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yoonavii · 6 months

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𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐈𝐀

Gladiator Prince! Eustass x Warrior princess! Reader

Story description: Y/n, a skilled ice warrior from the frigid kingdom of Nosta, and Prince Eustass, a ruthless gladiator prince hailing from the enemy nation, the Modora Empire. Their two nations have a long history of conflict and animosity. However, when a dire situation calls for a political marriage to secure peace, Y/n and Eustass find themselves bound together in a union neither desires. As they navigate the treacherous path of diplomacy, they must confront their own prejudices and the weight of their peoples’ expectations. Through adversity and danger, the icy walls between them slowly begin to melt, and they discover unexpected connections and feelings, transforming their initial enmity into a deep and passionate love of the ages.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

As the carriage races through the unforgiving winter terrain, driven by giant snow wolves accustomed to such harsh conditions, you find yourself caught in the chaos of the storm. Despite the violent rocking and jostling, you manage to sleep soundly, occasionally twitching and jerking as your maid covers you with additional blankets. The wolves, relentless in their speed, propel the carriage forward, ensuring no delays or accidents disrupt the carefully planned journey. In your slumber, you drift into a vivid dream, a haunting flashback to your younger years spent hunting in the wintery forest mountains alongside your late mother, the queen of the Nosta kingdom. The dream unfolds with both of you perched in tall trees, bows and arrows in hand, scouting for prey. Your mother, a mentor and guide, coaches you on aiming with precision. In the dream, younger you attentively listens to her instructions, but a misstep in the tree branches sends you plummeting from a great height. The impending impact vanishes as you abruptly awaken, your body instinctively going into defense mode. In the waking world, you clutch your hidden axe, the weapon concealed beneath you.

Your maid, alarmed by your sudden movement, implores you to calm down. Fear etches her face as she tries to reassure you, the residual tension from the dream lingering in the air. In the dream, your mother's voice resonates, offering guidance and comfort. "Focus, my dear. A true warrior learns from every stumble….." The dream's echoes fade, leaving you grappling with the lingering emotions and memories it stirred.

———

As hours and days passed, the harsh winter weather yielded to a more temperate climate, signaling your arrival in the Modora Empire's territory. The coachman skillfully slowed the wolves, bringing the carriage to a gentle stop. A well-deserved break was in order, not just for the wolves but for everyone in the caravan. The subsequent carriages, carrying royal guards, additional maids, and their belongings, also came to a halt. Your personal maid greeted you with a cheerful "Good morning" as she assisted you out of the carriage. Returning the greeting, you acknowledged everyone around you. Other maids hurried over, armed with lighter and more comfortable clothing suitable for the warmer climate. They worked efficiently, swiftly transforming your appearance and enhancing your natural beauty.

Spotting your loyal bodyguard and friend, Law, you greeted him with a warm hug. Despite his initial stiffness, he accepted the gesture. With a chuckle, you inquired about his experience during the journey. Law, typically stoic, couldn't hide his dissatisfaction, expressing his disdain for the snowstorm. Your laughter echoed, a moment of shared amusement amidst the challenges of the journey. As you survey the surroundings, your eyes are met with a breathtaking sight – lush green valleys adorned with vibrant flowers. The spectacle of nature's abundance is a stark contrast to the snowy landscapes you're accustomed to back home. In the Nosta Kingdom, greenery was a rarity, with the closest semblance found in the herbs that thrived within the confines of mountain caves. The vibrant hues and fragrant blossoms of the Modora Empire's terrain unfold before you, a testament to the diverse beauty that exists beyond the icy kingdom you once called home.

In the midst of the serene landscape, two large wild boars emerge, seemingly lost from their group. Towering in size compared to the hogs of the Nosta kingdom, these creatures are a testament to the diverse environments within Modora's territory. The prospect of their sizable meat and fur doesn't go unnoticed, and you signal for your prized bow and arrow, a cherished possession passed down from your mother, the queen. Crafted from steel and adorned with ancient engravings, the bow carries a legacy. As you ready your arrow, the boars, sensing the impending threat, hasten their retreat. Undeterred, you take off in pursuit, the maids cautioning you not to venture too far falling on deaf ears. Closing the distance, you seize the opportunity, sliding gracefully on your side and expertly angling the arrow. With precision, you release the shot, striking the boar's stomach and bringing it down. The successful hunt is both a display of skill and a reminder of the resourcefulness required in these unfamiliar lands.

"Whoa! This boar is bigger than I thought," you exclaimed, approaching the fallen creature with a mix of awe and accomplishment. Pressing your foot on top of it, you deftly retrieved the arrow. The other hog, sensing the danger, had fled, but the success of the hunt assured that there would be plenty for everyone. The soldiers, swift in their response, caught up and took charge of retrieving the hog. It would soon find its way to the traveling party's chef, who would expertly skin and prepare it, ensuring a savory addition to the journey's provisions.

————-

As the aromatic meal is prepared, you find a solitary spot, turning your gaze away from the bustling activity and toward the expansive landscape ahead. The weight of your arranged marriage begins to settle in, a reality that transcends the title of a regular princess. You'll not just be a princess but the crown princess, destined to become the future queen of an empire you've grown up harboring resentment against throughout your life. As Law joins you with a plate of food, you both sit in silence, savoring the meal while taking in the scenery. In a moment of shared understanding, you set down your food and share your thoughts with him. “If this marriage and alliance go south, I’ll make a massacre of the emperor and his son. Take over the empire by force,” you assert, a steely determination in your voice.

Law, without hesitation, responds, “I’m with you on that.”

But then, a shift in tone as you contemplate an alternate scenario. “If things go okay, I’ll be a good queen— well respected and greatly feared” you declare, hinting at the intricate balance you envision for your future rule. Grinning, you turn to Law, sharing a promise amid the uncertainty. “When I marry the prince, I’ll make you one of their generals. Your swordsmanship and talents deserve recognition,” you declare. Law, caught off guard by the offer, blushes and stammers out a heartfelt thanks. As you finish your food, you get up and head towards the traveling party. With a commanding presence, you stand tall over your maids, a stature inherited from your mother. Communicating your desire for an unforgettable first impression, you guide them in selecting attire that blends regality with practicality, evoking the spirit of a warrior. Among the items retrieved is a wolf fur cape, once worn by your late mother. Its significance adds a layer of strength and legacy to your ensemble. As the maids fumble with the weight of your crown, a chuckle escapes you. With effortless strength, you retrieve the imposing crown, made of iron and copper, placing it firmly on your head.

With the axe holster now secured on your back, you deftly retrieve your formidable axe, the metallic 'shing!' marking its readiness. Suddenly, a distinctive sound interrupts the serene atmosphere – the quick pattering of paws in the distance. Instinctively, you raise a hand, signaling for silence. From the shadows emerges a wolf rider, accompanied by none other than your loyal polar bear dog, Lucie. Filled with exuberance, Lucie hastens her pace, reaching you in a joyful collision, showering you with affectionate licks. The wolf rider dismounts, kneeling before you, and removes their goggles. As recognition dawns upon you, a smile graces your face – it's Sabo, an old friend returned.

—————-

The castle buzzed with anticipation as the news of Princess Y/N's imminent arrival spread like wildfire. The grandeur of the Modora Empire's palace contrasted starkly with the icy realm she came from. Prince Eustass found himself caught in the whirlwind of preparations.

His adviser, a man with an air of urgency, guided Eustass through the halls. "Remember, Prince, this is more than a political move. It's a step towards peace," the adviser said, emphasizing the significance of the occasion. Eustass, cloaked in thoughts of his father's condition, responded with a stoic nod. The maids, skilled in their craft, surrounded him, adjusting the royal armor and draping intricate fabrics. Overheard conversations revealed the excitement of the cleaning maids.

One of them whispered to another, "I heard the princess is as stunning as the snow-capped mountains." Eustass, overhearing, couldn't help but smirk at their animated discussions. In the midst of the primping and preening, Eustass's right-hand man, Killer, lounged nearby, munching on grapes. "You seem thrilled about the impending union, Killer," Eustass remarked, glancing at him. Killer smirked, "Just looking forward to the festivities is all." He tossed a grape into the air and caught it skillfully.

As the maids continued their meticulous work, the adviser stressed the diplomatic implications. "This union will solidify the peace treaty and reshape the geopolitical landscape, your highness." Eustass, in a moment of introspection, muttered to himself, "Political maneuvers... a dance I never fancied." The maids finished their preparations, leaving Eustass adorned in regal attire. He straightened his posture, preparing to meet the princess who would play a pivotal role in the empire's future.

—————

You swing yourself onto Lucie’s back, her white fur warm beneath you. Sabo, atop his wolf, rides beside you as you resume your journey. Lucie nuzzles against you, a sign of her loyalty.

“So, what did you bring for me?” you ask, curious about the luggage Sabo retrieved. Sabo grins, “Well, let’s say you’ll be delighted. And Lucie here insisted on tagging along. Seems she can’t stay away from her favorite person.” You pat Lucie’s head, appreciating her company. “I’m glad you’re here, Lucie. And Sabo, you’re quite the courier, aren’t you?” Sabo laughs, “I couldn’t let you go without your things. Plus, I wanted to see you off properly.” As the carriages continue their journey, the trio of friends rides alongside, sharing stories and laughter amidst the changing landscapes.

The scent of blooming flowers fills the air, a stark contrast to the crisp, icy fragrance of Nosta. The vibrant colors of the blossoms paint a lively picture against the backdrop of the Modora Empire's more temperate climate. Lucie, sensing your curiosity, sniffs the flowers, her large nose brushing gently against the petals. "Sabo, Law, have you guys ever seen anything like this?" you ask, marveling at the newfound beauty surrounding you. Sabo shakes his head, "Not in the Revolutionary hideouts, that's for sure." Law, a man of few words, simply observes the scenery, appreciating the change in atmosphere. The carriages carrying your belongings and maids move along smoothly, adjusting to the shift in terrain.

As you ride, the landscape transforms from fields of flowers to open meadows, and the sight of grazing animals comes into view. The variety in the empire's flora and fauna is captivating, a testament to the diverse climates that exist within its borders. Lucie continues to amble forward, her fur adapting to the warmer weather. You take a moment to appreciate the newfound warmth, the gentle breeze playing with your hair. The sun casts a golden hue across the landscape, creating a serene atmosphere. It's a stark departure from the harsh winters of Nosta, and you find yourself intrigued by the mysteries that await in this unfamiliar land.

————

The colossal gates of the Modora Empire towered before you, adorned with statues that showcased the empire's might and opulence. The gladiator warriors, sculpted in imposing stances, greeted all who approached with an air of authority. The glistening gold helmets atop the statues hinted at the empire's wealth and grandeur.

Lucie trotted alongside your carriage, the snow wolves pulling it seamlessly through the gate entry. As you entered, the imposing guards, clad in formidable armor, scrutinized your presence. Their intense gazes met yours, but you maintained a stoic demeanor, refusing to be intimidated by their imposing figures.

The carriage rolled deeper into the heart of the empire, the architecture becoming more intricate and sophisticated with every passing moment. The bustling streets, lined with vendors and citizens going about their daily lives, painted a vivid picture of the bustling empire. Despite the grandeur, you couldn't shake a sense of apprehension, wondering how you would navigate the intricacies of a culture so different from your own. The bustling crowd, a mix of intrigue and discontent, pressed against the path as your arrival drew their attention. The diverse and prosperous surroundings hinted at the complexity of the empire. Royal guards formed a protective barrier, clearing a path for you and your entourage toward the palace.

Among the onlookers, children tried to squeeze through the crowd to catch a glimpse, their curiosity evident. However, in the commotion, a young girl got pushed to the ground. Your keen eyes caught the incident, prompting you to halt Lucie and step down. The crowd hesitated, creating a brief pause in their murmurings. Approaching the fallen girl, you crouched down and extended a helping hand. The onlookers watched with a mix of fear and curiosity as the young girl accepted your gesture, saying a sincere "thank you" with a smile. Your reassuring demeanor eased the tension, and with a nod, you returned to Lucie, resuming your journey through the vibrant yet complicated empire.

The steep entry stairs unfold before you, each step revealing more of the grandeur of the palace. The air is charged with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty as you ascend, accompanied by Law, your unwavering bodyguard. The intricacies of the palace's architecture become increasingly apparent, from finely crafted pillars to the detailed carvings that adorn its structure. The grandness of the palace leaves an indelible mark on your senses, making your heart race with a combination of awe and trepidation. The clash of emotions intensifies as the reality of meeting your long-standing enemy and future husband, within the confines of your parents and ancestors' historic adversary, sets in. Amidst the grandeur, Law casts a reassuring glance your way. His words, soft but steady, remind you to calm your nerves, assuring you that he stands by your side.

A posh-looking man, draped in opulent fabrics, extends a courtly greeting as you approach the entrance door. "Your Highness," he says with a bow, "I am honored to be your guide in our imperial palace. I am Lucius, the emperor's adviser." Lucius then gestures gracefully toward the grandeur beyond the entrance. "The Emperor, The Queen Mother, and the Crown Prince are eagerly awaiting your arrival in the throne room. They are keen to meet the esteemed Princess of Nosta." As you nod in acknowledgment, Lucius leads the way into the palace, detailing the architectural wonders that surround you. The halls are a tapestry of influences, blending the grandeur of Greek and Roman styles. Pillars adorned with vibrant vines and exotic plants create an enchanting passage, setting the stage for the grand audience ahead.

While guiding you through the regal expanse, Lucius shares tidbits of information about the palace's history, the imperial family, and the cultural nuances that define the empire. The dialogue flows seamlessly, offering you glimpses into the rich tapestry of the Modora Empire's traditions and grandeur.

Lucius, with a slightly awkward tone, cautions you about the Queen mother's traditional perspectives and her keen observations. "Her Majesty holds certain views close to her heart," he explains. "She may take a particular interest in observing you, so I advise you to be mindful of your actions." As you process this information, Lucius leans in a bit closer, offering an additional warning. "And when you meet the Crown Prince, please refrain from staring into his eyes for too long. It is considered... unconventional. You'll understand once you're inside." Before you can inquire further, the imposing throne room doors swing open, revealing the regal space beyond. Lucius gestures for you to enter, and with a deep breath, you step into the grandeur of the throne room, prepared to face the eyes of the imperial family.

The throne room unfolds before you in a display of grandeur. Nature intertwines with regality as pillars and plants frame the scene, accentuated by a gentle waterfall and stream. At the center, the imposing thrones stand tall—the Queen mother gracing one side, the emperor in the middle, and the crown prince seated on the other. As you step into the room, the Queen mother rises from her seat, a striking figure of elegance despite her age. Adorned in gold jewelry and rings on every finger, she exudes a commanding presence. The emperor, resembling his mother in appearance, acknowledges your arrival with a nod, while the Crown Prince, seated with a composed demeanor, observes quietly. The air is charged with a mix of curiosity and formality as you approach the imperial family.

The Queen mother, adorned in glimmering gold, approaches with an air of authority. You resist the traditional bow, standing tall with your father's crown. The jingle of her jewelry echoes through the room as she inspects you. "Open your mouth," she commands. Reluctantly, you comply. Her fingers delicately touch your jaw, scrutinizing your teeth. The metallic glint of a silver tooth catches her attention. She inquires about it, and you explain the cultural tradition of silver teeth for princesses in your kingdom. The Queen mother, undeterred, reveals that in Modora, royalty can opt for pure gold teeth. The moment carries the weight of cultural contrasts, but you maintain your composure.

As the Queen mother settles into her seat, the emperor initiates conversation with a polite greeting, his imposing presence not lost on you. Your inner conflict intensifies, knowing that your parents perished due to him and his forebears. Inquiring about your journey, the emperor maintains a veneer of courtesy. His gaze shifts to the guards, and with a wave, he dismisses them from the room, even prompting Law's departure, leaving the space private for the impending discussion.

You hold a contemplative expression, your gaze focused on the emperor. "During the journey, I had time to reflect," you begin, the weight of the situation evident in your voice. "While I am not thrilled about this arrangement, I understand the potential benefits for my kingdom. Our people are suffering, and a union could bring about much-needed stability." The emperor listens intently, acknowledging your words with a nod. Before the emperor could speak again, Prince Eustass interjects with a skeptical tone, “Benefits? What benefits could the Nostians possibly offer us, except for plundering our wealth?” You meet Eustass’s gaze, maintaining your composure. “It’s not about taking wealth,” you calmly correct him, “but rather establishing a trade that could provide our people with food and water. The Nosta Kingdom is known for its herbalists and medicinal expertise. In exchange, we seek sustenance for our people. It’s a matter of survival and prosperity through cooperation.”

Eustass grunts in annoyance, averting his gaze as his pride takes a subtle hit. The emperor, discerning the tension, takes the initiative to address the situation. "My sincerest apologies for my son's behavior," he states with a hint of regret. He then shares the unfortunate news of the empress's absence, bedridden due to an ongoing illness. In response, you empathize with the emperor, revealing a shared experience of parental illness. "My parents faced a similar fate," you explain, noting that a cure had been discovered but arrived too late. The room holds a heavy atmosphere, acknowledging the weight of the past.

Feeling the need to express gratitude and respect, you gracefully lower yourself to both knees, hands clasped in your lap, and bow your head. "I am thankful for this alliance," you convey, your words carrying the burdens and hopes of the Nosta kingdom. The emperor listens attentively, and in this shared moment of vulnerability, the foundation for understanding and cooperation is laid. The Queen mother gracefully approaches you, a maternal tone in her voice as she encourages you to rise, addressing you with an almost motherly affection. As you stand, the emperor, seeking to lighten the mood, playfully remarks about not expecting such a formal gesture until the wedding. This comment sparks laughter between the emperor and Queen mother, forming a warm atmosphere in contrast to the looming tension.

However, the jovial moment only fuels Prince Eustass's frustration. He abruptly leaves his throne, storming off and forcefully slamming the grand doors behind him. His anger still lingers, and the impending marriage remains a sore point, evident in the echoes of his disgruntled departure.

The emperor, visibly frustrated by his son's outburst, mutters a curse under his breath. Swiftly, he snaps his fingers, summoning two guards into the room. They approach, asking for the emperor's orders. "Make sure the prince doesn't leave the palace." The guards bow in acknowledgment before promptly leaving to carry out the command. Apologizing once more, the emperor turns his attention back to you. "I apologize for my son's behavior. He's not accustomed to such arrangements. Please understand, Princess."

