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beingsuneone · 4 months

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Sunset & Vine

PART ONE | PART TWO

SYNOPSIS: one year was all you had, and the winners of the previous hunger games. You didn’t know them that well, but they were still youre only friends. Now you’re thrown back into the Games with some new confusing feelings.

FANDOM: The Hunger Games

PAIRING(S): Peeta Mallark x Victor!Reader

RATING: G

CHARACTERS MENTIONED: Peeta Mellark, Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Coriolanus Snow, Johanna Mason, Finnick Odair, Effie Trinket, President Coin, Gale Hawthorne

GENRE/AU: Dystopia, Angst, a very small amount of comfort,

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

WARNINGS: Katniss is slightly OOC, Canon divergent in some ways but not others, CATCHING FIRE AND MOCKINGJAY SPOILERS, Reader won the 74th hunger games and Peeta and Katniss won the 73rd.

A/N: Jjj, I’ve really got to stop writing stories with ending like this. Lemme know if you want part two. FYI!!! Changed a few words that completely changed the context and set up for the next part.

DEDICATIONS: Peeta my beloved

CREDITS: Taylor Swift for the name (Gorgeous - Taylor Swift)

It’s a woman, standing with her back to you— she has similar hair to yours and an almost protective stance to her. A haze of colour surrounds her… oranges, purples and yellows swirled into an indescribable but beautiful mess.

Peeta Mellark may be a fellow victor, and he may be one of your neighbours, but you know nothing about him. Except for this beautiful painting that he gifted you.

She wears a dress that flows in some sort of assumed breeze, and has a hand tentatively braced in her hair; there’s something so familiar about this scene that you can’t place— something familiar about the woman in particular.

You can’t place it.

You run your fingers along the small note that Peeta had left with the painting, hovering over the loopy cursive of his signature; it’s the same on the painting but it’s too beautiful to touch like that.

Last year, you won the seventy-fourth annual hunger games, and became a legend for getting district twelve two wins in a row— right alongside Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark, Who won the seventy-third hunger games.

Thank god the months of parading you around were over and you could settle happily into your gigantic house by yourself.

Well, happily might be an over statement— you had no family, and certainly no friends… unless Haymitch counts but you don’t think he does.

So this painting feels extra special— a warmth in an otherwise cold and unfamiliar home.

“Where should I put it?” Muttering to yourself, you mentally scan the layout of your house; you’d want it to be in a place where you could see it often, but also somewhere where any house guest would be able to see it… yeah. House guests.

After shaking your head uselessly, you settle on hanging it in the entryway. For sure people would see it there.

You’d been putting off doing this for a couple of days, just because you hadn’t had a whole lot of energy to do anything but sit in a chair and half-read a novel.

So, after a few minutes of fiddling and messy calculations, the painting is hung in the entryway.

You take one last glance at the swirling coloured background once more, and then turn away, leaving the comfort and fantasy behind.

……

Victors are supposed to have immunity, they’re supposed to be done with the games for the rest of their miserable, trauma ridden lives.

But the seventy-fifth hunger games brings back all of the worst parts of last year— you know that out of the three other victors, you’re the female they want to get picked. You’re the easy decision, the loner that nobody cares about.

You know the Capitol loves Peeta and Katniss far too much, and you, not enough.

This, stacked on top of everything else the Capitol has put you through… it’s too much.

You’re pulled from your thoughts when there’s a knock at your door.

“Hello?” You say as you open it; Peeta Mellark is standing there with his lip turned down just slightly, his eyes center behind you for a moment before his face softens and lightens.

“Hey. You got the painting.” A smile melts onto his face, and you swear he looks… beyond words when he smiles.

After a long moment of silence, you clear your throat. “What brings you here…?” You stammer awkwardly, cringing at your choice of words.

He sort of— laughs? Chuckles? at you. “We’re talking strategy for the Quarter Quell and we figured we should include you.” His face falls again, and he looks like he’s holding something back.

Your back straightens. “The Quarter Quell isn’t for another few months—”

He nods slowly. “But we’re going to have to do the pre-tour… and they’re pulling names in just a couple weeks.”

The band around his ring finger gleams brightly in the sun, which sends some sort of jealous feeling rolling through you.

You shake your head because you don’t know Peeta Mellark, and, even if he is gorgeous, you don’t get crushes on people you don’t know.

Plus he’s in love and engaged to Katniss Everdeen, even if you did know him well enough to develop a crush.

He glances down, and then quickly yanks the ring off. “It’s, uh— just for the camera’s.” Then he gestures to the painting behind you. “That’s you, you know. I know you’ve never worn a dress like that, but I saw a screencap of you in The Games and inspiration just kind of… hit me.” he trails off at the end and fiddles with the ring in his hand.

“It’s… me?” You say slowly. “We barely know each other, why would you paint me?”

He takes a small breath. “You’re really beautiful, Y/n, I’ve always thought so.”

A breath hitches but you genuinely can’t discern if it’s him or you over the roaring of blood in your ears.

“So…” he starts again. “If you want to join us, we’re heading over to Haymitch’s now.”

“Okay.” You say, sounding more winded than you did before; you stare at him for a few more moments before you step out of the front door and shut it.

You walk silently beside him, trying not to take in his messy blonde hair or pretty blue eyes—and also, failing miserably—

Just as you reach Haymitch’s doorstep, you stop and tug on Peeta’s sleeve to get his attention. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen, Peeta.”

He looks down at you, the air around you charged with some kind of something that you can’t name, and just as he’s about to reach over to you, the door swings open.

“Why are you guys just standing out here?” Katniss says with her nose scrunched, she eyes you up and then eyes Peeta up in a similar fashion.

At least it wasn’t exclusively you.

Both your heads snap toward her, while Peeta smoothly comes up with a reason. “Y/n was feeling nervous, I was just trying to help calm her nerves.”

Haymitch raises an eyebrow from behind Katniss, and gives Peeta a look.

“Hey, Sweetheart.” He says, as Katniss steps aside and lets the two of you in. There’s a tenderness to his voice that you hadn’t realized you missed so much.

“Hi.” The three of you shuffle into what you think was once a living room but it’s chillingly messy in Haymitch’s house.

“Couldn’t we have done this at someone else’s house?” Peeta says, eying the empty bottles on the floor.

“No.” Katniss shakes her head, shooting Haymitch a glare. “Because everytime we have to talk to him, we have to wake him up with a bucket of water.”

You snort. “I’m sorry— a bucket of water?”

Haymitch cuts in. “Why do you think my hair’s wet? I definitely didn’t take a shower.” There's a water stain that makes his shirt sag, and you wonder how you didn’t notice before. Haymitch clears his throat. “Moving on; if it’s Katniss and Peeta then we can still milk the whole star-crossed lover thing— if it’s me or Y/n… that won’t work.”

“Y/n shouldn’t go.” Peeta interjects; you’re taken aback by it.

You fidget with the hem of your shirt. “I really thought I was the best person to go.” You pause, looking up at the three of them. “It’s not like there’s anyone here that will care if I don’t come home.”

Haymitch gives Peeta a scrutinizing look. “Look, Lover-boy, we know you have a crush but that isn’t enough for Katniss to volunteer herself if Y/n gets picked.”

Peeta looks to you and then back to Haymitch. “Katniss and I are the Capitol’s favourite couple right now, if we went we’d probably be much better off in terms of sponsors and parachutes.”

“And you don’t want her to go.” Haymitch gestures in yours and Katniss’s direction.

Peeta sighs but doesn’t deny it. It makes sense that he wouldn’t want his fiancé to go back to the Games.

“Peeta is right,” Katniss starts, “but, Haymitch, if you get picked… Peeta should stay. Either way.”

Peeta shakes his head. “No. I’m not staying.”

You cut in. “There’s no good reason why I should stay.” You’re basically the only clear answer; if you get picked you’ll go, and, if Katniss is picked, you’ll go. “I won’t.”

Now all three of them are staring at you. “If I get picked, Katniss can’t volunteer and if she gets picked, you can’t stop me from volunteering.”

Katniss huffs. “You can’t stop me from volunteering either.”

Really, you could all argue this for hours.

…..

The four of you had never come to a conclusion, and now it’s the day of the Reaping.

Effie stands uncomfortably at the bowl; she doesn’t seem happy about having to pull your names, despite her chipper facade.

“The female tribute for District Twelve is…” she says, digging around in the two slips of paper in the bowl. She finally pulls one out and reluctantly reads it out. “Y/n L/n.” She almost sighs your name.

Katniss’s fingers twitch nervously, like she wants to say something but you shoot her the strongest glare you can muster.

She doesn’t volunteer, and you’re glad for it.

You walk up to the stage, head held high; you know this is the start of the end of your life, so you might as well act more confident than you truly are.

Effie looks at you sadly once you’re settled behind her, and then turns back to the audience. “And… the male tribute for District Twelve is,” she spends another five minutes routing through the two names. “Haymitch Abernathy.” This time her sigh is one of relief.

But the relief does not last long.

“I volunteer!” Peeta says, stepping forward; Haymitch grabs his arm and says something too quiet to hear, and Peeta says something back. His face is full of determination as everyone watches him walk up the stage and stand next to you.

Everyone in your little group wears a look of defeat. Even you.

Only one of you can go home, and you’re going to do your damn best to make sure it’s Peeta Mellark.

…..

“I’m not ready for this.” You say quietly, as you walk down the corridor to your bedrooms on the train. “It’s hardly been a year, Peeta.”

He nods solemnly, not looking at you as you arrive at your door. His is just across the hall.

Peeta gently takes your hand in his and squeezes. “I know. It’s too soon.” He looks angry. “We were never supposed to have to do this again.” He drops your hand before you can reciprocate in any sort of way.

You do feel a little less nauseous though.

“It‘s okay.” You whisper, twitching your fingers and slapping it onto the doorknob. “It’ll be okay.”

Peeta’s eyes rove over you in a scrutinizing manner as though he’s trying to figure some meaning behind your words, but there isn’t one to figure.

Just that it will be okay. Peeta will, if you really just be specific. Peeta will return home, happy and safe.

Ready to live his life with the woman he loves… Katniss.

And you will fade into false glory and distant memory.

…..

“Finnick, Right?” You fidget with your fingers in front of you; Finnick Odair was an attractive man who oozed with confidence and smooth words.

“Want a sugar cube?” He asks slyly, holding one out to you. “They're supposed to be for the horses but— we’re going to die anyway, it won’t matter after that.”

You nod carefully. “Of course, because that would obviously matter if we weren’t already set for death.” You still take the sugar cube from his hand and pop it in your mouth.

You almost gag from it. Pure sugar was… a lot. “Ugh. That’s disgusting.”

Finnick chuckles. “But liberating.”

You shake your head but a smile still spreads across your face. “Liberating indeed, Finnick Odair. My last act of rebellion is eating a sugar cube.”

“Devastating, really. To the Capitol, I mean.” He smiles easily at you, before someone catches his attention and he saunters off.

Claudius Templesmith stood not far from you, crooning about something with one of the older tributes.

The older man— Betee, you think— stood, looking indifferent but also invested in Claudius’s ramblings and unnecessary questions.

You were dreading the questions he’d ask you during your second round of interviews.

The last time was time enough for you.

“What’d he want?” Peeta asks, walking up behind you and pulling your attention away from the other party-goers.

“Oh, you know,” you say flippantly, “sugarcubes, secrets, and sarcasm.”

Peeta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion but the smile remains on his face. “Sounds like an interesting conversation.” He extends his arm to you. “Shall we?”

You sigh. “Not like we have much choice.”

….

“I’d give anything to know what’s going on inside your head.” Peeta says softly, fidgeting with the rope in his hands. You’d both decided that learning how to tie some knots would be beneficial.

You chuff, an awkward laugh. “What do you mean?”

His fingers work steadily, and somewhat clumsily, with the rope; there’s something alluring about how sure he can be with his hands.

It makes you think of the painting in your house— the one that you’ll never see again— how patient he must’ve been to complete such a beautiful piece, how still and sure of himself.

“What are you thinking right now, Y/n?” He looks up at you, with those beautiful blue eyes of his.

You shrug. “I was thinking about…” you trail off, because you absolutely cannot say that you were thinking about his hands. A half-truth will have to do. “Your painting. How I’ll never see it again.”

Hip lips pull into a frown. “You’ll see it again, I’m going to make sure of it.”

Sighing deeply, you stand. “You’re the one who has to go home, Peeta, not me.” He opens his mouth to speak but you cut him off. “It has to be you.”

….

You don’t have the time to argue about it for the next couple of days, you hardly even see each other.

Now, Cinna is preparing you for the arena. You know that everything he gave was meant for Katniss, he had obviously expected it to be her, or that he wouldn’t style you.

He hadn’t been your stylist, but yours had opted out of this year’s games, claiming it was too painful to watch you go back in.

You hadn’t liked her much the first time around, wanted to change you too much in ways that you most definitely did not like.

Cinna, though, you liked him. Though this would be the last time you saw him.

You were dressed in whatever mandatory suit that they designed for this game, a skin tight suit that looked like you were about to go scuba diving.

“It’s time.” Cinna says, glancing back to the tube at the back of the room. You turn back to it.

“Thank you, Cinna.” You say, bowing your head for him. “It was nice getting to know you.”

He smiles half-heartedly. “It was a pleasure, Y/n.”

You exchange a final goodbye and step into the tube. The sixth second countdown begins as the tube starts to ascend.

It's all water, just water and water and water in a large circle around them. There was also thin sand bars that connected the tubes and the Cornucopia, but you knew you wouldn’t be braving that.

Peeta stands three tubes down, with a morphling, a Career and Johanna between you two.

Twenty seconds.

You stare at him desperately, hoping he’ll stick to the plan and swim towards you; you catch his eyes and he smiles reassuringly. It’s not a genuine smile but it still calms you all the same.

Ten seconds.

You ball your fists, clenching hard.

Nine.

Eight.

God, it’s going to be difficult to get out of the water.

Seven.

Six.

You’re not the strongest swimmer, maybe you should go to the Cornucopia.

Five.

Four.

And it’s a long way to swim, even for someone who does know how. Only experienced swimmers, like Finnick, would have an easy time of it.

Three.

Two.

Then, it occurs to you, maybe those sandbars go all the way to the shore; if you get to the Cornucopia, Grab, well, anything, and then flee via the sandbars, you just might be okay.

One.

The pads everyone stands on recede into the water and dumps everyone straight in.

It makes you realize that most of your competitors do not know how to swim.

Peeta is just barely floating thanks to the bright purple belt that had been strapped around all your waists.

You know how to swim at least a little bit , so you unbuckle yours and swim over to him; once it inflates fully, you give it to him and try to drag him towards the sandbars.

It dawns on you all over again that Peeta is a tall guy, and he’s not exactly small either.

He’s strong and his weight definitely shows that; he tries to keep himself afloat but ends up making it worse.

Eventually, you make it over there, and he pulls himself up onto the loose sand; it takes a bit of effort because it’s slippery and keeps moving under your weight.

It’s barely stable enough to be a viable option. Just barely.

You leave him there for a minute and swim to the cornucopia. There's fighting going on on its small platform, but you just snag a small waterproof bag that sits a few yards away; a knife comes flying in your direction, and knicks your face.

The salt of the water stings as it mingles with blood.

When you spin back towards Peeta, he’s struggling and Finnick is approaching him.

You race back as fast as you can.

Finnick already has some pretty gnarly weapons strapped to him.

You’re about to draw the knife on him when shakes his head. “Relax, Y/n, I’m saving his ass.” Then he lifts a hand out of the water and flashes some sort of bracelet at you.

It’s the alliance bracelets that Haymitch had mentioned.

Oh.

“I-”you start, but you never really had a sentence to begin with.

You just lag silently behind as Finnick helps Peeta to the shore. The closer you get to the shore, the wider the sandbars get, and the sturdier they are as well.

Until they're eventually higher than the water, and wide enough for both Peeta and yourself to walk side by side.

You collapse onto the sand when you finally reach the shore and stay there for only a second.

That’s all you have before the three of you are up and running into the forest in front of you.

….

When Peeta’s heart stops, you're sure that yours does too— you’re sure that, as you stand there in a state while Finnick tries to resuscitate Peeta, you’re also unresponsive and silent. Dead.

True enough, in a way.

The longer you stare at Peeta’s face, still twisted in pain from the shock, the more you feel like dropping to the ground and sobbing.

You tried to imagine the way he painted with camouflage training stuff, drawing intricate designs onto both his and one of the morhpling’s arms.

It had washed off by the next morning but you had spent the whole night longing to touch it, run your fingers along his arm, trace the shapes and swirls.

Beyond the paintings, you recalled his magnetic smile and the way he always made you feel safe and calm, the steady air that he radiated.

You weren’t ready for him to die, he was the one who was supposed to win this, after all. You had resolved that Peeta Mellark was going to be the winner of the 75th Hunger Games and you were going to do whatever you needed to to make that happen. You were even prepared to turn into somebody you weren’t, just to make sure Peeta went home. Or at least, you thought you could if you had to come to it.

But now, you’re ready to give up. Finnick or Johanna could win— and they should. Literally anyone else but you. Everyone who had a life now that Peeta is gone.

You’re just about to collapse to the ground when Peeta starts to cough erratically, and he manages to sit straight up.

“Peeta!” You cry as you fall to the ground next to him, and wrap your arms around his neck. He seems disoriented for a moment before he hugs you back, right. “I really thought you were gone.”

He gently strokes your back, as you fuss over him, double checking that he’s okay and checking his burn.

…..

You hear a loud sickening crack from somewhere else in the arena that makes everyone but Johanna and Finnick jump. You feel Peeta’s hand wrap around you protectively and pull you closer to him in the single instant that you’re all reacting to the noise.

It takes a few delayed seconds before each one of you realizes that it’s just the lightning in 12, before you realize just how having Peeta’s hands on you makes you feel.

His fingers slip from your waist, brushing softly as they fall away and leaving you feeling just slightly feral.

You pull yourself away, and dig your nails into your thigh to ground yourself. Getting used to this clock thing was going to be agonizing.

You’re waiting patiently as the lot of you— You, Peeta, Finnick, Johanna and Beetee— come up with a plan to take down the force field and take out the Careers at the same time.

You can barely focus on the conversation because you itch to have Peeta’s hands on you again, to feel his fingers against your skin again.

In fact there’s so many things you’d like to say and do with Peeta that you know you will never have the chance to; not to mention that he is in love with someone else and would never be interested in any of those things with you anyways.

You’re pretty sure you’d been staring at Peeta but you only notice because Finnick shoots a look at you— you can’t tell exactly what he’s thinking but it must be something about that.

You try to zone back into the plan.

….

Trying to trap the careers failed miserably, and the person most experienced with a bow was you, but only thanks to Katniss’s training.

Everything was a blur as the force field came down; chaos, fire everywhere— you couldn’t see or hear Peeta.

You worried about him and you laid pathetically on the ground, half out of your mind. You wondered if he was having trouble with his prosthetic leg, or having run from Enobaria or one of the other careers. You wondered if he’d make it out okay, even though it was obvious you wouldn’t.

You wondered and worried for what felt like forever until an airship appeared above you.

Great. You thought, the Capitol has come to torture you and everyone you’ve ever loved until the couldnt anymore and all of you was nothing more than a shell of a person. Until the only option was avox or death.

You can’t move, or fight it as the giant claw, scoops you up.

All that effort and you still managed to condem each and everyone of you to torture.

…..

“Relax, Y/n!” Haymitch snaps, as Finnick restrains you.

Katniss sits on the other side of the table, looking just as devastated as you.

“What do you mean, you didn’t get Peeta? You can’t just leave him there, they’ll hurt him worse than any of us could ever imagine!” You say, still struggling to get away from Finnick.

Katniss actually argues in your favour. “I did say I would only do this thing if you got both her and Peeta.”

Plutarch, the game maker shakes his head redundantly. “Peeta and Johanna were just to far away for us to locate before the Capitols airships came; I’m sorry, we’ll get them back eventually.”

Finnick finally lets you go once you’ve calmed down. He has a solemn look on his face. “I’m sure they’ve got Annie too. We need to save them as soon as possible.”

….

As soon as possible turns into several weeks, several heartbreakingly, agonizingly long weeks.

You can’t help but think about Peeta every moment of every day . You imagine all the terrible things Snow is doing to him, you wish it was you in his place.

Peeta was the one person who never deserved any of this, over anyone else. You and Katniss had been willing to do whatever you needed to to survive, you’d done things maybe you weren’t particularly proud of. But Peeta? He had never let the Games change him.

He had always been the same.

Safe, steady, comfortable, strong.

You don’t even have any hope that they’re showing him any mercy.

They aren’t.

You know now, you know by the way that last interview they aired went— how he was struck just as the cameras shut off, how your heart broke when you looked into his eyes, when you saw just how much they’d hurt him already.

You were just about ready to burst into Coin’s office and tell her that you were getting Peeta now, regardless of the consequences to Thirteen.

Gale and Katniss were fighting a lot lately, tension was heavy between them; and not in a good way. You didn’t know Gale well, but the comments he made about Peeta made your skin crawl and your hands itch to throw a few punches.

Actually they were arguing now, about Peeta, and you were listening.

Gale’s head snaps to you randomly and he barks at you; “and you! Why the hell are you so invested in Bread Boy?”

You startle for a moment, but then narrow your eyes. “What do you mean why am I invested? He’s my— friend.” You say, sounding unsure even to yourself.

Katniss huffs. “I mean, come on, Gale, you know that our relationship has been fake from the start and we—” she gestures between the two of them. “—we’re friends, Gale, we always have been.”

