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thisblogisaboutabook · 4 months

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The Fated Truth

Azriel x Reader

Truth-Teller’s origin story. A multi-pov oneshot.

A/N: this story came to me after listening to the songs seven, vigilante shit, it’s nice to have a friend, and my tears ricochet by taylor swift.

warnings: attempted sa, language, suggestive language, parental abuse, violence, main character death

The Angel

-Ladies always rise above -

Remove the dagger from his heart.

-Ladies know what people want-

Wipe the blood from the corner of your kohl lined eyes.

-Someone sweet-

Spit on the bastard.

-Someone kind-

Swipe at the next overgrown male.

-Someone fun-

Hit your mark, swing around, drive your dagger into the brute on your six.

“Well, shit.” you think to yourself as a group of ten overgrown bats rush toward you. Siphons glowing.

The irony isn’t lost on you that yet another thing they withheld from you would contribute in damning their very existence. A female with siphons was considered absurd and absolutely out of the question, it wasn’t your place - yet this incontrolable blast of raw killing power begged to differ.

One moment those pricks were running toward you and the next, they were ashes in the wind.

Looking at the dead females around you, pure rage boils within. Your insides could be cooked at this point for all you know. Not a single feeling but uncontrollable rage.

A gasp breaks the silence. One of the females is still alive. Running to her, her eyes filled with panic, breaths rapid and shallow. You lean down and whisper to her before unsheathing your dagger and holding it up. Her eyes widen in terror but not at you - behind you. You turn to look.

“Azri-“

The blast of power hit before you could finish saying it - your mate’s name - your final breath.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Journal

Nine year old Y/N

“I made a new friend! His name is Azriel. He’s like me! He’s two years older than me and can’t fly but he still has his wings. I wish I still had mine, we could learn to fly together. Azriel has burn scars too but his are on his hands instead of his back like mine.

He’s really quiet but it’s okay, I talk and he listens! He has shadow powers though. I don’t think I’m supposed to say this but they’re really cute! One of them followed me home from my chores today.

I have to go now. Dad is yelling. I think he’s mad again.”

11 year old Y/N

“Father hit me again last night. I got upset and my power hiccuped. I asked him for a siphon and he locked me in the cellar for asking. I have bruises that hurt really badly but I’m okay.

Azriel saw me this morning. I tried to hide the bruises but he notices everything. I cried and he listened to me. Sometimes I think he’s the only person who sees me.”

13 year old Y/N

“One of father’s friends came over two nights ago - they were drinking. I had to refill their mugs of ale and the friend grabbed me inappropriately. Father laughed. When he left the room his friend pulled me into his lap and his hand drifted below my waist. I was scared and my power flickered, throwing me backward and flipping the chair over with him in it.

The blast broke his arm and nose. I don’t feel bad.

I tried telling father what happened but he didn’t listen. He locked me in the cellar from that night until this morning.

One of Azriel’s shadows found me and picked the lock. Father either forgot he locked me away or didn’t care because he never came to check on me or give me food. I found a canteen of water on one of the shelves though.

Azriel retrieved me as soon as his shadow notified him. He took me back to Rhysand’s Mother’s cabin and she fed me. Azriel stayed by my side as I took a bath - there were even bubbles. I’ve never had a bath with bubbles before. Azriel saw my scars peaking over my towel after I climbed out of the bath and instinctively clenched his hands. I took them in my hands and kissed them. Our scars prove our strength. He tells me mine are beautiful but his are too. All of him is.

He’s my best friend.”

15 Year Old Y/N

“I spent the day with Azriel yesterday. Sometimes we sneak away and train. He teaches me self-defense maneuvers and even some Illyrian fighting techniques. My powers have been growing a lot lately too. I am still not allowed siphons though. It’s getting harder to contain but training with Azriel serves as an outlet.

I got into a fight with father again two nights ago. He threw a knife at me. I avoided it but if it hit me, it would have landed in my chest. He called me an “ungrateful whore just like my mother.” I was told that mother died in childbirth but sometimes I wonder if it’s not true.

When he locked me in the cellar this time, I let out a blast of power. It ripped a shelf off the wall and down with it came a dusty box I’d never seen before. I opened it to find a beautiful obsidian-hilted knife and a note that said:

For my beautiful babe. May the light of truth always find you, even in the darkest places. I will always love you. -Mother.

I can’t believe it was there all of this time. It broke my heart to know that she had been locked away in the cellar too. The only thing she was able to give me. She loved me. Those words meant so much. Someday I will be reunited with her in the realm beyond and she’ll share her truth with me.

Oh I almost forgot!! Azriel snuck into my room this evening and I showed him the knife. He held me while I cried tears of joy and sadness over this gift from my mother.

He’s going to train me in wielding it.”

16 Year old Y/N

Father was away on a training exercise last night so I went to a party at Rhysand’s cabin. It was fun but Morrigan was there. She’s so beautiful and I think Azriel likes her. He looks at her like she’s the brightest star in the sky.

He’s my best friend and I have loved him for a long time but sometimes, I feel an ache in my chest. Maybe I love him as more than a friend? I left the party early and trained with my hunting knife alone at our usual spot. He didn’t come looking for me.

This morning he stopped by and we practiced together. He seemed sad for a bit but I didn’t press. He tends to prefer more physical methods of expressing his feelings. He was still sullen afterward so I brought him back to my house for tea. We laid in bed together for hours. I know it’s frowned upon but it’s never gone past holding each other. He needs touch as much as I need his listening ear.

I think I’m going to ask him to spend the night.

17 year old Y/N

Yesterday was my 17th birthday. Father didn’t pay any mind to it as always. He says it’s “a reminder of what I did to my mother.” He drank himself into oblivion which left me free to leave the house. He probably never realized I left.

Sometimes I want to tell him that I know his secret - that there was more to her death than my birth but I know better. The following blow up would be catastrophic. At this point, my power has been growing so much that I think… I think I’m more of a danger to him than he is to me.

But… something big happened. Azriel took me flying. We looked at the stars and he flew me far north to see the Aurora. It was almost as beautiful as him. I may or may not have cried tears of joy.

Az playfully kissed my tears away but then something happened - what started as friendly kisses sparked a flame within me and I… I noticed a shift in his scent too. We locked eyes and he kissed my lips. Hard, fervently, like maybe he sees me as something more. We landed in a clearing under the Aurora and kissed for hours.

I love him. I love him wholeheartedly.

18 year old Y/N

Something happened last night! Az and I have spent a lot of nights together recently. Any time father is away, he comes over and we lay in bed kissing and talking for hours until his shadows inevitably lull me to sleep. But last night, I kissed his jaw and down his neck - he grabbed my wrist and growled!! Not a scary growl but a… possessive growl. He told me that if we started this, he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

So…. I kept kissing him. Lower. And Lower. And, well… the rumors about wingspan are true.

We had each other over and over all night, until Cassian and Rhys came knocking on my door looking for him.

18 Year old Y/N part two:

Father has hardly been around. He’s been visiting other camps. I’m thankful for the break from him and especially thankful for the time I’ve spent with Azriel. We’ve spent countless hours entangled with each other over the past few months. My power has been stirring a lot, it’s still growing. Training hasn’t been enough so this physical outlet between Azriel and I has been a lifeline. I can’t get enough of him. He told me he loved me - and I knew this time it was different. He truly loves me and not just as his friend. He knows that I love him too.

But things have also been trying… Morrigan has visited a few times recently and he’s still so enamored by her. Honestly, I get it. But it still hurts. Sometimes I want to say something about it but I don’t want to cause problems. There’s a rumor that she slept with Cassian a couple of years ago and things have been different between Azriel and Morrigan ever since. He broods more than ever when she’s around.

Maybe I need to fuck him senseless, until all he can think about is me.

Just kidding, but seriously.

19 Year Old Y/N

“I have a secret.

A really big, life altering secret.

Azriel is my mate. I don’t know if he knows but last night - things were really passionate, when we came together, that golden thread people talk about, it just… SNAPPED for me.

Things have been really bad with father lately and there have been more wing clippings happening. My heart hurts for the girls. I used to feel sad because I never had a chance to touch the skies (until Azriel learned to fly and carried me into them) - but to have been able to fly for so many years and lose the ability. I couldn’t imagine. Those males deserve to suffer.

Father made a comment recently saying that he gave me a ‘gift’ by cutting off and burning my wings as a child. It made me furious - my power slipped. It destroyed most of our living room furniture and half our kitchen table. I could scent the fear in him when it happened. I think if he wasn’t such a coward - he would have killed me. I have hardly seen him since.”

20 Year old Y/N

“Azriel is taking me to a formal party at another camp! I can’t wait. Rhysand’s mother even made me a dress for it. It’s the most beautiful clothing I’ve ever owned. She also added a hidden sheath for my knife.

I just finished getting ready - I feel like a shooting star. I’ve never felt so… so powerful and gorgeous. My eyes are lined with kohl and my hair is braided with silvery strands woven in.

Tonight is the night I’m telling Azriel. I’m nervous, so, so nervous, but he deserves to know that we’re mates.

Morrigan will be at the party too. I really hope I’m not making a mistake by telling him tonight. I know he still cares for her so I will wait until after the party and it’s just the two of us in the sky before telling him. Maybe he’ll take me to look at the Aurora again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

The Survivor

The infamous Shadowsinger made his way to her - approaching slowly, trembling, two palms up in the air as if to placate her.

He knelt down to the female who cried out in a blood curdling scream of pain and fear.

“P-pl-please don’t!! Don’t hurt me!”

“I’m here. You are safe.” The Shadowsinger choked out.

She didn’t understand. Why would he kill that female? She was only trying to help.

“Y-yo-you ki-killed h-her.” She cried out right before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Shadowsinger

Devastation. Pure devastation threatened to rip Azriel to shreds. What the hell happened in a matter of hours?

He’d barely seen Y/N at the dance. She’d arrived to the party with all eyes on her. She held her head high, wearing her scars proudly. He couldn’t help but admire how she let them shine tonight. He’d walked in with his hand on her back his scarred skin to her scarred skin. It wasn’t a flaw at all, but a lovely match. They were beautiful together.

Tonight was the night he would ask her to move in with him. He was now making a small salary - enough to buy a little cabin for the two of them. It was time for her to get the hell away from her horrid father. He planned to take her to view the aurora that she loved so much - and present her with a special gift - her very own siphons. She was the strongest Illyrian female he knew - really she was stronger than any Illyrian he knew aside from maybe him, Rhys, and Cassian. She’d struggled with her power and the misogynistic Illyrian bastards in Windhaven refused to allow her or any female such a privilege.

He’d worked out a plan with Rhys, who convinced the smith that crafted the siphons that he was going to try his hand at wearing siphons one more time - claiming he had a new method of siphoning his power through them that would prevent shattering. While they both knew it was bullshit and the siphons would never work for Rhys - they would then gift them to Y/N without raising suspicion.

Mor was at the dance tonight. He had gone over to visit with her and shared his plans for tonight with her. She squealed and leaned in to give him a kiss on the cheek and a huge hug, requesting a celebratory dance. They’d gone out on the dance floor for a couple of songs and when he pulled away to steal a dance with Y/N she was gone.

He’d searched the party through when a couple of males burst through the door - yelling of a female going crazy and murdering local villagers.

Az immediately vacated the party to take down the assailant - sending another partygoer to alert Rhys and Cassian who were currently bedding a set of twins in one of the suites.

He was taken back when he landed at the site of the attack. The carnage was brutal with blood coating the snowy ground, littered in dead males and females. His heart nearly stopped when he realized, at the center of it all, there she was. Y/N holding her hunting knife over a severely injured female.

Stunned by the sight, Azriel prepared to send a wave of power out and knock the knife from her hand. Right as the power readied itself for Azriel to fire, she turned and looked at him. Her eyes met his and snap. His body jolted - a golden thread between him and the blood splattered beauty before him - the surge caused his arm to jerk and a much more powerful blast emitted from his siphons. He missed his target. For the first time in his life, he missed it. Instead of the knife, the deadly blast of power hit her.

His mate. His best friend. His equal. His eternity - ripped away in a second.

Everything after that was a blur. His only memories of those moments played on a constant reel in his head flashing images of the injured girl screaming “you killed her!!!!”, collapsing on top of Y/N’s lifeless body, screaming to the mother or any other deity that may listen - begging for her chest to rise and fall again, and then four strong hands pulling him off of her before everything went black and his brothers voice calmed his mind.

~~~~~~~~~~

Days later Azriel woke up from whatever sedation Rhys had put him in. When he woke, Cassian was by his side. It was all of a minute before the memory came flooding back.

Azriel thrashed only to find he’d been restrained.

“Brother..” Cassian said firmly.

“Brother!” he yelled

Azriel’s wrists and ankles were on fire as he thrashed. He had to get to her, had to.

Finally Azriel cried out “Y/N!!! Y/N!!!!”

“My mate! Where is she!? WHERE IS SHE!?” he screamed and cried, thrashing against the restraints with all of his might.

Everything went dark again.

“Az…..” Rhys spoke softly into his mind

Azriel didn’t have the strength to scream or yell in this space of sedation. He could only whisper “where is she?”

Silence filled the void of his mind before Rhys spoke. “She’s gone, Az.”

Devastation flooded through him, filling him completely, making that one sided bond reverberate every ounce of emotion back to him.

Rhys waited patiently, sending soothing waves of darkness into his mind. Knowing Azriel well enough to wait until he was ready to send a thought back.

“Why, Rhys? Why did she do it?”

Again, that damned silence as Rhys paused.

“If I show you now, I’ll have to keep you under for longer, Az. You’re a danger to yourself right now and this… it’s heavy, brother.”

“Do it” he gritted.

Azriel’s mind became entranced in a vision. Before him a massacre. He was seeing through the eyes of a frightened female, eyes bleary from sobbing.

A large group of males had corralled several females into a circle, some as young as five or six. The males all carried sharp objects ranging from sickles and scythes to swords and axes.

A male stepped forward - Y/N’s father - who spoke:

“Females of Illyria have not served us well in many years. They forget that their purpose is to care for us, maintain our homes, and cater to our physical needs. Instead, they insult us by wasting time and energy on training - as if our protection is not enough? Young females smuggle herbs into our camps that delay their bleed so they can fly where they please, whoring around with whomever they please. These behaviors reflect negatively on all of Illyria, leaving us to appear weak to enemies.”

And then the bloodshed began. The males ran at the females, corralling them in closer and closer. Butchering wings and brutalizing any female who dared fight back. The screaming, gods awful screaming, pierced the air.

Male screams suddenly burst out - a blast of power knocking ten of them on their asses.

And there she was, in her resplendent glory.

“Hello boys.” She smirked.

Y/N’s father stepped forward. “My traitorous daughter, and dressed like a slut too. Shall we show them what happens to women who don’t obey.”

“Oh yes, ladies, my father took my wings when I was four. He burnt the stumps too. See these scars?” She turned around briefly with a wave to her back. “Someone I love helped me realize how beautiful they are, a stark reminder of what I can overcome.”

She paused, looking to the females as she addressed her father:

“So yes, father, perhaps this is the fate of disobedient females - but allow me the honor of showing YOU the fate of males who think they can steal a females power.”

-They say looks can kill and I might try-

Her piercing eyes again met her father as she threw a hand out, sending another blast of power - a death blow - turning him to ash in the wind.

Before any of the males could react, she sent another larger blast, creating an opening near the most vulnerable of the females.

“RUN! Those of you who can fight - you may stay. Those of you who are unable - there is no shame in leaving now! Seek shelter!”

The females nodded toward a teenage girl, signaling her to gather the youngest females and ran off with them. Any males that tried stopping them were turned to ash.

“Ladies, show them who we are!” Y/N cried.

-The ladies simply had enough-

They were outnumbered, so terribly outnumbered. Some females had died before Y/N arrived - bleeding out from the butchering of their wings but the few remaining females fought bravely. Because of their lack of training, the males easily overtook many of them but Y/N led them bravely, valiantly, taking them out as best as she could.

As the female numbers lessened Y/N cried out for the females to evacuate, to seek healers. The remainder of the females fled aside from two females (one of which this visions point of view was from) who appeared to have more training than the others.

Y/N looked to them giving a knowing look seemingly saying “give them hell.” They adjusted their stances into that of the most fearsome warriors, and took on the remaining males as more and more fled in.

Y/N’s power was like nothing they’d ever seen. She took down male after male.

Before she could react, two males approached from behind taking out the other female and knocking out the vision of the female whose mind Rhys had gleaned into.

As the female blacked out, the vision faded away. Silence once again filled the air for several minutes before Azriel said:

“But.. she was holding a knife over the female. I don’t understand.”

Rhys answered in a heartbreakingly soft tone

“I can show you, brother. But this will be hard to see. Are you sure?”

Azriel replied firmly, “show me.”

Rhys hesitated before continuing. But then the vision resumed as the female regained consciousness:

Her eyes were so blurry. She was hurting terribly but managed a gasp. Around her, all of the males were dead and the bodies of their fallen sisters painted the snow red. Emotion flooded through her, she couldn’t move. As her vision cleared further, she saw her. The female who fought so bravely for them.

Y/N saw her and ran over. The blood caking her braid causing panic. The trauma of this night was too much - the blood so triggering. Y/N sensed the fear and whispered “I am here. You are safe now. Look at my eyes, not around you, not at the blood on me, just my eyes.” The female tried but couldn’t look away from the blood in her hair. “I’m going to bring my knife out and cut the braid. Do not be afraid.” Y/N once again unsheathed her knife, lifting it, when loud wings flapped in. The injured female couldn’t get words out, her only signal to Y/N, a wide eyed look of panic.

Y/N turned around - breathed out “Azri-“ just as that fatal blow of power hit her.

“STOP!” Azriel cried out in his mind. It was too much.

Azriel’s body began convulsing as a mixture of rage, heartbreak, and panic flew through him. “I KILLED HER. I KILLED HER. MY MATE. MY MATE. MY MATE.”

Rhys had no choice but to send out another wave of sedation to his brother.

