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the-bad-batch-baroness · 3 months

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Where's Mommy?

Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Part 3

Summary: Wolffe's wife suddenly dies, leaving him a single father in the middle of a war.

Pairing: Wolffe x Fem!Reader

Characters: Wolffe, Cara (child OFC), Comet, Sinker, Boost

Tags & Warnings: heavy angst, mention of death, off-screen death, spousal death, reader is not the spouse, grief, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 1k

Author's Note: This part isn't blatantly in-your-face sad as the previous two parts were, but instead, I would consider it a lingering sadness. Wolffe takes a back seat in this one while Comet and Cara take center stage. It's sweet, soft, and also bittersweet. Also, are these parts getting longer? Whoops... As always, please enjoy 💚

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

With Cara in one hand and his key card in the other, Wolffe scans the card to open their apartment door. While they were still at the med-center, Plo contacted some of Wolffe's closest brothers in the battalion to help him pack his and Cara's belongings in preparation to move into the Jedi Temple. They don't have to leave tonight, but in the morning they'll have to abandon their home and most of the things in it, since they can only take so much with them to the Temple.

Wolffe lets the door close behind him, then takes a deep breath to steady himself. He carries Cara past the kitchen, where dirty dishes from their dinner preparation lay still, but stops as he walks by the dinner table. Half-eaten, cold food, utensils littering the floor, a yanked table cloth, and a knocked over chair bring vivid images of his wife clutching her chest and gasping for breath back to his remembrance. He squeezes his eyes shut and walks into the living room.

Comet shoots up from the couch, smiles wide, and reaches out his arms to take Cara from Wolffe. "Ad'ika!" he says sweetly. He touches his forehead to hers and sways slowly while she settles against him. "You've gotten so big since the last time I saw you."

"She doesn't know what that means," Wolffe says as he stretches his arm and back muscles.

"You never taught her?" Sinker asks from his seat in the armchair.

"I'll add it to the list next to burying my riduur," Wolffe retorts.

Sinker, Comet, and Boost lower their eyes.

"That's not– I didn't mean–" Wolffe sighs, then slumps down onto the couch. He rubs his forehead to help relieve the growing tension. "You know how it is. Months away on missions and only a few rotations of leave. When did I have the time?"

"It's never too late to start," Boost says with a small smile from the other end of the couch.

"She barely knows me," Wolffe laments. "The only reason she recognizes me is because my wife shows her my picture every waking moment. I… I don't even know what her favorite color is."

Cara begins to squirm and fuss in Comet's arms.

Wolffe sighs and gets up from the couch. "It's way past her bedtime."

"I got it," Comet says. "Just do what you need to do."

Wolffe nods his thanks and sits back down onto the couch.

"Come on, sweetie," Comet says as he walks towards her bedroom. "It's sleepy time."

Comet enters the bedroom and flips the light switch on. Seeing that Cara is not in good spirits, he decides to try and change that. He flips Cara onto her stomach and flies her around the room while imitating gunship sounds. "LAAT coming in for a landing!" he exclaims before gently plopping her down onto the bed. She giggles and he smiles at a mission accomplished. "Alright, ad'i– sweetie, where are your pajamas?"

Cara points at the dresser against the far wall.

Comet opens the dresser drawer, and finds a couple of options. "Do you want the tooka ones or the…" he pauses to think. "You know, I'm not actually sure what those things are. Uh, pink or purple?"

Cara giggles again. "Purple."

"Weird creature it is," Comet says. He closes the drawer and gives the pajamas to Cara. "Can you put them on yourself?"

She looks up at him and blinks.

Comet raises an eyebrow. "You drive a hard bargain, ad'ika. Alright, arms up."

Comet helps Cara get out of her day clothes, which have a mixture of weird and unusual stains on them, and into her purple mystery creature pajamas. After she's ready for bed, he pulls the blanket back to let her nestle in, then tucks the sides of the blanket in around her. He brushes a piece of hair out of her face and smiles softly. "Good night, ad'ika."

"Comet," Cara says.

"Yeah, sweetie?" Comet asks.

"I need cloney," she says.

Comet tilts his head to the side. "Who's cloney?"

Cara sits up in bed and points to a shelf across the room. On the shelf is a little clone trooper doll with gray armor that has been worn from being well-loved.

Comet nods and gets up to grab the doll and bring it back to her.

She hugs the doll close and nestles herself back into bed.

"Does cloney have a name?" he asks as he sits down and tucks her back in.

"Daddy says I can't give him one," she says.

"Oh?" he questions.

"Only clones can," she says.

"Ah, I see," he says. "Well, you know, I'm a clone and I think cloney would love it if you gave him a name of his own."

"Maybe…" she trails off. "Do you know when mommy will come home?"

Comet tenses.

"Mommy always reads me a bedtime story," she continues.

Comet clears his throat. "I could read you a bedtime story. Would you like that?"

Cara looks up at him and for a moment Comet thinks he might break his composure.

"Okay," she says.

Comet sighs in relief and scoots across the floor to the bookshelf to grab one of the children's holo-books. He chooses one that has a lot of pictures in it and scoots back over next to the bed. He starts reading the holo-book to her and tries his best to make all of the character voices sound different and imitate all of the different noises. She giggles at his funny interpretations and, eventually, Cara dozes off and falls asleep.

When he's sure she's sound asleep, Comet ends the holo-book and watches her sleep for a moment. Cara still doesn't understand what has happened, and he can't imagine how she'll really feel when she figures out what it means for her mother to be dead. It pains his heart to think about it. They see death every day, their brothers blown to bits, but for a child to lose their mother? He doesn't even know what that means. None of them do.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Part 6 - Part 7 - Part 8 - Part 9 - Part 10

Masterlist

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invested-in-your-future · 2 months

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I saw your post about if RWBY was written someone decently:

“We would have absolutely gotten a fallout from Jaune just...forging his entry into the academy and then harassing a girl for two volumes.”

I know I am going to get some hate but honestly I wanted Jaune to learn from his actions. I never did like how even at his worst he gets rewarded for his bad behavior:

-he came to a school without aura and no one scolded him for being reckless

-he is sleeping and being lazy with his training (this was your dream why aren’t you taking this seriously?)

-the worse one to me personally (Pyrrha offering training he desperately needs he refuses out of pride…despite knowing he is doing awful)

I hated the bully arc because it was only there to make jaune look good. (Doesn’t help the writers admitting that it was self insert moment.)

Jaune should have faced consequences for being this irresponsible.

Honestly, it's just a mess.

First of all, I have to preface this by saying that there's nothing necessarily wrong with writing Jaune as lazy or not taking his position seriously - as long as writing acknowledges that and uses it to develop him.

Making Jaune as misguided into believing being a Huntsman would make him respected and adored while struggling to put in actual work necessary could be interesting.

The behavior that is in show would fit perfectly the idea of someone who just thought he'd enter into this prestigious academy and get treated like a hero or "The protagonist" - of course someone like that would instantly attempt to hit on the most popular and famous girl at school and of course someone like that would find it difficult to get into his brain that she isn't interested.

Writing Jaune as this person enamored with toxic stereotypes of masculinity and the idea that others owe something to him for his position is interesting. As is the idea of someone like that slowly getting over the toxicity inherent in his behavior and growing into someone more genuine, someone not bound by awful complexes and generic macho fantasies.

Showing how Jaune has to learn to be comfortable with himself and how the whole "knight in shining armor" stereotype of masculinity is not necessary - that would be a riveting character arc.

It would justify all the clashes with Cardin because both represent the polar opposite issues with toxic masculinity overall.

It would even make him a fitting member of JNPR by making his characterization part of the team's theme of challenging gender stereotypes and roles!

The issue is that the writers don't see any of those as an issue - in the minds of Miles and Kerry and the like - Jaune is just this guy "way in over his head" who is just "trying his best".

And what's worse, the writers take the absolute worst possible message from the critique that surrounds Jaune - they somehow believe that the key to making Jaune more likable and to sell him better to the audiences is to make him more "manly", "stronger", "responsible" - all the while walking straight(heh) into the worst toxic stereotypes that people were complaining about in the first place.

They don't attempt to challenge the toxicity and the annoying character traits because they don't see them. Instead they attempt to make him likable and "cool".

So Jaune gets to step over a trail of women who died for his characterization while lamenting how "he never asked for this" and getting a banana haircut that's "more manly". And to prove the likes of Weiss of how achshually he's totally nice and cool guy and she was oh so wrong for daring to not be interested.

I wrote before that the show has Jaune deal with completely different issues than his character actually has, essentially in parts stuffing Ruby's character arc bits onto his character rather than the main protagonist.

It's not only infuriating because of how much the result of his characterization poisons the already shaky show and steals the protagonists' screen time and development, but also downright sad to see the potential of a compelling story arc robbed.

#rwby #rwde #jaune arc

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artsymusician70 · 1 year

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Okay since Tumblr is the place for this, I’m going to analyze Obake’s character

Obake, or Bob Aken, was a brilliant young boy who got his brain messed up at the age of 12 or 13- because of this he mind slowly started to lose sight of what was considered right and what was wrong- but this was just a summary of what we already know-

Obake is in like- his 40’s during the time of Big Hero 6 The Series, meaning he’s spent more than 3 decades completely alone

Not only is his brain deteriorating his sense of morals, but he also lacks basic human companionship. Sure he’s spoken to people for business, but that doesn’t beat real human companionship

This is why he lost to Hiro

Obake never understood what it’s like to have people by your side no matter what, someone who cares so much about you they would protect you. Hiro did. Hiro had people he could rely on, and that’s why he didn’t turn out like Obake.

Hiro got close, if we all remember this part of the movie 😬😬😬

But the reason Hiro didn’t was because his friends where there to stop him and help him. Obake never got the treatment Hiro got where people would stop him if he was in over his head.

Obake never had any friends, probably not even parents. He expressed little to no empathy when Hiro showed concern for Aunt Cass. His only response being:

Personally, I believe this is his temporal junction amplifying a problem of understanding he has towards concern like that. I do not believe he’s ever felt a familial bond. Either he had no family, or moved far away as a transfer student and never looked back.

And not to mention his accident got covered up, and afterwards he was forgotten.

Obake’s big idea is immortalizing himself and making a city where people like him can grow and learn. Due to his temporal lobe being untreated for 30 years, he didn’t care who died in the process(unless you’re Hiro).

But when you look at it in another light, Obake was afraid of dying alone, forgotten, and a failure. He laments about this in the Finale when his plan fails.

(This was the only gif I could find of it)

This is a depressed lonely man who’s mind has spend years changing for the worst, so much so he doesn’t even see anything that he did potentially wrong until it fails. In his mind: as long as it goes right, he is right.

However, he does make attempts to connect with people, just not to the full extent. He does crave to engage in conversation and to connect with another, however he prefers someone who is at “his level” otherwise he gets annoyed easy.

He doesn’t hate conversations, just ones he considers “annoying”. (Don’t give this man a toddler PLEASE)

But when it comes to Hiro. Obake sees him in a higher light because of how scarily similar he is to himself at a young age.

He greatly misunderstood Hiro’s moral limits to being “leashed” or “held back”. And this is due to the fact he was practically raised by Granville before she understood the importance of limits. Therefore his young mind would grow up being taught that this was fact, and he considers his “success” proof of how Hiro is wrong and he was right.

He wants to give him the same “freedom” he has. He sees Hiro as a version of himself that can finally succeed when he was supposed to. He wants to give Hiro what he thinks he never had: proper guidance.