He scoffs, and says something else in a bitter tone but all you can hear is Katniss’s words replaying over and over in your brain.

Our relationship has been fake from the start.

“Shut up for a second!” You snap at Gale, and turn back to Katniss. “Your relationship was fake the whole time? Yours and Peeta’?” You almost feel like an asshole for asking, just in case it is real; but so many things Peeta has done and said make so much more sense recontextualized like this.

Like when he said their rings were ‘just for ten cameras.’ Or when he told you he always thought you were beautiful. Or even the way he tried so hard to convince not to go back into the games.

Both of their faces fall flat, Katniss’s in disbelief. “You didn’t know?” She says.

You shake your head slowly. “No, I-” you stop yourself because you're at a loss for words.

“Y/n, we didn’t try to hide it from you, how did you not know? Even Haymitch said right in front of you that Peeta had a crush on you!”

You deadpan once again. You had blatantly misread everybody’s words in that conversation. “I just assumed that was about you!” You stare at each other for a second longer before you stand up abruptly. “I have to go.”

There was a lot of thinking you had to do and then a lot of planning— and a bit of yelling too.

…..

You were deemed too invested in the mission to actually go on it, and Finnick was too distressed over Annie to be allowed.

So you had been sitting together in silence; the silence was comfortable but the insane amounts of stress running through your veins was enough to make the tension in the air as sharp as a knife. Not between each other but to any other person.

Especially since Gale was allowed to go on the mission, and you felt that was entirely unfair— Gale doesn’t even like Peeta.

It had turned into a whole day of waiting, and only twenty minutes ago, they had returned with Johanna, Peeta and Annie.

The anxiety had grown tenfold when you were both informed you weren’t allowed to see them yet.

Now, you’re standing outside the door where Annie was resting, watching her through the one way window.

Finnick’s eyes are filled with so many you can only pick out one or two; you wonder if your eyes will look similar when you enter Peeta’s room.

You wish him luck and watch as he enters the room; Annie looks like she screams his name and then jumps him. He holds her up, looking like it’s the happiest moment of his life.

Watching them makes you much more excited to see Peeta, although you're not sure it will be quite that exuberant of a reunion.

You walk a couple doors down, glancing in the windows as you do; but you stop when you see Katniss and Johanna in one of the rooms before Peeta’s.

Why in the world is Katniss in the Hospital? What happened?

You push open the door gently, and Katniss doesn’t stir— you take note of the morphling drip in her arm, that must be keeping her knocked out.

You see Johanna is also asleep, her head is shaved and she has the worst tortured expression on, even though she looks to be sleeping soundfully— physically, anyways.

If she’s looking that bad, you can’t help but wonder about Peeta. You’re always wondering about him.

You don’t want to disturb either of their healing so you quickly leave the room, shutting the door as quietly and calmly as you can.

Finally, as you walk out, you spot the guards in front of Peeta’s door; you think it’s a little strange, considering neither Johanna nor Annie had security at the door but you walk towards the door anyways.

The guards hold out a hand as you approach.

“Restricted access, you can’t go in there.” The guard says, almost heartlessly.

Just as he finishes speaking, the door opens and Haymitch steps out and away. You would look through the window but the blinds are down.

“I’m sorry, Sweetheart, you can’t see him.” Haymitch takes your arm and leads you back down the hallway. “The Capitol… they tortured him so bad he—” Haymitch stops, and looks away for a second before looking back. “He tried to strangle Katniss, and kept yelling about how Katniss was a liar. He’s not himself right now.”

So much for your heartfelt reunion.

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hyperactively-me · 7 months

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what if what if.. price is some kinda like.. commanding guard/soldier/knight in king!ghost’s kingdom..? I’d imagine they’d be decently good friends and trust each other quite a bit due to it probably having been ghost who decided to make price the commander.. Or maybe Price has already been that for years and kinda made friends with ghost when he was still a prince and price still a regular knight/soldier..?

It would be fun to see some interaction with princess!reader and price, then.. like her stumbling into price somewhere or somehow during some situation or just a normal day in the castle or outside it.. maybe she could end up having a conversation with price and price reveals smth abt ghost to her that she didn’t know? Or just.. yk. Whatever you could possibly figure out or think of, lmao. I’m just pretty invested in these things you’re writing and I’d love seeing price in one of the king!ghost x princess!reader stories you make.. unless you already have added him in it. I’m not sure if you have.. I don’t think so 😭😭

i had another ask super similar to this so here is the end result! hope everyone is happy haha :) i really liked writing this!

You move through the corridors of the palace, the echo of your footsteps reverberating against the grandeur of the walls. As queen, you had no time to dilly dally. You were on your way to another daily lesson when you turned a sharp corner, almost colliding with a man whose presence demands attention.

Dressed in the distinguished uniform of the kingdom's army, General John Price stands before you, a living legend whose name has graced the lips of courtiers and soldiers alike.

“Oh my, I didn’t see you there, I am so sorry–” you apologize profusely, a little shaken up by the collision.

General Price, ever the embodiment of discipline, offers a reassuring smile, “No need for apologies, your majesty,” he intones with a bow, the brim of his hat casting a shadow over his weathered face. “I should have been more careful. General John Price, at your service.”

His eyes, wise and warm, meet yours with a mixture of respect and curiosity. You’ve heard tales of this man, a figure who has shaped the destiny of Kastron more than anyone could fathom.

“How nice it is to finally meet you, General Price,” you reply with a smile and a nod, your voice carrying the grace befitting a queen. “I've heard much about you.”

A flicker of acknowledgment crosses his features, and there’s a subtle warmth in his gaze. “I hope, your majesty, that these stories are favorable.”

You giggle, intrigued by the aura of respect that surrounds him. “Yes, they are. The kingdom owes much to your service.”

"Thank you, your majesty," he says, his salute crisp and precise. “I've had the honor of serving Kastron for many years, alongside our esteemed King Simon. He’s truly grown into a confident, strong ruler.”

A spark of curiosity ignites within you. “You've known Simon for quite some time, haven't you?”

Price's expression softens, and for a moment, you catch a glimpse of the depth in their relationship. “Since he was but a young prince. I had the privilege of training him, watching him grow into the leader he is today.”

Gratitude swells within you for the mentorship he provided your husband. “I'm grateful for the guidance you provided him and for your service to our kingdom. He turned out amazing.”

“The honor has been mine, your majesty,” he replies, bowing slightly. “Simon is not just a ruler to me; he's a dear friend I would do anything for.”

You smile at him. “Good, Simon deserves the best.”

General Price returns your smile, a glint of pride in his eyes. “He's grown into a remarkable leader. It's been a privilege to witness his journey and contribute in whatever way I could.”

He takes a beat.

“Simon told me that he’s going to be assigning you a personal guard”

You still for a moment and look at the floor. “Yeah, he did say that.”

Price's expression remains composed, but a glint of acknowledgment gleams in his eyes. “Your safety is of utmost importance to me, your majesty.”

You nod slowly in agreement, appreciating the consideration for your security. “It's…. a sensible precaution.”

The general's gaze softens, and he speaks with a touch of reassurance, “Rest assured, the knight assigned to you will be among our most skilled and trustworthy.”

As you continue the conversation, Price shares insights to his role as General. He highlights the meticulous selection process that will go through for your personal guard, highlighting skill, loyalty, reliability, and discretion. A mention of his second in command, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick piques your interest.

“And, speaking of those who serve alongside me, your majesty," Price begins, “I believe you might find it helpful to meet Commander Kyle Garrick.”

“Oh, of course, that sounds lovely,” you smile, expressing genuine interest in meeting the Commander. Price offers to take you to him, leading you towards some of the military planning rooms. Maps, battle plans, and the hum of strategy surround Commander Garrick. He rises from his seat, his gaze sharp yet respectful as he greets you. He’s awfully young to be second in command of the army, but you know that he’s earned his position here.

“Your Majesty," he says, his voice steady as he flashes a big smile at you, “an honor to meet you.” He extends his hand to yours, offering to shake it.

“How charming,” you giggle, shaking his hand firmly.

“The honor is mine, your majesty. I've heard much about you, how you’re excelling here in Kastron.”

Your laughter, light and genuine, fills the room, momentarily lifting the weight of formality. “Oh, Commander Garrick, please, I’m just trying my best.”

“Please, call me Gaz,” he smiles gently at you, his demeanor exuding a natural friendliness.

You exchange pleasantries, Gaz, with a nod from Price, provides a brief overview of their ongoing strategies and the challenges faced by the kingdom. His words are measured, revealing not only a keen mind but also a deep commitment to Kastron.

“So, Commander, have you also known Simon for a while?”

“Yes, your majesty, ever since I entered the military, Simon and I have had a great friendship.” He pauses, smiling to himself. “We used to attend certain training sessions together, and from there we became great friends.”

A fond smile graces your face as you consider the bond that unites them. “That’s so sweet, Gaz. General Price spoke highly of the friendship between you and Simon.”

In the midst of the discussion, a sense of pride wells within you. The men who safeguard your kingdom are not just military powers; they are people with an unwavering dedication to the well-being of Kastron and the crown. The way they speak of their relationship with Simon makes your heart swell with pride.

The commander nods, his expression thoughtful. “Simon is not only a great ruler but also a steadfast companion. We’re truly lucky to know him.”

As the conversation draws to a close, Commander Garrick expresses his gratitude for the opportunity to meet you. “If there is ever anything you wish to discuss regarding strategies or defense, I am at your service.”

You thank him sincerely, acknowledging the commitment that both he and Price bring to their positions. As you say your farewells, you can't help but feel a strong sense of reassurance knowing that people like Gaz and Price are among the most trusted in safeguarding Kastron.

General Price, ever the courteous man he is, escorts you back through the palace corridors.

“I can’t thank you enough for spending this time with me,” you say to Price.

“It’s never a bother,” he says, smiling at you warmly. “I will do anything for you and Simon.”

Your encounter with Gaz and Price left you with a deeper understanding of the intricacies and dedication that comes with holding high ranking military positions, as well as a deeper understanding of their relationship with Simon.

You giggle to yourself. Now, time to bother Simon about your discovery.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

#simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost x you #simon ghost x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #simon “ghost” riley x reader #simon “ghost” riley x you #hyperactivelyme

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blossom-hwa · 2 months

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a yellow scarf in winter | w.jh

pairing: Jun x gender neutral!reader genre: fluff, angst, magical realism warnings: mentions of minor character death (offscreen) word count: 7.3k notes: this is a rewrite of something from maybe a year ago - it's gone through extensive edits and while the original premise is the same, it's changed a lot, so even if you read it before I hope you find something new :) When your grandmother passes, a spirit arrives on the sun and the snow, asking for a place to stay. As the years pass, you learn grief, love, and the complicated art of letting go.

Original Ver. | Seventeen Masterlist

When he arrives on your doorstep, hands cold from the snow and eyes warm as the sun, the moon has already been dim for a year.

The knock comes gentle against the worn wood of the old inn’s door—so gentle at first that once, twice it sounds before you truly hear it. By the time you’ve put down the pile of pale yellow wool turning into the beginnings of a scarf or a shirt or something in between, it has sounded a third time, and when you finally open the door, his hand is raised like he was bracing for a fourth.

You stare. He is the first to have approached your grandmother’s inn in the weeks since you moved in, and you do not recognize him from the town. Brown eyes stare back at yours, slanted almost mischievously at the tips yet deep and soft and sweet, while pale blond hair the color of your wool seems to sparkle like the sun on the snow outside. Light pink lips curve in an awkward smile, showing a hint of white teeth, and it’s not so much that he glows himself but that sunlight glints off the pale skin of his face, reflecting a soft sparkle around him that only makes it seem brighter. About your age, perhaps—late twenties, early thirties. Maybe a little younger. His eyes look like they have seen many more years than he seems, though.

It’s been too long, this silence, but still you have to look for a moment more. For it feels like you know him, even though you’ve never seen him before.

—Hello, you finally say, cautious, quiet.

—Hello, he replies, lowering the hand he had raised. The gesture, awkward and almost bashful, brings a curve to your own lips. Someone in town told me I could some here for a place to stay.

Words rise in your memory, unbidden. Never turn a stranger away from your door, child. A wink, with one wrinkle-lined eye. They just might be a god in disguise.

Your hand tightens around the worn doorknob. The inn has been closed since your grandmother left it to you, and locked inside you’ve kept the stories she told—of deities who once walked this plane, spirits who left remnants of magic in the earth beneath your feet. In the weeks since her death you didn’t allow yourself to remember, didn’t allow yourself to acknowledge the sparkles of magic that she used to point out to you day after day—the bright green laughing grass now covered by the snow, the howl of the wind whirling in the breeze.

You haven’t reopened. You’re still not sure you will, not when the ache of her absence continues to fill every room. Those of the town should know the news by now, but perhaps they thought this might still be all right.

Part of you urges to shake your head, give an apologetic smile, and close the door. He’s a strange man in a strange place, and where exactly could that go? But as a chilly wind whips through the tall stranger’s hair, his long fingers fidgeting quietly as fading sunlight catches on the single silver earring in his left ear, you wonder if, after all these years, a spirit has finally made its way to your grandmother’s inn once more.

Stories and legends, tales you could never tell were true or not. You fight back a tear as a thought surfaces—that your grandmother sent this spirit to you, to make sure you would be all right.

—Of course. What is your name?

When he smiles, it seems as though the rising moon regains a touch of its original shine.

—Thank you. My name is Jun.

. . . . .

And—that’s it. For a time. It’s all he tells you about himself anyway, just his name and nothing else. What you learn in passing comes from casual action and conversation, things he lets slip as he accompanies you on your wanderings through the many rooms of your grandmother’s old, empty inn. It’s not so much him letting things slip, though, as you noticing the way he simply falls into place like the last pieces of a puzzle you never realized was unfinished—the shyness of his laugh sparkling through the dust motes spinning through the air, his long fingers drawing back the heavy drapes that once covered the lobby windows. He takes the room across from yours on the first floor, and when you open the door the next morning to see him stumbling out of his, rubbing sleep out of his eyes, it feels like you are only saying good morning to an old friend when you smile.

Which makes no sense, of course. Because you don’t know him. You’ve never seen this man once in your life before he showed up at the inn’s front door. What could you know about a man as enigmatic as the moon, who reflects all the light in the room and makes it brighter all on his own? But as the days go by, as you learn his shyness, his gentleness, the way his crescent smiles come soft and slow, a waxing and waning curve of his lips that reflects the sunlight streaming through the inn’s large windows and cuts through the dark chill that had seemed to fill the inn before, it doesn’t feel like you’re learning much at all. More like…remembering. Settling. Reacquainting yourself with the characteristics of a good friend you haven’t seen in ages. Somehow, though he is only one person sleeping in the same one room every night, the stately old place your grandmother left you doesn’t feel nearly as empty as it once did, not with his comfortable presence around.

He’s quiet. Calm. Prone to confusion when you use a phrase he doesn’t seem to know, and giggling fits when he sees something he deems cute or strange. He’s eager to help when you slowly rouse yourself to sweep the dust from the rooms, and he doesn’t ask when you pause in front of a larger door on the top floor, then turn away without a word. He has a lovely little laugh that sounds like the first spring flowers coming into bloom, bringing warmth to the silent hallways you’d long forgotten how to walk, and joy etches itself in the tiny wrinkles around his eyes that appear when he smiles. You find he has a special affinity for the cats that sometimes show up on the inn grounds and perhaps, you think, it’s because he’s a little like them himself—closed off and skittish at first, but soft, and sweet, and so, so warm when he finally turns to you with his truest smile.

In the cold remnants of winter, you learn his favorite tea, how he drinks it slow, sip by tiny sip. The long fingers that twist and fidget and eventually like to tangle with your own become still when he wraps them around his favorite mug of yours, white porcelain with the figures of three kittens playing around the edges. Those same fingers lift up the lid of the lobby grand piano one day, untouched since your grandmother last played, and begin to dance on their own across the yellowing keys, spinning starlit melodies into the air. His hands always seem to be cold, or at least take a while to warm up after being outside, but the tea helps. So does playing scales. And, eventually, holding your own hands that he always says are so much warmer than his.

When spring tints the air and flowers begin to bloom, you almost wonder if Jun’s warmth will fade, somewhat, in a season marked by the sun, by the blue sky, by the days that grow longer at the expense of the moon’s soft glow. It doesn’t, though—grows, even, as you walk with him through the soft grass on the outskirts of the town, his smile tossing sunlight kind, carefree, into the air around him. On walks like these you come to learn his favorite blossom, the pale jasmine he settles gently behind your ear, and how he never picks them, only gathers up the blooms that have already fallen on the ground to create lovely bouquets you set at the dining table later in the night. When summer hangs cheerful in the sky you begin to leave the lobby windows open, the heavy curtains brushed to the sides by Jun’s delicate hands, and you learn how far the cheer of his laugh can carry and how his voice accompanies the piano as he sings, melodic threads twining sweetly in the air. You show him midnight recipes—cold noodles, cookies, cool milk that you share with the cats milling about outside—and his hand in yours is always warm, but somehow, despite the heat of the sun on your skin, you can’t find it in yourself to pull away, not when he reflects the sun’s glow in his waxing and waning smiles, not when he squeezes your hand tighter and pulls you closer to him.

Finally, when the last dregs of autumn begin to pass and the first year winds to a close, you learn how Jun’s laugh softens with the fading sun, how, no matter the biting chill in the air, he still reflects the sun’s quiet glow until he seems to be the one who warms the room (and perhaps he is, with his moonlit melodies and starlit smile). Under the gentle rays of the sky’s fading light, the fast-growing chill of the billowing wind, the curve of Jun’s enigmatic crescent smile steadies you as dead leaves crunch beneath your feet. And as the first snows begin to swirl through the wind, mimicking the dust motes Jun helped you sweep away, you look outside at the moon that had faded, and you can’t help but think that perhaps, over the year, its smile has finally grown a little brighter.

. . . . .

And so the first year comes and goes, and when the chill of winter fully returns, you don’t worry as much about the empty rooms, the once-faded moon, the memories of your grandmother that still fill the air. There is Jun, and there is his warmth, and for now that is all you need.

But then he disappears. For a few hours, first. Then a few days. Until twice a month he leaves without notice, and with such irregularity that it slowly becomes regular.

He always returns, you learn. But the first morning you wake up and he doesn’t greet you with sleepy eyes smiling as he opens his door, you panic. Because what happened to him and where did he go and does he need help and what if he left, left you alone, left you in this empty house to cope again with the memories just like your grandmother did when she died—

—Where were you? you ask when he returns the next night and you can finally speak without wanting to cry? Where did you go? Why didn’t you let me know?

—I’m sorry, he replies, his long fingers fidgeting again. The dimness of the barely crescent moon outside casts dark shadows across his face, only a thin sliver of his cheek illuminated by starlight. I didn’t realize you would worry this much.

—How could I not?

—I don’t know. No one really has, before.

Candlelight flickering, silence hanging oppressive in the air.

—I was worried.

When he smiles, heavy and tragic, it is as though the moon’s darkness never left.

—I know.

(That night, when you crawl under the covers in a room too big for you and the questions you don’t have answers to, you remember where you live, where Jun came. And you remember something your grandmother told you when you were old enough to know, to understand.

No one stays forever at an inn.

No one.)

. . . . .

You think—hope—that might be the end of it. Or that, at least, he’ll tell you before he next goes. But despite his apologies, he still leaves a second time, and a third, and then a fourth and fifth, all without warning. And though you never truly grow used to the way each room echoes with a renewed emptiness in the hours and days he is gone, you force yourself to accept it. That his irregularity is his regularity. That he cannot—or will not—fight against what drives him to leave.

(Acceptance doesn’t stem the fear that someday he will go, and there will be no warning, and when that day comes, he will not return.)

So winter fades with its ice and snow, and spring comes, then summer, with their warmth and flowers. And on a night where Jun isn’t here, where the faded moon shines fully in the dark sky, you find yourself in front of a room on the top floor that you ignored when you two cleaned the inn the first time. The room where you stopped. Thought. Passed without a word, where Jun didn’t pry.

This time, you open the door.

Your grandmother’s presence folds around you like a warm cloak of boxes and drapes, warped wooden floorboards and old furniture sitting on top. Almost immediately your knees give out. You catch yourself on the floor, sending up a cloud of dust, but for all your watering eyes you don’t really notice because she is so strong here. So warm. So comfortable. As though you could reach out a hand to the air and she would materialize before you, her fingers clutching yours, her eyes already wrinkling into a mischievous smile.

For a long time, you only sit. Stare. Take in the things she amassed during life, the things she packed away that were never the inn’s but hers, and hers only. An old, moth-eaten armchair. A couple of trunks tied with dusty rope. Boxes with spidery handwriting on the sides labeling things you can’t quite read through the tears bubbling in your eyes, a few tarps draped over it all.

—Did you send him? you ask the dust swirling through the air.

(And if you did, why did you send someone who had to leave? Who couldn’t stay?)

She doesn’t answer, of course. But you sit there, waiting as though she will, until the gray light of dawn begins to peek through the folds of curtains you didn’t part, and you finally pick yourself up from the floor to return downstairs and wait for Jun to return.

. . . . .

He returns that evening amidst summer showers, rain glittering on his face like little diamonds pressed to his skin. You’re back in the room on the top floor, sitting, staring, and only when a soft knock sounds at the cusp of afternoon-evening do you find it in yourself to move again.

—Hi.