~~~~~~~~~~

The next several weeks were spent in and out of sedation. Rhysand had found that Y/N’s father had been planning the attack for months, perhaps even longer. The camp was chosen for the first attack because of the party - a distraction to lessen the chances of interference from outsiders.

He planned to carry out more attacks throughout Illyria in coming months. Had it not been for Y/N, more would have happened. Her heroic actions prevented so many more losses than just the ones that were saved that night.

Azriel stayed bedridden for months - only leaving when Cassian and Rhys nagged him enough that it wasn’t worth the energy to refuse them. One day Rhys brought in a box, inside the box, Y/N’s knife and a journal. “She would have wanted you to have this.”

Azriel’s chest broke at the sight. Her mothers knife, the knife they’d spent hundreds of hours training with. He almost refused it but it felt like a piece of her. A reminder of her goodness, of the mate he lost.

That night he laid it under his pillow - an odd comfort as he read through the journal. The journal unveiling that she knew they were mates. His heart cracked further knowing that the reason she’d stepped out that night was likely to get some air after she saw him with Morrigan. “Stupid.” His inner thoughts cried out to him. How could he have been so blind?

He lay awake for half the night as he read through her journal - he sobbed for hours until his shadows finally lulled him to sleep.

~~~~~~~~~~

Truth-Teller

“Azriel” a soft voice whispered.

“Azriel” the lovely voice whispered again.

He was dreaming.

He tried to whisper her name but couldn’t speak.

“I don’t have much time, I need you to listen.”

He again attempted to speak but no sound came. He nodded his head.

A flash of light illuminated his mind and there she was. Somehow even more beautiful than she’d been - if that were possible. Her form illuminated with an incandescent glow, face full of light - a light that only came from insurmountable joy and happiness. And behind her, behind her were stunning golden feathered wings. An angel, his angel, stood before him… with six glowing siphons.

“Azriel, please do not cry for me. I am at peace. This was always my destiny. The lovely truth of my life was that all of the pain led me to you, I found a love, a friendship, that so few experience. Every step led me to where I am now and this afterlife is beautiful. The truth of life is that fate is inevitable.”

She waved a hand and out stepped more winged females. The females who died in the attack.

“What happened was not an accident, it was fate. You could not have changed the outcome. When you sent your power out toward me and the bond snapped, my power shot through the bond into you, reflecting back to me. You only sent out a small blast, the fatal blow came from my refracted power.”

Azriel’s eyes widened at the revelation. His heart still completely shattered but the guilt slightly lessened.

“When you sealed my fate it trapped a piece of my soul in the knife. I am forever bound to Truth-Teller. When you carry truth-teller you carry a piece of my power, of me, with you. Though, I will be with you regardless, as a part of me will always rest…” she held a delicate hand to her heart, “right here.”

His mind raced. Truth-Teller. What she’d named her knife after the truth of her mother was unveiled with it.

“I must go now, Azriel.” She waved an arm again to her fellow angels. “I am the keeper of the Mother’s gate and this is my legion. This was always my destiny - this and to love you. I will keep the bastards out and someday, someday far from now, I will hold the gate open for you.

Until then, may the truth set you free my love.”

A beautiful woman resembling Y/N stepped forward, pressing a kiss to her forehead. Her mother. The angels all nodded to Azriel in confirmation.

“My precious mate, I will love you for eternity.” Y/N whispered as she shot toward the sky - right into the most vibrant aurora he’d ever seen.

~~~~~~~~~~

Truth-Teller

500 Years Later

Azriel still thought of her every damn day, Truth-Teller never leaving his side. His North Star, the angel guiding him through life. He never told his brothers - didn’t know how to explain how that broken mating bond glowed inside him whenever his intuition failed. She’d guided him in her own way all of these years.

Leading up to the war with Hybern the tug became stronger and stronger. A warning of the strife to come.

For the first time since the night Rhys brought him her journal and Truth-Teller, she reappeared to him.

“Azriel.” Her melodic voice whispered, a sweet song serenading his soul.

“Azriel, I don’t have much time.” that honeyed voice whispered.

In the same fashion as last time, he couldn’t speak. Managing only to nod.

“I have carefully pulled the strings of fate as much as I am capable. A war is coming with a fate that I am unable to divulge. The Mother has allowed me to share just this:

“The fawn who sees carries the truth. When the time comes, you will know.”

Azriel furrowed his brows with confusion.

Y/N smiled softly, outshining any star in the sky, more captivating than the spirits of Starfall. “The truth will set you free. Do not fear loving again.”

He fought and fought, trying to speak, thrashing against the walls of his mind he was able to mutter three words to her.

“I love you.”

She placed a hand on her heart.

“I know, my love.”

Spreading those magnificent wings, she shot from his mind, the void filling with the echoes of her song.

“Until eternity reunites our souls.”

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stickstone · 22 days

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i think wind really demonstrates one of the main issues with the way warrior cats is written, that being the fact that nothing gets planned out in advance and the writer changes every book

because every book has to end with this big Moment, certain plot points get either rushed or delayed. for example, why the hell did they wait til the very end of thunder to make splashtail the leader? just as frostpaw got back?

it would have made way more sense for splashtail to be made leader early on in the book, so we could see from sunbeam’s chapters how splashtail was rebuilding riverclan in the background and gaining loyalty and respect. it could a sense of dramatic irony, with frostpaw and the reader learning the truth about splashtail while those back in the clans trust him more and more, giving him a great deal of power

this way, by the time frostpaw gets back, splashstar is a well established leader. it makes more sense why riverclan would be so opposed to the idea of loosing such a strong, stable leader, and it would be easier for splashstar to use his reputation and the current political climate to make it look like tigerstar has turned poor traumatized frostpaw against him

instead, by having thunder leave off on this big, dramatic ‘reveal’ of splashtail being made leader, the erin’s write themselves into a corner. there is no reason for frostpaw not to share the truth, so she does, but whoops! they can’t just end the arc with splashtail getting overthrown, so, even though it makes absolute zero sense for LITERALLY ALL OF RIVERCLAN to turn on her, they do

so now the erins have to justify why splashtail hasn’t been overthrown yet. if he was written the way he was previously written, it would make no sense for all of riverclan to throw their support behind him, so the erins have to turn him into a tyrant that everyone is too scared to stand up to

this is how splashtail goes from a clever, manipulative, if very impulsive and easy to anger villain, to a Godless Heathen Tyrant who kills his deputy for mildly disagreeing with him

because thunder ended with a Big Plot Twist, wind has to spend the entirety of its runtime justifying why the main conflict doesn’t just end right then and there. that is why the pacing screeches to a halt and that is why an artificial upping of the stakes happens right at the very end

wind is a book that spends its runtime trying to justify its existence. which is not what you want to see in the penultimate book in an arc

#warrior cats #a starless clan #asc spoilers #splashtail #splashstar #frostpaw #riverclan #asc wind

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autumnmobile12 · 11 months

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All right, this scene is a contentious one to say the least.

I want to look at the elements that make up this part, starting from the very beginning.

After waking up in Gresit, Alucard had one goal: Kill Dracula. Throughout Season 2, he’s determined, he has points of dry, sarcastic humor, but as a whole, his personality is pretty grim. He is absolutely unwavering in his determination.

Once Dracula was dead, though, he now has to live with the guilt of not only killing the father who loved and raised him but also the guilt over being unable to save his mother when she needed him. When Lisa was taken, Alucard was traveling, and though he never explicitly says this, I would bet anything that ever since that night he has asked himself, “Why wasn’t I there? What could I have done differently? If I had done _______, she would be here right now and none of this would have ever happened.” Alucard is a rational character. He understands that what happened to Lisa was a cruel accident of fate. She was accused of witchcraft, and he and his father were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. They couldn’t have predicted her death, they couldn’t have changed it.

But this is how the Bargaining Stage of Grief plays out. This is what sets him apart from Trevor and Sypha by the end of Season 2. Between the three of them, Sypha still has her family waiting for her. She still has her people and the optimism to still see the brighter future. (Which is a trait she never fully loses.) As for Trevor, he had already lost everyone he’d ever loved, and so he definitely already went through all the messy stages of grief to the point of sad acceptance that his family is dead and now he has to live with that.

Alucard can’t identify with that kind of acceptance yet, for either of his parents. The grief is too raw, and so I believe his decision to remain behind while his companions left without him was a form of self-punishment. In spite of the understanding it wasn’t his fault, he doesn’t believe he deserves to be happy after everything that happened. Sure, he says he needs to protect the accumulation of his father’s knowledge, and while that might have been true, I feel like he had other options. The show demonstrates that magic is capable of the impossible, so I feel like there should have been some kind of spell that could be engineered to keep his father’s/the Hold’s collection from being destroyed or looted. If he asked Sypha and Trevor to stay and help him, I think they would have. Instead, he watches them leave without asking them to visit or even expecting to see them ever again. And we leave him finally breaking down over his losses.

All this to say he was not in a good headspace when Sumi and Taka showed up, which they picked up on and exploited to their advantage. (The guy was talking to dolls he’d made to resemble his friends, and he was mimicking their voices in pseudo-conversation. Funny conversations, yes, but damn, that coping mechanism…)

The first thing Alucard tells them is he ‘will not be hunted,’ but there is a disturbing irony here.

Attacking them indicates that his guard was up and he was ready to end lives if he had to. Self-preservation is on point. It’s Sumi and Taka who de-escalate the situation. “We mean you no harm. We came to ask you for help.” They’re smiling and laughing by the end of this initial encounter. They tell him their story. “We’re these poor, innocent waifs from a distant land searching for a way to save our people. Pity us.” They present themselves as non-threatening, wide-eyed victims who only need help, which is a ruse he unfortunately falls for.

“It’s time for your reward.”

It makes my skin crawl how despicable that one line of manipulation is. This is the chink in Alucard’s armor: the idea of guilt that persists after the mother he couldn’t save and the father he killed, especially the latter. Understandably, although Alucard recognizes what he did was necessary, the fact he’s committed patricide is weighing on him. There was Sypha’s words of comfort at the end of Season 2 that was it was ‘okay to love the man,’ but neither she or Trevor are around. This leaves the opening for the toxic, false comfort of Sumi and Taka’s manipulation. Here they are introducing the conflicting idea that what he did is worthy of praise.

Couple that with the factor that at this point, he’s only known them for a few days at most. Obviously, that’s nowhere near long enough to establish an emotional connection that’s strong enough to say, “Yes, I want to be with this person.” But his silence is not consent; in fact, I see this as fear that if he does not go through with this like they want, it will make them leave him like Sypha and Trevor did. Again, they are playing on that fatal loneliness. Coercion.

Soft words, soft voices, and that is he what he needed to hear.

And Sumi and Taka knew exactly what to say.

Back in their flashback about Cho, Sumi and Taka talk how they ‘studied’ her, studied the way she fought, and learned about her weaknesses for years. This is the subtlest bit of foreshadowing I’ve found so far in the series. It shows that Sumi and Taka don’t hunt vampires the way Trevor does. They’re formidable fighters, yes, but they were not born and raised to hunt like the Belmonts were. They don’t have that specific training or discipline, so they make up for it with deceit. They ingratiate themselves with their prey, observing them and looking for the weak point.

Alucard said he would not be hunted.

But he was.

The entire time they were there, Sumi and Taka were studying him the way they studied Cho. They saw Alucard’s loneliness and they took full advantage of the trust he gave them. He invited them into his home, fed, and looked after them, he saw himself as their friend while the whole time they were looking for a way to kill him. They were continuously asking about weapons, magic, off-limits rooms in the Castle, when the Castle could be fixed, etc. They were trying to zero in on the ‘kill room’ where he would be at his most vulnerable.

It’s hard to say how much of Sumi and Taka’s story was true given the outcome, but I’m inclined to believe it was but with one caveat. I don’t think they helped their fellow prisoners escape. I think they were the only survivors. There’s no evidence of this other than the fact I think it’s suspicious that they left their friends behind to seek help. Okay…Japan is a long way from Wallachia. They couldn’t find anyone closer? They didn’t try to smuggle more people away? They don’t even mention their people in their angry ranting before they try to kill Alucard.

There’s also the brief line where they say they were given to Cho’s court as children. It’s not clear whether or not their parents were forced to give them up as tribute to Cho, but that’s irrelevant if they themselves felt betrayed and abandoned by the people who should have loved and protected them. There is the later line where they say everyone lies to them. With that, I think they were so far in the fog of grief and anger that in their minds, they were unable to recognize Alucard could have been a genuine ally to them, and they only saw him as just another vampire who was evil and needed to be killed.

The beauty and the tragedy of both Alucard and Lisa’s characters is that they are both so incredibly kind and selfless, and they want to believe in people. Even when the Bishop’s henchmen came to her home, Lisa didn’t immediately jump to the conclusion of witchcraft and fear. She asked if the Archbishop was ill and if they needed her help. When they started tearing apart her home, she told them whatever they wanted she would give it to them. She didn’t try to run. She tried to explain calmly about her medical practice and that what she did helped people. Her undoing was a man who meant her harm.

