#perhaps one day this energy will belong to someone else. I hope their time tending to the flame is happier than mine has been. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

moonbeamwritings · 3 years

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of salt water and curious gazes

Summary: Following your grandmother’s death, her seaside home fell into your care, deemed the only one she could picture inhabiting it. Things were simple enough, tending to the garden and making frequent trips to the beach as you adjusted to life in the small town. It all changed, however, when you spent a night under the full moon with a rather peculiar blue eyed companion. (Merperson AU)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! This is definitely different from what I usually post, but I hope you guys are just as interested as I am! Let me know what you think! Also, buckle up! This is a long one and might end up being a part one 🤪

sequel: “of salt water and loving gazes”

Your grandmother’s home had always been your safe space, a place in which you were free to run around and spend your time as you saw fit. After her death though, it seemed as if all of the joy had been sucked out of the small, seaside cottage. Your heart broke just a little bit more as you turned down the all-too-familiar street and pulled into her, now your, driveway.

She’d left the house to you, explaining that she could see no one else living there but you. You had been itching for change, growing tired of the hustle and bustle of your daily life, so perhaps with fate’s guiding hand you would find solace along the shoreline, in your happy place. I know you’ll treat it well, the letter she had left assured you. P.S. The ocean works wonders for the soul. Don’t forget that.

You gripped the steering wheel as you stared at the front of the house through the windshield. It was just as you remembered, bright blue hydrangeas dotted the garden, flowers fat and stems long, the doormat was perfectly centered, the mailbox the same faded green as it had always been.

With one final sigh, you willed yourself out of the car, keys jingling in your hands as you went. The house was much quieter now, lacking the bubbles of laughter and soft music that were staples of your childhood visits. The sweet smell of baked goods no longer wafted through the kitchen, her shoes no longer resting by the door. Most of her belongings had already been cleared out, handed off to friends and family, but what was left was yours. The house was yours. The thought that what once belonged to her was now left entirely in your care made your heart swell with both sadness and pride. You would make the best of this, if not for yourself, then for your dear grandmother.

Unloading your car was simple enough, taking only an afternoon to get everything completely organized. That night, you watched the sunset from the back porch, warm mug in hand as you looked out at the seemingly endless sea. Your eyes drooped as the vibrant colors of the sun were replaced by the pale yellow light of the moon.

Adjusting to life in the quaint little town was difficult. The townspeople who had known your grandma could only seem to muster pitying glances when they saw you out and about, treading lightly as they asked about you and your move. You stuck to the house most days to avoid them, cleaning things up and shifting things around.

Something about the beach had an uneasy feeling settling in your stomach though. As you traveled down the path, a bag slung over your shoulder and a towel in hand, you couldn’t help but feel eyes on you, carefully tracking your every move.

Your grandmother’s neighbors were kind and friendly, no doubt willing to approach you if they were to see you sitting out. The beach itself was private, reserved for residents like yourself, so it’s not like wandering strangers lingered about. This feeling was different. It was as if the waves themselves were peering back at you, just as mesmerized by you as you were with them.

One day as you munched on a sandwich, legs pulled close to your chest as you stared out at the ocean, you could’ve sworn you saw curious blue eyes staring back. You stopped going to the beach for a few days after that.

The morning you finally returned to the beach left much to be desired. The beautiful blue sky and relaxing ebb and flow of the waves were replaced by thick fog and dark gray skies, waves rocking against the shore with more force. You had no idea what had compelled you to make the trek down to the beach that morning, but you had felt as though you were being pulled there, tugged along by a thin red thread, like you were supposed to be there.

The wind bit at your face as it rustled the fabric of your coat. You were thankful that it had yet to kick sand up into your eyes. As the water sloshed against your bare ankles, you could barely see three feet in front of you, fog completely obscuring the horizon. Your grandmother’s voice sounded in the back of your head, “I know you don’t like the beach when it’s foggy, but I’ll have you know, I’ve seen some of the cutest seals on days just like this one.”

Deciding that the waves weren’t as bad as you had expected and wanting to know if her words would ring true, you ventured down the jetty, carefully calculating each step so as not to stumble.

On your way down the jetty, you caught sight of a familiar pair of blue eyes, just barely visible over the surface of the water. Why would someone be out swimming in conditions like these? Eyes scanning what little area you could see, you halted all movements, eagerly waiting for the person to resurface. Were you imagining things? Soon enough, a head popped out of the water, showing off broad shoulders, black hair, and… Was that a star tattoo?

Raising your voice to be heard over the wind, you called out, “Hey, dude! It’s not safe to be out swimming with all this fog! I’ve heard there have been sharks in the area recently!”

The person wheeled around at the sound of your voice, eyes widening in surprise. You watched as his mouth opened and closed, but no response came. Before you could get another warning in, he was dipping back below the surface, disappearing into the murky water. Without thinking, your feet carried you to the very tip of the jetty, searching for any sign of the solitary swimmer.

“Hello!? Hello!? Is anyone out there?”

You felt crazy as your head swiveled back and forth, ears tuning in to the gentle way the waves struck the rocks. It was quiet, deathly so. Was that just another trick of the eye? A manifestation of the loneliness you’d felt in your little seaside dwelling? The result of feeling like you were being watched for the past few weeks? You couldn’t tell.

You’d seen those eyes before, you’d assured yourself as you walked back to the sand, right? Surely they were the same ones you’d encountered during early morning sunrises or all the lunchtime meals you’d eaten on the beach. They were too familiar to be nothing more than a host of different, swimming strangers.

After the whole incident, you kept a close watch on those around you when you went into the grocery store and the other local shops. Did anyone’s eyes match that deep, unrelenting turquoise? Did anyone have that star tattoo on the back of their shoulder? You searched high and low, but reached no feasible conclusions, no answers that allowed you to sleep better at night.

In one of your more desperate late-night deep dives, no pun intended, you toyed with the idea that perhaps you’d seen some sort of siren, a merperson exploring the waters near your home. The melodrama of Twilight’s Bella Swan frantically searching the internet for answers to her vampiric questions flashed through your mind. You laughed out loud at the thought. That would not be you.

Weeks went by and things returned to relative normalcy. You still occasionally felt curious eyes on you, but you hadn’t seen any flashes of blue since that foggy morning. You ate your lunch, you cleared your head, all without any distractions from the mysterious man.

Your mind raced as you watched the sunset from your kitchen window, suds covering your hands while you worked a sponge over the dirty dishes in your sink. Earlier in the day, you’d received a phone call from a friend, essentially admonishing you for your move to your grandmother’s old house. They had completely ignored your feelings, only working from their own experiences as they ranted and raved. The call left you feeling drained and desperate to get down to the beach. Maybe dipping your toes into the salty water while you watched the full moon rise would ease the ache in your heart.

Pulling an oversized hoodie over your head, you made the walk down to the beach, taking your time to look for shells and sea glass as you went. Having no luck, you moved down the jetty, a pep in your step as you hopped from one rock to the other. At the end, you carefully shuffled out of your shoes before sitting down to let your feet and calves slip into the cool, dark water.

The moonlight left the ocean in front of you sparkling, like the stars themselves had fallen into the sea, shining brightly as they bobbed with the waves. You were thankful you had the beach to yourself.

To release some of your energy, you began swishing your feet back and forth beneath the surface, relishing in the soft movement of the water against your skin. Losing yourself in your thoughts, you’d hardly realized you were being watched until you heard the gentle sloshing of water off to your right, ripples traveling up against your legs.

You snapped your head away from the moon, scanning the glassy surface all around you. Your eyes widened, breath hitching in your throat when you finally saw them.

Blue eyes.

“You.”

The stranger’s eyes mirrored yours as you stared at one another. The droplets of water caught the light of the moon, bathing the man in the rolling starlight of the sea. Your heart fluttered.

“What the hell are you doing? Have you not heard about all of the shark sightings or do you just not care? Night swimming like that is so stupid.”

He waded closer, still beyond arm’s reach, but inching closer with the movement of the waves.

“I don’t need to worry about sharks.”

“What are you? Some kind of whisperer?”

He examined you carefully, mouth dipping below the surface only to reappear as he replied, “You could say that.”

The man’s body was entirely submerged save for his head and shoulders. You eyed each other as silence fell, punctuated by the crashing of waves in the distance. With his eyes on you like this, you felt as if you were being stalked, kept under a watchful glare for any signs of weakness.

“You know,” you spoke, attempting to diffuse the tension, “you can come sit up here with me, if you want.”

“No, thank you.” His reply was immediate, but your words had him closing some more distance. The closer he came to the jetty, the more you realized just how large he was, all broad shoulders and defined muscle. Imposing.

His eyes flickered down to watch your feet where they moved in the water, head tilting curiously as he followed the exposed skin up to the curves of your knees, eyeing them too. It’s like he’s never seen them before, you thought.

You floundered thinking about any way to continue the conversation with the handsome stranger, to attempt to distract him from the gentle sway of your legs. With a wide sweep of your leg, you unconsciously sent your foot towards the stranger, but instead of skin meeting skin, your toes brushed against the rigid surface of scales.

Scales!?

Your eyes shot open as you yelped, scrambling to pull your feet from the water and up onto the jetty, “What the fuck was that?”

Your knee jerk reaction sent the man in front of you reeling back as well, splashing back below the surface of the waves.

Your mind spiraled, forcing you to through your own Twilight movie moment. It was as if all the pieces were steadily falling into place: always swimming at odd hours and in adverse conditions, never seeing him in town, being unfazed by the presence of sharks.

Your heart pounded against your ribcage. He couldn’t be… Could he?

Throwing caution to the wind out of sheer desperation for answers, you gently placed your feet back into the water, calling out for your potential new companion. You waited for any sort of response, resolving to sit for hours if you had to. Unexpectedly, you saw his eyes breach the surface once again, keeping his distance.

“Hey,” you spoke, keeping your voice as soft as possible, beckoning him closer with a wave of your hand, “Come here.”

He swam up to you, positioning himself in front of you. The man looked almost… cute like this, eyes wide and cautious as he stared up at you from the water.

“So, are you, like, a merperson or something? A merman?”

He nodded in lieu of response.

“Can I see?”

It took a long moment for him to move, eyes locked on yours as he thought over your tone of voice. Finally nodding, he leaned back, treading water with his arms as he exposed his tail to you.

It was breathtaking, the full expanse of it decorated with deep purple, almost black scales, like he had entire galaxies trapped within each and every one. The fluke glittered, iridescent under the beams of the moon. You gasped at the sight.

“It’s beautiful.”

Without thinking, you brushed your fingertips along the fluke, taking in the smooth, silky texture. In an instant, his hand shot out and took your wrist in its grip, removing it from his tail. Your eyes widened at the action, fear taking hold of your lungs at the feeling of his pointed nails against your skin.

“That tickles,” he quietly told you, loosening his hold on your wrist. You could’ve sworn you saw his face flush at the admission.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” came his grumbled response.

You fell silent for a moment, mind still racing with the thoughts that you were actually in the presence of a merman, that your stupid midnight thoughts had actually been correct.

“Can you tell me your name?” You finally settled on asking, deciding that if this whole thing was going to continue beyond tonight, you should at least learn his name.

“It’s Jotaro.”

You parroted the name, testing it on your own lips, memorizing the sound. Jotaro placed your hand back in your lap, moving to place his elbows up on the rock beside you instead. “What’s yours?”

You shared your own name, smiling at his proximity. He followed your lead, repeating your name as he looked up at you.

You sat with Jotaro until your toes pruned, goosebumps rising on your skin as the night brought lower temperatures along with it. You smiled to yourself as you watched his eyes roam over the flesh, fascinated by your body’s reaction to the cold.

After shivering for what felt like the hundredth time, you bid Jotaro a goodnight, promising to meet him again the following night at around the same time. He nodded in response, sending one last, long look in your direction before disappearing back below the waves.

Curling your hands into the sleeves of your sweatshirt, you began the walk back to your home. The phone call with your friend had completely slipped your mind, instead replaced by the warm feeling Jotaro’s presence settled in your heart. With the scent of sea spray still lingering on your clothes, you washed the sand from your feet and turned in for the night. As you laid your head back against your pillows, you wondered if your grandmother had been right all along. Maybe the ocean truly did work wonders for the soul.

#jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro kujo imagine #jotaro imagine #jotaro x reader #jjba x reader #jjba imagine #mer au

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queen-scribbles · 3 years

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The Long-Burning Torch

For the @shepherds-of-haven Shepherds Summer event, the Ryn/Red muses latched onto 20′s Detective AU and would not let go. I’ve gone so deep down this rabbit hole there’s gonna be chapters, but the first piece works as a standalone. (title might change along the way, again bc chapters)

----

There were, in Xaeryn’s experience, two types of people who made use of her services. Both were driven by desperation, both tended to hit her doorstep late in the day. There were the belligerent ones, incensed they had to stoop to hiring her, a Mage, to solve their problem. From them she had to pull the pertinent facts of their case one begrudging sentences at a time. And there were the frantic ones, who had exhausted every other route and she was their last chance. Details poured so freely from them she had to pick through it to find what was actually relevant to the case.

The young man standing before her now, at the start of her day, appeared to fit neither of those groups. He’d knocked and entered without awaiting an invitation, seeming unperturbed by the eyebrow she arched at his arrival.

“May I help you?” Xaeryn asked, leaning forward to rest folded hands on her desk.

He shifted to fold his own hands over the head of a walking stick she’d wager he didn’t actually need and smiled dryly. “If your reputation is anything to go by, Miss Shrike, I certainly expect so.”

She gestured to the chairs in front of the desk. “Let’s find out, Mr...?”

“Riel Syndran,” he said, passing her a business card as he took the offered seat.

The card was hardly necessary, and Xaeryn set it on the desk with only a passing glance. “You run Whitestone Couriers, don’t you?”

There was the faintest twitch on the left side of his jaw. “The company is a guild venture.”

“And I wouldn’t be much of a snooper if I couldn’t figure out who truly ran a company as vital to the city of Haven as Whitestone Couriers, Mr. Syndran.”

He gave her a sharp smile. “Very good. I knew coming to you first was the right call, Miss Shrike.”

“Flattered as I am by your confidence” --and she was; she was typically the last resort, being first was something of a novelty-- “why don’t you tell me what or who you need found, and we can discover if said confidence is warranted.”

“I’m certain it is,” Syndran said, his gaze briefly dropping to the Shrike Investigations placard on the edge of her desk. “But you are correct. To business.”

And business, as he explained it, ran thus: Whitestone Couriers had been contracted to transport a collection of artefacts, originally from all parts of Blest, from their previous temporary home at the Conte-by-the-Sea museum to Haven’s Hall of History and Culture.

”How well-known was your being contracted?” Xaeryn interjected.

“It was something of a secret,” Syndran replied, flicking invisible dust off his sleeve. “Some of the pieces are quite valuable, so it was largely in hopes of avoiding theft.”

Hopes that had proven vain. They’d had an uneventful journey--blessed with good weather, even--made it through city customs upon arriving at Haven (checked everything after making it through and found nothing amiss), and proceeded to the museum. Upon unpacking the artefacts, however, it was discovered one was missing.

(Of course.)

The missing piece--an obsidian and bronze pendent thought to belong to a ruler in the Jalis desert pre-Autarchy--had limited monetary value, especially compared to some of the other items in the collection. (Those, of course, had been more closely watched.) Its worth was largely historical and religious.

“Enchantments?”

“None so far as we know.”

“I’ll look into it for you,” Xaeryn said with a nod. She loved mind-twisters like this. “I’ll need to talk to your people, as well as the museum staff, so it would be helpful if you let them know I’m coming. Otherwise my kind” --a twitch of her fingers set energy dancing above them briefly-- “aren’t usually given the time of day.”

