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wilteddaisies · 3 years

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Yours - Chapter One

Azriel x Female!Reader (acotar)

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: You are Feysand’s daughter and you’ve just come home from your studies in the Day Court. Azriel needs someone with extensive training in magic in order to complete a mission for the Night Court. You happen to be just what he needs.

Fic Warnings: age gap?, probably cursing, eventual smut, wing kink ;)

Chapter Warnings: injury, mentions of blood

Note: The first chapter is here! I am so excited to share this fic. I usually don’t write fanfiction but I just couldn’t get this idea out of my head, so here it is. As always, feedback would be greatly appreciated!

CHAPTER ONE

Gods, you loved flying. Sure, winnowing back to the Night Court would have been faster, but there was absolutely nothing like soaring through the clouds, so high that the ground below faded away and there was nothing but you and the wind in your wings. You sighed as Velaris came into view. As much as you loved the ancient libraries and golden light of the Day Court, the winding streets and twinkling night lights of Velaris would always call you back home.

Your father was waiting for you in front of your family’s river estate. You landed gracefully before taking off again in a sprint into his open arms. You squealed as he lifted you off your feet and spun you around.

“Daddy!” You laughed as he set you back on your feet, but still held you. You breathed in his familiar scent. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too, sweetheart.” He gazed down at you and smiled warmly. “Your mother is at the studio but she should be home soon.” He picked up your bags and led you inside, prattling on about your mom’s business and the hell Cassian has been raising in the Illyrian camps. The elegant river house was just as you left it in the fall. The familiar lavishly furnished rooms and ever lingering scent of flowers welcomed you home. You followed your father up the staircase and to your room.

“I’ll leave you to unpack and settle in,” he said, setting your things on the bed. He turned around to place a kiss on your hair. “Welcome home.”

A welcome home, indeed.

That night, the entire inner circle met at the river house to celebrate your homecoming and the completion of your studies with Helion in the Day Court. The atmosphere was warm and lively in the dining hall, Cassian had no trouble convincing your father to open some bottles of his precious good wine to celebrate. You were happily chatting away with Mor about how difficult it was to focus on your studies with so many gorgeous Day Court males around, when Cassian chimed in.

“Males? What males? What are their names? I just want to talk,” he said with mock intensity.

“You do know I am old enough to date, don’t you, Uncle Cass?” you laugh. “But anyways, they’re all too intimidated by me. And by who my father and uncles are, of course.”

“Damn straight.” He winked and Mor elbowed him in the ribs.

“Come on, there must have been someone that kept you company while you were in the Day Court,” Mor insisted, her eyes twinkling with mischief. Even Amren and Nesta looked interested to hear your answer, but your father just tried not to look too invested in your conversation, looking down at his plate in a miserable attempt to look disinterested.

“Well. . .” you began, trying to steer the conversation away from the truth, which was that you had never actually felt that sort of connection with anyone. Well, no one except a certain broody shadowsinger who was considered very, very off limits.

Thankfully, you were spared the trouble of coming up with some half-assed excuse when a loud crash sounded outside the manor. Everyone at the table tensed, the mood instantly shifting. The darkened eyes and battle ready stances of your family were quick to remind you that centuries old warriors were beside you. Suddenly, weapons you hadn’t even realised they had concealed were drawn. You should have known that no one in your family would show up anywhere unarmed. Cassian drew a sword from who knows where, Mor and Amren held daggers, and Aunt Nesta just summoned her power, that alone being a deadly weapon in itself. Your mother drew your Aunt Elaine close to her. You could see darkness curling around your father’s fingertips and you followed suit, the familiar tingle of magic in your veins sparking a rush of adrenaline.

Your father led the way as you all stalked out the front door to see. . . Azriel. You rushed forward, pushing past your father to kneel by a bleeding Azriel.

“Oh Az, your wing.” Your heart shattered at the sight of his broken left wing, the flesh in shreds. It must have been done with something strong and fast, very fast if it managed to reach Azriel, who was amazingly swift on his wings and with his winnowing. The rest of the circle gathered around him, trying to help him up and assess the damage.

“The mortal queens,” he managed to croak out, “I heard whispers of a weapon they made to rival the fae. And when I tried to investigate it, I encountered the beast that guarded it.”

“That’s enough.” Feyre said, “Let’s get you cleaned and healed up. I’ll summon a healer immediately. You can tell us the rest after.”

“I can help.” You say and everyone turned towards you. Your hands were still shaking and your voice wavered at Azriel’s state but you steeled yourself. “I learned a lot of healing magic while I was in Helion’s court. Let me help you.” You met Azriel’s eyes and it was like he tethered you to earth, the strength and resilience you found in them seemed to flow into you, too.

He nodded once. That was enough for Cassian and Rhys to haul one arm over each of their shoulders.

“Where to, boss?” Cassian teased but you found pride in his eyes. And when you looked to your father, you saw the same thing.

“Get him into my room. I’ll take it from there.”

The inner circle had retired to the river house’s various guest rooms by the early hours of the morning, but you stayed awake, the gentle glow of the healing magic from your palms never faltering even though it had been hours. After Cassian and your father got Azriel onto the bed, you made him a salve from the various powders and tonics you brought from the Day Court that would assist the healing process. Aunt Elaine had even supplied some more supplemental herbs and flowers from her garden.

They all stayed for nearly an hour after you started the healing spell, watching as flesh and bone slowly knitted back together, when your mother finally ushered them all out, insisting that you needed to focus. You shot her a grateful smile as she also stepped out and shut the door behind her. Now that everyone was gone, you could finally focus on the spell. Well, focus as much as you could with Azriel’s shirtless torso gleaming with perspiration. You would think after training in and mastering healing magic, you’d be unfazed by the male body, but Azriel’s stunning beauty was not something you could just get used to.

It was nearly two in the morning when you heard a soft knock on your door. Your father’s head poked in.

“Sweetheart, you need to take a break.” He said and wiped a bead of sweat from your brow. You hadn’t even realised you were this physically strained.

“I can’t, dad. Not until he’s healed.” You turned back towards Azriel’s healing wing when your father’s hands enveloped your own, stopping their magic.

“Dad! He needs-”

“You’re the one who’s going to need healing if you try to continue this spell without taking a break.” His brows furrowed with concern. You knew what he saw, you must have looked a mess. Hair mussed, dark circles under your eyes, and a near permanent wrinkle on your forehead between your brows from holding your deadly focused expression for so long.

“I know.” You sighed, giving in. “I suppose I could stop for a moment.” He enveloped you in a warm hug that you hadn’t realised you needed until that moment. “I’m just. . . I’m worried about him, dad. He’s always going off on these dangerous quests with the interests of the court being a bigger concern than his own well being.”

“You’re one to talk.” He scoffed. “What was that you said about putting other people’s needs over your own well being?” He brushed a stray lock of hair from your face and then sighed. “That’s my girl, always so selfless and always so stubborn.” He planted a kiss on the top of your head. “You’re a lot like your mother in that way, you know.”

You reluctantly pull away from his arms. “I know, dad.” You rolled your eyes and huffed a sigh, stretching your back, you just realised that standing over Az for so long had really taken its toll on you. “I suppose I could take a shower and change out of this dress.” You were still in your cocktail dress from dinner, you also realised.

“Yes, please do. I mean this in the gentlest way possible sweetheart, but you stink.” You halfheartedly shove him out of the room.

“Gee thanks, dad. It’s no wonder how mom fell for that suave charm.” And you shut the door in his face, but not before catching his teasing smile that only he could pull off, somehow managing to look loving and full of himself at the same time. You rolled your eyes before walking into your en suite.

Author’s Note: Thanks for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I promise the next one will have more Azriel and a bit more spice. If you wanna be added to the taglist for this fic, you can leave a comment below :)

I do not consent for my work to be reposted or translated on tumblr or any other site, but reblogs are always welcome!

Taglist: @moonchild-cf @pansexual-booknerd @huffypuffyme

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x reader #azriel x y/n #azriel smut #azriel fluff #azriel fic #sarah j maas #feysand #nessian #acowar #acomaf #acofas #fanfic #illyrian #my writing

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sunflowerspecter · 4 years

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in the dark of space, d.d.

summary: sometimes, not even galaxies can keep soulmates apart

warnings: cursing, angst like you wouldn’t believe, sorta some fluff, awkwardness and lovely angry outbursts

pairing: din djarin x reader

words: 2060

part: 3/6

note: hi so this is like, so so so so so late and i’m SO SORRY. i’ve really been meaning to update these and then i just DONT so i’m so sorry. i really do promise to try harder ahaha but also i’ve just been falling apart and the last one didn’t do as well! also if you see a bunch of code up above i was trying to embed the first two parts and idk if that worked or failed so yeah... also school is cancelled cause of the coronavirus so i might be working on some new things!! we’ll see.

Space is so, so very vast. There are so many stars, so many planets, so many beautiful and wonderful and evil and deadly things.

But even among all of these beautiful and wonderful and evil and deadly things, there are only so many hiding places.

“I have a plan,” Mando says to you, out of the blue, one day. You’re bouncing the child in your arms near his makeshift-crib, trying to get him to sleep.

“A plan?” you ask, not looking towards him, but keeping your attention toward the kid. Mando had been in the cockpit trying to decide where to go next for hours.

“We’re going to end this. This whole deal with the child. We’re going back to Nevarro.”

“What?” you say, setting the child down and turning to face him. “Mando, you’re outnumbered. They’ll kill you and me and take the child the second they see the ship.”

“I have a plan.” You wish he would stop staying that. There is a beat before he says,“And you won’t be there.”

“I won’t be there?”

“I’m going to get Cara to join me and you’re going to stay back on Sorgan. You’ll be fine there, you’ll live peacefully the rest of your days, unless you decide to go somewhere else.”

“What are you saying?” you ask, because you seriously can’t hear him. There’s blood pounding in your ears. “Mando, what are you saying?”

“I’m leaving you on Sorgan. In case something bad happens.”

Your jaw drops, and you shake your head. “Mando, I-”

“No,” he says, turning away from you. “It’s not up for debate.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, crossing your arms. “Oh? The rest of my fucking life isn’t up for debate?”

He doesn’t look at you. He’s silent. He doesn’t move a single muscle in his body. Until- “If you want to have a life, you’ll go to Sorgan and you’ll stay there.”

“I’m not letting you abandon me.” Your voice breaks halfway through saying it. “I’m not letting you abandon me like everyone, everyone else in my life!”

He shakes his head, still not looking at you. “I’m not abandoning you. This is what’s best for you.”

You wipe the tears from your face and push your shoulders back. “What’s best for me? You want to talk about what’s best for me? I’m from a different galaxy, goddamnit! You’re the only person I trust!”

“Well, these people will take care of you. But you can’t stay with me. I’m not safe.”

You groan, throwing your hands into the air and then through your hair. “You’re so stubborn! You don’t even realize that… that…” You groan again, shaking your head and storming off. You have no words for him. Well, you do. You just can’t say them outloud.

“Y/n! Y/n, wait!” he calls after you, but you can’t face him right now. You can’t.

It’s a little later, and you’re absentmindedly pacing in the kitchen (“kitchen”) area, twirling a knife in your hands. It was the first thing you saw, and you quite enjoyed throwing knives at things. You have… had, been working on defense training with Mando a little, and knives are your favorite. Which is, admittedly, dangerous, but hey, you were doing pretty good so far.

The Mandorian walks into the room, staring at you.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks, reaching over to take the knife out of your hands. You shake your head, trying to reach for it again.

“I was-”

“You’re going to hurt yourself.”

“I was just thinking things over, for goodness sake. I’m not going to hurt myself.”

He shakes his head, grabbing onto your wrist. You wince as he pulls your fingers away from your palm, revealing the deep cut. “Yeah, I can clearly see that you aren’t going to hurt yourself.” You ignore him, pulling your hand away painfully. You didn’t even realize you had scraped your hand.

“So I accidentally cut my hand, it’s not even that deep. Why do you care?”

He freezes, and you think you’ve hurt his feelings, but then you remember he doesn’t have those.

“You’ve been extra reckless lately. More so than usual. You’re going to get yourself killed.” He turns, then, waves at the kid before he tries to leave. The pain in your hand is evident, but you ignore it. You suppose you had been reckless lately, especially on the last planet you were on, when you ran out in front of him when he was going to get shot. Because he was a dumbass, for god's sake.

“Is that why you’re abandoning me?” you growl after him, and he sighs.

“I’m abandoning you so that you don’t die.”

“So what?” you scream. “So what if I die?” You regret the words as soon as they leave your mouth. You remember once yelling them at your mother. You and her had fought, and she was drunk, and she threw the wine bottle at you, and she said that you were a mistake, and you screamed that. You weren’t welcome home for a week after that.

The memory brings tears to your eyes and you beg yourself not to break down.