Lisa’s arrest is mirrored in the moments before Alucard kills Sumi and Taka. Even though he realizes what’s happened and the situation he’s in, realizing they aren’t with him out of love and this was all a manipulation, a trap, and even rape——even though he realized all that, he still wanted to help them.

Right before they die, he is begging them to listen, that is their friend, and he can help them. The world is not against them. These aren’t the words of a man trying to save himself. He is living admirably up to the virtues he learned from his mother. He waited until the last possible moment before choosing to save his own life over theirs. And his last line to them is, “I never lied to you.”

There’s no condoning what Sumi and Taka did to Alucard, that is an undeniably fucked up thing to do to a person and the plot accounted for it by killing off their characters. However, I do feel these two are a testament to how anger and hatred will destroy a person and are a kind of foil to characters like Isaac. Isaac was horribly abused in his past and he had every reason to resent humanity, and yet by the end of his arc, he was beginning to let go of his anger and start a new life where he could be happy. This is the lesson Isaac learns by the end of Season 3 whereas we leave Alucard again weeping alone with the memory of people he couldn’t save: his mother and father and the two people he thought were his friends. Again, he is grieving. “I was a good friend to them, wasn’t I? I helped them, didn’t I? What did I do wrong?’

The answers are yes, yes, and no, he did nothing wrong. Grieving is coming to terms with that.

And finally, we have the gruesome way in which he ‘displays’ their bodies outside the Castle as a means to warn off other travelers or intruders. Impalement was a very degrading means of execution. It was excruciatingly slow, extremely painful, and those who faced this sentence would suffer for hours if not days in public. You see the rage and humiliation he feels, and so by impaling the corpses, he in turn inflicted that humiliation on Sumi and Taka. It’s probably as close to the ‘eye for an eye’ mentality as he gets.

A recurring theme throughout the series is innocence against the brutality of a cruel world. Characters like Sypha, Alucard, and Lisa can give all the kindness they have to offer, but they can’t change the fact that people like the Judge and Bishop exist. Characters like Trevor and Isaac lost their faith in humanity and found it again with the help of people like Sypha and the Ship Captain. And characters like Dracula, Carmilla, and even Sumi and Taka, lost their way entirely and were swallowed up by their rage and pain.

#castlevania #alucard tepes #sumi and taka #lisa tepes #cho #castlevania netflix #character analysis #character development #alucard and lisa #isaac #castlevania dracula #character comparison #trevor belmont #sypha belnades #grieving characters #grief #this one was hard to write

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raelle-writing · 3 months

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The reality is that most kids would be either a Fluke or Jin. If nothing else it’s because they don’t also want to be bullied or ostracized by their friends. You can criticize the choices that Jin makes but realize that he is also a child that doesn’t yet have the maturity and wisdom of an adult. I see this group of teens and their treatment of Non as a cautionary tale. Obviously this is ultimately a horror/thriller so everything is heightened to the extreme. Therefore I don’t have an issue with the gore, mayhem and fantastical elements. But this type of bullying could and does happen in real life sometimes with devastating tragedies. So I do wish that people on social media were more careful of the terms they use and directly harassing your character is not a good look. Hurling insults behind a computer screen hurts just as much as doing it in person. (IMO) The fact that they are essentially bullying you is ironic considering what DFF is about.

There is a certain irony to watch the fandom turn into bullies in defense of the bullied character. I understand being defensive of the characters you like (I'm defensive of Jin in case you haven't noticed lol). But I understand why people don't like him. I've never justified all of his actions, but I do genuinely think people are too hard on him a lot of the time.

And I also wish all the Non defenders would have a bit of nuance about his character too because he's a victim, but that doesn't exempt him from hurting others. I'll never say he cheated because I beleive we shouldn't apply that word to a situation involving coercion and power imbalances. But Non does still get his friends arrested. And he does lie to and gaslight Phee. And those are okay things to acknowledge while still having sympathy for him as a character.

I agree with you. I think most people wouldn't even do as much as Jin tbh because while he doesn't do enough arguably, he does a lot as far as defending Non over and over and over (even up until after Non disappears he's still snapping at his friends to address Non by his name). And it's really hard to be that level of defiant to your peers constantly. It's waaaaaaay easier to be Fluke and look the other way and tell yourself that you're not involved then, even if you could stop it.

Everyone online seems to have a hero complex and think they'd do the Absolute Right Thing even when there's no clear right thing in certain situations, and then they demonize these teenagers for not doing those things. (I made a thread on Twitter talking about Jin lying to the police and police corruption in the DFF narrative and in Thailand in general, including linking to a bunch of Thai tweets that talk about that and I got people replying to me saying that they live in countries with police corruption but they still would've told the truth to the police even if they would've disappeared and I got a good laugh out of that. It's so easy to be the hero in your head in a hypothetical situation, but reality is a lot harder than that).

Yeah, I don't know why this particular fandom seems to be so caught up on "if you like a character that I view as morally bad then YOU are a bad person" especially considering the audience crossover to the KPTS fandom like. Were you mad at all of the mafia boys doing mafia things in KPTS becaussssssse that was worse than a lot of what's happening in DFF so far ahahahaha

Anyway, I'm not ever going to demand that everyone likes Jin. I don't particularly care of people like him or not as long as they're not coming after ME about it. I wish people were a little less... vitriolic about the mistakes of teenagers, though I understand why many people are so mad about it. I just can't get past the idea that these people were all kids when they made these mistakes, and it's hard to see even Por die because I have sympathy for them all. Did they fuck up? Duh. Do they deserve to die...? I have a hard time with that, but I'm trying to be mentally prepared ahahahaha

I also hope all the people out there who have decided Jin is the worst person ever and deserves to die are prepared for if that doesn't happen. Because there are a lot of threads in the narrative point pretty strongly to a future redemption for him IMO (tho of course they could go in another direction, anything is possible at this point). And I have a feeling that all those people who are calling me names on Twitter aren't going to handle it well if Jin get redeemed or like... lives in the end. I have a feeling they won't handle that well.

Anyway, thanks for the message 💕

#dead friend forever #dff the series #dff #pheejin #jin dff #phijin

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aleprouswitch · 8 months

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Re: your latest post: genuinely curious about your thoughts on how certain industrial/experimental acts address fascism in their art. I think a lot about JG Thirlwell, for example, and the way he invoked certain fascist imagery to make a satirical point or to amplify an atmospheric sense of terror and strife. Not saying that I support every artistic decision he’s made in that regard, but one criticism I often hear of his work is that his use of fascist imagery, regardless of context or purpose, is fascist itself, and it puzzles me. Do you think there are ways to incorporate historical themes of totalitarianism, mass suffering and loss of human rights in ways that would convey irony in a more..for lack of a better word.. dignifying manner?

(Absolutely no pressure to answer this btw. Was just interested n I’m a big fan of the work you do in the experimental community!)

I wanted to take the time to think about this question for a bit before answering it, as it's a really good one.

Art can be difficult to interpret at times unless you know the full context as intended by the artist. Some artists tend to be vague about the meanings of their work, which makes interpretation even more difficult. However, with some artists, it's pretty easy to tell where they stand on certain issues and if their use of provocative or controversial imagery is meant in either a satirical fashion or being used to make people pay attention to important issues.

You make an example out of J.G. Thirlwell and his various projects, and I'm about 99% sure there's not a fascist bone in that man's body. His work is incredibly nihilistic in tone most of the time, but there's also an absurdist streak to it in places. Any allusions to fascism are probably meant to add to that air of absurdism. I kind of see this as being the case with groups like Laibach as well; using allusions to totalitarian governments in the name of absurdism and satire.

Then of course, there are some groups out there who use themes of fascism to talk about what's happened in their countries and trying to make sense of it all; this is especially common with German groups. Haus Arafna have done this in the past, trying to use music and art a a means of navigating German identity while grappling with atrocities committed by those in the past. Rammstein have also done this, especially with "Deutschland" and its accompanying music video.

Of course, then there are the artists who use fascist themes in their music and art because unfortunately, they're sympathizers or subscribe to the ideologies behind it. Boyd Rice is particularly disgusting for this reason, as is Douglas Pearce (Death in June fans don't @ me; I don't care if he's gay or if the music slaps; he's a fascist). That's partly why I used that image of them together with Rose McDowall in matching outfits to convey that real, actual support of fascism is not artistically acceptable.

My personal opinion is that the "right" and "wrong" way to convey messages of antifascism is subjective and can be expressed in wildly different ways depending on the artist. Once again, I encourage listeners to do their own research on artists and read up on what their work is supposed to be based around and to abstain from making any flippant judgments. You could miss out on some very powerful work if you refuse to read between the lines.

#noise #industrial #music #opinions #asks

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blueper-saiyan · 25 days

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alright I have a fandom hot take to get off my chest. It rubs me the wrong way a bit when I see people refer to Vegeta as Bulma’s (or occasionally Goku’s) pet. Honestly I’ve made the joke myself and I usually don’t mind it, but I feel a bit guilty/weird about it, and it’s taken me months to work out why. I think first there’s an in-universe reason. Vegeta’s actual backstory is that he was functionally Freeza’s pet for about three decades. And I don’t really want to compare his relationship with Bulma or Goku to his relationship with Freeza in a way that makes it sound like he just changed ownership. I’m pretty sure part of the reason the joke is so common is that Vegeta does call his own redemption(ish) arc “being domesticated.” (At least in English, I’m not worrying about the Japanese original today) It’s absolutely funny that he thinks of it that way, but I also think that Vegeta’s opinion can’t be trusted on anything, especially himself. It’s one of the more interesting parts of the character to me that he doesn’t quite think of himself as a person (a topic worth its own meta). He’s also got the aforementioned history of being dehumanized. Combining that with his internalized idea that the only valuable trait is strength and being kind or merciful or caring is just weakness, it makes sense that he might decide to label his character development as “domestication,” even though that’s not really a good description of learning to find contentment in peace and care for others. So part of why that line is funny is the irony, even if there is some truth to it. Taking it at face value and using it as a joke on its own without the irony sort of feels like it misses the point for me.

Then there’s the half that I feel sort of guilty posting because I know it’s not the intent behind the jokes and it feels like I’m getting upset over something trivial and saying this feels accusatory, but I’m getting my hot take out of my system once and for all regardless. I feel like I see people say Vegeta is a pet either because he doesn’t have a job and he’s just living off Bulma’s money, or because he’s really weird sometimes. And I really don’t like the implications of either of those. Again, I am aware it’s a joke, I know that I’m not supposed to be taking it literally, but. Not working a job sure as hell doesn’t make someone less than human. Being financially supported by someone else does not make someone a pet, that’s spectacularly fucked up. And behaving strangely, even in an animalistic way, also does not make someone less than human or someone else’s pet. (and for the record I can’t actually think of much Vegeta has done that’s animalistic in canon, the closest to that has been eating the bug person, and he did that in a pretty human way. He cooked that bug person first and everything lol. Vegeta being cruel is not animalistic, it’s just a negative character trait. Most animals aren’t even aware enough to be cruel, so it’s a pretty human negative trait at that. I know it’s popular fanon to make him more animalistic but it is fanon. That’s probably a really hot take too but whatever.) Actually this goes for jokes about Goku too, who is the one who actually has some “animalistic” traits in canon. I hate the implication that the way either of them acts would make them the “pet” of a more “normal” human character. It feels really gross. Especially because they read far more as neurodivergent and/or having trauma then they do as true aliens. Part of that is an inherent side product of writing aliens as a human, because you can only really use things that humans are familiar with. But there’s also a whole history of which human traits get used to make an alien seem “inhuman.” I’m only personally familiar with the autism part of that history, but I know there’s lot more than that. Regardless, it certainly has an effect if you have those “inhuman” traits that people say are what makes an alien or robot or whatever into something less than human. So uh, “Vegeta is Bulma’s pet because he’s blunt, aggressive, often confused by other people’s intentions, and doesn’t always understand Earth” does not feel great as a joke. I know it’s not that serious and I know that’s not the underlying intention and I know that caring about this character in particular really does not help my case. But I guess I just can’t quite escape my feelings about it anyway.

#I’ve been brooding on this for at least a year I’m sorry about this one #No hate to anyone who does find the jokes funny #I can see why and some of them *are* funny #And it took me ages to even articulate why it gives me pause #But I guess I think it’s at least worth pointing it out in case anyone else feels the same #I’m sure Goku fans could give their own version of this rant because I see a similar trend there

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bluegekk0 · 7 months

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Was there an inspiration for pk to have eye balls? Or one day you were like 'alright let's make this bug more of a lizard and put in eyeballs that either have the entire world behind them, or absolute static behind them'?Or was it simply just a stylistic choice?

i always imagined him with actual eyes as opposed to empty sockets, since it just felt right to me. originally they were fully black with no visible reflections, mainly cause i could never make that look good enough. then i randomly got an idea to make his actual eye color light blue and give him giant black pupils instead, which started off as a joke but i liked it so much that i kept it. the biggest inspiration for that was the eye color of my late rabbit, he was a white dwarf bunny with those beautiful baby blue eyes that i thought would fit fpk really well. the latest development was pushing the reflective aspect of them a lot further. i loved the idea of him having eyes that "absorb" all the light around them, making the pupils different color depending on the environment. of course, it's not as exaggerated as in my pinned art, for example, but it's especially noticeable if he's in brightly colored rooms. and aside from looking pretty (and being very fun to draw), it also makes him a lot more expressive, which fits as i view him as someone who's probably a bit too emotional

(not related to the ask but still connected to the topic of eyes: fpk having big, expressive eyes, contrasts very nicely with grimm. grimm's eyes are extremely hard to read, he has pretty much just a few expressions that often make him look bored or evil, and it's the main reason why most people find him unsettling and don't trust him. even if he tries to put a genuine smile on his face, he just ends up looking like he's smirking, which can make it very difficult for others to interpret his intentions. fpk is the only one who can actually read his expressions correctly since they spend so much time in each other's presence)

as an added bonus, since his pupils are massive and can't contract further than what is shown on his reference sheet, they're also very sensitive to bright lights. it gives a little more irony to his character, but also fits him - his species, wyrms, lived predominantly underground, so it makes sense that they would be adapted to environments with very poor lighting. i do think they had eyes, which i'm planning to reflect on future art, but their vision was quite poor. fpk "improved" that when changing forms, he can see a lot better now than he did before, but i suppose he didn't predict just how bright his palace would end up being, and wasn't prepared for all the headaches that followed. it would certainly explain why he'd prefer to hide away in his workshop, as it is much more closer in appearance to the tunnels and caverns he grew up in

#ask stuff #feral pk au #save

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joannasteez · 2 months

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WIP WEDNESDAY- EXCERPTS

thanks so much for the tag! @theninthwonder !! warning: this is another little AU ive been working on…(do u all see a pattern lol) but yeah. lawyer AU that im slowly working through. its got some workplace spice to it. but heres a lil bit of it. no real warnings besides foul language. note: who ever wants to participate in the challenge is of course welcomed to do so!

"what would you do without me?"