But this all falls back to the facts that Obake doesn’t understand how important and special it feels to have friends, family and loved ones.

I believe that Hiro was the closest thing Obake felt to a close bond. And I’m talking about Obake personally, there was little to no bonding between the two besides kidnapping and gaslighting.

Obake showed genuine hurt and misunderstanding when Hiro rebelled against him and stopped his plan. He was genuinely hoping he would get a chance to teach, and potentially even parent the boy in his own twisted way.

Hiro was the one thing he didn’t plan on in his grand scheme, but when he came along, he was more than happy to allow another survivor. One he saw would grow up to have everything he felt he never had

But Obake was looking at the wrong place.

Also a little side detail I thought was sad-

The moment Obake is approached with help, he pushes himself away from it. This is either him overall denying help from anyone, or accepting that he deserves nothing.

Thank you for coming to my Ted Talk Artsy OUT

#bh6 #bh6 obake #bh6 the series #big hero 6 #big hero six #obake #IM SAD HE’S DEAD I MISS HIM SM #THEY INTENDED TO KILL HIM THIS ISNT FAIRRRRR

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oof-i-did-it-agaaiiin · 1 year

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I think it’s really interesting how all of Ride The Cyclone’s songs are treated to be completely diegetic.

For those who don’t know, diegetic means something that is literally, actually taking place within the context of a story. A non-diegetic song isn’t literally happening, it’s just a musical representation of what is happening.

For example, in The Sound Of Music, The Lonely Goatherd is diegetic, Sixteen Going On Seventeen is not, and So Long Farewell is a sort of middle ground.

Musicals often blur the lines between what’s diegetic and what isn’t, but most musicals treat the majority of their songs as non-diegetic, often having none or only one diegetic song.

But since the characters in Ride The Cyclone are already in this strange limbo space, the rules of reality are more blurred. Karnak is able to materialize set pieces, costumes, props, and the characters themselves into this world that he controls.

By having control over the actions and words of the choir, Karnak allows the children to express themselves through their songs in whatever manner possible, just as any musical does, but Karnak’s existence and involvement in the story solidifies these occurrences as diegetic within the story, rather than representational.

This is further confirmed through the character’s treatment of the musical numbers. Ocean refers to Noel’s Lament as “Noel’s song” and references the “f-bombs in the chorus” and it’s confirmed by dialogue after that same song that Ricky was actually playing the accordion during it. Lyrics from Ocean’s song are also referenced in dialogue, and nearly every song I can think of is treated similarly, as if they actually happened.

This is interesting because I think this choice actually supports the general themes of the show.

These children died tragically and suddenly, only knowing they would die mere seconds before it was over. But by pausing time and placing these kids in a sort of limbo it allows us to have an introspective moment with each character, allowing them to interact and bond before they die. The events of the musical serve as a time for the kids to grow, and understand each other, and come to terms with their unfulfilled dreams, and imminent death.

If the musical numbers were all mere representations of these characters’ internal dialogues then whose to say the whole musical couldn’t also be classified that way? If none of this actually happened then was it all for naught? Did their short lives really not get any closure? Did it mean nothing?

But it didn’t mean nothing. It wasn’t imaginary, and it did happen. It happened in this strange blend of reality we call theatre but it was real. The choir’s lives and the choir’s songs did have meaning and they did give closure, even if it’s meaning and closure that only them and us are privy to.

#I did not intend this to be so long but I don’t know what I expected honestly it’s me #long post #ride the cyclone #musicals #post i made #i love analysis #i think things about stories

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saccharineshadow · 1 year

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- Things in Ride The Cyclone I think about on the daily (SPOILERS!!!)

1. Jane’s head not being visible during the starting number “Karnak’s Dream of Life”

2. In “Fall Fair Suite” when everyone is looking down at Uranium City (from a place Im guessing is limbo) all of them smile or show some kind of joy or nostalgic feeling of sorts, all of them except for Mischa, since he didn’t grow up in Uranium City nor sees it the same way the rest of the choir see it

3. Jane’s Singing during “Fall Fair Suite”

4. Ocean confessing her discomfort before riding the cyclone, feeling rather unsafe (basically the fact she predicted her own doom)

5. The Choir’s catchphrases sort of predicting per say the member’s character development (Ex. Mischa’s catchphrase revealing his soft nature and vulnerability, Ocean’s catchphrase starting as a joke and ending up as her real perspective on things) or reveal something from their past life (Ex. Jane’s catchphrase being an animal fact either predicting she would become Penny or that she used to be Penny *reference to Legoland*)

6. Noel’s Catchphrase (it lives rent free in my head)

7. Jane trying unsuccessfully to get a hug from Ocean

8. Noel’s shadow being more feminine than himself in “Noel’s Lament” representing the version of himself he wished to be

9. The positioning of each member of the choir in each song representing their relationship to the one singing at the moment (Ex. Ocean being shafted and staying in the same pose in the back for the whole of “Noel’s Lament” as well as the major roles both Mischa and Ricky got in that same song)

10. Noel (Or Monique) playing with Ocean’s hair

11. Jane walking normally in "Noel's Lament" (it cracks me up srry)

12. Constance laughing at Mischa’s sarcastic responses to Ocean

13. The fact that Mischa mixed up the plots of Saw 5 and Saw 6 (the plot he describes is the one from Saw 6, not Saw 5 if im not mistaken)

14. Ocean’s song after “Noel’s Lament” (im just putting this one here cause it reminded me of my parents *especially my mom* asking me about the “morals” or if such was educational for pretty much everything *Videogames, Shows, etc*)

15. The fact that no one really knew Ricky for who he really was so they just went with the “Disabled=Literal Child that doesn’t know anything about the world” Therefore shocking the choir (Especially Ocean) when he says something “””perverted”””

16. On the same note, Ricky’s little speech about Porno and how taboo it became to talk about something completely natural and how demonized it is in our Society as a whole (very deep, magical indeed)

17. In some productions (or maybe just one idk), Mischa’s line about not being homophobic mentions the fact he’s watched all seasons of Rupaul’s Drag Race

18. Constance playing the Role of Mischa’s mother (which made me create the headcanon that Constance in some way reminds Mischa of his Mother)

19. I haven’t mentioned it yet but I like that every member has a little moment to talk before their song (except for Jane if I remember correctly)

20. Mischa having two songs (he deserves it tbh)

21. Jane discovering the existence of sunglasses

22. “I lay my masculinity on the altar of your maidenhood”

23. The beatdrop at the end of “Talia” representing Mischa’s rage at the fact he could never meet Talia and will never be able to talk to her again

24. On the same Note, (if Talia is even real in the first place) it’s possible Talia will never really know Mischa died

25. Ocean distorting what Noel was trying to say originally when Mischa was given the opportunity to see what could’ve happened if he met Talia

26. Karnak speeding up Ocean’s rambling

27. On the same note (i’ve used that phrase three times holy crap) Karnak messing with Ocean the whole show

28. The whole of Space Age Bachelor Man

29. "Oh my goodness what have I gotten myself into?"

30. "There's only one rule in the Space Age Bachelor Man Bible, Don't be a dick"

31. "We listen to you now Space Jesus"

32. The whole of "The Ballad of Jane Doe"

33. The shadow behind Jane having the form of wings

34. The New birthday song

35. The duo interactions after/During Jane's made up birthday

36. Constance's speech before "Sugar Cloud" (Jawbreaker) *that shit made me cry I relate to Constance so bad omg*

37. Ocean's Final Vote

38. The expressions of each member at the end showing fear and being unsure to cross to the other side, then showing acceptance and somewhat joy at the fact they will finally rest in peace

39. The Musical ends the same way it starts (Jane singing her part from "Karnak's Dream of Life" The rest of the choir going back to their positions when they rode the cyclone inicially)

40. That existencial dread that you get once you finish the show. Damn

Wow this was long and totally did not take like 3 days to put together but I had to get it out of the way

#musicals #rtc #ride the cyclone the musical #ride the cyclone #ocean o'connell rosenberg #jane doe ride the cyclone #constance blackwood #mischa bachinski #noel gruber #ricky potts #long ass post #ramblings

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sinful-decaf · 7 months

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Hackers and Nyte Blade

Warnings: sfw, all characters aged up, post-SR3 Matt, canon divergence, privacy invasion, illegal hacking

Characters: Matt Miller, gn reader

Author's Note: This is for the slice of life collab but boy. I struggled so much with this and I don't actually like it but dhdnkdd. Its here, it's eh, but writers block.

Word Count: 1.1k

Curiosity drove you. A morbid curiosity about the place you once called home. Now, of course, you had found your home in a small town just west of Stilwater and farther still was Steelport itself but your home and loyalties still lay with Steelport. Even if it had been engulfed by a gang war when you had moved away. You, of course, kept an eye on it. You noticed a few details, but something wasn't adding up and hadn't in the two years since. Sure, the Luchodores died. You understood why.The Morningstar, led by Viola DeWynter, merged with the Saints. Yet… Why had the Deckers simply vanished? More specifically, why was there no word on their leader? You tapped your foot in the break room, reading article after article. Interviews with Killbane, the DeWynter sisters and Loren had extensive business ventures all signed under their specific names, alongside the prostitute game that required a more personal touch, the Saint's boss was around too. All documented. Normally by one Jane Valderamma. Yet it frustrated you. There was not a single mention as to who the Deckers ever listened to. Nothing!

"Can you work the closing shift again?"

You perked up, hearing your boss speak. The kind old lady had picked you up out of the street, comforted you when gang life took over your life, and would lament you going back.

"Ah… I can, yes." Responded your coworker.

You looked over, he seemed less than fond of the bright green work shirt every time. You liked him. Matt Miller. A fine employee, a lackluster conservationist (unless you count the topic of Nyte Blade), and a generally reserved man. You always wondered why he seemed so… Odd. Yet, he wasn't your type. You had caught yourself drifting towards harsher types. People like Loren, Viola, and Killbane. Those with skewed morality and something to lord over. Fighting rings, hookers, even other gangs all joined together under one flag. Something. Matt, of course, was kind and while he was hot… Something was off.

If only you knew how wrong you were.

You wanted to look him up too, look into his past. Yet… wasn't that crossing lines you promised you wouldn't again after surviving a city takeover, two actually, back in the day. It was an invasion of privacy too! Yet you were stuck on your research and… He didn't have to know what you would find. First, you needed to find out where he was from. Matt Miller, after all, was quite close lipped regarding anything and everything about where he came from. There had to be something there! A reason. So, you began. In that little coffee shop, growing steadily more defensive as you went from harmlessly looking up just his name to pulling up his records. That was the first thing you thought of and it brought forth interesting results.

"... Expunged?" You softly muttered to yourself, "Lets get that unsealed."

You really did just want to know! You weren't going to do a thing with what inevitably boring thing Matt cared so much about as to seek out it getting expunged. Yet when you got access, the list of crimes made your eyes widen.

".... What the-"

And then it crashed. The site, a remarkably secure government site, had crashed. In fact, your entire computer's screen went black. You jumped up, startled with your blood running cold. After a few seconds, one symbol sat in the center of your screen. It had been one you grew quite familiar with in your research. The Decker logo, a blue skull with a pink star in an eye socket. You whipped around, Matt stood a little too close for comfort, black bangs in his face as he stared down at you.

"You really didn't seem like much before." He remarked, his accent thick.

You stepped back, "You…"

"That all got sealed, expunged, yet you found a way. Well, where there's a will." Matt tilted his head, "I really didn't think much of you. Perhaps I should've learned my lesson from before as to underestimating people. Especially those who also have expunged records."