He’s in front of you in a second, hands on your shoulders, looking at you intently. Heat rises to your face and you look at the ground, and the child, anywhere but at him. He wipes a tear from your cheek. “I need you alive.”

You scoff. “You know what, you’re right to abandon me. I’m useless. I don’t know why you’ve kept me around this long.”

You’re sure that you look like a disaster. You’re sure that you are a disaster, and you don’t even care. You don’t have any reason to care anymore. You’re in another-fucking-galaxy and the only person you trust is leaving you.

“Y/n, what brought this on?” he asks, but you shrug away from him and walk by the child. “What’s wrong?”

“What’s wrong?” you ask absentmindedly. You pick up the child, setting him on the table. He looks quizzically up at you, his eyes wide. You turn to your Mandalorian. “What’s wrong is that you’re abandoning me!” You pause, then sigh. “I’m in love with you,” you whisper.

He’s frozen in time, all of a sudden, and you almost laugh.

“It’s pathetic. It’s straight out of a fucking chick-flick. A cliche for the ages,” you mutter, wondering if you should jump out of the spaceship now or if you should wait until the child is sleeping.

“Y/n-” he starts, but you shake your head.

“No, no, don’t, because I already know what you’re going to say, and I don’t think I can bear to hear you say it.” You take a long pause, breathing heavily. “I get it, I do, but it hurts, however stupid it is. Even on the off chance you even felt the same, I know what you would say. ’We can’t, it’ll never work, I’m too busy being angsty and broody,’” You shake your head. He doesn’t say anything, the silent tension in the room growing by the second. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, this isn’t fair of me. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe just… forget I said anything.” You shake your head, embarrassed by your fit of passion.

“I, er. What if…” he begins, struggling to come up with the words.

“Don’t try to make me feel better.”

He steps towards you. “What if I don’t want to forget you said anything?” You freeze, looking at him, your eyebrows strung together. “What if I love you too?”

“Yeah,” you mutter. “What if?”

He laughs, this sort of half-laugh thing. “Wow, okay.” You give a sort of half smile back, realizing that he’s standing kinda really close and your breathing is kinda really heavy. “Y/n, I love you, too.”

“We can’t,” you suddenly say. “I’m too busy brooding and being angsty. You’ve heard my music collection.”

He laughs, this time. “I love your music collection.” You realize that his arms are around you. And your hands are on his chest. And you’re so. Close. To. Him. You smile, then lean your head against his shoulder.

“You’re the only person in the Universe who has ever loved me,” you say, and his arms tighten around you. “Someone once told me that humans have this instinct to love their offspring. My mother proved that can’t be true.”

“Your mother didn’t know that you didn’t need her to turn out smart, and beautiful, and kind,” he says, and suddenly, you think you’ve found home.

“Please don’t make me leave you,” you whisper. “Please don’t abandon me. Mando, I don't have anything besides you. Which is like super dependent, but this whole situation already sucks.”

He’s quiet. He steps back, shaking his head. You realize that this may be the last time you ever get to see him. But, then he says, “I won’t. I… I swear, I never will.”

~~~oOo~~~

It becomes clear to you, as you tuck the little green child that you’ve grown so fond of into bed, that your life has become anything but normal. But, that’s okay, you think, because you’re happy. You’re more happy in this spaceship with the strangest man you’ve ever met and this fifty-year-old child and the occasional appearance of badass space women than you ever were on earth.

It also becomes clear to you, as you lie in the Mandalorian’s arms one evening, that you and him have no ordinary relationship. For one, you’ve never seen his face, like, ever. And for another thing, you were kind of forcefully thrown into each other’s lives. But, that’s okay, you think. Because, damnit, it’s the healthiest relationship you’ve ever had with another human being. It’s the strongest bond you’ve ever had with another human. It’s the safest you’ve ever felt… ever.

“Mando,” you say quietly, and he hums. “Is that your real name?”

He hesitates, then says, “It’s a real enough name.”

You’re sitting in his lap, and he sits in the pilots seat, and you’re looking at the stars. It’s really, rather odd, you think. It feels so intimate, which, in all fairness, it is. It’s been a few days since your rather brash confessions, and you still haven’t figured out quite how this will work out. You decide, though, that you’ll ask yourself that afterwards. But for now you’re going to be as close to him as possible. You need that much.

“Why, hello,” Cara says, and you jump up, crossing your arms, leaning against the control panel carefully.

“Hey, hello,” you say, but she smiles knowingly.

“So, I’m not really qualified to look after this thing,” she says, the child tucked under one of her arms. You hold your hands out and she hands it off to you willingly.

“I won’t be able to look after you and the kid at the same time, and you can’t look after the kid while keeping your guard up,” Mando says, and Cara shrugs.

“What are you suggesting?” she asks, and you move your gaze from her to Mando.

“We add a party to our crew. And then we head to Nevarro.”

~~~oOo~~~

You sit in the cockpit while Cara and Mando talk to whoever it is assisting. The child stays with you, in your arms, and you just wait. And waiting means you have time to think. And having time to think means nothing good.

You realize that you’re probably going to die. This is it. You’re going to be dead. There’s no way to avoid it. I mean, your heart wants to trust Mando, but reasonably, this can’t end well.

You could go to Sorgan… but you won’t leave Mando. Not in a million years.

You hear voices from behind you. “So, where is the child?” an unfamiliar voice says. You turn around, and there’s Mando, Cara, and an unknown being.

“Kuiil, this is Y/n, Y/n, Kuiil,” Mando says, and Kuiil nods at you.

“It is truly a pleasure to meet you, Y/n,” he says, taking the baby from your arms, which you hesitantly let up.

“Do you think you’ll be able to build a sort of crib for him?” you ask gently, and Kuiil nods, a sort of smile on his face.

“I’ll get right on it.”

a/n: hi! like and reblog if u liked this pretty please and thank you!! also leave a comment if you feel like it! so sorry for this being so, so late. stay safe and happy darlings!

taglist: @marvels-blue-phoenix @simonsbluee @javert-delacour @loilko @jelly-snow-stark @mutantsandproud @ugly-wall-flower @taman-a @hollanfield (leave an ask or message or comment to be added or removed!)

#din djarin x reader #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian #din djarin #star wars #star wars x reader #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #x reader #reader insert

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deadcfnight · 3 years

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Did you see that? I could have sworn that I just spotted [ SUMMER BISHIL ] ducking into the shadows. Oh, it was just [ BRIAR PAUZIÉ ]. They’ve always been kind of odd. You know, I’ve heard rumors that they are actually a [ VAMPYRE ] and work as a [ NIGHTCRAWLER and DOCTOR ]. I don’t know if that’s actually true, but I do know that they are PROVOCATIVE & MAGNETIC, which is nice, but they also are INFLAMMATORY & HEDONISTIC when you piss them off.

BIRTH NAME. Fabrizia da Firenze USED NAME/S. Briar Pauzié, Bri AGE. internally: 625 — visually: 30s GENDER. Female, she/her SPECIES. Vampyre SEXUALITY. Anything’s worth trying once RELIGION. Atheist BIRTHPLACE. Florence, Italy HEIGHT. 5'5" PHYSIQUE. Slender but well toned, endowed with strength and grace LANGUAGE(S). Italian, Latin, English, Russian, French, German. CURRENT OCCUPATION. Doctor (& Clan’s Nightcrawler) MBTI. ESTJ-T / ESTJ-A, “The Executive” ENNEAGRAM. 98% Type 8: “The Challenger” — sees themselves as strong and powerful and seeks to stand up for what they believe in. 95% Type 6: “The Skeptic” — preoccupied with security, seeking safety, and liking to be prepared for problems JUNG. ESTJ VIRTUES. Quick-witted, provocative, proud, ambitious, cunning, magnetic, eloquent VICES. Inflammatory, hedonistic, cocky, pernicious, mercurial, wrathful, begrudging MORAL ALIGNMENT. Chaotic Neutral, day-to-day. Neutral Evil, under pressure TEMPERAMENT. Choleric

QUICK FACTS & HEADCANONS ❦ Dominates the night shift schedule at the hospital, much to everyone’s awe and relief.

❦ After participating in various Renaissance celebrations, throwing herself into international city nightlife, and an extensive 1920s partying stint, she doesn’t find any appeal in introducing foreign upper and downer substances into her system. Drinking is not a comfort habit she ever developed, having died before she was able to develop a fondness or crutch on such things.

❦ Similarly, she doesn’t find much enjoyment in music. Classical, she associates with her horrendous excuse of an uncle. Pop and bass heavy numbers are too stimulating. Atmospheric nature sounds or the hum of overlapping conversations soothes her best. The only genre exception, if one could call it that, would be bard compositions or medieval instrumentals, since she has positive memories of her time in England.

❦ Is indifferent towards the supernatural elements of the world. She tolerates each equally, though is most wary of fire wielding witches and young vampyres. The level of volatility she has encountered with the two manifestations left an unforgettably unfavourable impression upon her memory — she possesses no interest in re-hashing old wounds nor maturely turning the other cheek. In her mind, both are best avoided altogether lest irreversible mistakes be made.

❦ Has a tendency to use very dated phrases or insults that don’t always age well or translate into the zeitgeist’s vernacular.

❦ Irate at all times, simmering beneath the surface, but has grown so adapted to the perpetual persistence of the feeling she appears entirely placid at face value. A few lifetimes of trial and error and discipline has equipped her with the knowledge that it serves no one to betray the tumultuous nature of her inner workings through body language or unnecessarily drawing attention to herself. She’s well-aware nothing about her situation (past and present) can be changed by letting any impulsive immature desires run rampant. Only the sharpness of her tongue provides the occasional preview of her bitter and wrathful edges, to those paying close enough attention, exclusively reserved for the informal company (AKA the presence of any supernatural being).

❦ Whilst entirely professional in her workplace, she has her moments of despair if triggered by a sensitive circumstance. Usually it revolves around encountering children burdened with a terminal illness or catastrophic injury that cannot be helped, despite all modern medicine’s best efforts. When an innocent can’t be saved. Neglectful guardians/foster figures evidently just invested in the money aspect of fostering and not their child’s health are no better. To avoid unpacking her own personal baggage around such issues and the self-reflection required to adequately process her emotions into any other form but frustration, she has falls into an episode of madness. It’s almost as if she reverts to her 14th century deathbed’s self except empowered by mobility, wherein she’s nothing but mercurial, broody, and intolerant until the haze wears off and she resumes her regular routine. Usually she can anticipate the bad news/encounter before the flare begins and she can identity precisely when it is time to carefully isolate and distance herself from others.

❦ Is unaffected by the sight and scent of blood, proudly so. Additionally, she’s quite the purist when it comes to the blood she will consume, preferring to only engage with the healthiest or privileged of sources — usually someone rich, upper class, who can afford to lose a little energy now and then. Outside her practice, when it comes to feeding, alongside an aftercare dose of glamour, she still likes to politely siphon blood with the butterfly needles (a stash kept on her at all times). Doing so leaves minimal trace, rather than causing a puncture with her own teeth — it’s a chosen boundary, believing it separates her from ever stooping to savage animalistic urgency.

FULL BIOGRAPHY

Known by a multitude of names over her 625 years of “life”, once upon a time, Briar was known as Fabrizia. Born in the late 14th century Florence during the Italian renaissance, it was a time eventually celebrated for the many of the scientific, artistic and cultural advancements. However, in its early stages, there were more obstacles than rewards faced by lower class citizens. Both her parents were struggling artists, additionally her father taking on a job as a textile worker after she was born in order to keep their family afloat.

Fabrizia spent most of her childhood years in the shared studio of her parents. She was always naturally curious, growing up to mimicking their artistic gestures on canvas scraps. As stubborn as she was creative, often Fabrizia would stay up late into the night alongside their candlelit figures, awaiting the moment exhaustion finally caused their hands to tremble and officially announce bedtime. She was an adored daughter, inspiring both her mother and father to keep working hard despite the lack of immediate payoff. One day, they hoped to earn enough that slaving away all day would no longer be necessary. In the meantime, idyllic family life was put on hold.

When Fabrizia entered adolescence, she began to show signs of sickness. Modern medicine would have been able to identify it was unnaturally high exposure to the toxic fumes and particles let off by the compounds in her parents’ cheap yet vivid paints - no match against her weak constitution. Soon, her presence became too disruptive in the studio. The volume of her coughs, fidgeting, and whining of feverish discomfort made her a nuisance to paint alongside.

When it was gently yet adamantly advised she spend time outside with the neighbourhood children, Fabrizia threw the first of what would become a chain of tantrums. Her father, more stern and stronger than mother, took matters into his own hands and contacted his brother across the city - Fabrizia’s uncle, Lorenzo - a struggling composer at the time. The task of babysitting her was reluctantly taken on, but due to his craft being less sensitive than the focus of her parents’ skillset (plus the handsome sum put on offer each session despite her family’s poverty) made it an offer hard to refuse.