“Of course. I shall do so.” Syndran stood and bowed. “I thank you for taking my case, Miss Shrike, and look forward to your success.”

“Two things, Mr. Syndran,” she spoke up as he turned toward the door. She waited until he paused and looked back to continue. “I will, of course, endeavor to find this relic on my own, but should I require an expert’s... knowledge of its history, say, is outside help acceptable?”

His nose wrinkled briefly. “If you must. But as few others as possible, and only those you trust to keep it in strictest confidence.”

“Understood.”

“And the second thing, Miss Shrike?”

She smiled. “One third estimated payment is due upfront.”

“Oh, obviously.” He returned the smile and pulled out his checkbook.

----

She made some good progress between that afternoon and the next day. Interviews with the caravan guards and those responsible for the artefact collection gave insight to their procedures--which were indeed top-notch; it was impressive someone had managed to find a weakness--and how long the pieces were out of their sight coming through city customs.

“Don’t see why that matters,” the pink-haired courier who’d been in charge of the caravan commented. “We checked them all when we got through; made sure everything was still there. Standard procedure.”

“When you say you checked, is this a thorough examination or just a glance to make sure it’s still there?” Xaeryn asked, glancing at the notepad balanced on her knee.

“There’s no fine-tooth comb involved,” came the somewhat tart and harried reply, “but we do look to confirm it’s there and undamaged so nothing undeserved can later be blamed on us. The company has a sterling reputation for a reason, Miss Shrike, and the guild would very much like to keep it that way.”

“Hence your boss coming to me instead of the police.” Xaeryn tapped her pen against her chin and skimmed over her notes. “I think I have everything I need, Miss Aerin. Thank you for your time.”

Aerin gave a sharp nod. “Of course. Anything to get this cleared up and the artefact found as quickly as possible.” She flicked a worried glance toward the notebook as Xaeryn slipped it in her handbag. “How much did you write down? A lot of our procedures are trade secrets; if someone should see...”

Xaeryn laughed and withdrew the notepad again, flipping it open to show the other woman the symbols that filled the pages. “Never fear, your secrets are safe with me. An added bonus of my own shorthand; no one else can read my notes.”

“Smart.” A brief hesitation. “No one? You’re sure?”

“Well, perhaps the friend who helped develop it initially, but I’ve tweaked it since then.” She flipped the pad closed and stowed it in her bag. “I think it would take a little work even for him. We worked it out to take faster notes in class, but taking faster notes also come in handy in my line of work.”

Aerin relaxed and nodded again. “I’m sure it does. Thank you for the reassurance, Miss Shrike.”

“Of course. Have a good day.”

“You as well.”

With the last of the days’ intended interviews behind her, Xaeryn headed back to her office. Now to review what she’d learned from all the sources together. She was confident she had plenty to give herself at least a couple leads worth pursuing, even if there wasn’t enough for a scry.

---

It took a day and a half of running herself off her feet for Xaeryn to burn through the leads she’d found without much to show for it. She’d been unable to track down the specific guard who checked that portion of the shipment, but his supervisor assured her such an important collection would have been treated with utmost care, seeming miffed at the insinuation otherwise. None of the drivers or other courier employees had noticed anything unusual once they passed through customs, no interruptions or suspicious folks in the streets.

Even scrying had fizzled out without so much as a vague semblance of where it might be.

Nothing, nothing, nothing.

Xaeryn dug her fingers into her short hair and glowered at the photographs of the pendent Mr. Syndran had given her. It was so small. So easily concealed. And so simple it would hardly draw attention unless you knew what it was.

She’d been forced to grudgingly admit her minimal progress to Mr. Syndran when he called for an update and it had her in a foul mood. This sort of baloney was not how she kept the lights on. It was time for a new tack.

If she couldn’t (yet) trace where the pendent vanished from, perhaps it would work better to learn more about it; figure where it might be going and get a solid enough knowledge of it she could successfully scry its location. Who would want it badly enough for the hassle of stealing from Whitestone Couriers to be worth their while? Looking into the pendent’s history and provenance seemed the next logical course. Just because Mr. Syndran had told her it was on loan to the collection from the “proper” owners did not mean said owners had told him everything, or indeed, that they’d told the truth. She needed an expert and knew just where to find one.

It had been long enough since her time at Solhadur Academy Xaeryn actually had to look up the telephone number before calling. As she listened to the line ringing, she wondered absently how much of a gentle scolding Headmaster Tevanti would give her for her first contact in more than a decade being to ask for something rather than merely catching up. She’d always been the type not to bother people unless she had to. That was, after all, what she preferred. And her self-reliance had carried her through quite a bit. But she was aware most people would differ from her on that point; Tevanti especially was fond of jawing, so he would surely have words for her long silence.

She let it go to ten rings before giving up. Revelation came with a glance at the clock; it was late enough there was likely no one around to answer. No matter. She could drive out tomorrow. The Academy was in Capra, that wasn’t terribly far. (Not for business, anyway.) Headmaster Tevanti wouldn’t mind one of his favorite students dropping in for an hour or so to discuss a relic from one of his favorite historical periods. She’d even engage in small talk, if he wanted.

Xaeryn smiled to herself and locked both the photographs and her notepad in one of the desk drawers. If that was her plan for tomorrow, she should turn in early, make sure she was well-rested. Time for a trip down memory lane.

---

The morning was uneventful, aside from the troublesome discovery she’d left her office unlocked all night. She was normally more attentive than that, even being on a higher floor. But nothing was disturbed or missing, so Xaeryn shrugged it off and got on with her day.

If she selected her wardrobe with a more critical eye than usual, well, she wanted to look professional. Headmaster Tevanti had been a wonderful mentor, and she wanted to show how far his encouragements about using her bright mind and sharp eye had carried her.

(She wondered, briefly, as she pulled on the royal blue skirt and its matching blouse, accented in deep golden-yellow, if she would see any other familiar faces. But she shook off the warmth of the thought; they’d all scattered to the winds after graduation. Getting to see Tevanti would be enough.)

Satisfied with her ensemble, and needing to fill some time before she left, Xaeryn sat at her desk with her notepad and transcribed everything she knew about the missing pendent(not much), along with questions to ask. She picked out the best of the photographs from Mr. Syndran, just in case, and sighed as she looked at the clock. She’d still be a tad early for it to be polite, especially just dropping in out of the blue, if she left now.

So I’ll drive at a leisurely pace, she argued to herself. Take my time. Allowing a buffer in case there’s trouble along the way is only wise. God in heaven, she wished she could figure why she had worse jitters about this than some dates she’d gone on. “Oh, this is ridiculous,” she muttered to the empty office.

She locked the remaining photographs back in her desk, slipped the chosen one and her notepad in her handbag. After a moment’s internal debate, she slipped one of her stiletto knives down in her boot as well. Solhadur was far from dangerous, but it was prudent to have some measure of protection when traveling alone. She grabbed a hat on her way out the door--which she made certain to lock this time--and had it securely on her head by the time she reached the car.

----

Despite her efforts to make it a leisurely drive out to Capra, and weather that was perfect for that goal, Xaeryn still found herself standing in the entrance hall of Solhadur Academy at an earlier hour than would usually be considered polite for impromptu business meetings. She debated walking the grounds for a while, revisiting some memories from her time here, but decided simply apologizing for her early arrival was the better course of action.

With a final steadying breath and running one hand down her blouse and skirt to chase away wrinkles, Xaeryn headed for the reception desk. She smiled at the young woman behind it. “Good morning.”

The receptionist blinked, seeming mildly taken aback by how far up she had to look to meet her visitor’s eyes. “Morning, miss. Office hours don’t start until ten-”

“Oh, I’m not a student here,” Xaeryn said with a laugh. “At least, not anymore. And I do apologize for the early appearance, the drive out went much faster than anticipated.”

A brow twitched at that. “And what is it that brings you to Solhadur, miss...?”

“I’m doing research on a selection of artefacts and haven’t been able to turn up much on one.” It was barely a lie; she had read a bit on the other exhibition pieces, even if the pendent was the only one she needed to go deeper. “It’s from a period I know is of particular interest to the headmaster, so I was hoping to speak to him for a while, see if he could help.”

The receptionist pursed her lips. “Former student, you say?”

Xaeryn nodded. “If he’s busy first thing, I don’t mind waiting.”

““No, actually, being early is smart,” the receptionist said with a light laugh. “His hours are more full at the later end of things. This would be the best opportunity if you want some of his time.” She glanced over Xaeryn once more, then nodded. “You can go up. Third door--”

“On the left. I remember,” Xaeryn finished. “Thank you.”

“You might actually beat him there,” the receptionist laughed. “He isn’t always punctual.”

“I remember that, too,” Xaeryn returned with a grin. “Like I said, I don’t mind waiting. It’ll be good to see him again, few more minutes won’t hurt.” She toyed with one of her earrings as she headed up the stairs, steps lingering and heavy with nostalgia.

It was almost exactly as she remembered. A few portraits replaced or rearranged, new photographs from after she left. New name placards outside the doors she passed. The headmaster’s office door was closed, and a light inquiring rap of her knuckles brought no response.

Looks like she was right, Xaeryn thought with a smile, leaning against the chair outside the office to wait. Her gaze drifted to the high ceiling, following the details of familiar carvings to the scenes painted on the ceiling itself. Slightly faded from what she remembered, but that was to be expected after a decade--

“Xaeryn?!” The voice, still familiar even after years apart, sounded like he’d seen a ghost.

Her heart lurched in her chest and she’d spun around before the impulse to do so had even fully registered, his name tumbling from her lips unprompted in return. “Red?!”

He crossed the remaining distance between them in just a few strides(God, he’d gotten taller, how was that even possible?), barely remembered to set the books he carried on the chair before wrapping her in a hug.

Xaeryn didn’t even flinch, and only just managed to keep her grip on her handbag as she hugged him back. He still smelled of old books and ink and sunshine and she smiled at the memories it stirred.

Liefred Antiqua, her seatmate in any classes they shared and best friend regardless of how many they didn’t for the entirely of her time at Solhadur. Friendly, charming, and just as fond of books as he was people. (The nights they’d spent pressed shoulder to shoulder reading in the library were still among her favorite memories.) Between his warm nature and classic good looks, he’d had half the student body swooning after him, and yet despite the sharp contrast to Xaeryn’s more reserved and self-reliant bent, they’d still spent most of their time together. Their friendship was the strongest of the few she’d formed at Solhadur, and Xaeryn valued it immensely.

(Too much to risk on anything like admitting when the sight of his smile sent something that was definitely not friendship fluttering in her chest. It was just a crush, it would go away.)

( And then it didn’t.)

They’d both had plans to travel after graduation, and she couldn’t count on all her fingers combined the number of times she’d almost suggested they do it together. But in this one thing, she never could quite summon the nerve. And before she knew it, her departure date had arrived and they were hugging farewell, and come with me wouldn’t unstick from her throat. After a few months’ silence stretched between them--both traveling and unsure where the other might be, obviously--she’d resigned herself to their paths never crossing again, much as the thought hurt.

And yet here he was.

All the memories flew through her mind in the few seconds their hug lasted, and had a lump starting in her throat by the time they parted.

“Wonderful as it is to see you,” Red began as he stepped back to reclaim his books and run a glance over her, “what are you doing here?”

Xaeryn cleared her throat as she returned the apprising glance with one of her own. He still looked practically the same. A few inches taller, shoulders a bit more broad, and an attempt had been made to tame his bright red hair. It had only achieved partial success, and combined with the warm glint in his green eyes, he still was the same Red she knew. (The same Red she’d been more than a little in love with, even if she’d never dared the risk of admitting it.)

“I’m doing research,” she said, reaching up to tug the back brim of her hat as she glanced at the office door. “Into some artefacts. I wanted to ask Headmaster Tevanti about one in particular that’s being difficult.”

Red grimaced and fumbled his books. “Did you not hear, Xaer?” His voice went soft on the nickname, despite them being alone. Voices did carry in these halls, as they very well knew. “Tevanti died.”

She blinked, shock and sorrow curling in her chest. “Wh- How? When?”

“Not long after you left, actually,” he said, raking his free hand through his hair and tousling it out of respectability. “You know he’d been having problems with his heart. It gave out a few months after you left.” His brow furrowed. “I’m surprised you weren’t told when you set an appointment.”

“I didn’t so much set an appointment as show up looking to talk,” Xaeryn admitted with a soft, wry snort. “And I did simply say the headmaster when speaking to the receptionist.” She cocked her head. “Who would that be, now?”

Red smiled sheepishly, half-bit his lower lip. “Me, actually.” He shifted the books to one arm and opened the office door. Slightly nonplussed by two such major revelations in a row, Xaeryn was silent as she followed him in.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” was the first thought to pop in her head and then out her mouth as she looked around the office. It was spacious, lined with jam-packed bookshelves(He must be in heaven), and in a state of... corralled disarray that was so very Red it made her smile despite the news about Tevanti.

“I did,” Red replied, setting the books on his desk. “And I got to, at least a bit.” He tucked a handful of papers inside an open tome occupying one of the chairs, flipped the book closed, and set it on a side table so he could offer her a seat. “I’d already left when he passed, so Professor Rumi and some others kept things going until I got back.” Rather than sit in the chair behind the desk, he shuffled a small stack of books onto the floor and sat in the one next to Xaeryn’s as he continued. “He’d... wanted me as his successor, Xaeryn.”

“That makes sense.” The words were out before she could weigh them, spurred by the disbelief in his hesitation. “You’re brilliant, charming, and have a history with the school.” Her face warmed in the wake of being so candid, and Xaeryn glanced over at the large painting of Tevanti that hung on the wall between two bookshelves. He knew what he was doing. “You’re a logical choice.”

Red laughed warmly. “High praise from the smartest student in our class.”

“But far from the most charming,” she countered with a wry smile.

The warmth of his gaze didn’t abate. “I’ve always appreciated your-”

“Bluntness?”

“Straight-forwardness,” Red substituted, and was smiling when she looked his way. “An ability to cut to the heart of the subject is an invaluable skill.”

Xaeryn gave a faint shake of her head. “As is your kindness. But speaking of the heart of the matter...”

“Ah, right. You came here for a reason.” He pushed his unbuttoned shirtsleeves up toward his elbows. “I can’t promise to know as much as Tevanti would have, but I’ll certainly do my best to help.”

“Actually...” She snapped open her handbag to pull out the photograph and her notepad. “You’ve done a lot of research on pre-Autarchy history, so you might be able to help more than you think.” She set the photograph on the desk and Red cocked his head to look at it.

“Solimer’s torch...” he murmured, turning the photograph for a better look as his gaze gained that focus of a niche interest being whetted. (Which, for Red, meant she was about to hear everything he knew about the pendent’s history in too much detail to called a summary, and Xaeryn found herself leaning forward slightly in anticipation.) He glanced up at her. “Isn’t this one of the pieces in that exhibit about to open in Haven?”

She nodded. “That’s why I’m researching it.” She bit her lip but barely hesitated on the gamble of her next words. ‘Those you trust’, Mr. Syndran had said, and there was no one she trusted more than Liefred Antiqua. “It was stolen, and I was hired to find.”

His head came up, derailed from the growing ramble on the pendent’s history. “Oh?”

“I’m a detective,” Xaeryn said, playing with one of her earrings. She laughed softly. “Scrying does give a considerable leg up to finding things. Or people. But that only works when--”

“You know enough about them,” Red nodded. “So this visit is for business, rather than personal.”

