#i think the thing what chains me to him is what he refuses to accept the cards he was given | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arabellasleopardcoat · 10 months

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Canvas of imagination (Daemon Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: On the eve of Rhaenyra's wedding, Daemon decides the best gift he can give to the father of the bride is a dreamer. A shame said dreamer does not seem to share the joy of the occasion.

Warnings: Kidnapping. Period typical misogyny. Violence. Unflattering depiction of characters (You might hate me for this)

A/N: Remember please, Daemon is an unreliable narrator. Here is where things start to get dark. I researched genetics for this and ended up really insecure. Read the previous part here.

There are many ways of silencing women. Murder is, of course, one. It’s not an elegant solution, but it is an effective one. It ensures the victim takes her secrets to the grave. Daemon likes to think himself more elegant than that.

There is, too, the possibility of a ruined reputation. But that strategy is one that is only effective towards women of a certain standing. You can hardly ruin what are already damaged goods, and a bastard certainly counts as damaged goods.

Daemon still could chuck you off Caraxes mid-flight. Yet, it does not seem like a good idea, either. Each one of your servants saw you get chained to his saddle. Not even Viserys’s intervention could save him from the angry mob of commoners that would await his return to the Vale.

Besides, he likes you there, mounted on his dragon. For once, quiet, too scared of screaming and disturbing Caraxes. Daemon likes the lack of noise, but he likes your presence much more. It would be foolish to silence a dreamer forever.

You need other kinds of chains. To tie you to him. Silencing you, when he does not want to hear. One often used for Targaryen women.

Marriage. A Bronze Bitch for another. But not exactly, is it? Not if you can truly see the future.

Perhaps this was meant to happen, then. As a way of honoring his ancestors. Grabbing a pretty maid, one with Valyrian gifts and…

Well. Children are another kind of chain, right? He is still not sold on the perks of bedding you. You are wrong. Too dark, too different. Nothing like Rhaenyra, and slightly older than her. But Daemon knows the children you will birth him will be strong. The gift on you is, after all.

To be able to look so far into the future speaks of a power unseen before. Targaryens have not been blessed by many dreamers in the last generations, and the few times they were, their gifts were fickle and weak. Not far enough to allow them to see further than days. The last time someone was able to look further was in the age of Aegon the Conqueror.

It must mean Valyrian descent. Nothing else is an acceptable answer. Even if you don’t look it.

Daemon mounts behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. You feel soft in his arms. Perhaps bedding you will not be as bad. He had been afraid that you would be like Rhea. Those inquisitive eyes of her, the body as hard as the body of any man. They were not features he enjoyed on a female partner. It always turned him off.

It was not that he had refused to consummate the marriage. He wasn’t able to bed her, the awful bitch. Not only were her features off-putting, but her attitude. She was constantly trying to sit on his hips, push him down, and he couldn’t stand it. Daemon felt trapped. Emasculated.

He had to chase the shame, the powerlessness away, somehow. That was how he got started fucking whores, collecting maidenheads. It was much better when women were maidens. Easier. He likes the contrasts, Daemon has realized. Half women, half children are always more entertaining to play with.

You are not Rhea. You feel different in his arms. Your body is soft, all sweet limbs. There are no harsh muscles on your arms, and you smell like fresh baked pastries. Rhea always smelled of horse.

You are a girl, not a warrior like your sister was. Yet, you share her wild spirit. All the delicious curves of womanhood are already formed, a delicious pair of tits and hips that could drive any man to insanity.

Your parentage is a bit more undesirable, though. As the daughter of a whore, your innocence could be sullied. Daemon would have to ask if you were passed around when younger. He doubted it, but just in case. If you had not, bedding you would be the most fun he had in years. Open-minded, hot-blooded, but pure. It was not often you found that in a woman.

You try to squirm, but are too well bound. Getting too comfortable for his liking.

“Soves. ” He orders. Caraxes obeys. You shriek in terror, and Daemon hugs you harder against him. That, too, he likes. The helplessness, the honest reaction of someone who was denied her birthright. The amazement, once you settle down and notice that Caraxes will not drop you.

Riding Caraxes is always a thrill. It’s even more thrilling when he has a captive audience. There is something about it that does it for him. Showing others the might of true Targaryens always makes him proud.

He wants to show you all the things you have missed, being born of a whore and a Royce. It’s clear you don’t belong here, among the bronze piles of the Vale. You belong with him, on dragonback. And no one is taking you away from him.

The servants, your servants, according to the Bronze Bitch’s will, can only watch as the dragon rises in the air. No one dares deny Targaryens anything, not when faced with the truth of their strength.

Daemon perches his chin right on top of your head, so close his chest is flush with your back. Your screams do not bother him. You might be terrified, after a life spent living on the ground. But Targaryens are born to be in the skies. You will get used to it.

“Oh, Lady Cuffs, you have much to learn.” He kisses your temple, once you have screamed your throat raw and finally quieted down.

The first time he had ridden Caraxes, Daemon had, too, screamed until his voice gave. He had thought back then, like many Targaryens did, that if his egg didn’t hatch, he would get no dragon. The moment is clear in his memory. Heart beating loud in his chest, screaming commands in High Valyrian, and the absolute certainty that Caraxes was going to burn him to a crisp. Then, as he came down from sheer terror to amazement, he understood why his egg didn’t hatch.

It was a lesson. To take what he wanted, what was his by right. Targaryens were conquerors, not whiny children. It was what had got him thinking about Lady Laena, in the first place. The amount of confidence one needed to claim a dragon that big, it spoke of a power within.

Not as yours was, of course. You may lack the confidence, but you had power in spades. Dreamers were often like that. Or they were supposed to be, according to his studies. Daenys had been. A fragile little thing, scared of shadows and set on leaving Valyria behind. It had been what saved them, in the end.

Daemon wonders what it must be like to be haunted by terrors in your sleep. Some real, some imagined. How could one possible tell the difference between the two? It would lead a fragile mind to insanity.

What had it done to you? Seeing your sister’s death, thinking it a nightmare, and then watch it come to life in front of your eyes?

Fear. Horror. A cornered animal reaction, wanting to fight an opponent that could crush you like a bug if he so wished. Your loyalty to Rhea was commendable, though.

The thought of you having to go through that makes him uncomfortable. Something about the death of a sibling upsets him. Viserys. Oh, Viserys. Can’t live with him, but can’t live without him, either.

No. He needs a distraction. He is not willing to go down that road now.

“Dracarys!” Daemon screams, fighting to project his voice over the wind. As expected, you flinch and let out a tiny scream. He hides his smirk in your hair. He wonders if you would squeal like that when he took you.

A bit of fear makes for a better fuck. Lovers tend to turn pliant in the face of pain. Women's cunts flutter delightfully when choked. And you are already so responsive.

“This cannot be happening.” You mutter, under your breath. Your voice sounds small and confused. Lost. “This defies all the laws.”

“Targaryens have married sisters before,” Daemon speaks over your ear. Despite knowing that's not how dreamers work, he can't help but taunt you. It's amusing to him, how you struggle and huff. “You must have seen this already. You will make a good wife, in time.”

“I am not a dreamer!” You scream, and if he could see your face now, he would bet you are scowling. It matters not, really. Whatever you say. You would do anything to get him to let you go.

Daemon knows the truth. He has done his investigation about you. It would be no good, if he were mistaken and presented Viserys with something less. His good gesture would be ruined.

You would earn him his forgiveness. Daemon is willing to share you with Viserys, if that's what Viserys wants. He wants to keep you, so Daemon wouldn't gift you to him. But share you? It's a good gesture to show the honesty of his words.

Let it not be said that Daemon Targaryen is not humble in victory.

“Deny it all you want.” Daemon turns a finger over the middle of your back, making you shiver and try to move away from the touch. Oh, such a fierce spirit. A shame it's wasted, with how well you are tied to the saddle. “You have some Valyrian blood in you.”

“I do not!” You scream, and tilt your head to the side to glare at him. You have pretty eyes and the most enchanting nose. Closer to a goddess than a woman. How can you not be a Targaryen?

Your hair is the wrong shade. So are your eyes. But most of the time, First Men features overpower Targaryen ones. Dammed your father. Useless rat, that Yohn Royce. But at least he had given him you.

“You will birth me silver haired babes.” Daemon can do the math. With you being half Valyrian, the odds of you giving him what he wants are higher. He places his hand on your stomach, sneaking it behind the apron and touching the soft linen dress you wear.

Daemon imagines what it will be like, to see you swell with his child. The skin over your womb is warm and soft. You are young, closer to Rhaenyra's age than his. You look healthy and strong. A good environment for a child to grow in. And by the look of your bosom, you would produce good milk, too.

The thought makes him suddenly hungry. His cock twitches in interest. Ah. Good to know that your coloring won’t bring forth the same performance issues Rhea’s had.

This time, you squirm harder. Your ass rolls against his hips. Daemon rolls his hips against you, delighting in the friction. "Oh, you temptress.” He laughs.

He can't wait to have you, pinned under him and forcing you to take and take until his seed breeds true. How you would struggle, hips trying to escape him before surrendering to the sheer pleasure of it all.

“You are disgusting!” You buck against him, all wild mare. You have yet to be mounted and it shows. He bets once he does, you will be all sweet. Daemon is not cruel enough to deny you the pleasure. But you seem upset, and so he tries to reassure you.

“Just think, how strong, how true our children will be. With the blood of Old Valyria, flowing through their veins.”

It seems like the thought is not as reassuring for you as it is for him, since you start tearing up. He will have to tread more carefully. It’s clear your time with the Bronze Bitch has affected you. Perhaps, too, growing up in a whore’s house. You must have some strange ideas of women not needing marriage, or men, to lead their lives.

It was good, that Rhea got you when she had. You could have been sold or auctioned like any other woman. Taken up the profession of your mother. But you hadn’t. He knows it by the way you flinch, when he trails his hands over your ribs, when he presses his lips to your temple. Whores are used to touches like those. They melt into them. Not you.

“I’m not Valyrian!” You scream, trashing. Daemon smooths your hair down, tenderly. Perhaps this will soften you, he thinks. Many bastards share the longing for learning about their origins, after all. You should be no different.

“Your mother was, though.”

“What? No, she wasn't!” Your shrill tone makes him flinch. Gods, what a pair of lungs you have. And you are so set on disguising your origins, too. As if Daemon can’t tell. As if he can’t recognize one of his own when he sees them.

“I asked the servants about you.” He squeezes your shoulder, trying to sound encouraging. He wonders what it must be like, to carry so deep a shame you are set on denying the obvious. If Daemon had been born of a whore, without his Targaryen blood, he would be ashamed too. “They said you bathed every day. Only whores do that. And you don’t keep male company.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Your voice comes out high and questioning, confused. Oh, his poor, sheltered girl. Thinking your behavior was normal.

“You must have learned it somewhere.” He brushes his thumb against the shell of your ear. It’s a tiny thing, and soft. You give a sweet shiver, and it confirms his suspicions. You have not been touched in such a way before. Not a whore. Only the daughter of one. "Your father was said to frequent a brothel in King’s Landing, one that I’m well acquainted with. They only have Valyrian stock.”

You splutter, and whip your head to the side. You are not allowed much movement, with your binds. But gods, you try. The sliver of your face he can see is twisted in righteous anger. Similar to when he confessed to finishing the Bronze Bitch.

“Stock? How can you refer to women like that!” And it comes out so righteous, so fierce. His little warrior. Yes, it’s clear he is right about your origins. No one else would launch themselves in such a passionate defense of whores. A shame, he can’t seem to resist to riling you up.

“Oh, I have much lovelier names for women. I called your sister the Bronze Bitch.”

You let out a fierce little scream, now bucking and twisting and shifting, trying to get any kind of retribution for the slight. What a joy you must be in the sheets, all that unbridled force and passion, turning into a single objective. You just have to learn to aim it right.

“Don’t you dare speak of her like that! She is the most…” And you choke up a sob, realizing that Rhea was, not is. You do not speak the words, curling into yourself like a scared child. Hurt and sad for the first time since he took you.

“Was.” Daemon says, very quietly, and this time he is unable to distract himself from the thought. Daemon thinks of Viserys, of how angry he would be were someone to hurt him. No matter if they had parted in anger, no matter if they had not spoken a word.

He hugs you to him. You fight him, at first, but then you are sobbing too hard, too panicked to do anything about it. He presses a kiss to your nape. Even in tears and sweaty with your efforts, you smell perfect. All sweet pure maiden.

Eventually, your body sags. Daemon wonders if you accepted your fate or merely fell asleep. He doesn’t ask. The rest of the ride is uneventful. You wake up, later on, squirming in your bounds before sagging in defeat. No more words are exchanged between the two of you.

Landing is quite the interesting experience. Lyonel Strong, wearing the Hand's brooch. Next to him, stands the Kingsguard and a couple of Citywatchs.

“Is that a serving girl?” Crispin, Chris, whatever his name is, asks. He must think himself so sly, muttering under his breath.

“You were vanished.” Lyonel deadpans, eyeing you with vague interest. You scowl at him and tug on your bonds, again. Admirable persistence.

“Ah, Lyonel.” He gets off the saddle and carefully unchains you from it, making sure that your hands remain bound. Daemon keeps a tight grip on the chain from your cuffs, as he pulls you down into his arms. You kick and scream. The Kingsguard look vaguely concerned, but the gold cloaks don't even blink. They had been his men a few years back. They are used to such things.

He is not getting any younger, Daemon realizes. With you, he might need to get a better training regime because he is winded from the struggle. It's almost thrilling. You will keep him on his toes.

Daemon addresses Lyonel once again, dragging you forward.

“Summon Viserys, would you? I have something to show him.”

Good thing it’s not Otto Hightower anymore, or else he would have been detained on the spot. Lyonel is slightly softer to him, too honor-bound to let his personal feelings get in the way.

“Another of your whores?” The man asks, face unchanged. He would look at ease were it not for the way he is pressing his lips together in a grim line. No doubt remembering the Mysaria episode.

You keep struggling, rubbing your poor wrists raw. Daemon will have to tend to that later.

“Help! Help! Please!” You plead to Lyonel, once he is close enough. His lips twitch. Ah, the Strongs. Always ready to jump in rescue of a fair maiden. Your cries seem to be weakening the resolve of the Hand, and Daemon can’t have that.

Daemon places a possessive arm over your hips, showing you off. The possessive gesture will distract Lyonel from his rescue attempt, he is sure. No one gets between a Prince and his lovers, willing or not.

“No, actually. This time, the Lady is still a maiden. Although she won’t be much longer.” He smirks.

You flinch, your whole body tensing under his grip. Lyonel looks torn. He can’t order Daemon to let go of you, as for all he knows, you are but a serving girl. If you were a Lady, what he is doing might mean war. No one here cares about commoners.

Surprisingly, your rescuer is another. The dornish knight, jumping in, without the bow of his commander or the Lord Hand.

“I’ll go get the King, Lord Hand.” Good gods, what were they teaching the dornish these days? Not an ounce of respect on that one. He was getting too cocky for Daemon’s liking. He might have unseated him, but he lacked manners.

Daemon glares at Lyonel. Lyonel glares right back. The Kingsguard square behind Lyonel, menacingly, but the City Watch remains undecided on the side. Daemon grips your cuffs harder.

