#however that makes sense since they were supposedly long gone by the time the first calamity happened | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

danisbrainrot · 2 months

Note

Happy birthday, I hope you're having the best birthday, also i hope you a healthy and happy life 💛🎂

Also thank you for writing my requests, it's literally so sweet of you 💜

And since I'm Johanna mason obsessed I thought

Reader is disappearing into the woods for long hours, then comes back home exhausted. Johanna is getting worried and curious about what reader is doing. Usually, reader would love Johanna to go with her on her walks in the woods, but not this time.

Reader is actually building a tree perch or tree deck (I don't know what it's called, but it looks like the pictures), as a surprise for Johanna's birthday. On Johanna's birthday, reader decorated it with flower bouquets, lanterns, and candles, making it look like a fairy tale setting, with a smile picnic if that makes any sense

Ps: English isn't my first language so sorry if anything don't make sense

johanna mason x reader no because being obsessed with johanna mason is so real. also thank you so much <333, i needed to pump out a johanna fic for my birthday so i'm glad you asked for this one!! as always, i love your prompts they're so imaginative! johanna might be *slightly* ooc.

"i'm just going for a walk," you call out, letting the door slam behind you. johanna peeked her head out from the kitchen, but saw you were gone and shrugged. she felt a little hurt because usually, you would go for walks with her but she brushed it off and went about her morning routine.

when this habit continued for a couple of weeks, she began to grow upset. you'd walk out the door, planting a kiss on her cheek and waving goodbye and she'd be alone again; moping around the house, she would grumble angrily to herself about how she was going to confront you. then when you return home, cheery and embracing, her face would lighten up and she’d ignore how she was feeling.

then, the hours grew longer and you weren’t returning quite as happily. you made sure to hug her, or kiss her, but your mood was dampened and you were beyond exhausted. johanna began worrying something really bad was wrong; the situation left her conflicted. did she stop you from going out so you wouldn’t be tired? or let you do what you wanted? the idea of losing you scared her immensely, that she sent finnick a letter asking him for help. he came a week later with annie and their son, saying that he would stay until after her birthday party, and help her sort out the problem. the second you were left alone with him, however, you managed to convince him to disappear with you as well.

johanna had never been more concerned. what were you two hiding from her? were you cheating on her with finnick? she shook her head, refusing to let her mind wander down that path. you would never do that to her—could never do that to her. so she’d end up playing with finnick’s son and talk to annie all day until everyone else showed up. katniss and peeta—along with haymitch—rocked up the day before johanna’s birthday, eager to help. while katniss and haymitch gave awful advice (johanna didn’t want to snap at you and demand you tell her what happened), peeta encouraged her to wait a little longer; she wondered if you’d told him something, and now she was nervous about what she was supposedly waiting for.

it wasn’t until you finally disappeared in the early morning of her birthday that she cracked. she followed you, while you crept down the dimly lit trail. you occasionally placed a candle on the ground and lit it, before continuing on your way. it was a little while before you finally stopped in front of a large tree, with a gorgeous wooden deck. she hides behind a tree as you climb up the ladder and began setting up the blanket, placing the food on top and adding a few finishing touches to give it the rustic vibe johanna loved so much.

“you can come up now!” you announce, watching johanna peer out from behind the tree, as she hesitantly approached the ladder. she looks up at you, signalling for her to join you, before swiftly scaling the ladder and kissing you once you’re reunited at the top. “happy birthday, johanna,” you whisper against her lips.

she smiles, her blush prominent now as she realises how embarrassing it was to suspect something was wrong with you, when in reality you’d been working on this for her birthday. “thank you,” she replies, pulling away and sitting down properly. she takes one of the sandwiches you’d prepared and munches down on it. “did you build this all by yourself?”

“i had a little help,” you confess, shrugging your shoulders and plucking a bunch of grapes—before throwing them in your mouth one by one. she can’t contain her snort, rolling her eyes playfully. “the best thing about sharing friends with you, is that they wanted to help me build and prevent you from seeing it prematurely. it was a good idea throwing a party and inviting them all, otherwise i’d never have gotten this done in time.”

johanna smirks, shaking her head, “that explains a few things,” placing her head in your lap as you softly stroke her hair.

“happy birthday, my love,” you whisper, kissing the top of her forehead.

she smiled up at you, “it is when you're here.”

#johanna x reader #thg series #wlw #the hunger games #fanfic #fluff #blurb #johanna mason #thg #johanna mason x reader #danisasks #dani's fics <3

27 notes · View notes

itsbeesknees · 1 year

Text

Ode to the Grim Reaper

Terzo x GN!reader

——0——

Summary: Terzo is dead. Atleast.. he should be.

Warnings: MDNI, Angst, death, hurt/comfort, grief and mourning, revived corpses, use of google translated Italian, mentions of gore and blood (beheadings),

Word count: 2.3K

A/N: This is my first time doing an x reader, so don’t mind me testing the waters here,, I apologize if it sounds a little rushed, I wanted to try and keep it short.

Even though there is technically no smut, all my works are 18+ regardless, I do not want any minors interacting with my fics‼️

——0——

Terzo is dead.

Well, he should be dead.

Dead people can not, should not, feel things once they’re gone. Their bodies must remain cold, frigid, and lifeless— becoming nothing more than a shriveled and polar shell of what they once were.

Dead people should also not blink. Yet here lies the deceased, supposedly deceased, third Emeritus brother, nictitating his dried eyes. He blinks again. Because, as it would seem, he does not play the role of a deadman very well. He’s a corpse abiding by his own rules now, curling his toes and sucking in a harrowing breath.

Terzo can’t entirely see yet, all that’s currently lining his peripheral is nothing but a kaleidoscope of dancing black dots and faint popping static. He doesn’t understand where he is, doesn’t quite realize he needs to be a motionless cadaver and not a quivering boy. But his neck burns. It won’t stop burning. A deadman’s neck shouldn’t burn, however the pain is singing Terzo away at the edges anyways, convulsing his nerves like a white hot live wire.

Lethargic and rather sluggish, he flexes his gloved hands as he wakes and settles deep into his weeping bones, palms eagerly sliding off his sternum and stretching outwards, only to be curtly stopped by a gritty glass barrier. The more Terzo’s vision focuses, the quicker he comes face to face with ragged claw marks that scoured each side of the coffin he had been tucked into, much like a porcelain doll propped in a curated case. The top pane of glass was missing, removed for replacement. It’s almost sickening how easily Terzo is able to pull himself up into a proper sitting position because of this, since he hadn’t been as fortunate when he first got shoveled into the casket.

Right. How long ago was that again? How much time had passed since he was lounging around that dingy table, squabbling with his brothers?

His neck continues to burn.

It wasn’t just his neck. The scalding infernal heat ran rivulets around the insides of his throat and melted his vocal chords as well, as if someone had butchered the muscle and sewed it back together with fishing line.

The horrid thought of such a thing has Terzo shooting his fingers up to brush along the cusp of his jaw, before briefly sinking them down to the culprit of his torment with a featherlight caress. The leathers of his glove won’t let him catch onto the cracking textures of his dried, flaked blood that had dribbled out and stained the collar of his chasable, but it snags the ridges of a fresh scar coiling in his skin.

It is then Terzo realizes, mortified, that his head had been severed and reattached.

His hands tremble as he peels back his gloves, wanting desperately to feel the festering wound for himself, without anything else in the way. To make sure that it was in fact real, and he hadn’t just conjured it up in a spat of paranoia in attempts to make sense of this wretched situation. Though, if Terzo was being completely honest with himself, none of this felt real. As far as he could be concerned, it was all some twisted dream. A dark carousel of sweltering nightmares and glass coffins and rancid stenches of death.

The calcine pinching in his throat reminds him not to get too ahead of himself.

Regardless of his fright, stripping away his gloves only seemed to distract him further, all due to the glinting band on his ring finger— A ring. A wedding ring. Which means a spouse. His spouse. His lover and muse. You.

The initial shock of ‘rising from the grave’ recedes like the tide of an unforgiving sea, with bittersweet tendrils of memory beginning to seep and ebb back into the fragments of Terzo’s shattered mind. Of course he remembers you. How could he ever forget?

The thought of you flanked any other pressing matter into the shadows of his closet, because he wasn’t quite ready to come to terms with everything else yet. It was all too much. If he actually accepted it all— the mockery, the failed expectations, the injected needle, the gaping laceration of a decapitation— he may actually just wither away. So, here Terzo’s quandary will rot in the metaphorical wardrobe with all his other skeletons, until he can finally will himself to face the monstrous calamity that was his death.

It took a miracle to puppet his body out of the casket, his joints hissing and protesting from days.. or months, of inexperience. He had to clutch the edges of the hardy table his coffin laid upon for good measure, since he surely would’ve fallen straight to his haunches if he hadn’t. Yet he managed to liberate himself nonetheless.

The room surrounding him was concealed by a tenebrous midnight, dim and sterile, wreathing his cryptic figure in gloomy shadows. Terzo knew this place, he didn’t need night-vision to attain that he was hobbling around the morgue. The lack of light made it much more troublesome to make a break for the door, but it spared his already splintered heart from anymore misery. Because, if the lights had been on, he would’ve seen the bodies of his brothers displayed pristinely in their own polished coffins.

Lucky for him, Terzo supposes, that the door with the wrought iron handle was unlocked. He has to strain his muscles to wrench it open, which is comical, but expected for a reanimated corpse. Entering the hallway was a bit easier, yet he still leans on the walls for support.

Terzo has walked these corridors hundreds, if not thousands of times, but not like this. Never like this.

Everything was still, silent. No deacons or priests walked through foyers, no siblings of sin scuttled around the courtyards— You could blame that on the fact it was nearing one in the morning, and majority of the congregation was tucked securely underneath their crisp cotton sheets and puffy duvets.

Terzo was grateful for the relative solitude, really, because he certainly did not want to risk the chance of running into any members of the Clergy when all he wanted to do is get to you.

It’s childish, how hastily he longs to be with you through all this madness. His own head had gotten chopped off and weaved back on for fuck’s sake, he should be screaming, lunging into hysterics. Those are the proper reactions to grieving an unexpected death, right?

Later, Terzo assures himself, not all too convincingly, there will be time for that later. Preferably when he’s shrouded away from everyone, so no one can witness him crumbling.

Right now all he wants is you. Maybe he was greedy in that way, clinging to the idea of holding you again. Greedy with your affection, hoarding it like a dragon would with its finest treasures. Terzo loved the way you smiled, the sound of your voice, the way you felt, the warmth your company could bring. So much so, that he never wanted to let you go. Yes, the third Emeritus brother was a greedy one. But only because he’d been alone for so long. Terzo could be surrounded by multitudes of idolizing crowds on the daily and still manage to feel achingly lonely.

His loneliness stems from pure selfishness, he thinks, or his self sabotage thinks, since he can’t tell the difference between the two anymore. Terzo’s privileged, he knows this, he’s rich in the ways of friends and he’s never met someone who was poor company. Yet here he is, sequestered and drowning amidst his woes.

You’d probably chide him for his thinking if you were walking beside him right now. Terzo's lips quirk into a wistful smile. You were always good like that, anchoring his feet to the floor when all he wanted to do was let the hate consume him.

There was no use in ever trying to put up a front around you, because you were like a bloodhound that could smell malarkey a mile away. And even if Terzo was incredibly reserved and a tad bit stubborn with his emotions, you were patient. Waiting patiently, listening patiently, and when he’d finally rupture and lament into your open arms, you’d patiently card your fingers through the locks of his raven black hair.

There was a sense of vulnerability between you two, something you witnessed in Terzo that others did not, a sacred secret kept between two lovers. A mutual understanding. He may have been Papa once, but he was yours first.

The ministry is too hollow tonight, too big. A bitter gust of wind whistles through a set of open windows as the plodding corpse treks on, one stinging step after the other. The way to your shared quarters is muscle memory to him, it would be an easy path to tread if it wasn’t for the prickling soreness in his throat and chest.

Eugh, he definitely was a sight for sore eyes.

How would you react to seeing him like this, all things considered? There’s a chance you might scream, maybe even hurl a pillow at him, and Terzo would never hold it against you. He’s fairly terrified of his present state, too. Would you cry? Point a finger at his chest and wail and tell him over and over; ‘I told you so’? You had told him so, after all. You knew something was amiss ever since the Clergy tore Terzo off that stage during his final ballad of Monstrance Clock. You had been skittish and riddled with worry for his well-being, and despite all of Terzo’s consoling— he was fine, everything was going to be fine, mio caro.— you were right.

He imagined you enraged, furious at him, not willing to forgive, never willing to forgive. But you weren’t like that. Perhaps you’d cry, or scream, or throw something at him in a fit of shock, but never act spiteful. The most malicious Terzo had ever experienced you being was in domestic acts of grudgefulness in passing of some fatuous argument; like rolling over in bed and giving him the cold shoulder. Or drowning him out with the vacuum. Once you even went as far as ‘accidentally’ washing his whites with some of your cherry reds. Petty, but not cruel.

How far along were you in your stages of mourning? Were you still waiting for him to return to you? Have you locked yourself into the depths of your shared quarters? Have you shut the world out? Terzo hoped that if you were waiting, he hadn’t made you wait for too long.

He tries to break down the remainder of his journey into smaller, more manageable pieces. He reclines against limestone walls to catch his breath when the pain shocks him too much to bear, and starts again when the image of you enters his mind. He almost sobs at the sight of your door.

Hesitant, Terzo jingles the doorknob once, twice, then throws it open, stepping into the darkened room.

Everything is just as it was since he last occupied the space, however long ago that had been. Wedding pictures still hang pristinely on the walls, his comb is still intact on the surface of the vanity. It all remains hauntingly untouched, all except for the bed.

You stir from under the covers, most likely woken from the noise he made in opening the door, rising and blinking blearily in the direction of where he stood. There you were and here he was.

Terzo finds himself faltering, unsure of how to go about this. What’s the proper etiquette of greeting your lover after being recently deceased?

“Terzo?” You call out, voice faraway and hoarse, wavering at every step he takes towards you. Terzo should not be there. He’s dead, immobile in a glass coffin somewhere. You’re either dreaming or must have finally lost it.

But then he replies, whispering your name and moving closer, and the mattress is suddenly dipping from the weight of him sitting on its borders. For a moment you say nothing and he says nothing, only because he’s reaching out to stroke the skin of your soft cheek. His delicate touch makes you recoil frightfully as if you had been stung by a wasp, since you hadn’t actually been expecting to feel him.

“Is this real?” You breathe, eyes wide and flicking down to gape at the gruesome scar that decorated his neck like some debauched necklace of curdled gore. “Are you real?”

“Yes, amore. I’m real.” It pains him to speak, and Terzo’s larynx is definitely worse for wear, sounding all garbled and warbled. But he needs to talk to you, apologize for anything and everything. He needs you to know how sorry he is, because he failed you. He made all the wrong choices, and look where that ended him. It hurts, he really did try, he tried so hard to play the role, appease the Clergy well enough to leave him and his beloved be, yet he was playing checkers while the world was playing chess. And Terzo was never any good at chess. It wasn’t his fault, but he was too lost to understand that.

“I’m sorry.” He begins, it’s a start. “I’m sorry, mi dispiace tanto.” Then came the tears, dripping and smearing the paints that marred his face. It’s all coming crashing down now, every inhale he takes sounds like agony.

Forgive me, forgive me, forgive me. He wants to say, needs to say, but can’t manage the words.

You take Terzo and ease him into your arms, shakily tucking his face into your shoulder so he can cry freely without anyone else seeing. It was what he always preferred; weeping into shoulders or pillows, hiding from the chance of being caught under a scrutinizing gaze.

Terzo is dead. Was dead. Should still be dead. But he’s not.

So, relieved and confused, but mostly confused, you thread your fingers through his hair. Later, you will talk and ask questions and shed your own tears until sunlight filters through the drapes. But for now, you hug Terzo, your Terzo, and shield him from the world as he wails anew.

—o—

#This has only been proofread by me twice so I apologize in advance if there are any mistakes #Terzo x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iii x reader #papa Terzo x reader #ghost fic #ghost the band fanfic #ghost the band #ghost band #the band ghost #terzo #papa emeritus iii #ghost Terzo #ghost Terzo x reader

130 notes · View notes

coldmail750 · 1 year

Text

Back in 2020, when I started really getting into Beastars, I went on a couple long rambles poking at the characters and themes to Discord friends who were also watching the show & reading the manga. While I contemplated posting them here several times, I never really got around to it; at the time I only did things on Tumblr once every few months. Well, since I'm vaguely active on this site at the moment, I figure I might as well finally act on that urge and get at least some of them down here. So here goes, with the first half of the one that started it all:

Carnivore Parallels, part 1 - Legoshi & Bill

There's a particular image of what carnivores, especially large-breed carnivores, should be in the society of Beastars. Large-breed carnivores are expected to be tough, brash, swaggering. They're strong physically and emotionally, they're natural leaders, and they're hungry - in the metaphorical sense of ambition, in the metaphorical sense of sexual appetite, and in the literal sense for meat.

But, at the same time, they are given two very different messages about those expectations.

The first message is that it is natural and right and good for carnivores to be all those things, that they should be proud and embrace them because that's how carnivores are, that's what carnivores are supposed to be, and carnivores who aren't those things are failing somehow.

The second message is the exact opposite - that carnivores being those things makes them bad, dangerous, evil, a threat to those around them, that carnivores should be deeply ashamed of all these things that are supposedly their nature.

At the start of the narrative, Bill and Legoshi are both young adults trying to sort out who they are and what their place in the world is, trying to deal with the fact that they are carnivores and the contradictory messages around that.

Bill, at the start of Beastars, has gone all in on the former message; Legoshi, meanwhile, has gone all in on the latter. But neither course of action is really working out.

At the beginning of his arc, Bill deliberately tries to act with bravado; he plays tough, he's flippant and cocky, he doesn't look before he leaps, he sleeps around, he eats meat, he jumps at the chance to play the leading role in Adler after Louis breaks his leg, so on and so forth. All his life, no doubt, Bill has been told that those things are what define his worth as a carnivore - his strength, his machismo, his ambition - and he has pegged his own self-conception, and self-worth, to being those things.