“Mostly, yes,” she conceded, resting one hand on his knee. I didn’t know you’d be here. “But I was more than willing to chat with Tevanti” --there was a pang in her chest--”which most definitely extends to you as well, Headmaster Antiqua.”

His neck and ears went faintly pink as he laughed. “Surely we don’t need to be quite so formal, Detective Shrike?”

“Just ‘Miss’,” she returned with a laugh of her own, withdrawing her hand to instead fiddle with her notepad. “I work for myself, not the cops.” There might’ve been a little pride in her voice at the words, but it was well-earned.

“I thought you wanted to travel,” Red said, turning her own remark back on her.

“And travel I did,” Xaeryn said lightly. “For quite a while, even. But a girl does need a job eventually, and I’ve always loved a good mystery.”

“Or even a bad one,” he teased. “All kidding aside, Miss Shrike, I’m sure you’re a brilliant investigator.”

She smiled, chuckling at the playful glint in his eye even as her ears warmed at the praise. “Thank you. And on that note, what can you tell me about the pendent?”

“Right, right. You’re here on business.” Amusement lingered in Red’s eyes even as he turned back to the photograph. His sleeves started to slide and he shoved them back up again. Xaeryn very deliberately kept her focus on the photograph, not his arms--or hands--as he tapped one finger at the center of the obsidian pendent. “This was a protection... charm, I suppose you’d call it, worn by the head of the Solimer tribe ages ago. Literal ages. Without refreshing my memory, all I can tell you is they were one of the few tribes whose wanderings regularly took them through the heart of the Jalis desert, and yet they always fared better on those journeys than the other tribes, which was credited to this pendent.”

“So it is magical?” Xaeryn leaned closer to look over the piece again, not that a photograph could do it full justice. This was a familiar position; the two of them bent over a shared project, and she hadn’t realized how much she missed it until that moment.

“Possibly?” Red shifted and his shoulder bumped hers. “ The story goes that on their first attempt to journey through, they saw a light, like a torch, keeping pace with them. It only showed up at night, and seemed far enough away from their caravan the chief felt it was too dangerous to let anyone go after it to see what it was. Their wariness at its presence, however, kept them vigilant enough they were able to see and fend off any wild animals that came after them, and it did nothing except travel their same path, so they let it be.

“A couple weeks into their journey, as their supplies were starting to run low, the chieftain’s wife was out hunting and strayed far enough in search of food that the sun started setting while she was out. As the skies grew dim she could see the Torch, much larger than they usually did from the caravan, though it was floating away. Seized by good old-fashioned curiosity” --he paused to wink at her and Xaeryn bit back a smile-- “she followed the light rather than work her way back to camp. She kept after it long enough night had nearly fallen when it crested a ridge and disappeared. She hastened after it, and when she made it over the ridge, found herself standing by a waterspring the likes of which they’d never seen. When she looked around for the light she’d followed, there was no sign of it, save a black rock that lay at her feet. There were no other rocks anywhere nearby, so she decided this must be what had caused the torch-like light her tribe had seen.

“She carried it with her when she returned to the tribe with news of water, and the Solimer took it as a sign of the gods’ favor. The chieftain had it bound in bronze” --he traced a finger along the lines of the coiled setting-- “to be worn as a way to hold that favor. It was passed from leader to leader and from all accounts they had far better luck surviving the desert than the other tribes for a long time.”

“Was that not likely just them knowing better how to handle themselves? If they traveled those portions of the desert more frequently, of course they were better prepared.”

“Maybe.” Red shrugged. “We have no firsthand written records from any of these tribes, just legends and history relayed orally. And a lot of the second-hand ones were... lost when the Autarchy came to power. From the way the stories run, after generation of favor from the pendent, it was lost when the Solimer were defeated in a skirmish over resources with another tribe. Their next several trips went so poorly it cost over half their number, and they wound up assimilated into other tribes within the next couple decades just to survive.”

“Sad,” Xaeryn murmured, though she wondered if the pendent’s loss had become a self-fulfilling prophecy if they believed in it that strongly. “And what happened to the pendent after that?”

“That’s all I know off the top of my head,” Red said sheepishly as he sat back, running a hand through his hair. “Anything more I’d have to research. To refresh my memory.”

“Oh, that’s all? Tsk, tsk, Liefred, you’re slipping,” she teased, then snorted a wry chuckle. “Of course, it’s more than I had.” She showed him the scant lines on a single page of her small notepad.

Red smiled at the sight of the shorthand and let the playful ribbing slide as he ran a finger over the page. “You tweaked it.”

“A bit, to make it jive better with detective work.” Xaeryn tucked the pad back in her handbag. She’d been so caught up listening to him talk she’d not taken a single note. “I’m certain you could work it out with a little time.”

“Oh, time-” Red’s gaze flew to the clock at the same moment there was a knock and muffled “Headmaster?” at the door. “Damn. Forgot I have a meeting.” He smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. “Tribulations of being in charge. Just a minute!” he called toward the door, then, to Xaeryn, “I can look into this more in my free time, if you’d like.”

What free time? she almost asked, looking at the stacks of books and papers everywhere. But she swallowed that in favor of, “That would be lovely, thank you so much.”

“Any specific information you need?” Red asked as they stood.

“Anything you can find is welcome, but specifically.... What happened to the pendent after the Solimer lost it, who would have claim of ownership, if ownership is contested... anything like that. I want to find it, but part of that may very well lie in figuring out who would have most reason to steal it in the first place.” Xaeryn pulled out a business card and handed it to him. “So I don’t wind up nagging you,” she laughed. “You can call when you find something. The telephone’s in my office, but I live adjacent, so I’ll always hear it.”

Red nodded and slipped the card in his pocket. “I’ll try not to take too long.”

“Much appreciated. Also...” She grimaced slightly. “This is something of a secret; the Couriers don’t want it being common knowledge.”

“Understandable,” he said as they started toward the door. “Oh, don’t you need this?” He reached back for the photograph and held it out to her.

“Yes, thanks.” Xaeryn smiled and tried not to let the flutter in her chest when their fingers brushed as she took it gain purchase. She slipped the photograph back in her handbag as Red opened the door. Given the student waiting in the hall, she was the picture of professionalism--aside from the twinkle in her eye--as she nodded farewell. “Thank you for your time, Headmaster.”

Several things flashed through Red’s eyes, the brief desire to strangle her, a loud burst of laughter, an eyeroll, but he settled on a warm smile, wide enough his dimples just started to show. “Happy to help, Miss Shrike.”

She was still fighting a grin as she turned to descend the stairs, heart practically singing with warmth. Of all the lovely surprises... Regardless of whether she succeeded or failed, this case was already among the most worthwhile she’d ever taken, simply for bringing him back into her life.

#queens fic #shoh #shepherds summer 2021 #xaeryn shrike #red antiqua #ryn/red #i really got find them a ship tag #if you think their canon pining is good HOO BOY JUST WAIT #flamingelmo.gif #tlbt

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luna-tiel · 4 years

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What Entrapdak Means to Me

On the eve of Entrapdak Positivity Month, I thought it was as good a time as any to share my rambling thoughts on a ship that’s affected me in a way I didn’t think was possible.

Entrapdak is the first ship I have ever been invested in. It’s such a new experience for me that it’s taken me the last few months to wrap my head around the whole thing. I may relate to the characters in a show, but when they form romantic attachments I view it with a degree of passive distance. I don’t understand what it’s like to have those sorts of feelings for someone (I am aromantic and ace as a brick), and, well, I’m honestly not curious enough to give the subject a thorough study. My mind tends to fixate on other things.

What does this have to do with Entrapdak, you ask? Long story short for people who don’t want to read my meandering essay -- I relate a lot to these characters, and the way they bonded together struck a deep chord in me that I can’t ignore.

Let’s start with the characters. I knew going in that Entrapta was neurodivergent-coded, but I took it with a grain of salt. When I actually watched the show, however, I found myself relating to her so deeply it shocked me. Never have I felt such a kinship with a fictional character! We don’t share every trait, but it was still like seeing my brain put to life on screen. I related to her enthusiasm over her special interests, her struggles to fit in, her desire to make friends who accept and understand her for who she is.

The fact Entrapta is completely herself is something I love about her. Over the years of growing up undiagnosed, I developed a lot of masking strategies. Human psychology is one of my special interests, and even with all that accumulated knowledge, masking isn’t easy. It’s extremely mentally taxing. Masking can certainly look easy -- I can, when I have the drive and energy, “pass” as neurotypical, and only people who know me extremely well can tell I’m dying inside. All that effort is taken for granted by a lot of NTs because that’s how people are “supposed to” act, and surely I can “do the bare minimum.” The accumulated stress of near constant masking has led me to the darkest moments I’ve had in my life.

Entrapta’s struggle with leaving Beast Island hit me hard. It threw me back to a time when my feelings of isolation and worthlessness got so bad that I lost the energy to do anything, even the creative pursuits that were the obsession of my life. I retreated so deeply into my inner world that I hardly interacted with anyone. That total apathy shocked my family into getting me professional help, which gave me my autism diagnosis, the coping skills to move forward, and a good start on the road to self-acceptance. It also opened a channel between my family and I, allowing me to feel heard and understood. (An important side note on mental health: if you or someone you love needs professional help, please seek it! Sometimes you have to try out several therapists -- it took me three to find a good fit -- but you are worth it!)

It took me longer to realize, but I also relate to Hordak in some ways. Mercifully I was not raised in an extremist cult environment. However, I know what it’s like to feel defective next to a sibling that seems perfect. I was constantly being compared to my younger brother, and in all areas but art, he was superior. He was smart, athletic, and above all, he fit in with everyone. I didn’t hate him for this -- I hated myself. Trying to measure up to his standard is what caused me to develop such strong masking strategies. Underneath it all, I felt the despair of knowing my peers would reject me as soon as the mask cracked. I also live with chronic joint pain, starting at around age seven. The jury is still out on what’s causing that (the worst of it was due to a previously unknown food allergy, but the pain still comes and goes, even though it’s a lot more manageable than it used to be). This cocktail of pain, stress, and sensory issues I had to deal with gave me a very short fuse at times.

As an aside, just because I sympathize with Hordak does not mean I am excusing his actions. He is still going to have to face the consequences of his choices, and work to adjust to life post-Prime. The series end gave him a new beginning, the opportunity to be redeemed, and I prefer this to a rushed redemption arc.

What I love most about Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship is how they accept each other as they are. Hordak gives Entrapta near free reign of his sanctum, he listens to her when she talks, and he respects her opinions. Even when he pushes her away, he still considers the logic of what she tells him, and sometimes ends up doing things her way despite his initial instincts. This is something I do in my own life; I am easily overwhelmed by new information, so my initial response to an idea/activity is almost always a firm (and sometimes rude) “no,” until I have time to properly process and think about it. Hordak is the first person in Entrapta’s life that truly listens to her. He still has things he needs to work on, but it’s a lot better than how most of the princesses are with Entrapta. The Alliance treats her as someone to be managed -- she is useful, but unreliable. Hordak, in contrast, trusts her to get things done in her own way.

On the other side, Entrapta is the first person in Hordak’s life to accept him without judgment. Hordak spends so much of his energy putting up a front of strength and intimidation, and Entrapta cuts right through that. She’s not frightened by his appearance, and even his outbursts have little effect on her until the two of them start to bond. Entrapta doesn’t come into their interactions with any preconceived ideas of what Hordak is like, or more importantly, what he should be like. This lack of expectation leaves her completely open to accepting whatever Hordak does and says, and it also relieves Hordak of the burden of needing to put on a front around her. When Entrapta sees him at his most vulnerable, she reaches out to him with compassion, something he has never felt before. Entrapta also does this in a way that doesn’t belittle Hordak. His imperfections are not something to pity, they are a valuable part of who he is.

I loved watching their friendship develop. Entrapta and Hordak’s shared time together evolved slowly into a bond that gave each of them a sense of belonging they had never experienced before with anyone else. It gave me the hope that, despite what an oddball mess I am, perhaps I could find someone who understands me too.

When a romance subplot inserts itself into a story, I tend to gloss over and ignore it (if I pick up on it at all). I’m even less interested in sex. Way back when I was first getting into fandom I was so excited to go online and meet fellow fans of the books and shows I liked, only to discover the spaces being dominated by arguments over character pairings. I was baffled. This is what people are most interested in? Oh well… back to the hermit cave I go!

I was late to the party with SPoP. I’d watched a few episodes, but the show didn’t really hook me. This was partially because all I ever heard people talk about online was Catradora, and if that was the main appeal of the show, I wasn’t sure I would enjoy it (sorry Catradora shippers, romance is not going to entice me to watch a show, even if it’s rep). Quarantine was the ultimate cause for me embracing my curiosity and diving headfirst into SPoP, binging the entire thing a few months before the release of season 5.

I vaguely knew about Entrapdak as a ship going into the show, and I admit, had I not been primed for it, I probably would have missed the romantic potential entirely. In no way did I expect to become invested. I was immediately intrigued by their dynamic, and as they got closer, I found myself thinking “oh, I see why people ship these two.” I didn’t understand this realization until months later. I was relating to the characters, and for the first time in my life, I was relating to their relationship.

I headcanon Entrapta and Hordak as an asexual couple. I’ll elaborate on this at a later time (asexuality is a spectrum with a lot of nuance, and this post is plenty long already), but at the core of it, I find joy in imagining these characters in a loving platonic relationship, something I hope to find myself one day. I hope this love comes across in my artwork and in my fanfictions <3

To those of you that read this far, wow, you must be patient! Have an imaginary cookie! I hope this ramble has provided a decent picture for why I, as an aro ace on the autism spectrum, have come to cherish Hordak and Entrapta’s relationship. It’s my first and only OTP… I’m still in shock thinking about that… I guess we’ll see where things go from here!

Take care of yourselves out there!

#entrapdak #entrapta/hordak #entrapta #hordak #autistic entrapta #autistic experiences #relatable characters #fandom ramblings #spop #spop headcanons #asexual headcanon

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atlas-of-a-human-soul · 4 years

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39. "If he's the devil, I finally understand the appeal of hell." 79. "One more word and I'll stitch those lips of yours shut." I'm coming back with more requests 🤣

39. "If he's the devil, I finally understand the appeal of hell."

79. "One more word and I'll stitch those lips of yours shut."

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A/N - Since you didn’t specify who it is for, I’m choosing my current obsession aka Nicholas Scratch :)

Pairing: Nick x nephillim!reader

Summary: Deciding to be bold and visit hell, Y/N finds someone is need of help.

Warnings: ANGST

Word count: 1800+

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All witches go to hell eventually, it’s the price of walking down the path of night. A necessary evil for a very long life filled with beauty and power - a combination very few could ever deny.

Y/N walked a different path, one very few were given directions to. Path of light was guaranteed only for nephillms and being the daughter of an archangel, Michael, Y/N found herself more powerful, pure and possibly the most ambitious than any witch that walked the earth.

While witches served the dark lord, Y/N sought to destroy him and all he hold dear. Hell could be her domain. She certainly wanted to try.

A portal to hell was easy to find, entering it ever easier considering a fallen archangel ruled it, but she felt weakened. Her powers were far from what they usually are and she couldn’t help but wonder if the danger she’ll face because of it might be worth a retreat...at least for a while.

“A peak won’t hurt, will it?” She whispers under her breath, convincing herself to at least see the throne of lies made by the king of hell. A part of her needed to see Lucifer for herself, to understand what she’s fighting against.

Mouth hanging open, she found her heart picking up speed as she noted the empty throne, glorious as she imagined it to be.

“Wow.” She breathes out, stepping out from her hiding spot without a second thought. Her steps are determined, the look of awe on her face unmatched by anything he had seen and while she was none the wiser, he made himself seen.