Crispin, Chris, whatever, comes out again after a few minutes, with an aggravated looking Viserys. You start shrieking, again, and trying harder to escape. No one pays you any mind.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you again.” Viserys says, but his eyes crinkle. He has cooled down. Daemon lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He still has everything to play for. Forgiveness is on the way.

“I think she might earn my forgiveness.” He tugs at your cuffs, bringing you slightly forward. You scowl, fiercely. “A gift, brother.”

“You come to offer me a whore? You are insane. Or drunk. Or both.” Viserys arches an eyebrow, but takes a good look at you. Daemon can’t blame him for it. You are a pretty thing, young and healthy.

Despite someone who claims offense at being offered a whore, Viserys surely looks interested. He steps closer to him, trapping you between them both. It’s Viserys, in quite the bold move, who tilts your chin up with a finger. You snarl at him, bucking backwards and right into Daemon’s chest.

“Careful. She bites. Special breed, from the Vale. All bitches.” And it’s not even funny, but it makes Viserys laugh, and that’s all that matters to him. Viserys’s laughter prompts the rest of the sycophants knights to do so as well. Only Lyonel and the dornish man remain disapproving.

“I’m quite busy at the moment, brother.” Viserys steps back, giving Daemon a long look. Unable not to twist the knife because otherwise they wouldn’t be related, he adds. “I’m in the middle of planning a wedding.”

“Ah. Congratulations are in order, then. Think of this as a wedding gift to the father of the bride.” Daemon pushes you forward, and then, insistently, to kneel. You resist, impudent little thing that you are. He pushes harder, until you kneel in front of Viserys with a sullen expression. “What better omen for a marriage than a little dreamer?”

Viserys goes suddenly serious, the hint of a smile at his antics long gone. This time, when he looks at you, his eyes are much more searching. First, to your hair. Then, your eyes. Then, to his face, incredulous.

“If this is your idea of a joke, Daemon…”

Daemon gives him a look. He would not joke about it, knowing how much Viserys has longed to be connected to that side of their heritage. He never understood it. Dreams were a powerful tool, but could be hard to differentiate from just nightmares. And what had made them conquerors had not been dreams, but dragons. That had been the part that interested him.

They had talked, once, of sharing a woman. Back when they were much younger, much less troubled. He tried to let that shine in his eyes, too. This was not something he was keeping to himself, it was a gift to his brother. If Viserys asked, Daemon would say yes in a heartbeat. Anything to make him happier. To protect him. Your dreams might not get him another kingdom, but would help keep Viserys safe and secure Rhaenyra's claim.

The silence stretched. Then, Viserys, looking absolutely fascinated and dumbfounded, stepped aside.

“Inside the throne room. Anyone else, leave us!”

As the guards scrambled to obey, Daemon tugged you inside. Viserys entered the room first, and grabbed the chain, as Daemon made sure to close the door after them. Working together with a fluidity not seen since the days of their youth.

Daemon smiled. Not even a day in your company, and you were already fixing things in the way he had wanted you to.

Viserys let go of your chain, eyeing you with quite a bit of precaution. All for naught. Instead of attacking, you tried to flee. Daemon grabbed you, and spun you to face him.

“You say she is a dreamer.” Viserys sits down on the throne, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

“She is. The bastard sister of my newly deceased wife.” Daemon can’t help but boast. He is proud of finding you. Of the smile that has formed on Viserys face. “You know how it was. Yohn Royce and his precious Silver Dragon.”

“Lady Rhea is dead?” Viserys frowns. Still, he doesn’t look too upset. Perhaps a bit angry, but Daemon knows he will forgive him for it. What is the murder of a woman no one loved to the acquisition of a dreamer?

“He killed her!” You scream, unable to help yourself. Ah. Curse him, he was mistaken. Someone loved the Bronze Bitch. But it didn’t count. You were her sister and she had rescued you from a brothel. You were morally obligated to. It didn’t count.

“Shut up, little girl. I didn’t.” Which, yes, he had, but it would be better to give Viserys plausible deniability. Safer that way.

“Yes, you did. I saw.” You grin at him, menacingly. Daemon arches an eyebrow. It seemed your nap had given you the energy to be defiant. Again. Good gods, you were like a child. Having to be put to bed, pacified, taken care of. On and on the list went. Daemon was not sure that he was ready for the responsibility of parenting a recently legitimized Targaryen. Your manners were atrocious, and you were so young and so soft.

Rhea had taught you nothing of use. Perhaps to read books and ride horses, but it was clear she hadn't hardened you as she was. You had no idea of politics or respect for your King. Soft. Sheltered. A blessing in disguise? Or a curse?

“That will be a problem, dreamer or not.” Viserys interrupts. It’s clear what he means. Daemon has to fix it. Because the Seven forbid Viserys is the one to get his hands dirty. He likes to believe he is above Daemon, in that sense. That he has some sort of morals that go beyond caring for Rhaenyra.

He has not. His tastes are the same as Daemon's. Fire and blood and all that came with it, but with the delusion of having some great sense of morality.

“Give her to me. The Bronze Bitch left her everything she had. I can keep the Vale and the little girl in line.” Daemon quickly says, ignoring your indignant yelp and trashing. “I’ll marry her.”

“Allow you to own a dreamer?” Viserys raises his brows, looking doubtful. “Don’t you think it’s too much? If she truly is one, of course…”

“Show him, Lady Cuffs.”

You remain in obstinate silence. Daemon feels the urge to scream. Clearly, the Royce genes ran strong because Seven Hells you were infuriating.

“Didn’t you say you could keep her in line?” Viserys taunts, amused. Oh, if Daemon could, he would spank your pretty arse red from that defiance. Little brat that you are, it would be a fitting punishment.

He can’t do much more, not without endangering you. Neither Viserys nor him are experts on dreamers. They have been oddities during the history of their house. Their lessons on them were far less detailed than on dragons.

The upkeeping and care of one would require research. But some things are clear from the start. Dreamers shouldn't be hurt. Or too traumatized. They might get nightmares, and that would make their powers wane.

Daemon needs to scare you into thinking he will hurt you, but not actually do it. How to scare you into compliance and punish you, but not hurt you? He looks at the Iron Throne, and suddenly, an idea sparks into his mind. You are, in many ways, a child. And a man is allowed to discipline his wife.

Daemon unsheathes his sword, making as much noise as possible. You flinch, clearly recognizing the sound. He bangs it against your vulnerable behind, making you jolt forward and yelp. Not only it must have hurt, but the sound echoed in the throne room. You turn to look at him over your shoulder, surprised and a little teary-eyed. Viserys smiles.

"Answer his question. Properly." Daemon orders. You look between him and Viserys, clearly unsure. He gives you a few moments, but when you are taking too long for his liking, Daemon raises his sword again. The words nearly tumble out in your haste to speak.

"I… Your wife. Aemma, she held on to you and begged you to not let them cut her. You held her down. Monster.” You say to Viserys, now openly crying. Daemon blinks. Now that was something he didn’t know.

Viserys’s anger at the “heir for a day” comment is suddenly framed in a new light. Guilt. The fool. Daemon would never do something like that to you. A dreamer is too valuable of an asset.

“Something more pleasant.” He orders, swinging the sword. You try to dance away from the hit, but you are unable to. You give another cry.

“You have a dagger. With Aegon’s dream. And the Lady Alicent visited you in your chambers, wearing one of her mother’s dresses, after Aemma passed.” This time, Daemon keeps a close eye on Viserys’s face, instead of you. His face is slack, jaw hanging open. Apparently, you are telling the truth. He wonders what other seedy secrets about him you know.

Daemon raises his sword, ready to hit your bottom again.

“That’s enough, Daemon. You proved your point. You can marry her.” Viserys says, voice shaky. He is clearly overcome by what you know and by the methods needed to extract the information from you. Viserys is about to give you to him. He has realized he will not be able to handle you.

Daemon doesn't mind. To be kept safe, every King needs someone willing to get their hands dirty. He has done much worse, and that was not even in the hopes of protecting Viserys and Rhaenyra.

“No, no, no…” You protest, pitifully. Your whole face is streaked with tears.

“Thank you, brother.” Daemon answers, smirking. Never has he felt more victorious. He gives another slap to your behind, this time with his hand. Viserys nearly smiles at your indignant shriek. “Oh, Lady Wife, no one asked for your opinion.”

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faroreskiss · 6 months

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Triforce of Mischief

Summary: Chain sees that you have a particular tattoo and chaos is the only reaction they have, since language barrier is definitely a thing. Time & Twilight freak out. Wind could have spoken sooner.

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Since this can also be read as a stand alone story, I didn’t include Hylian, or the dialects of the Chain. If you are interested in that, feel free to visit the main story that can serve as a prequel to this short! (Not edited)

Following your departure from the Ordon Spring alongside the other boys, you journeyed toward the Ordon Village. Most of their conversation still didn’t make much sense to you, but at least you learnt a few words here and there on the way, especially from the Smith and the Sailor.

The midday weather was brisk, even though the sun shone at its peak. You had a similar attire with your travel companions, a relatively long sleeved tunic that sometimes revealed your wrists if you were to raise your arms. Yours had wider arm-cuts, but felt like they weren’t thick enough for this kind of weather. A slight shiver ran through you, which Link fortunately noticed. He paused and offered you his signature cloak, to which you politely refused multiple times (at least you motioned it somehow). His attempt to offer warmth made the fangirl within you scream in delight, but you kept declining. You blushed slightly and finally accepted even though you knew you weren’t that far from your destination, wrapping yourself in the warmth it provided.

You thanked the Golden Three that you had been on hikes with him on Mt. Lanayru regularly before your involvement with the other Links; otherwise, you did not think you could survive all this hiking. Thinking about having to climb the ladder to the Rancher’s treehouse already made your legs wobble.

Though you could swear that the Ordon Spring waters calmed your nerves and eased your inner storm for a little bit.

Luckily, you were almost there. The wooden arch that said… something in Hylian (probably ORDON?) took your attention. Oh you were so excited…

[And that’s me,] the Rancher spoke as he pointed towards his treehouse. This was really like the game, nestled in a secluded corner near the entrance of the village. You didn’t understand a word he said, but you could see near the tree there was a brown mare simply grazing around.

And what a sight she was. You couldn’t help yourself as you whispered “Epona…?” to yourself and walked towards her as if you were in a trance.

Of course, you didn’t notice the Old Man raising his eyebrow or the Rancher also hearing you. You stopped in your tracks, then watched the Rancher go towards the horse instead, petting it and saying something to it. He made eye contact with you as he was caressing her nose, and motioned you to come over, you guessed.

“May I?” you asked, and even though the language barrier was still present, the Rancher gave a warm, friendly nod. As you approached Epona, her deep, soulful eyes locked onto yours, and it felt as if she understood the reverence in your gaze. With a gentle, careful touch, you began to run your hand along her sleek, chestnut mane, marveling at the silky texture beneath your fingers.

[Epona] he said, as he gave an apple to her. You just smiled, pretending to hear it for the first time and repeated her name.

Epona seemed to appreciate the affection, and she leaned into your touch, her powerful frame radiating warmth and serenity.

As you continued to pet Epona, your sleeves slipped down to your wrists, revealing a set of three small triangles on your skin. The right one was filled in with black. The Rancher and the Old Man both noticed this mark, and although they didn't say anything, they exchanged knowing glances.

When everybody finally settled in Twilight’s cabin, he lit the fireplace. His cabin had an air of rustic charm, filled with a cozy warmth that welcomed all who entered. The walls were made of weathered wood, lending the space a natural, earthy ambiance. The cabin had lanterns that hung from sturdy wooden beams overhead, which you imagined would cast quite the gentle radiance, once lit.

The Chain kept talking between each other, though you didn’t understand much. Wind was all the way up, lost in his world. For some reason, really interested in Rancher's books.

You took off the cape Wild lent you and gave it back to him, since it started getting quite warm inside. You already had another layer under your long sleeved tunic, so you took the upper layer off as well, now sitting with the others (you secured yourself a chair at least) in a short sleeved shirt. Time and Twilight were still casting glances at you.

“What?” you stretched as you pointed the pointless question towards them. Not that it would change anything…You saw that Sky also managed to get a chair, and he was already kind of looking like he was about to doze off. Maybe you should have followed suit…

[Champion, you are sure Y/N does not have anything to do with the Hero’s Spirit or any sages?] Time asked Wild. He seemed quite perplexed by the question.

[Or is she part of the royal family perhaps?] Twilight continued.

[Uh, no? Why?] Wild replied.

You just closed your eyes as you listened to them speak. It felt like listening to an audiobook in a language you didn’t understand, as a sleeping aid. Though you had a strange feeling that they were talking about you.

Legend and Hyrule were definitely listening in, though the former pretended as if he couldn’t care less, even though his ears definitely perked up at the mention of the royal family.

[You mean the mark on her wrist?] Sky chimed in instead, to your surprise. The others seemed surprised that he was way more perceptive than he looked.

[What mark?] Four asked and then Time & Twilight explained the mark they have seen on your wrist.

The volume of the chatter was increasing, slightly annoying you. Wild gently poked your shoulder to see if you were awake, and you opened your eyes. There was no way you could sleep in this noisy environment.

He pointed at your left wrist, gently touching your arm after checking in with you, and motioning you to raise it. The whole room was staring at your Triforce of Courage ink now.

Oh, right…

“Guys, it’s just a tattoo,” you tried to explain to no avail.

It is hard to explain things when people literally don’t understand a word you say.

You could see Time & Twilight & Legend & Warriors and Sky comparing their faded Triforce marks on their hands, and Wild & Four looking confused about the whole thing.

[I mean, I did say I sense some residual magic on her, but that’s definitely not what I was sensing,] Hyrule was saying as he glanced at your tattoo.

[Members of the royal family don’t randomly get the mark of Triforce on their wrists, not unless they are Zelda at least,] Legend scoffed. Wind seemed to be not paying attention, still busy with Twilight's books upstairs for some reason.

[Well this is certainly odd, I never thought much about the mark, though we had other matters to attend to… But… What is Triforce?] Wild kept questioning, though he seemed to have forgotten that he was still touching your shoulder from the side. You sighed. It was fun at first, but now it was getting quite boring that you didn’t understand anything. Though it wasn’t that hard to guess…

[Yeah I was about to ask the same thing… I just thought that’s the symbol of the royal family or something?] Four added, making the rest of the group look at them in disbelief. Sky seemed especially distraught.

The bickering continued for a while, and you kept thinking about how to explain this to them. Weren’t these people familiar with the concept of a tattoo? Of course, why you had something like that was another matter, but excuse you for wanting to get a Zelda-themed tattoo and considering the fact that you might end up in Hyrule?

Hmmm, what if I just show them something similar instead, to try to explain?

You sighed, stood up and walked towards Time and Twilight, while the group's curious glances still loomed over you. Right, these two already had some markings that were like tattoos, so you thought it would at least be a good parallel.

Right after you pointed at your tattoo, you pointed towards the Rancher's face first, specifically to his markings. He had a confused look on his face, which quickly became an expression of horror, which seemed to have spread to some others in the group.

Wait…

[Farore above…]

What in Hylia's name was going on? That sounded grim, along with some others.

Next, you moved to Time, who was already sitting next to him. You mumbled a quick "Sorry…" for invading his personal space as you blushed, hoping he didn't mind. He was as stoic as one could get, you hoped he wouldn't somehow grab your wrist or something.

