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dilf-din · 11 months

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Class of ‘91

Or the one where Tommy Miller graduates

WC: 1050

Warnings: none, just good ol’ Miller fam fluff

Joel shuffled into the crowded auditorium carrying way too much in his limited arm space. His navy blue button down was wrinkled (from running out of time to iron it), and his khakis were sporting a fresh coffee stain from a mishap in the parking lot. Sarah, however, looked like a dream come true. Her pale pink dress had a full skirt that fanned out with a thick, white bow around the waist. Her curls had been freshly washed, finally getting long enough to fall into her eyes when she ran around bouncing. On her feet sat the smallest pair of mary jane’s with a pair of frilly socks that stopped at her ankles.

She clung to her dad’s neck as he awkwardly stepped over the the tangle of feet and legs that stood between them and their seats.

“‘Scuse me, sorry ma’am,” his low voice rumbled.

“Sowee!” her small voice chirped along, drawing more smiles than disgruntled looks from the crowded room.

“There you go, baby,” Joel said gently setting her in a red fabric chair much too big for her. Her feet barely hung off of the edge, and she wasn’t even close to sitting against the back.

Joel shuffled the bag down off of his shoulder, doing his best to not spill any more of his now lukewarm coffee. Around his neck hung a camera with a fresh roll of film. He settled his belonging at his feet, unzipping the bag to pass Sarah her favorite my little pony toys.

“Tank you, dada!” she smiled, eagerly taking them into her chubby hands, immediately throwing them into an intricate story as she babbled and trotted them along the arm of her chair.

Joel let out a big exhale and ran his hands through his messy waves, trying his best to smooth them out. He pulled out the program from his back pocket and thumbed through it to find the small black and white picture of Tommy on the page with the other M names. He sported his signature toothy grin under a black cap and tassel.

Joel’s chest swelled with pride as the lights dimmed, signifying the start of the ceremony. They had made it just in time.

“Dark, dada!” Sarah said loudly, drawing quiet laughs from the families seated around them.

“It’s okay baby,” he shushed her gently, patting her knobby little knee with his giant hand.

The hour of speeches and names being called passed quickly and slowly at the same time, Joel’s time filled with passing snacks and toys to Sarah and doing his best to keep her from dropping anything too loud on the concrete floor during any of the particularly quiet parts.

“He’s coming up,” Joel whispered down to Sarah, as he straightened in his seat and fumbled the lens cap off.

“Jocelyn Means, Josh Merit, Tommy Miller,” the principal droned on as the seniors crossed the stage donned in matching caps, gowns, and smiles.

With the announcement of his brother’s name, Joel and Sarah erupted into a small party of cheers while Joel snapped a few quick pictures from his seat, planning on exhausting the remaining frames on the roll with shots of the family and Tommy’s friends. Tommy shot a grin in their direction, waving at Sarah with the tips of his fingers.

The rest of the ceremony passed quickly, with Sarah crawling into Joel’s lap for the last few minutes, whispering, “I love ooh, dada,” into his ear over and over, a permanent smile on his face as he patiently responded to each declaration. When the graduating class of 1991 was announced, the whole place erupted into cheers. Joel stood with Sarah on his hip while she clapped enthusiastically, happy to join in on the ruckus. Everyone started filing out in the lobby and courtyard outside to meet up with their graduates. Tommy had told Joel prior that he would meet them outside. The late May Texas sun was on full display, instantly causing sweat to prick at Joel’s back. Thankfully, he had cuffed the sleeves of his shirt earlier, rolling them to his elbows to provide some sort of relief.

It only took a minute for Tommy to spot the duo waiting for him.

“Unca Tommy!” Sarah squealed, holding out her arms to swing from Joel’s hip to his. He took her willingly, rubbing his nose against hers drawing a laugh from Sarah and adoring looks from some of the other graduates.

“How ya doin’, baby?” he asked his niece.

“I’m good. Dada spilled coffee,” she said fiddling with the tassel of his hat.

Joel let out a sigh while Tommy snickered.

“Can you get one o’ your friends to get a few pictures of us?” Joel asked, pulling the camera strap carefully off of his neck.

“Sure,” Tommy smiled, scanning the crowd before tapping a girl on the shoulder. Her hair was pulled into long braids, and she had a beautiful, bright smile.

“Shauna, this is my brother and my niece, would you mind takin’ some pictures for us?” he asked, flashing her another charming grin.

“Tommy Miller, I would be honored,” she exclaimed with an exaggerated hand over her heart. She took some great ones, although Joel had a feeling his favorite would be the one of Tommy holding Sarah with both of them flexing their biceps.

After an extended round of goodbyes, handshakes, and hugs, the crowd slowly started to filter into their cars.

“What do you say we go get some hibachi, my treat?” Joel queried, clapping his brother on the back.

Tommy smiled at the ground, “Nah, you don’t have to do that.”

“If you think that’s too much, you’re really not gonna like this,” Joel said mischievously, fishing a keyring out of his back pocket with a truck key hanging off of it.

“Joel, what did you do?”

Joel shrugged, “Nothin’, it’s just the Adler’s old truck. But it’ll get ya by,” he smiled.

Tommy threw his arms around his neck and into a tight hug.

“Thanks, big brother.”

“We better get going’ now, we’ve got two o’clock reservations,” Joel smiled, leaning down to take Sarah’s hand from where she was currently organizing pebbles at the base of a small tree on the brick path.

“I’ll race ya,” Tommy grinned.

“NO!” Joel jogged after him, toddler in tow.

#the last of us #the last of us hbo #tlou #tlou hbo #joel miller #tommy miller #Sarah miller #the last of us fluff #the last of us fanfiction

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martiwikiwi · 1 month

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Welcome to yet another post of Marta's very old OCs! Today we have another of my 2010's queer dramas, but this one was a special comic because it was like, the origin of all the other dramas I drew after. Also, I drew this comic twice, and the second time it had a special ending featuring a character from another comic that took place in the future because by changing the ending of this story he could rewrite the timeline and avoid the big drama of his own story, which allowed me to draw that comic again but with a new ending. It was a very complex story, ok?

This imposibly handsome wizard was the main character: Prince Darkdawn (he/him). He was a very talented half-elf wizard but his weapon of choice were his fists, and he punched the bad ones real hard. He had a very important mission: to protect an angel. Ironically, by the end of the story he died of an incurable illness that the angel infects him with... Despite of being a prince, his dream was to make a living of his erotica novels that for some reason nobody dared to publish. He started the story claiming he had never felt attraction (you can see my surprise as I was reading the comic and finding my first asexual quote) but by the end of the story he had three boyfriends. Looking at him from the distance, he was demi and pansexual, also sickly romantic. Wanna know his army of boyfriends?

This super cool elf here is Sora (he/him). Sora's big drama was he had amnesia and couldn't remember anything of three years of his life. Ironically, during the story he had an accident and forgot everything but remembered what happened during those three years and that's when he discovered he already knew the angel! Because he used to be his bodyguard! And they were a couple! But drama happened and was forced to quit the job then! And his romantic relationship with the angel too. He was the responsible party member, always caring about everyone and planning stuff ahead. His very gay ass fell in love with the prince almost instantly.

The cutest and smallest warrior ever was Song (he/him). Yes, this is a very early version of my Prince Forgotten Love Song, actually, both of them have a serious heart condition. However, this Song wasn't a prince and couldn't cast any magic, instead, he was trained exclusively for protecting the angel, so he was like his (new) official bodyguard. He was very very very cute and everyone adored him because of reasons and while he was the most capable party member he felt very frustrated at the minor failures. He was crazy for the angel and by the middle of the story started falling in love with the prince too. He was a very dramatic gay but also very top.

Finally, we have Angel (he/him). He was... good for nothing. He was a failed experiment and had super dangerous psychic powers he couldn't control. He actually used his powers once to defend Song in a battle but hurt everyone instead so for the rest of the story his role is of a helpless maiden. Because he was so so useless, everyone was obsessed with his well-being and loved him dearly. He had chronic pain and disliked his angel wings a lot. By the end of the story, the love of the prince, his exes (Sora wasn't his only ex) and the kiddo transformed him into A GOD OF LIGHT or something like that.

It was such a drama of 500+ pages full of sweet romantic scenes and tears. I don't do romantic scenes like that anymore...

#Marta Selusi #my art #oc #sketchbook #artists on tumblr

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justarandomsloth · 1 year

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I have questions

But I should also provide a request:

You were saying a nice g!dream sounded interesting, why not try that? Writing or art, I don't care which....

I still found a way to make this have angst— I hope you enjoy :D

(Btw thanks for the prompt!!)

Safe In Exile

Word Count: Less than 1k

—

The blond walked briskly through the forest, taking a path that only he knew. He stopped in he middle of a wide clearing once he saw a vibrant flash of red.

Dream wasn’t phased as he felt a small weight land on top of his head.

“Hey Tommy.” He greeted, instinctively lifting a hand as he felt the tiny avian scramble to stay upright.

The man frowned and lowered his hand as the blond violently flinch.

“Is it one of those days?” He questioned already knowing the answer.

Tommy’s silence only confirmed it. Dream stood still, eyes scanning the clearing.

After a moment he walked over to a giant oak tree and slid down until he was sitting.

The man kept his movements deliberate as he carefully reached into his bag and pulled out a sketchbook.

He sat for a moment, thinking, before he started to draw the small flowers he saw around him.

Except for the sounds of his own breathing, everything was quiet.

Dream hated the silence. He hated the absence of Tommy’s stories and the emptiness that came with it. He hated not knowing what to say.

But most importantly, he hated the people who did this to him.

The people Tommy had called “brothers”.

They were the ones who did this. Who treated Tommy as their own personal marionette.

They took it out on him when their plans went wrong. The person that linked the failure of their doomed nation to Tommy. The one that expected him to pick sides then was angry when he didn’t choose the side of chaos and destruction—

They were the ones responsible.

Dream was snapped out of his spiraling thoughts by the harsh sound of his pencil breaking.

He immediately felt guilty as the avian hybrid tensed.

Forcing himself to take deep breaths, the man set his pencil aside.

He ignored the shifting on his head in order to look over his drawing.

It looked fairly realistic, minus the large streak in the middle of the page.

“The leaves on the stem need to be higher.” MTommy quietly remarked, now leaning over the human’s head.

“And those flowers normally only have four leaves, not five.”

Dream hummed in acknowledgment as he picked up a new pencil.

Drawing again, he let his thoughts wander.

He found it ironic that Tommy’s true tormentors were so beloved by the community.

Everyone else thought that Dream kidnapped him. They believed that he was torturing the teen.

Too bad the truth was right in front of them and they couldn’t even see it.

Even the two people he once called friends had started to believe the rumors and they had cut all ties with him.

It pained the man to act so cold and calculating, to play into the ruse of the heartless villain.

But Tommy’s safety came first.

“It’s best this way…” he thought.

And Dream wouldn’t have had it any other way.

—

I mean…. It’s got the smallest amount of fluff…

Hope you enjoyed!

(I actually like the idea that in an au Dream wasn’t torturing Tommy but instead saved him from the abuse that the others caused)

#mcyt g/t #dsmp g/t #t!tommy #g!dream #But he’s actually the good guy!#I love this so much you don’t even know—#3d ask

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romeulusroy · 3 years

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Instinct (Bucky Barnes Oneshot)

((TFATWS SPOILERS))

Character/s: Bucky

Word Count: 1,110

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @brithedemonspawn @megnotfound @ladyeliot @locke-writes @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @randomfandomimagine @amirahiddleston @diana-westmoon @valkyrie-2312

A/N: I haven't written in over a month and I'm scared it shows 💔 I'm really unsure with writing lately, I thought about not posting this, but I feel like I owe it big time. This was supposed to be something different, but I can't say I hate the direction it took. There aren't any major spoilers, it just follows the general plot, but I figured better to be safe than sorry. I hope you like it, and that I'm not too "out of the game" or bad at this lol. Feedback is always appreciated.Thank you for being so patient with my break my loves, it means the world 💜💖💜

Summary: He wants to move on, you don't 💕

Gif Credit: @captain-james / link :)

FIC MASTERLISTS 1 -> 3 / WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

There is a static between you. One that is ruthless, hostile, sharp. It makes your gums bleed to describe it, tasting nothing but iron, bitterness, a resentment that is otherwise untouchable by any other creature. A hatred towards the mirror, towards your own skin and bone, your entire fucking existence. Catching his eyes, even for a second, is staring into the sun. Blinding. Aggressive. Burning, until every inch of you is set aflame, itching to turn and run, to tear apart, to scream. Scream until there is nothing of you left. A reminder of what was, what is, and what will never be. What neither of you can go back to, as fitting as the mold may seem, as secure as that title may be, as comforting as that role used to be, he refuses, and you follow along. Bury the body, he thinks that will make him someone new, someone worth everyone else's time. Do not flinch when they say your name, when they whisper every awful thing you did, when they tease you, leaving the door open, enough so for the light to peak through. An escape plan, you think. You hope. A way back to the life before, where your mind was someone else's, when the world was cruel and you were allowed to be cruel back. He does not see it that way, slamming that door shut, locking it from the outside, and swallowing the key.

One word, an invitation, that's all you need. The risk is great, but the urge is greater. Split yourself open. Self destruct. Skip the steps, skip what they insist is healing when all they do is rip open old wounds. Skip the apologies, the sob story, the introduction. The look in their eyes never flinches, no matter how many times you beg. Why bother? Return to what they wanted, needed, feel a certain belonging you could never get back walking into the civilian world.