“See something you like?” The low drawl of his voice tugs at her heartstrings and she feels it drop. Is it fear? Perhaps lust? It was hard to tell as she looked at the one speaking.

She hated her thoughts, but they were all coherent and in agreement: ‘If he's the devil, I finally understand the appeal of hell.’

He’s shirtless, his muscular body showing off every ab, every inch of his perfect skin. His dark hair frames his chiseled face perfectly, a little unkempt but the appeal is only stronger with the messy curls forming on top of his head. His forehead is sweaty, his eyes as dark as she suspected his soul is and just as tormented.

There’s something in his tortured gaze, the black pools framed with long eyelashes that call out for the uncorrupted to make certain it is stained after a single touch of his sinfully big hands. The smirk is what truly brings her to her knees and while she knew better, Y/N nods.

“Can’t lie.” She folds her arms and smirks confidently. “The throne is up to my taste.”

“Oh? I was certain you’d compliment the body suit I’m wearing.” Sticking his tongue out, he steps closer and Y/N steps back accordingly, holding in a breath that would escape along a scream. A forked tongue? A meat suit?

Lucifer is possessing someone and for once, the throne wasn’t on her mind.

“Who are you possessing?” She tried to act innocent, buy some time to form a plan. Could she really fight the devil for dominance in the name of a man she had first seen just a minute ago?

She wasn’t really sure.

“A warlock who sighed his soul over to me.” Raising an eyebrow, he folds his hands in front of him, just before the skimpy underwear he’s got on.

“He sacrificed his life to save the world, if you can believe it.” Lucifer steps closer once again and she stands her ground, clenching her jaw to stop it from quivering.

“You sound almost”, she pauses to find the right words, cursing her anxiety for making it hard to converse, “impressed.” She raises an eyebrow too, daring him to speak more.

“Nicholas Scratch showed a great deal of loyalty and courage...too bad it wasn’t shown for me.” Growling the last bit, Lucifer’s face darkens and Y/N’s heart sinks further.

Nicholas...The name suited him, but it made it harder for her. She couldn’t leave him behind. Not now.

“So why not release him?” Baiting him, Y/N remains impassive on the outside while a hurricane ravages her insides. “He’s of no use to you now.” She steps closer, trying to conjure all of her power. If she can leave a mark of an angel upon him, the devil would have to leave his body and she’d have just enough time to teleport back to earth where Lucifer can’t follow as easily.

“Why would I do that? Torturing him every second of every day is so fun!” Chuckling as Y/N’s left eye twitched ever so slightly, Lucifer’s eyes narrowed.

“You’re in his body. It’s his territory. What if he wins and you’re but a forgotten goat inside a closed off hell?” Losing her temper wasn’t wise, but Y/N had no restrain. Longer she remained in hell, weaker she felt and while she knew it definitely isn’t her domain, she needed to save the warlock who didn’t belong there either. Not for a long while, at least.

However, her words irked the dark lord, causing his charming facade to fade as well. "One more word and I'll stitch those lips of yours shut."

Holding her breath, Y/N knew it was a matter of time before she lost her advantage and Lucifer realized her identity. So, she mustered all her energy, every last bit of her essence channeled into her right hand and when she fixed her gaze on him, she didn’t fail.

Smiling, almost viciously, Y/N jumped on Nicholas’ body, her right hand landing on his left shoulder and the scream erupting from him echoed in every corner of hell.

She felt the body shaking, held onto him with all she had while he all but convulsed and when she heard him coughing, she looked in time to see a black matter leave his weakened form.

Mumbling a spell, a flash of bright light set hell into a frenzy, temporarily blinding any demon in its vicinity.

Opening her eyes, she found herself back in her home, Nicholas’ body in her arms. As he collapsed, taking her down with him, Y/N felt her heart crack with worry.

What if it killed him? Demons tend to kill their host, so what if Lucifer killed him too?

Her lips tremble as her fingers press above his carotid, awaiting anything to take the weight off her shoulders. Blood thumping against her fingers drew a relaxed sigh, one that made her giggle with relief.

“Thank God.” She exclaimed, ignoring tears pricking at her eyes. Nicholas is safe and she had to make sure he stayed safe.

Spelling him onto the bed, she tended to his fragile body and most importantly, his mind. Reaching him wasn’t possible as his thoughts were erratic, but she did find one important clue - where she needs to bring him back...to who she needs to bring him back to.

Sitting back in her chair, Y/N couldn’t help but shed a tear.

Nicholas felt familiar, somehow drew her to him and while she could pretend she didn’t care for him, her heart already had a place for him. It’s angel’s nature to love fiercely, to recognize kindred spirits and she never met anyone more suitable for her.

“Pity.” She smiles though the pain, an affliction that comes with letting go of someone she knew would have changed her life for the better. He could have been her one - someone to love truly, madly, deeply, but she saw her - Spellman, as he called her. His heart wasn’t free and unattached and he would never love an angel.

He’s a warlock, walking the path of night and destruction and she will always be Michael’s daughter, meant to be a beacon of light and hope. Darkness and light don’t mix, she knew that. He’d snuff out her light if she allowed herself another moment of weakness...of love.

“You won’t remember this.” Her frown deepens and she sighs heavily, leaning over him with lips pressed together. “You will never know what we could have been, or what I did for you.” Leaning in, she allows her lips to tremble before pressing them against his forehead with a tenderness she didn’t know she possessed.

“It’s too late for me. I will always wonder how you are or if you’re safe, but you’ll never be damned with the thought of me.” A sad smile appears on her lips as she feels the tears form once more.

“Why is it so hard to let go of what isn’t even mine?” Resting her forehead against his, the tip of her nose brushing just past his, her grief of what must be done dissipating with determination to do right by him.

“I hope you find happiness.”

And in a blink, Nicholas was back, laying next to unsuspecting Sabrina.

Opening his eyes, Nick sat up with a gasp, looking around with a wild look in his dark eyes. “Where?” He breathes out, convinced someone else was beside him and it was definitely not Sabrina.

“Hold on, Nick. I’ll get help!” Sabrina jumps to her feet, but Nick is quicker.

“Where is she?!” He can’t remember much, but he remembers a warmth, a sense of safety he never felt before.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about. Nick, calm down!” Sabrina stepped closer, wanting to hold him - to simply take his pain away and he allows her the intimacy of a hug. It just doesn’t feel right. Not as it felt...he just can’t remember when or with who. All he knows is that someone had helped him out of the mess he made and he was safe.

Perhaps it wasn’t real and Lucifer made him hallucinate a woman made of light, but he could have sworn he felt her lips on his skin. He could have sworn he heard her soothing voice guide him through the dark.

“What the?” Sabrina frowns, pushing him away just to stand and look at his shoulder, frowning with concern. “There’s a...hand print on your shoulder!” She exclaims, moving out of the way so he’d see it in the reflection and despite the pain he feels inside, Nicholas smiled as tears formed in his eyes.

“She was real.” And he had a clue how to find her.

#nicholas scratch #nicholas scratch x reader #nicholas scratch angst #nick scratch #nick scratch x reader

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yonymii · 3 years

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2 arabesques

a/n; this one was hard to write bc I did it while having writers block but I hope it's ok!! I love alisa a lot she is lovely and I would marry her if she was real 🥰🥰😍😁😁 also I got very absorbed like, halfway through so y/ns personality is basically me. yes

wc; 3.9k

warnings; cursing,

genre; fluff, strangers/friends to lovers, romance

pairing; alisa haiba x gn!reader

listen to 2 arabesques here!

She reminded you of the old paintings of angels you’d seen in art galleries as a child. It was weird, seeing something so ethereal reincarnate as a university student. She didn’t belong here; she belonged on a pedestal, deserved to be adored. But life was unfair, you supposed, and not everyone could experience the excitement of such an elaborate life. Perhaps that was why she was studying fashion modeling in the first place (whatever that was). You’d probably never know. She had absolutely no idea who you were.

By the time you’d stopped daydreaming, your final class of the day was over and everyone had left. Only you were left in the lecture hall, sitting at the very back with your head resting ontop of your arms, the shuffling of the professor packing up his things quickly making tiny little noises at the front of the room. He left, the door swinging shut behind him, but it wasn’t locked.

It didn’t take you long to pack up, seeing as your laptop hadn’t left your bag in the first place. You swung it over your shoulder after your coat, tucking your hands into the sleeves to protect them from the bite of the wind. It had been snowing when you arrived in the morning, and it took and hour to wake up your fingers to be able to type, let alone write anything.

The hallways were quiet (as usual; it wasn’t as if anyone wanted to stay in school when they didn’t need to). The little shop on the ground floor had a few students in it, but they were in a hurry to leave too. The large exit doors had obviously been open all day and it was absolutely freezing. You were glad you’d put on your big coat in the morning; it was a long walk back to your apartment and you planned on going to a coffee shop before going there.

It had stopped snowing, but the ground was covered in puddles and your boots and feet got soaked in numbingly cold water as you wandered towards the place you usually studied. It was slowly getting darker as you walked and the sun was lowering itself below the tall line of skyscrapers and apartment blocks when you entered the coffee shop and joined the small queue of teenagers and tired-looking adults ordering their drinks.

It was quiet inside but you were thankful for the warmth the heaters provided, and the low hum of voices under the music wasn’t unwelcome; you payed for your drink quickly and went to sit at your usual spot, the two-seater table in the corner. There was a small, dim light hanging above your head and it lit the space in a soft, golden glow, unlike the rest of the coffee shop that was lit by streetlamps outside. The moon was hid behind a building, only half of it visible, but you still found yourself staring at it for an unnecessary amount of time. It reminded you of her; your friend’s friend. The girl studying fashion modeling.

To be quite honest, you didn’t see her that often, so it was a mystery as to why she plagued your mind so often. Apparently, her brother played volleyball for a highschool called Nekoma (albeit not very well), and she was half Russian. Not that it mattered to you, though. You supposed that you’d like her anyway.

Suddenly, you found yourself snapped out of your little trance by the waiter bringing your mug to the table and setting it down a little too loudly. He walked away quickly, avoiding any sort of contact with you, but you weren’t bothered by it. You were focused on your book so the lack of conversation wasn’t disappointing in the slightest. The bell at the door rung again, and because of the small distraction of your drink arriving you raised your head to see who it was, somewhat begrudgingly, despite it being completely of your own accord.

Your eyes were met with a pair of stark green ones that seemed to go right through you; you shivered, not because they were unfriendly. Admittedly, you knew who she was, but your frank lack of energy made it hard to want to communicate with anyone, and so you pretended not to see her, looking back down at your book and swiftly burying yourself in the pages, as if you were trying to hide from her.

You knew your efforts were futile though. She was almost too nice, and it wasn’t like she knew you were already half-asleep and probably weren’t able to form a coherent sentence. At this point, you weren’t even reading. The words were going right over your head.

You heard her footsteps before her voice, and you didn’t even need to look up to know she was smiling. “Y/n!”. Too loud. You tried not to wince to noticeably.

“Hey, Alisa,” you managed to spit a greeting out. You weren’t sure what you thought about her at this point. You were tired, and it was late, and you had so many essays due that you doubted you’d get more than an hour of sleep over the next few days. Yeah, sure, you loved her but you were so overwhelmed you didn’t think you’d be able to handle talking to one more person. Emotions were confusing (especially when you considered yourself to be in love, whatever that felt like).

“How have you been?”, her voice was like silk, and you had to wait a moment to process what she was saying. Alisa continued, “I haven’t seen you since last month! How have you been?” she looked down at your book, then at your bag that barely held all the paper assigments from your classes. She laughed (the same laugh that gave you heart palpitations. This was the reason she wasn’t good for you) “You look busy.”

You laughed (it was sort of forced, but that isn’t the point), “Yeah. School tends to keep you busy,” you paused, adding shakily, “I’m used to it, though. Don’t worry about me!”

The blonde girl frowned as she watched you panic, your eyes darting everywhere but her. It was hard not to worry when you watch someone you consider a friend fall apart in the back corner of a coffee shop. She tried her best to ignore it though, and as soon as you managed to look back at her she continued the conversation.

“I don’t think we have each other’s numbers yet, y/n. Do you mind exchanging? Maybe we could go out together sometime, since i have to get home and look after Lev,” she sighed, and her eyes closed momentarily, “He’s a bit of a handful. For a fifteen-year-old.”

You didn’t have the energy to feel sorry for her but you let her enter her number into your phone, and she listened attentively when you told her yours to make sure she didn’t get it wrong and end up texting a random stranger to make plans. After you watched her leave, take-out cup of coffee in hand, you lay your head on the darkening pages of your book, ear pressed to the paper. You closed your eyes for a moment and then sat up, breathing deeply as you drank the rest of your tea. You closed your book, tucking it into the bottom of your bag and standing up, patting your coat pocket to check that your phone was still in there.

It was pitch-black when you stepped outside, and the streetlamps made you squint and cover your eyes with one hand; your apartment wasn’t too far away but it was cold and taxis were easy. You flagged one down and climbed into the back, sitting directly behind the driver (it made you feel safer anyway), and you put in your headphones.

The drive passed quickly, and as soon as you paid for the journey and exited the car you began to walk briskly up the stairs to your place. Your keys were in the same pocket as your phone, and you pulled them out wearily, pushing the silver one into the lock and turning it till you heard the familiar click.

The door felt extra heavy tonight, and your bag dropped to the floor just as quickly as you dropped onto your bed. The lights were too bright to turn on but the fairy lights lining the walls were fine; you opted for them as you dropped your thick coat next to your bag and shoes. Closing the window from the freezing cold and switching on the little heater, you crawled into bed and let the warmth envelop you. You fell asleep in mere seconds, ignoring the loud vibrations from your phone carry across the room.

Most of the time, when you don’t want to reply to someone’s message or call them back, you just pretend to have not read it or noticed in the first place. It was weird, leaving the notification there, just to remind yourself that she texted you first. When you’d exchanged numbers the previous week, you just assumed that you’d be the first one to reach out. That’s how it had been with every other friend you’d made. You weren’t disappointed; in fact, you were grateful. You hated having to initiate conversations, however you still felt bad for not replying.

It had been five days since Alisa first messaged you, three since the second time, and fifteen minutes since the last. The latest one read ‘I’m coming over. Be about 20 minutes!’.

You sighed, reading it once more and then turning your brightness down. Just because you hadn’t replied to any of her texts didn’t mean you weren’t ok. The music barely reached your ears since you were buried so deep under your covers, but that was fine. You weren’t really listening to it anyways.

There was a knock at the door. You didn’t think that the person on the other side realised how thin it was, but you definitely heard them sigh and let out a string of curses after you didn’t reply. It was Alisa, but you knew that. Nobody else would want to check in on you. The doorknob rattled and you winced; too loud. It opened, a little quieter this time, and slowly, the covers were peeled off of your figure. Alisa sighed (again. How sick of you could she possibly be? You only got back in touch less that six days ago) and looked down at you with disdain.

“You need to get up. Have you missed any classes?” you shook you head in response to her questions. You couldn’t miss classes. It’s not as if you found them particularly difficult. Just a little boring, that’s all.

You closed your eyes, tapping your fingers against the mattress. The blinds had been opened and now the evening light was pouring into your room unfiltered. Alisa grabbed your wrist gently, pulling you up painfully slowly. You groaned, rubbing your eyes and patting her hand to let her know you can sit up on your own.

You opened your eyes somewhat begrudgingly, squinting from the still too-bright light. Alisa was stood at your small fridge, rifling through whatever food was left in there. She pulled out a half-full bottle of milk and a packet of ham. “Do you not uhh,” she paused, “have any… other kinds of food? Or is your diet limited to milk and ham sandwiches?”