You also pointed (almost touched, really) to his marks on his face, before you pulled back and pointed towards your tattoo again.

"It's just a tattoo, why do you all look so judgemental suddenly?" You almost screamed in protest. You tried to make the motion of drawing the shape by yourself. Even tried pretending as if you have a nail and a hammer, and as if you are drawing on a skin.

I don't think tattoo pens exist here…

Time's eyes widened. The atmosphere in the room was even worse.

[How…?!] he said in shock.

You realized a little bit too late that it wasn't the smartest decision to point at his Wolf markings and Time's Fierce Deity Mask markings and then to yourself.

Because Twilight and Time kept speaking with each other, with Legend and Hyrule chiming in, the others watching you suddenly with suspicion, with Wild going between you and the others almost in a defensive stance. It was getting heated. Oh Gods…

Meanwhile, the Sailor finally decided to come down with a huge grin on his face, earning even more scornful looks from the others.

Then he started laughing.

Little rascal.

He knew.

He knew yet he did not step in until the last minute, pretending to browse the books and maps up there instead.

You sighed almost in relief as you watched him try to explain things to others. At least, you assumed.

It was quite clear that these were the heroes who held the Triforce of Courage, and not Wisdom.

How could anybody not think of tattoos and just jump to the worst conclusions instead?!

But you were sure, the Sailor was especially deserving of the Triforce of Courage, since he dared to wait until the last moment instead of coming clean right away.

____________________________

It was only months later you found out what was said, and that there was an agreement to never ever mention the incident again.

"I knew what it was right away," Wind smirked at you, after he explained what happened on that day. "We have a few people in the crew with some sick ink!"

Sure, you understood that there was some residual magic they sensed on you.

But… Was it really your fault that they immediately thought you could both be associated with twilight magic and Fierce Deity at the same time? Come on, even for this universe, it sounded cuccos.

"Having that symbol tattooed is quite a choice though," Four gave you side eyes.

You just shrugged.

Wind could have interfered earlier.

Little shit. If it existed, he would have gotten the Triforce of Mischief instead.

Back to Masterlist / Back to the Power of Understanding

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achillesmonochrome · 10 months

Text

Peni Parker Headcanons

There are multiple snacks in her robot, in different compartments; she insists they are for her but in reality, she keeps so much variety for her friends.

Her sleep schedule is basically nonexistent; she would hyperfocus on a project for whatever hours her energy drink can keep her awake and then pass out for days. She spends so much time indoors on labs she normally has no concept of time.

Noir was the first spider she found when she crashed on Earth 1610 in ITSV; they helped each other navigate Miles' New York since both of their universes are different time periods and they were confused as heck. They ended up becoming close for that reason.

Noir sees Peni as an adoptive daughter and Peni sees him as a father figure, but neither of them had admitted that to each other. Noir doesn't want to come across as crass by suggesting being her father when she lost her biological one. Peni doesn't want to make things uncomfortable by forcing that role on him.

Uses she/they pronouns.

She is also bi, this was her awakening

Super embarrassed about it though, so she is planning to keep that to herself to her grave.

She needs to be in her suit at all times in the Spider Society. Mostly because of the different halls that need the spider to be upside down or at an awkward angles. However the first few days she refused to show her face because she continued to be flustered.

"Why all the spiders around my age are attractive!? Here I am being an awkward plain twig around runaway models."

"Oh don't say that, you are cute sugarplum."

"Noir you are making me sound like a little kid."

"Come to think wasn't that guy Gwen brought with her an ex-runaway model-"

"SEE!?"

"Thanks for that B."

(Since they have the same name, Noir calls Peter B well, B.)

Peni went to see Noir first after she got her watch, then shortly after went to see Ham with Noir. Noir and Ham aren't part of the organization (Noir said he didn't the like way Miguel was running things once he heard about it, and Ham didn't vibe with the idea either.) She visits them regularly though.

She likes to give Noir cute colourful key chains when she visits; Noir actually has them on a cork board on display.

Current events in Peni's timeline had made her try to lean more on the Spidey side of things, dropping less and less frequently on her own universe. Noir has tried to mitigate this, but Peni interprets it as him not wanting to be around her. Noir also doesn't have the details of what happened to Peni either.

She actually has her own room in Noir's universe. Is technically the guest room, but Noir has actually worked his best to make it homey for her and would rather give up his own bed that let people get in "her" room without her permission. Peni is unaware of that last bit.

She has a MASSIVE crush on Margo, it all started with her going to the help with the go-home machine and feeling the most comfortable with Margo since their time periods are similar enough.

Peni actually is very insecure about herself and her position as a spider person. Even if she was accepted into the Society, she feels kind of left out because everyone else can stick to walls, super healing, as well as other array of powers; while she only has her psychic link to the spider and a robot.

That's another reason why Margo and her connected so well; she understands not feeling special enough considering her Spidey persona is an avatar, while she is a regular human too.

She is fairly close to Gwen too, while neither of them likes to be too vulnerable, they both understand what losing people and having complicated feelings about your home dimension. They may or may not talk about their crushes, hard to say because both of them deny it.

Edit:

Indeed Gwen later would also insist a big part of the reason she did it was because of Peni.

That's it for all, I didn't think I had that many but that's how it always starts.

#atsv #across the spiderverse #peni parker #margo kess #SPdrByte #gwen stacy #noir spiderman #peter b parker #itsv #into the spiderverse #spider ham #peter porker #spider byte #sp//dr #spider woman #spider gwen

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ladyelissarose · 8 months

Text

————————— 🧼

“That’s your fault... for underestimating me.”

After you and Soap were sent on an undercover case, the unfortunate happened which was being compromised.

Now it has you escaping on the run while Soap (unbeknownst to you) got caught and tied up.

Soap was tied up in a chair as his greatest enemy, known as ‘The Silencer’, walked around him and let him listen to the last words he’d probably ever hear.

“You see.. your little friend is lucky she got out, no one will perhaps never find her or know who she was. But.. how selfish of her to not make sure you came along before I stole back your ass.”

Anyone could’ve called you selfish for what you did, but Soap never would, for threatened you to run, and not look back, regardless of the cost. It was a dangerous mission and you gave it your all, almost getting shot a few times and risking everything about you for him throughout, it was the rightful thing to make sure you made it out safely this time.

If anything he felt pride for you, he always would as he loved you too much in your eyes, but not enough in his opinion.

This mission in particular had brought you closer than ever, from strangers to the best of friends, platonic soulmates according to Price, you’ve even seen one another butt-ass naked at one point (after a certain situation you both put one another in)

Everyone thought you two had a thing going on, but in all reality.. you too were just very close. Although now, you might not ever get the chance to go onward with anything if there was ever something.

Even though Soap felt a deep fear for his life as it was most likely going to end, a sense of hope flooded him at the thought of you making it out safely. Or so he thought, but how stupid of him to think you’d take your chances selfishly.

‘Ting Ting Ting’

Soap’s breath hitched as he turned to look at the large screen that was beside him, watching how a small light ticked and informed there was someone incoming. His mind told him who it was, but his heart refused to accept the fact. Blood draining to his feet he muttered in disbelief,

“No no no... she’s comin’ back f’me.”

“What was that?”

The Silencer dropped his gaze from Soap and moved his eyes to the screen, feeling instantly rigid at the thought of someone not giving the fuck up, but revenge along with wickedness took over as he smirked,

“This is going to be fun to watch.”

Soap couldn’t help but anticipate that the Silencer was up to something deadly, hence making him begin to bargain and plead for mercy, for the sake of your life.

“Ay? Listen mate, she’s a good lass, she has nothing to do with this.”

Dragging Soap’s chair to the middle of the room the Silencer only spoke mockingly,

“Yeah yeahhh- but, I’m a man that takes no chances with anything good. And I don’t let by-passers go either.”

Soap began to thrash around in his chair, straining himself against the tight chains as he went on regardless, the pain of the thought becoming evident in his tone,

“No! Please, I’ll give you anything- just let her go. Let her turn around and go back.”

A low rumble of a chuckle followed after Soap’s desperate pleas,

“Nope.. can’t do.. you see, you hit me hard Johnny.. and I hit back harder.”

The Silencer grabbed Soap’s chin for a moment to look him in the eye, and let him know he was serious and not going back or easier on his evil plan.

Tears began to prickle in Soap’s eyes as he saw the end before his eyes, knowing you’d be on the receiving end of it, while he couldn’t do anything.

Soap’s heart beat out of his chest as he watched The Silencer speak into his radio and bark out, with the coldest demeanor,

“Don’t let her truck come a second closer... light it up on my call.”

“AYE!! No, please le’ her live- do what you please with me just le’ her go home!!”

Nothing held him back from screaming out your name, hoping some God heard him and spared your life, he even hoped that you’d be able to hear his cries, maybe- just maybe you’d rethink it all and go back to base, inform them team, and come recover his body.

But as he watched the screen he could see you approaching closer, you were on a new mission to rescue him, and he almost hated you for it, but he couldn’t... not when the truth was, you were doing the wrong thing, for the right reasons.

But from the bottom of his heart anyways, he wished he had never met you, believing that maybe if he hadn’t you wouldn’t be here, dying because of him. What a waste of such a beautiful jewel that Mother Nature created, all for her to just die and go back to her, and not spend her beautiful life alive and well, being the bright light that not even the sun could beat.

More aggressively he began to cry out and move in his seat, the chains imprinting themselves on his skin as he pushed and pushed. The Silencer let out a low chuckle, watching this Scot watch his best friend die, knowing he couldn’t save her, and knowing that he’d be next.

You didn’t know what lied ahead of you, but you took your chances to save your best friends life, the one you had grown to utterly trust and love more than anything.

From the beginning, after he truthfully promised he’d be your protector and true, best friend, you swore you’d give your life to him, for him. You had gained a lot of respect for the man, love even.

You faithfully made it your duty to make sure he lived through the night to the next day.

And just like today, you’d make sure he made it back, even if you didn’t.. you made that kind of promise, he didn’t. But that was ok with you, you had nothing to lose but him, and you’d prefer you go before he did if it came down to that tragedy, which is has.

Soap couldn’t even cry as he watched the screen, and see the tiny red dots representing the incoming targets coming your way, ready to blow your truck up, ready to take your precious life.

His world, life, breathing and heartbeat, just about stopped when he heard the dreadful signal, coming from a monster’s lips,

“Light her up, now.”

“NOO!!!”

BOOMMM!!

No wonder the enemy was called, ‘The Silencer’… for a heavy silence filled the room, it was so heavy it could sit on your chest and kill you, steal your last breaths.

Soap thought being heartbroken by a random woman he chased, was the worst feeling ever, realizing she never loved him.

But no, loosing his other half, his best friend, just about ripped apart his heart, stabbed him deeply, because you were never coming back.

The Silencer huffed out in pleasure, as he patted Soap’s chest,

“I’ll let you sulk in the pain, later I’ll come and take it away.”

Footsteps were heard sounding farther and farther away from Soap, as The Silencer walked away, promising to return soon and complete his word.

Being afraid of death wasn’t a burden anymore, but more like something he desired now, because you were gone.

Why live anyways?

If he couldn’t wake up the next day and know you were waiting for him with the breakfast you’d share, or show up to training knowing he’d pick you to be his partner every time, do the ‘secret lucky handshake’ before missions, steal and hide Price’s cigars along with Ghost’s gloves, go through punishments together for you’d both refuse to confess who did it, shower last so you two could be next to one another’s stalls and gossip about everyone you did and didn’t like, and lastly, sleep on your separate cots yet have them impossibly close for comfort.

Life wouldn’t be his favorite same anymore, so why beg for a life he doesn’t have any longer?

Minutes passed, and Soap had started to doze off, hoping he’d die in his sleep, but ringing sounds in the distanced disturbed him, it sounded like quite the racket, which shook him wide awake.

BANG!!!

‘Fuck this is it-‘

“SCOTLAND FOREVERRRRRRR!!! Dunnndunnndundundundunnnnnnn!!!!”

Using your long rifle as a supposed trumpet, you let out the most atrocious sounds trying to mimic the Scotty’s homeland theme music. You felt like shit and your heart was still beating out of your chest from the fear you felt while heading back into hell’s mouth and killing every single soul in your way, but you covered it up with some humor, if not you would’ve started balling your eyes out with wrecked sobs.

And you didn’t want to cry right now, there would be time for that later.

You took a second to breathe in deep and in that short moment you heard a soft sniffle from a figure in a chair, their mohawk was enough to tell you who it was,

‘Maybe someone couldn’t hold in the tears..’

“Soap? Hey hey it’s ok.”

You dropped the act and immediately ran to his side, heart sinking in as you beheld his teary blue eyes and pouty lips.

The fear he must of felt was definitely far beyond yours, and the relief was emotional to take in, hence his soft cries.

Wanting to get him out of his restraints you moved quick to do so, but he pleaded, making you halt,

“Hold m’first please... I nee’ it.. need to feel ya here.”

“Oh.. ok yeah, yeah.”

Bringing him into an embrace you held him tightly, cradling his head close to yours as you carded your fingers through his mohawk. Feeling his body shake and his tears soak your neck, melted your heart while you kissed his head and reassured him,

“It’s ok Soap.. you’re ok.”

He let out a curt sob as he admitted,

“I was scared.. thought he killed ya lass.”

You sighed through your nose deeply, relief flooding through you at the realization you were just as alive as he was.

“I jumped out of the truck before he blew it, it bought me time to run over here unseen while the guys went to check out the truck… I actually shot that Silencer dude through the skull too, it was pretty cool.”

A soft chuckle escaped his lips, it sounded so genuine and rich, you felt it on you, his warm breath hitting against your skin... he was alive.

“You’re crazy lass... but thank you.”

“I got you anytime. Let’s go home now yeah?”

Pulling away while he nodded yes, you kissed the corner of his mouth and smiled with sympathy, such a tough man like him can get scared too sometimes, and you’d be there for him in every way, and love all of it- him.

Soon after his restraints were loosened, he threw himself into you again and held you tightly this time, practically squeezing the life out of you.

“Thank you lass, I owe you.”

Sucking in as much as you could to speak you croaked out,

“-ah you owe -e nothin’-“

Hearing your suffocation he let you go quickly and patted your shoulder, watching you heave a bit.

“Oof, sorry.”

Chuckling you grabbed his shoulder and began to walk yourselves out,

“It’s alright.. It just shows me how alive you are... and happy to see me.”

A smile made it onto his lips as he admitted sheepishly,

“I am lassy... though for bedtime or showertime you’ll have to go over what the heck happened back there-“

Swinging your arm around his shoulder and pulling him close you chirped,

“Oh believe me I will, but first let’s get on the chopper Price brought and eat some biscuits too-“

Soap pulled onto your waist and halted you unexpectedly,

“Wait.”

Hands landing on his shoulder, chest almost pressed up to his, your eyes looking up to his baby blues, you asked,

“What’s the matter? You can tell me..”

Why’d you have to look so... lovable all the damn time, making him blush and question whether or not he should risk it or save it? Risk for something new or save your friendship?

“Ahh, lass listen.. well- no it’s alright- mmph!”

You had pulled on his vest and crashed your lips onto his, giving him no chance of escaping what he wanted as you planted a firm chaste kiss, letting a ‘pop’ sound when you pulled away, oddly breathless for such a short kiss, but you were even surprised at your boldness.

“Never back down never what?”