Your footprints made of blood, a sticky red trail left wherever you go. That's what they see, and they don't bother hiding it. The disgust. The references you don't understand, too old to laugh, to sigh, to roll your eyes. The world moved on without you, spinning faster than you remember, and you are left to catch up. They have their lists, their paper and pencil, all the recommendations one could offer. It would be endearing, maybe, but you have nothing to offer. None of the energy to play catch up. None of the want. Time slips through your fingers, wasted, growing spoiled, mocking you. You have better things to do than watch a movie, more important things, things that filled you with purpose, no matter how sick.

You would have been disgusted. Horrified. Speechless. You would have hated yourself more than you already do. But you are older now, far more experienced, hardened by a life you never could have expected. Learned to want it, though. An animal secured by captivity does not know how to survive in the wild. You were never equipped to live like this: free. The knives, the guns, the special ways in which you read even the smallest of actions, turning people into pages, an open book for you to skim, before placing back on the shelf.

You adapted, grew to fit what they wanted, who they wanted, until you too loved what you were. Dangerous, powerful, unfeeling. The numb became a high to chase, unsatisfied by anything else. Where he mirrored a version of yourself you left in the past, you embraced this role. The damage was done. The bodies put to rest. None of which you could take back, nor make up for. He sought redemption. You wouldn't dare. It wasn't by your choice, that much you could admit, but you could feel it, from the fits bullet to the last, you were never meant to be anything else. As gruesome as you had been, uncaring, quick, but painful, you would be nothing else. Assassin. Killer. Murderer.

They say it like it's a bad thing.

The guilt eats you alive, chews you up and spits you out, shattering your very being as you wake, each night, from another nightmare. The aggression, the shame, all of it you share as fairly as you can, and yet, you wear it so differently, making you more distinct than you could ever explain. The only other person in the world who has seen you at your lowest, your highest, faced what you have, seen what you've seen, and you can't stand to look at him. Not for the wounds he sewed up, his eyes falling on your broken body, nor is the sobs, the pleas, the prayers he heard escape you in moments of desperation. Not because he knows the way you scream, your body used for their own gain, enveloped in a pain only the Devil can inflict, or because he has seen you shoot without a second of hesitation, moving forward before their body hits the ground. None of it, not even the things you care not to mention, to think about, nit even now. It's that he has become resistant, soft even.

He fights a fight he knows he cannot win. He draws the line between good and bad, hero and villain, as if there even is one, as if they are not the same in moments of desperation, of selfishness, or of great selflessness. That he thinks he can stop being what they made him, resisting the instincts they worked so hard to ingrain. You feel it, too. Turning off everything around you, picking apart the situation before it plays out. Footsteps, whispers, how many there are, where, how quickly they can get to you. A dance you know each step to, the two of you in sync. This time, no leader, no follower, but two soldiers taking orders. Without them, he thinks himself above who he used to be, who you used to be, what you were, but you know better.

You want nothing more than to slip back into old habits. That look, that stare, the wince he hides when they bring up his crimes, he wants the same. Step back, fall into old ways, let go until there is no one left to scorn you for what they put into your head.

Where they see Bucky, a man escaped, in remorse, righting his wrongs, you see The Winter Soldier, a friend, a weapon, an old accomplice. One of them, you respect, trusting with your life. The other, nothing more than a facade, a mask, a weakness, an act even he has tricked himself into believing.

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arhvste · 4 years

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KOZUME KENMA - WORK OF ART

request - could it be possible to get a kenma fic/scenario where his gf or girl crush is an artist and often draws him- probably hides it n testu or someone finds it and shows him so now they go on lip dates where kenma just plays his games and she draws him just like extra fluffy if you can I love kenma so much 🥺🥺🥺 if it’s too much then just something fluffy with ken ! thank you!

warnings - none

an - thank you for the request anon i just know kuroo the little shit would show his best friend all the drawings he finds 😈

classes were boring enough as it is but learning about the history or hiragana? what was the need?

sitting by the window seat, you had the obvious choice to stare outside the glass as class dragged along but you hardly found yourself looking outside at the window. instead, you would look and admire a classmate of yours.

kozume kenma.

he was one of the prettiest boys you’d ever seen. even his actions were so delicate and gentle to which would encourage the light butteries in your stomach to flutter a little more while you watched him. it wasn’t long before you found yourself sketching the bleached haired boy.

you were an avid artist with a beautiful talent. drawing kenma seemed a little out of your comfort zone at first. when you noticed you’d been sketching him for a few weeks you tried to consciously stop yourself, you didn’t want to feel like a creep who would just stare and draw someone. these sketches captured the boy’s calmness perfectly though and you found you couldn’t help yourself but continue, even deciding to add more detail into particular pieces you liked.

you told yourself that you were just using him as inspiration. you weren't infatuated with the boy, just inspired. no matter how hard you tried to convince yourself of this though, you found yourself enjoying drawing him more than anyone or anything else bringing you to the conclusion that yes, maybe you were perhaps a little smitten with him. not that you’d ever let him find out though.

your sketch book was littered with an assortment of drawings. some finished down to the smallest detailed and others half done, lazily sketched and yet to be completed. kenma took up most of the occupation of the pages though. surrounded by statues, flowers and other pretty things you often drew kenma as the centre piece for all your pages.

the drawings you skillfully created depended on your mood and kenma’s mood on the day. some days, kenma would be struggling to keep his concentration on the lesson going on in front of him, other days he’d be almost interested and looked as if he was putting more effort into his work. your most favourite days, were ones where kenma was lazily interested in the lesson. he would often propt is chin under his hand, eyes prettily fluttering occasionally while trying to stay awake (probably sleep deprived from excessive hours of gaming) and he would sometimes even use a thin black bobby pin to pin his long hair out of his face to stop his field of vision from closing in tempting him to fall into a slumber in the midst of class. those days were your favourite. he looked extra pretty.

today just happened to be one of those days as you gazed at kenma who at this moment had his hair messily pinned out of his face, eyes drooping every so often with the setters head dropping ever so slightly every time he felt the weight of sleep too heavy to handle. one hand placed under his chin, keeping his head from completely falling onto the desk and the other weakly holding his pen as he attempted to keep up with the classes notes.

you wanted to draw him in this moment really, but you did happen to feel bad for the blonde. he was obviously struggling to keep his head clear enough to focus so you decided now was a good opportunity to step out of your comfort zone a little.

“kozume-san? you whispered ever so gently.

kenma’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of his voice being called. he tilted his head in you direction and blinked his twinkly golden eyes at you

“hm?”

“d-do you want me to uh keep up with your notes for you?”

kenma’s eyes softened at the sound of your gentle voice.

“why would you want to do that l/n?”

“i can see you’re struggling to stay focused. we sit near the back and the teacher isn't interested in looking in our direction. you can catch up on a bit of sleep - o-only if you want though you don't have to!”

you knew you were blushing now. maybe you should’ve just minded your own business but in a split second you knew it was all worth it.

kenma gave you a small but genuine smile. fuck. it was so pretty. he was so pretty. his smile wasn’t blinding no, more of a gentle angelic glowing light that warms ones heart. the rare sort of golden light that can only be captured in a small time window each day and only through clear skies. you had made kozume kenma smile and you knew you were right to have stepped out your comfort zone.

“you’re observant. its much appreciated l/n, thank you. let me know how i can repay you after.”

his soft voice heavy with sleep sent the butteries in your stomach to go off in a frenzy. his delicate hands handed you his class book and he blushed so lightly it wasn't even noticeable at the subtle contact of your fingers brushing past each other.

he gave you a gentle nod as he laid his head down gently on his desk and gave into the strong craving to fall into a sleep.

drawing and writing were two things that came naturally to you. you were able at completing both tasks at a quick speed but you did it so flawlessly. you took a shy pride in your notes and classwork as you did with your drawings. both aesthetically pleasing to look at, but full of appropriate and useful content.

writing kenma’s notes alongside yours wouldn’t be a problem to you.

however, this would cause one in the unbeknownst future to you.

class ended about 50 minutes after you had encouraged kenma to have a small sleep. classmates were closing their notebooks and packing up their things. you gently tapped the sleeping setters shoulder with notes in your hand.

after a few taps the boy slowly lifted his head and gently rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. your heart melted at the sight of his eyes flickering while adjusting to the light. the slightly darkened sun depicting his eyes as gold speckled pools of honey, his nose scrunched up as he allowed his body to wake up. was there ever a time this boy was ugly? he seemed to be attractive doing everything, it wasn’t fair.

taking the book from your hands he nodded and gave you a shy smile.

“thank you, l/n. please tell me how i can repay you”

“oh! please don't worry about it! you looked like you needed a recharge i’m just happy you were able to do just that.”

“you’re a kind person l/n. but don’t hesitate to let me know if you ever need a favour.”

and with that, the setter packed up the few papers he had been resting on and then slightly bowing at you before heading out the door most likely to get ready for practice.

you smiled to yourself and headed out your classroom to leave for home knowing you had done a good deed for the day and you had happened to have your first direct interaction with the boy you’d been delicately sketching for the past couple of months.

“kenma! you’re 2 minutes and 38 seconds later than usual! we can't afford to have the brain of the team slacking.” kuroo teased his best friend with an irritating smile.

“was talking to a classmate. she helped keep me up with the class notes.” kenma spoke boredly as he set his bag down so he could change into his gym clothes.

“notes eh? offended you wouldn't just ask me for help. this feels like betrayal.”

kenma rolled his eyes at his friend’s childish behaviour and dug through his bag to look for his clothes.

“the offer was there so i just took it. besides, l/n’s handwriting is much more eligible than yours.”

“ouch. are they as detailed though?”

“probably even more.”

“i don’t believe you.”

“look for yourself.” kenma shrugged nodding towards his schoolbag.

kuroo wandered over to kenma’s bag and pulled the classwork book out.

“uh yeah i guess these are pretty ne- oHOHO what do we have here?”

kuroos eyes danced over the pages, a shit eating grin spreading across his face.

“i hate when you pull that face what’s wrong with you?” kenma’s disgusted face looked up at kuroo who looked like he was having an internal field day.

“l/n eh? i think someones got a little crush on you kenma.”

“what?”

kuroo turned the book around to show the pages to kenma who’s eye widened.

there was the pages you had littered with beautifully depicted drawings of kenma.

both boys were silent as kenma’s eyes scanned over the pages.

“no reaction? personally i’d be flattered if someone drew me that much and with such good detail too.”

kenma was still processing all the drawings as a million possible reasons for why you’d drawn him so much ran though his head.

did you think he was attractive?

was it a crush like kuroo had teased?

did you just need a reference and he just so happened to be there?

were the drawings actually him or were they just someone scarily similar?

“sooooo... you gonna talk to her then?”

kuroo smiled teasingly at the now blushing setter.

“i’ll just give this back to her. it’s obviously personal and she might even explain herself when she sees that i have her book.”

kuroo shrugged and put the book back in kenma’s bag.

“i think it’s cute kenma, take my advice, you should take the opportunity to get to know her a little, she's obviously interested in you.”

kenma snorted at his friends words slightly as he begun to follow him out the changing rooms and into the gym to join the rest of the team.

“ironic the relationship virgin is giving me advice.”

kuroo could only roll his eyes and laugh.

“to think you’d be the one to get a girl first, in my defence i’m too busy for relationships.”

“okay mr docosahexaenoic acid, whatever helps you sleep at night.”

you had just arrived home and you felt the weight of the day lift itself off of you as you threw your shoes off and dropped your bag to the floor in your bedroom.

you bag tipped over with some of the contents spilling out causing you to huff but get up and pick it up anyway.

then you saw it.

your heart dropped.

“fuck.”

‘kozume kenma’ was written on the front of one of your classwork books. how had you been so stupid in getting them mixed up.

you began to panic and think of solutions to this fresh dilemma.

“maybe i should just tell him that i just like him nows a chance? no that's stupid why would i do that? i’ll just tell him it’s a model that just looks similar to him. no, that’s not believable is it? fuck it. i’m moving country.”

you screamed into your pillow but then stopped when you remembered something.

kenma was in practice right now. there’s no way he could’ve opened the book and bothered checking the work right? why would he bother doing that?

you checked the time on your phone. 3:28pm. you still had a while until practice was over. that would be more than enough time to go into the changing rooms and swap the books before anyone notices. and even if he had opened the book already, when he saw his book was back in his bag, you could easily play it off as if he had dreamt the drawings up as he would’ve just woken up and still been drowsy.

you wasted no time grabbing your shoes and the book to sprint out the door. school wasn’t too far from your house, a 17 minute walk to be exact. your legs started to ache at the sudden intense action of you sprinting like your life depended on it. well, your life did depend on it. if kenma saw them and thought you were weird, what were you to do then? dropping out of school seemed like the most reasonable option.

finally reaching the gates you caught your breath. getting to school was a 17 minute walk but a 9 minute run. once you gathered your thoughts you quietly approached the gym to peek inside. there the team were training and focused on the court. going in through the front of the school and walking through the halls to get to the changing rooms through the back way, you gripped the book tightly as you got to the boys changing rooms.

a quiet prayer was muttered before entering. the changing room was surprisingly clean and didn't smell like over sprayed deodorant and excessive sweat like you’d imagined. you let out a sigh of relief as you scanned the room for kenma’s stuff before noticing it at the end of the room.

“just in and out.” you muttered under your breath as you walked swiftly over to the setter’s belongings

digging through kenma’s stuff proved to be quite stressful. you were so focused on not getting caught, you failed to noticed the door separating the gym and changing rooms open.

“uh l/n?”

you jumped and turned your head to the owner of the voice.

there stood a slight sweaty and tired looking kenma who had offered to return to the changing rooms to grab one of yaku’s extra kneepads.

“uhhh i can explain.. our books got um mixed up and i uh well -”

“you’re talented you know.” kenma gave you a small almost ghost smile.

your face instantly heated up at the small praise the boy had given you.

“w-what?”

