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vivalabunbun · 7 months

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When It Rains, Why Does It Pour?

Summary: Sand is quite a nuisance, it creeps into every crevice and no amount of dusting can free oneself from its stubborn hold. Yet, the tide still greets the shore.

Word Count: 8.8k (oh no...)

Tags: Neuvillette x GN!Reader, human!reader, SFW, fluff, childhood friends AU, Slow Burn, Slow Fic, Angst, Hurt with Comfort, themes about reincarnation, TW: Themes about death and loss, themes about aging, immortal x mortal AU, not lore accurate, reader is an attendant, human prejudice, Spoilers Warning: His story quest and archon quests, speculations about his past in Fontaine, why is he so mysterious

Authors Note: This was a challenge trying to write from the POV of a man you don't even know the name of, but I just had to write something for him. A character study of Neuvillette. Enjoy!

How long has it been since he first arrived here? One month? Two? Or perhaps it has already been a year? The young dragon wasn’t too sure.

The days seem to blend together when one only eats, studies, and sleeps all on repeat. A cruel trait of time. The weather outside the glass windows didn’t provide any hints either.

However, he himself is to blame.

A gray haze concealed azure skies as rhythmic drops of rain hit the earth. Blocking out the all-seeing sun and nurturing moon, the murky clouds above even hinder the stars from accompanying him.

A true reflection of his current solitude.

The young dragon arrived in the human world, brought over by the lord of Fontaine. Due to the nature of his arrival to this nation, he was given status and importance in the eyes of the citizens. However, he has yet to receive acceptance.

The grand estate in which he resides was staffed with countless butlers and maids, renowned chefs, and skilled tutors. He was wanting of nothing, yet still impoverished.

He could see it in their mortal eyes, he could sense it in the tangible silence of the halls, he could tell from the distance each mortal put between themselves and him.

Much like the towering stone walls which surrounded his private residence.

Was it to separate themselves from him or himself from them?

A question he entertains as lilac eyes scan over the aforementioned wall. Its gray stones are a welcomed change from the dry parchment with even drier content.

As he observes the drab stones contrast against a dreary sky, a small flash of white cuts through the somber composition.

Catching his lilac eyes as they follow the strange shape, it drifts through the capricious wind before the breeze grew bored and tossed it to the ground.

Studying it a bit further, the young dragon identifies the object as a simple pillowcase. Nothing more than a scrap of fabric.

He reasons that the wind must’ve stolen it from some clothesline. Just when he was about to return to the legal ledgers a rustling came from the bushes lining the bottom of the wall.

A small frame pushes apart the thick vegetation, creating enough space to finally free themselves from the entangled mess of branches.

The towering wall, the one meant to separate him from the mortals, was defeated by a mere child.

A child who’s clumsy brushing the twigs from their garments and shaking a few raindrops from their hair. He watches as the small human trots toward the discarded pillowcase, a pout forming on their lips as they observe the mud that had seeped into the silk.

Judging by the simple attire they don, they must be the child of a maid.

Ah humans, fickle and temperamental creatures created by the usurpers. It took a conscious effort on his part to stop the frown threatening to appear on his lips.

Seems like he still needs to get used to their presence.

It was as if the child sensed the bitterness in his thoughts because soon a pair of wide eyes connected with lilac. Even with the sun hiding behind dreary clouds, there was a light that twinkled in their irises.

It was only for a minute, no, even less than that. But a young dragon and a young human held each other’s gaze.

The child’s shoulders jolt as they turn their head back toward the wall, as if a voice called for them. Casting one last glance toward the young dragon, the child trots back toward the wall, disappearing within the murky viridescent.

And that was the end, like the breeze that littered a scrap of fabric among the grass, the small human came and went.

Such fickle creatures, the young dragon gives it one last thought before returning his attention back to a cluttered desk.

–

Amongst the soft drumming of droplets came a tap against the glass too sharp to be caused by the gentle rain. Causing the young dragon to turn away from the stacks of books laid out before him.

The wet glass obscured a small flicker of an orange glow, thus he walked closer to investigate. With each step, the figure outside the window became undeciphered.

That small human again.

Locking eyes with the human outside the glass, the fickle creature’s lips curl up, the glow of their lamp illuminating the curiosity behind their gaze.

A human child doesn’t have the potential to cause much if any harm to him. Thus, he releases the lock, removing the glass barrier separating two breathes.

“Hello! What is uh… your name?” They chirp out.

His sharp ears picked up the clumsiness in their speech, the subtle unfamiliarity of the words they spoke. Distinct signs that you were still learning the language of Fontaine, much like him.

Although he understood your question, he was too distracted to answer. Lilac eyes wandering off toward the stone wall. Within the entangled mess of twigs, there was a small parting.

A part just wide enough to reveal the secret the bushes desperately tried to hide: A small hole along the bottom of the stone barrier. Just enough for a small creature to slip through.

Discovering the truth behind how a small human was able to defeat such a seemingly impenetrable wall.

The pattering of the rain was interrupted by the rustling of fabric, drawing his attention back to the small human in front of him.

The child rummages through their pockets before pulling out a lump covered by a handkerchief. Peeling back the layer of fabric to reveal some conch madeleines, presenting fragmented sweets before the young dragon.

“It tastes good, I promise.” A small hand extends itself further through the open window.

Observing the crumbly sweets laid out upon a handkerchief, the young dragon halted the rejection that almost escaped his lips. Remembering the concepts he had just been reading before this.

Humans tend to follow a set of unwritten rules, principles they like to call ‘manners’. There weren’t any punishments issued by law if those rules were broken, no imprisonment or fines.

However, narrow-eye stares and whispers behind backs were the punishments issued to transgressors by society.

So, he accepts a piece, trying to ignore the sand-like sensation against his tongue. As he chewed, the grin on the human’s face only got wider.

“Now that you’ve taken one, you have to give me your name, it’s only uh… fair!”

Ah, it looks like he’s been tricked. Falling into the clumsy sugar-coated trap only a child could come up with. Yet, as his lilac gaze caught the twinkle still ever so bright in their eyes, he didn’t have the strength to form a frown.

Just a curious human child, only as dangerous as a firefly buzzing in his ear. There shouldn’t be any harm in disclosing the surname bestowed upon him by this nation.

“Neuvillette.” He finally said his first words to you.

A peculiar pattern is recurring. That rainy night when Neuvillette opened those windows, it looked like he welcomed a phenomenon in as well.

Even in his current state, a small human like you could pose no possible threat to him. Thus, whenever a certain tap was placed against the glass. He saw no reason to turn away the visitor. Allowing you to climb in through his window time and time again.

It would’ve been better if you used the door. However, he’s aware of the complications such a request would bring.

Perhaps it’s because he’s currently in the form of a young child, sharing a similar stature to yours. From his observations, humans do have a tendency to gravitate toward those with similar traits. Or perhaps, you’re just exceptionally brazen.

Neuvillette glances up from his book, thick with endless sentences describing obscure and frivolous laws, landing on your frame lazing around upon a rug.

One hand holds onto a collection of fables, pages illuminated by the gentle rays of a star. While the other periodically reaches out toward a pile of conch madeleine.

A sight he’s come to expect now.

Lavender eyes follow your hand as it brings another one of the crumbly sweets to your mouth again. You brought them over under the pretense of sharing them with him, yet they’re already half gone. The only hand reaching for the sweets being yours.

Just like how it was last time, and the time before that, and the one before that as well.

If you felt this complacent in his presence now, then perhaps he can be more candid with you. As is common practice among humans to present a polite front that gradually wears away each recurring meeting.

“You do not have to bring over any more conch madeleine.”

The moment those words left his lips the motion of your hand halted, looking up to connect your sight with his, confusion pinching together your brows.

“Oh? Why so suddenly?” The collection of fables now resting on the rug.

It’s already been done, the first ripple in the frangible water between you and him. There is nothing that can cease the waves that accompany the first breach. He might as well say the whole truth.

“They are dry, I cannot fathom how you can bring yourself to eat them.” Prescriptive eyes caught a faint flinch as you processed his edict.

“They taste fine to me…” You mutter, picking another one up.

This time you chewed slower. The pinch between your brow only grew as you tasted the sweet again, searching for the perceived flaw.

As you met his gaze once more, he could tell your search brought forth no fruitful conclusions. Thus you asked another question in response.

“Then what do you like?”

Besides the pleasantries commonly exchanged between humans in Fontaine, Neuvillette recognizes he lacks the talent for small talk.

The room usually filled with your grievances about whichever tedious task you were assigned before you slipped away behind a wall and into his private residence. Ambient noise which accompanied each flip of a law book.

It is long overdue for him to pull his weight in a conversation.

“Water, spring water.”

“Huh?”

Neuvillette repeats his sentence but the scrunch of your brows doesn’t ease up, he couldn’t fight the urge to draw in a deep breath. So this is the limitation of the human palate, how regrettable.

“Perhaps you are still too simple to appreciate the qualities of water.”

The pout upon your crumb-covered lips morphs into a tight line, sealing away your voice. The brightly printed cover of a storybook was shut as the last few remaining treats were bundled away in a napkin.

Your tea break ended early today, impassive eyes following your figure as it disappeared among the thick vegetation beside a stone barrier.

It was quiet today, not even a single parting uttered past your sealed lips. Therefore leaving the conversation unfinished.

But that is today, you’ll have another tea break tomorrow, and you’ll come to him with your grievances about chores tomorrow as well.

The young dragon returns his focus to the text in front of him.

–

The soft hymn of raindrops against a glass window reverbed through the solitary study, providing a melody for the periodic flips of paper. But the melody was hollow, incomplete.

Shifting his body to look behind himself at the vacant rug, Neuvillette deduces why. The accompaniment was missing.

That tomorrow he had come to expect never came.

Had he committed a transgression? Overstep a line outside his place? Food is a point of pride for many humans, one oddity he’s yet to grasp.

These temperamental creatures tend to lash out when their pride is wounded, much like how a beast reacts to an unhealed cut.

Neuvillette was curious as to whether this was an inherent trait of humanity or a learned by-product of the fickle principles imposed on themselves.

However, observing the abandoned storybook tucked away, the young dragon is leaning towards the former.

Turning back to face his desk, his eyes could only glaze over the monotonous scribbles. Perhaps the cause of his spiritless attitude was disappointment, disappointment in himself.

It looks like he was careless, deluding himself with the misconception that you and him were alike. Two outsiders who found solace in each other’s presence.

However, this was false. You were an outsider to Fontaine, but he was an outsider to this world where humans walked.

He’s still too naive.

Fickle and temperamental creatures spoiled by the usurpers at the expense of his ancestors.

Why did he even entertain the thought that you and him could ever be alike?

Something stirred from within, like when pebbles were thrown into still water, but what were those pebbles? As Neuvillette ponders this conundrum, the drumming of the rain grows louder.

However, it wasn’t loud enough to swallow up the sharp set of taps which interrupted his somber reflection. Jolting him from his thoughts, snapping his attention to the source of the noise.

There stood a figure distorted by the wet glass as another set of sharp taps sounded through the room.

Before Neuvillette could even process it, his body moved without his command. Unlatching the lock and setting the window free from its frame.

Not sparing another second to the raindrops soaking into their cloak, the figure clambers through the window with practiced proficiency.

Without uttering a single greeting, not even one pleasantry, you situated yourself on his floor. Melting into an undignified lump on the pristine tiles as bewildered eyes watched you.

After catching a few breaths, an explanation finally makes its way to his ears.

“T-they… they patched… up the hole,” you huffed out between short breaths.

Ah, the small cavity in the stone wall that you used to escape from chores. Looks like the security at the estate finally noticed.

Gauging the height of the wall from his place by the window, he’s aware of how it towers over both him and you the same.

This brings up another question as he returns to observe your frame, still trying to catch the breaths that evade you.

“I… ran… through the gates… before the… Gardes noticed…” Exhaustion evident in your eyes as pants break up your sentence.

Ah, looks like his question was answered before he even inquired. To be puzzled or amazed, he wasn’t too sure how to categorize this ripple inside him.

The tomorrow that’s been missing for a little more than two weeks, is now right in front of him.

Panting and leaving a few muddy traces along the marble floor, but here nonetheless.

With one deep motion of your lungs, you pushed your body up, finally getting ahold of your breath. The familiar rustle of your pocket, the audio cue for a certain dry sweet to appear. Neuvillette didn’t mind in the least.

Perhaps, he can bear the sandy sensation just for today. But tomorrow is always filled up with surprises, a glass bottle finding its way out of your pocket instead of sugary treats.

“What is that?” An obvious question, but his voice found its way out of his mouth.

“Water, water from the servant’s well, I bottled it myself.” A small hand holds the bottle out more.

“Thank you,” Neuvillette accepts it into his hands.

He should really acquire some glasses to pour the water out into, it’s improper and bad manners to drink from the bottle.

However, his curiosity was greater. Or maybe, he didn’t realize just how parched he had become from waiting for tomorrow.

Uncapping the clumsily packaged water, he takes a generous sip.

“It’s sweet.” His tongue picking up on a subtle saccharine undertone.

“Really?” Your hand reaches up as that familiar shine illuminates your eyes.

Taking a sip from the bottle passed back into your grasp, your brows furrowing in concentration. Another sip was taken from the bottle as you continued to search for the sweetness in the water you’ve always drank.

A sight that tugged up at the lips of a boy still studying the shape of your quirked brows.

Humans, fickle, perplexing, yet astoundingly curious creatures from the very beginning.

If he is to walk amongst the human world, then it’s best for him to be equally curious. To try and search for the harmony between two different breaths.

A child of a maid far from their homeland. A status too insignificant to warrant the attention of Fontaine's factions, freeing you from their prying eyes and entanglements.

Therefore, it should be alright for him to continue observing you, no?

“Ahh… The rain is so unpredictable here in Fontaine, trying to hang out the wash here is always a gamble.” You sink further into the plush cushions of his settee.

As the sun rose and fell, as the leaves grew green then gold, as the ground froze and thawed.

One thing remained unchanged throughout these cycles even as they repeated: your grievances over chores.

The frequency of these complaints reaching his ears has increased, on the part that you now took over more of your mother’s responsibilities in managing the laundry of this estate.

Besides your habitual complaints of the weather, one detail didn’t escape Neuvillette’s hearing: your proficiency in the Fontainian language has increased significantly.

Words no longer spoken clumsily or with unfamiliarity. Accent nearly indistinguishable from a native speaker.

“The people here are fond of creating strange machinery, why can’t they make something to dry clothes?” You resume.

The quill in his hand stops as he pauses in the middle of a sentence, glancing over his shoulder toward your slouching figure making yourself comfortable in the sofa that’s more familiar with your shape than his.

“Perhaps you should be the one to create it, studying might do you some good as well,” came his curt response.

His candid advice makes you sink further into the cushions with a groan.

“I’d rather travel than study those jumbled-up books about machinery or whatever, in fact, I want to visit my homeland as soon as I can,” you grumble aloud.

Ah, that’s right, you’re approaching the age where you could travel freely.

By law, you won’t be bound to the side of your mother, not needing any permission to come to and fro however you wish. No longer kept at this estate washing and folding sheets.

Indeed, you and him found yourselves in similar situations: on the cusp of freedom from this estate.

While he was deep in thought, you filled the silence left behind by posing a question to him.

“Do you plan on visiting your homeland anytime soon, Neuvi?”

By now, the young dragon had stopped expending the effort to try and correct you in your butchering of his surname. Your reason being ‘it’s too long’.

Alongside you, he has grown in stature as well, elapsing you some time ago much to your dismay. If he wished to travel, not much would pose a problem to the young dragon.

However… where could he return to? A homeland… was there a section of his homeland untouched by the usurpers? If he were to go, would he ever want to return to this world?

Sensing the change in the air, dreary clouds blocking the sun’s rays from your skin, you were perceptive enough to ramble about a different matter.

Namely, how the chef of the estate recently changed the type of flour used in the kitchens, resulting in pastries and sweets that were less airy but more flavorful.

Explaining to him the subtle improvements and deterioration in the quality of some baked goods. Filling the air of the study with bright-eyed ramblings until rays of light peek out from waning clouds.

–

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It’s been a while since you’ve visited!” Soft patters of skipping steps made their way to the tall man.

Tilting his sights down, Neuvillette greets the cheery melusine with a gentle smile which she returned with an equally bright grin.

While on a routine stroll along the riverbanks to stretch his legs after a long day, he found himself at the entrance of Merusea Village.

He wonders if it's his body’s natural response to get away from the Palais Mermonia and Opera Epiclese.

Carrying him toward the direction of a secluded reprieve he discovered far away from the suspicious eyes of weary humans.

Condemnatory eyes were constantly pinned to the back of the young dragon who had recently emerged from a sheltered estate to sit in the grand seat of a Chief Justice.

Days filled with nothing but a cacophony of voices echoing off the opera house walls. Screams from the accused and the eager murmurs of spectators blended into nothing more than a chaotic din in his ears.

Gazing deeper into the small lake, the unsuspecting entrance to a hidden haven that the Melusines called home.

It would only take a moment, just one dip into the pristine water for him to disappear from the clamorous mortal realm.

Abandoning the overly grand seat of his post as easily as it would take for his head to vanish under the tranquil tide.

How great would it be to exist in the presence of creatures who could resonate with his own adriftness?

Maybe, he could finally discover the purpose of his current form and longevity in their company. Yes, that sounds about right.

Just as the water wet the tip of his overly ornate shoe, all motion his body stills at a familiar call.

“NEUVI!” Came a voice from just over the beaten path.

Soon your silhouette follows the echo of your call, steps hurried yet worn.

When the young dragon departed from his temporary estate and into the Palais Mermonia, a certain specter followed him as well.

The same specter who’s currently huffing to catch their breath after such a rush. Trying to gather enough air to form their next sentence.

“There you are! The grand tailor sent me to fetch you because you’re almost an hour late to the fitting of your new robe, they need to make sure the measurements are correct,” you chide.

The exasperation of your words was most definitely caused by the fact you had to physically exert yourself in your search for the wandering Chief Justice. Evident by the pout on your lips and scrunched nose.

His attention was quickly torn away from your recuperating figure by a faint tug of his slacks.

The Melusine had hidden herself behind his legs, creating a barrier between her and the strange mortal who seemingly appeared from the blue.

Her sudden movement caught your attention as well.

Ah, that’s right. The Melusines have yet to be acquainted with humans, and humans with Melusines.

Two different species, two different breaths, and two different sets of eyes that can’t seem to see directly into each other.

If his time within the wall of the estate and Palais Mermonia had proven anything, it would be the natural adversity humans had to differences.

Neuvillete certainly wasn’t prepared for such an event, nor was he sure how to handle it.

In the midst of his inaction, your hand reached into your pocket, fumbling around before pulling out a handkerchief-covered lump.

Despite the soreness in your legs, you lowered your body until you were at eye level with the shorter Melusine.

“Hello there, would you like some conch madeleines?” Unraveling the fabric to reveal the sweets which you seem to have an abundant supply of.

The grip on his slacks tightened as she glanced up at him, lilac eyes catching the hesitance in her irises. Neuvillette gives a subtle nod, giving just enough reassurance for the small creature to release his pant leg.

Reaching a mitten-like hand toward the golden sweets, it only took one bite for the hesitance in her eyes to be replaced by a bright twinkle.

“It’s tasty isn’t it?” Your lips formed a wider grin.

The Melusine responds with an eager nod, too occupied with bringing more of the buttery treat into her mouth.

At the sight of her restless chewing covering her cheeks with faint crumbs, you let out a giggle.

“I’ll give you the rest of the sweets if you tell me your name,” you offered.

After a few moments of the Melusine finishing her previous bite, she falls for the same trap he had many years ago.

“My name is Carole!” She chirps.

“What a wonderful name.” Your gaze softened further as you held out the treats, keeping your promise.

As Carole reaches for more, she glances back up. Wide eyes twinkling as she inquires him with the one thought currently on her mind.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, does the human world have more treats as delicious as these?”

Ah, it looks like the stroll Neuvillette took today to relieve himself of mounting troubles only led him to more.

The skies over the Court of Fontaine have been in a pensive stalemate, all too familiar clouds blocking azure hues. However, rain has yet to patter on the ground, as if the weather was unsure of itself.

A feeling shared by the Chief Justice currently sitting at his desk, reviewing the details of the day’s trials. Albeit, half heartily.

Much like the skies crowded with clouds, in the solitude of his office, his mind rang loud with thoughts. Neuvillette only had himself to blame for the current silence of his office, it’s been this way for around a week going on two now.

Lilac eyes peered over the tops of the papers toward the shut doors, concealing him away. There hasn’t been a knock on those doors for some time now, due to the diligent Melusines who followed his request.

Turning away potential visitors with crafted excuses of ‘The Chief Justice is handling a very important case’ or ‘My apologies, but the Chief Justice is very busy’.

Neuvillette recognizes that he’s currently no different than a child hiding away from the consequences of a broken vase.

How childish, he chides himself as he returns back to his responsibilities. How would the citizens of Fontaine react to their Chief Justice conducting himself in such a manner?

He’s sure if Lady Furina were to catch wind of his behavior, she’d be greatly entertained.

As if the mere mention of the nation’s archon presented a bad omen, the sturdy doors of his office swung open, revealing the face of a familiar visitor who’s been turned away one too many times.

“My my, it’s been quite some time since I’ve seen the inside of this office, I almost forgot what it looks like,” you remark as your eyes hone in on him.

The child’s hiding place under the bed has been exposed.

“Good afternoon, I was not made aware you had any appointments with me.” Neuvillette’s own eyes trail past yours.

From behind the door frames the figures of two Melusines quickly dodged away from his sight. A silent admission of guilt on their part, and Neuvillette didn’t have to look hard to deduce the crime they’ve committed: Accepting bribes.

The evidence was right there in the form of buttery crumbs left on the corner of their mouths. Ah, you and with those conch madeleines of yours.

It’d be best for him to finally handle the situation at hand, one he’s been trying to maneuver out of.

“If I recall correctly, you were granted a vacation, why not take this chance to travel? It certainly is a prime opportunity-”

“Why have you been avoiding me, Monsieur?” you cut through the long-winded pleasantries and excuses.

His lips press together, by now he’s well accustomed to your brazenness. However, the absence of a familiar name only said in your voice made the guilt weigh heavier on his shoulders.

Guilt which originated a few weeks prior.

—

On a secluded riverbank, a routine walk under clear skies was halted. You were knelt down on the ground, uncaring of the sand sticking to the fabric of your clothes, as you held a Melusine between your arms. Two mittened hands clung to you as she soaked your shoulder with tears.

“W-why? Why did he have to go?” Her sobs interrupted by sudden hiccups.

As you rubbed circles into her back, something he saw humans do to soothe their crying young, Neuvillette watched from the side. Much like how he would observe those performances within the Opera Epiclese.

Liath is her name, a diligent Melusine who patrolled the grounds of the Palais Mermonia. By her side, there would be a guard poodle who’d matched her skips with his prances. An inseparable duo, or it’d be more accurate to say, they were once an inseparable duo.