Soap gave you a smirk showing disbelief, nonetheless the scoffed,

“Never give up.”

Wrapping your arms around his neck and standing on your tiptoes you nodded approvingly,

“Fucking rig-mmphhhh...”

Soap snaked his arms around your waist and pulled you closer for another kiss, lifting you slightly off your feet to get an extra feel of you on him, he needed it, he needed you.

In between kisses you both confessed your long untold love,

“I -ve -u lass.”

“- love -u too.”

And in sync you both had squeezed tighter, letting out soft moans of relief and satisfaction.

————————

Gaz in the distance with Ghost.

“Should we...”

“Absolutely-.”

Price stepping in and holding onto the two,

“Not, let them be for once. It’s about time boys... we all saw it coming. Let’s go clean up this mess while they catch up now…”

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 2 months

Text

🗡️ Something Dread, Something Red: Chapter Thirteen

Something Dread, Something Red: Stuck in a proposal to a Marine Commodore, you escape minutes before your wedding in one last ditch effort to avoid getting married to a tyrant. Barely making it to the port of your town, you stumble across a ship just starting to leave and beg for passage off the island. You fail to notice that the people you beg for help, are pirates.

Warnings: Injuries, Wound Care.

To Note: “Red Haired” Shanks x FemReader

Word Count: ~3.1k

Previous | Masterlist | Next

You had your arms crossed and a slightly agitated look upon your face as Shanks and the men headed off to do their next ‘pirate thing’. Of course you weren’t allowed to go, they all said they didn’t want you to be exposed to their pirating… but that didn’t mean you were happy about being left behind. That left you playing with the ruby necklace hanging around your neck. A ruby necklace you had begrudgingly accepted on the last island you had stopped at. Shanks hadn’t let you refuse the necklace, he’d been quite adamant about it…

“Did you not hear me?” You questioned the grinning man who was currently in the process of looking over a selection of jewelry encrusted with rubies. “I said no Shanks!”

“Pardon me, my hearing isn’t what it used to be,” Shanks spoke, ignoring your remark as he addressed the jeweler. “Do you have any triple A rubies on this island?”

“Certainly!” The jeweler replied, reaching beneath his stall and pulling out a stack of boxes. “I’ve just completed several pieces with triple A rubies I acquired from an island renowned for its quality gemstones.” The jeweler took out a large flat box and removed the top to reveal a stunning ruby necklace. Shanks’ eyes were instantly sparkling and he pulled you over.

“Come look that this, dear. I think the red goes perfectly with your complexion!” Your eye twitched as you were forced to standing front and center at the stand and let the jeweler pull out the necklace for you to try on. Clenching your teeth, you took the necklace and carefully wrapped it around your neck. When you tried to connect the clasp, your fingers kept missing the little nob and curses almost began tumbling from your lips.

“Here,” Shanks said, offering his hand to take the tiny clasp. While he was indeed one armed, his right hand had become quite dexterous and his fingers nimble. While you held the little loop for the clasp to catch, Shanks opened the clasp with his finger and hooked it. “All done.”

You let the chain drop and brushed your lavender hair out of the way so the chain rested on your skin. Looking down, you couldn’t help but admire the way the ruby looked against your flesh. You reached up and brushed your fingers over the ruby, for once not feeling suffocated or chained by the jewelry you wore.

“It is absolutely lovely,” You spoke, looking up at the jeweler. “I am sure you are proud to have made such a piece.” He beamed at you, and while you were distracted with your ingrained politeness, Shanks deftly pulled out enough Berry to cover the cost of necklace. Before you had a chance to take the necklace off to return it, Shanks was handing over the money and steering you away from the stand. “Shanks I swear to the gods—!” You erupted as he happily led you towards a few more stalls that would surely capture your attention.

“All of the crew have a piece of red, Aria, it was time you had a piece of red yourself.” He told you, explaining his thought process. “I wanted you to have this, so don’t argue with me.”

“I could have just dyed my hair red, Shanks,” You griped at him, grudgingly accepting the fact that Shanks had probably just spent a pretty Berry on you. Shanks was no longer thinking about your refusal for the necklace, but the idea of you dying your hair red!

“Absolutely not!” He spoke out crossly. “You are, under no circumstances, to ever dye your hair red.” Your eyes were wide from the vehement at which he spoke those words. But you just shrugged and let him lead you on.

You were still bitter about the necklace days later and turning away from the view of the harbor, you headed for the main cabin to get some relaxing reading in. Or at least try to. You were working on your proclivity to worry. The men knew what they were doing and if something happened, they would take care of each other. You found your book where you had left it and took a seat at the small table. You weren’t exactly sure when you had started to worry so much about the men, more specifically, Shanks.

Don’t be silly, Linaria Bonn.

You had read enough of the forbidden romance novels in your father’s library to recognize the signs of… affection. Your face wrinkled at the word. Affection. You had little affection growing up, most of it coming from your barely there father, if you even saw him. But you were well equipped with the knowledge of what woman felt when they held affections for their romantic partner in the novel and you were quite certain you were feeling the same.

“And yet I have no idea if this is even real, because books are simply that, books,” You murmured to yourself, pressing your book against your mouth. You knew the difference between fantasy and reality, and yet, what you felt was alarming straight out of a romance book. A crush. That is what you must be feeling. You certainly weren’t going to fall madly in love with the first man who gave you a scrap of kindness!

You had read for about an hour, tidied up the main cabin, and even ventured down below deck to dust and clean. The men were clean, surprisingly clean, even before you had started helping to keep the ship in neat and working order. As laid back as Shanks and the crew were, they were meticulous with how the Red Force was run. Everything had a place and no sloppiness was accepted. So there really wasn’t much for you to tidy as the hours whittled away. You were in the middle of contemplating trying your hand at baking when the clamor of the gang plank stole your attention. Abandoning the kitchen, you hurried out onto deck to see Lucky, Gab, and Benn worse for wear.

“What in heavens name did you get up to?” You demanded as the rest pile on deck each sporting various cuts, bruises, and blood splattered clothing. You were cringing on the inside at the blood staining their clothing but if they had gotten themselves back to the ship then they must be mostly okay.

“Some other pirates decided to pick a fight with us,” Bonk Punch stated as Monster swung himself onto the ship and let out a screech. You spared a glance at the primate.

“And I suppose you ended the fight?” Your voice was crisp but they all could sense the sarcastic edge.

“Oi, you say that like we started it!” Benn complained. You crossed your arms and gave the first mate a frank look.

“Well did you?” You broached with perhaps a touch of snark. “Given your rather ineffable escapades as of late I almost expected a blood bath.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Shanks voice called as he strode on board and pulled the gang plank back with Yasopp’s help. You turned your narrowed gaze to the red headed pirate and paused. Of course he too was caught up in the scuffle! Shanks was sporting a cut on his chin, had a few places on his tunic where a blade had sliced through white fabric, and you couldn’t tell if the blood on him was his or someone else’s! The pirate could see your thought process and was speaking before you erupted on him. “Aira—”

You cut him off with a flourish of your hand.

“Don’t you Aria me, Shanks,” You snapped out before pointing to the main cabin. “Cabin, now.” You all but growled. Then you turned to the rest of the crew. “Clean yourselves up before you start tracking blood everywhere.” With that you marched towards the locker with the main deck med kit. As you grabbed the little box, an old lunch box refurbished to hold a few medical supplies, you heard the men moving about and heading down below.

Med kit in hand, you saw that the main cabin door was open and headed towards it feeling slightly pleased that no one was fighting you on this. Entering Shanks’ cabin, you pulled the door shut behind you and turned around to be greeted by Shanks dabbing a cloth at his chin in front of his floor length mirror.

“You are going to need more than just a dab,” You stated, moving to the table to set the kit down and get what you needed. Some disinfectant wipes, gauze, tape, maybe even needle and thread given the amount of blood you’d seen on his shirt. Then again, you couldn’t tell if it was his or the other pirates.

“And you sound irate, are you that upset with us doing our business?” Shanks asked, dabbing one last time at his chin before turning halfway in place to look at you. You glanced up at him and raised an eyebrow.

“I do not like seeing you hurt, Shanks,” You corrected him. “Your business is your business, but that doesn’t mean I am pleased that you and the others come back with wounds. Need I remind you of last weeks fever?” Shanks stared at you, his thoughts well hidden behind his beautiful dark eyes.

“If you want me to take my shirt off, madam you only need to ask,” Shanks spoke, reverting to flirtatious humor. You didn’t buy it and pulled out several pads of gauze and wipes while rolling your eyes.

“Take your shirt off, I can’t tell what blood is yours or not.” While Shanks pulled his shirt off you focused your eyes on the hard wood of the table and told yourself that you would not, under any circumstances, ogle Shanks while tending to his wounds. You’d nearly started drooling the last time he’d been shirtless and had just barely caught yourself. Embarrassment aside, now was far from a good time to be appreciating his physique. But when you turned around you couldn’t help but stare at his back and curse silently.

“You should have said something,” You murmured in agitation, striding up to Shanks to look closer at the laceration marking up one of his shoulders. It wasn’t terrible, but it did seem deep. Shanks eyes met yours in the mirror as he tossed his shirt over the back of a nearby chair.

“I was hoping that you’d miss it. I doubt you need to see more of my blood than the cut on my chin. Hongo said it might need a stitch or two.”

“You say that like I haven’t seen blood before,” Your replied, wiping away half dried blood around the wound to get a better picture of the over all laceration. “Believe me, woman see far more blood than men think they do.” His eyes flashed in concern from the implication of your words for a moment and you quickly reassured him that it wasn’t what he thought it was. “She never cut skin, just beat it.”

“That isn’t a particularly reassuring answer.” Shanks grumbled, happy that your mother hadn’t broken your skin open, but still very much angered by the beatings you no doubt endured since childhood.

“But it is the only one I have to give you,” You said, reaching for the needle and thread. “I’m thinking you’ll need about three stitches, it’s not too bad but won’t heal as fast if left alone.”

“And you are equipped to do so?” He asked, eyebrow raised.

“Hongo has been teaching me how to to suture on pig skin, and I am well equipped in stitch work. My mother saw to that.” You threaded one of the suture needles carefully and tied off the end, then turned your gaze back to Shanks. “Now, would you prefer I do this here, or do you want to go down and get in line with the rest of the men who needs stitches?”

Ordinarily, Shanks would have joined the line in waiting for stitches, or had one of the men do it… they all had patched each other up at some point in their time aboard. But his back was aching and you were offering to stitch it up for him. He’d take the option where he got to spend time with you alone.

“I’ll take your hand, madam, as I am sure you could use the practice.” Shanks replied, much to your chagrin. You scoffed at his words in fake irritation.

“Please, you should see my collection of embroidery at home. I am quite skilled in the catch stitch.” He grinned, having no doubts in your ability to stitch, let alone stitch someone up. Your hand was probably the most steady on board! But you were so easy to tease and rile up at times. You caught the edge of his smirk and rolled your eyes, he was teasing you yet again. “You are entirely incorrigible, do you know that.”

“Oh I know that quite well,” Shanks tossed over his shoulder, giving you his infamous curvy smile.

“Look straight ahead,” You ordered, shoving your fingers into his messy red hair and turning his head the way you wanted. Quickly cleaning the edges of the slightly oozing wound, you looked for the best place for the first stitch and got to work. It was quick and easy to place three neat stitches and Shanks didn’t one squirm or move around on you. Tying off the last knot, you snipped the suture needle free and set it to the side before reaching for some gauze and tape. “Alright, that’s taken care of, turn around.”

While you tucked away the suturing supplies and got out new antiseptic wipes and gauze, Shanks grabbed his discarded shirt and turned around. Rather than pulling his shirt back on, Shanks’ eyes latched onto the ruby necklace hanging around you neck. He was incredibly happy to see you wearing it after what he had to do to even buy you a present. Red looked nice on you and the pirate couldn’t help but think about what you would look like draped in rubies… and he needed to reign in his thoughts because you were looking at him with a strange look.

“Something wrong?” Well, yes, he was looking at you with rather intense eyes and still hadn’t put his shirt back on. It was one thing to gawk at him while he and the men were sparring, but an entirely different thing to openly ogle him in the privacy of his cabin when it was just the two of you.

“Only my manners,” You sighed before placing your free hand beneath his chin and angling his jaw to get a better view of the knick. It was easy enough to clean up, not bleeding anymore and was a pretty clean gash.

“Manners?” Shanks repeated with a huff. “Aria, you are the only one on this ship who has manners.”

“And you don’t give yourself enough credit, believe me, I would know who doesn’t have manners.” You said in his and the others defense. “Some Marines aren’t particularly endowed with such virtues.”

“No, they aren’t,” Shanks echoed, his mind going right to the look on your face when you had ran right up to him on Kuri Island. You’d been running from marines, marines that had put desperation on your face. Those thoughts emerged on his face and you quickly picked up on that.

“You know it’s…” You struggled to find an appropriate word. “…fine. My situation that is. We haven’t crossed any marines and to be quite frank I’m not bothered by them. Most of them were respectable enough, just not…”

“Collins?” Shanks interjected as you dabbed a bit of healing ointment on his jaw. You could feel how it was clenched beneath your fingertips.

“That’s in the past, Shanks,” You softly reminded him, trying ease the strain and tension you could both see and feel.

“Sometimes the past comes back to haunt us, Aria. I don’t take Collins as the type of man to let his bride run free.” Shanks stated, knowing full well the marine commodore had probably taken your action as great insult.

“Then that is for me to worry about,” You replied firmly, determined to have this problem taken care of by yourself. The crew of the Red Force had already done so much for you. Shanks had done so much! You were standing on your own two feet now. The marines were for you to handle, no one else. So you finished tending to his wound in silence. When you were done, you stepped away from the red haired pirate to begin packing up.

“Aria,” Shanks spoke up after a few moments of you working in silence. You didn’t look at him but hummed in acknowledgement. Obstinate Aria. Shanks had to admit that he and the others found it amusing and adorable when you were obstinate about something, but in this moment? This was not a subject he was going to let you ignore. His right hand darted out and snatched your left. With one gentle tug he had you spinning in a half circle to face him and before you could step back to sneak your way out of this conversation he released your wrist and slid his arm around your back.

“Shanks,” You called in exasperation, your hand balancing on his shoulder. “Is this quite necessary? I’ve already informed you that Collins is—”

“A problem you are not going to solve alone.” Shanks cut you off, looking into your eyes with a stern gaze. “Yes?” He was doing this again? You lifted your chin stubbornly and ground your teeth together. How much were you going to take from these pirates? Hadn’t they already given you enough? Shanks could see your thinking in your lovely eyes and pressed. “You may think you can handle Collins on your own, Aria… but take it from someone who has dealt with men like him before. He’s far too much for one person to handle.”

“So you expect me to lay down and let everyone else fight my battles for me?” You questioned sharply. “That is hardly appropriate!”

“This has nothing to do with being appropriate or not, Aria,” Shanks corrected you, pulling you closer until you were standing between his legs. “We are protecting one of our own.”

You sighed inwardly and brought your hand up to trace the curve of his jaw. It was getting harder and harder to resist his handsome face.

“You aren’t letting this one go, are you?” You spoke, shoulders drooping in resignation. Shanks face remained unchanged.

“No.” He saw the moment you cracked and held you tighter. “I’m not asking you to stand behind me, Aria. I am asking to stand next to you.”