Suddenly, a wave of uneasiness washes over you and the Queen mother’s now concerned gaze comes to view. “Are you feeling okay, my dear? Any lightheadedness or unusual sensations?” Attempting to respond, you open your mouth, but your voice falters, and nothing comes out. The edges of your vision blur, and an unexpected surge of heat envelops you. In a swift response, the emperor steps forward, his voice carrying urgency, “Her body is struggling to adapt to the empire’s climate!” He calls out for maids, and they hurriedly rush into the room just in time to witness your legs giving way. They swiftly catch you before you completely collapse.

Amid the commotion, the queen mother’s worry deepens, and she issues instructions, “Gently now! take her to a cooler room—Prepare a damp cloth. We need to help her acclimate to our climate!” The maids follow her orders, guiding you out of the room as the emperor watches with a mix of concern and regret on his face.

©𝐘𝐎𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐈— Any sign/evidence of plagiarism made from outside this name will be dealt with by whatever means necessary. Legal action may occur if non fanfiction works are plagiarized.

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foxcort · 2 months

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“Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

written for day 5: shapeshifter of @tamlinweek.💚🌷/ one moonlit, eerie night, two monsters strike a bargain. / (SW)

a/n: this is a little fic based off of an edit i did a while back of a concept of werewolf!tamlin and vampire!nesta but put them in a guy ritchie's sherlock holmes backdrop (or late victorian/early edwardian), because why not.

tw: none.

He caught her in the gardens, looking as innocent as a thorn on a rose, her crimson dress fluttering around her when she whipped around to face him. As soon as he’d seen her slinking away from the overzealous crowd of guests, he’d followed after her, his steps not quite as silent as hers.

“Are the festivities not to your liking, my lady?” Tamlin gestured a ways behind him, where warm light illuminated the high windows of Greenwood Manor and the sounds of merriment rose and fell to the tune of the small orchestra. “I told my emissary a circus would’ve been more lively this year.”

She didn’t titter or blush at his jest, didn’t flush at being found in an odd position. Instead she glanced him once up and down, a slow perusal not unlike a predator sizing up an adversary. Her heels clicked against the stone pavement as she strode closer to him, still a smile absent from her red painted lips.

Lady Nesta Mandray was more formidable in person than he imagined she would be. Recently widowed and thought to be a recluse, he'd sent her an invitation to his annual Spring Equinox ball anyway and was mildly pleased she'd taken the bait and made an appearance.

Even if her state of dress was not what he was expecting.

The gown that adorned her body was still modest in fashion, as all dresses worn by genteel women of high status tended to be, but the vibrant red was a stark contrast to the lilacs and tangerines and yellows swirling around the ballroom right now.

At last, she gave him a smile, though it was too sharp and too fleeting. "I wasn't aware all your guests were to be kept prisoner in that stuffy old ballroom." She threw a dismissive look at the manor behind him and Tamlin found himself growing more fond of her for it. "Am I not allowed anywhere else on the grounds?"

He chuckled softly, head bowing as he closed a few more steps between them, “Forgive me, I've been a horrendous host." Tamlin paused, taking his turn to study her, and understood that perhaps he was the prey. "Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Mandray?”

“Lady Archeron,” she corrected. “I’m afraid Tomas’ name died along with him.” Her sharp gaze seemed to say good riddance.

He smiled. The first real one he’d permitted to show her. “Would you care for a tour of the grounds, Lady Archeron?”

She regarded his offered arm with unconcealed hesitance, her silver eyes flicking up to meet his as she spoke her next words slowly, carefully.

“Should I be frightened of you, Lord Greenwood?”

“No.” He was not the kind of monster he suspected Lord Mandray had been. “Not as I am now.”

She arched a brow, and he could almost see the cogs in her brain turning, trying to piece together what he meant. Not as he was now. Not when the moon was only half-full.

It was a tentative, deliberate action but after a few moments of silence, Nesta relented, her fingers curling lightly over his upper arm. Even through the layers of his expensive coat jacket and shirt, he could feel the unnatural chill of her touch.

Without meaning to, Tamlin shivered at that touch and she gave him another one of her rare smiles. “My apologies.” She sounded anything but, and he swore an undertone of delight colored her voice. “I haven’t seen much sunlight since Tomas’ death.” A hunting accident of sorts, he’d heard, though Tamlin didn’t doubt he had help reaching his end.

He struck an easy pace through the gardens and the vineyard, moonlight illuminating their path. “I would offer my condolences, but it would be a lie to say I’m not pleased you no longer have a husband.”

Nesta laughed, a cold and lovely sound. “If you’re attempting to court me, you’ll have to do a lot better than that.”

“Without a chaperone? I wouldn’t dare besmirch your reputation.”

She waved a hand in the direction of the revelry, her nose crinkling in distaste. “If I cared for a moment what those peacocks and pigeons thought of me, I wouldn’t risk being caught in the shadows with you.”

They were almost upon the winery now, a more modest building in comparison, but still sturdily built. And conveniently vacant.

Tamlin slowed their pace, coming to a halt before the padlocked front door. “Something tells me you accepted my invitation and came all this way to risk something else entirely.” He felt her grip on his arm tighten almost imperceptibly. “Your late husband was quite a paranoid man, last I remember.”

The shift in conversation seemed to ruffle her feathers a little and Nesta gently pulled away from him, her fingers digging into the folds of her dress. “And when do you remember him last?”

“I believe it was right before his death.” He said it matter-of-factly, his eyes tracking her movements with quiet interest. “Tragic, for him to die so young and so . . . bloody.”

She shrugged, and he had the impression that both of their masks were rapidly slipping. “He wasn’t a very smart man.” Nesta began to walk, circling him slowly, her eyes half-lidded yet somehow more aware. “I always did tell him to pick his marks carefully, and he always did aim a little higher than he should have.” The tips of her fingers grazed over her exposed collar bone, where he could faintly make out the remnants of a scar. Puckered but fading. Almost as if there’d once been a bullet wound there. “I wonder, Lord Greenwood,” her eyes sharpened and she stilled in front of him, “do you consider yourself a smart man?”

“Oh, only the smartest,” he admitted calmly, an amused smile curving over his mouth. “Though I prefer you be the judge of that.” With that, he strode to the door and removed the padlock, quickly pocketing the small key afterward. Tamlin swung the door open and tilted his head towards it in invitation.

Nesta threw him a suspicious, narrow-eyed look but otherwise strode into the dimly lit winery without another word. He guided them once more, walking deeper and deeper into the barrel-filled building with complete confidence that they would run into no one. Other than the fact that his guests and staff were too drunk on spirits and levity to be roaming so far from the manor, Tamlin had strict rules imposed on the security of this particular building. The most prominent being that no one was to step foot in the building after dark and the door was to always be locked. The key was either always on his person or given to his emissary, Lucien, on the nights he needed someone to lock him in.

His staff was more than willing to believe the lord of Greenwood Manor had a haughty opinion of his stock, that perhaps he took certain measures because the secret to his winemaking was something he coveted greatly. And Tamlin let them believe as such. For the alternative — the truth — would see him in bedlam.

They finally halted before a set of cells. Two large, cold imprisonments hidden deep in the winery’s basement, the turn almost blocked by yet another high-stacked row of barrels. Understanding dawned on her face when Nesta took in the contents of the cells. Long, sturdy chains hammered into enforced concrete walls, the ends of them finished with shackles too big for anything human.

“Shackles? In a wine cellar?” She stood at the threshold of one of the open cell doors, a hint of amusement glinting at her eyes when she flicked them up to meet his. “Hardly a proper thing to reveal to a lady, your nighttime . . . activities?”

“Ah.” His mouth curved into a slow grin as he leaned against the iron bars, and when he spoke again his voice had gone rough. “But you’re no lady, are you?”

She turned, her smile unbidden now, as if all the pretense of propriety had been lifted. “No. But you’ve known that for some time now.”

“Ever since Tomas confided in me that he believed his wife would kill him, I admit, I’ve been suspiciously curious.” Nesta’s smile faltered, but he continued on. “He thought my connections with the Yard would be enough to condemn you to a madhouse. I, of course, refused him any help.”

“How chivalrous of you,” she drawled, “Unfortunately, I have no need of a white knight.”

“Good,” he smiled, letting a bit of the contained ferality peek through his expression. “I would hate to disappoint you.”

“Then tell me, Lord Greenwood—” Nesta paused, stepping closer to him, a serious and impatient tone settling over her features, “Why do any of this? What do you want with me?”

“I have a . . . proposition, of sorts.”

“Go on.”

He laughed nervously, taking a moment to admire her straightforward demand, before asking, “Will you marry me, Lady Archeron?”

Those silver eyes narrowed again, and she gave a lazy perusal of him once more, only this time he had the feeling she was sizing him up for entirely different reasons. “Are you so eager to meet an end similar to Tomas?”

He pushed away from the bars to move closer to her, that gruff undertone returning to his speech. “If it were by your hands, I would die a happy man.”

Her eyes widened a fraction and he saw a faint flush of color rise over her cheeks. Before she could indeed make the decision to gut him right then and there, Tamlin said, “I believe a marriage would be beneficial to us both. To the secrets we want to hide and the habits we cannot break.”

Nesta regarded him quietly for a long moment, and he imagined she could see the advantages of his proposal. Of sharing the burdens of their secrets with one another. Of hiding the suspicions that would start to rise for the both of them as the years went on.

Finally, she tipped her chin and gave him another sharp, little smile. “I accept, Lord Greenwood.” Tamlin felt his heart jump at her words, a reaction he hadn’t anticipated when he’d set out to strike a bargain with Nesta Archeron. “Although I wouldn’t entirely rule out the possibility of mariticide, if I were you.”

“If you do decide to murder me, promise me you’ll keep my name.” He offered her his arm again, with the intention of leading them out of the winery to resume their stroll under the moonlight, his smile wider than he could constrain.

“A possessive man? How disappointing.”

“I don’t mean to own you, my lady. I mean to haunt you.”

Nesta laughed as she looped her arm around his, more at-ease now as she followed him back through empty building and out into the night. “I think it wouldn’t be too difficult to keep that promise.”

a/n: once again a super specific little piece that was meant to be posted a lot sooner 😀 but i had a lot of fun writing it and i hope you guys enjoy it too!

#tamlinweek #tamlinweek2024 #neslin #tamlin x nesta #tamlin #nesta archeron #i still have two fics that are more on the acotar world vein that i hope to finish by today or tomorrow #which is super ambitious for me but im aiming for at least one #🌷

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jokeringcutio · 6 months

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Joker's New Girl - Joker x Reader (SMUT)

(Mention of past Reader x Grabber) Summary: Reader is dressing up nicely to match her boyfriend, Joker. He approves, they get a bit of intercourse going on, and J swears to take revenge on the ex who treated Reader badly.

Fandom(s): Joker/Marvel & Black Phone (2022) Pairings: Joker x Reader (Mention of past Reader x Grabber) Rated: Explicit Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content. Reader Curses. Reader got the hots for J, mention of past relationship/bad treatment(kidnapping)/reference to the insomnia fic with the Grabber)/Implied Reader being badass/ Implied Grabber is Murderer and J is unaware.

The hum of machinery filled the air, a constant background noise in the modern factory where you stood. Everything around you gleamed with cleanliness, not a speck of dust to be found. You felt both out of place and perfectly at home as you began to slip into your new costume.

It was colorful, designed to be both provocative and playful. The tight corset hugged your curves, its vibrant hues of red, green, and yellow contrasting sharply with the white lace that adorned it. Skintight thigh-high stockings followed, patterned with bright diamonds, each one shimmering as you moved. Over these, you donned a short, flouncy skirt that barely covered your hips, teasing glimpses of bare skin just above the provocative leggings beneath.

"I just want to look good for him," you murmured, examining your reflection in the polished metal surface nearby. The revealing cut of the costume, combined with the playful clownish design, felt both thrilling and terrifying in equal measure.

As if summoned by your words, the Joker appeared in the doorway, his green eyes taking in every detail of your appearance. You froze, heart pounding in your chest, as he drawled, "Well now, aren't you a sight for sore eyes?"

Your lips curled into a smile, warmth spreading through you at his approval. He sauntered over, green hair catching the light overhead, the red of his suit a stark reminder of the danger that lurked beneath his seemingly playful demeanor.

"Really?" you breathed, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability. His eyes roamed over your body, taking in every detail of your new attire.

"Absolutely," he purred, closing the distance between you. His hands found your waist, fingertips dancing along the exposed skin just below the hem of the costume. You shivered at his touch, aching for more.

"So I did good?" you asked, seeking further validation from the man who had become your entire world. “We match now?”

His laughter bubbled up, sudden and unexpected, but you knew it wasn't genuine amusement – it was his unique way of expressing emotion, part of the Pseudobulbar affect he suffered from.

"Darlin', we already match in so many ways,” the last few words came out as a hoarse rasp, his voice dark and seductive. "But I like this. You fit right in my twisted little world."

You sighed in relief, a thrilling shiver running down your spine as his hands traced the lines of your costume, fingers lingering on the lace and satin. You hardly noticed how he started to undo the laces of your corset, loosening it up.

"Thank you," you whispered, words barely audible over the roar of the machinery around you. But he heard, somehow, and grinned that wicked grin of his, green eyes alight with fire.

"Anything for you, my love," he said, his voice low and seductive. His hands slid up your body, slipping beneath the fabric to cup your breasts. His touch was electric, igniting a fire within you that burned with an intensity you'd never known before.

You met his gaze, emerald eyes full of desire and madness. The moment hung heavy in the air, a smoldering ember threatening to ignite a raging inferno. Your heart thundered in your chest, your breath hitched as you looked up into Joker's piercing green eyes, full of desire and madness.

His hands lingered on your skin, the corset loose enough that it slid down to your hips. But he kept his hand still, cupping your breasts, thumbs upon your nipples. An agonizing pose.

Because you wanted more.

"Mister J," you purred, your lips brushing against his as you spoke. "I want you. Now."

His eyes widened for a split second before clouding with lust. "My pleasure, dear," he growled, his voice husky and low.

In an instant, he had you pressed up against the cold, metal wall of the factory, roughly palming your breasts until he drew a moan from your lips. You threw your head back, basking in the bliss of his touch while his nipples finally stroked and pinched past your skin. Your nipples tweaked and desire spread like a hot liquid inside your abdomen.

Joker’s lips curled like a grin against your skin, smearing red paint past the sensitive skin of your neck, covering your pulse in dabs of fake blood.

You felt his hands tugging at the remnants of your clothes. The sound of fabric rustling filled your ears, mingling with the distant hum of machinery and barely registered the chill against your exposed skin because he distracted you, his lips moving up your neck and cheek until they found yours. The kiss hard and demanding.

"More," you panted, consumed by the flames of your desire. Joker obliged, his hands exploring every inch of your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He flipped your skirt, pulling your panties aside with an audible tear. You knew they had not survived the action, the lace ripped apart.

Oh well, you’d buy new ones. His fingers dipping into your awaiting wet cunt was more than enough to make up for the loss of your underwear. Your fingers curled in the fabric of his red coat while you gasped, begging him for more and ‘right there’, spurring him on. His fingers dug into your flesh, claiming you as his own.

"Mine," he growled into your ear, sending shivers down your spine because he sounded so possessive. You nodded, wordlessly urging him on, your fingers already doing a little dance between your bodies to uncover him from his confinement. His flesh pulsed hot and heavy underneath your fingers, the skin flushed and head an angry purple, dripping at the tip. The sight made your mouth water.

He was ready.

You tried to lean forward to take him into your mouth, but a lean hand stopped you by pressing against your bare chest, fingertips brushing deliberately past your nipples once again. You looked up at him, giving him a questioning look, only to meet his smoldering stare.

Wordlessly, he pushed you back up against the metal of the machinery – the metal no longer cold. He hitched your legs around his waist, pressing himself against you. Your world narrowed to the sensation of his cock as it slowly stretched your walls, him filling you – a perfect fit that left you gasping for air.

"Fuck," you cried out, your nails digging into his back as you clung to him. You could feel the grin against your neck, felt his hips snap a little harder against your own.

He set a punishing pace, driving into you with a ferocity that made your vision blur. So deep, so good. You could hardly remember ever having been plowed this good before, feeling his cockhead deep inside, the strokes of throbbing flesh stretching your narrow walls and sending shivers of pleasure down your spine.

All that existed was the two of you, locked together in a dance of passion and primal need.

"J.. please..." you begged, tears streaming down your cheeks as the sensations threatened to overwhelm you. He responded with a feral grin, his thrusts increasing in intensity until you were teetering on the edge of oblivion.

You were seeing stars, the feeling inside of you building up to something strong and eruptive. An orgasm waiting to happen, a really good one. You bit your lip but a moan still managed to escape, licking your suddenly dry lips afterwards while your hips tried to meet his. Your pussy pulsed around his hard cock while you fisted the fabric of his coat, hands on his shoulders, pulling him closer. “I’m gonna come,” you managed to bring out, pussy pulsing wild around his cock, already in the process of milking him dry.

The only thing you were aware of was how his cock hit you deep inside. Each thrust another reminder of how everything felt so fucking good. You would orgasm soon.

As you crashed over the edge, you felt him follow, his own release claiming him with the same ferocity that had claimed you. Your body shook, little tremors racked through it as you came down from your bliss, hearing Joker’s laughter in your ear.

In the aftermath, you clung to each other, breathing heavily. Joker cradled your face in his hands, then pressed his forehead against yours and closed his eyes, taking deep breaths.

The cool air of the factory caressed your sweat-slicked skin as Joker slowed his movements, still buried deep inside you. You felt the tender brush of his lips against your forehead, a surprising contrast to the heated passion that had consumed you moments before.

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, concern etching lines across his painted face.

"Better than okay," you murmured, running a hand through his now disheveled green hair. "That was... incredible."

He grinned at you, a genuine, warm smile that seemed almost out of place on the face of Gotham's most feared villain.

He helped you to your feet, steadying you as your legs threatened to buckle beneath you. His hands were gentle as he smoothed your skirt until it hid your core once more. He was taking his time to make sure you looked presentable, fastening buttons, helping you with the laces of your corset, and straightening seams until you looked presentable once more.

"Perfect," he declared, admiring his handiwork.

You smiled back at him, grateful for the care he had shown you in the aftermath of your intimate encounter. Joker may have been a monster to some, but to you, he was everything.