Dogs are a species domesticated by humans, some might argue that they were created by humanity through generations of selection. So it stands to reason that they too would have a limited lifespan.

In fact, they have a lifespan even more restricted than that of the mortals who tamed them.

The Melusines have just begun walking amongst humans, there were still many aspects their sheltered minds have yet to grasp. The fleetingness of mortality is one of them.

Thus, Neuvillette did his best to caution them.

However, just like how laws can’t completely stop crimes, his words can’t completely prevent such tragedies. All he could do was try.

“I’m sorry for your grief, this was the very reason why I cautioned you against getting too attached to him… A dog’s life is brief-”

“Monsieur Neuvillette.”

The sentence died at the tip of his tongue as his eyes met yours. Gaze narrowed and brows furrowed, not even the Chief Justice dared to interject any further.

After you silenced him, your focus returned back to the grieving Melusine.

Slowly standing back up from the ground, her frame cradled in your arms as her sobs continued.

“I know it hurts,” you whispered, one hand patting her back, setting a steady rhythm reminding her to breathe.

“B-but why? W-why is it so sad?” she hiccuped.

You hummed, beginning to bounce her a bit within your hold.

“Wouldn’t it be sadder if you never met him?”

At your question, the Melusine stares at you through teary eyes. Expression lined with confusion.

“To have loved him, and for him to have loved you in return…isn’t that enough?” You cooed, taking steps away from the riverbank.

Still frozen in his place, the dragon could only stare at your back as it grew further and further away, soon disappearing from his view.

He had misspoke.

Neuvillette recalled last Autumn. As the vivid hues of the foliage shriveled up to nothing more than a shadow of their former beauty, you laid your mother to rest. Burying her in a cemetery which overlooked the direction of your homeland.

His unsolicited reprimand must have been throwing salt into a wound that still bled. He had overstepped his authority.

Murky clouds congregated in the once clear sky.

—

Those were the events that transpired, events that have led to the current stalemate happening in his office. Lilac eyes couldn’t seem to find the courage to connect with yours. Another excuse finding its way to his tongue.

“Didn’t you want to visit your homeland?”

“Oh?” Your brow quirks up, as your hands find their way to your hips.

“And then who’d be here to repair the tears in your robe when you inevitably step on them?” Obviously unimpressed by his suggestion.

“Surely there are other talented tailors here that can handle the task,” he rebukes.

“Oh? Will they also untangle your hair from the ornamentation of chairs?” You press on.

“I can manage.”

“Then can the Chief Justice also manage all the uniforms for the Melusines? Can he sew every button and ensure they fit correctly?”

Ah, with your last statement, Neuvillette concedes. A hush fills the room.

The Melusines are still new to walking amongst humans, not many were willing to tailor specialized uniforms for their short stature. Thus, you took up the mantle.

Perhaps out of a sense of responsibility, it was you who stirred their curiosity with those sweets of yours.

It seems responsibilities tethered you to the Court of Fontaine, much like they did to him. After a few breaths, as always, your voice shatters the stalemate.

“I’m not upset, Neuvi.”

With those words, his lilac eyes finally connect with yours. Finally able to see the soft curls at the corners of your lips.

It indeed has been a while since he last saw such a sight.

This time instead of replying with an excuse, he responds with a gentle hum.

“Ugh, why are your curtains so dusty? When was the last time you went outside?” It wasn’t long before your attention returned to the state of his office.

Strolling past his desk, your hands began to fuss with the thick drapes. Pouting at the dust that coated the lush fabrics.

All Neuvillette could do was follow with his gaze, papers long pushed to the side as for the first time in a while, an azure hue was seen peeking through the clouds.

From his observations, it’s instinctive for humans to avoid pain. However, it’d be hypocritical of him to judge mortals for actions he’s been guilty of.

“If I knew I had to work this hard now, I would’ve skipped more chores back at the estate,” you chuckle, pulling back the drapes to allow gold to illuminate his office.

To have loved and have been loved in return.

Was this the human rationale behind taming a dog? Having the reality of the future constantly lurking over each happy moment as the hands of time tick forward.

Why do humans dote on pets? Creatures that only live a fraction of a mortal life?

Are happy memories a fair exchange for bitter grief, or are they the cure?

As Neuvillette counts the strands of peeking silver that mingle within your lush locks, he prays he finds the answer soon.

The clacks of ornate shoes reverberate down once unfamiliar halls, a towering figure lurks past bustling nurses who bow their heads at the sight of the Chief Justice as he passes by.

With a body like his, there is no reason for him to wander among these halls. Or more accurately, there once was no reason.

The taps of his soles slowed as a familiar door came into view, the only detail which differentiated it from the rest of the hall being the brass numbers displayed. Bringing up a glove-clothed knuckle, delicate taps were placed against the wood.

Almost immediately, a muffled ‘come in’ resounded behind the frame. Granting the Iudex permission to turn the polished knob, allowing him entry as the hinges sang their welcome.

“My, my, if it isn’t Monsieur Neuvillette, to whom do I owe the pleasure?” A grin spreads across your face, crinkling the corners of your eyes.

Instantly his frame stiffens in the midst of returning the door to its frame. Bringing his free hand up to his face, Neuvillette coughs as to compose himself once more.

“Please, forgo the formalities.”

Though your eyes might not be as sharp as they once were, the delicate dusting of pink along his pointed ears couldn’t escape their sight. Making your eyes crinkle more.

Feeling entertained enough, you cease your teasing and gesture toward the vacant chair beside your bed.

Obediently, his towering figure strides up to the seat, the wood squeaking under his weight as he settles onto it.

By now, the dragon has grown accustomed the structure of greetings, beginning with a layer of pleasantries.

“How have you been fairing?” Lavender eyes scrutinize the sheets and pillows, searching for any unapparent flaws.

“It’s just a mild case of pneumonia,” you muse aloud.

Momentarily resting his eyes behind a slow blink, all he could do was sigh at your brazen nonchalantness. Yet with a ghost of a smile on the same lips that sighed.

It was a mild case of pneumonia, a common ailment during the frosty months. For someone as steadfast as you, such an illness might’ve surrendered to your stubbornness.

It might've surrendered… if your body had remained as it once was.

How unfortunate it all is, that time is so cruel to mortal creatures.

Attentive eyes detailing each crease that settled by your lips, remnants of the many grins and laughs that stretched your face.

The basking light of a selfish star catches in your hair, lush hues that have faded to brilliant ivory. A shade that you often compare to his while jesting, ‘We match now’.

However, Neuvillette begs to differ, the sunlight is much more luminous in your tresses.

Trailing his sights back to your gaze. Deep lines formed by countless dynamic expressions drew attention to the glimmer forever present in your irises. Like paths on a map that led lilac eyes to yours.

“How are you finding your stay?” At times, Neuvillette found himself wondering how the azure tides appeared from your view.

“Mm, quite uneventful, eating, staring out a window, sleeping.”

He hums in response, contemplating if he should inquire you about such subjects. As you ramble, perhaps the dragon could grasp onto an inkling of understanding.

“Well, at least I can say that my stay has been anything but lonely.” Your eyes motioning toward a corner.

The bland, sterile wall overshadowed by a mass comprised of trinkets ranging from local flowers to any object whose surface catches light.

The heap grows day by day as each Melusine continues to bring their earnest gratitude to the human who sew each stitch of their coats. A sight that could stir even the most placid lake.

“They’re such sweethearts.” Each one of your words coated with endearment.

Once more, all the dragon could respond with was a mellow hum. Slow breaths fill the complacent silence between two species, one blessed by time and one shunned by it.

Neuvillette has grown accustomed to the structure of conversations but, alas, he still has no talent for small talk.

In the absence of dialogue, the layer of short pleasantries long dissolving, Neuvillette is left with nothing but his inquiries. It was all he had left, and so it was all he could offer.

“Are there any regrets you hold?”

“Oh oh? Getting sentimental so out of the blue, Neuvi?” A familiar quirk graces your brow.

“It’s nothing of the sort, just a musing that drifted in my mind during a stroll, I wish to know your thoughts on the matter.”

“Mmm… I don’t feel that I have any regrets, living an honest life and having the fortune to never have stepped foot in the Fortress of Meropide.”

“Is that really all? You never did get to travel like you dreamed of back at the estate.”

“Haha, trying to stump me with that, Neuvi?” you chuckle.

Relaxing more into the pillows which propped up your weary frame, you trail your sights toward the window.

“Didn’t I tell you already? I’ll have plenty of time to travel once I become a cloud, I can go everywhere the sky can reach.” Smile softening on your lips.

Neuvillette’s folded hands grasp one another tighter on his lap, his own lips pressing each other into a thin line.

The conversation was teetering closer and closer to the unspoken reality looming like a shadow in the room.

He wasn’t sure when it started, maybe when the first silver strands appeared in your hair or when you discovered his skin won’t wrinkle along with you.

He wasn’t sure when your adamant belief of becoming a cloud once the shadow came to claim you started.

Neuvillette wonders if this daydream was the product of those fables you browsed when you laid upon a plush rug.

Or was it your personally crafted fable to explain the incomprehensible to a creature who couldn’t fully grasp it?

A creature whose skin didn’t wrinkle, whose bones didn’t grow brittle. A creature seemingly untouched by time.

Fairytales do serve this purpose for children, magical fantasies to make uncomfortable realities palatable to naive minds.

“...vi?... Ne…?... Neuvi.”

A hand marred with age takes hold of one glove-clad hand, and a pleasant heat radiates through the leather. Coaxing Neuvillette’s attention back from its escapade.

“My apologies, I was lost in thought for a moment.” He gives your hand a reassuring squeeze.

But the frown weighing down on your lips didn’t disappear, much like how retreating into musings couldn’t wash away any shadows.

Your chest moves with a deep inhale.

“Maybe I do have one regret,” you began.

Readjusting your ailing fingers in his hold so that he could hold them with equal endearment, his ears concentrate on your voice.

“Actually, I have many,” you sigh.

Before he could formulate a response, you continued.

“I wish I could have shoulder the burdens you carry. I wish you would’ve shared them with me. And I wish I could even understand them, then maybe I could have understood you more.” Turning to face him, your disheartened eyes center on his frame.

A child born from a maid, a maid who traveled to Fontaine in hopes of a better future for her child. That was your origin, an outsider with neither fame nor fortune.

Thus, even as you followed him from a secluded estate to the grand Palais Mermonia, you could never follow him in status nor influence.

As unrest grew, as injustices mounted, and as tragedies took away friends.

All you could do was repair tears, sew buttons, and pour him a crisp glass of spring water as you waited for the storm to wash despair away.

That was how you saw it. But Neuvillette rebukes that notion.

The dignity of a newly established Chief Justice, who kept stepping on his overly ornate robes, was carefully maintained by you.

The Melusine’s uniforms, which solidified their presence in the human world, were crafted by you.

The patient hand that always offered silent comfort in the suffocating courts was yours.

Standing by his side, even as your bones grew to ache, to ensure the storm would pass and the sun emerge once more.

“You’ve done more than enough.” He states the truth, grasping your hand just a bit tighter.

“Are you sure?” Those airy chuckles of yours made their appearance again.

“I never even learned your real name,” you interject.

A knife, red hot and fresh from the forge, would have hurt less than the guilt which tore through him at that moment.

The Chief Justice, the symbol of honesty and conviction, is unable to tell the simplest truth.

What shall he do now?

The power of a name is often underestimated, the exchanging of names signifying the forging of a bond. One that would forever tether him to you and you to him.

Oh, what shall he do now?

Before his hesitant lips could take action, they were halted by a squeeze from your ailing grasp. Firm and warm, like a light that guides him up from the bottom of a turbulent ocean.

“You don’t have to tell me now, Neuvi, tell me when I come back from my trip.” Those gentle eyes of yours smile at him.

Reeling his hand in closer to you with your own, until the softness of your lips was felt along covered knuckles.

A common practice in Fontaine, one Neuvillette had witnessed time and time again as he passed the lovers who congregated by the Fountain of Leucine. Actions that dedicated promises to one another.

“I swear, once I’ve traveled enough, once I grow bored of foreign scenery, I’ll fall back down like rain to your side.” You whisper into the kiss.

It was his turn now, and he shall honor this ritual. Tenderly bringing in your hand to him, Neuvillette places his oath.

“Then I swear, when you return, I’ll tell you my name.” He whispers in the kiss.

The sterile rooms echo your airy chuckles as he keeps your hand close to himself for just a bit longer.

“Mmm… Where I should go first? Maybe I’ll just amble about,” you ponder aloud.

Gracing him with a smile which stretched your face and brought that familiar glimmer into your eyes.

“I wish you well on your travels.” Neuvillette presses another kiss into your knuckles.

–

Spring was always the rainy season for Fontaine, with gentle temperate showers to welcome the budding blooms back from their Winter sleep.

However, this year the torrential downpour was anything but gentle.

Planned trips canceled for the season, clothes remaining damp in baskets, and streets empty of their vigor. Even the Melusines couldn’t bring a skip to their steps.

It was as if time itself was slowed by the burdensome downpour.

The cawing of crows as their wings beat against the dreary winds adds to the lonely hymn sung by the raindrops.

At once the cadence of the rain increased, the downpour growing heavier, and the violent pattering grew deafening. As if the sky was now belting out their sorrowful ballad.

The rain could try. The skies can cry all they would like. But time, a cruel and unforgiving mistress, won’t ever stop.

To have loved and been loved, was it truly enough?

In Neuvillete’s eyes, he was the tide and you were the shore. The ebb and flow of water as the tide and shore met, time and time again.

Each crash into the shore stirred up something perplexing and disorderly within the tide, irritating like the sand that mixed into the pristine waves.

So the tide tried to retreat into the lonesome ocean.

Each time, the shore followed through grains of sand which the tide couldn’t ever seem to purge himself of.

Each time, the shore beckoned the tide to return to the sandy beaches of humanity filled with perplexities and disorder.

And each time, the tide surrendered to the call of the shore, lured in by its warmth.

But now, the shore has eroded away.

Where does the tide go now?

Drifting now in the vastness of a lonesome ocean, carrying nothing grains of sand. What shall the tide do now?

Neuvillette still has a lot to learn, for he couldn’t answer this riddle conjured by his own mind.

Unable to stop himself, the lone dragon stares off into the rain.

Eyes honing in the direction of a peaceful hill, one where a mother and child were laid to rest side by side overlooking a homeland they never got to visit.

Maybe that was the first destination of your journey.

During these past short years spent in this land, the young successor of the dragons has gained traitorous knowledge. One that undermines his preconceived purpose.

Neuvillette feels he’s grasped onto the faintest inkling of why humans, as fickle, perplexing, and fleeting as they are, were still the most beloved creatures of the gods.

Perhaps, he even understands now why those usurpers were willing to uproot the earth just for those beloved creatures.

The wet season transitions into the dry season, then the dry season will transition into another wet season. Again and again, on and on as the hands of a clock ticks forward.

Each new tick signifies another step forward in the march of time.

Each step brings change and each step pulls the present away from the past.

The rainy season of Spring was no longer as troublesome as it once was, as there was now a machine on the market that could dry clothes without the help of a bright star.

Melusines skip along down the paved paths of the Court of Fontaine as humans turn to greet them with endearing smiles.

New cafes line bustling streets as Clockwork Mekas make their evening patrols.

A great many changes have come to Fontaine, Neuvillette witnessed them all from his office at the Palais Mermonia.

A great many changes, yet some things are bound to stay the same. For example, the Chief Justice’s fondness for strolls along vacant riverbanks.

The gentle patters of raindrops lull the chaotic sympathy of trials, paperwork, and duties to a standstill. Reaching a hand out in front of him, Neuvillette catches a few drops in the palm of his gloved hand.

Lilac eyes examine the diminutive puddle in his hand before ultimately releasing the water back to the earth.

He supposes he’s been feeling a bit nostalgic as of late, like a child recalling a story which once soothed them to a peaceful slumber. How childish it was for him to believe he could somehow catch a certain raindrop in his hands.

Turning up toward the drab sky, he searches through the endless and identical droplets that fall down and leave trails along his face.

No, not yet. Perhaps they have yet to see all that the sky has to offer.

Neuvillette returns his focus to the path in front of him. The rhythmic clacks of his shoes match with the soft drumming of the rain, and in the midst of this harmony a voice singings out:

“Hydro dragon… uh… Hydro dragon, don’t cry.”

Halting his stride. Judging by the unfamiliarity of their tongue pronouncing the lullaby, Neuvillette deduces they must be a visitor to Fontaine.

Ah that local legend, just how far has it spread? Nevertheless, an unfortunate traveler who’s unfamiliar with Fontaine’s seasons is now caught in this rain.

It would only be polite to offer them some assistance as the Iudex of this nation. Thus, he turns in the direction of the call.

His suspicions were confirmed once his gaze landed on a distressed frame, their face obscured by the jacket they held over their head in a makeshift umbrella.

It only took a few steps for the towering man to make it to their side.

“There is a tree you can take shelter under just ahead,” he advises the lost traveler.

Now aware of his presence in front of them, they lifted the jacket from their line of sight to peer up at him. Revealing the details of their face to lilac eyes for the first time.

That was all it took for the symphony of rain to come to an end.

Soft drumming decrescendos into tranquility. It seems as if there will be an earlier welcome of flowers.

“Oh?” You gaze up at the azure hue now peeking out from receding gray, astonishment reflected in the glimmer of your eyes.

You’ve only heard of a local Fontainian legend from a guide pamphlet offered to tourists as you awaited the Aquabus.

When the rain suddenly began to pour as you ambled about a riverside, in a moment of desperation as you scrambled for shelter under a thin jacket you uttered the phrase.

You weren’t sure if the hydro dragon could understand your botched pronunciation, but it looks like he did.

Turning back to face the kind stranger, you wanted to convey your amazement to him. But the words fade just off the tip of your tongue when you peek back at the towering man.

Your eyebrows scrunch together as dumbstruck eyes widen at the sight of the drenched man.

“Mister?… Are you alright?” You scan over him, turning your attention away to sift through your pockets.

How bewildering it must be for you to witness a well-dressed and noble figure drenched to the bone. However, Neuvillette made no attempt to stop the rivulets rolling down his cheeks, a parting gift from the Spring showers.

He wonders as his gaze never left your frame, were tears perhaps this warm too?

“Here.” Your concern-ridden hand offers up a neatly folded handkerchief to the drenched man.

As your eyes connect with his, a strange sensation tickled the back of your mind. As if it was trying to recall where you’ve seen the familiar lavender hue.

Maybe they matched the shade of a flower field you stumbled upon during your travels, or maybe that lilac luster was revealed to you in a dream.

A strange familiarity you couldn’t name.

“Thank you very much.” He accepts the simple piece of cloth with tenderness rivaling that of conservators handing the renowned paintings of old masters.

The clouds were long gone by now, perhaps they felt that their purpose had long been fulfilled. The golden rays of a lone star shone with all their brilliance, finally free from behind their blanket of drap clouds.

It was only now that Neuvillette found out. The rain he had been yearning for all these years did in fact see all that the sky had to offer.

They had grown bored of drifting over vast plains, missing the picturesque countryside of Fontaine. Or perhaps their curiosity grew too great, wishing to finally hear a truth that was kept from them.

So much so, they quietly fell down from the sky, to return to his side again.

Much like the hands in a clock, the cycle of water and earth follows a similar circular path.

The rain had eroded away stubborn earth with its diligent drumming over the years.

Bit by bit and piece by piece until stone fractures into bits of sand. Over and over until a sandy beach was formed by the side of a patient sea.

Then the tide will reunite with its long-awaited shore, to return the sand and promise it cradled within its waves for so long.

~Fin

©️vivalabunbun DON’T PLAGIARIZE, REPOST, OR TRANSLATE ANY OF MY WORKS.

#vivalabunbunfics #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x you #neuvillette #genshin impact x reader #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin x y/n #genshin x you #neuvillete x reader #neuvilette x reader #neuvillette fluff #neuvillette angst #genshin impact x you #genshin x reader #neuvillette headcanons #neuvillette x y/n #neuvilette x you

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phantom-0-writer · 7 months

Text

scene 03: get in loser, we’re going shopping

original prompt: gotham academy's mentorship program

more at: table of contents

timeline: much later after scene 1 & 2

Danny and Damian sat at one of the corner tables in the library. Danny had finals coming up, and was busy reviewing the term’s worth of topics from all his classes. Damian, who had insisted on joining him, sat bored. having nothing left to study.

Danny looked at the younger boy when he sighed for the 3rd time in the past five minutes. Deciding that maybe he should take a break and indulge Damian, Danny finished the last problem, and let his book shut with a loud finality.

Damian looked up at him hopefully, “Are you done, now?” He asked. Danny could tell he was trying his best to not seem too eager, but Danny couldn’t help but laugh at his antics.

“Yup,” packing his things away first, he waited for Damian, when he noticed what the boy had taken up in his boredom. “Woah, Damian.” He whispered in awe, picking up the paper closest to him. “You did this?”

Damian seemed to need a moment to understand what Danny was referring to before becoming flustered and embarrassed, a soft pink spreading on his ears, “It was simply mindless work.” He sounded defensive, like someone had berated him for his artist interests before. Danny tried not to react to that, knowing Damian would probably find it insulting.

The sketch was on the back of a math worksheet Damian had long since completed, it was of a fighter who seemed to be using his sword to attack a nondiscript opponent. Danny knew from his many intensive training sessions with Pandora that the figure's form was slipping into leaving them open for an easy frontal attack from their opponent, while simultaneously leaving the fighter to not have the range of motion they might need to defend themselves. Most of the lines of the drawing were scratchy and short but overly repeated giving the fighter the illusion of fast movement, directly in contrast the hard outline of the fighter’s form made it seem like the fighter was stuck in their position.

Liminals and liminal-agencent people by definition did not have a strong awareness to manipulate ectoplasm consciously like other more ghostly beings could. Coincidentally, liminals tended to leak their own internally produced and stored ectoplasm when they acted on their deep emotions. Scientifically this usually showed itself as a person ‘harnessing their full potential’ in moments of crisis or in some more extreme and rarer cases accessing their metagene (meta’s were not to be confused with liminals or ghostly beings they hold few to no similarities outside of coincidence). Danny had known from the beginning that Damian was a liminal, likely from prolonged exposure to ectoplasm, and paradoxically had a difficult time understanding and accessing his own emotions. Emotional negligence was never healthy for an ectoplasmic being, and Danny knew it would be a long process for Damian to learn how to properly deal with his layered and complex emotions.

That being said, there was a steady level of ectoplasm spread over the paper, something that did not match what Danny would have expected from Damian’s current state with his emotional and subsequently his ectoplasmic abilities. The fighter was clearly a character Damian had either consciously or subconsciously created to represent himself.

Danny could work with this.

During the long moment of silence Damian seemed to have grown more and more anxious for Danny’s reaction. Danny let his emotions display easily on his face, wide eyed, “This is so good, Damian. I didn’t know you drew. Do you like art?”

“I do not draw. Art is a meaningless waste of time and only those without higher goals would indulge in such an activity.” Damian sounded conflicted, and the words he was saying were pretty obviously echoed from what someone else had said to him.