However, in chapter 48, during the scene with Bill and Aoba (which is unfortunately reduced to a single shot of Bill and Aoba looking sad during the S1 credits in the anime), we get the image that this is not really who Bill is, at least not entirely; that if these actions are a part of him, it's a part he feels obligated to play up severely. He feels the need to act that way, because society tells him he needs to act that way, but he's not comfortable with it. He hates himself for it, even:

That conversation, at least to me, suggests that Bill acts the way he does in the first quarter of the manga because he's has been told his whole life that his worth as a carnivore is based on him being the strongest person in the room, the leader, the tough guy, but at the start of Beastars, Bill isn't any of those things.

Louis is.

So you've got this character who's been told his whole life that these things define his worth as a carnivore, and then he's outdone in a bunch of them by an herbivore, and - since this is early Louis - by this bigoted, domineering, egotistical jerk of an herbivore no less.

As a result, he feels a need to prove himself, both in the sense of "I need to prove myself to those around me" and "I need to prove that I have worth to myself", and he does a bunch of stupid shit without really thinking it through because he's been told that's what carnivores are supposed to do - they're supposed to be tough and strong and brash, right?

Els tells Legoshi that Bill is obviously nervous about playing Adler, but rather than seek help from her, or Aoba and Tao, or anyone else - which would require admitting uncertainty, and by extension weakness - he tries to play tough and dopes himself with rabbit blood. In the manga, he pulls the stunt of attempting to blackmail Louis with Louis’s tragic backstory - a desperate effort to tear asshole deer down a notch. He's obnoxious to Legoshi about Legoshi being a virgin who won't eat meat.

Deep down, Bill hates himself for doing those things, as he admits to Aoba. He feels the need to do those things, to project the image that society expects of him, and he fucking loathes himself for it - a self-loathing he was able to suppress so long as Louis was there to actively twist the knife by, y'know, being early manga Louis, but then Louis runs off to become the godfather, so that stops working.

Chapter 48 also illustrates how deep this sentiment has been burnt in - carnivores are supposed to be strong, and that goes for emotional strength too, and opening up to Aoba about his emotions means he's made himself emotionally vulnerable, so he follows up his admission by immediately trying to play it all off as "gotcha haha totally just joking lol".

As a result, the route that Bill's arc takes over the rest of the manga is him moving away from the idea that his worth as a carnivore, both in his own eyes and the eyes of others, depends on his swagger and his bravado and his appetite, and towards a middle point in between those two messages mentioned earlier; that it is okay for him to not live up to that expectation - that it maybe even makes him more, not less, to do that, that it's okay for him to be gentle, selfless, kind.

By paying for the drinks in chapter 48, Aoba discreetly signals that it's okay for Bill to open up emotionally to him. Els explicitly tells Bill, in chapter 78, that the best side of Bill is when he's looking out for the drama club, for his friends, for her.

We see Bill try to help Tao after the arm incident with Kibi, we see Bill take care of the shock chick, with help from Aoba and some reverse psychology from Pina, and do some legitimate, serious introspection during the process. We see Bill shine as drama club leader amidst the segregation fiasco, when he works to make sure that everyone in the drama club is doing well academically so that the club can stay open and together, and it's times like that when Bill shines the most.

It's slow-going, because it's difficult to overcome something burnt in so deep; Bill still calls himself a "trash cat" who is only good for eating meat in the shock chick chapter; but he does progress along that arc.

Bill's foil in this is Legoshi, who has internalized the exact opposite message - that carnivores are bad and evil for who they are, that they are dangerous, that they should be ashamed of their existence.

Whereas we get basically nothing on Bill's backstory, we get a really clear idea of why Legoshi latched on so hard to the second message - namely, the environment Legoshi was raised in. Gosha is obviously ashamed of the fact that he's venomous and allows himself to be regarded with hatred and suspicion; Leano internalized the message "you're really lucky that you're able to hide the fact that you're a hybrid" to the point where the moment she stopped being able to hide her hybridity she went into total seclusion for years and then committed suicide.

So Legoshi grew up in an environment where the two adult figures in his life were "I deserve to be feared and hated for being venomous" and "I deserve to be feared and hated for being a hybrid", which means it's really not surprising that he ended up ascribing to "I deserve to be feared and hated for being a carnivore" - his upbringing was a recipe for misery and self-loathing. Legoshi believes that he deserves to be hated by others for who he is. As he tells Els:

Or, to use the anime dub's slightly more eloquent phrasing, "feared and hated, that's the story of my life".

Having internalized "these make you a threat", then, Legoshi is deeply ashamed of and actively eschews all the things that Bill, having internalized "these define your worth", seeks out.

He slouches perpetually to hide his height and his strength. He trims his nails obsessively in the hopes of making them look less like claws. He tries to hide his fangs and claws - and freaks out when Louis points out that he's not doing a good job of that. He's on the stage crew, a role which puts him behind the scenes and will bring him no recognition, and actively resents being made to go on stage for the second Adler performance, literally trying to hide behind the whiteboard to avoid getting picked. He's aggressively virginal and he refuses to eat meat.

Legoshi's arc, then, involves him moving towards a more nuanced, middle-ground perspective - in the same general fashion that Bill's does, but in the opposite direction.

Fighting the Shishigumi, fighting Riz, training with Gouhin, working with Yahya, these things teach Legoshi that it is okay for him to fight, to be strong, that his strength is something that can be used for good. To quote Legoshi coming to this realization,

Eating Louis’s leg in order to beat Riz teaches him that it's okay for him to eat meat. His relationship with Haru, extremely slowly, teaches him that it's okay for him to have romantic and sexual desire. He also moves to cast off that "I will lie down and take being feared and hated" mindset - note how Legoshi insists that he and Gosha are going to sit in the front of the restaurant, and Legoshi decides he'd rather fight than take shit from the birds even as Gosha protests that they can just move to the back, in chapter 106.

This is part of why, when Bill and Legoshi meet again around chapter 152, they get along so much better than they did at the start of the story - they're more alike as characters than they were then because they're both moving towards that same middle point.

In summary, Bill and Legoshi are really good foils about the carnivore experience in the world of Beastars, giving depth to both each other and to the setting in which they live.

So that's part one of the carnivore parallels essay, finally out into the world after two years. Part two, which is a little shorter I think, will look at two characters who stand as tragic parallels to these two.

#not art #textpost #snek ramblings #beastars #legoshi beastars #legosi beastars #beastars legoshi #beastars legosi #legoshi #legosi #bill beastars #beastars bill

76 notes · View notes

beyondthetemples-ooc · 1 year

Text

So here's a random aspect of Azarath that has literally been niggling at me for YEARS.

Specifically about Azar. Basically a minor/background character in all cases except the one where she's raising Raven and the one where she's taking out Trigon.

But I..... have done inordinate amounts of thinking about Azar, let's put it that way. (*laughs in Great Understatement and also in Nexus*)

So the great mystery about her has always been... Which Azar is it, exactly, that's speaking in Terror of Trigon? WHICH ONE IS IT?!

The two main points of consideration are:

An Azar, third Azar, granddaughter of the founder of Azarath, gave Raven the rings, Raven says she can "still feel her" spirit in them (heavily implied it's this Azar specifically in the rings based on context of discussing that the woman who raised her had given her those rings before she died), and iirc they use those same rings to channel an Azar, presumably the same one whose spirit is present and known to Raven.

The ORIGINAL Azar, the foundress herself, who speaks to Trigon as if she's known him for centuries, talking about staying one step ahead of him and following him through dimensions, and iirc said something about Since His Inception... which happened at the time of Azarath's creation by Azar the First.

So I'm going to go through why this always confused me, but spoiler alert: I finally found peace in this decade-long debate with myself by settling on all three of them being the same person reincarnated through three consecutive generations. Or at least aspects of the same person.

In Tales of the New Teen Titans #2, Raven explicitly tells everyone that the Azar who raised her was the granddaughter of the original Azar. She mentions the most recent two living for multiple centuries each (dyscalculia prevents me from remembering the exact numbers, and which one had which lifespan, but they were quite literally Centuries.)

There is, however, definite mention of them having died. People usually only do that once.

((Raven didn't get that memo.))

If you ask me, the extent of the average Azarathean life span is still up for debate. Somehow it's true in canon both that Juris "was one of [Azarath's] originals", AND that they used the secrets of dimensional travel to form Azarath a thousand years ago. So implicitly the guy's a thousand years old??? But if that's the case, why are their head spiritual and bureaucratic leaders dying after a handful of centuries?

ESPECIALLY when it's heavily implied that Azarath's existence relied on them! I still can't rationalize how it came to mind, but someone asks something to the effect of, "Wouldn't Azar dying destroy Azarath?" And Raven's response is, "There were many who studied at her side." Implying, to me, that if these people HADN'T been there, it WOULD have been destroyed! (And also that it took "many" people to replace the power of one Azar, which is just... Whew.)

But why would average everyday Azarathean citizens have a longer lifespan than the 200/300 / presumably also 400 years allotted to THE PERSON WHO ALLOWS THE PLACE TO EXIST???

It just doesn't make sense!

Unless that essential person isn't really gone.

I don't think the NTT duo had the story straight on Azarath, unfortunately. I am definitely thinking harder about this than they did.

I'm not saying this is what I think they intended.

In fact, it's probably not. Any time an Azarathean mentions death or dying, they refer to it as "ascending to another plane of existence"-- or "joining Azar", supposedly implying In An Afterlife With Her. So the textual evidence reads like they believe souls leave the physical world and enter a separate world, an afterlife, and gather with their leader.

(Gee, Azar, how come your gods let you have TWO leaderships? /ref)

So that then opens up the question of Which Azar is Leading Them?

Not only in the afterlife, but in their posthumous defeat of Trigon!

I used to assume the Azar defeating Trigon was the one who raised Raven. Lilith "channels" an Azar, and I always supposed it was Lilith's connection to Raven, which would have been especially strong after doing a dang seance to contact Raven, that allowed her to open up to Azar.

(I mean, I guess now that I'm laying out my assumptions, a woman who was powerful enough to keep a place Not Being Destroyed simply by Being Alive is probably powerful enough that she could possess whoever she wanted. But it seemed a bit like she was asking permission?)

Anyways, as summarized above, the flaw in this logic is what Azar says to Trigon. I'm currently on a tiny phone and have no spoons to go hunting down the panels, but I distinctly remember the Azar that shows up in Terror of Trigon talking about them having a looooong history. Chasing him through the dimensions, and I'm pretty sure she says something like, "for centuries", or maybe it's "millennia". Again, dyscalculia, number words are Hard. But the third Azar, Raven's mentor, only lived for... I think 200 years, according to TotNTT 2?

Honestly Terror of Trigon kind of talks like there was only ONE Azar ever. I don't think there's ever any distinction between them except in TotNTT.

Hell, I've recently been wondering, when Raven cries out to Azar as an exclamation or expletive or prayer, which one is she asking for? The original who led the Azaratheans (the most likely to be deified in this way, if you consider that the founders of a cult are usually the ones who get deified), or is she praying to the one she knew personally?

But then: When Raven said Azar was an "almost-goddess", it reads like she was talking about the one that raised her. Azar III clearly had a lot of power and a lot of religious sway over the people. She was, canonically, their High Priestess.

I like both the idea of this spiritual connection being to the original Azar AND the sentimental connection of being prayers to the woman who raised her, "the only person who treated [her] like [she] was something special."

So WHICH IS IT?

But damn it, I'm sick of trying to puzzle this out when neither feels like "the one true pure canon".

So essentially, I did... Extensive Thinking. I, uhh... let's say I looked into my heart and interrogated the "vibes" I get. And the thing is, I can't see much narrative or emotional function in them being completely different people. It just complicates things.

So they died. Hella canon. Probably an important part of Raven's backstory, losing That One Person. But what if, when one Azar died, her soul stayed to guide the Azaratheans further?

This explains why their name is apparently their title, and they don't have, say, Azar Samara and Azar Karina.

There's absolutely no evidence that the Azaratheans believe in reincarnation, in fact it's a bit of evidence to the contrary. But their souls ARE able to return to interact with the living world. This is hella canon. This is how they defeated Trigon.

(And how Phantasm v.2 happened, but that's a mess I'm not ready to untangle right now.)

Plus: Anyone who's ever read my in-depth rambles about Azarath knows I like to draw from real world anthropology and worldviews to fill in the blanks. There are multiple cultures in our real world that believe (or, believed) that ancestors can reincarnate in the bodies of their descendants. Now, I've never done a dive into these cultures specifically, but Azarath's most obvious real-world influences seem to be cultures whose worldviews include reincarnation.

So why not reincarnation within the family?

I've been writing this for an hour and I'm running out of steam, but this is the only solution I like to a canonical quandary that has bothered me for years.

At the very least, the multiple iterations, multiple bodies, might be different aspects of Azar's soul. Fragmentary reincarnation is another form real-world worldviews include, whether you want to talk about ancient practices or the modern hodge-podge spirituality in certain communities I'm in.

So yeah. I finally feel more at peace with The Great Azar Iteration Paradox.

And with Azarath on the brain, peace is pretty essential.

*Raven voice* Thank Azar.

#rhs makes yet another post about teen titans #rhs personal teen titans #new teen titans #azarath #azar #posts for the blackwinged blog #digital mirrorbooking

12 notes · View notes

thefreakishmuffin · 3 years

Text

Let’s examine the dynamic between Hunter and Luz, Part 2

Whoop this is gonna be a long one as well...

Note that some of this may drift a little bit away from analyzing solely Hunter and Luz’s dynamic, but I promise I’ll always circle back to it.

Link to part 1 is right here

Last we left off, Luz and Hunter have decided to join forces in a truce to thwart Kikimora’s plans to give Emperor Belos the palismen herself. On a wall, Luz draws a fire glyph and an ice glyph and connects them together. Intrigued, Hunter states that he’s never seen a spell like this before, and asks what it will do. Luz begins explaining how it’ll work, only for Hunter to pick up on what she’s doing halfway through and finish the explanation for her. Luz looks at him, thoroughly surprised that he has such knowledge.

Hunter apologizes for interrupting and states that he read about a similar spell in a book about Wild Magic, which happens to be a book Luz has read as well. Hunter seems surprised in turn when realizing him and Luz share a common interest in Wild Magic. He starts to have what I call a “nerd moment”, where he’s starting to get really excited about what he’s talking about. He mentions that these glyphs look very similar to magic that was once practiced back in the Savage Ages. He seems almost thrilled to be talking to someone else who’s interested in Wild Magic, which is something he can’t talk freely about in the Emperors Coven, lest he receive abuse from Belos.

However, his smile fades and he cuts himself off, saying that information on Wild Magic is restricted for a reason, and that Luz ought to stop messing around with it before she gets hurt.

And here is something that strikes me as interesting; Hunter’s family is supposedly gone because of Wild Magic. So if that’s the case, then why is he so fascinated with Wild Magic himself, to the point where it’s something he even greatly enjoys studying and talking about? I can’t really think of any other good reason for this, other than the idea that when Belos mentioned their family, he was really talking about his own family, since it’s alluded that Hunter was likely “adopted” to Belos’ family in a way.

After Hunter tells Luz to stop messing with Wild Magic, Luz tells him that, outside of Lilith, she’s never talked to anyone from the Emperors Coven before. And asks what made him want to join? Hunter looks genuinely surprised. It doesn’t seem like he’s ever been asked this question before. Looking away from Luz, perhaps in a sense of shame, he admits that he’s a powerless witch, and that most of his ancestors were. He never felt like he’d ever have a future in their world. That is until Belos found him and took him in, and gave him a staff with artificial magic, telling Hunter that the Titan had “big plans” for him.

Let’s go over a little analysis here. Hunter says that Belos found him. This is the statement that leads many of us to believe that the two of them aren’t actually blood-related. However, to me it still seems odd that Hunter would call Belos his uncle. Perhaps Belos wanted Hunter to call him uncle? Maybe, but it still seems odd to me for Belos to take in this random young boy as his family. Especially when Belos refers to their family as being the same thing. Part of me believes that perhaps Belos is his biological uncle, but he was estranged from the family. Either way, it’s an interesting bit.

And we also have a better understanding as to why Hunter stays in the Emperor’s Coven (besides everything I went over in my post analyzing his dynamic with Emperor Belos). The Emperor gave him a purpose in his life, giving him magic when he never had any. Giving him a title, and making him important. This all likely seemed wonderful to Hunter at first, but as we see later on it comes with a definite price.

Alright back to Hunter’s dynamic with Luz...

Luz listens to what Hunter has to say, and she sits beside him saying, “It must be nice to have your future planned out for you.” To which Hunter responds, “At least you get to plan your own.” It’s this exchange right here that really shows how Hunter feels about his situation. He wants to be free to decide what he wants to do with his life, but he’s now found himself bound to the Emperor’s Cult Coven, tied to a future he’s not sure he even wants. More than anything, Hunter wants to be free. This is the deepest desire of his heart.

And how do I know this? Because right after he speaks right here, Little Rascal, the red cardinal palisman, shows up and comes right to him. Palisman are drawn toward like-minded souls, and the palisman at Hexside chose someone after they shared their deepest wish. This palisman wants freedom, just like Hunter, and this is why he chooses to become his palisman at the end of the episode. (Not to mention Rascal was trying to run away and ‘be free’ at the beginning of the episode).

Okay, again, back to Hunter and Luz’s dynamic...

After their little conversation, Luz and Hunter team up and Luz prepares to cast the spell. Tough hesitant at first, gives Hunter his staff. He asks if she’s sure, and she puts her trust in him. He takes back his staff and Luz activates the glyphs. The plan goes well and Kikimora’s hand dragon falls from the sky, both with her and the palismen as well. But as soon as Luz goes to make sure the palismen are okay, Hunter is ready to betray her, activating his staff and pointing it right at her.

Luz, however, isn’t angry with him. She’s clearly not happy with him here, but she’s not angry. But rather hurt and disappointed. She asks Hunter if he’s really willing to give up innocents to Belos. Luz then delivers this important and impactful line to Hunter: “I thought that maybe you were a good guy. But I guess I was wrong. You’re not my friend. You’re just the Golden Guard.”

That last comment seems to deeply hurt him. The idea of just being the Golden Guard and losing himself to that false identity is a scary thing for him to think about. So, in that moment, he lowers his staff, removes his mask, and finally reveals his true name to Luz. Hunter did this because he finally got to connect with someone for probably the first time in his life. And I mean really connect with someone. He was starting to feel like someone saw him for him, and not the Golden Guard. So when Luz said that he’s just the Golden Guard, he was hurt, and immediately decided to try and change that. he didn’t want the one person he’s been able to connect with to know him as a title. He wanted her to know him as a person. And what better way to do that than start by telling someone your name?

