not just that.”

Apparently not this time, though.

Bree raised her eyebrows. “What else, then?”

Fox’s gaze swept over her, collecting, she knew, every fading, yellowed bruise. Unable to stop herself, she adjusted the collar of her shirt, making sure it was in place and buttoned fully. “I…” But whatever he’d thought he wanted to say, he had evidently changed his mind. “Nothing.”

Unsure why her stomach was sinking, Bree said, “I’ll get some water heated.”

“It’s fucking stupid you have to keep going downstairs for that,” he muttered.

“I don’t mind,” she said. In truth, it was exhausting. But it was a very affordable establishment, one Baden had likely never even heard of, and that meant there was no fireplace in their tiny room, and so traipsing up and down the stairs for heated water was their only option.

He was out of the bed when she returned, standing by the tiny window, clinging tightly to the sill. “You’re up,” Bree said, surprised.

He threw her a look of mock astonishment. “Am I?”

She made a face back at him, directing him to sit with his back to the writing desk. “Come on, then. Sit here. This way you won’t have to lean too far backwards.”

Although he did as she asked, taking a seat and pulling off his shirt, he was still and stiff at first—barely moving, holding his head and his back perfectly straight.

“You can relax, you know,” she said, watching greyish water trickle from his wet strands down the web of lash-wounds on his back. As more droplets slid down his skin, he shivered.

“You try relaxing,” he said, “when there isn’t a part of you that hurts like hell.”

Bree wilted at the palpable sadness in his voice. “Oh.” Of course. Who knew how long he’d be languishing in the pain of his injuries? “I’m sorry—”

“But,” he said, shifting and rolling his good shoulder with a wince, glancing back at her, “I’ll try. For you.”

Perhaps that was the best she could hope for; perhaps it was the best he could do. And that counted for something, didn’t it?

The soap was slick and fragrant against her fingers. The inn had provided hard lumps of ordinary yellow soap, but on one of her excursions outside, Bree hadn’t been able to resist purchasing a scented white bar. Fox had gaped when she produced it, like he’d never seen such a thing before, and it had taken her several minutes to realize that he hadn’t.

“Damn,” he mumbled now. “Smells so good.” Bree smiled to herself as his tight muscles relaxed for real, and his head tipped back just a little more.

How strange it was, how astonishingly intimate, to have her fingers tangled in the thick, red-brown locks of someone else. She’d never washed Baden’s hair. Had never even felt much of an urge to touch it, to run her hands through it and feel each strand against her skin. But this, even with the dirt that washed away with each rinse—this was different: lovely, potent, thrilling. Like silken threads woven with bronze, like some entity of creation had crafted this man from warm earth and molten metal. The colours in his hair glinted, even in a room lit only by a lamp and the light of day sneaking in through the meagre window.

“How does that feel?” she asked when she’d rinsed away the lather, perturbed by how sorry she was to be finished.

He shook his head wildly, and Bree couldn’t suppress a squeal and then a laugh at the spray of droplets that pelted her with cool, damp kisses.

“God,” he said, “so much better.” Her heart swelled in her chest as he twisted around to look her in the eye. “Thank you.”

Was she blushing? No. It was just warm in the room. Somehow—despite the autumn air leaking in from outside. Despite the lack of a fireplace. Somehow.

Just warm.

***

“All right,” said Fox. He spun slowly, arms spread wide. “How’s it look?”

Bree tilted her head to one side, forcing herself to focus on judging her handiwork and to disregard how striking the pale fabric was when accompanied by red-brown hair and bright eyes. “Well. I can’t say it’s the best thing I’ve ever made.”

“What?” He looked down at himself, then threw a petulant look toward her, insulted. “What’s wrong with it? Don’t I look good?”

“You look fine,” she said, laughing. “My seams are a little crooked.”

The shirt was finally done, and her assessment was self-deprecating, she thought, but fair. With limited time and supplies, she’d rushed the job a little, and the places where her stitches had gone sloppy and her lines had veered off course stuck out to her as if the thread was the wrong colour. But it could not be denied that the white cotton suited him well, and not just because it hid his bruises.

“Fine? That’s it?” Fox rolled his eyes. “Who cares about…seams?”

“I do.” Baden had stopped letting her make clothes for him, preferring to spend more at the seamstress, because hers were never to his satisfaction. “But it’ll have to do, I suppose.”

He blew out a mock-irritated breath. “You sure know how to make a man feel good about himself.”

“Goodness, you’re vain,” she said. “You look incredibly handsome. Stunning, in fact. Crooked seams will be all the rage by next year. That’s how wonderful you look.”

Grinning and puffing out his chest most dramatically, he said, “Now, that’s what I wanted to hear.”

“You,” she said, “are impossible.”

“Impossibly handsome.”

Bree turned away as if that could possibly hide how she was giggling.

When she looked back at him, he was smiling, too. A proper smile, not the spectre of happiness that had become his signature expression when it seemed like he wanted to express anything other than misery. No, this was real—bright and lovely and, well, yes, handsome. And then his smile became a laugh, and it warmed her even though their hearthless room was cold, curling around her like a blanket, like warm arms in an embrace, like—

Slamming the door on that thought, Bree went to gaze out the tiny window, leaving him to revel in his vanity in front of the room’s cracked mirror. “Oh…”

“Hmm?”

“It’s…” Surely he would think she was being silly. “Nothing. It’s just…the sky.”

“What about it?”

She gazed up at the clear autumn night, appreciating the expanse of stars that shone above them. “Well, the stars just look beautiful. It’s clear tonight.”

He paused whatever he was doing, fussing with his buttons or preening or making some other show of the swagger that was beginning to rear its head as he recuperated. “You never seen stars before?”

“Oh, never mind,” she said. “I just thought they looked pretty.”

One of his eyebrows darted upwards. “It’s a real question.”

“Of course I’ve seen stars before!” Bree said. “Who hasn’t?”

“Well, I don’t know.” He crossed the room to stand beside her. “Hatchett sucks the fucking joy out of everything else he touches. Why not the night sky, too? Did he even let you out of the house after dark?”

She never, never should have told him about being locked in her room. “Mind your own…” She couldn’t finish. “Let’s not talk about him. Just enjoy the view.”

He didn’t argue, but stilled and looked out at the sky, the fabric of the shirt she’d made him brushing against the sleeve of her own.

“You’re right,” he said. “Beautiful.”

Bree nodded, keeping her attention on the sky.

They stood in silence, peering up at the stars through the warped glass. Bree didn’t mind the distorted view. In fact, she rather liked how the stars shifted and morphed every time she moved her head—rather liked how they were quite perfectly imperfect.

“We should sleep,” she said at long last, stepping away from the window and glancing up. It was startling to find that Fox’s gaze was no longer on the sky.

“You gonna keep sleeping on the floor?”

Taking another step away, her pulse racing, Bree said firmly, “Yes.”

“All right,” he said, then paused. “Wait. Actually. No.”

“No, what?”

“No, you’re not sleeping on the floor.”

“Yes, I am,” she said, her voice squeaking in a most humiliating fashion. “Of c-course I—”

“I’ll sleep down there tonight,” he said, and seeing her aghast expression, he added tiredly, “and if you really want to make a big fuss about it, we can take turns from now on. Okay?”

“But you—”

“But I’m fine, Bree. Lots better.” He gestured dramatically at the bed. “Come on. Or I’ll have to throw you into it.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Oh, you’re allowed to make those threats, but I’m not?”

She was laughing—laughing—at this utter ridiculousness. The theatrical wave of his arm as he ushered her, the earnestness in his face, the teasing touch to his words that said he wouldn’t actually pick her up and toss her onto the bed and yet still left the idea turning over in her mind—

“Fine!” she said quickly. “We—we’ll take turns.”

“Jeez,” he said, visibly relieved. “Finally.”

She glanced up at him. “I can’t believe you remember me saying that.” In her memory, he’d been more dead than alive when she ordered him into bed on that first night of freedom—a far cry from the smirking, very-much-alive man in front of her now.

“How could I forget? You were threatening me and bossing me around like some kind of general. While I was dying.”

She choked at this uncomfortably accurate accusation. “That is not…true!” She folded her arms. “Or, at the very least, some egregious embellishment of what actually happened.”

“Egregious? Whatever that means,” he said with a snort. Seeing her still standing with her arms crossed, he imitated her posture. “‘Egregious embellishment,’” he half-sang, putting on a voice that was clearly meant to mimic hers. “‘Get in that bed or I’ll throw you in!’ ‘You look fine!’”

Oh, how she was already regretting that comment.

Bree picked up her shawl and threw it at him. “Vain and petty. Who knew?”

He caught it easily, even with only one full-strength arm, and laughed. “Good night, Bree.”

“Good n—” she echoed, only to wind up with the shawl flying right towards her face, so the word ended in a sputter as she tried unsuccessfully to catch it.

At the peal of laughter she could not suppress, he grinned, stripping off his shirt to prepare for sleep, and swiped a pillow off the bed so he could settle on the floor. As her giggles died down and she, too, got ready for sleep, Bree pretended not to notice the glistening stripes on his skin that no amount of hard work, neat stitching, or helpless laughter could ever repair.

***

“Close your eyes,” Bree said. “And turn around.”

“Ah,” Fox said, eyeing the steaming water she’d brought into the room. “This again.”

“What do you mean, this again?” she demanded. “It’s not unreasonable to want a bit of privacy.”

It would have been nice to feel comfortable using one of the bathing rooms downstairs—to let go of the worry that someone might recognize her face, or his. It certainly would have taken care of the issue, thorny at the best of times, of needing to undress while Fox remained in the room.

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He laid down on the bed, eyes closed. “This good enough for you, princess?”

Bree glared at him even though he couldn’t see it. “And don’t start that up again.”

One hazel eye popped open. “Don’t start what up again?”

“You know what. The princess thing.” Bree frowned. “Close it. And turn around!”

Already, he was laughing. “All right. You got it.” Bree waited, and he didn’t let her down. “…Princess.”

“You’re awfully annoying,” she said, but the insult was half-hearted, and his smirk didn’t waver as he turned away.

For the first time in days, Bree imagined what Baden would think if he were there, watching her tug away each layer of clothing and strip down to her whites, then lose those, too, until she was stark naked in a room with a man whose real name she still did not know.

Oh, the things he would say if—

She shoved the thought from her mind. Baden was not here. Baden did not know. Baden would never know.

As she enjoyed the feeling of hot water over her skin and the lather of soap against her scalp, it was Fox’s voice, far more welcome and infinitely more pleasant, that floated over to her. “Do you think…”

Wetting her hair until it was heavy and sopping, she prompted, “Do I think what?” when he fell silent, his thought unfinished.

“I just…” Fox heaved a sigh, heavier than it had been in some time. Laden, it seemed, with a burden Bree could not understand, whooshing through the room like a gale in a storm. “You know. Been inside too long.”

Bree blinked. “Um. You want to go out there? Aren’t you…wanted?”

“Aren’t you?” he shot back.

It hadn’t taken long for the posters to appear. She’d returned from a jaunt to the marketplace, not long after their arrival at the second inn, clutching two very distressing pieces of paper. “I have…bad news.”

He’d looked up from where he sat by the window, alarmed, paling a little when Bree showed him the two posters she’d pulled from the square: one featuring a drawing of him, proclaiming him to be a violent and volatile criminal, and a second featuring her—proclaiming her to be the innocent victim of a kidnapping.

“Fucking fuck,” he’d grumbled, glaring down at the illustration. “I mean. Guess it’s not surprising. But for fuck’s sake.” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hell. You kidnapped me.”

“Fox!” she’d gasped. “I did not.”

Now, as she rinsed her hair, letting the thick, brown strands fall in sodden ropes over her shoulders, she thought of the posters again. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to let other people see your face.”

“Not any different for you,” he said. “Someone could recognize your face, too.”

She knew that. Of course she did. But someone had to be the one to go out. “Mine doesn’t say I’m a criminal.”

How mad it was to be sitting so calmly, naked, dripping wet, in the same room as a man who was still in so many ways a stranger, discussing their respective wanted posters.

“It’s hard to be inside all the time,” he mumbled, but he fell quiet.

When she slipped back into her underclothes, her face grew warm. She’d known she was going to wash her clothes, including her new dress, and yet now that she was dressed only in her whites, fresh embarrassment swept through her.

Suddenly, the prospect of telling him he could open his eyes was terrifying.

“Bree,” he said, impatient, as if he could tell that she was finished but hesitating.

“All right.” She snatched up her shawl and wrapped it around her shoulders. “It’s f-fine now.”

Fox sat up and turned toward her, eyes already open wide. She should have known he’d struggle with lying still and with his eyes closed for so long. He complained no further, however. He merely said, “You’re cold.”

“It’s cold in here,” said, drawing the shawl a little tighter around her. “So. Yes. I suppose I am.”

With a sigh, he waved at the bed. “Just come under the blanket for a bit.”

Bree almost refused—thought of sitting next to him when she was so scandalously underdressed, imagined how his arm might brush up against the bare skin of hers. The thought of it sent a peculiar feeling bolting through her, like liquid lightning in her veins, like a flower unfurling in first bloom beneath the spring sun. Suddenly, the idea seemed less frightening and more…intriguing.