"How'd you even get that expunged!" You huffed.

Matt shrugged, "Where there's a will." He repeated, narrowing his eyes, "Although… What to do now? You could tell either one of them. You could be working for either of them."

"Wh- you paranoid little-" you cleared your throat, "I'm not working for anyone, Miller." You raised a brow, "Yet clearly you have someone working for you. I mean it, how did you get all your crimes from being in a gang all expunged as if it were nothing!"

"I don't have to answer the likes of you." Matt scoffed.

You pushed him back, "I'm still your supervisor!" You hissed, "I've been here longer, I've-"

"You're a has been." Matt simply retorted.

"I'm a- excuse me!" You grabbed that bright green shirt, dragging him forward.

"You're excused." Matt smirked.

It was a game of cat and mouse, whoever stopped was the loser and to the victor go the spoils. You groaned, pushing him back with all your strength, the taller hacker fell on his ass with nothing but a perked brow, as if asking if that was all you could do. With him no longer pretending to be a meek, reserved and polite worker, he was just sassing you and frustrating you with every word that left his mouth.

"Listen here, you little-" You began.

"You should get your eyes checked. I'm bigger than you are."

You wanted to rip your own hair out but settled for groaning and kicking his leg as you stormed past him. Yet, you froze when he hummed, "Wouldn't it be terrible if your bank lost all your money, love? Maybe hacking to know who I am was a mistake, no?" He chuckled, "How about you do something for me and we'll forget this."

And that's how you got here. A simple bout of curiosity, evidently you both had regrets and mistakes under your belts. You just couldn't imagine this was the favor. Your eyes laid on the TV before you in the hacker's living room. He sat beside you, leaning forward and his entire posture was absolute hell yet Matt didn't seem to care.

"I think you'll like this! Just watch!" He promised.

".... You threatened me so I'd watch…. Nyte Blade with you?" You asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Of course!" He seemed almost insulted that you'd ask, "Its one of the best things created for God's sake!"

"Its sure… Something, alright." You sighed yet it was charming.

You didn't know when that realization hit. That in all his awkward, gawk nerd-ness, Matt Miller was charming. Endearing, even. You sighed, leaning back and letting your eyes focus on whatever Nyte Blade was doing, mourning his wife you think. You paid some attention, it seemed to make Matt happier. Asking him about Steelport could wait. You just wanted to exist here for a moment, let your curiosity die out for just a little while.

#decafstories #caffeinatedsin #matt miller #matt miller x reader #matt miller x you #saints row #saints row x reader #saints row x you #slice of life collab

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dollycas · 4 months

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Cozy Wednesday featuring Public Anchovy #1 (Deep Dish Mysteries) by Mindy Quigley #Review / #Giveaway @MinotaurBooks @StMartinsPress @minty_fresh_books

Welcome to Cozy Wednesday! I am delighted to feature Public Anchovy #1 by Mindy Quigley today! Public Anchovy #1 will be released on December 26, but you can pre-order it now here.

Public Anchovy #1 (Deep Dish Mysteries) Cozy Mystery 3rd in Series Setting - Wisconsin St. Martin's Paperbacks (December 26, 2023) Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 320 pages ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1250792479 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1250792471 Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0C1X7M6ZS

Public Anchovy #1 is the third book in Mindy Quigley's delectable Deep Dish Mystery series, set in a Wisconsin pizzeria. While Geneva Bay’s upper crust gets ready to party down at a Prohibition-themed fundraiser, pizza chef Delilah O’Leary is focused on seeing her struggling restaurant through the winter slow season. The temperature outside is plummeting, but Delilah’s love life might finally be heating up, as hunky police detective Calvin Capone seems poised to (finally) make a move. But Delilah’s hopes of perfecting a new “free-from” pizza recipe for a charity bash are dashed when a dead body crashes the party. Soon, Capone, Delilah, and her entire staff are trapped in an isolated mansion and embroiled in a dangerous game of cat and mouse. To catch an increasingly-desperate killer, Delilah will have to top all of her previous crime-solving accomplishments, and a few pizzas, too. Dollycas's Thoughts Winter in Wisconsin can be very pretty but it's cold so Delilah has to add catering to her repertoire to keep her restaurant in the black. She and her staff have been hired to cater a Prohibition-themed fundraiser for the library at Bluff Point, one of Geneva Bay, Wisconsin's "most opulent private residences". At the last minute, one of the guests has requested a “free-from” pizza without gluten, dairy, or nightshade plants causing Delilah to send her staff ahead to the venue while she went home to gather everything she needed to fulfill the request. She unknowingly brings back a surprise guest. Before the food is served and after a little entertainment, Edgar Clemmons, former chair of the library board, tumbles down the stairs to his death. Some of the guests leave as the snow continues to fall but before Delilah, her crew, and several other guests can leave they learn that they are trapped until plows can clear up higher-priority roads and highways. It also means EMS can't get there to remove Edgar's body. Was Edgar's death an accident or was he murdered? Are Delilah, Capone, her staff, and others in the company of a killer? When the apparent murder weapon is found in an unusual place and the head librarian is killed Capone and Delilah get in high gear to isolate the killer before anyone else dies. _____ I was so happy to return to Geneva Bay and the great characters Ms. Quigley has created. At the start of the story, Delilah was lamenting mostly in her own head about her relationship with Calvin Capone going nowhere because he never called. Well spending time trapped in a mansion with the killer on the loose sure changed that. Capone's mother was introduced and played a larger role than I had expected. Aunt Biz is dealing with a huge change in her life and not handling it well. Sonya finds herself fainting at one point and in danger at another but she is still there for Delilah as she tries to piece all the clues together. Each of Delilah's staff has their own talents and interesting backstories. We continue to learn more about them in this book. Ms. Quigley's characters are multidimensional and continue to grow as the series continues. The setting at Bluff Point was fantastic. It had so many unique rooms, alcoves, stairways, an observation tower, and a dumb waiter. It was right on the water too with a dock and a good size boat. It was a character all on its own. The author did an excellent job describing everything. I easily visualized all the places and happenings. The mystery was very well-plotted with a plethora of twists and turns. Edgar Clemmons had a mission when he arrived at the party and that got him killed. The fundraiser was for the library so it was apropos that some books provided some major drama and clues. I enjoyed the way Delilah and Capone worked together, not only to solve the murders but to keep everyone safe. Yes, Delilah went a little rogue a couple of times but I would have been disappointed if she hadn't. Her A-ha moment was priceless. But it was an unexpected person that set the showdown in motion and what a showdown it was! I love that this series is set in my home state and while Geneva Bay is fictional I have a very good idea of the city it is based on. There is even a mansion there similar to Bluff Point. Ms. Quigley draws from Wisconsin history, especially regarding the Capones, Calvin's relatives. I find myself looking for little references that give me a warm feeling of home. I also love Chicago Deep Dish Pizza and appreciate the recipes included in the book. This time they include an Italian Beef Crostini and Delilah's Free-from-Pizza Deep Dish Pizza recipe for those looking for vegan, or gluten-free or dairy-free pizza but not one I will be trying. I need my meat and cheese, no anchovies, please. Public Anchovy #1 was A Perfect Escape for me. Engaging characters, a terrific mystery, and a very intriguing setting kept me entertained until the final word. I can't wait until Ms. Quigley serves up another huge slice of the next Deep Dish Mystery.

Your Escape Into A Good Book Travel Agent About the Author

MINDY QUIGLEY has won a number of awards for her short stories, including the 2013 Bloody Scotland Prize and the 2018 Lightbringer Award. Originally from Chicago, she possesses a naturally sophisticated pizza palate. Her desert island pizza choice would be Lou Malnati’s “Deep Dish Lou” or an Aurelio’s thin crust with spinach, tomatoes, and black olives. She lives in Virginia with her history professor husband, their two children, and their miniature Schnauzer. You can find more info about Mindy Quigley on her website here.

Coming December 26, 2023

Also written by Mindy Quigley

Thanks to the publisher I have 1 copy to give away! The contest is open to anyone over 18 years old with a US mailing address. Duplicate entries will be deleted. Void where prohibited. You do not have to be a follower to enter but I hope you will find something you like here and become a follower. Followers Will Receive 2 Bonus Entries For Each Way They Follow. Plus 2 Bonus Entries For Following My Facebook Fan Page. Add this book to your WANT TO READ shelf on GoodReads for 3 Bonus Entries. Pin this giveaway to Pinterest for 3 Bonus Entries. If you share the giveaway on Twitter or Facebook or anywhere you will receive 5 Bonus Entries For Each Link. The Contest Will End January 3, 2024, at 11:59 PM CST The Winner Will Be Chosen By Random.org The Winner Will Be Notified By Email and Will Be Posted Here In The Sidebar. Click Here For Entry Form Disclosure of Material Connection: I received this book free from the publisher. I was not required to write a positive review. The opinions I have expressed are my own. Receiving a complimentary copy in no way reflected my review of this book. I am disclosing this in accordance with the Federal Trade Commission’s 16 CFR, Part 255: “Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising.” Read the full article

#cozymystery #MindyQuigley #MinotaurBooks #NetGalley #pizza #St.Martin'sPaperbacks #Wisconsin

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deancasbigbang · 2 years

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Title: The Places We Hide

Author: Stu

Artist: noemi r

Rating: Teen

Pairings: Castiel/Dean, Castiel/Crowley (past), Dean/Lee (past), hinted Dean/Donna

Length: 40000

Warnings: Major Character Death (past) (Sam) Gunshot wound Show level violence Divorce proceedings PTSD Grief

Tags: Slow Burn, Angst with a happy ending, Human!Cas, Hermit!Dean, Hunting AU, Hurt/Comfort, Imagine there's no Heaven(ly influence), John died in this AU instead of Mary, Wendigo, Undine OFC

Posting Date: October 20, 2022

Summary: Castiel is going through it. He’s been dumped by his husband and demoted at work. A walk in the woods to clear his head makes it all horrifically worse. Luckily, he is saved by a bearded stranger. Through his recovery Castiel searches for the man in the woods. When he finds Dean, an unlikely friendship grows. As Cas comes to terms with the way his life is changing, Dean opens up a whole new world to him. With a job opportunity across the country, Cas looks for a fresh start. But Dean cannot follow, not until the biggest hunt of his life is dealt with. And Cas is too scared to ask him anyway, almost until it's too late. Can Dean slay the monster that killed Sam over twenty years ago? Will Cas be brave enough to ask him to join Cas in his new life? Will either of them work through their demons and trust their feelings?