“That’s ridiculous,” Danny scoffed, “Art is a very important basis for almost everything. I mean it would feel pretty stale to live in a world where there was no uniqueness anywhere. Drawing, painting, writing, acting, sculpting, singing, or whatever else, are all unique forms of making something that no one else could truly ever recreate exactly. Even if it’s minute, there are always differences in the way that one person would commit to something than another person. It’s the basis of humanity and in the core of the human mind. If you try to block it so harshly from yourself, you’ll end up locking up an integral part of yourself that sets you apart from the other 7 million people on this planet.”

Damain stood there, considering what Danny said.

Not waiting another moment, Danny grabbed Damian’s bag heading out of the library. “What are you doing?” Damian asked suspiciously, quickly falling in step with Danny, grabbing his bag back.

Danny smirked at him, “We’re going shopping, Loser.”

Damian looked scandalied at the nickname, not understanding the reference. “I am not a loser.” he huffed.

Danny just laughed as they waited for the next bus. Once they got to their stop and entered the store, Danny beelined for where he knew the art supplies to be. Damian followed behind him, unfamiliar with the store.

Sure, if Damian wanted, he could easily buy the more top of the line supplies, after all he was a Wayne. But Danny was pointedly a broke scholarship kid right now, and it didn’t sit right to let Damian pay for things he was buying, no matter how much of a trust fund kid he may be. Not that Danny was exactly broke, but he imagined the cashiers at their local supermarket wouldn’t appreciate him trying to pay for a sketchbook, a couple sketch pens and pencils, and a 25 pack of Crayola markers with solid gold coins.

It was around 4:30 when they left the store with their stuff, Damian eyeing the bag curiously the whole time. They walked the rest of the way to a local cafe, and Danny sat Damian down.

“Okay, we’ll be here for the next hour,” He pulled out his own sketchpad, the concepts filling the pages were more accurately blueprints more than drawings, “Draw whatever you want.”

“I don’t know what to draw.” Damian huffed, awkwardly taking the supplies from Danny, and examining his surroundings carefully. Damian sat in the corner for a while, blending into the surroundings as he watched how the world spun around him. Danny was half-way through reviewing one of his older designs when Damian finally decided to open the pack of pencils and the first strike on the paper was made. They stayed there for long over the allotted hour, both sucked into their own projects.

“I finished.” Damian breathed in satisfaction, stretching his hand and back in his chair at the admission.

Danny eyed him with curiosity. “Can I see?” He asked. Danny wasn’t sure how right he had been about Damian using drawing to help regulate his ectoplasm and emotions, and he wanted to check how consistent it would be. Also he was really curious to see what he had drawn.

Damian looked a little bashful at his request, but he nodded, handing the sketch book over to Danny. Danny could easily feel the ectoplasmic energy scattered across the page, it wasn’t as constant as the first drawing had been, but it was still there. So he was right.

The drawing this time was of what had likely originally meant to be the barista, based on the outlines of the industrial coffee machine and register that had started out but been forgotten later for the center of the piece. The man was wearing an apron similarly like the one the barista had been wearing and a similar uniform, but that was the only similarities that Danny could draw from his surroundings in the drawing. The man, unlike their teenaged barista, was quite aged, with thin but well groomed hair, and a mustache. He had a longer face scattered with wrinkles of old age. The old man was looking down, presumably working on something, and seemingly happy with whatever it was. The ecto-signature was more concentrated around the old man, leading Danny to believe it was someone Damian likely loved and admired.

“You’re so good at this.” Danny complemented, honestly. “Did you have fun?” He asked, it was starting to get dark and they had stayed at the cafe longer than Danny had asked him to without complaint.

“Yeah, I did.” He answered after a moment. Danny ruffled his hair affectionately, “Hey, you’re gonna mess it up.” He complained, making no effort to remove himself.

“C’mon, let’s get you home. I have to go to work soon.” Danny led them out of the store, just in time for an expensive looking black car to pull around the bend and expertly stop in front of him.

“Young Master Damian, I’ve come to pick you up.” An old British gentleman spoke from the driver seat, it was the man from the drawing.

“Understood, Alfred.” Damian turned to hand the art supplies back to Danny.

“They’re yours.” Danny refused.

“I’ll take care of them.” Damian promised, placeing the supplies carefully inside his book bag.

“I’m sure you will.” Danny nodded, stepping back so the car could drive away.

“Mister Daniel, I would have no problem taking you home as well. It is quite late now.” The driver spoke kindly. It surprised Danny how accurate Damian had drawn that picture without so much as a reference.

“No it’s alright.” Danny waved away the idea, “I have to go to work now, and it’d be too out of the way for you.” He explained.

The driver didn’t press, but Danny noticed how his eye caught on something in the distance before he bid his farewells and left.

Danny made his way to the bus stop, and waited, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Moments later another older teen approached the bus stop as well, waiting idly for the transport to arrive. He had black hair with a white tuft in the front, a sign of prolonged ectoplasmic exposure Danny knew all too well, roughly 6’ and some inches, and wore a hood of his red jacket over half his head.

Danny supposed it was fitting for someone who called himself the Red Hood.

The bus arrived, and both Danny and his co-passenger got at the stop before Arkham Asylum. Park Row AKA Crime Alley. By the time Danny clocked in and changed into his uniform for his shift it was already dark outside.

“Welcome to BatBurger.” He said in chorus with the rest of the workers at the bell chime of the door opening. The man walked to the counter silently, his white tuft of hair skillfully swept under a baseball cap he hadn’t had before. When he approached Danny’s station, Danny took his order, and right before completing the transaction, as per procedure, “Can I get a name for your order?” He asked.

“Jason Todd.”

#the effects of talia's parenting is showing and danny is a little concerned #damian learning to channel is inner artist #love to see it #also i really wanted to explore liminalness and ectoplasm here so theres that #idk if its kinda random lol #jason trained by the bats and the LoA mob boss extraordinaire and holder of bat paranoia: gives his full legal name #danny: 0_o #jason is literally so dumb smh #danny and damian bonding #damian inherited his dad's emotional competence #luckily danny's here to save the day

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mauesartetc · 4 months

Text

A while back I got a comment that demonstrated a misconception as to what the character design process actually entails, and I thought it had real "teachable moment" potential. So let me make this perfectly clear:

Drawing a character is NOT the same as designing one.

Let's say I wanted to draw a guy. No backstory, no defined personality traits or preferences, no details about his current life, just doodling some random, generic guy who popped into my head.

That's just a drawing.

But what if I decided to flesh him out more? What if I wanted his appearance to reflect his lifestyle and inner life as well? Here's where the note-taking comes in.

And now for the visual research:

I thought the bodybuilding angle would provide a fun contrast with this guy's profession. The mental image of a huge, burly dude working on a clock or watch with tiny, precise movements just makes me smile. Perhaps I could give him small, nimble hands that would suit his line of work.

Now that I have a better idea of how Mikhail's face and body will look, it's time to establish a pose.

Of course, I never expected to employ all the personality traits I started out with inside this single pose; those were just a jumping-off point. No one drawing will ever be able to encapsulate every single facet of a character, unless they're extraordinarily flat and generic (see also: random guy I doodled at the start of this post). If I wanted to write a story with this guy, I'd have to figure out how all the traits play off each other and how they'd cause him to react to different situations. There would be a lot more note-taking and development involved, but for the sake of keeping this post (somewhat) brief, let's just focus on visuals for now.

On to color!

I decided to give Mikhail a carnation in his pocket (for its round shape), specifically a red one, which represents deep love and an aching heart. Thus, the flower needed to maintain its red color for the symbolism to come through.

For some reason I initially pictured this guy wearing a pink shirt (perhaps as an offshoot of the "romantic" angle), but I wanted to try some different colors inspired by the 70s catalog pages I found. I ended up really liking the contrast of the cool blue shirt with the warm red pants, and that option made it into my top three as a result. I lined them up next to each other to compare them, and in the end, blue won out over pink. I think it also reflects the "colder", more cerebral, less-emotional parts of his personality well (namely "systematic", "stern", and "callous"- one from each column!). Just goes to show that you shouldn't get too attached to your first draft, as better ideas are just around the corner.

I then lightened the blue of the shirt so it wouldn't compete so much with the rest of the outfit, and wouldn't be quite as loud and "in your face". Mikhail strikes me as a bit of an introvert, so the calmer, quieter blue is a better fit. I added a darker belt and watchband and de-saturated the flower just a bit to make the values feel more balanced, and I think we've got it!

Let's see the final result!

Y'all, I was not expecting this process to make me emotional, but there's something special about fully realizing a little guy you've spent hours working on. All of a sudden you look at him and go, "Oh my god, there he is. That's him." This man wasn't even a twinkle in my eye a couple weeks ago and now I'd protect him with my life.

And the thing is, the only reason I'm calling this design "done" for now is that I basically just brought it into existence to make a point. But if this dude were attached to a larger story, he'd be nowhere near finished. I'd have to make a ton more iterations and go a lot more in depth with my research than I did (especially with the Armenian cultural stuff). Overall, though, I hope this quick project properly highlighted the difference between a single drawing and a more fleshed-out character.

Later!

#character design #art tips #art advice #art help #concept art #long post

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tamayula-hl · 3 months

Text

Plagiarism allegations currently levelled against me and evidence of my innocence

I'm sorry for posting so many times on this hard topic. But yesterday @freewld (https://www.tumblr.com/freewld) asked me, "You reversed, traced and plagiarised my drawing, didn't you?" I received a DM saying. After discussion, I was given permission to publish a verified image of me and her drawing by overlapping them. Below is her art, all of which I have permission to publish.

The picture on the left is my illustration that is allegedly being used in this case. And the picture on the right is the one she claims was plagiarised by me.

She says: " When my drawing is inverted, angled and overlapped, there are a number of places where the lines overlap. I believe you must have traced my drawing because there are too many places where the lines match for it to be a coincidence".

See the verified image she created by overlapping our drawings on her Twitter feed. (another)

To be fair, I also made a verification image and video.

When two pictures are overlapped with respect to the line of Seb's right eyelash.

When two pictures are superimposed on the basis of the lines on both cheeks of Seb.

I draw every time using the screenshots I have taken of Sebastian as a reference, and probably she does too. I would argue that if I draw a picture with reference to a 3D model of the same 'Sebastian Sallow' character, it is only natural that the two pictures should be similar. If one tries to express his individuality - the distance between his eyes and eyebrows, the length of his nose and philtrum - in a drawing, it is natural that some of the lines will overlap.

In the first place, to claim 'plagiarism by tracing', most of the lines need to match, but there are not many places where the lines of the two pictures overlap completely. It is my contention that this cannot be evidence of 'plagiarism by tracing'.

I believe I have proven my innocence to the world with these two superimposed verified images and videos.

However, @freewld is using Twitter's survey feature to solicit third-party impartial opinions on the allegations.

This is the current voting result.

Incredibly, the majority of votes went to 'I think Tamayula plagiarised'.

I think this voting system might not be fair because as you know, X(Twitter) allows a single user have multiple accounts and actually I currently have eight accounts on X(Twitter). Therefore, I wonder if it can work properly as the third-party impartial opinions because some users might vote this multiple times by using their own multiple accounts.

And I've only been back on Twitter for about a week and have only about 200 followers. In contrast, @freewld has been running her account for 10 months since March 2023 and has more than three times as many followers as me. It is a voting system that overwhelmingly favours her.

With such a voting system, there is no way she can prove that I have plagiarised. It remains to be seen what the outcome of this poll will be, but even if the result is more votes for 'I think Tamayula plagiarised', I will continue to maintain my innocence and I will not apologise to her.

Finally. I have tried to be as honest as possible over the past few days and have continued to assert my legitimacy in Japanese HL fandom, but it is no longer possible for me to deal with this matter any more. I feel ridiculous about everything now. I hope everyone can understand my disappointment a little.

Thank you so much for reading this long sentence so far. I am taking a short break for just a few moments.

#art #artists on tumblr #artist

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targaryen-dynasty · 2 months

Text

OBJECT OF DESIRE (2/?)

Aemond Targaryen x female Reader

It's always sacrifice and duty. But what will you do, if it's put to the test?

WARNINGS: none!

WORDS: 3.3 K

NOTES: This is a chapter to build the plot of the story. If everything goes according to plan (what it never does) you're getting two to three more chapters! Tried to end it with a cliffhanger, but ain't sure if it worked lmao

Two days have passed in which you haven’t heard or seen even just a trace of Aemond. You didn’t catch any glimpses of him in the corridors, didn’t see him around his siblings, and not even spotted him training with the sword in the early hours of the day.

You have been counting on him to approach you the following day to whisk you away like he’s said, almost promised, to save you from the inevitable torment that was due the next day – but he didn’t come.

And with his absence, the doubts about merely being used by him arise and become more prominent, constantly scratching in the back of your mind.

The only thing that makes it all slightly better is that you have been seeing your father just as sparsely as your cousin; clearly having no desire to spend his days with you and make up for the time you’ve lost, knowing that you’re incredibly cross with him.

But with yours and Daemon’s paths not crossing once also vanishes any possibility of you coercing him to cancel the courtship, even though the chances would have been small anyways.

The chair you currently sit in is nearly as uncomfortable as the large throne looming behind you is rumored to be, at least that‘s what you fathom, and you‘re certain that the thick fur draped over it, warming your arse and back, does little to help with that.

It is little consolation that King Viserys’ second daughter shares the same fate as you, sitting in a chair that’s just as unpleasant as yours.

You have planned for Ysilla to accompany you while you’re receiving the chosen suitors, trusting her advice and her knowledge of you, however, it has clearly interfered with the plans of Queen Alicent.

But Helaena is no bad company. There’s something about her soft aura, which you’ve already noticed back when you arrived, that calms you and makes your misery much more bearable. She’s not a woman of many words, but there’s wit and charm in them when she speaks.

Lined up in front of you two stands a queue of different lords and highborn men, all chosen by none other than your father, and you’re glad that at least your advisor seems to keep track of the men that come to introduce themselves. Whenever you glance at her, you see her gauging their characters based on their appearances alone, and her expression always matches yours when a man that’s significantly older than you steps forwards. And so far, it’s been quite a few.

In the sea of lords, Blackwood, Lannister and Manderly alike, there eventually steps a much younger lord forwards. You raise your brow, and your eyes briefly flit over his form before Helaena leans towards you.

“This one doesn’t seem too awful, does he?” she whispers, and if you listen closely, you can hear just a lilt of tease in her tone.

You would love to spend your time differently at this moment, and you’re certain Helaena would enjoy being somewhere else as well, although you do feel relieved to finally be at least marginally less bored by someone that’s closer to your age than your father’s.

The lord is tall and well built, wearing a well fitted doublet in his Houses’ colors; knowing them well enough to be certain it’s a fellow House of the Vale of Arryn. He has a clean shaven face that shows now scars or blemishes, and his short, brown hair neatly sits in place. It’s clear he is very-well groomed, a stark contrast to some of the other men that have already spoken to you today.

“No, he’s… alright,” you reply, nodding your head once.

You’re caught off guard when he approaches you slowly, coming closer than any other lord before, and bows before you. He takes your hand, pressing his lips to the back of it. Although you don’t feel any attraction towards him, goosebumps still prickle on your skin; you’re intrigued.

“My lady,” he says, rising to his full height again as he takes a step back. “May I say that you have a striking beauty. I am Lord Alec Hersy of Newkeep. Your name has been brought to me by the other men of the Vale, who know you well and speak of you highly, and my lady, ‘tis an honor to ask for the opportunity to court you and unite our Houses.”

You notice that he speaks with a great deal of confidence, almost as if he’s practiced what to say over and over. As you think about your answer, your eyes flicker to the several men that are still lined up behind him, all their eyes fixed on you as they wait for their turn to approach you.

It’s eerily quiet for the few seconds you contemplate his offer, though you know that you’re not yet allowed to make a decision, and there must have been something in the way you smile at the man before you that makes it appear as if you mean to accept his advances for suddenly another lord comes forward to stand by Lord Hersy’s side.

The other man isn’t as bold as the Hersy, keeping a polite distance from you, but you see it in the way he straightens his back and keeps his head held high that he clearly is competing with the man next to him, vying for your hand in marriage without having said anything up to now.

He is just as tall as his opponent but with a leaner frame, and also wears a doublet in his Houses’ colors; another Lord of the Vale. His long, brown hair is tied up, and he has a confident air about him. And then you spot the broken wheel on his doublet, the coat of arms. You would have never guessed him to be a Lord of House Waynwood for its members usually tend to be more horse-faced, at least that’s what they say, yet this man is strangely comely.

It is clear that both men that stand in front of you are attractive, but in different ways. The Hersy man has a charming and youthful look, while the other has a sophisticated and more mature standing, and you’re not quite sure what you feel more drawn to.

You tilt your head sideways slightly at his bold approach, a raised eyebrow prompting him to finally speak.

“My lady, I have been very impressed with what I have heard about you. Lord Hersy is right when he says you have a striking beauty for you look just like your late mother did. It is a blessing you have her eyes and smile.” His words leave you frowning for a moment, because from what you’ve gathered over all these years, your looks take more after your father than your mother. But the lord continues to speak, pulling you from your train of thought. “As a Lord of House Waynwood, I would like to ask the honor of having you by my side. What do you say?”

You’re stunned by his boldness. Looking from one man to the other, you’re stuck between both of them. However, this doesn’t last long for the silence is suddenly interrupted by the doors to the Throne Room opening.

A mop of silver hair steps into the room with a certain air of arrogance and smugness that clings to him like a cloak. Aemond. His arrival doesn’t only surprise you, but you can also hear the lords and nobles start to mumble and grumble under their breaths, and you’re most impressed by how unphased Aemond is at that.

Taking in a sharp breath, you regain your composure, trying not to let your nervousness show too much, and refocus on the men standing in front of you. Aemond‘s presence is unexpected, and you’re not sure how to feel after being used by him and not hearing from him for the past two days. He has given you hope to put you out of your misery, and crushed it just as easily.

“The both of you are very kind,” you say. Both men start to smile politely, even more when it’s returned by you, however, their smiles drop just as quickly at your next words. “But before I make a choice, I will need to consult with my father.”

With Aemond approaching, boldly walking past the queue of bowing suitors, both men briefly bow to you, before making room for him.

“Prince Aemond,” you say, not waiting for him to settle and start speaking. It seems as though you haven’t lowered your eyebrow at all, one surprising moment happening after the other.

Aemond walks up to you, coming just as close as the Hersy lord did before with his hands clasped behind his back, and his intense stare doesn’t leave your features. He grabs your hand, bringing it up to his lips. It makes your pulse quicken, and this time your body starts to feel as if it’s on fire. You’ve been cross with him just a few seconds before, and yet the feeling of his lips on your skin is enough to make the anger vanish.

“I know you expected my return, my lady,” he says softly, his voice just loud enough for you and Helaena to hear him and not the men around. “Will you come with me now, or will you leave this to the men that are too weak to give you what you deserve?”

Pressing your lips into a thin line, your eyes flit down to where his hand is still holding yours. “What exactly would I be getting if I were to choose you, my prince?”

Aemond smirks at your reply, and squeezes your hand in a reassuring manner. “These men do not understand you as I do, my lady, and they never will. They may pretend to worship the ground you walk on, but that will not change the way they see you behind closed doors.”

Something stirs deep inside of you at his words, warmth rising in your cheeks and a tingling sensation in your stomach. It’s all too easy to give in to him, to give in to his words if it means you get a chance with him. Your mind races as you try to push away the thoughts of the consequences; but to no avail.

You swallow, and reluctantly pull your hand back to fold them in your lap, fidgeting with your fingers. “I want to express my great gratitude for your presence, Prince Aemond, but I am afraid I can not give you your desired answer,” you speak loud enough for everyone in the Throne Room to hear, making clear that it’s you being in control. “As I said, I will need to consult with my father before accepting any of the offers.”

The smile you give him is polite, but it hardly reaches your eyes. His smirk drops at that, and with a bow of his head, he turns to his sister who has silently watched the exchange. “May I have a word?” It’s not a question but more a demand, giving her no chance to refuse.

Helaena nods and rises to her feet, flashing you an apologetic smile before she follows Aemond and disappears through the king’s door behind the Iron Throne.

You’re left to deal with the suitors and guards all by yourself, and know you’ll have to find a way to bid the men that have come to seek your hand in marriage farewell; in the most tactful way possible.

Standing up, you keep your hands clasped in front of you. You look over the remaining suitors, carefully analyzing each of them. “My lords,” you speak loud and clear, feigning your confidence, “thank you for coming here today. I am incredibly impressed by all your proposals, but it was a long and tiresome day, and I have decided to have another day of courtship in the morrow. If you would excuse me now.”

As the men exit the large room on your behalf, Helaena comes back from where she’s left with Aemond not long before; not in the presence of her younger brother anymore. There’s a small scroll in her hand, neatly clasped between her slender fingers.

“Is there a lord that has piqued your interest already?” she asks, a gentle smile on her lips.

You glance at the scroll, noticing that it’s sealed, before meeting her eyes again. “Is there a lord that has piqued my interest?” you ask, your teasing tone suggesting that you don’t think there’s even one man that would fit the bill.

“You’re not entirely incorrect,” she muses, “though I think that Lord Hersy does seem a little… less unappealing than the others.” Her words make you chuckle, and you raise a brow as she hands you the scroll. “For me?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.

She nods, and you take it from her hands but don’t open it right away. It feels like something that’s best read in private.

“Do you not wish to know what is written inside?” she asks, gently, and not in a way that’s meant to pester you.

Looking down at the scroll, you furrow your brow and sigh. There’s no way you can refuse her, a princess, without being impolite and appearing suspicious. “I… I suppose I do.”

You break the seal and unroll it carefully in a guarded manner, making sure to be the first, and only one, to see what’s written inside. It takes everything in you not to allow your eyes to widen the moment you’re reading the first few words, not wanting to raise anyone’s suspicion.

Before the princess can even ask, knowing she’d eventually do, you opt to tell her but keep the contents vague, giving a little fib. “Looks like…” you begin, trailing off as you pretend to read the scroll to its completion. “It’s a proposition from your brother, and apparently he wants me… to join him for supper.”

Helaena raises her brow, and you notice a smile creeping onto her lips. “This offer is certainly… an interesting one. A rather informal event for a prince to ask a lady to join him for. But do you wish to accept his invitation? You can decline, of course, but do keep in mind that my brother is quite the catch.”

You roll the scroll and keep it tightly secured in your palm, not keen on having its contents read by anyone other than you. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt to meet for supper,” you reply. “My father surely would want me to be open-minded while searching for a suitable match.”

She brings a hand up to rub your upper arm, smiling softly at you. “That certainly sounds wise,” she hums. “I think my presence is no longer required today, although I am very curious to hear how your supper goes. Will you promise to tell me how it turned out in the morrow?”

You bow your head. “Of course. I shall take my leave now, cousin, and I must say that this has been quite a pleasant afternoon.”