Date Published: 3/8/24

Last Edit: 3/8/24

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#red haired shanks #one piece shanks #shanks x you #shanks x reader #shanks #opla shanks #opla

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quitealotofsodapop · 6 months

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[Wukong: "Then we would have shared that furnace. And we'd be two idiots chained beneath the mountain together."]

Hmmm…I am not a hundred percent sure, but I think when SWK was in the furnace – he was reduced to ash, more than once, he just regenerated each time it happened. And considering he had to have been like 5 times immortal by then…I really doubt Macaque would have survived the furnace. SWK would just be trapped in there with the ashes of his friend/mate.

Although, now I have the image of SWK collecting the ashes and carrying them around in a jar/vase/something and still treating it like Macaque is alright – “Oh, look, Mihou, think we should try that?” – like something between a comfort item and a security blanket, but his mind not dealing with his LEMs death well to a point he’s just…like that. Still himself, but broken in a way.

Tripitaka thought he would be in over his head with the Monkey King being his protector – but the stone monkey clearly not coping well at all with a dead friend and treating their ashes as if still alive…Man’s praying for wisdom every chance he gets.

Referencing a line from my post about Wukong's stage fright.

Thats an extremely sad concept and a great idea for an angst au. It brings the idea of how Monkey (representing the Mind) handles legitimate grief. Him having a Mary Shelley-esque co-dependance on his past mate's ashes is 100% in character for SWK. He clings to the vessel containing Mac's ashes like Guanyin to her vase, rarely if ever putting it down.

I imagine the vase/vessel/urn resembles like those found in Chinese dig sites, but instead of the Imperial Palace, it is topped with a model of Flower Fruit Mountain.

Tripitaka/Tang Sanzang can sympathise with the pain of losing someone dear. In Journey to the West, he sets out to retrieve the scriptures after losing his mother + solving his dad's murder (and thats after being separated from them since and before birth). He's going through his own form of unhealthy grief, similar to his attitude in "The Great Tang Man"; he doesn't want to get close to anyone because he fears losing another loved one. But he sees that Monkey is refusing to accept that someone he cared for is gone, and wishes to find wisdom to help them both.

Zhu Bajie and Sha Wujing are also sympathetic, but a little unnerved by Wukong's obsession. Bajie was a witness to Wukong's Havoc in Heaven, and knows that the Six Eared Macaque fell to the Furnace when his king did not. He's the one to yell at Wukong when he's annoyed by the monkey's chattering to the ash vessel. Wujing is the one to gently suggest ways to include Macaque's memory in healthier ways, and frequently helps Wukong with tasks when the monkey refuses to put down the vessel. Wujing knows how important those things are.

The one who understands the most though, is Ao Lie. He witnessed how his family went nuts in the aftermath of Ao Bing's death. The ones who grieved loudly and silently. The pain that rebounded onto Nezha and his family. Ao Lie was quite young when the death occurred, and always felt like he was on "the outside" of what was happening. He understands that this is the way Sun Wukong choses to process what has happened to Macaque. Ao Lie feels no place to correct him on it - and just understanding Wukong's pain is enough to help the monkey heal even if it takes years.

Wukong in this AU would be far more hesistant to kill his mortal opponents. He knows that even the strongest warrior may fall to ruin. And that the most hated Kings have someone who will mourn their loss. Sometimes his personality of an unhealthly-grieving widower is enough for some threats to back off. Even a demon knows that it is shameful to harass someone who is mourning.

I imagine the most shocked of their encounters would be the monkeys former allies...

Azure: "Sun Wukong? I thought you threw your lot in with the Heavenly Host. Following the beck and call of the Tang Monk." SWK: "I have. But I figured me and Mihou should pay you guys a visit." Peng: "The Six Eared Macaque? So he has survived the Furnace. No doubt he slunk away into the shadows once the lid rose. Where is that coward hiding now?" SWK: "He isn't hiding. He's been here the whole time." (SWK pats the vessel in his arms) The Brotherhood, all realising: "OH." ( ;O_O) (O_O;) ( `−ㅿ−´) Yellow Tusk: "...I believe the Six Eared Macaque has sacrificed the most for our cause. We should show him and Sun Wukong some hospitality, and listen to their tales of travel." Azure, creeped out: "Agreed."

Others like DBK and PIF would also be in mourning. But I could see them almost finding Wukong's behavior romantic. After all, they don't know what they would do if the other had died in battle.

I feel like instead of a "Macaque Chapter" where Wukong encounters his doppleganger while him and Tripitaka aren't on good terms; it's Wukong becoming frustrated with the others' worrying and comments and wanting to prove that theres a way Macaque still lives. And if it involves harassing the Heavens, the Underworld, or the Buddha himself then he'll try.

Perhaps the crux of his Journey is SWK deciding to let go and release Mac's ashes (likely at Flower Fruit Mountain) and learning healthier ways to honor Mac's memory. Or perhaps requesting that the Buddha reunite them - whether as a revival, in death, or in the next life...

BUT ALSO CONSIDER THIS:

Sun Wukong was only able to legitimately survive the Eight Trigrams Furnace (even with peaches, wines, and pills) because;

He's a manifestation of both Earth and the Mind. All the Furnace did was harden him like a piece of coal becoming a diamond.

Wukong isnt dumb. He knows enough about Taoist Alchemy to know that no matter how hot the crucible gets, it will always be its weakest in the Xun/Sun/Wind Trigram. The theory being that while Air feeds Fire, Wind supresses it - in science terms the increased pressure caused by the pure Wind element suffocated the hottest flames but created a lot of smoke; forever reddening Wukong's eyes.

Above: Two separate translations I got.

Macaque is associated with Wind, especially in LMK and other Jttw-inspo works that merge his character with the Macaque King/Great Sage Informing Wind. And as a Celestial Primate/Mystic Monkey, he holds powers unknown to Heaven and himself.

If in Taoist Alchemy; Wind supresses Fire, then there's a chance that instead of becoming refined like a earthy diamond like Sun Wukong - the Six Eared Macaque would cause a different unholy reaction within the Furnace. Like a pressure cooker ready to burst, the Wind within would only expand/quicken until breeched.

Lao Tzu/Laozi opens the Furnance after 49 days, expecting the two monkey demons to be reduced to a pile of ashes and pills. He's met by a pair of monsters that burst forth from the crucible like Pandora's box.

Heaven weeps.

Even if Macaque's physical body was lost to the Furnace, he could retain enough magic to manipulate his ashes into a smokey ghost-like form. The Buddha would be forced to contain Macaque for those 500 years by sealing him in an air-tight vessel.

Wukong carrying around his mate's ashes and the pilgrims thinking him mad with grief, only for Macaque to reveal at an awkward time that he's still technically "alive". Pluming forth from the vessel and ensaring their foes with his ribbon-like tendrils.

And if you wonder what a Furnaced!Macaque would look like? He's already shown us;

#lego monkie kid #lmk #death tw #shadowpeach #lmk shadowpeach au #lmk au #gonna call this the Furnaced!Macque au #sun wukong #liu er mihou #six eared macaque #journey to the west #jttw theories #lmk theories

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14muffinz · 7 months

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You know those aus? Where the characters are combined or 'fused?'

I've been thinking about that under the circumstances of a tmnt crossover fic. Where this combination is unwilling.

So the way I can see this going means it absolutely has to involve rise, which I also like because it allows for funky designs. Some mission in the hidden city, possibly involving big mama because ✨drama✨, and each boy is fused with their counterpart.

This can be very different depending on the iteration, so I'm just gonna write down vaguely I imagine each one being:

Leo: Slightly obsessive with training. He's passionate, but maybe a bit too much. He's a great strategist, but is unfortunately bad at explaining his plans to his brothers. The more anxious he is, the more talkative he becomes, usually spouting quips to distract himself. Has knowledge with a bunch of different weapons, but prefers the classic katanas.

Raph: Anxiety. This boy is stressed at all times, and the only way he knows how to mask it is by grouching, or hitting things. The people around him are infuriating, especially because they keep asking all these questions. Like, he's just one guy, why can't they get that? Raph carries both his sai and tonfa, but will more often fight with his tonfa.

Donnie: Very smart. Their brain processes information very fast. They like when things make sense. They're also the only fusion aware that they're a fusion, which, like Raph, they are not a big fan of. Their fusion is the least stable, defaulting to we/us and preferring they/them over he/him, though both are acceptable. They don't remember what each button on the tech bo does, but they do have a staff with a taser on each end as a comprimise.