“the drawings. i must say, i was surprised when i saw them but, you have talent y/n and... i don’t mind if you keep drawing me...”

kenma’s shy persona caused the last part to come out so quietly you almost didn't hear him.

“i’ll keep that in mind.” you smiled as you approached kenma to give him his book back.

he muttered a quiet thanks and went through his own bag to fish you out your book to give back to you. the tension was awkward but not heavy enough to drive either of you away instantly. both of you holding back in anticipation waiting for one of you to talk.

“so um, do you wanna maybe go out sometime? you don’t have to.”

your eyes softened again as you shyly nodded.

“i would like that kozume-san.”

“kenma. call me kenma.”

months had passed since then. you found you had things in common with the setter and found his neutral presence calming. he wasn’t too loud or in your face but he also wasn’t completely extroverted to the point where you’d sit in awkward silence like people often assumed he was like.

you had met his team and family and they all welcomed you with open arms eager to get to know the girl who had drawn kenma not only on paper but drawn him out of his comfort zone gently.

the two of you weren’t big on going out on dates. you would both often opt to stay in and enjoy each other’s company. kenma would game and you would draw, the two of you engaging in soft and relaxing conversation. kenma would never admit it out loud, but he loved the days where you would draw him. he would act like he was too immersed in his game to notice you sketching away but he felt a sense of pride in him whenever he noticed you using him as your model.

you had grown more confident in yourself and often allowed kenma to see your drawings. you decided since you were using him as your reference, the least you could do was show him how you portrayed him and every time he would compliment and praise you for your work.

“you know i’m glad i felt extra tired that one day you offered to do my notes.”

you hummed and looked up at your boyfriend.

“yeah? i’m just gad you weren’t weirded out by my book.”

kenma offered a gentle smile at you.

“weirded out? i was taken aback but not weirded out. i was ever so slightly flattered even. thank you for seeing some sort of beauty in me.”

brushing his hair out of his face you smiled softly as you leaned closer to his face to whisper your final words before pressing a delicate kiss to his lips.

“no, thank you for being a work of art.”

#kozume kenma #kenma x reader #kenma x you #haikyuu fanfic #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!

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charlthotte · 3 years

Text

Breaking Through the Iron Wall - Aone Takanobu x Reader

Chapter 15

"Seriously, Takanobu, I don't think I could thank you enough for this, even if it just a flower." I spoke, my voice almost cracking from my tears. That happiness puzzled me, genuinely - and strangely, I greatly accepted it.

While making direct, honest eye contact with Takanobu - he began to fluster, a highly pigmented blush overcoming his usual delicately ghostly pallor. His mouth opened as if he was trying to say something, but after nothing was mustered - he closed it again. Several times this happened, what he wanted to say was on the top of his tongue, but wouldn't leave.

"Are you alright?" I inquired, taken aback by his disconcertion.

"I... Uh, yeah," Takanobu stumbled, "(Y/N), can I, uh say something?"

"Of course."

He took a deep breath, "So... Ummm, I just want t-to say that... No one h-has e-e-ever been this kind t-to me, so t-thank you." He stuttered relentlessly, but his message got across to me nonetheless.

I broke from our embrace, but Takanobu wasn't smiling, nor crying. Instead his expression seemed serene, almost at peace with himself - his eyes shimmered with the waning sunlight - the last of its rays illuminating them. Wiping my eyes, a breathy laugh echoed from my mouth. "No..." I took a deep breath, "Thank you."

Before long, the air became silent again, silent yet tranquil. "So... Do you want to go back inside?" I proposed, and in a return - I was met with a swift nod from Takanobu - his eyes still sparkling.

A warm gust of wind wrapped around my hand as we entered the inn, as if something had brushed passed it, only to be greeted by the conniving smirk of Futakuchi, "Have fun did we, you two?" It was painfully obvious that he knew everything that had just happened, even if he hadn't noticed the single hydrangea flower in my right hand.

"I did, actually. Thanks for asking." I responded in a sarcastically peppy tone. Waving goodbye to the two of them as I departed for my room, my eyelids beginning to droop from exhaustion. But, before I dropped to sleep, I pressed the single hydrangea flower in between two pages of the book I had brought with me, to preserve it. However, as I lay back down on the futon, I couldn't drift off to slumber - no matter how tired I was.

Tossing and turning for what felt like eternity, I grew to be exasperated, sick of the fact that I couldn't sleep.

My mind was going into overdrive - previous thoughts and experiences swimming around in my head - specifically what had happened earlier that day. That scene played over and over in my head, I couldn't think of anything else - it was on a constant loop.

After what felt like hours, there was a knock on my door, faint, muffled, almost too quiet to hear. I strained my eyes trying to see what time the clock read. It was midnight. As confused as I was, I stumbled up to the door, almost tripping over something as I did so. When I opened the door, first, I struggled to see who stood at the other side of it. But after my eyes adjusted to the lack of light, I could faintly recognise the figure of Takanobu, shivering as he breathed shakily.

"Are you okay?" I asked, whispering - genuinely concerned as to why he was standing there before me at such a preposterous time.

He didn't reply. He took an unsteady breath and shook his head - his head sinking nearly below his shoulders.

"Well... Do you want to talk about it?" I queried, beckoning for him to follow me.

As I sat back down onto my futon - leaning against the wall - I patted the space next to me for Takanobu to sit there, and he did.

Vaguely, I could sense why he seemed so worried, and I could strongly relate to that, as that trepidation had been in the back of my mind ever since that day at the vet's. "It's Shiro, isn't it?" I whispered, careful not to draw any attention to us.

He hummed in affirmation, holding his head in his hands, one single tear trailing down his cheek.

I didn't know what to say to him. How could I have comforted him in a situation like that one? So, I attempted to calm myself, and tried to offer the best reassurance I could, "So... I know that you and Shiro both love each other loads and I also know that he wouldn't want you to be worried about him, he'd want you to have fun and enjoy your time here."

"But, but what if I don't get to say goodbye?" He mumbled, gazing down at the floor.

"Well..." I hesitated, "Even if you can't say goodbye to him, I'm sure he'll still be with you no matter where you are. But, in the end, all we can do is be optimistic."

"I guess so." Takanobu hiccupped, raising his left hand to wipe his weeping eyes. His whole body softly shaking while he sobbed.

Several minutes passed before either of us spoke again, until I did, in the spur of the moment. "Come here, Takanobu, you need a hug." I whispered, trying to lace the utmost sympathy into my words. Almost immediately, his body collapsed towards me - nearly knocking me over with his imposing frame. But, I did manage, somehow, to brace for its impact - resulting in his head resting flush against my collarbone - the moisture from his tears clinging onto my shirt.

Gently, I placed my hand upon his back, lightly caressing it up and down in a comforting rhythm - holding him in place as he wept into the crook my neck. Neither of us spoke for what seemed like hours, and we didn't need to. We never did.

I must have fallen asleep in that very same position, as later, I awoke, with Takanobu's slumbering form laid against me- having not moved at all from before. No longer was he melancholy, instead he was dozing, dreaming of a world away from reality.

Once again, I strained my eyes, trying to adjust my eyes to the lack of light. When they did - I could barely recognise the time upon the clock, reading 4:17. And so, not wanting our situation to appear as conspicuous to the team, I began shaking Takanobu's shoulders to wake him up. It didn't take long for him to start to stir. Once his eyes were opened, the moonlight hit them perfectly, illuminating them in a picturesque shade of repose, but behind them - was a burning veil of distress and hurt.

As he woke fully, he quickly came into realisation about where he was - swiftly jumping from where he was and began sneaking towards the door, taking caution where he stepped - he couldn't see, after all. But as he departed from my room, I could faintly see the outline of a smile upon his face. Smiling back at him, I waved goodbye to him while he tried to close the door without making the smallest hint of noise.

Directly after he left, I noticed the faint palpitation of my heart inside my chest. And since that feeling wouldn't let me fall back into the depths of slumber any time soon, I decided to lay onto my back, staring at the empty ceiling - wondering why the thrumming of my heart wouldn't calm down.

After my alarm rang, approximately two hours later - I stumbled out of my futon, grabbing my toiletries before I headed for the bathroom. Inside there, the air was peaceful, flowing along with the early morning atmosphere.

While in the bathroom, I took a warm shower, relaxing as the droplets hit my skin - figuratively washing away my worries as the soapy suds trailed down the drain, refreshing my mind for the rousing day ahead of me. The shower didn't last long, and while drying myself off, I absentmindedly began to hum - feeling happy, a rare occurrence in the early morning.

When I was ready for the day, wearing Date Tech's manager's uniform with my hair bouncing along with my stride as I walked, I stepped out from behind the bathroom door, only to be dragged away by my forearm by Futakuchi.

"So, your highness... A little bird - our lovely little Kousuke to be exact - told me that he heard our good friend Mr. Aone creep back into our room at an ungodly time this morning? Would you happen to know anything about that, I wonder?" He smirked, looking down at me, his eyes twinkling with devilish delight.

"Perhaps." I replied, deadpan, "But, please, get your mind out of the gutter." I shook my arm, trying to release myself from his grip, "Now, please let me go." I said, smiling wryly.

He raised his hands in surrender, letting his grip on me release, "Don't let me stop you." He said cockily, offering me a false sense of defeat.

In succession to that small encounter, I headed down to breakfast with the team. Jolly spirits were held high as a strong sense of moral echoed throughout the atmosphere - many members of the team unable to hinder their excitement - particularly the first years. One of which - the libero, Sakunami, sending suspecting glances to both me and Takanobu as we ate. Trying to pay him no mind, I gazed down at my food, feeling more than a little paranoid.

While on the coach, riding to Fukurodani Academy, I couldn't help but feel a great amount of anticipation towards the upcoming event. However, it didn't have much time to rise as we arrived at the prestigious academy in a rather short amount of time.

The building was huge, decadent and sumptuous, with the school's banners and flags billowing in the wind, displaying all its glory for all to see. From what I could see, the campus was absolutely ginormous, with the highest building seeming to be at least five storeys high. It was almost unreal.

As we departed from the coach, the coach from Fukurodani's team greeted us, offering to show us the way towards the sports hall where our match would be held. We definitely would have gotten lost without his help.

After making several turns and walking for several minutes, we had finally arrived at the gym used for volleyball - where the other team was practicing their spikes and receives. With one team member doing so with a large amount of gusto, a broad beam plastered upon his face. Perhaps, he was the ace that Fukurodani's manager had warned me about.

But before anything else happened, that same person came bounding towards us like an over zealous dog, skidding as he stopped, waving his hands out to us excitedly, "Hey! Hey! Hey!" He called out, bounding up and down, exhilarated. "I'm Bokuto Koutarou! You guys look really cool!" Pausing, he turned to me, "Wow, your hair is so wicked, can I touch it?"

Taken aback, but not wanting to be rude, I answered, "Uhh, sure." Sounding more like I was asking the question myself.

Without any hesitation the guy with the frosted tips, who I now knew as Bokuto, pinched the end of one of my curls, gently pulling it down and then letting it back spring back into place. His eyes sparkled, astounded, "Awhhh, that's amazing! I wish my hair was like that! He beamed, his words pure and filled with sheer wonder at something as trivial as someone's hair.

"Thanks..." I replied sheepishly, avoiding eye contact with him.

However, there was someone who didn't seem exactly happy to witness that encounter between Bokuto and I, that was Takanobu, who now held a stern glare upon his face, and strangely his arm pointed out - directed straight at Bokuto's face - completely singling him out from the rest. And in an instant, Futakuchi was there, trying relentlessly to force Takanobu's arm downward, but all to no avail. That was, until I simply put my hand on top of his arm, which caused him to lower it almost immediately. But why he did that perplexed me, as I had never seen him do such a thing before.

Moniwa seemed to take notice of my confusion, "Don't worry, (L/N). It's just how Aone finds our opposing team's ace. He does it all the time." He said, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly feeling a tad nervous.

But, hardly thirty seconds had passed before everyone started to let the game go underway, with everything needed having been previously set up by Fukurodani's pair of managers. Who, at that point I was sat with, counting the scores. I hadn't bothered to make lengthy conversation with them, we simply introduced ourselves to each other, until, the one I knew as Yukie, sparked up a discussion, "Hey, I think that number seven over there is looking your way."

I jolted, unsuspectedly - but, then giggled bashfully, "I... Uh... He's probably looking at the scoreboard." I replied, hesitantly, while simultaneously choking on my words, feeling seriously awkward. Pausing for a second, I thought of how I could change the subject, letting my eyes scan around the gym for something to talk about. Whilst doing that, they landed on Takanobu - who couldn't have made the situation any more uneasy by looking at me straight in my eyes. Feeling my face's temperature rise, I averted my gaze, for it to fall upon Fukurodani's number seven, who was unabashedly staring right at Yukie. Which I immediately picked up on. "Say, Yukie - isn't your number seven staring at you?" She flushed red straight away.

"Well... Maybe..." She giggled excitedly. Proud that I had successfully changed the subject, I turned my attention back to the game, to where our team's reputation was holding up stupendously.

This fact had most definitely put Bokuto in a despondent mood, as it faltered and perked every minute or so, depending on whoever was leading the set.

During the third set, while the score was 21-17, with Fukurodani leading, Futakuchi had been rotated out of the match - and rather than sit with his teammates, he sauntered up to where I was sat, a slightly smug expression plastered upon his face. "You know, (Y/N), I've never seen Takanobu play like this before, he really is putting his all in today... I wonder why."

"Is that so?" I replied, cocking my eyebrow up at him.

"Why yes it is. And also, about last night - I know the reason..."

"How...?" I questioned, a wave of suspicion flowing over me.

Smirking back to me, he spoke, "Just my intuition." After that, he said something inaudible, right before he was rotated back into the game, perambulating away with a sneaky wave.