“You are most welcome, cousin. If you require any support, or an open ear, come speak to me. I will be here to lend you both of it.”

With Helaena’s words, you exit the Throne Room, heading straight back to your chambers. They are quiet, for once, though this moment of serenity doesn’t last long with Ysilla stepping out of the adjoining bathing chambers.

She has a smile on her lips as she catches you in better spirit than anticipated. “I assume that the courtship has been successful? “

You bite the tip of your tongue, stopping your lips from pulling into a grin. “You can say that it has, indeed,” you reply. Not wanting to dwell on the topic any longer than necessarily, reducing the risk of her asking any more questions, you change it. “Is the bath ready?”

Ysilla bows her head, getting the cue, and steps aside. “It is waiting for you, yes. May I fetch your robe, my lady?”

“That is very gracious of you, thank you,” you reply, and when she disappears to prepare the robe for you, you’re quick to stuff the scroll into the pile of riding attire you’ve taken with you upon the travel.

You don’t tell her about the letter you’ve received, and even less about what’s written inside. Therefore your maid doesn’t know that there’s no need for her to prepare you for the night just yet. It’s easier for you if she leaves you alone very early to retire to the quarters occupied by your entourage for you don’t need any fuss about leaving your chambers so late.

While you usually handle most of the bathing by yourself, scrubbing and cleaning your body, you’ve left the care of your silver hair to your maid. She washes it thoroughly, dries it with care, and once you’re dressed, she separates the strands to brush them carefully. She applies special oils on the silver strands, before your hair is loosely braided down your back.

It seems as though Ysilla is extra cautious to make sure you’re comfortable and ready for bed; preparing every detail, however small, and completing every task meticulously for you to retire for the night. You’re certain she awaits for your restraint to snap at any given moment for you to tell her even the smallest details of the first day of your courtship. But in the prospect of your night, she can wait a damn long time for that to happen.

And only when she brings in a small tray with light supper does she finally bow to you, folding her hands in front of her body. “I shall now retire for the night, my lady,” she hums. “I am certain tomorrow brings with it new, exciting tasks and I need to rest to be able to cope with them.”

Sitting down at the desk, you grab the cutlery to cut into the woodcock that’s served. You look up at her with a soft smile on your lips. “Thank you for your hard work today, Ysilla. Rest well, and we will see each other in the morning.”

Your maid nods her head once again, and sets off for the door. “May the Seven watch over you, my lady.” With these words, she shuts the door behind her, and only as she’s finally out of the room does her absence weigh down on you, making you terribly aware of the letter that’s neatly stored in the pile of your riding breeches.

The next two hours are drawn out to the point you consider just walking out of your chambers, making your way through the winding corridors and right towards his apartments. But you don’t do that.

Only when the sun has long set do you start to prepare yourself for what lies ahead. Your nightgown and shift fall to the floor, and are quickly replaced by smallclothes and tight-fitting breeches, topped by a soft tunic. A pair of boots and a warm leather jacket follow, completing your outfit.

You fetch the scroll again, skimming over its contents, rereading them in case you’ve missed anything. Of course you haven’t, and it’s written at the bottom, too hard to miss:

‘Dress simply and practically.’

That’s what you’ve done as you push at the wall to the right side of your bed, revealing a door that’s hidden in plain sight. It has been built into the architecture of the castle, perfectly blended into the wall and hard to find if you didn’t know what you’re looking for.

And you didn’t know – it was a hard guess, based on the drawing Aemond has scrawled below the invitation to a little adventure.

Mini Taglist: @heimtathurs @fan-goddess @tsujifreya @melsunshine @drwstarkeyy @kazuyatokue @moonlightfoxx @bbgmonsay @thatmysteriousblog @ashovertheriver @black-dread @watercolorskyy @urmomsgirlfriend1 @lovelykhaleesiii @hypocritic-trash-baby @darylandbethfanforever9 @snowystark @connorsui @valeskafics

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yourmomxx · 10 months

Text

Family Line

father of mine masterlist

summary: the hunt for the monster starts. We find out what happened all those years ago between Dean and his daughter.

warnings: canon violence, child abandonment, swear words, angst, daddy issues, character death, descriptions of blood, descriptions of murder, this is written like an episode of Supernatural

word count: 8,5k

a/n: we did it, guys! this is the last part of the father-of-mine series. I’m really sorry about the late upload, but I do hope it was worth the wait! This might be the ending of this series, but not quite the ending of the story … thank you all so much for sticking around and supporting this story, sequels and prequels about dean and his daughter will definitely come!

pt1 pt2 pt3

Sioux Falls 2007

It was late at night, and in Bobby Singer’s Junkyard, the lights were still on. Accompanying the chirping tunes of the cicadas, a fading pop song from somewhere in the ‘70s was trailing out the windows.

On the small wooden table in the kitchen, Dean and Sam Winchester had spread out a multitude of lore books found in Bobby’s bookshelf, some worn out, some torn, and Sam was currently leaned over a particularly ugly-written paragraph dedicated to the magical use of a pan’s flute.

“Dean, I can hear you being silent.” Sam raised his head to look his older brother in the eye. “What is it?”

Dean shrugged, threw a look at the numerous variations of old books about supernatural creatures laid out in front of them, then at his little brother.

“You’re overworking yourself, Sammy,” Dean pointed out. The keyboard clicked as he typed something on the laptop.

“Dean, we’ve been over this,” Sam said. “I’m just trying to find a way for you to not die. You can’t exactly blame me for that.”

“Yes, exactly, we’ve been over it,” Dean countered. “And I told you there’s no way around it. I made a deal, that’s it. Period, no refunds.”

Sam clenched his jaw. “Well, I don’t want that to be it.” He muttered under his breath.

Dean opened his mouth to say something, but stopped himself when they heard the sound of tiny footsteps over the floor.

Dean perked up and turned his head.

“Hey, my little love.”

A while ago, the soft tone in his brother’s words would have caught Sam completely off guard. By now, he was already getting used to the way Dean’s eyes had a different look in them – one of pure love – and he spoke with a softness as if his words alone should wrap their recipient up in satin cloth.

Sam turned around to look at who Dean was talking to, and was not surprised to see a small girl trutting towards them, little legs still uncoordinated after only just waking up. Her small fists were rubbing her squinted eyes, the light in the living room must be blinding her.

Y/N made her way over to Dean and made grabby hands up at him.

Dean chuckled and picked his daughter up under her arms, placing her carefully on his thigh as she nuzzled into his dark flannel shirt.

Sam smiled at the contrast of Dean’s shirt, and her bright yellow children’s nightgown with the washed out Led Zeppelin-logo printed on.

Dean’s big hand was rubbing circles on her back, as he craned his neck to bow it down to her.

“What are you doing awake so late, sweetheart?” He hushed.

Y/N nuzzled her nose into his neck. “’d a bad dream,” she mumbled.

Sam could see the emotion cross over his brother’s face for a brief second as he made eye contact with him.

They both knew that this could – would – happen. That little girl had been through so much already, at her young age, had seen and lost things no child should ever see or lose.

They both had known that nightmares would probably eventually start haunting her, but yet, they had still not been prepared for when it was the time.

Dean didn’t know what he should be feeling, his daughter had had a nightmare, and all he wanted was to wrap his arms around her, keep her there, and kill everything in her way to becoming happy.

But he knew he couldn’t do that. And that’s why he wanted to, so much more.

“Really?” He asked instead, hand not leaving her back. “Do you want to tell me what it was about?”

“Everybody was leaving me,” Y/N sniffled, small fist rubbing her nose. “You, Auntie Ellen, Jo, Uncle Sam, Grandpa Bobby.” Another sniffle.

“I was all alone.”

Dean felt like sobbing. A heavy weight had latched itself on his heart. Oh, his little girl. How much he loved her.

“Sweetheart, it was just a bad dream,” he promised to her. “We are not going to leave you alone, I swear.”

Y/N pulled her face from the crook of his neck and looked up at him with red rimmed eyes.

“Pinky promise?” She asked.

Dean lifted his free hand and linked his pinky finger with hers. “Pinky promise,” he said.

Something told him he had made a mistake. But he couldn’t care right now.

Still, he felt like a liar.

“Now,” he said, a conspiratorial tone in his words, “What do you say we get you back to bed and I stay until you fall asleep, hm? How does that sound?”

Y/N didn’t fuss long about it, she just nodded her head and nuzzled closer to him.

Dean understood the silent command, and lifted her into his arms as he stood up. “Alright. Let’s go.”

Sam looked after them as they disappeared up the stairs. Now alone, he turned his attention back to his research. Why he was reading everything about the dog Cerberus right now, he couldn’t quite decipher, but he was grasping onto every straw.

A few minutes passed by, and Dean was still not back. Another few, another few.

Sam frowned as he looked at the clock on the wall. 5.13 in the evening. Sam realized now that the clock was broken.

Curtly, he stood up from the table and climbed the stairs to the bedrooms.

The door to Y/N’s room was open, hiding the colored sign she had written her name on (with Dean’s help) to inform everyone of her territory.

Careful to be quiet, Sam stepped closer to the threshold, peeking into the dark room. A dim night light in the form of a crescent moon was burning on the nightstand. In the bed laid a small bundle of blankets and stuffed animals, which Sam could only guess was Y/N.

Next to her, holding the girl in his arms, Sam spotted Dean, probably holding on for dear life on the edge of the narrow bed.

Sam smiled at them.

Through the silence, a soft, hummed melody reached Sam’s ears, and he perked up.

He knew that song from somewhere, he just couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Na-na na na. Nana na-a.

Sam’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, are you singing her Smells like Teen Spirit?”

Dean looked at him, grinning. “Yeah. It’s a classic.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world and Sam was the stupid one.

“I mean, look at her,” he said, his gaze shifting to his daughter again. “She’s gonna be a badass one day. Right? One day, you’re gonna be as badass and cool as your daddy.”

Oh yeah, that girl was out like a light.

Sam just shook his head chuckling. “All right, I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”

Dean didn’t answer him, but he knew he heard him.

A few minutes after Sam had left, currently sitting at the kitchen table again, starting a new chapter of the same book, Dean came downstairs.

Wordlessly, he took his seat across from Sam, and pulled one of the lore books closer to him.

And though he had an idea where his brother’s new sense of determination came from, Sam didn’t say a word when Dean started reading.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

Now

When you called, for a brief second Sam was worried that Dean was gonna crash the car. The way his face morphed into shock, concern and then anger, while he was talking to you on the phone had his little brother worried.

After you hung up, Sam pretended not to notice the way Dean pushed further into the gas pedal.

The first rays of the morning sunlight made their way over the hills, when Sam and Dean arrived at the Group Home. Dean didn’t bother with a neat parking maneuver, and just turned the motor off, then made his way with fast steps over to the castle.

Sam trailed behind.

They had no problem entering the building, Maria had given them an official key card for their investigations. Dean stormed down the hallways with a fast step, as if he had memorized the entire way by heart.

Sam wouldn’t blame him.

You were sitting on your bed when they came in. Or more, cowering there.

Sam was all too familiar with the look of disturbed terror in your eyes, even when you firmly avoided looking at either of them.

“Y/N?” Dean moved a step forward, stretching his hand out towards you as if to soothingly touch your shoulder, but hesitated in his movement and pulled away.

Sam threw him a worried look that Dean didn’t seem to catch.

“What happened?”

Your fingers were continuously drumming against your knee pulled close to your chest.

“’d a bad dream,” you mumbled. Sam could hear the fear in your voice. Dean sat down in your chair opposite the bed.

“When I woke up, there was …” You swallowed and hardly squinted your eyes. “I don’t know what it was. Looked like two yellow … eyes.”

Sam couldn’t help the disgusted twist his face made at the word. He couldn’t imagine waking up to something like this.

Dean exchanged a look with him. Your story confirmed their theory even more.

On the bed, you had gone quiet again. Your fingers were still drumming an uneven pattern on your skin.

This didn’t make sense. This didn’t make sense. She was dead, Cass was dead. Roy was dead. Dean Winchester was here. He left you, and now he was here, but not for you, no, but for Roy. They were all dead.

And you were next.

“Have you ever heard of an alp?” Your head snapped up as Dean’s question pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts.

“An Alp?” Your eyebrows furrowed. “I mean - yes, I came across that lore when I was still taking German literature.”

“You took German Literature?” Dean regretted his question as soon as he asked it.

“Yes,” you answered, but something had shifted in your tone. It was low and pressed. Shit. He knew he should’ve just kept his mouth shut. Sam felt like smacking his brother across the head.

“So you know what they are?” He asked instead, and you shrugged, looking at your feet again.

“Yes, well, I know that the Germans believed that an Alp would sit on their chests while they slept, and it would feed on their good dreams - plaguing the sleeping person with terrible nightmares. That’s why they used to have shortened beds, because if they weren’t lying down, the alp couldn’t sit on their chest.”

While you talked, realization hit you like a brick. Or more like a huge wave, rather, if the feeling of being violently ripped of all air was anything to go by.

“Oh my God,” You breathed out. “Cass and Roy both had nightmares before they died.” You looked between Dean and Sam with shock-widened eyes. “This Alp thing was the reason for all of this, right? I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“Not if we have a say in it.” Dean’s jaw remained stoically clenched as he spoke his promise.

“What did you dream about?” Sam asked.

You ducked your head even further into yourself and picked at the skin next to your nails. “’s it important?”

“It could be.”

You took a deep breath and bit the inside of your cheek. “Same as Roy,” you simply said. “Worst day of my life.”

And, okay. Sam didn’t get into college for being slow, he knew exactly what day that was. And judging by the brief flicker of emotion crossing over Dean’s face, he knew, too.

But he didn’t address it and only cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Look, if it really is an Alp – which it probably is – then we already know how to get rid of it.”

“We would lure it into a trap. You know, get us some … bait and then just –“ Dean symbolically dragged a finger across his throat.

You raised your eyebrows in concern. “And how do you think that’s gonna work?”

Admittedly, this hadn’t been your smartest moment, but given the circumstances you were in, you figured you could be forgiven.

Sam dipped his head. “That’s where you come in.”

“You can always say no,” Dean carefully offered. “If you don’t want to do it.”

You lifted your chin in the air. “This thing is the reason two of my best friends are dead,” you said. “I want to pay back the favor.”

Sam nodded. “Alright then.”

“So you guys got a plan?” You asked.

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and Dean sighed, rubbing a hand over his face.

“Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, we do.”

—

It was loud in the cafeteria. It always was. Today, though, you were especially aware of it, because most of the noise was heavily directed towards you.

Or rather, about you, which had just the same effect in your opinion.

You had barely entered the big room and had already felt a few dozen eyes fixated on you. The whispering had started when you got closer to the buffet, and the occasional double-take and looking-fast-away-when-she-is-looking had continued when you had sat down.

Of course, how else should it be, you had been given the rehearsed “My condolences” or “I’m so sorry for your loss”.

Long story short, to you it felt like the day of Roy’s death all over again.

Except this time, they were serving pasta, and not chicken with rice.

It was days like these (which, in your opinion, had been happening far too often over the past few weeks), that made you hate this place even more. It’s not like you had had a reason for that before, the supervisors were nice, so were the helping staff and, of course, Maria.

Maria, who had taken you under her wing from the first day you arrived here. She had acted like a mother towards you, the one you had never had, no matter how hostile you had acted towards her.

Still, as you grew older, the whole thing felt simply more washed out and sickening.

Maybe this really was just a side effect of puberty, as your gynecologist had said.

As you let your gaze travel over the many familiar faces, you couldn’t help but notice that Finn wasn’t under any of them.

Finn, your beloved Finn. You then suddenly remembered the text conversation the two of you had had the other night. Before, well – everything. You still needed to stay true to that.

Silently, you made a note to yourself in your head, to drop by his room straight after lu-

A broad silhouette squeezing into the seat opposite you blocked your view over the hall, and your eyebrows shot up as you realized who it was.

“Uhm, hello?” You asked as Dean folded his hands on the table.

“You told everyone I was dead?” He asked, purposely skimming over your question.

You frowned and opened the small package of parmesan. “Well, aren’t you? About six times?”

Dean frowned and you caught him counting something under his breath with his fingers.

You shook your head, making a point of ignoring him and poured sauce over the dry spaghetti.

“That’s not even my point.”

“What, you’re saying you didn’t barge into the middle of my lunch – after the night I had – to scold me over the inaccuracy of your death rate?” You clicked your tongue. “Surprise.”

Dean apparently didn’t deem it necessary to address your sarcastic tone. That, or he knew just how much he deserved it, which you were fine with, either way.

“Look,” he started, and Jesus, this was going to be serious. “I wanted to talk to you about what happened last night.”

Confused, you tilted your head.

“I mean about the dream,” Dean quickly added. “I mean, we both know what it was about, and I just …” He cut himself off, cleared his throat, and let out a short breath that was probably supposed to be failed attempt at a laugh.

“I’m not a big … talking guy, you know? But I just … I always told myself, if I ever had kids, that I would be different then. That …” He stopped again.

“I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry.”

You scoffed. “You’re a bit late for that,” you spat. “I mean, it’s been what, almost a decade? ‘Sorry’ travels far, but not that many years.”

“I know that,” Dean said, “But I want you to know, that-“

“Well, I don’t want to know!” You interrupted him. Maybe too loud, if the simultaneous turn of heads was anything to go by. “I don’t want you to tell me anything. No excuses, no explanations, I want, and I need absolutely nothing from you, you understand?”

Dean bit the inside of his cheek.

“Believe me, I do.” He said. “But still-“

“No!” The dishes clattered as you slammed your hand on the table. “Dean, you don’t understand! You just left me here, at this orphanage –“

“It’s a group home.”

“Same thing, Dean!” You snapped. “Just a fancier word.”

Dean carefully pulled his hand away from the table, folding it with his other in his lap. You could feel him watching you, but you consequently avoided his gaze.

“Look, I’m not gonna have this conversation right now,” You decided. “I am going to go talk to my best friend, and when I go to sleep, I’ll try not to get killed! So goodbye.”

And with that, you picked up your still full lunch-tray, dumped it on one of the cleaning wagons, and made your way out of the cafeteria.

You never turned around to see Dean looking after you.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

St. George, Louisiana 2012

Dean Winchester was standing by a window. Through the clean glass he had a clear view of green gardens, well-kept flowers and trees leaning in the soft breeze of the wind.

Further away, he spotted the tall hedge walls of something that had to be a garden maze.

“I hope you know just how grateful I am for what you and your brother did for me.”

The voice of Maria Whitlock lifted Dean out of his thoughts, and he turned around to face the older woman.

She spoke in a soothing tone, one that reminded him of a mother he never had, but learned to long for.

Dean nodded. “That’s our job.”

Maria gave him a look and tilted her head. He was standing in her office, a neatly tidied room with a shelf for books and files, and a rather expensive looking desk. Very clean as well.

“What you decided to do was probably very hard,” she continued. “But I can assure you, in most cases, it turns out to be the better option for both parties.”

He didn’t like the way she talked about his plan like it was a good thing, when it wasn’t. It didn’t make him a good person for doing it.

“I’m sure, Dean, that there will be a lovely family out there who will take care of her –“

“No, no, no, that’s not what I meant.” He quickly interrupted her. It was the first time in here he had spoken more than for words. “I don’t … I don’t want someone else to take her in.”

Maria raised her skeptical eyebrows at him. “Do I understand correctly, Dean?” She asked. “You want her to just - stay here?” And her tone was implying exactly what she held of that idea.

“Look, I know how that sounds.”

“I really hope you do.”

“But my job doesn’t allow me to properly take care of her. When Bobby was still - well, she stayed with him, and we visited her from time to time.”

Maria nodded. “I understand. But what you have to understand, is, that this will surely not be easy for her. Whereas many of the elder children indeed do live here, the younger ones are usually adopted by a foster family who can take care of them. Who can love them,” she added.

Dean looked out the window again.

“I understand that,” He said. “But this is how I want it.”

He couldn’t see Maria behind him, as he was turned away from her, but he could well sense the way her observing, maybe judging gaze was burning between his shoulder blades.

“Well, then.” She sighed.

And as Dean watched the flowers dance in the wind, listening to Maria shuffling through her papers, he couldn’t help but think that this might be one of the most selfish decisions he has ever made.

—

Soft wind was tugging at Dean’s hair. Somewhere in the distance he was aware of the rippling water of a small fountain.

Dean tried to not actively think of what he was doing here. Of the consequences his actions would inevitably cause. He knew he wouldn’t be able to bear it.

Y/N’s hand was holding his in a strong grip, as they walked up to Maria and he greeted her.

Maria leaned down to be on eye level with his daughter and smiled at her.

“Hello Y/N, it’s very nice to meet you. Your Dad has told me so much about you! I’m sure you’ll settle in here just nicely.”

Dean crouched down and placed both his arms on Y/N’s for her to look at him. She had been eyeing Maria and the castle suspiciously.

“Look at me, sweetheart,” he started. “Maria is really, really nice. And because Uncle Sam and I have to work so much, she is going to take very good care of you.”

Y/N averted his eyes and stared at her shoes. Then, sh burst forward, slung her small arms around Dean’s neck and buried her face in his chest.

“I wanna go with you,” she mumbled into his jacket. Dean sighed. With a heavy heart, be broke out of the embrace. “I promise I’m old enough, I want to go with you!” She pleaded again. With every word, Dean’s heart shattered just a bit more.

“Look, you remember when you stayed with Grandpa Bobby for a while when me and Uncle Sammy had to work?” She nodded, sniffling.

“This is gonna be just like that. I promise.”

Y/N sniffled again. Then she held out her hand to him. “Pinky promise?”

I promise that we’ll be fine.

I promise that we’d never just leave you alone.

I promise that Grandpa Bobby will be alright.

Dean pulled Y/N into his chest again. He breathed in deep, as if that would somehow help him savor this moment, savor her to be engraved in his brain to never forget. His little girl, the only thing good and pure in his life.

“Have fun, sweetheart,” he said when they broke apart again.

He stood up, and even though he wasn’t that old, everything in his body hurt at the movement.

“But I don’t know anyone here!” Y/N said again. It has been her go-to argument the entire car ride to the castle.

“I want to go with you and Uncle Sam!”

“Y/N!” The sharpness in Dean’s tone felt like it was cutting him. “I said you can’t.”

Her bottom lip started to tremble, before a big tear rolled down her cheek. Then another one, and another one, until she was full-on sobbing.

“Please, Dad!” She cried, and Dean’s heart shattered.

Behind her, Maria put a caring hand on her shoulder.

“Come on, sweetie, say goodbye to your dad.”

Y/N violently shook her hand off her body. “No! No, I don’t want to go with you! I want to stay with my dad!”

Maria and Dean exchanged a look. In her eyes, he recognized something that told him to change his mind.

It took everything in Dean to turn around and walk away.

He fixated his eyes on his car a few feet away from him. He wasn’t walking very fast, but with the weight that felt tied to his feet, it was the best he could do.

Behind him, Y/N kept crying. And as she was pleading and pleading, for him to come back, for him to stay, the feeling of realization started heavily sinking in, that he was really waking away.