Luz gasps when Hunter reveals to her his real name. But why? Was it because she saw the good in him, and maybe thought he was having a change of heart? Or was it because he was suddenly sharing such a personal piece of himself? I’m not quite sure on that part.

But this moment is cut short when a very disoriented Kikimora tries to attack Luz and Hunter. Hunter is quick to defend Luz, once again showing great fighting skill, and allows a now conflicted and troubled Luz to get away. Both of them are now not sure what to make of the other. Are they friends now? Are they still enemies? Neither one of them seems entirely sure.

And the last bit I want to touch upon here is how at the end of the episode where Kikimora asks Hunter how he survived the ship crash. He simply tells her he was helped by local travelers. Notice how he consciously chooses not to rat out Luz. Just a few hours ago he was ready to arrest her and even threatened her life, but now he’s making an effort to defend and keep her safe.

These two characters are some of the most interesting in the entire series so far, and the dynamic between these two is only going to get more and more interesting the more time goes on, and the more often they are able to meet.

447 notes · View notes

random-yandere-fandom · 3 years

Note

How about yandere TC meliodas but a soulmate au where him and the s/o( Fairy and goddess hybrid who fights for stigma) both share a connection to each other, from sharing emotion, to having vision of where they may meet for the first time. This seem like a nice concept, I imagine meliodas is use to constantly feeling pain from training all the way to fighting the war only to have a s/o who is yet to meet him but is willing to send over positive emotion and feeling to make him feel better. Im sucker for this kinds of things.

Oh hell yes, I love soulmate aus! Which is why it got a bit longer than what I normally write (and took so long lol)

Yandere TC Meliodas with soulmate darling

For as long as you can remember there had been a second layer to your emotions that you couldn`t quite grasp, let alone influence. It was just barely there, almost unnoticeable. Annoyance, nonchalance and a deep-rooted but hidden pain. After learning that those belonged to your soulmate, to the being your were destined to meet and love, you were baffled. Three emotions. A few feelings. Was that all they were capable of, or was that all they could allow themselves to? You mused that they felt your surprise and pity and hoped they wouldn`t connect the dots, they didn`t seem like the kind of person to appreciate such sentiments. Nonetheless you wanted to help. If they weren`t able to and didn`t have the opportunity to experience joy, wonder, excitement and a healthy amount of sadness and grief that one felt at ending a wonderful book with no continuation than you would have to do it for them. If they were hurt you could send them comfort and if they were bored you`d jump down a cliff if you must only to open your wings at the last second to send them a dose of mixed excitement and fear and laughter.

Meliodas had known of the concept of soulmates for as long as he could remember. Since then he had always been told that he wouldn`t need them, that demons barely needed their destined partner and only to allow any connection beyond the unavoidable should they be of the same race. He knew that something was wrong with that but in the end he didn`t care enough to do anything about that. So they felt what he did and at some point he`d know where you two would meet. Great. As long as they don`t get in his way and he can do what he must it`d be fine.

He always knew that his range of sentiments were by far not the widest or the happiest but he would do. Meliodas had to. He had to be strong and cold and unfeeling. That did not seem to be the case for his soulmate, however. There were a mix of emotions constantly changing, most of them he hadn`t even experienced himself. They are a bother, he told himself and ignored it. He also ignored the twinge in his chest whenever they felt sad, ashamed or dispirited. Told himself that he was lucky that they weren`t sending feelings consciously, especially when he had to concentrate.

That changed. There was no warning, no prompting, nothing. Meliodas was about to go to sleep when they did it for the first time. They must have felt his exhaustion and either they thought he didn`t deserve to rest or wanted to spite him because the next thing he knew he felt adrenaline coursing through his veins and excitement erupting. Cursing he sat up, trying to calm his racing hearts and suppress that stuff. The emotions promptly calmed down and went into their normal, ignorable state though he could make out some guilt. For good measure he made his annoyance clear before flopping back down and closing his eyes. That didn`t stop a small and rather short lived smile from surfacing.

Was it your best idea? No. Did you think about what you were doing? No. You had felt your soulmate`s fatigue and seeing as it was the afternoon and they didn`t normally feel like that at this certain time you had assumed that they needed a bit of energy. Luckily, you had been sitting on a rather high branch and before you could think it through you had thrown yourself of from it. Upon their rejection though you had quickly stopped your little stunt and the idea that they had wanted to sleep crossed your mind. Ups. This had been the first time you had enforced an emotion and it had gone wrong. Hoping that their first impression of you could still be fixed you laid low for a bit.

The next opportunity presented itself when you had discovered a beautiful small pond in the forest. It was surrounded by rich plant live and some ducks were swimming on it, the sunshine reflected and sparkled on the water’s surface. Deciding that now would be a good opportunity you checked on their emotions. There was no apparent change from normal so it should be fine. Carefully and a lot slower this time you let your admiration seep through to them and being encouraged by the response, which was nothing, you strengthened it, letting yourself enjoy the coolness of the water as you dipped your feet in. Sitting there you shared this feeling, the contrast of the warm light and the refreshing cold, the calmness of the forest, far away from the others and the silence only being broke by the wind and birds in the sky. With all the work you had been doing and the tense atmosphere of your partner the relaxation was welcomed with open arms.

After this first successful interaction you continued, first about once a week and then once a day and soon simply whenever you felt like it. You were a bit disappointed that your soulmate never openly reacted but you had noticed that their feelings had calmed down and that was enough to keep you going. Having long ago realised that they were fighting in the same war, the suspicion and caution mixed with the occasional numbness, you assumed that they numbed their feelings in hopes of suppressing regret, you sent as much comfort as you could. It was gut wrenching whenever you noticed the impassivity but you did your best to help.

Meliodas grew used to it, over time. He even grew to like it, not that he`d ever admit it. Sensing your enforced emotions brought him joy and comfort, knowing that there was someone out there who cared. He sometimes felt guilty about not replying but what did he have to share? So he let the one sided communication continue.

You always made sure to only strengthen positive emotions or small harmless sadness, just to let them know what you were feeling. This time however you feared that you had made a mistake. You were patrolling and you were careless. It was close to enemy territory but there hadn`t been an incident here and there was this beautiful flower in full bloom and you simply had to send your amazement. Doing just that you hovered over the flower, it`s sweet smell calming your mind. The next thing you knew was a sharp pain in your side as you moved away, away from whatever had slashed you.

It was a small demon and you were quickly able to take care of it before healing your wound. Before you could investigate if there were any others you felt their worry. It was overwhelming. For the first time they openly enforced their feelings and it was intense enough that you couldn`t breathe for a moment. You noticed some anger interlaced, too, directed at what had harmed you, you noted. Quickly sending them your calmed frame of mind you searched for any other attackers and upon finding none you returned to report to one of the other goddesses.

Meliodas had been walking down a lonely hallway when you noticed the flower. Humming in acknowledgement he opened the door to his room and froze. Instead of admiration you seemed to be in pain. What had happened? Were you okay? His mind raced as he allowed himself to worry and let that worry reach you. The seconds were he felt your pain, surprise, resignation and caution were agony. After he was assured you were fine he sighed in relief.

After the second time the demon decided that he should contact you more. After his initial worry had subsided he had become anxious. Not only could you be harmed at any time, he had no way of helping you, not without knowing who or where you were. He realised he didn`t know much of you. Was there someone who liked you beside him, someone you liked? He hoped not. You were his. You two were fated to be, no matter how stupid that sounded. However he had no real way of checking, so interacting with you like this had to be enough for now. He also grew more attentive of your passive emotions, not letting a single feeling pass his attention.

It is a well known fact that before you meet your destined other, you envision the place you will first meet. You had been waiting for that day for ages, knowing that soon after you`d finally meet them, your soulmate. They had been so much more communicative and their joy caused by interactions grew day by day. So when you opened your eyes in a supposedly dream and felt closer to them than ever before you knew that your encounter was drawing near.

The first thing you noticed were your surroundings which resembled a patch of woods just on the border to demon territory. It was cold and clouds hung deep over the sky, it was eerily silent. Not the most romantic, you decided, but whatever. Taking a closer look you noticed a figure approaching from the woods, across from you and the border. It was more of a shadow than anything, you could make out the rather small height but any other details didn`t quite seem to be comprehensive or noticeable. So this was them. You smiled, though you could guess that they wouldn`t see that with how they most likely perceived you in a similar way that you could view them. No words were spoken as you stood only meters apart, time seemingly frozen as all you could do was hope that you could stay like this for longer. Neither they nor you moved, fearing that otherwise the bubble would burst and the glass would shatter and you would wake up, more lonely than ever now that you were apart again. You couldn`t speak, somehow knowing that sounds would not travel far here, but you didn`t need to do that, as all you needed was your connection and bond as soulmates. Warmth, affection and joy swirled between you both and almost felt tangible, as if all you needed to do was reach out to drown in these emotions.

When Meliodas found himself in a dream more realistic than any other he wondered what had happened. He wandered a bit before recognising the forest to be the one crossing the border that Stigma established and vehemently defended. Feeling a presence he followed the strange pull, coming across the figure hidden in shadows with wings that couldn`t have been a fairy`s or a goddess`s. Something else or something in between? He didn`t care. All that mattered was the sense of recognition. It was you. His partner. His destined other. His soulmate. His.

Only after waking up did he realise where exactly you both would meet. The verge on which enemies would meet to battle. Where blood was spilled in the constantly ongoing war. The perimeter seemed in tact though, so you at least wouldn`t meet directly on a battlefield. One thing he did know now, however. You stood on opposing sides, Demons against Stigma, darkness against light, him versus you. How cruel to put you so far away from him, Meliodas mused. But if he had to he knew who to betray and who to stay loyal to.

You spend the next days searching for the exact place you two would meet, ignoring the suspicious stares and whispers about, oh, look, the hybrid is slacking of, no wonder. You wondered how they`d react to your soulmate who was undeniably on the opposite force of the conflict. You supposed one of you would have to switch sides and if you couldn`t convince them than you would have to do so. Though with how they ended up emotionally before you interacted you hoped they would agree with you. Even if the others were against it, the higher ups respected your hard work and if that didn`t work you`d ask Elizabeth, who always seemed hesitant about the war and disliked judging others no matter who they were, for help.

Either way, you thought, being prepared wouldn`t hurt. After finally finding the place you hid a small bag full of important belongings and necessities in the trunk of the hollow tree along with a small gift you hoped your soulmate would appreciate. Following the thickening of your bond you had started to feel other and smaller sensations of them and while you were quite distressed with how often they seemed to fight, you couldn`t deny the feeling of joy when you drank a wine and instantly knew that they liked it, having had a faint taste of it. Hoping that this time you could enjoy it together you made sure the bottle was secure before heading of again.

Every time the weather was like the one in your vision, your and their hope grew and while you reached the place in no time, having memorised the way, they still hadn’t found it. Meliodas wished to fly over the forest but he had seen himself walking and knew that was the only way to get to you. So he wandered around, over and over and when he finally recognised a turn he followed the path eagerly. It took a bit to notice your presence, it being hidden seeing as anything else would be suicide so close to a hostile region. He rushed through the trees, his and yours excitement mixing and growing as you waited, peering through the woods in hopes of catching a glimpse, the first glimpse of the person you had grown to love.

The wind, his hearts and time itself stopped as he came to a halt in front of you. Your eyes were the first things he noticed, shining with a light that warmed him, overflowing with affection. You stared just as much, his black eyes turning into a beautiful shade of green as he lowered himself to the ground, his black wings disappearing from sight. You did the same, letting your feet touch the earth below you before moving one in front of the other. The grin on your face widened as he did the same and before you knew it he wrapped his arms around you.

“Hello“, you whispered. All former thoughts and ideas on your first words spoken to him seeming too far away to speak now, all you could do was great him. He was so warm, his arms protectively shielding you away from a world that was to cruel to a wonderful being like you, he decided, as he responded in the same manner. His hearts were finally beating again and were much faster now.

“My name is Meliodas“, he added, chin comfortably resting on your shoulders, eyes closed and melting into your embrace. It felt so right to finally have you. You fitted perfectly into his grasp, his eyes fluttering open and a smile tugging on his lips as he heard your name. You were finally here, with him. Meliodas knew in this moment he could never let you go. He would follow you wherever you wanted to and destroy anyone that dared and try harm you, no matter the consequences, as long as he could be with you, the one who cared and comforted him, the one that was made for him and the one he was made for, his soulmate.

364 notes · View notes

robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

Note

CQL-Verse: Wen Ning did a whole lot of risky stuff saving JC and the bodies at Lotus Pier. What if NMJ hears and gets talked into helping protect him and the Wen remnants by the Jiang bros, because even if he's a wen, he still 1. whole ass poisoned wen chao 2. straight up commited treason and was punished for it to protect sect heirs and 3. is extremely baby brotherable. you can fit so much h/c into this bad boy

ao3

Untamed

Wen Qing was angry about the trials, but Wen Ning thought they made a reasonable amount of sense.

After all, how was the rest of the cultivation world supposed to know what they did in the war without a proper trial? It was only reasonable for them to make certain assumptions about them based on their surname, the same way everyone assumed that those surnamed Jin were rich, those surnamed Lan were beautiful, those surnamed Jiang were bold to the point of arrogance…

The Nie were supposedly known for their tempers, but Wen Ning hadn’t seen much evidence of that so far.

In fairness, his only experiences with a Nie were, firstly, with Nie Huaisang at the Cloud Recesses, which he was fairly sure didn’t count, and now, during the trial, with Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue laughed the entire trial.

“You poisoned the wine,” he sniggered. “At their own celebratory feast…! And then you just went straight to Yiling, where your sister was in charge. And it still took him how long to find you?”

“Weeks,” Wen Ning meekly admitted.

“Can we go back to the bit where you saved Wei-xiong from the giant dog beast using stolen needles?” Nie Huaisang asked.

“No, we cannot,” Nie Mingjue’s deputy – a somewhat long-suffering looking man that they all called Meng Yao – said. “He’s already gone over it four times, Huaisang.”

“But –”

“No.”

“Spoilsport! Look at how much fun da-ge’s having; it’s not fair.”

“He’s the sect leader. If he wants to hoot like a shrieking monkey, he’s entitled to it.”

“I’m not hooting,” Nie Mingjue protested. “I am recognizing talent.”

“Talent.”

“Exactly. Talent.”

“At…what, exactly?”

“Causing trouble,” Nie Huaisang volunteered. “I recognize it from Wei-xiong, I could spot it anywhere.”

“Could we possibly proceed with the trial?” Meng Yao asked, obviously deciding not to continue with that discussion. “We have six more to finish today. Can I assume that given the evidence of Wen-gongzi’s subversive activities and his subsequent imprisonment throughout much of the Sunshot Campaign, he is absolved of all crimes and allowed to go free?”

“You spoilsport,” Nie Mingjue said, rolling his eyes at him. “Yes, I think so. Wen Qionglin, you are free to go your own way – though if you wish to stay here in Qinghe as a guest cultivator, we would be glad to have you for however long you wish.”

Wen Ning thought that sounded all right.

The Nie sect were known for their tempers, and justly so, but Wen Ning quickly figured out that he didn’t need to be afraid of Nie Mingjue’s occasional outbursts (quickly roused, quickly doused) or Nie Huaisang’s temper tantrums (petty) and occasional grudge-holding (rarer but much more dangerous).

No, Wen Ning figured out very quickly in his first weeks that the one to be afraid of was clearly Meng Yao.

Wen Ning had been weak and sickly his whole life in a sect that valued strength above all; he had survived hiding behind his sister, but she couldn’t always be there for him, no matter how she tried. He’d soon learned that surviving on his own meant being quiet and obedient, never making trouble or drawing attention to himself, and it also meant being extremely attuned to the minute expressions that might signal the difference between Wen Chao being angry enough to throwing a teacup at his head and being angry enough to order him to be taken outside and beaten until unconscious.

The same skills helped him in the Nie sect, where people were very often angry. Wen Ning could tell the difference between Nie Mingjue raging to let out steam (moderately common and generally innocuous, easily ignored) and being actually upset (typically only dangerous to the furniture, which was a nice change, but more worrisome in the sense that he might go and do something stupid afterwards), and he could tell that Nie Huaisang’s true anger, so rarely triggered, tended more towards the cold and hidden (definitely a sign he was going to do something, but unfortunately for everyone involved it’d invariably be far more malicious - enough to make you long for stupid).

He could tell that Meng Yao was, despite all his smiles, very often angry.

Like Nie Mingjue, Meng Yao’s temper was easily roused to the point of fury; like Nie Huaisang, his anger lasted a long time and usually called for some malicious action before it could be properly assuaged.

“Senior Meng,” Wen Ning tentatively said one day when his curiosity got to be too much for him. “Could I ask a rude question?”

Meng Yao’s temper, hidden deep in his eyes, flared at once, preemptively, and Wen Ning shivered and looked down at the ground. He had known what he was risking, but he hoped that asking permission in advance might allow him to get the question out with minimal reprisals – cold meals for a few days, perhaps, or being assigned to the training yard only when the most sadistic training-master was supervising, but only for a week or so.

“Of course, Wen-gongzi,” Meng Yao said, and he sounded nice and pleasant and like no question could possibly be rude enough to cause him any disturbance. It was a little frightening how good he was at that. “I can’t imagine what you would want to know that would be rude.”

“Are you related?” Wen Ning blurted out. “To Sect Leader Nie, I mean – his family –”

Meng Yao stared at him. His mouth was slightly hanging open.

“…it’s a stupid question,” Wen Ning concluded, feeling ashamed. Of course Meng Yao had been promoted entirely on merit; it was only his imagination getting away from him. “I’m sorry. I’ll go –”

“No, wait,” Meng Yao croaked. “Related – to the Nie sect – forgive me. How did you reach that conclusion?”

“I mean, you’re obviously treated as part of the main family,” Wen Ning pointed out. There were plenty of Nie cousins that weren’t treated anywhere near as well; both Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang were not only protective but almost possessive over Meng Yao’s time and dignity - surely by now everyone knew that the surest way to get them each angry in their own ways was to slight Meng Yao. “You wear Nie braids like them – you wear clothing like them – you have a temper like them –”

Meng Yao started laughing.