"suffer". "survive".

you thumb over your phone, ending the call. amused at the irony. cody could—contrary to what he thinks, but with barely any feet left to stand on—survive on his own. just barely. but roman would absolutely suffer.

and though you've never let the words leave your lips, form the letters together to produce such a humble grouping of syllables, suffering would be your portion without them. because new york, in all its supposed opportunity, was overly congested with ambition and malice and corrupt spirit. it was a machine of a city, and would soon turn anything and anyone into a lowly little cog, before it ever showed you some much needed grace and favor. thats why it never slept, and maybe thats why you barely do either. forcing caffeine down your throat to your belly to keep up with the pace. they, the boys, probably did it for the same reasons. and they weren't even from here. conforming to this jungle of a landscape out of pure will to succeed. to say they did it. pride and ego. that's what you think it is anyways. even amongst the satisfaction of so called justice. that's all it ever was.

your stomach grumbling again. pushing forward past the entrance of the firm and hustling up two flights of steps. coffee boxes and bags of cups, sugars and creamer running across to crease your fingers. it was a bad day to forget your gloves. but it was either that or miss the train.

steps clack with an echo. warm, strong fingers pulling at the boxes in your hands. its roman. small smile slipping into his lips. and its probably only because you've come with his coffee.

he takes everything from you. and the relief is sweet to your fingers.

"my savior", he muses. "i got a nice little gift for your efforts".

"paperwork isn't a gift. it's labor". trailing behind him till you both come upon the open space styled office area. "and to be quite honest, i feel like, me, specifically, i've lived past the need to work".

he sets the bags and boxes down in the kitchen area tucked away from paper riddled desks, fashioned with computers, printers and other general office supplies. a mocking pout set into his mouth as he looks to you. standing tall and wide.

"theres this little thing called reality and adulting...", his voice smooth, mirthful and patronizing. and if not for the handsome ways of his face, you'd lean into the violent intrusive thought of splashing hot coffee at him. just where his freckles scatter across his cheeks. "...where you pay bills, get too little sleep, eat, fuck, stress and solve minuscule problems that make you go gray. and then you pay more bills".

"sounds like a slow painful death".

roman pours his coffee. sipping at the undefiled black of it. no sugar or creamers. just the bare bitterness of a pure brew. "we die daily anyways don't we?".

"i'd like not to die without the suffering and student loan debt".

"you do realize that you went to law school and became a paralegal right?"

#work in progress #wip wednesday #roman reigns #cody rhodes #lawyer au #stuff in the drafts

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owl-with-a-pen · 8 months

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so I was thinking about Supergirl season 5 again and I remembered that some people were upset with Brainy in the second half of season 5 because they didn't think he was as smart as he's supposed to be, and should have been ahead of Lex mentally/had a plan to defeat him. But maybe him being a step behind Lex would have been more understandable/more angsty if Lex was literally mind-controlling him? Like maybe he borrowed Lena's technology to keep him in line, inhibiting him again by cruel irony.

CONT: and meanwhile either Brainy is completely aware of what's going on with him, and it's terrible, or it's a more subtle control by Lex and he makes excuses for something feeling wrong with him. So either way, at the end of the season in this scenario I would still have Brainy do the thing with the bottle, but have it be more an act of defiance/rebellion against Lex, probably with Brainy laughing in his face as Lex is gloating in that scene and taking the pin that kept Lex safe from the radiation.

See this is super interesting, because I've always thought that Brainy struggling to keep up with Lex/outright failing to felt very in character for him as of where he was at that point in the show. I feel like we seem to forget that although Brainy was uninhibited while working for Lex and, therefore, theoretically mentally superior to him, Brainy was also in no sound mind to actually be able to embrace the full extent of his intellect.

While working for Lex, Brainy had to spend all of his time pretending to be someone else. He had to hold up a very stiff and unemotional front to try and convince everyone around him that this was what removing his inhibitors had made him, otherwise his whole plan would fall apart. We know from season 6 that Brainy was absolutely not okay when it came to dealing with his emotions, especially his rage against Lex, and this was becoming very clear through all the interactions we saw between Brainy and Lex in the second half of season 5. Brainy was barely holding it together, and Lex knew that, which was why he knew he had the room to play with his food for a bit and make Brainy think he'd actually achieved the upper hand.

Brainy spent so much of his time with Lex questioning his own actions, feeling guilty every step of the way, hating himself for crawling closer to the evil alignment the rest of his family had wanted for him and (I'm gonna assume here) not sleeping very much, if at all. So, failing to see Lex's whole plan always made sense to me. Brainy was not in a fit mental state to do any better than he did and, to be honest, with all said and done his plan actually was still very ingenious. Incorporating an aspect of the Brainiac line he hated so much by bottling Leviathan was also extremely satisfying, especially considering he went into it knowing he was likely going to die and so reclaiming that ability for good was one hell of a way to go out.

This being said, I do love the ideas you've brought to the table, especially with regards to giving Brainy a proper moment to rebel against Lex. Lex using some form of mind control on Brainy would have definitely upped the angst to insanely delicious proportions. Maybe not from the very start of their partnership, but the more Brainy resisted Lex's plans, or the more obvious it became that he was clearly interfering with them where he could, maybe Lex starts to set something in motion then. Maybe Brainy notices because of how freshly released from being inhibited he is, or, maybe worse, he doesn't realise for those exact same reasons. Either way, it would give Brainy even more fuel to the fire when it came to his final face off with Lex.

Brainy never really gets the closure he sorely needs for everything Lex put him through, and I really do love imagining an alternate version to the scene where Brainy does have the upper hand in that Leviathan ship, maybe he rips Lex's pin from his lapel when Lex underestimates how much energy Brainy has left when he tries to take the bottle from him. Just something that gives Brainy a bit more power over the situation. It'd also make Lex realise that pushing the emotionally unstable Coluan to the limit maybe wasn't the genius plan he thought it was, especially when all of Brainy's anger surges out with Lex as his sole target.

I am overall glad that the end of season 5 left Brainy in a position where his anger towards Lex was unresolved, because that gave us some excellent scenes in season 6. It's no secret that I love Brainy and Lena's dynamic and the scene where Brainy starts detailing exactly how he's planned to kill Lex in the most horrific way possible is up there on my list of favourite scenes ever. So, I suppose, yes it would have been satisfying to see Brainy defy Lex, but also what we got from Brainy failing gave us so much more angst where his unresolved anger was left to stagnate.

#supergirl #brainiac 5 #lex luthor #cyclone-rachel #my asks #not writing #it's such a split situation in my mind because yes I wanted to Brainy to go full feral on Lex in that scene #but also from a narrative perspective i actually really am happy with the direction that scene took #aaaah the confliction. but those ideas were super good!#i also just got a darker thought of... what if brainy inhibited himself again when he couldn't bare the toll it was taking #maybe the radiation interferes with the inhibitors and that brings all the rage back and then he snaps back at lex from there #so many possibilities. all with so much ANGST. i love it.

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strawbrygashez · 1 year

Text

Vampire Postal 1 Dude x Postal 3 Dude

Starting to get spoiled

Yep! We r about to get Twilight up in here 🧛‍♀️ uhh tw for blood, needles, cutting ppl open (not descriptive) !!! 😧 this is a bit more uhh sensual than I usually write but nothing super super crazy happens! Ask me to tag anything else

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A postal dude of all people should be used to changes in their life, almost everyday a new situation would present itself to Dude and for the most part, Dude could handle it well and go with the flow and P3 guesses this isn’t the absolute worst new thing he had to introduce to his daily errands list but it was certainly new. Usually after killing someone, he’d just go on his jolly way, perhaps whistling a tune while stepping right on top of newly deceased body now that one more annoyance had been taken care of, but now Dude had to spend a good while after with the cold dead body and occasionally drag them off for even more privacy so there would be less of a chance someone would come across the pretty disturbing scene of Dude trying to collect as much blood from the body as he could.

He was still trying to improve on how he actually went about doing this. The least messy way he found was using a syringe but that took a bit longer than other options and didn’t even really provide that much blood if he didn’t repeat his actions a bunch of times, so sometimes he’d go about it the bit messier way and just find a good place to cut open and drain what he could into some of the bottles he’d started to carry around in his backpack now.

It was kinda a pain to clean himself afterwards if he had other things to do and couldn’t exactly be covered in blood while doing so (which was most of the time) but he didn’t mind much. It was all trial and error since he was new to this but it was definitely worth it to know he’s helping out his boyfriend and to know how thankful he is for this. Seeing as p1 couldn’t go out in the daylight and even still had his phobia of being around people and being outside in general at night, p3 felt like it was his job to help him out and provide what he could for his little blood sucker. Coming home had actually became something p3 looked forward to even more now since when he did, and announced to his fanged boyfriend that he’d gotten him a new supply, the way p1 would perk up made his heart flutter every time..no matter how gay that sounded.

P3 was actually looking forward to this right now as he skipped as jolly as ever as his old trailer came into view. Throwing a wave towards Champs direction once he saw the old mutt in his beat up dog house, he quickly sped up to the door, opening it with a loud “Honey! I’m home!”. Only to be met with…no sight of his boyfriend anywhere at first. The light was off for some reason which was pretty unusual. By now P1 would usually be either watching TV or sitting on the couch watching..wolf documentaries on his iPad of all things..which the irony in that had been pointed out to p1 multiple times by now but he didn’t seem to change his interest in the animal despite the jokes.

Confused, P3 switched the lights back on, smiling as a groan came as soon as the lights filled the living room again. Apparently his blood sucker had been laying down on the couch. Tossing his backpack off for now, he made his way over to look down at him from behind the couch, only for his smile to drop as he saw the state P1 was in. He looked pretty miserable, somehow paler than usual as he scowled and pulled the blanket up more over him. “What’s wrong dollface? Did you not drink anything yet? I told you I left some extra bottles in the fridge.” He asked as he ran a hand into P1s long hair. That was another thing he was proud of actually. Since he’d came into P1s life, he’d actually helped him improve in a couple things. One being that he convinced P1 he was worth taking care of himself..so now his hair wasn’t always matted and tangled as it had been before.

P1 leaned into his boyfriend touch but didn’t seem any happier. “No. I know but…mm..” P1 grumbled, apparently not wanting to say exactly what was going on, instead settling to face his head to kiss the palm of p3s hand instead. P3s smile stayed as he ran a thumb across his boyfriends cheek bone. “But what?” He asked. P1 looked up at him for a moment, in thought about something before shaking his head. “You’ll..get mad at me if i-..” he yet again mumbled. The brunette of the two rolled his eyes playfully before removing his hand from him and crossing his arms on the back of the couch. “Did you manage to trick some poor pizza guy to come over and now he’s rotting in our room? Or maybe he kicked your ass and that’s why you’re all mopey?” P3 knew at times when P1 won’t spit out what he wants to say or is holding something in, humor or messing with him usually helped. They were a pretty good match in that way.

P1 rolled his eyes now too and finally sat up, giving p3 the chance to see how bad off p1 actually was at the moment. His face was even skinner than usual and his eyes looked ‘dead’ which was a usual sign he hadn’t drank in a while..which he already said he hadn’t but- “I don’t want some uh..like pizza guys blood.” The fanged Dude said. P3 nodded and joked “yeah you’re too good for that.” P1 glared at him for just a minute before rubbing his eyes and continuing. “I don’t want…Dude. I..The blood you’ve been bringing back is..okay. I appreciate it but it’s all so cold and-”

“You can probably heat blood up. Yknow we have a microwave..might make it smell bad for me but I dunno I might like it! When someone is burning they kinda smell like chicken so..”

P1 squinted a moment before sighing. “No. I’m just trying to say..the last time I had yours…it was so good and warm.. all these other random other people I’m drinking from aren’t as good.” He finally confessed. P3 couldn’t help but get..a tiny bit red at that (probably not helping the situation here since p1 sounds like he could eat him whole right now since apparently..he was ‘warm’). He gave a slight nervous chuckle before standing up straight again. “Didnt I let you do that at least twice last week? I think you’re just starting to get spoiled…” P3 said before starting to go over to grab his backpack to provide him with a bottle. And for fucks sake..a fucking whine sounded like it slipped out of his boyfriend. “Pleassee… I’m not getting spoiled…it’s just you taste really good and I’m tired of random peoples bland cold blood.”

Now one of p3s favorite things about his boyfriends whole ‘vampire’ thing was all the sucking and tasting innuendos. It was just too easy. He smirked and stopped in his steps to look back over at him. “I taste good, huh? In more ways than one?” Now either p1 knew what he was doing or he was just dense but either way..he nodded. “Mhm..and..maybe if you let me have what I want..I’ll ‘taste’ you the other way after.” It was a miracle in P1s mind he was able to get that sentence out with a minimal shake in his voice. He still wasn’t used to being with someone..or even being in situations like that with someone but he supposed fair was fair and well..he is his boyfriend so he obviously would wanna do that anyways. And of course, when p1 had gotten that offer out, p3 being the horn dog he is, changed his tune real quick.

“Yknow what? I’ll take ya up on that.” He smirked as he made his way back to him on the couch. P1 grinned as p3 made his way to sit down and scooted over but paused when p3 did while the smirk left. “Just..be good and don’t yknow fucking kill me. Or I guess you can. Dying because of you would be alright I suppose.” He finished, finally sitting down. P1 shook his head playfully and scooted up closer. “Of course not.” Now that P1 was this close…maybe it would have been a good idea to have drank some beforehand because the way p3 smelled was intoxicating..and the heat coming off him was almost too much. He hadn’t felt this much of a need for him in this way before.. not being able to really hold back, he made his way to sit on his lap, not wasting much time to lean in close to the side of p3s neck, taking in the warmth and how his vains seemed to pop out in P1s eyes. P3 felt the tip of his boyfriend nose slowly move across the side of his neck which caused him to swallow. He felt like fucking prey under him which..still wasn’t something p3 was used to. Not that it scared him, he trusts p1 but he was usually the one in control. To regain somewhat of a grasp of the situation, he held onto P1s thin hips as he continued.

“Let go.” He whispered, still not moving away from his neck. Before p3 could ask why, his boyfriend continued before licking a stripe up his neck. “Take off your jacket.” The brunette listened and shrugged off what he could while sitting down and p1 helped pushed the sleeve down out of his way from what side he was leaned into. Now he had much better access to the area he drank from last time which he could still see the scars from. A mix of feelings washed over him as he saw his old bite and fang marks in the skin where Dudes shoulder met his neck. Mostly he felt proud and content knowing he’d been walking around with that even though he rarely took his jacket off. For just a moment he imagined him taking it off just for some bitch to get jealous of him, seeing he belonged to someone else. But those thoughts could wait for later. He felt practically in heaven in this situation right now and not taking a bite already felt like he was just teasing himself..but he supposed a little preparation was always good.

Apparently he wasn’t only teasing himself however, feeling a sudden..sign in p3s pants that he was enjoying this in some way too. The ginger couldn’t help but giggle and go back in to lick over the spot he’d previously bit. He heard a small breath leave his boyfriend and his hands once again return to his hips. “You’re too good to me.” P1 whispered as he glanced down to his boyfriends tan skin. “I know. That’s wh- MM-!” The little fucker cut him off with one more lick from the flat of his tongue, only to finally sink his fangs in. P3 didn’t hate the feeling, it felt amazing the past two times and he sure it will start to feel better in a minute but the sharp first sting always had him biting his own bottom lip.

P1 brought his other hand up to hold onto p3s other shoulder to hold himself up steady as he quickly felt himself getting lost in the way p3 tasted. In all of his life nothing compared to the warmth and taste of him. Something about it was just so much better than anyone else he’d ever drank from and it certainly helped that his boyfriend eventually started to raise one of his hands up to his back to ‘soothe’ him when he was the one getting fucking drank from. P3 ran his thumb up and down a area of his boyfriends spine as he listened to the little noises that escaped from his vampires throat. He (correctly) assumed this was also satisfying more than his literal thirst ..especially when p1 would occasionally grind in closer to him and it didn’t take long for the ginger to get worked up himself too to where his boyfriend could feel it and him panting.