Lorenzo’s efforts of keeping her hidden inside to avoid local ridicule over her ill state did nothing to assist in the speed at which further symptoms manifested. Her parents knew they couldn’t yet afford to get her the treatment she needed, and neglected to address her increasing list of health problems in the hopes that she would grow out of them. An art sale was just around the corner that promised connections could be made that would be enough to sustain them for many years to come. Assuming she could hold on a little longer, trusting Lorenzo’ abilities as her primary guardian, they turned away from their daughter’s mysterious ailment to focus on their work.

Fabrizia’s teen years only ushered in further health deterioration, until her uncle - highly religious, adhering strictly to the belief that ‘God has a plan for everyone’ - could finally take no more and brought her to a strange decrepit church on the outskirts of town. Deeming her possessed by something unholy, she spent several months under the care of nun-like figures who laced anything that graced her lips with pernicious doses of arsenic; every ounce of water, broth, and handmade medicinal syrups.

Fabrizia returned home sicker, but in too frail a state to do much of anything. Bittersweetly, in the time she was absent, her parents had indeed successfully earned enough money to be able to further address her needs and swiftly admitted her to a hospital. They didn’t know it would be the last time they would see any real life in their daughter’s eyes. Words like “lunacy” and “hysteria” haunted the air around Fabrizia as much as the unfamiliar and identical series of masked faces. It was impossible to keep track of the time that passed there. Experiments which led to pain and numbness saturated her days, which turned to weeks, maybe months…

Fabrizia was returned to her family’s home, in an indefinite catatonic state until the one (un)fateful day her uncle paid a visit, bringing with him a “special” priest. She could only follow the mysterious man with her eyes, barely registering it as peculiar when he dipped out of sight by her neck. Her vitals had been checked countlessly over the years. However, it wasn’t the press of fingers that awaited her this time - but fangs.

Fabrizia died in 1425, re-emerging from the earth in a frenzy of confusion, lithe movement, and ability she had not experienced in years. Only the face of the so-called priest remained nearby, explaining to her what had happened and what was expected of her henceforth. The impulse to hurt him felt suddenly stifled by a confounding sense of loyalty. Instead, she channeled her energy into the unfortunate strangers passing nearby. Once her hunger was curbed, a good time later, she demanded to see her uncle - the cause of this shift. Cloaked by a new moon, she located her uncle at his Florence home. At first sight, he called her reanimation miraculous. She called him dead.

For a long while Fabrizia begged to be destroyed by her maker, tried to step into the sun, tried to break any law she knew of - but every time, an inner subconscious and unbreakable instinct to survive forbade her from proceeding beyond an irreversible point. Fabrizia felt only rage and resentment for her fate, her instinct to consume blood not aligned with her disinterest to continue walking upon earth. She developed the habit of starving herself until forced to feed in a blind frenzy - after each encounter, “waking” to behold the damage she had caused and realising she was no better than the selfish and cruel man who had sentenced her to this fate. In an effort to protect hurting any more innocents and curve her bloodlust, she began working at the Ospedale degli Innocenti where she bided her time taking care of abandoned and orphaned children, developing discipline. It was easier to resist and protect weaker bodies - less appealing in their malnourished state. Only their abusers received harm, if she could track them down in the span of a single evening.

Decades of service later, she finally plucked up the courage to seek out her family, only to learn that too long had past - time no longer meant what it used to - and not only had her lower class parents progressed in the world well enough to become aristocrats, but they had died 30 years earlier. Only distant family members remained, none of them recognising her with anything but fear and distrust.

In honour of the discovery, Fabrizia processed her mourning by changing her name to her mother’s - Beatrisia. Soon after, Beatrisia went on to explore the lively culture of England’s Renaissance. There she learned skills of metal smithing, carpentry, and ceramics. She found satisfaction in tasks which were long but with purpose, helping time not feel like the monotonous imprisonment it had become.

From England, she followed word of the witch hunts causing unrest in Sweden and Finland. What began as a morbid curiosity to witness the stupidity of mob mentality humans soon progressed into a deal of sorts. Beatrisia would locate convicted witches in small untraceable towns and ask if she could feed on and turn them, the following night letting them have revenge on those who wrongly outed them. Beatrisia found the bond created in the process of creating a progeny bewildering and nauseating, but - for better and worse - the newborns’ irresponsibility made them easy targets, insatiable desires for blood foolishly leading them away from the safe cover of their small countryside towns to city limits that quickly captured and killed them for good.

The loss of the vivid connection hurt, at first. But Beatrisia learned to dull the sensation, as she did with most feelings. Through the maker-fledgling connection, Beatrisia had a taste of the agony that occurred and refused to subject herself to the seemingly easy escape route. After enduring the pain of her human life, she would never again suffer in order to die - it would be on her own terms, and it would be done well.

The agreement to turn supposed criminals into vampyres served both Beatrisia’s disdain for witch-hunting and allowed enigmatic human women, wrongly deemed witches, to get revenge. However, upon one significant instance, there was no error in the town’s uproar. An authentic witch named Sigrid was on the verge of having her freedom literally burned at the stake. Sigrid ruled over the fire element; a wild and beautiful woman that clearly needed no saviour. Yet, Beatrisia was still inclined to give her the same offer - immortality and vampiric ability for the sake of revenge. Sigrid was unlike the others, she was powerful, cunning and accomplished. It was as if she’d seen Beatrisia coming. Sigrid introduced a new deal; what if she henceforth travelled with Beatrisia as her self-nominated blood bag, making herself useful. In exchange, she would help Beatrisia find legitimate witches, and truly free them.

Over time, the lines of their arrangement blurred - first through infatuation, then love. Beatrisia eventually refused to feed on Sigrid any longer, desiring a different sort of intimacy. The two swiftly became lovers, intertwined and unstoppable for several years until the bond was abruptly severed after an explosive argument when Sigrid’s freedom plans included mercilessly killing village children descendant from hunters and Beatrisia’s death wish were brought to light. Irreconcilable differences which saw Sigrid erupting into infuriated flames which Beatrisia could not halt, nor desired to prevent. Her first experience with romantic love was one furiously stripped away from her, watched turn from flesh and bone to ash. But Beatrisia learned to dull what being heartbroken felt like, as she did with all other feelings. Loneliness always suited her best.

Seeking distance from any companionship for the forceable future, Beatrisia changed her name to Katya and retreated to less hospitable conditions - Russia. Eventually she met a shy diamond jeweller named Jeremie; an expert at working with jewels, but unfamiliar to noble metals. He hired Katya as one of his subcontractors to metal work, during which time she learned how to work with and identify authentic versus counterfeit jewels. It grew to be a highly esteemed position, with commissions sought out from Russian Imperial court's jeweler. After Jeremie’s death, his old age not dawning on Katya until it was too late, the chief court jeweller’s disdain for having to collaborate roared its ugly head and cast Katya out to find work elsewhere.

Katya changed her name to Briar, letting the old version of her die alongside her cherished mentor. She stayed in St. Petersburg long enough to idly apprentice under a goldsmith within a jewellery store in a basement shop. There, she caught wind of the Russian nobility's Francophilia, associating France with luxury goods.

Always on the brink of an identity crisis, Katya used status elevation as an excuse to visit Paris to get an ear for the dialect amidst earning better wages. This pursuit of knowledge developed into making a hobby of further travelling and studying the languages of neighbouring European countries. She had all the time in the world.

With the rise of 1900s political issues, Briar hid in Swiss mountains for the illusion of peace. Getting involved with humans’ affairs had burned her before, after all. However, whilst keeping a low profile there she encountered a nomadic group of local vampires, hungrily anticipating a bloody aftermath would solve the world tensions. Much to Briar’s charging, it re-ignited her stubborn urge to protect the innocent or injured inhabitants of the world around her. Already believing her tolerance well-formed and stable, to truly test her limits, she signed up to be trained as a nurse. It was a vocation which led to a placement at the frontlines of WW1, no amount of infection or blood causing her to tremble. It gave her purpose, value, and - most importantly - distraction. Thus, after the war’s conclusion, she pursued becoming certified as a doctor.

Briar flew to America in the 1920s, indulgently partying and pleasure seeking like there was no tomorrow wherever she could as she bounced between borders until WW2 occurred and she leant her services once more. Keeping her senses immersed in the cacophony of iron and injury kept her focus off of the magnetic tug of The Yearning, until war passed and yearning was all she had left to listen to. She tried to ignore the feeling, fiercely independent before it occurred to her that the very place she was resisting may hold the pivotal answer she desperately sought - what if she could harness the power that seemingly teemed there and finally find a way to destroy herself, once and for all? Stranger things had happened in her “life”, after all.

Briar made her grand entry upon the territory of Roldche River in the 1980s, remaining untethered and impartially observant for a while before assimilating the the society developed there, earning a job with her medical credentials. The simultaneous task of protecting the region by dark proved useful in keeping aware of the activity that teemed amongst the town - no new face slipped past her. For each new arrival, she secretly wondered if they would be the one to help her sever her so far unshakable tie to earth.

#about.#some ✨bonus facts ✨for the helluvit.

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chaosenticed-blog · 5 years

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greetings angels ! i’m steven, going by she/her pronouns and miserably lodged in the pst timezone, also currently known as the devil’s taint thanks to this heatwave ! super fun ! pls bear with me , i’ll be up everyone’s asses for plots with my lil dudebro shithead 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖘 , he’s a new muse of mine i’ve conjured up bc ethan is just too good looking to not utilize ? i’ll keep this short so we can pull a queen carly rae and cut to the feeling ~

❛ chicago’s very own 𝖘𝖎𝖑𝖆𝖘 𝖉𝖎 𝖌𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖆𝖑𝖉𝖎 has been spotted in new york city in his jeep wrangler blackhawk , welcome ! your resemblance to ethan dolan is unreal. according to tmz, you just had your twentieth birthday bash. your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re 𝐈𝐌𝐏𝐑𝐔𝐃𝐄𝐍𝐓 , but being 𝐒𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐎𝐔𝐒 might help you. i guess being a taurus explains that. three things that would paint a better picture of you would be 𝐂𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐋 𝐎𝐔𝐓𝐅𝐈𝐓𝐒, 𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐄𝐘𝐄𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐋𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐍𝐄𝐄𝐃, 𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐏 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐂𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐅𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐔𝐌𝐄𝐒 𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃. & ( cismale & he / him / his )

aesthetic :

playing guitar barefooted in a hammock, sun kissed skin and a half-kept beard, knowing all the vegan options at the city’s boujiest restaurants, a crooked grin saved for whoever he can tell needs it most, overthinking his next move even if it seems completely organic, a boyish laugh at the most asinine pranks, c-’s littering his transcript ( except the a earned in environmental science, his elective of choice ), calling instead of texting because texting “ loses the humanity, ” casual nights spent oversized hoodies, yellow checkered vans, shorts with a 60-day chip in the left pocket, yelling out species of trees passing by over thumping bass beats on a road trip, sweat on designer-clothed skin like glitter, doing head counts of “the squad” over and over in the rear view mirror on the way home from a rager, random stupid tattoos done “ for the memory, ” intricate handshakes performed with ease. acting like you don’t care, but you do— god you do, sometimes so much it consumes you whole.

inspired by :

jim halpert from the office, jackson maine from a star is born, jim hawkins from treasure planet, jackson avery and owen hunt from grey’s anatomy.

history :

born to a major chicago councilman father and a ceo mother, the middle of three boys, silas found himself drawn outside until the sun came down, connecting to whatever the earth was able to give him in the inhospitable chicago weather . he’d wander aimlessly for hours, guiding his twin and their older brother through the trails he made himself . his home wherever he could make it — the branches of creaking trees at the park , the caverns of frosted caves , he learned to be content with the little things , humble and rooted firmly in his beliefs of morality and logic .

it was never exactly fun to play the role of the son in the limelight, eyes on his family whenever his parents where on a particularly tricky trip . his eldest brother, julien, was a parent’s dream and easily took up a political career without any complications . balancing in the shadow of his eldest brother and the push of his twin , silas kept his own hopes and dreams on the back burner , prioritizing a family name before his own desires ( and thus , the apparition begins. )

he knows the eyes are on him to carry on the family legacy , and does the bare minimum possible to keep his uptight parents off his back . he went to the private schools , played the big name sports , mingled with the a-listers . he fills the role to please his family and keep the peace , but once the light comes off him , he pushes off against the prim and proper upbringing and finds his own stride . though he takes the classes and attends the conferences to make his father think he’s prime for having his name in the news , silas could not be bothered to carry the illusion on into the rest of his life . nights are spent at raves , hiking canyons off the grid , indulging himself .

yet all this time spent trying to fit into a future he never asked for folded over on him , as one would readily expect . the beginning of his freshman year , it was exposed that his father had carried on with an affair nearly two decades ago and kept it secret until now , resulting in a half-sister close to his age and an onslaught of media attention on his once-pristine family . now , his father remaining in chicago and his mother moving to new york to helm her medical cosmetics business with a renewed vigor , silas chooses to make the jump to new york wit his mom . to his chagrin , she notes a political run in her future that puts silas on edge , forcing him to really come to terms with living the life his family will forever ask of him .

never one to particularly enjoy attention, the added pressure of trying to repair his family’s reputation ( and keep mum on the bitter divide caused within his family ) drove him to a point where anything he could use to escape would become a viable option . smiling for cameras and keeping up appearances in public led to binge drinking and benders galore in private , ultimately ending with his twin brother hauling him to the emergency room after a particularly brutal night . a stint in rehab this last summer ( explained as “ humanitarian work in the middle east ” ) led to silas’ newfound perspective on life— struggling every day to keep in mind who he is, and who he feels he has to be for the world .

personality :

silas’ upbringing has been rocky to say the LEAST, and despite half the shit he’s gone through he’s managed to keep a pretty solid head on his shoulders ?

i’ve been playing emo broody boys so often i wanted to switch it up and lowkey ? silas is a breath of fresh air okay . he’s your quintessential frat bro but with ~layers~ and none of the tragic manic pixie dream boy . he comes across as a reserved and non-talkative kind of guy, stoic at first meeting, but with time and comfort people find he’s really just a cool laid-back dude . he’s the dad friend of the group and spends as much time caring for others as he can possibly allow between his totally booked schedule of pretending to be a preppy boy and literally not giving a shit about most things.

he loves nature and hiking and being outside just as much as he loves a good party , which is where festivals and the rave scene come into play . he loves sharing good energy with the people around him and tries to keep the peace within his circles. silas has a genuinely kind and benevolent heart , one he doesn’t expose readily but also doesn’t ignore . he uses humor and quiet observations of others to keep himself ahead of the loop, even if his generally bro-ish personality leads people to believe he’s inattentive or ignorant . he’s responsible and mature and deeply intelligent, but most of all, has common sense and doesn’t let a decision be made without weighing the pros and cons .