Excerpt: “Mr. Novak, you were found in your vehicle, alone,” the doctor explains. “I was going to wait awhile until we let the police in to go through the whole thing, it being a gunshot wound. But there was no sign of anyone else nearby.” “What?! No—” Castiel snaps. “Then how did I get an ambulance?” “A park ranger found you and called 9-1-1,” Dr. Barnes continues. “It’s a good thing she did too, because you had lost a lot of blood. Which is why we have had you resting.” The last words sound more like a threat than an explanation. Castiel looks at the woman and swallows underneath her glare. “Of course. I guess—- I’ll know more when I speak to the police.” Missouri clears her throat. “Mr. Novak? Your roommate wants to speak with you.” Sheepishly, Castiel takes the phone, knowing what is in store for him. “Hello, Charlie,” Castiel’s low voice rumbles, both a greeting and a retreat. He sighs as she unleashes. “WHAT DO THEY MEAN YOU’VE BEEN SHOT?! Was it him? Do I need to testify to domestic abuse?” He pulls the phone away from his ear and smothers Charlie’s panic against his chest. “Thank you, I’ll call if I need anything—- or I guess let me know when the police need me.” There is only Missouri nodding at him, the doctor must have moved onto the next patient already. With a hint of a chuckle in her farewell glance, the nurse leaves Castiel to calm the excitable geek. “Charlie, I’m fine—- it wasn’t Fergus, you watch too many true crime documentaries. It was a deer hunter in the woods.----- I hadn’t realized it was gun season already.---- I know that now.” The conversation is neverending, Castiel’s breathing strains from the constant need to reply. Once she finally calms down, Charlie suddenly sounds very small, “you could have died.” Castiel exhales and closes his eyes against the wicking of that truth. “I know.” “I’m gonna come visit after work. Uriel and Zachariah were all over me looking for you this morning. Man are they not gonna believe—” The department swap. What was left of Castiel’s emotional bandwidth cuts out and static fills his ears. He swallows, but he can no longer focus on Charlie’s story. Of all the days to miss work, it had to be today. And then he laughs mirthlessly underneath his breath. He nearly died, and losing his job is still his greater concern. Maybe Fergus was right, maybe he needs to reconsider his priorities. “I should go— the police want to ask me some questions.” “Yikes, that sounds like another helping of shit on your sandwich,” Charlie laments. “Well, I don’t know anything, so who knows,” Castiel replies. “Call before you come, I don’t think this is my permanent room.” “Of course, take care! And don’t flirt with cops while drugged, trust me, it’s not as helpful as it sounds,” Charlie adds on. “Goodbye, Charlie.”

DCBB 2022 Posting Schedule

#dcbb 2022 #fic preview #2022 promo #deancas #destiel

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biglittleluobo · 2 years

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拔苗助长

大家好! Hello everyone! I am back with my 2nd 成语 aka Chinese proverb or idiom. Today I will be talking about 拔苗助长 (bá miáo zhù zhǎng), literally “pull plants to help them grow taller”, meaning “to spoil something with excess enthusiasm” or alternatively “failure brought about by taking shortcuts”.

This is a story about a very anxious farmer who worries constantly about the slow growth of his plants. Every day he goes down to the field, rain or shine, to work the earth and tend to his land. He works himself to the bone every time and finds himself exhausted day after day. But it seems like his hard work isn’t paying off! Each day he goes down to the field he feels that his plants have barely grown at all from the day before! On one particularly scorching day, he finds himself drenched in sweat and nearly collapses on the side of his field, lamenting his plants and asking why they don’t reward him for his hard work by growing faster. Suddenly, an idea comes to him: if he simply grabs the plants and pulls them skywards, they should grow taller very quickly! He sets off to work increasing the heights of his plants by directly tugging on them. Meanwhile, the farmer’s wife and child are waiting at home for his return, wondering if something has happened to him. He suddenly bursts through the door and excitedly tells his family about his wonderful idea and how tall his plants are now! His wife is shocked speechless, and when he returns to the field with his son, they find that the plants (of course) have already withered and died. Thus, we have the phrase 拔苗助长! Pulling the plants to make them taller doesn’t actually achieve your goal (and in fact can ruin it!), you must put in the time and effort to realize your ambitions without shortcuts.

I hope you enjoyed the story! Let’s get into the vocab. Fortunately this time is much shorter than my first post. Vocab list under the cut:

靠 (kào) - to lean against or on; to stand by the side of; to come near to

种 (zhǒng) - seed; species; kind; type; classifier for types, kinds, sorts

庄稼 (zhuāng jia) - farm crop

(庄zhuāng - farmstead; village)

性子 (xìng zi) - temper; personality

(性xìng - nature; character; property; quality; attribute)

急 (jí) - urgent; pressing; rapid; hurried; worried; to make (sb) anxious

劳动 (láo dòng) - work; toil; physical labor

(劳láo - to toil; labor; laborer, 动dòng - (of sth) to move; to set in movement)

不管(bù guǎn) - not to be concerned; regardless of; no matter

烈日(liè rì) - scorching sun

(烈liè - ardent; intense; fierce)

当空 (dāng kōng) - overhead; up in the sky

辛苦 (xīn kǔ) - exhausting; hard; tough; arduous; to work hard; to go to a lot of trouble; hardship(s)

痛苦 (tòng kǔ) - pain; suffering; painful

这么 (zhè me) - this way; like this

锄地 (chú dì) - to hoe; to weed the soil

汗珠 (hàn zhū) - beads of sweat

(汗hàn - perspiration; sweat)

颗 (kē) - classifier for small spheres, pearls, corn grains, teeth, hearts, satellites, etc

掉 (diào) - to fall; to drop

衣衫 (yī shān) - clothing; unlined garment

湿透 (shī tòu) - drenched; wet through

顾 (gù) - to look after; to take into consideration; to attend to

擦 (cā) - to wipe; to erase; rubbing (brush stroke in painting); to clean; to polish

顶 (dǐng) - apex; crown of the head; top

弓 (gōng) - to bend; to arch (one’s back); a bow (weapon)

干活 (gàn huó) - to work; to be employed

实在 (shí zài) - really; actually; indeed; true

便 (biàn) - then; in that case; even if; soon afterwards

自言自语 (zì yán zì yǔ) - to talk to oneself; to think aloud; to soliloquize

脑子 (nǎo zi) - brains; mind

蹦 (bèng) - to jump; to bounce; to hop

主意 (zhǔ yi) - plan; idea; decision

拔 (bá) - to pull up; to pull out

顿时 (dùn shí) - immediately; suddenly

劲 (jìn) - strength; energy; enthusiasm; spirit; mood

忙碌 (máng lù) - busy; bustling

以往 (yǐ wǎng) - in the past; formerly

担心 (dān xīn) - anxious; worried; uneasy; to worry; to be anxious

忽然 (hū rán) - suddenly; all of a sudden

满 (mǎn) - to fill; full; filled; packed; fully; completely; quite; to reach the limit

兴奋 (xīng fèn) - excited; excitement

坏 (huài) - (suffix) to the utmost

比画 (bǐ hua) - to gesture wildly

吃惊 (chī jīng) - to be startled; to be shocked; to be amazed

合拢 (hé lǒng) - to close (flower, eyes, suitcase etc); to bring together

赶忙 (gǎn máng) - to hurry; to hasten; to make haste

田 (tián) - field; farm

结果 (jié guǒ) - outcome; result; conclusion; in the end; as a result

发现 (fā xiàn) - to find; to discover

禾苗 (hé miáo) - seedling (of rice or other grain

枯 (kū) - dried up

If you made it this far, great job! See you next time! 加油！

#成语 #chengyu #idiom #chinese idiom #拔苗助长 #vocab #mandarin vocab #chinese vocab #language learning #chinese language #mandarin chinese #langblr #mandarin langblr #chinese langblr

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ectonurites · 3 years

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does t-shirt conner and 90s conner and new conner all feel like different people to you, or is it just me? i know things get written, rewritten and rebooted but. they all just feel like different characters. it's weird.

Like... yes and no? It's complicated.

(Sorry in advance I'm starting out with mostly text citations rather than images, but theres images later. Also this got incredibly long. Sorry!)

Because at a glance I definitely agree there are differences between each of those eras of Conner, things that are pretty clearly apparent when you just pick up a comic from each timeframe

But like, at this point where I've read a lot of Kon stuff and see like... the connecting points between these Kons with context, I think it's not hard to rationalize where the changes in personality come from (even if the writers might not have put that same amount of thought into it that I have tbh) which can make it feel more like 'this is a person who is changing over time as he goes through life because of specific things he went through' rather than just 'this is a completely separate character suddenly when the writers changed' (like... the separate writers thing is more how Jason feels than any other character to me)

90's Kon comes fresh into the world unexperienced but wanting so badly to prove himself and be Superman, but he's just not quite there yet because of his age and naivety. He knows a lot of things because of Cadmus-implanted knowledge, but he doesn't necessarily understand all of them. He's immature, kinda rude sometimes bc he purposefully bases himself/his personality on what's popular (something gone into in Superboy Vol. 4 #83 when he spends a whole issue lamenting that he's lost his coolness) because he cares a lot about how people perceive him, but has a good heart and wants to see the best in people (that's kinda how he got into the damn Knockout situation in the first place, he was so convinced she couldn't have actually committed the murder she was accused of. She took advantage of his trust/desire to see good in others). He's fun and doesn't take things too seriously until it comes down to the wire, and he knows that's a flaw (Superboy Vol. 4 #91, with the "I can't believe this is my life. Wake me up, please. This isn't fun anymore.") and eventually that 'living life his own fun way' thing bites him in the ass a few too many times.

It's the combination of a few things that'd happened earlier (Tana's death during Sins of Youth, The arc with Jim's death and rebirth + just generally everything with Amanda Spence, Bart's half-death thing during Our Worlds at War) with Superboy Vol. 4 #100 and Graduation Day, that all leads to/marks the specific change in him that leads into 't-shirt Conner' even before the Lex/Clark reveal takes stuff a step further.

In Superboy Vol. 4 #100, because he had been living on his own in Suicide Slum with his public identity... he ends up putting his whole apartment building in danger when someone targeting him plants a bomb there. That's why he agrees to move in with Ma & Pa and adopt a civilian identity, because his carelessness with his identity displaced an entire building's worth of people of their homes and cost someone their life. Then, pretty shortly after, Graduation Day happens. He's one of the people who jumps into the action which makes things worse (something Tim angrily points out in their infamous closet scene) and then things go further and Donna dies, Cassie disbands the team because she thinks them not taking things seriously enough got them into the situation in the first place. These things weigh really heavily on him!

Him being a lot more reserved afterwards and kinda shrinking in on himself a bit... doesn't seem that insane to me. All of them saw the events of Graduation Day as a time to grow up. I think Cassie & Bart's specific changes were the ones that made the least sense in this era (and then while Tim was definitely edgier in TT 03 it's also a far less noticeable change than Conner's) but the core of what was going on in Conner's life leading into him revamping himself again does make sense imo. (execution could have been better! far better. But the core idea itself I get). And then when you throw in the Lex/Clark retcon which makes him, already in a place where he's doubting how he's been living his life up to that point, question everything he knows about himself... it does make an amount of sense that he'd just feel different. But I do feel the need to reiterate, he's really not quite as different as I see some people act like and I feel like that stems from the YJ cartoon being the immediate association with 't shirt Conner', even though in the TT 03 run he's still definitely got way more of his personality than that.

Anyways then... ya know plot happens. Luthor takes over and makes him attack his team, Superboy-Prime comes and calls him a fake, he saves everyone but dies in the process during Infinite Crisis. These are situations where a person might not be feeling most like themselves.

Then he comes back, and when he's back is definitely an era I enjoy more in terms of 'times he's wearing the t-shirt' overall, because you can see that he's kinda taking a step back from the problems he was going through + not handling the best way early in the TT 03 era, and re-examining them from a slightly more mature lens. Like, he's not suddenly always handling things perfectly as evidenced by the whole 'List of what Superman does and list of what Lex Luthor does' thing, but it's definitely a slightly more rational/mature approach to dealing with that situation. He's not just going 'agh i was born evil......' now its more 'okay lets... lets see who I actually act more like-'

That arc specifically also does something that I think really rings true to an aspect I brought up earlier about his 90's characterization: puts a focus in on how he's trying to see if there's any good in Lex. That's why he's seeking him out in those first few issues. Obviously he comes to the eventual conclusion that no, there isn't this guy fucking sucks, but it's still that attempt to hope that really does feel like the same Conner when he's just grown up a decent amount. It's not blind faith like things were with Knockout, but a regular hope that someone could be better that feels like it stems from that same place inside him.