What a thought! She was just cold, and joining him under the blanket was just good sense. She was shivering, after all. It was the sensible thing to do.

But as she headed toward him, Fox shifted toward the edge, evidently planning to stand up.

“It’s all right,” she said.

Fox froze, half-risen from the bed. “What?”

“You can stay here,” she said, and there was no point in pretending her cheeks weren’t flushing violently. “It’s all right. I don’t mind.”

He gave her a doubtful look; she supposed she couldn’t blame him, especially not after the fuss she’d made about him keeping his eyes closed while she bathed.

“I mean it,” she said. What point was there, she asked herself, in fabricating any measure of modesty between the two of them any longer? She’d washed his bare back. She’d washed his hair. She was standing next to him in her whites, for heaven’s sake.

Slowly, he relaxed again, leaning back against the wall. “If…if you say so.”

With her damp tresses resting upon the woollen shawl, with gooseflesh rising on her arms, with her heart veritably flying around her chest, Bree hardly breathed when she slid onto the bed, keenly aware—painfully aware—dizzily aware—of the warm body pressed against hers.

“I gotta ask again,” he said suddenly. Loudly. Forcefully enough to make her jump.

“Ask what?” Somehow, she knew he didn’t mean to ask whether she was cold.

“Why’d you help me?”

Bree blinked, biting back her question of why he had picked this moment, exactly—when she was half-naked and cold and wet—to resurrect his query. “I told you.”

“No, you didn’t,” he said. She quivered when he turned toward her, his elbow brushing hers. “Not really.”

“I was telling the truth,” she said. “You didn’t deserve all that. The flogging. That—the way they—he—he—”

She had done a remarkable job, she thought, of keeping those memories at bay. The silly girl who’d fainted away before the whipping post seemed like a different person; the events that followed might have happened to someone else. Now, however, with naught between them but cold air that felt warm, with proximity that should have been distance, and friendship that in another life might have been apathy, disdain, or disgust, they came flooding back. The cat-o’-nine-tails. The cell. The locked room. The fires. The flight through the city.

The flutter in her chest, and the inexplicable, resolute acceptance that no, he had not deserved any of it.

The haunting suspicion that, actually, no, there was not another life where she looked upon him with indifference or with scorn.

But Fox shook his head. “You don’t know that I didn’t deserve it. You never did. For sure not then.”

“Of course I—”

“Really?” He frowned. “What do you actually know about me?”

And before she could stop herself, before she could rein in the quiet bitterness she harboured about how he still kept his name from her, Bree said, “Well, nothing.”

“You gave up your whole fucking life,” Fox said softly. If he heard the pointed resentment in her voice, he did not mention it—but neither did he meet her gaze. “Everything. You set the fucking place on fire, and you dragged me out of there when you could have left me to rot. You left your—”

“Fox.”

His words faded, and he took a deep breath, bunching the blanket in his hands. “What?”

“I didn’t have to know you to know he was being cruel,” she said. “But I saw—I was there the day at the whipping post.” She swallowed. “I tried to forget you.”

At this, his head jerked to look away, and Bree wished she hadn’t confessed that she’d tried to put him out of her mind.

“I couldn’t, though.” Nor, she knew, would she ever. As she went on, her words babbled out faster, the pitch of her voice going erratic. “I didn’t need to know what you’d done because I know what he’s like, and I couldn’t forget you because for the first time ever, there was someone else who knew, too, and even though you didn’t know me, we had this awful thing in common and you—you knew what it felt like to have him—to have him—well, everyone loves him, you know—they see the uniform and not what’s underneath it, but not me, I know, and I saw you that day and even though you didn’t see me, not truly, not really, I still felt…”

Bree stared at the mountains of her knees rising from the paper-thin blanket—watched how they shook. Her heart was pounding enough, it seemed, to cause an earthquake, to shift the very segments of the earth, to crumble cities to ash and rubble. Why in heaven’s name had she told him any of that?

She couldn’t look at him. Not now, maybe never again.

But her treacherous lips kept moving. “That day,” she said, “it was like we were the only two people in the world who knew the secret of what he’s really like on the inside.”

The thought was ludicrous, of course. Neither of them was special. It wasn’t just him. How many other prisoners had been treated much the same as Fox had? And her—why, if she hadn’t married Baden Hatchett, some other poor girl would have suffered in her place.

A poem she had once read in a magazine came to her now, and she was murmuring before she realized what she was doing: “‘I sold myself to a loveless thing.’” She regretted speaking the moment she was done, but she couldn’t stop herself from reciting the next line in her head: And I walk’d to the altar and there I lied.

Some magic spell, some otherworldly compulsion, had her looking back to him, seeking his gaze even though she dreaded what she might find here. His eyes, too, were back on her now, welling with something that sent cracks and splinters through her chest. “I did see you that day. Sort of.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t break his stare. “I thought I made you up. Like a dream or something.”

His gaze burned—not like Baden’s, not like the fire-and-ice glare she’d come to fear. This gaze burned like sunshine—like spring, like warmth on meadow grasses, like the glint of golden light off a pond. It burned, and it didn’t waver, and she knew where he was looking when he shifted a strand of damp hair away from her neck. Away from the last yellowing bruise that in a few days would be gone.

His fingers were so warm. So gentle. The heat of him crackled against her skin, pulling at her, magnetizing and intoxicating.

But—

“No,” she whispered.

Not now. Not like this. Not when he was still healing, not when her skin was still stained with the mark of Baden’s twisted version of love.

Not while she still didn’t know his name.

Fox let go, and she didn’t look as he shifted into some new motion, the soft intake of breath and the rising of his arms the only hint at what he was doing.

“Here,” he said. “Just wear it until yours dries.”

The shirt she’d made for him, held out in offering.

When she glanced over in surprise, he smirked and shook his head, dropping the shirt into her hands, still warm from the heat of his skin. As she opened her mouth, hardly knowing what to say beyond Thank you, he turned his head away and rested his hand mere inches from her leg, empty and still, but radiating heat and invisible flame.

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Hey @starlit-hopes-and-dreams ... I fixed it 💕

Taglist (please let me know if you’d like to be added/removed!)

@clairelsonao3

@gala1981

@pleasestaywithmedarling

#lps the queen of lies #whump #whump story #whump writing #original writing #original story #original content #lady whump #guy whump #romance #angst

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star-girl69 · 1 year

Text

I Loved You Like the Sun

a/n: i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, swearing, incest, tell me if i missed anything!!

Daemon Targaryen x Rhaenyra Targaryen x Fem!Reader

Chapter Thirty Seven- In the Setting Sun

—-

Your dragons had never been mad with you. Perhaps annoyed, if you gave Joffrey too many sweets, or let Jace out of his punishment early, but never angry.

You asked them, once, why they never seemed to get angry at you. Rhaenyra simply said that they are not capable of feeling that way around you. You are honey, sweetness, everything good in the world. A floating piece of wood in a shipwreck. Water to a fire.

Now, as Daemon holds you by your arms, pushing you into your chambers, you know now, that this was their end. You are a storm, making wild waves. You are air, fueling the fire.

Rhaenyra and Daemon are mad at you. It almost does not seem true.

—-

“You’re being foolish,” Daemon hisses as he throws you onto the bed.

Your fall is pillowed, and you land on your back, sitting up immediately. Daemon stands in front of you, glaring, while Rhaenyra paces off to the side.

“You’re calling me a fool?”

“No, no, don’t twist my words. You are the farthest thing from a fool. But, right now, you are acting like one.”

“I am acting like you!” He stares at you for a moment, before scoffing.

“You are not me. I am not you.”

“Aemond has hurt me so badly-”

“Vengeance will come.”

“Rhaenys needs someone to go with her-”

“That someone is not you.”

“I want to kill him, Daemon! I want to rip his sapphire eye out, I want to feel his blood on my hands, and I am a horrible, horrible person!”

The room quiets after your outburst, and Rhaenyra stops pacing to look at you. She comes over, sit next to you, wipes a tear off your face you did not even notice.

“There is already blood on my hands. I am already a sinner. Does it matter much if I kill again?”

Rhaenyra moves slowly, fingers trailing over your collarbone, your shoulder, as she brushes your hair back. Her eyes flick up to you for a second, but she looks away as she leans forward. She places a kiss upon your neck. Hot, open-mouthed, pressed there long, almost as if she is inhaling the sin from your body. She pulls back, places a hand on your face, forcefully, when you try to look away.

“You say you are a sinner, yet when I kiss your skin you still taste sweet. Sugar covers your skin, my love, not salt.”

You stare at her for a moment, her fingers digging into your chin, holding you in place so she can stare so deeply into your eyes, as if she will start a fire.

“I don’t believe you, Rhaenyra.”

“You do not need to believe. You need to know.”

“Nyra, please-”

Daemon grabs both of your hands, and Rhaenyra releases your chin. You watch as he knees in front of you, placing his forehead against your stomach, your hands in his over your thighs, watching as he kisses each knuckle.

“I promised to be your sword. Will you not let me be that, my love? Will you not let me protect you and our blood? Avenge you?”

“I want to avenge myself. It was Aemond who dealt his blow, so I shall deal my own.”

Daemon’s kind face falls, and is replaced again by his anger.

“Well, you are mine, and we are one in the same. You will have to settle for his death by my hand.”

He stands up and moves away from you, and even though you are mad at him, you cannot bear to have him be so far away from you.

“Daemon, please.” You whisper, and he turns immediately and steps back to you. He won’t let an inkling of doubt slip into your mind, so he holds out his hand, and you grab it.

He watches as your press it to the side of your face, kiss his pulse point.

“Don’t be mad at me. Don’t leave me.”

His fingers curl of their own accord, and he frowns as he brushes a stray lock of hair behind your ear.

“We would never leave you, Y/N. We are mad, but we just want you to be safe. You cannot blame us for that.”

“I can,” you bite back, and Daemon smiles. “Rhaenys will be there. No matter Vhagar’s size or age- it is still two to one. Besides, Cannibal is a hunter. He hunted and killed other dragons, humans, until I claimed him.”

“That is true, Y/N, but,” Rhaenyra starts, and then she trails off. “You- you could still be hurt. You could die.”

“You said the same thing about me riding Cannibal.”

And she pauses, thinking over your words, and you know she has no response for that.

“This is different-” She tries.

“Do you not believe in me?”

She scoffs. “Of course I do. I believe that you are the most beautiful woman in the world, the strongest, the best mother, the best wife.”

“Then let me go. Do not deprive me of my revenge.”

But you can tell they are not convinced.

“Please.”

Daemon came close to you again, cupping your face in both his big, warm hands, tilting your chin up.

“You are more important than revenge.”

—-

Rhaenyra called for you as you left, but you simply wrenched yourself away from them, storming through the halls.

Daemon and Rhaenyra had killed your first husband, murdered him right in front of you, even when you had begged them not to.

They could exact their revenge, but you could not?

You were sure they would spin some tale about how loving you and losing you had changed them, that revenge was no longer important, not when lives were at risk.

They were hypocrites.

You didn’t know where you were going as you stormed through the halls, running away, thankful they did not follow you. If you saw them right now, you do not know what actions your anger would demand.

You find yourself at the edge of the palace, a balcony over looking the sea. You huff, hands digging into the railing.

“Your Grace.” The voice is like sticks and stones tumbling down a hill, slightly rhythmic, slightly rough. When you turn, it is the Princess Rhaenys who is there.

“Princess Rhaenys,” you grit out, turning back to the sea, attempting to breathe, to calm yourself, to perhaps see your dragon’s side and convince yourself that this is right.

She comes to stand beside you, armor already donned.

“I am leaving soon. I assume you shall not join me?”

“No. No, the Queen and King have forbade it.” You hiss, thinking of their refusal, something dark swirling in your chest.

“A shame, truly. But, if it is the word of the Queens and the King, then so be it.”

Now, you turn to her. She smiles, ever so slightly.

“You remind me much of my Laena.” She says, and you think back to the whispers of the woman, the mother of Baela and Rhaena, the likeness of her hanging in one of the halls. “It would be an honor to fight beside you, Y/N. I admit, I am slightly selfish. I would have a much better chance if I was fighting alongside The Dragon of the Night. But I will not force you into anything. I simply mean to remind you that you are also a Queen. As a woman denied of her revenge, I sympathize with you.”

She places a hand on your shoulder, fleeting. “I am leaving soon, Your Grace. I hope to have your luck in my battle.”

She leaves with that, and you look out towards the sun setting before you, fading below the horizon, seemingly sinking into the sea.

You remember what Jace told you, when you were making your way down the endless stairs of the secret tunnels. Rhaenyra had proclaimed the realm would know the meaning of fire.

You repeat the phrase in your head, now, along with Rhaenys’ words, and the simple fact that you are Queen.

You turn, abruptly, leaving the balcony and running into the small room before it, there is a set of dragon-riding armor on the chaise. You grab it, see the red and black Targaryen crest on the breast plate.

When you slip it on, it is a perfect fit. This must have been made as a contingency- incase the war came to Dragonstone, incase danger had come to you. You suppose it has the same use if you are going into the danger.

The halls of Dragonstone are empty as you walk through them, through and through, stone floors, heavy oak door that opens to your movement.

The grassy bluffs at this door of Dragonstone are already occupied by The Red Queen, by Rhaenys. Lord Corlys nods and smiles as he passes you, and you are foolish, and a giddiness rise sun your chest as you grin back at him.