( for the most part . )

silas has forever been recognized as inheriting his father’s impulsivity , a trait he absolutely fears after seeing the terror it wreaked on his family . he pushes himself to be smart and rational, trying to see the logic in all things , and tries to be as disciplined as he can manage . when other factors come into the equation though , he struggles to keep up his resolve and will easily lose himself in the moment . he has an addictive and ultimately reckless personality , which led to his addiction and consequential rehabilitation . he tries to minimize the time he spends with people that may lead him down a path he doesn’t want to go down , but obviously not everything goes as planned .

otherwise , silas is stubborn but considerate of others . he’s intelligent and creative but very poorly motivated , mostly doing things for the sake of his family and letting little else bother him . he’s loyal and sensitive to the emotions of others , but is the first to call out bullshit if it surrounds him . he’s almost painfully mellow and is notorious for not having buttons to press lmao . he just doesn’t let most people’s comments get to him . he has no issue in cutting out the things ( or people ) he has no interest in spending his time on and can come across as a bit forward in this regard . he can be hypocritical and overly complex , having conflicting feelings that he can’t explain or rationalize and lead to him snapping or breaking down . he’s deeply jealous and has a bad habit of overthinking and not letting others bear his burden with him .

as of now, silas isn’t sure where he wants to take his future . very few know about his stint in rehab, and he explains his lack of drugs or drinking as his preparation to be a walk-on for the wrestling team at NYU where he attends , as his mother has been encouraging him to pursue in order to build a fanbase base for his future political conquests . currently, he does modeling for a casual platform and represents certain brands he’s actually rather passionate about . he’d LITERALLY rather d*e than go into politics, and is eyeing a future in environmental advocacy or ambassador work , but knows this is not a future aligned with the di grimaldi legacy . for now , he remains at a crossroads , living half a life he doesn’t even recognize , just hoping it’ll manage itself on its own .

connections :

forbidden ( 0/2 ) — best friend’s gf ? his brother’s ex ? his sister’s best friend ? basically i want someone who silas wants but can’t have because of another relationship that could REALLY put them in a dangerous spot and potentially ruin what they have, but it’s all hidden glances and risky snapchats trying to gauge where the line is and where it can be crossed

exes ( 0/? ) — gimmie angst, gimmie chill, gimmie people who mutually broke up and are bros, give me people who had a messy split and it’s still touchy, give me people who are “ supposed to be over ” but end up in each other’s beds at the end of every other night, give me people who fucking hate each other, this is so versatile i’ll take anything.

“ gucci shoes, boy i invented you ” ( 0/1 )— a fake gf he had for the clout, someone who really helped him live up to the image his family wanted for him, basically helped “ make him ” and in the process, she fell in love with him. did he feel the same way ? did he not realize it ? did he simply not reciprocate ? either way, they ended poorly and now she resents him and thinks he’s a cowardly piece of shit, since she’s seen the “ real him ” vs the him she helped conjure. lots of tension !

turn up team ( 0/4 ) — basically : whos gonna go rave with him ? he’s not gonna roll w them if drugs are involved but he’ll enjoy his adrenaline high with pleasure. these are people who aren’t close enough to him to pressure him into doing drugs again, so he feels okay with going out with them since there’s little to no risk he’ll relapse

squad ( 0/3-4 ) — i’m thinking a small group of people who he’s just always likely to be found with, these are the people who matter most to him and u can hella catch him fathering them almost to an ANNOYING extent. they get to see the best ( and sometimes the worst ) of him, but he’d do anything for his squad

devil on his shoulder ( 0/2 ) — this can be as intentionally or unintentionally toxic as u want, but i’m basically envisioning two people who really tempt silas to risk it all. maybe they want him to dive back into the hedonistic side he has ( he was wild and lots of people lowkey hyped him up for it ) and it’s gritty and sexy and dark. maybe this person doesn’t even realize they’re a trigger for him and unintentionally send him close to the edge.

sponsors / confidants ( 0/2 ) — i’m envisioning a team of 3 who have been THROUGH it with the substance abuse, maybe they stage “ improvised meetings ” whenever they need to, maybe these are just two people who want to make sure silas stays clean because they know how badly he needs it and how dangerous it would be for him to relapse

vlog squad ( ? ) — my idea is that silas and his twin brother are youtubers, and silas is a BIG paranormal shit guy. it’s like the perfect intersection of talking about nature and exploration without making him seem like a hippie tree-hugger and raise any objections from his parents, so maybe he has like a little group similar to the vlog squad where they share a channel and they have a small following?

i’m putting in a wc for his twin brother and his half-sister so peep THOSE

sibling-like friendship, booty calls, hookups, people he’s in a club on campus with, childhood friends, maybe a penpal he had after moving around from place to place ?

please literally give me anything that makes me smile or suffer ? and all in between . muah lov u all can’t wait to rp !

#wealthyhq:intro #this is a mess but i'll post my discord in a sec since i'm going mobile !

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tootiredtobeunique · 5 years

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The Hilda Characters on Halloween

This is probably trash but, I have this idea that the main Hilda gang have an annual Halloween costume competition with a different theme every year (one year they dress up as the silliest thing they can come up with - it was David's turn to pick the theme that year - another year it's great scientists throughout history - Frida - and another year Johanna picks the theme of dressing up as how they see themselves on the inside) and they decide a winner by an anonymous vote (Johanna decides this, to teach the importance of voting), written on pieces of paper and tossed into a witch's hat (provided from the Librarian's own ritual wardrobe, of course).

Anyway, so one year Raven decides on the theme of dressing up as their worst fears. Johanna objects at first, but then she sees how upset the kids get when she shoots it down and Raven starts looking all sad, and the Librarian convinces her to let them go through with it.

Johanna herself dresses up as a rock troll (with grey face paint, a clown nose painted grey and pillows stuffed under grey sweats) despite all of Hilda's objections that rock trolls really are just misunderstood creatures.

The Librarian is afraid of nothing but fear itself, but the kids convince her to dress up so she puts together a lazy ghost costume (a mandala patterned bed sheet because she doesn't own any white sheets, with holes cut in it to make kind of a ghost shawl, and then lets Frida braid white ribbons into her hair) and everyone's happy.

Hilda thinks about it for ages and at the last minute dresses up as the result of a bike crash, with deflated wheels around her neck and waist and a fake twisted handlebar through her shoulder (like those headbands with either end of an arrow sticking out of it so it looks like you've been shot in the head, but with handlebars) and a bike bell on her head like a hat, and they all know it's kind of a cop out but nobody mentions it except for when Frida says, “I really can't imagine why you'd still be afraid of bicycles, Hilda, you haven't had a fall in ages.”

Frida knows what she's most afraid of (losing her friends because of her own stubbornness and messing everything up again, failing at school and disappointing her parents) but she doesn't know how that would translate into a physical costume (she tells the Librarian as much when she's helping out with packing away books into their respective shelves in the library - it was David's idea for her to start volunteering there, because it would teach her some tidying up skills and it wouldn't seem as tedious because she likes books and all that - but all she says is that she could magic her up a costume that would make her look like the personification of whoever looks at her's worst fear, which she politely declines) so she decides to go as a Mara. It's been so long at this point that they can look back and laugh at the whole ordeal with the Mara, and dressing up as one helps her with accepting that it's all over and they're all friends again, especially when her friends help her to make her costume look as mocking towards the Mara as possible. She wears a sweater so large it reaches her ankles, wears glasses with green tinted lenses (they're St. Patrick's day glasses) and goes around acting all broody and sad.

David, surprisingly, has the most fun with the whole thing. He can't pick any one thing, so he ends up going as a combination of a bunch of different things and it all looks quite ridiculous. He wears a clown wig and makeup (the makeup provided by Johanna), a white sheet shawl for ghostiness, fairy wings because fairies are evil, Hilda, stop laughing, one foot a bear paw, the other a wolf's, one hand a hoof and the other a skeleton hand. There's a unicorn horn sticking out of his clown wig. He looks more like a toddler's imaginary friend than anything to be afraid of and it makes him feel daring enough to join Hilda in her Halloween Harmless Prank Spree (another Hilda Halloween tradition) for the first time.

Alfur is the fine print in a contract. Frida helps him with his costume by using the Librarians eyeliner pencil and David's magnifying glass to ‘tattoo’ Alfur with the complicated legal terms which he dictates to her. No spelling mistakes are made and it's all quite neat, until he smudges it while writing out a contract swearing Hilda to refrain from making him a victim of her (truly harmless but really hilarious) pranks. The gang comforts him by telling him that they're really the only ones who will see him anyway and Johanna says that she thinks smudged fine print is much scarier, anyway.

Raven dresses up as a bat, which they all agreed was quite underwhelming for how much he hyped up his costume.

(Before they go out for the night, Hilda steals David's unicorn horn and straps it onto Twig's head.)

They all take Halloween almost more seriously than Christmas. The mornings are spent baking cookies and setting out the Real Decorations (they've had Halloween decorations up since the end of September), then they all set our to do their own daily business. Frida reads scary stories to kids in the library while the Librarian does a Halloween ritual in the hidden bit of the library (“It's just a little sacrifice to appease the Halloween gods so that they don't rain down their wrath on us this year - been in my family since Halloween first started being celebrated,” she says). Hilda sets up her pranks and David helps her this year (every other year he carves a pumpkin to enter into the city's pumpkin carving competition, and comes in at a decent second place). Johanna busies herself with collecting payment for all the Halloween special commissions she's designed and then they meet up with all the other parents and cook dinner together. They watch a scary movie while they help each other with putting on their costumes, and then the kids go out trick or treating while the adults stay in to greet trick or treaters (they switch up which family's house they go to every year and the kids in town figure out their pattern to get to that house that gives out cool stickers with their candies).

At midnight, they do the voting and choose the winner. David wins by a landslide, with Johanna and Frida tied for second place, Hilda in third, Twig in fourth, Alfur in fifth and Raven dead last.

(The winner gets to sit back and gorge themselves on all the leftover candy and a fifth of everyone's haul while the others clean up the decorations.)

(They do the theme “Unusual and Ominous Entities” one year and they all dress up as Woodman. Woodman joins in that year - he just shows up out of nowhere for Halloween dinner at Frida's parent's house - and he's dressed as Hilda despite not even knowing the theme.)

#hilda netflix #hilda the series #woodman #david's scared of fairies #this is so long you probably stopped reading after two sentences #did i mention i ship johanna and the librarian?#it's not even halloween season #hilda #is this original?#has this been done before?

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faiseuse-d-histoires · 5 years

Text

A Dance of Shadows, chapter 5

Here it is! I hope you enjoy!

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18961603/chapters/45488338

Tyrion I

The wave was hard, this year, Tyrion thought with an amused smile.

Colors, everywhere. Crimson red, vivid green, bright blue, golden orange and soft pink. Purple, also. Flashing on the ceiling, on the floor, on the walls. Fabrics of silks from Lys, moving graciously, carrying these colors triumphally, giving them life and flow. A chaos of colors to make people forget about the holes that were still showing on the walls.