“…did I miss something?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t go to the Lotus Pier after you’d been absolved,” Nie Huaisang said, tapping the weiqi piece on the board a few times before making a move. “Given your fondness for Wei-xiong and all that.”

“Wei-gongzi’s very nice,” Wen Ning said vaguely, staring down at the board. He’d played a lot of weiqi in his life – including against Wen Ruohan when the man had still been remotely sane, mostly because he’d been the only one stuck back at the palace with him more often than not – but playing against Nie Huaisang required all of his attention. The first time he looked away, he’d get lured into a trap. “Very kind.”

“And yet you stay here,” Nie Huaisang prompted. “In Qinghe, with us, when even your sister picked the Lotus Pier.”

Wen Ning had never been without his sister this long before. He knew that she still expected him to come to the Lotus Pier. She hadn’t expected him to last the week without her; she’d said as much when she first went, huffing at him for being ridiculous – a Wen as a guest cultivator in the Nie sect, of all places? – and telling him, in between reminders to take his medicine on time, that she’d prepare a place for him there so that he would be comfortable when he arrived.

Her letters, in the weeks and now months since that time, had never overtly asked when he was going to finally get around to moving there, and had recently developed an almost quizzical tone, as if she’d finally realized that he wasn’t.

“I like it here,” Wen Ning said, and moved his piece.

Nie Huaisang moved his own almost immediately in response, which meant that Wen Ning had made a horrible mistake that played straight into Nie Huaisang’s hands. Not an uncommon occurrence.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “We like having you here, too.”

Surprised, Wen Ning looked up.

Nie Huaisang was smiling at him – he smiled nearly as often as Meng Yao, but unlike Meng Yao, he never smiled if he didn’t want to, so his smiles were actually sincerely meant each and every time. He had a wide range of smiles: nervous smiles, cheerful smiles, devious smiles…

Wen Ning was good at reading expressions, but he had to admit he’d never had to work as hard at it as he did with Nie Huaisang.

“We’re a very nice sect, really,” Nie Huaisang said, and even seemed to believe it. “We’re always open to people who are like us. The only thing we can’t tolerate is injustice and betrayal; as long as you stick with us and put us first, you’re ours, and we’re yours.”

That sounded nice, Wen Ning thought, and moved a piece blindly. “You think I’m like you? My sister doesn’t think so.”

“I think you fit in very nicely,” Nie Huaisang said, and his smile had teeth to it. He moved quickly, again. “You’re angry and resentful, but you don’t let it get in the way of what you want - just like us. Your sister probably doesn’t think that about you, either, but then again, that’s why she’s in the Jiang sect, with their heads in the air, dreaming of the impossible. I bet she never even noticed that you had a temper.”

She hadn’t. Wen Ning had been her baby brother and nothing else for a long time; he never had to defend himself as long as she was around.

He’d never had the chance to defend himself.

(He didn’t resent her for that. He didn’t. She was his big sister, his favorite person, and he loved her so much that he didn’t mind the way that all her fussing sometimes made the world feel cramped and small, as if he were being forced into a place that he’d long since outgrown.)

“Do I have a temper?” he asked, and moved another piece.

“Oh, yes,” Nie Huaisang said. “You’re like me – slow to boil – and like Meng Yao, hiding it behind your eyes. You’re even a bit like da-ge: you don’t need to be the one get the frustration out as long as something deals with it, but if nothing does, it nags at you and wears at you, like a thorn stuck in your flesh, until you can’t be silent any longer. Until you have to do something, or else you’ll explode.”

That sounded about right, Wen Ning thought. He’d never really had a chance to explode in the Wen sect, out of fear of what they’d do to his sister if he did, and he’d been sick with it – he’d limited himself to little rebellions, nameless pranks, right up until he met Wei Wuxian, who was kind to him, and couldn’t stop himself from helping him. He sometimes thought, in the days he’d spent in the dungeons, that if he died he’d come back as a fierce corpse, soul-calming rituals or no, and he’d might even enjoy it if only for the opportunity to finally vent his feelings – to finally pay back every single injustice that he’d ever seen, each one marked down in his heart in an indelible list of regrets.

Maybe Nie Huaisang was right.

Maybe that was why he stayed here, in the Nie sect, the sect of do not tolerate evil instead of the Lan sect’s chivalry and righteousness or the Jiang sect’s attempt the impossible.

Maybe he wanted to fight back for once. To have a temper, to have rage, to be something more than Wen Qing’s shy, stuttering shadow.

“I like it here,” he said again, but if his words were the same then the flavor was different: he meant it this time.

He understood, this time, what he meant by it.

Nie Huaisang smiled at him and moved another piece. Winning the game, Wen Ning noticed.

“Good,” he said. “Now move over – sit in front of the mirror. I’ll show you how to do your hair right.”

“Really?”

“Really. Also, Da-ge’s been practically champing at the bit to teach you saber, and Meng Yao has been making grandiose plans about redoing the way we recruit and train doctors with you leading the charge, so if you’re not up for either of those, now’s the time to say something.”

Wen Ning settled down in front of the mirror.

“No,” he said. “Those sound good to me.”

#mdzs #wen ning #nie mingjue #nie huaisang #meng yao #my fic #my fics #be happy #plotdesigner

704 notes · View notes

my-mt-heart · 2 years

Note

Do you think Leah originally was intended to develop Caryl's relationship and/or Daryl's arc and Kang was to address his history of abuse and issues with lack of intimacy (I remember she even talk about it around season 10 which was always giving me the impression she was to develop it into the screen)? However, with the horrible reception of the spoilers of Find Me (plus pandemic, cancellation) she was kind of forced to change it, sweep under the rug the controversial part - as AMC probably called it - and make it more about reapers and Maggie? They did a huge amount of rewritting for 11b and 11c.

I have heard, but please consider it as a rumour, that AMC even considered not airing the Find Me at all due to the fans' outrage after spoilers as it was a huge blow to them and perhaps they were afraid that Kang's story if she had continued it would have worsened the situation. And considering Kang had to build up Maggie Negan's relationship due to their future spin-off she could easily make Leah about Maggie.

I cannot find any other explanation for that mess honestly and giving Kang ability to tell really good stories and as you said it yourself, she did a splendid job with Caryl in season 10, it would only have sense with AMC interfering and making it worse, even though they thought they were making it better lol.

The only thing that bothers me is slighting Carol's character, but perhaps I can agree with you that bc Kang decided to give Caryl's a full focus in 11c and build up their spinoff, she kind of put Carol on stand-by. Daryl was much present but his role was only to support other characters' arcs so he kind of was slighted too. So yeah, that would make sense she left the best, meaning Caryl, for the last block.

Also, if I may, I totally agree with you that another "not like that not at all" will come up but this time without a doubt what Daryl has in mind, there is just too much build-up for that kind of scene.

It's impossible to know for sure what the exact process was. Story arcs change and evolve so often before finally hitting the page and then proceed to change even more afterward due to *both* creative and business reasons. So you are absolutely right to suggest some interference. This does not all come down to AK's competency as a showrunner. We should be clear about that.

If the very initial intent was to use Leah as a vehicle for Caryl/Daryl's intimacy issues, and I suspect it may have been considering she was supposedly first conceptualized around S9 when Dog was introduced and conversations about the Caryl spinoff were starting to be had, then I'm fairly certain that didn't start to take a left turn after Find Me. Because remember, that episode was built around S11. Even if they had to do some shuffling and re-writing thanks to Covid, they still already knew Leah was going to be tied to the Reapers and that Maggie was going to have a turbulent history with that group.

The reason we all thought Find Me was shining a spotlight on Daryl's and Carol's relationship is, well, because it was. It's not like we assigned arbitrary meaning to make ourselves feel better. Though the plot would take a different direction, the show still felt it was important to draw those implicit connections so at the very least there's some emotional realism for Daryl. I'm not saying it was good enough, certainly not, just that I believe it was the attempted "cleanup" of a big mess.

If I had to guess, I would say Lauren Cohan's return played a big role in reframing everything to center around her. Maybe that was the only way to get Lauren to come back at all, maybe there was a perceived sense of urgency to play catch up with her character since she'd been gone so long. Then somewhere along the way, the Maggie/Negan spinoff cropped up, creating more need to push that arc.

Another big factor? Connie. I maintain she was never intended to be a love interest for Daryl (and still isn't), but audience reception to that bond as well as having to write LR out for a while presented a convenient opportunity for her character to become the vehicle for Daryl and Carol instead of Leah. Because ultimately, you don't need two cars to get you to the same place, right? However, they couldn't just fully replace Leah with Connie because once again, emotional realism. The only justification for Daryl being in a relationship with another woman other than Carol is if he's in a dark place. While Leah is essentially Daryl's hard look in the mirror, helping him come to terms with what he wants vs what he doesn't, Connie reflects all of Carol's insecurities back at her that Daryl will help her shut down. Understanding why certain relationships don't work is just as important as understanding why the one we want does.

Like I said, there still could've been a better balance between Maggie, Negan, Daryl and Carol while letting the supporting characters do what they do best which is support the leads. But it is what it is now, and at least we can take some comfort in the fact that Caryl will *have* to be prioritized in the final block.

#caryl #caryl positivity #caryl is endgame #twd #twd speculation #twd season 11

23 notes · View notes

forthecoloredgirl · 3 years

Text

DEAL (II) | MASSIMO TORRICELLI

It was cold. Very cold and you thought to yourself that maybe the bright sun that shinned so bright was just a decoy. Just like you were, the decoy of your family to that was supposed to shine bright and attract a dangerous man. A man you would have to give your whole life to with no question, but there could be a possibility that you could get out.

After word had spread of your courageous efforts, the Italian family were on edge. Supposedly they did not like to be surprised and also seeing that one of their own were unexpectedly killed they were suspicious. They had never heard of you or saw you, so you were a surprise to them. However, you promised yourself to put yourself fully on the line in order to avoid any chance of your second eldest sister being brought back into the conversation.

Due to such circumstances and high suspicion you were forced to agree to come to Italy on your own. You were only allowed one guard and it had to be a female. At first your family weren’t too keen to the term, but after you had convinced them yourself that you would be okay they allowed for you to go. Only under the conditions that you were to call them damn near every hour.

Once you had landed in Italy you were to wait in Rome for a call. This is where you would separate from your personal guard and fully be in their control. That time was shortly closing in as you watched a black car approach you and your guard. As the car stopped in front on you, two man emerged. Both were respectful and allowed for you to place yourself in the car, but before you could do that you had to hand over your phone and allow for them to pat you down. Also once you were in the car a cloth bag was placed over your head.

You were completely lost and beginning to sense the fear build inside you. But you keep a mental picture of your family at the front of your mind. This was for them, so nothing as small at a cloth bag over head was to scare you away from what needed to be done. This calmed you and allowed for your mind to remain calm, especially after the car begin to move. Thinking of your family and counting the miles, while keeping up with the directions kept your mind occupied, but also alert. Since you were young you had taken it upon yourself to always know where you were going, so you could always find your way home.

All your senses were on high alert, but your knotless braids made it a little hard, due to them being so close to your ear. Still you were able to hear everything around you from the smooth engine to every little bump in the road. You could tell a certain route was being taken, but also extra roads as well as a way to trip you up. But you were too used to this way of life, unlike in Africa when things like this occurred you would hear a louder engine and be on even rougher terrain.

Soon you arrived at your destination after sensing the car completely stop and one of the men turn off the engine. You though that once you were out of the car you would be relieved from the bag, but no the bag was kept on as you were helped out the car and guided somewhere. From what you could feel you believed that you had been walked from the outside, into a home and that was confirmed by the moment you were sat down in front of a fire place.

You had known it was a fire place by the crackling of the wood and heat that came toward your body. It made you relax a little, but you knew not to let your senses rest just yet. And you were right because even though you waited in that same spot for almost an hour you started hearing voices and foot steps. They were of course coming towards you, but they suddenly stopped and began to speak.

From what you could make out from the set of feet and voice you counted four men and they all spoke in hushed voices. Though it wasn’t much you could hear, the little that you could make out confirmed your thoughts. They were talking about you. It had seemed there was a divide on who approved on you, but it was a different kind of approach from each side. It seemed the main argument was if you were going to be a useful and pretty. You kind of took that to heart, but suddenly you felt a gush of wind.

Due to you reflexes you immediately turned the way of the wind. Before you could really understand what was going on, question were being asked and you were answering on pure instinct. But there weren’t question like who were you or where you were from. They were tactical question, like how many miles outside the city were you to how many voices were in the present room. As you answered you kept a calm demeanor.

“You see they sent a trained killer.”

One of the unknown men said.

“No. She is the daughter of one of the most feared crime bosses. I take she’s been taken a few times.”

Another said.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Now that voice was completely different and once he spoke there was a new presence added to the room. Something was off and that it how you knew fully that the man in charge had officially showed up. You were now fully alert and un relaxed. You could sense the other men get tense as well and quickly leave the room leaving just you and him.

The room had gone completely silent and the only thing that could be heard was your heart rate picking up. For some reason your nerves were uncontrollable and you lost him. His movements seemed to have stopped and even his breathing was hard to track. However, his smell lingered and you tried using that to pick him up, but you too long.

Suddenly the cloth over your head was snatched causing you to gasp and you were face to face with the most handsome man. However, despite his attractiveness you did not know that you had fully agreed to give yourself to the human form and presence of the devil.

**NOT MY GIF**

**PART 3?😏**

**If you would like to repost my work please give credit**

#black!reader #blackgirlsmatter #blackgirlmagic #woc!reader #poc!reader #poc #massimo torricelli x reader #massimo torricelli #365 dni #365 days

374 notes · View notes

clusterbuck · 3 years

Text

i want you by my side (so that i never feel alone)

(3.2k, rated T, complete) read it on ao3

Eddie sits in his pew and tries to remind himself that he is in the lord’s house, and that he should really at least make an effort to keep his thoughts respectful.

It’s hard, though, when Buck is at the altar standing up as Maddie’s best man, wearing a suit that should honestly be illegal.

It’s only now, sitting in church trying not to blaspheme, that Eddie realises he’s become desensitised to Buck’s whole… everything. Buck in his firefighter uniform is a lot to take in, but Eddie’s trained himself to look past it. Mostly because he doesn’t ever want to have to explain to Bobby that he missed something on a call because he was distracted by the sight of Buck harnessed up for a rope rescue.

Buck at home—in his apartment or at the Diaz house, they’re practically synonymous anyway—is a whole other matter. Buck in old, faded t-shirts and comfortable sweats, in the LAFD hoodie they’ve been stealing back and forth for so long Eddie isn’t sure whose it was originally. It’s a different kind of intensity, a quiet one that stems from the knowledge that Buck doesn’t let many people see him like that, soft and a little dishevelled on a Saturday morning.

These are incarnations of Buck that Eddie has learned to live with, in the interest of remaining a functional human being capable of doing his job and caring for his son—the only two things on his list of priorities that manage to claw past his highly inconvenient unrequited feelings for his best friend.

But Buck in a suit? This is new, and Eddie’s defences are down. Eddie doesn’t have defences for this. He’s never seen Buck in a suit before.

Maybe he should have made Buck try the suit on at home first, so he could have gotten used to it in private.

Can you get sent to hell for thinking impure thoughts in church? Not that his thoughts are impure, exactly. He’s just thinking about the way the lines of the suit cling to Buck’s figure and highlight his broad shoulders, about the way Buck’s arms strain against the sleeves when he adjusts his cuffs, about the way the starched cotton would feel between his fingers as he unbuttoned Buck’s shirt… Okay, so he might be going to hell.

Eddie shakes his head. This is ridiculous. He’s a grown man, he can pull it together for the duration of a wedding ceremony.

Next to him, Christopher pokes his arm and looks at him curiously. “Dad? Are you okay?” he whispers.

Eddie swallows around the dryness in his throat. “I’m fine, buddy.”

“Why were you shaking your head?”

“I just—uh, forgot something I was supposed to do yesterday,” he whispers back. Forgot to mentally prepare himself for the sight of Buck in formalwear. “Don’t worry about it, just watch the ceremony. Look, I bet Chimney’s about to cry.”

The ceremony is just reaching the vows, and sure enough, as soon as Maddie starts reciting hers Chimney starts tearing up enough that it’s clearly visible to their seats near the back of the church.

This is good. If he focuses on Chimney’s quest to win the title of sappiest man alive, it’ll distract him from the public health hazard that is Buck in that suit.

“Is Chimney okay?” Christopher asks, and Eddie laughs under his breath and wraps an arm around his son.

“Yeah, he’s okay,” Eddie says and ducks down to kiss Christopher’s forehead. “He’s just really happy.”

One of Maddie’s first proclamations about the wedding was that she wanted to do away with any tradition that didn’t make sense to her, and the first thing to go was the separate table for the wedding party.

“Why would we invite all these people just to sit at a separate table all night?” she’d said, and nobody had been able to come up with a counterargument.

Then she’d gone one step further and decided to forego seating arrangements altogether. “Assigned seating is for middle schoolers and people who don’t like each other,” she’d said at Eddie’s kitchen table one night as Buck supposedly helped her plan the wedding. His helping mostly consisted of eating wedding cake samples, but Eddie was pretty sure Maddie wasn’t there for the manpower anyway. “And we’re neither of those things, so people can just sit with whoever they want.”

“I’m gonna be a middle schooler in the fall,” Christopher had pointed out, just serious enough that no one had quite known how to react. Then he’d grinned, and the kitchen had exploded into laughter.

“Good thing the wedding is in the summer, then,” Maddie said with a conspiratorial smile. “No assigned seats for you just yet.”

So when they get to the reception venue, instead of being exiled to the high table Buck is by their side almost immediately. Eddie doesn’t know how he does it, but Buck always seems to be able to find them in any crowd, effortless like gravity.

“I vote we find a table and set up camp,” Buck says.

Eddie nods, because Buck and his suit are in very close proximity and he isn’t entirely sure he’s capable of forming words right now.

He really needs to get a grip, or this is about to be a very long night.

“What do you think?” Buck asks Christopher, pointing at a table along one wall. “That one?”

Christopher agrees and they set off, carefully weaving through all of the dearly beloved who have gathered to witness and rejoice in Maddie and Chimney’s marriage.

“I figured you’d want to be by the wall,” Buck says, hanging back so Christopher doesn’t overhear. “You usually are.”