Mikey: Wholsomest boy. The only reason he doesn't know about the fusion stuff is that the Aprils and Caseys don't want to burst his bubble, but they're all pretty sure he could take it. Big fan of art, he loves to cook as well but due to conflicting knowledge they don't do it as much as they would separately. He loves the extra long chain he gets from rise Mikey's kusari-fundo, so he uses that, though similar to the Raph's sometimes they'll carry around nunchaku as well.

~~~

So yeah, the supporting cast were not on this mission and thus were not turned. They received an emergency alert from rise donnie's systems while everybody was being fused, which is the only warning that they got.

It's mostly on Draxum to make a fix, but it's unfortunately not that simple because they're from different dimensions. Casey JR (is it alr if I call him June because I'm gonna fair warning it's instinct) tries to help where he can, but his knowledge is limited. There's a big argument between the Aprils over whether or not informing the Mikeys of the situation and letting them help would speed things up or not.

The issue with telling them, is Raph's very much denying the information. They know about it, but they refuse to listen. The Donnie's took a lot of convincing as well, and the topic clearly causes them a lot of distress, though they refuse to explain exactly why.

That's all I've got for right now. But if anyone wants to help me make this a solid au, please shoot me an ask. Please. I'm begging. I really want to have more to say about this but I need someone to pick my brain.

Tag is forced fusions au!

#rottmnt #tmnt crossover #tmnt au #i'm thinking of 2012 for the other set #but i'm open to it being mutant mayhem #or maybe all three if i feel like it #ima tag both #tmnt 2012 #mutant mayhem #PLEASEPLEASEPLEASE SEND ME ASKS ABOUT THIS #I WANT TO ANSWER THEM #tmnt #forced fusion au #2012 rise fusion

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robininthelabyrinth · 11 months

Text

Delight in Misery - Chapter 12

A/N: Someone reminded me that they really did want to see where this one went, so I went and dug up it up again. Here's one more chapter, at least, and we'll see if I can continue to bring it to a close or if I'll just post the rest of my outline.

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

“This is the most humiliating moment in my life,” Jiang Cheng said.

Lan Wangji considered it for a moment, then said, “I agree.”

Jiang Cheng glared at him.

“I meant that it is my most humiliating moment, as well,” Lan Wangji clarified, and the glare disappeared, Jiang Cheng letting his head fall back on the ground with a thump.

“I can’t believe this,” he muttered, staring blankly at the sky. “I really just can’t believe this.”

Lan Wangji sighed.

And the day had started out so promisingly, too.

Or at least Lan Wangji had allowed himself to be deceived into thinking it was going promisingly – and that, he supposed, was the problem. He really ought to have learned by now that nothing with Jiang Cheng ever went easily.

Jiang Cheng had stormed away after their conversation with Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen, refusing to even listen to Lan Wangji’s explanations about why they needed to help them with Wen Ning – Lan Wangji had several, all perfectly plausible, that he’d been planning to use, and had planned to only use the real one (that Wen Ning was someone that Wei Wuxian had cared deeply for and would probably want them to help) as a last resort, but he hadn’t gotten to use any of them. Instead, when he’d knocked on Jiang Cheng’s door, he’d been met with a shout that went along the lines that Jiang Cheng had already understood the necessity of helping Wen Ning and accepted it and agreed with it so there was no need to pester him, which had thoroughly cut off most of the rebuttals Lan Wangji would have made.

Lan Wangji had debated making his way in regardless – Jiang Cheng would never actually block the door from him – but ultimately concluded that it was probably one of those times when Jiang Cheng just needed time to cool off. It wasn’t worth pushing him, not when they had guests…not when his temper was so uncertain, as it always was on matters relating to Wei Wuxian.

In the morning, he decided. He’d talk to him in the morning.

He hadn’t gotten the chance.

The moment he stepped out of his room the next morning he discovered that Jiang Cheng had already kicked into a frenzy of activity, which meant he probably hadn’t slept more than a shichen or two. The entire endeavor would be cloaked as a common night-hunt to try to deceive Xue Yang into not realizing that he was their real target, and he’d already pulled together all the things that needed to be arranged for that proposed night-hunt, including several teams that would be sent out to hide the direction they were really going. By the time Lan Wangji caught up with him, Jiang Cheng was already pushing Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen to identify some towns near the area Xue Yang had last been seen and where they’d found Wen Ning.

He’d also pushed them to agree to start to set out as soon as possible, and unsurprisingly they’d agreed.

Lan Wangji thought there might be a little time to talk when Xiao Xingchen had bowed out to go fetch Wen Ning, but apparently they’d kept him quite close as they were back in almost no time at all, not enough time to coax any sort of real discussion out of Jiang Cheng, who was at the moment pretending Lan Wangji didn’t exist – and then, once Wen Ning arrived, even Lan Wangji didn’t have much desire to speak.

Wen Ning was dressed in ragged clothing, his hair hung loose and limp on his shoulders, his limbs bound with chains – his eyes were pure white and his veins raised and black, an inhuman snarl on his lips of the sort that had graced that mindless corpse filled with rage. It was probably what he’d been like all that time ago on the Burial Mounds, before Wei Wuxian had managed to get his consciousness back…it was as if Wei Wuxian had never done anything to him, never returned him to himself, never helped him.

Lan Wangji had barely been able to look at him before.

But all of that jealousy had suddenly seemed useless and petty.

Of course, Jiang Cheng could have spelled his name with the characters for petty and jealous. He hadn’t had any such issues with Wen Ning’s wretched appearance, or at least he hadn’t seemed to – he’d just dealt with the matter practically, ordering his most trusted subordinates to put Wen Ning into a warded storeroom for safekeeping. It happened to be the same one that they used to interrogate demonic cultivators, though Lan Wangji suspected it wasn’t entirely a coincidence.

(He’d been briefly distracted by rolling his eyes in fond amusement at how predictable Jiang Cheng was sometimes, and when he next focused Jiang Cheng had already bound Wen Ning into an array to restrict his movement and posted guards all around.)

“Are you sure about this?” Xiao Xingchen asked anxiously, his eyes drifting over Wen Ning.

“Very sure,” Jiang Cheng said harshly, seemingly cold and careless, the way that had led so many outsiders to misunderstand him in all these years. “Stopping Xue Yang is the priority. Once he’s dead, we’ll help you figure out how to fix up Wen Ning, as agreed.”

But then he hesitated briefly.

“…why didn’t you try taking out the nails?”

That was Jiang Cheng in a nutshell, Lan Wangji reflected. Harsh and prickly on the outside, soft on the inside.

“We didn’t dare,” Song Zichen replied solemnly. “For fear of side effects.”

Jiang Cheng nodded, accepting it, then waved his hand and ordered Jiang Meimei to watch over the children while they went out night-hunting. Lan Wangji had known, of course, that Jiang Cheng could be brutally efficient, but it was still a pleasure to see the Lotus Pier in set into swift and efficient motion: goodbyes were said to the children, work was handed over to the proper places, a delegation of trusted disciples capable of handling themselves selected and prepared, and then they were ready for an immediate departure.

There’d been no time to fret or worry, for Jiang Cheng to torment himself with doubts and self-blame – or so Lan Wangji had thought. Even after they’d arrived to the area Xiao Xingchen had indicated, he was just as efficient, assigning everyone into pairs like he would for a normal night-hunt, sending Xiao Xingcheng and Song Zichen one way and taking Lan Wangji along with him in another…

Lan Wangji thought that Jiang Cheng was handling this whole business remarkably well.

That belief had lasted right up until the pit.

They’d been walking down one of the more obscure paths between the various towns, looking for any trace of a demonic cultivator or any other sign that Xue Yang might have passed this way or that, and there had unexpectedly been a trap laid right in the middle of the path, a gigantic pit opening up under their feet.

Not that such a trap was much of a threat to a cultivator, of course. Lan Wangji had leapt up at once, easily evading it, but for whatever reason, Jiang Cheng had not, falling in with the rocks and the dirt.

Lan Wangji waited, but Jiang Cheng didn’t get out, either.

So he went in after him.

Jiang Cheng was lying on his back and staring up at the sky. He appeared unharmed.

Lan Wangji walked over and looked down at him. After a moment, he extended a foot and prodded at Jiang Cheng’s leg with his toe.

“What,” Jiang Cheng said, sounding irritable.

“I was only wondering when your legs had stopped working,” Lan Wangji said.

Jiang Cheng snorted and turned his head away.

“After all, if they were working, you could have jumped out, rather than fall in.” Lan Wangji glanced around the pit they were in. It was impressively deep – the rim of the pit was at least twice his height – but that was absolutely nothing to a cultivator. “You could in fact jump out now.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

Ah, Lan Wangji thought to himself, I see how it is.

He really should have expected something like this.

He swept his sleeves back and sat down, settling his clothing around him in a comfortable manner, and reflected to himself that this was probably going to take a while for Jiang Cheng to get over himself.

Not that Lan Wangji wouldn’t help, of course.

“Would you like to talk about it?” he asked in his most irritatingly solicitous manner.

“Fuck off.”

As expected.

Lan Wangji had long since figured Jiang Cheng out. When bad things happened, Jiang Cheng generally started by getting angry and trying to solve the problem, often violently. When it turned out that the problem wasn’t something that could be solved straightforwardly, he would scream and shout as if he could vent out all his emotions, never causing real damage beyond the most superficial insults that anyone who knew him could easily ignore. Eventually, the storm would pass, and things would resolve themselves one way or the other.

Lan Wangji had, by now, years of experience in dealing with this type of Jiang Cheng.

For matters relating to his parents or sister or Wei Wuxian, though, he’d found that Jiang Cheng had a far less tenable set of reactions. He would turn his violent anger inwards, his mind growing unstable with guilt and self-hatred squeezed into an irrational hatred of everything around him, his never easy temperament worsened by many degrees; he would blame himself for everything, tormenting himself with questions that would never be answered, castigating himself for things that were not and could not have been his fault. If not prevented or distracted, he could even start harming himself through too much work and too little sleep, as if he thought he could simply will himself into having enough strength to never let anyone he loved down ever again.

That was the present Jiang Cheng.

“I thought you’d decided to stop doing this,” Lan Wangji said after a little while had passed without any developments. “On account of not wanting to show the children a bad example.”

“Fuck off.”

In fact, Jiang Cheng had gotten far better these past few years. If Lan Wangji were being honest, they had helped each other get better, dragging each other kicking and screaming down the path towards wellness. No longer did Lan Wangji have to sit by, unable to do anything, as the smell of blood and bile drifted through the wall that separated their rooms, and the days that he classified as Jiang Cheng’s good days – even very good days – were by now far outnumbering the occasional bad ones.

Lan Wangji himself had been getting better, too. Jiang Cheng no longer had to make uncalled for and very pointed comments about unhealthy coping mechanisms, whether alcohol or seclusion or playing guqin until his fingers were raw and bleeding, staying awake to avoid the nightmares or retreating into a stony silence that worried everyone around him – it had taken a series of extremely vicious fights that involved throwing the word ‘hypocrite’ around to make Lan Wangji sore enough to truly rededicate himself to regulating his conduct.

After all, he was a Lan, however differently situated and distanced he’d gotten from the Cloud Recesses. What was the point of wearing his forehead ribbon if he couldn’t exercise self-discipline?

Certainly he could exercise it better than Jiang Cheng.

Lan Wangji meditated on a time on the idea that perhaps Jiang Cheng was his punishment for arrogance.

(Perhaps competitive spite was not quite the behavioral motivator that his ancestors would have preferred, but for a while, it was all Lan Wangji had had. And then, somehow, implausibly, despite himself, it had actually started to work, which was…Lan Wangji was not thinking about that.)

After a long while, Jiang Cheng finally said, “It’s not that bad, actually. It’s just – a lot, that’s all.”

“Mm.”

“…what’s that supposed to mean?” Jiang Cheng eyed him sidelong. “That was a very meaningful ‘mm’.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji deliberately used the same inflection and tone, not varying it one iota.

“I will kick you.”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes at him until Jiang Cheng seemed to be seriously considering following through on his promise. At that point, Lan Wangji decided to take pity – as much to avoid a footprint on his robes as for Jiang Cheng’s benefit.

“You are experiencing negative emotions in connection with Wen Ning’s reappearance, and your attempt to vent by murdering Xue Yang has been impeded on account of not being able to find him immediately,” he said, his voice carefully monotone and disinterested. It wouldn’t do to show Jiang Cheng that he was emotionally involved in this conversation. “You have accordingly given up on life.”

There were a few more moments of silence.

“…stop knowing me so well. And I haven’t given up on life, I’m just – resting. For a moment. That’s all.”

Lan Wangji pointedly ignored him, repressing the smile that wanted to come to his lips. The fact that Jiang Cheng was talking was, in fact, a good sign, and an indication that he wasn’t doing as bad as all that; he hadn’t lost his reason or become unstable, he wasn’t lashing out, he hadn’t kicked into an unreasonable spiral of self-blame.

Anyway, it wasn’t as if Lan Wangji didn’t have similarly conflicted feelings about Wen Ning that he could use a little more time to work through – and besides, he reasoned, Xue Yang had been on the run for years. He’d be hard to track down, hard to corner, hard to catch.

A short break wouldn’t impede them.

Of course, it was barely any time after he’d thought that when someone came out of the woods near the path they were on and shouted, “Hey, you in there! Fellow strangers! Is something the matter? Do you need help?”

Lan Wangji suppressed a sigh, even as Jiang Cheng twitched, rather violently. Probably he was abruptly becoming aware of how humiliating it would be for cultivators of their status to be found sitting in the bottom of a ditch.

Lan Wangji was also not especially looking forward to that.

He opened his mouth to respond, but unexpectedly, before he could, Jiang Cheng reached out and grabbed his arm, fingers squeezing so tightly that it was almost painful.

Lan Wangji glanced at him, seeking an explanation, but Jiang Cheng shook his head in negation.

“You’re both powerful cultivators, so if everything was all right, you could just jump out,” the person standing above them continued.

Lan Wangji turned his glance at Jiang Cheng into a meaningfully pointed look instead, only to get a crude gesture in return.

Well, at least Jiang Cheng was feeling more like himself.

“I noticed you haven’t jumped out, though, and you haven’t moved for a while…did someone seal your spiritual energy? Is the pit actually a trapping array? Is that why you can’t get out?”

Lan Wangji could feel his eyebrows going up slightly in surprise: clearly, the person who had found them was also a cultivator, apparently, and a clever one, too, to think of valid explanations for their (non-existent) plight.

The part of him that had been assisting Jiang Cheng in running the Lotus Pier for years now immediately thought of recruitment. Much of the current Jiang sect was made up of former rogue cultivators having accepted positions as guest disciples or even been adopted in, yet their ranks were still smaller than the other Great Sects. They could use all the clever cultivators they could find.

Lan Wangji glanced up and saw the face peering down at them from the edge of the pit: his first impression was of shining black eyes and a radiant smile with adorable little tiger teeth that reminded him a little of Mo Xuanyu. The face was handsome, with a high nose bridge and thin red lips, the chin a little pointy in a way that made his whole face seem full of gleeful mischief when he grinned.

It was a nice smile, Lan Wangji thought, cheerful and carefree, and felt a nostalgic tug on his heart.

Even the cultivator’s voice was pleasant enough – light and lively, as if he was at any point on the verge of laughing at some joke as he kept chattering on and on, hypothesizing about reasons they might not be able to get out of the pit, as if he were trying to fill the silence alone. There were a few instances in which he seemed to be attempting to disguise his voice, only to forget a moment later and resume his regular voice, but then he was a little younger than they were; he might just be trying to seem older than he was. They’d certainly encountered rogue cultivators like that before.

“…but I suppose it doesn’t really matter what the reason is! You two just hold on, all right? I’ll go find a rope!”

The face disappeared before Lan Wangji could signal to him that all was well.

Clever, insightful, and resourceful.

“Promising,” Lan Wangji remarked to Jiang Cheng. Naturally he wouldn’t extend an offer of recruitment without approval from the master of the Lotus Pier, especially when Jiang Cheng was there to give it, but Jiang Cheng usually agreed with his assessment –

“You are joking,” Jiang Cheng hissed, and Lan Wangji blinked, surprised at the intensity and venom in his tone. “That was Xue Yang!”

Lan Wangji’s eyes widened. He hadn’t seen Xue Yang before: he had been in seclusion when all of that had happened, though of course he’d heard all about it later from Jiang Cheng. But everyone had been very clear about how ruthless and inhuman and wicked Xue Yang was, how his eyes were full of disdain towards all living things, how his aura was chilling and offensive.

Nothing at all like the young man that he’d seen just now.

“Impossible.”

“Not impossible. Listen, I was at his first trial – I remember what he looked like. There’s no doubt about it. He’s even missing his little finger!”

That did seem conclusive.

“It seems Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen were right to think he was here,” Lan Wangji observed, and put his hand on Bichen. “Why hasn’t he recognized us and fled, though? He must know that no person from a righteous sect would be willing to tolerate his existence.”

“I was lying flat, he probably couldn’t see me,” Jiang Cheng said. “And you’re wearing the wrong color for a Lan.”

Lan Wangji was in fact wearing one of the sets of robes he used for night-hunts around the Lotus Pier. It had seemed wrong, somehow, to allow the merits of his actions to be ascribed to the Lan sect – only his forehead ribbon remained the same, and the style he had long ago grown accustomed to, but the colors were wholly different. The result was something neither quite of the Cloud Recesses nor of the Lotus Pier…yes, he could see how a cultivator with a weaker golden core might not have identified him.

“It could still be a trap,” he pointed out. “Xue Yang did not escape from his captors so many times out of luck. From what you have told me, he is extremely clever, and extremely dangerous. You remember what he nearly did at the Baixue Temple.”

“Of course I remember. I told you about it myself!” Jiang Cheng frowned, then groaned. “I suppose there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to play along for the moment, since it seems that he genuinely thinks our spiritual energy has been locked away. We hide our faces so he doesn’t see, climb up whatever rope he gets us, and when we get up top, attack before he has a chance to put his own plans into action.”