“I usually get takeout. Or ham sandwiches. Sort of depends how lazy i’m feeling on that day.” She turned and smiled at you, nodded her head back towards the door. “We can go to mine. I have ‘good’ food there. Lev needs feeding anyways.”. You grinned, “I thought Lev was fifteen?”

“Yeah, but he’s still incompetent. I’ll teach him to cook later, when i’m not taking care of you.”

You looked down at your lap, and then at the pair of shoes on the floor next to your bed. Sliding them on, you stood, looking at Alisa for approval. “You look fine. When was the last time you changed?”

You hesitated, thinking for a moment, “A few hours ago, when i got back from class.” You grabbed the brush on the bedside table and combed through your hair a few times, evening it out from the mess it was a minute ago. “C’mon,” Alisa opened the door, “Don’t forget your keys! I doubt you wanna get locked out, right?”

Alisa’s house was big. She was lucky not to have to live in student accommodation, in all honesty. When you sat down on her large sofa, you heard the voices of two adults nearing. You weren’t sure what to think at this point. You and Alisa barely knew each other, and she’d come to your apartment, dragged you out of bed, invited you into her home where her whole family was.

“Alisa, darling? Have you brought a friend over?”

You saw her nod out of the corner of your eye as she made your meal, humming quietly to the tune of the music. There were loud, fast footsteps in the corridor that her parents had exited and looking up, you saw a lanky grey-haired boy with the same stark green eyes as her. He was almost as tall as the ceiling, and when he entered the room he had to duck to get through the threshold. You assumed this was Lev, Alisa’s high school age brother. Volleyball boy. Whatever. He was unimportant, and you were hungry.

“Ah! Lyovochka! Are your teammates here? Do they want food?” she didn’t look up from the kitchen counter as she spoke but Lev nodded, running back to ask his friends if they wanted food. (He never came back to give any sort of answer, though)

“So!” the sudden appearance of Alisa’s mother was unexpected. She was just as pretty as her daughter, but very obviously older. “What’s your name?”

You stuttered, panicking slightly, avoiding any possible eye contact. You looked to Alisa for help, and caught her gaze as she hurried over, sitting next to you. “This is y/n, mom. We met a while ago but i invited her over for lunch today,” she looked at you and patted your thigh, trying to calm you down slightly, “We might go out to the city later, if that’s okay with them.”

Alisa’s mother raised her eyebrows at your unwillingness to speak; maybe she thought you were being rude, but you didn’t have the capacity to worry about that right now. “Nice to meet you, y/n.” You nodded, slightly dizzy from being so overwhelmed but trying to be as polite as possible nonetheless. Alisa’s dad was stood behind the sofa, a large cup of what you assumed to be tea inbetween his hands.

Alisa stood and ushered her parents away, towards the door. “Were you going out?” they nodded, grabbing bags and phones on the way out, “We’ll see you later, then!” Her father tried protesting, but Alisa reassured them that Lev was completely fine while you and her were here.

Once the door was closed, Alisa looked back at you apologetically. “Sorry about them! They can be a little overbearing sometimes.” she gave you a small smile and pulled out two plates. “I think that’s an understatement.” you replied quietly.

She laughed loudly, earning a smile from you. “I’m glad you’re okay now though.” she looked at you, smile instantly gone from her face. “You are okay, right?” You nodded, and she relaxed, serving your food onto the plates and bringing them round to the coffee table you were sat facing. “It might be a little hot. Wait a bit before you try it.”

You picked up your plate and put it onto your lap, the warmth of it heating your legs, as if the heat of the room wasn’t already enough. Your face felt warm and your hands shook slightly as you reached to pick up the food; you were either hungry or nervous. It was probably best to not think about it too much.

Alisa was staring at the TV that was sat on a polished wooden desk by the wall, her eyes mirroring the images from the screen. From the looks of it, she was watching a documentary on animals in the arctic, probably one you’d seen before. You weren’t looking at it, but the narrator’s voice sounded familiar and when you were little you’d watch stuff like that constantly, sometimes the same one over and over again until you got bored of it then moved on to the next one (which you’d also - metaphorically - beat half to death and then abandon)

After your meal, the two of you were still, to your displeasure, sat it silence. Alisa had turned the show off and was now sat reading a book and you were fiddling with your hands, waiting for her to notice you and let you go home (really, you could leave any moment, but you didn’t want to say anything first).

You stood up upon hearing Lev shouting from what you assumed was his room, and Alisa’s head immediately snapped up. She checked the time on the clock above the kitchen counter, and gasped, looking at you apologetically.

“Gosh! Y/n, you should have told me it was so late! I’ll walk you home.”

You shook your head, and the blonde girl in front of you sighed. “Are you sure? It’s getting dark. At least let me call you a taxi, ok?”. You hummed out a noise of approval and she picked up her phone that had been resting precariously on the arm of the sofa.

As she was speaking to the person on the other end of the line, (a series of yeses followed by her address and then your street. You smiled, tapping your chest and then sliding your arms into the sleeves of your jacket. She opened the door for you and the taxi pulled into her drive as you stepped out of the threshold; you waved at her, thanking her for your stay, and then wandered over to the taxi, sitting in your usual seat (behind the driver) and she only closed the door of her home when the car drove off. Your phone buzzed; ‘text me when you get home safe, ok! -Alisa <3’.

The next month was January.

The holiday season had passed without you seeing Alisa once, except for in a corner shop once, where you pretended not to see her but ended up being approached anyways. That time there was a pink coating her porcelain skin (you weren’t sure whether it was makeup, the cold or an actual blush, but you opted for the last one to satisfy yourself somewhat).

You sort of wished that you’d been able to spend the holidays with her, though. Sometimes, you found yourself thinking about her unconsciously. It was weird, but you ignored it. Stuff like that seemed like a lot of effort to you, and you were not notorious for being invested in relationships, platonic or romantic.

You only had one class today, and after that you saw her in the hallways. She’d obviously had a class in the same building of you, and as usual, you pretended not to have seen her. You just kept walking, coffee in hand, eyes on the floor. Again, like the first time you’d really talked, you heard her footsteps approaching and accepted your fate.

“Y/n! Hey!” she kept walking after you; you buried your face into your scarf and tried to get yourself to stop but it felt like your feet were moving on their own. Why were you ignoring her? You liked her, for god’s sake! You barely knew her, you should be using moments like these to get to know her better! What the hell were you doing?

Her hand landed on your shoulder and pulled you back. By now, the pair of you were outside, and your feet were crunching over newly layed snow. It was coming down thickly, you had to squint to see her properly. She looked tired, and her face was pale in comparison to the pink of the tip of her nose and her ears. It was cold, after all, and she didn’t have a scarf of hat or anything. You wanted to lend her yours; that was what people who were close did, wasn’t it? Why did she look so bedraggled anyway?

“Y/n, seriously, stop.”

You frowned, confused. You looked sad? And why would she care anyways? You weren’t close, and you could see her friends looking on from the steps of the building. The snow was catching in her hair and it felt like time had stopped; she really did look unreal. “I didn’t know you cared about me so much, Alisa. We’re not close, and we barely ever talk.”

It looked like she was about to cry. Maybe it was the cold?

“I don’t need a reason to care about you, y/n!” she reached a hand up to rub her eyes, “I can’t seem to stop thinking about you, and it’s driving me crazy!” she pointed to her friends on the steps, “They know it!” she was shouting now, and the wind seemed to whistle even louder in your ears, “Everyone else seems to know i’m in love with you except you! And i’m sorry if i didn’t make it obvious enough for you.”

At this point your brain was going overdrive to process what she’d just told you. You knew you probably looked stupid just standing there and staring at he but what else could you do? This wasn’t exactly how you’d pictured your evening going, and despite receiving confessions before this one felt different; you felt like your heart was on fire. It burned, and you were out of breath despite standing completely still. Alisa reached out and took your freezing cold hand into her own. She was surprisingly warm, and there were tears dripping off of her chin onto her coat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that, you probably never felt the same way. Like you said, right? We barely even know each other.”

You stepped forward (again, it felt like you weren’t in control of your own feet) and with the hand Alisa wasn’t holding, cupped her cold cheek. She looked back at you and you could see her friends out of the corner of your eyes chewing the inside of their cheeks. It was embarrassing to say the least, but necessary. Alisa sniffed, and you looked back down at the ground, shaking your head. “No that’s not what i..” you tried to make your voice louder, “I just didn’t expect you to also feel like that.”

She laughed (it was probably the most beautiful noise you’d ever had the pleasure of hearing) and leaned in so that your foreheads were touching, her pretty smile still adorning her lips. “I’m glad,” she whispered, and the burning of your cheeks felt like a blazing fire across your face.

“Call me later, ok?” you nodded as she moved her face away, hand leaving yours reluctantly. “We can go out sometime. If it’s uhh.. okay with you, of course.” You giggled, and Alisa waved, her friends running after her (also giggling and patting Alisa’s head in what looked like celebration). It had stopped snowing, and the sun was shining through the clouds in a golden evening glow, lighting up the city marvellously. You decided to walk home today.

tags; @chqrryvelvet @wissbby

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the--highlanders · 3 years

Text

Bloody Knuckles

christmas present for @ettelwenailinon!! <3

on ao3.

“Jamie.”

“I know what you’re gonnae say.”

The Doctor settled down beside him with a huff and a flick of his coat, looking for all the world like some sort of startled, ruffled bird. If he had not known any better, Jamie could almost have believed the violence of the motion had sent loosened feathers floating away from him. “How could you?” he spluttered out, as if he had not heard Jamie’s words. “It was a – a -” He puffed up his cheeks, eyes wild and glinting with pent-up fury.

“Go on, then.” Jamie had not meant to bite back with such venom – if he was honest with himself, he was surprised that he still had the energy for that – but his blood was stirring unbidden, his hackles rising. They had been having this argument more and more often, of late, and try as he might he could never really make the Doctor understand. He would claim he did – and then go on and on in his righteous anger, lecturing Jamie about how dangerous it was, to do whatever he had done, and all the time he would conveniently forget that it had been his own life in danger to begin with, or the lives of countless others. No matter how much he shouted, Jamie had never quite gotten him to realise that.

And then, there was the worst thing of all – the fact that he had an awful tendency to turn around and do the exact same thing. Last time it had taken him only a few days to go against his own warnings about taking undue risks, when Jamie had been perfectly safe on his own. This time, with missiles still falling over the city, and the data records they needed still just out of reach, Jamie could only imagine that it would take him less than a few hours to throw himself into harm’s way. It had been stupid of him to jump in front of the Doctor when that blast had hit him, he thought bitterly – though not in the way the Doctor meant it. Now, slumped over the bed, his hands and face littered with cuts and every bone in his body aching, he was of no use to anyone. If the Doctor did decide to do something he shouldn’t, there would be nobody to stop him.

“It was reckless,” the Doctor was saying. Briefly, Jamie wondered what he had been talking about – but it hardly mattered, he supposed. They did tend to say the same things to each other every time. “It was entirely unnecessary – I had the whole situation under control -” His voice was still tight with barely-constrained anger, but his hands were drawing a roll of bandages out of his pocket, tugging unsteadily on the loose end to wrap it around Jamie’s palm. They moved almost of their own accord, turning the fraying length of gauze over with a sort of tenderness that was almost heart-wrenching. Staring down at them, Jamie let the Doctor’s scolding words fade into background noise. His hands could almost have belonged to someone else – a someone else who was not speaking louder and louder as he grew more and more insistent.

Well, he might as well say the same thing that he always said himself. “Ye didnae have anything under control,” he said flatly. “They might’ve killed ye. An’ I couldnae let that happen.”

“Everything was quite alright -”

“It wasn’t.”

“I assure you, it was -”

“It wasn’t!” Jamie’s shout surprised even himself. They stared at each other for a moment, shocked into a wide-eyed silence. It had come too soon, he thought. He knew the pattern of these arguments well by now. They were not supposed to have run out of words yet. “It wasn’t,” he repeated softly, as if they could start the argument up again like it was a broken-down motor. One of those gadgets that played music, stuck on repeat. “They would’ve killed ye.”

“I would have been perfectly fine.”

“I cannae – I couldnae -” Jamie scrubbed his hand over his face. “I couldnae take that chance.”

They were speaking more softly than usual now, too, the Doctor pausing in bandaging Jamie’s hands to ease himself off the bed and kneel before him. He looked so terribly small like that, so awfully vulnerable that Jamie felt his heart seize up in his chest. It was a mercy, he thought, that the argument seemed to have ground to a halt. To hear the Doctor insist that he did not need protecting when he looked so vulnerable – he did not think he could have borne that.

“Jamie,” the Doctor said, still quiet. “Why – ah -” He licked his lips, swallowing like his throat was thick with something. “Why do you do this? For me?”

Do you really not know? Jamie wanted to ask. It seemed absurd that someone as clever as the Doctor could miss the obvious for so long. And yet the Doctor did have a terrible habit of overlooking the most ordinary of things. Perhaps he simply was that clueless. “It’s no’ just you,” he said. There was a grain of truth in that, at least. “I’d do it for Ben an’ Polly, too. An’ for everyone here.”

“I know,” the Doctor murmured. For a brief moment, Jamie was struck again by incredulity that he actually believed it. “But – I can’t help but notice, Jamie, you have a certain – knack, for getting yourself into trouble on my behalf -”

Ah.

There it was, then.

And he had no good answer for it, other than the unspeakable truth. He had known that all along.

“Ye have a knack for gettin’ yourself into trouble,” he parroted back weakly. “Why does it bother ye so much?” His voice turned snappish, defensive. “I’m only savin’ your life, ye know.”

“Why does it bother -” The Doctor dropped Jamie’s hand as he turned away, and Jamie winced as it knocked against the bedframe. “Do you really think I’m – I’m pleased, at you risking your life for me?”

The venom had drained out of his voice, replaced by – something else. Quite what it was, Jamie could not say. But it was just a few notes away from exhausted, half-drowned out by the ear-piercing rumble of a bomb falling just a little too close to them, and Jamie wondered if they really ought to be having this argument now, when there was so much else to be done. Reaching out one hand, he laid it gently on the Doctor’s shoulder, but drew it back towards his chest when he was shaken off.

The soft oof of pain he had let out must have been louder than he had thought, because the Doctor turned around to take his hands up again, eyes crinkled into soft regret. “Oh – oh, Jamie, I am sorry -” He raised Jamie’s hands up, leaning his head down over them, and for one bizarre, ecstatic moment Jamie thought he might be about to kiss the backs of them. But he paused just an inch away, his eyes kept fixed downwards so Jamie could not read whatever thoughts might be swimming just below the surface. “I am sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to – I shouldn’t like to see you hurt, you know.”

“Aye, I know.” There was that lump in Jamie’s throat again. “I wouldnae like tae see ye hurt, either. That’s why I did it.”

“Yes – yes, I know.” The Doctor released one of Jamie’s hands again – but this time he folded it neatly over the other before reaching up to brush at his eyes. Surely the dampness in them had been brought on by the dust shaken from the crumbling ceiling. It could hardly be real tears. “But it wouldn’t be a fair exchange, you know. Your life for mine.” He took up the bandages again, carrying on with wrapping Jamie’s hand, still with that same sort of tenderness. It really would be better if he left it alone, Jamie thought, slowly and deliberately, like he could make himself believe it. Then there would be nothing to throw seeds of hope into the crevices of his chest, scattering them over his ribs and into his lungs for them to cling on tight and take root. Plants that flowered in the tiniest of spaces were always the hardest to get rid of. And these were sown entirely by his own hand, of course. Anything he might think – anything he might be imagining on the Doctor’s part – it was all just wistful thinking. The Doctor simply carried on binding his hands, like he was oblivious to the redness in Jamie’s cheeks.