P3 couldn’t help but to groan a couple times and let his body relax as more and more of blood was taken from him. All of this made his body feel hot and his head feel dizzy like usual but this time..he felt a bit more dizzy than usual. It was probably because p1 was..really drinking more from him than he usually did. He’d never felt a liquid start rolling down himself during this before but he certainly did now. He also felt his boyfriend huff even more as he continued and felt the fucker even bite down harder, like he was forgetting, ‘hey you’re drinking from ur boyfriend here’. And it was getting all too much when P1s knee pressed in between his legs more and the room felt like it was spinning.

With what energy he could muster, he let out a silent “hey…” when p1 didn’t answer and just kept on ‘enjoying his meal’ that he was taking a bit too much enjoyment of, he gave a slight pat to his hip. “Hey. C-calm down already..y-you’re gonna- I’m not gonna have much blood left sk-skippy.” Thankfully this got P1s attention this time and he finally slowly unhooked his fangs out, quickly licking up what was still pouring out before sitting up straight to look at p3. And sure, p3 felt super fucking light headed and probably wouldn’t be in the mood for his bj anymore now that he can’t focus on one thing much and was tired as shit but what he did notice and take immense pleasure of was how fucking blissed out his boyfriend looked now..only being slightly terrified that his boyfriends mouth and chin was pretty well covered in his blood.

The life in his eyes was back and even some color was in his face now. His cheeks were back to looking a bit plumper again too. He watched as p1 licked his lips and a slurty grin appeared on his face. “Guessed you had fun hm??” P3 asked as he rested his head back on the couch. “Mhm~ thank you babe.” P1 sang as he leaned in to give him a quick kiss. P3 only hummed ‘mhm’ back before closing his eyes. The ginger stared at him for a moment longer while licking more of the blood off his lips before going to slip back down onto the ground to get started on his side of the deal..until a hand grabbed his upper arm and p3 only shook his head. “Forget it. You nearly damn killed me I just wanna chill for a moment.”

“Oh…sorry…do you want me to patch up your arm?” P1 innocently asked as he looked back over to the bloody shoulder. Again p3 shook his head and now pulled p1 up closer and wrapped his arms around him. “Nope. Just stay still for a minute would ya?” The vampire grinned and nuzzled into him. “Fine..you know we wouldn’t have this problem maybe if you’d let me turn you into a vampi-”

“We’ll get there when we get there” the brunette mumbled as he got moved to get more comfortable. P1 chuckled and finally closed his eyes too. “Of course”

#postal dude #p2 x p3 #postal 2 #postal 3 #postal fanfic #sorry if this is uhhh BAD or whatever #the ending was kinda my first time writing like that so 😳😳😳 it’s prob not good but oh well #just having some FUNN

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mebiselfandi · 1 year

Text

Title: Just My Luck

Summary: Vini and Gavi have the misfortune of continuously bumping into each other

Pairings: Vini Jr & Gavi

Tags: idk ‘you suck’ ‘no you suck more’ dynamics, one upping, Vini being an instigator for half of this😔, it’s not romantic it’s not even platonic

A/N: I feel like my writing style changed…not sure how to feel about that. Is it better or is it different? Different in a good way or a bad way idk

The venue was packed to the brim with guests. Footballers and friends. Musicians and plus ones. The multitude of crowds all chattered and mingled with each other over the loud music being played. Anyone and everyone was invited to Raphinha’s birthday party. He’d decided to make a big event of it this year. Something about you only turn 27 once. Gavi couldn’t remember. Him and Pedri made their way over to the birthday boy, wishing him a happy day and so forth before he directed them to the present pile where they could drop off their gifts. Pedri handed his to Gavi before disappearing off into the crowds to talk to someone. Gavi pushed his way over to the present pile and just his luck he should bump into the one person he didn’t want to see.

“Vinicius.”

“Pablo.”

The both greeted each other curtly, the memories of all their interactions and scuffles being brought to the surface at the sight of the other. They both left their presents before disappearing into the night, both hoping they wouldn’t have the misfortune of bumping into each other again.

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Vini couldn’t remember whether Neymar had said the bathroom was the 3rd door on his left or on his right. No he definitely said left, right…right? Leftright? Left, yes. He opened the door and entered.

“Wait! No don’t let it,” the door shut behind Vini, “close.”

Whoever else was in the room sighed dejectedly then fell back onto the wall he’d been leaning on. Vini let his eyes adjust to the dimly lit room before coming face to face with Gavi.

“Oh absolutely not,” Vini groaned out upon realizing who he’d managed to get himself stuck with in what appeared to not be the bathroom but rather a small dark supply closet.

He turned back to the door and pulled and turned at the knob to no avail. The door was locked tight. There was no escaping. The other man simply watched as he clawed at the metal piece. He changed tactics, opting to bang on the door and yell loudly. Maybe if he was loud enough, someone would hear him and come and unlock the door.

“It won’t work,” Gavi finally piped up. Vini turned a poisonous gaze towards him. “The closet is soundproof. And even if it wasn’t the music is certainly loud enough.”

Vini now realized how quiet the closet was. Just his luck that he’d be locked in a soundproof supply closet with one of the few people in the world he didn’t like. He took out his phone and began to dial Rodrygo.

“That won’t work either. There’s no reception.”

“Aren’t you the bearer of bad news,” Vini scoffed out, “what are you even doing in here?”

“Someone said this was where the bathroom was.”

If he wasn’t so dismayed at his predicament, Vini might have laughed at the irony. But considering the joke was at his expense, the humour was lost on him. Instead he just went and sat down next to where Gavi stood. He could feel him burning holes into his head from above so he turned up to face him.

“What? Are you gonna stand there all night?”

“No,” Gavi said in an annoyed tone as he slid down the wall to sit next to him.

Vini stared at him annoyedly at how close he’d decided to place himself to him; being able to feel his body heat next to his.

“Move over.”

“Why?”

“You’re too close to me.”

Gavi rolled his eyes and instead shifted even closer until his entire side was pressed flush into Vini’s.

“You’re so childish!” Vini burst out as he shoved Gavi rather roughly away from him.

“At least I’m actually one, what’s your excuse!?”

He tried not to think too hard about the fact that he’d not only insulted Vini but also himself in the same breath.

“Man what’s your problem with me!?” Vini shouted.

“Me? Me!? You’re the one with the problem with me!”

Vini scoffed once more.

“Okay look just stay on your side and I’ll stay on mine. It’s already bad enough I’m stuck in here with you.”

Gavi held back any retorts he had and simply scooted angrily to the other side of the closet, putting a good arms length of distance between them. At least he could find solitude in the fact that it would only be a matter of time before someone noticed at least one of them had gone missing. Then he’d try his absolute best to forget this whole cursed meeting.

——————————————

Four hours. It had been four hours since they’d gotten here and both Vini and Gavi were nearing their wits end. Four hours of absolute silence. Both of them sticking to their guns and completely ignoring the other. Like a Mexican stand-off of cold shoulders. Sure they could distract themselves with whatever music or games they had on their phones but neither one was willing to give the other the satisfaction of ‘winning’. But as competitive as they both were, they were both getting sick of being in the other’s presence. Eventually they turned to look at each other; a silent truce for the sake of both their sanity’s.

“We can’t stay here forever,” Vini said as he stood and turned towards Gavi, “maybe if we try breaking the door down?”

Gavi rolled his eyes but stood up and walked the 7 short steps over to Vini anyways. They took a few steps back and huddled closer to each other.

“On three. One, two, three.”

They surged forwards barreling full force into the door. The door stood firm however as they were knocked down to the ground. Gavi groaned lightly feeling every ache in his muscles from the impact. He sat up rubbing at his shoulder but quickly forgot about it when he took note of Vini’s still form. The other man had seemingly hit his head somehow, perhaps on the floor, and now lay unmoving next to Gavi.

“Hey! Now really isn’t the time to be messing with me!”

He slapped Vini’s cheeks lightly in an effort to wake him up. The last thing he needed right now was for someone to finally walk in and accuse him of supposed murder. But considering their luck so far, he considered it was only a matter of time before one of them had a brush with death. Thankfully the other man began to blink blearily at him as he came to. He reached a hand up to touch the tender back of his head which had smacked straight into the floor and whimpered softly when he made contact with the blazing area. Vini could already feel the beginnings of a headache brewing, maybe even a concussion.

“Come on.”

Gavi grabbed Vini by the arms and heaved him back towards the wall opposite the door, propping him up against it. He crouched in front of him and waved a hand in his face to get his attention. He held up two fingers in front of Vini’s face.

“I need you to focus. How many fingers am I holding up?”

However Vini just groaned, burying his face in his hands in the process. Gosh everything was so loud. His own breathing seemed to roar in his ears and Gavi’s question jumbled in a mess of floating letters in his head. He looked up as he felt Gavi place a hand on his cheek but sorely regretted it when the light filtering in through the small window seared itself into his eyes. They watered as the throbbing in his head amplified tenfold. He closed them again as he tried not to worsen the pain however this only served to increase Gavi’s panic for the seemingly unresponsive man.

“Vinicius!?”

“Don’t call me that,” he finally managed to grunt quietly.

“What?”

“It’s just Vini.”

Now was really not the time to be exchanging names.

“Look I need you to open your eyes so I can check if you’ve got a concussion.”

Slowly Vini opened his eyes. Wincing slightly before letting his eyes adjust to the soft light.

“Good. Now how many fingers am I holding up?”

Vini tried to focus on the fingers in front of him. Two. No four. Three. Ugh his head was spinning, he could barely even see.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m going to assume you have a concussion. Try not to fall asleep.”

“Pretty sure that’s just a myth.”

“I’m not taking any chances.”

Gavi sat down beside Vini and let the other man lie his head on his shoulder. If he wasn’t so worried(not that he’d ever admit it), he probably would have had some jab ready to throw at the other man. But right now he just prayed someone would find them soon. And for the first time that night, his prayers were answered. The door jiggled slightly before a cleaning man poked his head in, scanning the small closet before finally taking notice of the two boys sitting disheveled on the floor.

“What are you two doing in here?” The man asked accusingly.

“We got locked in,” Gavi replied defensively.

He stood up then helped Vini to his feet.

“Not again,” the man grumbled as he stepped aside to let them out.

They walked out of the closet and back into the now empty venue, both of them looking at the messages that were pinging on their phones now that they’d managed to leave that suffocating supply closet.

“Did they just leave us behind?” Gavi scoffed disbelievingly as finally they reached the grand entrance.

“Speak for yourself. I drove here myself,” Vini muttered as he rubbed lightly at his eyes. His head hurt significantly less but he still felt the occasional phantom pin pricks of pain.

Gavi took out his phone and quickly dialed a number, pacing impatiently as it rang. Vini listened in on Gavi’s one sided conversation.

“Hey, where’d you go…you didn’t think of looking for me first?…no I got locked in a supply closet…can’t you just come back…yeah Vini’s still here…yes that Vini…absolutely not, just-,” Gavi looked at his phone in shock, “he just hung up on me,” he laughed mirthlessly. Gavi swore he’d kill Pedri when he saw him next for leaving him behind.

He turned to look at Vini. The older man leaned against the wall, face turned to the sky. He took in deep breaths seemingly trying to will away the light pulsing in his head. Giving up whatever stubbornness he had left in the name of not wanting to be stranded here indefinitely, he sighed and walked up to Vini.

“Can you give me a ride?” He grumbled out lowly.

“I think the fuck not,” the other man muttered nonchalantly as he turned his face to stare down Gavi.

“Why are you being so difficult?”

“Why didn’t you drive here yourself?” Vini asked in a belittling tone.

It took every bit of willpower to not quip back. Gavi sighed and closed his eyes momentarily as he tried to calm himself down. Seeing as he was the one who was stranded, fighting with the only person who could seemingly help him was a rather poor decision.

“You can’t drive with a concussion,” he pointed out.

Whatever smugness Vini had felt over him slowly dissipated as he realized Gavi was right. Unless he planned on driving straight to heaven, there was no way he could possibly even back out of the parking lot, much less drive home.

“So what?”

“I can drive instead.”

“Like hell you will,” who did this kid think he was, “you’re not touching my car. Besides, aren’t you like 12, can you even drive?”

Gavi rolled his eyes at the other man’s poking.

“Yes, I can drive.”

“Let me see your license then,” Vini demanded as he reached his hand out expectantly.

“No.”

“Just show me.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have one…”

“I thought you said you could drive!?”

“Yeah I can…but my test is only next week!”

Vini rubbed at his temples. He was sure this was some kind of elaborate prank. His only hope of getting home was the most annoying person he’d ever met and they didn’t even have a license. Was this some kind of sick joke? Maybe he hadn’t been praying hard enough and this was God’s retribution. Maybe this was because he’d pulled one too many pranks on Rodrygo and now the universe was seeking balance for his actions. Whatever had landed him in this fever dream of events, he simply prayed the night would end sooner rather than later.

“If you even so much as scratch my car, I will kill you.”

“Oh somebody save me I’m so scared,” Gavi said mockingly as he rubbed his arms in faux fear.

Vini just let out a loud groan in response as he walked away and out of the venue. They reached the parking lot which was now deserted except for Vini’s car. A sleek black sports car that gleamed in the moonlight. Shiny and expensive.

“Compensating?” Gavi smirked.

“I’ll leave you behind if you’re not careful.”

“I’d love to see how far you’d get when you can’t even tell up from down.”

“Oh just get in,” Vini bit out as he unlocked the car.

He settled himself in the passenger seat and watched as Gavi got into the drivers seat. They stared at each other in silence momentarily, unsure what to do. Until Vini grabbed Gavi’s hand, pressing the car keys into his palm.

“You better not crash my car.”

Vini squeezed his hand tight, digging the keys slightly into his palm, before letting it go. Gavi rolled his eyes then started up the car listening to the engine as it revved up. He pulled out of the parking lot and set out onto the road.

It seemed the other man had made it his task to drive as painstakingly slow as possible. Whatever few cars found themselves still out at this hour overtook them in a flurry of hoots and loud honking. Even a small bus that looked unfit for travel rolled by them. Its red rear lights flashed derisively as it wheeled away from them. Vini was sure even a child learning to ride a bicycle for the first time could surpass them. At this rate, if he got out now and started walking back, he was certain he would get home before Gavi did.

“When I said don’t crash my car I didn’t mean drive slower than my grandmother.”

“Then why don’t you drive instead?” Gavi tapped his chin lightly as he pretended to think about it, “oh yeah, you can’t.”

Vini ignored the other man’s sarcasm.

“We aren’t even moving,” Vini groaned as he closed his eyes once more.

“You know I could just kick you out,” Gavi bit back in a venomous tone.

“It’s my car!” Vini shouted incredulously.

He took a few more deep breaths to prevent himself from letting the other man get to him. They settled once again into an electric silence. Charged with the need to see who could piss off the other more. Vini let out a loud sigh then reached out and turned on the radio. He turned to look at Gavi who cringed at the loud Brazilian rap music that blasted out of the stereo. The loud tremors of the music made the remnants of Vini’s concussion pound softly like a dull reminder of why he was stuck with Gavi in the first place.

“Turn it down!” Gavi shouted, barely able to hear his own voice over the loud continuous beat.

Vini had already planned to turn it down but now that Gavi had asked, he surely couldn’t just give in. So instead, he ignored the throbbing in his head and grinned, pretending to be unable to understand what he was saying.

“What?” He shouted mockingly over the booming bass.

The look of absolute irritation on Gavi’s face spurred him on as he bobbed his head side to side in silent victory. It didn’t last long seeing as Gavi took it in his own hands to turn off the radio and plunge them into an unnatural silence.