"Knowing I have just been inside of you is the icing on the cake," he grinned, his jealous streak showing through by his words and the dangerous glint in his eyes. “Let others gawk at you and know that I am the only one who can ever have you.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close to him, his chest heaving as the remnants of your passionate encounter still lingered in the air. His eyes, usually so full of mischief and malice, were now clouded with jealousy.

"Mine," he said through gritted teeth as a memory rose to the front of both his mind as well as yours. “I’ll forever protect you from the likes of him,” and he didn’t need to say the man’s name for you to know who he meant. Your ex. Albert Shaw. The magician's name left a bitter taste in his mouth so he opted to never say it. "That cheap knockoff clown who dared to call himself your boyfriend."

You shuddered at the mention of your ex, Denver's Grabber. You hadn’t known it at the time when you had started dating him. But you found out when he had thrown you in his basement after you tried to break up with him.

A sadistic monster who preyed on innocence. But that was something Joker didn't need to know about – not yet, anyway. Or he would question how you escaped him.

And you were not ready to talk about that yet.

"I'll make him pay for what he did to you, love,” Joker’s words were harsh, his expression even harsher. “No one hurts my girl."

"Hey," you said softly, lifting your hand to gently stroke Joker's cheek. "At least you put me to bed with a bedtime story and don’t fuck me to sleep,” like that bastard had done.

The corners of Joker's painted lips twitched into a menacing grin, his eyes gleaming with dark satisfaction. "You're right, doll," he whispered against your ear, his breath hot and tantalizing. "You're mine now, free from that sorry excuse for a man. And I always protect what’s mine… fiercely. "

"Only yours," you agreed, feeling a thrill course through your veins at the possessive tone in his voice.

"Damn right," Joker murmured, his green eyes seeking yours. You felt you could get lost in their green depths, swirling around for all eternity in a sea of deep emotions.

“I love you, J,” the words came out as easily as breathing. You wrapped your arms around his neck, smiling when he dipped his head forward, making it easier for you to capture his lips with your own.

The kiss was sweet and full of promise. You had found the love of your life; he stood right here, willing to take you along on this journey through life.

Together, you would face whatever darkness lay ahead, side by side and heart to heart. ~ ~~ Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi ~~

#Joker x reader #Reader x Joker #Joker x you #Grabber x you #Reader x grabber #Smut fic #clowns #Request fill

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munchkinmarauder · 4 months

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My review of Scarlet Witch and Quicksilver

Overall I'll give it a generous 4/5 stars and I'm excited to see where this series takes up but I do have some gripes with it

Also lots of stuff from Orlando's AITP X-Men Monday interview pops up so check it out as we may have some hidden clues on what's next

Spoilers below

Overall a good set up issue with some fun moments. Some of my fears were exaggerated but some of those expected fears did mean I didn't enjoy the issue as much as I hoped. However I'm fault happy overall and keen for the rest of the series

The good-

- a series with the twins as coleads has been long overdue. I'm so happy to see it finally happen. Fun fact this is the first marvel series to be headlines by a sibling duo.- for the most part the twins dynamic and fight felt like a proper sibling fight. You could feel the weight of their long history and the multitude of things left unsaid and resentments.

- it's nice to see Wanda being the one clearly at fault for a fight between them for a change

- while the twins are little orange I appriciate the commitment to showcasing the twins as visible people of colour. It was long needed. I do think they (and Luna and Tommy should be more visibly brown). I also am enjoying the art and the use of the vibrant colours in general.

- I like the mystery being set up with why the twins are being targeted and the twist that while Magneto did write the letter he wasn't the one who sent it. I'm not as curious at the letter contents as I thought I would be. It seems he's being cruel because he's a dick to Pietro but let's see. I also really am excited to know why it's both twins and the combination of them together that has the giver upset. Lore and power upgrade for born twins? I hope so. Wanda being a universal threat is a given so I am way more curious about what they'll do with Pietro

- I think it was a good move to make a joke about is or isn't Magneto the bio dad at the start and shoot it down. I would love for the retcon to be undone I just don't think it has a place in this story about the bond between the twins. Magneto doesn't need to overshadow the series more than he has already for what it's worth I do think the comics are leading up to a Magnet fam reunion with most of its members appearing in major comics this year.

- it being acknowledged that Magneto was cruel to Pietro, killed him and treated the twins unequally. I have gripes with this I'll set out below but given how biased Orlando is towards Magneto this was good to see.

- the Luna, Tommy and Monet cameos made me so happy! I'm glad Orlando seems fond of Luna and I hope she and Monet join Tommy in helping Pietro. Even if the ladies are just cameos it's still a nice touch.- I liked the contrast where the fuming twins lash out with their powers. Wanda destroys her shop and Pietro is ranting but checking up on loved ones while he does so. They are each others ying and Yang.

- we're lucky the Wizard is a drama queen cause his snipers seem pretty competent and if they'd used regular bullets this series would be automatically over lol. I do also think the Wizards team called Pietro to upset him. Futher and not Wanda to ensure the twins wouldn't be able to contact each other.

The bad

- the writing for Wanda was better than Pietro. This feels more like a Wanda series so far but it's early days so let's see. Even though Wanda is the one initially in the wrong she seems to be treated more sympathetic by the narrative and of course she has more page time than her brother.

- Pietro's past appearances in SW made me a bit unsure about how Orlando will write Pietro, his takes in the comic themselves are quite superficially though he talks about Pietro very passionately in Interviews. Nothing really changed that opinion here.

- we didn't get enough of the twins interacting and this is supposed to be a series about their relationship. It would have been nice to have a little more of them getting along so the fight felt more impactful. An infinity comic with the two might have been a good idea.- I hate the Pietro fears Wanda thing Orlando introduced as well as the Pietro manipulated Wanda for HoM. I don't think Steve actually read that comic because Wanda herself in that comic said all her brother was doing was protecting her cause the X-Men and Avengers wanted to kill her and Magneto was willing to let them. Having Wanda say this was off-putting. Had it been purely in angry it would be somewhat forgivable but Orlando has expressed this sentiment in his other SW books

- Orlando's insistence on the adopted family angle and portraying Magneto as a complicated but good man who took the twins in with Wanda as the worshipful daddies girl and the victim blaming as Pietro was cold to him. That man was abusive to both his children. He would let them die for his cause and had abandoned them multiple times. Wanda pre retcon had many an issue and gripe with him. The twins are justified in their issues with him and no one should have to forgive their abusers. Magneto is a fascinating character and I loved the pre retcon dynamic with the twins as it was so tragic and full of irony and it only really works if theyre blood related. This painting of them as a happy chosen family is detrimental to all characters involved.

#pietro maximoff #wanda maximoff #quicksilver #maximoff twins #magnet family #monet st croix #tommy shepherd #Luna Maximoff #Darcy Lewis #scarlet witch & quicksilver (2024)#scarlet witch and quicksilver #quicksilver and the scarlet witch #Quicksilver #scarlet witch #magneto #erik lensherr

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coveholdenmyluv · 5 months

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R. Braun - Honey Soaked Promises

synopsis. In which you reminisce on your quest for revenge, irrigated with broken promises and fermented with betrayal, allowing you to act as the judge between life or death for yourself and the viper dressed in the skin of the love of your life.

— or alternatively, in which you make the stupid decision to fall in love with the wrong person on your journey to freedom...

Oh well, you'll just have to kill him now.

series masterlist

chapter warnings. Unrequited love, angst, mourning/grieving, (our girl is going thru it), comfort, fluff.

chapter synopsis. Eren asks you a question that you don’t know how to answer. Then, you’re forced to endure a day of anguish.

IV| Snowmen and Candles. 10k words.

“His honeyed eyes seemed to shift a shade deeper, the vibrant saffron flame reflected its visage onto his pupils, a sight that brought among the warmth to your insides once again.”

Or, maybe you would.

Year 851

The sand seeps between your toes as you stroll along the shore, careful not to pierce the skin of your soles with the stray fragmented shells littered across the ground. Your fingers fly to the band on your head, slipping it out of your hair, seeing as it was deemed useless to prevent your long strands from tickling your face by the harsh but invigorating breeze that drew in with the waves.

Your eyes stayed locked on the caliginous ocean to your left that could be seen as terrifying and intimidating, but held an entirely unexplored world and connected you to uncharted lands. That could never been seen as terrifying to you, not anymore.

The ocean in daylight and the ocean bathed in moonlight were two vastly contrasting concepts — with the vivid hues of cerulean and gold, and the dusky shades of mercury and navy blues. One is reminiscent of Armin and the warmth he exudes, simply by living and sharing his mien. And the other, of Mikasa and the unwavering pillar of loyalty she provides, not to mention the blanket of security.

Now though, at the hours between night and day, the sea reminds you of Jean — for it melts the sense of security and warmth into one, and doesn't require you to throw on a warm jacket, neither would it force you to tie your hair back in search for a refreshing gust of air. The colors almost looked like the work of a spontaneous artist, ranging from intense and coruscating to dusky and chasmic.

The sea is pulchritudinous and enigmatic.

"How do you do it?"

Your eyes fluttered towards the sudden voice, so familiar to your ears. Just as you had expected, though unaccompanied by a pair of socks or shoes, the brunet peered up at your form, his dark hair delicately tucked behind his ears and lidded jade eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Very rarely, have you ever referred to those eyes as jade. But recently, there was no other word you could use to describe his serpentine irises.

"What are you yappin' about, Eren?" You ask, amusingly.

Laying his palm on the void spot beside him, he gestured for you to take it, which you obliged and took the time to dig a pit in the wavering sand for your feet to lay warmly in.

"Every time I'm thinking hard about something or am at a loss, to the point where my head throbs, you appear out of thin air." He explains, which causes your brow to contort in uncertainty. His words always seemed to have an extra, hidden, layer of meaning behind them.

"Sorry?"

Your response causes his eyes to roll jovially, before they settle back onto your face. "It's not a bad thing, silly. I don't mind it."

Your gaze settles back onto the horizon, noting the way the colors have seemed to deepened since the last you had ogled the scene. It shouldn't be too long before the sun completely takes its leave and trades shifts with the moon.

"Me neither." You state softly.

Eren's eyesight follows your own, before he speaks your thoughts aloud. "It's a nice day, or I guess, a nice sunset. Though it's getting dark already."

"Yeah, it is. The ocean seems, for lack of a better word, prettier than usual lately. Summer should be coming soon." You commented, your smile gentle in the remaining light of the late afternoon sun.

"Right." He agreed. "Are you planning to bring him for a visit anytime soon? He'd love to paint the sky at dawn." He suggested before the smallest chuckle, if it could even be considered that, escaped his lips at his next words. "I bet we'd have to bribe him to get any sleep. Maybe with that paint made from seashells that he keeps talking about."

At the mention of the boy who remained back behind the safety of the inner walls, a fond grin formed on your lips. "Even then, we'd take our eyes off of him for one second and the next thing we know, he somehow dragged himself back to the shore — with the paint we bribed him with too." You mention light heartedly. "Sometimes, I swear he's part merman."

Eren hums in amusement, and it's a small sound that seemed to be the most anyone could get out of him these days. You tossed and turned at night sometimes, pondering what had caused such a sudden shift in his demeanor. What had caused his eyes to sullen and the intricate stroma of his irises ingrained into them to deepen into that cataclysmic shade of jade? Perhaps they had always been that color, but if that were the case, what was it about his eyes before that had caused you to view them so differently?

The eyes truly are the windows to one's soul, though they aren't as pellucid as it would seem, for the existence of affliction and desolation always expelled sweltering steam and fog that obscured your view.

"Something is wrong, Eren." You admitted in as fragile of a voice as you could conjure, in fear you would cause him to pull away, just as he usually would when anyone would point out the obvious.

With his gaze trained intently on the darkening horizon, not sparing you a glance, he questions your words. "What do you mean?"

Tilting your head in an attempt to draw his attention to yourself, you state, "You know what I mean."

He does. His expression tells you so. Still, he did not relent. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Growing impatient and with urgency bubbling in the broth of your guts, you do not allow yourself to falter. "Cut the crap, Eren. There's somethin' you're not telling us about, and I want to know what it is."

His gaze fell to his lap, expression not gifting you a single key into his thoughts. "Nothing is wrong. I have everything under control." His voice said, vacantly so.

You were desperate, yearning for a window that he had somehow left open, for you to enter his mind. Eren was a person you held so near and dear to your heart, he was there continuously at one of the lowest moments of your life. And he is hurting, he is falling into a hollow crater located in the pits of his soul, as deep as the body of water before you, and he is doing it alone. But he shouldn't have to, not when you were right there in front of him.

You place your hand onto his arm and nudge him gently to face your way, "Don't do that, you're deflecting." You pointed out. "You can talk to us." You reassured him, before your eyes attempted to meet his yet again, and they implored for him to concede. "You can talk to me."

How do you help someone that does not want to be helped?

"I promise you, I've got it all under control."

"That's not what I'm asking. That's not what I care about." You state, unyieldingly, and willing to forget the empty promise he has just made to you, even knowing how meaningful those are to you.

His eyes moved to meet yours, the familiar intricate lines of his irises presenting themselves to you, unashamedly. "What do you care about?" He inquired.

Without a single ounce of hesitation, you state, "You."

If he felt any warmth from that revelation, he didn't show it. His brows stay furrowed as his stare intensified, as if he could read you like a book. "Is caring for me all that you feel?" He asks.

Your eyes soften as you answer his question, not phased by the slight change in your conversation. "No, of course not. I love you."

His face drew in closer to your own, and for the first time in what felt like a millennium, his eyes shed the barriers blocking you from entering the windows to his soul, like a reptile shedding skin. You could see him, all of him. He was begging you to say what he yearns to hear.

"In what way?"

Your breath falters, and your head subconsciously moves closer, enough to rest your forehead against his. You wish you could grant him what he truly wanted you to say. Without a doubt, your feelings towards the boy were not minuscule in size, you had meant what you said earlier, and that truth would reign until your last breath. You longed to bring him freshly picked daisies on your rare strolls across green fields, where you would invite him to lay with you and watch the stars. You want to be able to cry with him and share the baggage you both carry, and to not let yourselves handle any burden alone. Eren was the boy you wanted to fall in love with, to have him in the most secure place in your heart and never think to replace him.

You wish you loved Eren Jaeger, the way that he loves you. You wish you loved him instead.

But those daisies would never blossom and flourish as beautifully as they once did when you admired them years ago, and those stars would never gleam and radiate you adoring messages as they once did not so long ago, and you couldn't cry with him because just as you had with the aforementioned activities, you had already done so with someone else. Eren could not secure that sacred place in your heart, for that place was already taken.

"Eren." You whisper. You want to convey how sorry you truly are, but you don't have the heart to.

"Please Y/N," He pleads in a hushed tone, before his warm hand grasps your own, "I need to know."

Oh, how you love Eren Jaeger; unfortunately for him and for yourself, you are not in love with him.

How do you tell someone that your hearts still calls for the honeyed pools that cleaved through your soul and placed you at your worst. That you long for the sweet nectarine taste of his lips and the warmth his body exudes when sat under the sun, beside a brisk and anarchic river. That you hate the fact that, despite his sins against the people you care the most for, the imprint and memories that he left behind did not halt their daily tour around your mind.

The brutal truth is, you don't. You warp them like wet clay and force them in the caverns of your very being, not even admitting it to yourself, in fear of cementing those facts as exactly that, facts.

It feels like hours, which in actuality was merely minutes, before you properly garner your thoughts. You handpick your words like you pick berries and swallow the ones you deem useless, until you feel prepared to speak the naked truth towards the boy who desperately wants you to do the opposite.

"Y/N, we've been looking everywhere for you!" Jean shouts from a distance, his palms cupped around his mouth for projection. "Eren?" He voices his curiosity as he finally noticed that you weren't alone. "What are you guys doing?" He questions suspiciously.

Your parted mouth, set to speak your truth, halts midair at the sudden intrusion and you wonder why you hadn't detected his presence before. Both of your foreheads part in surprise, as well as your hands, and you turn to face the, now approaching, fawn haired boy. "Gods Jean. Don't do that." You scold.

The teenager simply looks from you to Eren in succession, his eyes conveying the questions he has yet to voice aloud. Knowing him, he'd definitely submit you to an interrogation the moment he deemed it right to, which you would immediately yield to. "Right... my bad." He replied without much regret, in fact he was most likely glad that he intruded when he did.

"Did you need something?" Eren asks, not even sparing the other boy a glance, simply returning his gaze where it had laid before your conversation — the sun now nowhere to be seen, a canvas of navy blue replacing where it had once stood. He did not appreciate Jeans arrival.

"Yes, obviously." Jean states, before focusing his attention on you. "Y/N, there are some new recruits that are looking to change up their hair styles. Connie mentioned your name and now there's a whole line of them-" He began, before the interrupter became the interrupted.

"It was not just me! Armin said so too!" Connie defended from afar, sometimes you swore that Sasha's abnormal hearing had somehow spread to him over the years.

The blonde mentioned by the second intruder waltzed down the shore behind him with an apologetic wince on his face, his lustrous locks bouncing with every bounding step he takes. "That's true. I'm sorry, I didn't know so many would be interested." He admits. "In my defense, I only mentioned it but those two really drove it home."

"Of course." You quip. "How could Sasha not be involved in the plotting of my demise?" A small smile formed on your face at the appearance of your friends. Your family.

Her cackles were heard before she made her appearance, such a buoyant one too. "Blame Mikasa!" She deflects, her index fingers pointing to the unbothered girl beside her. "She was the one that started your career in the first place!"

"I had nothing to do with the current situation." The ravenette states, shifting her head to playfully glare at Sasha.

"Wow, the waves are really calm tonight." Armin mentions his observation, his eyes always being drawn towards the sea and all that it offered.

You hummed, "I noticed that too."

"Perfect! I've been wanting to go for a swim since yesterday." Sasha announces as she trudged closer to the water.

"You don't even know how to swim." Jean tells her.

"I can learn." The girl states and you expected for some amount of preparation, or at the very least for her to take her shoes off, but this was Sasha. She did not care if her belongings sullied because of the salt embedded into the water.

"Sasha!" Armin yells in disbelief, "Your clothes!- and she can't hear me because she's underwater." He shook his head in disapproval. "The captain's not gonna be happy about this."

Resurfacing, with her hair bangs clinging to her face and lashes clumped together by the water, she beckons your group to join her. "Come on, the water feels good!"

"Mikasa?" You call to the girl who now stood beside you.