Lan Wangji nodded. “You attack from the front with Zidian, I will come from the side with Bichen; dodging one will lead him into the path of the other. If we are lucky, we can cut off his head before he can summon any fierce corpse to come to his aid.”

It was an approach they’d used with especially vicious demonic cultivators before with success.

“It’s a plan, then.” A pause. “There’s only one problem.”

Lan Wangji raised his eyebrows.

“For this plan to work, we’re going to have to let ourselves get rescued – by Xue Yang.”

Lan Wangji felt his lips purse as if he’d just bitten into a lemon.

“This is the most humiliating moment in my life,” Jiang Cheng announced.

Lan Wangji shook his head but agreed.

Luckily it wasn’t very much later that he heard Xue Yang’s footsteps. Not long after that, the man himself reappeared, still chattering like a monkey – apparently he’d found rope in an old woodcutter’s hut – and then they had to listen to the entire process of him trying to find an appropriately strong tree to tie the rope to, since he didn’t want to risk using his own strength in the event whatever had affected them unexpectedly spread to him.

Lan Wangji spent the time watching Jiang Cheng’s face, which was going through a journey involving at least three epic poems and one war-song that involved self-incineration or possibly honorable suicide.

“All right, update, good news, I finally found a big old one, definitely won’t snap at the first push the way the last one did. This time it’s really going to work. I’m going to throw in the rope now, all right? Stand ready!”

A rope dropped in.

It was helpfully knotted at the end, presumably in case the spiritual suppression that Xue Yang had decided was afflicting them was also affecting their muscles and they needed something to grab onto.

It was very considerate, if utterly unnecessary.

Still, there wasn’t anything for it. Kindness to strangers, if that was what this was rather than some sort of especially clever trap, could not erase all of Xue Yang’s former crimes. They had all agreed: he had to die. They couldn’t even reverse their original position on killing him on sight and try to push for a trial now – a trial was too risky. Xue Yang had escaped too many times before, using the kindness of others as an opportunity to continue to wreck havoc, and Lan Wangji was unwilling to see any more innocent lives be harmed by him.

It did seem a bit of a pity, though. Xue Yang didn’t seem nearly as bad as the stories said…

No, this wasn’t Wei Wuxian all over again. This was different. There were eyewitnesses to Xue Yang’s crimes, which were far more malicious and cruel than anything that had been attributed to Wei Wuxian, and Xue Yang had even admitted to them, swearing that he would continue to act wretchedly.

There was no going back.

Lan Wangji reached out to take the knotted rope in his hand.

Jiang Cheng snatched it away before he could.

Lan Wangji frowned at him, but Jiang Cheng didn’t notice; he was too busy staring at the rope with a slightly wild-eyed expression, like a cat that had just seen a snake.

“Hey, you down there! Did you see the rope? Have you’ve got it now?” The rope jerked a little, meeting resistance from Jiang Cheng’s hands. “Good, I see you have! Now climb up!”

Lan Wangji waited, but Jiang Cheng didn’t move.

Lan Wangji waited more.

“…are you having problems climbing up?” Xue Yang asked. “Do you need me to come pick you up? I could probably manage to carry you in my arms one at a time –”

Lan Wangji had his pride. There was allowing himself to be rescued by the enemy to obtain an advantage in the upcoming battle, and then there was allowing himself to be carried out by a mass-murderer. Intending on forestalling the unthinkable, he reached out and gave Jiang Cheng a firm shove in the shoulder, knocking him sideways and, hopefully, out of his daze.

Jiang Cheng hissed at him like an upset chicken – Lan Wangji owned waterfowl now and was in a position to testify as to the similarity – then turned back to stare at the rope.

“Kuizhou isn’t near the ocean, right?” he asked, voice pitched low. “Or any major river?”

“Not as far as I’m aware, no,” Lan Wangji said slowly, puzzled by the utterly bizarre question. “Why –”

Jiang Cheng was on his feet and leaping out of the pit before he could finish the question, precisely as they’d already agreed they would not do, as it would immediately give away any surprise advantage they might already have.

Lan Wangji gritted his teeth, reminded himself that he actually liked Jiang Cheng most of the time, and leapt up after him.

“What’s this?” Jiang Cheng said, shaking the knot at Xue Yang’s face. “Tell me, what’s this?”

“A…rope?” Xue Yang said hesitantly, his eyes wide as saucer plates – presumably at seeing the great and terrible Sandu Shengshou miraculously appear right in front of him – and for once Lan Wangji’s sympathies were entirely with him. He knew Jiang Cheng very well, better, or so he thought, than anyone else currently yet living, and yet he had no idea what was going through his mind right now.

“Xue Yang,” Lan Wangji said, deciding he was done with this conversation and drawing Bichen. “It’s over.”

“It’s…Lan..? Wait, what are you even wearing – oh shit!”

Xue Yang hopped back, ducking under away from Bichen’s first sweep. Normally, this was when Jiang Cheng would whip out Zidian to tangle in the demonic culivator’s legs, but Jiang Cheng still seemed possessed by whatever had gotten into him; he didn’t do anything.

At any rate, it didn’t matter. From over Xue Yang’s head, Lan Wangji could see Xiao Xingchen and Song Zichen cresting the horizon, each one on their sword and shooting toward Xue Yang with grim expressions.

Even if Xue Yang summoned corpses now, it would all be over soon.

“Xue Yang!” Song Zichen called, and Xue Yang turned to look. “Your crimes end today!”

Xue Yang took a step back, but Xiao Xingchen was faster – he was already leaping down, Shuanghua leaping up to his hand in a single graceful movement. His white robes swirled around him, and Lan Wangji was immediately reminded that the cultivation world called him “the bright moon and the gentle breeze”, accompanying Song Zichen’s “distant snow and cold frost”.

His strike was sure and true, perfectly aimed. Xue Yang’s hand dropped to his waist, reaching for Jiangzai, but it would be too late, the attack somehow taking him by surprise despite everything –

The ringing sound of metal on metal was nearly deafening, and Lan Wangji stared in shock: Shuanghua’s beautiful strike had been blocked by Sandu.

By Jiang Cheng.

“What are you doing?” Xiao Xingchen exclaimed, startled, and Lan Wangji wanted to ask the same question.

“Don’t hurt him!” Jiang Cheng shouted back, his teeth pulled back in a snarl. “Don’t you dare!”

Lan Wangji stared at him, wondering if Jiang Cheng’s grief and instability had suddenly driven him utterly mad. Why would he defend Xue Yang, of all people?

It wasn’t the first time Jiang Cheng had acted irregularly or irrationally, of course. Demonic cultivators were always a sensitive spot for him, convinced as he was that Wei Wuxian would one day come back, but those episodes only happened when one of the demonic cultivators they found did something that was too familiar, too reminiscent. That sort of thing only happened during a bad day, a bad time, and Jiang Cheng hadn’t seemed that bad.

He’d been talking, even making jokes. He hadn’t seemed near to the point of mental collapse.

Lan Wangji hadn’t expected such an outburst to happen here, given that Xue Yang had never reminded Jiang Cheng of Wei Wuxian before – and anyway what could have been the trigger? The smiling? The chattering? The improbable rescue?

“He’s been affected by something,” Song Zichen deduced, his voice cold as ever. He was flanking Xiao Xingchen, planning to duck around Jiang Cheng’s defense to skewer Xue Yang, who seemed to be having some trouble maneuvering his own sword for some reason, the blade either refusing to cooperate or his muscles seemingly not answering to the actions he wanted. “Hanguang-jun, restrain Jiang Wanyin. We will help him once Xue Yang has been eliminated.”

Jiang Cheng affected? But with what? What could possibly do –

“Lan Wangji, help me!” Jiang Cheng howled, throwing himself forward against Xiao Xingchen, who he had so admired only a few days earlier, against Wei Wuxian’s martial uncle.

The behavior was truly very uncharacteristic of him, completely unlike him.

Lan Wangji drew Bichen, moving forward –

And blocked Song Zichen’s sword with his own.

“You know what you’re doing,” Lan Wangji told Jiang Cheng, meaning you had better and also I trust you, don’t let me down.

Jiang Cheng shot him a look of desperate gratitude. “Don’t let him get away,” he shouted, and for a moment Lan Wangji thought he meant Song Zichen before realizing he probably meant Xue Yang – where had Xue Yang gone? He’d been there only a moment or so before –

Dividing one’s attention during a fight was never a good idea, and it was even less a good idea when the opponent was as skilled as Song Zichen. In that moment, Song Zichen feinted and brought his sword in, Lan Wangji turning to meet him, but he knew he would be too late –

“Hey! Leave him alone!”

Xue Yang had managed to get his sword out, and now threw himself out of the bushes to try to defend Lan Wangji. It was rather a beautiful move, too, seamlessly interrupting the flow of Song Zichen’s attack while also leaving Lan Wangji enough room to complete his own parry and start a counterattack – it was so well done that Lan Wangji briefly had the illusion that they had fought together before, familiar with each other’s moves.

“Sect Leader Jiang – Hanguang-jun – what are you doing?” Xiao Xingchen asked, utterly bewildered, and Lan Wangji had to admit he felt the same. “Why is he defending you? Why are you defending him? This is Xue Yang!”

“He’s not Xue Yang,” Jiang Cheng snarled. “He’s Wei Wuxian. And I’m going to kill him myself!”

…oh, Lan Wangji thought. I see.

This again.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #lan wangji #wei wuxian #xiao xingchen #song lan #my fic #my fics #delight in misery #it has been literally a year and a half since I updated this #I did not mean for that to happen #I hope that updating it makes someone happy at least #assuming anyone remembers anything that was happening in this fic

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intothemoshpit · 2 years

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𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐛𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞...

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( acceptable for all readers )

warnings: random headcanons that I think are acceptable. 18+ content mentioned. just too much things to list so be cautious if you're easily triggered and such.

6.8.22, unedited.

sorry for any errors below.

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DATING BILLY HARGROVE WOULD INCLUDE

in the beginning...

him being a dick. when if he decides to date you, he obviously likes you a lot; blondie has made himself a reputation of being a whore and sleeping with people girls like they're a brand new comforter bought for the winter season. but, even so, I don't think he'd bring his walls down right away. he wouldn't be a complete ass, but his attitude his always show off-ish and tone can be quite hard at times.

random mood swings. due to the fact that billy has dealt with both physical and mental abuse, I think it's safe to say his mental health has been impacted greatly from that and has led him to develop mental illness(es) of his own. can't say for sure what, but anger plays a big role in it. he'll definitely snap at you over the littlest things at first.

constant arguments. If you're more closed off, shy and rather not indulge in anything involving shouting, I don't see you stirring the pot more than it already has been. in fact, you get rather shook up and jumpy whenever billy starts shouting over small things. however, if you're the opposite, then I can see things getting bad. nothing physical would happen, but I do believe things can get broke in the heat of the moment.

anxious smoking. since his emotions and thoughts would be bottled up, and he feels as if he can't talk to anyone, including you, he'd always have a lit cigarette to his lips to calm his anxieties. most of the time he chain smokes because of this.

refusing affection. I don't see him giving into any of your touches, at first, unless it's to make out or possibly move further. he releases his anger that way. with other touches, such as hugs, he recoils because he hasn't had someone touch him like that since his mom passed.

random side eyes. since billy knows he isn't the greatest person to be with, he always feels immense guilt after arguments or snapping out on you. he tends to give you side eyes and brief glances, while considering an apology.. maybe something more. of course, nothing ever goes further than that.

little pda at school. while we know hargrove loves to touch and show off anything that's his, when it involves a fresh relationship, I just don't think he'd be too romance-y and such at first. of course, I see him having a hand in your back pocket upon first entering the school, but once you two split for classes that would be done with until you two are alone again. and, perhaps throughout the day, he'd give you a tiny peck on the lips two or three times.

him being overly jealous. he still lets you have your own freedom, as in he's not up your ass about everybody, but if someone even speaks to you in a slightly flirtatious manner, he's by your side with a sickly sweet smile, silently fuming, with a hand wrapped around your waist. I think I can all say he won't necessarily make a scene unless the person doesn't take a hint and back off.

questioning your whereabouts. if you leave his side after school, not to go back to your own place, billy has the habit of questioning where you're going. it may come off as toxic, maybe it is but in reality he's worried... and kind of insecure, but you didn't hear it from me. this also connects with just any time you aren't with him, or by his side; expect phone calls to your house.

later on...

he doesn't yell at you as much. while I very much think billy has anger issues, and mood swings and sometimes can't control, I can see him realizing later on just how badly he mistreats you and picks fights. he'll slowly start to catch himself mid-yell and stop, before walking off to go have a cigarette to calm his nerves. the days also seem to carry on more peacefully; more with him starting to come around, and less arguments.

talking with you. before, billy would just smoke twenty-four-seven to the point where the ashtray would be filled with eight butts within twenty five minutes. later on, though, he cuts down on smoking - deciding that maybe, if he verbalizes to you what's wrong, he'll become less snappy. it works most of the time... but he's extremely awkward with speaking about his feelings and problems, so expect pauses in between.

being more physically loving. billy will definitely come around at some point and let you touch him. maybe it still does make him slightly uncomfortable, but after a bit he becomes touch starved and often finds himself either laying his head in your lap, so you can play with his hair, or he finds every excuse to hug you from behind. it's definitely a turn around, not that your complaining though.

apologizing more. he, in fact, is not too good with apologies. billy gets real awkward and tends to trip up, and word things wrong. but I definitely think, at some point, he gets better with it; would sometimes pair the apology with a small gift, like a stuffed animal or your favorite flower. or, even, he might show you he's sorry by physical convincing you with sweet yet alluring kisses.

more pda in public. by time he's come around to be a better boyfriend, I already see you both out of high school. this means less small pecks in the hallways, and more hand holding and shared kisses at the pool, and other public places. usually, at the pool, billy will take you off guard when you're searching for him and wrap his arms around you from behind. this follows up with him lifting you off the ground, and twirling you around until you get done screaming your head off. expect him to try and push you into the pool once or twice, too. out of there, he often holds your hand; caressing his thumb over your knuckles absentmindedly as an instinct to make sure you're alright. more physical teasing tends to be shared as well, because he just loves making you flustered.

less controlling and more trusting. while billy would still get jealous at times, he'll loosen up at some point and not question where you're going. the only way he would, is if it's suspicious; you leaving in a rush and not mentioning for what, as an example. I also see him, at some point, giving a very bad apology about being a dick about questioning you in the past. the fact that you won't be too bothered by it at that moment in time, will ease him and make him put more faith into you.

him taking care of you. we all obviously see billy ass this tough guy who who's one massive asshole. but, even though that is kind of true, I don't think he'd be the kind of boyfriend that lets his girlfriend's wounds go untreated. if you get into a fight or an accident happens, involving physical injury, I see this man becoming insanely worried on the inside and instantly pulling you to the bathroom. your set onto the sink, and only seconds later would your wounds be addressed. as a bonus, if it involves a fight, expect him to go after that person.

being protective. billy has a thing where he refuses to let people mess with what's his. he's very protective of you, so if the wrong guy says the wrong comment, expect a fight to break out. or if a jealous bitch says something way out of their range, expect him to go off with his own out of pocket comment. he doesn't let anyone pick on you, and he sure as hell will go ballistic if another human being touches you in anyway without your consent.

him sprouting random ideas when high. for some reason, I see blondie as a goofy dude when he's on cloud 9. he'll speak shower thoughts, things he's just never said out loud before but would surface due to his brain being elsewhere. in my head, he'll definitely mention getting matching tattoos more than once - however, since he's gonzo, he'll suggest the dumbest shit. you always bring it up later on just to tease him, and he becomes a pouty bitch that gives you the silent treatment.

him meeting your family. when this option hits the table, he's not too thrilled at first; hargrove just isn't too good with families, so meeting his partner's would be... awkward. very tense, in his mind. though, I do see him trying his best to be good. to your guardian(s), if they're nothing like his father is, I can see him attempting to strike an actual conversation with them to possible get on their good side. he won't suck up, but he'll definitely be out of character. if you have any younger siblings, billy will definitely make an effort to get along with them and maybe form a small bond.

him making up with max. this alone would be a difficult subject for him. in order for him to do this, he'd have to explain everything to her.. which he wasn't okay with doing at first. after some convincing from you though, and shared kisses and praising words, he finally gives in. it's kind of sloppy, and billy messes up with his wording a few times, but eventually he explains to max why he was such an asshole to her. in the end, the two become acquaintances that soon lead up to a beautiful friendship.

I feel like there is way more that can be said, but for now I'll leave this here. I think I pretty much summed it up how I see billy as a partner. hopefully, it's not too bad.

#stranger things #stranger things season 2 #stranger things season 3 #stranger things s2 #stranger things s3 #st #st s2 #st s3 #st2 #st3 #billy hargrove #billy hargrove headcanon #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x gender neutral reader #y/n insert #reader insert #billy hargrove stranger things

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miam0re · 1 year

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Hi!

Could you please write the brothers reacting to this scenario following Season Three's end (fully SFW, please!):

After they arrived in the human world to visit, MC had started acting secretive. They were hiding something from their partner, and would readily admit it. "It's nothing bad!" They would assure the brother, refusing to let it slip.

As it approached the time for the brothers to return to the Devildom, MC seemed more and more excited, talking about their own inevitable return once they have learned more magic.

Then the farewell party came and the brothers gathered together to ask Diavolo to let MC marry into the family. We all know how that ended. Diavolo saying marriage between a human and a demon was not -had never been - an option left MC stunned and quiet for the rest of the night.

The next morning, as they say their goodbyes, MC takes the brother's hand and whispers in his ear. "Wear this to remember me by," they say as they place a ring in his palm.