“I—yeah,” Eddie says, a little bewildered. He doesn’t remember ever actually talking to Buck about this. About the way that ever since the shooting, he can’t seem to make himself turn his back on crowds. He sits with his back to the wall whenever he can, and when he can’t—like in a church watching his friends get married—he sits as far back as he can, and glances over his shoulder every three seconds like his head is mounted on a swivel.

He’s never talked to Buck about it, but apparently Buck noticed anyway.

Their table, Eddie discovers, is also close to the open bar. He debates taking generous advantage of this fact in order to deal with the continued proximity of Buck and his suit, but—getting drunk would probably make it worse, actually. Drunk Eddie isn’t very good at filtering his thoughts.

Buck, however, doesn’t seem to have similar qualms, and by the time they’ve gotten through dinner, he’s bright-eyed and a little flushed.

Eddie loves Buck like this, tipsy and giggly and affectionate. He gets the feeling that Buck tries a little too hard to be taken seriously sometimes, but when he’s had a drink or three he lets his defences down.

“You should dance with me,” Buck says now, leaning so far into Eddie that his head is resting on his shoulder.

“It’s not dancing time yet,” Eddie says, fighting to ignore the thrill that runs through him at the idea of dancing with Buck. “There’s still speeches and cake first.” Buck, thankfully, had given his best man speech before any food or drinks were served, so Eddie doesn’t need to worry about Buck getting too drunk for it.

“Later, then,” Buck says, and makes no move to pick himself up off Eddie’s shoulder. “When it’s dancing time.”

“Sure,” Eddie agrees. “Later.” Then he wonders whether he can get out of it somehow, because there are a lot of people around and his self-control is already worn thin by Buck practically draping himself over him.

Buck puts a hand out, fumbling around like he’s looking for something until he finally lands on his wine glass. When Eddie looks down, Buck’s eyes are closed.

“Hey,” Eddie says, poking at Buck until he sits up straight again. “Have you been drinking enough water?”

Buck opens his eyes and squints at him. “I’m not that drunk, you know,” he informs Eddie.

“You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” Buck says, and touches his nose with alternating forefingers like a field sobriety test. “See? I’m just lazy.” Then he puts his head back on Eddie’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Eddie says, a warm rush of affection running through him. “You wanna do me a favour and drink this water anyway?”

“If you insist,” Buck says with a put-upon sigh, but he grins at Eddie so widely that water almost spills out around the edges of the glass.

It takes almost another hour for it to get to dancing time, and as soon as dancing starts, Buck is whisked away by partner after partner. It’s Maddie first, for the slightly altered tradition of the sister-brother dance, then it’s Hen, and then Chimney wants a turn, too. And Eddie can see why: Buck on the dance floor is joyous and carefree. He looks like he’s having fun, genuinely from the bottom of his heart, and like he’ll spread that joy to anyone who dances with him. It’s no wonder everyone wants a whirl.

Eddie desperately wants one, too, but something stops him every time he tries to get up and walk over to Buck. He’s worried that five seconds of dancing with Buck will give everything away, that everyone around them will be able to see exactly what he feels. That Buck will be able to see. He’s worried that if he dances with Buck he’ll read something into it that isn’t there, and then when Buck turns to the next partner with a grin and a little bow he’ll crush Eddie’s heart under his heel as he goes.

It’s a lot to put on just one dance, but Eddie’s always been good at overthinking.

So he stays at his table. The first time someone tries to get him to join the dancing he makes a vague gesture at Christopher, like the reason he isn’t dancing is that he has to stay and watch his kid. But then Hen and Denny come over to get Christopher to join the kids' dance circle they’ve got going on and Chris goes without a look back, taking Eddie’s only real excuse with him.

He manages to dodge the dancing for almost half an hour until Karen materialises at the end of their table and holds out her hand. It’s not a question so much as it is a declaration of what’s going to happen next. “Come on,” she says. “Can’t have you sitting here looking so gloomy at a wedding, people will start thinking you’re secretly in love with the bride.”

“I’m not—” Eddie starts, and Karen gives him a look that feels like it goes right through him.

“I know,” she says. “Wrong Buckley. Now come on.”

Eddie goes, because he doesn’t know what else to do.

He doesn’t know the song that’s playing, but it’s the kind of easy-listening music that always gets played at weddings, inoffensive and easy to dance to. It’s easy to take Karen’s hand and rest his other hand loosely on her waist, to sway around vaguely in time and in tune with the music.

It’s less easy to look at her after what she’d said, because looking at her means acknowledging it. But he looks anyway, and finds nothing but understanding in her eyes.

“Why don’t you just dance with him?” Karen asks. She doesn’t ask if she’d gotten it right, which Eddie takes to mean that he’s probably not as subtle as he’d hoped.

Eddie doesn’t say anything because he can’t quite put it into words, this certainty that dancing with Buck will be the beginning of the end, somehow. He doesn’t know how to explain that he wants to, more than anything, but the idea terrifies him because it feels too close to a confession for comfort.

“Okay,” Karen says. “What level of crisis are we talking about here? Is this a gay crisis? Or—bi crisis?”

“Bi crisis,” Eddie confirms. “I mean—it’s not that, but if it was. It would be a bi crisis.”

“Copy that. Okay, so what’s the crisis?”

“The crisis is that I’m in love with my best friend, and he’s—not,” Eddie mutters. It strikes him then that he’s never said it out loud before.

“What makes you think that?”

“Wouldn’t he have said something by now?” Eddie asks, and Karen looks at him like he’s a little slow.

“Have you said anything?” she asks.

“I—” Eddie starts, and finds he doesn’t know how to finish his sentence.

Karen smiles. “Just dance with him, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t end up dancing with Buck. He keeps trying to talk himself into it, but before he can get all the way there suddenly the banquet hall is emptying out. It’s just him and Buck, now—and Christopher, sleeping in a corner on a pile of spare tablecloths, because he’d insisted he was old enough to stay until the end and proved himself spectacularly wrong.

Buck is going from table to table, making sure none of the guests left anything behind. There’s still music playing—the DJ had gone home an hour ago, but she’d left a playlist on.

Just dance with him, Eddie.

Eddie takes a deep breath. It’s now or never.

Buck looks up when Eddie walks over to him, smiling the soft smile Eddie has only ever seen directed at himself or Christopher.

“Never got that dance,” Eddie says, hoping his voice doesn’t give away the fact that he has spent the past several hours thinking about it.

To his surprise, a blush spreads along Buck’s cheekbones. “No, I guess we didn’t.”

Wouldn’t he have said something by now?

Have you said anything?

There’s a moment where neither of them speaks. Like they’re weighing the options, like they know this isn’t the kind of dancing Buck meant—he’d been talking about a dance floor full of people, safety in numbers, jumping around to something more upbeat.

Then Buck raises an eyebrow and holds out his hand. “You did promise,” he says.

Technically, Eddie thinks, he hadn’t promised. All he’d said was sure. But as he takes Buck’s hand and steps closer, arguing the semantics couldn’t be further from his mind.

Buck is in his shirtsleeves, his jacket long since sacrificed to be Christopher’s blanket. Eddie spreads his fingers along the small of Buck’s back, and his shirt feels exactly like Eddie had imagined back in the church.

The music shifts just as they settle together, going from a soft pop ballad to something closer to a waltz. Buck takes a few halting steps, but it’s clear he doesn’t know what he’s doing.

Eddie huffs a soft laugh under his breath. “Here, just follow my lead,” he says. He steers Buck, gentle pressure on his back, and counts steps out loud until Buck gets the hang of it.

Then they’re waltzing around the empty room, and once Eddie stops murmuring one-two-three one-two-three there’s nothing left between them but a couple of inches of air. It feels like nothing, and it feels like the Grand Canyon.

Buck looks up from where he’d been watching Eddie’s feet. “How come you know how to waltz?” he asks, whisper-quiet even though there’s no one else in the room to disturb.

“There are still things you don’t know about me,” Eddie says, equally quiet.

Buck narrows his eyes like he’s going to challenge that, but they’re interrupted by a door clanging open. It’s a teenager in a catering uniform, one Eddie vaguely recognises from throughout the night.

“Uh, sorry,” she says as Buck and Eddie spring apart, looking anywhere but at each other. “Just, we’re about to close up?”

“Sorry,” Buck says. “We’ll get out of your hair.” The girl disappears back through the door, and Buck turns to Eddie. “You get the kid, I’ll get our stuff?”

“Meet you at the car?”

“Race you,” Buck says, and Eddie grins.

Christopher is sleeping soundly enough that he barely stirs when Eddie picks him up, careful to keep him wrapped up in Buck’s jacket. He makes it to the car just as Buck approaches from the other direction, and they work together to get Christopher settled and buckled in without waking him up.

Eddie doesn’t have to ask if Buck is coming home with them. They don’t talk on the drive, mindful of the sleeping child in the back seat, but there’s a tension humming in the air, the feeling of something unfinished and unresolved.

Christopher doesn’t react when Eddie extracts him from the car and carries him to his room. Briefly, Eddie debates whether he should wake Christopher to brush his teeth, but—the kid’s already asleep, and pretty deep, from the sounds of it. Chances are waking him up now would do more harm than missing one night of brushing teeth.

Besides, he doesn’t want to risk Christopher waking up wired and refusing to go back to sleep. He doesn’t know exactly what’s going to happen when he goes back into the living room, back to Buck, but based on the way Buck had been looking at him in the banquet hall before they were interrupted, and the way Buck kept stealing glances at him on the drive home, he’s pretty sure something is.

And he’d thought he’d be nervous, if this day ever came, but all he feels is excitement starting to build somewhere in his stomach.

Buck is waiting for him in the living room, something like determination blazing in his eyes. “Hey,” he says. “Is this one of those things you think I don’t know about you?” He cups Eddie’s face and pulls him in, closer, pressing his entire body along Eddie’s before finally fitting their lips together.

Eddie kisses back instinctively, wrapping his arms around Buck to pull him closer. He feels simultaneously like he’s drowning in Buck and like Buck is his only supply of oxygen; he wants to keep getting closer and closer until he’s crawling inside Buck’s ribcage.

The need for real oxygen pries them apart eventually but they don’t go far, foreheads pressed together and their heavy, panting breaths mingling.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Eddie asks. “If you knew?”

“I didn’t for sure,” Buck says. “Not until today.”

“What about today?”

“I saw the way you looked at me in the suit,” Buck smirks.

Eddie groans.

“Hey, all’s well that ends well,” Buck says, and leans in to kiss him again. Eddie loses track of how long they stand there in the middle of the room, getting to know each other in this new way, exploring with hands and tongues, marking time in hitched breaths and soft sighs.

When Buck eventually starts steering them towards the sofa, Eddie goes willingly. They collapse in a tangle of limbs, and Buck lands mostly on top of Eddie. Buck’s weight presses him down in a delicious way, and Buck’s every movement sends sparks skidding down Eddie’s spine. Buck wastes no time in taking advantage of his new position, shifting his hips against Eddie’s and grinning when Eddie lets out a noise somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

“Buck,” he hisses. “I’m—it’s been a while, I’m not gonna last long if—”

But Buck just grins above him. “Who said I’m trying to make it last long right now?” he says, grinding his hips in a slow, deliberate move. “We have the rest of our lives for that.”

#buddie fic #buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #this is the buddie at a madney wedding fluff that i have been dreaming of for a month now #no this isn't what i said i'd write in september but the idea materialised in my head fully formed #what was i gonna do #not write it??#shush emma #emma writes

102 notes · View notes

stellar-imagines · 3 years

Text

SCENARIO REQUEST: ❝that's a little dark.❞

[ Fandom: Boku no Hero Academia ] [ Characters: Class 1-A ]

「 Class 1-A with an emotionless reader who gets hit with a quirk that make them turn back into a child along with the mentality of a child. In the end, Class 1-A and then fluff ensues with them basically fawning over a cute shy and easily flustered reader. But, they discover something about you.」

You couldn't remember what you did yesterday but it felt like you had the greatest sleep in your entire life. As your eyes adjusted to the surprisingly bright light, you slowly got up and looked at your surroundings. The place was unfamiliar and for a second, you found yourself rubbing your eyes and yawning. It seemed that you were in an infirmary of some sort but you don't recall going to school or anything. There were bandages around your arms and neck but it wasn't anything new.

"Oh, you're finally awake, my child." an old lady you didn't recognize swivelled around her office chair and hopped off.

"Who are you and where am I?" you asked, voice coming out a bit weaker than you had expected.

She identified herself as Recovery Girl — the nurse of the school and explained what had happened to you. It seemed like you got hit by a quirk in an unfortunate accident which caused you to turn back into a child with no memory of yourself in the future. You didn't believe it until you saw the different technologies and the date on the calendar. Never in your life you had felt so out of place in your entire life.

While the friendly old lady was trying her best to fill you in, the door to infirmary opened and a brown haired girl stepped in. She had has shoulder length, brown hair that's bobbed and curved inwards at the end. The girl looked at you for a moment, her eyes lit up and you could sense the relief in her eyes. She dropped her belongings and rushed towards the bed you had been sitting on. You backed away on instinct, slightly intimidated by how aggressive she was being.

”Where did you get those injuries from!? I thought you just got hit by a quirk on accident!” she exclaimed, looking at the gauze wrapped around your wrists and neck.

”Calm down. You’re scaring the poor girl.” Recovery Girl stepped in before this brown haired stranger did anything to you.

Recovery Girl explained your situation to the girl who quickly understood the situation. She then approached you but this time, she did it cautiously and ensured that you wouldn’t feel uncomfortable nor intimidated by her. After a quick introduction, you leaned that she was Uraraka Ochaco and supposedly one of your classmates. She got down to your eye level and attempted to befriend you. She tried asking a few questions about yourself. You could answer the simplest questions like ones about yourself. However when it came to questions about the times you spend in UA, you shook your head to everything, none of them sounded familiar to you.

Uraraka spoke in a gentle manner that you were not used to and it didn't take long for you to get comfortable around her. She entertained you by telling stories about her life in UA and heroes. The brunette managed to make you smile a bit with her way of storytelling which included a bit of exaggeration here and there along with the occasional hand gestures.

"Uraraka-san? Are you ready to go back to the dorms?" another unfamiliar voice was heard from the entrance of the infirmary. You saw a few heads peek into the infirmary, those you did not recognize at all.

With the help of Uraraka, your situation was explained to the new people that just arrived. It didn't take long for your classmates to gather around you and pointing out how cute you were. Though it was a bit embarrassing to be put under the spotlight, you quite liked the feeling of having so many people care about you. It made you think about how bright the future seemed for you.

You were brought back to the dorms where you met up with your other classmates. Those who knew about your current situation quickly explained what was going on with you to avoid any misunderstanding and confusion. You stood awkwardly at the entrance, fiddling with the hem of your dress and looking down to avoid eye contact. Suddenly, you were pushed forward by an unknown force, falling on your knees.

“Who left their fucking child here?” a scary looking guy glared down at you as you tried recovering from the small fall you had.

”Hey, Bakugou! Mind your language!” his friend whispered at the ash blonde who just clicked his tongue in response.

Their loud voices startled you which resulted in you to hide behind Uraraka's legs as if it was the safest place in the world. You gripped tightly on her skirt, hiding yourself from the people you didn't recognize. Loud voices always made you nervous and scared, it reminded you of your mother whenever she was unsatisfied with your performance. Uraraka let her hand stroke your hair to soothe your nerves a little. Ashido stood in front of the two of you with her hands on her hips, looking like a mother reprimanding their child.

"Bakugou, you're scaring [First Name]!" the pink haired girl scolded Bakugou who seemed a bit confused.

"You're telling me this brat is [Nickname]?" he closed the distance between the two of you with a few large strides. He stared at your for a few seconds to study your face a bit. It didn't take him that long to actually recognize a few familiar features and eventually he walked off, muttering something under his breath.

"I've never seen her like this before!" Uraraka cooed as you continued to hide behind her legs. You were never the type to be in the center of attention and didn't have any friends in when you were young because of how shy and awkward you were. Ashido crouched down and offered you a small jar of cookies that she had found in the kitchen.

"Should we send her home? She might be more comfortable staying with her parents." Yaoyorozu suggested, watching you munching on the cookie that you've been handed to.

"I think its best we tell her family about it this." Iida took it upon himself to pull out his phone and prepare to dial your home.

”Are we all having a sleepover?” you spoke up after being silent almost the entire time you arrived at the dorms.

"I don't want to go home." Everyone stopped to stare at you for a while, some surprised because it was the first time they've heard you since you came back. The girls looked at each other for a while as if they were silently communicating with one another. Midoriya who seemed to be the first one to notice that you seemed a bit uncomfortable, crouched down in front of you.

"You can stay here with us if you want. I'm sure everyone is okay with that." the viridian haired male gave you a gentle smile that made you feel a bit relaxed.

"Do you like having sleepovers, [First Name]-chan?" Ashido plopped down right next to you.

"I don't have friends and mommy doesn't like having me around." you mumbled.

"That's silly. I'm sure your mother is worried about you." Iida replies.

"Nu uh, mommy strangles me like this every night.” you shook your head lightly and wrapped your hands around your neck to imitate someone strangling you. The room immediately grew silent at your comment, clearly unsure of how to respond to your oddly specific comparison.

"Haha, good joke [First Name]-chan!" Kaminari patted your head gently, his laugh clearly a forced one.

"Mommy used to pull my hair too."

You never the friendly type of person to begin with anyways. From the very first day you got into UA, you were quite anti-social, never initiating any conversations or made effort to befriend anyone. However, it was quite surprising to know that you've been abused when you were younger. Almost everyone seemed shocked by the revelation and had no idea how to react.

"My mom gave me this scar." Todoroki crouched down next to you and gestured to the scar over his eye.

”I can’t believe that the only thing closed off people have in common is the fact that they’ve been abused.” Jirou muttered out loud.

"Okay, don't worry! We're all having a sleepover tonight!" Uraraka beamed brightly which made your eyes light up like a Christmas tree. A small smile made its way to your features and you couldn't help but sway excitedly.

"Everyone is joining right?"

There was no way they could refuse those hopeful eyes of yours, not when you have been through so much at such an age. They all seemed eager, suggesting a movie, snacks and games.One particular ash blonde looked indifferent, hands shoved into his pockets as he began to slowly walk away from the crowd of people. The first person to notice that he was making his way back to his own room was Iida.