In the following stuff once he's thrown the journal with the lists out and come to his own conclusions about how he's never going to be like Lex, he's walking this new line of 'Okay, but I also can't just try to live my life as Clark, so how am I gonna live my life?' It's him wondering about just kinda... who exactly he is. What it is he's doing, what his sense of direction's gotta be.

(Superboy Vol. 5 #6)

The other day I'd made a big post talking about Kon's view on wanting to be Superman, and some of that feels relevant around now. Here Kon is at this point in his life where he definitely wants that title one day, but he's not in a rush to get there. And post-Boy of Steel he is acknowledging the distinctions between himself and Clark more, but he's still choosing to stay in Smallville and loosely follow Clark's path.

He also kinda re-defines his reasoning for coming to Smallville in this run to separate it from just trying to be like Clark in Boy of Steel, into more... looking for answers about how his life could have been if he'd been more like Clark.

(Superboy Vol. 5 #11)

This ending to me is him accepting that he's gotta find his own path rather than try to find answers about a life he didn't life. He's a hero and not normal and that's okay, he's gonna stay in Smallville and be his weird hero self with his weird friends and not worry about the stuff that doesn't apply to him. He's not Clark, but Smallville's his home now too.

Which is why what YJ 2019 then did with him is actually really fascinating to me. It builds off some of these different thoughts he was having in ways that like... sorta kinda almost make sense, it's like the last piece of the 'I don't need to live my life in a pre-defined way' idea clicked.

Like... if we consider the YJ 2019 flashbacks as picking up shortly after Superboy Vol. 5 ended (which is definitely the implication) then Conner has come to terms with that stuff I just said above, but he's still living his day-to-day life in a relatively unchanged way. He's still living at the farm and going to school and all that kinda normal life stuff outside of times he's actively being Superboy.

But when his teacher here talks it all really hits him that even though he likes living in Smallville, sitting around playing Clark Kent Jr. during the school days because he feels like that's the path he should be going down/the rules he thinks he should follow... just isn't the best use of his time. Kinda connecting back to that 'sense of purpose' thing from his talk with Tim, him feeling like what he was at the time doing in Smallville wasn't quite the answer. And he even reiterates he only started like going to school like this in the first place because of trying to be like Clark.

(Young Justice (2019) #3)

So this is kinda him having a taste of rebellion again, after spending a decent amount of time trying to more closely fit the mold of Clark's life. Not necessarily rejecting being at all like Clark or life in Smallville in general or anything like that, but making a choice to figure out his own path picking and choosing the bits he likes (Smallville itself, The farm, Ma) and leaving behind the parts he doesn't want (his secret identity being so similar to Clark bc that's the only way I can read him putting on a leather jacket again as he walks straight out of school, going to school in general)

That's I think a big reason why while he's stuck on Gemworld he decides to switch back into something more like his original outfit, it's him returning more to just what he likes and how he wants to do things which is closer to how he lived life back in the 90s, but going at it with some more maturity from having spent time more reserved trying to follow in footsteps. It's a full circle thing, it's arriving back closer to his original self but with more intent this time so of course it's not exactly the same.

i guess the tldr:

90's Kon was his own rebellious experimental thing but he also really didn't know what he was doing yet because he was so new to the world -> early 2000s Kon was so concerned with how others perceived him -> 2003 Kon was having to adjust to a new way of living and new revelations about who he really is -> post-resurrection Kon was trying to define who he was outside of just Lex/Clark's clone and figure out what path he was going to go down -> YJ 2019 Kon is re-approaching his original self with all the experiences he now has under his belt and kinda a new purpose especially in the aftermath of spending a decent chunk of time stuck separated from his loved ones

So like... because in my mind it just kinda clicks how all these different versions of Kon connect into one another, they don't feel quite as separate to me? If that uhhh.. makes sense.

#kon meta time babes <3 #need to stop getting thought provoking kon questions when i have shit to do bc i can not focus until i write it all out #FORGOT TO PUT THE READMORE AT FIRST IM SORRY FOR CLOGGING DASHES #sam explains

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yandere-wishes · 3 years

Text

A Story Told In Maybes {Part #1}

🗡️Yandere! Enma Yuuken x reader

🗡️Summary: Enma Yuuken lives on the fine line between "Hero" and "Villain" but his story will never end in a "happily ever after" or a "tragically ever after" it will only end in Maybe...

🗡 Edited by the amazing @tealyjade-libran

🗡️ Alternative title: How many times can Genie use "Damn" in a story...

Maybe in some other world, they could have been lovers

Imagine that...

picture it as vividly as a fresh stab wound to your heart. Sketch the vision of a red waterfall carrying away your life.

Now picture two people. A young man and woman, sitting on a park bench, holding hands and laughing, inching closer and closer.

Imagine love, happiness, tranquility...

But those things only exist in fairy tales. And his life was most certainly not a fairy tale.

They were foreigners, outsiders, aliens. Banished into a strange land were twisted fairy tales, roamed the earth. Where magic and mischief came as naturally to the inhabitants as breathing. Where nothing mattered, because nothing was. Everything is and thus it isn't. Nothing made sense, and sometimes, in some rare moments of stolen repose, Enma Yuuken was scared that nothing would ever make sense again.

All of it, every microscopic thing about this 'new world' was wrong, abnormal, twisted.

Everything except his traveling companion. Another lost soul as disjointed and out of place as he was. Another ghost trying to survive in this matrix of a so-called reality.

There was no shock initially, no surprise in not being the only normal creature to be transported to this bizarre world. Enma knew full well that he wasn't special in any way. Another foreigner being here was one of the few things that actually made sense.

But as the old expression goes, everything comes at a price.

Someone else just like him being here, being stuck in this nightmare, made sense. Yet the price of logic was a thread of hysteria that had woven itself deep within his battered heart. A maddening sense that gripped his lungs, robbing them of breath. That picked off pieces from his tattered mind, replacing them with clear cutout thoughts of her. It was always only her.

His companion in this broken world just had to be you. A frail, naïve little girl with no sense about her. Some pretty-girl protagonist straight out of the pages of Shojo Beats. The kind of girl who finds her happily ever after no matter where the hell she is.

Yet he did not have that luxury, his life was dictated by a series of maybes and could bes. He was a secondary character at best, a background shadow at worst. With no purpose other than smiling and waving. And listening to the protagonist weep about their love-driven woes.

Some days, when the dreary bell chimed for the last time, when the students marched back to the solitude of their dorms, Enma would wander around the halls, squirming in his own misery. Pondering why, oh why of all the people, in all the towns, in all the worlds, did you have to be the one to wind up in this grim land along with him.

Why fate always had to be so cruel, so domineering, thinking it knew better than the people whose miserable lives it toyed with. He wanted to be your lover, your prince, yours. But what would a guy, who doesn’t even belong in this backward world, have to offer some heroine-type sweetheart?

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

The Ramshackle’s flickering porch light glows in the distance. Like a dying star beckoning him to a destroyed paradise. He knows what's waiting for him behind the worn door. He knows you'll be there standing by the cracked dinner table, laying out days-old sandwiches for dinner, while Grimm rangles with an expired can of tuna. He knows you'll smile with tears in your doe-like eyes as you retell the fables of your endeavors. Telling him in great detail how the so-called king of beasts overpowered you in the school garden. How the King of poisons stole yet another kiss. The tales go on and on. Never-ending, never stopping, never giving him the chance to scavenge the fragments of his shattered heart.

You play your role so damn well. You know how to be the damsel in distress, the poor thing in need of saving. It's repulsive, disgusting...but only because he doesn't know how to be the hero that you need.

If he was being honest -something he rarely did nowadays- Those "prefects" were the root of all his problems. They were the evil that made this dark world an endless horror. They'd been the ones to drive him into the "caring older brother" role. They had twisted his hand, leading him to the role of the "side-hero" like a lamb to the slaughter. Made him into a prince charming in a world that ate princes alive and spat them out once more.

They had sealed his fate with a few insults and loaded threats. With just a few longing stares overflowing with lust and envy. They were villains, in a world that celebrated sinners. A world that cheered when the dragon steals the princess and rejoices when the evil king sits upon his skeleton throne. They were villains in every dreadful sense of the damn word.

It's hard to be in love when all odds are against you.

When your fate binds you into one role with no way out.

Like a rabbit hole made of quicksand. It dragged him deeper and deeper into intimate madness.

Maybe in some fair world, those leeching villains could keep their greedy blood-drenched hands off of you.

Maybe in a world where the sun never dies, you could bring yourself to love him.

Maybe he could have been the love interest, maybe, maybe, maybe.

It's always only MAYBE!

🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️🗡️

"Welcome home Nii-san,"

It's a sweet greeting that ties his guts into ribbons. His hands grow damp as his heavy eyes stare into yours. His lips curl into a painted smile, shielding you from the pain that's clawing in his stomach.

"Hi..(Y/n)"

His voice cracks and croaks like a dying frog. His lips feel abnormally dry and his eyes sting as if they've been pierced by diamond daggers. His steps are heavy as he plops down in his seat. The weight of his worries pulled him down harder than gravity ever could. He watches you through tried, restless orbs. Watches as you waltz over to your seat and sit down with the half grace of some future queen to be. It's bitter, dreadful, leaving a sickly toxin-like taste in his mouth. The mere thought that someday one of those, sinners, will take your hand and drag you to some kingdom far far away makes Enma want to claw his brain out with his bare nails.

Enma's focus shifts over from his traveling companion to the silver-coated fireball licking his paws. Grimm's teal eyes scan him nervously before he offers a nervous smile, a rarity for the narcissistic cat. He's usually so talkative, so boasting, there was never a moment of tranquility with that cat around...

It takes a moment. A steel coated moment before the gears in Enma's head begin to turn. Before he can place his finger on the heavy abnormality weighing down the atmosphere. His nerves jolt to life, leaving a freezing sweat behind their trail. The room is spinning like a ballroom floor. Something's off, something big and obvious and hidden and...

Maybe...

"So..."

It's your sweet voice that breaks the tension creeping into the air. Melodic and luscious just like the sensation of a blissful dream. The room freezes in its tracks. The heavy atmosphere melts away like a cube of ice. Normality has one foot through the door. Behind it, hope and tranquility peek their heads through the tiny gap.

Maybe just maybe everything is alright. Maybe it's just him, his stress and anxiety are starting to play cruel jokes on his wonder mind. Maybe he's just going mad. Yeah, that's the sanest conclusion to draw from all this.

Enma cranes his neck to the side to get a better view of your face. Distress is scribbled all over your skin, like pristine razor cuts. You shift around in your seat, clawing at your uniform skirt as if the midnight black fabric is cutting off your circulation. Your fingers nudge the entrance to your pocket fiddling with something he can't quite make out.

His voice is low, shaky, as he replies. The unusualness of the situation has him on edge. Nervous to the bitter bone. Maybe he was wrong, maybe his nerves were right to be wary of whatever this was. This uncertainty permeated the air-tight room.

"What is it?"

Slowly you drag out a white envelope flooded seven times over from your pocket. You stretch out your hand placing it in between his fingers. Enma throws a passive look at the note, his nose wrinkled up at the familiar scent that pervaded from the paper.

"What's this?"