Another bomb crashed down over the city above them, setting off another cacophony of screams and sirens and splintering glass. A trickle of dust fell from the ceiling, settling powdery white plaster over Jamie’s shoulder, but he did not dare pull his hands away to brush it off.

“They need ye,” he said softly. “Everyone here needs ye. An’ everyone in a million other places, they – if somethin’ happened to ye -”

“They need you too.” The Doctor said it with such firmness that for a moment, Jamie almost believed it. “What would they do without you?”

He scoffed, a little more forcefully than he needed to, and more for his own sake than the Doctor’s. “They don’t need me. Not like they need you.”

“Of course they do. And -” The Doctor swallowed, glancing away, but his grip on Jamie’s hands became almost painfully tight. “I need you too.”

Well, then.

It had been a silly thing to hope for, he had told himself. The sort of thing he repeated to himself late at night, when he felt most lost and out of place – the Doctor needs me, the Doctor needs me, the Doctor needs me. An easy answer to trip off his tongue when people asked exactly what he was doing, tagging along after someone who understood so much more than he ever could. But it had never been more than that. It had never been the truth. To hear it now, from the Doctor himself – the impact of it shuddered up his spine, a deep, visceral feeling that it meant something.

“Well -” The Doctor simply looked a little bemused, glancing down at Jamie’s hands. “Yes, of course I do, Jamie. Did you really think that I didn’t?”

It must have been the painkillers, Jamie thought, knocking his head about and making him do foolish things. He had been given a strong dose, after all. Or perhaps it was the fear and adrenaline and relief, still whirling around in his blood. Or the constant thunder of bombs, dulling his mind until he felt like he was in a dream. But just what made him do it hardly mattered. The Doctor needed him, and he needed the Doctor, and maybe – just maybe – there was the remotest of chances that they wanted the same thing.

Before he quite knew what he was doing, he had leant forward and kissed the Doctor, bending down at an awkward angle to press on his shoulders until he had sat down on the ground. It was awkward, and messy, and uncomfortable most of all, and he could feel his odd posture stiffening in his already-aching bones, and the Doctor was kissing him back, grasping at his elbows and then his sides, pushing himself back up onto his knees to match Jamie’s height more equally.

He pulled back in degrees, laughing at the Doctor’s insistent kisses even as he leant away from them to breathe. “Now ye see,” he said, and he was laughing harder, almost hysterically at the strangeness of speaking the truth, “why I couldnae let anythin’ happen to ye.” He must be dreaming, he thought. He was still out cold from his injuries, and the Doctor was standing by his bedside, and he had dreamt up some wild fantasy world where the Doctor would actually kiss him back. He could only hope that he did not talk in his sleep.

The Doctor sat down, lifting Jamie’s hands from his shoulders to finally, finally kiss the backs of them instead, and there was no doubt in Jamie’s mind that he really had been longing to do it, in that moment before. His lips grazed over the bandages on one hand and the half-scabbed cuts on the other, and something sad settled over his eyes. “And now you see,” he repeated back, “why I don’t like the thought of you risking your life for me.”

“Aye, I know.” The thought of the Doctor carrying the same worries that he did almost made him feel a twinge of regret. Almost. “But I couldnae just leave ye. Not when – I -”

The words caught in his throat, netted in by the thick dust from the half-ruined city above that hung in the air around them. But the Doctor must have understood, because he simply squeezed Jamie’s hands. “Don’t say it now.”

“Och, I’m – I’m sorry -” It was almost ridiculous in a way, that he could do all this – throw himself into the firing line for the Doctor, and tell him the honest truth about why he had done it, and kiss him of all things – and yet all his bravery faltered at the thought of actually telling him that he loved him. “I -” The words faded away again, like mist in a butterfly net. Speaking the words would make them real, he thought. Break him out of whatever dream-state he was living in and remind him that there was a world outside this bunker, and this everlasting argument of theirs. “I just wanted tae tell ye -”

“It’s alright.” The Doctor leant up to kiss him again, slowly like he was savouring it, carefully like he was taking the unspoken words from Jamie’s lips. “I’m, ah – afraid we don’t have the time. We have to try and get those data records again.” He clasped Jamie's arm to pull him up, but Jamie only raised himself a little way before collapsing back onto the mattress with a huff. “Ah. You’ll not get very far like this, I’m afraid.”

“Aye, I know.” A wave of bitterness washed over Jamie. “You’ll have tae go on your own.”

The Doctor frowned down at him, reaching out to rest his hands over his waist, and Jamie was suddenly glad that he was still sitting. The feeling of the Doctor’s fingers rubbing back and forth against his sides would surely have been enough to make his knees buckle. “You’ll be quite alright here,” the Doctor was saying softly. “I, ah, I won’t be long, and - I’ll be quite alright.” The corner of his mouth twitched slightly. “And no coming after me. It’s a shame I can’t bring you with me, just to keep an eye on you.”

It had not been particularly funny, all things considered, and yet Jamie found himself laughing. The memory of his last laugh made him lean in for another kiss, smiling against the Doctor’s lips. His mind was still reeling with the thought of kissing the Doctor, the painkiller-dulled edges soft enough that he still wondered if he might have made the whole thing up. Surely the real Doctor was doing nothing more than tending to his injuries, with no thoughts of kissing him or promises of staying safe. But if he was still dreaming, he was quite happy to stay that way. “I won’t do anythin’ silly if ye don’t,” he said.

“If you insist. And when I’m done -” The Doctor leant away enough for their noses to bump together, reaching out to take Jamie’s hands, his thumbs stroking over the loose ends of the bandages to roll them over until they were tucked in. “I’ll come back here, and see how you’re getting on, and you can say anything you’d like. We’ll have all the time in the world.”

It should have worried him more, he knew, to be letting go of the Doctor at a time like this, when so much was still unsaid between them. He ought to have been pushing himself off the bed and hobbling after him to get the both of them into terrible danger. Just a few minutes ago, he might have entertained that very thought. But something soft and peaceful had settled over him, cushioning him from the shrill sounds of the city burning, and filling the pit of his stomach with a calm certainty that the Doctor would be alright. That whatever they had started could not be stopped until it had run its course.

The floor beneath them shook with the impact of another bomb, sending the Doctor pitching forward into his chest. They clutched at each other instinctively, holding each other up, both staring up at the ceiling in trepidation. “All the time in the world?” Jamie repeated.

The Doctor’s eyes were darting around wildly, but when he spoke his voice was perfectly even. “All the time in the world.”

#second doctor #two/jamie #fanfic archive #my writing #ettelwenailinon

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duskbornbaker · 3 years

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Torchwood!Tommy Character Profile

Essentials:

1) What name did they go by as a Kine, and what name do they go by now? Why and how did they choose this name, if it’s different?

Born Tomàs Baker, they were primarily called "Tommy" in life and that continues. As it's been 80 years since they were registered legally dead, they have decided to take on a false surname, as well as to keep Torchwood from knowing too much about them. They borrowed "McDonnell" from their crush from when they were alive. Though, this is moot, as due to a backfire of a ritual, Torchwood 2 now knows their real name.

2) What year were they born (or how old would they be in life), and what age do they appear? What age do they feel?

They were born in 1907 and died in 1925, so they look like an 18 year old, though with the infirmity they experienced and just life being what it was at the start of the 20th century, their "18" looks a little older. They can often pass as early-mid 20s without too much difficulty. In truth, they are 101 years old. The year is 2008, the pyramid has just fallen and to some degree they feel so young and vulnerable. Old World Kindred tend to be older. Princes have held these positions since, some of them, the establishment of the Camarilla nearly a millennium ago. But then, among the Kine they work with, they feel ancient. People reference pop culture from any of the time while they were in the Pyramid and it just flies over their head. They feel out of place among these oh so young and fragile humans. Thankfully, Seòras helps them feel a little more okay with it. Agent Lennox, being nearly 50 years old, also doesn't get the references. They sometimes sit there while Cami and Ash talk about some movie or internet trend and just let the conversations wash over the two of them, absorbing nothing.

3) Which Clan do they belong to? How do they feel about their Clan?

They were Embraced into Clan Tremere and House Tremere. Though, lately, people have started questioning the truth of their affiliation. They're a Thinblood, after all, do they really deserve the title of "Tremere"? This all is compounded by the fall of the Pyramid. The House is in chaos and the childer are unreigned. Kindred openly rebel against their sires and the new House Ipsissimi has been formed. Generally, the Anarchs accept both their status as Thinblood, some among the 14th Generation even going so far as to call the term a slur. They are the Duskborn. Duskborn are burgeoning into a new Clan within the Anarch movement and while Tommy is yet to be forced to choose between the two, they know the time is coming. They are yet to make a decision.

4) Which Predator type do they most align with and why?

Currently: Bagger. It's part of the conditions of their employment. No feeding off living humans. Tommy has given a taste for the blood of corpses, its disgusting but, occasionally a welcome change, as well as animals, honestly somehow more unpleasant than the former and coming with the added issue of needing multiple vessels to even lend themself a somewhat satisfying meal. No, bagged blood is the best of the options available. Further, they don't have to steal it. Torchwood buys the bags at the same rate a hospital would pay and it simply comes out of the food budget. Yvonne *does* question why their food budget is so high, but as of yet hasn't pursued the issue too closely. Thankfully, Lukas covers for Tommy. It's a precarious situation, but one that balances for now.

5) Who Sired them, and into what Generation were they Sired? What’s their relationship with their Sire like, and what were the circumstances of their Embrace?

They were sired by their sister: Somhairlín Baker into the 14th Generation. They were scheduled to be Embraced anyway, by Sam's sire, but before the date was supposed to come, they were struck in a motor vehicle accident while in Galway seeking medical treatment for their chronic anemia. Anemia caused by Sam's clandestine use of Tommy as a Cloven Blood Doll. Somhairlín, feeling guilt, Embraced Tommy. Their parents died. The two bonded closer than in life. This would eventually be a source of great pain in Tommy's life as, in early 2008 following the F1rstlight attack on the Vienna Chantry and the Head of the Tremere Pyramid, Tommy felt need to murder their sister.

6) What level of Humanity are they? Has this changed over the years they’ve been dead?

Tommy's Humanity is very low. Due to the practices of the London Chantry and a development of growing Noddist and Cainite practices, Tommy ended up on the Path of Caine during their time in London. They moved to London to escape Thinblood persecution in the post-War era and it was for naught. In London, Tommy hid themself as Sam's ghoul, and Sam, in turn, entered them into a Blood Wedding, a situation where two Vampires bond themselves to the other threw drinking each other's Vitae. This created a feedback loop where both of them sunk to deeper levels of depravity match for match. And, under Hal Grove, Regent of their Chantry, they began doing research into the Thinblood condition.

The research consisted mostly of Embracing new Thinbloods and finding the limits of the condition: could they use disciplines, could they bond, could they be tapped as a source of Vitae... all of these answers proved to be "sometimes" and the Baker siblings lost grip on their humanity with extreme speed. Since the Fall of the Pyramid, they have been slowly clawing their way back; first: onto the Path of Humanty, a dangerous feat to attempt without personal guidance, and then slowly up the ladder of morality. Now, they sit at humanity 5 -- 6 through 8 being the usual extremes of the average human being.

7) Which Disciplines do they possess, and which do they favor using?

They have the traditional disciplines of Clan Tremere: Thaumaturgy, Dominate, Auspex, but they favor Thaumaturgy. In their role as offensive specialist they favor the paths of Flames and Nebulism. The former as a means of attack and the latter to disable enemies or clear a building of civilians.

8) Who are their Touchstones, if any? / 9) What are their Convictions (moral opinions and standings they hold fast to)?

Cami. A fellow Agent of Torchwood who vouched for them to become member of the team. She represents a value of trusting others judgements. As they say "I take pride in the goodness and strength of my friends and that they, being as such, should care for me."

Lukas. Their boss, the head of Torchwood 2. They keep Tommy in line and enforce the value of the preservation of human life. As much as Tommy is frustrated that Engstrom is blackmailing them to keep them in line, to some degree they are thankful.

10) Do they belong to any sect or are they independent?

They belong to the Anarchs. Hard to be a Camarilla Tremere when you collapsed your old Chantry and murdered your sire. No Camarilla Tremere will touch them. They wouldn't bleed on Tommy if they were on fire.

Life

1) What did they do (as a career or in general) before they were Embraced?

They were a Seminarian, studying to be a Priest. Now, that is just completely out of the realm of possibility.

2) Do they still have mortal family or friends, or descendants of those people? Who were they closest to during life, and is there anyone they’ve contacted after their Embrace?

Still, no. Again? Yes. The people they knew are dead and tracking them down would be dangerous. Once, they tried to find their namesake McDonnell's descendants, but lost track of them when they moved to the New World. Thus is unlife. A series of disappointments. And what would they have said anyway? 100 years ago I wanted to kiss your grandfather? That's not going over well. It's as good a reason as any not to keep pursuing.

3) What were their hobbies, skills, and interests?

They knit. They were rarely able to make the trek to the school at the other end of the island in their youth and so they took up crafts. One of the neighbors had sheep and often sold clothes. With Tommy's health the way it was, they sometimes couldn't get out of the chair for days and spinning wool into yarn by hand and kniting the yarn into fabrics. It was nice. They were always cold so now they had sweaters and blankets to keep themself warm. They also sold some of their wares in town, or, the neighbor sold them and split the profits. A necessary source of income when their father was out at sea so long and money became scarce.

4) Did they have any vices, addictions, or mental illnesses? Which carried over into death?

They smoked. The doctors suggested it as means of strengthening the lungs with hopes of helping them build up the energy to walk. Obviously, this was counter intuitive. When they did feel up to it, and the night air was fresh and cool, Tommy and their friend Larry McDonnell would sneak into the chapel and "borrow" a bottle of communion wine. Red-faced and dizzy, they would fall in love with him over and over again, afraid of what it meant, but craving the times when they felt brave enough to reach out for him. Sometimes Tommy felt like maybe Larry felt something in return. It was hard to peel the alcohol from the desires from the truth, and so they never truly acted on it.

5) What were they most afraid of in life? How has this changed?

They were most afraid of their homosexuality. Did this mean they were going to Hell. Did they have to worry about dragging someone else down with them... This has changed in that they have largely given up on the Catholic faith. Perhaps they'll come back to it, they feel a draw to spirituality to fill the hole left by their lapsed Noddism and worship of their Domitor-and-Thrall. They've attended services a few times lately and it seems like some of the opinions within the flock are shifting. They don't want to get too attached but reattajing to their human faith is helping them feel just that much more Human, an addicting feeling.

6) What were their goals and ambitions in life? How has this changed?

Their goal at the time had been to squash their sexuality with faith. Now, they have embraced their queerness. It's a struggle many days to treat themself with kindness in that front. Hell, it's a struggle most days to treat anyone with kindness. But they're getting better.

7) Did they follow any religion or spiritual paths in life? How did that change when they died, if at all?

They were a Catholic in life, hoping to become a Priest and then in Unlife first abandoned religion but then got drawn in by the lures of Cainite Noddism. Now, with the Fall of the Pyramid, they feel a call to that old religion once again. Who knows where it will take them.

8) When they were Embraced, what was the aftermath like? Did they fake their death, do their loved ones think they went missing, etc.?

Their family died along with them so they faked that they died, too. At least they don't have to worry about their parents thinking they're missing.

Death

1) What have they spent most of their years as a Kindred doing?