“Hey! Don’t touch my radio,” Vini warned as he switched on the offending music again. Gavi quickly turned it off again.

“Or else what?” He challenged as he rolled the car to a complete stop.

“Or else I’ll-,” Vini didn’t get to finish as a knock interrupted whatever threat he’d cooked up.

The knock sounded again and both Vini and Gavi turned in shock to look at the police man who’d interrupted Vini. He gestured for them to roll the window down.

“Good evening officer,” Gavi greeted.

His previously boiling blood had been chilled significantly. He prayed the officer wouldn’t ask for his license seeing as he didn’t have one.

“Do you realize how slow you were going?” The man asked, skipping the niceties.

“I…” Gavi stammered.

“License please?”

Shit shit shit. Gavi’s hands felt clammy and cold as he cursed whatever spirits or deities had decided to actively work against him. Lucky for him, Vini decided to intervene.

“He’s still a learner but here’s mine,” he said as he handed his license over to the officer with a smile.

The officer huffed as he looked at the small piece of plastic. He handed the license back to Vini after a few moments of careful inspection. They both waited in shared nervousness as the officer looked back and forth between the two of them. Finally the man seemed to settle on a decision. He whipped out a small yellow notepad and began to scribble quickly in it. He tore out the ticket and handed it over to Gavi.

“I’m giving you a ticket. Drive faster,” the officer warned gruffly before stalking back to his car and driving away.

Both of them stared in shock at the small piece of paper in Gavi’s hand. The only sound the soft purr of the still running engine. Until Vini broke the relative silence.

“Yellow ticket? Sound familiar?”

Gavi turned to face the older man who looked back at him neutrally. But instead of the usual accompanying jab, he burst into laughter. As did Vini. They laughed almost deliriously at everything that had lead them to this point. Neither was sure whether they’d reached a new understanding between them but for a few seconds they could both appreciate the absurdity of the night. Eventually, their laughs subsided to heaving chests and beaming smiles. The cold night air blew into the car through the still open window; raising goosebumps on their skin. It was a pleasant night, all things considered.

“It’s Gavi…by the way.” Vini turned to look at him confused. “Nobody calls me Pablo…except maybe my mum.”

“I know. I just wanted to piss you off.” Vini smiled cheekily.

The other man let out a short laugh.

“I still don’t like you,” Gavi grinned.

“Yeah yeah just drive,” Vini grinned back.

For @swaggypsyduck is for you bestie🫣

#yes I missed Ney so much I just had to mention him lma😔#vinicius jr #vini jr #pablo gavi #gavi #gavi x vini #raphinha #neymar jr #neymar #nothing like proofreading to make you doubt every word😃#but anyways I thought it was good when I rote it so y’know #meb writes

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sparklingbluerose · 2 years

Text

Fatui Harbingers x Reader

"Though it had not first been foreseen at the start,

There had always been a powerful surge in her heart."

A/N: Requested by @dragon106624 :)

☆

TW: Mentions of Blood, Childe Gets Destroyed, Death

GN! (Y/N) 《Other Genders Will Also Be Made!》

☆

...

Your footsteps come to a stop, a feeling of being watched by multiple figures coming to light. Inazuma had always been a not-so free nation because of the whole Vision Hunt Decree thing, but it never dawned to you someone could be spying.

It was odd; to think someone's own mind would come to be intrigued by you. There was nothing to watch. You had kept your weapon at the ready just in case they were to attack you.

The first thought that came to mind was going somewhere secluded and luring them out. But what if they were smart and caught on easily? Of course not many would be so naive.

Instead, you calmly walk in a staight line. Eyes darting around but head not turning, it was everywhere. The feeling of being watched wasn't only in one direction. Who could have been watching you wasn't something you thought of, but...

'Deep breaths, people are surrounding you. You'll be safe, either way.' You thought, the tension in your shoulders decreasing.

Your footsteps were slow, as if you were anticipating a trap in front of you that should be avoided. But nevertheless, it was another surprise when you were caught by the shoulders.

"Gh!" You spin around, only to find it was no concern. "(Y/N), calm down. It's just me." Kazuha's soothing voice had quickly been recognized by you. But it seemed somewhat, he was also unsettled due to his facial expression.

"Kazuha? What's the matter?" You ask, noticing his disdain. His fingers slowly drape over your shoulder.

TIME SKIP

"Oh, i see...well if you want, i can go look for Beidou with you?" You offered kindly, and but he only sighs in response. "I appreciate that (Y/N). But i don't want to bother you nor waste any more such time. See you again?" He softly smiles.

Seeing as if there was no more room to pressure, you let him go. Guess it was more time to hang by yourself.

Right then, you look around and the uneasy feeling shoots back up your spine. There it was...again. 'Why does it keep coming back?' The trees rustle without a response.

Kazuha already leaves unable to turn back in time for a proper farewell, but you had no need for it anyway. What concerned you the most was the feeling in your stomach right now.

The sky had begun to dim dark, the sunset already in tow. A defeated sigh escapes your lips.

Unaware...a childish giggle was sounding from behind the trees, which went unhears by you. Her long, dark hair ends up moving in the windy breeze of the fallen afternoon.

"She seems so cute, innocent." Listing it with her own mouth quietly, Columbina watches intently.

The Fatui had heard of your well upbringing in Inazuma, and you were to be visiting Snezhnaya soon with your parents. Blessed with a vision as well, you were pretty lucky. But actually, empahsis on the word pretty on it's own was also good too.

You were like a present; so beautiful on the outside, yet on the inside you were also full of surprises. What they had witnessed in the past year of watching you was no joke.

You were...perfect. Right, that's a word. They have definitely seen how worth it you are. But maybe...

A DAY LATER

...Maybe it should have been worded differently.

For a cause, they wanted you all to themselves and ONLY them. That was already enough to prove by words. What they never expected was this. Oh, poor poor Fatui...they can't even win against a mere mortal? How surprising.

Childe drops to the ground, spitting out the irony taste of blood. He was panting, coughing for air as his hands froze to move.

Eleven VS One, you would be at a disadvantage. What was somewhat a surprise was how you absolutely destroyed them in battle themselves. The Fatui? How? Just how did you..?

"I should have taken more time sparring with Raiden." You voice your complaints. How the innocent, pretty (Y/N) they knew...

Seemed to have been more than meets the eye. They knew it, another present they have seen from you, another surprise to unbox yet again. Maybe precaussions was necessary.

Yet again, no one backs down from the fight. Yes, they could still go on. They aren't tired.

"Aren't you quite the strong one, dear?" Sandrone's softness was still present beyond measure, knowing it was you after all. You are a special person to the Fatui. No matter how weak they seem in your eyes, they will always think you're perfect even so.

Childe, still recovering from the attack of Cryo slowly shakes up to his feet. Scaramouche rolls his eyes. "Dumbass." He mutters.

Columbina was behind you...dangerously ready to get close. Your senses knew and you definitely dodged right on time just to avoid the sudden hit. Noted; you were very fast.

The fight would go on for hours and hours and they would be close to defeating you because of the difference in stamina, but because of your stubborness it won't even be close.

"It's really odd. When we had initially thought she would get stuck in our trap, she just gave us another surprise." Pantalone, although injured was still able to come on and fight. Alas, it was coming to an end. You were getting impatient.

You're a kind person, to protect those who are weak and need it most, and defend yourself from certain danger. You sigh, almost for the 10th time in the fight.

An alarm sets off in your mind, a plan concretizing in your brain to distract them. It was...dangerous. They might end up hating you, but to hell with it. Not like you cared to even know about what they feel about you. You should just end it off.

"My apologies, Fatui." You aim yourself to attack at Signora, at your wits end. There is really no choice, it's now time.

Goodbye, La Signora.

"!!!" Ignoring the painful scream of terror and agony, you bit your tongue and rush out of the scene. How did you feel from this? Actually, good. But you couldn't imagine you would do that.

...You stop running completely. You killed her, she didn't do anything to you. But it was for justice right?

"..." God! Just think already! If you stay any longer, they'll catch up to you and you won't stand a chance from their rage. What kind of boundary you've crossed is quite shocking too.

Eyes dropping to the ground, you hesitate.

...

What should you do? It was for both your safety, and for their stupidity. Your kindness knows no bounds, anyone knows. So what you's be thinking...

Should you go back? Or just keep running?

The answer will be yours.

(DAMMIT I'M SORRY THIS KINDA RUSHEDHSGSGA)

#genshin fanfic #genshin impact #x reader #fatui harbingers #inazuma #rushed #sorry lmao

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themattress · 8 months

Note

FE3H: 1, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 24, 25

1 - Not "everyone" gets them wrong, but both Edelgard and Claude frequently suffer from truly terrible takes. Edelgard gets treated as a clear-cut, evil and/or stupid villain rather than the morally gray character with admirable qualities that she truly is, while Claude gets treated as a 100% reliable good guy when in fact he's far more complicated and has just as much potential to swing toward the dark side as Edelgard and Dimitri (though he's admittedly still more reasonable on the dark side than either of them). Tellingly, many fans got angry at Three Hopes for clarifying the truth about them rather than admit they pegged them wrong.

3 - Concerning takes on Edelgard:

7 - "Hate" is a strong word; I don't hate him at all and think he's a good character....buuuut I'll freely admit that I have less fondness for Dimitri than I might otherwise have had due to the fandom's treatment of him. So many fans who accuse other fans and even the games' writers of "uwu woobifying" Edelgard in order to distract from her flaws and crimes do exactly that for Dimitri without a hint of irony. This is a guy who, prior to his redemption in Azure Moon and prior to his death in Silver Snow and Verdant Wind, committed the most personally vile, cruel acts out of all the Lords, with little to no remorse. That's really not something that should be minimized or brushed under the rug as if it didn't happen, nor is it something that any amount of trauma can excuse. Hell, Dimitri at the end of Azure Moon would agree with me here!

8 - The common opinion of Edelgard haters is that the Church of Seiros did little to nothing wrong and Edelgard is stupid or evil for wanting to destroy it, while the common opinion of Edelgard fans is that the Church of Seiros is rotten to the core and the best future for Fodlan is it being destroyed. I disagree with both takes. The problem isn't the Church, the problem is Rhea. And not in a bashing way, in an objective way that Rhea herself concedes to by the end of Silver Snow and Verdant Wind: she let her fear, grief and desire consume her and cause her to run the Church in a (though she of course didn't see it this way) self-serving manner that exacerbated the divides in Foldan. The bottom line is that a lot of Fodlan's problems could have been resolved if only poor Rhea had gotten some serious therapy.

9 - The Battle of Gronder Field's aftermath in Azure Moon. On paper, I like Dimitri's redemption arc, but I feel that the execution behind his big turning point was handled horrendously. Rodrigue, who is Felix's father and not Dimitri's, dying gets Dimitri to turn around while Felix himself barely reacts. Fleche, who had potential surviving and helping in Dimitri's arc while also being helped herself, is just casually killed off while only Dimitri finds healing and redemption. And Byleth just forgets that they have the power to turn back time, therefore allowing Rodrigue and Fleche's deaths to happen. Worst writing in the game, easily.

10 - All of the blatant mischaracterizations.

12 - Now, I totally get why many find him off-putting, but Lorenz deserves more love. He is among the biggest cases in the game of someone who struggles to unlearn what he's been taught for his entire life, but that's what makes him so interesting. And whenever he's actually successful at it, he's quite likable with his more humbled personality and bonds with others.

16 - The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Blue Lions. For the most part, it's a bog-standard medieval kingdom and character archetypes that have been done better elsewhere.

17 - More Edelgard vs. Hilda casual rivalry fics/art please; it's hilarious.

18 - Edelgard/Claude as a ship. So much potential there!

19 - Silver Snow. Yes, it's the most unpopular route in Three Houses. Yes, its execution is ass. Yes, its character dynamics are wasted. Yes the final boss is an absolute nightmare. But I like what it was trying to do, damn it! With enough tweaking, it coulda been a masterpiece!

20 - The Heroes' Relics. I get why they're a big deal, but I can't bring myself to actually care about them beyond a gameplay level. And yes, that includes the Sword of the Creator.

21 - Dimitri, Faerghus, the Blue Lions and Azure Moon! Haven't you been paying attention?

24 - Edelgard, of course!

25 - I have sometimes heard complaints that the Golden Deer get the short end of the stick because their backstories, families and home regions tend to get less focus compared to the Black Eagles and Blue Lions. This is missing the entire point. The Golden Deer don't represent a single, powerful entity, but a diverse alliance of city-states, one that has been particularly shaky as a of late. The individuals are not as important as the unity - the alliance - between them is. The focus isn't meant to be on the Golden Deers' backstories, families and home regions, the focus is meant to be on how they gel with one another despite their differences and what they achieve together. In any case, Three Hopes granted more spotlight on half of their homes and families, so it's not like they're totally deprived of that either.

#Fire Emblem #Three Houses #Three Hopes #Opinion #Meme

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haraways · 2 years

Text

graceful deception chapter 2

Jon I

He rode hard from White Harbor, leaving his Kings Guard behind in the dead of night. He snuck away like a criminal escaping justice. The irony was not lost on him.

He’d left a note.

As Sansa would have wanted him to do.

He had been away from Winterfell for seven months too long. Every day of being away, he regretted more and more having offered the North to his aunt’s conquest. He could give a rat’s ass about the South and its poison.

He must make haste to Winterfell, and they have already been slowed enough. He had been detained in White Harbor after seeing his aunt crowned. Slavers had been caught by Lord Manderly’s men, and it was pertinent the slavers be made examples of. It would set the groundwork for the just tri-kingdoms Sansa longed for, and as such, he needed to preside over the public trials. Each man was given their own day to defend themselves, and in the end, out of the seven, two met the executioner’s axe. As it turned out, the two oldest men were brothers and the others their sons, all Snows, a family business. The youngest son was ten name-days, and the oldest was just a man at one and six.

A King of absolutes would have them all beheaded. A King of mercy would send them all, life intact, to the wall and the Night’s Watch to live out their days in cold boredom. Jon was neither of these things. He would not be eager to deal out death in judgement. For even the very wise cannot see all ends. He did not know what type of King he was yet; it remained to be seen. So he delivered punishment to the individual based on their defence.

The youngest he sent home to his mother. There would be no punishment for the child who was only doing as his family asked. He ordered that the child be seen by a septon once a week for spiritual guidance, as the family followed the Seven. Though, the Northern tradition of the Old Gods would be instilled as well. Jon did not want a Kingdom of divided faith, having seen enough of that through the Red Women and further yet from Sansa’s stories of the South.

The second youngest was ten and two, old enough to become an apprentice. He was sent away from his mother to work for a tanner, one of the most challenging occupations. He was old enough to know better but not old enough to say ‘no.’

The last three oldest, a set of twins of ten and five and the oldest at ten and six, were being brought to Winterfell; they would begin training for the standing army of Winterfell.

It was a novel idea presented to him by Samwise, who had grown frustrated with Jon’s recounting of the time it took to gather arms for the Long Night. It would be a place for those with no title, land, occupation, or name to go. Winterfell would no longer have to call on the banners to defend the North. Some lords were angry at the suggestion; it took power from their hands. These lords were noted by Sansa, and Jon would not be surprised if, by his return home, those lords would no longer pose a threat. Either dead or replaced, Jon would not stand in her way of securing the North. He knows better than to oppose her clever plans. For the last ten years, the North has been notoriously faithless for supposedly loyal folk.

More lords were in support; it unburdened them from their duty and allowed them to place second and third sons into a position of power within reach of the Court of the North. They would fulfil a duty to their King, and after serving for many years, they would be granted land of their own.