"Where are you going Bakugou-kun?" the class president had asked as if it was a natural that Bakugou was also supposed to be a part of this so called 'sleepover'. Bakugou glanced over his shoulder, eyes narrowing at Iida as if he had gone insane.

"What makes you think that I will join this stupid—" the ash blonde gestured at whatever was going on.

"But a sleepover is not one without everyone." your quiet voice interrupted, your small hands tugging at his pants. He held his tongue after seeing Iida wildly gesture at him not to be so mean to you. The entirety of the class seemed to be really hell bent on giving you what you wanted.Bakugou felt his eyebrows twitching and began weighing his options.

Sero, Ashido, Kaminari and Kirishima were openly pleading him to stay while some others seem to believe that Bakugou would never want to sit down for a stupid sleepover. The ash blonde gave in, realizing that no matter what he chose, it won't be any different. If he chose to not participate, he probably won't be able to fall asleep from all the noise. And the possibly of witnessing these extras embarrass themselves didn't sound too bad.

"Fine! You guys are so annoying....." Bakugou grumbled. Your eyes lit up at his change of heart and began tugging him enthusiastically towards the common area’s couch.

Why does he agree to the stupidest things?

Total: 1717 words Published: 05.06.2021

Thank you for requesting! ｡٩(ˊᗜˋ)و*｡ We tried our best for this scenario. Hope we reached your expectations! We hope you liked it! ― author Lou

Thank you for requesting it! Tumblr has changed how the asks look and it looks very different. Hope you enjoyed this! ― author Natsuki

Requests are open! Matchups are closed!

Please do not mind the grammar mistakes and typos.

321 notes · View notes

jamilelucato · 3 years

Text

Mine [F.W.]

pairing: Fred Weasley x reader;

summary: Fred suggests the unmissable proposal to pretend to be dating, but will it work?

warnings: fluffy but i know you all love it;

a/n: forgot to mention but the reader can be from any house (if you are one to believe that students from different houses can stay in other common rooms); again, this is for the A Very Harry Potter Christmas (day 8) with @whack-ed

Harry Potter Masterlist || Musical Hogwarts Series

When Fred came to you, three weeks ago, asking for your help, you said yes, because, frankly, it was pretty nice being the one the twins trusted to teach them new rare spells and charms.

However, three weeks ago, Fred didn’t ask for your help with spellcasting. He asked you to date him.

Okay, okay, fake date him. But still dating, so it was a surprise. You gasped for air, unsure of what to say next, unsure of how to continue. You stared at him, involuntarily tilting your head.

And you said yes. Honestly, you didn’t regret it — yet. Fred explained how you two would proceed, and your part came across pretty easy.

You had to smile at him during classes, and toss him notes. He was going to spend more time around you in the library, and you would join him in his and his twin’s pranks. Again, pretty simple stuff.

“And nobody can know?” your whispered echoed in the dark abandoned corridor.

Fred held his wand which had its tip light with Lumos closer to your face. He wanted to be sure you wouldn’t tell anyone about it.

“No one. Not even George,” he whispered back, hoping to sound serious. “That one can’t keep a secret, I’ll tell you that. And he’ll tell her.”

“Her?” you asked before you could hold yourself. When Fred and George asked for your help, and you agreed, you couldn’t ask questions. That was their primary rule, but you were so curious...

“Angelina,” he said her name in a tender whisper and part of you felt jealous. Not of Fred — Godric, no — but of the fact that Angelina had someone like her. And nobody liked you in, what? Forever?

“Is this all for her?” you asked politely, moving your own wand towards the two of you, who, now thinking, were closer than needed in the dim passageway.

Fred gulped. Yeah, he fancied Angelina. George knew. Now, you knew too. But he didn’t like to say it, and he hated when people mentioned, particular because she didn’t like him back.

“So when do we start?” you asked after a moment in silence after Fred refused to confirm he liked the Gryffindor chaser.

Fred’s head rested over your lap while you carelessly ran your fingers through his ginger locks, in one of the opaquest couches available in Gryffindor’s common room.

It wasn’t the first time you two could be found in this position. Although you generally preferred to be the one laying down — you loved when people in general played with your hair —; when Fred walked in you were already sitting, so he was left to be the one to lie down.

Three weeks of fake-dating had gone by, and you couldn’t believe it. At first, the days seemed to be going down slowly, as you had to force interactions with the twin. But after the end of the first week, when Fred met you with the offer to walk around the school holding your hand, the relationship came to be easier to tolerate and the days started going by really fast.

Fake-dating Fred was effortless because Fred was a good friend. That wasn’t much of a surprise — you knew Mrs Weasley had raised her children well — but the fact that he was an exceptional joker and a funny chap was a bonus you weren’t expecting.

He would’ve been a nice first boyfriend if he had been in fact your first boyfriend.

Thankfully, people were buying the relationship with no problem — you even heard Ginny saying it was inevitable. You two didn’t even need to kiss in front of the students for them to believe. Well, you did have to endure some physical contact (like what you were doing right now with his head over your lap), but that was surprisingly rather enjoyable.

“What are you doing tomorrow?” Fred asked all of the sudden after Godric knew how long you two had stayed cosy in front of the fire.

“I’m going to Hogsmeade to buy some Christmas presents,” you answered, looking down to meet his gaze. He seemed peaceful and calm when he had your fingers intertwined in his hair. “Wanna come?” you invited him to enjoy your little trip — a corner of your mind remembering that he was allegedly your boyfriend; therefore, he should escort you.

“Sure,” he smiled, but you were almost sure that it was because you moved your fingers and not because he was much excited to Hogsmeade. “Have to buy some myself.”

George spotted you two in the couch, comfortable together — as he was already used to finding you two — and he joined in the conversation.

“Plans for tomorrow?” he asked, sitting down in the sofa next to your left.

“Hogsmeade,” was Fred’s simple reply. You found it super cool how he didn’t even need to get up to know the voice belonged to his twin.

That was another thing being in a sham relationship with Fred made you improve: differentiating Fred from George. Not that three weeks earlier, you were terrible, but you were undoubtedly not the best one for the job. Now, you had no problem at all.

“Oh, perhaps I’ll see you two around,” George smiled, his eyes meeting yours. You smiled back at him, pleased to know that he still liked you even though you supposedly had his twin’s tongue in your mouth often. George didn’t know the truth, obviously, but even so... You wondered how long would take the twin to found out Fred was lying about his love life. “I have a date,” added George, noticing that he should elaborate.

“Wow, Georgie, how nice!” you kept your smile, this time only shaking your head positively so he could know you were genuinely happy.

Fred seemed delighted too, stretching his neck over your lap for just an opportunity to see his twin without having to get up.

“Good luck,” wished Fred. “Although she can’t be pretty as my girl, I hope yours is at least cute.”

You looked down at Fred, meeting his gaze before nudging his head slightly out of your lap. If you two were indeed dating, instead of pushing, you would’ve kissed him — and, oh, the urge to do so was strong, but you reminded yourself that he was just following his act.

George watched your interaction with joy in his eyes. He was happy for his brother for finally finding someone to utterly understand him — and he had other reasons too, but they didn’t matter now.

“You two are so cute, ” George said, before getting up. Fred hadn’t even noticed that his twin was still there — so much he was distracted with your attempt of being embarrassed. Deep down, Fred was acknowledging that more than often, you were managing to truly distract him from his surroundings.

“I’ll leave you two with some privacy,” said George before finally leaving.

You and Fred exchanged looks again, and then both burst into laughter, not believing George honestly had let that out.

“He seems more romantic,” you pointed out, starting to play with Fred’s hair again.

Fred shifted — you felt his body melt at your touch again.

“Perhaps it’s this new girl, ” Fred shrugged. He came off as unable to care deeply when your fingers ran through his scalp.

“I don’t think she’s much new,” you said, thinking more to yourself how George always appeared to be the more romantic of the twins.

“Which one do you think Ginny would like more?” Fred asked, holding what seemed to be two same shirts for you, who had no basic sense of how to tell Quidditch teams apart.

“Which one is she fan of?” you asked, deciding to not mention to Fred that you were terrible with teams.

Fred sighed. “Both,” he replied, knowing deep down that his sister would like any of the shirts, but he just wanted to get her the perfect one.

“Well, I’d pick this one,” you took a loop of faith, pointing to the shirt with your favourite colour. Fred stared at the one you aimed and then smiled, suddenly realizing you had no idea which team was each.

“I’ll go with your suggestion,” he then said, leaving the other shirt behind and heading to the cashier. You were glad he was over with the Quidditch Supplies store — you really had no interest in being there longer than necessary.

To be fair with Fred, he was being a very charming companion in the Hogsmeade trip, and he had even paid you a hot chocolate mug. Since students were bumping with you two all the time, the dating facade was still up and so, he was holding your hand around the village.

It was probably the first time since the whole thing started that you actually felt nervous about making physical contact with Fred. Perhaps it was because this trip (and the Christmas shopping thing) felt too personal, but you couldn’t be sure.

Well, actually, you didn’t want to be sure. You couldn’t have feelings for Fred — period.

“Did you buy everything you wanted?” you asked Fred, a couple of hours later, because you were a bit tired of walking around, pilling up bags of gifts. But you didn’t want to be the one to admit.

“Huh, yes,” he answered, after checking out the bags he held. “Three Broomsticks?”

Shaking your head in an affirmative, you repositioned your own plastic bags while Fred waited for you, with his hand stretched. You swallowed hard a second before you felt the touch of it — although perhaps the high temperature was the fault of the gloves you both wore.

Why the hell could you feel an electric shock when touching him when there were literally layers of tissue separating both of you?

Fred walked in first, holding the door up for you, and, as you walked in, he offered to take your bags himself. You tried to protest, but he was very determined about it, and you were glad to be free of the extra weight.

It was then you saw George, sitting in a table not far away from the entrance. He was laughing cutely because the girl with him had gotten herself a moustache made of butterbeer.

Oh, and the girl was Angelina Johnson.

“Fred?” you called his name, unsure of what to do, but you definitely needed to take Fred away from there. He looked up from the bags on the floor. “Let’s go back to the castle; we can drink butterbeer later.”

Fred frowned, confused with why you changed your mood. “I’ll grab it really fast, [y/n], don’t worry.”

“No, Fred, I want to go back,” you tried to be firm.

“[y/n], nonsense; why...?” but he never finished his question. Instead of focusing on your face as he was doing before, he focused on what was happening behind you.

And behind you, George and Angelina were having the time of their lives.

“Fred?” this time you called his name in a lower voice, scared of what his reaction. Well, or the lack of it, since he seemed frozen in time. “Freddie?”

The ginger boy shook his head as if he was getting rid of a bad taste in his throat. He finally met your eyes, and although he wasn’t exactly smiling, he didn’t look sad either.

“Sure you don’t want that butterbeer?” he asked, surprising you because or a) he was being very mature about the whole Angelina thing or b) he was hiding his feelings.

“Let’s get out of here,” you replied, not allowing him to suggest anything else since you took most of the bags on the floor and opened the door of the pub again.

If George noticed you two had walked in on his date, he never mentioned.

You didn’t stop walking — and hoped Fred was doing the same — until you were back at the train station and inside one to get back to Hogwarts. Since the trip was quick, trains were coming and going all the time, and with a look at your wristwatch, you knew that the next one was leaving in just ten minutes.

It was only when you sat down that you decided to face Fred again, who, unbelievably still had the same expression on: neutral.

“Okay. Can we talk about what we just saw?”

“My twin on a date?” Fred raised a brow, his expression shifting to confusion, but there was no sign of anger on it.

“Your twin on a date with Angelina,” you corrected the boy, turning your whole body to face him. It was comfy because the bags were no longer in your hands, making every move extreme.

“Oh, that.”

“That, Fred. Aren’t you... angry? Disappointed? Anything?” you asked. You were supposed to be handling this calmly, but his lack of emotion was annoying your guts.

“George’s happy, so I’m happy. It’s that simple, actually,” Fred shrugged, avoiding your eyes for the first time that day.

“It’s not simple. You like her, Freddie,” you stated what should’ve been obvious for him.

Fred sighed, shrinking in his cushioned seat. He had been avoiding that talk, and it was not just since he saw his twin with Angelina.

He has been noticing his feelings for Angelina had changed, but he couldn’t point out how it changed, and why it did. He figured it was because of you, but that made no sense in his mind.

You weren’t supposed to be his type. You were nerdy and an avid reader (and read for fun, which he could never understand). You didn’t know anything about Quidditch, so you stayed away from the sport. You thought long before you acted, which was so different from him, who was always more emotion than reason.

Honestly, he didn’t even understand how he managed to keep his friendship with you for so many years. Of course, Fred was grateful to be your friend — after all, you had a questionable sense of humour that always fascinated the ginger, and even though you were afraid of being caught for it, you never denied help to him and his brother when a prank needed.

He knew that something could change in the dynamics of the two of you when he suggested being your fake boyfriend, but he didn’t think that the change would turn the relationship into something so much better.

Fred stared back at you, having no idea of what to say to you. He was afraid of rejection. And this time his fear seemed more potent than anything he ever felt before.

“I don’t like her anymore,” he simply said, still focused on your beautiful eyes.

His answer confused you. “Well, then why are we still dating?”

You noticed when you forgot to add the word “fake” in your sentence, but you were so done with that word that you shook that thought away.

“I don’t know,” Fred sighed, looking down at his hands over his lap.

You stared at him, not being able to believe the guy. You had lost three weeks for a boy that didn’t know what he was doing? Three weeks that you could have invested in finding a real boyfriend?

Your hands reached for your plastic bags, and as soon as the train stopped, you ran out of it.

“[y/n]!” you heard Fred call you, but you didn’t dare look back.

“Didn’t see you and [y/n] in Hogsmeade. Did you guys leave early?” George asked when he sat down next to his twin in the common room.

He had walked Angelina back to her dorm, and he decided to see if his twin was still around. George was never one to brag, but he really needed to vent to someone about how happy he was that he could finally be with the girl he wanted because Fred didn’t fancy her anymore.

Fred looked up to his other half and pressed his lips tight against one another. If he didn’t tell George, he would find out later, and he wouldn’t be happy.

“We broke up,” Fred simply said, biting his nails.

George’s eyes widened as he stared at his twin and he gulped nervously, not knowing how to proceed. His happiness was suddenly gone.

Fred didn’t get over Angie, and, once again, George would’ve to step away, leaving the path over to his twin. Damn it, George told himself, I really thought [y/n] was the one for him.

“Can I ask why?” George was still holding on to his hope.

“She...” Fred started, but he didn’t know if that was the right way to say it. “I...” he corrected himself, but it still sounded off. “Well, we weren’t really dating.”

George raised his brows. How come you weren’t really dating? Thinking about it now, I never saw them kissing, George reminded himself. But the way they looked at each other, the way Fred melts at her touch... How [y/n] blushes when Fred praises her... You two looked like a real couple for George.

“It was one of my stupidest ideas, but I went with it, and now I’ve lost a friend,” Fred complained, staring at his twin, hoping George had a solution. But the younger twin was as lost as Fred. “I was so dumb!”

“Fake-dating is always a dumb idea,” George pointed out, relaxing once again.

So Fred does fancy her, he though. But he screwed up.

It wasn’t like Fred could tell George the real reason behind why he suggested dating to you, but he could spin around the truth.

“I had a reason behind the whole thing, I just wasn’t expecting [y/n] to become more important to me than my initial reason,” explained Fred, sighing.

“I was. I mean, I would’ve,” George said, making Fred stare at him with confusion. “You always seemed to have a thing for her. I don’t know, perhaps just attraction?”

George saw that Fred was still lost, so he continued.

“Like, did you really need her to teach you Aguamenti for that prank on Filch two months ago? We had just learned it with Flitwick,” George used the first example that popped in his mind. “Or when you wanted to prank McGonagall so she would believe you were Dumbledore — you’re gonna tell me you didn’t know how to prepare a Polyjuice Potion?”

Fred gulped, suddenly feeling guilty. His twin was right — he never needed guidance with those simple spells and potions, but he ran for your help at any chance he had. Only now he knew it was because he wanted to be around you.

He reached for one of the cushions over the red couch and screamed on it. George found the scene hilarious.

“I’m screwed!”

It was the Sunday after the Hogsmeade trip, and even though every cell on your body wished to stay in bed, you knew that deep down you had no real reason to be mad and to feel heartbroken.

Your involvement with Fred was fake, and it was bound to be over from the beginning. You, better than all people, should know it. So there was no reason to stay curled up in bed, moaning about it.

But even if you knew you were bound to see Fred around the school, you weren’t expecting him to be outside of your common room entrance, as if he was expecting you to come out.

“Fred?” you had no idea why you said his name in that tone of surprise. Down, you knew he would come looking for you as soon as he had another prank planned.

His face lightened up when he heard his name coming from your lips. After his long talk with his twin last night, he started noticing you did, in fact, have a strong power over him, one that even you didn’t seem aware of.

“We went Christmas shopping yesterday, and I never gave you your gift,” he said, explaining himself, answering the question you didn’t dare ask.

“It’s not Christmas,” you said, a bit too quickly, “yet.”

“But it’s soon to be,” he raised a brow, stepping away from the wall he was leaned in and handing you a small box.

“How come I didn’t see you buy it?”

“Because I can be very sneaky when I want to,” he smiled. It was so easy for him to be happy around you.

“Hm,” his answer didn’t convince you, but you opened the box anyway, finding a beautiful golden necklace inside.

It had a small pendant on it — an initial, his initial. The golden “F” sparkled in your hands.

“Fred, wow,” the jewel made you speechless — you knew Fred wasn’t rich and you were almost sure that it was very expansive. “I can’t accept it, Freddie — we’re not dating anymore.”

Fred stopped your hands with his before you could return the necklace.

“I bought it for you.”

“It has your initial on it,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, I hoped to mark you as mine,” he smirked, deciding to be bold about the situation.

“We’re not dating,” you said, swallowing down your wish to forget that detail.

“But do you want to?”

His question echoed in the passageway, but thankfully no one was around to disturb. You stared at the ginger, not believing he could actually be proposing what you heard.

“Fred...” you started, reminding yourself not to panic.

“I lied yesterday on the train. Not about Angelina — I do not fancy her,” he explained himself, stepping closer to you. “I lied about why I didn’t end or fake-relationship earlier. I didn’t do it because I couldn’t bear the thought of seeing you with someone else, making plans with another boy, holding hands with another guy.”

You gulped, but Fred didn’t seem ready to stop talking.