Jun’s eyes, deep brown and cratered wide. His graceful nose, his pale face, his thin lips, still covered with the thin diamond sheen of rain. You can hear droplets pattering against the window from where you still haven’t managed to push the drapes away.

—You’re shivering.

You hadn’t realized you were, but when he says it, you become aware of the slight tremble in your shoulders, at the vague chill in the air from the day’s confusion as to whether it is still summer, or if the winter will be coming soon. At the concern on his face you try to smile.

—I’m all right.

You don’t expect him to believe you. But you also don’t expect him to take a step closer and fold you into his arms.

He’s warm and cool at the same time—peaceful, a tiny respite from the overwhelming presence of your grandmother in all the boxes and drapes in this old room. His long fingers tap soft rhythms into your back, his breath quiet against your ear, and when you finally pull away, your eyes are wet not just with the remnants of rain but with tears again, too.

Jun smiles quietly. That little silver earring that has never left his ear glints in the evening darkness, a piece of light reflected in his eyes. Outside, you think the moon has begun to rise, faint light pooling right where he stands.

—Do you want help?

. . . . .

It takes several long days to bring the room to a semblance of cleanliness, dust swept from the corners until your nose no longer itches, the floor mopped until you no longer fear tracking grime into the halls when you and Jun leave. But one night, it is done. Mostly. The boxes remain unopened, the tarps not yet pushed away, but the floor is clean and you can breathe a little better.

Jun rubs his nose, which is red from sneezing. His eyes follow you as you kneel in front of one of the trunks, reaching for the knot in the rope tying it shut. For a moment you fumble with the tie. Then it falls away, and your hand grazes the edge of the lid. Ready to open. Not ready to open.

You pull the lid up.

A cloud of dust wafts up and you whip around, coughing into your arm as Jun laughs from a few feet away. When you stop choking you find that he has come to you, his eyes bright and cheerful, and for all you wanted to scowl at him when he started laughing, you find you can only smile.

—What’s all this?

You hold up a candle carefully, squinting into the trunk’s contents. Immediately you know, though you’ve never seen any of the books before.

Music.

Jun’s sharp intake of breath brings you back to earth. When you look at him his eyes are shining bright with wonder, and you think to his hands waltzing across the lobby piano’s yellow keys, drawing sounds from its depths the way only your grandmother had been able to, years before.

—Let’s take them. You pick up a few books of your own, their dusty paper covers rough against your skin as you smile. I want to hear you play.

He plays piece after piece that night, some that you recall from childhood, others you remember having learned yourself, even more you have never once heard in your life but that your grandmother must once have known, learned, and cherished when she lived. And after you see Jun to his room that night, you take the stairs softly up to the room again. Take in the sight of the dusty, empty trunk still sitting where you left it.

It feels a little easier to breathe.

. . . . .

As summer winds to a close, as the slight chill of fall begins to take to the air, you slowly empty the boxes and trunks in the old storage room, airing out their dust, unearthing the bits and pieces of your grandmother that she left behind for you to find. Pictures of her and your grandfather, who died before you were born. Small trinkets from travels she told you about when you were little. Financial papers yellowed with age, letters bound in ribbon that you can’t find it in yourself to read, novels with worn covers and crinkled pages. And music. Not quite as much as the stacks of books you found in the first trunk, but sheets scattered here and there that Jun happily picks up, adding to the miniature concerts he plays for you in the evening to ward away the chill.

He helps you through it all—works at the knots in the ropes with you, folds up the tarps you lift away, sweeps up the dust that falls from newly opened boxes and trunks, holds you when the memories overwhelm and you find it hard to breathe. And in those moments when he is there, you almost forget that this is an inn, and that he must leave. But he always does. New moon. Full moon. New moon. Full moon. And as the moon grows brighter when he is gone, like it is happier without you, you begin closing your window against the light that still permeates your room anyway.

The words slip out on a night when it is more fall than summer, after the remnants of dinner have been cleared away and only the stars are awake to hear you speak. Bravery or stupidity, courage or fear, you don’t know—a desperate bid for something, anything to hang on to when Jun next leaves and you’re left to cope with the memories, music haunting your ears, ghosts tracing the walls.

—Where do you go when you’re gone?

He pauses at the piano, long, pale fingers stopping between the turning pages of his music. Silence reigns for a while, long enough for you to nearly backtrack and say never mind, never mind, despite the need to know curdling in your veins.

—I go to a place I once called home.

Your throat threatens to close, but you get the next words out, somehow.

—Do you not still call it home?

In response, he takes a single sheet of music from the piano, one he just played—a soft melody that barely lasted two minutes, but that resonated through the room, deep, heavy nostalgia that had drawn the question from your throat. Every piece he plays is beautiful beneath his fingertips but for some reason, the echoes of this piece stay with you, merging into your breath, tickling its way through your ears, as he hands the score to you.

—The composer was far from home when he wrote this, Jun says quietly as you trace the black notes on the worn, yellow page. He needed to run. To escape. He never saw it again after he had to move, but…in the end, he only ever wanted to go home.

Dark eyes flicker to the window, pale skin reflecting the starlight and the glow of the full moon. It’s your turn to watch him, this time, as the faint moonlight lends a familiar golden tinge to his face that you have never seen but that you know, anyway.

Only a few physical feet separate the two of you in this moment, the distance between Jun’s piano bench and your armchair easily traversable in just one step, maybe two. For all the look in his eyes right now, though, you could be centuries apart.

—I once wanted to escape. I was so lonely. I wanted to find someone who could care for me. Who could make me feel worth something.

—Did you?

He looks at you now. Traps you in the moment, his blond hair illuminated by the moon, pooling around his feet. An enigmatic smile dances on his lips.

—I did.

Silence falls gentle, heavy, the leftover notes from the melody fading softly into the air, the dust of the old sheet music settling on the floor. Against your will, you stare at the piano with its worn and yellowing keys that your grandmother once showed you to play. You were never as good as she, though Jun would have been a match.

What might she have thought of Jun if they’d met now, in the physical plane? She would have liked him, you think—liked his soft-spoken voice, his sweet, awkward nature, and the way he seems to amplify the warmth and light of the room with his cratered eyes and waxing-waning crescent smile. Their musical styles are different, from what you remember of hers, but she would have enjoyed his interpretations of the same pieces she loved.

Tears nearly spring into your eyes. Yes, she would have liked him. She would have liked him very much.

A question burns on your tongue as he stands, as you stand, as you both walk to your rooms and bid each other goodnight. You don’t ask. But he must hear it anyway, lingering in your eyes and on your tongue even as you shut your door.

(Where is your home?)

You’re not sure if you can hear his answer, not when you don’t have one yourself. Because while you’re still trying to escape, Jun has already made peace.

He knows his home, even if you don’t.

. . . . .

Still, though, he stays. For you or for something else, you’re not sure. But through the end of summer and the billows of fall, still he comes and he goes, wanders and returns, and though his presence comforts, something about it—you’re not sure what—has begun to hurt.

He’s playing the same piece when autumn has begun to give way to winter, when you find a familiar pile of yellow wool in the drawer of one of the little tables beside the lobby couches. Part of it has been knit into some shape, but only barely—easy enough for you to decide it will be a scarf, a decision you didn’t get to make two years ago, and easy enough for you to pick up the needles from where the universe left them and for their gentle clicking to accompany Jun’s music flowing about the room. Not so easy anymore when the cat Jun let inside begins batting at the pile of yarn, little claws catching on the wool, but easy enough. Easy enough.

The night before, when Jun was gone, you went up to the storage room yourself. Though the room has been mostly cleared, boxes opened and some things rearranged around the inn, others pushed in neater piles against the walls, your grandmother’s presence still wrapped around you the second you entered. Something in the walls, you suppose, in the notes of dust that still flicker, magical, in the air. The fact that this room was hers, the way the rest of the inn was and wasn’t.

You didn’t open the curtains. You thought about it, even touched the heavy cloth with a single hand, felt it fold beneath your palm. But the moon was so bright then, so full. It hurt so much. So you kept it closed. The memory of those closed curtains, unable to shield you from the glowing contentment of the moon, helps you meet his eyes as his hands leave the piano, the knitting needles flashing between your fingers, their rhythmic clicking steadying your heart.

—Where is your home, Jun?

The lobby echoes with the silence after your question, broken only by the kitten batting at your wool. Her little head butts against your hand and you stroke it gently, eyes still trained on the spirit sitting in front of you.

He draws breath. Sighs. Looks down at his hands, down at yours, and looks back at you.

—Wherever I am not lonely.

The clicking between your fingers stops. Silver needles bury themselves in the yellow yarn like the cat’s claws, the cat that now detaches itself from the wool to jump into Jun’s lap instead, purring softly. You stare at it, at the yarn, at the empty spot on the couch it used to occupy. The spot someone else used to occupy, once, smiling fondly as you played with her own yarn on her knee. Someone who belonged here far more than you.

—Where have you been lonely?

—Many places. Jun’s smile turns small, wan. Not all are as welcoming as you have been.

Your mind returns to the first time he disappeared, the first time he returned and you couldn’t speak for several hours without crying.

I didn’t realize you would worry this much, he had said. And you had found it so hard to believe no one would—that no one would worry about this lovely spirit disappearing without a word. But it’s true. Not all are kind. And perhaps, before your inn, Jun had encountered more unkindness than you were willing to believe at the time.

You swallow.

—Are you lonely here?

—No. The answer is quick, certain. So is his next question. Are you?

His eyes won’t allow yours to flicker away, moonlight holding you captive as it flows around the two of you, encasing you in pale light. The cat purrs in Jun’s arms, but he only looks at you.

It hurts to admit it, but you do.

—Yes. When you’re not here.

He nods. Nods again. And then he sets the old page back on top of the piano, and you speak no more until the music has stopped for the night and he asks a final question to you.

—Who’s that for?

You look down at the half-finished scarf, and the needles you’ve just stuck into the rest of the unknit pile. I’m not sure.

But as you lie awake in bed that night, staring out of your window at the full moon and its familiar golden tinge, you realize it was a dumb question, with an even dumber answer. Because it’s obvious. Even though the universe had you begin the scarf with no thought of its future owner, as it grows longer and longer under nights of soft music warmed by the reflection of sunlight on Jun’s lovely face, when you look at the man whose smile waxes and wanes with the phases of the moon, you know, and the world knows.

Of course the scarf is for him.

. . . . .

In the days after, as the scarf grows longer, as the wind turns colder, as the moon fades to black and Jun disappears again, you think. Ponder. Try to confront the fear in your heart that sprang fully formed when you realized who the scarf was for, because as the woolen links drape across your lap and the cushions of the lobby armchair, you can’t shake the feeling that giving him this yellow scarf, this warmth woven of sunlight reflecting off of sparkling snow feels…final, almost. Like something ends with the tying of the last knot, something you’re not ready to give up just yet.

Jun is ready. You know that, and it hurts and terrifies you. Because he must have suffered—must have gone from home to home, begging, pleading for someone to recognize the lonely spirit he was, and found nothing but a frosty chill instead—but he found the strength to continue. And eventually, he found you, who would love him. Who would cherish him. And somehow, that is enough for him—enough that he no longer feels lonely, even when he is away from you. Enough for him to pull away, because he knows this is not the plane on which he belongs, even though it is yours.

But you’re not ready. You still—you still need him. Need his warmth, need the moonlight reflectance of his smile to guide you through the day. Without him, how do you return to the emptiness of the inn where everyone leaves and no one stays, where the polished wooden floors and walls echo with the silence of your footsteps, memories haunting everywhere you look?

Deep inside, you know he cannot stay. That the spirit plane, however it may intersect with the mortal world, is separate from yours. And it makes you laugh, a little, when you remember how you felt you had learned Jun during the first year of his stay—because you will never know the moon. Will never understand his enigmatic smiles, never parse the way his fingers trace so cool and so warm against the skin of your cheek, never dissect how he can stand to be so selfless, returning to you from each of his trips home because he knows you cannot live without him.

—How do you continue, Jun? you force yourself to ask under a waning gibbous moon, three days after his last foray to a place he once called home. The autumn-fading-winter wind blows crisp through the air, ruffling Jun’s hair where he sits beside you in front of the inn, petting one of the stray cats that has settled on his lap. You trace the lines of the cracked stone on the ground, ripples of time rough and bitter beneath your fingertips, hoping he knows what you mean from the five brittle words you managed to speak.

(How do you move on? How do you make peace with the memories? How do you let go of the grief, how do you remember someone as who they were and forget about how they left you, forget how they will never be able to stay?)

He’s quiet for a moment. When he looks at you, you brace yourself.

—I cannot answer for you, he says, and your heart plummets. That is for you to find in yourself.

He takes your hand, though. Presses it between his own, and even through the despair closing up your throat, you find it in yourself to take comfort in his moonlit warmth.

—But I will tell you this, he says quietly. To me, to know that there is someone who I love, and who loves me—that is enough. Even if I am not with them. Because my home is in the memories we share.

His smile is blinding, bright as the moon and more. And through the gnarled desperation twisting in your heart, you allow a piece of that brightness to prick its way into the brambles.

. . . . .

Letting go, you decide, is an art. A painful art, disentangling the nettles from the brambled wall you’ve built around your heart to shield you from the pain of reminiscence, but an art all the same in the way you carefully examine each thorn, stinging your fingertips and palms as you pull the branches apart, pinpricks of blood scattering across the canvas of your pain, your grief, the loss you feel every time you look up at the dim sky and the empty rooms around you, your grandmother’s presence lingering in every corner and crevice.

Some days, when Jun is gone, you nearly give up. Nearly decide the thorns in your hands aren’t worth it, that the brambles prevent more pain than they bring, that letting go is an art you will never master—because you can’t, and you won’t. You can’t give up the only person, spirit, who’s brought you comfort in this time, you can’t willingly give up what you have now because you need him here or you’ll drown in the emptiness of these large, quiet rooms.

But that’s unfair. Because the moon doesn’t belong on earth, and the earth doesn’t belong on the moon. For all the semblance of home Jun has found with you, you are not the only home he carries with him. Where he lives—what he is—it’s not here. It’s not here, not in this old, empty inn, with you, because an inn is never a permanent home for anyone but the owner. For anyone else, it is rest, respite, temporary comfort. More temporary for some than others, but it is a place of letting go.

Nights pass. The scarf grows longer, the storage room cleaner. And though the pain of Jun’s absence still aches in your chest, the cool silver needles and the heavy window curtains begin to soothe more of the sting. When you look up at him on the days he is here, his own fingers gliding across old piano keys, you breathe, and you remember, and you let yourself into the thorns and nettles of memory once more. Because what is Jun’s home cannot be yours.

And so you will find your own, in a place where you once never felt lonely.

It’s slow work, slower than you would have liked. In what world does anyone not want to dash the pain away quickly, strip off the bandages in one fell swoop and find the skin and tissue already unscarred and whole beneath? But with every disappearance you’re running out of time so you work at the thorns, slowly and slowly and slowly, and as Jun’s enigmatic smile grows a little wider every time the scarf grows a little longer, as a hint of something soft begins to chase away the aching sympathy in his eyes when he looks at you under the faded night sky, you find in his smile a quiet balm for the pain in your fingers, in your palms, in your heart.

When you pull the final branches away, there are scars etched in your chest that will never fully heal, patterns of time to mimic the lines carved on your skin. Memories of thorns still prick your palms and something aches awful in your heart as you stare at the mess you have made of yourself in forcing memories out of their old home to avoid the pain you thought they would bring, but then you look at the moon as you tie off the final knot on the pale yellow woolen scarf and when you do he smiles back, something akin to pride, and maybe gratitude, in his eyes.

That night, after seeing Jun off to bed, you walk upstairs to the room where your grandmother stored her memories. The moon is almost full and its light shines bright, strong enough to just barely filter through the heavy curtains still draped across the glass.

Taking a deep breath, you take one curtain in each stinging, thorn-wounded hand. Push them aside. Let the moon’s smile bathe the room pale light.

No blood stains the fabric, even as your heart aches at the sight.

. . . . .

You give him the scarf the next day, a night where winter is stronger than fall, loop it around his neck when he leaves the piano to sit at your side. He played that piece again, the composer’s reminiscence of home, and its notes still linger in your ears as you settle the scarf at his throat.

Jun doesn’t react at first, only touches a finger to the wool, the color of the sun on the snow the day he first knocked on your door. It’s as though he knew it was made for him, even before you did. The way you knew his crescent smile, the wax and wane of the brightness in his eyes, the reflection of the sun off his skin, before he even arrived.

He stops you before you go to bed that night, puts a hand on your shoulder and gently turns you around. For a moment you only look at each other, candlelight reflecting off your faces, a glow that joins the pale moonlight pooling on the ground.

Thank you for the scarf, he says quietly, his fingers tangling with yours. His breath ghosts past your cheek, eyes crinkling at the corners into a soft, slow smile. And for letting me stay.

You go back to the storage room when he closes his door, sit on the moth-eaten armchair and stare out the window at the full, full moon. Sometime later the first snow begins to fall, floating pitter-patter against the glass, and, lulled by its soft rhythm, you allow yourself to sleep.

When morning comes with the shimmering sun on ice, Jun is gone.

This time, he doesn’t come back.

Reality seems to blur as the days go by, one without Jun, two without Jun, three, four, six, ten. Sometimes you sit in the inn’s empty lobby and squint at the grand piano still standing in the middle of the floor and for a moment, you can’t quite recall whether it’s always been there, or if it simply came into existence when Jun’s music followed him into your home. Everything feels dim, faded, like the shadow that had settled over the moon for so long, and sometimes you debate leaving. Leaving the inn and memories of a loving grandmother and laughing spirit that lie here, burying what you had with those you loved and running away from the remnants that chase you.

But where would you go? There’s nothing in the world you have except this inn and those memories, and for all remembering hurts, they were treasures. Treasures that sparkle with a happiness that hurts a little too much right now, but that you wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. Treasures that will be a balm, in time, to the scars they left behind.

Treasures that tell you, someday, you will have your home.

Sometimes, sitting at the old piano, you wonder if he was real. If he really existed, the spirit with cratered eyes and hair the color of the sun on icy snow. But it doesn’t matter, really. Because you remember him—the sleepy eyes, the wide smile, the soft voice that waltzed with long fingers across ivory keys and spun music to life, tapestries of notes that settled gentle, ephemeral in the night air before a single breath blew them away. You remember him, and you remember an album of pastel memories and watercolor laughs, pages left to dry under winter sunshine, the color of a pale yellow scarf that a laughing man wears around his neck, its ends fluttering in the breeze.

An album leaf. A page of memory. Loved in the moment that it was there, and someday, later on, turned over and smoothed with care. Remembered.

And when you look out of the window at the full moon glowing brightly in the sky, you know the memory will be treasured, too.

One evening, when the seasons have passed and winter has come to your inn once more, you sift through the music you had unearthed from that trunk so many months ago, the music now stacked around the piano in haphazard piles. You pull a single yellow sheet from the depths. The few guests who have settled at your inn since its opening retired to bed hours ago, leaving you alone to sit on a restored armchair pulled out of storage and trace black notes printed on old, crinkled paper, letting their melodies shiver through your skin, your ears, your memory.

That night, you take a walk along the streets of the town. Lamps light the way, but you follow the path of the full moon on powdered snow, not a single shadow draped across its cratered surface. There’s music in the wind and you walk with it, fingers tapping where they rest in the pockets of your coat.

A flash of movement catches your eye. You turn and there’s a little cat slinking through the powdery white streets, moonlight glinting off its smooth, pale fur. It looks at you, and you look at it, and then you crouch down and extend a hand as it shyly pads closer through the snow.

You smile, remembering a shy man twisting his fingers at your door. Hair blond, not white, but gentle and sweet just like this creature cautiously butting its head against your palm.

—Hello there, you murmur. The moon looks lovely tonight, doesn’t it?

The cat purrs, like it agrees. Like it also knows the man you knew, and knows that he is where he needs to be, like you.

Smiling softly, you glance up at the moon and its reflective glow. It seems to brighten as you stare at it, moonlight pooling softly on the glittering snow.

The cat purrs again and you turn back, soft with the moon and the memories. Sweet laughter, dark eyes. A crescent bright smile, an album leaf.

A gentle melody humming through the air, and a yellow scarf rippling in the wind.

Reblogs and comments are deeply appreciated! Hope you enjoyed this, and have a lovely day :)

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saphirered · 3 months

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Dancing Legends

I seem to have misplaced some of the requests (or tumblr has eaten them) but here's Full Moon and Witches from my prompt requests! Let's dabble into some Illyrian legends and longing. 😘

Last light approaches. The solstice is approaching and first festivities have started, the preparations sparking that excitement. Nevertheless the people of Velaris make haste. These are the last days of darkness growing ever darker. The longest night approaches and that alone is reason enough to celebrate. Many tales surround the solstices, the darkest days too. Parents tell their children about kindred spirits in the night when nightmares haunt them as often as they share the legends of monsters lurking in the shadows. Not all that looms in the shadows is good-willed. Over the centuries many of these monsters were given names and faces in the horrors Prythian endured. Some still haunt the dreams of those who endured.

Azriel. Another name whispered in these stories. Another demon in the shadows, and one who has snatched away many a victim never to be seen again. Azriel, not but a visage through shadowy tendrils, the glow of a sharp weapon reflecting in eyes so wicked, they promise death. The tales have certainly grown, the perspectives too. Rarely is he deemed the hero of these grand tales but if anything it’s become amusing. The opinions of others matter little to him and as long as he has a reputation to keep so he shall. Only those close to him will hold the light to his face and see his truth. Those are the people he loves and cares about. They see kindness in the flicker of light. They see the blue glow in the darkness illuminate a soft half-smile and unquestionable affection. He will let them lead the path through darkness lantern in hand and know they have nothing to fear, even when the shadows dance and whisper around them. One such lantern-bearer follows a different path cast in silver light of moon and stars.