No grey, surprisingly. The king hadn’t wanted it, despite Tyrion’s protests about the utility to remember people of his family. The color seemed to displease him now, somehow.

Well, actually, grey wasn’t such a happy color. Tyrion hadn’t really liked it, but still diplomacy would have been better with it. With these Northerners who somehow found their way to the party and were sulking in a corner, ignoring the joy and lust radiating from every pore of the newly repaired castle. They were almost as broody as the only two members of the faith that deigned to join it. It had been difficult to convince them, but they did anyway. These stubborn men who were quite offended by their king’s choice of faith.

Dornishmen were the absentee of the feast, sadly. And that absence quite unnerved Tyrion. At least, they were some Dornishwomen… if it could appease him (surprisingly, it didn’t).

What could they be plotting? He wondered. News were hard to get, these days, and the king’s attentions were more in the north than in the south.

Still, wine was flowing from fountains. Boys were jumping in it, while some men chose to bath instead.

Girls giggled, euphoric from all the festivities. Women dancing, with their nipples bouncing as they moved. No ladies, these ones, no. But entertainers. Some whores. And the ladies, with a bit more clothes, judging them from afar as their husbands goggled them.

What a sight he liked to have in the afternoon.

Yes, today was a good day, Tyrion thought. Today was a day he prepared himself. A day to make illusions, and perhaps miracles.

“Cunts. Cunts everywhere.” Said a rough voice on his right.

Tyrion smiled, inhalating the smell of wine warmed by the sun, sweat and spices.

“Without it, there wouldn’t be any man. It’s a pleasant spectacle to behold.”

Bronn shrugged, a nonchalant smirk on his lips.

“Well, I can get used to it.”

“Don’t you have a lady wife to contend?”

“She said she didn’t want to go. She had other affairs to contend,” Bronn said. “That makes more for me.”

Tyrion smirked.

“Beware of them, my friend,” he said. “Some of them may be more dangerous than you think.”

“That makes the matter more exciting, don’t you think?” Bronn retorted with a smirk, leaving to take one glass of wine.

And maybe one other person as he came too, Tyrion supposed.

Where was the king now? In his chambers? He wondered.

People needed to see him. People needed to hear him. The most important person in the realm could not stay in his chambers with his eyes returned without people wondering if he was still fit to rule.

Tyrion hoped he was present enough. Words would soon spread about him dying.

He looked for the king with worried eyes, and moved, until his sight greeted him.

He was here, on his wheelchair, listening to a minstrel’s songs, just near the entrance.

Good, that was good, he thought.

Aerand Flowers. According to him, son of a long-lost princess and a wildling gone too far south. His features were as delicate as those of a woman, and his eyes as soft as a doe. His hair was blond and shiny, and somehow it made him remember young Lancel Lannister when he was only a little squire at Robert’s orders.

And now, he was singing and playing about the events of one year ago with a soft voice, as if telling a secret to those who cared to listen. And that damn bastard could very much do that! Young girls were already on their knees, staring at him adoringly as he continued his song.

… White as snow his fur was

But no true Wolf he was

With blood tears fate was settled

With fire all was meddled

He only heard the dragon’s roars

And its folly made his heart soar

O pray, O Mother

For his cry to reach its armor

“This song is inexact.” The king said, with suddenly a melancholic voice. “Northerners pray the old gods. Not the news.”

“You don’t seem to include yourself in it, your Majesty.” Tyrion remarked.

“I do not. Not anymore. I cannot really include in anything, now.”

“You are the King.”

“I am a lot of things.” He said. “That doesn’t mean I’m in anything.”

… For when barbarians rode to the city

Mothers could not keep their babies

And the dragon laughed, and laughed,

As his fire burned all their bodies

Wolfs could not prevent it to spread

Neither could lions and krakens

Till it left only fear and dread

Joy for the queen who listens

Young Bran chuckled a bit. A surprising sound from someone with so few expressions these days, Tyrion thought.

But then, another thought came to him, frightening.

“What about Drogon?”

The king said nothing, just smiled lightly. But not with the eyes. Never with the eyes.

… And the she-wolf, she howled, and howled,

To the moon and back they followed her lead

In the North she would remain until she was old

And in the South, he would reign with ease

Such was the pact with other animals they made

For no dragon would come to miss

And no winter would make it cease

As one, but far from each other they would reign

Such were set the fates of these sovereigns.

“Sansa always loved songs. But I don’t think she would like this one.” Bran the Broken said.

“Why?” Tyrion mused. “Is it because of the ‘howling’ thing?”

“It would remind her of what she lost.”

“But also what she gained in return.”

Smile, wanted to say Tyrion. Show me something. Anything.

You’re human, aren’t you?

Bran Stark smiled a little, but it did not reach his eyes.

“You remember the girl she was. But not the woman she is now.”

“Perhaps.”

Was there any songs at little Queen Sansa’s court? He wondered.

Well, she was not THAT little. She was a woman grown. With full breasts, although slender silhouette. Eyes like ice, but mouth like a button of rose. And rich auburn hair, like the colors of a weirwood tree in winter.

He had almost loved her, once. Not that she would ever had him. Even with a kiss on her hand, he could not have a blush out of her.

No, Sansa Stark was no woman for him, even if sometimes, he could imagine it.

“Ironic, doesn’t it seem?” The king continued. “That such a song would sing things that in fact are flitting and feeble.’

“I don’t know, your Grace.”

He had no answers for that. At least, no answer that would satisfy him.

“There are things that allude me.” The young King said, suddenly tense. “I must try to see this.”

Tyrion’s eyes widened even more as he looked from right to left.

Everyone. Almost everyone had their eyes on them. On the power in place.

If it failed, they would be screwed. It could lead to civil war.

“Do not leave us yet, young King,” He pleaded.

Do not leave me with those memories, he wanted to say. Do not leave me with them.

“I’m not young.” The king answered, with his monotone voice. “I have no age.”

Tyrion had grown attached to that boy. At least, to the body of this boy, and the stories that lived in him. Even now, it still fascinated him in the darkest of nights, when after a rough day, both King and Hand could talk more freely.

The man inside it, he wasn’t quite sure he would ever totally know him. He was a conundrum, a mystery. And yet, Tyrion almost feared what he would find behind all of this.

As should be every great monarch, he began to think.

But then, he remembered, and he took another goblet of wine.

“I’m South. Sansa is North. Arya is West. But who is east?” The young king mused.

“Jon Snow is north too, your Grace.” Tyrion added. “He is your family.”

He smiled.

“Jon is gone.”

Gone? What could he mean by that?

“Gone?” “Is he….”

“Kill the boy,” Bran suddenly said. “Kill the boy, and let the man be born”

Tyrion didn’t say anything, for he knew it would be useless. The shock had already dulled his senses. The answer to his questions would come in time anyway. But it won’t always erase the feeling of strangeness that came each time the young king spoke without context explaining it. Nobody could see what he saw. And this fact made him a terrific mystery.

“This is what Aemon Targaryen, from the Night’s Watch, said to Jon Snow,” Bran the Broken uttered, staring at the feast ahead them. “But he didn’t. I did. And Brandon Stark is no more, now.”

“You are Bran Stark. You are the king.”

He smiled, but said no more. Silence came once again between them. Until the song was heard once again, this time talking about a prophecy, and a sacrifice made with love and fire.

Tyrion wanted to laugh bitterly at the irony.

“They are talking about kings and queens.” He said, just to fill the void. “And heroes. I’ve never been one. And it seems to me we’re all out of heroes, now.”

This world doesn’t need them anymore, he thought.

“Heroes aren’t necessarily fighters.” The king uttered at last. “They are people who follow their destiny”

That speech reminded him of someone.

Someone prettier, someone real.

Someone dead.

“You’re thinking of her, right?”

Tyrion lowered his head, but he couldn’t say anything. He was no little boy, though how little he was.

“You’re always thinking of her when there is a party.”

“She’s gone.”

“I know.”

And she was a tyrant, he wanted to add. She was a criminal, a madwoman. She destroyed King’s Landing, mass-murdered half of its inhabitants

And yet, he couldn’t help but miss her. To miss the girl he met. That girl who made miracles happen. That girl who wanted a better world.

‘Ask me again in ten years,” he said to Jon Snow. If he had the opportunity, he would do it again. He would betray her once again, for the death of the innocent ones. And for the death of his siblings. He could still see in his mind their bodies, intertwined in agony under all the ruins they made.

She didn’t kill them herself, the bricks did. Cersei died, trapped in that castle as she had always been, where only one truly loved her, and was loved by her. Jaime died, trying to save her, even if he already knew she was beyond saving. A true fool.

And yet… When he saw their bodies, it was like a cloud of ashes had enveloped his heart. Rage, full rage consumed him as he hit the floor on and on with that stone he had found. Only dust came of it, and his despair consumed his soul, ripped it apart, until it left a dark hole on his chest, a shadow of his former self.

Cersei, the sister who had always hated him, always glared at him. Her eyes could not open up now.

Jaime. Jaime. Just by thinking of his name, pain still took its hold on him. Who would share his delusions now? With who could laugh with him? Who would fight for him? Save him? Bronn was good company. He could laugh with him. He could almost consider him as a friend. But still, Bronn had the heart of a mercenary: gold could sway him.

Jaime… Their bonds had been almost unbreakable: the golden lion and his brother the crippled cub.

But then, he remembered what he swore himself to forget as he said his last goodbye to him. An image, that he had forced himself each night to forget, for remembering would taint even more the memories he had of his brother.

Brown hair and green eyes, with sparkles of gold around the pupil. A warm smile…

A smile that was disfigured in a painful rictus when he took her, after so many others…

“You keep being distracted, Hand.”

“I’m sorry, your Grace, I…”

“Where do whores go?” Bran suddenly said. “You never found out the answer to that question.”

Tyrion froze. What? How could he know about it?

“What was her name, again?”

“Tysha”, Tyrion said, almost in a whisper.

No… just the ghost of her name on his lips was enough. He could not crumble now. Now after surviving so much…

“I believe I can.” Bran said, gesturing for his guard to come closer. “But do you really want the answer that will be coming?”

Drink. It was all he could do, now. Drink to forget. Drink to laugh, play, and drink some more.

Then, when he looked back at his king, he was already gone. His eyes were white as a sheet of paper, and that void distressed him. What if people saw?

But then, just as it started, it stopped. The king was here with him at last. And demanding to speak, ordering his guards just by the look in his eyes to silence

“The Iron Islands broke their fealty treaty.” He said with a clear and strong voice. “I believe we are in for a war, now.”

Then, he left, and Tyrion found himself alone in that room full of strangers with familiar faces. And the impression that a pot of wildfire had been dropped in the room.

How could he know that?

Oh, yeah. He was the three-eyed raven.

People looked at him, shock in their eyes. Discussion stopped, music rang one last note as silence filled slowly the room.

This king was not a leader with inspiring speech, at the right place, at the right moment. Truth was his speech, but truth was not always what people wanted to hear. Especially in a feast which celebrated his first year into kingship.

News were bad. With Dorne’s uncertainty and now this, it would never be the same.

So much for a good day.

The king was slowly losing consciousness of this reality. People had certainly seen it now. People will spread the word.

No pretty songs could ever hide it.

He could only pray for it not to become one in the following days.

*Bloopers and added scenes*

No grey, surprisingly. The king hadn’t wanted it, despite Tyrion’s protests about the utility to remember people of his family. The color seemed to displease him now, somehow.

Earlier in the morning…

“What happened to the grey color?” Sam said.

“It turned to black. Black as my soul.” The king retorted, out of nowhere.

“Cunts. Cunts everywhere.”

“I hope you don’t count me in it.”

They stared at each other. Then laughed.

“… The Northerners pray for the old golds.”

“… “

“…”

“golds? I believe it’s my family’s favorite prayer you’re talking about. “Good ol’ gold, come to mee!!”

#game of thrones #got spoilers #got #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #got fanfiction #got fanfic #a dance of shadows #tyrion lannister #bran stark #jon snow #bronn of the blackwater #daenerys targaryen #sansa stark #jaime lannister #cersei lannister #got8

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ellana-ravenwood · 6 years

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The New Trinity - Damian Wayne x Reader (xplatonic!Jon Kent)

Well, here it is. Damian is a bit older than he is currently in the comics (seventeen instead of fourteen) by the way. Hope you’ll like it :-) :

You can find my masterlist here : @ella-ravenwood-archives

__________________________________________________

The New Trinity.

That’s how everyone started to call you guys.

“You guys”. Damian, Jon and you. The Bat’s son, The Superman’s son and...You, the mighty Wonder Woman’s daughter.

The New Trinity.

It made sense really, because of who your parents were. The actual Trinity. Three of the mightiest hero in the World, forming the perfect team. And you were their children. Three.

The New Trinity.

That’s how everyone started to call you guys, as your friendship grew.

And it royally pissed you off.