Not only from this situation, from his daughters cries, but from her. From his child.

His feet felt even heavier.

When he reached the car door and opened it, he didn’t feel anything. Everything happened in a haze. He vaguely registered starting the car and pressing his foot on the gas pedal.

His daughter’s sobs were still replaying over and over in his mind like the sounds of a broken vinyl, as the naked road flew by the dirty windows.

Sam didn’t address the single tear that rolled down his brother’s cheek. And Dean just kept driving.

༺｡° ୨❀୧ °｡༻

Now

Since forever on, you had never been quite good with your emotions. Portraying them, talking about them, feeling them.

It was an obstacle.

Looking back at it, you figured it was probably somehow running in your family, the whole being emotionally unavailable thing.

Could that be inherited? According to your biology teacher, yes, but you didn’t know how well you believed that.

Nevertheless, as you knocked on the cold door that was the entrance to your - only left – best friend’s room, emotions welled up in your throat as choking as a tidal wave clashing its weight over your head.

It was dark in there. The curtains had been pulled closed and the thick material wouldn’t let a flicker of daylight in the room.

A smell hung over the entire place, of stale air and leftover food, and the sensation of hopelessness. Finn was sitting on the edge of his bed, a dark silhouette staring crooked at his hands in his lap, only illuminated by the weak light of the bedside lamp.

Without properly acknowledging him, you took quick strides to the other side of the room, and without further ado, ripped his curtains open.

The sun was already lowering down the horizon again, but the leftover light was still enough to turn the dark silhouettes in the bedroom into concrete shapes, of dirty plates, glasses, and clothes scattered all over the floor.

From his place on the bed, Finn groaned lowly, like a small bear being awaken from hibernation.

He rubbed a hand over his eyes as you sat down next to him. The bed dipped under your weight and you moved over a few study sheets that laid on his duvet.

“Hey,” you said.

Finn dropped his hands into his lap again and turned his tired gaze on you.

“Hey,” he said back.

“You wanna talk about it?”

Finn’s eyes tiredly scanned the room around him, the mess it was in, and then shook his head.

“Nah.”

“Alright.” You weren’t, really, but that conversation could wait until another time.

“How you holdin’ up?”

Finn tilted his head to you in a way that said ‘Ain’t it obvious?’ and you shrugged in response. “Stupid question, got it.”

Finn sighed.

There was a silence building between the two of you that you didn’t like. You kept yourself from fidgeting impatiently on the sheets.

“I just-“ Finn cut himself off and ruffled his hand through his hair. “Ever since – well, yesterday – I’ve been thinking about …”

He broke off again, blinking with his face towards the ceiling to avoid the falling of tears.

“Y/N, the last thing I said to her, was – we fought.” Finn’s confession was almost a whimper as he looked at you, awaiting your reaction.

Your heart broke at the look in his eyes, so clouded full with guilt and self-loathing, you almost didn’t recognize him.

“Oh, Finn, she loved you.” You sighed, and placed a gentle yet firm hand on his arm. “She knew what you were going through, what we were all going through. And trust me, she never, not for a second, held it against you. That was one moment out of almost ten years we all spent together. It didn’t mean anything, not in the long run.”

Finn sniffed and rubbed his nose, diverting his gaze to his hands again.

“Finn, she didn’t die hating you.” You put emphasis on every word as much as you could, because you wanted him to hear you, to understand, to believe. You didn’t want to let him wallow in his own self-destructing thoughts about something that wasn’t even true, not in the slightest bit.

Finn just hummed, but didn’t meet your eyes, just kept them trained on his lap. You sighed and let your hand slowly slide from his arm.

For a while, it was quiet again.

“My father is here,” you then blurted out.

Finn’s eyebrows shot up. “The one that died?”

“Yeah.” You weighed your head. “In my defense, I thought he died too, until he showed up in a fancy suit, investigating my best friend’s murder.”

The typical phrase of ‘seeing gears turning in someone’s head’ was the only way you would describe what you were seeing displayed on Finn’s face right now, just before the realization hit him.

“Wait, your father’s one of the hot FBI agents?”

You pursed your lips and nodded.

Finn blinked in disbelief.

“Wow,” He breathed out.

“Yup.” You said, popping the ‘p’. “Just got a lot less hot, huh?”

Finn raised his hands in surrender and shook his head. “For my own safety, I’m really not gonna answer that.”

You let out a laugh and playfully shoved him with your shoulder.

“Idiot.”

Finn grinned. “You love me.”

You hummed. “You’re right, I really do.”

A long while later, the door closed behind you again with a click.

Finn had to promise you to get in touch with you if he felt the need to, and to at least try and keep his room in order. After a brief conversation of how his view of himself and his ‘need to call you’ was very different from yours, you had hugged him and decided to leave.

Before you had walked out, your hand had rested on the handle, and you had turned around to Finn, not quite looking him in the eye.

“You know I love you too, right?” You had said. “No matter what happens.”

Finn frowned, but if he got suspicious, he didn’t mention it. “I know. Same here.”

You swallowed and nodded.

Then you left the room.

Now you were standing outside of his door, gaze drifting into the distance, and the same weight that had been lifted off your shoulders replaced by another one, just as heavy.

Funny, how, even if indirectly, saying your Goodbyes, made the lingering presence of death looming over you like a dark shadow much more real. If only one thing went wrong tonight, then-

You shook your head at the thought. No, Sam and Dean were going to take care of it, they promised. You had to put their trust into them with this.

But if tonight really was it, then you were content with the feeling that the last conversation you had, had been with Finnegan Beckett.

The walk back to your room stretched longer than usual.

Sooner than you would like it to, the sun disappeared behind the hills and night reigned over the land.

Sam and Dean were standing in your room, rehearsing their – honestly, pretty vague – plan with you, making sure you knew exactly how everything would go down. To be fair, you didn’t really play a big part in the whole thing, but it was nice having some sort of reassurance.

“Alright, so you know what to do?” Sam questioned once again.

Slowly, you nodded your head. “Lay still and look pretty,” you joked. “And try not to get killed.”

“Leave that last part to us,” said Dean. “You don’t have to worry about anything. By the time you wake up, everything will be over.”

You nodded.

You had seen it in Dean’s eyes, that he wasn’t all in with the idea of using you as bait, but you had done it nevertheless.

You weren’t a little child anymore, especially not his, he wasn’t going to decide what you wanted or not wanted to risk.

You took a deep breath that lifted your shoulders and huffed it back out. You were going to do this. It was easy.

—

Like hell it was.

Whoever told you you had the easiest part of the plan had been fucking lying to you. Turns out, sleeping is way harder with the knowledge of probable death hanging over your head like a dark cloud.

Every time your eyes slipped closed, a glimpse of doubt squeezed its way into your mind. What if Sam and Dean didn’t make it? What if everything went wrong? What if, in the end, you did die?

The sheets were already pooling crumbled by your feet when you slipped out of consciousness.

The mass of hot bodies pressing together and towering over you was clamming. A figure was running away from you, you were chasing after it. You smelt old leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted. You wanted more of it.

Gravel clattered underneath your boots as you got out of the car on your own, like all the big girls would.

“Look, Daddy!” But Daddy wasn’t there.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” There she was again, the nice girl with the black hair. She held out her hand and you went to grab it, her warm presence looming you in, and then the floor opened up under your feet and you were falling into nothingness.

Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest, as you startled awake in your bed, feeling your lungs tighten up and making it hard to breathe.

Your panicked gaze flew to the door of your room – wide open, the light of the hall casting a dim shadow into the room.

“Wha- Sam! Dean!” Hastily, you pulled the covers off your body and hurried out the door. Something must have gone wrong, terribly, terribly wrong.

You followed the sound of footsteps and scuffle down the hallway, turned the lights on where it had gone off at a few junctions.

Your breathing was still shallow, but you pushed through that and your still dazing mind, adrenaline pumping through your veins with every step you took.

Rapidly turning around another corner, you almost stumbled over the long legs of Sam’s body on the floor. You came to an abrupt halt and kneeled worried next to him.

“Sam? Oh my God, are you-“

Sam groaned and moved his head, eyes still pressed shut. “’s strong,” he babbled, and you tried your hardest to understand what he was saying.

By the way he was slurring his words, you had well reason to think he had suffered a concussion.

“It’s alright, stay here,” you ordered him, as he tried to sit up.

Only then, you first noticed the struggling noises a few feet away from you, and lifted your eyes away from Sam to check where they were coming from.

What you saw almost made your heart drop into your stomach.

Not that far away from you, maybe a few armlengths, was Dean, laying on the floor on his back just like his brother. But he was wrestling with something sitting on his chest, something small and hairy, hunchbacked like an old witch but only with the size of a cat.

The thing, which had to be the Alp, had long, bony limbs, and was fighting tooth and nail, hissing, biting and scratching, against Dean.

It reminded you of a gremlin, of sorts.

In your head, you heard Roy’s voice scold you, “There’s a distinct difference between all supernatural creatures. Elves don’t equal fairies, and gremlins don’t equal goblins, because while gremlins are fuzzy and cute in the beginning and only bad later when they turn, goblins have always been known for harassing humans.”

Alright, so no gremlin then.

Near you, Dean was still rolling around on the floor, fighting for the upper hand with the Alp.

Your heart sped up as you realized that something had to be wrong. Because why wasn’t he just killing it?

“So how do you kill it?”

Sam pulled something out of his duffel bag and turned it in his hands, the dim light of your lamp reflecting on the material. “Silver dagger dipped in vampire blood.” He spoke.

“Wait – vampires bleed?”

Dean scoffed. “This isn’t Twilight, kiddo. Yes, vampires bleed.”

You shrugged and inspected the phial he had laid into your hand. “I was thinking more of Fear Street, but alright.”

Dean ignored that he didn’t know what that was, but made a mental note to look it up later.

Sam stuffed the dagger back into his arsenal.

“You don’t have to worry about that part, though,” He assured you. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Dean nodded. “He’s right. You just dream sweet, and we’ll handle the rest. Fool-proof.”

You nodded, passing Dean the blood back. You could only hope they were right.

The shining silver of the dagger caught your eye. It had most likely been scattered away from Dean and landed near a wall, far out of his reach.

You took quick steps over to pick it up, Dean’s struggling grunts making you alert, and probably the reason why you didn’t think about what you did next, you just did it.

The silver dagger felt light in your hands, coated in the dark fluid of what had to be vampire blood. The blade reflected the clinical white light from the hallway as you lifted it up over your head, and, using the strength of both your hands, pushed it with force into the monster’s upper torso.

The squelching sound it made, as it penetrated bristly fur, skin, and organs, would later make you feel repulsed and gagging, sort of like nails scratching on a blackboard, but in this moment, you just clenched the dagger tighter and pushed it further into the monster’s chest.

The screech it let out could not be compared to any animalistic sounds you had ever heard before. In a swift move, you pulled the weapon out of the Alp’s body, and the small creature slumped to the floor right next to Dean.

You waited for a second. Two, three panting breaths. Dean was the first to move. He put a hand somewhere where the thing’s neck should be.

Then, swallowing in-between his hard breaths, he nodded. “Done,” was all he said. But it was enough for a sigh of relief to leave your tired lungs, and you sunk to the ground right next to him.

Looking closer at its lifeless body, the Alp had more similarity with one of those dead, stuffed animals that hunters hung in their houses as trophies. But maybe that was just rigor mortis.

Through your haze, you barely registered Dean clapping a firm hand on your shoulder. You turned your head to look at him, eyes suddenly feeling heavy as the adrenaline was wearing off. Like sucking air out of a balloon.

“You did good today, kid.” He said, and though you were tired, in his eyes you could see that he meant it. It filled your chest with a warmth that hadn’t been at home in there since … God knows when, and it made you smile.

Near you, Sam staggered closer, still holding his hurting ribs, and tilted his head as he squinted his eyes at the lifeless Alp before you.

“Is it just me or does it … look like a cat?”

You and Dean both looked over at him, and then at the dead monster on the floor.

“Looks more like a gremlin-goblin hybrid,” You panted. “A gromblin.”

Sam threw you a look of pure confusion, while Dean was grinning proudly. You smiled back. It felt honest.

And very likely, it was.

-- It was quiet again.

From the fight and struggles a few days ago was no trace left, as you stood by your desk and sorted through some old photographs you had replaced on your wall.

The pictures you were sorting through mostly showed you, Finn, Roy and Cass together.

At school, at the movies, going out to eat.

You sighed and plucked some tape from the back of another one.

Right at that moment, a knock sounded from your door. Without even looking up from Cass and Roy smiling at you, holding a stray cat, you let out a “Come in,” at the person on the other side of the door.

The familiar sound of the hinges creaking signified the opening and closing of the door. And then, Dean Winchester was standing in your room.

“Uhm …” He was rubbing his neck awkwardly, as you looked at him expectantly.

“Hey. What’s up?” You asked, and put the photographs in a drawer.

Dean took a deep breath and looked at you. He wasn’t wearing the same casual clothes as he had been that terrible night, but had settled on his FBI suit again. Maybe for effect.

“Look, I was just-“ Dean fumbled for a second and then took a seat on the small chair that was standing around. “We should talk. This time for real.”

You tilted your head, and avoided looking at him.

Dean didn’t wait for any response, he simply kept talking. Maye rambling.

“I know I already tried, but it wasn’t my best, so I …” He sighed.

“I never explained anything to you. why things went down how they did. Y/N, please look at me.”

You had sat down in your deskchair, pulling your legs to your chest and now did your best to fix your eyes on Dean.

“What we do, the hunting … it’s no way to grow up for a child. I know how that is. And I never, ever, wanted that for you. I already had plans to end things sooner than they did, but then ..” He shook his head. “Didn’t work out. So, when Bobby died, I saw no other chance than to get you somewhere else. And I took that chance to just … remove you from my life, as hard as it was.”

“But I promise you, Y/N, it was all just to keep you safe. I never would’ve done it if there had been another way. And I wanted you to know that.”

Dean stood on his feet again and placed the chair back on its original spot. You looked away as he reached for the door handle, to get out of your life, again.

“So you’re just gonna leave? Again?” Your words were accusing and they were meant to be that way, but still you almost felt bad, as Dean dropped his hand by his side and let out a sigh.

“Like I said, it was for the best. Still is, in my opinion.”

“What, to remove me from your life again?” You jumped out of your chair, fury burning in your eyes and voice growing louder with every word you spoke.

“Y/N, you don’t get it-“

“No, you don’t get it!” You jelled at him. What was burning in your eyes were now more tears than anger, but it didn’t matter.

“For years, I’ve been trying to … to figure out what I did wrong. For years, I’ve been trying to do better, every day, I wanted to be better, because I thought —. I thought that if I had good grades, and if I started working out, and if I was always on my best behavior … I thought that you would come and get me. But somehow you never did. And I just … I don’t understand, I want you to tell me, what did I do wrong, what made you leave, because I swear, I’ll change. I’ll change, and I’ll work on it, just please…” A begging undertone accompanied your tear-choked words. “Don’t leave me here again.”

Wordlessly, Dean quickly crossed the room and put his arms around you. it took you a second to realize what was even happening, before you clung to his suit jacket, digging all your strength into it, as if the fabric was the only think that kept you from drowning in black water.

You felt the shadow of warmth, as Dean turned his head to press a featherlight kiss into your hair.

“I regret having to leave you.” He murmured next to your ear. “But what I do not regret is keeping you safe. Even if that meant leaving you.”

You sniffled, and pulled away from him. Dean’s own face wasn’t full of fresh tear stains, but still you could see the sincerity and something like sadness on his features.

You wiped your cheeks to clean them off the drying liquids.

“I’m older now,” You said, and Dean scoffed, already knowing where this was headed. “No, please, listen to me! I’m older, I can make my own choices, take my own risks. You saw how great I was a few days ago!”

“Yes, but that was one monster!” Dean countered. “Out there, there are hundreds of those things. We don’t get enough sleep, no nice food, not even nice beds! Trust me, Y/N, compared to this-“ he gestured around your room, “what we do has nothing on it.”

You shook your head. “But you’re together when you do it. You and Sam. And I just want that, I want to be with you.”

Dean sighed and took a step back.

“Please, Dean, I’m begging you!” You urged. “You said you never wanted to come back here, but now you had to, I mean – don’t you think that’s some sort of … sign or something?”

“I don’t believe in signs.”

“Well, screw signs, I’m here!” You pointed to yourself. Your voice was desperate, but so were you.

“I am here, and I want you to take me with you.” And in a whisper, you repeated, “Please, Dean, this time – let me come with you.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Dean heavily sighed and pulled the chair closer to him to sit down.

The church bells were tolling a loud, fast tune. It was ironic, you thought, and you didn’t know if you should cry or laugh about it.

You watched as two dark caskets were lowered down into the earth, into two separate 6-feet deep holes right next to each other.

The gravestones had not yet been prepared, but you didn’t exactly need those anyway. If the huge pictures were any indicator on who was getting buried here.

This was your last time saying Goodbye. To Cass and to Roy, and, unfortunately, to the last one remaining.

Funerals weren’t for the dead, you had once read somewhere, they were for the living, for those seeking closure in their desperate times of grief.

You had thought it to be bullshit, what difference would a burial make in a journey of overcoming the loss of someone so important?

But, as you threw a full hand of dark earth onto each of the dark caskets, you somehow understood. It was one weight less.

They were still here, some part of them. Something you could always come back to, they hadn’t just vanished off the back off the earth. That thought was, indeed, comforting.

Damn life lessons that are right.

“Hey,” you suddenly heard a voice next to you, and were a bit surprised to see Finn standing there.

You had been too lost in your own thoughts to even notice him approaching. The lack of sleep probably didn’t help your attention skills much, either.

“Hey,” you answered.

“Look, I need to tell you something,” you started, just at the same time as Finn said, “I know what you wanna say.”

Both of you let out quiet laughs.

“You first,” He said.

You took a deep breath and avoided looking at him, scanning the gravestones before you as if you had known everyone buried under them personally.

“Sam and Dean,” you started, “I mean, they’ve been here for a while and honestly, I never even thought I’d see them again. So I never really thought about what would happen if they would just – show up, you know?”

Interesting, Peter Gravill only lived to be 57 years old.

“But now they’re here, and I just-“

“I get it.” Finn suddenly interrupted you. Your head whirled around so fast you were afraid you were gonna get whiplash.

At your confused look, he added, “I mean, if my parents suddenly showed up on my doorstep and gave me the option of going with them –“ he shrugged his shoulders. “-I would most definitely take it.”

Before you could even think about it, you already lunged forwards and wrapped your arms around his body, burying your face in his neck and holding him tightly.

The hot feeling of tears burned behind your eyes, but you managed to put them away. You pulled Finn even closer.

“Everything’s gonna be alright, kid.”

“You’re still younger than me.”

“I don’t care. I love you.”

“I love you too, Y/N.”

The hug lasted endless, but endless went by way too quickly. You fixed Finn’s suit jacket, apologized for the tear- and make-up stains you had gotten on the expensive material, and waved him a last Goodbye.

Down by the parking lot, a black car was already waiting for you, two adult men leaning against it. They had been watching the entire thing go down from a safe distance, not wanting to interfere in either the funeral, or the emotional Goodbyes.

Sam tried not to think about what laid ahead of them, or behind them, as his niece walked towards them, away from the graves of her best friends, and leaving the only one that was still alive, behind.

His niece. How long hadn’t he said that title, let alone thought it.

He liked the familiarity of it. The rightness.

Dean opened a creaking car door for you, as you reached them.

“You ready?” He asked.

Sam could see your shoulders tighten, as you lifted your chin, and looked his brother straight in the eye.

“Yeah.”

Dean nodded, and you got in the backseat. He slammed the car door closed behind you. With one last look at his younger brother, Dean rounded Baby and took his place as the driver, Sam claiming shotgun.

Behind them, you leaned your head against the window as the engine roared and you drove off.

The car smelt like leather and gunpowder. It made you feel comforted.

And in the backseat of an old 1967 Chevy Impala, listening to the music that was a mix of Metallica, Kansas and Billy Joel, you slept the best night’s sleep you had had in weeks.

taglist:

@psycho-magnotheric-slime , @openmindedperson2200 , @emily-roberts

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liyawritesss · 10 months

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ᴀꜱ ᴡᴇ ᴅᴀɴᴄᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇ, ᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴀɴᴅ ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴜᴘ ᴏɴ ᴍᴇ

Characters: Spider-Verse!Earth-42!Miles Morales [The Prowler] x Black!Fem!Reader

Type: Fic

Word Count: 1.7k

Synopsis: Sometimes Miles just wants to sway with you in the middle of his bedroom while R&B music plays in the background.

Warnings: Cursing, 15+ Miles here, keep it cute this is lil cuz we talkin’ bout here!!!

A/N: My first (and possibly only) attempt at 42!Miles Morales. Idk, thought it would be something cute…might make a 1610!Miles Morales counterpart lol.

Song Suggestions: “Close” by Ella Mai, “Lotus Flower Bomb” by Wale ft. Miguel, “Love Don’t Change” by Jeremih

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @pantherheart @marsfunzon22 @movie-enthusiast22 @famedrs-blog @briology @honeybleed

“Do you think this fits okay?”

His lights are set to the lavender color setting on his LED lights that line the top ceiling corners of his room, though the lamp on his desk also provides warm white light to contrast against it. Miles looks up from his phone conversation with his uncle to glance at your figure standing in front of the mirror attached to the back of his door as your gaze analyzes the new pair of leggings adorning your legs.

“They look perfect, bella.” Miles responds, the amused lilt in his voice nearly blowing over your head when you hear him speak. Though, to Miles, anything you wear is perfect in his eyes. Your lips jut out in a pout as you continue to examine your bottom half dressed in the black leggings, debating on if you’d gotten the right size to accentuate your curves the way you want them to.

The leggings were just one of many items that laid in various shopping bags that littered Miles’ floor, currently. From LuLuLemon to Victoria’s Secret to Fashion Nova, Miles can certainly say that he’s made up for his impromptu disappearance before your date night the night prior.

He didn’t mean for last night to happen, truly. He knew you really wanted to see that movie. It was the last night it was playing in theaters, too, and you were so excited when you managed to find tickets to the last showing, and proposed the date idea to him. Miles admits that he was interested in the proposition, not just because you had proposed it, but because the mere mention of it got you so worked up that he truly believed it to be worth it.

So, to make up for not only bailing on the date, but also going ghost for much the prior night as well, he picked you up for an impromptu day at the mall. It wasn’t an easy feat, Miles admits, convincing you to allow him to make it up to you in this way. He felt guilty for inadvertently crushing your hopes, and you’d felt even more guilty about taking the new date offer that required him to spend his money.

“I’m tryna make it up to you.” He’d said

“Miles, I said it was fine-” you’d said.

“-but it’s not, though.” He’d interjected.

“You had…stuff to do,” you’d whispered to him, “I can’t expect you to drop everything at my beck and call, and I know what I signed up for when we started dating.”