Everything else flowed by smoothly after that, until the fifth and final set - where each team had two sets a piece, with the score climbing close to the thirties. This drove each player's motivation higher, despite the fact that nearly everyone was exhausted.

The whole court fell silent as a deafening crack rang through the air, right as Takanobu had deflected perhaps the most powerful spike that I had ever seen. He winced, holding his finger with his other hand, clearly experiencing a bucket load of pain.

Almost instantly, I sprang to my feet, ready to escort Takanobu away from the court, picking up the first aid kit while on the way.

The game didn't resume, nor did anyone speak a word - except all showing looks of sympathy for the injured player. Even the hyperactive Bokuto had calmed down drastically.

As we happened upon the corridor, away from the silent commotion of the gym, I instructed for Takanobu to sit on a bench, while I kneeled on the floor unzipping the first aid kit. First, I pressed the ice pack upon his rapidly swelling finger that was turning a haughty shade of purple. Takanobu sucked air from between his teach, blenching at the sudden cold temperature.

"Are you okay?" I asked, softly, gazing into his eyes, somehow burning with some sense of intensity that I couldn't define, "Is it bad?"

"It hurts." He winced, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so, his eyebrows furrowing in pain.

"Do you think you can still play?"

Feebly, he nodded - beginning to breathe quickly, I could almost hear his heartbeat.

Taking the bandages out of the kit, I began to gingerly wrap them around his fingers, being careful to not cause him any discomfort. Each time I wrapped it around, my hands grazed his, which made me feel strangely warm on the inside. Gazing up at him, I noticed that he was painted over with a bright red hue, but the logical side of me told me it was simply caused by his exhaustion and pain. However, there was something inside of me that told me it was something else.

"Alright then," I said, "Do your best."

While walking back to the gym, our hands kept brushing against each other, even though we weren't the same height.

He jogged back onto the court, where the game promptly resumed, and in no matter of time, the match had drew to a close, with us losing the set, and with that losing the match. Something told me that it could have gone slightly different if it wasn't for Takanobu's injury. But, he still did try his best, even if that meant overexerting himself.

At that point, the entire team was exhausted as we trundled back to the coach - waving goodbye to Fukurodani's team, with Bokuto bellowing his goodbyes, quite the fireball, he was.

I think that everyone else had fallen asleep within a quarter of an hour of setting off, except for me - even though I was feverishly fatigued. I couldn't sleep. All because the memories of the corridor and the inn flowing through my mind. I had a hunch that that feeling wouldn't leave me for quite some time...

#aone #aone takanobu #aone x reader #aone takanobu x reader #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader

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kageyamas-love · 3 years

Note

Hi friend! Can i request an Aot match up-preferably one of the scouts if at all possible... i don’t know the warriors very well? I hope that’s not to limiting but anyone from paradise basically. I know Reiner! But i just don’t know that much about Porco or pieke. Oh! Colt seems really sweet though! I appreciate him! Male preferably but I’m always open to other options! Whatever you feel is the best option for me i shall take with open arms and trust your judgment!

I’m a female, 18. My favorite color is blue! Or if not that... maybe a light lavender purple. It’s ironic seeing as I’m... deathly allergic to lavender... and many many other things... like everything. I have severe allergy problems. But that’s unimportant. Maybe i could list that as the thing i don’t like about myself. Also... I’m kinda disorganized... it’s the ADHD. My brain runs 1000 miles a minute... constantly. How could i possibly remember where i put something when i only know how to chase the dopamine? Also because of this, i get VERY excited when i talk and i have been known to ramble. I do my best. I just get over invested in things. Hyper fixations and shit- i just... stay on the same shit for weeks. Attack on titan has been my comfort hyper fixation for almost four-five years. I need. Help.

It’s probably gonna be a lot harder to list things i like about myself... damn. I like my hair! It’s reddish blond and it makes me look like Ariel when i go underwater- which is fun because i love to swim! And i like my jokes. I make them constantly and sometimes I’m the only one that laughs but i think they’re funny so what fucking ever.

For hobbies- I’m a writer! I love to write and draw. I make graphic novels. 100% obsessed with all of my oc’s. I’m always bullshitting about them or some new animatic I’m working on. Constantly.... it’s like... the only thing i ever think about if I’m not fantasizing about attack on titan. Thank god I’m actually working to make a career out of it though. I’m an Art major, though i do not wish to disclose to university for privacy reasons and shit.... so i basically get to draw all day and be quirky... except for when i have my biology class... which is always less fun and i fucking suck at it.

I consider myself to be a really forgiving and sweet person. It always takes me a really really long time to get mad at someone enough to blow up on them, and even then i typically always apologize for it afterwards, even if i said something as tame as

“I don’t like that and you hurt my feelings.”

I love taking care of my friends. It’s my love language, along with physical touch and quality time. I just.... Wanna... cuddle. I’m very cuddly... probably need someone who’s not super averse to touch as i like to give lots of random hugs and kisses.

I shall give many back rubs and head scratches and soft kisses and in return i only ask for the cuddles- and i love when people play with my hair so i grew it out super long!!

I feel like i need someone who’s a good listener... because i ramble about stuff a lot. Especially stuff I’m passionate about. I feel like if somebody isn’t listening to me it makes me feel unheard and like what I’m talking about is stupid and i shut down.

And a few random fun facts.

*If i were a member of the Levi squad post timeskip i would be the shortest member, standing at 5’1

* I am deathly afraid of pineapples for no reason at all. I did a project for school where i just drew a still life of nothing but pineapples and pineapple themed objects and titled it ‘terror’. Only i and a few close friends will ever understand it’s true meaning.

* i fall down the stairs or eat the floor in some other horrible fashion it least twice a day

* i drink more than i eat (not alcohol) and spend like all of my money on iced coffee and sodas until i realize i haven’t eaten in two days but by god have i had a Baha blast.

* sometimes i just fucking drive in circles for hours. I sing really loud in my car and dance and it’s therapeutic.

* I’m one of those people that starts laughing insanely when i get really upset or pissed off... it makes me look terrifying.

* I HAVE A PET LIZARD AND SHE’S FUCKING ROTUND. SHES LIKE A FAT FUCKING LITTLE MEATLOAF I HATE HER. (I’m lying i absolutely adore her.) her name is Maple because she is flat and pancakes are flat and maple syrup goes on pancakes. All she knows how to do is eat berries and shit in my floor.

I know you only asked for a little bit of information but I’ve heard before that the more you tell someone the easier it is for them to match you up. I figured I’d make it as absolutely easy for you as possible by throwing my entire life into a page for you.

a/n omg you seem so fun and crazy we’d get along great😐✋🏻

i match you with armin!

i think the two of you would get along so well! first off, he’s best friends with eren, so he won’t have a problem with your craziness.

he’s also very open minded and a very good listener! he’d never get annoyed with you and he’s very patient, so if you’ve ever forgotten something, he’ll understand.

just in general, your love languages would compliment his.

also, he would love your lizard. he’s interested in the smallest things so imagine him seeing your lizard? he’s going to be so excited like ‘i’ve read about those! i’ve always wanted to see one in real life!”

#armin x reader #armin aot #aot matchup #armin arlet x reader #aot #aot x reader

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candlelight27 · 3 years

Text

Chapter 5: This Moment Lost in Time

Summary: Sylvain has been ignoring you since you met him. You had been in love with him since you met him. College is about to offer you a fresh start. New academic year, new life. You were ready to forget him. But fate seems to have other plans… (COLLEGE AU)

Series: Seeking Your Warmth If Only For A Day

Warnings: BLOOD, game spoilers and felony (don’t steal, kids)

Pairings: Sylvain Jose Gautier x Female Reader

Word Count: 5143

AO3: This Moment Lost in Time

A/N: Thanks to @galamixx and their help!!! If you like this chapter, please consider commenting. My inbox is always open too, for suggestiong or just to chat! :)

You put a hesitant foot in Sylvain’s room, walking right behind him as he guided you. It was an ample space and it had a window that let the sunshine inside in the morning. The decoration was quite simple. The bed, placed under the window, was covered in white linen, and the walls were bare, without any pictures or posters. Its appearance broke your every expectation of what you had thought his room would be like.

You were surprised you couldn’t find anything that screamed ‘Sylvain lives here’, or any hint at all of his renowned affairs. You chastised yourself for thinking he’d have a box filled with panties he had stolen, or obscene magazines thrown around. He was now a close friend – perhaps something more, but your brain was trying to avoid that subject at the moment – so you’d have to stop assuming things about him. Especially regarding the high number of misconceptions you’ve had about him. Yet the truth was that you would have never suspected that he lived in such an austere manner. You began to understand how he got along with Dimitri so well.

Despite the absence of luxuries, there was something that caught your eye: the quantity of books he owned. His desk and shelves were crammed, and there were even a few piles over the floor. You identified in a glance some history titles, as well as fiction and philosophical essays. It was quite the collection for someone most people considered an airhead – a thought that made you slightly angry at those people.

“Sit wherever you want,” Sylvain commented. You sat on the bed, while he moved to take a seat on the chair in front of his desk. He carefully placed on the floor a board of chess, trying not to move any pieces. It was incomplete, with only a handful of blacks and whites. You wondered if Sylvain was trying to solve one of those problems that he used to do with Claude back in high school. Afterwards, Sylvain placed his hands behind his head and leant back. You looked around nervous, absentmindedly caressing the bed dressing with your fingertips, avoiding by all means ogling him.

“You have a nice room,” you said. This was awkward, and you didn’t know what to say. You felt once again you were invading his privacy by simply being there. And you were on his bed, where he slept. It felt very personal, and you were not sure if it was your place to be there.

“Not what you expected for someone like me, right?”, he hummed. You feared that he actually was able to read your mind after that line.

“How is Glenn?”, you changed the subject, hoping Sylvain wouldn’t notice.

“Oh, he’s fine! He’s conscious and recovering. Apparently, when he was going to work, a dog crossed the road and he crashed the car avoiding it.” Sylvain drew out a breath. “Honestly, I’m so relieved he’s alive.”

“That gives us time to proceed with our plan. But then again, Flayn is onto whatever is happening. It’s not just paranoia, there must be a clue somewhere,” you reflected.

You had a few days to come to terms with Sylvain’s crazy theories after that encounter with Flayn at the hospital. As if fate had been mocking you, you had even more visions of your classmates in times of war, which only reinforced Sylvain’s words. You started writing down the smallest details you could recall, hoping they’d be of help to clarify something. Anything. And you realised some names kept appearing time after time.

“I wanted to show you a few things,” Sylvain said. He turned around to look at the books opened on his desk. He moved a couple of volumes and used papers around until he chose one. The sound of papers being flipped frantically came from behind you. “Here it is!”

He stood up and gave it to you, waiting a minute for you to inspect it thoroughly.

“So?” He insisted. Sylvain was eager to know your opinion. “What do you think?”

“It’s…” you opened your mouth.

“Awfully familiar?”, he offered.

“Yes”, you nodded.

It was an ancient copy of Seiros’ precepts. There you could see a coloured engraving that displayed Saint Seiros, who had an eerie resemblance to Rhea, officially in charge of Garreg Mach High School and the cathedral annexed to it. Her light green hair, her bright and big eyes, her figure. Everything was exactly the same. She had a serene countenance, and she was surrounded by dragons. Once, you were taught that they represented the strength of Seiros and the four saints, but they had so many details, they looked real.

“And that’s not the only thing!” Sylvain added before you could finish examining it. He passed you another book. “This one is Linhardt’s, but he lent it to me indefinitely. He knows a lot about Saint Cethleann, he’s investigating her figure and plans to do a PhD.”

“What am I looking for?”, you asked, tracing the index with your finger.

“Look at the pictures first. There are a couple of engravings and drawings. Just look at any.”

You did as he told you. A chill ran down your spine.

“This is Flayn,” you babbled, totally astonished. “But, like, it’s clearly Flayn.”

“Yes!” Sylvain was thrilled.

“They have the same face,” you repeated. You looked at the bottom of the page, where a footnote was written, and read it out loud. “‘Saint Cethleann was said to possess a kind heart and devoted her life to helping others in need. That’s why she developed an interest in medicine, and she is the patron saint of those who practice the art of healing. She healed countless wounded in her life, sparking the faith in those who met her.’ Is this real?” He nodded, an amused expression decorating his face. He seemed entertained by your reaction. “It looks like a set up.”

“It’s weird that all the pieces fit together as we go, right?”, Sylvain agreed.

“If everything is so evident, why hasn’t anyone found out anything yet?”, you exclaimed exasperated.

“We’ve gone over that before,” he sat next to you on the bed. He crossed one of his legs and was careful not to touch you with any part of his body. After all, you were not the only one self-conscious about this meeting. He had been feeling vulnerable ever since he went all in with you – it was easy to recognise.

You wanted to tell him that it was okay to have physical contact and get close to you. And that you had similar feelings for him. But neither of you had said anything after his speech, and your conversations hadn’t got that way any other time. And now it seemed that you had lost your opportunity to give him an answer; it seemed forgotten and entombed.

“Yeah, yeah. Everyone has bigger problems. Except us, apparently”, you said ironically.

“I have plenty of problems”, he said with fake seriousness.

“Oh?”, you mocked him. “I’ve never noticed.”

“One of them is no one takes me seriously”, he smirked. You felt a pang of guilt on your stomach and averted your gaze towards the book. It was shameful to admit, but you had done it several times in the past. You didn’t know he resented it.

“I wanted to try something,” Sylvain said out loud, demanding your attention. He looked flushed, but you dismissed the thought.

That’s when you remembered his cryptic messages earlier.

Sylvain (13:25): I might have come up with a thing that can be useful 😊.

Sylvain (13:25): Come home whenever you want, I’ll be here.