When you call Cannibal, he descends from the sky, and Rhaenys smiles as she climbs upon her red beast. When you climb upon your black beast, the night below you, the sun is you, you whisper a single world and Cannibal raises to the sky.

You are a Queen, the Queen of the Realm, and you mean to teach Westeros the meaning of fire. You mean to teach Aemond the meaning of fire.

While Aemond is a Prince, you are a Queen.

He will know, you promise yourself. He will know.

—-

taglist:

@wondergal2001 @akiraquote @a-lil-bit-nuts @anginoguera @thatkinkylesgirl1 @stitchattacks @honeypillowsblog @kaloafd @blackhoodlea @softtina @wallace02sblog @tetgod @hotd-fanfic @rxscpctals @iramagnus

#daemon x rhaenyra #daemon targaryen #daemon targaryen x reader #rhaenyra targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen x reader

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sadruru · 5 days

Note

In-character character development questions for Melissa!

🔮 CRYSTAL BALL — what is a core memory from your childhood that you think defines you today?

😶‍🌫️ FACE IN CLOUDS — is there something you're hiding from the people you love? if so, how urgent is it for them to hear it? what's holding you back from sharing it?

Thanks for the questions! I've already decided how I'm going to answer them, it's going to be a bit experimental 😈

Melissa will personally answer questions. Expect a cameo ~

😶‍🌫️ FACE IN CLOUDS — is there something you're hiding from the people you love? if so, how urgent is it for them to hear it? what's holding you back from sharing it?

"Well, well... All right! It's a miracle you could convince me, and I'll repay you for the drink and song. I don't like to stay in debt. First of all, let me say I'm not a very good storyteller, and my stories aren't very sweet. You won't be in Drezen for long, right? I doubt I'll see you again in the future. If I started telling my story, believe me, it would take a few nights. Hold on, what do you mean calling you by your name, sugar-voiced Lark? I won't, because it's more interesting!

…I hide a lot of things from those closest to me. If I have any. I often hear from others that I change topics too easily, especially from one restless boy. I've never liked looking into the future, because you never know what will happen tomorrow. On one hand, it sounds a little scary... Maybe one day I'll tell them, and him too.

I had too much shit behind me. So much that I should shut up. I don't think you'd believe me the first time.

You know, I used to not really care about this Crusade or the people around me. You should have seen how everyone reacted to me at first. The obscure bandit turned knight-commander, the tiefling, who looked like “ a succubus” or “ a whore”. Or whatever those "noble" paladins and knights called me for my looks and temper. Never mind. I've been called worse in the River Kingdoms. But now I see that they look at me with hope, despite what I do... It gives me a bitter taste in my mouth. I don't... I don't want to seem weak to everyone. It's really annoying.

Hmm… Did you see the adorable little elf with the burns? Ember. Sometimes she draws a crowd of onlookers. Her eyes, words and actions... When that girl looks at me, it's like she sees right through me. These moments make me feel pretty… Vulnerable? Oh, no. Too many bad thoughts in my head again. Now you owe me another pint!"

🔮 CRYSTAL BALL — what is a core memory from your childhood that you think defines you today?

"Ah, come on! Another tough question again? I really don't know! I had a lot of good and bad moments.

I don't know about you, little Lark, but my childhood ended quickly and darkly. I'll tell you about the good one. When I was five years old, I saw my dad carving something for me. It wasn't just another wooden toy, and he didn't say what it was. To be honest, I wanted a dragon toy so bad! I begged him long and impatiently until he finally finished and hung a simple amulet around my neck. The amulet bore the symbol of Cayden Cailean. Then he said to me, "Be brave, strong, and believe in good as always, Lissa. I can feel the spirit of adventure in you. Perhaps in the future you will continue our family business, or travel to other countries. That's your choice."

My first piece of jewelry... Ha ha! After that, I pounced on my mom's stuff and started imagining myself as a rich lady in a dress, with lots of gold rings and precious bling. I dreamed of getting rich, making our tavern bigger, buying a big house near the sea, with lots of servants and cats, maybe even finding a handsome husband and living happily ever after! Uh... My parents scolded me severely for making such a mess.

Believe in good, right? And foolish childish dreams... As you see, something went wrong."

Why little Lark? Because Siavash is half elf and taller than her 🤣

I hope I portrayed her character well. I don't know about the second question. Many memories in her childhood defined her. So I decided to show one of them - about her childhood dream of a good ending.

How it ended: Fluffy steals meat from hand.

Better not look at what's going on in the background. I just like to draw funny sketches in the background. I wonder if people recognize their kids? Hehehe...

#ask meme #wotr commander #pathfinder wotr #pathfinder wrath of the righteous #melissa #pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #oc #A little cameo of some of the characters #I have a headcanon that the commanders of my acquaintances and friends are somewhere living their lives quietly in my version of the story #That sounds pretty interesting and nice ✨🧪🐉🦋

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woltourney · 1 year

Text

ROUND 2 / SIDE A / POLL 2

Posey (@motley-ember) v. Eleutherios (@trans-estinien)

Posey:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Posey, he/him!

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Hrothgar

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. Paladin! (Additional note from submitter: Culinarian)

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Phoenix

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. Posey is a big softie and massive himbo who loves cooking, but loves his friends even more. He was trained by his grandmother in the art of the blade, and enjoys using all of his skills for the good of the world! The food that he makes is said to be better than what is served to the Sultana in the royal palace.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. I don't really care if I win, but I thought this was a good way to make new friends! My Baba said that I should put myself out there more!

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. He's gay and he has a pet teacup pig. He WILL try and become friends with anyone and everyone.

Eleutherios:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Eleutherios, He/Him

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Unsundered Ancient

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. Currently (as of 5.3 onwards) Eleutherios' main job is Dark Knight

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Eleutherios Azem on Sargatanas, Aether!

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. Have you ever thought "Huh, I wonder how the story of Final Fantasy XIV would change if Azem was never sundered?" WELL DO I HAVE THE WARRIOR OF LIGHT FOR YOU! Introducing Eleutherios! The lovable Azem who spent his days travelling Etheirys, caring for its people, and annoying the Convocation. Until everything fell apart, of course. On the eve of the Sundering, he denounced both the Convocation and Venat, choosing to find his own path to end the Final Days. Paths that didn't involve summoning gods or killing half of the star's population and then some. But Venat and the others had chosen their courses, and fate had been set. Now, Eleutherios should have died when Hydaelyn broke the world. But he did not. Why? Well, because of the timeline splitting in two. When? When a traveller from the future arrived in Elpis to learn the truth of the Final Days, of course. This traveller? Eleutherios himself. Hydaelyn had spared him from Her spell, making him Her chosen, in the same vein as the Unsundered Ascians being chosen to carry out Zodiark's will. Eleutherios believed the Ascians' plan to restore the world to what it once was foolish. Their people were dead. Nothing can fix that. They just have to push forward and make the best of the future they've been given. But his fellow Unsundered couldn't see this, trapped in their ideals of what the star should be. They needed to see it for what it is. But how could he expect the Convocation to do that, when the only one of them who ever seemed to care about the individual lives of the people was him? So someone has to fight for the new life springing up across the star. And thus began his great work. He's risen up to be the Warrior of Light countless times, over and over, for eons. With each Rejoining marking another failure. Time and time again he had to watch as everything he fought for was reduced to ash. Once, twice, seventh. It seemingly never ended. But what choice did he have? If he didn't fight against the Ascians, he was practically working for them by letting them get away with these atrocities. And so he carries onward as he's always done. But unbeknownst to him, this time was different. This time he meets the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. This time he travels to another Shard and manages to prevent a Rejoining. This time he isn't alone to face the second Final Days. This time, everything will finally be ok.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. "Well, I'll be honest with you, I don't mind if I win or not. I just like participating and getting to know everyone! Oh, and I'll promise I'll hold back, for their sake. Though if they're Warriors of Light I'm sure they'll all hold up just fine! But if you want a serious answer about why I specifically should win, then…" [Eleutherios takes a moment to think.] "I should win based off of the fact that I have eons more experience in this whole 'Warrior of Light' business than the rest of them do. I've been at it since the Sundering! Not to say that my many, many years of experience is needed to be a Warrior of Light, or that I'm better than the rest, which couldn't be further from the truth. I think we all stand equal, sundered or not."

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. I have so much more lore for Eleutherios and I had to cut down this introductory essay by a LOT. I'm currently working on an extended version which covers ALL of his lore. If you want more Eleutherios content just send me an ask on tumblr, or scroll through the [#eleutherios (azem)] and [#unsundered azem au] tags! I'm always happy to talk about him!!

#💎 shout #💎 round two

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aoyama-division · 25 days

Text

Tomi's Thoughts on Obihiro Division

Hisoka Tetsumasu

"Tetsumasu-san? He's taking part in this contest, as well? And he's the leader of a team? ...If it weren't for me not wanting to embarrass myself or because it would be improper of me, I'd probably laugh myself silly right now. The very thought of this man leading a team, any team for that matter, is downright foolish as it is ludicrous."

"No doubt you're probably wondering how exactly I know this man. I don't, not exactly anyway. I only know of him because he works as a horse breeder at the Spur Stud Ranch. Why should I care about this? Because my family, or rather I, own several of the horses there. You peons might find this hard to believe, but... I actually adore equestrianism. When we were younger, my father forced my brother and I to take up some sort of physical activity. I don't know what Kunio took up, but I decided to do horse riding. I'm quite good at it, believe it or not. I find horses to be rather unique animals. I'm quite fond of them. A shame none of the horses I own have won any races, though."

"Anyway, I came across Tetsumasu-san when I went to visit some of my fine steeds in Obihiro. The owner of the ranch recommended him, so I have him as the watching over my fine stallions. While I find his skittish nature to be annoying, he does know what he is doing, so I pay him no mind and pay him for his services. ...Still, I have to wonder what someone like him has to do with the D.R.B., or Chuohku. Perhaps there's more to skittish man than meets the eye..."

Daiki Kamiyama

"Ugh, Daiki-kun. I only know of him because of his family name. If not for that, I'd pay him absolutely no mind at all. The Kamiyama family and mine are business partners with each other. In exchange for letting them get first pick of any jewels we uncover, the Kamiyamas let our family stay in their hotels, free of charge. Since my father travels a lot, he always tries to stay in the hotels provided by their family. I've stayed in one or two of them myself. They're quite good."

"As far as his family goes, I only know of the two oldest children, Carter-san and Akimi-san. I know there are more, but I've yet to meet. I only hope that the rest of the children aren't anything like Daiki-kun. Ugh, as I stated earlier, if it weren't for his family name, I'd almost think he were a peasant from how he acts! Karada thinks he's swell, but I want little to nothing to do with him until he acts his age."

Jack Verrill

"Ah, Verrill-san. I met him at soiree, accompanying his young master, Daiki. I must say, the young boy should consider himself lucky to have a fine butler like Verrill-san keeping him out of trouble. I've noticed he and my own butler, Hino, seem to have a friendly rivalry of sorts. I'm glad to see that even in his old age, he hasn't lost his thrill for competition."

Veiled Vanguard

"I have to question exactly why this team is present. For one thing, as I stated, Tetsumasu-san doesn't scream 'leadership-material' at all. Secondly, I have to wonder why Chuohku has taken notice of him. For all I know, he is just a simple horse breeder. Of course, it wouldn't be out of character for Chuohku to just force people to join their tournament out of the blue, but why him exactly?"

"I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious... but I don't really care enough to find out the reason. If he is joining this tournament, I sincerely hope he'll give a good show. ...But I won't be holding my breath on that."

#hypmic #hypnosis mic #hypnosis microphone #hypmic oc #hypnosis mic oc #tomi chōten #obihiro division #veiled vanguard #hisoka tetsumasu #daiki kamiyama #jack verrill

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storybounded · 4 months

Text

Oh my goodness. It has been a good few years since I've seen the live action of Lady and the Tramp. After I showed Twinnie, I vowed to never watch it again, so I had to remind myself why I wasn't a big fan of it with clips I could find. Because my mind basically blocked it out otherwise. Putting it under a read-more because this is going to get long lmao.

But my big take-away is the fact that OG tramp in the animated movie is street-wise but suave. And even if he had a obviously playful and trickster side to him that liked to cause chaos for fun of it, he had an air of dignity and scruffy debonair. A gentleman.

And despite his circumstances on the streets, he was still social and mostly well-liked by the the other street dog peers who talked of him. Of course, he won't get a long with everyone, but in the animated movie, it came across that he was pretty popular among other strays. Either for the way he helped them out of a tough spot, or how he was quite the lady's man.

And yeah, he is pessimistic about the life of a dog after a baby comes around, but it never bled into other facets of his personality.

LA Tramp is pessimistic and honestly extremely rude and solitary. A dick, long story short. The alarm bells that rang in my head the moment he showed his true colors on screen... and I knew this was going to be a twist I wasn't going to like. This was 10-13 minutes in the movie. First of all, There was that homeless puppy scene at the start. LA Tramp showed himself to be more possessive to the point of being an asshole. Not afraid to sling insults to LITTLE PUPS. Children, practically. And even if he eventually gave and gifted them their stolen sandwich, the insults did not stop there. Sure, those puppies were trying to hustle him for food, but there wasn't any excuse for him to be such fouled tempered.