Azriel didn’t mean to follow you. He wasn’t. Not really. You’re just very quick and it’s very busy and far away when his shadows sung so sweetly of your presence but a few streets down. They’d taken to that in the past months; always notifying him when you were close. They like you, almost as much as he likes you, almost as much as you like him. Cauldron… when you told him of your affections he might as well have been swallowed by the darkness but you found your way to him. Since that confession on your midnight walk across the Sidra, things have been good. A graze here, a longing look there, a couple of kisses too but as life does, he was whisked away longing for your presence, your touch, your very soul every passing second, it made it all so much more difficult. Not that he’s used to doing things the easy way anyway. When he saw you across the street finally, basket in arm, talking to people, moving from market stand to shop. He draws nearer still weaving through at a leisurely pace, simply to absorb your grace, the way you go about your day without a worry in the world. Finally the crowd recedes and he’s able to catch up.

“Took you long enough.” You say to the air. Azriel is confused. You seem to be talking as if someone walks next to you but there’s no one there. No one but him. His shadows sing such lovely songs; of your glee, the way you raise an eyebrow and turn on your heels. When you face him he notices one resting in your palm. The tiniest sliver of shadow, coiling and dancing with joy. Traitors. Azriel bites the inside of his cheek for a second; a poor attempt to control those micro expressions you’ve caught onto.

“They like you. I don’t blame them.” The way your smile shines like a thousands stars and beckons him closer, he but follows along these urges coming to cup your palm. Your skin is cold to the touch but you don’t seem bothered as you subconsciously lean closer, your shoulders slackening just a little. You make it seem so easy. Even more so when you stand on your tiptoes and press your lips to his cheek ever so gently.

“Regardless, I hope my wandering doesn’t keep you from whatever you were doing.” Completely unbothered you loop your arm through his. The sliver of shadow joins the others happily now you’re close to him, to them. They trail alongas much to you as they do to him. Whatever he was doing seems so insignificant now he’s here with you. You have taken up every single thought passing through his head. The full moon is your guide and had Azriel not been so honed in he might as well have lost track where or when he was. At least he’s aware enough you’re taking him to the shores. The breeze tells him so because it tussles your hair ever so lightly like only an ocean breeze can. He should be thanking the sprites of nature for this gift.

“I think you care as little about my previous destination as I do.” There’s a smugness in his voice, one you’ve learned to chalk up to him being a know-it-all, when he knows he’s right. He is right. You won’t deny it. While you would love to hear him talk about his day, you care very little about what you’re keeping him from if it means he’ll remain at your side a moment longer. Azriel had been whisked away from you for far too long already. If it truly was urgent he would have said so. Perhaps that makes you selfish. If it does so be it because if it means he remains at your side willingly, if he chooses you, who are you to deny the both of you?

“Perhaps so but that does not make it less polite to ask.” You all but scold him. While your voice reads offended, your eyes gleam with playfulness; the shine in them, the lines at the corners growing more prominent all a sign of your amusement.

“Manners and niceties are not my strong suit.” You scoff at his retort and quickly cover your lips to hide your smile.

Azriel gently stops and you follow suit, looking up at him when he takes that hand from your face and reveals your lovely lips. First he kisses your knuckles; not but a graze. You let out a soft breath, a gasp if he dares assume. That’s when he steps in closer, fingers dance across your cheek and as if clockwork you tilt your head lean up and press your lips to his. A sweet kiss. And another follows. When Azriel pulls away and sees the look in your eyes he knows he would never refuse you anything. He will certainly not refuse you this. His hand settles on the small of your back pulling you to his body, the other tangles into your hair and when you look at him the way you do he leans in again, this time revealing what he had kept under lock and key: the true desperation of his longing for you. You deepen the kiss, fingers dancing across his shoulder, settling on the base of his neck, playing with the hairs at the back of his head and moving up, trapping him within your loving.

But all good things have to come to an end. A clearing throat not too far away makes you pull away. He would have preferred to ignore it, to abuse that dark reputation just enough to spark hesitance upon approach but it’s too late. You mutter an apology, lace your fingers with his, pick up the basket you must have dropped he knows not when and pull him along the streets closer towards the shore.

“You and your manners.” He laughs. “So where are we going?”

“We are going to the shore because it’s nice and quiet- don’t look at me like that-“ You once more scold him but stop, placing your palm flat against his chest. “You’ll have to be more patient.”

“If that is your promise I’ll do as you say.” He goes to lean in but your palm keeps him just out of reach. You don’t have to say the words because they practically echo through his head; desperate much? The answer is yes. You quicken your step and thus he has his answer too.

You know how to pick your spot. It’s a climb down some rocks and while you could have asked Azriel to fly the both of you to stable grounds, you choose not to. Be it stubbornness or simply the look in his eyes whenever he sees you step from one jagged rock to the next, basket in hand and balancing with the other. You’re no trained warrior from the Illyrian mountains battle worn to keep your step and while he is sure he could catch you, is always close enough, there is this fragment of doubt. What if you hurt yourself? What if he’s not quick enough? What if he fails? Doubt flashes through his eyes but then he sees your smile and knows; you’re safe with him. He is safe with you here on your way to the waves at night. The crashing, push and pull of the water echoes through his mind as it does through the sand banks and hollows between stone. You’d once called it the song of nature; beckoning as it is dangerous. You compared it to him jokingly, claiming his song very much similar to this one.

Once your feet touch the final edge of the rocks, where the sand blends in and the shallows meet, you take of your shoes, set them besides your basket on an elevated level. You without much of a splash or complaint about the frigid cold step into the ankle deep water. You suck in a breath, casting your gaze to the sky. You’re divinity embodied, the radiant moonlight telling the story of your beauty, your grace. Had Azriel not the restraint he had he might as well have fallen onto his knees in front of you ready to worship your very being, your every whim and whine and want. You have truly enthralled him. Then your gaze casts to him and he is frozen until you stretch your fingers towards him. An offer to join. Slowly he follows suit. You watch his every move with inquisitive eyes as much as he did you before.

“There’s stories you know, about witches of old dancing in the shallows of rivers and oceans. They asked for favourable tidings, for the waves and tides to wash away all that stains and settles rot within the soul. They ask the stars to light when they see the paths no more. It’s said they danced to a song none but them could hear under the last full moon of the year.” You explain as Azriel unlaces his boots, sets them aside next to your basket. You have to hide your amusement when he was none too prepared for the freezing water. He steps closer to you until you lace your fingers with his, letting the others brush along the line of his shoulders. Your warmth is inviting as ever and the desire to be close to you grows ever stronger.

“Stories of witches. Tall tales and superstitions to keep Illyrian warriors in line.” The beat of his heart echoes like the strings of a waltz or perhaps it is your heartbeat. Azriel grew up with the stories too. He’s not one to settle for tall tales as truth but he knows every myth and legend holds some grain of truth. You’re no witch though. You are not a thief in the night to steal the newborns and use their bones for your dark machinations. You’re simply just you; perfect and glowing and beautiful. You’re enchanting in your own way and might as well lure him to his death. He would not question it. Perhaps you are the witches from the fairytales after all.

“I never took you for the superstitious type. If these dark magics frighten you so, feel free to abandon me here and I shall see to my grand witchcraft myself.” You jest and turn on your heels, taking a stride away from him but by your interlocked hands you are spun further and back into Azriel’s embrace, your entwined hands between the two of you, his free hand settling upon your hip softly tracing the curve. While the move was a surprise and left you to catch your breath eyes wide, you recover quickly. You curve your spine to look up at him with defiance.

“Send me away and I’ll leave you here. Say the word and I’ll be gone.” His lips are awfully close to yours. You can feel the breath of his every word on yours like a breath of life itself. He dips, your cheek to his barely grazing as he whispers. “Answer me.”

Shivers run down your spine. You know he can feel it too. Your fingers slide up the side of his neck until they lace into his hair grasp tightening just enough to make him aware, and then you pull. He catches his breath as you force him to look upon you. Your lips part and so do his. That beat grows louder. You hear it too because when you step back he steps with, if not forced by that very beat, then by your hold on him. Another step and another, bare feet moving through the water with the push and pull of the waves. It matters not if he knows the dance. You do and whatever pulling force that guides him keeps you close to him. Your grasp on his hair loosens and you brush aside a stray lock from his face before you guide his lips closer to yours. So close yet not close enough. Each step that follows takes you just out of reach, but then finally with a twirl he pulls you back in. Finally your lips find his and you do not hold back. You welcome him fully. That dance continues interlocked, hands wandering, lips clashing, and tongues dancing that ancient waltz you’ve been waiting for for far too long. It is yours now.

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar azriel #azriel shadowsinger #azriel acotar #acotar #acotar fanfiction

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aka-indulgence · 10 months

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How would mc have met kraken sans? And what are the living arrangements considering she was taken from a village

It was a surprise for you, mostly. You were out fishing, not that far out from the shore. It usually doesn’t take too long to catch something, you’re not looking for tuna or anything. But for some reason you’ve caught nothing. You see movement in the water, but its too deep down to see what it is. Little did you know, what you saw was literally only the tip of a kraken’s tentacle…

He’s been watching for a while, fascinated by the tiny thing on the tiny boat.

When you pull in your line, disappointed that you didn’t catch anything, that’s when he comes out… skull first and slowly rising out of the water… you only notice when you hear water splashing behind you and a shadow’s looming over you. When you look behind he’s already at his sternum, smiling down at you.

He picks your boat up before you can try to get away, and he’s a little confused- why’s the cute little lady screaming? Your boat’s lifted off the sea, nestled in the coils of a tentacle. You try to jump out but he just catches you with his hand.

You struggle and shout thinking he’s gonna eat you, but when all he does is petting and coddling, you realize no… he’s actually just gently curious about you. You learn his name and even make very simple conversation where you get him to laugh. Eventually you convince him that you have to go home, the day’s getting late, maybe you can meet him again sometime…?

He lets you go without a fight, and you think that’s the end of it. A miraculous chance encounter with a kraken that was more “gentle giant” than “raging sea monster”.

… And then the next day you’re woken up by people screaming and yelling about the kraken’s come to claim our town WAAAAAAGH and you realized that might be your new friend making a surprise visit. Sure enough when you follow where the fishermen are running from, you come to the beach where you sea Sans (calmly) making a ruckus by picking up a fishing boat with people still on it, curiously looking through the window to those cowering on it.

“No- no, Sans please, put the boat down!!”

You didn’t expect it to actually work, because who can tell a kraken what to do? But he does put the boat down and turns his attention to you, casually beaching some boats in the process trying to get to you. You quickly made the (correct) assumption that he followed you under the water.

You decide to meet him regularly at the nearby cliff (not only does he block people’s boat, he also has to lay down on the beach just to make a close *approximation* of eye-level to you).

You certainly didn’t expect to befriend a kraken, who knew the sea monster of legends was actually so harmless? :D

#spoilers: *he’s not harmless*#kraken sans #ask #how to make friends with a kraken: just chill above him and let him quietly fall in love with you

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silvrash-797 · 3 months

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Thanks to @webhead3345 for the idea!

Echoes of the past (pt 1)

Febuwhump Day 4+7: Obedience/suffering in silence

Part 2

Read on ao3

The newly dubbed Legend sat at the edge of the camp, watching anyone with a knight’s title or wearing armor or chainmail warily. Warriors, Time, Wild, Sky, Twilight…over half the group, he couldn’t bring himself to trust them. Sure, the knights of his time weren’t actively chasing him anymore, but nothing could change the fact that they had, and now the sound of chainmail triggered about a dozen fight or flight responses.

Speaking of…Legend flinched as the Hero of Warriors approached, shoving the memories of rattling chainmail, gleaming weapons, I’m just a kid I didn’t do anything wrong I swear to the side.

“You okay, Legend?” Warriors asked, face apparently full of concern, though why a knight would be concerned for him he couldn’t fathom.

“Fine,” he muttered, trying not to curl into himself. Make yourself small, hide, they’ll go away pounded through his head, but he was the Hero of Legend, the Veteran of the hero business (an average nobody, his little rabbit-heart whispered traitorously). He’d been at this for nearly a decade so why is this still an issue? Stand up straight, face your fears, they’re heroes just like you. Don’t let them know you’re suffering, you’ll never hear the end of it.

The knight touched his shoulder and Legend jerked back violently, subduing a hiss at the last moment.

Warriors froze, hand half extended. “Vet, are you sure you’re okay –”

“I said I’m fine, Captain,” Legend sneered, putting as much acid in his voice as he could manage. “I just don’t like being touched, okay?”

Warriors withdrew his hands, raising them placatingly. “Okay, Vet. I understand,” he gave a charming smile. “I’m just trying to help us all come together better so we can take on whatever called us here.”

Warriors tilted his head, eyes suddenly filled with some emotion Legend couldn’t be bothered to place. “You’d…tell us, if something was wrong, right?”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever. Just leave me alone, okay?”

The Captain's eyes narrowed – was that sincere worry? – and he frowned a bit, but relented, turning and leaving Legend with his knight-free safety bubble at last.

-----

A few weeks later, Legend was sleeping peacefully when someone roughly shook his shoulder. He groaned, slitting his eyes just a bit to see who was bothering him in the middle of the night, it’s not even his night for watch, so why…

Firelight glinted off a metal pauldron; Legend's heart nearly stopped with fright.

The figure shook him again. “Vet, come on, we need to go!” The Captain’s voice was urgent but collected.

Legend shoved Warriors’ hand from his shoulder, groaning again as he sat up. “Captain, it is the middle of the goddess-forsaken night,” he snapped, “What in Din's name is so urgent it can’t wait for morning?!”

“Twilight just returned from patrol with Wolfie. They found a horde of infected monsters, moving this way fast. We’re splitting up camp to catch them in a pincer movement.”

Legend grumbled, but started gearing up. “Who's in which group?”

“I have the most experience with hordes like this, so I’ll be taking a small group to deal the worst of the damage to the monsters,” Wars explained. “You have the most versatile arsenal while Sky's our best swordsman, so you two will be with me. Time and Twilight will help coordinate the others.”

Legend froze in the act of adjusting his belt, blood rushing from his head and fingers turning numb. Me. Alone with knights that I still don’t trust. Against a horde of infected monsters? The mere thought filled him with such panic he was afraid he’d faint.

Legend forced himself to move again, attempting to wrangle his nerves into submission, pushing past the knot in his throat to plead for a different arrangement. “Rulie has just as much versatility with his magic as I do with my items – why don’t I go with the others and you take him instead?”

The only knight in the other group was Wild, and he didn’t remember much about it. He could work past his fear of Time's armor and Twilight’s chainmail if it meant fewer trained knights to keep an eye on.

Warriors shook his head, and Legend’s hope fell. “He needs to stay with the others in case one of them gets hurt. They don’t have as much experience with large groups of monsters as we do; it has to be the three of us.”

Warriors stood, and the percussive rattling of his armor set Legend’s nerves on fire. “Let’s go,” he was using his Captain voice, the one that brooked no argument and all but demanded total obedience.

Legend hated that voice.

Resigned to his fate, Legend shoved his fears into a box deep in the confines of his mind before following Warriors and Sky into battle.

#SilvrAsh writes #febuwhump #day 4 #day 7 #linked universe #linkeduniverse #lu legend #lu warriors #tw panic mention #gotta love diving into the alttp soldier angst #especially since that the game I'm currently playing #that little rattle that sounds when the soldiers notice link scares me every time #now Legend gets to feel that same fear ;)#will be continued on day 6

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blue-bujo · 4 months

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Bowled Over (Roy Kent x Reader): Chapter Eight

You work at a bowling alley and a young girl named Phoebe has a birthday party there. You catch her uncle's eye.

Roy Kent x female reader

Will try to update roughly every two weeks

Chapter Eight: Roy Kent, Baby Whisperer

(7.2k words)

Warnings: Roy Kent-level language (you know what you're in for), insecurity, mentions of sex, tooth-rotting fluff

Summary: Roy takes a big step and asks you to come to a team dinner at Ola’s, where you get to properly meet the greyhounds and their families.

Author's note: Buckle in for a long one! This is to tide you over, because I probably won't be posting a new chapter in January; we've got family birthdays three out of the four weekends, so I don't want to stress about getting something out in time. Happy New Year, and I'll see you with a new chapter in a month!

You had great fun driving Roy’s SUV for the next few weeks. It was large and expensive, so people tended to give it a wide berth. And since you didn’t have to walk to work, you were getting to sleep a bit later, which was doing wonders for you.

It was amazing that Roy let you use the Beast without any hesitation, that he trusted you that much. That he wanted to spend time with you, and keep you around, and know you deeper. Things were going very well between the two of you.

Lettie was completely invested. She wanted to know every single detail, and had done her homework on Roy once you’d revealed that he was a public figure. She’d questioned every single text and phone call that made you smile during a shift, demanding to know exactly how Roy was treating you right. You’d even caught her telling the other members of staff that you were dating “a football legend.”

Roy had gotten a kick out of that when you’d told him one date night. It was at your favorite restaurant, a little hole-in-the-wall Italian place where he was unlikely to be spotted by paparazzi. Rumors were starting to swirl that he had a “mystery girl,” which both thrilled and terrified you, but thankfully no pictures had been sneakily snapped. Yet. You were still able to enjoy your anonymity, laughing and twirling pasta with the man you’d been lucky enough to meet while you worked his niece’s birthday party.

“So let me understand this, she tried to tell Snack Bar James that he’d forever missed out on catching you because now your standards are too high for the likes of him?” Roy’s eyes were crinkled at the edges as he tried not to grin.

“Pretty much,” you laughed. “I think we were both relieved. Lettie’s been trying to set us up for the entire year he’s worked with us, but he’s obviously more interested in Ashley in the pro shop.”

“Still, that Lettie’s a fuckin’ savage,” said Roy, respect heavy in his gruff voice. Then he took a bite of his chicken parmesan and sighed happily, looking at you.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing. Just- this is nice. Us. I’ve been enjoying myself.”

“That’s good to know, considering we haven’t really done anything. What with your knee and everything.”

You both glanced down to the offending appendage in its articulating brace. Roy would hopefully get the okay from physio the following week to begin putting weight back onto it and using it more normally, but you were enjoying being the chauffer for now. It leant itself to quiet days in, calm conversations and movie nights snuggled on the couch, sometimes with Phoebe as well. It was hardly any different from your quiet existence before, except you weren’t lonely anymore.

“You’re kidding about doing nothing, right?” The man put down his fork and trained his gaze on you. It was one of the things about him that you loved best; he made sure that those around him felt seen. “This isn’t nothing, it’s fucking everything. I get to be a normal bloke with you, hearing the petty gossip of normal people. I haven’t had this in pretty much my entire adult life. I love this.”

He paused, his mouth open like he wanted to continue the thought. Like he might want to say that he loved you, but he didn’t say anything more. It disappointed you more than you expected; you realized that you maybe cared more deeply for him than you thought. Maybe you loved him.

A grunt jolted you out of your thoughts. Roy was looking at you tensely.

“I just fucked that up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

And it was you were confused by your own feelings, so it was okay that he was taking responsibility for acting on his. He reached for your hand and held it tight.

“I’m an idiot. I know. Can I make it up to you?”

Your attention piqued, you nodded. “Yes, you can. How are you making it up to me?”

You watched as he took a breath, sat up a little taller, and asked, “Come to a family dinner with me?”

“A family dinner?”

“Well, we call them family dinners. Sam started it. It’s really a team dinner.”

Up to now, Roy had kept his football life separate from his dating life. You were excited that he seemed ready for his circles to start converging.

“Are you really sure you want me to come?” you asked. “That’s a big step, Roy.”

“Yeah, I’m sure. The boys have a pool going on why my mood’s been so abnormal, and I’d love to prove them all wrong. They think it’s because I’m on painkillers or some shit.”

“Didn’t you tell them that you’re not taking anything stronger than Tylenol?”

“Of course I fucking did, but they didn’t believe me. What do you say? Want to help me prove them wrong?”

“I would love to help you prove them wrong, but only if I get a cut of the pool,” you giggled. “Considering I’m the cause of it, I deserve it.”

Roy rolled his eyes. “Fine, you get a cut of the winnings if you can convince any of those idiots to share with you. Happy?”

“Yes, very.”

“Fuckin’ right.”

The two of you smiled at each other over your pastas. You were happy, even more so that he wanted you to start meeting his team. He’d been very protective of them, and of you, and you suspected of himself in keeping his worlds apart. You could understand it; it was always more comfortable keeping things in their separate placed. But you were pretty excited that he deemed you worthy of introducing into another part of his life.

“What are team dinners like?” you inquired. Then you took a large bite of your dinner so he’d have to say more than two words.

“They’re fine,” grumbled the man in response. “Once a month we all go to Ola’s, and Sam has us try some new Nigerian dish he’s thinking about putting on the menu. Richard brings wine, because he’s fucking French, and the lads destroy a week’s worth of training with how much they eat. It’s nothing fancy. People bring dates if they’ve got any.”

“But not Roy Kent,” you pointed out. “The day he brings a date will be one for the books.”

“Hmm.”

If it was possible for a man to look nervous while eating chicken parm, Roy was doing it as he thought about bringing a girl to a team function. You smiled reassuringly at him and tapped his foot under the table with yours.