“I’ve never been as happy as I was during those three weeks you faked liking me,” he continued. “And being away from you will be the death of me. Please don’t turn the school prankster in the school bore,” of course he had to finish his charming speech with some cheeky sentence.

You couldn’t help but giggle, moving closer to him as well.

“I like you too, you idiot,” you smiled, holding tighter the jewel with just one hand.

“So... we’re dating again,” he smirked. “Only this time, I’m allowed to do this.”

Then, tugging you by the waist, he caught your lips in a kiss that would come to be the first of many.

#fred weasley #Fred and George #fred weasley x reader #george and fred #Fred and George Weasley #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x y/n #george weasley #a very harry potter christmas #harry potter #hp #fred x reader

628 notes · View notes

aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

A Sea of Fragments

Characters: Scaramouche, gn!reader

Word Count: 3,524

Warnings: Swearing, Fainting, Slight Violence

Premise: You just wanted to get away from a situation that was becoming untenable. Knowledge isn’t always a blessing, especially when it comes with the emotional toll of thousands of futures. Unfortunately however things don’t always go well, and soon you find yourself in a peculiar situation.

In which the reader is clairvoyant and Scaramouche takes an interest.

Author’s Note: Okay but I could write a whole series based off this premise. Ahh Scaramouche you petty drama king. Who is also a bit of an ass but oh well.

Scaramouche can be very entertaining to write but also very difficult. It’s tricky writing a romance with him that isn’t in some ways suspect, though I think that when you manage it he can be surprisingly soft. Really I think a lot of it depends on your interpretation of his character. I really like how this turned out though and I hope you enjoy!

You wanted to be helpful, you really did. Helping people, making your gift something more than an odd sort of burden, it gave you sense of purpose; but it was becoming too much. More and more you hardly knew yourself, whether you were living in your reality or in one which may yet come to pass. It was pressing down on you, causing you to spiral. You couldn’t do it anymore.

Stealing out of the village that had been your home since before you could remember, you couldn’t help but take a glance back. The picturesque houses that clumped together glowed warmly, shadows of people visible in the windows. You wished you could help, you really did. But the burden had become too much, and now it was time to go. Taking a deep breath you turned back towards the road. In a few steps you’d finally be free. And if it was a bittersweet kind of freedom, so be it.

_______

“I hardly expected to be dragged out here to listen to the fantastical rumors of a group of farmers.” Scaramouche raised an eyebrow. The Fatui Agent facing him shifted slightly, seemingly uncomfortable with the Harbinger’s scrutiny. Good. He deserved it.

“I understand the sentiment, but this is hardly an ordinary rumor –”

“Then what is it?” Scaramouche’s acerbic tone cut off the man, making it clear that he wasn’t going to be fooled into complacency. What nonsense people believed. That some of those people were members of the Tsaritsa’s elite army only made it more infuriating. Still, what could you expect of ordinary people? How easily they believed their own lies.

“At first we thought nothing about the rumor as well,” the mage who’d been silent for the duration of the conversation spoke up, “we were just planning on leaving it alone. But then the famed fortune teller vanished. They disappeared, despite no one doubting their claims. Rumor is that the whole thing was making them ill.”

“And now I’m to look into this because our little psychic got tired and ran away?” Scaramouche let out a dramatic sigh, pausing just long enough to see the underlings in front of him squirm. Finally, he shook his head. “Ah the things Signora asks me to do.” Standing up from the chair he was sitting in he turned his back on the messengers. “You’re dismissed. Don’t bother me with this again.” There was some shuffling as the Fatui bowed and left. Scaramouche always loved listening to the way people scuttled away after talking to him. No one had any backbone, they all cowered and slunk away, as if that would make him forget them. Well he never would.

Alone he couldn’t help but scoff once more at the ridiculousness of the whole thing. Honestly he expected more of Signora – who could usually be relied upon to possess a little more common sense than the rabble around them. Who would’ve thought her weakness was something as simple as someone pretending to see the future? Really it was quite sad.

“Let’s see what comes out of this little treasure hunt,” Scaramouche mused to himself, grabbing the pack he’d already made up once he’d first heard the rumors swirling around the camp, “they should hope it’s worth my time.”

_______

The village was terribly dinky, as one would expect of a community that was barely above the status of farming commune. Scaramouche wrinkled his nose, overwhelmed by irritating sounds, smells, and sights. How people could live in such a state? It was pitiful, how low humans could sink. Stepping around a cart laden with cabbages Scaramouche ducked inside the leaning structure that comprised the village center. Hopefully he wouldn’t be here long.

Awaiting him was the leader of the village. Her skin was cracked and tanned from the sun, and one couldn’t tell whether her wrinkles were a sign of old age or of the hardship of living a life devoid of luxury. One could almost feel pity for her, Scaramouche thought. Sitting down on the cushion across from her he gestured for her to talk. Hopefully this would be over soon.

“It was six nights ago that they left.” The woman’s voice trembled slightly, there were tears staining the corner of her eyes. “I don’t know why, we never made them unwelcome. They were simply there one day gone the next.”

“Did anyone see them?” Scaramouche attempted to hide his yawn. Usually he kept the tedious work in the lower ranks where it belonged. Still, this was turning into quite an outlandish story the more he heard about it. Apparently you really weren’t some ordinary charlatan, at least not to those around you; some even called you the reincarnation of a powerful spirit or a god. Of course all that might’ve been par for the course, but you refusing all money and gifts was certainly not. What kind of act were you peddling, the Harbinger wondered. Certainly not a very smart one.

“No,” the woman shook her head mournfully, “they lived alone, and often would be out at odd hours of the day, supposedly going to somewhere with less noise and purer air. We all suspected they really just wanted to be left alone. It seemed to annoy them when we asked too much, they often got headaches from it apparently. Once we even had to call in a doctor from the city, after they collapsed mid-vision.”

“I see.” Scaramouche didn’t bother to keep the scowl off his face. What was going on? There was an odd conventionality to this story, and if it weren’t for your roots here and your odd independence he’d certainly be dismissive. And yet…

As if mirroring this thought he raised his hand, standing up and walking towards the door. “Thank you for the information, I’ll be sure to tell you if I find them.”

“Don’t hurt them!” The woman shrank a bit as Scaramouche turned back to her, and he could see her hand trembling slightly as she set it back down.

“Why would you say that?” He said, voice dripping with false sweetness. “Why I wouldn’t dream of doing anything but bringing them home, safe and sound.” He didn’t bother adding anything else, both of them knew it was a lie. For what member of the Fatui does something with expecting anything in return?

Exiting the cramped structure Scaramouche immediately made for the path that led away from the village, out towards the vast wilderness of which folk tales were comprised of. You hadn’t gone far, that he could be relatively sure of. Someone disappearing suddenly like that, taking nothing but a sack full of food and a few weapons? They wouldn’t make it more than a few miles before stopping. Especially since the night watch had confirmed no one had left in the direction of the city. Luckily the Harbinger was more prepared.

_______

The sun had set long ago, and now Scaramouche watched as the moonlight danced upon the only lake in the area. He knew that his best bet was here.

The area was surprisingly beautiful, so much so that even Scaramouche could find some worth in it. The villagers had called it a valley, but really it was more of a canyon, most likely carved out from a glacier, back when gods walked the earth and humans still cowered in their caves. The grass around the lake was so green it seemed surreal, as if it were painted onto the earth, and an cattails and various grasses dotted the edge of the water. A miniature sort of lagoon lay to the north, the dense, low hanging trees obscuring it partially from view. Ethereal was the only way to describe it, anything more would’ve been pretentious and anything less would’ve been somewhat lacking.

The view was so mesmerizing that at first Scaramouche barely registered the shadow dotting the field. Quickly however he regained his senses. The figure was moving quickly, not erratic enough to be without a purpose, not staid enough to be dismissed as a cloud or a piece of flora. No, it was definitely a human, and definitely one who didn’t want to be seen. Smiling to himself Scaramouche leapt into the air. This was going to be at least somewhat interesting.

The figure jumped as soon as he hit the ground. Whirling around Scaramouche knew instantly it was you, the mysterious mystic he’d been looking for. Although, looking at your appearance it seemed more likely for you to be an invalid looking for someone with power, rather than being the source of said magic. The pallor of your skin was ghastly, and though you furrowed your brow and reached for your weapon your eyes were slightly glazed, your movements heavy and unsure.

“Well, what have we here?” Scaramouche smiled as you shrank back for a second. Despite his stature, he knew how to command a room, or a valley, when he needed to. You shook off his theatrics quickly enough though, scowling in response to his declaration.

“If you want me to do something for you, I’m afraid I’m fresh out of visions.”

“Oh? That’s not what I’ve heard. From what I know it seems like your talents never fail you. Unless, of course, you’ve given up on your scheme.” Instead of shock painting your face however you simply raised your hand to your face. Wobbling slightly on your feet you shook your head violently.

“Look, I don’t know what you want from me, but I’m not doing business, not before, not now, not ever. So if you could please leave me alone…” your voice faded. By now Scaramouche was sure something was wrong.

“What? Did you manage to get bit by something during your three day wildlife trip?” He sneered. You didn’t seem to hear him however. Staring him straight in the face the expression you wore could almost be described as a smirk.

“I’m going to faint now.” You deadpanned, before your knees buckled and you hit the ground so hard Scaramouche was sure that it was going to leave a bruise.

_______

Unfortunately the oppressive haze of passing out is much more difficult to handle when one is left stranded with an obnoxious stranger in the woods, a stranger who evidently has no intention of helping you. By the time you’d become properly aware of your surroundings they’d become so foreign as to be barely distinguishable from when you were fading in and out of consciousness.

You knew that you were in a tent, one so grand as to basically be a structure on its own. This, along with the cacophony outside, led you to the conclusion that whoever had picked you up – and you still weren’t sure who that odd purple haired man was, though asshole certainly seemed an apt term – they weren’t working alone. A peek outside proved you right, and to your horror you realized very quickly that not only were they not working alone, but that they were with, if not part of, one of the most despicable groups to ever walk Teyvat.

The hours passed, and the light from outside had significantly faded by the time the man came back, this time wearing something much flashier than before. The hat gave you all the information you needed.

“Harbinger.” You spat, glaring as hard as you could. For his part the man said nothing, only making the ghost of a bow, a smirk on lips.

“Feeling better are we? Really for someone supposedly blessed by the gods you have terrible stamina.”

“Try living through hundreds of fragments of fate and come back to me.” You shot back. Although you’d heard frightening stories of the Fatui, and especially of those who led them, you found irritation to be your main emotion. Apparently even fear can be bypassed if one is disgruntled enough. “What do you want anyways?”

“To see if you’re worth the reputation you’ve earned.” The man sat down on a chair so ornate it was almost comical. He stared right back at you, and if you hadn’t felt so drained you might’ve been uncomfortable. Still, you stood your ground.

“I’ve no interest in showing anything to the Fatui.” You kept your voice matter-of-fact. He was like all those other clients that ran to the village, only more vain and perhaps better with a weapon. Otherwise, well wasn’t he nothing at all?

“I’m not interested in your personal opinions. I have a duty to the Tsaritsa to make manifest her wishes through any means possible, and that might be quite a bit easier with one who can see the future.”

“I see many futures, not just the one that will pass. Besides, even if I could tell you exactly what will happen, I wouldn’t.”

“I could make you.” The man sneered, pupils shrinking to pinpricks. Frustration welled up inside you as you stood your ground. You wouldn’t lose.

“No, you can’t.”

“Why not? Plan on fighting me?”

“I could just wait until you left for your Harbinger duties.”

“I’d tie you up.”

“I’d escape.”

“Would you?”

“Yes.”

“This conversation is getting nowhere.” The Harbinger leaned back in his chair, sighing in what appeared to be mock annoyance. You smiled, despite yourself.

“I very much agree. So, how about you let me go and I in turn pretend that you never neglected to give me emergency medical attention.”

“Who’re you going to complain to?” The man snorted. You just shook your head, smiling morphing into a smirk.

“Who says I’m going to complain? I could just burn down your tent instead.”

“Ah yes, I forgot you’re a vision user, in both senses of the word.”

“Was that supposed to be a joke?” You wrinkled your nose. “If so it wasn’t very funny.”

“I think what’s not very funny is the way this conversation is going.” The man leaned forward once more. “For all your talk, I doubt you could do half of what you threatened, considering you could barely survive on your own for three days.”

“And I think you’re underestimating me.” You replied, continuing to smile as if this was a perfectly normal conversation. “It seems we’ve reached an impasse.”

There was a pause, and as the Harbinger’s face grew cold you wondered if he might storm out. You hoped he would. You wanted to be left alone, to think, to process, perhaps even to look into the future. Not that you tended to look into your own. Divining one’s own path was notoriously taxing, and often it was nearly impossible to wade through the fog of diverging paths.

“Look into my future.” The words took you out of your reverie and you shot a confused look at the person sitting across from you. Seeing the look of suspicion on your face he laughed, and though the laugh was sharp and slightly ugly, it seemed somehow more genuine than the theatrical tone which he’d been employing beforehand. “Look into my future,” he repeated, “and if you see a fragment which is to your liking, then work for me.”

“I don’t work for the Fatui.”

“And I don’t lose an opportunity. Besides,” he raised an eyebrow, “I specified you’d work for me. There’s a difference.”

“Hardly.” You replied, but nevertheless you closed your eyes.

The feeling of falling enveloped you, and when you opened your eyes you weren’t in a tent but rather surrounded by fragments of glass. Each reflected a piece of the future, and as you reached out to look at them you found yourself almost overwhelmed by the emotions they carried.

The first path of the future was one of death. There he stood, bathed in blood, purple eyes glowing with magic, a sadistic smile plastered upon his face. Around him lay the mangled bodies of those you knew he had slaughtered. Sometimes they were warriors, sometimes they seemed to be the most ordinary sort of people. There was a pressure in your ears and for a moment you couldn’t breathe. These futures were dead ones, and their rot now seeped into your skin, filling your throat.

The second path was different, although one would be hard pressed to call them pleasant. In those he was the one who had fallen, eyes which had once been bright now dulled by the shadow of death. A maniacal laughter filled the air in one fragment, a triumphant cry of having murdered a monster; in another fragment there was weeping, and though you couldn’t place who it was the voice sound distinctly familiar. In those fragments you felt an emptiness, and though you knew the tears sliding down your cheeks were par for the course, you were still ashamed by them.

The third path was oddly detached from the rest. You could still feel the crackle of darkness in the air, one who had become a Harbinger would never be able to escape such a thing. But there was something else too. There he stood, staring off into the distance, expression opaque, eyes seeing not the landscape around him but something inside himself. There was the familiar muffled tones of someone speaking – you could never truly hear what anyone said – and he turned around. The ghost of a smile passed his face and he stepped towards whoever was calling him. You focused on one specifically, that in which he seemed happiest. The feeling of contentment, of happiness, enveloped you, mixing with shame when you found yourself staring back at you. Shock running through your system the fragments shook around you, shattering like glass at your feet as you fell back to the present.

“That seemed like quite the experience.”

There was amusement in the Harbinger’s voice, but you found yourself unable to answer him. Breathing heavily you tried to wrap your head around what you’d just envisioned. What in the name of the gods was that? Never before had you doubted your abilities, but now you prayed that you were wrong, prayed to anyone who could hear that you were mistaken. The residual feelings of the shard you’d just witnessed lingered, deepening your sense of unease, of shame. Happiness, how could you feel happiness? This man was a Harbinger, a menace to Teyvat, and you might… you couldn’t even finish the thought.

Wrenching your eyes shut you took a few deep breaths. Leave, you should just leave. Refuse his offer, what could he do? But now you couldn’t unsee the future, couldn’t erase the image from your mind. And though you scoffed at it, deep down inside of you something wished to reach out to that bit of the future once more, to ensure its survival. Exactly why, you couldn’t tell. You could tell yourself it was the horror of the rest of the fragments, but even that wouldn’t be quite accurate. This was the issue with looking into the future. It always ended up affecting the past. Wasn’t this one of the reasons why you’d wanted to leave? Now you’d carry the burden of knowledge with you forever, this one more painful than most.

“Are you going to faint again?” The words were rough but the tone was less so. Opening your eyes you stared into the man’s eyes. Was this what would set you on that path? It seemed so surreal. And yet you knew that it might still come to pass.

“No.” The word came out softer than you’d hoped. “I’m alright.”

He said nothing for a moment, while you in turn calmed yourself down. Finally though he grew impatient. Leaning his head on his hand he spoke once more.

“So, will you work for me?” You glared at him but said nothing. How could you answer it now. You couldn’t tell him what you’d just witnessed, it seemed taboo. Still, the situation had changed. Even if he didn’t know it, it had changed very much.

“Fine.” Your words surprised you, but only for a moment. You’d known, you’d known the moment you’d look into that sea of futures and felt that sense of happiness. It was too late. You’d folded. He’d won.

“Good.” At first the Harbinger stayed still, but soon enough he was standing up, moving towards the entrance of the tent. “I’ll get you what you need. Like I said you’ll be working for me, not for the Fatui, so we can work out the details of your contract ourselves.”

“Whatever you say…”

“Scaramouche.”

“Scaramouche.” You finished. Scaramouche smiled, and in it you saw a ghost of the future.

“And your name?”

“You’ll have to wait to get that answer.” You replied, feeling somewhat contrary.

“As you wish. Well then, mysterious clairvoyant, I look forward to our work together.” Scaramouche replied once more before stepping outside. You sighed, feeling the exhaustion of everything that had just passed. s

You’d taken a gamble with fate, for the future was still uncertain, and the days leading up to it were sure to be full of pitfalls. Still you were resilient. You’d make that future happen. No matter what.

And, if worst came to worst, you wouldn’t be the one crying when the world fell apart.

#genshin impact #genshin impact fanfiction #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #requested #oneshot #my writing

267 notes · View notes

nctsjiho · 3 years

Text

Explode

warnings: there’s 2 swear words in there and it’s a bit angsty this one

❀ There’s some unexplained tension between the 6 youngest members of Dream and JiHo

A bunch of testosterone and very strong-willed men was a recipe for occasional conflicts. Getting into fights with your friends was never fun. It was even worse when that friend was someone you had to work with, live with and see everyday. It happened from time to time that the boys butted heads, but usually it was a very dumb and small problem which got resolved before the end of the day. (Often because other members got involved to tell them their problem was just dumb and nothing worth fighting over.)