If someone told Miles that four months ago he’d start dating the pretty girl who always slept through their shared mathematics class, he’d surely look at you as if you’d just grown a second head. He still doesn’t know what attracted him to you in the first place - how pretty you looked asleep at your desk, or the fact that even though you’d be knocked out the second you took your seat, if the teacher happened to call on you for a question, you managed to answer it correctly every time.

You’d quickly became his first and, as it stands, only friend at Visions Academy. Soon enough, you’d also became aware of his double persona, though if Miles had it his way, he would have kept you in the dark for as long as possible. It wasn’t easy, juggling the duality of the life he lived. The less people close to him, the easier the job was. Well, unless the person was you.

You were like a piece of gum stuck under a desk - an ever looming presence, never disappearing; but like the candy before being discarded, you were also sweet, refreshing, comforting. Miles wanted to make this work for the both of you. He’d grown too fond of you to let you slip out of his life like sand from the beach.

“So that mean you just accept whatever you get?” Miles asks, eyebrows raised again. “Nah, we don’t do that around here.”

Unfortunately, there was no fighting against Miles when he had his mind made up.

So you entertained his proposition, though not without a fight. You made sure that the boy bought some things for himself as well, and even managed to sneak in a few items for his mother (which, in all honesty, he didn’t need much convincing for - it was his mother, after all). So, granted, not all of the bags on the floor were yours, so it made you feel a bit better about Miles splurging on you as an apology.

He watches as you shift through a tiny black and pink bag with the V.S. initials printed in cursive on the side, fishing out a bottle of soft purple body mist that Miles would recognize anywhere. He’d recognize it because it was his favorite scent that you frequently bought from the clothing chain. He could never tire of the lavender and jasmine that calmed his mind and relaxed his body whenever you were around, or put him to sleep whenever the two of you cuddled together.

The familiar spritz spritz sound echoes throughout his room, fading into the old school R&B that currently plays in the living room area where his mom is having company over. The mist settles into the cloth of your sweatshirt - his sweatshirt, actually - and into your skin, before he watches your feet carry you closer to him.

“Don’t tell me you sprayed that just to come and hug me?” He says, though his body straightens at the edge of the bed, phone becoming a distant memory as he tucks it into his hoodie pocket.

You shrug, a playful smile spreads to your lips as you step between his legs, hands coming to cup his cheeks, “shut up, you know you like it.”

He didn’t have to admit that he loved it - a lazy hand coming to rest at the back of your knee was enough proof of it.

“Why you tryna be like me,” the brown skin boy hums, sucking his teeth and deflecting the conversation from the truthful statement, “always stealin’ my clothes ‘nd shit.”

“Same reason why half of my scrunchie jar is gone,” you tease back, “I gave you one, Miles, and now I’m missing, like, ten of ‘em.”

“I’on know what you talkin’ ‘bout.”

“Of course you don’t.”

At some point, the same hand that rested behind your knee crept up to your waist as his head pressed into your stomach, the smell of your perfume drawing him closer. It lulled him into a state of security; however, it was swiftly ruined when he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He’s sure that it’s Aaron.

He takes the phone out and it opens up to his text messages almost immediately when his face comes into view. The ominous intent behind the words ‘hold on’ in blue bubbles makes his stomach tighten.

You feel it, too. The shift in his demeanor can be felt when you stand this close to him. “Was it Aaron?”

His phone becomes discarded on the bed while his other arm raises up, and both wrap around your frame while he buries his head into your stomach inhaling the perfume etched into the fabric there. “Yeah.”

One hand goes to rub soothing circles on his clothed back, the other caresses the nape of his neck, holding him close, for the reality of it all was that he could have to leave at any moment.

The slightly muffled music from the living room shifts to another song and it sparks a lightbulb in your head.

Your hands go to gently pry Miles’ hands from your body. He raises his head in question, before being tugged to his feet by you as well. You reposition his arms around your waist, and yours find their place around his neck, and after a few seconds, it clicks for him.

“You’re so corny.” He voices, muffled by the position his face takes in the crevice of your neck, nose tickled by the goddess braids that rested against your shoulders.

“Shut up,” you lightly scold, “just sway with me, idiot.”

The richness of the singer’s voice gives Miles’ body more than enough incentive to lean from side to side in a slow motion, taking you in his arms with him as he does so. You fully expect for him to pull away or grumble at the proposition, yet, you’re not completely surprised when he simply gives in to your direction. Perhaps he desires the same closeness you do in this moment, you think.

Miles feels himself smiling when the touch of your hand graces his cheek, thumb swiping comforting strokes along his skin. He hums at the touch, his grip tightening in the slightest around your waist. Is he too young to wish for this all the time?

His phone buzzes in his pocket again, his brown hand fishes for the device and glances down at the text message once more. The pit in his stomach fades away when he reads the words ‘no need. good 4 2nite’ from his uncle in blue. Miles lets out a short breath, pockets his phone, and sinks back into your touch.

He’s thankful that there seems to be no need for the Prowler on the streets tonight. Perhaps he can rest in peace.

Miles’ taken from his thoughts when he feels your lips graze across his cheek. “Everything good?”

He feels a smile spread across his lips. “Yeah, we good,” he hums, returning the affection.

Neither of you even notice that another person has entered the room, until the sound of someone clearing their throat echoes throughout the walls. Miles looks up from your shoulder to see his mother standing in the doorway, a content yet melancholic look on her face.

“If you kids want something to eat, there’s leftovers from me and the girls, bien?”

The hand that was once on his cheek now hides your face from his mother’s prying, knowing eyes, and it emits a chuckle from the older woman.

“Bueno, mami, we’ll get some later.” Miles replies before Rio leaves, making sure to leave the door ajar just the slightest.

Though, neither of you are ready to part, even at the prospect of food. So Miles returns to the warmth of your neck, your hand returning to caress the side of his face as he molds himself back into you, and the two of you continue to sway to the music, content in your own little world.

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request!

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prezaki · 23 days

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Bucchigiri?! and 'being Honki' - a Show about Identity and Human Connection

With Hiroko Utsumi's newest work as a director now completed, I want to take a moment to discuss the thematic through-lines of Bucchigiri?! and explain why I think that the story was very coherent even if it first seemed erratic.

At the heart of the series is the concept of the Honki Person(TM) - and that's where the confusion starts. Leaving the word 'Honki' in Japanese for the subs suggests a lore-heavy emphasis on some kind of supernatural mechanic in-story. It caused many viewers expected a well-defined shounen-typical power system - but that isn't what Honki is nor what it was ever meant to be.

"Honki" is the Japanese word 本気, which means Seriousness, Earnestness (or doing something 'in earnest, for real' if used as an adverb). 'Honki People' literally just means 'Earnest People'

And thus "Honki" is doing double duty as a red herring Lore Concept and a regular word - an intentional ambiguity that is inevitably lost by translation.

In the show, the characters do initially think of the 'Honki Person' as a literal thing to become (a supernaturally powerful master martial artist) rather than as a state of being in which one is earnest - but the thing is that the narrative proves them wrong.

But before we get to that, we need to dig a little bit deeper into what a Honki Person is thought to be in-universe:

"Historically", those thought of as Honki were fighters who participated in conflicts 300 years ago - a bit after the end of the Sengoku Period, the continuously warring states that had defined Japan for two centuries. With the advent of the rigidly structured Edo Period, honorable fighters with no clear systemic alliance were no longer needed and the aspiring Honki People(TM) were mercilessly gunned down. This feels out of left field for an anime like Bucchigiri?! to focus on, so I propose a second more allegorical layer to impose over the literal pseudo-historical read.

Even beyond the historical fact that gun imports changed warfare, the usage of guns here is deliberate to represent something. Guns are associated with authorities, and contrasted against the Honki People(TM) shunning weapons and fighting only with their own bodies.

To be Honki(TM) means to be true to yourself and secure in your own identity - this is something that is a hindrance to a social system that relies on rules and groupthink to sustain itself. Supporting this assumption, the theme of 'death' by weapon/authority is mirrored in the show several times:

On the one hand, we have the NG Boys, a gang set apart from the other gangs in the story by their even more rigid hierarchical structure and their willingness to use weaponry. They all follow one leader, have one uniform look, and appear basically brainwashed into blind obedience.

The association of weapons=structure and authority is made pretty clearly through that alone, but is also enhanced by all the members of the NG Boys living under constant threat of being fed to the real authorities of society: the police. Fear keeps everyone in line.

And further, the idea of society as an oppressive force (especially to the lower class) is put into direct focus through Mitsukuni and Matakara. Poverty is brought up briefly before through Senya (our main Honki Person(TM) was a nameless orphan after all) and brought back with the Asamine brothers:

Mitsukuni wishes to escape his social status in order to offer a better life to his brother - and he's forcibly held down by the oppressive system around him.

The cop that causes Mitsukuni to go to jail is equivalent to the guns that shot Senya and Ichiya.

(Utsumi has explored this underlying socially critical current before. Not for nothing, her previous series SK8 opens with the memorable bridge of the title song reading: "before society can kill us".)

But Bucchigiri?! isn't about overthrowing the system. It's about the individual. Understanding the context about authority just helps setting the real theme into focus.

And that theme is to hold on steadfast to who you are and allow yourself to connect with others, even in various kinds of adversity.

After this long, long preamble, let's get to the actual main characters!!

Matakara and Arajin are people who are ruled by fear and who spend 11 episodes running from others and themselves in two very different ways.

Arajin is pretty hated as a protagonist, which amuses me a little, because nobody hates Arajin more than Arajin hates Arajin.

His past cowardice in failing to protect Matakara has clearly shown him that he is a pathetic person and he's spent his whole life since then trying to avoid being reminded of this. He avoids Matakara, the strongest reminder of his failure, but further than that he avoids connection with anybody that he could see as a peer.

Arajin is solely focused on finding love and romance because he feels inherently inferior to every person he would be invited to contrast himself against. He avoids other guys because he hates himself. He shuns connection and pursues only people (girls) he views as different enough to not invite any comparison.

Matakara meanwhile has major abandonment issues - he's lost his parents, Arajin, and his brother. Everyone important to him keeps vanishing from his life and in order to keep himself from feeling powerless about this he decides to blame himself.

If it's his own fault that people leave him (because he's weak) then there is something in his power that he can do in order to avoid being hurt again (becoming stronger). In order to maintain this state of motivational self-hatred, he puts others on a pedestal.

Matakara needs Arajin to be strong, powerful, honest and admirable... because that is the image he holds himself up by. In Mitsukuni and Arajin, Matakara creates god-like icons to chase after. And by doing so, he also shuns genuine connection.

Being confronted with Arajin as a flawed person gives Matakara a breakdown because it makes it harder to run from his own loneliness by focusing on chasing after Arajin.

Arajin is always running, but Matakara is always chasing... because he can't stand to look behind and face his monster.

In a lot of ways, Arajin and Matakara can't connect because they care about each other. Arajin can't stand what he allowed to happen to Matakara because he cared about Matakara. Matakara clings to Arajin because he loves him.

This theme of love hindering connection is again mirrored in two other characters - Senya and Ichiya, of course.

Ichiya, unwilling to confront his own terminal illness head-on, wishes to avoid it by goading Senya into killing him. By doing this, he can run from his own weakness and put Senya on a pedestal instead.

Meanwhile Senya is attached to their connection as-is and wishes to maintain this master-disciple dynamic forever - going so far as to deny his own strength in order to avoid acknowledging their changing dynamic.

Both of them are denying something about themselves.

It is their self-denial that makes their communication and thus connection break down.

Ichiya can't make Senya go Honki(TM) (which should have definitely been translated as an adverb here, e.g. 'failing to make him get serious') because he is also not HONEST with him or himself.

In the finale, Senya finally admits his motivations (his illness, his perceived weakness) and he is rewarded with the honest fight he'd been craving. They both stopped running.

This theme becomes even clearer through the two leads, of course, but even earlier than that it exists in Mahoro.

Mahoro's scene in episode 6 is the thematic linchpin that carried the whole show on its shoulders. Through Mahoro, everyone in the cast gets their first glimpse at true unrelenting Honki(tm) - and it is something totally unrelated to fighting prowess.

Mahoro is physically powerless against Akutaro, but she won't run. She has a heart that won't run away, the key quality of the Honki Person(TM), because she has an unshakable sense of self-identity.

It would be easy to dismiss her cutesy design as a contrivance to give Arajin a conventional-looking love interest despite going to Delinquent Academy - but it also says something about HER. Mahoro marches to the beat of her own drum. She does not care that she does not fit in, she does not mind being alone - she'll stick right to her own aesthetic and priorities.

So it's easy for her to call out Akutaro - and in doing so, call out the whole cast along with him:

You're empty. You are nothing but a shell, shaped by how you relate to those around you. You have nothing to offer.

And how are you supposed to connect with anybody, when you don't even know who you are?

(Notably, Mahoro is also a character who refuses to compromise on her self even for love - she knows she does not appeal to Marito, but she's not changing herself to be more his type. Her Honki does not budge, even for him.)

And lest you think I am exaggerating by connecting the theme of identity and emptiness back to all of the cast instead of just Akutaro: it does come back with Matakara.

Matakara can't believe anybody would know him and care for him, because he doesn't know himself.

For Matakara, facing himself means acknowledging his fear of abandonment rather than externalizing it as a hallucination of a literal monster.

But facing yourself doesn't just mean facing your demons, it also means facing your own positive qualities. And that is Arajin's story.

Even as Arajin turned into a scummy, evasive and selfish guy, there is a part of him that has a throughline to who he always was. He's someone who can get invested in others with reckless abandon.

Whether as a child with Matakara, or in the present with Mahoro... Arajin wants to connect.

Bucchigiri?! is a show full of innuendo and sexual gags. Merging with a genie gets equated to sex, fighting gets equated to sex... and of course this is for laughs, but it's also thematic.

Because all these things are about connection. About facing someone else with your whole self.

On a literal level, yes, Arajin absolutely wants to get laid. This is his sincere desire, and good for him.

But at the same time, his battle cry of 'I want to lose my virginity!' is him crying out for a real connection, even at a time when he shunned the idea thereof.

In the end, being a Honki Person(TM) has nothing to do with fighting. Fighting is the way a lot of the rough and tumble guys on the show like to connect, but it is not the only way to do so and not the only way to be Honki(TM).

Arajin never learns to love brawling - he did it out of circumstance and necessity, but it's not his hobby. He does not need to discover some hidden love of fighting, because this show fundamentally isn't about how 'fighting is inherently good' or anything.

It's a show about how even when you hate yourself and think you're as low as it can get, acknowledging your own self in full is the first step to finding a real bond with somebody else.

It just also happens to feature a bunch of delinquents who love to punch a lot.

#bucchigiri #bucchigiri?!#arajin tomoshibi #matakara asamine #mahoro jin #ported from my twitter thread bc i am proud of this

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mikhailwrites · 6 months

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MWIII Campaign thoughts&opinion

⚠️SPOILERS AHEAD (OBVIOUSLY)⚠️

Alright, here we go. Modern Warfare III. Disclaimer: I've been part-timing as videogame journalist (not in EN, obviously) for the past 10 years so this might read a bit like a review which this is not.

It's been a year since we watched the 141 sit in the bar in Chicago and look at the photo of one Vladimir Makarov. And the day of reckoning is finally here, at least for those of us with eaely access to the campaign.

The game opens, surprisingly, from the Konni perspective. As one of Konni soldiers, you infiltrate the prison to free your boss. First look at Makarov is menacing and leaves an impression.

Speaking of Makarov, however, I can't but feel like the writers had dropped the ball. It's obvious they were trying to go for the unhinged psychopath vibe but honestly, so many Makarov's lines borders on ridiculous, oftentimes crossing the line entirely. At times, I felt like I'm watching an old 007 villain and I don't mean it in the good way.

Most glaring example was in the Flashpoint mission. As Price and Soap capture Makarov after bombing the stadium in Verdansk, the terrorist then taunts and mocks them, revealing to know their names and threatening them with a revenge. The dialogue is, frankly, on a bad side and Makarov in that scene sounded to me more like a spoiled, rich teenager than much feared leader of a private army with ambition to start another World War.

It also contrasted wildly with the continuation of the scene where we see Soap almost lose it, tackling Makarov and pressing a gun to his head while Price tries to dissuade him from killing the criminal on the spot. That bit was well executed and I really liked it.

What I also liked was the Passenger mission and the very unique perspective we got as players, feeling the helplessness of the victim as it's forced to play role of a terrorist, solely based on their ethnicity. The "You're not a terrorist, but you look like one," line felt very powerful, especially in the context of current affairs.

The whole campaign felt very rushed and, in my opinion, the total commitment to the "race against the clock" hurt the narration a lot. There is not a moment of respite and every piece of the puzzle is delivered in a manner so hurried, I sometimes had trouble following it.

Especially in the Danger Close mission as we, similarly to MWII, operate Shadow Company gunship to provide air support, and out of nowhere, we get a shout that there's a helo nearby and Makarov's in it.

We then proceed to shoot the helicopter down and Makarov is seemingly KIA. Well, he's obviously not but the whole scene is delivered in such a luckluster manner that I was wondering if I perhaps missed some cutscene or debrief (I didn't) and was asking myself if the developers are even serious.

The overall pacing is off, especially compared to MWII and this leads to the lack of impact and emotional response.

Which brings us to the more sensitive part of this post. Being a Ghost/Soap shipper, I was happy to see the two interact and to pick up the rapport established in the previous game. Like many others, I, too, would appreciate more time with them, but I would appreciate more missions and longer campaign rather than cut other characters' screen time.

When they are on the screen, banter is usually quick to follow. Soap and Ghost interact easily with each other, hinting at a natural progress of their relationship. The Milena interrogation is especially great in this regard.

And then there's that ending. Honestly, I knew someone would die. I think it was pretty much given. Still, I had my bets on Ghost, thinking that Soap was way too fresh and had his whole career ahead of him to be sacrificed. Well, I was wrong.

In the confines of the story, it makes sense it's him. There is major foreshadowing happening in the Verdansk mission and when Soap ends up going with Price at the end, well, it was clear. Soap almost killed Makarov years prior, Price stopped him, and now Makarov comes and kills Soap right in front of Price. The choices and consequences. It makes sense.

But.

But it serves no purpose. It's literally the last mission, so what could've served as the major catalyst for the big finale - rest of 141 coming for Makarov for some good old revenge - just ends up rather sour. Especially since Johnny, during his last struggle, as he saves Price's life, doesn't even manage to kill Makarov, only injuring him, albeit badly.

It gets worse when you realise that during both games, Soap didn't get any justice at all. In MWII, he seemingly kills Graves, taking a revenge for the betrayal and the Alone mission. Only for Graves to casually reappear later, stating he wasn't in the tank that the game clearly stated he was in.

And now he loses his life without taking Makarov with him. It's... beyond sad for the character to get treated this badly by the narration.

The team's response to his death is a bit mild as well. It starts well, with Ghost scrambling to him as soon as he spots him, feeling for vitals even though it has to be clear to him that he's gone, that felt gutwrenching. But after that? It's... lacking some stronger emotional response. They say their farewells to Johnny, a single sentence each (and, my god, did they truly think the "he was the best of us" clichè would work on any level whatsoever?), scattering his ashes, and that, too, as great as the animation was, just... felt a bit hollow and artificial.

There are ways to kill a beloved character to make it feel truly heartbreaking and meaningful. The scriptwriters here should've taken notes from Destiny 2's Forsaken DLC for example. They could've used Soap's death in a myriad of ways, including making player to choose between, say, saving Soap and letting Makarov escape. Or between saving Soap and defusing the bomb. Or just about dozen other narrative choices that would make Soap's death more meaningful and would have much bigger impact on the player.

As it is, I cannot help but say my own farewell words: Johnny died, but what for?

#call of duty #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost x soap #ghostsoap #soapghost #ghoap #modern warfare iii #cod mw3 #mw3 spoilers

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 10 months

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book 7 part 4 thoughts!!

***THIS POST CONTAINS MASSIVE SPOILERS FOR BOOK 7, PART 4 OF THE MAIN STORY!!***

Usually I would put this in bullet points, but I have so many thoughts that I have to format it as paragraphs. (If you’d like to watch a rough part-by-part summarized translation, please check out this archived stream!)

Please note: this is NOT meant to be a summary or a translation; these are only my initial thoughts on the events that unfold. There may be details overlooked or misunderstood in this post, so PLEASE do not use this as a translation.

LILIA'S SO DIFFERENT 🤡 His voice is deeper, and he speaks more gruffly. He definitely comes off as more combative and having disdain for humans. HE'S POPPING OFF ABOUT HOW BAD SILVER/SEBEK/GRIM ARE AT MAGIC??? Damn, what happened in the following years to make him change????

The contrast between current Lilia telling Silver "there's nothing left for me to teach you" and past Lilia being like, "there's nothing for me to teach you, are you trying to make fun of me?"

The human faction they're fighting at the moment are the Silver Owls!! There are also people who dress in iron (a metal which harms fae in irl mythology), I'm not sure if they are synonymous with the Silver Owls or not.

IHBFIOASBFIAADSI LORD, THE FAE SOLDIERS ARE ALL MIDDLE SCHOOL NEKO GIRLS HISSING AT US

AYO, SEBEK GRANDPA REVEAL????? ??? ? ? ????? BAL/BAAL/BAUL REAL, I CAN SEE WHERE SEBEK GETS HIS LOOKS AND HIS PERSONALITY FROM

Silver's asking to team up with Lilia and his group (Lilia was about to just leave them there because he's concerned with the Silver Owls setting up camp at the base of the mountain)? Bruh, book 1 we're calming down an angry classmate and book 7 is like, HEY KIDS LET'S TAKE A FIELD TRIP INTO AN ACTIVE WAR ZONE.

Silver's hoping to shock him awake via a fight, here comes a Sebek and Silver tag team battle!! RIP Lilia beats them up a little :v (Sebek. Don't fanboy over his strength, WE ARE FIGHTING FOR OUR LIVES HERE)

Oop, they disorient him with light and Lilia's mask off!! It's treated like a big reveal????? Sorry, but how does Yuu not notice this is Lilia automatically 😅

Lilia voice) you are not my son (and here you can hear Silver's heart breaking/j)

Oh boy, we get to be prisoners of war/j

NOT LILIA ASKING SILVER AND SEBEK HOW THEY KNOW HOW TO FIGHT SO WELL WHEN IT WAS LILIA WHO TRAINED THEM TO BEGIN WITH

"Fae don't go back on their word" AH SO THEY LIKE TO KEEP PROMISES EH

"May the night bless you" seems to be some kind of salute for nocturnal fae?

LOL Lilia's against being called a father OTL THE IRONY HERE IS SO STRONG

Not Sebek's grandpa telling them off for not showing Lilia respect and saying how great he is... Fanboy genes run in the family/j

DOES YUU STILL THINK THIS IS A PERIOD DRAMA OR SOMETHING

BAAL IS CALLING SEBEK A HUMAN KEK

BAL/BAAL/BAUL REAL DROPS THE CROC MASK???? ?? ?? ?? ? He's got SCALES instead of facial hair???? ???? ? ? Oh man, he reminds me so much of Seteth FE3H OTL The scales are a signature trait of the Zigvolt line! Sebek says his mom has the same scales.