It was rhetorical, asked out of dull, morbid courtesy. This time he didn't bother looking at you, in fear of seeing you look -lord forbids- gleeful.

"A love letter, Grimm found it in our locker after class."

There was a pause, lengthy, nerve-wracking, heart wrenching. Yuuken could hear the way your breath hitched in your throat, he could almost feel the excitement radiate off your body.

"Can you believe it Nii-san? Someone actually left me a love letter!"

It hurt it really did, this time his heart didn't shatter. It simply broke, in two or three or maybe four. Who knows, who cares. They had escalated from simple harassment and unsightly displays of public affection to leaving you love letters. How ungodly, how absurd, how brave...

He laments, eyes tracing over the fog of his breath as it wafts through the musty room. He wants to rip that damned piece of paper, shred it into millions so the words become ineligible, so you'll never read those horrible words again. So you'll forget that some damn fool other than him can actually love you. But he doesn't, he has too much self restraint and too much respect for his dear "little sister" to actually do it.

His arm stretches over the table, skin illuminated by the dying candle on the center. He places the letter back safely in between your fingers. His eyes meet yours for only the second time that night. He takes in your face, Committing every piece of it to his miserable memory. The heartily glow in your crystal eyes, the faint schoolgirl smile dancing across your lips, the rose blush kissing your cheeks, the way the candle illuminates your skin, wrapping in a sparkling glow like the princess from those tales of old. You're mesmerizing in every way, it would be reasonable for other men to notice your elegance. No wonder those "prefects" were drawn to you so naturally like moths to a golden flame.

"Who sent it?"

His voice comes out like a block of ice, shielding away any and all his stray emotions. He doesn't want to know how doleful he is, he just can't have you taking pity on him.

Your smile fades ever so slightly, your brows draw closer. Confusion is etched on your face. You haven't got a clue.

"Well...I'm not sure, but they did say to meet them at the school gates when the clock chimes twelve."

Oh, joy, another fairy tale reference. It's comedic how fairy tales have begun to dictate his life. Everywhere he turns there's a grim tale awaiting him. Yuuken spares a quick glance at the crooked clock hanging by a loose thread. It’s a minute to midnight.

"I should come with you"

It's not a request but you take it as so.

"No need to bother, I'll take Grimm, he could use the walk. He's starting to bulk up a bit"

"HEY! The great Grimm-Sama doesn't "Bulk up" He only gets more powerful!"

Before the older male can protest, you're already halfway out the door. Grimm scurrying to follow you on all fours like a pesky rat. The door slams on your way out, leaving Yuuken alone with his morbid screeching thoughts.

There goes the only good thing in his life. Into the arms of another.

For a second he contemplates leaving you to fate, after all, who's he to disobey fate, go against whoever orchestrates this universe. But it's only a second, short lived and quickly died.

Maybe he's a hero.

Maybe he's a Prince Charming.

Maybe he's a villain.

Maybe he's just some honorary older brother looking out for his kid sister.

Maybe, just maybe, he's your future lover;

and he'll be damned if he lets you slip out of hands.

Enma's quick to grab his old practice blade from the overstuffed closet. It's not much, but it's all he has from the normal world, from his world.

The door grates for the last time that night as he steps out into the cold midnight air. The stars blink in some sort of secret tongue, either warning him or encouraging him, he doesn't know. Nor does he truly care, for Enma Yuuken is done letting life and fate and villains decree his meaningless life. Here and now that's where he'll make his stand, he'll save you. Kiss you. Love you. Marry you. You, You, YOU

But there's still one nagging thought that screams inside his head as he dashes for the school gates. This world worships villains, prays at their feet, and hands them death and destruction on golden plates. And he's no villains, he's some sort of upside-down, in-between. Rotting alone in the border between Hero and Villain. By law of society, he's a reject, a useless foreigner, an alien, an outsider.

and MAYBE he's already too late...

Who wrote the love letter? Was it the head of the savanaclaw dorm or maybe the head of the heartslabyul dorm ? Maybe it’s the ever mysterious Tsunotarou...

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fragiledewdrop · 2 years

Note

Gimli? For the character ask

Hi! Thank you so much for this ask. I love Gimli, and I'm in a Tolkien mood, in case anyone hasn't noticed from my teensy tiny number of Silmarillion reblogs.

First impression: I watched the movies before reading the books, so my first impression of him was him trying to destroy the One Ring with his axe. I didn't know he would be part of the fellowship, but I still thought "Woah. He has guts! Also straight to the point, no dilly dallying. I like that". It was pretty spot on, I think

Impression now: I think the trait that stands out to me the most, the more I spend thinking about him, is that he is proud. Proud of his history, his people, his heritage. To a fault, sometimes (see the whole "getting into Lothlorien blindfolded" debacle.) However, he is open minded enough to look beyond his pride and find friendship in unlikely places. I think we also never talk enough about how much he appreciates beauty: Moria, the Glittering Caves, Galadriel. Even in the middle of a war, he doesn't loose sight of the things that make the world worth saving.

Favorite moment: Oh, I have a few! First of all, asking Galadriel for her hair. The absolute hilarity of the situation aside - Feanor is combusting once again in Mandos or the Void- he could have asked her for anything. All the gifts ther rest of the company got where useful in a practical, immediate way, or, like the seed given to Sam and the Elessar- they were powerful symbols of love and hope. He asks for something that is simply a reminder of beauty, and the physical sign of looking at the face of an enemy and finding a friend there instead.

Then, there is his reaction to Moria and Mirromere. It almost makes me tear up.

And I will always have a special place in my heart for the moment he and Legolas walk through Minas Tirith talking about how to restore it to its former glory and more. It never fails to bring a smile to my lips.

Idea for a story: I love any story that centres around his relationship with Legolas, whatever its nature. Both how they navigate it, and how their people see it. More of that, please. I would also love to read more fics about his time in Valinor. If you have recs, especially about Valinr and maybe him interacting with first Age elves, let me know.

Unpopular opinion: I wouldn't say that it's an unpopolar opinion, necessarily, at least not among those who have read the books, but he's not...particularly funny? Not more than Legolas is, for sure. I see him as very noble and honorable, and I like that about him.

Favorite relationship: Legolas, without a doubt. I ship them, but I also like their friendship. It's so unique. There are two fics in particular that stand out to me. One is gigolas, and it's Finding a Voice by Roselightfairy. The other I read many, many years ago, and I liked it so much I printed it. It's about friendship and choices and grief: Of Rowan and Ruin by Thundera Tiger

Favorite headcanon: I have this idea that, immediately after the war, he convinces Faramir to go with him to the banks of the Anduin, where Boromir's corpse had been seen on its way to the sea. He tells Faramir that when Boromir died his friends sang a lament for him, with one stanza for each wind, but they left the east wind for last, and he would not sing of it and the menace it bore. Now, though, the Enemy is gone, and the wind of the east is clean once more. He would pay his respects, if Faramir allows it. And then he sings of Boromir the Just, of new things growing from evil, of overcoming temptation, of free Ithilien and smiling Minas Tirith that sings Boromir's name in hope, not grief. He and Faramir stand there until the sun sets, and both their hearts are left lighter. (It just really bothers me that he didn't get to sing, okay?)

Thanks again for the ask!

#gimli #tolkien #lotr #fic rec #headcanons #gigolas #asks #ask games

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yououui · 3 years

Note

" i'm trying so hard, but... i can't stop myself from falling in love with you. " - but it's kurogane saying it! because you know he tried to stop himself before deciding this was just his lot in life and it was time to wife that boy

I accidentally wrote a 5 page fic of Kurogane just being a lovesick idiot enjoy

They sit in silence after Tomoyo leaves them. Kurogane wants to yell at her a bit because what the hell is she playing at dressing the mage like that?! but it turns out that cutting off an arm is exhausting and he doesn’t have the energy to fight her. He does give her a glare as she exits the room and she winks back at him.

Tea is brought for them eventually and Fai carefully pours them each a warm glass. “How are you feeling?” Fai asks while handing Kurogane his cup, the first words spoken since he socked Kurogane upside the head.

Kurogane shrugs, a natural instinct that proves to be a mistake as pain shoots across his left side. Fai notices his wince and moves closer in concern, like he thinks Kurogane will need to be caught before fainting, but Kurogane waves him off. “I’m fine. Just tired.”

“And in pain,” Fai says. He almost sounds angry, but the sad look on his face betrays his tone.

“It’s not that bad,” Kurogane tells him instead. “As long as I don’t move too much.”

Fai regards the empty sleeve hanging at Kurogane’s side and the white bandages wrapped tightly around his chest. “You’re such… an idiot,” He says eventually. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“Thought I made it clear a while ago,” Kurogane responds, as easily as ever. “I’ll do anything to protect the people I love.”

Fai laughs, though it sounds more like a sob, and shakes his head. “If you love me then you’re even more of an idiot.”

“Trust me, I know,” Kurogane says. When Fai lifts his eye, Kurogane offers him a small smile just so the idiot doesn’t get the idea in his head that Kurogane is serious. Somehow, even for as upset as he is, it gets Fai to smile weakly as well. That gives Kurogane the encouragement he needs to continue. “Y’know mage, I’m trying so hard—I’ve been trying for a while, but…”

But…?

When did it start exactly? When did the annoyance towards the insufferable man sitting beside him turn into curiosity? When did he begin finding himself wanting to know more about him—when did he begin to care?

He can’t be certain but Outo springs to mind first. The moment Fai’s casual admittance that he wanted to die spiked anger in Kurogane. Anger not towards Fai, as Fai believed, but towards the mere idea of him going through with it. And the moment he saw the mage’s ribbon on the ground, no body to be seen as demons surrounded him and that anger returned like a tsunami wave engulfing him until he could barely see or breathe.

And the relief when he saw the idiot was actually alive. And the frustration at himself for feeling so relieved for someone that didn’t care about Kurogane or himself. Kurogane knew that it was pointless to let himself be interested in the mage; Fai was a liar that carefully kept them all at arms length and Kurogane had no idea who he would see when the mask finally fell.

But he didn’t want Fai to die. As grating as Fai could be, Kurogane wanted him to stick around. He didn’t care about Fai’s past, but he wanted to understand him more. He wanted to know what he liked—liquor, music, cooking, annoying Kurogane, cats, dogs?—and what he disliked—hangovers, waking up early, pickles, personal questions, green tea. He wanted to understand what had Fai so guarded, what had him so afraid, and he wanted Fai to understand that he could let the walls down every now and then, that Kurogane would protect him from whatever he was running from.

And then Yama, Piffle, Lecourt, seeing those walls break down brick by careful brick. Feeling the strength of Fai’s magic for the first time as it engulfed them, the sheer power of it suffocating and brilliant. And Kurogane felt a brief spark of hope that maybe, maybe, Fai was beginning to learn that caring wasn’t such a bad thing.

And then the fear that came with the weight of Fai’s limp body in his arms, the way his blood fell like morbid tears and stained usually flawless skin. Kurogane had felt that once before as a child, the night his life was burned to ruins but he still refused to let his mother go. Kurogane also refused to let Fai go; he needed to feel the mage’s breath and heartbeat, no matter how weak. He needed to know with certainty that Fai was still alive.

It may have began earlier, but it was then that he realized that his minor curiosity had grown into something he couldn’t control or bury or pretend not to notice. In that moment, his worldview narrowed down until he could only see Fai, the noises around them dulled except for Fai’s wavering breath and weak voice, and suddenly anything else he’d ever wanted didn’t seem to matter. He made the wish and paid the price and bound himself to Fai, a man who would keep running seemingly forever.