I can't see the OG tramp slinging insults at puppies. TBH, he is a complete push-over with the little scamps. He would unashamedly use the baby-talk with them, and humor them with a little bit of play. It seemed like a daily part of his morning routine.

Then the dog - catcher scene with Peg and Bull came quickly afterwards. OH god, this is where we see the LA's ass-hole nature truly SHINE and one that I remember the most.

Whereas OG Tramp was HELLA concerned about his pals and immediately jumped into action and freed them...

Live action Tramp seemed extremely frustrated and acted as if his old pals were a burden on him. He did not jump straight in, and instead complained under his breath. In fact, he was WILLING to look the other way and let his friends be toted off to the pound if they hadn't already seen him. Peg and Bull literally had to talk their way into being freed and tramp still did not seem amused.

Another scene that I don't remember with fondness is the 'Rabies' scene. Like I UNDERSTAND that they could not have a animal fight in a disney live action talking-dog movie. It wouldn't have shed a good light on adopting dogs who need it. But instead, they took a route that made both Lady and Tramp look absolutely foolish and dumb. What was once a serious scene was turned into a joke.

She was already freaked out and not used to her muzzle, and the first thing he does? Called her annoying. Made her look bad in front of other strangers.

Lady is a dog who cares a lot for her image...but in the LA they made her go along with it and be okay with it. Made her roll around in trash and old unrefrigerated / dirty sausages, something the OG would've never done. She said she 'felt alive' after the fact. Yes, I am highly aware this was all for show to make the dumb dog believe his equally dumb lie, but... this rubbed me the wrong way. 🙃

But then he proceeded to be a bit of a jerk to her. Made it feel like they were 'even' rather than be respectful of her predictament.

Whereas in the OG movie, Lady was obviously still freaked out and downtrodden after Tramp came in to help, and did not in fact 'feel alive'. Tramp was worried and concerned, because this dog is used to the pampered life, and the last he saw her, she was happily at home. But now, she is out on the streets and is stuck inside a muzzle of all things? He felt pity and sad for her. He wanted to help her make it better.

I don't know, the LA didn't have the same impact. They could've not turned Lady's fears into a joke, but they could've also not done any fights either.

There are other problems I have with LA Tramp, but these are the main points I wanted to specify before I get long winded haha. But yeah, these are some of the many reasons why I don't like the new LA tramp. I might make a part two later, I don't feel like talking about this movie anymore right now LMAO.

The only points I'll give the LA movie are the cute doggos, and they have far more expressions than the L.ion L.ing LA LMAO.

#&&. the author speaks ( ooc )

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randombook4idk · 10 months

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What do you like about 03 Royai compared to what you dislike about BH Royai? I'm curious :3

Hi, thank you for the question!! And I'm sorry for the long wait!

Before I answer I do want to make some things clear - I haven't re-read FMA for a time now and the same goes for re-watching FMA 03, so do take my answers with a bit of grain of salt. Also opinions about pairings can change as the time goes so be aware of that as well.

I know you're asking about canon!Royai as in BH version, but I will refer to them as manga!Royai, since that's what I'm talking about.

My problems with manga!Royai will be put in 2 categories - The Petty Reasons (aka fandom) & The Writing Reasons. After that I will list what like about 03!Royai.

I will (attempt to) answer your question, so, let's get started and lets hope my rambling makes sense :D

What do I dislike about manga!Royai:

The Petty Reasons (aka mostly fandom focused):

• The hype - Before I got into FMA, I had come across some Royai stuff and heard how many loved the ship, making me invested in them as well, despite not being part of the fandom as well.

I even read their ship wiki (juts the trivia section, because didn't want to get spoiled like I did about the tunnels scene), which made me like the ship, but I also got the feeling that many of their huge moments only happened during the other half of the story/near the end, but I brushed it off.

The I finally read FMA and to be honest, I was a bit let down as the hype didn't pay of to me, since they didn't have much moments at the start and even with the moments they had, Royai simply didn't stick to me as a ship as the story went on.

For example, when the scene of Riza shooting Lust happened and Riza cried, believing that Roy was dead, I felt pretty much what I felt during Nina's Arc and maybe Hughes's death as well - nothing much really, because outside of those tiny moments between Riza and Roy and Riza standing next to Roy while he talked to Edward, there wasn't much that made me care for them that would make this scene emotional for me.

Sure, I will admit that near the end (mostly during the time in the tunnels) they stuck to me, I like them and even made a playlist for them (ended up deleting it later, but whatever).

Still, they ended up slipping out of my interest, with times me liking them and while my feelings whether of not I like them is complicated, I will say they're the ship you don't mind and even like in some aspect, but at the same time wish the fandom would shut up about for 5 minutes, because they're not the only ship here and you wish the fandom would stop acting like it's the best, perfect ship in existence that everybody loves, which ironically makes you dislike the ship.

• Fandoms OTP - This problem is present in almost every fandom, it would be foolish to deny that. Anyway with Royai being this fandoms OTP, I get this feeling like I should love Royai too and not just love, but also have them to be my number one FMA ship.

And as someone who's liking towards a ship can change even with ships I really adore and hates giving these huge ship labels as "OTP" even to my own ships that I really like myself, it only annoyed me and sort of pushed away from the big, popular ship.

I'm aware the way I ship differs from how another person ships and that's okay. Everyone ships differently, but this whole thing which is present in almost every fandom, of that one ship being everyones main ship does get on my nerves a bit.

Yes, it would suck if I met someone who didn't like some of the FMA ships that I like, but at least the person can say their opinion of the ship without worrying they might offend half of the fandom. Even if my ships would get spotlight, I wouldn't like if they got the spotlight by the fandom hammering it as the main ship that you should love.

(I know this complain isn't really Royai centric, but mostly a complain about shipping in fandoms)

I know this is a bit off topic, but once I read this lovely Gracia x Roy fanfic and I saw on the author's notes being like: "Oh, don't worry Royai is still my OTP, I still love them. I just wanted to write these two" or something like that.

And like the author didn't have to reassure the readers they still ship Royai, because, who was doubting the author's love for Royai in the first place? No one was gonna take away the author's shipping badge, because they wrote a fanfic for a different ship which has Roy be with a (female) character who isn't Riza.

This doesn't mean Royai shippers have to feel guilty about their shipper being popular, btw. Like hell no, go be happy and enjoy your ship.

I just have a problem with how unintentionally there's this whole expectation (?) of loving Royai, because of the ships popularity. (again this problem isn't present only in FMA fandom)

• "But I did chose my wife on my own"- Ok, this will be the most petty reason, but you can correct me if I make a mistake here.

I will admit that I don't know if people do in fact take this line by King Bradley and view it though Royai lenses and if they do, they mostly view it as a Royai moment, ignoring King Bradley & Mrs Bradley focus.

(I don't want to like put every Royai shipper into this one box and claim everyone view his line as Royai moment, ok?)

And I will admit that I also did view it also as Royai proof, when I first heard about the line and I am also guily of viewing Bradley's last words he said to Lan Fan through Lingfan lenses as well (while also viewing it as Bradley x Mrs Bradley thing).

But yeah, when did get to that part where he said it...I honestly didn't see much connection to Royai, in fact to me the line was 100% about Bradley.

Does it mean Royai shippers aren't allowed to make connection to their ship with this line?

No, they're allowed to do it, but if in fact people do view the line as 100% Royai moment and believe Bradley only brought up his wife, so he could rub it in Riza's face that she can't be with Roy, because everyone in the story, even the villains, can see how these two are deeply in love...then yeah, I am feeling annoyed.

I am annoyed that a moment, for a ship like Mrs Bradley and Bradley, a ship with a little screen time already and not much fanbase, gets taken and turned into a moment for a popular ship with a big fanbase.

• Fanon seemingly being treated as canon - Another petty reason and you can correct me on this one as well, but as I said, I had heard some things about Royai, before I read FMA and one of the things I heard was that Roy and Riza were childhood friends. Again, I didn't know much about them and assumed it was canon.

But when I finally got to the flashback of their past...I didn't get the vibes they were childhood friends, much less even friends.

I don't know if Arakawa confirmed somewhere that Roy lived with Berthold and Riza, when he studied Flame Alchemy, but with how he and Riza interacted they honestly felt like strangers, who might have (?) known each others existence, but never really have spoken to the other.

So, I wouldn't have much problem with Childhood Friends!Royai if it was treated as fanon and I don't know if it's treated like canon among the Royai community and again don't want to place all Royai shippers in one box.

But yeah, my dislike towards this being treated as canon (?) is that it feels like it feeds into this whole thing about how they "they only love each other", "how they've been in love since forever", "they're each others one true love" and all that vibe I get in this fandom.

Y'know like, it feels like people just push Roy and Riza together in almost everything, because idk they have to be together.

• Berthold & Ao3 - Can I please have Riza & Berthold centric fics without Royai and Roy? The same with Roy. Thank you.

Now with my pettiness aside, lets get to the Writing Reasons :D

The Writing Reasons:

• Riza's character - This is my main and biggest issue with manga!Royai, so Anon if you're a huge Riza fan, please don't take this as an attack towards the character or the ship.

Riza character feels mostly tied to Roy and in a way she can feel like a plot device/point for Roy's character.

And to me this flaw is more present, when Riza tells Edward about her POV in Ishval, but we end up following Roy's POV, with Riza having to come in her own supposed story to say what she thinks, saw or is doing, which honestly didn't leave much impact on me and didn't help me to connect to her character.

We're not shown her reaction to getting sent to Ishval. We're not shown her reaction and feelings towards her becoming a war criminal. We're not shown her belief in Roy's dream breaking. We're not shown how she felt seeing Roy using Flame Alchemy for war. We're not shown her finding the dead Ishval kid and deciding to give the child a burial. We're not shown how all that she witnessed in the war building up to her wanting for Roy to burn the Flame tattoo her father burdened with.

With all the things that happen in the Ishval arc, we barely actually get Riza's POV, because that time is spend on Roy's POV. When Riza gets screen time in this arc, it's mostly through Roy finding/coming across her. And then she tells Roy/us the audience what she saw/thinks. That's what happens. She just says things and that's it.

While this isn't a criticism aimed at Royai exactly, the way one of the/or both characters are written can affect how I feel towards the ship involving the two.

And with how Arakawa wrote Riza and Roy, my criticism towards the character (Riza) affects the way I feel towards Royai.

And I want to make it clear, despite this, it doesn't mean Royai is ultimately a trash ship.

One of a ships from a different fandom, that I like/ship is Sasusaku and that ship isn't well liked if we're being nice here. Despite me shipping Sasusaku, I am aware there are flaws in the ship and the character/s involved in the ship.

But unlike with Sasusaku, with Royai people mostly say praises about the ship (which isn't a bad thing, don't get me wrong), but by holding Royai up as this perfect ship, people can make it hard for others to voice their criticism to the ship or say they don't ship as they can become worried they will anger the fandom (or for some other reasons)

(Then again, I'm haven't been in FMA fandom for a very long time, so I don't know how criticism is viewed here).

Also, I just wanted for Riza to interact with other characters and whenever it happened I found myself liking her character more. (I feel neutral towards her most of the time)

• That Scene At the Tunnels - When I first read FMA I didn't pay attention much to it, but upon thinking about again, it made me sort of uncomfortable how Riza told Roy she'll kill herself after killing him, as she no will to live on and will erase the secrets of Flame Alchemy as well...I hope you see my problem with this.

Not only did it felt like Roy got guilt tripped into not killing Envy, I also had a problem with how in chapter 107, when Riza thinks back to what she said to him about having no desire to live on alone, she thinks how Roy, despite becoming blind, still hasn't given and how could she been so foolish.

(toxic positivity vibes in FMA? It's more likely than you think)

Which is just huge uuuugghhhhhh.....why? for me. The scene at the tunnels, including Riza saying she'll kill herself, at the start was just an angsty Royai moment, but now it's just that part of the story I wish had either handled way better or just not included at all.

(also, I don't think that Riza's...suicidal thinking - giving up when believing Lust killed Roy, the Tunnel scene - really got resolved in the story, at all) (and when I think about it, her wanting to be dead, if Roy is dead as well...I'm sorry, no offence to unhealthy codependency enjoyers, but this one is no for me)

What I like about 03!Royai (aka the shortest list known to man):

• No hype, no expectations (sort of petty) - Outside of the ending of 03 and CoS, I didn't hear much about Royai and watching the 03 anime I could understand why. They didn't have huge screen time, but from the moments they shared together, I came to like the ship.

• Their dynamic - This is mostly a preference, I personally prefer 03!Royai dynamic as it feels more lively (not that manga!Royai dynamic is bad, btw)

While I don't have the best memory, the moments between Roy and Riza in 03 stuck to me more. For example, one is that of Roy leaving Bradley's office, with Riza looking surprised/relieved and the next second being like "maybe you should get you hands slapped once in a while >:[" while Roy looks at her smugly.

Even of the scenes that is in the manga stuck to me better in the 03 anime - Hughes funeral. Riza is shown awkwardly telling others who are leaving that she and Roy will catch up and instead of her being confused by what Roy meant saying that it's raining, in 03 she understands it and goes along by agreeing with him.