He hadn’t texted you as regularly as he did during the previous days, thus when his icon popped up on the screen of your phone, your heart fluttered in your chest. Should you go right away? Should you wait? There were things unsaid between you, but you had been dying to spend time with your favourite redhead. You convinced yourself that curiosity was playing a big part in your decision, and not your own emotions, so immediately answered affirmatively to his proposition.

“Yes, you mentioned that before.” You looked at him in the eye. He was blushing, you had no doubts now. And it seemed that he was out of character, because who would have thought Sylvain would be ashamed at all flirting? “What’s wrong?”

“You might not like my methods,” he shrugged.

“Sylvain!” you sighed, annoyed. “We’re way past your mysterious phase! Just tell me!”

“No need to get mad, darling,” he laughed. Then, Sylvain coughed and recomposed himself. “I thought that maybe we could trigger memories so we can investigate them. Find a common pattern.”

“Okay.”

“What was the last thing you dreamt?” He inquired carefully. Sylvain knew that some dreams were… Unfavorable.

“That horrible nightmare where I bury an axe in your chest”, you said. It made you want to cry, just the mere mention of it. Such a brutal act, why would it have happened?

“Ah, yes. That one”, he made a disgusted gesture. “You could’ve picked a nicer one.”

“How are we going to trigger the memories?”, you questioned him.

“By touching,” Sylvain answered. You raised your eyebrows. “W-Wait, not in that way!”, he stuttered while waving his arms around, as if to clear the atmosphere. Hewas trying his best to correct his accidental innuendo. “We can hold our hands, or just bump our shoulders together? We don’t have to, of course, but–”

“Sylvain, relax. I don’t mind”, you took his hand in yours to downplay the issue. That warmth that had become familiar spread throughout your skin. “Besides, it’s a good idea. It’s worked before.”

“But it’s not working now,” Sylvain complained.

“What did you think that was going to happen? Fireworks and a narrated episode of the battle of Garreg Mach?” You mocked, while he simply smirked.

The situation made your heart fly. The light outside was fading, dying the room of orange and gold. Everything surrounding you belonged to Sylvain, and you were on his bed, holding his hand in yours. It was special. A great fluttery feeling was forming in your stomach, one that made you light in the head and giggly. You shifted your body around awkwardly, without changing your position, and his grip tightened.

You noticed the muscles in his arm flexing, and his palm becoming sweaty.

“It’s not working…”, Sylvain lamented again.

“Close your eyes. Let’s focus on that memory together,” you instructed, half hoping it would work, half hoping it would prevent him from releasing your hand.

You let your eyes close. Every sensation became sharper. His touch, his presence, his smell. Everything had a distinct scent, the detergent of his clothes, his cologne, his books. - ‘Put yourself together!’ you scolded yourself and tried to envision your memory instead of focusing on Sylvain.

The large field of Gronder; the confusion of bodies, some dead, some alive; the fresh blood; Sylvain’s horrid expression.

And, as if it was magic, it worked. You could vividly see it. The world surrounding you disappeared, and you were immersed in that moment lost in time.

The heat was suffocating, and so was the odour of burnt bodies and death. The podium where the archers had been trying to knock down the wyverns and pegasi had suddenly burned when the infantry had reached it. Many had died from all three parties: Dimitri’s, Edelgard’s and Claude’s. The flames were consuming everything on your left. Your arms stung out of tiredness, for you couldn’t even remember how long you had been there, fighting enemies.

Suddenly, you saw Sylvain. His horse was nowhere to be seen, and it saddened you. It was probably dead, too. A bad omen. You thought of the times he had insisted you rode with him, and the few times you accepted. Or when he stayed overtime to take care of the mount. You shook your head: he was now your enemy, and you had to kill him. Tears filled your eyes, and you voiced all the curses you could think of. How had everything turned into this? Where did it go wrong?

Sylvain was not aware that you were there. You traced his direction with your eyes. Was he escaping the fire? You hoped he was fleeing, but you knew him like the back of your hand. He had sworn loyalty to Dimitri and he wouldn’t leave him behind. Never. You looked far beyond.

When the realisation hit you, you started running.

He was heading towards Claude, who wasn’t riding his wyvern. Instead, he was supporting the infantry on the right flank with a sword and his bow. It was being effective in providing a much needed morale boost, but it wasn’t his brightest move. Damn him for not knowing how to keep himself safe.

Your gaze fell upon Byleth, who in this world had long hair, cuter clothes and was Jeralt’s daughter instead of his son. She had advanced more, leading the knights fighting the Adrestian forces, so she wasn’t going to save Claude, as she always did. Not this time, when she was risking her neck. You panicked, thinking about what disaster would happen if the heir to the Alliance, the only nation fighting actively against the Adrestian invasion, fell in battle.

You were almost there, axe in hand.

“Claude!”, you shouted. The Golden Deer leader realised Sylvain was about to stab him in the back, but dodged the hit just in time. Claude rolled on his side, while Sylvain’s lance got stuck in the ground.

You took advantage of this chance, arriving just a few seconds later, and with a swing of your weapon you broke the handle of his weapon in two. Moving with the momentum, your propelled the edge of the axe to Sylvain’s body. You contained your breath, wishing he would move away, that he’d escape. That you’d see him alive in the next battle, even if it meant going through another hell. Maybe you’d both survive, overcome your differences. But he didn’t move away. He stayed in place.

A lost arrow pierced your thigh. Even if you didn’t feel it at all thanks to the adrenaline pumping through your blood, it made you face reality.

Sylvain, disarmed, was on the other side of your weapon. You let go of the handle. It had cracked his armour, and his hot blood was flowing down. Sylvain fell to his knees, his face completely white.

“I’m sorry, Sylvain...” you said, as you fell backwards, unable to use your right leg due to the deep wound. He smiled but stayed completely still. Life was slowly escaping his body. You threw up on your side.

“Ignatz! Cover me!”, you heard Claude shouting. It seemed distant, while in reality he was too close. He was shouting your name, too, but your gaze was fixed on Sylvain. You couldn’t speak or move. Claude lifted you and placed you in his arms, carrying you somewhere safe. Sylvain was still alive, yet immobile. You couldn’t help thinking about him. Why was no one helping him? Is he going to die alone on the battlefield? Claude’s voice, assuring you that you were going to be alright, started to fade and his face was getting blurry…

“Are you okay!?” Sylvain was shaking your shoulder. You were laid down on his bed and he was above you.

“Yes”, you answered, eyes open wide. You got up, and you returned to the position you had been in before on Sylvain’s bed. “What happened?”

“You’ve been gone for 5 minutes. As in, eyes opened, not responding to anything. I was about to call an ambulance.” Sylvain inspected you closely, quite worried. You could sense his breath on your skin.

“I’m fine”, you whispered, still a bit disoriented and dizzy.

“Are you sure?”

You nodded.

“Sylvain,” you called his name, his hand still on your shoulder. “What happened after you killed me? Did you see that?” Why did you want to know?

“Ah, yes. Ferdinand killed me afterwards”, he groaned. “He was avenging your death…”

“Typical of him. I’ll make sure to thank him, though. It was very thoughtful,” you joked. “What about Claude? And Dimitri?”

“They were dead too. Fallen in combat,” he said with an unsure voice. “Edelgard was the one reigning after that, or so I’ve thought. It makes sense.”

“I recall professor Byleth there, behind me. He was fighting side by side with Edelgard. They must have won.” You agreed with a gesture. “What about when we married? Was Byleth there?”

“Yes. Next to Dimitri. I think they got married too. That time, the Holy Kingdom of Faerghus got the victory.” He crossed his arms, but his leg was touching yours. “What are you implying?”

“I killed you to protect Claude”, you started. The redhead knitted his brows.

“We already know that,” Sylvain commented, annoyed.

“Why are you so irritated?” You got confused why he was hasty upon mentioning Claude, until a certain thought crossed your mind.

“No reason, just that the last thing I got to see was you in the arms of Claude.” He sighed. A smile found its way on your lips, an eyebrow raising.

“Are you jealous?” You teased him.

“Then, you got together with Claude after that. He commented something once about it,” Sylvain continued, ignoring your question. “Okay, keep going. What are you trying to say?”

“The war is between the three countries of the continent of Fódlan. And the respective leaders of each are, coincidentally, the leaders of each House at Garreg Mach – former monastery, currently a high school.” He nodded, prompting you to carry on. “When I killed you, Claude was the winner. The other countries fell and the Alliance took over. And Byleth was at his side. The same happened with Edelgard and Dimitri respectively, right? So that might indicate that Byleth is the deciding piece of the board. Depending on what side he-”, you remembered how Byleth had different appearances, “-He, she, or they pick, the events change and makes their side win the war and, ultimately, take control of Fódlan.”

“And how did that occur to you?”, he looked concerned. “It’s plausible. I’m not questioning you, but it’s quite twisted.”

“Because they are the only thing that actually changes in the war. Everything seems the same until Byleth arrives.”

“Well, you changed from Houses all the time,” Sylvain pointed out.

“Every time, to join Byleth’s class. Don’t you see it?” You tried to convince him.

“It seems logical to think that Byleth has something to do with it but we can’t be sure…”

“It’s a hunch, Sylvain,” you explained. “I’m sure we have to talk to Byleth. We will find something. This time, when I saw Byleth fighting, something clicked.”

Sylvain hugged you without a warning. He buried his head on the crook of your neck and enclosed you in his arms. Your hands rested against his chest, you trapped and unable to make a single move. The warmth surrounding you felt so warm, so comforting. Everything was going to be okay, Sylvain was there, and he won’t be gone this time.

“I’m scared that this will lead to a dead-end street. But… at last we’ve found a clue. I’ve been waiting for this forever…” He said with a strained tone. Sylvain’s voice was quiet. He didn’t want to let you go.

“It’s thanks to all your work, Sylvain. Everything you wrote was very useful…” You smiled, leaning into his embrace, almost melting. “You had noticed too Byleth was an important factor–”

“I’m just really happy you’re here with me. That you haven’t chosen Claude or Edelgard over me this time.” He chuckled, trying to shoo away the remainders of sadness. “Not gonna lie here, I’m extremely happy you didn’t choose Claude. That bastard.”

“Hey,” you reprimanded him. “Claude is nice. It’s not his fault we’re in this mess.”

“Well, he took you away from me once”, Sylvain said as he hugged you closer. “Have I told you that you married him?”

“What did you want me to do? You were dead!” You chuckled. It was weird to talk so lightly about it, but Sylvain became more comfortable the less relevant it felt. “This feels nice…”, you muttered, turning your face to kiss the top of his head. His red hair was soft, and it smelt of citrus. “So now we’re on hugging terms?”

“Yes”, Sylvain affirmed. “I might never let you go now that we crossed that line.”

“I wouldn’t mind…”

But a loud gasp resounded behind you. The tender moment that you wished would last forever was suddenly replaced with surprise.

“I’m so sorry Sylvain!” A voice shouted, someone that you identified as Dimitri. He closed the door with a slam.

Sylvain moved away, averting his eyes. His cheeks were blushing, and your own were warm too.

“I’m going to explain to Dimitri that we weren’t doing anything weird, okay?”, he scratched his head, again, and you recognised it as a gesture he made when he felt awkward. Little by little, you had been learning his non-verbal language. “I don’t want him traumatized for all his life.” You giggled.

“Does it make you nervous that Dimitri thinks we’re banging? He only saw us hugging,” You questioned daringly.

“Shut up”, he flashed his handsome smile. Flirting was an art he had mastered, and he felt confident with it. “And say that you’re staying for dinner, instead.”

“Not if you’re cooking instant noodles, Sylvain”, you narrowed your eyes. “That’s not a real dinner. You won’t trick me – I’ve seen all the packages in the cupboards.”

“First, we’re in college, and everything’s valid.” He stood up with a flourish. “Second, Dimitri had gone to the supermarket, so he’s the one cooking. It relaxes him.”

“Okay, he cooks real food. I’m staying then.”

“Perfect.” Sylvain winked, as he ran out of the room. His voice could be heard all over the apartment, and Dimitri was still stuttering. You smiled to yourself and took out your phone and opened the app to write an email.

[From: YOU - To: [email protected]]

Dear Professor Eisner,

I hope everything is fine.

Sylvain Jose Gautier and I are having a few questions regarding the bibliography of our project. We’d like to meet you next week to settle the matter and discuss some work.

Thank you very much.

“I’ve never skipped classes legally before”, commented Sylvain casually.

You two were navigating the corridors of the building where teachers had their offices. Everything was dull and generic, except for the occasional cabinets that displayed trophies and nameplates that students and professors had earned long ago.

“That’s why you were in detention all the time”, you reminded him.

“It was intentional. I wanted to strengthen my relationship with Seteth”, he said, laughing. You had to give in and laugh too, not only because he was actually funny, but because his humour was contagious. You couldn’t help but mirror it.

You eyed him from head to toe. Your companion was wearing a pair of black jeans and a white t-shirt. He had a dark-grey, almost black blazer with rolled up sleeves on due to the chilliness in the air. His attire rang a bell.

“Why are you dressing like we did in the Monastery?” You wondered out loud to him.

“Because I’m pretty hot in black and white”, Sylvain chuckled in delight with a deep and sexy tone. He was right. You could outline with a glance his body, which was pretty well built. Of course, you did everything you could to deny it, so you put on your best deadpan face. “Okay, okay. I think it might make Byleth nervous.”

“Now that’s a joke,” you remarked. “Byleth barely showed any emotion during a war. Do you think it takes so little to irk him?”

“You might be right,” he conceded.

“Here!” You grabbed Sylvain’s sleeve, bringing him back after he walked past the correct door.

“The nameplate says Dr. Gloucester. Do you need your eyes checked?” Sylvain emphasized.