Well then, to hell with Nihon—he could find a new home or wander around new worlds with Fai until the day he died. He could give up his own life, tear out his own heart, anything it would take to keep that idiot alive for one more day.

It was only after it was over and the price paid that Kurogane reminisced about his parents and realized that there was a word for what he was feeling.

“But I can’t stop myself from falling in love with you.”

Fai says nothing but the breath he takes is sharp enough to cut the stillness around them. Because sure, Kurogane loved him, he cared, they were friends after all. But to fall in love…

It was something he knew he shouldn’t feel as soon as he realized it. He knew he should avoid it. If he tried to pursue someone who did not want to be chased, it would only end in disaster.

And gods did he try to stop it before it reached that point. Kurogane had heard of heartbreak of course, through others lamenting the loss of their beloved or reading about it in books, but he’d never experienced it himself. He didn’t understand how such a feeling could overwhelm someone completely and scoffed at characters in stories that threw themselves from high windows or drank poison rather than live a day without their love.

But then he felt it, that hot knife of rejection stabbing him straight through the chest. Each cold word and hostile glare twisted the blade until he was certain his heart had been crushed to a gruesome, mangled mess, and yet there were still tender bits of it left for Fai to sink his claws into. And then Kurogane understood the windows and the poison and honestly, he’d rather cut off his other arm than ever experience that again.

But at least Fai was alive. At least he was there, and Kurogane would take the bitter pain and more for Fai. Only for Fai.

Kurogane chuckles to himself now, the entire thing so miserable it’s almost humorous. If the person he was before Tomoyo cast him away could see him now, he’d probably call himself a moron, just like those characters in the stories. Kurogane never knew one person could change him so much. “Even when you hated me, I couldn’t help it.”

Fai’s head falls forward and he digs the heel of his palm into his eye as if it could shove his tears back inside. His other hand trembles and fists his kimono so tightly, Kurogane is worried he’ll tear right through the silk.

“I never—hated you,” Fai gasps, shoulders trembling. Kurogane feels bad for making Fai cry—Fai’s cried a lot recently. It comforts Kurogane to hear the truth, though, and he thinks the mage needs it. He has about five lifetimes of tears built up. “I couldn’t. So I tried to make you hate me but—gods, even after all I did... how I treated you…! You still wouldn’t...”

Kurogane turns his body a bit so that he can reach Fai with his right hand. He ruffles Fai’s hair and the indignant squeak Fai lets out as his head is pushed down feels entirely worth it. “Guess we’re both idiots then,” Kurogane tells him quietly.

Fai peers up at him through his hair that Kurogane has made a mess of. His face is shining with tears, his cheeks splotched red and his eye swollen and Kurogane marvels that such a beautiful person could ever exist in the mortal world.

Fai weakly—playfully—swats Kurogane’s hand away and wipes his sleeve against his cheeks. Kurogane snorts, humored that the outfit Tomoyo carefully picked for Fai to wear for a very specific reason has been reduced down to a rag to dry his face. “I think Kuro-sama must be on all kinds of strange medicine,” Fai says with a fragile but honest smile. “He’s in such a good mood and saying all kinds of weird things.”

“Mm. Don’t expect to hear this shit when I wake up tomorrow,” Kurogane tells him with a nod. He’s still smiling though, smiling like a lovesick idiot with hearts in his eyes but damn it he’s been through too much and has almost lost Fai too many times to care about it now. Hearing the slightly teasing tone in the mage’s voice and seeing him here, alive and at Kurogane’s side, soothes his torn up heart and begins stitching the pieces back together.

Fai’s smile grows as well, the fragile edges chipping away and leaving behind a look of pure happiness Kurogane has never seen on him before. Fai reaches over, letting go of his own kimono to grab the empty sleeve of Kurogane’s. “I’m sorry,” He says. “And thank you. But never do something like this again.”

“Don’t almost get yourself killed again and I won’t have to,” Kurogane tells him, grinning.

Fai nods, still smiling. “Fine. You’ll live a long, long life with me by your side, Kuro-sama. I hope you know what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

It’s probably the strangest proposal in the history of any world, but it’s one Kurogane is happy to accept.

#kurofai

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simping-hours-are-24-7 · 3 years

Text

A Fall From Grace Promises Disaster

A long dream is had and the MC wakes alone

(Mammon x GN!MC, Yandere!Diavolo x MC (forced))

TW: Forced relationships, yandere Diavolo, character death (minor), blood

They dream of blue skies and blue buildings. Luke and Simeon greet them, of sweets and tea shared. But this dream is missing someone, they cannot help but think of sharing this moment with their first. The days blur in strange dreams of blue, blue, blue. Blue and gold eyes, soft whispered promises and kisses linger and burn like hellfire under holy skin. There’s a dream of Mammon, of fire, of falling.

But they don’t wake when they feel the landing. Mammon is above them, saying something but they can’t hear him. Everything swirls in golds, blacks, and of him. It feels like they’re dying again, a death more painful than their first at the hands of Belphie. As for their second death, it was a painless thing, making this one felt more keenly. They remember the falter of their breath, the eyes of sadness, but understanding of friends aged as them. The reaper comes for us all, is whispered. Solomon is there, they think. His pale hair and pale eyes wish them a “see you soon” as they fall asleep for one last time.

Slowly waking, still hearing their mentor’s farewell, they rise from soft red silk, or at least try to. There’s a fire that burns under their skin, a hot molten thing that scorches as much as it did in their dreams. There’s a strange weight on their head and their injuries make them drop and sink back down into the plush mattress. Instead, they look around. The room is familiar, reminding them of their younger years, but they are alone. It’s stifling, this loneliness, they’re used to quiet chatters of friends, the background chaos of the House, the hum of magic with Solomon, the music of the Celestial Realm. But here, in this room in the Demon King’s Palace, there is no sound other than their own breaths and song of strange magic under their wrapped skin. A magic that reminds them of Mammon, his brothers. Of demons.

Then, they remember their Fall and the sin they committed to Fall. Judgement. Sentencing. Falling. If they were still alive, then it seems like they kept their promise to Mammon. Suddenly it clicks that they’re a demon now, a creature of sin and blasphemy. With a shaky arm, they reach up to the new weight atop their head, with a distant thought that it felt lighter than the halo gifted to them in the Celestial Realm.

They jolt in surprise, both at the strange feeling and at the cold horn despite the still burning sensation under their skin. Tracing their new addition, they note in quiet joy the familiar corkscrew shape. But this brings up a bigger question; where is Mammon and why are they alone in Diavolo’s Castle of all places?

As if somehow hearing their thoughts, the door opens to Diavolo and Barbatos. The demon butler looks the same as always, but there is something… off with Diavolo. He looks just as he always did in their memories; tall, scarlet red hair, and piercing golden eyes that are lit with an eager twinkle. But his smile, which was usually filled with mischief and joy, is something darker, more like the smile of a demon who tricked you out of your soul.

“Good morning MC, more like good evening,” he laughs, “did you sleep well?” He’s searching for something, but they’re not sure what it is.

“I… no, not really.” They reply honestly, “it felt like I died a third time…Diavolo, why am I here?”

“Well, I’m not sure why, but you did Fall, so that’s why you're here in the Devildom instead of the Celestial Realm.” He’s still smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“That’s not what I meant. Why am I here in your palace Diavolo? Why am I not at the House of Lamentation?” Their voice is steady, surprising them, but they keep their gaze onto the prince who’s smile twitches downward, but they also notice the butler’s minute frown. Since when could they do that?

The prince sighs, but his smile is back to what it was, but almost brighter and genuine. “Simply put, my dear MC, I’ve decided that you’ll be my consort!” He lets out a hearty laugh, ignoring the look of utter horror on MC’s face. “Truly I’ve been blessed, after all who else can sit beside me on the Throne other than the one who had brought my dream of uniting the Three Realms to fruition as well as being part of all three?”

He walks toward the bed, blissfully unaware of their reaction, and sits on the edge, facing them. He leans down closer to them, his face a gentle smile, full of love. It disgusts them. “I am looking forward to a brilliant future with you.”

“No.”

“No?” The prince cocks his head to the side, confused as to why MC was rejecting him. He’s offering them a future of luxury and power, what demon would resist a temptation as strong as this?

“I am not going to marry you. I made a promise to Mammon, so I won’t marry you; I love him, and only him.” They glare at the prince, their wings (wings? Since when?) flutter irritated underneath them.

Diavolo holds their stare and turns away first, letting out a sigh at the same time. He turns back to face them and takes their face into a single hand; fingers gently holding their jaw, but they can hear the hum of magic and threats within it. “MC, I’ll only say this once; Mammon has given me his blessing to marry you. He may have caught you, but I am the one who will give you a position that suits the brilliance of your damned soul.You best forget Mammon and willingly agree to marry me, it’ll end a lot less messy and you much more happier this way.”

MC stared deep into the burning golden gaze of demonic royalty before dropping their stare. “...out.”

“I didn’t hear you my dear. You must speak clearly.” Diavolo lightly chides.

Fury rises as MC lurches forward, injuries forgotten, and bites the hand still on their face. Sharp teeth dig into tanned skin before letting go a second later, green ropes of magic pulling them away from Diavolo. They glare as they watch the prince rub the mark with a small pout on his face, “Get out you liar. I won’t believe a single thing you just said until Mammon tells me himself.”

“MC please,” Diavolo says softly, “be reasonable. I never lied to you before, why would I now?”

“I DON’T CARE!” They reach behind them and throw pillows at him, soft silk and feathers infuriatingly dodged. “GET OUT DIAVOLO! I DON’T WANT TO SEE YOU EVER AGAIN! GET OUT!”

The prince looks upwards as if ironically hoping for some help from above, still dodging pillows and whatever MC can reach thrown at him. He lets out a small sigh, “I see. I’ll have Mammon brought here and have him tell you what I say is true. But I hope by then, you’ll be more reasonable and agree. Until then, my dear.”

Both prince and butler leaves, the door closing just in time to stop a vase from reaching its target. MC’s body heaves with every breath, the sudden burst of activity pulling at the burns and cuts, soaking the bandages with inky black blood. Dropping back down with a hiss, their eyes catch their reflection in a mirror they haven't noticed.

With shaky steps, they stumble out of the bed and towards the mirror. Terrible, they look terrible. Dark circles under their eyes stand out just as much as the black stains on the scarlet robe they wear. What was probably white bandages are also stained black, blood still escaping and dripping down their skin. In the back of their mind, they can hear Asmo's quiet tuts at their appearance. But, they focus their stare on their new demonic appearance; sharper teeth, a pair of leathery bat-like wings sprouting between their shoulder blades, and familiar corkscrew horns adorn their head and when they slowly tilt their head down, they can see the small line of gold circling near the base. Just like Mammon.

At the thought of their lover, the smile that was beginning to grow drops suddenly as their heart twists and their vision goes blurred. Diavolo must be lying. Mammon would never give them away to someone else to wed. He'd kill whoever would try "taking his Treasure away, dammit!"

MC gently slides down onto their knees, hands still on the mirror as their reflection follows. And with a quiet sob, asks the still air, "Mammon, where are you?"