The main point is - their dynamic in 03 speaks more to me and even with there not being a flashback to show us their history, I still get the feeling they have been by each others side for many years.

But I would have liked if we were given some hints about their past which would have given us more context to the moments like Riza's speech to Winry in train, the look in Riza's eyes as she stops Winry when she shouts at him about her parents.

• CoS movie - Is the fact that despite Roy being away, in the mountains, Riza continues her life at the military.

Whelp, these have been my answers. Sorry for the long wait to read this. I also have trouble putting my thoughts out on paper, so I hope my answers were good enough :]

#royai critical #royai criticism #03 royai #2003 royai #royai 03 #royai 2003 #fma #fullmetal alchemist #fma 2003 #fma 03

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plushii-gutz · 10 months

Text

Primarily dialog, this is something I wrote to give more details as to what's the two are up to. I won't mark it as its own part, but it's canon to the story.

▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ▭ׂ▬ׅ

Furnoss was yet to believe Loodvigg's words. It was a sudden shift in personality that even he couldn't see in the shadow monster's behavior, especially with everything they had been through. Even with Ghazt spectating them, he felt a bit uneasy around his former partner. It's only natural.

"So.. what exactly is this 'program' you're in?" Furnoss asked.

"It's a mixture of anger management and general therapy," Loodvigg answered. "I've been speaking with Ghazt often, but they are certainly not a professional. At all."

"Not a bit!" Ghazt added, disappearing from view once more.

"Hence why I have been given a proper monster to speak to in private. Even with their.. flaws.. I would say Ghazt makes a good companion. What have you been doing? Plant Island is quite the place."

"Where have you been staying?" The fire monster asked more.

"Ethereal Island. The dimension is rarely visited by others, mostly due to rules put in place and the difficulty to travel without interdimensional powers, as well as the stress it can cause, but as a celestial, my body can handle the sudden warping of time better than the average monster. Would you like to guess who takes me to and from?"

"Me!" Ghazt sung once again.

"There you have it. Would you ever be interested in visiting the island?"

"Maybe. Not any time soon.. how long have you been attending those meetings?"

"About a week or so."

"And.. You're already acting differently."

"I suppose so," Loodvigg said with a nod. Furnoss shook his head, their walking slowing.

"Loodvigg, these kinds of things aren't an overnight fix. They take weeks, months. Years, even. I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't help but feel like you're putting on a face for me."

"It's true that I haven't gone through the entire process yet," the shadow monster admitted. "I'm merely entering it as of now. There are many steps I'm yet to take, but I promise both you and myself to take whatever courses of action are needed."

Loodvigg offered its hand once more. Furnoss smacked it away.

"Loodvigg, you caused irreversible damage to us!" He began to raise his voice. "Glaishur is missing an eye, Galvana doesn't feel safe around anyone but their peers, Attmoz despises me - Our castle is gone because of you!"

They parted sides, the fire celestials growing anger making its way out of his mind and spilling into the air.

"And I was foolish enough to believe you changed the first time. How can I be sure you aren't trying to trick me again? How can I know for sure that Ghazt isn't on your side, playing some kind of game on me? That you're faking everything to get back at a monster who doesn't even remember their past? Why should I give you an ounce of trust?"

The dark monster seemed to shut themself down, drawing in a cool breath of air and exhaling slowly.

"Your frustration with me is completely valid. I do not expect you to forgive me. Ever. I can not excuse my actions. I do not expect you to trust me any time soon. I can assure you that what I say is truth, and I am more than willing to prove such. When I said I wanted to be suitable for your environment, I didn't mean to sound as if I would be coming into everyone's lives again in the following days. I want things to be fixed - I absolutely do. But I know it will take a very, very long time. If ever. You've given me much grace, and it's entirely up to you as to whether or not I am allowed to enter your life again. Furnoss, would you like for me to leave?"

They didn't sound annoyed, upset, happy, sad. Anything. It just wanted an answer.

"Yes! No. Or.. maybe? I.. I don't know."

The fire monster felt himself being torn in two. Was this all honesty or another false hope? Was Loodvigg truly trying to change? He didn't want to make the same mistake again, but he felt as if his past life was just a step away. Before everything fell apart. Before the world had tossed them into their current state. When everyone was just happy. But he has felt this way before, and he knows where it landed them. He needed to do what was best for the others, not just himself.

"You don't have to make a choice about him coming back now," the Ethereal made themselves present, taking a stance of Furnoss's side. "Like you said, it's only been a week. We have years and years of work!"

The two turned around, facing away from Loodvigg.

"Facing someone who hurt you as much as he did is near impossible, but I can tell you're trying really hard to stay strong. You're a stronger monster than I am, that's for sure! I know this is all kinda.. out of nowhere, but you can at least trust me! Call it quits whenever, and I'll take 'em home!"

"I just need to know if this is.. real. I don't want to be tricked again."

"Coming right up!"

Ghazt flew back, crystal spheres flowing from their body and hovering around them in circles. They motioned their hands, playing a quick tune on the orbs before each aligned to act as the corners of a rectangular door that formed from thin air. What was this?

"What - huh?"

"Celestials first!" The feline chuckled. "And uh.. I'd recommend closing your eyes - it's bright!"

Furnoss found himself being pushed inside of the room, the other two monsters following behind. He felt a divine energy coursing through his body for mere seconds, arriving quickly to their destination.

"Honey, I'm home!" Ghazt yelled.

Furnoss opened his eyes. The world around him had changed, swapping from a dark night among plants to a cool afternoon in brilliant glimmering colors. The ground felt more as though walking on marbled flooring with a thin sheet of fabric to soften it, crystallized structures building up from the ground, and misty yet solid trees erupted from the world below. The air held a soft humming as it flew past, a strange but clean scent running with it. The island was small, though bustling with monsters. Few came to a halt at the sight of another celestial.

"You're back!" One greeted the return of Loodvigg. They seemed insectoid, mechanical parts making up segments of their body. "And.. you brought another.. another celestial."

"Furnoss, this is Arackulele. He also goes by Lee, if that makes the pronunciation easier."

"Hello there, Furnoss, hehe.. Ghazt, can I talk with you for a second?"

While Ghazt left with the newly met Lee, Loodvigg went on to give Furnoss a tour of the island. As little as it was, there was much to see.

"I stay within the castle near the top center of the island. Suiting for a god, is it not?" He tried to joke. It didn't work.

"Loodvigg, this is insane."

"Otherworldly, to be exact."

"Look, I asked for proof, and I think it's safe to say you're being honest. Too honest, maybe."

"But you are yet to meet the monsters who provide most treatment for me? The facility isn't too far from here, as most everything can be found within a few miles of one another. I'm not due for another appointment, but I'm sure it wouldn't be a bother to simply show you."

It's clear that the shadow monster is dead set on providing everything he needed in order for Furnoss to believe them. It was almost overbearing. Even so, Furnoss agreed. At least an effort was being made.

The following hour was spent exploring the island, learning of different Ethereal monsters and their powers. It was an odd experience, almost as if they were meeting old friends for the first time. Of course, being the older of the celestials, Furnoss was able to recall a few by name. They seemed surprised at his memory of them at all.

Their trip came to an end, Furnoss finally believing his past partners words. The journey home was a quick one, less than a few steps thanks to Ghazt's abilities.

"Well," Furnoss sighed. "I believe you."

"Thank you," Loodvigg replied. "I hope our visit didn't cause too much discomfort. I realize I may have been a bit pushy."

"Well.. it was strange. But it seems everything is now."

Ghazt didn't seem to be nearby. Perhaps they were still waiting within the portal?

"Loodvigg?"

"Yes?"

"This was a very nice trip, and I'm more than proud of you for taking the correct and mature route, but.. I want to reinforce that my point still stands. You shouldn't be around the kids - I forbid it. Even with the forgiveness that Galvana seemed to have given you back at the hospital. I don't mean to be rude, but I doubt they knew any better."

"Likely not," They admitted. "I understand your wishes."

"And I'm still beyond upset with you and your past actions. Even if you change, this is something I simply can not forgive you for. You hurt a lot of monsters, and you hurt me, too."

Loodvigg knows well that their apologies will never cover this. Even so, it still muttered a small 'I'm sorry' with a nod.

"But.. maybe - I'm not making promises - but maybe in the following months or years.. maybe we could meet again. Somewhere other than here, away from everyone else. But only if you promise to continue working on yourself and only if I notice actual change. Good change."

"You aren't required to do such," Loodvigg reminded Furnoss. "It isn't an insult in any way to simply move on without me. I don't want you to be put under any pressure to attempt to befriend me again. I only came back to offer ideas, and I have come to understand that you didn't enjoy them."

"Do you promise to continue working on yourself?"

".. Yes. I promise."

"Then we'll see. Not any time soon. But we'll see."

Loodvigg gave another understanding nod, bidding farewell to the celestial of fire. Ghazt whistled, bringing its attention back to the portal. Loodvigg gave the castle one last glance before returning to his Ethereal home.

It doesn't plan on returning to Plant Island - they didn't belong here. The years before them were unknown. Neither knew if they would truly cross paths again. Whatever came of their future, together or not, could only be better than before, right?

The moon glistened over the Fuzzle and Piney trees. Travelers' signs spun with their directions to nowhere. Wild bagpipes sang a soft song in the nightly wind. The Celestials were at rest at last.

#fallen stars msm #fallen stars au #msm au #msm #the amount of questions I asked google over the topic of rehabilitation was agony #i genuinely hope i wrote this right

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ashesbreadandbutter · 4 days

Text

Yandere Sebastian x Mina (OC) - Glory Be Thy Goddess 🌟

Word Count: 2,251 words

Scenario: Yandere Sebastian is so madly in love with Mina that even in the calmest of moments his mind never seems to be tame about her.

Includes: yandere and/or possessive canon character, OC character, first point of view from Sebastian.

Thank you for commissioning! It's so highly appreciated lovely! ✨

I need her so bad.

It's a constant thought that's on my mind these days. As.. much as I've been trying to hide it; to keep it together when in the presence of her, I can't seem to stop thinking about Mina. At any point.

I remember the first time I laid eyes on her; the way the sunlight seemed to hit her like a halo around an Angel and I knew I was a demon and that's exactly why I just had to have her. To keep her all to myself, to stake my claim on her to I could experience her perfection as much as he wanted and whenever he wanted.

The thought of anyone else approaching her was enough to piss me off, to send me into a sour mood that could stick for the whole days. I never feel right without her; it's gotten to the point where I can't imagine not waking up at her side, not being there for every beck and call she could ever make for me.

Mina is mine.

I say it all the time; I've been saying it even before I was fully aware of it.. glaring heatedly whenever someone seemed to approach her with interest and not the kind that seemed friendly either… with the silly belief that they could possibly be a better mate for her than I am and I've come to realize that that was as foolish as believing in the flying spaghetti monster or something like elves or whatever…

Silly; because Mina doesn't see them like she seems to see me.

Even so, I can still get annoyed… irritated, when someone bothers us but the way Mina smiles at me, the way she feels when our hands graze each other… the way her voice sounds whenever she allows me to hear and listen to her.

The only people I can stand being around her are Sam and Abigail and even then sometimes… sometimes I can't help but want so much more.

To steal her away, to run away together and I've even come to really… enjoy being outside with the help of her.

She's so insanely bright, like a million twinkling stars in the shy and I love it so, so much even when I hate how it I'm not the only one it seems to draw in.

I can't stand it.

The idea of someone seeing her and seeing what I see; an angel so pure, too pure for this world… pisses me off and bad.

They wouldn't know how to treat her, not like I knew how to.

Sometimes when someone seems to take her in for just a little too long, or smirk just a tad too mischievously at her I gently grab hold of her but I’m stern as well. Wrapping my arm around her shoulders or waist because she's mine and I like people knowing that especially because seeing their surprised faces was only just enough to stop me from wringing my fingers around their throats. It's interesting really; the way being around Mina has only managed to bring out parts of me that feel so fucking alive. I love Sam and Abigail but even with that I've always felt like something or someone was still missing and after so much time… I'm more than confident that that person is Mina.

She's so cute, so extravagant and I need her…

So, so bad.

I need her all the time and even though we've been together for months now all I can do is find myself so deeply infatuated with her that I wonder if she even knows how much I crave her.

In some ways it pisses me off; the fact that I can't wake up a single day without the thought of her smile being the first thing on my mind or the way that when she's not around all I can do is think about her, where she was… her smiles as she tells silly little jokes, the way her eyes twinkled when I speak to her and called her name, or the way her hand feels on mine when we lay together and cuddle.

I'm moving even before I can really even help myself; standing up from the seat I've been sitting in for the last handful of minutes in her home while she happily hums and washes dishes. I look over to the stove and the smell of something both savory and sweet reminds me of the fact that right now it was just me and her in here.. in the home that we'll hopefully grow many precious and beautiful children in. Never before had I thought I'd even dream of such a thing, having children of any sort but ever since we've gotten together it's been a growing thought in the back of my head. Every time I look at her these days all I can wonder is where we'll be years from now and I'm so so happy with the many different possibilities that I'll be damned if someone tries to take her from me.

“Sebastian?” She suddenly speaks and I perk like a dog being called by its precious owner.

I've been so lost in thought that I've been staring.