“Dr. Gloucester retired, and they gave his office to Byleth. He told us the first day! What were you doing?”

“Okay, okay,” he rolled his light brown eyes. “You knock.”

“What are you? Five?” You said while hitting the door with your knuckles.

“Come in,” Byleth’s voice came from the interior of the office.

You opened the door to see your professor encircled by lots of papers. No one can escape bureaucracy.

You stopped in the middle of the room. Right then, you felt an extraordinary sense of existence. As if all the years that had passed before your adventures with Sylvain were but a mere dream and your consciousness had come back to you a few weeks ago. You were sure that Byleth’s presence was having its own influence on you, now that you had regained a good number of your forgotten memories. There was a strange energy in the atmosphere.

Now that you considered it, this was just like that sweet time you spent at Garreg Mach Monastery. Wandering around to avoid boredom with Sylvain and finding much more than just entertainment, following Byleth around to ask all kinds of questions, spending the big seasonal events with your friends… That was what happiness looked like to you.

“You can take a seat,” Byleth said.

“Ah, yes, thank you.” You muttered. Sylvain was next to you in those uncomfortable iron chairs your university loved buying.

“What can I help you with?” He asked, ever so willing to help, yet enigmatic.

“Ah, we have a basic bibliography for the Crescent Moon War, but we’re lacking a few good articles in Loog’s biography”, Sylvain started, replaying the topics you had agreed on. “We don’t know if the authors are reliable.”

“I can take a look at those names”, Byleth smiled. “And I have a few books you could use.”

“That’d be great!”, you cheered with a fake façade. You had to admit, it was quite fun to play spies.

“They’re on that bookcase”, your professor pointed at the one right on your side. You stood up and started looking around.

“I had a question on Klaus I, that king of Faerghus, as well. What was the role he played in…”, Sylvain asked, so serious and well versed in the matter.

You disconnected from the conversation, turning to read the titles on the wall. You took a thick, blue book filled with dust, pretending it caught your interest. Then another black volume, with leather covers and golden letters. You kept investigating, about the Almyran invasion; the formation of the Academy of Garreg Mach, the base of your own high school; history of the Adrestian Empire… Nothing past the year 1000. It was quite suspicious.

You turned around, and Byleth was drawing a diagram for a focused Sylvain, who was all nods and questions. They couldn’t see you anymore, or at least it seemed so. Out of the corner of your eye, on the closest end of the professor’s large mahogany desk, you saw a bunch of letters. Discreetly, you looked up the sender. Curly letters with the address of Rhea were written there, right from the Cathedral.

You made sure Byleth’s vision was blocked by a stack of folders. With decision and a steady hand, you took the most recent one and hid it under your clothes. Desperate situations call for desperate measures, right? Besides, it wasn’t exactly stealing, and you had already made an excuse. ‘It got misplaced when I took the books you lent me, professor,’ you heard yourself say in your head.

“Is there anything else you need?” Byleth said, when his discussion with Sylvain was done. He clearly intended for you to leave, as it was getting late.

“No, we were going away now,” Sylvain confirmed, walking towards the door. You followed him. Yet you grew bold.

“Can I ask just one more thing?” You said to the professor right before exiting.

“Of course.” The man with the dark blue hair.

“I can’t seem to find how the Crescent Moon War influenced the later war of 1180,” you stated.

Byleth remained silent for a moment. His jaw tensed. Your heart pounded. Did you catch him?

“That’s because there wasn’t any war that year,” Byleth responded. His demeanour was calm and serious as ever. Had he been practicing?

“Oh, really?” You tried to sound candid, feigning surprise. “I’m really bad with dates! That must be it!”

“You might have confused a couple of battles with a war. The battle took place around that year, but there wasn’t any declaration of war made” Byleth declared with a tense smile.

“Sorry for the trouble!” You exclaimed at last, urging Sylvain to go out with your elbow.

You closed the door behind you, and walked fast to distance yourself from any of the offices.

“What was that?” Sylvain was shocked.

“Wait until we get out of here,” You begged.

Once you were on the common grounds of the student buildings, you stopped Sylvain. There was nobody around, as they were still in class. The ginger plopped himself on a bench.

“That was a good shot, but you were right”, he shrugged. “Byleth’s cold blood won’t make it easy. You were right, he’s special, I could feel a kind of connection… But we got nothing out of this…”

“I might have something”, you looked at him intently.

“On the books he gave you?”, he tilted his head. “Because I have revised all the library and –”

You took the opened letter out of your blouse. The silver details shone under the light.

“What the hell!”, Sylvain shouted. You shushed him, making desperate gestures with your arms to keep him from attracting any attention. You were paranoid, even though you were alone. Instead of any logical reaction, he had a fit of laughter.

“What?” You asked, irked.

“I thought you were physically incapable of anything remotely wrong in a moral sense!” He kept laughing, despite your attempts to quiet him down. “Why did you take it? Another hunch?”

“If you don’t get caught, you don’t get punished”, you said in a sarcastic tone.

“I knew it! You’re just as bad as me!” Sylvain was delighted.

“I might be,” You admitted because, well, he was right. Stealing the mail was a serious crime. But you took a small comfort in the pride and surprise Sylvain made you feel. You were no longer your dull, old self, that went on with the flow of events. No, you had a goal – multiple goals, in fact – and you were going to be an active participant in your life.

In that moment you wanted to kiss Sylvain again. But you had other priorities.

“Are we going to read this or not?” You dared him.

“Don’t ask me twice.”

#sylvain x reader #sylvain jose gautier #sylvain jose gautier x reader #fe3h fanfiction #fe3h fanfic #sylvain gautier #fire emblem three houses fanfiction

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jojotier · 4 years

Text

prodigal son, denied.

(SPOILERS for ch197 onward in the manga for Koito’s backstory)

Before Heinojou joined the navy he had wanted to be an artist.

Heinojou had drawn plenty as a child, being easy-going and mild in temperament, but it wasn’t to be the focus of his studies. Heiji remembered having to be severe with the boy a few times, when he grew too absorbed in doodling petals and branches on the back of completed notebook paper instead of moving on to the next subject- but as he grew, he drew less and less. When he was accepted to the navy, he had stopped drawing entirely, dedicating himself fully to his military career.

Or so Heiji thought. He must have continued his art in secret because among the scarce items that had been delivered along with Heinojou’s waterlogged corpse was a sleek black sketchbook of European make.

For years, Heiji kept it underneath the altar, away from prying eyes and the gaze of Heinojou’s photograph. Brushing past it while dusting the dark wood of the cabinet, for those same years, Heiji had resisted the urge to slip the thin book out and open its stained cover. It was an artifact of a time that Heiji had not been privy to as his father; a secret that had been taken to his grave and delivered back with effusive, impersonal apologies.

Heiji tried to ignore its presence as best he could, telling himself that opening it could come when the pain wasn’t so raw. Telling himself that opening it would merely be digging salt into a wound that was only now beginning to scab over on the sides, years after. Loss did nothing to temper the fire in his blood, and it was that fire that licked along the edges of the hole where his oldest son had left, cauterizing it open. It was a void that would never fill, and therefore, the sketchbook must also never open.

But if he leaned too close, even beneath the cloying floral scent of incense he lit, there was the faintest breath of salt and gunpowder. It was a deceptively familiar scent- the scent of Heiji’s own fleet, riding through calm waters as he sat down to clean out his weapon. The last scents that Heinojou would have been wrapped in, underneath the overwhelming stench of iron blood.

It was the closest that Heiji would ever be to knowing his son’s last thoughts. That was the reason why, with the murmurings of a coming war scratching outside the closed window and Russian affairs to sift through outside the room, Heiji’s resolve wilted away.

Heiji remained in the room long after he was supposed to depart to meet his son for breakfast, cradling the ebony binding in his hands. The wooden floor grew harsh under his knees and the paper was sharp against the calluses of his fingers, but he was unable to stop himself from opening the sketchbook. The first page was adorned with several offhand lines of words- Heinojou’s name, a reminder to figure out a telegram system, and a few half-formed poetic thoughts that trailed off into the elegant bow of barren branches.

Thumbing the edge of a thin page, he turned, looking over the cross-hatched detail of several sceneries blending and crashing together like waves on the sea- the port of Kagoshima bled into the countryside of their misty summer home in Kuchinoerabu, rising high over the rolling waves of the deck of Heinojou’s ship.

From there, the pages held pencil sketches, then charcoal drawings, and then images shaded with the remnants of gunpowder when his son had seemingly run out of writing utensils. Heinojou had always had an eye for the natural world and he applied it here, even to the unnatural. Man-made metal and wooden structures were cut out of the mantle of the earth, encrusted with natural life and jewels of gleaming eyes from animal life. Memories were printed in layers on top of the imagined.

After a page occupied with a stylized sketch of a toddler Otonoshin, unshaded and shaky, the pages were wholly blank.

That drawing of his younger brother had been the last thing Heinojou drew; a plain set of lines, filled only with a few dried droplets of what Heiji hoped was saltwater and a single drip of rust. Heiji felt along the sharp edge of the page and found it stained similarly with the brown of dried blood- a papercut, the smallest and most human of Heinojou’s injuries on the day when he was pumped full of lead.

Heiji knew there was nothing beyond that point, but it didn’t stop him from fingering through the rest of the pages in the thin book; carefully trying to unstick the clumps where water had glued bunches of pages together in twos, in threes, with stains left from the ink running from upper pages and the diluted spatter of nitroglycerin. There was nothing more to see.

For a moment, Heiji mourned how cruel it was, to feel so close to Heinojou only after his death.

For another moment more, Heiji wondered what would have happened- how things might have been different if the night before Heinojou had been deployed, if when Heinojou had come to him, shaken, and told him I was not built for this, for fighting like this, for pulling the trigger- if instead of reassuring him with talk of honor, of things becoming easier with time, he had pressed this blank sketchbook into his hands and said, I’ll love you regardless.

Heinojou would have lived, possibly. A blight on Heiji’s reputation, a living monument to Heiji’s weakness for a sneering public- but alive. A light to the toddler he had died thinking about, the family that he had missed terribly even in the final moments when his breath bubbled away.

The scabbed over edges of his heart were split and yet Heiji knew, through the sharp ache, that he did not regret it.

Heiji sat in silence, staring at the back cover that threatened to fall through his fingers in brittle chunks. The whisper of the sliding door and the soft voice of his wife finally broke through the quiet many minutes later. “Heiji-don,” Hideko gently said. She waited for Heiji to wipe his eyes and close the book, setting it back in its hiding place before she curtly continued, “Will you please come and eat with us?”

It wasn’t much of a family meal with one seat empty, but Heiji shook his head to clear out the errant thought. He’d lost the right to think as such, especially after all these years. “... Of course,” Heiji said instead. “I’m sorry to have kept you waiting.”

“There’s no need for apologies.” She shut her eyes and turned, leaving. Heiji sighed. He didn’t want to push, but… it had also been a long time since either of them acknowledged Heinojou outside of this room. Glancing again at the photograph of Heinojou’s smiling face, he stood and left.

Placing a hand on her arm once he caught up to her, he silently asked her to stop. Hideko did, but before he could say anything he was interrupted by heavy footsteps barreling down the hall. Heiji turned his attention to find a woman, hands shaking around where they balled up in the fabric of her sash around a piece of paper.

“Koito-don-” The woman said, bowing at the waist.

“Iruka-san,” Heiji acknowledged, “what happened?”

The maid was breathing heavily as she said, “The young master- he’s disappeared.” The color from her face faded as quickly as the breath in Heiji’s lungs. “The only thing he left was-”

Shaky black scrawl spilled onto a scrap of tea-stained paper. Heiji didn’t so much as read the letter as the words war and readiness branded his eyes, threatening ruin with a single line.

Otonoshin was trying to go to war.

Heiji needed to leave for the nearest recruitment office. It didn’t matter that there were dozens nearby, or that Otonoshin was likely lost somewhere among the hordes of recruits anywhere in the city-

Beside him, Hideko gave a gentle keen of heartbreak behind the hand sealing her mouth. She had been frailer, lately, as their loss continued to gain water weight from years’ worth of storms and grief; her voice passed through the gaps in her fingers in a high, barely suppressed cry.

His wife had already suffered unnecessarily from his failures as a father. That was the reason why, despite the fear and anger and litany of too soon, it’s too soon burning in his veins, Heiji numbly made his way to their telephone and made some calls. Rather than leave it up to chance and his own running, Otonoshin would be returned by the end of the hour, squirming and shouting in the hands of a seventh division officer. All Otonoshin would know was Heiji’s distant reprimand, devoid of either anger or warmth, drained onto Heinojou’s art.

Koito’s time would come soon enough.

Tsurumi, as always, was there at Heiji’s call with kind suggestions and a steady hand.

#golden kamuy #koito otonoshin #koito heiji #koito heinojou #golden kamui #gk #my writing #fanfiction #grief/mourning #historical fiction #manga spoilers

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ty-talks-comics · 4 years

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Best of Marvel: Week of March 4th, 2020

Best of this Week: Daredevil #19 (Legacy #631) - Chip Zdarsky, Marco Checchetto, Mattia Iacono and Clayton Cowles

Daredevil was dead.

After Daredevil miscalculated a baton throw which saw him accidentally kill a criminal, Matt Murdock has been on a path of redemption - hanging up his cowl as Daredevil to become something better, someone that Hell’s Kitchen could truly look to as a savior now that the legacy of Daredevil was tarnished by a horrible mistake. Matt looked to God and retired for a time, then Elektra sought to pick him up from his wallowing. With her help, he became something else, not quite Daredevil, but not Matt Murdock either.