“It’ll be great. I’ve already met them anyway, so now it will just be a reintroduction, which is much less awkward,” you promised. “I’ve been meaning to catch Jamie for a few weeks now.”

“Why?”

“To thank him for chauffeuring you around on the days I work! He must really like you for him to do that, and I need to thank him for being good to you.”

Roy could obviously tell that you were trying to push his buttons, but took the bait all the same. “The only thing he is to me is a prick. Please don’t encourage him. He’s been trying to corner me in the car park for the past two weeks to see who’s been dropping me off. I’m trying to protect you from him for as long as possible.”

His logic made no sense. “By inviting me to meet him and the rest of your idiots?”

“Beat ‘em to the punch,” he said. “We do it on my terms instead of theirs, so I control the conversation. It’s tactics, just like on the pitch.”

You threw one last jab. “I thought Nate was the tactics man?”

Those expressive eyebrows scrunched down. “Fuck you, babe.”

You finished your meals, ordered dessert, and ended your date night. After dropping Roy off at his house, you went home to your flat. You fell asleep thinking about the team dinner, three nights away, and how lucky you felt to be getting more serious with the man who insisted he didn’t care about it but obviously wanted you to go with him. The man who wanted you.

The day of the team dinner, you pulled up to Nelson Road early. You and Roy had decided that it would be easier for both of you to be the first to the restaurant and have the attention spread out, rather than arrive together later and be bombarded by the entire team at once. You’d thought you’d timed it so that nobody would see you idling in the parking lot, but after a moment, you realized there was someone in the Aston Martin parked next to you.

It was Jamie Tartt, and he was sitting in the passenger seat of his own car waiting for you to notice him. Once you did, he hopped out and motioned for you to roll down the window.

“And what are you doin’ in Coach’s car?”

“Driving,” you quipped.

“Driving Coach’s car?” the man probed. “When Coach just so happens to have someone driving him around while his knee is unusable? And when there are rumors that he’s got a girl?”

You did your best to keep your face neutral. “I know, it’s quite a coincidence, but stranger things have happened. Coach Kent and I just happen to have the same taste in cars.”

It wasn’t a lie, just not wholly the truth. Now that you had driven the Beast for a while, you loved it. Jamie eyed you good naturedly and didn’t say anything else, content to lean in the window. You could see why Roy found him annoying at times, but also why he would probably die for him. His manner was so casual that he was completely disarming.

“What are you doing here, Jamie?” you questioned. “No one else is here, so training can’t be done yet.”

“Me? Nothin’. Just forgot me headband.”

Your eyes darted to the elastic currently holding back his floppy hair. Strands were flying away; it had obviously been there for a while. You raised an eyebrow to let him know you weren’t fooled by his lie.

He shrugged. “All right, you caught meh. I’ve been trying to catch Coach’s driver for weeks, but haven’t managed it until today. I was hoping the rumors were true about our old man finding a girlfriend, and I’m really glad it’s you.”

“Oh? Why?”

“Because it’s right, innit? He hasn’t looked at anybody the way he looked at you at the bowling alley. Not since Keeley, and that look was different.”

Keeley. The model, and previous girlfriend. You felt extremely insecure every time you thought about her with Roy, despite his insistence that you didn’t need to. “I don’t know about that. Keeley’s famous.”

With a scoff, Jamie challenged, “And do you think that matters to Granddad? He only does what he’s sure of. Anyways, he’ll be out soon, and I don’t want him to see me out here. I told him I were being sick so he wouldn’t ask any questions. Are you coming to family dinner tonight?”

Nodding, you replied, “Yes, but it’s a secret. You can’t tell the team. It’s going to be a surprise.”

“I won’t tell, swear down.” He started bouncing back and forth between both feet. “I better get back inside. I’ll see you tonight!”

“You sure will. Oh, and Jamie!” you called as he jogged away.

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for driving Roy on the days I can’t. We both appreciate it, even if he’s too tough to say anything.”

Jamie grew two inches taller under your praise. He pointed at you and smiled. “Oh, he definitely needs to keep you around. See yah, Splits!”

The young man bounced back into the stadium, leaving you to wait for Roy. You didn’t see the prick in Jamie the way Roy had described him to you, but then, you weren’t in charge of him. You supposed somebody that chipper could be a bit of a handful. But you were pleased; the first interaction with somebody know you were the girlfriend had gone well, and the information hadn’t even been a surprise. It boded well for tonight.

Roy was upstairs; you could hear the steady thumping of his crutches as he got ready for the dinner. He’d finally mastered navigating the stairs, thank goodness, so you didn’t feel the need to run back and forth grabbing clothes and toiletries for him. This gave you time to do your makeup. Admittedly, you didn’t need long, as you were pretty minimal when it came to painting your face, but you were nervous, and kept messing it up.

It wasn’t like you hadn’t met the team before, and your conversation with Jamie had gone well earlier today, but tonight was your public debut as Roy Kent’s girlfriend. After tonight, there was no going back. There would probably even be press hiding somewhere, waiting to be the first to confirm the news that Roy was seeing somebody new.

“What’re you doing? You’re staring into space?”

Roy’s gruff voice startled you, and you almost stabbed yourself with your mascara wand. You hadn’t heard him come downstairs, but his reflection in the mirror was leaning on the doorframe, like he’d been watching you for a little bit, his face soft.

“You are so quiet when you want to be, it’s scary,” you scolded, turning to face him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry. I don’t mean to be scary; it just happens.” He looked at you, a small smile curving his lips. “You look great.”

With a scoff, you told him “I look okay at best. I’m not done yet.”

Roy stepped closer and looked you up and down carefully. “No, you look done and you look incredible. Don’t change one thing. What the fuck has you so freaked out?”

“After tonight, there’s no hiding,” you said in a small voice. “If I make a bad first impression, or a photographer gets a picture of me mid-sneeze, or choking on my food or something, that’s it. I will forever be the idiot that you took pity on.”

“No, you’ll be the young and beautiful date of a washed-up old has-been.” Roy kissed the top of your head. “The team will go easy on you. Its me they’ll be fucking with.”

You looked up at him, hovering above your hair. “Do you promise?”

“I promise. Now finish up, so we can get going. I want to beat everyone there.”

“Okay. I’ll be out in a minute,” you said, turning back to the bathroom mirror. Roy’s reflection swung away on its crutches, and you quickly put on the rest of your mascara before pulling the green sweater over your head and doing your hair. When you walked into the living room a few minutes later, Roy was gazing up at you with the look that Phoebe called his heart eyes.

“Is that the same jumper you wore on our first date?” he asked.

“Yeah. I remember you liked it, but I don’t have to wear it if it’s not right.”

“It’s perfect,” said Roy fondly. “They’ll all love you.”

You both walked to the car, and Roy put on his cheesy pump-up playlist for you. It only got through a few songs before you arrived at Ola’s, but it had the desired effect, and you were less anxious about the impending ordeal.

Roy was looking around as you parked the Beast. “I don’t see any of their cards,” he grunted. “Let’s get inside while we’re still in the fucking clear.” He reached toward you and squeezed your hand. “Ready?”

Squeezing back, you braced yourself and hopped out. Sam Obisanya’s restaurant, Ola’s, was a cute little corner unit deeper than it was wide. Airy curtains obscured most of the dining room from outside view, but you could see inside enough to know that you and Roy were the first ones there, as planned. Two people were bustling in the back when you opened the door for Roy, and while one ducked into the kitchen, the other approached.

“Coach!” called Sam, smiling widely. “Welcome! I’m so glad you could make it, although we’re not quite ready for everyone yet.”

Roy was obscuring you from Sam’s view while you followed him in. “Wanted to make sure that the close parking spots would be open, so we came early.” Your boyfriend stepped to the side as he said “we,” and pulled you to him.

Only for a moment, Sam faltered, then his eyes lit up as he recognized you, and realized the rumor about his coach was true.

“You’re the lady from the bowling alley!”

“Guity,” you chuckled, extending a hand to properly introduce yourself, but before you could do that, Sam took it in both of his and shook it warmly.

“I am so very glad that you are here, and that you are with Roy! What is your name?”

Roy introduced you before you could respond, and the sheer amount of pride in his voice made your heart melt a bit. He was acting like he didn’t deserve to be on your arm, not the other way around. And he was smiling, unashamedly.

“I am so glad to officially meet you,” beamed Sam, “and so glad that Coach gets to be with someone so lovely. I do hope that you enjoy yourself tonight.”

“I’m sure I will. Thank you, Sam. If the food is as good as the restaurant looks, I’m in for a treat.”

“Do you want to sit down, babe?” Roy gestured to a table in the corner, out of view of the door.

After a last smile at Sam, you joined Roy. He practically threw himself into a chair, and then carefully stretched his knee out onto one of the extra seats.

“That didn’t go so badly, as far as introductions go,” you told him.

The man grunted. “Sam is the golden child of the team. I wasn’t worried about him. It’s the other ones that’ll be idiots about it.”

The other ones showed up shortly thereafter. From your corner, you and Roy watched the team slowly trickle in. Coach Shelley and his fiancée were the earliest, and both lit up when their gazes settled on you. Jade planted herself next to you and told you how happy she was that there would be another girl there to talk to when Roy and Nate inevitably started talking tactics. You liked Jade; she could hold her own.

Some of the second team came in next. They all greeted you warmly, and heaped verbal abuse on Roy for taking so long to settle down. One of them, Paul, was the oldest on the team since Roy’s retirement, and promised you a few stories of their time playing together before his daughter pulled him away.

The defenders and midfielders arrived together, minus Jan Maas, who was apparently late to everything. Isaac McAdoo shook your hand seriously.

“He’s good to you, yeah?” he asked.

“Of course I’m fucking good to her!” Roy spluttered. “You’ve known me for years!”

“It’s always the ones you think you know,” Isaac said darkly. He looked you in the eye, still holding your hand. “If he ever stops being good to you, you call me and I’ll fuck him up for you. You’re at a family dinner, so you’re one of us now.”

“I’ll let you know if that ever happens,” you promised, trying your hardest not to laugh at how Roy was gripping one of his crutches like he was going to hit Isaac with it. The captain wisely moved out of reach before that could happen.

Most of the team didn’t seem all that surprised to see you. You saw a few bank notes changing hands throughout the course of the night, but everyone was more or less calm about you being there. Roy even halfway relaxed, until Jamie came in with Jan Maas in tow.

“The dinner can start now, ‘cos the party’s arrived!” he called as he came in, arms wide. “Splits! What are you doing here?”

Jamie was acting like your parking lot conversation had never happened. He plopped down next to Roy and stared at him cheekily. “Coach, I’m surprised at yah. Keeping a lovely lady all to yourself? Not cool.”

“And why should I have to share every fucking detail of my life with a prick like you? You’d only make a huge deal out of it and lord it over the whole team that you knew something about me that no one else did, and then no one would leave me the fuck alone.”

“Roy,” you interrupted, sensing that the rant would have been a long one, “Jamie already knows. He saw me driving your car when I came to pick you up.”

Eyes narrowing, Roy could only growl. You and Jamie grinned at each other.

“I think it’s great, man. You needed some happiness in your life, and she seems to be giving it to you. We all knew something was going right for you, and it definitely wasn’t your knee.”

Your boyfriend’s nostrils flared once, but then he looked at you and softened, just the slightest bit.

“All right, fair enough,” he admitted. “Life isn’t terrible right now, even with my shit knee.”

“She must be special, to make you that happy. You aren’t having any sex right now with your knee like that,” deadpanned Jan Maas.

There were shouts. Half the team jumped out of their chairs anticipating a fight. You reached out to grab Roy’s shoulder, as did Jamie, you noticed. Bad knee or not, you wouldn’t put it past Roy to lunge at the taller man after a comment like that. He had already grabbed one of his crutches and was brandishing it like a club.

Coach Shelley was talking the team, and the dutchman, down. “That was uncalled-for, even for you, Jan. There are ladies present.”

“You don’t need to worry about me, Coach. I can handle it,” Colin Hughes joked. It made everyone else relax, but Roy was still furious.

“I’ll kill him. I swear to God, I’ll fucking kill him.” His growl certainly sounded murderous. “Embarrassing you like that.”

“I’m not embarrassed,” you liked. “You told me he could be rude.”

Jamie shook his head disapprovingly. “Rude and Dutch. That was mental. He’s lucky our old man here is laid up.”

“I could still kick his ass, just let go of me!”

“How about some dinner?” Sam shouted over the din in his dining room. “Simi and I have some new dishes for you all to try.”

“Shouldn’t we wait for the Beards?” someone from second team asked.

“Who knows when they’ll show up?” someone else called sarcastically. “Queenie probably pitched another fir, and they’re never on time anyway.”

You looked to Roy. “Queenie?”

A growl; Roy seemed incapable of speech as he glared at Jan Maas. Jamie answered your question.

“Coach Beard’s daughter. They named her after the chess piece. Poor babeh hasn’t forgiven them for it. She’s always screaming.”

A few of the men loudly agreed that dinner should be served before Coach Beard and his family arrived so everyone else would be able to eat in peace. You weren’t sure that any team function could be considered “peaceful,” but agreed that dinner shouldn’t wait. Sam and his chef Simi – you couldn’t figure out whether they were dating or not – brought out countless platters of delicious food, and you all dug in. With every bite, you found yourself falling in love with Nigerian cuisine. Even Roy’s bad mood couldn’t stand up to it, and soon he was listening intently to the conversations around him, his hand on your knee under the table.

You quickly learned that not many people kept to one seat. Higgins and O’Brien found their way to your table to learn more about bowling from you, and you spent an enjoyable few minutes talking strategies, moreso for O’Brien’s benefit than Higgins’. The reserve keeper had enjoyed the team bowling night so much that he was considering joining a league. You would have been happy gushing about your sport all night, since everybody at work had already heard everything you had to say, and O’Brien was willing to listen. Higgins, too; you learned that he was registered for a tournament that you were also competing in at your alley, and he wanted to know which oil patterns were going to be laid. But your conversation was cut short when the door to the restaurant opened, and a screaming toddler was dragged in by her parents.

You recognized Coach Beard; he was often shown next to Roy during match broadcasts. The woman with him must be his wife Jane, who Roy had told you was slightly insane, but in a different way than Beard was. The two-year-old looked more like Jane, and was crying as only an unhappy toddler could. Half of the team looked sympathetically at Beard, Roy included, and the other half looked annoyed. Queenie didn’t seem to be popular.

She didn’t stop crying and whining. For twenty minutes, the Beards, and eventually everybody else, tried to cheer her up while they ate, but it was useless. People started scooping her up and passing her around, just trying to keep her occupied long enough for her to forget she was upset.

It didn’t work.

People were starting to get antsy, looking at the exit as if contemplating how quickly they could reach it. Wives and girlfriends were still trying to soothe Queenie, while Beard and Jane scarfed down a meal. Jade reached out for a turn, and put her purse in front of the girl to distract her. You would be the next victim if Jade couldn’t calm her down.

Unfortunately, digging through a purse wasn’t what Queenie wanted. She looked like she was gearing up for another fit. The adults at your table exchanged glances.

“Does anybody have a better idea?” challenged Jade.

You could only shrug. The only children you had in your life were the kids in the youth league, and they were older. Toddlers didn’t make any sense to you. Nate also seemed to be at a loss. After waiting a moment, Roy let out a sigh and rolled his eyes.

“All right, give her here,” he grumbled, holding out his hands. “Don’t any of you know any kids? Fucking amateurs, all of you.”

Once he had Queenie, Roy stood her up in his lap, holding her up by her hands. They looked at each other seriously, as if acknowledging each other’s existence. Roy did the same thing with you, you realized; every time he spent time with you, he ignored his surroundings to focus on you. Then Roy lowered her hands, and rather than stand on him, the toddler chose to snuggle up on him, her front pressed against his chest. He wrapped an arm around her and tucked his chin into her curls, which she’d wedged under his head.

Ola’s was silent. Mouths hung open in shock, eyes stared at the manager. He glared at everybody.

“What are you all staring at?”

“She stopped,” Beard said, awestruck. “She hasn’t stopped in days.”

“You’re the fuckin’ baby whisperer,” chuckled Jamie.

“You’re forgetting about Phoebe. She was small once. I learned with her.”

Roy was speaking to the room, but he was looking at Queenie burrowed into his chest. There was something so gentle in the way that he was with her; you hadn’t even seen it with Phoebe, maybe because she was older. It was like he was marveling at her, or in her willingness to trust him. Seeing this gruff man melt made you fall a little deeper for him.

The team was stunned at this peaceful side of their coach. Across the dining room, Beard and Jame were having a hushed conversation. Roy was choosing to ignore all of them; he was focusing on Queenie, who was starting to look like she was going to fall asleep as he rubber her back.

“Incredible,” Nate murmured. “I didn’t know you had this in you, Roy.”

“No reason to let it out at Nelson Road,” he grunted. “Now shut up. She’s not going to stay quiet if you idiots wake her up.”

Rather than say anything else, the assistant coach went to another table with Jade. Jamie followed suit, leaving you with Roy and Queenie.

“She really trusts you, Roy,” you observed quietly.

“Hmm.”

“Any reason why? Have you babysat her before?”

“No. I think she can tell that I’m just as scared of the world as she is, and she takes some comfort in that.”

“Roy Kent is scared? What does Roy Kent have to be scared of?”

Your boyfriend finally tore his eyes from Queenie to look at you.

“Roy Kent the footballer wasn’t scared of anything. But Just Roy… He’s effing terrified of life after football, and how great it’s turning out to be, and how much could be lost if he effs it up.”

It was startlingly honest. You’d never heard Roy that open before, even when it was just the two of you. Kids were apparently his weakness, which kind of made sense. He was fiercely protective and took care of everybody he cared about; children needed caring for more than adults did, so he probably felt even more himself while he had someone small to protect. Plus, he apparently related to how he thought kids viewed the world, which probably contributed even more to his being comfortable enough to share.

Your thoughts were moving too fast and with too much emotion for you to articulate anything, so you reached out to gently play with Queenie’s hair. Roy, his chin still in those curls, snuck a quick kiss onto your hand and smiled contentedly at you. It would have been a tender moment, had Jane and Coach Beard not chosen it as their moment to approach. Some of the usual grumpiness settled back onto your boyfriend’s face once he noticed them.

“Roy,” Jane began in what could only be described as a wheedling tone.

“What do you want?”

“We were hoping we could ask you to watch Queenie for a bit. You’re so good with her, and she’s been so difficult the past few weeks…”

Beard interrupted. “We’ve got to do some stuff around the apartment, and it will be a whole lot easier without a 25-month-old screaming the entire time.”

“It will only be about an hour,” continued Jane. “We’ll be quick.”

They looked pleadingly at Roy, who rolled his eyes. He didn’t have to think for long.

“Fine, but only because she’s effing asleep, and because I’m still injured, which are two very good reasons for me not to move.”

“Thanks, Roy,” said Beard. “We’ll be quick.”

“Effin’ hope so. If you’re not back in an hour, like you said, I won’t be doing the training reports for the rest of the month, you will. That’s my condition.”

“Deal.” Coach Beard took his wife’s hand. “We appreciate this, Roy.”

There was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “You’re wasting valuable time. Now scram.”

You heard something that could almost be a laugh come from Roy as he watched the could run off.

“What are you laughing about?”

“I just got out of a month’s worth of reports,” he chuckled smugly. “It’s a ten minute trip to their flat, if they run the whole way, and they won’t. They can’t keep their hands off each other.”

“So you just agreed to babysit a difficult toddler for who knows how long, just to get out of doing some paperwork, because you know your coworker would be distracted by his wife?”

“Pretty effing smart, right?”

Roy was quite pleased with himself. He even kept conversation up for a few minutes more than usual before he let it die, and by then, Sam and Simi were bringing out the next course. Yor table was given a wide berth – nobody wanted to risk waking Queenie – but you and Roy were fin with that, and enjoyed having a break from everyone’s attention.

Until Dani Rojas walked over.

“Hola, Roy! Have you seen Coach Beard?”

At this point, it had been well over an hour since he and Jane had left.

“No, they went home to get some things done without Queenie in the way.”

“Oh. So you are babysitting, yes?”

With a suspicious look at you, Roy answered, “Yeah. Why are you fu- effing asking?”

“No reason, really. Mostly, I wanted to tell you how good it is to see you and Señora Splits here together. You look like a real familia, sitting here with the little Queen.”

You felt some color rise to your cheeks, and saw how Roy shifted his weight uncomfortably. First Jan Maas bringing up the sex thing, and now Dani Rojas bringing up a family, kids! This team definitely wasn’t shy.

“Oh! I apologize, you just started dating. These topics are probably uncomfortable, yes?” Dani glanced between you and Roy apologetically, reacting to your reactions. “I’m sorry. Please, forgive me.”

“Dani,” growled your boyfriend as he put his hands over Queenie’s little ears, “fuck off. Now, please.”

The striker retreated back to his original seat, which left you and Roy alone again. You subconsciously started twisting a ring you always wore, your mind racing as you contemplated everything. Did you want kids? You’d never really had the urge, unlike the girls you’d grown up around, who’d had baby names picked out by the age of twelve. Nothing specifically bothered you about kids, but you’d never been in a hurry to have any. But seeing Roy in front of you, murmuring softly to Queenie…

Maybe, with the right person, domestic bliss wasn’t unattainable.

“What’re you thinking about? You’re doing your ring twisting thing.”

You weren’t ready to have this conversation yet. Not here, where a footballer could interrupt at any second. You chose to ask your own question instead.