Ever since you were born, everyone (and by everyone you meant your mom’s friends of course, the others...the others couldn’t know) always constantly compared you to your mother. All. The freaking. TIME !

And sure, you loved her to death, and she was the coolest and most badass woman you ever met...but you were you.

Your own being.

You weren’t all like her. Sure, you had her eyes, and sometimes, her mannerisms. And her powers. But your personality wasn’t the same (except for the part of you that was stubborn and that had to help those in need).

Besides, it annoyed you that everyone always compared you to the great “Wonder Woman” and never to your father, who was a goddamn war hero !

Of course...you never met him.

None of them ever met him.

Steve Trevor was dead long ago.

************

Before he died, almost a hundred years ago now, your mother and your father had plenty of times to get to know each other, to become best friends, to learn about each other’s culture...To fall helplessly in love.

One night of passion. Of pure bliss and love.

It’s all it took for you to exist. One night of passion, finally, after a long time playing a game of cat and mouth together...And it had to be the day before your father’s death.

Before he sacrificed himself to save many. Before your mother lost him forever...

And here you were.

But your mom’s pain wasn’t ending there.

You were born with a heart defect, and the technology of the time in the Human World couldn’t save you. The amazons couldn’t do much either...

You were dying, and that would have been the end but...Your grandmother couldn’t bear to see her precious daughter in such pain, and as Diana, panicked, arrived with you back to her homeland desperate for help...Your grandma did something she wasn’t suppose to do.

She used ancient Greek powers that the gods left behind after they disappeared, allowing her to freeze you in time, to stop you from growing a second older, hoping that one day, someone could fix your disease...Hoping that someday, she could unfreeze you and someone would be able to save you.

How ironic, really, that you were born with this particular part of your body being deficient. Right after your father’s death...almost as if to symbolize your mom’s pain ! A literal broken heart...

It took long agonizing years for the technology in the Men’s World to finally be able to save you. And so your mother brought you with her, a little baby, a little bundle that knew already too much what pain was...Bruce Wayne is the one that paid for the very expensive surgery, and you were safe.

You were finally able to live your life. Your mother decided that it would be more fit for you to grow up in your father’s world, and though it was totally different from when he was still alive...Diana could finally see an exit to all her pain.

Especially since she had just made new friends. Clark Kent and Bruce Wayne. And they were building a team together, to protect the World...Diana Prince was done hiding. Diana Prince was done trying to forget.

It was over. Just like you, she wasn’t frozen in time anymore, she needed to move on. And so a new life began for her, and your life finally started, years after your actual birth.

************

Your mom told you all about your father, and though you never met him and never would, you greatly admired him. For so many reasons...and it actually really bothered you that no one ever compared you to him.

You were brave, you were courageous...And sure your mom was too, but your dad was even more ! He sacrificed himself !! An he...

-What are you brooding about (Y/N) ?

You were in the Justice League Watchtower, sitting on a couch in one of the common room, thinking about how it was unfair that everyone always forgot about your dad, when Jon sat in front of you and Damian next to you and took your mind off of it all.

You smile at Jon (not noticing how Damian’s eyebrows furrow). That boy’s always been great to take your mind off of things, with his good nature and jokes. And Damian...Well, Damian...He was Damian. Jon was two years younger than you (technically, you were almost 90 years older than him but, since you only grew old afterward...you were his age). Damian was your age (a few months older...well, if we ignored the actual year you were born in).

-I was just thinking about what Flash said earlier.

You answer. Damian sightly smirks but says nothing, as Jon smiles at you some more and, putting his hand under his chin, takes a thoughtful expression and says :

-Which things ? Because like, Flash talks a lot. Both Flashes talks a lot. Was it Uncle Barry or Cousin Wally ?

You smile slightly at the “uncle” and “cousin” thing, realizing that...yes, all those people are your family. Truly.

-Uncle Barry. And about how we are the...new “Trinity”.

Jon’s smile widens even more, and you instantly knows he doesn’t feel like you on that matter. You turn your gaze a bit away from him (and he doesn’t even realize it), and your eyes cross Damian’s. Oh. Him. Him he understands. He always does and...Jon’s voice, once more, takes you away from your daydreaming :

-I know right ? It’s great ! We’ve entered the great hero pantheon !

You can’t help but chuckle at your best friend’s words, and how cute it is that he’s trying to put some greek words in there (you taught him what “pantheon” was a few weeks ago).

Not wanting to ruin his good mood, you decide to not talk about how annoyed you are at this name. The New Trinity. You wanted to be the new...your own thing. Damian, Jon and (Y/N). Your own selves ! But something was telling you that Jon wouldn’t understand.

Sure, he was your best friend, but he couldn’t...He was so proud to be like his father. Maybe because everyone was telling him that he was very much like his mother mentally ? Like he took more after her than him ? So he was happy to feel connected to him in that way ?

Yes. That’s something you could understand. And so, instead of saying what you really think, and though you hate to lie to him, you say :

-Yeah, it’s pretty cool right ?

Jon nods and his attention is suddenly caught by a sound neither you nor Damian can hear. He stands up and after a “be right back”, leaves the two of you for some unknown location.

Damian grumbles something and shakes his head, which makes you smile.

-I knew I wasn’t the only broody one.

You say, a mischievous look on your face. You know it’s going to annoy him. A bit like you, he dislikes being constantly compared to his father (even more to his mother, for obvious reasons), and just the word “broody” is sensitive with him, as it’s the word everyone uses to qualify his dad’s daily mood.

But your smile...The way your eyes squeezes because of it, and your nose wrinkles...He can’t help but smile back at you.

You’ve always had that effect on him.

You guys met years ago, before you even met Jon.

Ever since you were a child, you spend a lot of time at the Wayne household as it seems like your mother and Damian’s father just really got along, and needed each others often for emotional support. There wasn’t any ambiguity between them, they really were just friends, very closed ones.

You spend a lot of time there, bonding with Dick, Jason and Tim...The day Damian arrived, you remembered as if it was yesterday, even though it was over seven years ago.

You could have hated him, because he really was a disrespectful brat at the time...And yet, yet you never did.

He was awful to you at first, but unlike everyone around him, instead of getting mad and such...you talked back, you stood your ground, or sometimes, downright ignored him.

You never hated him though, no matter how harsh he was with you. And just like that...You were the first one that ever broke his shell. The first one to ever see the true Damian, the insecure and full of self-doubts little boy who just really wanted his father’s approval.

This is probably what attracted him to you irrevocably. What made him want to be with you all the time. Of course, at the time, you two were merely children, and there were no romance there, only a very strong friendship. But as the years passed...his feelings changed. He’d never admit it though, as he was pretty sure you had a crush on Jon, not him. And oh, how wrong he was.

But that wasn’t the story right now. Nop’. Right now wasn’t about how he felt about you, or rather, wether he liked you that way or not..But about what bothered you in that instant.

He could see you weren’t happy. He hated to see you like that...And so, casually, as if he was just starting yet another conversation, he smiles slightly at your remark on him being broody (knowing perfectly that you were trying to annoy him so you guys wouldn’t talk about yourself) and say :

-I know what you’re doing.

You give him a half-smile and plunge your (E/C) eyes into his green ones.

His heart skips a beat..

-Oh yeah ? And what am I doing then, Robin ?

He’s overly aware of how close you are from him right now, as you leaned towards him, your lips so. Damn. Close. His heart skips another beat, and to his own amazement, when he speaks again, his voice doesn’t even falters or shakes :

-You’re trying to make fun of me, to annoy me, so that we don’t talk about why you’re bothered that everyone calls us the “new Trinity”. You know, I’m not ten anymore, those old tricks don’t work.

Your smile disappear and he feels his heart tightens this time. He hates thinking it’d be his fault if you...But your smile is back in an instant, as you regain countenance over yourself. You look at him intently and say, suddenly looking away :

-You know why it bothers me.

For a second, you’re afraid he’ll make you say it out loud.

He’ve already done it before, forcing you to open up to him, knowing it’ll make you feel better. But this time...This time you really don’t wanna talk about it. Because it’ll make you talk about your father and you can never talk about him without wanting to cry...

Damian tries to decipher the expression of your face, and...He thinks he understands. And he truly does.

-Yes. I do know why it bothers you.

You’re wrong, to worry about him forcing you to talk today. He understands that it’s not the time. And so, instead, with gentle movements, he takes your hand in his and squeezes it slightly.

You’re startled by his sudden touch, but don’t pull away. You smile weakly at him and...yes. Yes he understands why you’re bothered about being called “the New Trinity”.

He lets you put your head on his shoulder, and you stay like that for a moment. It’s comfortable. It’s nice. It’s what friendship looks like, two people always being there for each others. But it’s also...Something more ?

From the corner of the room, Jon, who came back after checking something out, looks at you, an enigmatic smile on his face.

He knew it. He knew that that damn stubborn Damian felt something for you too ! Or he would have never let him touch you like that. It was common knowledge he wasn’t such a fan of public display of affection like that, and yet, in front of all the heroes present in the common room...He let you put your head on his shoulder.

************

It was oh so frustrating, to know that your best friends were in love with each others, but that they were both too proud and stubborn to ever say it out loud.

It was oh so frustrating, to see your best friends get jealous whenever the other one would talk to a girl/boy, or even go on dates, and yet doing nothing.

It was oh so frustrating, and heart breaking, to see your best friends sad and getting sick over the other one dating someone else, but still not admitting their feelings...

Jon have had enough.

Enough of seeing you and Damian turning around each other without ever doing anything. Enough of seeing your almost kisses and soft touches in the midst of battles. Enough of seeing you hurt to see the other ones with others. Enough of seeing you two fight for no reasons, trying to avoid talking about your feelings for each others !

Jon had to do something. But what ?

************

Making them go on a date without their knowledge worked brilliantly.

It also was an easy plan to make really. He just had to tell you guys to meet him at Gotham county Fair and not show up. At the last minute, he said he couldn’t come, and you and Damian spend the day together at the fair.

Jon, a bit creepily, stalked you guys.

He almost screamed out in frustration when, in the haunted mansion, a monster startled you and you jumped in Damian’s arms, your face so close to his, your lips getting closer and...the monster coming back to scare you ruining the moment.

When he passed after you and Damian (as he followed you guys discreetly), he tripped over the actor in the monster suit. He felt a bit bad about it, but damn, almost kiss again !

You two were so made for each other, he knew it. After all, he was your best friend ! He could see all the looks you gave each others, all the laughs and smiles you shared.

Only you could make him laugh so hard.

Only him could make you smile so sweetly.

And looking at you, going around the fun fair like that, he was just more and more sure that you were made for each other.

You took silly pictures in the Photo Booth, you went on the ferris wheel, making the wagon you were in rock dangerously, laughing your ass off (you got banned from the ferris wheel after that..), you went to the haunted mansion and went out fingers tangled...only to realize you were holding each others hands and awkwardly apologizing and letting go (grrrroooooaaaaah !!! Jon screamed in his head). He won a teddy bear at darts for you, you won a stuffed animal (a dog of course) for him. You joked around. You talked, about anything and everything, about nothing too.

It almost seemed like you were both just regular teenagers dating. Even though you were far from normal teenagers...That’s why Jon knew you guys were made for each other.

You made the other one feel normal. Feel like the World wasn’t too fucked up...

************

Jon jinxed himself. He knew it. By thinking that making you guys go on an unknown-date things were going to move forward, he was oh so wrong.

Things didn’t move at all. Not one bit.

You guys acted like the great day you had spend together was just another friendship thing. Like you didn’t almost kiss a few times. Like, when the man to whom Damian bought a candy apple for you said : “Oh gentleman, buying things for his girlfriend ! Youngsters this days don’t do that anymore...” neither you nor Damian corrected him and said that you weren’t his girlfriend...never happened.

It has been like that for YEARS !! Bot h of you acting as if you were “just very good friends”.

No.

You were more than that.

You were good friends with Jon. You’d hug Jon, but never put your head on his shoulder. Damian would always have a good time with Jon, but he’d never laugh so full heartedly with him than he did with you. You’d smile at Jon, but you’d never give him that sweet little tender smile. Jon would tease you sometimes, but instead of blushing like you did with Damian, you’d laugh and talk back. And whenever you’d do that, Damian would literally smell like “jealousy”...

You were friends with Jon. Best friends. You’d die for him, and he would for the both of you. A strong bond linked you all, the fact that people called you the “new Trinity” wasn’t just because you were similar to your parents and such. It was also because of how strong your friendship was, how you always were there for each other etc etc...But the link that was between you and Damian was different.

Jon noticed it from day one. The first time he met you two, you were twelve and him ten. His father had kept him away from any superhero stuffs for a while but, after realizing that his son was also a super, he just brought him in too...and that’s when he met you two.

Already there, Jon noticed how different Damian would be around you. How softer his voice would be when talking to you. How guilty he felt whenever he was acting like a douche towards you. And you...You would be less sassy with him than with other people.