But this grey area he operated in wasn’t working either, especially since Hell’s Kitchen was under new threats in The Owl and the insanely rich Stromwyn Twins that not even Kingpin could strike fear into. After convincing the enemy of vigilantes, Detective Cole North, to step up and stand against the tyranny of his corrupt police force, the pair seek to clean up Hell’s Kitchen, but they couldn’t anticipate the Inferno about to rain down on them.

The issue begins with an opening salvo of villains, Crossbones, Bullseye, Bullet and Rhino “Alex O’Hirn,” tearing through the streets. Checchetto does an excellent job of emphasizing the carnage that these four are capable of with Bullet pushing a car over, Rhino causing debris to fly in the background simbly by stomping and Bullseye and Crossbones just looking generally terrifying with knives and a grenade launcher respectively. Iacono does an excellent job of showing the carnage through vibrant orange embers in the foreground that contrast the bright blue sky in the background.

Zdarsky does well in showing the scale of the carnage as various people from Hell’s Kitchen watch the destruction take place in their town. Hector, the hispanic Daredevil impersonator from several issues back, sees the explosions and digs out his costume to help and so too does Janet, one of the first to assume the identity of Daredevil post his disappearance. Both characters see the destruction of their home and step up to protect it. More on that as we go on.

Truly, no one is safe whenever Bullseye shows up to the party and Zdarsky and Checchetto, emphasize just that as a woman tries to save her child and Bullseyes shoots the man trying to save her from the carnage. When Bullet lambasts him for killing the innocent man, Bullseye claims that he was only trying to spook her because she was, “...going to throw a baby at [him].” I won't lie and say that it didn’t make me laugh, but it came out of the blue and shows Zdarsky knows how to do Bullseye’s demented humor well, especially as Chechetto draws his terrifying grins.

In the midst of all of the carnage, Z-List villain, Stilt-Man, shows up and his appearance is one of the most devastating pages in the book as all of the art team comes together amazingly. One of the metallic stilts comes down in front of the car that North and Murdock are using to get into the Kitchen and the force of it is intense! Chcechetto makes excellent use of speed lines, glass shattering, car crumpling and Matt FLYING through the destroyed windshield to sell the impact.

Iacono colors the background with a dark red and black to emphasize how devastating this was as well as the dust from the concrete that was blown up by it. Clayton Cowles pulls it all together with amazing “KRNCH” and “KRSHH” sound effect lettering, made transparent to see everything and make readers feel like they were in the car with them. It hurts and I feel like my body is aching from it.

Crossbones shoots more grenades and sends the few cops ignoring the order to stay out of Hell’s Kitchen flying as only their silhouettes are shown in the ensuing explosion. Hector, however, decides to tango with Bullseye after tackling to keep him from shooting more people. The fight is painfully one-sided with Bullseye stabbing him in the gut with ease. It’s painful, it’s distressing because moment earlier, we saw the poor man helping his elderly father before things went south.

Other major players see the attack on the Kitchen with different eyes. The Owl sees this as an opportunity to rid himself of the non-dirty cops and get more business through the protection money they’ll pay to avoid this again. The Owl has always been a weird criminal mastermind, but Zdarksy has turned him into a madman bent on owning Hell’s Kitchen through the chaos and fire as he leaps and flies into the thick of it.

Elsewhere, Rhino is destroying his way through the city and makes it to the Church that Matt Murdock used to call his other home and gives the nun, Sister Elizabeth, ten minutes to clear the church before he bulldozes it. When Elizabeth was first introduced so many issues ago, I thought she was just another run-of-the-mill nun for Matt to heave his crisis of faith woes on, but Zdarsky gives us an exciting return through some excellent symbolism.

Chechetto does well with subtlety giving the smallest hint when Elizabeth lights a candle and then more light by themselves with Cowles small “fwot” effects dotting the page. Iacono obscures half of her face with dark blacks before it’s revealed to be Typhoid Mary with a demented smile. Mary was last seen in the (mostly awful) Typhoid Fever storyline in which the Mary personality was suppressed by the combined might of Iron Fist and the X-Men. At some point it seems as though Matt placed her there, but in the chaos things seem to crumble.

Of course, the most telling reaction is the look of utter dejection from Wilson Fisk, the former Kingpin. It’s not a look of anger, nor is he smiling, he looks defeated and in many ways, the state of things is his fault. Wilson Fisk became the Mayor of New York City and slowly washed his hands of all of his illicit activity, leaving things to the other families of New York. Under Fisk, the crime was at a reasonable level, but between the gang war of the Owl and the Libris family and the Stromwyn real estate scheme, things have become absolutely dire in his absence.

Bringing us back to Hector, soon after the stabbing, Chechetto delights readers with an amazing shot of the various citizens of Hell’s Kitchen with makeshift weapons and Daredevil masks. They tell the criminals to get out of their neighborhood, not hesitating to swing baseball bats at known terrorists and mercenaries like Crossbones. These are Daredevil’s people and just like him, they stand for what’s their and won’t see these thugs destroy it all. Even Detective North hits a devastating right to Bullet’s jaw.

Checchetto and Iacono come together with two excellent pages of Matt Murdock and the people around him. As Hector struggles to get to Matt, we see his own strength as the blood streams from him as the background is mostly black and red from the fires, but shows brighter oranges around the pair. His last words were, “I tried…” as the blood spurts out of his mouth while Matt holds him in his final moments. Murdock had saved Hector previously after the brave citizen stepped up, but didn’t make it in time this time.

All around him, Checchetto draws Matt visualizing the people of Hell’s Kitchen fighting back and saving people wearing his mask. Checchetto pulls in close to Mudock’s face as he removes the black bandana that he used as a mask and sheds a tear for Hector. He realizes that Daredevil is a symbol and it’s a symbol bigger than him because the people have taken it and made it theirs. Made it something to be proud of outside of him.

Matt Murdock’s greatest sins are Pride and selfishness. He carries the weight of the world on his shoulders and feels like no one else but him can do it. This entire series thus far has been about breaking him down using his guilt as a driving force for his actions. The black bandana took him back to his roots as Elektra and Detective North rebuilt him through his senses and sense of duty - his body and mind respectively.

It wasn’t until he saw what Daredevil truly stood for in the eyes of the people that he could retake his name and become the hero that they needed him to be and the final few pages are powerful.

Chip Zdarsky absolutely slams this amazing issue by building to an epic conclusion with the first of hopefully many stories that he has for the Hero of Hell’s Kitchen. Without a doubt, Marco Checchetto and Mattia Iacono make for the perfect art team with dynamic visuals and colors that almost make you want to cry. Clayton Cowles stuns with excellent speech bubble placement and AMAZING sound effects throughout.

If I had a proper rating system, this book would be damn near PERFECT and I stand by that and this series as a whole.

Also, support me on Patreon:

patreon.com/TyTalksComics

#daredevil #matt murdock #hells kitchen #crossbones #bullseye #typhoid mary #marvel comics #marvel #chip zdarsky #marco checchetto #mattia iacono

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klsywccds · 5 years

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hello all! val back with another, jfc valerie revamp to Kelsey. a lot of her story is still the same && all of her connections are still in place! this is just a little more fleshed out to give her some more depth because i was having a hard time relating to her, rip. WARNING: this shit is long. val got carried away... again. what else is new? so here is kelsey’s new and improved bio !! sliding this in the ‘call’ tag as well bc my sunshine bb desperately needs more plots. did i mention that i love y’all? without further ado, read on!

[ alycia debnam-carey, twenty-five, cisfemale, she/her ] ━ hey, I just saw [ kelsey woods ] walking down the streets of crownsville. they’ve lived in town for [ 18 years ], and you can catch them around town working as a [ high school art teacher ]. I hear they’re known to be [ bubbly & creative ] and [ timid & sensitive ]. if asked, they would say their aesthetic would be [ service dogs, deaf culture, over-alls covered in paint, succulent plants, sunflowers, pride flags, cup of tea ]

Kelsey Noelle Woods (nee Williams) was born on February 24th, 1994 in Gold Coast, Australia. She has never had much information about either one of her biological parents aside from the fact that her mother was a teenager. Kelsey was abandoned on the steps of a fire department a mere few days after her birth. It was a gut wrenching decision for her mother. As much as she adored the little girl, she knew that she wasn’t equipped to provide for all of the child’s needs. Kelsey never really harbored any animosity towards her mother for this but it did cause her to grow up with a deep-rooted insecurity and fear of not being enough.

After her surrender, Kelsey grew up in the foster care system in Australia. Kelsey hated every minute of it. Although some foster parents genuinely did have their hearts in the right place, most of the homes were overcrowded and the parents stretched too thin while also being weary of getting overly attached to the foster children. At worst, the homes were abusive. Kelsey always felt on edge and had an anxiety disorder from a young age. She had a hard time making friends with the other kids due to her never staying in one place for long. The little girl would go to bed and dream of finding a family of her own.

At the age of 7, Kelsey’s dreams came true and she was adopted by the Woods family. The move from Australia to Crownsville was rough for Kelsey. Even after the adoption was finalized, Kelsey was terrified that the smallest mistake would make her dads realize that they had made a huge mistake and send Kelsey back into the foster system. It wasn’t until she bonded with her adopted brother, Connor, that Kelsey started to realize that her new family wasn’t going anywhere. They actually wanted her around --- the first time in Kelsey’s life that someone had wanted her.

She was diagnosed hard of hearing shortly after she moved in with the Woods’. After a couple of surgeries as a child, her hearing was partially restored in her right ear. However, out of her left ear she can’t hear anything. Eventually, Kelsey will lose her hearing all together. She can speak aloud but prefers to use ASL and can hold her own with reading lips. Kelsey never really felt like this held her back in life. It was all that she had ever known. Her dads insisted that, since her other senses became stronger, Kelsey was the superhero of the family. This started a life-long obsession with superheroes. Figuring that it would help their daughter, Kelsey got her first service dog when she was eight. Her first service dog was named Jarvis (after Iron Man which is her favorite movie). The dog was trained not only to alert Kelsey to sounds but also to help with her anxiety.

School was a mixed bag for Kelsey. She was a naturally bright and gifted student, always at the top of her class academically and never daring to misbehave. She never wanted to draw unnecessary attention to herself. However, Kelsey was severely bullied by the other kids. She was bullied for everything from being adopted, to her thick Australian accent, to her disability, and finally for being gay after she came out in high school. She spent most of her time with the teachers. Her teachers always adored Kelsey and, ever since, Kelsey knew that one day she wanted to be a teacher so that she could help kids too.

Kelsey also fell in love with art at a young age. Although Kelsey is modest about her talent, anyone can see that she is a remarkable painter. She paints everything from completely abstract, to scenery, to almost scarily accurate portraits of people. When she got to college, Kelsey decided to combine her two interests and study to become an art teacher. She originally intended on staying in Georgia for college. However, after a lot of thought, Kelsey decided to take a leap of faith and go out of state for college. She accepted a full ride art scholarship at the University of Colorado. Since then, Kelsey never looked back.

Kelsey moved back home to Crownsville after finishing her undergraduate degree. She missed being around her family so she got her teaching certificate in Atlanta. With her latest service dog, Gamora, by her side, Kelsey is in her first year of teaching art at the high school. It’s funny to her to be back walking the same halls not long after she graduated and even funnier to be working alongside her former teachers. As well as teaching art, Kelsey also runs the high school’s Gay-Straight Alliance. She is eager to prove herself and make her classroom a safe space for her students. She suspects her students are more interested in Gamora than anything else --- but hey, whatever works, right?

Kelsey is the ultimate sweetheart and would never dare to speak ill of anyone. Even though she’s had her fair share of heartbreak, Kelsey chooses to look on the bright side. She believes there’s beauty in the world and a good person inside of everyone.

WANTED CONNECTIONS

a page will be coming soon with more detailed descriptions! but off the top of my head: biological mother, biological siblings, foster siblings, college friends, teacher friends, artist friends, ex-girlfriend that she dated before leaving for college, neighbors, former bully in high school turned close friend. and as always, anything that your beautiful mind can think of!

TAKEN CONNECTIONS

adopted brother --- @conncrwoods --- kelsey’s #1 in life. she will forever consider him her best friend and he’s always the first one kelsey calls in a time of crisis. she’d do anything for him.

childhood friends --- @lvcybirch, @elirades, @will-blooms --- people that kelsey grew up with in crownsville and have stayed close over the years.

first love --- @tierneytaylcr --- tierney and kelsey met in college. they were each other’s roommate. right from the start, they hit it off and fell pretty quickly for each other. they dated for four years but broke up after graduation because kelsey wanted to return home while tierney wanted to travel the world and pursue her music career.

roommate --- @ellymunro --- honestly, kelsey believes they were destined to be each other’s roommate. elly is one of the only people who is just as nerdy as kelsey is. she can’t imagine living with anyone else.

current girlfriend --- @silver-sixx --- in true kelsey fashion, kelsey was crushing hard on silver ever since they met on the booze cruise. completely flustered, kelsey accidentally introduced herself as batman. kelsey was sure that she completely ruined her chances until a month later, when silver kissed her in a coffee shop. they’ve been together ever since.

close friend / lowkey bad influence --- @amara-lange --- whereas kelsey has always played it safe and never wanted any trouble, amara always presses kelsey to get out of her comfort zone. kelsey is always nervous but ends up loving it. almost all of her ‘wild’ stories happened with amara.

#crownsvilleintro #crownsvillecall #ableism tw #mental illness tw #abuse tw

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dragonagecompanions · 5 years

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DAI- The companions and advisors reaction to coming face to face with an Inquisitor who betrayed them before being utterly defeated.

I love Evil!Inquisitor with all my heart. (Mage Inky uses a dagger now because yes. I feel as tho romances would be the same. I also couldn’t find the original ask for this and I may or may not have spent more than 12 pages writing this.)