“What were you saying to Queenie just now?”

“I was saying sorry for swearing, just in case she heard me tell Dani to eff off.” The corners of his mouth were threatening to turn upwards. “I’ve been trying so hard all night not to corrupt this baby the way I’ve corrupted Phoebe, but at some point, you have to say it.”

“I was wondering why you were censoring yourself,” you smiled. “It’s been strange.”

“Yeah. Not how I expected my night to go, but it’s been all right. My knee’s killing me from having this one in my lap all night, and I need to use the toilet, but other than that.”

“Where are the Beards? It’s been closer to two hours. You should try to get two month’s worth of reports out of it.”

The twinkle returned to Roy’s eyes as he realized the genius of your suggestion. Then he shifted Queenie higher, probably to relieve some pressure from his knee.

“Knowing those two, they’re probably all over each other. Hopefully not making another of these little gremlins, because they don’t give enough attention to the one they already have.”

“Do you think it’s an attention issue?” you asked. “She’s had attention all night.”

Before he answered you, Roy let out an aggravated sigh. “No, she’s been handled all night. None of that lot actually interacted with her, they just passed her around trying to distract her. Kids are people, too, you know. They want to feel included the same way adults do. Honestly, babe, you coach youth bowling, how do you not know this?”

“I guess I’m just good at seeing them in the context of bowling, where it’s my job to watch after them,” you mused. “But I may not be a natural like you.”

You expected the man to respond with something sarcastic, but he looked thoughtfully at Queenie once more. As did you. As much as you didn’t want to have the conversation here in the open, seeing him so comfortable with her felt like it might be a small glimpse at a future. The two of you hadn’t been together long – only six weeks – but it was serious, and future wasn’t out of the question for you.

Gradually, you felt Roy’s gaze on you. All harshness was dissolved from his face.

“I know you don’t want to talk about this in public, and I’m with you on that, but I want you to know… I don’t hate this. I think I’ve known since Phoebe was born, but I hadn’t really thought about it until my career went up in flames and I had to effing retire. I think I want a family to take care of. Kids. Or just one, I don’t know. But I need you to know that before we fu- effing go any further. We can talk about it later, when you’re ready. If you’re ready. You don’t have to be, and if it was too early to say, I’m really sorry. I can be –“

“Roy, stop.” His voice was getting high and strained, and he had yet to take a breath; you had to make him stop to breathe. “I think it may be something I want, too. It’s okay.”

And it was, you realized. The man in front of you, holding the toddler that wasn’t yours, could be something very serious. He’d taken a chance on you, somebody decidedly outside his world, and brought you in. He’d given you his trust and his weakness, and become a steward of yours. He was the baby whisperer. He could be the endgame.

It was all so simple. He could be it. And he seemed to think that you might be it, too.

“Oi, take Queenie for a second.” Always abrupt, Roy seemed to be switching topics. “I can’t stand it anymore; I have to get up before I piss myself, and before my good knee locks up.”

You held your hands out, and Roy passed you a drowsy toddler. You made sure to acknowledge her before she settled, as he had, and she didn’t fuss as she nestled into you, using one of your boobs as a pillow. Roy was already stumping away towards the back of the restaurant, and the team was busy passing around a dessert, so you were alone with your thoughts. It may have just been biology, or attraction, or the fact that sex had been reference more than once tonight, but cradling a sleepy little kid that had been handed off to you by the man you were currently seeing was doing something to your insides. A yearning was suddenly there. You could imagine a tiny, foul-mouthed menace running amuck.

Roy was it.

Roy was so distracted that he hadn’t noticed he was washing his hands with sanitizer until it found a paper cut. He swore and corrected his mistake, then looked his reflection dead in the eye in the mirror.

The man hadn’t seen himself wear this expression before. In the press, he’d always looked angry, all hard angles and glares. Having Queenie all night had melted it all away, and Just Roy, staring back at him looked… Fond? He wasn’t sure. It was something soft.

He reached for a paper towel to dry his hands, his mind spinning. Taking care of Queenie all night had ignited something warm in his chest, which felt suspiciously like his heart. But it wasn’t really about Queenie, was it?

No, it wasn’t. It was about the woman who’d been beside him, who hadn’t flinched through this whole night. And its many twists, turns, and blunt footballers. Splits had exuded grace all night, and he hadn’t consciously noticed until this moment how peaceful his normally-raging thoughts were whenever he was with her.

Just Roy was wearing heart eyes when he looked back in the mirror.

“Fuck. She’s the one.”

As he hobbled out of the toilets and back to the table, Roy knew with more certainty than he’d ever had in his life. He wanted to serve her, to protect her, to have her, to love her. For her to hold his kids as gently and tenderly as she was holding Queenie right now, who hadn’t even noticed the return of her parents.

Fuck being Roy Kent. He wanted to be Just Roy with her. Splits was it.

She smiled up at him when he got closer.

“Better?”

Why was she asking if he was better? Oh, right, his quick retreat to the toilets, which had been a bit of a lie because he’d needed to get his emotions in check more than he’d actually needed to go.

“Yeah, much better, thanks. How was Queenie?”

“An angel,” Splits answered. “You’re onto something with this whole acknowledgement thing. I was just telling the Beards.”

Jane was wearing an irritated expression, probably mad that other people were telling her how to manage her own child. Beard just looked thankful that said child wasn’t currently screaming. They both looked red and puffy around the mouth. Roy was pretty sure that they’d been making another fucking gremlin, and to his surprise, was insanely jealous.

Fuck, he was falling hard. It scared him how intensely sure he was that Splits was the one.

He had to get out. It was too much, being around his team, his family.

“Are you ready to go?” he questioned, more harshly than he’d meant to.

She shrugged. “Yeah, we can go. Is your knee bothering you?”

“Something like that. Beard, you were gone for two hours, not one, so I’m expecting two months of training reports.”

Coach Beard was nothing if not fair. As he took his daughter from Splits, he nodded stoically. “Fine. You held up your end.”

“Well said.”

Roy pulled out his girlfriend’s chair and turned for the exit. He’d wanted to sneak out, but the whole team saw them leaving and called out goodbyes. Sam, of course, thanked them for coming. Jamie, less predictably, shouted, “Good night, Kents!”

In his peripheral, the manager could see Splits was stifling a smile and waiting for his reaction. Roy didn’t correct Jamie, only flipped him off without turning around. He ushered his girl out of Ola’s to the Beast, then turned on one of his playlists. He texted his father as she drove them home.

Me: Need to talk. Call tomorrow?

Dad: About fucking time. Your mother’s upset you haven’t told us.

Me: ???

Dad: typing…

After a moment, his father sent a link to a post on The Sun’s social media. It was a photo, sniped through the window of the restaurant, of him in profile holding Queenie and kissing Splits’ hand as she played with the little girl’s hair. They’d been caught, but he fought down the anger rising in his throat. He typed out one last message.

Me: It’s new, but she’s fucking amazing. Do you still have Nan’s stuff?

With that, he closed his texts and pocketed his phone. He reached over for Splits’ hand, resting on the center console while she waited for the light to change, and took it.

It was missing a vital piece of jewelry. He needed to fix that.

Tag list: @preciousbabypeter @harry-bowie-mercury @amieinghigh @onceuponaoneshot @chewymoustachio @my-neurodivergent-world

#roy kent bowled over #roy kent #roy kent x reader #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #mutual pining #slowish burn #reader is a bowler #because I was a bowler #hence the terrible pun title #my writing #no editing we die like men

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luimagines · 2 years

Note

im not sure if requests are open still but if if it’s ok can i ask hyrule and/or legend comfort hc/scenario in response to normally chill, seemingly well adjusted reader panicking/going through a breakdown?

The last time I got an ask like this I went with Legend. So let's go with Hyrule this time! I hope that ok!

Masterlist

Content under the cut!

Hyrule had noticed something was wrong when there was a member not accounted for despite what everyone had said.

He had asked where you were but got the same response no matter who he asked.

“Where are they?” He said.

“We told you. they came in with us by the front door, took the right and went straight after that. We think they just went to their room. We have more important matters at the moment. At least they’re here.”

Hyrule tried to bite his tongue and not reply in the same tone. He was tired. They all were tired. Twilight had gotten hurt badly and his magic wasn’t helping. As much as he hated to admit it, he had to take a break or else he’d risk running too low. And he didn’t want to give the group more problems as it was.

He’d go back when he’d eaten and rested for an hour. It won’t be much but he can’t exactly afford to stop as it is.

That didn’t explain what was happening with you though. Why had no one bother to follow you?

He follows the vague directions given to him by the group member and sets off.

There’s no rooms down this hallway.

Where are you?

Hyrule calls your name and waits for a response. Maybe you left the inn? Would Wolfie- No. No, he can’t.

With a sigh, Hyrule calls your name again and keeps wandering through the inn. There’s a door that leads to the outside garden. An eating area when the inn serves breakfast on sunny days. He walks to it and instantly hears the tell tale sign of a verging panic attack.

His heart quickens the pace on instinct and he turns the corner.

You’re pacing back and forth, heaving with all your power but never seeming to draw enough breath.

Hyrule’s heart breaks. He didn’t even think you could get to this point. But everyone has their bad days... and this has been building for a while. “Hey..”

Your gaze snaps to him. Your eyes widen and you stop in your tracks. You gulp and shake your head. “H-h-he-...”

“You need to breathe.” Hyrule says quietly. “I’m coming closer, ok?”

You make a whining sound in your throat and fall to your knees.

Hyrule nearly rushes to catch you but he doesn’t want to make it worse with any sudden movements. He takes in a deep and calming breath. With his arms out, he slowly moves them up and down in the rhythmic timing of his breath.

It takes a few times but soon he can hear you forcibly try to follow him. You try to copy how long he breathes in, how long he holds it and how long he breathes out. It takes longer still for you to actually get it right and follow long. And it takes even longer for you to calm down.

Hyrule doesn’t know how long you’re both been there. All he knows it that the sun was still bright in the sky and when you’re calm enough to open your eyes and not choke on your own spit, the shadows have lengthened and the world has taken a blue tint.

He breathes one last time before letting his rest arms rest.

You’re still not ok. That much is obvious. It only takes him to open his eyes and see that you’re three seconds from bursting to tears.

He sighs. All that work.

He opens his arms to you and with only a moment hesitation, you put yourself there and make yourself comfortable before crying into his shoulder as hard as you can.

Hyrule doesn’t know what to say. He’s not necessarily good with words. But he holds you and combs through your hair and draws random patterns on your back and shoulders in what he hopes to be soothing motions.

You both sit there. No words are exchanged and there’s nothing more to acknowledge.

You calm down once more.

Hyrule stops what he was doing and looks down.

You’ve fallen asleep.

Hyrule smiles a bit, glad that you’ve found at least temporary peace. With some maneuvering on his part, he picks you up and goes back into the inn the long way. Once he reaches the front door and gets someone to open the door for him, he carries you off to your room- promising to explain the story to the boys later.

He’s lying. They left you like that. He’s not telling them anything.

He places you in the bed, moving the blankets down and tucking you inn.

With a kiss to your forehead, he sends off a bit of his magic hoping to calm you even in your dreams. After he pops his back and goes through a well deserved stretch, he turns around and dims the light in the room. He doesn’t turn it off all the way on the off chance you wake up suddenly. It would be better for you to recognize your surroundings faster instead of waking up to pitch blackness.

Hyrule closes the door and thinks.

This is hard on everyone. Twilight still needs help. You’re arguably the most collected out of everyone with probably the exception of Time. And yet you completely broke down.

He has to keep trying. He has to do better.

Hyrule nods to himself and moves away from the door.

Without talking to anyone else, he enters Twilight’s room and gets back to work.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #linked universe x reader #first for Hyrule woo!#this might have been more hurt no comfort #but I tried #^.^*#I hope this is ok

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jinmukangwrites · 1 year

Text

Choose Your Own Adventure: Linked Universe

Warnings for entire project: potential gore, injury, swearing, and character death (if you guys fail to keep someone alive).

Mechanics will be explained as we go, so no worries. For now, just read and vote 🩷

----

The forest teems with life, and not all of it is friendly.

Nine heroes, all of different shapes and sizes, travel through the thick forest, some more alert for dangers than others. Twilight, however, is one of the ones who does walk with an ear turned away from the familiar chatter between his companions and toward the shadows between the thick oak trunks; shadows that only grow darker with each passing minute as the sun sets over the distant hills.

They’ve gone too long now without something going wrong. Not a monster, not a storm, not a single obstacle in their way. Legend, of all people, even walks with a slight skip to his step. Twilight knows that can only mean one thing, that they’ve gone too long without a hick-up, and something big was destined to happen soon.

And if nothing does happen, well, Twilight will eat one of his boots; steel-toe and all.

“Lighten up, Rancher,” a voice suddenly piques up. Twilight blinks his gaze away from the forest to see Four, grinning up at him as they walk. “You’re strung tighter than one of Champion’s bows. And I know those are strung tight; probably too tight. I think that’s one of the reasons he keeps breaking the strings…”

“I’m not strung tight,” Twilight insists before sighing and looking back at the forest. He truly isn’t strung tight. He’s just keeping watch, and it would be helpful if anyone decided to help him. He’s being productive.

“Uh huh,” Four says, not sounding convinced at all. “You’re so focused on the forest, you didn’t hear me when I said your name the first three times.”

“You said my name three times?” Twilight blinks back down to Four, but the little hero smirks up at him.

“No. But the fact that you couldn’t tell if I lied right then kinda proves my point.”

“Oh fuck off,” Twilight says, but he can’t help a slight smile. “Someone’s gotta not let our guard down. We’ve been too long without something going wrong.”

“Oh things have gone wrong,” a new voice speaks up. Warriors inserts himself expertly into the conversation. He looks, quite frankly, upset.

“I said I was sorry,” Hyrule says, not looking very sorry for something at all. It’s then that Twilight notices Wild whistling happily with his hands behind his back. Both boys are smeared with damp dirt; perhaps from their new favorite game of catch the mud glob. Judging by the slight stain hastily half-hazardly hidden within the folds of Warriors’ scarf, one of the globs went off target.

“My week is ruined,” Warriors insists. “If this stains permanently I will have my revenge in blood.”

“No one is killing anyone,” Time shouts from the front of the group.

“I didn’t say I’d kill anyone,” Warriors grumbles, “just string up and skin alive.”

“Wonder what a skinned Traveler would look like,” Four says, looking too serious.

“Probably still more handsome than the Collector on his best days,” Warriors replies.

Hyrule hums in agreement, the little shit, while Legend sputters.

“Okay,” Twilight says. “I’m ignoring all of you now.”

“Who’s side are you even on, Rancher?” Hyrule demands. “You heard Captain, he wants to skin me!”

“Keep bugging me I’ll make rugs out of all of y'all.”

Wild snickers. “Y'all.”

Twilight glares at him and his smile widens.

Laughter breaks out in the group, and Twilight sighs. He can’t truly be angry with their good moods. There’s so much to be in good moods about. The sky is clear, the evening breeze is nice, birds sing in the distance, and there hasn’t been a single ambush in the past two days by any infected monsters. Perhaps he’s just getting antsy—perhaps his over-vigilance is unwarranted.

A snap in the woods proves that last sentiment wrong, however.

And perhaps, Twilight was wrong too to assume that none of the others has that budding worry that something bad is bound to happen. He’s not the only one to immediately pull out his sword.

He slowly takes a few steps forward, placing himself neatly between the source of the sound and the rest of the group.

“You think it’s just an animal?” Wild asks, stepping up besides Twilight, a worried crease to his brow and three arrows already loaded into a bow.

Behind them, the others stand with their guard up—even Wind, who was previously napping on the back of Sky, wields a sharp weapon and an even sharper glare into the forest.

"Are we ever that lucky?" Twilight asks.

Wild smiles, which helps a growing knot in Twilight's stomach loosen ever so slightly.

#linked universe #fanfiction #jin writes #choose your own adventure

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deathsmallcaps · 8 months

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Blue beetle spoilers. And spoilers for Macario (1960)

There’s plenty of articles out there already with this info but these are my thoughts.

Ok I just saw Blue Beetle and I’m in love with Xolo Maridueña!!! His character Jaime Reyes is so enthusiastic and loves his family and ultimately kind. And he has sweet eyes XD. It’s really cool he got the role because of his martial arts skills.

Harvey Guillén is in there! He plays another character with the same last name, de la Cruz, so maybe we can jokingly have crossovers in this universe with What we do in the Shadows. Blade (admittedly Marvel but still) is semi-canon already. (I didn’t catch the entirety of his real name sorry, just definitely the end.)(idk if Guillermo de la Cruz is his full name or if his name was shuffled around/inaccurately represented due to USian naming customs)

I loved George Lopez as Uncle Rudy. He rocks the kookiness!

Nana was hella cool. Between her implied revolutionary backstory (she hates Imperialists! The way she pulls out her braids when it’s time to attack makes me think that she was part of a pro-Mexico or maybe pro-Indigenous force back in the day) and Ignacio’s backstory (his mother, his only family, murdered in a ‘anti-communist’ attack in Guatemala, and then he was sent to ‘Escuela de las Americas’, a USA funded ‘school’ that basically churned out child soldiers and later adult destabilizers sent out to disrupt Latin America in the name of USian interests (its still in operation), and then he was experimented upon by the very people that ruined his life (a la the Tuskegee Airmen Experiment) really speaks to the racism and imperialism that affects the family in the movie and many people face today (preaching to the choir I know). The fight ain’t over.

(First link is in spanish, second link is the English Wikipedia page)

I appreciate that a good half of Jaime’s family were not in the US legally. The constant terror and unwillingness to seek help for fear of attention was quite palpable, and I think really adds to the idea that superheroes are supposed to make sure ALL people live safely and happily - legality should not contradict human rights. And hell, even though they were in the USA, their home was still threatened - by gentrification!

The poor Dad’s death is sadly not an uncommon phenomenon. Many immigrants, but especially undocumented ones, work themselves to the bone, both physically and emotionally. Poverty and instability kill more than any capitalist would ever like to acknowledge. And yet Alberto still found it in his heart to be kind whenever possible. I really respect that. And I think his kindness inspired Rocio (the mom, who is totally cool) and Milagro (sister) to keep on after his death.

The body horror aspects were interesting, for both Jaime and Ignacio Caripax. I hope they lean into that in later works.

But what really caught my eye was the cave of candles that appeared twice in the story. There’s a European story, Godfather Death, about a godchild of the personification of death who gets given the power to heal, and ultimately (in some people’s views) wastes it in greed and/or love. He gets to watch his life, represented as a candle, blow out. However, in Spanish, death is a feminine concept, and so Death is a godmother in that situation. Godmother Death* is thus a common story in Latin America too, but especially in Mexico and Guatemala, where Maya beliefs mixed with Catholic ones.

It turns out, the creators wanted to bring in some Latine magical realism and reference the classic Mexican film, **Macario, which is based on a novel based on a local legend that was likely based on La Madrina Muerte. I’ve ordered the book, lol, and will watch the movie soon. I’m quite excited to see it.

I found it quite interesting that Jaime’s acceptance of Khaji Da and the Macario/Madrina Muerte scene happened really close to each other. In a way, he chose compromise to continue with life, as opposed to Macario’s/the Godson’s stubbornness which lead to their deaths. His willingness to work with Khaji Da (scarabs are symbols of rebirth btw) shows a willingness to work with his place in the life and death cycle, and the Madrina Muerte themes showcase his interest in alleviating suffering***.

In any case, if you have money for a ticket, I highly suggest going to see Blue Beetle! It’s totally worth it.

*La Madrina Muerte, in Spanish. I’ve been somewhat obsessed with it since I was a preteen, as I came across the Spanish version translated to English first. My tumblr name is *somewhat* related lol.

I was somewhat inspired by La Calavera Catrina art, Santa Muerte and the Grim Reaper when I drew this.

**for some reason tumblr has decided that two links is quite enough for this post. Sometimes it just doesn’t let me add more links? Or copy/paste!!? Anyway if you’d like to read a more knowledgeable article about the relationship between the two films, look up ‘macario blue beetle’ & then an article by slashfilm will appear.

***In the legend, the godson is given a plant, a potion, or just the power to heal. But he must abide by Death’s position by the bed of the afflicted person. If death is at the foot of the bed, then they were meant to live, and he gets to take away their suffering and cure them entirely. But if Death stood by the head of the bed, then the person was meant to die soon, and so the Godson had to leave them be. In either case, Death prefers to end suffering - through complete healing or a cessation of life. However, Jaime makes sure (when he can) to help people live and be able to choose what to do with their life (like in the case of Ignacio). And Khaji Da respects that.

#blue beetle #blue beetle (2023)#Macario #Macario (1960)#dc #last thing: I like that thefilm shows collaboration between different Latine peoples in the face of cultural destruction & imperialism #(and intergenerational collaboration!)#Jaime (Mexican American and hasn’t ‘made it’) Harvey Guillen’s character (unspecified and some may say he ‘made it’ some May say he did not)#and Ignacio (Guatemalan and arguably same sitch as HG’s de la Cruz character)#ultimately work to undermine Victoria Kord and the OMAC weapons of destruction #sure Ignacio killed de la Cruz but ultimately he took down Victoria #you could also argue Jenny Kord (Brazilian & made it)#but I know its a somewhat contentious issue for both Brazilians and Spanish speaking peoples of the Americas as #to whether Brazilians are Latine or not

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depressedhatakekakashi · 1 year

Text

Kakashi Retsuden - Chapter Two

Nanara insisting that Kakashi go to the palace with him, as if Kakashi’s a giant guard dog he can’t leave without. I love this kid so much he’s so attached to his tutor.