NO NOT SEBEK HAVING TO CONFESS THAT HIS DAD BEING HUMAN, IS THIS THE START OF HIS CHARACTER ARC

LILIA TOLD BAAL TO BABYSIT US...

AW Sebek's so excited about seeing his grandpa in his prime... I'm happy seeing Sebek happy OTL

Lilia's dreaming about the past... I wonder if it's because he was thinking about his life and what he has achieved before leaving his loved ones with his legacy...

Lilia first got the invite to NRC 500 years ago??? So NRC has been around much longer than we expected.

Ahhhh, crap 🤡 The return of book 6 limited battles but now with a battle map. There is a new mechanic where HP carries over from each battle; if a card's HP gets knocked to 0, you cannot use them. (5 cards be restored at random if you get to a heart space on the battle map.)

SEBEK'S ACTING AS OUR OLD FAE SPEECH TRANSLATOR (He's throwing his own angry commentary in, which is hilarious)

The humans arrived on a boat ~100 years ago. Now they have a settlement in the east and are mining around Briar Valley + taking the fae's natural resources. (I think this is why Mystium, that shape-shifting magic green ore that Lilia's weapon is made of, is no longer as plentiful; it was likely mined into obscurity.)

Magical creatures are now coming down from the mountain and causing trouble in Briar villages; the fairies cannot handle all of this. Damn, this is just the plot to the first Shrek movie 😂 They're invading Shrek's swamp--

Oh, interesting! So there are different kinds of fae language (depending on the type of fae they are; think of the diurnal fae from Fairy Gala speaking in bell tinkles), but they infuse their voices with magic so they can understand one another. In modern Briar Valley, there is a common tongue. Omg, Sebek speaks it with his mom and grandma! BILINGUAL KING, HE'S SO PROUD OF HIMSELF... Silver tried to learn from Lilia, but he struggled with it; Sebek's dad had the same issue so the problem must be that human ears cannot pick up on the same range of sounds as fae ears can. This is true of real life as well; different creatures have different auditory thresholds and auditory detection ranges.

Bruh, not Lilia sending out literal children to fight for him on the battlefield...

Eh, new character named??? Some human soldiers are talking about Henrich?? Henrik??? Henric??? He's a commander of the Silver Owls who is conceited and dumps his work onto his subordinates. Errrr he apparently also has a little sister named Leia? Lea??? Leah???? Who is rumored to be in a relationship with someone called the Dawn Knight.

More interesting lore????? Kind of???? Some pixies (small fae) come and warn Lilia about something up ahead, then heal them too. This is notable since in Fairy Gala: What If, we learn that diurnal fae (which I believe pixies are) and nocturnal fae (which Lilia and Sebek appear to be) do not like each other. It seems they got along well enough in the past to confront a common enemy?

They reach a Silver Owl camp!! ... Aaand Lilia tells his soldiers to boot them out so they can take over the camp. I mean, it IS technically the fae's land to begin with, so. Uhhhh, yeah I think I'm with Lilia on this one 💦

I don't think iron affects fae negatively in Twisted Wonderland?? Lilia and co. are having no trouble fighting them even when the humans are clad in iron armor.

HMMMM they've named dropped a formidable person on the human side called the Dawn Knight (Lilia mentions them once, then the human soldiers do). The Dawn Knight is the captain of the Silver Owls and even Lilia considers them a strong opponent. Methinks they'll become a key player later...

OH NOOOO 😭 Sebek’s like, “let’s change this fate!!” but since it’s just a dream, reality won’t be altered at all… Then Sebek suggests just. Staying in the dream???? Which makes darkness spawn… The light from Silver’s ring thing (the trinket he got from Lilia as a sign that he is now a full fledged adult) protects them???

Silver fears the dream will tempt him to stay too 😭 He asks Yuu to snap him “awake” if it ever comes to that… Silver, sweet boy… OTL

NOT SILVER AND SEBEK JUMPING IN TO STOP LILIA FROM COOKING FOR THEM (Come to think of it, how have Lilia's soldiers survive this far with him cooking for them???? ?? ??? ?? ?? )

LILIA THINKING THEY'RE GOING TO POISON THEM, THAT'S SO JAMIL ENERGY

Omg... They're acknowledging their Master Chef training (this is the only time they've referenced events in the main story, if I recall correctly)... Silver even prepares a risotto for them all~ (His own favorite food is mushroom risotto, so I like to think of it as he's sharing a piece of himself with the fae.)

asldiuhaodasidba Lilia complaining about the tiny portions in fine dining...

SEBEK PREPARING A ROAST CHICKEN FOR THEM, they're going all out for this one meal??? ? ? ??? ? ?? Poor Sebek though 😭Baal refuses to eat anything Sebek made, he'd rather starve or eat rations than a human's cooking...

AW BAAL BOUGHT SEBEK BOOKS????? And encouraged his love for reading... 😭

Grim taking Baal's portion of food... (Of course... Did we really have any doubts about that?) Sebek really did get his attitude from Baal... Now Baal's going, "Gimme my food back!" after Grim started digging into it... And then Baal has three entire helpings of risotto... THEY HAVE THE SAME INTIMIDATING-YET-ALSO-PATHETIC VIBES

AYO SILHOUETTE FOR MALLEUS'S MOM????? Her name is (Princess) Mallenoa, the only daughter of Maleficia (Malleus's grandma). She lives at a separate palace and commands the military. Lilia also describes her as being extremely powerful, fickle, stubborn, selfish, and easy to anger. He's just tossing out allllllll the adjectives ahdbayodqdq

Ah, so it sounds like humans greatly outnumber the fae??? So they're at a disadvantage. Normally a royal would handle diplomatic stuff like this but for some reason Lilia is being sent? They're traveling on foot to deliver a message to the human encampment to the east; the last messenger (that travelled there via magic?) did not return. Ominous...

Fae nobility are repulsed by the smell of iron? I'm confused, are fae in TWST impacted by iron or not????

Aww, Silver... He's asking his dad to come to school not to learn, but to make special memories there 🥺 Back to "our Night Raven College"...

NOOO NOW THEY'RE FLASHING THROUGH ALL THE DORMS... while Silver and Sebek monologue about how everyone at NRC is very different, but despite how weird they all are, there is a lot that can be learned from their differences. Silver's spreading what he learned from his dad... and the fact that even Sebek pitched in... 😭

Lilia voice) let's make these high school students our pack mules and unpaid chefs and if they fuck up we leave them for dead in these woods where there are monsters lurking about

Man, he's so ruthless????? Lilia will use anyone he can to succeed in his mission... But then the next second he lays into his princess with a smile www

Lilia knew the princess since they were kids ~300 years ago, which puts the current conflict at ~400 years ago from modern day (since present Lilia is ~700 years old).

asdjbasbldbasdi Gotta love the lowkey jabs at classic fairy tales... Lilia says that human princesses may need protecting but not theirs???? (Yet Mallenoa still stays in her castle all day like she's waiting for a prince.)

THE PRINCESS HAS AN EGG... MALLEUS????? IS THAT YOU???? ???? ????? ? ?? ? ? (LOL at Sebek calling it Tamago-sama asghdyqovywqdwp9qbpacpasb) JAHAJAAH BAAL SUS OF THEM BEING INTERESTED IN THE EGG????

Oooh, so dragon eggs only hatch after receiving enough love and magic from the parents??? (Otherwise the egg will not mature and hatch.) The "power of love" is real, you guys 🥺

ANOTHER new character name drop?????? Levan/Revan??? It's a fae that went missing (probably the messenger from earlier??) I-Is that. Is that Malleus's dad???????? (Lilia says that both the princess and Levan/Revan have been pushing their tasks onto him; he has known them both for a long ass time.)

Baal voice) I still don't trust you

Fandom, back at Baal: Sorry (grand)daddy. Sorry. (Grand)daddy? Sorry. (Grand)daddy? Sorry.

Malleus is 178 years old in current day even though his egg existed 400 years ago, so it seems there was a few hundred years of delay before he actually hatched (normally the egg would hatch in 2-3 years). That means Lilia was ~522 when Malleus hatched and ~683 when he found Silver as a newborn (Malleus was ~161). Silver and Sebek think it’s weird that the timeline does not add up; it means Malleus was dormant for quite a while?? Or is the dream world wonky to accommodate for a “happy ending”? Or maybe the history they know is not correct (since earlier in book 7 Lilia mentions how true history can be distorted over time.)

Very sus, apparently there is not a lot known about Briar Valley's history??? Lilia never talked about the past around Silver, and Baal did the same with Sebek. None of the books Sebek read really goes into that history either. In current day, the palace where Malleus's mom resided isn't even there anymore, it's just land. It suddenly became a mystery...

MAN, I've been wondering this whole time why Lilia's happy ending is wartime but maybe. This is the period where Malleus's parents both died???? Maybe his happy ending is saving them??? Instead of them dying and him having to live with the guilt of not being there to protect his friends and his future prince's parents???? (I previously thought it was during war that Malleus hatched and/or Lilia found Silver, but I guess the timeline doesn't make sense there.)

According to Silver, they cannot stray too far from dreamers or else the darkness will return and try to drag them into a deeper sleep.

asdhbasdobasdbas Sebek is SUPER hype to see baby Tamago-sama Malleus...

Sebek points out that Silver is not nodding off (good catch, I actually did not notice this because I was too busy screaming about the lore); sooo when Silver is dream walking, he's consistently alert. It looks like Silver's narcolepsy is an important detail??? (Lilia took him to lots of doctors that didn't know how to help him, Silver does whatever he can to sleep well and to have a sleep schedule.)

OH MY GOD, I DIDN'T REALIZE THAT YUU AND GRIM STILL DIDN'T KNOW LILIA IS SILVER'S DAD. They thought it was a friendly nickname this entire time??? Kind of late to get to that, but alright 😅 We have acquired the Forbidden Knowledge... (SEBEK'S MOM IS WAY OLDER THAN HIS DAD BUT LOOKS WAY YOUNGER?? I mean, I kind of expected that but to have it confirmed just hits different.)

One of the soldiers tells the kids to stfu so they can sleep and so Sebek yells at everyone to stop disturbing them (you know, in his LOUD AS HECK voice).

Water in the Briar Country is cold because it is located up north (it snows a lot!). The lake water usually comes from melted snow. Checks out, I guess?

They're packing up to leave the camp... Reminds me of Mulan!

[Insert boring trek to the Silver Owls' base. Interesting tidbit: some soldiers we run into comment that Silver resembles the Dawn Knight/they didn't know the Dawn Knight had a lover?????? So... that's obviously gotta be an ancestor of Silver's, right??? Also??? The Dawn Knight apparently never removes their helmet, even around subordinates... VERY SUS, SIR

NAYUUURx NOT SeBEK CAViNG TO THE DATKNESS 😭 I feel like??? This is a really big character development moment for him?? He’s always been pretty blindly loyal to Malleus and hateful of humans, but this marks the first time he willingly does something against Malleus’s will and he calls Yuu and Grim by name… Sebek, sweetie… 😭 (Side note: Silver’s been so strong-willed through all of this, but I’m glad that TWST showed he isn’t perfect and infallible; he, too, was tempted to stay in the dream when Sebek started to consider it too.)

bchsheoxndle Something else I enjoy is Baul being so… tsun?? He complains about the kids but keeps an eye out for them anyway (and Sebek in particular)… The paternal vibes are too immaculate to completely squash 😎]

They made it!! Finally!!

UHHHHH THEY'RE FIGHTING A BIG MACHINE AND. LILIA INSTINCTIVELY BLOCKS SILVER?? (He’ll be fine, he’s in his prime 😌)

Oop, Heinrich and the Dawn Knight were supposed to be in the eastern base but they aren't??? Oh no, it looks like. It was a diversion?????? While Lilia and co. are busy at the base, Heinrich launched an attack on the palace where Malleus's mom is???????

AND OF CORUSE THAT'S WHERE WE CUT OFF?????????? BRUH.

OKAY, so this entire update was focused just on Lilia's dream. We have no clue what's happening in Idia's dream or the real world with Ortho??? Which I'm totally fine with; I feel like we learned SO much about Briar Valley's history and important figures in it. That's a very fair trade-off. I loved getting to learn about the conflict between humans and fae, fae culture, and about how Briar Valley (or Country) works. I'm surprised that the characters themselves know so little about the history, but that just makes me worried that that's because it's a dark part of history that was purposefully censored from the textbooks...

There were a lot of new characters introduced in this part, most of them just mentioned by name or silhouette. It really feels like we walked right into the most dire part of a history textbook... So much tragedy has been set up, so many key players put into place... But being that this is Lilia's promised happy ending, surely he must reverse fate and save the day in the end????? Right? Right??? ?????? ?? ??? ? ? ? ? ? ?????? I have my eyes glued to the Draconia family lore and history, I'm READY to absorb it!

Something else I found really fascinating was learning more about Sebek this update! He still has a very arrogant attitude about him (that much hasn't changed), but I loved seeing how he acts different around his grandfather and how excited he gets over little things like seeing Malleus's egg. I think this part also marks the start to his character arc; he is constantly put down time and time again by his grandpa, someone whom he really loves. Sebek is used to his grandpa accepting him for who he is, but now his grandpa is shouting hateful rhetoric and discriminating against him for being half human. It's the same ugly behavior that Sebek slings to other people, but now the shoe's on the other foot and HE'S the victim in these situations. It must no doubt be extremely uncomfortable for Sebek, but it's also forcing him into a situation where he has to look at his own bigotry head-on, and it gives him a chance to reevaluate himself. It's similar to how Vil had to challenge Epel's outdated gender views even when Epel kicked up a fuss every time Vil did. asdhbsaisdbabdil I'm just really invested in Sebek's character arc!!

I think there's a high probability we'll see all of the silhouetted figures in full in a future update, it's clear that we'll eventually be rushing back to check on Malleus's mom at some point. I'm super interested in seeing how Malleus's parents, the Dawn Knight, Lilia, Baal, and Henrik tie together. (And, of course, we NEED to check in with the Shrouds as well.)

I have heard people say that Henrik may be a reference to King Henry from the live action Maleficent? Then that means that the Dawn Knight may be TWST's equivalent to Stefan/Stephan (Aurora's dad) and Henrik/Henric's little sister is Leah/Leia (Aurora's mom)??? Then I've heard other theories that since Malleus's dad vanished, we have no corpse to confirm he is for real dead and maybe he's actually Crowley who went off to buy some milk and never came back???? (Because “Levan” sounds like “raven” and you know who else is a black bird? CROWLEY. Is he. Is he really going to be the Ultimate Absentee Dad by pulling off his mask in front of Malleus and go, “Luke, I am your father” at him????) And then there's those of us who are drooling over new character designs and screaming about how hot Sebek's grandpappy is. Point is, there are so many wild parallels, theories, ideas, and thirst posts flying around right now. I love how this wild update reinvigorated the whole fandom into a new period of theory crafting and other creative works. asdhabsdasdbasdi Every new book 7 update gets more and more hype... I just hope we get part 5 in July!!! Super intrigued by the history of the Briar Valley~

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warrioreowynofrohan · 8 months

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Mansfield Park - Henry Crawford and Fanny Price

I want to lay out how I see these characters and their relationship, because to me they seem to be set up as a deliberate contrast to Pride and Prejudice. At the tine of Henry’s first proposal, they are in a similar place to Elizabeth and Darcy at the time of Darcy’s first proposal, albeit with extremely different personalities than those characters: Fanny refuses him despite his wealth and her economic precarity because she cannot like or even respect him. However, Fanny, who is far shyer than Elizabeth, cannot lay out in direct and specific terms the foundation of her disapprobation of him.

From there, Henry sets out to win her regard in ways that very closely recall some of the events between Elizabeth and Darcy.

1) He does a great favour for a relative of hers. In his case, it is getting his uncle the admiral to have Fanny’s brother William promoted to lieutenant; in Darcy’s, it is saving the Bennets from disgrace by getting Wickham to marry Lydia. Darcy’s favour is far greater, and much more personally unpleasant for him, and he keeps it intentionally secret; he does it out of love of Elizabeth, but not to make her feel obligated. Henry’s takes only a few days of his time, its goal is get to Fanny to like him better, and he leverages it both at first and later to make her feel obliged to him.

2) He changes his manners to suit her. In Darcy’s case this means being polite rather than rude and haughty; in the case of Henry, who has always been charming and gregarious, it involves softening his manners to suit Fanny’s shy and quiet personality and engaging in more serious talk. In Darcy’s case this is a fundamental change in response to Elizabeth’s reproof; in Henry’s, it’s a simple adaptation to one person’s taste rather than another. He’s intelligent and able to engage in serious conversation when he wants to, but that’s not indicative of any fundamental change in his thinking.

3) He is polite to her family (the Prices, in Portsmouth) even when they are embarrassing.

4) He speaks with Fanny about reforms he is making on his estates to make sure his tenants are being treated fairly. These feels like a parallel to Elizabeth’s improved opinion of Darcy upon visiting Pemberley and hearing how well his servants speak of him. The difference is that Darcy has always been like that, whereas we are told early in Mansfield Park that Henry has been little on his estates during his adulthood: “To any thing like a permanence of abode, Henry Crawford had…a great dislike”. Darcy is acting in line with deep-seated principles; Henry is doing it as part of his courtship of Fanny, so he can bring it up to her and look good. He also tries to get her to counsel him to continue in this current vein, to engage her in a desire to fix/improve him, which Fanny shuts down laudably: “I advise! - you know very well what is right,” and when he reples that he always knows what is right when she tells him: “We all have a better guide in ourselves, if we would attend to it, than any other person could be.” The weakness of Henry’s motivation is seen in the ending, where he puts off a visit to his estates to set matters right there in order to flirt with the now-married Maria Rushworth.

In short, Darcy is already good in many concrete ways, and sincerely improves in the ways where he is faulty, not in order to get Elizabeth to love him but because he thinks about her criticisms, agrees with them, and wants to be better for its own sake; and he helps her family solely out of love for her and deliberately hides it. Henry changes his manner and talk as part of his courtship, but his deeper values and attitudes do not change, and everything is directed at getting Fanny to fall for him.

The second area of contrast is in what the heroines object to. Elizabeth’s aspersions on Darcy’s character, regarding his interactions with Wickham, are found to be mistaken; her legitimate objections are to his attitude and arrogance, and he amends this. Henry’s manners are impeccable and his company charming; Fanny’s objections are to his character. She sees him deliberately flirt with both her cousins at once to a degree that implies an intent to propose, and play them off against one another; she sees him make some very deliberate and mutually-understood innuendo towards Maria, signifying that she should break off her engagement and be with him instead, all with zero intention of actually proposing if she did do so; she sees him use the theatricals to continue this pursuit of Maria. And this is very usual behaviour for Henry; his sister says he has broken many hearts, and when he starts courting Fanny his goal is to make her fall in love with him and then leave her “feeling she will never be happy again”.

This is what makes me judge Henry much more harshly than his sister Mary. Mary can be selfish, but she is not malicious or cruel, and she can be kind when it doesn’t inconvenience her (and one of her better traits is that even when she is unhappy or disappointed she never takes it out on other people). In contrast, Henry’s principal diversion and entertainment for years has been deliberately making young women miserable, leading them on, getting them to reject other suitors in hopes of him, and then departing without a care, to please his own vanity. He is, in truth, doing not once but habitually, what Willoughby did to Marianne: always implying enough to seem on the edge of an engagement but never following through, and then pretending it was all nothing. It’s a casual cruelty he finds amusing as a proof of his skills. In short, he’s a deceptive playboy. Even after Maria is married, he can’t resist flirting with her, which is what leads to her disgrace and social destruction.

Even though Austen lays out an alternative scenario where Henry might have married Fanny if not for that final flirtation with Maria Rushworth, all of the above does not lead me to believe she find that scenario desirable. She’s painstakingly laid out all the contrasts with her previous novel that make this scenario a very different one from Pride and Prejudice.

In addition to Henry’s serial seductions, one of the biggest red flags is his attempt to make Fanny responsible for his character, with an attitude of ‘you’re such an angel, you can make me do whatever you want’. This gives me Tenant of Wildfell Hall vibes, where Helen’s aunt tries to warn her off thinking that an older man of the world will let himself be guided and led by a younger woman who is in his power. Fanny rejects this idea: Henry knows what is right, can make his own choice to do it, and she will not let herself be appropriated as his conscience. Henry isn’t debauched like Huntington, but if Fanny married him the chances of him feeling bored after some years - when he no longer has the thrill of the pursuit to keep him interested - and pursuing other flirtations and affairs to Fanny’s misery, seems pretty high based on his character; and he’s skilled enough at skirting the line that he could easily brush away any objections from her as “oh, it’s nothing, just being sociable.”

On top of all the faults of character - even if Henry did reform, I have trouble seeing Fanny and Henry being happy together. At the core of his personality is a need for change, for stimulus, for challenge (the latter, rather than sexual desire, is the main thing driving his string of conquests), and for company. Fanny, in contrast, very much prefers quiet and the company of a few people she is close to, and I think this is her genuine personality, not something that needs to be overcome by “bringing her out of her shell”. Henry would be bored to misery living the kind of lifestyle that Fanny is comfortable with, and Fanny would be deeply unhappy living in the social whirl and flurry of activity that Henry prefers. In contrast, Fanny and Edmund are both “me after a quiet day in: time for a quiet night in” people.

So, with all this, why is Henry/Fanny a popular AU? Apart from fannish dislike of Edmund (which I don’t share), I think part of it is that we don’t get an open confrontation between Fanny and Henry, the way we do between Elizabeth and Darcy, where she lays out her objections to him: I saw you flirting with both my cousins at once, I saw you making them both unhappy for your own amusement, I saw you repeatedly tempting Maria to break her engagement with no intention of following through if she did, just because you liked the challenge of winning an engaged woman. And the lack of this naturally raises the question of: how would Henry react if this confrontation happened? Which provides fertile soil for AUs.

#jane austen #mansfield park #fanny price #henry crawford #mary crawford

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lilies-n-slander · 1 month

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Hazbin Hotel would be so much more interesting if charlie’s naïveté and surface-level kindness were treated as the actual flaws they are and didn’t work. Heads up, this kinda just turned into a text wall of charlie neg and ranting so don’t read if you don’t want to see that.

How she currently is, she just doesn’t make that much sense in the setting. I’ve seen ppl say that charlie is a fresh take and contrasts the edginess, but I just don’t see how she is possible. You’re telling me she’s been in hell for 200 yrs but still has this childish and naive personality, is still disgusted by the sinners being cannibalistic, violent, and even just horny, and is so detached from those she calls “her people”? She was born in hell, shouldn’t that make her more used to the sinners’ depravity and not less? She doesn’t seem to have a good grasp on what the sinners want or how they behave. It would make more sense if the show leaned into the toxic positivity white savior nepo baby angle (or rather, actually portrayed it as a *bad* thing) and rather than naïveté, her ignorance was out of self-centeredness and/or lack of true empathy for the other sinners. She would be more interesting as a character too imo.