"I've got you." She replies and hands you a spare hair tie that she, for a reason unknown to you, always kept on hand, despite her own hair not bearing much length. Nevertheless, you accept gladly and move to put it to good use after handing her your head band that wouldn't be of any use to you right now.

"You're actually humoring her?" Jean asks you, bewildered at how easily the girl had always seemed to sway you along for most of her excursions.

Approaching the waves, you pivot to face the boy questioning your actions with a teasingly light smirk, "If you can't beat 'em, join 'em." You state and Connie whooped in delight as he followed after you.

"Ew, Y/N don't ever say that again. That's something Connie would say." He attempts to stifle his amused chuckles.

"I totally would." Connie agreed, not at all deflating at the light jab at him.

Jeans eyes roll into the back of his skull and he sighs before relenting, "Fuck it." He says and sprints to join you in the water.

"You guys comin'?" You call out to the trio who still hadn't shown any sign of moving from the shore.

Eren replied by simply sitting back onto the sand, having had stood to his feet along with you at the arrival of the others, before waving you off with a faint grin. You could tell he wasn't upset by the intrusion, not too much, and genuinely wanted to keep dry tonight. "Go ahead." He reassures, and like always, his words held depth to them. He would ask you the question that carved into his heart everyday if he had to, even if that meant his main organ being butchered like a scene of a sanguinary.

You didn't even have to glance at Mikasa to know that she would stay beside Eren, the world simply wouldn't work in the same way if that were any different. Armin though, did spare the wafting waves a glimpse, before taking his rightful seat beside the brunet. You didn't expect any less from the three, standing, or sitting in this instance, beside each other through thick and thin.

So you carried on, shielding yourself from the barrage of salt water thrusted at you by the two before you, with Jean at your side, the pair of you not accepting defeat at their hands. Prepared to handle the chastising conversation you would be dealt with from your captain when you returned to base, about how filthy your garments had grown.

Willing to endure extra chores, for an extra moment of peace.

Year 846

Faint whimpers escaped from between your fingers as your hands clamped against your lips in a futile attempt to withhold your cries. Glistening streams trickled down your cheeks and stuck to your lashes as you couldn't help but express your lamentation.

Your footsteps were hefty and lacking balance as you wobbled forward, and your body was wrapped securely in your cloak while your head was in the absence of the warmth the hood would have provided.

Icicles protruded from the evergreens that wreathed your figure, having had been caused by the slight changes in the weather as the ice slowly melted and the sun grew stronger. Snowflakes spun around you in a hypnotic dance, but you had paid them no heed.

Those days were always destined to be a day filled with sorrow, and the arrival of yet another Military Police officer in search of yourself only worsened your angst. You had made your escape into the woods once more, with both your body and breath trembling.

There was an affliction, deep within your soul, that felt as if someone was endlessly tugging and twisting at your insides and no matter how many sobs had left your lips, the ache did not lessen. Your lungs felt constricted, as if there was a source of pressure that gradually grew tighter, causing your irregular breaths to contort into painful heaves. The unyielding pain had caused your legs to feel as if they would collapse at any given second, but that is what you craved.

Any form of physical pain is what you yearned for at the moment, you would have accepted anything in an attempt to make the agony that fermented within your core, seem lesser.

You had fled deep enough within the woodlands that the animals that inhabited the conifers could have been seen going about their days — so, it had not come as a shock to you when your ears detected noises that came from your right. What had caused you to halt your grieving, was the fact that the sound that had caught your attention had seemed to match those of your own nose. Sniffling is what you heard and an exhale followed, both sounds that you deemed more human than animal.

Your head instinctively turned in the direction of the noises, and your eyes caught sight of a black boot, its owner shielded from your gaze by the trees. Your fingers wiped the tear tracks from your cheeks and you slowed your pace. Your eyes narrowed as you quietly craned your neck in an attempt at sneaking a peek at the stranger.

"Reiner?" You murmured, instantly recognizing the pale color of his hair.

He was sitting on the snow with his back against a tree trunk, and his head tilted towards the sky. It had been a couple of weeks since your first encounter with the boy, and all thoughts of him had fled your mind shortly after you had parted ways. You thought you would never see him again, bar the fact that he told you of his plans of enlisting in the military, the same as you.

Many people could say they were brave enough to do such a thing, but when the time arrived, so did silence. Still, it had surprised you of what a coincidence it was that you were both in the same part of the forest, on the same day, at the same hour; yet again.

"Hey stranger." You called out, your voice startling him and causing his body to jolt in surprise.

His eyes had widened at the sight of you, which was understandable considering he likely did not expect to see you again, and certainly not so soon. "How did you find me?" He asked.

"I wasn't really looking for you." You stated as you drew closer. "And if this is your definition of hiding, I think you'd do best without all the noise."

Your words caused him to hastily wipe his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, "I didn't notice." He admitted.

You looked at his sides and noted how empty handed he seemed. "What're you doing out here, again?"

"I could ask you the same thing. You look like you've seen better days." He said as his eyes inspected your face and you didn't blame him for saying so. You could feel how swollen your harsh tears had left your eyes, cheeks, and lips. You could only imagine how blood shot your sclera had gotten, but still, you made no attempts at shielding yourself. You had grown used to the swelling of your face and the headaches that the innumerable nights you spent curled up and silently wailing, had left in their wake. It also did not escape your mind that he sat in a similar state, albeit you admitted were slightly worse for wear.

Once you had been near enough that you could very clearly see the light pink that enveloped his eyes and nose, you sat beside him, against that same tree. Not enough that your shoulders had touched but enough that you could hear each other if you decided to whisper. "I asked first." You shrugged.

Mimicking the movement of your shoulders, he answered, "I guess it's just been a rough day for me. That and I've been feeling a little homesick lately." The latter portion of his sentence had dipped in volume and his brows furrowed slightly.

"I get that. I guess you could say the same for me." You said and although you did miss your home dearly, in your case it was that you missed the way home had made you feel. Not the conditions nor the people in general, but specifically, two boys that you hadn't seen in nearly a year.

His lidded eyes faintly widened in shock that your words had caused him. "Really?" He asked.

"Yeah." You replied with your eyes trained into nihility.

His eyes drifted away as he pondered on if he should ask or not. Even if he did, he didn't think he'd be much help. Another thought in his head began to plague his mind at that instant. It was what had continued to speak to him the moment he stepped onto this soil, and it never failed to remind him just who it was that he would converse, eat with, and sleep next to.

Six letters and two syllables.

But when did a thirteen year old ever listen to what their mind implored of them?

"Want to talk about it?" He asked hesitantly.

"...No." You whispered weakly, your gaze still. "Do you?"

Static air followed after you had returned his question. You didn't mind his lack of reply and were in fact, content in lingering inside the confines of your own mind, as it was customary on days like those. Your hippocampus shone with glimpses of dirty blonde hair and forest green pearls. Violet blossoms surrounded the person you envisioned, and warmth imbued their embrace. And then it was dusky navy blue eyes that glimmered like stars, and unruly black hair. Curls ghosted the ends of the small tufts that bounced their way around your mind and whispers, belonging to the small voice that you had began to struggle to remember, echoed in your ears.

"There was a man..." He began, though his voice only served as the diegesis to your reminiscent state. "-we met him yesterday." Though your eyes didn't move, your head shifted in his direction to indicate that you were listening. "He lived in Wall Maria, in a village somewhere in the southeast mountains." He sounded fragile when he had spoken of the man that roamed his mind. "...He said it happened at dawn. The animals were roused and there was rumbling that resembled footsteps."

It had clicked then, in your mind, what exactly the story Reiner recounted was explaining. The realization caused you to gaze at his side profile as he continued, "He went to go check, and opened the window..." He didn't have to tell you what it was that the man had found, and your understanding caused your eyes to soften, a minuscule amount of emotion returned to your expression. "The rest was a blur, the only thing he recalled was that he escaped on horse and left behind some kids."

Fight or flight response was a powerful phenomenon and basic human instincts, so you would have never held it against a man that you've never even met. "Is he doing okay?" You asked delicately.

His lashes fluttered and he looked off to the side as he assembled the courage to utter the words on the tip of his tongue. "He hung himself today."

You winced sympathetically and looked forward once again. "Oh... were you two close?" You asked and internally kicked yourself for not bearing the emotional capacity to be more comforting. The truth was, you didn't know how to.

"No, I met him yesterday." He reminded you. "But what's bothering me is that, he must have been planning to do it. So, why would he tell us that, knowing that he was going to do what he did?" He explained further.

You ignored the 'us' and 'we' that he had kept mentioning, in favor of focusing on the meat of his question. "Maybe he just wanted someone to know." You said, twiddling with your fingers as you went into thought.

"What do you mean?" He said and faced you for the first time since he had begun to elucidate his thoughts.

"Well, that's a day that is very hard to forget. It was the day that changed all of our lives, in one way or another, so I highly doubt that anyone who experienced the attack of the Titans has had a single moment of silence in their minds since then. It's like it plays on a loop, whether you're awake or asleep. All the sights, sounds, and most of all, the feelings." You explained as you recalled all that you had felt during those hellish moments. "Now, I wouldn't hold it against the guy for fleeing without those kids, hell- I don't even know his name, so what right would I have? But, I'm sure that he felt different. Even more so because, that was probably the first time he had ever admitted it aloud. I think he just wanted someone to know of the things he hated himself for... before he- y'know..."

His mouth parted in awe as he hummed to himself, and his eyes slowly shifted away from you in deep thought.

As you inspected his face for any signs that you had overstepped, you had grown doubtful in your analysis. "But, then again, those are just my thoughts. And I uh- didn't know the guy so I wouldn't take what I said seriously. Plus, you obviously already knew all about the reoccurring nightmares of that day and the hot flashes because you've lived through the aftermath yourself- so, my bad." You hastily reiterated your words.

"Oh yeah, of course." He forced himself to speak. "That's the part that I- uhm yeah I relate to that." He said and cleared his throat in an attempt to calm himself. "And anyways, don't apologize. We'll never know exactly why he did what he did, but I think that I agree with what you said, and I'm glad he was at least able to vent to me, if that was the case."

You hummed in agreement, "Yeah, I'm sure he appreciated that too." You said and directed a light smile his way for comfort, a gesture he had seemed to appreciate.

More silence billowed in the air around you and unlike the last time, you didn't get trapped in your thoughts, though one did cross your mind. One that you hoped would improve the atmosphere.

"Have you ever built a snowman?" You asked and clenched your fingers as to collect the ice from under you into one of your palms, before raising your hand and separating them to allow the white substance to return back to the ground, for emphasis.

His brow rose in question, "A snowman?"

"Yeah, like a man but one made of snow."

"I know what a snowman is." He deadpanned. "And no, I haven't. Have you?"

"No, but there should be enough snow to make one. Do you want to?" You asked and tipped your head his way, his eyes meeting your own.

A mischievous grin slowly but surely made its way onto his face, the right side of his lips raising first. That in itself was enough of an answer.

You both did your best to gather enough snow to begin to form the bottom portion of the man you were set to create. Without the use of gloves, your fingers began to grow stiff, not to the extent that it had caused you pain but enough that it drew your attention. Though, even with the noticeable stiffness in your fingers, neither one of you faltered in your molding. Although there were no parts of the ground that went uncovered by a sheet of ice, that sheet was thin and, most of the time, every time you attempted to scoop a grander amount into your hands, the ice grew muddy.

Smacking your lips in frustration, you groaned. "Ugh, dammit."

Reiner, who had been crouched a few feet away from you, looked up at the sound of your distress. "What's wrong? Don't tell me you're giving up already." He teased.

"No, obviously." Your eyes rolled in displeasure at the notion. "This snow just keeps on gettin' so damn muddy every time I try to scoop too deep." You explained as you flicked your fingers in an attempt to disperse the dirt from your digits.

The dilemma you faced had caught the attention of your companion. His amber irises began to inspect his surroundings as he brushed his palms together and stood on his feet. He approached a tree layered in the white iridescent snow, with few petioles clustered with needles escaping the sheet, and deemed it worthy. "Alright. Get on." He ordered.

The abrupt demand caused an incredulous expression to display onto your face, "Excuse me?" You answered.

In response, he crouched down again and patted the tops of his shoulders, "Hop on."

"Why?"

"Because the trees have plenty of clean snow we can use. I'll give you a boost and you can grab what you can, got it?" He explained.

His demanding attitude caused you to roll your eyes once again, before begrudgingly plodding over to his form in compliance. "Why do men always go 'round actin' like they can order me around?" You asked, rhetorically, though that didn't stop him from hurling the attitude back your way.

"You'll live." He said as you situated yourself as best as you could into a sitting position.

"I better. It would benefit you most if you didn't drop me." You replied and he lifted himself slowly. After he reached his full height, you did your best to gather as many bunches of crystal shavings into the safety of your arms — but as you inspected your surroundings, you had noticed that the higher you looked, the more bundles of frost had gathered onto the tree branches. You hummed softly as you contemplated how to handle your situation, before deciding on the most obvious action.

"What's wron-" Reiner began, only to get bombarded by a countenance full of frozen stardust that had caused him to splutter. He panicked when his legs wobbled slightly and then realized that you decided to take the plunge to stand on his shoulders. "Whoa- what the hell are you doing?!" He exclaimed as he took ahold of your ankles to stabilize your stance.

"I can get greater quality snow the higher up that I go, so quit moving so much and get on your tippy-toes." You justified your actions as your own followed suit.

"You better not step on my face or I swear to the walls-"

A light chortle bounced off of your lips, "You swear to the walls? I've never heard somebody say that here, are you from Stohess or some shit?" You asked sarcastically.

"I don't give a damn, just make sure that I don't get a face full of foot." He gritted as his stance relentlessly swayed back and forth.

You stretched your arm as high as it could reach while the other served as an anchor to the tree. "Almost there-" You murmured as your fingers slowly inched closer to your target. Unfortunately, just as your thumb and index fingers had gotten ahold of the cluster of needles, the entire white sheet that sat atop of it gradually slid down and descended towards your face. Your eyes widened in realization as you emitted a coherent, "Oof-" before your legs gave out and your body plummeted with the blanket of snow hugging your face.

Your form had fallen backwards which had caused the boy supporting you to do the same, creating a domino effect and an intelligible thump as you collided on the ground.

After a few moments of digesting the rumpus events that had occurred, you briskly sat up and shook your head to discard the ice particles that had found themselves tangled within your hair. The eerie silence that followed produced your heart to accelerate in panic, "Reiner?!" You called out.

"M under here." Came a muffled voice.

"Oops, my bad." You apologized. You didn't realize that he had broken your fall, but it explained the painless clash. You pulled yourself off of him and sat beside where he laid.

Finally free of the burden on his chest, he sat up from under the snow with wide eyes and disordered hair. "You almost suffocated me." He accused.

Chuckling at the state he was in, you ruffled his hair and snowflakes flew from his head. "But I didn't."

An obnoxious snort came from the boy and he gently clutched his stomach. "I can't believe you did that, it was so damn stupid." He derided.

Joining him in his laughter, you breathlessly defended yourself, "Stupid, but it got the job done. Look at all the snow we've got to work with now." You gestured to the pile of fluffy powder surrounding your forms.

Satisfied with what the sacrifice had accomplished, he nodded his head in determination and all but leapt back onto his boots. "Let's resume then." He said resolutely and reoccupied himself with rolling a clump of his snow until he had deemed it compacted enough to remain stable. You followed after with your own portion of ice that would soon be the middle of the body.

"Okay, so he's not gonna be as big as I had expected, but that's fine." He articulated his thought process, before turning to you. "Not all men have to be big and tough, right?"

With a faux pout, you began to tease, "Aww, is that what you tell yourself everyday?" You asked as your hands constructed what you planned to make the figures head. "Yes Reiner, you would know that not all men have to be intimidating." You had jested.

Stupefied features painted his face as his brain perceived your words. "What? You don't think I'm intimidating?" He asked you as his hands absentmindedly searched the ground for suitable stones to furnish as eyes.

"Well, you're not much taller than me really." You reminded him as he tossed you the stones he had acquired. "Anyways, I don't think you'd even qualify as a man, yet. Isn't chest hair needed for that or something? I doubt you've hit that milestone." You further expanded your reasoning as to why you didn't find the boy particularly threatening. Perhaps his stature did form most of your opinions on the subject, but you didn't doubt that the empathetic and somewhat sensitive nature he had allowed you glimpses of had also played its part.

His jaw dropped at the audacity you had to utter those words to his face. "I'm like a good couple of inches taller than you." He informed you matter-of-factly.

You embellished the stones like ornaments and meticulously placed two twigs in a downward arch so that your creation could have appeared blissful. "And yet I bet I could still topple you if I tried." You muttered and whether that bold statement was the truth or not did not burden you. Not unless he had suddenly decided to test your theory, but you doubted the thought to go through the effort had even crossed his mind. You sat back and admired your labor, though you noted that you weren't quite finished, as your ice person hadn't donned a nose yet.

In response, the boy mischievously feigned a pout as he observed your concentrated state. His pale fingers steadily inched closer to your most recently added detail and he maneuvered the dark wood in such a way that the arch aimed upwards instead of the latter, making your person don a frown that had replaced the grin you had concocted.

"You're making both men here sad, girl whose name I still don't know." He said woefully, before carving tear tracks onto the apple of the snow persons cheeks with his fingernail.

Indifferent to his fatuous display, you quipped, "Y'know, I'm getting tired of speaking with boys." And carved a set of feminine eyelashes onto the snow person. "That's better. I feel less disgusted."

Your actions only forced him to scoff, and he mimicked the same motions as before to carve a thick line across what would have been the upper lip of your creation, had they truly been personified. "Some guys have long lashes to pair with a thick mustache." He informed you.

Recognizing a challenge, your eyes narrowed playfully and you dragged your finger across the chest, forming arches that indicated the existence of breasts. "I've seen a couple gals with a nice stubble." You added, forcing the grin that threatened to manifest onto your face away, which didn't work as well as you had wanted it to. In fact, it hadn't helped at all.

Reiner, having had been inspired by your bold move, followed with his own. And so on and so forth, until your shared person had barely even been identifiable and the only thought on your mind was how exhilarated the moment of hilarity and bliss you shared with your companion had made you feel.

So, for your final move, your arm reeled back and swung forward with forceful momentum. Your sleeve had made contact with the frigid ice and caused it to disperse every which way, a great amount found its way towards Reiner before he could have even thought to dodge. Without a single flinch, he took it one step further and used his leg to stomp the rest of the form away, the snow doing the same to you as it had done to him previously. Not that the temperature had bothered you, in fact you embraced it as you typically did and vibrantly gleeful giggles spilled from within your vocal cords. Both of your melodies of exuberance mingled and interlaced to form flawless harmonies.