Kakashi staying up late to read a book instead of getting the sleep that would be beneficial to him.

Kakashi has known this kid for two weeks and can already read him like an open book.

Nanara turning down the throne so he doesn’t end up cooped up in an office like his father is so sad but also so refreshing. He doesn’t hate his father but he doesn’t want to end up with the same life as him.

Nanara thinking of his father while he’s speaking to Kakashi. This man really does give off kind father vibes to all the kids huh?

Kakashi’s reading the book about him!? 😭😭😭

I’m going to fight this man. I’ll fight him and make him understand he is heroic and kind and worthy of every bit of respect that book and the people around him give him.

Awkward i’ll give him, but pathetic? Fists up boy i’m going to fight you

He still regrets not being able to save Obito 😭😭😭

Kakashi thinking about his father and just how human he was while legends ignored those aspects of him. Was his son the only person who saw Sakumo for who he really was? Did everyone else forget he was just as human as them?

‘He wasn’t even ten’ HE WAS BARLY FIVE WHEN HIS FATHER DIED!!!

Sakumo’s end was horrible and Little Kakashi was so very broken by it. I wish he could have had a different life, he did not deserve to be burying his father at such a young age.

‘His dad’s dead and the kid’s cool as can be. It’s a bit creepy’ i was going to fight kakashi, but now i’m going to fight this random POS instead 🤬🤬🤬

Hated Sakumo’s teammates already. Hate them even more now. What trash.

Minato catching Kakashi when he almost passed out was so cute and Kakashi pulling away from his kindness because all he has heard for days is cruelty and hatred. Ahhhh

‘With no one to blame for these feelings’ i want to plaster this everywhere. I need people to understand that one of the main reason’s Kakashi never lashed out is because he has no one to be angry too. There was no specific person to hate and instead he internalized it all and hated himself. I just want him to be ok.

Kakashi thinking about how Obito and Minato were the reason’s he could find pride in who his father was again. Them showing him that what his father did was right and that he deserved praise and kindness, not hatred and judgement.

Manari going quiet and having her face clous over when she hears the prime minister. This is not a girl who is chummy with her right hand. She hates being around this dude.

Nanara wanting Kakashi to accompany him to the noon lunch was so cute and sweet. He really just wants to feel safe and Kakashi gives him that sense of safety.

Kakashi being a little shit and making requests for his room acter the prime minister tried to say he couldn’t stay in the castle XD so cool and calm but such a devious shit.

The adults eating before even inviting Nanara into the lunch like a bunch of rude bastards.

‘Senior officials A,B, and C’ no names. They don’t deserve those XD

I hate that the prime minister looks down on Nanara and treats him like a child, but i love that Nanara stands up for himself and demands answers.

They’re going to attack the land of fire!? They have ZERO CHANCE

Kakashi was at a conference so the prime minister didn’t meet him XD bout to get that meeting soon and he won’t like it at all.

Nanara has heard Kakashi yalk about war and peace and it gives him a chance to truely understand what this pos prime minister is saying. I love that Kakashi prepared him for this conversation without knowing it was going to happen.

Fifty rouge shinobi ain’t enough at all. They must know this, they can’t be this stupid.

‘In a mere decade or two, the land of fire accomplished astonishing technological development. This is courtesy if the might of the sixth hokage’ NO! It’s courtesy of his kindness and intelligence! He didn’t force the land of fire to grow with brute strength because that doesn’t work!

‘The sleep chakra point that he learned from Iruka’ i love this for so many reasons. One: Iruka gets a cool mention and got to teach Kakashi something super useful. Two: the shippers potential to use this info for Kakairu is sweet three: Iruka teaching Kakashi something without Kakashi being treated like an idiot (like in fandom) is top tier good content.

He disguised himself as the maid! I love this man

Kakashi’s trying to get info about the Shuigu and the sage of the six paths. Instead hems getting gossip… about himself 😂😂😂 i adore the fact he can’t understand why people are so obsessed with him.

‘Is he married?’ Yes :) his husband is awesome (ignore the shipper brain shhh)

Kakashi ‘they’re asking about ke so my cover must be blown’ Hatake

Doesn’t even need to be told who the army is made up of XD he can tell just from their movement’s and i’m loving the display of his intelligence.

Play dumb get answers! Sure fire way to get what you want and i love when Kakashi uses it.

Kakashi changing his face last minute so the maid won’t get into trouble for being where she shouldn’t be. It’s such a sweet gesture he didn’t have to extend to a stranger but he did anyways because he cares.

Kakashi playing helpless maid to get info is so much fun to read about. He does this so well.

‘He was sure Sakura or Shikamaru would be able to decipher it’ two things. love his confidence in the kids. Delightful. He can’t be there to help but he’s confident they can do it in his absence.

Nanara going to Kakashi for Guidance after hearing the plans to attack the land of fire is so… ahhh, i love how attached he has gotten to Kakashi. he trusts him so much already.

Nanara giving the girl his father’s gem in hopes of helping her even just a little bit 😭😭😭

Kakashi may not have a lot of good things to think about himself, but at least he’s secure about his skills as a shinobi XD ‘instant death, i expect’ ‘for who?’ ‘The fifty nobodies’ he didn’t need to insult them like that but it was delightful.

‘A country developes faster and better by having friendly relationships instead of fighting over countries’

Kakashi’s hate of sweet things gives me so much life for no good reason, and his non-chelant attitude to ‘being in trouble’ is perfection

‘Did you

Put water in the cistern?’ ‘No sir i did not’ 😂😂😂

‘ Kakashi knew in his bones the weight of the recovered bodies of comrades-‘ ouch. OUCH!!!!

Kakashi pushing for change in Konoha so they’d never have to repeat the days of war, even though he got scolded for ‘insulting the old way of things’. I love this man and f*** the old way. He was right to change it.

I love that Kakashi mentions a future without a Hokage. Like, he’s not looking to the future thinking the role will always be necessary. Change is good in his mind and he’d be completely ok with the title of hokage disappearing and i love that for him.

Wanting to live a good life that his friends can be proud of killed me. It killed me with its sweetness T.T

Nanara wanting to help just one person with his father’s jewel and getting them hurt instead wounded my heart and i feel so bad for him when he realized what he’d done.

Final notes: i love that this chapter really delved into Kakashi’s skills as an undercover operative and his ability to get information any way he has to. I also adore the nodds to Obito, Minato, Iruka and Rin (though Rin certainly got ignored compared to the others, as always.

I also really enjoy seeing Kakashi’s skills in action. His medical ninjitsu which isn’t anywhere near shizune or sakura but is still helpful when someone is hurting. How soft and kind he is to other people, abd how he goes out of his way to help in any way that he can, even just by supplying water.

I adore how close Nanara has gotten to him and how much he clearly trusts him. It’s such a sweet bond and i want to see more of them. I wish Kakashi would be nicer to himself but i also understand how he feels. Seeing people celebrate you when you feel like nothing but a failure is hard.

I also really love how they highlighted his reign as Hokage and gave us a peek into all the things he did. How Kakashi pushed for change because he grew up in a broken system and realized it wasn’t working. I would call him the best Hokage because when he was given the opportunity to do better for his village he did. (tsunade is close second because she helped her village and kept it going in such hard times, and she simply didn’t have the time to make the changes kakashi had time to make (which is fair. She wanted to return to being retired and i support her in that decision)

#Hatake Kakashi #Kakashi Retsuden #Kakashi’s story #Taryn Reads Kakashi Retsuden

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darkx-the-dragon-kn1ght · 2 months

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Pokémon Reborn Screenshot Let's Play: Chapter 12

Hello again, everyone! Happy late Pokémon Day, Gen VI is getting the justice it deserves after all these years and I for one could not be happier! Funny, since my own Pokémon fangame idea has a focus on Gen VI, and now we’re getting a Legends game based in Kalos- but I’m not complaining.

So, yeah- if you saw my last update, I did a goof yet again, and am having to split these screenshots and such into two chapters instead of one. I hoped I would do a better job gauging length after the first Team Meteor thing at Mosswater, but I guess there’s only so much I can discern going into this game blind. Believe me, this just gives me even more work to do, heck-

Though, speaking of work- this part in particular did still take a bit longer to come out than intended, despite its length. Not only did I have two exams to prepare for last week, but I also caught a stomach bug that crippled my ability to work on anything for like 24 hours so that definitely didn’t help matters. Then then this week, I caught yet another bug (just some kinda flu-like thing), which didn’t completely destroy me, but it still slowed me down- heck, I was planning to have this part out yesterday, and you can see how that worked out. But I survived, and I’m back again, and so…here’s Chapter 12!

Without further further delay- we get into the recap! Not that a ton happened last time, but I still feel like a reminder would be beneficial:

Xera runs around Reborn City to catch some Pokémon, specifically Watcher the Sentret (later Furret) and Vigil the Patrat (later Watchog). These two are traded for Meteo the Castform and LaPointe the Nosepass, respectively.

After doing some corporate espionage, Xera is rewarded with Roi the Glameow.

Nothing happens involving a Tsareena.

Xera confronts the strange Day Care couple, only to discover said “couple” was actually a pair of Team Meteor Grunts in disguise, who kidnapped the real Day Care couple so they could steal Trainers’ Pokémon.

Xera engages the Grunts in battle, during which Glare evolves into Arbok. Xer and her team win, but the Grunts won’t tell her where the Day Care couple are or how to free them.

Xera finds the keys to some warehouses in Coral Ward; she unlocks one of them and finds the Day Care couple, allowing them to return home and restore their business’ reputation.

In a different warehouse, Xera finds and catches Leap the Spoink.

Xera visits the Sweet Kiss candy store to try their special challenge; upon winning the challenge, Xera is awarded Sucre the Swirlix.

Xera goes down into the Underground Railnet in an attempt to explore it (key word being attempt), during which she catches a soon-to-be-renamed Noibat.

The Egg Xera found in Obsidia Slums finally hatches, into a Ducklett that she names Lake.

Xera heads up to Onyx Ward for the first time; while wandering the streets, she encounters the man from Obsidia Ward and his Lillipup. Since the man cannot properly care for Lillipup anymore, he gives it to Xera; the Lillipup is named Radley.

Xera encounters a woman concerned about the issues with the Day Care couple in Obsidia Ward. Upon learning about what happened, the woman is so grateful for Xera’s intervention that she gives her another Egg, which has yet to hatch.

Xera finds herself in front of the Onyx Trainers’ School- one of the best, arguably the best Trainers’ school in the Reborn region, and where Xera is set to challenge Florinia.

And that’s the goal, here. We’ll sort out any other housekeeping things that weren’t finished last time, do some teambuilding, and then…we’ll see. We will certainly see what happens. Let’s go!

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

Part 8

Part 9

Part 10

Part 11

Part 12

#pokemon reborn #pokemon reborn spoilers #pokemon fan game #pokemon reborn screenshot let's play

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zhoras-bitch · 1 year

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My Playchoices MCs #4

It Lives is an amazing book and the MC is an absolute legend. I haven’t changes much about their looks, only removed the bangs and gave them a piercing. I have a ton of headcanons about them though so see the notes under the cut.

First | Previous | Next | All

I really hope I didn’t mess up with the name. From what I gathered, De is usually masculine, but I think it could work as a unisex name too. It’s supposed to be pronounced like Deh, but their non-Vietnamese friends call them Dee.

Her parents moved to the US from Vietnam when De was a baby. They work for some big humanitarian non-profit, and their job entails a lot of lengthy trips around the world. They are good people, but they kind of have their heads in the clouds a little. Like yeah, let's leave our underage kid alone in the country for weeks, she'll be fine.

Lucky for them, De is actually very well adjusted, although it might not seem like that from the outside. Best way to describe their routine is controlled chaos. You won’t catch them dead following any kind of daily schedules, and their friends give them shit for never eating 3 meals a day. But they not at all irresponsible, they just know what works for them, and they never cross the line.

Neurodivergent, it just makes so much sense in my head that they have ASD.

Loves really long hikes, would often just grab a tent and a sleeping bag and leave for the weekends. Bonus points if there is a cliff she can climb because she’s kind of an adrenaline junkie when it comes to sports. Her parents have no idea about these little adventures and they’d probably loose their mind if they did.

In school, they were the kind of student who mostly gets Cs, but then there are a few subjects they actually like, and they completely dominate those. In De’s case, those subjects were math and physics. Despite their shitty grades, they managed to brute force her way into a decent college. Plans to go into quantum physics. They actually have theories about how the power fits into it, but once they starts rambling about those, only Tom has any idea about wtf De’s saying. The two of them kind of geek out about it a little sometimes.

Came out as nonbinary after the events of the ILITW book (yeah, this is my explanation as to why she uses she/her pronouns in book 1). In their case, they don't really feel like any gender in particular, so they go by any pronouns. Mostly they/them among friends, except Andy who leans towards he/him and uses every chance to call De his bro/dude etc. (he's just really excited to have a trans friend, and De thinks it's cute).

They’re a very physical person. They like making stuff with their hands and they often show affection through touch.

De’s very protective of her friends. Her worst nightmare is being unable to help them. She’d rather spend 4 years trying to literally bring Noah back from the dead than admit that she can’t help him.

In my original playthrough, De’s love interest was Lucas and I still love him a lot, but ILW converted me into a Dan stan. So in my ‘canon’ ILITW playthrough De is single, and they only start dating Dan during the events of ILW. This pairing just makes so much sense to me, they are both sensitive, reliable and protective. Even the fact that it takes them years to get together seems very in character, they are both always too busy taking care of other people to fix their own lives.

#playchoices #choices edits #my edits #it lives in the woods #it lives #it lives anthology #it lives series #dan pierce #my choices mcs

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idlebeks · 1 year

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A Jumble of MDZS Fic Recs

I am on vacation, and I am so very bored. Relaxing is hard. So, have an incomplete list of my favorite MDZS fics from my AO3 bookmarks. These are almost entirely Wangxian, but there are a few other pairings and gen fics scattered in. I have made no effort to organize by theme or pairing, or anything else, so this runs the gamut from angst to crack. Check the tags for your own mental health. I may or may not do lists from other fandoms. I have five whole days of vacation left to burn after all.

murky waters by newamsterdam

Convinced Jiang Cheng and Wei WuXian will never reconcile of their own accord, Jin Ling takes matters into his own hands by trapping both of his uncles alone, together, without their cultivation.

please don't let me be misunderstood by sysrae

Lan Wangji has known Wei Ying for a fortnight, the first time he sees him get hit by a car.

I Started From the Bottom/And Now I’m Rich by x_los

Wen Qing traps Wei Wuxian in the Demon Slaughtering Cave, but Wei Wuxian isn’t interested in being the beneficiary of the Wen Remnants’ noble sacrifice. His efforts to free himself accidentally send him back to the beginning of the Sunshot Campaign. Coreless but armed with demonic cultivation, knowledge of the future and his wits, Wei Wuxian takes advantage of this opportunity to come out on top of both the war and its aftermath—before either has a chance to happen—by marrying and swiftly burying the cultivation world’s worst men.

the field meets the wood by astronicht

Wei Wuxian is a dark shadow in the barley. Wei Wuxian is sorry for the kind of compassion that he is about to hand out.

Drowning in the Sun by Zelos

He was vengeance, he was hatred. He was the last sons of Lotus Pier, combined.

A fill for a kinkmeme prompt: Golden Core transfer, but Jiang Cheng's aware.

Three kinds by apathyinreverie

“Let’s see them choke on their own demands of ‘respecting clan secrets’ for once,” Jiang Cheng grumbles darkly to himself.

Across from him, features still gaunt and hollow-eyed from three months of who-the-hell-knows-what, Wei Wuxian huffs a softly amused laugh.

A Long Road by Vathara

The diplomatic mission went fine, until the white horse yao kidnapped the necromancer's boyfriend.

(The Companion would like to object to yao.

(Lan Wangji objects to boyfriend.

(Wei Wuxian objects to... Fine, whatever. The locals have a word for the ghost path? Roll with it!

(Queen Selenay would just like to know when the gods will stop dumping legends on her doorstep.)

in the arms of the angel by ScarlettStorm

So there was this jar, and it had so much peanut butter still in it, and when his fox nose scented it and didn’t catch any poison or spoilage, what was he supposed to do? Not avail himself of this gift? No. He shoved his delicate little snout right in there and got to licking, but, you know… Elegantly. Definitely not snarfing and making horrible little fox sounds and rolling around on the ground while he went ham on the jar. Sure, he had to work a little bit to get at the last of it, but anything good is worth working for, right? So finally, triumphant, no longer starving, and maybe a little thirsty now from eating half a cup of peanut butter in about two minutes, he’d tried to remove his head from the jar.

Operative word tried.

Or: Wei Ying gets stuck. Lan Zhan helps.

refrain; a musical phrase repeating in a song or instrumental piece by Cerusee, Mikkeneko

Wei Wuxian attempts to Set Right What Once Went Wrong by sending his consciousness back in time; in true Wei Wuxian fashion his inventions work, but with some very unintended consequences.

By Any Other Name by ShanaStoryteller

Wei Wuxian wakes up in Mo Xuanyu's body and heads straight for Lotus Pier. Wu Yingtai is the newest member of the Jiang Clan and rumored to be the future wife of Jiang Wanyin.

Lan Wangji is not in love with her.

In Memoriam by NevillesGran

A young man walked out of the Burial Mounds. He seemed to be alone, but of course he wasn’t: the dead accompanied him. The dead always accompanied him.

(In which the spirits of the Burial Mounds demanded a higher price for their aid.)

Wei Wuxian's Second Best Lay by LemonCakeDesign

Wei Wuxian really has the worst luck.

In The Dark Right Now by phnelt

What used to be a wide open cave mouth, propped up with stalactites and mites, has collapsed, leaving a wall of uneven rock. Caving is always a danger, but they’d thought this cave was pretty safe for their study of bat behaviours. The colony living in it is stable, had been here for at least fifty years, and of course the cave has been here for millennia. Nothing going wrong for so long and then a bunch of rocks falling? It’s just his luck, really.

the stone-filled sea by yukla

He forgets how quickly Wei-qianbei changes faces, sometimes. Like pulling a theater mask over a bruise—color over color, a diversion with the swipe of his hand.

Lan Sizhui navigates a world that hates his father, one endless wave at a time.

10 RMB lucky chickens by Raitelzen

This was a love story between a pair of right cocks.

Not on Jiang Cheng's watch.

(The one where Jiang Cheng's a PhD chlamydia researcher; Lan Xichen's the NEET social recluse who moves in next door; and they come together because Jiang Cheng's pet chicken Wei Cluckxian won't stay out of Lan Xichen's chicken Wingji's coop).

Calling Heaven by mondengel

Lan Wangji had not wanted to come at all.

Wireless by mondengel

The Jiang Sect was famous for it's marvelous creations. Lan Wangji is just as enthralled as everyone else until he gets a closer look.

among the stars by plonk

Twelve takes on Wangxian in Firefly-flavored space western settings, plus one in our world.

Featuring: psychics, outlaws, Companions, two kidnappings, both of which end surprisingly well, a hot butch mechanic, a new god and his chief disciple, a couple of cowboys out on the range, and some present-day comic con dads.

The Long Way Home by tangelotime

For the longest time, anger was the strength Jiang Cheng used to stand up straight and face the world. He was sect leader. He had expectations to meet and obligations to fulfill. But when his grip on his anger begins to slip, he needs to find what else can hold him up.

The Piper of Yiling by theLoyalRoyalGuard

Thirteen years after the death of Yiling Laozu, a ghostly flute plays in the hills above Lanling, and those who are outside to hear it are never seen again.

Then the brightest disciples of the sects begin to disappear, and the whispers begin.

You took my son. Now I take yours...

Old Foreshadows by protos_metazu_ison

With the threat of the Wen sect looming, the other major sects decide to summon the aid of a man they’d killed centuries ago: the Yiling Patriarch, Wei Wuxian.

Start a Riot by ohwhatevrewhatevr

“They killed A-Die and A-Niang,” Jiang Cheng says, his sharp, defined muscular frame curling in. He's all lean, purposeful muscle, nude and bruised.

“Wei Wuxian -” Jiang Cheng grits out in a dangerous, furious rasp - there’s a slight tremor to it still. He still isn’t looking at Wei Ying, just lying there limp, his face to his side, showing his profile and those sharp cheekbones. “Where the hell did you go? Where did you go that was worth leaving me behind ?”

“I-”

“And why won’t you tell me? Why won’t you-”

TL;DR Jiang Cheng goes into heat, they fuck, and hormones make them spill some of the beans before they go spill some Wen blood. (no romance happens :/, just sex)

Not Yet (There As Needed) by sunrise_and_death

As always, he arrives with no forewarning. One second, Lan Sizhui and the others are struggling against the hordes of resentful spirits created by some villagers’ accidental disruption of an ancient burial ground—far more spirits than had been initially reported, far more than they had been prepared for—and the next, he’s there, striding fearlessly into the mix, the sound of Chenqing piercing the air.

Or: A meditation on family and the merits of communication, courtesy of Lan Sizhui.

of the things unsaid by Seeliteer

Then Wei Wuxian emerges from the Supervisory Office shrouded in resentment, daemon settled as a pitch black crow by his side.

He emerges, and he breaks Xichen’s brother’s heart.

Daemon au through the eyes of Lan Xichen

The Uncle Trap by ladyshadowdrake

Post-cannon, Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng forced to cooperate to rescue their disaster!nephew, with guest appearances from Lan Wangji, Sizhui, and a very startled troll.