Already there, Jon noticed that there was something special between the two of you. And he just knew he was right !!

But his little trick, making you guys going on a “date”, made him realize something...you two were two damn stubborn to ever admit your true feelings to each other ! He had to take another offensive.

************

It was a disaster.

For the past three months, Jon very obviously stated multiple times that you liked each other, and instead of denying it, both of you would just plainly ignore him ! Treat him like a child ! He hated that !

He went to sleep over at Wayne Manor once, to see how Gotham’s street were...He downright told Damian that you liked him, and Damian just turned towards him, stunned, said :

-Don’t be silly Jon, she can’t like me.

And continued his damn patrol !! Hell even Damian’s father was surprised when only Jon was there, and not you ! So used to always see you guys together more than with anyone else !

When Jon told the Batman that he was sure that you and Damian liked each other, Bruce slightly smiled and said :

-Of course they do. Don’t fret Jon, they’ll realize it one day...

Jon stopped himself from saying something about how it took years to Bruce to “realize” that he was really in love with Selina Kyle and wanted to marry her...Wasted years !

He couldn’t let his friends waste that much time when it was obvious you were so into each others...

When he told you Damian liked you, you had the same reaction than him, that’s how much alike you were ! How PERFECT you’d be together !!

And when he asked both of you why you thought the other one couldn’t like you, you said the same thing again :

-Because you idiot, he/she’s too good for me !

...Jon didn’t understand. He just couldn’t.

************

You always thought that Damian was the smartest and bravest man you’ve ever met.

He always thought you were the smartest and bravest woman he ever met.

It was always like that, and it drove Jon crazy. You both loved (he was now sure it was not just a teenage infatuation) each other for the same reason, and yet were blind to see that the other one did too ! It baffled him, how smart and yet so daft you both could be.

Jon tried everything he could. He tried to set you up on other “dates”, it ended up every time the same way. Just...”we’re friends”.

He tried to tell you outright, you wouldn’t believe him. He tried to confront you with it with both of you in the same room, but you’d just turn everything into ridicule and mock him. Act as if he was going crazy. Jon knew this was some sort of...self-defence mechanism you both had...And yet.

Jon tried everything. And he was tired. He decided to give up...at least for now.

************

-I understand my little one.

You sigh in relief, as your mother ruffle your hair lovingly, as she used to do when you were a child.

You had just told her everything, about how bothered you were by this “new Trinity” thing, and about how you wished people would recognize your father more. You were afraid to hurt her feelings...Bringing your father up was never really a good idea. And telling your mother that you were tired to be compared to her ? Maybe it wasn’t the most delicate thing to do but you couldn’t lie anymore...

You smile weakly at her, and she shakes her head. She grabs your face between her hands and say :

-(Y/N), my dearest one, please, don’t ever feel like you can’t tell me something alright ? I couldn’t always talk to my mother when I was young and...I just want you to know that I’ll always be there for you, not matter how...delicate a topic is. Ok ?

You nod shyly, which was stupid, because this was your mom ! Why were you shy with her ? A soothing kiss from her on your forehead makes you forget all your worry and, just like when you were a child, you close your eyes and dive into her arms as she opens them for you.

Her hugs were always the best. She holds you tight against her heart, and starts to sing one of those Greek lullaby you like so much...and oh you decide it’s magic, because just like that, she makes you blurt out :

-I really like Damian and I have no idea how to deal with those feelings !

You can’t see her face, but you know your mom is smiling slightly above you.

************

-You don’t know what to do with those feelings uh ? Have you ever told her ?

-God no ! What if she doesn’t like me back ?

-What if she does ?

It’s very rare, that Damian would speak so openly with his father. He wanted to talk to Dick, but his brother wasn’t around that day and...The way his dad asked him what was the matter just made him want to talk to him.

And for one of those rare time, he did. He told his dad everything about how he felt and such. He told him his doubts, how his heart beat so much around you etc etc.

-I don’t know father, I don’t know.

Bruce can’t help but smile sweetly at his son. It makes his heart swell, to talk about such trivial matters with him. As if they were a normal father and son, and not just...Them.

-Damian, my boy...What’s the worst that could happen ?

He could loose you. That’s what the worst that could happen. He could loose you and your friendship forever. By not telling he loved you, he ensured the fact that you’d always be friend, that him telling you how he felt and you not reciprocating wouldn’t make things awkward ! By acting as if you were just friends, he would make sure you’d always be around...And even if one day, you fall in love with someone else, at least he’ll still have your friendship !

-Damian, you guys have been friends since forever. Let’s imagine she doesn’t feel the same way for you...It will indeed be weird for a while, but in time, things will get back to normal. It won’t...It won’t change your friendship.

Something in his dad’s voice makes Damian flinch :

-Are you...are you talking by experience?

Bruce nods.

-Way before your birth. I thought I loved Diana. Hell, I probably really did love her, though now the feelings I have for Selina makes me realize that maybe it wasn’t love with a big “L”. What I mean by that is...I told her. And you know what ? She didn’t feel the same. Her heart was still not over Steve Trevor. And she rejected me...Are we not friends anymore ?

-...No.

-So, Damian, my boy, tell me, knowing that this won’t destroy your friendship...If you tell her how you really feel, what’s the worst that could happen ?

************

Loosing you.

That’s the worst that could happen.

Loosing you for good.

“The New Trinity” was called for what was suppose to be an easy mission...that quickly turned into a disaster.

Jon, you and Damian were fighting for your lives, waiting for the cavalry to arrive...

A trap. It was a trap.

Apokolips’ troops were waiting for you. A large amount of them. Too many to be able to fight them all, even if you were “the new Trinity”.

You were back to back, making sure you’d all protect each others’ blind side.

Back to back.

Protecting each others, being there for each others, as you always were.

But that day, Bruce’s words were floating around in Damian’s head, and the advise your mom gave you were also in yours. And you weren’t focused enough for that, you weren’t ready enough !

This was just suppose to be a reckon mission !

Jon sees it. But he can’t do anything about it.

He also sees the spear lunging towards Damian...but even though he’s fast and strong, he’s busy with his own ennemies and know he won’t be there in time to save his friend !

But you’re there...In the way...The spear hits you right in the heart.

At the same time, your parents arrive, as well as the rest of the League.

It takes a few minutes for them to annihilate Apokolips’ troop. Your mother doesn’t see you, in Damian’s arms, a spear in your heart...

Damian feels himself crying. His vision is blurry with tears, and as he looks up to Jon, he says :

-She’ll pull through right ? Right Jon ? Tell me she’ll pull through !

But Jon can’t say it. He can’t say anything. A lump is stuck in this throat. He falls down on his knees, and takes his head in his hands, not able to stop himself from sobbing...He just witnessed his best friend dying, and he wasn’t able to do anything about it ! Jon took your hand and...did you just squeeze it back ?

Damian could feel his heart slowly tearing apart, as he held your lifeless body in his arms...And all of the sudden, the words blurt out :

-No. No. No come back please, come back (Y/N). I can’t live without you. You’re my best friend. You’re my...You’re my everything. Please come back...Come back. I’ve got so much to tell you...Please...Come back. Come back. I love you (Y/N), I love you so much...I lied, I dont’ think you’re just my friend, you’re more than that to me...You’re...you’re my everything...please...

The raging battle around you all comes to an end.

Damian, face riddled with tears, looks up and is faced with your mother...

How could he ? How could he tell her that you died, sacrificing yourself to save him ? How could he ?

But your mom...She...smiles ?

-Well, if people don’t start comparing you with your father now, I don’t know when they will.

You groan. Wait...You groan ? And you move in Damian’s arms. Laboriously. It’s difficult. You cough a bit, but not blood.

Wait. Come to think of it, there’s no blood anywhere. What ?

You open one eye, then the other. Your mom smiles down at you, as well as the rest of the League. They saw how you jumped in front of your friend to save him. You can see how Bruce thanks you in silence.

And you can see Damian’s face. Tears. His confused expression, him not registering you’re not dead. A shit-eating grin spread on your face as you say :

-I’m your everything uh ? You love me uh ?

Your mom shakes her head, and say :

-Oh that’s also definitely your father. Damn that man and his sometimes a bit cruel teasing, his stupid sense of humor.

Jon looks at you and, suddenly understanding what’s going on says :

-Oh no you didn’t just do that ! I can’t believe it ! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT (Y/N) !!

You smile at him and winks, which makes you wince a bit...Sure, you were wearing your impossible to pierce armor that your grandmother gave you (a bit like Mithril in the Lord of the Rings you told her...she didn’t understand), and so the spear didn’t do any permanent damage but...man it was going to bruise !

That spear was launched with force !

Jon is on his feet already, and, throwing his arms in the air, he gives you his best : “WHAT THE FUCK ?!” facial expression. Your mother can’t help but laugh, and pat him on the back, an understanding look on her face.

Damian is still stunned. What was going on ?

And suddenly. It hits him too. Yes. The armor that can’t be pierced. It’s as if someone shot you and you were wearing a bulletproof vest. Bruised but not dead.

He ignores your teasing, the way you said : “so you love me uh ?” and takes you in his arms, holding you tight in his arms.

-Don’t ever do that to me again you idiot, don’t you dare do that again...

He says. You smile and hug him back, saying :

-Becauuuuuse...You love me ?

He doesn’t even care you’re not saying it back, as he says again :

-Yes. I love you.

You smile and answer :

-Good. Cause I love you too.

The kiss you share is a bit clumsy and shy, but it’s a good one. And when he lifts you up in his arms and helps you up on the league’s ship, you feel happier than ever.

Jon too, is happy. And oh so finally relief. It took him months for that to finally happen ! If only he knew that the only thing that would make you guys admit to each other that you were in love was a life endangering situation, he would have found a way BEFORE that...

Your mom and Damian’s father smile at each other. They couldn’t dream of a better person for their children that those two eh ?

In the ship, bundled against Damian, you realize that...Yeah, it wasn’t actually that difficult to say it. Because you love him. For real. You just love him.

As simple as that.

And he loves you and...The worst didn’t happen. He hoped the worst would never happen...He would make sure it would never happen.

Another clumsy kiss, and...yes. As simple as that.

___________________

This is the fucking worst. I wrote this annoyed at something and couldn’t focus totally on it. Besides, there were a lot of people talking around me and such and...yeah I really couldn’t focus. I’m still posting it though, because I know myself, I won’t ever re-write it and it’ll be lost in my drafts forever, like other finished stories are (finished stories I really hate)...So I figured, since I promised a Damian story, I’ll just post it and so be it. Anyway. The End.

PS : Let’s be honest for a second, this might be erased because I feel really self-conscious about how bad it is. Like way more than usual. UH.

#Damian Wayne x Reader #Robin x Reader #Damian Wayne imagine #Damian Wayne reader insert #Robin imagine #Jon Kent x Reader #Jon Kent imagine #Wonder Woman x reader #Wonder Woman imagine #Wonder Woman x daughter!reader #Damian Wayne #Jon Kent #Wonder Woman #Bruce Wayne #Clark Kent #Damian Wayne x y/n #Robin x y/n #Robin reader insert

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peacekeeper-xiv · 6 years

Text

Honest Q&A: Round 5! Table

Glad to see you all here. Let’s jump right in then. It’s been a while and our reader’s will surely be itching to learn more about Eorzea’s adventurous types.

If you were ruler of your own country what would be the first law you would introduce?

Lloire: “Tch. I would introduce a law that changed our system of government to one more akin to Ishgard’s House of Commons system so that whatever fools put me in charge stood a better chance.”

K’risa: “Um, doesn’t the fact that you wanna do that make you a good choice for a ruler? Anyways, I would introduce laws that were in place to severely punish anyone found tempered or assisting with tempering.”

Beta: “No, no, miss Mau. He’s right. A leader’s gotta be willing to be willing to NOT be sacrificial. The General has to know when –they- have to withdraw from the field, and Lloire just wouldn’t ever be able to do that. For me though, I’d put strict regulations on Magitek use to coincide with the increased production.”

Chadrick: “The feck? Tha three o’ ye can actually think o’ this shyte? Nay lads, Ah’m nay rulin’ anyone. Ah suppose me first an’ only law would be t’ abolish tha government so each man was free.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa is banning slaves or people who are being worked ;like slaves for little gil.”

Benedict: “I consider myself a man of the gods. It would be improper for me to rule over others. My beliefs would unfairly cloud my judgment.”

Chance: “A merc country? Heh, a king who fights his own battles. Would be a sight, yea?”

Felix: “Only fools rule. A ruler is always a puppet. A puppet to those with coin, to the popular opinion, to blackmail, or any number of other things. Why rule when you can manipulate from the shadows? I’d never get suckered into being any country’s ruler.”

What's the longest you've gone without sleep (and why)?

Lloire: “A week. …People I cared about were trapped within the void. I spent a week fighting to free them and only finally slept when Soren drugged me.”