It was in that moment that you noticed, you had not belly laughed in so long, not as you did then. You hadn't felt so light about anything in your entire young life, and with a stranger that had yet to know your name. The pain that enveloped your core earlier that day had subsided and was replaced with a different kind. One that you had found you didn't mind. One that came with tears caused by the exertion of experiencing such pure bliss. One that caused you to cradle your stomach in an attempt to ease the contracting muscles. One that allowed release and transported your body into a state of euphoria. It was a state that you had begun to crave.

And you hated yourself for that.

How dare you experience such a tender emotion, and on that day, of all days. — When the people who deserved it the most weren't there to. How dare you live your life as if they had never existed. How dare you not spend your days mourning in a never ending rotation. How dare you have the will to proceed with your days in spite of what you lost. How dare you even think to ask for more.

And so your feelings of ardor morphed into those of anguish, your roars of hysteric laughter shifted into a paroxysm of cries in agony, and the comforting warmth nestled inside of your chest transformed into a raging inferno in the process of combusting your insides. The twisting and knotting of your lungs had returned and the pressure was slowly killing you from the inside out.

Reiner was stunned at the rate of which your emotions had performed a one eighty. One second he had felt his stomach churning with butterflies and the next, he found that his heart had plummeted and squashed those very insects that littered his insides at the sound of your wails. His eyes that were once shut in ecstasy had grown wide in concern. Your body had begun to curl inwards as you fell to your knees and you bowed your head enough that it met the cold hard ground.

He had no idea of how to react.

"W-what's wrong? Are you hurt- or did I do something?" He asked and you couldn't help but sob louder, your arms moved to enwreathe themselves around your figure. "Do you need water? I can go fetch some fresh if you want or something." He offered desperately in an attempt to find a solution to make your cries subside.

"St-Stefan." You had barely managed to emit the name in between your heaves. It was so faint and muddled that it had forced Reiner to strain his ears to decode what it was that you had asked for and even then he wasn't sure he had heard you correctly.

You just wanted Stefan.

"Is that a friend of yours? Do you want me to go get him? It'll probably take a while for me to get to your settlement and back but maybe if I could help you come with me-"

"He's dead." You breathed. "You can't go get him because h-he's dead!" You spoke with cracks present in your voice that carried its fragility.

In response, the boy froze and his eyes flew to anything but you. While your screams had subsided a small amount, your tears continued their downpour and sharp hiccups came sporadically, they were so powerful that you couldn't have prevented the jolts that ran through your body.

In the end, he had decided to remain quiet and allow you to attempt to regain your composure at your own pace, which you did so. By the time you had felt calm enough to speak, nearly thirty minutes of silence had ensued. You moved to sit crisscross as you trained your heavily lidded eyes ahead.

Even then, you didn't speak right away, only let the words gather on your tongue until it felt right to share them. "It's their birthday." You finally admitted what had been plaguing your mind from the moment the sun peeked over the horizon. "Both of them. Isn't that such a crazy coincidence? Six years apart and they still enjoyed spending it in the same ways too."

Your voice was so small that Reiner didn't dare to interrupt in fear that it might've disappeared completely. He let you unpack what it was that had caused you to sob so uncontrollably, that even mere laughter was enough to break the dam that aided you in retaining such overwhelming emotions.

"I never knew the exact date that I was born, so Stefan... such a kind Stefan, he suggested that I celebrate it on the same day that they did. They both didn't mind sharing with me, even if that meant they had to split the occasion in three." You spoke of the boys fondly and with so much adoration that brimmed your eyes. "I guess that kind of means that today is my birthday too. Although, I'm sure my actual one has passed already. I don't know why I think that way, but I do." You said and your lips had begun to feel chapped. "He would've been thirteen today... and baby Ciel-" Your sentence broke when a wave of hiccups bubbled in your throat as tears had threatened to fall once again. "Cielo would've been seven." You punctuated your statement with a broken sob and your head burrowed into your knees as you hugged your legs against your chest.

Reiner was petrified.

He did not want to know more for he feared that he knew the answer as to why you had spoken of them in past tense. Your confession had served as a sort of wake up call and reminded him once more just why he had arrived at your island in the first place. He wanted to flee and create as much distance as he could have between the two of you because he did not want to face the truth of how his actions had affected the people around him, least of all you. He reminded himself what he had been taught since young, what his people had deemed your own and he wished it didn't cause such an internal conflict. He berated himself for it — why would you, someone he had yet to learn the name of, cause him to question himself and the people that raised him into what he had become? It should not be that way, and especially not on your second meeting.

You were simply someone he had yet to know the name of, is what he repeated to himself... though, he had acquainted himself enough that he wouldn't mind seeing you everyday that would follow if it meant that he would soon learn it.

The mere sight of your form that had become so frangible had hurt him, pierced his heart and dug the blade in deeper with each tremble he saw your body endure. Why it did, he did not know, and though what he yearned for the most right at that moment was to flee, he did the opposite and drew closer.

Because when did thirteen year olds ever pay heed to what their minds pleaded.

Comforting and warmly snug arms swaddled your figure, a sentiment that was foreign to your body; a side effect from the copious amount of nights you had spent laid awake with the same emotions and thoughts plaguing you, though in those instances no consolation was offered. He didn't say a thing but simply embraced what he could of you and listened to you pour your heart out.

"The thing is, I'm not even mad that I spent the whole morning cryin', it's the only thing that I've felt in a while. Most days, I spend my time in the fields to keep busy, but even when I'm not, I just feel so fucking empty. So, in the nights where I do cry myself to sleep, I feel so relieved in the morning because it proves that I'm still human and not losing my mind. So, when I felt anything other than my usual torment, I got so damn mad at myself because, today of all days, my mind decides to make me feel something resembling happiness when really, I should keep crying my eyes out because the people that should be here, aren't." You didn't even realize that was how you had truly felt, but it was true and you allowed your tongue to spill every subconscious thought it had withheld for the first time in a long time.

Seconds of silence turned into minutes and minutes had felt as though they had morphed into hours. You knew that much time could not have passed because while the sun did seem to grow a shade more aureate, its position in the sky did not yet suggest preparation for nightfall. Your swollen eyes and throbbing head almost forced you to doze off in the warmth of Reiners arms, you leaned into him and felt the vibrations of his pounding heart, your own resounding beats following directly after in consonance.

Though, it seemed that he did not intend to stay without words. "You know, birthdays are supposed to celebrate birth." He stated.

Your brow furrowed, "What?"

"Well, and this is gonna sound cheesy but bear with me here, it's called a birthday for a reason." His voice was so mellow, you didn't mind him breaking the silence. "It's not supposed to be a remembrance of death, it's a celebration of the life you've been allowed to live, a celebration of your existence. It's the reason that most people blow out candles, some believe that it's to ward your wishes of purity and a lambent future to whatever god you praise, while others use it as a way to thank them instead, for the aid they have provided in the life they've built."

"And if they don't have a future? What if they truly are gone, what then? And what if the life they have lived wasn't prosperous or anything to be proud of?" You genuinely asked. Both Stefan and Cielo lived a life full of bad deals and if any god had played a hand in that, why would you thank the architect of a dilapidated structure?

"They're never truly gone, not unless you will them to be. You don't have to remember them for what they lost or never attained, but instead, for all their wins and what they gratified."

What he said had made sense to you, and in any other situation, perhaps those words alone would have been enough to persuade your view to change. But, every angle at what the boys had that you descried, you could not fathom what merit their life had possessed. In your eyes, they were robbed of the chance of pursuing further miles stones that they had yearned for, and maybe it was wrong for you to assume as such but those feelings came from a place of deeply rooted love that you harbored for them both.

Hesitantly, he continued, "I'm gonna go out on a limb here and guess that your point of view of what they got to experience was not enough, which is fair because, to you they deserved the world. But, have you considered that maybe they saw their life as fulfilled? Or that they were content with the small things they were able to accomplish? And maybe it wasn't, but isn't it better to hold that perspective in your back pocket? As if, if they had the chance to look at what or who they left behind, they would feel it was enough."

"Maybe, but does that mean they're happy to have left me alone? They didn't have to both go."

"Not necessarily in a way that they're glad to have left those things or people behind, but content as in, they trust those people to keep moving forward or maybe even pick up where they left off, in a way."

That was the second instance in which you had doubted your long term goal. Both Stefan and Cielo promised that if they were granted the opportunity at actualizing your aspirations of venturing beyond the walls, they would have taken it without a second thought, and in return, you had promised the same, but in the moment, you were under the impression that you would do so together. Doing something so new, strange, and alien completely terrified you. So, while it was not enough to sway your long term goal in the opposite direction, that conversation fermented the seed of doubt, that had been previously planted by Annie, into your psyche. There was doubt in your road to revenge.

"Or! I could be completely wrong and overstepped my boundaries." He panicked at your silence, his arms and head pulled away hastily.

You faced him and wiped at your nose and cheeks to rid them of the aftermath of your meltdown. "No, it's okay really. I- uhm... needed that. I'm sorry for ruining...whatever that was." You trailed off, not really comprehending where you were headed with the apology.

The ghost of a smirk appeared on his face as he took in your words. "Oh? And what was that?" He jested.

"I just said, 'whatever that was' which means I don't know." You told him with a whimsical eye roll.

He hummed, "What a shame."

"Not really." You added.

He chuckled lightly at your remark before sincerity slipped back into his expression, "But seriously, you don't need to apologize, I get it. And plus, feel free to sucker punch me if I'm overstepping but, today is your birthday, right?" He asked.

You looked at him suspiciously, uncertain at what he was getting at. "Not really, I don't know when mine is. Also, I'm sure it's passed already, like I said earlier. Today is Stefan and Cielo's birthday." You explained, not wanting to make the occasion more for yourself than you already had.

"I'm sure both Stefan and Cielo wouldn't want to celebrate it alone, right?" He told you with hesitance very obviously laid within his tone. He was walking on eggshells as to not tip over on the tightrope of your boundaries, which he had felt like he was dancing on. He also made sure not to ask the forbidden question, one that he ached so badly to ask but he knew the answer would create such a disorder in him.

"You've never even met them."

"Nobody wants to celebrate a birthday by themselves. Who would light their candles?"

"We don't have candles, idiot." You tittered.

He hummed in thought, "Maybe not..." He moved to unbuckle his jacket and pulled out a small black pouch from within a hidden inside pocket. He fluidly untied the knot that sealed the objects inside of the portable bag and stuck his hand inside to search for something specific. Lo and behold, you didn't expect that what he would slip out was a set of matches. "This is survival 101, never leave your post unprepared." He informed you boastfully.

The sight had caused your eyes to widen as you exhaled in surprise. "What- you've got matches?" You whispered.

"Duh." He quipped which caused your astonishment to diminish. "I know they're not candles but this should do. Plus, it's not like we need it to burn for long, just make sure to blow it out quick." He explained.

You shook your head as he further baffled you, "Wait, what? Me? I'm gonna blow it out?" You asked with a finger pointed towards your face.

He mimicked your actions, his own digit being used to emphasize you, "Yes, you. Who else?"

"But why?"

He set his pouch down and opened the small box, sliding the portable miniature torches out and grabbing a singular one, before setting the rest away. "Because, I don't have anything to say to them. Even if today isn't your actual birthday, why wouldn't you want to celebrate it with them? Make a wish, tell them a secret, or simply ask them a question. Either way, once you blow them out, the smoke will ward your words their way. Isn't that a great tradition?" He asked and punctuated his question with the ignition of the little flame in his hands as he settled it between both of your faces.

Although the woods weren't yet a dark abyss, the flickering minute inferno did not fail to set alight Reiner's features. His honeyed eyes seemed to shift a shade deeper, the vibrant saffron flame reflected its visage onto his pupils, a sight that brought among the warmth to your insides once again. The dips and valleys of his face were highlighted, bringing to your attention details that you hadn't before espied. The delicate arch his nose took, the way the hair of his brows were slightly darker than those on his head, the form in which his cheeks were sculpted but still kept their youthful bounce, and even his lips appeared more voluminous due to the shadows on their perimeters. A familiar sensation had arose within you, it caused your mind to grow hazy and your surroundings to darken, and left the boy before you in an angelic halo.

Your enchantment was not one sided, for the flames glow had enhanced your profile as well. Both of your gazes connected in the illusion of being the sole inhabitants of the land from with you plucked and plowed each day. The flickering of the match before you had awoke you from its spell and reminded you of the fact that you were merely two humans in a world overrun by mindless monsters.

You cleared your throat and directed your eyes downward before you swallowed and set your sight onto the object in the hands in front of you. "Uhm, so do I say it out loud or-" You begun.

He visibly flinched in response to being awoken out of his delusion and looked anywhere besides the face he was caught memorizing. "Oh, yeah. I mean, no! You have to say it in your head otherwise it won't ring true." He explained before lowering his voice for the latter part of his instructions. "And you have to uhm... tell me your name. Cause, I have to say it for this to work." He added. "Rules are rules, you know."

"Oh, really?" You said, a brow lifted and your lips did not attempt to hide your forthcoming smirk.

"Yes." He nodded curtly.

"Y/N."

A smile carved itself onto his face as he took in the sound of your name for the very first time, of many to come. "Okay, Y/N." He nodded and tried the foreign word on his tongue; which slipped out as smoothly as fall honey. "Make your wish."

In preparation to speak to the loved ones you had lost, you sat on your knees and scooted closer to the light. You closed your eyes and searched deep within your cavernous soul for the words you craved to direct to the afterlife, if such a place existed. You asked yourself, if you had one last chance to ask or dispatch your words to both Stefan and Cielo, which ones would you choose? And you steeled yourself, and allowed your phrases and vocables to rebound throughout your mind, while you inhaled the strength to proceed.

'I hope I make you proud.'

And then, the once dancing flame, extinguished.

Fun fact: Remember that flower crown mentioned in the scene of Stefan’s death? Yeah, he was making that for you before… yk: 💀☠️

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cnnmairoll · 10 months

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First Flower

Pairing : Gepard x Reader Genre : Fluff, Domestic Summary : Amidst the blooming flowers of their shared home garden, you and Gepard's love blossomed, nurturing not only the vibrant petals but also a profound and enduring connection between two hearts. a/n : this fic is part of The Domestic Things They Do With You so feel free to check out what other character will be there! Hopefully I could write one daily

In the heart of the serene town of Belobog, where the sun always seemed to shine a little brighter and the air felt a tad bit sweeter, you found yourself entwined with the life of Gepard, the valiant captain of the Silvermane Guards. With fair skin, piercing blue eyes, and golden locks that shimmered like the rays of the morning sun, Gepard was not just known for his impressive appearance, but also for his unyielding dedication to his duty.

Though he commanded his troops with precision and was an unparalleled warrior in the realm, outside the battlefield, he revealed a side that few were privy to witness – a side that was as endearing as it was unexpected. Gepard was a dork, a genuine and adorable dork. Clumsy with mundane tasks, he struggled to navigate through the simplest of chores, garnering him an undeniable charm that melted hearts.

One bright morning, as the flowers began to bloom and birds serenaded the world, the idea sparked between you and Gepard to create a small home garden together. The notion of nurturing life, watching it flourish under your care, resonated deeply with both of you. And so, armed with seeds, shovels, and a shared love for nature, you set off to carve a garden of your own.

The sun illuminated Gepard's blond hair as he bent over, planting the tiny seeds with meticulous care. Despite his warrior exterior, he handled the delicate seeds like treasures, his large hands cradling them gently. You watched, a smile tugging at your lips, as his brow furrowed in concentration. The determination in his eyes was a stark contrast to the vulnerability he unknowingly displayed.

As the days turned into weeks, you and Gepard devoted yourselves to your budding garden. With each sunrise, you'd find yourselves outside, watering the plants, pulling out weeds, and sharing laughter as you exchanged anecdotes about your lives. You discovered that Gepard had a particular affinity for flowers, much to your delight. He confessed that he had attempted to grow them before, but his efforts often ended in disappointment.

Your heart swelled with affection as you watched him struggle. Gepard was so adept on the battlefield, facing foes with unwavering strength, but here, in the realm of petals and leaves, he was humble and earnest. You reassured him that gardening was an art, a dance with nature that required patience and understanding.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and the sky painted itself with shades of orange and pink, you found Gepard kneeling beside a patch of soil. His shoulders slumped, his expression crestfallen. He had tried once again to grow a flower, only to be met with failure.

With a soft smile, you approached him, your hand resting on his shoulder. "Don't give up, sweetheart. Remember, every gardener faces setbacks. It's all a part of the journey."

He looked up at you, his blue eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and gratitude. "I know, but it's frustrating. I just want to see something beautiful grow under my care."

You kneeled beside him, taking the seed packet he held in his hand. With gentle fingers, you helped him plant the seeds, guiding him through the process. "It's not about getting it right on the first try. It's about learning and improving. And I promise, one day, you'll see the most beautiful flower you've ever grown."

Days turned into weeks, and with each passing moment, your bond with Gepard deepened. The garden became a canvas of your shared efforts, a testament to your patience and your belief in the beauty that could arise from even the smallest of seeds.

And then, one morning, as the sun stretched its arms across the sky, you both witnessed a sight that stole your breath away. Amongst the blossoms and leaves, a single flower stood tall and proud – vibrant petals painted in hues of blue and purple. Gepard's flower had bloomed.

His eyes widened in awe, and a smile tugged at his lips. "I... I can't believe it. It actually grew."

You wrapped your arm around his, your heart swelling with pride for him. "See? I told you, Gepard. It just needed time, care, and a little bit of faith."

Gepard's gaze lingered on the flower, his fingers tracing the delicate petals as if he couldn't quite believe his own accomplishment. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice filled with a mixture of gratitude and wonder.

A soft breeze rustled the leaves around you, carrying with it the scent of blooming flowers and the promise of new beginnings. You leaned your head against his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his presence beside you. "You did this, Honey. You nurtured this garden with your own hands and heart. It's a testament to your dedication and love."

He turned to look at you, his blue eyes locking onto yours. There was a depth to his gaze, a silent understanding that seemed to bridge the gap between words. Without another word, he leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a gentle kiss. It was a kiss that held a world of emotions – the joy of success, the tenderness of shared moments, and the promise of a future yet to unfold.