Helping Yourself by nirejseki

Wei Wuxian leaves the Burial Mounds with a brand new power, but the resentful energies have so corroded his mind that he's forgotten - many things. The name of the cultivator in purple, for example. The reason they hate their enemies so much. All he knows is how he feels about them.

And there's this one cultivator in white that makes him feel - something else. Wei Wuxian is pretty sure he knows what that something is.

the dead horse by curiositykilled

Dying hurts. She’s grown up with stories, of course, legends and histories alike about the glorious deaths of heroes. They’re often on battlefields like this, but no one mentions the chaos or the pain.

Lying in the ashes of clan members and unquiet spirits alike, Yanli thinks that was a pretty big oversight.

Her back burns with red-hot agony, and her chest is a cavity of pain so deep it’s almost numb. Already, the screams are blurring, smudging like smoke, like the black ribbons coiling off and around her little brother. Her eyes slip shut and the black swallows her.

anyway, here's wuji by kakikaeru

The melody gets a little clearer when he breaks out of the trees, and Jingyi changes course with certainty, barreling down the back hill and through the Cloud Recesses, dodging scandalized disciples left and right. He throws open the doors to the Receiving Hall without announcement and bows nearly double, eyes on the floor instead of on the shocked faces of the Mei delegation and the impenetrable gaze of the Chief Cultivator.

"Forgive this disciple," Jingyi shouts, because he's going to get punished for rule breaking regardless. "From the back hill, Hanguang-jun, there is a song in the wind!"

Pigtail Pulling by protos_metazu_ison

“Tell me I’m beautiful, Lan er-gege!”

“You are well aware you are beautiful,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Wuxian trips over Jiang Wanyin and sends both of them to the ground in a tangle of limbs and bruises.

three days gone by occultings (microcomets)

“I’ve been mooning over Lan Zhan since far before I even realized I was mooning — since before you were even born.” Wei Wuxian grins slyly at Jin Ling. “Where do you think you got your courtesy name from, little nephew?”

Jin Ling’s face goes slack with shock and horror in equal measure. “No. No. Absolutely not.

Or: While missing Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian hazes his nephew. And maybe helps him beat up a guy.

save a sword, ride a socialist by sysrae

In which Lan Qiren and Jin Guangshan are conspicuously terrible, Lan Wangji decides to fake-date Wei Wuxian about it, and literally no braincells are consulted.

A Spark in Dry Brush by mondengel

Blood dripped to the earth with a wet patter, dirt ground beneath a boot as loud as fireworks in a staggered step backward, and then Lan Wangji fell.

The Good That Won't Come Out by raisedbyhyenas

“I mean, yes, an entire family disappearing and vanishing cultivators aren’t ideal,” Wei Wuxian says, waving his hand. “But being out here! Investigating a mystery! Mortal peril, even! I mean, Lan Zhan, imagine — it’s been months since someone last tried to kill me — ”

Lan Wangji flinches.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji investigate a disappearance.

Neatly Arranged by thunderwear

Betrothed.

Lan Wangji was six the first time he heard that word. He wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but his mother didn’t seem to like it, so he decided that he didn’t like it either.

coming of age, coming alive by narie

"That Mo Xuanyu," Jingyi grumbled, "I don't like him. He has the thickest face. And he's dishonest, too - he's no more of a lunatic than I am. So why does he keep pretending anyhow?"

Sizhui hummed his acknowledgement. The way their new guest's moods could shift from shrillness to stunned stillness seemed something other than lunacy to him too. "Hanguang-jun trusts him," he said, when the silence between them made it clear Jingyi desired more conversation.

"I know." It was, apparently, a source of deep frustration for him. "I just can't understand why."

Out of the Bin and Into Your Heart by Alaceron

"Lan Zhan!” Wuxian exclaims as soon as the door to Lan Wangji's apartment opens. “Fake-date me!”

The door slams shut in his face.

i don't love you (but i always will) by sixstepsaway

They’re not soulmates.

Lan Wangji’s soulmate is a soft-spoken, even-tempered son of Jin Guangshan, and Wei Wuxian’s soulmate is the strong-willed and loyal Wen Qing.

They’re perfect matches, just like fate would decree, and Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian?

They're not soulmates and they never will be.

the shadow of a name in skin by iliacquer

Wei Wuxian doesn’t let the Wen Remnants hand themselves over after Jin Zixuan’s death. Instead he makes one last sacrifice to ensure they survive. Months later, a Lan cultivator kneels at the edge of the Burial Mounds, ready to offer himself to the feared Yiling Patriarch.

Or: Sacrifice is an old magic, but love is even older.

the necromancer's fairytale by iliacquer

The Prince of Gusu is kidnapped for ransom. He’s saved by a nightmare made flesh.

Or: A necromancer, his palace of bones, his long-lost husband, and the rise of their dark kingdom.

if you can't beat them, recruit them by moeblobmegane

Rather than mourning a future that had not happened yet, he would rather work with all his might to prevent it from happening. [...] His aim was to fortify his home and his family so that they would never again be left vulnerable to greedy cultivators aiming for his genius. For that, he needed help.

He may be a genius, but he was not the cunning manipulative man they thought him to be.

No, that was not him.

He knew who was, though.

(Or: Wei Wuxian uses a powerful array to go back in time and builds a secret squad to prevent the misfortunes of the future.)

Cotton Wool by incendir

4 times someone protected the yiling patriarch's virtue, and 1 time he did it himself.

his heart an open wound by TheDameJudiWench

It's Sizhui who brings it to Lan Wangji's attention, his words so careful and apologetic that at first, Lan Wangji wonders what his son could possibly have done to be so apprehensive.

And Time Is But a Paper Moon by sami

"Zewu-Jun. You once told me about a house surrounded by gentians, where you visited once a month, and how Lan Zhan still waited there, even when the door no longer opened."

Xichen feels light-headed. He feels shocked, and angry. He has never told anyone such a thing, but Lan Zhan is giving Xichen a look of utter betrayal.

"You told him?" Lan Zhan whispers. "When?"

Wei Wuxian takes Lan Zhan's hand. "About twenty years from now."

#mdzs fanfiction #the untamed fanfiction #I hope this formatting comes out legible #because this was a lot of work #my first post in several years #I will now return to quietly lurking in the depths #fic recs #wangxian #fanfic recs

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cutie4560 · 7 months

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Ch 2: A Long Day and Sleepless Night

Balin rode alongside Shail briefing her on each company member.

“Now, you already know of Thorin Oakdensheild. Behind him we have his two nephews, Fili and Kili. They will be the next princes of Erbor once our home is reclaimed.” Balin said with inspiration. The journey had just begun, hopes were high. “Before ourselves are my younger brother, Dwalin, and the fire-starter Gloin. Gloin also…” Balin was about to advise Shail that Gloin handles their finances, but then remembered she is still a stranger. She could rob them that very same night. Balin averted his eyes and continued. “...Gloin starts the fires.” Balin cleared his throat and turned back to point to the elders of the company. “These gentle dwarves do an excellent job keeping our mission organized. The deaf, Oin, acts as our medic and map reader. The mute, Bifur, acts as unruly reinforcement when needed. Don’t be fooled though, he has a kind heart and passion for toy making. Dori is the entire company’s mending specialist. If any of your clothes, sashes, or sacks need a sturdy stitch, feel free to refer to him. Then there is Ori, our scribe. A bright young dwarf that one is. After them is their third brother, Nori.” Balin gestured for Shail to lean towards him for a secret and she abided. He whispered “That lot don’t look much alike, but they are of the same blood on their mother’s side…and do be mindful of Nori’s hands. He’s got, uh, thieving tendencies'' He then continued at a conversational volume. “Besides him is Bofur, the tinker. He also is caretaker of Bifur along with his brother, the company’s cook, Bombur. In the very back, our newest member and official burglar Master Bilbo Baggins. Accompanying him is the great wizard-”

“Gandalf the Gray” Shail finished. She then explained “I know of his legend from a close friend.”

“Then you agree, he is a sorcerer of grand magnitude. Such a power wielder doesn’t assist in just any cause. Our journey is one of great honor.” Shail nodded in agreement. When Balin turned his focus to his reigns, she rolled her eyes at the gloating.

“I suppose… He doesn’t seem so great.” She muttered.

Ori rode two horse lengths behind the she-dwarf. Trying hard to catch just a glimpse of her face for his sketch. Hearing the mention of his name the two made eye contact. Ori's face turned a tint of pink. Shutting his journal abruptly it nearly toppled off his lap. Dori turned to the commotion and helped to stop the book from falling to the ground. "Careful Ori, what have I told you about writing and riding?"

"Sorry, I was starting on a new sketch." Ori answered, fiddling around with the quill. The young artist kept glancing over to Shail, hoping she didn’t notice his fumbling nor the lecture he was receiving. Dori saw his looks and followed Ori’s eyesight, it was to the she-dwarf.

"Oh no, don’t you get yourself involved with that mischief-maker.” Dori lectured, shaking his finger no. Ori blushed at being caught.

“I don’t think it's mischievous behavior! She kind of reminds me of Nori.” Ori tried to convince.

“That's my point. Look at her Ori. Her hair looks like a mouse built its nest in there, leaves and sticks just scattered around." He went on insulting her appearance. "What is with her acting like a feral animal sniffing about? I want you to stay clear unless you're told so. You understand me?" Dori asked, raising a brow. Ori rolled his eyes before giving him a huffed yes.

"I don't understand. Why’d uncle recruit a wild lander? Doesn’t he know how unpredictable they can be?" Kili loudly whispered to his brother. The older brother looked with a deadpan stare.

“You are not whispering as low as you think you are.” Fili sighed then shrugged. He turned back to stretch his back, but was distracted by the decloaking she-dwarf. Although ill-fitting, her mismatched clothes showed off a curvaceous body. Most dwarfish women he saw wore conservative attire, at least two or three layers. Fili was fascinated by the modest clothing clinging to her shape. Shail adjusted her sleeve then looked ahead. The two made eye contact. Embarrassed by being caught staring, the prince pulled on his reins and nearly steered into Kili’s pony.

"Fili! Watch it!" Kili whined. He steadied his own pony then kicked his brother's leg.

"Sorry brother, I got distracted. No need to hit." Fili apologized then kicked Kili back. They began an intense game of footsies while avoiding hitting the ponies.

The brothers’ kicking distracted Shail from her conversation with Balin. "And I think you and I both know we wouldn’t want that, do we? Hehe…” Balin waited for a response, but saw the lass’ attention was elsewhere. He sighed, seeing the young brothers’ antics. “You two alright?” Balin hoped to straighten out their misbehavior without getting Thorin involved.

"What? Oh, yes! Fili’s having a bit of trouble with his reins.” Kili lied while both wore innocent smiles. He landed a kick to the shin. Fili grunted, but held his facade. Balin nodded and the two turned back to face the path ahead. Fili dropped his smile and grumbled. Kili grinned in victory.

“A bit clumsy for one of yer best fighters.” Shail commented to Bailn.

Fili heard the comment and scoffed. First Kili winning their fight now this? He turned back and questioned Shail. “Clumsy? Pfft, it was a little accident is all. What impression have I given you that I'm clumsy?" Fili asked, irritated by her statement.

Shail, smiling at the prince’s amusing temper, elaborated. “Back at my campsite, you fell for my trap. Even woodland critters have the sense to be cautious. Witless, clumsy, easy kills will go for open bait. And you being witless, clumsy, and easy, were caught. No?” She asked, raising her brow.

Fili slowed down riding at her side to defend himself. "I wasn't the only dwarf to get snared."

"That’s true, your highness…princes and kings with no kingdom. Not sure what you’d call that." Shail said lowly to Fili as she looked him in the eyes. Her smile dropped, this statement was no joke to her. Shail certainly rubbed salt into Fili’s wounded pride. He stopped in his tracks in disbelief. Fili had never been so unapologetically disrespected before.

Balin called back as he stayed beside Shail, unaware of what the lass had said. “Keep up lad!”

The company rode until sunset. As the sky became darker, Thorin and his dwarves set up camp. Below the cliff side was the great east road. "Fili, you're on the first watch." Thorin said as he walked around to observe the cliff’s view for dangers. Fili nodded but silently groaned once his uncle walked away. He was annoyed by being picked first, but was not so bothered to get an earful from Thorin about it. Kili snickered at his brother, beginning to unravel his own sleeping sack. While walking past, Thorin snatched the younger prince’s sleeping sack from his hands and added "I don’t see what’s so funny when you’ll be accompanying him, Kili. I want you both to be awake and alert. No mucking around. Understood?" Thorin order.

"Understood sir." Fili answered with a satisfied smile, taking a seat by the fire. Behind Thorin’s back, Kili gave his uncle a side eye before slumping onto the ground. The rest of the dwarves unpacked their belongings to last the night; bedrolls, worn-out pillows, blankets varying in size and comfort. Climbing to higher ground, Shail removed her boots and leather corset to relax after an eventful day. She rummaged through her pack to retrieve a makeshift pillow. It was made from a used potato sack and stuffed with sheeps’ wool. Using it to support herself against a rock, she placed her pack to her side. Most of Shail’s nights were spent sleeping outdoors. She had become accustomed to resting uncomfortably while being prepared to leave at a moment’s notice. She sighed and closed her eyes, they were becoming heavy with tiredness.

"Excuse me. Are you really going to be sleeping up there?” A voice suddenly asked. The question alarmed Shail. She opened her eyes and crawled over with caution to look down and see. Once she saw who was speaking, the she-dwarf groaned. It was Ori. “Mister Dwalin says it's better to stay in a group" He informed out of concern for her.

"Maybe for you townies and your simple minds. Lower to the ground, faster the strike. Higher on the hill, the critters won't bite.” She answered, trying to ignore the annoying pest. Looking down, Ori’s face showed confusion at the rhyme. Shail groaned again. “I'll make it simpler to understand. Up here, it’s harder for the night beast to reach. So I won’t be part of their fifteen course meal.” Ori gulped then turned and yipped. He was spooked at the firewood cracking. Shail laughed at him as she retreated back to her rest area.

Pink in the face from embarrassment, Ori rejoined the group. He took a seat and opened his journal. Dori took the calm opportunity to fiddle with Ori’s braids. “What a mess. This trip certainly is not for the weak. Not sure how we’re going to survive if our hair can’t even last, right Ori?” Dori joked. Ori gave a weak chuckle to appease his older brother’s humor. The younger dwarf wore a frown of shame and hoped none of the company viewed him that way; weak, helpless, needing to be nurtured by his overbearing brother. Oin called for Dori, needing the mender to patch a tear in his medicine bag. Dori assured Ori he’ll be back in a moment. Nori, along with Bofur, sat close by. Both dwarves were working on their wood carving skills. Nori was forging a design into his own smoking pipe. He looked up to make sure Dori was gone. The middle child then averted his attention back to the pipe and spoke aloud to his little brother.

"What was that about?" Nori asked, blowing away the wooden shavings.

Ori covered his mouth and coughed from inhaling the debris. Nori laughed then ceased when his little brother answered shortly "Nothing. Just wanted to ask a question." It was out of Ori’s character to talk back. The scribe’s journal pages were covered in his inconsiderate brother’s shavings so he brushed them off and continued on his sketch. Peeking over, Nori saw a rough sketch of the lass. The thief grinned. With mischievous intent, Nori quickly snatched the book, "Nori!” Ori whined then lowered his voice to not alert Dori. He hissed. “Give that back!"

"Lookie here, nice drawing Ori. Didn’t add much detail yet. You sure this ain't your first time drawing a lass, huh?" He asked. The scribe leaned over to grab his journal back, but failed as Nori held it over the middle braided point of his hair. Quickly, Nori took off Bofur’s hat and shoved it in Ori’s face. With this younger brother being stalled, Nori retreated away to examine the page. "What are these? Notes?” Nori trotted and recited from the text. “Let’s see here. It says ‘Her eyes tell a story. They sparkle like stones of amber in the sunlight'? Aw, how romantic!" He teased. Ori politely gave the hat back to its owner then began to chase Nori. Bofur shook his head with a smile as the brothers concealed their running to not cause a commotion. Ori quietly pleaded for the journal back after many failed attempts to get it. Nori would hold out the book then pull it back when Ori reached for it. The thief would evade his younger brother’s every move with side steps and pivots. Ori tripped over his own feet. As he stood back up, Nori continued to read. "There's more! 'Her skin is the color of a chestnut, complemented by beautiful long raven hair'. Though it does hold a mess of twigs, stones, and leaves, don’t it?" Nori proposed as he caressed his own locks. Bofur chuckled at his friend’s vanity. "Where's the commentary about her body? Haven't gotten to that part yet?" He elbowed Ori playfully, winking over to Bofur. Ori pushed Nori’s elbow which began a small slapping war. Ori still tried to grab his book back while avoiding his groin being hit by Nori’s available hand. "Cute you have a crush. Wouldn't be the first."

"I do not!” Ori blushed and yelled with a voice crack. Both stopped in their tracks and turned to Dori’s direction. The oldest brother was still occupied and didn’t notice their conflict. “I'm just documenting what I see. That’s my job." He said through gritted teeth and crossed his arms in defense. He looked to the ground, getting tired of being picked on.

"Right, didn't see anything written like this about the goats we saw earlier. Unless you've got a back section, you cheeky dwarf." He chuckled, walking behind Ori then past Bofur. "If it's just notes, then I guess showing her what you wrote-"

"Please don't, Nori please." Ori begged as he grabbed Nori’s arm in desperation.

"Come on, it's only notes." He said sarcastically, holding it away. Dori finally came to end the game of keep-away.

"I can't leave you alone for a minute, can I Nori?" Dori said, handing the journal over to Ori. "Quit teasing your brother over who-knows-what and get to bed."

Nori shook his head with a smile of disbelief then huffed when Dori’s expression stayed upset. "It was only a bit of fun." He said, taking a seat by Bofur. Dori shook his head then led Ori to bed. The middle child watched as his two brothers walked away. As it always turns out, there was separation between them and him. This journey was supposed to serve as an opportunity to strengthen their family bond. However, it seemed that Nori would always mess up no matter how hard he tried. Maybe there’s no use, the two might be better off without him after all.

“Lay off the lad, will ya? Doesn’t seem like he’s experienced enough to be lady-charming. Sure as hell doesn’t run in the family”. Bofur joked to ease the mood. Nori smiled, appreciating the change of tone. “Remember that hobbit lass ya tried sweet talkin back in the Shire? I thought she was about to fall over asleep with you yapping so much. And once ya started on your hair, it was over. By Durin, all of the Blue Mountain’s finest stylists would get sick of your braid lecturing.” Nori waved off the teasing to shut Bofur up. The two smoked and conversed a bit longer then both decided they needed to rest for the long day ahead of them. Nori and Bofur went to sleep sitting up, back to back.

Gandalf propped himself up against a tree watching over the company. The wizard knew of the many dangers that could lurk in the night. Goblins crawling out from their burrows to snatch sleeping prey, trolls barging through squishing them into mush, and wolves separating them to make the hunt easier. Now Gandalf had a new danger to worry about; Shail the wildlander. Unsure of what she is capable of, his mind began to wonder. What if she tied them up and ran off with their supplies? What if she snuck nightshade berries into their water canteens, poisoning them with a sip. As each scenario worsened and worsened, the wizard looked to see if the first watch was on their guard. To his disappointment they were not. Fili sat smoking his pipe as Kili worked on crafting new arrows.

Bombur's snoring startled Bilbo out of his slumber. Dusting the dirt from his coat, the hobbit walked over to his pony. He secretly pulled an apple from his pocket to feed her. "Hello, girl. That's a good girl.” Bilbo smiled, rubbing her snout. “Shush. It's our little secret, Myrtle; you must tell no one." he said, feeding her the apple. Hearing a scream in the night Bilbo pranced to Fili and Kili. "What was that?"

"Orcs." Kili answered, looking around. Thorin and Balin, sleeping at a distance from each other, both jerked awake upon hearing the word 'Orcs'.

"Orcs?" Bilbo asked.

"Throat-cutters. There'll be dozens of them out there. The lowlands are crawling with them." Fili answered, emptying his pipe’s ashes.

"They strike in the wee small hours, when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet; no screams, just lots of blood." Kili added as he looked Bilbo in the eyes. The hobbit looked away in fright; Fili and Kili shared a glance at each other and began holding in laughter.

"You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?" Thorin scolded the two youngins.

"We didn't mean anything by it." Kili answered shamefully.

"No, you didn't. You know nothing of the world." Thorin said. Before his nephews’ ignorance could further anger him, The king walked to the edge of the cliff and looked out.

"Don't mind him, laddie. Thorin has more cause than most to hate orcs.” Balin walked over to reassure Bilbo. The elder dwarf then told him the origin of Oakenshield. The company slowly woke up to listen to the tale.The hobbit looked at the dwarf king in admiration. With the position of King, Bilbo assumed Thorin’s honor and bravery. In addition, the dwarf has proven, and continues to prove, himself worthy of such a title. The tale did leave for a remaining question.

"But the pale orc? What happened to him?" Bilbo asked, looking between Balin and Gandalf.

"He slunk back into the hole whence he came. That filth died of his wounds long ago." Thorin answered as he returned. Ordered the dwarves to go back to sleep. Balin exchanged a look with Gandalf, knowing the Orc could have survived.

@lathalea

#the hobbit #oc #hobbit #hobbit movies #shail #thorin #ori #hobbit fic #baggenshield #fili

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