She looks over her shoulder at me, that smile that I fall in love with over and over again is showing on her lips that I just so desperately love to kiss. With the little giggle she seems to give a moment after it's clear that she's managed to pick up on the fact that I've only been so quiet for the last handful of minutes because I was taking her in; consuming the energy she always seemed to have more and more of… always giving looks that made his heart rush in his chest even after all this time.

I need her.

She has to have my child…

I want it so bad it's killing me and before I even realized it.. I was standing behind her, eyes bright as I looked down at her back before reaching over slowly. I hug her, wrapping my arms slowly around her soft waist and then humming lowly as I lean in and gently press my face against her shoulder blade to give it a nuzzle. The sound of her letting out a scoffed laugh makes my head spin and butterflies brew in my gut as my arms carefully tighten around her.

I take my time; pressing snuggly against my head and gently running my lips along her smooth and tasty skin. As my arms hug her I can't seem to help the way the feeling of her makes my cock stiffen. It's the spell she has on me and the spell I happily take every time she's around. She sucks in a breath, moving her head and tilting it to give me some more room and oh how sweet of her.

I waste no time moving even closer; the gentle tracings of my lips on her skin turning into sweet kisses.

I'm fucking losing it.

I need her.

I move my hands up and greedily cup her breasts, fondling her just the way I’ve come to know she likes, gentle kisses turning into nips, my teeth grazing her skin and fuck the way she seems to loosen, weaken, in my arms knowing well that I’ll hold her easily no matter what.

The way she seems to lower her head a little now tells me everything I need to know; that this woman, my woman loved it when I showed my love for her.

I could show her so much more.

It's hard not to pin her down right here; it's taking everything in me not to lose it but I have a better idea. One that may just prove to everyone once and for all that this woman was taken.

I growl, a low snarl coming from deep within my throat and the way she shivers and gasps has my cock so fucking hard that I'm starting to worry I might break my zipper.

It's fine.

She presses back into me, falling into my caresses and touches like she's supposed to and the way that she's squirming makes me tempted to help make an even bigger family. I've always wondered; always imagined what being with someone like this would really feel like and for so long I was left wondering. No one was of interest, was worth my time and just as it seemed like j was starting to understand that there she was. Showing up like an omen and I remember the first time I laid my eyes on her, how the room seemed to grow quiet and nothing else seemed to matter but her… the way my heart had gone from perfectly calm to a racing mess in my chest even as I held my neutral expression.

She came over with no issue, everything about her was just as beautiful as she was. It's her voice, her eyes, her smile… and I just can't stand it.

I'm so helplessly infatuated with her.

She spoke so freely, so easily even with the slight nervousness that could be detected and I nearly fainted. With how much alcohol I had actually managed to drink that night and yes..fully prepared for the consequences; it would have been easy to think I was simply hallucinating.

‘No fucking way..’ I thought with the weight breath I had managed to deeply breathe in as if braving myself and oh when she spoke I think a shiver ran up my spine.

She's a goddess.

One that I had received the privilege of meeting and I lose myself every time and it's all because of her.

Now as my kisses grow a bit rough; gentle nips turning into harder bites and my tongue would slip out right after just to ease the sudden spikes of pain with a following gush of cool pleasure and of it's so hard not to take advantage of this… to not mark her up just to make sure everyone knew she was mine. I can't help it, I can't stop it… I desperately need her and I need others to know their places.

Just thinking about others looking at her with greedy eyes, hearing and listening to whispers makes me feel like exploring just how easily it could be to hide a body.

I bite down with force, eyes closed and brows furrowed as she cries out when my teeth breath the skin and I…I don't mean to hurt her but fuck the way she cries out and rolls her hips into mine, is to know this is needed.

She needs this.

I… need this.

I continue to touch her, showering her in so many kisses, my tongue running over that bite mark, the one that stands out beautifully in the open… in a hard and nearly impossible place. I keep touching her; hands running from his breast and rubbing them and gently groping turns to my hands moving to move and run my palm down her frame up until I can grip the tips of her thighs and grip her and hold her tight against me.

She's mine.

She's been put on this planet to be mine…

And people needed to know that.. and I'm willing to show them.

I pull away from her skin; wet lips lightly panting as I take my mouth from her delicate skin to look at her throat and oh, it's so beautiful. The mark I've left on her stands out so beautifully and I can't help but feel proud, like I might just rip her clothes off right here and spend the next few hours making a mess out of her in every which way.

“S-Sebastian!~” she squeaks loudly and I can't help but grin against that skin of hers.

I touch her so leisurely; hands squeezing and rubbing her thighs before slowly moving to slide my hands under her shirt and caress her belly. The belly that I love so much, the one that helped carry our precious and beautiful baby and it's warm, her skin feeling so fucking good under my skin.

“I love you Mina.” I coo, voice heavy as I hold her close, breath hitting her skin and as she shakily moves one of her hands to shaking grab one of my own, rubbing my knuckles caring before she looks over her shoulder again at me.

Our eyes connect and Mina grins before brushing her lips against mine in a way that lights my soul so brightly that I think I'm actually starting to melt from the inside out.

“I love you too Sebastian.. you..you know I love you more than most of this planet.” She admits and my eyes widen, heart soaring and oh it's so good to hear her say it from her own lips.

I kiss her again but I can't hold back, I can't be as gentle as I probably should but Mina doesn't seem to hate it as she turns in my arms allowing me to hold her better.. to cup her thighs and press her front against my own as our lips meld into each other in a way that really made the world around them seem like nothing but a dream.

All I need is her.

All I want is her…and I'm willing to do anything and everything to keep her safe and loved at my side.

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astrology-bf · 8 days

Text

The Necessity of Fiction

A fic dedicated to Sir Terry Pratchett.

(CW: Minor Spoilers for ARR and Hogfather, Theology)

High up in the heavens, a ball of burning gas cast its harsh, indifferent light upon a sphere of stone. Upon this stone; or rather, sitting beneath a tree near Revenant’s Toll, a magician gnawed his lower lip as he perused a tome in idle study. It was a fair day in Mor Dhona; no clouds, no gloom, and neither heat, nor chill. A perfect day, or near enough as could be found in such a rugged clime.

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Ifan blinked and glanced up at the sound of the voice. “Oh, G'raha.” he let out a little chuckle at the sight of the miqo’te and raised a hand to rub his eye, then shook his head. “Not at all, I was just reviewing a formula.”

G’raha smirked as he took a seat beneath the tree at Ifan’s side, a grimoire of his own in hand. The comical (if frustrating) circumstances of their initial meeting in the Shroud had quickly given way to a friendship over books, and since then the two had grown accustomed to shared study. “Ah. Doubtless more homework from our dear mistress Y'mhitra. I take it your endeavors in summoning proceed apace?” asked G’raha with a glance at the tome in Ifan’s hands, one ear perked in curiosity.

Ifan nodded. “They proceed, just not as quickly as Y'mhitra would like.” he answered, failing to hold in a faint sigh of consternation.

The ear that G’raha raised flattened quizzically as one eyebrow rose. “She does not strike as the overly impatient sort.” he mused.

“She isn't, I’m simply a little deficient.” answered Ifan, without thinking.

G’raha frowned. “There is no need to put yourself down, Ifan. If something troubles you, I should be happy to listen.“ he offered with a cant of his head towards the mage, ears splayed forward and open as visual indication of his willingness to listen.

A mirthless chuckle escaped Ifan’s lips. He raised his head and turned it to meet the miqo’te’s eyes. “I wouldn't want to make my troubles your troubles.” he countered with a little smile.

G’raha gave the midlander a coy little smile of his own. “Simply being around you entails trouble, and I happen to find that one of your more preferable qualities." he teased before his smile took on a more sympathetic bent. "It is no burden, truly. You certainly have been more patient than I merit when it comes to myself."

Ifan snorted faintly, nodding. “Mm, aye. I still haven't quite decided how to get back at you for that whole business with the aethersand.” he snickered.

G’raha gave the mage a flattened frown, ears mirroring the line formed by his lips. “Do not tell me you are still annoyed by that? ‘Twas an idle jape.”

Ifan stuck his tongue out at G’raha from between his teeth in a teasing little grin. “An idle jape of my own.” Then he gave a sigh and idly cast his eyes upwards towards the leaves above their heads. “Alright... Well, it's sort of a matter of faith.”

The miqo’te cocked his head at this. “Faith?”

Ifan nodded. “Egis are images of primals after all, and primals images of gods. And…” The hyur trailed off and gnawed his lower lip once more. “‘Tis foolish…”

“Foolish it may be, but it being so will not assuage my curiosity.” said G’raha with a pointed look.

A laugh escaped the mage. “Ah, so you plan to pester the reason out of me?” he asked.

“If it should help you arrive at a decision, then I should be happy to confess some thoughts of that nature.” answered G’raha, a playful little grin dancing upon his lips.

Ifan stuck his tongue out at the archon and then gave a little sigh. “In a word: blasphemy.”

G’raha blinked, his ears twitching in surprise. “It seems I must confess some confusion, also. What is your meaning, if I may ask?”

The magician hummed from within his nose as he gave his words some thought. “Beastmen gods are still gods, and I can't in my heart invoke their image without direct consent or at the end of need. Even if I may not believe in Ramuh, or Ifrit, there are many people who do. People I respect, so I respect their faith just as I hope they would respect mine. I wouldn’t want the Twelve to have their images used for foul ends, after all.” he said and finished with a nod.

“You believe in the Twelve?” asked G’raha, suddenly. Then he blinked as the impertinence of the question caught his notice. “Oh… I apologize, that was-”

Ifan laughed and leaned over to nudge G’raha’s shoulder with his own. “You can make it up to me by buying the first round tonight,” he teased. “I take it that means you don't?"

G’raha’s humor quickly reasserted itself at the nudge. He grinned a little and gave a nod. “Only the first. And not necessarily, my position is that I simply have yet to see convincing proof of their existence.” he explained.

Ifan nodded. “Fair enough. That's a good position to have. And to be fair, my idea of the Twelve existing is probably very different from most others'.” he added with a smile at the other man.

“Oh?” asked G’raha, one ear flicking up in idle curiosity at the words.

A deep sigh left Ifan’s chest as he leaned back against the tree, looking up towards the sky between the gaps between the leaves above their heads. “I believe the Twelve are a necessary fiction, in the sense… How should I put this…” he began. “One of the Sisters who took care of us at the orphanage owned this book - I forget the title - but the story really stuck with me when she read it to us. Pretty fantastical tale about Thal and his ‘granddaughter’ needing to perform some frivolous holiday rite, and at the end she asks Thal what would have happened if the rite hadn’t been performed and he tells her that the sun wouldn’t have risen.” A fond chuckle escaped his lips at the memory of the tale; Sister Brazen Briar seated upon a chair, Ifan and the others at the orphanage sitting looking up in rapt wonder at her words.

G’raha waited a moment for the magician to proceed, then noticed the wistful little smile upon the hyur’s lips. He found himself unable to stop himself from doing the same. “Not so frivolous a rite, it would seem?” he mused, coaxing Ifan from his thoughts.

It proved enough. Ifan hummed and looked at G’raha with a wry grin upon his face. “Ah, but there was the author’s mastery of words at play, you see. Thal said that instead of the sun rising a mere ball of burning gas would have orbited a sphere of stone. The frivolity was the key; frivolous fictions like holiday spirits teach us how to believe in important fictions like justice, mercy, that sort of thing. I think the words were ‘to be where the falling god meets the rising beast’, or near enough. Fantasy is the essence of what makes us human.”

G’raha found himself a little moved. The tale was simple in profundity; easy enough for a child to understand, yet a lesson sorely needed by adults. “An exceeding wise moral for a mere children’s tale. I should like to read it for myself when I have the chance. ‘Tis a pity you do not recall the title.” said the miqo’te with an intrigued canting of his head.

Ifan nodded, humming once again in fond nostalgia. “I’ll let you know if it comes back to me. In any case, the point is that the Twelve are a similar sort of fiction. Figures of aspiration, comfort, art. I believe the Twelve should exist because it’s better if they do.” he finished with a nod.

A few moments passed in contemplative quiet, G’raha mulling over Ifan’s words as his tail rhythmically swayed. “Hm,” he hummed, at length. “I had no notion theology was among your many talents.” said G’raha as he returned his eyes to Ifan’s face.

The hyur rolled his eyes. “Pfft, hardly. One just thinks a lot about faith when one is raised in an abbey.”

G’raha cocked his head. “Truly? I had no notion, you seem so…” Then he paused.

Ifan raised his eyebrow.. “So…?”

The miqo’te flattened his ears and pursed his lips. “Mrm.”

By now, the mage knew G’raha well enough to know that look. “G'raha.” said Ifan simply, with a flattened frown.

“...Worldly.” managed G’raha in a mumble.

"A whore, you mean."

G’raha’s ears and tail shot up. “You-..Pfft!” He sputtered with a glare at his companion. Then he shook his head and sighed. "My meaning is simply that you do not seem the type to have been raised in a religious community.”

“And what type do I seem like?” countered Ifan with a little waggle of his head and a devilish little grin.

G’raha pouted angrily in return. “Posthumous, if you continue to insist upon putting words in my mouth.”

“You’re one to complain about teasing, Mister ‘I’m going to annoy the Warrior of Light for jollies’.” bantered Ifan in return.