As you pulled away, a blush graced Gepard's cheeks, his eyes sparkling with affection. "I couldn't have done it without you," he admitted, his voice carrying a touch of vulnerability that made your heart flutter.

You smiled, reaching up to brush a strand of his blond hair behind his ear. "And I couldn't have done it without you either. We make a great team, Gepard."

He chuckled softly, his fingers intertwined with yours. "I guess we do."

The garden became more than just a collection of plants – it became a symbol of your shared journey, a testament to the growth you had experienced together. Each day brought new discoveries, both about the garden's intricacies and about each other. With Gepard's dedication and your guidance, the garden flourished into a place of beauty and tranquility.

As the seasons shifted and time flowed onward, your love for each other continued to bloom just like the flowers in your garden. The garden became a haven for stolen moments – romantic picnics under the shade of blooming trees, stolen kisses amidst the fragrant petals, and heartfelt conversations that stretched long into the night.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow across the garden, Gepard knelt down beside the first flower he had successfully grown. His fingers brushed over the petals lovingly, his eyes filled with a sense of accomplishment and wonder. "It's amazing how something so delicate can become so strong with the right care."

You sat down beside him, your fingers intertwining with his. "Just like love, Gepard. It takes time, patience, and nurturing, but it can bloom into something truly beautiful."

He turned to you, his gaze soft and tender. "I'm grateful for you, more than I can express."

Leaning in, you pressed a lingering kiss to his lips. "And I'm grateful for you, Gepard. You've shown me a side of you that's as captivating as it is endearing."

In that moment, as the last rays of the sun painted the sky in shades of pink and orange, you both knew that your love story was just beginning. With the garden as a backdrop, you shared a love that had grown from the smallest of seeds into something magnificent – a love that would continue to flourish and bloom, just like the flowers you had nurtured together. And in the embrace of nature's beauty, you and Gepard found a home for your hearts, forever entwined in a love that was as strong as it was tender.

#˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ mai writes #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #gepard #gepard landau #gepard x reader #gepard landau x reader #hsr gepard #hsr #hsr x reader #hsr fluff

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mariettebonneville · 6 months

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─𝟎𝟔 【𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐅𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐬】 𝐒𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐆𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐒𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐱 𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐢

In the chaotic aftermath of a fierce battle, the vibrant strands of Mitsuri’s pink hair fluttered like petals in the wind, her breathing heavy as she stood over the defeated demon.

Her sword, still gleaming with the remnants of her Love Breathing technique, slowly reverted to its sheath as she closed her eyes to calm her racing heart.

But victory's quiet was short-lived. In a moment of unsettling calm, two shoji doors appeared beneath her, before opening and giving her no time to comprehend the situation.

Mitsuri's eyes widened just before the world blurred as she fell—the next thing she knew, the smell of iron and blood was replaced by the pungent scent of exhaust and the distant hum of city life.

Mitsuri's feet stumbled upon the hard concrete as she found herself in the midst of Tokyo's roaring streets, the tall figures of skyscrapers casting elongated shadows over her.

Neon lights assaulted her senses, strange metal carriages thundered by, and the sea of people moved with an unfamiliar rhythm. Her heart raced, and her grip tightened around her sword's hilt.

Her heart raced for different reasons now—confusion, fear, the overwhelming sensation of being utterly lost. Instinctively, she reached for her sword, grasping its handle for the comfort of familiarity.

That's when she saw them—figures that others seemed not to see, twisted and vile, roaming amongst the crowd.

Demons?

But how could the other people ignore them and how were they able to overcome the sun weakness? She wanted to pull out her sword and fight through her exhaustion but with hundreds of unsuspecting civilians wandering the streets, she couldn't take the risk.

Unknowingly to Mitsuri, those creatures were not demons but mere Curses and her being devoid of any curse energy, Mitsuri should've been as oblivious as the rest of the crowd.

In her bewildered state, Mitsuri began darting through the mass of people, trying to put distance between herself and the phantoms only she seemed aware of.

That's when fate intervened.

Her shoulder slammed against a figure in a sharp set of dark clothes with gravity-defying silver hair—an unmistakable presence she had never encountered before.

It was on these bewildering streets that her path collided with Satoru Gojo, the most powerful Jujutsu sorcerer of his time.

Unbeknownst to her, it was an unusual day for Gojo as well; a day when someone ran past him, unaffected by the infinity that separated him from the rest of the world, a technique unavailable to the physical realm.

Gojo Satoru stood where she had just rushed past, surprised that for once, his Infinity hadn't stopped someone in their tracks.

Curiosity piqued, Gojo turned to look at the woman with the bright eyes and hair the color of spring blossoms. The threads of destiny began to intertwine as he watched her retreat into the crowd, an irresistible enigma that had bypassed his impenetrable barrier. But how?

He followed silently, blending with shadows and light as only Gojo could, his sky-blue eyes never losing sight of the pink-haired enigma.

Finally, in a quieter alley, he stepped out before her, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to her vigilance. "Running from something?" Gojo's voice was smooth, a smirk playing at his lips.

Mitsuri, poised to react, noticed no malice in this man, yet the power he emanated struck her down to her core. Speaking softly, Mitsuri said, “I’m... I’m just lost.”

Confusion, usually an alien sentiment to Gojo, seemed to visit him quite frequently since her arrival. That a being without curse energy could perceive Curses and, more importantly, evade his Infinity, was a paradox that delighted him.

"Then let me be your guide. Where were you heading" he said, extending a hand with a gesture that blurred the line between a gesture of aid and the beginning of a claim.

She saw steadiness in his hand, the promise of answers. And in that moment, two fighters from separate worlds decided to trust in the unseen chords that had drawn them together.

#yandere #yandere jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #demon slayer #kny #mitsuri #mitsuri kanroji #gojo #satoru x mitsuri #gojo x mitsuri #yandere gojo #yandere satoru #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x mitsuri kanroji #oneshot #scenarios

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accio-victuuri · 6 months

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from this article by China Daily about Xiao Zhan’s drama WDB. 🤍

TV series taps into nostalgia of bygone era and the sense of optimism that captivated China's youth in 30 years.

As winter descends, the frozen Shichahai ice rink becomes a stage for young individuals gliding carefree across its surface. The profound contrast between the frigid ice and the passionate fervor of the young skaters creates a captivating tableau.

The youthfulness of this cohort finds its genesis in Shichahai, where their emotions and destinies will become intricately woven together. Over the next three decades, their fates will undergo a continuous metamorphosis, mirroring the relentless changing of the times.

This is the narrative that unfolds in the domestically produced drama The Youth Memories, a 38-episode television series that was broadcast on both China Central Television and Tencent Video this year.

Directed by Fu Ning and starring Xiao Zhan, Li Qin, Liu Ruilin, Cao Feiran, Zhao Xin and Cui Hang, the drama is set in Beijing in the 1970s and tells the story of a group of young people who grow up, pursue their dreams, and struggle during the early period of reform and opening-up.

This series has captivated attention since its casting and production to its on-air debut. The conscientious craftsmanship of the production team, evident in details like costumes and props, coupled with the dedicated performances of the group of young actors, has resulted in the show achieving both impressive viewership ratings and positive acclaim.

Yang Chenghu, a professor from Beijing Normal University, comments that the series not only provides a snapshot of a bygone era, but also preserves a love story etched deep within the memories of an older generation.

Through its vibrant portrayal of ambitious and dynamic young characters, it gives play to the anthem of youth, conveying profound reflections on the spirit of the times and the essence of life, Yang says.

Zhou Xiaoxiao, chief editor of the drama, says her goal is for the show to resonate with the memories of older generations, while simultaneously helping the younger generation comprehend an era where warmth and challenges coexisted.

"This isn't a documentary series, so it's impractical to comprehensively delve into every historical nuance. Nevertheless, the destinies and fluctuations of the characters undoubtedly stand as the era's most compelling testimony," she says.

"The Youth Memories serves as a poignant bridge in this regard. The personal growth that Xiao Chunsheng and his cohort of young individuals undergo throughout their journey resonates with the evolving times, encapsulating a condensed path of life."

Director Fu Ning has crafted numerous TV series that unfold in the heart of Beijing. Raised in the Beijing hutong, Fu maintained a profound connection to the core narrative and the atmospheric backdrop of the depicted era in this drama.

With a stringent approach, he ensured authenticity in shaping the essence of the story and the period ambiance, striving to present a genuine portrayal of 1970s Beijing through his lens.

Yang Xiaopei, general producer of the TV series, has served as the executive producer for several renowned dramas including Legend of Fuyao, Ancient Love Poetry and Who Rules The World. The Youth Memories marks her debut in the realm of realistic historical dramas.

According to Yang Xiaopei, this drama delves into discussions on themes such as love, friendship, dreams and faith through a youthful lens, with its creative exploration that touches upon every facet of characters' lives.

"I think the drama has the capacity to resonate with audiences across different age groups," Yang Xiaopei says.

As per Yang Xiaopei's explanation, the crew meticulously studied the daily habits of individuals living in Beijing during that period to capture authentic details in props, including practices like winter cabbage storage, burning coal balls, and the presence of street vendors selling sugarcoated hawthorn.

In terms of costume design, items like batwing sleeves, bell-bottom pants, scarves and headbands authentically recreate the ambiance of that era.

To recreate the Shichahai ice rink of the 1970s, the team crafted detailed blueprints, and ultimately enclosed an area exceeding 10,000 square meters.

Yang Xiaopei highlights the involvement of over 100 members from skating clubs who served as extras. As the machines operated, they glided naturally, infusing the entire scene with a profound sense of authenticity.

This was not just a leisurely pursuit or hobby but a genuine reflection of the lifestyle of Beijing residents during that era, she says.

Young actors' ambitions

The series unfolds over a span of 30 years, requiring each key actor to navigate three decades of character development. The main cast delivers a compelling performance that leaves the audience thoroughly satisfied.

During casting, Yang Xiaopei emphasized her willingness to provide opportunities for young actors, but she steadfastly avoided relying solely on popularity. She placed greater importance on the suitability of the role and the actor's genuine passion for the character.

Xiao Chunsheng's character is played by actor Xiao Zhan. Yang believes that Xiao Zhan shares commonalities with the role in both image and character.

"They both exude optimism, sincerity, uprightness and the courage to confront challenges. When combined with Xiao Zhan's profound understanding and portrayal of the character, he can be deemed the ideal choice to bring Xiao Chunsheng to life," Yang Xiaopei says.

"The integrity, kindness and sense of justice that define Xiao Chunsheng harmonize seamlessly with Xiao Zhan's simplicity and sincerity. Moreover, in terms of appearance, Xiao Zhan's stature and posture perfectly suit the role," Yang Xiaopei comments, adding that Xiao Zhan even sought out a teacher to learn the Beijing dialect.

Zhou acknowledges the outstanding performances delivered by the entire main cast. "Li Qin's portrayal of Tong Xiaomei also stands out. She is an exceptionally thoughtful actor, meticulously considering whether each plot point aligns with Tong's character, and whether it is within her capabilities to portray them." Zhou says.

"Of course, this extends to Liu Ruilin, Cao Feiran and the other young actors who, to my pleasant surprise, shone brightly. Everyone surpassed expectations, delivering performances that were truly exceptional."

Cao, 28, portrays the character of He Hongling, who shares numerous emotional scenes with Xiao Chunsheng in the drama.

Reflecting on the filming experience, Cao mentions that Xiao Zhan, with his extensive acting background, often provided valuable assistance on set. "If I did something well, he would point it out, enhancing my confidence in the process of shaping the character," she notes.

As both Cao and Xiao Zhan fully embraced their respective roles, spontaneous dialogue between them became a common occurrence on set.

Cao perceives He as a radiant, goal-driven individual with ambitions. However, influenced by her family background and the era's milieu, He is also a complex, self-interested individual living in the present, Cao adds.

In preparation for her role, Cao learned the violin and how to ice skate before joining the production. Additionally, she sought insights into the emotional experiences of individuals from that era by consulting her parents. "My parents mentioned that emotions during that time were relatively straightforward and pure."

Cui Hang, 34, delivers a compelling performance as Chen Hongjun, the close companion of Xiao Chunsheng. Successfully overcoming the challenges of the college entrance exams, Chen gains admission to university, and eventually becomes ensnared in the tumultuous currents of power, while ultimately landing in prison.

Before delving into this role, Cui took the time to thoroughly understand the character, charting the logical progression of changes in Chen's journey.

Throughout the series, Chen's glasses change three times, with each pair symbolizing a significant shift in identity, status and mindset.

From glasses mended with tape, to the pair gifted by Ye Fang so he could focus on preparing for the college entrance exams, to the gold-rimmed glasses worn after ascending in rank. Cui explains that the prop was chosen to signify changes in his character's social standing and mindset.

In the final office scene, Cui devised a meaningful gesture. He meticulously straightens the national emblem on his cap, wipes it clean, and then places the hat on the table, simultaneously removing his glasses.

"This is a farewell to his mistakes of the past," Cui explains.

Spanning 30 years, Chen's narrative presented a unique challenge for Cui, marking his first portrayal of a character with such a broad age range. Despite the inherent challenges, Cui found the experience immensely gratifying.

"The set design instantly transported us to an era half a century ago as soon as we arrived. The props, hats, scarves — everything belonged to that specific period. As actors, it was effortless to immerse ourselves in our roles," Cui says.

In the series, the character of Ye, Chen's wife in the drama, is brought to life by Beijing native Zhao Xin, who was profoundly captivated by Ye's personality when delving into the character's background.

"I find this girl incredibly intriguing. In that era, how could there be such an intelligent and clearheaded young lady? She is remarkably perceptive and forthright," Zhao says.

Ye earned the endearing nickname "prophet" from the audience, due to the character's accurate prediction of the reinstatement of the college entrance exam. Zhao believes that Ye's popularity is attributed to the fact that contemporary young women exhibit a strong sense of independence, and they can connect with Ye on a personal level.

"I've learned valuable lessons from the character. She possesses a profound pursuit of ideals and approaches situations with a highly rational mindset," she says.

#xiao zhan #where dreams begin #xiao chunsheng

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ofallthingsnasty · 3 months

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I love the thought of a feisty darling with Doffy a lot, but there is also something about you just... giving up. Mentally checking out. Growing numb. The lights are on but no one is home, that kind of thing.

And really, it's all about the contrast of you being nothing but a shell of your former self, colorless to the vibrant decadence, the omnipresent opulence that surrounds you. Put in shrill but expensive clothes that you find neither exhilarating nor distasteful, just treated like a mannequin, limp shoulders heavy with jewelry; that's how you shuffle through the many chambers that are now your home. Restless and sluggish, completely aimless, just wandering to keep the noise in your head at bay. Never interested in one particular subject (well, maybe except for one thing - fleeing from Doflamingo for just another moment, another minute), you just rot away in bed if no one pulls you out of it by early noon or stare out of the window until the sky changes color. You eat what's put in front of you - sometimes too little, sometimes too much, you don't care. It tastes all the same, be it meat or dessert - and it might as well be slop to you, it's all turned into some kind of porridge when you're done grinding it between your teeth, anyway. And you let Doflamingo poss you, preen you, dote on you - it doesn't matter what you want, what you feel - there is no point in doing anything other than what he says and then to earn your pitiful, grey moments of nothingness. He took all joy from you, inch by inch, and now you're so hollow you're almost grateful for the void that has been left behind - it's easier this way, the complete surrender makes every atrocity he commits easier to bear.

That monotony, that dull itch of life could be endurable, you think. Just getting swept up by the current of emptiness, by the shifting of hours into days into weeks into months - that you could stand, even if it meant pissing your life away for drab boredom. If Doflamingo was a man of voyage and you had to just play the darling spouse seeing him once, twice every few months? Ah, life would be grand, almost, with the way that the sun doesn't light up your eyes anymore. (Because then, you'd just fall into that blissful trance until he returned, time and time again.)

But he's not. The devil loves his home and comforts and you on top of all of that, so he keeps his too-big hands around your shoulders when you watch the ice melt in your untouched drink, opens that mouth wide and grins something awful while he lounges with his prized possession stiff and cold by his side. All the fake-blue pools and umbrella-specked cocktails he provides you with look bizarre right next to you, who doesn't even spare them a half-hearted smile of fake gratitude. And when you're by the water he likes to lounge at and he keeps you barely covered in something that's hot pink and itchy, you don't even feel the heat of the sun beating down on you. Maybe you would have been self-conscious many, many moons ago - all of you on display, a millimeter next to the epicenter of gaudy and excessive that is the king of Dressrosa himself - but no, you don't even care to sit upright. Elbows perched on your thighs, you stare at the water dancing under light, not really seeing. The only thing that bleeds through your ennui is his skin on yours, how his warmth seeps right into you. How it shakes when he laughs, how he rubs little circles into the fat of your back when he doesn't - but he never takes that hand away, either. Always there, always loud and colorful next to your dull face, your tired eyes. He appears to care, goes through the motions - from touching you, talking to you, holding you, fucking you - but it's all fake, all just a little play he likes to engage in, one that you have given up on. And while he shines and shines like some dark stone someone polished too many times - you tarnish more and more.

You're just so tired now. So utterly lifeless.

#tw.yandere #/doflamingo #/one piece #i think he'd like either a feisty little thing or a lifeless doll...

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thesoftboiledegg · 1 year

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I love how lost X-216 looks in this commission that I ordered from @kizutea. He wanders alone at night with his disheveled hair blowing in the wind. The lighter provides the only warmth that he has in the cold air. Who knows where he's going, but maybe he's thinking about not coming back this time.

I think this commission looks like a book or graphic novel cover. The shine on his lighter makes it look so vibrant, like real metal. I love the way the light and shadows cast across his face and clothing, plus the contrast between the cool tones on the left and warm tones on the right. Plus, I finally remembered to tell an artist that he wears gold rings! I always forget that detail.

(X-216 is my OC who appears alongside C-137 in my fics Spectrum of the Curve and Running Like Water 🔥)

#rick and morty #rick sanchez #my ocs #commission art

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ripplestitchskein · 3 months

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The Real Helluva Boss Pilot

Episode 1: Murder Family

My intent with these essays to analyze the episodes both from an “as the information is presented to the audience perspective” as well as a Meta perspective, taking into account what is revealed later. I will also be analyzing the writing with regards to plot structure, dialogue choices, and characterization, as well as highlighting visuals and effects that are relevant. I will not be taking information that is not presented in the canon episodes, like the Sinstagram posts into account. I am writing as I watch the episode (and think it would be fun to read it as you watch it too but not necessary) so I strive for accuracy and while I do have bias, being human and all, I will try to justify it using the presented text. I will have a masterpost to keep track of these for future reference as I *plan* on doing every episode. I’m AuADHD though (if you couldn’t tell) so it really depends on the brain juice if the focus lasts. These will be long, but hopefully informative and interesting.