This time however seemed like a very different situation. It wasn’t a small fight between the two youngest members about a dance move. It also wasn’t someone who was jealous of another member because they forgot about hangout plans to chill with someone else. No this time seemed a lot more serious. The older boys watched as the room filled with tension. JiHo had just walked in, not even saying as much as a hi or giving a smile. It wasn’t like her and before anyone had to ask anything they sensed the second source of the tension. The 6 youngest Dream members were all sitting together, blank to annoyed facial expressions and most uncharacteristically, not even one of them was talking.

The older boys were all exchanging questioning looks, but it was evident that no one knew what was going on. They even looked at Mark, hoping that if anyone, he’d be the one to know what was going on since he was a member of Dream after all, but alas. He seemed the most dumbfounded of them all.

Taeyong was about to speak up, but before he could one of their managers walked in, ready to brief them on their upcoming schedules.

Once the meeting was over everyone made their way over to the biggest practise room. JiHo had settled on the couch next to Kun and Yangyang, quickly putting her airpods in her ears, a clear sign she didn’t want to engage in any conversation. Since JiHo wasn’t going to talk the older boys thought that they could try prying some information out of the Dreamies. Not wanting to step on anyone’s toes though, they all agreed that Mark should talk to the boys.

He carefully approached the boys who had been talking amongst themselves and sat down in between Jisung and Jaemin. They made some small talk before Mark carefully brought up the subject. “So, did something perhaps happen? With- you know? With-...” Haechan scoffed, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes before standing up and turning to his backpack to find his bottle of water. Mark tried making eye contact with Jisung and Renjun who avoided it as if their lives depended on it. The other 3 boys just shrugged when Mark looked at them with Jeno starting to play with the strings of his hoodie.

Mark stood up defeated and went to report his lack of information to Taeyong. They decided to leave it at that for a little since neither party was going to talk and they still had a long day to go. Imagine what it would be like if their petty stare down evolved into a huge fight.

It had neared 3 pm. The members had been practising for about 2 and a half hours before they got their break. JiHo had seemed to become a lot less tense but Taeyong decided not to act on it yet. He had recruited Lucas, Johnny, Taeil and Hendery to come with him to the convenience store and grab snacks and drinks for everyone with the hopes that it would brighten up the mood and give everyone some more energy for the coming hours of practise.

What he didn’t expect was that on his arrival back at the practise room, a whole bomb would have exploded. Accusations were thrown around, and glares were being sent out. Yuta and Jaehyun were holding JiHo back while Kun, Ten, Mark and Yangyang stood by the Dreamies, Doyoung standing in the middle like some kind of referee. The other members standing off to the side, not wanting to intervene.

You’d might ask why 2 men had to hold a tiny girl back. Well Taeyong was confused as well, until he walked closer to see the deadly stares of the girl. He wondered how the younger boys hadn’t given up on yelling yet, one of those looks in Taeyong’s direction and he’d apologise straight away, even if it wasn’t his fault. JiHo was unarguably the scariest when angry, but the Dreamies were notorious for being stubborn and talkative, not backing down in the slightest.

“-if she would stop talking behind people’s backs!” Renjun had yelled. The boys who just walked in didn’t have a clue about what already had been said prior or what had ticked them off to start fighting right then and there, but their main goal now was to resolve the problem. “Oh what would you know?” JiHo scoffed, but Doyoung came to interject. “What did she say then?” “Why don’t you ask her!” Haechan argued causing Doyoung to groan. “I asked you didn’t I?” “I don’t even know what I did to get you guys so pissed of at me.” The girl was calm. Eerily calm and it send shivers down Jaehyun and Yuta’s spines who were standing next to her.

“Sure you don’t!” Haechan chuckled, not that he found it funny, he just couldn’t believe JiHo was feigning innocence right now. She rolled her eyes before turning around and walking over to the couch in the back of the room. She plopped down on it and pushed her head back against the back of the couch, her hands coming up to slowly massage her temples.

“Can someone explain-” “How dare you call Jisung a fake maknae and talk bad about him behind his back?” Jaemin had finally spoken up, his voice low. This comment shocked everyone. No way JiHo did something like that right? But before they could say anything Haechan fired another comment. “And say how Mark shouldn’t be in Dream anymore, because you’re just jealous that you’re not in Dream with us.” “Yeah! It’s not our fault you’re not getting any songs-” “What the fuck did you just say? I dare you to finish that sentence Renjun.” JiHo stood up from her seat, malice lacing her every single word.

“Wow wow wow- Guys I can’t imagine JiHo saying anything like that. It must be a misunderstanding-” Doyoung said before he once again got interrupted by the Dream members. “It’s true! We heard her say it!” Jisung said, his voice starting to crack as tears brimmed in his eyes. “JiHo?” Doyoung looked at her with hopeful eyes. “Please let this be a misunderstanding.” He thought. “Is it my fault that I didn’t get any songs to promote then?” JiHo asked, looking at Renjun, completely ignoring the question.

“Is that what’s important right now?! Jisung is crying for goodness sake! And it’s all-” Chenle started yelling but Mark silenced him. “Why would I argue about something that isn’t true?” The girl said in almost a whisper before turning towards Renjun again. “So? Is it my fault? Jaemin here gets to perform Work It with Jisung, Haechan and Jeno have 90s Love and Haechan sings From Home with you and Chenle. You guys also have Déjà Vu. Yes, maybe I’m not as great of a signer as you, or as great as a dancer as Jisung, or as great as a rapper as Mark. Maybe it’s because I’m a girl. Maybe it’s because I shouldn’t have been in NCT in the first place. But is it my fault?” Her voice was so steady and calm, causing everyone in the room to become quiet.

They all stood there for a minute, before a sob leaves Jisung’s lips. Everyone turns to look at him, but JiHo turns to grab her phone and bag planning to leave. “JiHo, wait-” “I never. ever! Said anything like that about Jisung. What you probably heard was me telling Johnny how I’m feel like the fake maknae of NCT 127. How I felt like I, NCT 127′s maknae, am just a silly excuse for an idol, and how I took Haechan’s place, while he’s 100 times a better fit for the role than I am. Oh! And that about Mark, I never said he shouldn’t come back to Dream. I was talking about how worried I was for him to join another unit because he already is in almost all of them plus SuperM. I was talking about the unit Lee Soo Man has been planning for 2021. Who would I be to tell him what to do and not to do? And yes maybe I’m jealous of you guys, but I’m not the kind of person to go behind someone’s back and talk shit. But if that’s what you think of me please go ahead.” JiHo said before putting her belongings in her bag. “Also Jisung? Thanks for trusting in Haechan so much, saying that you all ‘heard me say it’ when it was only Haechan there eavesdropping on my conversation with Johnny. I’m really happy that knowing you for all these years has build this much trust between us.” She scoffed sarcastically.

As JiHo walked out of the room she got stopped by Taeyong. “JiHo, we still have practise-” “What’s there for me to practise? I’m not in any songs anyway.” She pushed herself through the boys at the doorway before making her way to the dorm, supposedly.

With JiHo gone the boys had looked over to Johnny who sighed deeply. “I don’t wanna say it, but you guys really messed up. Everything she said was true. She was only talking about herself, she never mentioned Jisung, besides when she said she was proud of him.” The comment had sent all the Dream members over the edge, their actions finally sinking in and the severity of their accusations very clear now.

They had never meant to be so hostile towards the girl, but when they thought she had been talking badly behind their backs about one of their members, and definitely since they thought it was about Jisung, they couldn’t help but get furious. They had such a close bond and felt protective over each other. Jisung had taken the news of JiHo badmouthing him very poorly and that sparked protectiveness over the youngest from the other members. But now that they found out about what was actually said they all felt sick to their stomachs. How could they have said such awful words to her when she was already talking badly about herself? And out of all member Haechan felt the worst. How was he ever going to make things right again? What were the consequences for his actions? And how bad were they going to be?

---

Part 2

#jiho.writings #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct dream angst #nct dream imagines #nct dream scenarios #nct female member #nct extra member #nct additional member #nct angst #nct additions #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

272 notes · View notes

mostlydysfunction · 3 years

Text

From The Stars, Part 9

Summary: Kira moved out of town for isolation and peace and quiet. But that quickly gets turned on its head when a spaceship crash lands not far from her house and a strange creature decides she's its new queen. Luck had never been on Kira's side, but things are going to get a lot worse for her as she's forced into this new role and everything her new alien subject thinks it entails.

Warnings: Lying, shady parents, some hinted at violence at the end.

Authors Note: Again, this has been up on my Ao3 since like February. Link is in my masterlist if you prefer to follow there and get updates sooner. There’s going to be only a couple more parts to this one however, so might not even matter.

MASTERLIST

Kira watches the SUV roll down the hill and into the lake. It’s cloudy, the moon and stars covered, bathing the trees in darkness. Kira’s only light is from the flashlight in her hand, aimed at the SUV currently sinking in the lake. She won’t move until it’s gone under completely, not wanting anyone to see what’s happening.

Two months ago if you had told her she would be standing in the woods in the middle of the night sinking a federal agent’s SUV in the lake to cover up their murder by her alien babies, she would have thought you were insane. But now she felt nothing. Her babies needed to eat and it was just unfortunate that the Feds happened to be the first to show up.

Kira waits until the bubbles have stopped before turning, making her way up the hill and back to the road. It’s a bit of a hike back to her house, the air cold enough she can see her breath fog in front of her. Her mind goes to her children and if they’re warm enough in the barn. Her alien hadn’t shown any signs of minding the cold, but her children were obviously different than him, and she can’t help but wonder if they can tell the temperature difference.

She feels a sense of urgency as she gets closer to her house, hating being apart from her family. They were her family now. Her children, their father. She doesn’t understand the relationship between them, she doesn’t even know if it’s biologically possible for her to love an alien. Humans could feel emotions towards animals, inanimate objects. Emotions including love. Who’s to say it’s not possible to feel the same for an alien lifeform she has no communication with who had forcibly impregnated her with his eggs. Maybe it’s only the oxytocin talking, the immediate motherly instinct she had felt over her babies that was drawing her closer to her alien. Or maybe it was because around him, she felt safe.

Kira opens the door to her barn when she returns to her property, quickly closing it behind her as her babies run up to her. They’re hip-height now, growing faster than she thought possible. All eight of them surround her, bumping her gently with their heads. She smiles down at them, patting them each on their smooth heads. They let out content little cries, warming Kira’s heart. Her alien approaches her, nudging her gently with his own head. She gently strokes its elongated head, leaning against him.

Her eyes drift closed, her brain buzzing with energy. She focuses on it more and finds she can see with her eyes closed. The barn looks distorted like she’s seeing out of a fish-eye lens. The colors are darker, not quite as vibrant with her own eyes, but she can hear every small sound wave bouncing off the walls. She can hear something speaking, not words but a sort of idea in her mind. She can feel her eight babies around her, all of them like strings connected to her mind.

She wants to lose herself in the sensations, bury herself in them, and never come out, but her phone vibrating in her pocket snaps her out of it. She pulls away from her alien, her brain reeling for a moment before she centers herself back on Earth.

“I have to take this. I’ll be back.” She says, backing away from her babies and her alien.

She leaves them in the barn, heading back towards her house. She looks at her phone. She doesn’t want to answer, but she knows she has to.

“Hello?”

“Kira? God, I thought something had happened to you! I was going to come and check on you but...you sounded so sick when we talked last and then you weren’t answering.”

Kira feels a pang of guilt in her chest. “I’m sorry, dad. I was on some heavy meds. It was some kind of viral thing. Wiped me out for a few days. I didn’t even think to look at my phone. I’m doing better now though.”

“That’s good. That’s...really good.”

“Do you want to come over? Catch up a little?”

“Yes. That would be great.”

*********

Kira sets the cups of coffee on the kitchen table before taking a seat. Her dad looks old. Older than the last time she saw him. He’s had something on his mind. She can tell by how messy his hair looks. He would always run his fingers through his hair repeatedly when he was thinking hard. Her mother used to joke he’d go bald from doing it one day. Now that she looked at him, Kira can see his hair is thinning. There are dark circles under his eyes and he looks about as bad as she does, but she doesn't think he birthed alien eggs days ago.

“Kira...I’ve had a lot on my mind recently. About you. About this place.”

Kira sips her coffee. It’s scalding but she can’t bring herself to care. She hums in response, letting him continue.

He runs his finger in a circle around the rim of the cup. It’s an old habit. It means bad news. “You’re all alone out here. I shouldn’t have left you out here by yourself. But...your mother...I just couldn’t...”

Kira reaches out, putting a hand over his. It feels strange to her, to touch human skin again. She almost doesn’t like it. “It’s okay. I know.”

Her dad stares into her eyes for a moment, taking her in. “There’s so much she wanted to tell you. She begged me to tell you, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I couldn’t face the truth. I didn’t know how to tell you. I wasn’t sure you’d believe me.”

Kira frowns, her stomach churning. She doesn't like his words. “Dad...what are you talking about?”

He sighs, taking a long drink of his coffee, staring out the back door. “I remember it like it was yesterday. Right out there. Where the roses are. It used to be hydrangeas before...before you arrived.” He runs a hand over his face. “God, I should have told you this years ago Kira...”

“Dad...you’re scaring me.” Kira’s hands are shaking as she sets her coffee cup down.

Her dad turns back to look at her, holding her gaze. “You’re not ours.”

Kira’s body goes cold at his words, a strange feeling running through her. Her whole life she’d been told they were her parents. This was her dad sitting across from her. And now...

“W-What?” She pulls her hands into her lap, squeezing them into fists to stop them from shaking.

“We don’t know where you came from. Well...we sort of knew...” Her dad glances back out at the garden before looking at her again. “Kira...you fell from the sky.”

Kira can’t say anything. None of it was making sense. Her brain was buzzing, churning, his words seeming like a foreign language. Thankfully he doesn’t wait for her to respond.

“It happened almost twenty years ago. It was almost dark. Your mother was outside planting tulips on the other side of the garden. I was making dinner. Grilling, like I used to. Everything was quiet like it gets out here, but then...the sky exploded. Blew the windows out, it was so loud. Came down in a ball of fire right into your mother’s hydrangeas. I thought it was the end of the world for a moment, but then...your mother was always so quick to act. Put the fire out with the garden hose. I thought it was some kind of meteor, but once the flames died, I could see what it was. It was...some sort of space pod. We tried and tried to get it open, see inside. Eventually, we managed to pry it open and inside...You couldn’t have been more than four years old. Teary-eyed and sucking your thumb. You looked so human.”

He runs a hand down his face. Kira can see the tears in his eyes.

“The feds were on us almost immediately. I wanted to turn you over to them, but your mother refused. She knew what would happen to you if we did. So we hid you. Made up some bullshit story. The feds didn’t believe us, but we were insistent.”

Kira’s mind begins to work at high speed. The visits from the feds suddenly didn’t seem so strange anymore.

“You were so human in every way. Almost every way. You never got sick. Kids always got sick but you never did. You could bend metal with your bare hands and you could hear things miles away. Your mother taught you to control it. She was better at that than I was. I made it my job to make you feel as normal as possible. She dealt with all the...strangeness. That’s why when you told me you were sick...I knew something had to be wrong. Something was going on. You’ve never been sick before.”

Kira clenches her fists tighter, taking in her father’s words. She had arrived on Earth in a spaceship? She supposedly had superpowers? He was right in one thing...she had never been sick before. She just thought it was a good immune system. But apparently, it was something else. Something more.

“Kira...please say something.”

“I don’t...” Kira bites her lip, breathing deeply. “You expect me to believe that? That I fell out of the sky in a spaceship and...I’m supposed to be what, Superman?”

“No, it’s...” Her dad sighs, looking down at his coffee. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me. I wanted your mother to tell you from the beginning but...she thought it would be best...if you thought you were normal...”

Kira stands from the table, unable to sit anymore. “Bullshit. I call bullshit.” She makes her way to the back door, looking out at the roses. The place she supposedly crash-landed on Earth. “You had an affair, didn’t you? I was never my mother’s child and you couldn’t live with that so you made up some bullshit story to hide it! That’s why you couldn’t stay!”

“Kira, you know I would never have...”

“I don’t know anything anymore.” She clenches her fists again, glaring at him. “I don’t know what’s more unbelievable. The story that might be true or that you would spew some bullshit to try and hide something else you did to fuck up.”

“Kira, I loved your mother!” Her father stands from the table, knocking over the chair. “I loved her more than anything. But we couldn’t...” He takes a deep breath. “We tried. We tried so many times. She wanted so badly...but we couldn’t. Then you fell out of the sky like an answer to our prayers.”

Kira feels tears prick behind her eyes. The story is starting to sound not so fake the more she thinks about it. She had an alien hiding in her barn with her babies she had birthed after mating with him. An alien that had crashed to Earth and found her and chosen her. If she was also an alien...it would make her new reality not quite so strange anymore.

“Kira...I’m sorry...”

“I want you to leave.” She says, her voice shaking. She hates it. She turns back to face her dad. “Get out. Go home. Don’t come back here.”

Her father stares at her brokenly for a moment before grabbing his coat and heading towards the door. Kira stays where she is until she hears his car door shut before heading out to the barn. She’s shaking by the time she reaches the door, slipping inside quickly and closing the door.

She takes a few steps into the darkness before dropping to her knees, tears falling down her cheeks. She’s overwhelmed, not knowing what to believe or even what to think. If the story was true, then so much of what had happened made perfect sense. But if her dad was lying to her to cover up something else...either way he had lied to her. He had hidden the truth about her for her entire life. She feels anger bubble up inside her.

Her children are by her side in seconds, snuggling up to her. She reaches out to them, touching them, solidifying herself in reality. She should have died. She had carried eight eggs to term and birthed them. She had lost so much blood...too much blood. But here she was, mostly healthy with no medical help. She had never been sick a day in her life. She had managed to tame an alien simply with her presence. She had seen what he was capable of. He could have killed her instantly that night, but something about her had stopped him.

Maybe she was alien.

Kira is on her feet as soon as the barn door slides open. It hits the other side with a slam, the shadow of her father standing in the doorway. Her heart leaps to her throat, the buzzing of her babies loud in her ears.

“Kira...what the hell?”

“Dad...you should have just gone home.”

#xenomorph #alien #xenomorph x human #xenomorph x oc #from the stars

76 notes · View notes