Back in the Devildom, the brother takes the time to look at MC's gift. It's an attractive band, etched with designs inspired by the brother and MC's symbolic animals on the outside and their names on the inside. The brother can't help but think that it would make an excellent wedding ring.

Thanks for your time!

By 'season 3' I assume you mean the 3rd arc in game...ie ch41-60

I still haven't reached there cuz my deck power is absolute shit

Looking at your request(and interpreting what I think you want to ask), I was a bit stumped on the kinds of reactions that the demon brothers would have for such a thing so I turned to a friend for help haha.

Gets a little angsty so well 👀

A Ring to Remember | Demon Brothers

The one who spends hours at his desk, holding the ring with a restrained grip, lest his emotions get the best of him and the diamond shatters into a million tiny pieces. “Why are you making this so difficult for me?” He scoffs to himself, heartbroken as he stores the ring into his desk drawer, unable to look at it and remember your beautiful face and the memories made together…

The one who can’t bear seeing the ring, yet he wants to keep you close to his heart at all time. He cared for you so much, so why did the universe have to keep you away? “Nah! I don’t miss the human at all! I’m better off!” He convinces his brothers (or not) as the ring hangs on a golden chain around his neck, hidden from sight as he hides his agony from the world…

The one who think you’re probably out there already with someone else, someone better than him and in a fit of jealousy tosses it out his bedroom window. “Pfft, I don’t need any stupid ring as a reminder of you.” Regrets how stupid he was being and spent hours looking for it, tearing the garden apart, sitting on his knees and wailing loudly when the ring is nowhere in sight…

The one who lets his wrath get the best of him, shaking with rage as he lets fists fly, crashing into the bookshelves and dropping books all over the carpeted floor. “This is not fair! None of this is fair!” He screams into the void, knees weak as he joins the pile of books, sobbing while clutching the ring close to his chest, hoping some magic would let the two of you be together…

The one who accepts fate as it is, smiling bitterly while slipping the diamond ring on his finger, admiring how the light catches in the carved edges. “The beauty of the diamond ring can never compare to ours when we’re together.” Plays with the ring constantly, sometimes pouting to himself about how he’s being deprived of vitamin U and hoping he can see your smile a few times more…

The one who no longer feels an appetite for food, but only a longing to have you in his arms and fill the space in his life. “Food just doesn’t taste the same without you around.” Spends hours in a stretch in bed, staring at the ring and trying it on his ring finger, till his emotions spout out uncontrollably, crying into the pillows about how much he misses you…

The one who stays in the attic and talks to the stars about his day, imagining that the star was you, his dearest. “No matter what happens, you will always remain in my heart.” Always wears the ring and thinks of the two of you stargazing and spending moments together. He spends even more time sleeping, resting on the fluffy pillows with scents that reminded him of you…

#mi.mail #mia.writes #mia.anon #obey me x reader #lucifer x reader #obey me fluff #mammon x reader #leviathan x reader #satan x reader #asmodeus x reader #beelzebub x reader #belphegor x reader #obey me angst

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thefangirlofhp · 6 months

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22. friend in deed

It is an inherent part of Cassian’s constitution to look after people; a particular character trait that most people would commend him for but others can often hold it in contempt. Azriel understands how it could make a person feel either ways, as he is often subjected to the polarizing effect of Cassian’s care. Azriel is not often placed in the position where he must provide what he is so often given (even if he refuses it) as he often thinks of himself as being the person who fetches the care, instigates its offering and provides the intel: Cassian is upset.

But who would he give this particular note to, such as today? Morrigan herself is on the brink of throwing herself into the sea with rocks chained to her ankles and Amren is as likely to offer the kind of consolation Cassian needs as a lion would roll over for a deer. Rhys is usually Cassian’s comfort, the male who knows exactly what to say to make things better.

But he’s gone, now.

So, when Azriel walks the hallow corridors of the House of Wind, after another futile day of trying to escape Velaris, and finds Cassian lying motionless on the floor of an open balcony, Azriel figures, what the Hell, he’ll make an effort. The House offers a commendable dinner, but Azriel really only takes the roasted chicken and makes a soup out of it. He does gratefully accept the offered cookies, and covers them with a dishcloth.

“Hey,” Azriel stands over Cassian, who’s covering his eyes with his arm. He nudges his side. “Sit up. Made you something.”

“Thanks,” Cassian grumbles, sitting up and accepting the steaming bowl of soup while Azriel makes himself comfortable next to him on the floor.

“You’re all-right?” Azriel asks, tucking his hands under his arms.

Cassian shoots him a look out of the corner of his eyes, and delays the answer by trying the soup. “Yeah.”

Since Azriel’s met him and learned about the emotional complexities people were made of, he’s quickly realized Cassian doesn’t have many layers, so to speak. He’s a straightforward male, who grumbles when he’s upset and shouts when he is angry and punches the stuffing out of training dummies when he’s in the mood.

“This was his favorite,” Azriel nods to the soup. “Remember? When it was cold, and we were all miserable, his mother used to make it for us?”

Cassian’s face softens, and he nods once.

“I miss him,” he confesses and Azriel feels the weight it brings. Rhys’s absence has been a hemophiliac wound that would not heal, an amputation that keeps on bleeding. He was everywhere, and now he is nowhere and there’s no place to run away from that fact.

“Me too,” Azriel admits softly. “I…hate not knowing. I’ve never not known for certain before. It eats me alive, to not know and have no ways of knowing.”

Cassian nods again. Then he scoffs. “To think I miss the fucking Illyrians.”

Azriel hasn’t gone that insane.

“I can’t imagine Amarantha hasn’t found out about us by now,” Azriel shares. “I can’t imagine Kier keeping us a secret, or the Illyrians not having a commander. I…I hope she isn’t taking it out on anyone undeserving.”

Cassian’s brow furrows before panic lights his eyes. “Do you think she’s torturing Rhys, for information about us?”

People have many keys to exploit, weak spots that would fell the toughest walls and crumble any person’s constitution in moments—Azriel should know; most of his work as a torturer is not measured in how gruesome the act itself it, but by knowing where exactly to hit.

“Whatever she does wouldn’t be enough,” Azriel softly reassures him. “Rhys can take it. Because he knows we are safe, and she can’t find out about us.”

Cassian’s face doesn’t lighten, remains dark and thunderous. “I hope he’s all-right. And that one day I’ll get to kill the bitch.”

“We all have our pound of flesh to take,” Azriel says. “I just hope his knee doesn’t bother him; it’s getting cold.”

Cassian shakily exhales. “Yeah. I hope he gets back, soon.”

“Me too.”

#azriel and cassian #cazriel #ppppllllaatonic #azriel #cazriel fic #hurt/comfort agAIN #ngl kinda wondering where everyone's notes are all month :/#cassian #rhysand

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doomednarrative · 9 months

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Alright. I said last night I’d write up my actual serious thoughts about the Chain Scenes in Kabuto and I will indeed deliver on that promise.

I think the biggest thing to remember when it comes to both Yaguruma and then subsequently Kageyama wearing the chains together is When It Happens, because it doesn’t happen for no reason, theres’s something specific that sets it off.

It happens not long after all of This:

it happens after Yaguruma is given the chance to take up TheBee again by Tadakoro, something that he adamently refuses to do, saying he’s found his purpose/enjoyment in living in the hell that he’s chosen for himself.

But Kageyama, who still hasn’t completely lost his faith in being heroic, in doing things on the side of Light, isn’t as keen on just giving up this chance like Yaguruma is, so he instead rushes towards it. He takes back TheBee, and it goes about as well as expected (read: he fails at it yet again.) And afterwards, when he’s laying on the ground defeated, he reaches out to Yaguruma again, the only person who still looks at him as an equal even in the aftermath of failure, and basically asks if he can fix things for him.

And the thing that kills me is in that moment, after Kageyama’s defeat with TheBee deciding he still isn’t worthy of it anymore, we see this happpen:

TheBee literally presents itself to Yaguruma again. The offer of "you can be the one to use me again, I find you worthy once more" is on the table. And he Still refuses it.

And I think what kills me with this is that TheBee here ends up saying two different things at once in this One scene, for both Kageyama and Yaguruma. To Yaguruma, watching Kageyama try out TheBee again, trying to play the hero on the side of Light, and once again failing so hard at it, it kinda ends up reaffirming what he was already believing, that the two of them are in hell and there’s no point to even Trying to play the hero, because it ends badly every time they try. They will always be failures, so why try to change it? They’ll never live up to Tendou and the others, so it’s better to stsy together in the darkness.

And yet, by the very nature of TheBee offering itself to Yaguruma again too, it’s also contradicting that entire notion. It’s basically saying to Yaguruma’s face "Are you really so set in those ideals? Are you sure you’ve really killed off that part of yourself that wants to do good?"

And it ends up being Right in that, because what does he do the very next scene??

He goes out on his own as Kickhopper not only to defend Kageyama for getting his ass beat, but also to help Kagami and Tendou to defeat a Worm together.

And it’s something he clearly doesn’t think super well of himself for doing, because while Kgaeyama is happy to see him after all is said and done, he’s clearly annoyed with both Kageyama and himself for the whole thing:

He’s starting to see that Maybe, Kageyama isn’t as wrong as he wants to think he is, and that having him around is actively challenging the ideals of darkness and hell that he was fine and comfortable being in all this time.

Which then leads us of course to The Chains:

Yeah, the chains are funny/weird as hell and quite a reaction to thinking "hm, I’m failing in my edgy ways, I need to reinforce my beliefs somehow so this drastic measure seems like it’ll help do just that." But when you actually take all the context into mind, it kinda Makes Sense why he does it (and why Kageyama then joins him, because he seeks approval and acceptance and he knows following Yaguruma’s example will get him that.)

Yaguruma’s not cool with the fact that his own supposed beliefs were being actively challenged by those around him, he doesn’t want them to be. He doesn’t want to believe in the possibility that maybe he’s still capable of being good and that it’s Worth doing so. And so he brings out the chains as a way to force his hands Away from doing Anything that might interfere with those beliefs. If he literally cannot act on things due to being bound up, then it’s a problem solved for him and one he no longer needs to worry about.

#i know kabuto is just a weird show overall and the chains are an example of these two doing shit they dont need to just because they chose #but consider: if i dont attempt to take things seriously i will actually go mad. and there Is actual character basis behind this stuff #kamen rider kabuto #yaguruma sou #kageyama shun #hellhoppers #kief watches kr kabuto

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naivesilver · 3 months

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Self-fulfilling prophecies, or: I think Rumple and Blue messed up big time, folks

Disclaimer: I am a comparatively recent OUAT fan, so while smarter people probably thought this through before I even watched the show, I have never seen it happen and thus can't know if I'm stating the obvious. Please bear with me, this is going to be a long post.

So prophecies! OUAT has a lot of those. There is an entire wiki section about them, and most of the early ones are offered to us by Rumpelstiltskin, because as we know, he gained the power of foresight from the Seer. But what exactly did said Seer tell Rumple, when she relinquished her power to him?

What we gather from the (cryptic) explanations that we get is that with foresight, you can see all the ways the future might untangle, and practising+physically approaching the time of the events make you able to discern which of those paths will ultimately be the right one. Bae's destiny after the Seer's first on-screen prophecy proves that while the future is highly dependent on people's actions, they cannot forcefully steer it in the direction they want - Rumple thought he could avoid losing his son by crippling himself, but in doing so he followed EXACTLY the road that had been paved for him.

We don't know, however, what would have happened if he hadn't spoken to the Seer. SHE knew, presumably, that by drawing him close she would put the doubt in his mind, but it's unclear whether he would have still left his son fatherless by dying on the battlefield or something entirely different would have happened. We don't know - and Rumple doesn't, either.

Here's the catch, though: everything he does in the first few seasons follows the same pattern of that night in the army, blindly assuming that it makes a difference. He micromanages every main character's life because he sees them as pieces of the bridge he HAS to build to reach Bae. He doesn't account for things going wrong because he thinks they can't, and he's fucking EVERYWHERE anyway, so nothing can slip out of his fingers.

But what if THAT is what actually cements this timeline as the "definitive" one? The Seer told him he would find his son again, he could have simply bid his time and waited knowing this would be the result anyway. When his first apprentice disappoints him as the curse-caster, Regina and her grudges still happen, after all. He probably didn't need to do anything to ensure it - if he'd just leaned back and spun his little wheel, the future would have come around on its own, one way or another. But he doesn't, and instead sets in motion a very specific chain of events, and thus the show happens.

Why would he do that? Maybe he didn't learn how to parse through his visions correctly and he thinks this is a "will be" future and not a "can be" one. Maybe that first prophecy didn't teach him anything, and he still thinks he can cheat destiny (as proven by the fact that when learning that a boy will be his undoing, he refuses to accept it, believing he can just kill said boy before it happens). Maybe he thinks he's like MCU Doctor Strange, who sees thousands of possible outcomes and makes sure the one that leads him to Bae the quickest will happen. I have no clue. But what I think has happened is that for any of these reasons, he made this destiny happen by KNOWING it would happen (or believing it would, as you'd have it), thus fulfilling the prophecy by willingly acting on it.

So Rumple fucked himself over, big deal. We have seen it happen multiple times after s3. But you know who else might have unknowingly led the future where she thought it'd go, in this endless loop we have just described?

At this point in the story we don't really have proof of whether Blue has prophetic powers of her own or she's just going off Rumple's words, but it does seem to me that the way she's telling the story has a bit more nuance than his version did during the Charmings' visit to the cell. So either she went back to pry further, from a man that she generally does NOT trust...or somehow, she's autonomously privy to details most of the others don't have.

But what does she DO with that knowledge? Does she work with what she has to guarantee Emma will fulfil her destiny? Does she trace very clear boundaries for everyone to stay within to adhere to her plan? No. She lets Geppetto convince her to lie. She allows him to risk jeopardizing the safety of an ENTIRE kingdom in the span of five minutes, which makes no fucking sense considering she has never shied away from weaponizing her influence for the sake of what she thinks is the greater good (which in turn is what made people think she was the villain all along, but I digress).

Moreover, some of my friends once had a discussion that, everything else aside, made me realize how fucking dumb it was of Blue to just LEAVE when Geppetto had threatened to do as he pleased with the wardrobe. What kinda preparations did she have to do, literal HOURS before a curse where she would lose all her free will and magic anyway? It was pointless at best, detrimental at worst, and the way I see it, PREMEDITATED to begin with, because while I utterly despise Blue and would have no problem calling her an idiot, this would objectively be a bad move. She could have literally lied to Geppetto about what kind of person could go in the wardrobe, or used magic to prevent the worst from happening. She has done similar things, before AND after that moment.

If she indeed knew, either because of Rumple or her own abilities, how shit was "meant" to go down, it's not too far-fetched to assume she might have acted accordingly in an attempt to guarantee the success of this plan. Even if there had been other possible paths to take, e.g. worlds where Emma might have gone to the LWM with either of her parents, and EVEN IF Rumple hadn't already prevented those variables from happening by that point...if Blue thought the only way for it to work was to stick to the timeline she had envisioned, then there was nothing anyone else could do.

To sum up this theory: Rumple sees the chain of events that develops through show canon, and either decides or mistakenly believes it will be made true, putting all his effort into ensuring it does. Blue makes the same mistake (depending on how you see it, obviously) and instead of forcing people's hands to change the course, allows Geppetto to make what she thinks is an unavoidable decision. By doing so, BOTH of them fulfil what they think is an already written future, but might have still only been one of the various options available among endless variables.

Besides, if they HAD realized that they'd fucked up in hindsight, I doubt they would have admitted to it. It would have been too late by then: knowing them, they would have felt forced to stick to their guns, to avoid considering the possibility to have made a mistake - ESPECIALLY Blue, who was already responsible for the start of this avalanche, what with giving Bae the bean and suggesting the curse to Rumple. It's hard to believe they would have been able to live with themselves, if they'd taken the option into account.

And in the end, what are the results of this proactive decision? Rumple and Bae's reunion is angry, unsatisfying and with catastrophic consequences for the whole family. Emma grows up alone, forced into a destiny she did not sign up for, having been ten minutes old at best. And as for the third victim of prophetic crimes...

Without these beliefs, solid or imaginary that they might be, there is a chance nothing would have gone as we know: the 28 years gap might have meant something else entirely, a lot of people would have been spared the pain, and an external hand would have prevented Pinocchio from being sent on an impossible mission, with a baby and no tools to navigate this world in his hands. Another child lost to the Land Without Magic as a pawn in a game played by two magic users who each thought they were outwitting the other - at least Emma got to grow and heal throughout the show, as an ADULT.

Did Pinocchio?

(OOF. This is almost certainly not what the writers had in mind when they planned the plot of this series. I am, unfortunately, aware of that. But I still think it's worth being put into words as a theory - I probably didn't formulate it as coherently as I hoped, but maybe the message will still filter through, despite the fact that I am 1) overtly verbose 2) tragically Italian. Unforgivable sins, both of them LMAO)

#FINALLY I've been thinking about this for two years #and I've probably typed it in the most stupid way known to mankind #but hey at least it's done #ouat #once upon a time #rumpelstiltskin #blue fairy #neal cassidy #august booth #ouat meta #ouat theories

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