So lets get to it:

The episode opens on a flashback, we see a happy schoolhouse, have a heartwarming song and then the sequence of events that leads us to the panning down shot to Hell and our first glimpse of the world we are going to be inhabiting in the course of this show. There is a direct visual contrast between the blue skies, twittering birds, vibrant school house and later, Hell. It is established what sequence of events led the client there and the client is fleshed out a bit as far as who she was immediately preceding these events. It’s a really efficient character backstory presentation, we get who she was, what happened and why she did what she did, and how she felt about it. It’s a good deal of insight for a character we see once, they did a great job making her a bit more rounded in a short amount of time and with limited but pointed visuals. Her clothing. Her demeanor. Her relationship with the children. Their relationship with her. The contrast between what happens. Kudos all around. The song going from happy classroom bop to creepy and discordant with the chalk screech was great.

This initial opening sequence is for the plot of the episode itself not necessarily for the show overall, though it does highlight one of the central running themes of the show: that the human realm and Hell are only different on a surface level. An interesting choice made by the team here was that the horrific events take place entirely in the wholesome school house. Except for a brief cutaway to the cheating husband we stay in the bright cheery environment with the actions taking place - their teacher murdering her cheating husband and then killing herself - contrasting it. It’s really fitting for an episode themed around the human world not being as wholesome as it appears to be. I thought it was a good choice. I also love the pan down through the Earth to Hell and the visuals being very similar to a world we are familiar with, office buildings and cars in a downtown environment, but obviously other in regards to aesthetics.

We then get a large establishing shot of the office building and then a cut to the interior, specifically Blitzø’s door which has I.M.P Headquarters in large text, and “Meeting in Progress” taped to it in a more cartoony one. A visual to show the difference between the intended professionalism versus the actual professionalism.

So we are told where we are, and that the character doing the voiceover is in this office. The tone and mood so far is detective noir, starting with the client’s smoky voice over narration and continuing into the office which is lit and framed with this pastiche in mind.

The first bit of dialogue from one of our actual main characters is Blitzø asking if the mistress was hotter, calling the client “tits” and then giving us a summation of their business and some world building in a really tight character revealing expository dialogue drop. It also contrasts with the noir tone, instead of playing into the trope he breaks that tone and gives us the tone of the show itself. From this initial dialogue we know that they are in Hell, that their business is to take revenge on the living, that Blitzø is vulgar, rather misogynistic, and a bit silly (I.e. “Boop”).

We then jump back to the story of the episode to explain why this is a good case for them to take. The mistress is still alive and based on the scenes probably not a great person but there is still enough ambiguity there to make it seem like they are going to kill a fairly innocuous cheating woman for the sole reason that they were hired to do so by a jealous jilted wife (I’ll point out that this ties back to Striker later, he essentially is doing the same thing IMP does in this episode, for the same reasons, with some class issues thrown in for spice).

The client gets angry and aggressive and Blitzø urgently presses the emergency button under his desk. This button gives us a little insight into the office, Blitzø, and world as well. Or at least situations that require an emergency call.

More Coffee, Soiled My Pants, Horny Client, Deranged Client, Client Giving Birth, Ghost, and Stolas (See my feelings on the Stolas button here). I love that such a simple detail gives us so much information and also leaves us wanting to know more. Are these things that happen frequently, that Blitzø is scared of happening, that got added because of a specific event in the past? The visual story telling with that intercom system is *chef’s kiss* and from a story boarding perspective a great way to transition the scene.

This leads us outside of Blitzø’s office to I.M.P headquarters at large where we have Moxxie shaking as he tries to shoot a family picture. Here is the conflict of the episode introduced. We also meet the three other important characters of the business. Millie has a “if that’s what the client wants” attitude, Loona is dry and sarcastic and points out that we don’t know what the family are hiding (this episode’s prophetic character and the theme stated), and Moxxie is conflicted, only wanting to kill a family if it was a shitty Dad or a Mafia Family (Moxxie backstory and Daddy issues hint). Millie also indicates that Loona is different from them, that she is a Hellhound which is subtle world building via dialogue and I liked it.

We are given a little foreshadowing as to the episode’s “twist” (humans are full of secret nasties) in this exchange.

We also get a little taste of how different Moxxie and Millie are. Millie gives Moxxie the solution to the problem they’ll encounter later right here but he has to learn the hard way. (This comes up multiple times in their relationship, in Happy Campers most explicitly, but is established first here).

“Guilty and innocent ain’t our business Mox, killing who we’re paid to is our business. Shoot the target”.

Moxxie does not agree with this sentiment. This speaks to his personality and to his major character flaws. He wants to do things his way, and often ignores others and suffers consequences for it. Also this speaks to his role as being largely the audience perspective character in this episode (and often to the series as a whole). How Moxxie feels is largely how we as the audience should feel in this situation (hopefully).

Blitzø comes out, announces the new client, Moxxie misfires and the first long running gag of the show of the office being destroyed in some way is established. A gag that reflects the “continuing to keep trying despite it all continually falling apart” journey the character’s are on throughout the show. This misfire foreshadows what Moxxie will do when they go after the client, a missed shot being Moxxie’s fault.

We head downstairs, the firemen are dealing with the situation and Blitzø yells at Moxxie for setting the office on fire. (Foreshadowing what will happen to the house).

We are introduced to the grimoire, the fancy book that is their only ticket to the human realm. Loona sums up its function for us. This interaction also shows us how Blitzø interacts with Moxxie and Loona respectively. Yelling at Moxxie and squeezing him aggressively, vs simpering at Loona and offering her a treat. We also see her reaction to him, largely disgusted and fending him off.

We also see that Loona controls the grimoire, though her being the sole person to control it isn’t revealed until later. Blitzø and Loona’s relationship is not explicitly declared until episode 3. I’ll admit, based on Blitzø’s vulgar dialogue and how he treated Loona, and her reactions I was worried when I watched for the first time that Blitzø was like sexually harrassing her, but after episode 3 it made it more clear. (Yet another reason why you can’t base a character’s entire personality on one episode or a handful of early dialogue, you actually gotta like…watch the show as things are revealed). The billboard in the background is a super fun detail. The book is presented as the tool that lets them go back and forth and it is shown to be Important(TM).

We open a portal and now we’re in the human world. Due to the lighting, unlike the happy schoolhouse, it is not visually contrasting with Hell now, the lighting between Hell and Earth is the same, maybe even a bit brighter in Hell.

When they get to the house Blitzø offers the shot to Moxxie, he is visibly excited but he hesitates, Blitzø goes to take it but Moxxie is still conflicted, he ruins the shot just like in the office. It was a really quick insight into Moxxie still trying to prove himself, at being fairly new to this specific line of work. Because of him though the family is alerted.

We see that they are not the wholesome and innocent family they project, first by the background visuals of bones and weapons (and the wheelchair with the urn with a full meal in front of it which I did not notice until this rewatch, always finding new stuff) the music, and then by their behavior. Their faces resemble more the denizens of hell than humans now.

Outside Blitzø and Moxxie argue, and we get some insight into both of them, Moxxie is softer and more empathetic, he doesn’t want to kill a wholesome family. Blitzø is more jaded and says that there is no such thing. That no one is innocent from Birth. He tells Moxxie to get over himself, speaking to Moxxie’s established character flaw : He is so wrapped up in his own sense of what is right that he causes problems for others.

Blitzø also says something during this exchange: that they are not killing a family, they are killing a mother and ruining a family. Which considering what we find out about his mother is interesting. Mostly because he seems rather gleeful about it, but considering the theme of revenge present throughout the show looking at it now we could interpret it as him wanting to visit some revenge on a ”perfect family” but whether this was a conscious choice by the writers at this point, or one that we can just ascribe meaning to based on later episodes I couldn’t say. He might just like killing folks. It’s interesting tho.

They scatter and the chase sequence begins. Moxxie is grabbed immediately, Millie is shown to be a bit more dangerous and skilled at combat but she falls fairly quickly. Blitzø yells scatter and takes off. They have all three gone in different directions which is a running issue with their relationship and the business as a whole throughout, it is not a good strategy. They need to work together but it’s episode 1, so.

Moxxie wakes up and he’s in the creepy Ed Gein room with the kids. Loona, Millie and Blitzø were right, humans are full of secret nasties.

Now we follow Blitzø running from Martha. Stolas calls, and Blitzø answers and tells him it’s a really bad time.

We see Stolas for the first time. He’s in a fancy bubble bath with a fancy phone having a much different time than Blitzø. These characters are in two very different places from a variety of perspectives. There is a very deliberate theming for Stolas, a lot of effort went into the background and aesthetics, and his musical motif (Owl in a Cage) is heard for the first time. This indicates Stolas is an important character, inhabiting his own world within this world and with his own established designs and music. Even though he is largely only expository in this episode, to establish the grimoire as the reason they can get to the human world, it is indicated its use comes with additional backstory we don’t know yet, and forward story that will come up later and that Stolas will be central to those stories. It is, in fact, the ONLY explicit thing we are given to explore in future outside of IMP itself.

It also shows us how Stolas feels about Blitzø, he calls him Blitzy from the very beginning. His voice is simpering, cooing and sexual. Blitzø is colder, obviously he’s used the excuse of it being a bad time more than once to avoid this conversation. Stolas seems to be able to see him in a bubble but it’s not clear if that’s just a visual choice like a split screen or an actual ability he possesses, but based on D.H.O.R.K.S and the caller ID on his rotary phone I think it’s the latter. It is also not clear at this point if Blitzø is avoiding the issue of the book, Stolas himself, or both. At this point it’s probably safe to say both.

It is revealed that Stolas has been allowing Blitzø to access the human realm using the book illegally for an unspecified amount of time. He needs it back to do his job but suggests working out an exchange, favors for favors. He breaks down the deal for Blitzø, Blitzø returns the book on the Full Moon, they have a night of passionate fornication each month and Blitzø can keep it the rest of the time. Blitzø says “Okay, Whatever” and then Stolas starts in with the dirty talk.

The takeaway here is they have a sexual relationship that one party is more invested in, Blitzø is more worried about not dying at the moment.

I’d like to digress for a moment and have it noted that in no way does Stolas threaten Blitzø, he just offers the deal and takes Blitzo’s acceptance of it at face value. We do know it’s important to the business and that Blitzø has been avoiding discussing it. We also know what he’s doing with it is illegal. So I do understand early interpretations of it being predatory or coercive based on this exchange alone, but this is cleared up fairly quickly in Season 1, as we’ll see in later analysis. To me this exchange was as ambiguous as the Blitzø/Loona situation in terms of how these characters were related, a little odd at first because we didn’t know the full context and leaning towards creepy at face value, but later cleared up unequivocally and explained further.

I think the difference for people here comes down to foreknowledge, either watching the original Pilot (not canon) or following the creator. For me, as a brand new viewer who had no background or knowledge of VivziePop other than the presented text I was MORE initially eeked by the Blitzø and Loona dialogue in this episode than the Stolas dialogue because her reaction was so viscerally disgusted and the conversation with Stolas seemed to be an established “thing”. Blitzø picked up even though he was running for his life, something I wouldn’t expect a character to do if they were repulsed or avoiding someone. He also KEEPS TALKING TO HIM, even though his life in danger from doing so. Also not something a character does if they are repulsed. Man could have sent it to voicemail because he was being chased by a psychopath but still answers and chats. This leads to an important point, when looking at a piece of media you can’t really take in what is initially shown, as it can change as early as the next episode and character reactions to dialogue matter as much as what is said. Which is the case with both Loona and Blitzø and Blitzø and Stolas, and the audience should only be expected to know what’s shown on screen.

Additional outside the channel content is fun, like the Sinstagram posts, but a general viewer doesn’t have that unless they go looking for it so it shouldn’t be integral to understanding.

Blitzø is under duress because of the situation with Martha, not the conversation Stolas, so we cannot extrapolate much as far as his true willingness based on the first episode and this dialogue alone, though people sure do try. If the conversation were taking place when Blitzø was not running through the woods for his life it would give us more insight, but we have to wait for further episodes to get that. But we do get it.

Anyway, Blitzø gets caught by Martha and drops his phone. Stolas does not notice, he’s too wrapped up in the sexual dirty talk and cannot help him. A running theme for them.

Moxxie is struggling to escape inside, sees the flames and realizes Millie is in trouble. His primary concern is for her. He uses a chair to overpower the girl child and grabs a gun and runs to save Millie. This speaks to his priorities and his relationship with Millie which, up until this point was hinted at but not overly explicit. He also has no issue hurting a child now, up until this point he was trying to get away by straining at the ropes, when he sees Millie is in trouble his reservations about hurting children are gone for that moment.

Millie and Blitzø are tied to a stake, Martha gives a lil speech, they burn but it doesn’t hurt them. Blitzø reveals shooting them would. Millie is annoyed he revealed that. I thought it was interesting that we establish Imps can be killed by being shot, and then later that Stolas can as well, albeit with a different kind of gun. I don’t know if it’s necessarily relevant but you should always take note of ways characters can die and ways they can come back in my experience, and such dialogue is rarely for nothing. Stakes have to be introduced otherwise we won’t have the suspense they are in actual danger. This exchange puts Millie and Blitzø back in danger while still giving them a demonic flavor in the world building in that the fire wouldn’t hurt them. It’s a good, subtle, writing choice. Taking away stakes to establish a trait like fire immunity but then bringing them back with gunshot vulnerability.

Moxxie kills Martha by shooting her through the eye, overcoming his issue at the beginning of the episode to save his wife and also, incidentally, his boss. It’s a great shot from a visual perspective (pun not intended but appreciated) with Moxxie framed through the bullet wound.

Moxxie and Millie cuddle making their relationship more defined.

Blitzø is annoyed with Moxxie for causing the situation in the first place. Moxxie apologizes, Blitzø hugs him and forgives him and makes the first sexual threat joke about Moxxie and Millie of the series and confirms for the audience they are married. I appreciated this from a writing perspective, it gives us the info without Moxxie and Millie having to say it, which is always weird and unnatural in early episodes. “MY WIFE” kinda stuff, but having Blitzø do it casually in a very Blitzø way was just good dialogue. You always want dialogue to be revealing about both situation and character if you can and they nailed it with that line.

Blitzø calls for Loona, he calls her dear, another subtle hint at their relationship. It is not revealed they are father and daughter at this point but he treats her more affectionately than he does anyone else so far with his tone and dialogue so we know she’s different in some way.

Moxxie runs off to take care of something. He passes the phone where Stolas is still going on and we get the jelly sandwiches line. Freaky, oblivious bird. This is either a continuity error or Blitzø carries multiple phones as he just pulled a phone out to call Loona. I kind of assume he has the yellow one as a personal phone and the red one for business? I just noticed it so I’m going to keep an eye on it.

Moxxie tells the Dad Ralphie that Moxxie should have killed them because they are monsters, but they deserve a chance at a life and a purpose. He thinks mostly of the children. “I’m handling this my way” to show he is still holding to his principles and that he believes in justice prevailing and they have a slightly humanizing moment with the universal remote.

Moxxie joins Blitzø and Millie at the portal. Blitzø says some pervy Blitzø stuff. Millie asks if Mox is okay and says he has a good heart but a fussy head. Millie goes through the portal, Moxxie looks back and the Earth police blow up the house and everything he tried to do with his good intentions. Sad teddy bear shows us even the kids died. Blitzø yanks him back through to Hell.

The office is having celebratory cake. Millie is proud of Moxxie while he looks miserable. They sum up the “lessons of the episode” via dialogue.

Moxxie finally learned not to fuck up

Killin people is okay if they try to kill you back

That is messed up, but I paid for it!

Everyone laughs. Moxxie looks miserable.

We the audience are shown that this world has a very different moral code than our own, Moxxie is the most like us and the people proven right in the episode were the characters with no moral issue killing a family from the beginning. The lesson learned is Moxxie’s, and kind of echos the “road to hell is paved with good intentions” aphorism in that we assume the whole family ended up there by the end because of Moxxie’s. The family is revealed to be rather evil, but Moxxie still wanted to try to save the most innocent of them and still failed.

This episode serves as the entire series opening image in a sense. Here are who we are dealing with, here are some tastes of their personalities and hints at their relationships, the world has a much different moral code than our own.

This is the true pilot episode in terms of structure and content. We have a cohesive three act structure. In the first act we setup the characters (Blitzø, Moxxie, Millie, Loona. The client and the family), the setting (both Earth and Hell), the theme can vary based on your interpretation but there are several to pick from revenge being central, humans being as bad as hell residents, etc and we have the main conflict of the episode: Moxxie is not comfortable killing an innocent family but has been tasked with doing so.

In the second act, Moxxie attempts to solve the main conflict by ruining the shot, which leads to everyone being in danger from the family, and everyone gets captured.

And in the third act, Moxxie is able to resolve this conflict by killing Martha to save Millie and he attempts to give the remaining family a chance but is thwarted by Earthly law enforcement. It’s still a resolution, even if doesn’t align with human based ethics or end happily for Moxxie, the naive audience surrogate who has to learn along with the audience that it’s not that simple in this world, and it doesn’t always end in rainbows and happiness.

We have accomplished all Pilot goals. We have been placed in the world, introduced to the major characters and given hints as to their relationships and personalities. The major overarching plot devices for further exploration in the season are introduced: the business itself and the grimoire, both will continue to be relevant and are linked together.

The major questions we are left with to continue onward are the results of the Blitzo/Stolas conversation, the exact nature of Blitzø’s relationship with Loona, and how IMP will handle other clients in the future.

I thought it was interesting is the three main character perspectives, other than the client who is a throwaway character, are Moxxie, Blitzø and Stolas. Millie is a supportive role and mirror for Moxxie she doesn’t actually affect the plot in any way other than being the catalyst for Moxxie to make his choices and to highlight his flaw. Loona is largely there for an expository purpose to explain the grimoire and state the theme, she has no plot relevance. As far as character reveals and relationship reveals go the central focus of the episode is those three in that order of importance. We don’t even find out Millie is Moxxie’s wife explicitly until the end and we do so because she is why he made the choices he makes at the end, we don’t find out Loona is Blitzo’s daughter at all until episode 3, but we have the beginnings of Stolas and Blitzø, we have brush strokes of the team’s relationship to each other, and the beginnings of Moxxie and Blitzø’s dynamic as well.