She looks down on the other sinners (and honestly so does the show?? When she’s showing lucifer around and introduces him to her friends, they’re framed as unappealing as a joke… these are the characters the audience is also supposed to care about.. and many of the bg chars, such as the cannibal town residents, are portrayed as simple-minded brutes), there’s a lot of condescending “….ooookay” type of lines and she constantly has to think of nice ways to frame the clearly negative things she thinks about others. So why does she want to save them so much? The more reasonable explanation is a sense of white savior-ness than actually caring about them.

She’s eager to excuse whatever sir pentious did (which I’m assuming she doesn’t know?) and let him in, despite how he makes the other residents (including her own gf!) uncomfortable. And yes I say excuse, because she never inquires about his past sins or discussed him repenting. It seems to start with sorry, but also end with sorry too. This could’ve been made interesting if she simultaneously looked down on but also excused all sorts of heinous acts. Like val is the most openly manipulative and scummy character, he licks her arm, and yet she’s still apologetic about ruining things (Side note, if she’s genuinely apologetic, then she’s actually an idiot because why is she talking to the boom-mic employee *while they’re filming???*).

She doesn’t know what she’s doing and has no concrete plan but gets incredulous at ppl who don’t blindly trust her. Angel has to leave in ep 4 and she gets SO frustrated over it, like you seriously expect everyone to drop all of their other commitments for you? She has her webster definition notecards for the meeting with heaven and has to improvise and rely on angel being good at the club but she gets mad that lucifer isn’t 100% behind her plan?

Also, trust falls? Really? Then she goes “why isn’t this working? We’ve tried everything!” But on that note, the actual episode portrayal is kinda exactly what I’m going for. Not only do the trust falls not work, charlie says, “I love all of you so much,” pulls her puppy eyes, and only vaggie catches her. It’s surface level and shallow, and does not win anyone else over.

In contrast, vaggie’s attempt at building trust, throwing everyone into a battle, *actually works* (despite vaggie only being in hell for 3 years and being heaven-born, she already knows how things work better than charlie!) and yet charlie talks about it as though it already failed. She says “we work best as a team,” with the underlying message being “I can’t trust you to do things on your own.”

If she was waiting so long to reconnect with lucifer, then why hasn’t she called him in years?? Altho I’m currently rotating lucifer in my brain so I might be a bit biased

“If angels can do whatever and stay in the sky” they can’t?? Your dad is RIGHT there. I. What

She has a power dynamic with every other character except lucifer since she has her demon powers, not to mention she’s giving them a place to stay. When vaggie says she appreciates that charlie doesn’t use her powers, charlie doesn’t say “it wouldn’t be right,” she says it would be too *mean.* But if someone pushes her buttons, who’s to say they wouldn’t slip out (see her flip on a dime after val hits angel. Obv it’s justified in this case, but it shows that she’s willing to use her powers on sinners)? Again, it would be interesting if the show actually leaned into this angle. Imagine if she put on a nice front, never swore, seemed genuinely touching and understanding, but the second someone annoys her she annihilates them and becomes threatening and violent. Then she turns around and is nice again. Too much like alastor? idk

Also, many characters refer to her by calling her lucifer’s daughter, so clearly ppl know that if they cross her they’ll face his wrath by proxy (this also fits in thematically with what lute tells her in the first episode, that she’s exempt from the exterminations bc nepotism privilege). So realistically, everyone else would be a bunch of sucking-up yes-men bc they’re afraid of her. Which they kind of are when push comes to shove?

At first, she doesn’t help at all during the war and lets everyone else fight for her. Doesn’t want to get her hands dirty ig, even though all of this was caused by her in the first place. She only starts fighting at vaggie’s urging.

Like husk points out, every meeting charlie has with the angels makes things worse for all the sinners. Despite lucifer’s warnings that the meeting with heaven won’t work, and against vaggie saying to calm down, charlie basically picks a fight with heaven at the risk of *everyone else EXCEPT HER.*

What were charlie and lilith doing to stop the exterminations before lilith took her 7 year leave? Hell, what was charlie doing during those 7 years? Why does she have 0 connections outside of vaggie, who she only met 3 yrs ago? Why does she have to introduce herself to rosie, rather than her already knowing her name?

Also in ep 7 she says to alastor “I can’t believe how you can do exactly what you told me you would do!” (standing by and watching everyone fail at redemption) almost like she wasn’t paying attention to him at all.

“Why would vaggie hide that she was an exterminator” -> Rosie asks “how did that make you feel?” “It made me mad and doubt if she loves me” like I get it, it was a betrayal, but IS she stupid

Ready For This is charlie manipulating a town of ppl to join the army. Her pitch includes “on the way to the hotel the scenery is nice and you can make friends :3” and “have you ever wanted to die for a cause? Notably I myself am spared from being killed but uh that’s your problem.” Alastor pipes in that you can eat the angels and that’s what actually moves the crowd, because he understands them.

Her perspective on violence and where she chooses to draw the line is really confusing. Why does she care about sinners being violent to each other if they’ll just respawn? She stops alastor from beating up sir pentious at an arbitrary point, but is fine with him eating and presumably killing the gangsters who come after mimzy. (Edit: forgot to point out yet another example, that she was fine with vaggie tossing sir pentious and angel off the balcony but stops her from tossing niffty as well for no reason.) Why is she so apologetic to the angels actively killing sinners but was distraught over vaggie having partaken? Why was she opposed to the CANNIBALS being eager to eat the angels and saying “idk, they seem kinda murder-y” WHAT. What? I’m struggling to even begin to describe how ignorant that is during a WAR. What did she think was going to happen, that she wouldn’t have to fight anyone herself? Why did she stop her dad from killing Adam but doesn’t react strongly to Niffty finishing the job? If it mattered so much to her, the lack of reaction seems strange to me.

Isn’t it just so poetic that her weapon in the war is a shield that she uses exclusively on herself, which she hardly even needs due to her contractual immunity?

Why doesn’t she think to use her powers to build and maintain the hotel? That doesn’t require any violence or domineering. Yet when lucifer comes over it’s run-down and falling apart. Or ask lucifer to help her build it? She was concerned that asking for the meeting with heaven was such a big ask—why not start with this small thing? Father-daughter bonding.

Why does the show end w lucifer + the sinners congratulating her, and in particular, rebuilding the hotel? Hell doesn’t know that sir pentious got redeemed, so from their pov charlie’s idea didn’t work at all.

Can you tell that I’m writing this while I’m rewatching the show?

Aaand that’s that. Her char has always come off to me as somewhat condescending/fake, but I keep finding more and more things to dislike about the way she’s been written. Unfortunate. Honestly tho I might enjoy watching her more if I read her through this lens. You could probably write a similar post for most/all other chars in the show, limited only by the amount of screentime they get lmao

#ps it would have made a bit too much sense for the character fucking named ANGEL to be redeemed at the end of the season #he was the one charlie was making her entire case about in ep 6 #like sir pentious was never brought up #and angel was one of the ogs of the hotel #and had ep 4 #but ig the show thought better of it #rewatching the pilot and angel would’ve been so much more interesting ;u; he’s so one-note now…#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel #meta #charlie morningstar neg #honestly with lucifer as my blorbo I probably shouldn’t be shittalking charlie #he’d annihilate me #sorry man I just want your daughter to have a bit more confidence… yeah that’s it #.txt

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maripr · 4 months

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Ozcarnation merge musings from my twitter

I wrote these months ago and finally sharing them on tumblr.

Why I differentiate between Ozma and Ozpin, a 🧵

I disagree with the general interpretation of where the merge subplot is actually heading in canon: most people think it will actualize, I think it will be reversed, either stopping the merge for good or reversing it after it comes very briefly into reality.

Oscar's arc, paralleling Ruby (mainly, but other characters share the trait as well) has been about him trying to find his own place and his own story, but the shadow of supposed ego death is always looming on him and terrifying him.

Everytime he takes a step forward, he's reminded again of the expected fate for him, something that some characters actively want (like Ironwood).

Examples:

volume 6, after being treated as a stand-in for Ozpin, currently MIA, Oscar takes his own decision to forgive the team and be prepared for battle alongside them. While reconciling with tem, with his new combat gear, he still can't help but be haunted of "how much time he has left".

Volume 7 places him in a conundrum the entire volume: he's developing as a fighter, growing up as an adolescent and forging stronger relationship with his newfound friends. Jaune clearly comes to see him as a little brother and there's something interesting going on with Ruby that may or may not result in a romantic relationship down the line. The team actually worries about his opinion on stuff as well, and Ruby clearly values him as Oscar Pine. Meanwhile, the very person who's helping in his growth is James Ironwood, who cannot shut up about wishing Ozpin was there everytime they meet, and telling Oscar he will basically cease to exist to his face with a big shiny smile. It's unclear at this point if James knows or not about how terrified Oscar is of the merge, as the boy never voices this fear. I think he just wants not to think of it. So even at the end, where James finally says "fuck it, Oscar or Ozpin, i don't need either" and shoots him, Oscar starts coming onto his power, in a scene that's both powerful and bittersweet, paralleling Penny.

Both of them, for their qualities, were chosen by a magical destiny, one capable of beautiful and powerful magic, that they don't want, never wanted and will struggle with with the next volume. Penny's arc is a direct parallel and commentary to Oscar and the way it ends might comment on Oscar's arc. Not in death but that Penny could finally show everyone she was her own person who could choose for herself.

Coming back to volume 8, Oscar has his worst time yet, finally voices his fear of merging with Oz, and comes back from it scarred but stronger, having helped Ozpin trust himself and others and gaining a new ally in Emerald.

But, see where I'm getting at? This is no resolution.

Oscar has briefly shown his fear but at the end of the volume, much like Ruby has done for several seasons, swallows the literal torture he endured for half of it and the fear of imminent ego death due to reawakened magic, and chooses to focus on the positives.

Boy, if he had fallen into the ever after maybe he would have healed too. Or maybe we would have no plot at all bc Oscar and Ruby would have noticed each other's pain, which would have been nice as well, but sometimes therapy has to be brutal.

And also Oscar can't conclude his arc in the ever after because his own is complimentary to Ruby's but also a contrast to it. Ruby wants to emulate her mother and ideal of what a hero is and must learn that she is enough as she is already. Oscar does NOT want to emulate or be his father figure, whose og incarnation was basically THE ideal hero of fairytales. He wants to be enough but doesn't know who he is yet, since everyone keeps telling him to his face that Oscar Pine isn't enough.

SO anyway. If both Penny (a commentary on Oscar) and Ruby (a direct parallel)'s arcs end with them realizing their own individuality, I 100% believe Oscar's arc will end like this as well.

And when i say end i mean end is just a new beginning.

Before moving to my final argument, let me also briefly comment on how Jaune and Weiss' arcs are similar but different to Oscar and Ruby's. It's interesting because, by main character status, Jaune as the leader of team JNPR, is a lancer and a foil to RWBY and Ruby inside of team RWBY's dynamic, Weiss, as Ruby's partner, is the lancer and foil to Ruby and inside new JNPR/ORNJ, Oscar, as Jaune's new partner, is his lancer and foil.

And both Jaune and Weiss deal with identity but more in a role they want to play as expected to what their family might want, initially, and later as the knights they idealized in fairytales. This is way too long for this post, but again, fascinating. And also Whiteknight slays.

So, my final thesis:

Oscar's arc will end with him affirming his own individuality over the merge.

So why can't Ozpin also do the same?

The god of light's intention in bestowing Ozma with this method of reincarnation was the positive idea of him never being alone.

And this works, more or less, in different lifetimes. Even in the very first, the farmer who we initially assumed was completely eradicated, still voiced his opinion and reminded Ozma of the good path.

In later lives, the spirit and the host lived more comfortably, having estabilished an equal partnership.

But... They still end up as one person? They're literally so like-minded that their enormous guilt complex makes one believe he's responsible for everything the others did?

I feel like this is what the story is trying to say, much like what many characters say of Oscar, and it's framed as a bad thing.

And incorrect. Oscar is always "punished" for what his predecessors did because he will be Ozma eventually.

The voice still going by the name of Ozpin feels responsible for everything that happened since Ozma was brought back to life and literally agrees with his own torturer that yep, he deserves all the punishment and pain for it.

Every incarnation eventually reaches a point where they start to identify with their predecessors in such a way that contradicts what the god of light's intention was (then again, we have been shown time and time again that the god of light is not very good at his job).

Instead of a partnership where each soul helps the other moving forward and never los hope, we have a continuous cycle of guilt and self-abuse accumulating. Oscar is gnawing at it the entire time. Who's to say Ozpin, as the professor, also didn't?

And Oscar is going to break the cycle.

As he does that, I want Ozpin to also realize his own individuality.

This is why I want an happy ending for all the incarnates, not just Ozma. Merged they may be for now, in the physical realm, why should only Ozma move on to a peaceful afterlife? All the people who ended up clogs in the ever ticking clock and had no say in it were all people with their own lives, their own friends and families, their own name. And they deserve peace too.

#ozpin #oscar pine #ozma #ruby rose #jaune arc #penny polendina #weiss schnee #ozcarnations #rwby #rwby meta #professor ozpin #ozma rwby #headmaster ozpin #rosegarden #whiteknight #oz family #i wrote a thing #ozma 2.0

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maple-the-awesome · 7 months

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While the Night is Young ||

Pairing: Legend x Reader

Words: 2,079

Requested by anonymous: Can I have a sad fic with Legend (LU) reminiscing about dancing with the reader on koholint? he's my fav so he has to suffer 😞 One mildly depressed Legend coming your way because everyone knows the first rule to being in a fandom is enjoying watching your favorite characters suffer go through character development 💜

Zelda Masterlist 💛 Fandom Masterlist

Crowds are never much fun. Who actually likes being sandwiched between sweaty bodies, constantly elbowed, stepped on, or tossed around by obvious idiots who only ever react with a half hearted apologies? It makes such a simple task like walking down the street a total nightmare, although there might be a good exception for it today given that it’s currently the summer solstice festival in this quaint little village the boys have recently stumbled across.

After many long days on the road, most could understand the heroes’ excitement upon seeing the then bare streets lined with wooden stalls and colorful banners overhead. A local explained the situation, promising plenty of fun games and unique carnival foods if the group decided to stay overnight when the festivities would begin. At that point, there was little choice in the matter. Seeing the expressed joy on many of the youngsters’ faces (a great contrast to their original wear earlier), Time just had to give in to their pleas, agreeing that a deserved break could do them some good.

So, as the sky began to mirror the colors of summer, from bright reds to pinkish purples, the once empty stalls began to open and the streets became filled with residents, many more than what was expected for such a small village.

Wind and Sky, determined to win their loved ones some adorable stuffed animals, have been taken to blowing all their rupees at different game booths. Four and Warrior, on the other hand, have made a full on competition of this activity, betting who can win the most games by the end of the night. They managed to drag Hyrule into the fun, too, but only because of his utter amazement with everything going on (after all, he’s never seen any festivals quite like this before).

Wild couldn’t show any restraint when teased by so many wonderful smelling foods, in fact he had already snuck away for something called a ‘corn dog’ before Time could even finish laying down the ground rules for how everyone was expected to behave. Fortunately, Twilight has since stayed close to his mentee’s side to prevent any disasters like Wild poisoning himself or setting fire somewhere. He also may or may not have allowed himself to be roped into trying some very questionable and overpriced snacks (but Twilight won’t admit that for the sake of his own dignity).

As for the Old Man himself, he seems to simply find joy in everyone else’s from afar, although overtime, a few of the boys have managed to get him directly involved in festivities, particularly Wind who insisted Time tries winning Malon an adorable stuffed alien from a shooting game (he succeed on his first attempt followed by many other effortless wins once he got addicted, much to the little sailor’s awe and jealousy).

The only hero to not partake in any aspect of the festival is Legend. Interestingly enough, such a colorful celebration has actually seemed to have the opposite effect on him compared to his brothers, resulting in quite the sour mood shown through his bitter scowl as he stands outside the crowd’s reach.

He curses himself for even bothering to leave the inn earlier, only having done so to shut up Warrior’s claims about him ‘pouting’ as he’s apparently been doing this entire week…Okay, so maybe Legend can internally admit that he hasn’t been exactly ‘overflowing with friendliness’ lately, but he refuses to say it’s because he’s ‘pouting’; that makes him sound childish. He’s not pouting, he’s sulking (big difference) and it has nothing to do with this festival. He just doesn’t care to lose the entire contents of his wallet to rigged games and food poisoning on a buttered stick, that’s all!

If that’s the case, one would think he’d just sneak back to the inn already. No one’s keeping him here on a leash, in fact most of the boys are too busy losing their patience playing ring toss to even notice whether Legend stays or goes. Why continue to stand around being unsociable in the background, grumbling against a wall as others clap and tap their feet to a melody currently played by musicians near the village fountain ahead, especially when it’s making him so grumpy?

“Don’t you just love music? It’s almost too beautiful to be real - at least I think so anyway.”

Legend glances to his side, curling his lip in poorly mocked disgust that earns him the undeserved gift of an angel’s laughter. Even after all these years of developing tough skin, he can’t stand strong against such a sound.

“Oh, don’t be like that! I’ve seen you playing some of those instruments of yours, so you must be a fan. How many do you own? Must be enough to open your own music shop by now,” You tease, your voice somehow becoming the only sound around him despite all those who stand practically shoulder-to-shoulder in front of you both singing and laughing loudly…yet even you pay no attention to them, your eyes locked solely on him as if he’s actually someone special.

“I don’t have that many.”

“Well, as someone who doesn’t even have one, I’d say it’s a lot,” You’ve never bothered with personal space, too used to knowing everyone to wonder why it would be important, thus you’ve always practiced the same beliefs around him, showing no care as you lean against the wall next him, letting your arms brush enough to make him flinch at first before ultimately relaxing.

“Is it because you’re shy? I mean, you have no reason to be since you play wonderfully, but I still get it if you are,” You theorize aloud, still stuck on the same topic Legend wishes you’d change. Surely there’s other things you’d be interested in aside from his personal life. He’s only a simple traveler, after all, although the more he thinks about it, that’s probably what appeals to you so much. He imagines it’s rough being stuck in one place your entire life, never knowing much about what lies beyond the horizon until a strange, stranger washes up at your feet.

“I’m not shy,” He rubs the back of his neck, glancing away from you when he decides eye contact is too bothersome, “I just like my privacy.”

You tilt your head cutely with a hum before gazing back into the crowd (much to his relief). For a long moment, you keep your eyes closed and listen to the music, waiting to break the comfortable silence between you both until the song changes into something slower and more intimate than the previous, “...Do you at least dance in front of others?”

“Dance?” He scoffs.

“Yes, dance! You know, that activity where you move your body to a particular rhyme? The thing Hylians usually do for fun? …Or are you unfamiliar with that word, ‘fun’?”

“I know it.”

“Oh, do you now?” You challenge, leaning forward in an attempt to catch his expression, yet he turns his body away while biting back his smirk which surely mirrors yours; he can hear it in your voice, “Show me then.”

“Show you?” He laughs, “What? You can’t just trust me?”

“Nope,” You pop the ‘p’ then roll your eyes when Legend dramatically grabs his chest and flops his head back against the stone wall (something he does with more force than intended, yet he forgets about the pain quickly).

“I’m hurt! Here I was thinking I’ve moved on from being a hostile in your eyes only for weeks of effort to swirl down the drain -!”

“- You’re not a hostile, just an idiot,” You push yourself off the wall and extend a hand to him, “Regardless, I’m afraid I’ll need a demonstration in order to believe you.”

Legend glances at your hand, biting down his nerves which he prays you don’t notice. It really is a simple request and it’s not like you’d both be alone. Other couples are already dancing, some showing creatively in how wildly they move while others move slowly as if joint as one…It shouldn’t be a big deal to take your hand, but for some reason it is, the thought making his heart race.

“Please, Link?”

Your eyes are pleading and soon he finds himself too weak to ignore them anymore. Reluctantly, he accepts your hand and puts up no further fight as you then eagerly drag him into the crowd.

Standing amongst all these people, Legend finds himself a bit bashful, wondering if perhaps this is going to be a mistake because surely if anyone notices you together, they’ll mention it later on and he’ll be forced to question exactly what this interaction means, but that’ll have to be a worry for later. Once you find a suitable spot close to the music, you turn around with a bright smile which is plenty to convince him it’s too late to back out; he’s already in too deep.

And so you both dance. Your hands placed upon his shoulders, his delicately holding your hips. You’re clearly no stranger to this art form, moving perfectly in sync with the rhythm while guiding Legend to do the same. He, himself, has danced plenty of times before during his journeys, but with you it feels different. It feels more special and natural with you as his partner. There’s a slowness to the world, one he feels all too often when in your presence yet this time, it’s amplified. He truly hears nothing from the crowd. Even the music is a distant echo completely overshadowed by your beauty as you sparkle under the colored lights above.

Legend normally isn’t one to let others close, often keeping them at arm's length in fear that nothing good will come from making friends, especially friends who he meets during his travels. You shouldn’t be different. He met you only weeks ago and isn’t quite sure how ‘visiting’ will work considering he ended up here by total accident. Despite every rational thought telling him he shouldn’t be getting his hopes up towards you, it’s all ignored when you allow him to twirl you around with ease until you return right back in front of him, the difference being you’re now closer, pressed against his chest instead of being kept at arm's length.

You’re intoxicating. Like an alcoholic who treasures his last beer bottle, Legend can’t seem to let you go. He can only find himself smiling in a dazed sort of way - dazed by you simply being you as you slip your hands down to his chest and rest your head upon his shoulder.

“...Can I say something that might sound weird?”

“Everything you say is weird.”

Despite his teasing tone, you move your head off his shoulder to look into his eyes with such a gentle smile that, for a second, he’s convinced he’ll melt, “I’m really happy you washed up on our shore. I…really like having you around.”

“I -...” The words feel trapped in his throat, wanting so desperately to be said as you wait patiently for some kind of response. He knows you won’t mind not getting one since you understand him as being the quiet type anyways, but regardless, “...I like being here with you, too.”

You beam - like a sun rising over the ocean, your eyes lit up and your smile glows. It not only means the world for you to hear that from the man who’s always been so reserved around you, but it’s also important for him to say himself. He really likes you. You’ve quickly become the music in his life - the rhythm he wants to forever move to and melody he wants to forever cherish. He’d be fine if you keep resting your head against him, humming along to the song that’ll forever haunt his mind…That’s how he wishes things had stayed.

In reality, he had remained silent that evening and for all those following, refusing an answer you unfortunately never pushed for. Maybe you already knew, maybe you didn’t, however neither outcome changes his inner desire for you nor the pain he feels every day without you by his side. He’s not sure what hurts the most anymore: the fact that you’re gone or the fact that you never existed to begin with. Now, he’ll never get to hold you again, never get a chance to swallow his fears and just confess his feelings to see how you would’ve reacted. All he gets is this agonizing memory that haunts him anytime he hears festival music similar to that night he spent with you during that summer solstice on Koholint…

#x reader #reader insert #lu legend x reader #legend of zelda x reader #legend of zelda #linked universe x reader #link x reader #linked universe

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