Most of it has been spent researching their condition. Now, they are one of the most knowledgeable , probably in the world, on what it means to be a Thinblood.

2) What’s the entire lineage of their bloodline, from them all the way back to their Clan’s Antediluvian? Is there anything in particular that they and their grandsires all had in common?

They were primarily raised by their grandsire. Sam's sire took them on as a second childe, even though they had planned to wait maybe 10 years. So, Tommy got the same education as their sister. His sire, however, I haven't thought as much about.

3) How do they adapt to the changing times around them? Do they still uphold values, styles, or other things from the past?

They definitely dress a little bit out of time. And what's not anachronistic is absolutely horrible. They dont, however, adapt very well. They haven't gone through the back catalogue of media Cami gave them, cultural milestones and things that have happened... Just a few months ago, Tommy found out man had touched foot on the moon. They are more than a little behind the times.

4) Do they have a coterie? What position do they take in that group, if so? Otherwise, do they have any notable Kindred (or other creatures) friends?

Their "coterie" is probably the Torchwood 2 team, deapite being Kine. They serve as a blaster with magic on call they can destroy threats and protect their lives -- especially Lukas Engstrom, who, if he dies, will release a catalogue of all the information he has gathered on Kindred to every intelligence agency in the world, a threat Tommy doesn't take lightly.

They are also connected to Alastríona "Cass" Balach. She is Tommy's sponsor in House Ipsissimi and, by human standards, their Sponsor in Alcoholics Anonymous. The disguise is simple wordplay, but the Ipsissimi hide themselves within the Crowleian "Astrum Argenteum" which they in turn have using Alcoholics Anonymous as a front. This also serves as an out for Tommy. They couch their cravings for human blood in terminology based around Alcoholism and thus they are given a space to discuss their emotions. At meetings is also where a Ghouls of Balach's will give them study materials if need be. New rituals and information about the next step on one of their Paths. It's a pretty nice arrangement.

5) Which of their Clan’s stereotypes apply to them? Which do they act against, or embody the opposite of?

They are a neurotic mess. A perfectionist to their core, and sometimes they apply that perfectionism outward becoming a domineering person. They are secretive and dangerous. They have spent decades engaging in unethical magical experiments. Truly, they are quintessential Tremere.

However, they fight to change that. They want to be a better person and a better Kindred. They want to look at a person and not feel a desire to take them apart and find out how they tick. Thankfully, Engstrom keeps them in line on that front, with the actually follow8ng through of it anyway.

6) How do they feel about the Antitribu of their Clan?

Having very nearly been one, they understand the allure. The draw of Vampiric Supremacy and the willingness to bring human kind to their knees, however, they also pulled away. Once their eyes were clear they put their very existence on the line, revealed to the Prince that they had been a Thinblood illegally living in her domain and turned on the Cainites to bring the White Hall Chantry down. They fear the Tremere Antitribu. Their sponsor was also former Goratrix and, bearing the Mark of the Traitor, she was a fullfledged member who partook of the Vaulderie. Whatever brought her out remains to be seen, but Tommy wouldn't have an in at continuing Thaumaturgical Studies without her, and for that, he's grateful.

7) Have they Embraced anyone? Ghouled anyone?

They have, but not to keep around. And having lived in the Blood Bond for decades, they never want to do that to anyone else again.

8) Do they prowl, or is there a city they permanently reside in?

They seem to have settled in Glasgow, as much to be close to their new Sponsor as anything else. And, with their membership in Torchwood 2, they hope to stick around for a long time.

9) What’s their haven like?

They live at the Glasgow Hub: the basement of a nondescript Warehouse in a district of Warehouses, itself hidden by Vampiric magics. They have a private room to live and sleep in near the entrance. When they sleep, they are the first line of defense if something should come in. They protect the themself and their partners with another spell that will wake them immediately if a danger disturbs their residence.

The Hole itself is cozy. Not very big, about the size of a studio apartment. A single room with a bed, a bookshelf, and a fridge to hold Blood Bags. Not too much going on otherwise.

10) Do they believe they are descended from Caine, or do they follow a different path?

They do not believe they are descended from Caine. They have looked at the information Ash has managed to draw from them and it appears that Vampirism may be of extraterrestrial origin. Its exact origin is unknown, but alien stock seems to rule out the concepts purported by Noddism. And, after a period of time otherwise, they are back on the Path of Humanity.

11) How do they feel about Diablerie?

They wonder often. They wonder if they should have Diablerized Sam. Sure, it's a crime in the Camarilla, but they are no longer Camarilla, and they wouldn't be a Thinblood anymore. They would be a stronger force to reckon with, more able to protect their team... But it's a dangerous line of thought. And there's nothing doing, now.

12) Regardless of whether or not they adhere to Camarilla rule, have they ever broken any of the Traditions?

13) Do they believe in Gehenna? How do they feel about Thin-bloods, and do they believe they’re a sign of the end times?

Absolutely. Most of them. Respect of Domain and Hospitality. Their existence is a violation first of all. And they killed their sire. Even with permission, that's still a violation of the Traditions.

14) Have they ever Frenzied? What happened?

Not anymore. Its been a long unlife, and it was even longer thinking their own existence would draw the death of their people closer. But, they have learned to shrug off these kind of Noddist teachings. And they don't think the world is going anywhere any time soon.

The moment the Blood Bond broke, they frenzied and drank someone to death out of rage. An innocent person dead because they couldn't keep their cool. Other than that, no. They have kept themself well fed these years. And tht hope to keep it that way.

#tw!verse #ooc

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priorireverte · 3 years

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Congratulations Ashlie!

Your application for Neville Longbottom has been accepted. It was delightful to read and I am looking forward to seeing what more he brings to the group!

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Ashlie ( she/her )

TIMEZONE: est

ACTIVITY LEVEL: My main goal is to be online about five days a week actively working on replies, although I am always lingering around on mobile for plotting and such.

ANYTHING ELSE: Triggers: Flashing Gifs. Experience wise, I have been roleplaying online since 2011, and joined Tumblr roleplay around 2014.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Neville Longbottom

BIRTHDATE: July 30, 1980

DEATHDATE: –

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: demiboy he/they asexual/biromantic , Neville doesn’t put much weight on pronouns, either he or they really there is no preference for one over the other because he simply doesn’t feel any sort of connection to any of them. He tends to use the two interchangeably, although they are also still playing around with how they feel about the concept of masculinity and how it ties into his own idea of their gender so this may change over the course of the timeline.

BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood

HOUSE ALUMNI: Gryffindor Growing up, Neville was the one people always questioned. How could they possibly ever have been sorted into Gryffindor? They were quite timid as a child, fearful and easily taken advantage of. It was Dumbledore who had first seen the potential and they had and awarded him for it. They hadn’t wanted to stand up to Harry, Ron, and Hermione first year, they were terrified. But they also knew if they didn’t say anything their whole house would face the punishment that came with finding students out of bed past curfew, even if they later learned the three had a pretty solid reason. But Dumbledore’s validation had been what they needed to continue to experiment with that Gryffindor bravery they failed to see in themself. Telling a gang of eleven year olds not to sneak out isn’t the most terrifying thing they’ve ever done- but it was the first time they had fought back for what they thought was the right thing. That made them sure of themself when he joined the DA and made so quick to answer the call on those medallions and fight back when Hogwarts was under Death Eater control. Neville grew up very quickly and in a short amount of time, the catalyst for them truly feeling they belonged being prior to the true start of the war after learning their parents’ attacker had escaped from Azkaban Prison. Then Death Eaters took over the school they called home and it was no longer about proving themself to histheir grandmother or classmates, but about doing the right thing. It was then that Neville truly understood the meaning of bravery, chivalry, and the other traits true

OCCUPATION: Current Auror / Substitute Professor of Herbology at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry ( Neville has been working for the auror department since he left Hogwarts and is currently still working for them. He however has just accepted a job at Hogwarts starting after summer break and put notice in at the department he will be leaving in the end of August. He has yet to tell anyone anything other than that he has subbed at the school a couple times for Professor Sprout. )

FACECLAIM: Federico Cesari

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

Neville had only been a toddler when they first learned the end of a war does not mean the end of the fighting or that some of the worst acts of violence and cruelty happen after one side has already surrendered. The war was a terrifying thing and Neville didn’t begin to fully understand what it meant until after their side had already won. They cut a lot of people off after the final battle; kept isolated and trapped in a state of uncertainty. Some days they felt invincible- as if the scared little child who refused to let go of their grandmother’s skirt was someone else entirely and only the new version of themself who spat in Death Eater’s faces had remained. But as the adrenalyn wore off it became easier to fall back into the mindset of someone who thought they would never fit in or live up to the reputation their parents had set for them.

They went immediately into Auror training simply because they didn’t know what else to do. When Neville was told he could join the program despite not obtaining the OWL results required they couldn’t turn it down. It had felt like some sort of sign that this was what they needed to do, They knew that they wanted to be an Auror at only eight years old- although back then it was more because they wanted to be like their Gran’s stories of Frank than an interest in the career itself, but they had still struggled to accept that their childhood dream had gone out the window when their OWL scores came in the mail. But their position in the war meant more than an Acceptable in Transfiguration, and with so many Death Eaters still to be captured they couldn’t bring themselves to accept the war had finally ended.

When they learned the position for the Herbology teacher at Hogwarts opened he applied on a whim, never thinking they would actually get the job and struggled to get through the interview until they realized Professor Sprout had recommended them personally. They know they need to do this for themself, but they’re terrified to tell everyone about their plans to leave the Auror Department. It feels selfish- like they’re giving up the fight.

Now with Bellatrix’s return they are angry. At least they believe they are angry, but this is a different anger than the one they felt when she had broken out of Azkaban for the first time years ago. Perhaps it’s the mixture of jealousy at seeing so many people around them be reunited with their families while struggling with the guilt of avoiding their own. Or maybe it’s simply a deeper understanding. They are eager to find out.

PERSONALITY

Neville assumes their upbringing has a large part in the reason they’re so quick to think about what exactly is making someone behave the way they are. They are empathetic, quick to be understanding and patient. They wants to be there for everyone, even if that person doesn’t want them there. When Neville is invested in something they go on longer than anyone enjoys, putting every ounce of energy they have into it. When they love something they put their all into it and has never been one to do something half-assed. Even whenthey struggle, they give their all and don’t volunteer unless they knows they can pull through. Their love of herbology is clear to everyone who knows them and they spend hours a day trying to learn more about the subject they love so much. But he is also passionate about equal rights and fighting injustice. So passionate he put his safety on the line again and again to give a bit of hope to those around him that they could do this. So passionate even when he thought they had lost everything he still was the one to stand up and keep fighting.

They spent a lot of time lonely, and grew comfortable being by themselves. For a long time it seemed like everyone had their click but him. Sure he had friends, at least he thinks they all considered him friends, but until recently he never had that person he could go to. Now he still forgets to reach out to others for nothing other than to just enjoy each other’s company. He’ll call them to tell them about a book he thinks they would enjoy, or to tell them about the restaurant that opened up down the street from them, but he’s still working on believing people want to spend time with him and breaking the habit of spending his time along.

Insecurity and uncertainty had defined Neville’s life for so long, sometimes he does not know how to live any differently. He is quick to second guess himself in every aspect, and that has held him back many times. He decides how others feel without asking their opinions and can be quite pessimistic while doing so. Neville’s loyalty is also a trait he prides himself on greatly, but at times it can be entirely blind. He can have a bit of a black and white mindset when it comes to if someone is good or bad and once you have been deemed good in his mind he will follow certain people to their doom simply because they told him it was a wise idea.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Neville’s parent’s health had always been especially overwhelming and confusing for them, ever since they were just old enough to comprehend the two of them were not normal, that the way they behaved wasn’t the typical way the other adults in their life acted. Although for a very long time even after that they didn’t entirely understand their presence in their life was something normal to miss or that it wasn’t selfish to be angry over the fact that Frank and Alice couldn’t recognize who Neville was. They understand the pride they feel in being their child, and just how much they had sacrificed, but even now they cannot seem to fully comprehend why they miss something they cannot remember ever having in the first place.

So the excuses to not join Augusta on her visits to St. Mungo’s were plausible for a while. First it wasn’t safe to go, they couldn’t leave Hogwarts during the height of the war, the new job had just kept them so busy there wasn’t the time. Although every time they rattle off another excuse they see more of that same look in their grandmother’s eye that they had grown accustomed to as a child and thought they had finally gotten past. It was the week of the first anniversary Neville and Augusta finally had it out. Neville hadn’t meant to snap at her, there was so much guilt and their anxiety was still high. Suddenly everything from their childhood with her came out at once. The pressure she put on them to live up to their father, never saying anything to the family members who harmed them in an attempt to “scare” the magic out of them. They feel a responsibility to work on their relationship, she’s the only family they really have and perhaps if that weren’t the case they would have dropped her. But Neville loves her, as strict and imperfect as she is; they know she loves him, even if she wasn’t always the perfect guardian.

HISTORY

Only months following the end of the war, a group of Death Eaters had captured Frank and Alice Longbottom, determined they knew what happened to the Dark Lord and were willing to do anything in their power to get that information out of the two Aurors. They tortured the two incessantly until they had both lost their minds, leaving Neville who had only been a baby at the time to be raised by Frank’s mother, Augusta. She had been stern and old fashioned in the way she had raised them, expecting Neville to be every bit as brilliant as their father and then some as only a child, and she hadn’t done a spectacular job at hiding her disappointment whenever they didn’t live up to the expectations set for them. It had happened before, in a family as old as the Longbottoms it wasn’t entirely unheard of for a child to be born a squib, but that didn’t stop the fact that it was shameful, or dismiss the fears that Neville would live a horrid life if they failed to ever show signs of magic. Their entire extended family grouped together to attempt to make them to show some signs of magic, all going to different lengths in their attempts to do so. This destroyed their confidence and left Neville especially insecure even before they had the opportunity to start Hogwarts.

While everyone around them seemed to think of their time at Hogwarts longingly, Neville struggled during their time in the castle. Their Gran had been overprotective after taking them in and kept them separated from other kids their age so long they had a hard time making friends. Kids were mean, and it wasn’t uncommon for them to be the punchline of various jokes and picked on for the babyfat they had yet to lose or their awkward demeanor. While being bullied by their peers was hard enough, Neville hadn’t expected their professors to be even more terrifying than anything else they had dealt with in their young but still tragic youth. Severus Snape had been the human embodiment of everything they ever did wrong. As much as Neville loves their grandmother, she was never subtle about her high expectations for them and the more Neville tried to live up to them, the more they seemed to fail. Snape preyed on this, had a comment ready at every corner and made sure Neville knew they were inferior. They would never be as smart as their father. Never be as talented or successful if they couldn’t brew a simple potion correctly. The trauma of watching their parents’ health deteriorate as only a toddler left them with scars they still haven’t healed and Snape knew that as well. The gut wrenching anticipation of knowing if they did their assignment incorrectly their beloved pet would be slowly and painfully killed only brought the teen nightmares and what ifs. Snape knew Neville’s secrets from the days he fought on the other side, then his time as his Professor and had a profound talent for using this against them.

When Bellatrix Lestrange escaped from Azkaban it gave Neville a reason to fight back for the first time. There was a connection between them and the fighting going on outside the walls of Dumbeldore’s protection and they were able to truly comprehend just what this all meant beyond knowing Voldemorts return was a bad thing. Even more than that, they wanted revenge. They wanted to get even with the witch who stole everything from them, caused their parents to be unable to even know who their own child was. And they did fight back, harder than they had ever fought for anything in their life, they practiced day and night with hopes they could prove they are much more than the stupid little pureblood with insane parents and could barely hold a wand the right direction.