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#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me mc #obey me mammon #obey me diavolo #obey me mammon x mc #obey me diavolo x mc #yandere tw #fallen!mc #fallen!mc au #my writing

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valberryy · 3 years

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oh, eurydice (it's an awful sound). — venti

de l'autre côté de l'eau, comme un écho. / tu dis que c'est la fin du monde, c'est ton silence mon eau profonde.

um,, idk what to say cause i dont want this to b my venti summoning post but. anyways. also tagging @starfell-traveler look i finished it!!!! b proud of me /hj

pairing: venti x gn!reader

content warnings: mentions/descriptions of alcohol & blood/injuries, major character death, it's just heavy angst i'm sorry

one.

Venti still remembers the first time he heard you laugh, warm and clear and bright, like the chiming of cathedral-bells.

In those golden days when he was getting used to his new face, he often found himself wandering—much to the chagrin of his friends. If he wasn't in one of the many taverns of the newly-built Mondstadt, he was wandering these new, free lands.

And that was how he met you, the spritely scion of house Gunnhildr, who had strayed away from your envoy with a bottle of wine and leaves in your hair. He noted the mischief dancing in your eyes, the sunlight dappling on your skin, the way your mouth formed a small "o" when you saw you were not alone.

Your eyes had lit up when you caught sight of him. "Oh, my lord!" you called, "Fancy a cup and a chat, perhaps?"

Venti stood still for a moment to ponder your request, but at the sound of you popping the cork off the bottle and pouring it into a cup you had brought, he found his resolve weakening. He took a seat next to you as you pulled a stray leaf from your hair, taking a sip from your cup before passing it to him.

How brazen of you, he mused.

While cherry wine, in his opinion, could never hold a candle to the dandelion wine he had grown fond of, it tasted all the sweeter coming from you.

You had laughed at this sentiment of his, clear as the water from the lake nearby. "Is that so?" you asked. "Perhaps I'll bring some more of this kind especially for you, dearest bard."

Venti responded with a playful pluck at his lyre-strings. "I'd prefer if you called me by my name, young master Gunnhildr."

"And what would that be?"

Just as he was about to respond, the two of you caught wind of voices yelling out your name, and you flinched. "That must be for me," you said. "I shouldn't have expected to be able to hide forever."

He helped you stand, stretching out his arm to pull you up—your hand was soft and warm against his own, and the "thank you," that rolled from your lips made his heart flutter in a way he wasn't used to.

"I'd love to see you again," you said, and he smiled.

"You talk as if this is goodbye forever!" Venti joked. "We can meet here again, if you so wish."

"Then it is done," you said, and squeezed his hand as if in confirmation of your new arrangement.

And with the lightest press of your wine-stained lips to his cheek, you had run off without another word—only the sound of your distant laughter and, "Sorry, sorry! I'm back now, mother!" left in your wake.

two.

That promise had soon become habit, and habit a new way of life—one wherein you would sneak away from the rest of your family to rendezvous with Venti in the forest, to share wine and song and sweet, honeyed words alike.

(And as time wore on, you pressed your wine-stained lips to more places than just his cheek, and the cheeky bastard would have you do it again, and again, and again.)

"What d'you reckon your family would say if they figured out you were sneaking away for this?" Venti mused, "Like a hero in a romance novel."

With a laugh, you lay your head over his lap and smiled when his hand came to rest in your hair, his fingers gently playing with the strands. "Scold me, I suppose," you said. "There are worse fates than not being allowed outside for a month, my love."

You plucked a stray dandelion out of his hair, blowing the seeds to the wind.

"Hmm? And what would those be, I wonder?"

"...You're so infuriating, Venti," you grumbled, and he simply laughed and took another sip of wine—elderflower this time, tasting like spring upon his tongue. "I can't even dare imply that I want to be with you forever without you teasing me for it—what kind of lover are you? Hmph."

He paused, a teasing grin growing on his lips despite your previous words. "Are you asking me to marry you?"

An odd noise left your throat. "I mean," you said, "unless you want me to take your surname instead? ...Now that I think about it, Venti Gunnhildr doesn't quite sound the best."

A laugh, first from him, soon followed by one of your own. "Your family won't allow it, would they? But if the fates allow…there's nothing I'd love more than to be with you," he said. Gently he untangled his fingers from your hair, weaving his fingers between your own instead. "That is, if you want it too?"

A world of just you and him, a life where he would never have to stray far from your side—perhaps this was what Amos so desperately craved for, in those days. Venti watched as you removed the signet ring from your pointer finger and fit it snugly on his own, admiring your handiwork and smiling up at him.

"I wouldn't have it any other way."

three.

Somehow it felt odd to see you in clothes other than the casual attire he had always seen you in. When you were seated upon your horse like this, dressed in richly-dyed leathers and embroidered silks with your family crest hanging proudly from your breast pocket, you seemed much less like the cheeky [Name] that would pluck his lyre from his hands to play your own tune, and more like the young scion of house Gunnhildr that the rest of the world saw you as.

"I'm sorry, dearest," you said, your voice thick with regret. "They only told me about this last night, so I've had no time to tell you… And father wouldn't let me refuse, so—"

Venti laughed, "When did you become such a worrywart? It's only one round of hunting, right? I'll be waiting for you back here."

You huffed, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of his lips. "Then I'll be sure to hurry on back to you."

He pulled you back down for another kiss, square on the lips this time, before letting you go. "Don't miss!" he said, calling after your horse, to which you turned and yelled back at him,

"If I do, it's your fault!"

He laughed, settling down beneath a tree and closing his eyes. You'd be there to wake him when you returned.

When Venti awoke, it was not to your hand shaking his shoulder but to a thud and the worried whinnying of a horse. His eyes snapped open as you groaned, one hand clutching your stomach and the other propping you up. When you caught his gaze you smiled weakly, too much blood in your teeth and not enough light in your eyes.

"I'm back, dearest," you said, and he had stumbled over to catch you before your arm gave out.

He pressed down on your torso, where three large gashes ran down from your chest down to your stomach, large and jagged as if from the claws of a bear. You groaned in pain and he pressed a kiss to your hand in apology, your skin pale and clammy in a way that reminded him too much of harsh, cold winds and a boy with his lyre.

"You should've seen me, Venti," you breathed, "I shot it right in the throat…are you proud of me?"

"Very," he said. "I'll always be proud of you."

You laughed, broken and pained and sad. "Good," you said, "good." Then you looked up at him, the tears welling in his eyes, the reality of his fate—your fate—finally looming upon him. "Don't look at me like that, love," you cooed. "Please, smile for me, okay? Sing for me…can you spare me at least that much?"

His grip on your hand tightened. "All of that and so much more, dandelion," he said. "Please…"

"So much more, huh…" you mused. "Then, how about one last kiss before I go?"

"...You talk as if this is goodbye," he says, but doesn't protest when you pull him down by the collar, your red-stained lips pressing weakly against his—

—But instead of the sweetness of wine, there was only the sharp bitterness of your blood in his mouth.

four.

"How far would you go for me?" was something Venti had thrown around a lot, never expecting you to give him a straight answer—not with how you shoved his shoulder and said, "Just because there wasn't a ceremony doesn't mean I'm not your spouse, Venti. Wouldn't the answer be obvious?"

But he still recalled the first time he had asked you and the first time you answered, your fingers tangled with his and your head buried in the crook of his neck. Your voice had been softer, gentler, lacking the playful edge but just as genuine as always, "From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest to the highest peaks in the sky," you said, "Until my hands wither away into dust."

"Maybe you're the bard instead of me, love," he had said, then.

In this new world without you he found himself clinging to whatever remnants of you he could—the dappled sunlight in the forest, the slightest sting of alcohol going down, the glint of your family crest on the ring that adorned his finger.

One of his many laments was how he could never mourn you in the way he felt you deserved—he had not the power to turn back time, lacked the dominion over anything static and permanent to immortalise you with. He only had his lyre and his voice and his winds, and all he could do was paint the skies grey in his grief, have the gales sing requiems that you would never hear.

From the deepest depths of the ocean to the highest peaks in the sky he would go for you and back—and if the darkest depths of this world contained the secret to getting you back, perhaps even a mere spirit on the wind could bear the trek through the dark.

(After all, Venti knew in his heart of hearts that you would have done the same for him.)

The heart of the Abyss wasn't a land of mindless bloodshed and fire—it was cold and calculating, like a predator lying in wait. It was this place, in the depths of Teyvat and in the winding depths of their palace, that he knew could somehow bring you back to him.

"Are you the one for whom the skies wept, bard?"

Venti swallowed down the lump in his throat. "I am," he said. "I want a deal."

The person before him raised an eyebrow, canting their head to the side.

"One life," they said, "and no second chances."

Cold, and calculating, and inevitable—but still he would try. Venti owed you at least that much, no?

five.

He squeezed your hand as you trailed behind him, muttering to himself: don't look back, don't look back, don't look back. No matter how much he longed to hold you, to see your face and feel your skin beneath his, he kept his gaze to his feet as you both moved onwards into the dark.

(When he saw you again, just as beautiful as the day he lost you, he dropped his lyre to run into your arms, burying his face in the crook of your neck and surrounding himself with only you, you, you.

"Venti," you said, and he nearly wept at the way his name rolled from your tongue. "Let's go home.")

You squeezed his hand back, so gently that he almost couldn't believe you were really there. "Why don't you sing me a song, dearest?" you quipped. "Anything you like."

In spite of himself, in spite of the cold around him and behind him and in his own hand, he smiled. "Have I ever sung you the one with the mist flower and the sparrow?"

He heard you huff behind him. "That one again? You know how bad I am at hitting the notes in that!"

"Hmm, sure, sounds like an excuse to me…"

"Venti!"

He laughed and squeezed your hand again, as if to remind himself—you were here, and he was taking you home, and you would be able to feel the sun on your skin and taste wine from his cup in the way you had always loved. He would be able to write you songs and guide your hands across his lyre, and he need never stray far from your side.

You need never go somewhere where he couldn't follow.

"We're almost there," he said, resisting the urge to turn around to smile at you. "There's a bottle of wine waiting for us. It wouldn't do us any good to leave it for too long, you know?"

He squeezed your hand again, but you didn't respond.

He swallowed down the lump in his throat. His footsteps hastened, quicker and quicker until he was near-running towards where he knew the surface lay. Had he been tricked? Were you never there all along? Had you gotten lost, or fallen, or left, and left some other person in your stead?

Anxiety clutched at his heart like brambles, and Venti found his mind wandering back to those days with the wintery winds and the friends he had lost to the storms. Not again, he prayed, please, never again.

He ran until his legs ached, ran until the first drop of sunlight finally kissed his skin, and he let go of your hand to turn around—

—to see your face still shrouded in darkness, your eyes wide, your hand still reaching out for him.

"What?" he breathed, "No, please, I can't lose you again—"

You smiled, and though your teeth weren't coated in blood and your body was free from any wounds, Venti's heart had sunk even further than when he had caught you that day.

"No, love, please, I'm sorry—"

"Venti," you said, "I'll see you again soon, okay?"

"Please—"

"I love you."

With whatever time you had left, you reached out further to brush the tips of your fingers against his cheek. "Smile for me, okay? Sing me one last song…"

And before he could reach out to you again, you had once again gone somewhere he couldn't reach.

(Yours was a song he sang without end, even when all of Mondstadt had forgotten your name—and even when he felt like he didn't deserve to bear your memory.

On days when he uncorked a bottle of cherry wine or caught the Acting Grandmaster's eye, Venti found himself staring down at the ring you had placed on his finger in those golden days—and if he closed his eyes and pressed his lips to it the way you had done to him, he swears he can still hear your laugh, warm and clear and bright.)

#pls ignore how messy it gets towards the end im sorry i couldnt brain n e more #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact x reader #venti x reader #bee writes

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