In terms of the overarching plot structure of the show this episode serves as the perfect Opening Image. There are lots of things dropped we’ll pick up throughout this season and the next. A lot of stuff you don’t realize was established so early on is there.

The writer’s did an incredible job with the dialogue, the foreshadowing, and everything is so efficient and tight for a 13 minute runtime. Every scene, every line, every visual serves a purpose and it’s extremely well done. While I don’t consider it a masterclass in writing or anything, it is one of the best “by the book” Pilots I’ve ever seen.

#helluva boss #helluva boss meta #Stolitz #stolas x blitz #vivziepop #long post #I tried to find all Blitzø’s but my autocorrect hates it #I missed fandom #I love doing stuff like this #engaging with media is so fun

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monstersandmaw · 2 years

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Male dremora x female character - Part Seven (sfw)

Disclaimer which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere.

This chapter came about because of the lovely support of those who donated over on Ko-fi on my new ‘sponsor a story’ idea. Thank you!! I hope you enjoy this next part, especially knowing that you made it happen!

Content: soft fluffiness, a touch of flirting, touch-starvation, a bit of standard fantasy/Skyrim bandit action, mention of loss of family and grief, and more fluff. Sfw.

Catch up here:

Part One (sfw), Part Two (sfw), Part Three (sfw), Part Four (sfw), Part Five (sfw), Part Six (sfw)

Alys stirred slowly in the soft, silver light that shrouded the world just before dawn.

Drifting between full wakefulness and the pleasant haze of dreams, she felt the press of a large hand on the small of her back and the warmth of a solid chest beneath her cheek, rising and falling with the steady rhythm of a deep sleep, and she blinked.

Smooth, charcoal grey skin with rust-red markings swam into focus slowly, gradually, and her heart leapt wildly as she realised she was still lying atop the dremora she had summoned from the Deadlands. It was the first time she had seen him sleep, and with that groggy realisation, she watched him more closely.

He had a slight scar on his chin, perhaps from the fight with the dremora warlord at Icepeak Keep, and the red lines on his face seemed less vibrant than they had when she’d first met him in the harsh contrasts of bright snow and dark trees. His lips were darker than the rest of his grey skin, and the urge to plant a soft kiss on their sharply-defined corner was almost overwhelming.

To distract herself, she continued to stare and discovered that he had a large, dark freckle underneath his left eye. His dark eyebrows were relaxed, his eyelids soft, and his long, thick lashes rested quietly in sleep. Were it not for his steady breathing, she might have thought him a carved and painted effigy. The way his horns curved, following the contours of his skull, also made her want to touch them. Were they cold? Did they have any sensation?

She sighed and looked away, wondering just what she was doing. If Dinn or Wil could see her now, they might have thought she’d cracked under the weight of grief, under the shock of losing her beloved aunt, but she didn’t feel like it. She felt… steady. Calm. Still.

“I wish you had a name,” she murmured, barely giving breath to the words so as not to wake him. His tapered ear twitched, and his eyebrows furrowed for half a heartbeat, but he appeared to slumber on while she ran options in her mind. Something old, she thought. No new, modern name would suit a creature like him, and she wondered if Gisela had kept any of her father’s old books. There had even been one written in Dovahzul, the language of the dragons. I’ll start there, she thought.

Reaching Falkreath would disrupt this new-found peace, she knew, and Alys suspected that the loss of her aunt would come crashing in again on her all too soon, but in that odd, timeless moment before dawn — before the day began and the birds started singing and the insects chirruping — she could just be. She nuzzled against the dremora’s chest again, closing her eyes and breathing in the quiet, campfire scent of him. She sighed softly as his left arm tightened around her, pressing her back into his side for warmth and closeness.

She didn’t realise she’d dropped off again until she blinked awake once and squinted at the advancing morning light that was flooding in beneath the shelter of the rocky canopy above.

With a deep inhale, she stretched and realised with an odd jolt that she was alone in the bedroll. Alert and wary, she sat up and looked around.

The movement drew the attention of her dremora, who was sitting cross-legged in his shirt and leggings beside a revived fire, and he smiled.

“Morning,” she mumbled.

He inclined his head and she calmed at the gesture. “I let you sleep. I hope that was alright.”

“Mmm,” she hummed vaguely, rubbing her eyes and stretching her arms out to either side with a huge yawn. “Thanks.”

“Breakfast?” he asked and she perked up almost comically. “I found some birds’ eggs not far off and there’s a hive just there with some honey. The bees didn’t mind sharing a little.”

“You making hearthcakes?” she grinned flippantly.

“Not quite,” he conceded. “But you had a small pan dangling off your pack that you didn't have before Whiterun. I thought we could make use of it this morning since it’s still raining and you didn’t seem to be in a rush.”

She lumbered out of the cosy bedroll like a bear from hibernation, drawn towards the promise of delicious food, and plonked herself down beside him. He looked down at her and smiled shyly. His plait dangled down his back and she felt bold enough to reach out and trail her fingertips down a section of it. “I’ve never met anyone with hair as long as yours. Do all dremora wear it like that?” She hadn’t been in a position to observe the dremora warlord’s hairstyle during the fray at the tower.

He shook his head and didn’t speak for a few seconds while she continued to touch. “No,” he rasped. His eyes fluttered closed and he rocked back a fraction, inhaling softly through his nose.

“You like that?”

“Mm.”

She smiled and leaned closer to him, nudging his shoulder with her forehead and laughing. “You’re such a softie. I can’t believe those mages in the tower were afraid of you.”

With a playful snarl, he curled his lip at her and revealed his double canines on one side. “I can be very dangerous,” he said in a voice like silk over steel. “But only at your command.”

Alys had not been expecting the thrill of heat that pulsed in her core and she squeezed her legs together, eyes going wide.

“And you like that,” he said, and it wasn’t a question.

“You already know the answer to that,” she mumbled, blushing hot at the embers of the fire.

He gave her a fond, warm chuckle and leaned down to kiss the crown of her head. “I do,” he said. “Here,” and he handed her a plate with an already-halved white roll to hold while he shunted the small fried eggs off the pan with the tip of his Daedric dagger and safely onto the waiting roll.

The yolks were still a tiny bit runny, and when she closed the roll and bit into it, she moaned. “This is almost as good as Hulda’s breakfast at the Bannered Mare,” she said through a thick wad of bread and egg. “Thank you.”

Again, he whickered a soft laugh and ate his own breakfast in easy silence.

He drew out a wide, flat leaf containing a small section of dripping, golden honeycomb once they’d finished the rolls, and they shared it on the same wooden plate that the dremora rested on his knee. Alys ran her fingertip through the last remnants and licked it off, and when she looked up, she found the dremora watching her with his eyes red.

“Why do they change colour?” she asked.

He blinked, not following. “Why do what change colour?”

“Your eyes,” she said. “Sometimes they’re completely black, and sometimes I can see the irises — when they glow red.”

“Oh,” he laughed and she watched little half-moon creases appear in his cheeks. He seemed genuinely amused and shook his head. “It’s just… something that happens.”

When she quirked an eyebrow at him, he kept laughing, but quietly; almost privately.

“It’s… It just happens,” he said again with an overly-nonchalant shrug. “When we use magic, when we feel something strongly, when we’re tired…”

He regarded her carefully and she realised with a pang of disappointment that the colour had faded away as quickly as it had come. Then, because he evidently knew what she’d been thinking, he added, “We can do it deliberately though.” As he spoke, his eyes flared again and he measured her reaction with obvious self-congratulation.

“You’re a menace,” she snorted and stood up. Behind her, the dremora was still chuckling to himself.

The rain was still falling beyond the bounds of their shelter in a dense, sheeting mizzle, and Alys sighed as they packed up the camp and left it as close to how they’d found it as they could.

“Seems like fitting weather for a homecoming,” she muttered as they tramped down the cobbled road and she tried not to slip on the algae and moss that slimed it. Obviously, the route to Helgen had fallen quiet in the aftermath of the dragon attack, and it saw little foot traffic. In a few years’ time, it would probably be swallowed up entirely by the surrounding banks that were sandy and soft and studded with fragrant heather.

All around them, bees were trying valiantly to fly in the damp conditions to gather nectar for their hives, and Alys had to admire their tenacity. Given the choice, she would much rather have been curled up by a fire with a book in her lap and a steaming mug of mint tea beside her. A drop down the back of her neck from a pine tree overhead brought her back to the moment with a yip of distaste.

After an hour or so, they passed a lonely little thatched cottage set back from the road on their right which the dremora eyed with deep suspicion, raising his nose and inhaling.

“What?” she frowned. “Looks like an ordinary house?”

He shook his head and jutted his chin down the road. “Keep moving. It smells… off.”

Trusting to his superior senses, Alys just shrugged and adjusted the strap on her pack as they went. She’d only been away from these parts for just over a year, but already it seemed wilder and more overgrown, and the dark, silent woods held a threat to them that they never had before. Or perhaps it was just the reminder of her grief, and the fact that she was now alone, that made her mind run along such paths.

Her dremora didn’t often start conversations, but he appeared happy enough to maintain idle chat as they went, and she found him opening up a little and allowing himself a few more questions of her in return. She told him about Winterhold and learning magic, and a little of her first year classmates, and by the time her stomach was rumbling to announce it was well past midday, they were rounding a bend in the road that had the dremora faltering again.

“Humans,” he hissed and then corrected himself. “No, an orsimer and a human.”

Alys strained to see through the trees and saw only a couple of wooden platforms up ahead, each flanking the path and seemingly empty in the misty wash of rain that had draped itself across the land.

“Stay here,” he said, and slipped away through the trees on their right. If his gauntlets and armour had made enough noise to rival a small Khajiit caravan the previous day, now he moved as silently as a Dark Brotherhood assassin. She turned to watch him go and was surprised to find he was already almost invisible though the trees.

Feeling vulnerable in the middle of the road, where anyone could have an arrow nocked and aimed at her from the trees and she’d be none the wiser, Alys shifted towards one side of the path and waited. There was no sign of the dremora.

A movement on the right hand platform and muffled cry of surprised pain was masked almost immediately, but it didn’t go unnoticed. The yell of an orsimer’s gravelly voice raised in a war cry split the quiet of the rainy day and sure enough, with a whir of fletching and the sharp ‘clink’ of steel on stone, an arrow ricocheted off the track just beside her feet.

She yelped in surprise and cast an armour spell around her, and then shot forward at an awkward sprint towards the flimsy wooden bridge that sagged across the roadway ahead. Her panicked thinking was that if she were directly beneath the platforms, the archer wouldn’t have a clear shot at her. It seemed to do the trick because no more arrows plinked down around her while she caught her breath. Her pack dug into her spine as she leaned against one of the platform’s support struts, but she ignored it, chest heaving and ears straining to work out what was going on.

A figure raced over the wooden slats above her like sailor on a ship’s rigging and she spun, watching, to see the dremora slide low on one hip before surging upwards and plunging his dagger through the chest of the orc who had shot at her.

The orc’s body fell awkwardly and a hunting bow clattered onto the boards, but before Alys could process what she’d just seen, the clunk of a lever sounded, and a deafening rumble filled the air on all sides.

“Alys!”

She barely heard the dremora’s panicked yell before she looked up to find boulders the size of carts thundering down out of a partially-concealed chute above her. In a last-ditch attempt to evade them, she flung herself back against the pilings that supported the platform with a scream and waited for one of them to land on her and snuff her out like a beetle under a boot.

It only took seconds for the rocks to blunder away down the road, and in the roiling dust of their aftermath, she saw the dremora leap off the platform that had to be twelve feet above her, with his black braid flailing like a whip. He landed light as a Khajiit in a soft crouch to absorb the impact and was up again in an instant, searching wildly for a few seconds before he found her standing shakily in the shadows at the base of the platform.

When he saw her, he sagged with a muted whimper of relief and then crossed to her in four long strides to cup her face in both his hands. There was blood on his right palm and it printed, cold and sticky onto her cheek while his eyes glowed with vibrant, crimson fear. Breathing heavily, he bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “Thank every Divine you’re unharmed. The orc’s body fell against a lever when I let go of it… it must have triggered the trap. I’m so sorry. Gods, you could have been killed.”

“I’m fine,” she hissed, staring at him. “I’m fine. It’s alright.”

Her trembling hands found their way to his hips, resting on the loose metal plates of the carved and chased Nordic armour. It was an effort not to cling to him for support, but before too long the shock began to dissipate.

They shared a slow, careful breath before the dremora let go and stepped back. He grimaced in disgust when he saw the smear of orc blood he’d left on her face, but she washed it off with a splash from her waterskin, and they picked their way through the enormous boulders to continue into Falkreath.

“I don’t remember that being there when I left for Winterhold,” she said once they’d put a fair distance behind the bandit lookout and her heart rate had returned to normal.

The dremora seemed irritable and jumpy, and only scowled in response.

Alys laid a hand on his arm, halting him mid-stride, and he turned to look down at her with a scowl still carved onto his harshly beautiful features. “Hey,” she murmured. “You couldn’t have seen that coming.”

“You could have been killed,” he hissed, his words a bitter echo of his earlier sentiment.

“You told me to stay put, and I moved…” she said carefully, but he only scoffed.

“That orc would have shot you like a deer in a meadow if you’d stayed where I told you to. I wasn’t thinking.”

“But he didn’t, and I didn’t get crushed by their trap either. Please, let it go.” She hesitated and then narrowed her eyes. “Don’t make me make it a command,” she added dryly.

He stared at her for a long moment, eyes black and impenetrable, and then took a deep breath, releasing it slowly through his nose. With a nod, he softened. “I’m sorry.”

She smiled at him and squeezed his arm, not that he would feel it beneath the spiked plates of his Daedric gauntlets. The incessant rain had done nothing to cool the lingering warmth of magic in the metal though, and a shudder ran through both of them.

“Come on,” she said. “I’m cold, and I’ve still got to call in at the Jarl’s longhouse and the Hall of the Dead before I can get dry.”

The dremora seemed surprised by that, and as they walked he asked, “Why not go to your aunt’s cabin first?”

Alys kicked at a pine cone and watched it cavort off down the path as they approached an old, crumbling watchtower that had once formed a series of defences along the southernmost mountains that bordered the province of Skyrim. “I need to get Gisela’s key from Runil — the priest of Arkay — and the Jarl’s steward has the will,” she said. “Plus… I… I should visit her grave. And… my parents’ too…”

He must have sensed the aching grief that squeezed and choked her from the inside, but all he did was nod. For his quiet show of stoic support, she could have kissed him.

As they passed the watchtower, Alys broke the stretching silence. “Peakshade Tower is home to a spriggan,” she said, eyeing the foreboding structure that poked out of the trees like the stump of a rotten tooth. “Gisela told me never to pick the flowers around it.”

“She knows I’m here,” he muttered, casting narrow-eyed glances at the ruin. “I can smell her magic, and she can smell mine.”

Alys scowled at the tower. “Come on. Let’s not hang around.”

“Agreed,” he said, but he still stepped between her and the tower as they passed it, heading south-east.

They took a right hand turn down a curving clifftop path, and the smell of woodsmoke drifted up to them from the misty hollow beneath them, along with the regular clank of a blacksmith’s hammer as Lod pounded hot iron and steel into pots and pans and weapons for sale.

The dremora seemed curious about the settlement as they caught snatches of it between the trees but he carried a tension in his shoulders as he walked. “Am I coming with you?” he asked when the fork down to the gates came into view, “Or shall I conceal myself in the trees until you’re ready?”

Alys bit her lip. “I want you to come with me,” she said, “But the people of Falkreath are superstitious, and they don’t like anything to do with magic or the Daedra. There was a werewolf who lived here once, and he lost control. Killed a girl. The whole place was like a kicked bee-hive about it, until someone tracked him down in Bloated Man’s Grotto on the far side of the lake.” She sighed expansively. “They were selling canis root salves, ointments, oils — even cakes made with it — for months.”

“But… canis root is a harmful stimulant, even to Bosmer and Redguards,” he said with a scowl, looking disturbed.

She shrugged. “That didn’t stop the good people of Falkreath. There’s an old folk-medicine belief that canis root keeps werewolves at bay.”

“I’m not sure I’m comfortable letting you go down into the town on your own now,” he said dryly. “They might burn you for a hagraven.”

“Wow, thanks,” she scoffed. “I know I’m not Dibella incarnated, but you didn’t have to go that hard on me.”

“I didn’t —” he stammered with a horrified wave of his hands. “I just meant… what with you being a mage, and them… superstitious. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean —”

Alys cut him off by stepping in front of him so he had to draw up short or trample right into her. She placed her palms flat on his chest and looked up at him. “I might not be able to feel what you feel,” she said with a significant tap over his heart, “But I know you’re kind, dremora.” With a sigh, she raised one hand to his warm, smooth cheek and traced the red pattern of tattoos across the dark grey skin.

His breath stuttered and his eyes flared red beneath heavy lids.

“I’m glad to have you with me,” she said and let her hand fall away from his face. “Wait for me around here, and I’ll be back around dusk, if not before.” She paused and then swallowed. “I don’t know how well I’m going to take all this, but promise me you won’t come looking for me?”

He nodded, still looking a little stunned.

As she walked away down the path into Falkreath to face the memorials of her parents and beloved aunt alone, she thought she felt a gossamer thread of magic linking her to the dremora that she had summoned, and she knew that he would be there when the day’s ordeal was over.

It gave her hope as she made her solitary way beneath the palisade gateway, past the Dead Man’s Drink inn and the familiar faces of the guards on their patrol route nearby. They greeted her with careful smiles and gruff condolences. She blinked back tears as she crossed the triangular open space at the heart of the town, dodging deep puddles as she walked towards the Jarl’s long house to speak to the steward about her inheritance, and to enquire about the priest’s whereabouts.

The town’s feral, ragged nanny goat bleated a rebuke at her for not saying hello, and she paused to rub the goat’s forehead before turning with her heart hanging heavy in her chest at the thought of finally starting what she had set out for Falkreath to face only a few weeks earlier.

A tiny thrum of magic that was not her own pulsed in her ribcage.

You are not alone, it said, and she managed a weak smile as she set her hands to the rough pine wood door of the longhouse.

___

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Next time, Alys gains her inheritence, visits the cemetary, and finds comfort in the arms of her dremora afterwards.

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