K’risa: “A week? How are you not dead? No. I don’t wanna know. Longest I went was still less than a day. What? Girl needs her rest!”

Beta: “Um, well… crankshafts… I think it was three days? I was building something important.”

Chadrick: “T’was bout twenty-four ‘ours. Was travelin’ through some rough territory. Could nay afford t’ sleep, so, we pushed through.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa is sleeping every day. It is only way to stay strong, yes?”

Benedict: “I am in agreement with Master Taqalid. Proper rest is important for the body and mind.”

Chance: “Three days. Dravonians had us pinned down.”

Felix: “I didn’t count, but I recall it was several weeks. I had an experiment that required my undivided attention and well, with the right potions you can forgo sleep. Albeit at a slight degradation of your capacities.”

Aside from necessities, what one thing could you not go a day without?

Lloire: “A book to read.”

K’risa: “My blankets! What, it’s all your fault. Talking about not sleeping made me sleepy!”

Beta: “Coffee!”

Chadrick: “Seein’ a beautiful lass smile. Nary a soul should e’er do without.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa has been without, yes? So, there is nothing he is needing so much he cannot be without.”

Benedict: “Prayer. I only bring it up as a non-necessity because so many others live without it. I could not.”

Chance: “A knife. You should always have a knife.”

Felix: “I think I will agree with dark and broody over there. Constantly learn. You should read every day.”

Which of the five senses would you say is your strongest?

Lloire: “Smell, strange as might seem. I guess I honed it over the years learning to cook. Taste is important and all, but you smell the food well before you ever taste it… and the smell lingers long after the food is gone.”

K’risa: “I unno, hearing I guess?”

Beta: “Sight for sure. Picking things apart and remembering exactly what I saw and where a screw or bolt was… Yea, definitely sight.”

Chadrick: “O’ now, this is an easy one. Touch. Easy. ‘ands down.”

Aasifa: “Friend Chadrick, Aasifa worries you are meaning hands down skirts with way you are saying this. For Aasifa, it is hearing like friend K’risa. He is training whole childhood to be hearing intruders.”

Benedict: “I would have to say taste. Mine is overly strong, so I prefer more ‘bland’ flavors.”

Chance: “Smell for me too. Different uses though.”

Felix: “My sixth. Next question.”

Which of the five senses would you give up if you had to lose one?

Lloire: “Given previous… injuries, sight. I’ve already started training to be without it. I’d miss it for sure, but I would miss the others more.”

K’risa: “Really? You’d go blind before not being able to cook? You’re a strange one. For me, it’d be smell.”

Beta: “I’m kinda with miss K’risa Lloire. It’s crazy to go blind instead of not being able to smell. You’d get yourself ki--…. Oh… Nevermind, it all makes sense.”

Chadrick: “Well, Ah mean… Ah’d lose me sight before me sense o’ touch… but alas, Ah must agree with tha others… Smell can go first.”

Aasifa: “Hmm, Aasifa is thinking touch. If he is not feeling, there is no pain, he is greater fighter, yes?”

Benedict: “I’m not certain that would be wise Master Taqalid. Pain is a warning so we know how far to push ourselves. I am with the others. Perhaps a lost sense of smell might even out my sense of taste.”

Chance: “Sound I guess. Wouldn’t have to hear as much whining from people at least.”

Felix: “An interesting question… though I have to agree with the majority. Smell is the least useful sense in the lives we live.”

How would your friends describe you?

Lloire: “Depends on the friend I imagine. Soren’d tell you I’m a stubborn ass who always thinks he’s right. Siben’d tell you I try to hard and am quick to temper. Most everyone would likely agree that I’m injury prone I suppose.”

K’risa: “Um, I guess they’d say I was a hard worker.”

Beta: “Injury prone? That’s how you describe it? It’s not like you slipped and fell on a knife yanno. Um, most’a my friends would probably say I’m a workaholic and I’m bad at multitasking and should eat more.”

Chadrick: “Well, shyte. Ah’m nay sure. A few’d probably say Ah was a cocky bloke.”

Aasifa: “Friends have said before, describing Aasifa is difficult thing. But most are saying he like like the wind.”

Benedict: “I would hope they’d describe me as warm and caring. Protective.”

Chance: “And big Benny. As for me, ain’t too many I call friend and fewer still I’d give a fuck what they said.”

Felix: “As the guy you call when shits gone to hell and you need a way out.”

What did you want to be when you were small?

Lloire: “An archmage. Someone like Louisoix or Shatotto.”

K’risa: “I wanted what every girl in our tribe wanted. To be a huntress.”

Beta: “You just… I swear, you don’t own a mirror do you? Ugh. I wanted to be the world’s best engineer. Well, okay, want to be…”

Chadrick: “Ah was goin’ t’ say lad… ye are still a wee one. As fer me, Ah’ve always dreamed o’ bein’ a ‘ero. E’er since Ah too was a wee lad.”

Aasifa: “Free, yes?”

Benedict: “When I was young, I simply wished to please the family that took me in.”

Chance: “A merc. It was all I’d known.”

Felix: “Alchemy has been an interest of mine since I first heard of it.”

What's the craziest thing you’ve done in the name of love?

Lloire: “Pretty sure I have to say ‘Stab myself in the chest’ or Beta will call me out on it.”

K’risa: “Yea, he will. How did you—I’d rather not know. I uh, left my tribe and everyone I knew.”

Beta: “Yea, next time you go falling for a girl, maybe just roses and chocolates, ‘kay? For me, it was raid a castrum and take over all their reapers.”

Chadrick: “Ah di’nay know tha’ Ah’d call it fer love… but tha craziest thing Ah did fer romance was date wha’ amounted t’ a princess. Di’nay hiss K’risa… she ne’er did a thing t’ ye.””

Aasifa: “Aasifa is not understanding question. Everything done for love is crazy, yes? Otherwise… is not love?”

Benedict: “I fear I am going to have to abstain from answering. I have not been in love and as such have not done anything foolish.”

Chance: “Tried to play at hero.”

Felix: “Hmm… pretty much everything I did from the age nineteen to twenty-three.”

Do you collect anything? If so, what?

Lloire: “Books.”

K’risa: “I don’t think it counts that I collect fabrics, considering that’s my job.”

Beta: “Mostly Garlean scrap. Wha? It’s not ‘technically’ my job. Also, Lloire, I’m pretty sure you collect scars.”

Chadrick: “Ah’ve a giant collection o’ tha things Ah kept from each o’ me missions. Aislyn an’ Ah make it a point t’ keep one thing from each job.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa is not one for ‘things’, yes? You cannot take with you. No matter what some people might think.”

Benedict: “Yes, I have a collection of different totems, rosaries, wards, from various beliefs. I enjoy learning about other people’s beliefs.”

Chance: “…no. The fuck am I gonna do with all that extra weight?”

Felix: “Like Scars, I have a collection of tomes as well as a collection of rare metals and gems.”

Who was your first crush?

Lloire: “A woman named Stanzie. ”

K’risa: “A pretty boy hero who doesn’t know how to sit still.”

Beta: “Um, I guess Ikara? I mean, I didn’t really get the whole dating thing before I met her.”

Chadrick: “There was this lass named Cathleen when Ah was growin’ up. Me da dealt with ‘ers kind o’ regularly. Otherwise, Ah’d ‘ave t’ say Sinomen.”

Aasifa: “Bliss. Let us speak on something new, yes?”

Benedict: “Again, I will need to bow… what is that mister Tamisier? Oh, well.. I suppose… very well. There was a young Elezen girl when I was much much younger… but that was highly inappropriate. Her name? Oh… It’s been so many years. Killie… Kyliean… I fear I do not recall anymore.”

Chance: “Right… sure you don’t Benny. There was a fellow merc when I was starting out. Becca. That’s all ya need to know.”

Felix: “I suppose my betrothed when I was young would have been my first crush. Her name was Alison.”

Do you or your family have a “motto” – spoken or unspoken?

Lloire: “No. Not really. Maybe if I start one someday I’ll come up with one.”

K’risa: “Oh, like I’d forget what I hear time and time again. ‘One struggle, one people, one destiny.’”

Beta: “Noooope.”

Chadrick: “Ah’ll go with me ma’s. ‘Fortune favours tha bold.’”

Aasifa: “If Aasifa is having one… he is not knowing it, yes?”

Benedict: “As with miss Mau, I could not forget it if I tried. ‘Honour is the reward of virtue.’”

Chance: “No.”

Felix: “Hahaha. Yea, no.”

What do you do to keep fit?

Lloire: “Every morning is a fairly standard routine. Pushups, crunches, squats, a run… plus all the training and fighting.”

K’risa: “Keep fit? Do you all have to try to stay fit?”

Beta: “I guess all my time at the forge keeps me pretty fit. I mean, hammering stuff all day and working on magitek… it can be hard work.”

Chadrick: “Blitzball’s a pretty full body workout ye know. Outside o’ tha’… Ah find Ah di’nay need much else, aye?”

Aasifa: “Aasifa and Lloire are similar here. Aasifa wakes and does morning exercises. It is ingrained in him since time first remembered.”

Benedict: “I am not so sure I am as fit as say Master Peace or Master Taqalid.”

Chance: “Work. Don’t need anything else.”

Felix: “Aya started me on a training regimen some many many years ago. I’ve stuck with it since.”

If you could live somewhere else from where you live now, where would it be?

Lloire: “Yanxia. It’s beautiful there.”

K’risa: “I’ve heard there is a land to the south that sounds amazing.”

Beta: “Idyllshire for sure. I wish I could now!”

Chadrick: “E’erywhere. Ah cannay imagine settlin’ down t’ any one spot.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa is with friend Chadrick. The winds blow everywhere. So does Aasifa”

Benedict: “I… have not given that thought. There is still much of the world for me to see to rightly say. Lady Sayo has spoken much of the east and I’ve heard the Steepe is beautiful.”

Chance: “Where I live doesn’t matter. Where doesn’t make it home.”

Felix: “Hah. And packs like to keep on the move, right wolfboy? Dravania if I had to pick.”

If you had a warning label, what would yours say?

Lloire: “Danger of death, high voltage.”

K’risa: “Shocking.” *snickers* “Um Cat crossing? I don’t know. I’m not all that dangerous.”

Beta: “I unno, something like Warning, explosion hazards I guess?”

Chadrick: “Caution, ‘ot. Tha rest o’ ye are too damned serious.”

Aasifa: “Umm… This is strange question… Aasifa’s would say, warning… anger Aasifa and he will cut of your head. Is good warning, yes?”

Benedict: “I… I think that may be a bit on the nose Master Taqalid. I suppose mine would say Contents under pressure.”

Chance: “Wolf advisory in effect.”

Felix: “Seek shelter.”

How do you sleep? With clothes, fitfully or peacefully, lots of pillows?

Lloire: “Odd question… I have night clothes… a single pillow, and I imagine a bit more fitfully than many others.”

K’risa: “You poor thing. I um, have a nightgown. That’s all I’m telling!”

Beta: “Rarely and usually where I fall.”

Chadrick: “Godsdamn lad… Yer too young fer all o’ tha’. Get yer rest. Lots o’ pillows and quite peacefully.”

Aasifa: “Aasifa has bed made of cushions. He sleeps well. You should try it. Very comfortable.”

Benedict: “I spend most nights in inn rooms. They are comfortable enough.”

Chance: “Bedrolls more often than not. I sleep fine.”

Felix: “You don’t want to know… trust me. Suffice it to say… in velvet.”

Real quick, before you all leave. It was recently Valentione’s Day here is Eorzea. How did you feel about that holiday?

Lloire: “Tch… None of your business. My Shield Sister loves it though.”

K’risa: “I love it! I sold all kinds of cute lingerie!”

Beta: “Ikara and I always go out and enjoy the festivities. So I like it.”

Chadrick: “It’s a celebration o’ love, aye? Wha’s nay t’ like unless you’re tha’ gloomy type. Nay dating fer ye eh Lloire? Cut inta tha broodin’ time?”

Aasifa: “This festival was fun time! Aasifa and companion Rahya scared many moogles and then got chairs for our efforts, yes?”

Benedict: “I’m afraid I did not participate, though the decorations and festivities made Sunny quite happy.”

Chance: “…Yea, Lloire… I still owe you an asswhooping for that. She’s still laughing at me… ass.”

Felix: “The pink hurts my eyes… Heh, pinkeye. Hmm… maybe next year I’ll… huh? Oh, we’re done. Great.”

As always, thank you all for answering our readers’ questions. I think next round we’ll have another theme. Until then!

Tagged by: Uh, I made this one. So @me?

Tagging: @wicked-virtue @yutikyis@waitingrose @susukosuko@hedgearcher @hana-xiv @devil-you-know @nebula1984 and anyone I might have left off or forgotten.

#lloire peace #beta imito #chadrick tamisier #k'risa mau #aasifa taqalid #chance ashton #felix mordenson #benedict granger #ffxiv rp

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