The miqo’te found the hyur’s humor overly infectious, and he returned a smirk with a small shake of his head. “I suppose I must concede that point. May I ask whom among the Twelve you chose for your patron? I confess some curiosity, given your upbringing.”

“Assuming they exist,” said Ifan with affected sageness.

G’raha stuck out his tongue.

Ifan snickered slightly. “I jest. I chose the Scholar.” he said with a small nod.

“You did not choose Nald’thal?” asked G’raha with a tilt of his head.

“Not everyone from Ul’dah is a merchant or trying to buy their way into the heavens, G’raha.” snickered Ifan with a small roll of his eyes.

“That is a fair point, I suppose. And I would ask why you chose Thaliak, but it seems obvious given your calling.” said the archon with a nod.

“That, and I had a crush on the icon of him in the library. Very cute.” added Ifan with a kiss into the air.

“One would think a man raised by clerics would not be quite as lewd as you.” said G’raha, tilting his head with a teasing little smile.

"I've been told that, aye.” Ifan nodded with a grin. “One would have thought the abbey dedicated to Menphina rather than the Warden.”

"Azeyma?” asked G’raha, one ear flicking up as the man’s curiosity was piqued. “It must be quite ancient, given how rare houses of her worship have become in recent days.”

Ifan hummed in affirmation. “Tradition dates it to Belah'dian times, actually. It's survived this long mostly because it's got good agriculture and a long history with the Seekers that live near the desert - temples to the Warden are rare these days so they show their appreciation through donations and such. I did think of asking for Azeyma's blessing rather than Thaliak's, but..."

"No icon of hers on which to crush?" supplied G’raha with a smirk.

"I didn't say that. The statue of her behind the altar was pretty ravishing." said Ifan, joining G’raha in a mutual bout of chuckling. “And who is your patron, might I ask?”

G’raha glanced off to the side as he gave the matter a moment’s thought. Then he smirked again. “Perhaps I wish for you to guess.” The archon’s voice took on that playful edge that once had driven Ifan to frustration on his hunt for aethersand, not long ago.

Ifan rolled his eyes, but a smile was on his lips. “More games, hm?... Oschon.” he guessed.

G’raha’s ears fell. “...Is it truly so obvious?” he said with a little pout.

“You’re an archer, G’raha.”

The miqo’te’s breath caught in his throat as some color tinged his cheeks. “...A fair point.” he muttered.

“Again, I jest.” snickered Ifan as he leaned to give the man a nudge again to coax him back to smiling. “ It’s more that you seem the sort to look to him for aspiration. To what he represents, rather: adventure, travel, freedom. Much like myself with Thaliak - I want to be wise. Not just know things, I want to do things with that knowledge. Use it, teach it. Do good with it. That’s wisdom.”

G’raha didn’t answer. His eyes were fixed on Ifan’s face, ears and tail unmoving as he simply watched the mage in silence. His face unmoving, too, save for a slight parting of the lips and softening of the eyes.

At length, Ifan noticed G’raha’s stare. One eyebrow rose. “Do I have something on my face?” he asked.

G’raha blinked. He shook his head, then gave an airy little chuckle. “Apologies, my thoughts ran away with me.”

Ifan hummed at G’raha with a smile. “I’ll give you a gil for them?”

The miqo’te shook his head. “Mere fancies. They have already passed, and I would not wish to distract you from your studies overmuch.”

“As you say, G’raha.” conceded Ifan with a chuckle as his eyes lowered to his book once more.

“Ifan.”

Ifan glanced back up to meet the miqo’te’s eyes. “Hm?”

“If you would prefer… You needn’t call me more than ‘’Raha’. I should like to think of you as my friend, and I yours.” said G’raha with a smile.

Ifan snorted with a grin. “There’s no ‘should like’, I thought we already were. Even if you can be irritating as sin when you feel like it, ‘Raha.” he teased.

G’raha returned a wide grin of his own, leaning over to briefly grind his shoulder against his friend’s. “Believe me, Ifan, you have not even begun to see irritation.” he said, coaxing mutual laughter from the mage whilst high up in the heavens, the sun shone down upon the earth.

#ffxiv #writing #wol x g'raha tia #g'raha tia #ifan kaleid #ffxiv oc #RIP Sir Terry you are sorely missed #cw: theology #its wolgraha fluff its on the tin #ffxiv writing

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blossomofhope · 1 month

Text

Heart of Mine - Shizuku

right so. a few notes on this first.

as i said the other day (though i deleted that post) the narration for this isn't perfectly in character it's based more off of the cards i'm referencing.

also shiho is definitely not a normal nine-year-old idk.

this is over 3k words so don't feel obliged to read any of it :> i just like posting these here as well as on ao3.

the first line's never explained i'm sorry i wrote this over the week and forgot my original plan.

I can’t be sure when it started. I don’t think I’ll ever be sure.

I suppose something was put into motion several years ago, when a storm so terrible it threatened to demolish the newly-built east wing. I had been eleven, still the sort of girl to cower under her covers as the wind whipped the trees into a leafy froth and rattled my bedroom window like it was trying to come in uninvited. I don’t think it was the rain that had bothered me. It was the mere thought that something terrible could happen in the suffocating darkness brought on by that sort of nightly weather and I would be none the wiser until it was too late. It was foolish for a girl so old, on the cusp of proper maturity, to be so afraid of weather. It was just in my nature. I was sheltered, rich, and generally absent-minded. I still am.

Though I was a lot of things as a child, come to think of it. The daughter of a duke and his mistress, although it very well could have been a common harlot, named heir because there was no one else and I believe my father was getting desperate, and by universal consent, beautiful. It wasn’t vanity. I do not think I have ever been vain, or self-centred, or so absorbed in my appearance that I didn’t care for much else. My looks had always been a point of interest. Wasn’t the young lady pretty, so much so that she doesn’t look entirely human? I had heard plenty of talk throughout my lifetime - I was a bastard, a fraud, unworthy. But as my father had put it once, if I fell short then the shred of worth I had would fall to none. Something along those lines. He always was the poetic sort, and I could never understand what his words were supposed to mean.

Besides, with the storm howling outside my window I wasn’t going to abandon the safety and warmth of my bed for anything. All things considered I doubt I would have got up if part of the province had been set alight, if it was far away enough. I do remember, however, hearing something odd despite the pouring rain, wind and occasional rumble of thunder.

I had thought it was something falling, briefly, before the dull glow of a light spread across the path. It had crept up the wall of the house and set shadows dancing across my bedroom, so I knew whatever was happening was nearby. My room was not above the front door. It overlooked the gardens. A thief, I had wondered, or perhaps a runaway?

There was the sound of scuffling and an angry voice. They sounded young, younger than I was, and had the sort of accent I associated with the poorest townsfolk and their feral children. That only served to fuel my rioting imagination, and I couldn’t help but picture whoever it was. They must have come here, I told myself, because the fruit in the orchard still needed picking, and they were desperate for food. I felt a sudden pang of jealousy, thinking that. I considered picking the orchard my favourite thing to do. It wasn’t fair that some street rat was stealing all of it.

I laid there for a while longer, listening to their annoyed protests and occasional yelps of pain. No one was talking, but it was obvious that somebody was restraining the thief. We didn’t have guards stationed here all of the time, though I was used to their presence and the way they prowled around the estate like wild animals. We just had a lot of staff working past sunset and well into the night. I, of course, didn’t care for them, but I hoped that this little street rat didn’t cause any serious to harm to anyone who worked for the family.

Eventually I slipped out of bed, bare feet light as ever on the velvety carpet, and in my nightgown opened my curtains as much as I could bear to. Peering out of the window into the storm did not satiate my curiosity, although the rain was harsh on my face and the cold bit right down to my bones. I knew I would likely catch a chill and be bedridden for a day or two, but what did it matter? I wanted to give this child a piece of my mind for attempting to steal my fruit from my orchards. I was still a child myself at the time, yet I had the sort of blind arrogance all children of my standing were known to possess at one point or another. I believe I was the most insufferable eleven-year-old in the country.

I followed the flickering lamplight with my eyes, making out the shadows of gnarled trees reaching for me like ancient fingers and the outlines of carts abandoned for the night, but nobody was there. I learnt further out of the open window, clutching onto the windowsill to steady myself. And then I saw it.

Just shy of the back entrance and the servants’ way in, a man whose broad figure I recognised but could not place was wrestling a child - a scrap of a thing swearing and struggling for all they were worth - away from the house. It was a terrible sight for me. I had expected a thief, yes, and a young one, yet this was new to me. Why was he restraining them with such force? Surely a child like that was no trouble, I reminded myself, even though in the back of my mind I was picturing myself in their shoes.

A shudder ran down my spine at the thought of being like that, being forcibly prevented from getting what I desperately needed. I did not know what it was to be starving, penniless or truly alone. I had always had my father. The servants who catered to my every need were different, but they too were people. They did the jobs I did not, or rather, anything and everything I thought I was above doing. I am sure I gave them strife once upon a time.

“Stop!” I cried, praying that I would be heard above the storm. The words had pushed themselves past my lips before I had the time for second thoughts, “I order you to stop!”

The man stilled. He looked up. He laughed, fondly, though it was laced with annoyance. “Miss Shizuku,” he said, because that was what I had had them call me as a child, “You ought to be in bed. Don’t you fret over this. Common thieves aren’t your trouble.”

But I wanted them to be, if it would convince him to let the child go. So I had folded my arms and put on the best show of authority I could, “I will tell my father.”

“About?” he asked, “Ain’t nothing wrong with what I’m doing, missy. Go to sleep or else the morning’ll never come, isn’t that what they say?”

It was clear that he was trying to stay civil with me. I didn’t want that. Let him shout at me. I would tell my father all about it and then he would lose his job. It would serve him right for being so heartless.

I couldn’t stand it. I slammed the window shut, and with all the grace of a proper lady, nearly fell over in my haste to put something on my feet. It wasn’t right for me to leave my room barefoot, after all, though that should have been the least of my worries. Then I snuffed out the lights, left the room, and dashed downstairs like the house was on fire. It felt like the world was collapsing in my wake, all my thoughts focused on giving that man what I believed he deserved. He was a member of staff, I told myself, it was well within my right to do so. I was the lady of the house despite my age, was I not?

I am sure he could hear me coming. My slippered feet were awfully loud against the rain-slick cobbles. But I doubt he was expecting the young lady, the daughter of the local lord, to throw herself onto him at full pelt, fists raised. It was a stupid thing to do. He was several times my size and then some. Did I care? Not one bit. He let the young thief go, though they did not run. They simply watched, mouth hanging open, as I told him how much I hated him and how much of a monster I thought he was.

At some point I must have realised it was a losing battle, and I was beginning to lose the strength to pummel him. I let myself drop to the floor, teetering a little. It wouldn’t do for me to end up in an unceremonious heap on the ground.

He sighed. I recognised him now, though his name still eluded me. He was the groundsman, or something similar. Being who I was I didn’t actually know. His expression was stony when he looked from me to the thief and back again. “Come with me,” he said fiercely, “Both of you.”

I knew that tone. It promised terrible things to come. I went to trail after him, in utter disgrace, before I stopped and grabbed the thief’s arm. This child - this girl - was so skinny that I could clasp her bony wrist between my thumb and forefinger if I tried.

She protested, and muttered an angry, “Get the hell off me,” but did not pull away.

We followed the groundsman into the house, the thief looking around the place like they couldn’t believe their eyes, me as meekly as possible, my eyes on my shoes. I hated being in trouble. I was doing what I thought was right, for god’s sake.

My father was in his study, as he almost always was. I often wondered if he slept there, he never seemed to leave. We were let in without immediate question. The man explained the situation as best as he could, and I glared at him with my arms crossed, as if the anger bubbling within me would deter him in some way.

My father pinched the bridge of his nose with a disappointed sigh. “I expected better of you, Shizuku,” he told me sternly, “To be storming out of the house and making an attempt to attack someone over a thief? Have I taught you nothing?”

I did not reply, tears pricking the corners of my eyes. I was scolded often, I was that kind of child, but seldom by my father. To be personally reprimanded for doing the right thing… It felt terrible. I felt terrible.

He glanced up again, brows furrowed, and his solemn blue eyes rested on the girl. I didn’t know her name yet. She was thin, alarmingly so, though dimly I wondered if some of it was natural, as it was with me. Her shock of matted hair was a dirty greyish colour, and her eyes were a piercing green that made me think of the cunning serpents in the folktales I used to read past dark. But there was something unusually familiar about her, something eerie and otherworldly about her narrow face and slender features.

My father sat up properly. “My god,” he muttered to himself, to no one in particular, “My god.”

He slowly stood, walking over to her with an odd expression on his face. I took my father for a stoic man, however in that moment his expression was softer than I had ever seen it. I’m sure he would have looked at me like that had I been a normal child. Unfortunately, I was anything but. It was something that made me feel oddly envious. He was looking at this strange, thieving girl like he was seeing someone entirely different.

“What…” he began, before the words split, fell down the back of his throat. He swallowed, tried again, “What’s your name?”

The girl blinked, clearly baffled by the question. “Shiho,” she replied, trying to be polite, “…sir.”

My father laughed, shaking his head fondly. Why was he being like this? To her?

“No need for such formalities,” he told her, “Do you… how does one phrase this… know who your mother was?”