And on Arya’s insistence, they welcomed girls as well. But, to Arya’s disappointment, the idea had not caught on as well as she’d hoped. Jon had assured her that in time, the ranks would be filled by warrior women. Many a spire-wife had already taken up soldiering duties in the New Gift as told by Sansa in their many letters exchanged over the past months, it was not the same as being home, but it helped.

The night after the trial, he had slipped away from his King’s Guard and, more particularly, Wolf Guard, Ser Brienne. She had been sent by Sansa as a private escort to ensure he was left unmolested by his trip South with the words, “Stark men do not fare well in the South; if anything goes amiss, she will spirit you away to Tarth, and you can journey home from there.” It was just like Sansa to always have a plan. And that included having one for their Kingdom as well.

He and Sansa had discussed the Kingdom they desired at length, one where their children and all children could grow without fear or hunger and with opportunity. But, if they wanted that Kingdom, they needed to work at it every day, and that included the days leading up to the birth of their first child.

It was the birth of their first child that spurred him into the night and up the road of the White Knife. It was pleasantly cold, and he had missed the sharp air every day he was south. Seven months was seven months too long to be away.

Their first child was a terrifying thought, something Jon had considered out of his reach for many years. First being a bastard, then the Night’s Watch and then that place close to death. When Sansa had come to him secretly two months after their laying together and told him she was with child, he had opened his stupid mouth, in hurt and confusion, asking who the father was. It had only taken a moment for Sansa’s hand to find his cheek, echoing through the Godswood, so loud that it startled a crow from its branch.

It took a full two days for the cheek to cease being red and two days more for him to work up the courage to ask Sansa to marry him. Being cousins was well-known now that his aunt had legitimized him as his uncle Benjen’s son. A story scarcely believed, but Northmen would look away if his name was Stark. She had agreed in her benevolence so that he may marry Sansa without shame. She had taken his birthright, but she would “gift him, Sansa,” as though Sansa was his aunt’s to gift, saving the shame of a bastard. He would not be his Targaryen sire who brought shame to the Starks. A septon in the South may have annulled Rhaegar’s marriage upon request, but that was acceptable by the New Gods but not the old. As far as the Old Gods were concerned, both married individuals had to agree to separate, and Jon was hard-pressed to believe that Elia Martell agreed to be set aside. In the same motion, his aunt had placed an iron circlet upon his head; a public legitimization had become a crowning.

He had been shocked and completely off balance and deeply suspicious. As soon as he was re-crowned, with not as much enthusiasm as last time, Lord Edmure Tully and Lord Yohn Royce bent the knee to him and declared that they would have their loyalty to the North as part of his Kingdom. He had whipped his head towards Sansa, who, as always, had a face carved of ice. She gave the slightest of nods, encouraging him, which pushed him to accept the additional responsibility.

His suspicions only grew. The whole thing stunk like a farce. There was no need for the Vale and the Riverlands to kneel to him. Sansa had been the one to rally the Vale to the Riverland cause two years prior. Her ultimate goal was North, but the Riverlands needed to come first. It had only taken four months of the fresh Vale army to decimate the fatigued Lannister army, pushing them back to their borders. With the Riverlands settled, they were able to send some men north to help with defending the realm from eternal night.

After the ceremony, he had sought out Sansa in the Godswood once again; she could be found here a lot as of late. Praying? For the silence? Plotting? He could not say.

She stood resolutely not unlike a weirwood; her hair she had piled high atop her head in heavy braids, and her cloak was near white, with grey fur trim. He believed she skinned the rabbits herself to get that much beautiful fur, loath to let anyone do the work for her. And like a weirwood, she was hauntingly beautiful, which simply was not fair. He desired her madly but also desired to be mad at her.

He approached with a heavy step, knowing better than to sneak close to her lest he found her needle necklace in his throat.

“I don’t want it.” He started. A lie. He might as well get to the point.

“I know.” She responded, not bothering to turn to him. Her voice had almost a sad tone to it. She knew that dark, shameful desire of his. A keep. A wife. A family. Everything he could never have before. Before .

“Look at me,” he had demanded, grabbing her by the arm. He regretted this immediately. She had flinched away, and his stomach had churned at his crassness. He was a bastard at heart, no matter what a Southern Seption said in a book’s footnote. But he pressed on.

“What did you do?” he asked, trying to gentle his tone; yelling would only close her off from him like it did so many times before; they were better together now but still learning. One brick at a time to build a strong foundation.

“What makes you think I did anything?” a question asked and a question as an answer. A very southern thing to do, at least it was not doublespeak. He did not have the patience to keep up with that.

“Come off it, Sansa. This was by your design, even though I told you that I didn’t want the crown. I don’t know why you did it, but I know it was you.” It would always be her, her and her clever plotting mind.

“Was it the Vale and Riverlands bending the knee to you that gave me away?” she asked almost playfully, and Jon had to prevent himself from smirking at her audacity.

“Yes,” he had answered simply, indulging her for a moment.

“But this isn’t a game Sansa. First, you taunt her and then you somehow remove three Kingdoms from her grasp. Kingdoms she feels entitled to. This is not going to end well. My aunt will not be satisfied with four, she will turn back North and pillage us into submission once again, and we can’t afford yet another war. We are barely sending anyone south as it is. I got her to agree on only ten thousand; I had to beg for that.” He had wanted to shake her but at the last moment remembered the baby, their baby. He could feel the fury leave him as quickly as it came. His anger was a sparking fire, burning itself out as quickly as it came.

“Believe it or not, your aunt is capable of rational thought. And I gave her a rational thought.”

“Was this your plan all along?” He was accusing her now in place of anything else to say. He would play along with her plans if she gave him the chance to. He was a fool last time; he would not be made a fool of again.

“For an independent North? Absolutely.” She was forthcoming, and it made him feel uneasy, like he was misstepping, not an unfamiliar feeling in regards to Sansa. He always felt behind, like she was worlds ahead of him. She would secure their future, no matter what it took .

“No,” He said low, and he gave a vague gesture to her. Trying to say without words what he means. Her borrow furrowed in annoyance, and he repressed the desire to soothe it. He was supposed to be mad at her.

“I’ll admit that I planned the independent North; there would be no peace until we were free once again from the South.” Jon had felt a familiar stab of guilt at her words. It was all his fault. It was all his fault. It was all his fault.

“But I didn’t plan for our baby.” Her face softened then, ever so slightly.

“Sansa!” He bit out. “I don’t know what you did to take the three kingdoms away from her, but the cost must have been too high. There is no way that she parted from them freely, regardless of what she told the lords of rewarding me.”

She stepped forward now, into his space, looking down on him with her slightly superior height. To a lesser man, it would be intimidating. To him, it was maddening.

“There is no price too high for our safety. There is no price I would not pay to see our family safe for once. And like I said, your aunt, if given proper consideration, can be cooperative.” She said this with fury as cold as the snow around them. She would bleed herself dry for the North if the Old Gods demanded it of her. He knew this.

“And having me as King ensures that?” everything Jon has learned tells him differently; there would always be someone against them now, and they would always be targeted.

“Of course. You have always chosen to protect us, protect me, time and time again. For the gods sake, you threw yourself at a dead dragon to save the North. Don’t lie about it; I know you did. I can only imagine who you will be once this is all over.” When his aunt is gone. When he returns to rule a united North. Stronger than the Kings of Winter of the past.

Sansa took a deep breath and placed a bare hand on his cheek. She ran her nails through his beard; he would need to trim it soon. He raised his hand up to hold her hand where it lay, it had been a while since they’d been close, and by the Gods, he missed her.

“I wasn’t lying when I said you were good at ruling. I have met many a King, and none are like you, Jon. I won’t permit myself to be governed by anyone else but you, Your Grace.” Her lips turned up at her confession. It was not exactly a romantic notion, but Jon would take what he could get.

“And truly, Sansa, you didn’t plan on falling pregnant?” He needed to know, he needed to know that he wasn’t used as a mechanism of her clever plots in that way . He needed it to be real. Sansa had shaken her head quickly, blush blooming on her cheeks.

“Jon, we were only together that one time. It was as surprising to me as it was to you.” She had taken a step back, her hand falling away; Jon wanted to chase the warmth.

In a fluid grace that only Sansa possessed, she swept her cloak out behind her and bent to one knee. Jon’s eyes widen as the only thought running through his head is that pregnant women shouldn’t be kneeling. He decided it would be his first decree as King when he returned from the South. Or he would make it, so Sansa never kneels for anyone.

“Your Grace,” She began, voice soft but firm, “I beg that you do not ask me to marry someone of your choosing as is common with women in my circumstance ,” Jon opened his mouth to interject, but Sansa pressed on, “I know it is your right to do so as my King, but after two marriages, I’ve quite lost the taste for it and I much rather not marry. I also ask, in fear that I’m asking too much, that you don’t send me away.” Jon’s heart gave a lurch then, not knowing how to feel or what to do. He had asked to be legitimized so that he may marry Sansa and bring no shame to her and their child, but if Sansa did not want to marry, he would not make her.

But that dark little thought was there. That dark little thought reminded him that he was her King , and he could demand her hand. He could demand her hand and truly get everything he ever wanted. A name, a lady wife, and a keep all his own. But his demand would make her hate him, truly and completely. He would not demand it of her, but he would ask anyway.

If she said no, it would not matter. As long as she stayed by his side, he would not press her. He would even deny the son as his, though it would break his heart every day to see him grow and not be able to father him. It was at that moment that Jon found a kinship with the Kingslayer made Queenslayer. He would have to ask him for tips .

Jon fell to his knees and grabbed both of Sansa’s hands in his. He would be remiss if he did not ask to give her the option. He was King now, and he could make her Queen. As she always wanted.

The biting cold reminded him of his intentions, and he took a deep breath. He was not laying his heart to Sansa; they were not in love, but something akin to it. Something better; for who can say they share as they do; reclaim the North, fighting the dead and defying a Queen who breathes fire?

Jon would remember the day for the rest of his life; the day he made Sansa Stark, ice in all but her heart, blink in bewilderment.

“Sanas, I know your heart. I know of your dreams, and I know them to be crushed. I know them because they are my own dream, the dreams of a bastard who had nothing and could offer nothing. But I am not that bastard anymore.” Jon swallowed; he wasn’t selling himself very well; even with the crown of the North on his head, he still felt the bastard unworthy.

“Jon, I would not presume,” Sansa started, but Jon needed to say his bit; he needed it in the open between them.

“I will not force you nor send you away. But I would have us raise him together, here, as we were, as Husband and Wife, as a Father and a Mother. I would make you a Queen of Winter. You raised me to power to protect you, and I would raise you with me. I want to take you to wife Sansa Stark.” Sansa took two deep breaths before turning her head and looking up at the ancient weirwood tree. The bloody face had its sap frozen from the biting cold; the Long Night was over, but Winter had Come.

Sansa turned towards him once again and blinked softly, a swift redness colouring her cheeks.

“I would have you regardless of your name. Stark or Targaryen. I know you still think of yourself as a bastard. But I would have you kiss me as a Snow.” A terribly romantic notion.

Snow must love the weirwood it lands upon for it to kiss so gently and soft.

And he kissed her as Snow, as only the Queen of Winter could demand.

They did not have a lot of time before Jon had to go South. But that short time they were together was not wasted. They were building something sweet and new, something truly good. They were unburdened together; the finality of it settled something in them both. Whatever the future may hold, they would do it together.

Jon needed to return home. The need was so strong he took a horse and provisions and struck out on his own against the wishes of his escort. It would have taken twelve days too long to reach home. Jon alone could reduce that just to seven.

The cold wind bit him as the pink of morning twilight painted the sparkling snow. Soon the snow would melt, and spring would see the world green again. The lightness of a burden lifted as Jon rode more north. He was so preoccupied with his thoughts that as he broke over the top of a hill, he nearly trampled a small traveler and their goat.

The traveler let out a choked yell as they dived into the road ditch, the goat bleating terribly before racing out into the near field. He reared his horse to the side with a sharp tug. The horse stopped abruptly as Jon turned to check on the person moving up from the ditch. It was an older woman, bent at the back from many years of burden. She had fabric tied about her head in the Northern fashion and aged rough spun clothing.

She opened her mouth, no doubt about to yell at him for his carelessness but was interrupted by wailing from the bundle upon her back. Jon had nearly run over a baby and its grandmother. A great amount of guilt sat in Jon’s stomach. He jumped down from his horse and started out after the goat in the field. The goat was distracted enough from digging through the snow and finding yellowed grass underneath.

He grabbed the rope hanging from its neck and gave it a soft tug to get it to follow him. It did not move. He gave a stronger tug, yet it did not yield. The old woman scoffed before waddling over to him. She grabbed at the horn of the goat and began leading it away to the road. Jon followed, feeling entirely useless but with urgency in his step.

“Lordlin’ doesn’t even know how to handle a goat,” She muttered darkly to herself. She was right, and Jon was not about to correct her about who he was lest she takes him by the ear as old Nan once did.

“I apologize, My Lady; I did not see you in the dim of the light. It is not wise to travel as you are, lest accidents happen.”

“I might find myself forgiven’ you’d give coin for my troubles.” She grinned and held out her hand expectantly. Jon scowled but could not bring himself to be truly mad at the old woman. She had a tiny baby and a goat. Her clothes were worn and looked worse for wear. Jon fished out a bronze coin from his satchel. The old woman inspected it before grinning broadly at him and thanked him.

“Where are you off to so early in the morn’?” her voice cracked with age.

Jon could not suppress his slight grin. He opened his mouth and then frowned. Sansa would advise him to not tell the whole truth lest he was speaking to someone who wished him harm. Arya would advise him to tell the woman to fuck off because it was none of her business. He should err on the side of caution.

“To my family, my cousin is having her baby.” Not a lie.

The old woman nodded sagely, “Lots’ of babies are’ been’ born now; that awful war has ended, and spring is on its way. Lots of folks had’a themselves a las’ go of it, not thinking they would live through that wintery darkness.” The Northern accent is thick and pleasant.

“Aye, I’m glad it’s over.” Jon reached for his horses’ reins, wanting to make haste; he had lingered long enough.

“Mayhaps’ your cousins’ bab’ will share a nameday with the Queens?” The old woman inquired, and he could only swallow and bite his tongue lest he says something stupid and giddy.

“All I wish is for it to be blessed with good health.” What else could he say that didn’t give him away.

“Aye, a blessing on a babe’ would not be remiss.” The woman took the baby from her back and into her arms; Jon could see that it was awake. Wrapped in fine grey cloth, the edges looking as though some attached piece had been left behind, stray threads threatened to unravel it. It was tiny and squishy and red-faced. Its inky blue eyes blinked against the cold. A lurching in his stomach reminded him that he would soon have his own child in his arms; he was not nervous, but rather a swell of anticipation nearly made him mount his horse then and there.

The old woman thrust the baby towards him without warning. With fear, John’s hands shot out to grab up the baby, not wanting it to fall.

“If you would, Your Grace.” The old woman nodded at the baby in his arms. Jon had the mind to make himself look confused. The old woman raised a brow at him expectantly. No matter if he denied it, she would not believe his lies.

“It was the wolf on your leathers, too elegantly done to be the hand of anyone but the queen.” She pointed to the leather strap across his chest. Jon felt a fool for not remembering he was wearing his cloak made by Sansa. After his second crowning, she had added a silver thread to embellish it in a “most kingly manner,” as commented on by Satin, who liked to remind him of the importance of such things.