-Mod Other

(Guys, this is as far as Mod Other got. She is not writing as much for the blog, but we wanted to share what she finished before stepping back)

Cassandra- If someone had told her that after Have, the Inquisitor, was working with the enemy and would betray them, she’d laugh. But now standing in another destroyed village she would believe them. Corypheus, the Inquisitor, and their army always seemed one step ahead of them. What remained of the Inquisition looked hopeless, felt hopeless but she would not give up. they traveled to village after village with no avail. Night began to fall on their camp, she and Varric were the only Inner Circle members there, the others were all in their own camps or on a mission. She lingered in her tent, nerves of uncertainty filled her. The thought of failure all to real. Still, they had a long day tomorrow and sleep called for her. When it was finally going to take her she heard telling from outside. It was not the normal commotion of a camp, but the rousing’s of battle. Sleep went away and was replaced with adrenaline as she quickly put on her armor. As she went outside, of all the people around her, she only saw just one. The Inquisitor, the one who had caused all of the pain and suffering. They did not look anything like how she remembered. what was once an inviting face was now looked cold and uninterested with the world around them. She could see the red in their eyes and the corrupted veins on their hand and face. They saw her and a twisted smile spread on their face, as if they finally found someone worth fighting. She could only stare before the anger came and she charged at them, but they were ready. Their fight seemed to last for hours, but it was just mere minutes. Her body ached with every successful strike they landed, the Inquisitor only seemed to get stronger with every hit. As she prepared to land another blow, she lowered her shield, and she felt it. Hot, searing pain in her abdomen. The smallest of all noises escaped her lips as she fell to the ground, she did not know what hurt more, the blade going in or it going out. All she could do was watch helplessly as they walked away. All she could think is that they won. Corypheus and the Inquisitor have won, the Inquisition failed. For the first time since Anthony died, she feels tears burn her face as she falls into darkness.

Varric- Writing letter in the middle of a war was hard, even more so when you’re in the middle of a battle. The camp was cold and dark but it didn’t bother him. He needed to try and contact the other Inner Circle members given that he and Cass were the only ones in the camp. He didn’t want to admit it but the Inquisition was loosing. So many had died, Ferelden and Orlais were falling apart, and Hawke and the Hero of Ferelden were missing. He was so lost in his letters that he barely noticed when his tent opened and in came the former Inquisitor. Then he could hear it, the yelling, fighting, steel on steel, magic being cast. He could only stare at them. they weren’t the person he knew. They stood still, blood dripping from their blade, and traces of red on their eyes and face. “Hmph, what took you so long?” He said oh so softly. He makes no move as they draw closer to him, he was tired of running,of fighting. Closing his eyes he remembered all the good in his life and felt a tear slip down his face,”Maybe, things could’ve been different.

Blackwall- When his own secret was revealed, the Inquisitor took him back, “You had good intentions, perhaps the wrong way to act upon them, but you did try.” He didn’t understand why they didn’t just leave him to die, he thanked them, now believing that anyone could find redemption. But, he didn’t want to give them a chance. While he impersonated a Warden,they were the reason a war had started, why it had gotten worse. The battles were hard fought, lasting for days. He didn’t know how many had been killed, but he knew that Cassandra and Varric had gone dark. He didn’t want anymore to die but would only want the blood of two others. When he came face to face with the Inquisitor at a village by themselves, he felt only hate. They seemed so lifeless, as if they were just a puppet, moving to the commands of its master. Bodies were scattered around them and they were covered in blood. He steeled himself, as much as they were an evil bastard, they were once a friend. He raised his sword, shield, and he charged. They deflected easily and unleashed their own attacks. Steel on steel rang in his ears, and after a series of successful hard blows he knocked them down. As he raised his sword to land the killing blow, he felt a sharp pain in his back followed by another and another. He looked behind him and saw Venatori and red Templar Archers as he looked back down at the Inquisitor they had a sadistic smile on their face. They pushed him to the ground and stood up smoothly. They picked up their own weapon and dangled it close to his neck before walking off. He heard them yell something to the archers and when he turned ot face them he saw them all with their bows drawn. He closed his eyes and prayed for the first time in many years and asked the Maker to forgive him.

Vivienne- She was leading a group of mages back to the remains of an Inquisition camp. They were to look for survivors, but she knew what they were going to find. Cassandra and Varric hadn’t responded to any correspondence but they all knew what that meant. Blackwall was also missing afer he set off on his own. Still, she kept her calm facade when in reality she was terrified.When they go to the camp she immediately noticed something was wrong. Thats when the Red Templar horrors came, making quick work of the less skilled mages. She fought them off, using her skills as a Knight Enchanter and ice magic. But she was the only one left standing and the horrors stopped. she could feel someone behind her and when she turned she saw the Inquisitor, “Quite the show, Madame de Fer, but not quite good enough I’m afraid.” Just by the lines on their face she could tell that red Lyrium was taking their mind. “Thank you Herald, but I’m afraid that you won’t be alive long enough to watch the rest of it.” The laughed darkly and only said,”My, my, Vivienne, quite the bravado, ‘Afraid that won’t help you. Just ask Cassandra, or Varric, or Blackwall. Oh, silly me. I forgot they’re dead.” She felt the disgust boil up inside her. As she charged a spell in her hand, she forgot about the red Templar horrors behind her. She did’t understand why they didn’t move until it was too late, the claws ripped through her back and burst through her chest. The spell discharged and she could feel fire inside her. “Oh Vivienne, you should have listened.” They walked away as the horrors continued to rip through her and she felt tears slip down her cheeks. Yet, she found solace in knowing that she would rejoin her beloved Bastien soon.

Iron bull- He was angry. The Ben-Hasrath warned him but he didn’t listen. Now he led the Chargers through an old ruin on a scouting mission. They needed to find a safe place to hide and regroup after getting word that more of the Inner Circle members were dead or missing. The Inquisition was falling apart with each new day. He was terrified but wouldn’t let it show. In the ruin it felt off, it felt too quiet, too calm. He signaled for the Chargers to get into formation. They moved slowly into the main chamber and into the center of the old building. That’s when the first shot came. It hit Skinner right in the chest and she fell to the ground with a soft thud. Stitches rushed to her side as Krem blocked them both with his shield. Grim, Dalish, and Rocky began to move to where the arrow was shot from. Bull remained calm and gestured to the far left hand side of the building. Yet, before they could reach it, a hail of arrows rained down on them. None of them stood a chance. Krem and Bull only standing because of their armor, but they were hurt badly. “Oh how the morning mighty fall.” He knew that voice. It was the Inquisitor. “Come out you coward!” He could hear their footsteps echo in the empty hall. They stood over him, evil in their eyes. “You think you’re so great? You don’t even do your own dirty work, Boss.” “What would it matter who kills you? We all die in the end.” They lifted up their marked hand and in the quiet he could hear archers drawing back their bows. He closed his eyes and waited for a sting of pain but it never came, instead, a noise from beside him and Krem laid in a pool of blood. “I’LL KILL YOU!” He pushes through the pain and charged but before he reached them, a Red Templar Knight came in and knocked him to the ground and dragged him to a crumbling pillar. “This will be your tomb.” They walked away with their minions in tow. When he watched the doors close behind them, he had hope that the remaining Inquisition members would come for him, but then the walls around him began to crumble and crash all around him.

Sera- She knew this was serious and her normally carefree and joking attitude was gone. Even more with the death of so many Inner Circle members and missing Red Jenny’s. But she was still reckless, which is why she was at a Venatori camp by herself. The remaining Jenny’s said that he Inquisitor was there, and she just wanted them dead for hurting so many people. She saw them sitting on the outer edge of the cam away from everyone else. She felt the hate burn in her and so she took aim with her bow, but before she could draw back fully, she was yanked back by an unseen figure and pulled to where the Inquisitor was. She fought against them and as they neared the Inquisitor they seemed angry that their peace was ruined, but then they saw her and just smiled. “Well, what a lovely surprise, but you were never one for subtlety.” “Go to hell.” “Such a temper. Oh Sera, what am I to do with you?” She spat in their face but they made no move other than wiping their face. “Tsk. Shame your on the wrong side, we could have used someone like you. Just toss her in the hole, she doesn’t deserve to die by my hand.” The templars dragged her but she didn’t go easy. When they reached the ‘hole’ they tossed her in. Sera only thought she was afraid of ‘The Nothing’ but, the dark was too much.

Cole-

#MOD OTHER IS BACK WITH A VENGENCE #but really send in evil inky things i am p a r c h e d #for those who read the tags #this is the order they die in #Cassandra Pentaghast #varric #blackwall #vivienne #iron bull #sra #cole #solas #Josephine #cullen rutherford #Leliana #dorian

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princesskeda · 5 years

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First Realm (HOTO au) Worldbuilding

Yall remember this?

Here is an in depth explanation for everything on this map that no one asked for. Keep in mind this is really not to scale. The Fortresses are way big because i wanted each of them to have a design. Also I have no architectural skill whatsoever so the drawings of the Fortresses are more... impressions rather than actual likenesses...

Also canonically this map was presumably made by Phos, and if you look closely you can see that he totally made himself the center of the universe the turd...

Alright! First off, here be the key.

Just so we are all on the same page haha. Now that is out of the way...

The Central Province/Territory

The Central Province has the most farm land of any of the provinces, despite being extremely arid, and they also raise a small amount of livestock (Hoofers). They mainly grow a variety of starchy tubers and other root vegetables. These tubers are usually dried and ground to use as an odd flour to make loaves. They also grow a arid loving type of cotton and rarer still a few farms grow fruit or a variation of grain. It has the largest fortress and boasts the largest military force (or at least used to before Keyda freed the dragons and more than half her forces turned against her...) Dragon trapping and taming was the other most popular occupation in this region. For scale, its about a half a days walk from the Central Fortress to Phos’ tent. We stay mostly consistent with this... but sometimes we make some mistakes haha.

The North

The Nothern territory is known for mining mostly. Set into the mountains north of Echo Lake and one of the fortresses closest to the dragons, this fortress was built for extreme defense. While they mostly mine iron ore for weaponry, they also mine various semi precious metals and gems. The dragons kind of have a monopoly on the extremely limited amount of gold in the realm (mentioned in the Echo and Antirock story), so the precious metals the Oni use for things like currency, or in the rare case jewelry, are silver and copper. They also smelt all their ore before sending it to the East. Beyond the northern peaks is uncharted dragon territory. Hershel’s home village is in the north and is located near a large gorge. Its also where Cole used his elemental overdrive. The ninja also crash landed on the northern shore of Echo lake, in case you were curious...

The East

The Eastern Territory is definitely the most beautiful natural area in the First Realm. Probably because its also the furthest fortress from the dragon border, and is protected by the other three. This province is known for its artisans. All the metal mined from around the realm is sent here, as well as a First realm equivalent of cotton and Hoofer and Vargal hides (Vargals are better known as Sniffers). So all the weaving and Metal working happens here. This region also has forests, albeit very small ones, and these trees are nothing like the ones in Ninjago. The wood is used to produce poles for tent making, mine support shafts, furniture ( luxury usually maintained by leaders), and weapons. Because of the abundance of wood, crossbows are the signature weapon of the East. Side note, The East may not have a large military but it does boast the largest population in the realm.

The South

The Southern Province is really only known for one thing. Slave trade. I know its not really to scale and a lot of the territory is cut off due to map constraints, but the South boasts the largest territory. Vast and mostly unexplored this territory is the closest to anarchy. This area should boast the largest population because of shear size alone, but it no longer does. You can probably guess why. This was the first territory to be ravaged by the Great Purge and the subsequent institution of slavery. Since then the south has been the hub of the slave trade. Many slaves are from the south itself, but traders also take from every territory, usually buying the unwanted from poor villages before selling them to the fortresses for far more. They do have a few small trades other than slavery thank goodness. The south has a small mine toward the west that is the only place to find rare purple Oni Stones, and they are also very good Vargal trappers. The South is also home to one of the only traditional recreational activities in the realm, (the dragon fights and dragon master initiation trials in the Barons arena are loosely based on this tradition) Pit fights. These are explained in the main story so I wont explain them here. Due to the remoteness of the territory, many Healers live here as well. It was easier to hide those who still had power ironically enough, especially from the Baron. Many Healer’s family lines have lost their powers anyway, but that is not to say that there may be one or two still hiding out in the peaks. Fun Fact, Lumanium (Phos’ favorite drug) is only found in the South.

This territory is the wild west of the First Realm.

The West

And finally the Western territory. This territory is the smallest and least powerful in the realm. Situated bettween the Vigil sea and the Vargal peaks, this territory is extremely isolated. It is almost an extension of the Central province. Their lack of a distinct identity is also due to the fact that they are a jack of all trades territory. They have farms, trap Vargals, produce a small amount of wood, and have one mine. The farming villages in the west produce more fruit than the central provinces, albeit that is still not much. The one distinct natural resource the West has is the sea. The fish from this territory is the main source of protein in the realm. It is usually dried and stored before its traded.

And that is about it I think...

Most of this is just for worldbuildings sake rather than actual story relevance. There are a few important details I may have sprinkled in but you’ll have to figure that out on your own. I also thought this was important to go over because the next few chapters feature the rest of the Realm a little more. I plan on eventually doing some designs for the animals of this realm, so you guys have a better idea of what they look like. I have a design for Vargals already (Cus Nip...) but I still need to nail down what the heck a Hoofer looks like... yay world building! Feel free to send me any questions or let me know if I need to clarify something, I tried to include everything I could think of but I still could be missing stuff and if you guys have any gaps you want filled let me know.

#ninjago #ninjago au #HOTO au #soul of the oni #heart of the oni #First Realm #world building #HOTO spoilers?#this took me two hours to make #i hope you apreciate this haha

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