The flash of a smile flitted across the girl’s face, like she found his attempt to be tactful amusing, “No. Never knew her, really. I was young to know her name, at that.”

“I… see,” he answered, though it sounded as if he didn’t. Then the briefest glimpse of a smile ghosted over his lips. “Well, would it be any comfort if I told you that you look very much like her?”

Shiho scowled, stubbornly silent. I wanted to ask what he meant, but it wasn’t my turn to speak. Was he mad? How did he know this girl’s mother? Surely a man of such high standing would never trouble himself with people like that. I didn’t want to believe it, much like I refused to believe that my mother was less than human because everyone thought she was a whore in a high place. I hadn’t a clue what they meant and it would have been rude to ask.

I felt envious all over again. This girl at least had had a mother that she could somewhat remember, even if it was in the shadow of an early memory. As far as I could recall, however, I had only ever had my father. I’d always assumed my mother had died in childbirth with how little anyone spoke about her outside of speculating wildly about her. Perhaps that wasn’t the case. I didn’t want to know about her. I didn’t want my world to be turned upside-down over someone I had never known.

Shiho folded her arms after a furtive glance at me. She was imitating me, I realised. Unusual, but not a big surprise. I was close enough to her age that she could mimic what I was doing with little effort.

“How d’you know what she looked like?” she asked, a belligerent tilt to her chin. She was looking up at him like she was considering squashing him. I doubt that she really meant it. She was just that way.

My father faltered again. “Ah. Well, that’s a complicated one.” He nodded towards the door and the groundsman left, though not until telling Shiho to watch it.

“Put simply,” he continued, sitting back down and putting his hands together as he thought things through, “I knew her once.”

Shiho snorted. “Last I heard she was whoring for some guy down south. Reckon someone like you’d know her well enough, eh?”

I was taken aback, and rather appalled at her bluntness. Was this so normal for her? My father shook his head. “That’s quite enough of that. Keep your nose out.” Shiho rolled her eyes; it was one of the most frustrating things adults said. He glanced at me. “Don’t let your curiosity run away with you, Shizuku. I can tell when you’re planning something.”

I feigned offence for a moment, then nodded. “I understand, father.”

“And… Shiho, was it? I can’t say I’ve seen you. And you’ve no one to take care of you? How old are you?”

“Nine,” she replied, then added, “but that don’t matter much.”

“It does to me. You’re awfully young.”

Shiho didn’t reply, but her green eyes burnt with a ferocity I had never seen in someone of her standing. Come to think of it, I had never seen that sort of expression on anyone. It spoke volumes.

She turned around, facing me. “You didn’t need to do anything. I had it handled.”

I laughed, resisting the urge to ruffle her hair as if she was my sister, “You did

not.”

“…fine, maybe I didn’t.”

I grinned at her and looked to my father. He was frowning at Shiho and I like the space between us was a mystery in desperate need of solving. He seemed hell-bent on something. I didn’t know what, and I did not dare ask.

But it had never come as a surprise when, afterwards, Shiho would find her way onto the grounds and we would spend the day running wild. Perhaps my father had given her permission, a result of whatever he had figured out about her. She taught me how to climb trees - properly, she said, so

that there was less chance of me ruining my fine clothes. I still managed to tear hems and it was near impossible for me to go anywhere without falling, but I scarcely minded. I taught her little things, simple things for me that she found difficult, like how not to make a fool out of herself in public and how to convince people at parties that we found everything immensely entertaining.

There was never a formal process, not one that I knew of. Someone came and fetched Shiho one day when she was telling me all about how she longed to be a soldier and I was considering the consequences of throwing something at her to shut her up a little, and then she just never left. It got to such a point that ‘sister’ felt far better than ‘friend’, so that was what she became to me. I am sure my father knew something that we didn’t, but he did not tell us, and I never saw fit to question him even as I got older. Then Shiho went away to the next kingdom, before the war had started, and never came back. She sent me letters describing her military training in extensive detail and I returned them all, telling her of the life I was living with our father unfit to handle things. I became a duchess. She became a soldier like she’d wanted.

When the war started we were on opposite sides. The letters stopped. I didn’t know if she was alive or dead. And, when the news came that the enemy’s leading commander had died, I admit that I wept. For my sister, for him, for myself. I didn’t know if she had joined him in that campaign and I hoped she had been stationed elsewhere.

We were adults by that time; it had been over a decade since we met that night in the rain. But I do wonder, sometimes, if we no longer had anything to fight for.

#saki.txt #fic: tarnish my name #pjsekai #project sekai #prosekai #project sekai au #pjsk #shizuku hinomori #hinomori shizuku #shiho hinomori #hinomori shiho

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ddoxhan · 2 years

Text

gray ashes

i'm sorry.

word count : 0.7k words

genre : angst, when you realize love isn't a road full of flowers; fem!reader

tw : profanities, degradation (kids, don't look down on people)

a/n : wrote this while I was really obsessed with 'anti-romantic' and I could relate so much to the lyrics :3 enjoy !!

"do you believe in love at first sight?"

"i do actually, ironically."

"why would you say that?"

"well, i don't believe in love."

"oh, that does sound odd."

"the former was me back then and the latter would be me now."

"i just don't anymore."

it dates back to my high school life. there was this one girl i liked a lot, you could say i actually loved her. but whatever, i don't really know whether i did.

"minjeong-ah, here's some water."

"thanks."

"you're doing great! you were really cool back there!"

"yeah, sure."

and i just stuck around her almost every day in school whenever i could and even after school. she hated me and i thought maybe, i could change her mind one day.

"i like you minjeong!"

"..."

"i'm sorry. i don't want to give you false hope."

"i-it's okay, sunbae! m-maybe you-"

"i won't change my mind."

"give me a chance! you won't know if you don't let me try."

"suit yourself."

but that never happened.

i did everything i could, every day for a whole year. but she never lost her stance. and i lost myself.

i truly believed that i could get her to reciprocate my feelings for her. i really did. the hope-driven me. though she never gave them to me.

when she would finish training, I'd prepare warm water as she hated having cold drinks after, saying it's bad for the body. when she loved strawberry-filled bread and almond milk, i would run to the store to get them because they run out real quick.

can't believe i still remember the details about her. i guess i really did love her then. don't you think she was a little dull to not push me away when she saw how much i liked her? however, it wasn't her fault in the first place.

i bet you're just thinking how foolish it was for me to keep pestering someone who clearly rejected me. well, i guess that's the charm of falling in love. nothing can come in the way of your love. except for the person you love.

i was really selfish. i only saw myself throughout that journey. how i felt, how i thought, how i could be her soulmate. but never once then about how she felt, how she thought, how things were tough for her. because of me.

all i ever wanted was receive a small bit of what she gave her. even if it was just the attention to what i say. even if it was just her eyes on me. even if it was just her.

i knew she just dated her to get me off of her. i was determined, way too hella determined. things went on for some time. she still kept her and i still stuck on her. maybe she grew impatient, perhaps even annoyed, perhaps those feelings turned into hatred. even i would have, thinking back, to be honest.

she bursted. whatever mean things she could think of, she spat all of them at me. attention-seeker, dumb b*tch, leech. how i ruined her high school life, how she hated to come to school because of me, how she attracted such an ugly piece of shit.

i think that was what was needed. both her and i. she was done with me and i lost myself amidst the love. after that day, i stopped. stopped following her, stopped contacting her, stopped anything that had to do with her.

but i know best that it shouldn't have even started. the moment she rejected me, i should have just put these feelings aside and call it a day.

though, i thank her a lot. for letting me know how much of a fool i've been and how love wasn't worth it. and it still isn't. which is why i don't believe in love anymore.

it is pure bliss and cotton candy clouds until you take the wrong path down the lane.

this is something I look back at and just smile. a bittersweet smile yet relieved, that we both weren't suffering anymore and going on with our lives. i wonder how she's doing, and wishing her all the best sincerely. i would like to borrow this time to send her a message.

the same words she last said to me on that day.

"i'm sorry."

#winter #kim minjeong #aespa #aespa angst #aespa imagines #aespa scenarios #aespa x reader #winter x reader #Spotify

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something-like-air · 10 months

Note

2 - Itachi x Karin for the ask prompt

Ask and you shall receive

Link to ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/49360570

Sasuke’s harlot is laying back against the inn bed, her laced boots dangling off the side of the bed, when she asks, “What would you say if I… Kissed you right now?”

Itachi doesn’t even bother looking up from where he’s been working on his disassembled pistol, meticulously oiling and cleaning each of its inner parts. “I’d say I thought you a much smarter woman than that.”

“Come on, now.” Karin lets out a long, annoyed hiss, like a rattlesnake coiled around a horse’s hoof. She attempts to rise on her elbows but is caught partway by the handcuff around her wrist, keeping her left hand chained down to the bed-frame.

Unable to get comfortable otherwise, she tucks her boots under her on one of the threadbare blankets offered to him by the innkeeper and lies there, half-reclined, as she watches him. “You didn’t even pause to think on it.”

“I don’t need to. I’m afraid I don’t believe in that kind of foolishness.”

She snorts in a rather unladylike way. “Don’t tell me you never get to thinking about what it’d be like to be with a woman. A lone law man like you? There’s bound to be plenty of nights where you find yourself wishing for the comfort of a woman.”

“Ah, but there’s a difference between you, miss, as a specific woman, and women generally as a class.” He pauses to dip his brush back into his jar of oil. “A very large difference, mind you.”

“Well, aren’t you all high and mighty!” She scrunches her face at him and jerks her chin towards the various gun parts scattered around his desk. “Clearly you’ve got something wrong in your head, because if you were smart, you’d keep that gun in one piece knowing that Sasuke’s on his way to come find you.”

“Is he now,” Itachi murmurs, concentrating as he cleans powder residue from the chamber. He glances out the second-story window but sees nothing but dry lands and desert. It’d be nice if that were true, but he can’t imagine Sasuke will catch up to them in less than a day. “It seems his horse must be on the slower side, because I don’t have the sense he’ll be joining us any time soon.”

Unable to resist the urge to provoke the woman further, he adds, “Perhaps Sasuke has other, greater priorities he’ll need to see to first.”

As predicted, Karin throws herself back down onto the bed in anger, sending up a small cloud of dust that refracts in the setting sun. She turns toward the wall in an attempt to put her back to him, but with her hands trapped, her ability to maneuver is limited.

“He’ll be here,” she says darkly, her voice muffled into the wooden paneling. “He’ll be here, and he’ll put a bullet hole through that stupid head of yours before you can even draw.”

“Hm.” He can’t say he’s hoping for an outcome that is all too different from that one, though she has no business knowing about that. He nods back towards the dusty window at his side. “Considering I have the high ground here, that seems unlikely.”

“‘The high ground,’” she repeats. It is enough of a provocation that she turns back for the sole purpose of mocking him to his face. “You might have a crooked badge, but not even someone like you is gonna chicken out of a duel like that. I won’t lie and say you’re an honorable man, but your ego is too big not to.”

“Do you truly think so?” Itachi finishes reassembling his pistol and spins the empty chamber until he hears a satisfying click. “As far as I’m concerned, my greatest priority is ensuring the safety of the townsfolk here, which entails eliminating any threats to them or myself. I see no need for ceremony when it comes to that.”

She’s quiet a moment, before she shakes her head lightly. Her red hair - which had been tied up in a loose sort of style when he’d encountered her - is coquettishly loose, and portions are short enough to curl around her neck and collarbones in the heat. “You won’t do that, though. You’re too honorable to do something like that.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Am I an honorable man now? You’ve changed your mind awfully quick.”

She grunts. “Well, you haven’t ravished me yet.”

“And that has much more to do with your reputation than any honor of mine.” She glowers at him for that, which is amusing enough. “And miss?”

“What?” she answers, petulant.

“I’m going to have to take that file off of you.”

Karin pauses where she’s been oh-so-subtly cutting away at the metal links of her handcuffs. “You sure didn’t waste any time with that,” she says, sulkily.

“I was hoping that you would produce it first, and spare me the effort of having to dig through your skirts to find it,” he says, as he plucks the small file from her fingers. It’s barely two inches long, concealable in an infinite number of places, none of which he has any intention of exploring himself. “I’m assuming there are others, but hopefully you see the futility of trying to use them.”

She raises one thin, red eyebrow. “How hopeful about that are you?”

“Not enough,” he deadpans. He taps her on the head with the file before he pockets it and makes to sit back down at the rickety little table the innkeeper had provided him. “Do us both a favor and keep quiet until Sasuke arrives. You’ve served your purpose until then.”

“I thought Sasuke wasn’t coming any time soon?” she asks. “Should’ve thought about that before you tied me down to this only bed, you know. Hope you aren’t gonna be tired in the morning cause of it, cause that’d just be an awful shame.”

Itachi could just as well aim his pistol with his eyes closed, let alone short of a few hours of sleep, but he has no need to defend his reputation.

Instead, he intends to sit by his little window and enjoy the rest of the setting sun. The oncoming night is cool, his trap is set, and he sees no use in disrupting what may otherwise be a peaceful night.

In the morning, after all, he’ll be facing his brother, and only one of them will be walking away.

It wouldn’t hurt to spend the last night of his life in good spirits.

#karin #itakarin #itachi #karin uzumaki

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