Jon wasn’t quite sure how to bless a baby as a king. He knew the old way to bless a new member of the family; a small amount of blood from the father and mother was to be painted across the cheeks in blessing, something he and Sansa had agreed upon doing.

“Is he of the Old Gods or the Seven? and what is his name?” If of the seven, then a kiss would suffice. If of the Old Gods, he would place his King’s blood on his cheeks; the child was not of his family, but he was of the North. It felt disingenuous to do this without a weirwood and on the roadside.

“Both, Your Grace. And he is unnamed until he is blessed.” The old woman almost had a wicked gleam in her eye. Probably taking joy from keeping him in her presents. Something he noticed a lot of people liked to do, was take his time from him; he would be annoyed if it were for any other reason.

Jon carefully held the child as he pulled a leather glove with his teeth and tucked it into his belt. It was difficult to pull his dirk from its sheath, but he managed with considerable effort. He looked at the blade in his hand and back at the baby. The old woman, seeing his dilemma, took the handle side from him and motioned for him to hold out his hand.

With an expert twist of the blade, the tip of his thumb was slashed with a thin line. Blood beaded up quickly.

“My husband was a butcher; I know my way around a knife.” The old woman had seen his surprise at her quick work. The bundle in his arms started to squirm, and Jon decided he was not going to question it. He had lingered too long already.

He took his thumb and ran it across a cheek, then the nose to the other cheek. The skin was squishy, as all babies tend to be, but the skin was chapped from the cold. Jon had the vague thought that he hoped the two were not travelling far. Only enough to make a faint pink line was left from the blood. He did not know the words in the old tongue nor the proper words for the Seven. But his words as King would have to suffice.

“Though I’ve not tidings of honey and wheat to give, I ask of the gods to look upon this new life and see it through Summer and Winters, long and short. I pledge on to thee a king’s blessing by the flowing waters of the stream, the growth of the forest and age of the stone so mote it be.”

He kissed the child on its forehead gently. The baby was young; the new baby smell still clung to him. A heaviness took hold of Jon as he passed the child back. To bless a child was a great honour best saved for a father and mother. Though he is King, the child must be motherless and fatherless for him to be the one to perform the pitiful blessing on a roadside, with nothing but fields and a river for a witness. He did not know if the Old Gods approved, but nothing struck him down in the doing of it. But there wasn’t even a weirwood to hold the blessing. Was he doing the Gods a disservice?

He nodded his head before turning back to his horse and mounting up with an almost graceful leap. The old woman was grinning at him again with that wicked tilt of her lips.

“I would thank you, Your Grace. Now the child can boast of your blessing. He has yet to be named, but I do like Eddard as a name, or perhaps Robb. Yes, good strong names. Perhaps even Theon or Bran; they have some meaning to them, don’t they? Rickon is a sweet name.” She nodded vigorously, joy from being able to name her grandchild now that a blessing had been done. Jon thought they were terrible names, burdened with the lives of those long passed. But he would hold his tongue, he was King, but he would not demand the use of those names to stop.

“I bid you a good day and safe journey.” Jon turned his horse and took off in a gallop, not looking back as he left the old woman and infant behind.

It was that night as Jon rode on, having stopped mid-day for a break and a light sleep; Jon looked to the dark and sparkling sky and saw the Gods dancing. Pale green and rose-pink, twisting and flicking over itself as the arms of the aurora reached North and further North still. He could imagine that it reached past the Wight Knife, over hill and forest. Atop villages and mountains, reaching Wintertown, swelled with life and building a new. On further to Winterfell, sparkling over the keep and Godswood, bathing it in ambient light. A blessing or a curse depending on which Northmen you ask. Jon chooses a blessing.

Jon did not see the aurora again on his travels.

It was six days later that Jon finally crossed into Wintertown. It was much as he remembered it before the Long Night, houses unburnt and thatched roofs thick. Smoke rose from every chimney, and piles of firewood lined every house wall. The number of dwellings had tripled since his departure, unsurprising as it did in every winter. But it was quiet for a town filled with life. There was no market in the square, and people passed each other quickly, not engaging in conversation. It was solemn and bleak.

He was glad to make it as far as he did without being recognized. It was only when he rode through the gate on the other end of the village did a guard in the watchtower shouted out a surprised “Your Grace!” as Jon passed below. Jon did not stop to say hello, not having the patients for niceties and kneeling.

He kicked his horse into a swift canter as he rode up the slush-covered road. The horse would be deserving of the freshest grain, and the best oats once settled. And a nice warm wash and brush. It had not tired yet, even at its blistering pace. He did not know where it hailed from, but a useful gift from his aunt he would not regret accepting.

The walls of the castle loomed overhead, and the Stark banners billowed gently against them. The new materials reflect the restoration of the Starks of Winterfell. A great comfort settled in Jon at the sight, almost giddy with anticipation. It is likely he missed the birth of the baby, but it would not have been long missed if he did. He could imagine it now, Arya would greet him because guards would have spotted him by now. Not too far off, wild Rickon would run to him before he even got the chance to dismount. Rickon was filling out more, becoming stronger to make up for his lack of height. Sansa had mourned his poor nutrition during his growing years. Sam and Satin would greet him as a brother and not a king and lead him to the Lord’s Chamber and to Sansa. Ser Brienne and Ser Jamie would be grinning at him; Jamie might even bring himself to pat Jon on the shoulder in congratulations. Sansa would be abed, and Ghost would be across her legs, remiss to leave her side. Every day Jon is more than sure that Ghost is her wolf now and no longer his. He would have it no other way . She would introduce his child to him in her gentle voice, soft from love and warmth. Absent from the ice that often coated her words and gestures.

It was a beautiful dream.

He was ripped from his musings by the cry of a wolf. Haunting, long and mournful. It bleeds out over the hills and valleys, echoing off the stone walls of the keep. A fear like no other grasps Jon’s heart. There is only one wolf in Winterfell, and he, by all accounts, is silent like the spectators he’s named for. Jon can only imagine the most terrible of things to rip that sound from his dearest companion.

Jon kicked his horse into a run for the last few minutes; they stretched on forever before he finally passed the open gate.

In the courtyard, it was only Sam and Satin who greeted him. There was no one else. It was barren for a castle that should be under construction. Their faces gave it away. Their eyes dropped to the ground, and they muttered “Your Grace” as he approached. They both dropped to a knee.

“What’s wrong?” He demanded, the voice of a king coming out without his say.

It was Sam who answered him with wobbly words and fresh tears. Satin continued looking at the ground, unable to do anything but clench his fist, leather glove crunching.

“Your Grace-Jon, I’m so so sorry.” Jon felt a lump form in his throat. His hand came up to his chest, and he clenched his fist over his heart.

“Just spit it out!” Jon nearly shouted; he could feel the lump only grow bigger. There were a thousand thoughts running through his head, and he knew one of them to be correct.

“Please, just tell it true.” Jon tried to temper his voice, but it would not due to shout at his closest friends, even in his grief. He could feel the cold grief pricked up his body, not dissimilar to when all the warmth of a doused fire leaves the room.

Sam’s jaw trembled but could not form the words Jon needed to hear. It was Satin now, voice strained and almost cold, attempting to do his duty above all else, that told Jon the new grief inside the walls of Winterfell.

“Her Majesty Queen Sansa went into labour just over a sennight ago. It was quick but difficult. The baby was born still and blue. There was nothing to be done for your son. I’m so sorry, your grace.” Satin’s voice finally gave way to a crack, swallowed around a thick throat of sadness and remorse.

Jon didn’t say anything before abruptly turning towards the gate that led to the Great Keep and his family. He did not stop as he heard Sam and Satin scramble after him, running to keep up. He walks with purpose and quickness. Marching away from the numbness that seemed to fill his head.

“Please, your Grace,” Sam placed his hand on Jon’s shoulder, and Jon nearly pushed him off.

“Queen Sansa isn’t in the Keep.” He panted out, knowing Jon’s mind.

“Where is she then?” Jon bit out. Sam withdrew as though burned from Jons cold sharp voice.

It was a sharp howl that told him to go to the Godwood. Ghost would not leave Sansa for anything short of her command and would not make a sound unless under great distress. The only such time he had made noise was when one of the Others had their teeth to his ear and tore it from his flesh. Even then, it was a yelp. Even then, he did not howl or growl; he simply turned and did away with his offender.

Jon turned from the two men and made his way briskly to the Godswood. Like in town, there were few people about, and Jon now knew why. The numbness did not leave him as he left the two men behind.

It was with careful steps that he approached the Godswood; his vision had tunnelled, and blackness crept around the edges. He was seeing and moving without seeing and moving.

The trees loomed, ladened with perfect snow. The gray sky opened up, and thick flakes began to gently fall. Too soft, too gentle for what Jon had learned. Through the trees and down a path, the snow crunched under his boots. It is only a vague notion to Jon that he sees trakes down the path of heavy boots and light slippers, the softness of their outline indicating a long passage of time since they were set.

Even with winter still heavy and all greenery gone, it takes a few moments for Jon to spot the outline of one of two appointed “Wolf Guard” through the trees. Ser Jaime does not turn to Jon as he approaches. Jaime only stared into the clearing of the Heart Tree with sorrow and grief. Such open emotion, so unlike his arrogance and smirking.

The snow around him is piling up, for he has not moved since he had entered the Godwood many hours before. The silence of the wood is deafening; not even a winter bird chirps, nor does the wind disturb the many branches above.

It is with a soft sign that Ser Jaime finally turns his gaze away and bows at the waist, holding his sword on his hip, with his good hand and places his wood one over his heart in the Northern manner. He bows deep enough to be appropriate but not so much as to be pandering.

“Your Grace.” It was simple as a greeting and the only thing to do, for how can one speak to the heavy air that has settled over Winterfell. Not waiting to be told to rise, the Wolf Guard was not at the command of the King; Jaime turned towards the clearing again.

“How long have you been out here?” Jon asked, his eyes flicking from Jaime to the clearing and back again. Out in the clearing, beneath the ancient weirwood, sat Sansa. On her head, in her lap and on her soldiers, snow gently sat. Undisturbed by movement or wind. At her feet lay Ghost, his giant head resting on his paws, snow also piling up on his back. Her hands sat primly folded in her lap, caressing an embroidered strip of fabric. About her shoulders, her white cloak was fastened, but the hood did not sit on her head. Her face was still, cheek flushed, eyes closed, lips almost blue. If it wasn’t for the steady rise and fall of her chest and the slight movements of her hands, she would look dead.

She looks as though she had gone away, far from her grief and suffering, gone away inside where he could not reach her.

“Before sunrise.” Jaime sighed, his breath a smokey calling to the cold.

Jon’s eyes shot to Jaime, and it took considerable effort to temper his fury at the Kingslayer’s carelessness with Sansa.

“It is too cold for her,” he snapped. “Why haven’t you brought her in?”

Jamie gestured with his wood hand, the hand more suited for the cold, at Ghost.

“Your beast does not make a sound, but as soon as I try to approach, he lets out that horrid high howl. He does not let anyone approach, not even Rickon.” All politeness and decorum have left Jamie and been replaced with quiet desperation. He does not raise his voice at Jon as he ought to. Jon may be a King, but he could not command Jamie and Breanne, who only take orders from their Queen.

Without a pause, Jon strode forward into the clearing. He didn’t have the thought to hide his desperation for Ser Jamie, nor did he have the thought that a very private moment would be observed.

He approaches carefully, ensuring that his footfalls make the snow crunch in his wake. At last, Sansa opened her eyes, frozen water clinging to the top of her lashes. Jon could see a slight tremble in her shoulders, and it is a little wonder, for she has her cloak on and only a morning dress of thin Stomeland cotton under it. He had sent her the bolt of fabric as a gift of his aunt’s Southern conquests in hopes she would make many fine things with it. When he asked his aunt for the fabric, she dared not refuse his request. He had taken nor demanded little else.

Ghost stood from his spot at Sansa’s feet, shaking the snow from his fur. He moved to the side but sat back down only a few feet away. Even sitting, Ghost’s head reached Jon’s shoulders, being the longest-lived of his siblings.

Jon reached out and patted the soft white fur of his neck, whispering a quiet “thank you.”

He steps before Sansa in a slow manner, resisting the urge to embrace her. Instead, they stared at each other for a moment, calculating, before Sansa broke their seven-month silence.

“Oh, Jon,” she holds up her hands to him. She has the embroidered fabric strip wrapped around her hand several times. The embroidery was typical of the Northern tradition of storytelling through thread. Oftentimes, mothers would stitch a border on their baby’s blankets to tell a story of their family.

It is with no thought that Jon falls to his knees before her and grasps her hands with his. Her hands are frozen and stiff. Jon gently begins to run his thumbs over the back of her hands in small circles. She manages to lift the corner of her lips for him in a mockery of a smile. There is no happiness to be found here in the godswood, but she managed all the same.

“I thought,” Jon mutters out, “I thought you went away, away inside your head, where I could not reach you.” It was an ever-present fear of Jons, finding Sansa absent of mind, gone away inside her head where no harm could find her. Her episodes of going away are fewer now, rare even. After she reclaimed Winterfell, her security and stability had been restored; thus, less need to go away. But it still happened from time to time; her last small episode before Jon had departed for the South had occurred after a drunk lord thought himself bold and laid his fat hand upon her waist. That lord no longer had a hand.

It was with the swelling of a lump in his throat that Jon pitched forward, letting go of her hands. His head finds her lap, and his arms find her waist. The snow is melting under his heat, but he pays it no mind. Her hands fall onto his head and stroke his thick hair gently.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Jon could feel the tears begin to fall. That numbness had been warmed away at her gentle touch through his hair, as though he was the one needing consoling.

Perhaps he did.

He can feel Sansa leaning over him in a near embrace. Her head rests on his shoulder as she bends in the middle, falling over him and enveloping him in bodily warmth. He cannot smell the fragrant oils on her hair nor soap on her skin; it is the lingering scent of bitter cold.

“I die over and over again. Everyday.” Sansa whispers into his shoulder. He simply holds her tighter. He would share this loss with her as no one else could. They will share their grief as a husband and wife should; they would share their grief but return to the world with nothing left to wring out of them. What is another body on the pier?

“The snow keeps falling, and I am buried, Jon.” Her hands tighten into fists along his back, firm and trembling. “I am so sorry.” She whispered. “I do not deserve to cry.”

He wanted to rebuke her words and assure her that this loss was not her fault. But she would not listen; the Stark Stubbornness was rooted deeply in her bones as it was his, as it was Arya and as it was with Rickon.

“I’m sorry too,�� he whispered; there was nothing left to say.

Sansa leaned back against the weirwood, and Jon sat up from her lap. Her hair, loose from any braids near glowing from the wetness of the melted snow, whips quickly with a burst of wind that cracks the branches of the trees. A thick strand finds itself wound around Jons’s fingers. He rolled it between his fingers and thought long on the Freefolk idiom Kissed by Fire. It was to be lucky. Sansa has been anything but lucky in her life, but the same could be said for himself.

Jon brought the strands of hair to his lips and kissed them gently. He did not close his eyes as a lover from a tale would. He looked upon Sansa as she looked upon him; his eyes had not seen Sansa for seven long months, and he would not look away now.

Letting go of the strands, Jon leaned forward and captured her face between his palms. He could feel the dampness from days and nights of tears and yet still from her eyes, more still fall. He wiped away with his thumb back and forth twice, thrice over.

He leaned forward and met his lips to hers.

Snow must love the weirwood it lands upon for it to kiss so gently and softly.

#jonsa #fanfiction #got fanfiction

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