Then they were seventeen and living their deepest darkest what ifs. Would I do the same? Could I take the worst of the unforgivables for the well being of another? Neville’s entire life had been controlled by that curse. The shyness, the isolation, depression. The fear. Suddenly they were thrown into war, still only a student, even if one privileged enough to be born with the blood that was ranked superior. Wands were pointed at them, doing everything they could to force them to be the one thing he grew up swearing they would never be. Neville took everything they threw at them to not become the people who tore apart their family. They grew more confident and collected and stepped up to do what they knew they needed to do. They lead an Army, and the DA was the most important thing they will ever be a part of in their life. It made them someone they could be proud of, instead of having to worry what everyone around them would think of them.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? This group is gorgeous, While yes, your graphics and theme is lovely, your plot, the character teasers, and the writing are beautiful. A post trio roleplay is so hard to come by, as is a group with passionate and active admins and members who want to write and develop characters and the little twist of bringing back the dead is captivating. Scrolling through the page simply left me inspired, there is no other way to explain it. Thank you for making this rp possible and giving me the chance to be a part of it.

ANYTHING ELSE? https://www.pinterest.com/aaestheticsdm/why-is-it-always-me-c-neville-longbottom/

#prioriacceptance #neville longbottom

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undignifiend · 4 years

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So I made a Trollhunters fan character instead of sleeping. Meet Dezoka.

A (secretly) unregistered changeling trying to pass as a Gumm-Gumm warrior after getting stuck in the Darklands during the Battle of Killahead. Genuinely wants to be a Gumm-Gumm, but has to be deceptive (like an ‘Impure’) in order to even attempt passing as one. Frustrated by the irony.

She feels like a coyote trying to blend in with a pack of wolves. Fortunately for her, she’s got enough fire to keep up most of the time...

Might be equal to a sergeant in terms of rank; second-in-command of a platoon in Gunmar’s army (or the Gumm-Gumm equivalent). Favorite weapon: Parlock spear, but likes brawling unarmed, too. Would absolutely love the drunken fist style.

Not the strongest hitter or fastest healer, but she’s enthusiastic, fast, and has excellent pain tolerance and reflexes; excels at rolling with the punches, dodging, and deflecting. Has enough stamina to wait out or distract most opponents she’s met long enough to create openings for her teams to take down particularly tough enemies and accomplish their objectives. She’s not a duelist, she’s a pack-fighter. The rush from that is her favorite thing ever. It gives her a sense of belonging and community that she otherwise feels a degree of removal from, and the aftermath of victory is the only time she’s too hyped up to mind non-violent physical contact – celebratory headbutts and claps on the back, that kind of thing.

As evasive as she is in combat, she still gets hit a lot. Tends her own wounds, and refuses to let a healer treat her unless ordered to by a superior. And it might be a little hard to notice in a place as gloomy and washed-out as the Darklands, but her blood is a telltale purple. Grateful for how much her Gumm-Gumm armor hides. (I need to draw her helmet, too. She wears it a lot. Especially when injured.)

Has a reputation for being disciplined, loyal, direct, and industrious. And neurotic. Oddly, is most relaxed (and tolerable) when on a mission or task. During her downtime, she’ll seek out other work, or will try to salvage resources, clean/repair weapons and armor, or organize supplies in the interest of boosting efficiency. No task is too small so long as she’s convinced it will be of some benefit to the cause. If her regular duties are complete and no one gives her further orders, and if she’s got energy to spare, she’ll find something to do.

She was very gentle and affectionate as a whelp. Liked to cuddle and nap, and was easy to put to bed. When feeling active, she enjoyed ‘helping’ her favorite adults with tasks, ‘hide-and-scare’ (would leap or scamper out of her hiding spot and ambush her playmates with all the ferocity of a kitten), wrestling, and the “I bet I can jump from here to there” game. Mostly wanted to climb somewhere high up (especially on tall, broad shoulders) and observe (and give occasional, soft little headbutt-nudges like a happy cat). Is a mutt with a strong background of a sub-type of troll with propensity for leaping, climbing, and ambush tactics. Has very strong fingers, forearms, legs, and toes, and is an excellent climber. Can even fall asleep clinging to rocky walls to this day.

Became the exact opposite of cuddly. It’s like a Cats vs Cucumbers video. If someone startles her by getting too close in a non-combat situation, she can leap pretty high – and cling to any rocky walls, ledges, tree branches, or accidentally tear down rafters and get tangled in curtains. Might yell, start a brawl, or bite her tongue to resist doing either, depending on who scared her.

Very conscious of hierarchy and knows her place in it. Easily intimidated by superiors getting into her personal space, and will try to anticipate where they’re going and get out of their way. But if in-formation, or expected to hold, she will obey and hold position for as long as they tell her to, no matter how nervous it makes her.

If, however, they attempt to take advantage of her despite her protest, or if she witnesses someone else being abused (as opposed to punished) by a superior, she’s likely to take that to mean that the aggressor is unfit for the responsibility of their station, and she will consider the resulting fight she starts as her ‘appeal for a promotion’. She may be a bit squirrely, but she’s got pride and resolve in spades. Fortunately, this has only happened once so far (her former sergeant was abusing one of her shield-mates), and fortunately, she won (barely). Lost a tooth in that fight.

Gets really touch-starved when in season. She hates it. It’s perhaps the one instance (aside from recovering from debilitating injury) in which she’ll take her downtime to actually rest – which she’ll do somewhere up high and relatively hidden, where she can keep tabs on things in case she’s needed for something, but is otherwise out of sight and out of mind. Gets kind of depressed, too; without her usual duties and distractions, her mind wanders to things she’d rather not think about.

Pan and demi, but because she doesn’t want to chance anyone finding out her secret, she tends to keep people at a distance, and is effectively celibate.

Normally rolls around in dust-baths a lot to help disguise her scent. Does this extra when in season.

Favorite snacks: packing-peanuts (she likes the squeak) and coffee-grounds. Will stress-eat either of those by the handful, especially if drizzled with teriyaki sauce. Favorite beverage: any kind of soda. The bubbles “taste sharp” and it comes in edible shells! Likes to mix it with bubble solution when she’s feeling extra fancy.

Gunmar seems to notice a difference in how changelings smell, so she’s especially wary around him. It’s kind of a weird situation for her. He makes no secret of his opinions on changelings, but she idolizes him (so much that she ran off to join the Battle of Killahead when she was young and naive and wanted to personally witness his victory). As a result, her motivation to conceal the truth isn’t only about self-preservation. It’s also about trying to do right by her hero by trying to “defy her treacherous nature” (as she thinks of it) and live as a proper, loyal Gumm-Gumm. But doing so requires deception, and she’s deeply frustrated by the irony.

Constantly waffles back and forth between thoughts of “I’m lying, disloyal trash. End me.” and “This is my lot, and I’m gonna do the best I can with it.”

The only two things holding her back from coming clean and submitting to punishment, is 1) her fear of possibly getting her familiar killed as part of said punishment, and 2) her fear of dying as one more “lying, treacherous Impure” despite her efforts not to be.

Was a young, stary-eyed nobody at the Battle of Killahead, and got trapped in the Darklands with the rest of the Gumm-Gumm army. Quickly realized (or assumed) how Thoroughly Dead she’d be if she didn’t start passing as 100% Troll, pronto, and has kept up the ruse ever since. Has gone to great lengths to keep this secret, up to and including bribing goblins to hide her familiar – first name “Danica” - and erasing the name they shared from the nursery records to protect them both.

Had five fingers on each hand, which was seen as a common enough mutation among her tribe, but which she feared might be incriminating. Just to be on the safe side, she bit off her pinkies. It wasn’t her favorite day. Later learned that it’s perfectly normal for some changelings to have different numbers of fingers in different forms, and she was just being paranoid. Sour about it.

“Dezoka” was the first Trollish name she conjured up when someone asked her. She’s craftier now, but she was not a brilliant improviser in her youth, and still reflexively grimaces at the name sometimes. (It’s too close to her familiar’s name for comfort.)

She’s getting older by the present day, and even if she can still fight, she knows her reflexes are slowing. She never figured out how to accept that gracefully, and is a bit grouchy about it. She thinks she’s had a good run, even if she spent the vast majority of her life in the Darklands, and is hoping she’ll die in combat before anyone figures her out.

Witnessing Nomura getting imprisoned and tortured only made her more certain that the same would befall her. She wasn’t sure which would be more “classically Impure”: trying to appeal on Nomura’s behalf (she was trying to think up a compelling case to let her serve in the army), trying to help her escape (thereby betraying Gunmar, which is out of the question), or letting another changeling take hits for things she couldn’t help (and knowing no one would step up for her, either). Things moved on before she could decide, but the question still haunts her.

It puts kind of a damper on her ability to form relationships. And even if she got to spend time around other known changelings, while curious about them, she has internalized a lot of shame and negativity about them. And even if she didn’t have that problem, letting anyone know (changeling or not) puts her and her familiar at risk.

She has been working on a plan to get her familiar back to the Surface ever since she heard that humans are now far more likely to survive infancy. She’s not afraid to risk her life in battle, but she’s terrified of screwing up and getting her familiar killed (either on the Surface or as punishment), so that’s why she hasn’t made her move yet.

She thinks she would rather stick with Gunmar’s army than join up with the Janus Order if she got the chance. She’s lived almost her entire life as a troll, anyway, and doesn’t know how to be human, even if she may or may not have a few buried human instincts and tendencies. Also, a huge part of her paranoia about letting anyone get too close is her fear that they might have a gaggletack.

One of the main things that has kept her from giving up during times of doubt, crisis, and intense loneliness, is that she always still wants to see how long she can get away with it. It seems to her to be a very Impure attitude, and she’s starting to learn how to laugh at the irony.

#trollhunters #trollhunters oc #changeling #gumm-gumm

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magioftheseas · 4 years

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I Hope Our Future Is Beautiful

For @komahinaisle

Day 7: Future AU, Birthday, Free Day

Summary: Komaeda's relationship with Hinata has changed quite a bit over the years, and it may have all started on his birthday following when they woke up from the NWP. What else is to come? Whatever it is...

Rating: T

Warnings: Some hints at mental instability and referenced self-harm.

Notes: It is like 3am rn and I have only the best ideas at 3am so here’s the last fic for the week. I had other things to say. I forgot what they were. This won’t be the only fic I post today but I want to at least see how it does before I go and post the other one. Or something like that. Oh yeah, it’s actually the other fluffy fic! See, we’re ending things on a high note! Well. For now. Other fic’s not fluffy. Enjoy the fluff while it lasts, rip.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

He wasn’t expecting anything the first birthday after he woke up. They were all still recovering, and likely what energy they did muster up had already been expended on Koizumi. He doubted they remembered and even under better circumstances, he wouldn’t have brought it up.

Which is why it’s a surprise when Hinata presents him with a small spongy cake. He’s flustered, in a bit of a bad mood, but mutters all the same, “It’s your birthday, right?”

He had half a mind to swat that cake to the ground, but—because it was the first acknowledgment of his birthday in years, Komaeda found himself smiling.

“Thank you, Hinata-kun.”

It’s strange—but the first time, Komaeda had brushed it off as a fluke. A fluke he might as well enjoy because as much as he resents everything and everyone, he’s still a despicably lonely person who craves the smallest bit of kindness. It would be fine to just enjoy things even if he didn’t deserve them. Just this once.

Except, Hinata makes him another cake the next year. Hinata even smiles at him while offering it. An entire year and they’re on better terms, but Komaeda still hadn’t expected anything like it.

The next year, a party for him had been thrown. It was grossly uncomfortable and suffocating, but he smiled all the same. When things started getting a bit rowdy, he slipped away. He might’ve thrown up in a bush. Hinata was there to console him.

He’s not—sure what happened. Come to think of it, there had been drinking.

The year after was when the two of them started spending nights together. He’s not sure why. He thinks it was the result of another party. Mioda’s, maybe? He remembered it being cold and Hinata being quite warm. Nice to snuggle with.

He was sick the week of New Year’s, had apologized profusely, but Hinata had forgiven him with ease.

The next birthday—Komaeda Nagito made a selfish wish to see sakura trees, which couldn’t survive the island’s climate. Hinata had still acquiesced. Hinata had still been kind. And Hinata had then kissed him under the fluttering shade of pink and white.

This year, his luck ran out, and Hinata was called over for a serious mission that lasted weeks into months. Many of the others had their own duties as well. It was an incredibly busy time. Before he knew it, his birthday had passed without any fanfare. Surprisingly, he hadn’t even been disappointed.

He had gotten used to being alone first and had accepted it. Even when he came to terms with his and Hinata’s relationship, that acceptance of solitude remained. It wasn’t that strange, on second thought. After all, Komaeda had still been preparing himself for the inevitable end of their relationship.

This wouldn’t be the end—there was that, at least.

Still, his shared home with Hinata is a bit too big for him alone, just as his parents’ house had been. They had built this place together with the others being so kind as to help out. There were projects like that—some of them had agreed to stay on Jabberwock. Not all of them—but Komaeda had agreed. And Hinata had agreed.

And Hinata had suggested they live together. Except for a while now, Komaeda’s just been living alone, tending to the house and the garden all by himself. He still can’t cook, but he can harvest the crops and eat them. Every so often, Nidai shows up at their door and offers some prepared meat. Something about his diet, something about how he still needs to take care of himself even without Hinata around.

“You want your future to last, right?” Nidai asks with a laugh, and it’s striking how odd it is to hear.

Oh. I never really considered my future until Hinata-kun. Even now, I can’t bring myself to fully contemplate it. I’ve been prepared to die for too long.

It’s despairing to think, but Komaeda doesn’t voice it. As time went on, so many of his thoughts fizzled and fell to pieces. It became difficult to think of the grand scope within a world so small and society so slow to heal. He was sure there was still corruption and evil, of course—but compared to her, wasn’t it all so mundane?

He wondered when everything became a sense of normalcy despite all that he’s lived through. He lives unremarkably now—why is that?

Because of Hinata-kun? Because of Kamukura-kun? Was I set free, then, from my luck cycle?

He cuts up some bell peppers. He clinks the knife against his mechanical hand too many times for them to be innocuous accidents. He’s half-tempted to bring it down with as much force as he can muster. But, this prosthetic had been quite the product for Hinata to take on.

Souda was exceedingly careful when tuning it in Hinata’s absence. He was even pretty strict in teaching Komaeda how to perform self-maintenance for when he was on his own.

He chopped off his hand in the first place for the sake of her, someone who had consumed him without a second thought and still haunted him to this day. And, yet, Hinata replaced her so easily with this creation.

At what point had Hinata-kun and I become so entwined?

Komaeda blinked once, twice, and came up blank for answers.

How strange.

Finally, Hinata returned, dragging his feet and looking about ready to collapse.

“I’m back,” he groans, and already Komaeda is taking his coat.

“Welcome home,” is his response, given with an easy smile.

Hinata, despite still looking in a sorry state, does quirk his lips upward in return and—ah. Has he always been so striking? Has he always had this kind of air?

How strange.

He helps Hinata to bed so that he can lay down, undressing him to make sleep come easier. It’s an easy, simple gesture, one that came from comfortable intimacy. Hinata’s the one that gets flustered, even avoiding his gaze. Perhaps because it’s been a while since they were together like this.

Komaeda doesn’t push things, however, finishing up and tucking him to bed. His only indulgence is a kiss on Hinata’s temple. A soft giggle against his forehead as he brushes the other’s short spikes back. He had kind of hoped his hair would have grown out a little since he likes the feel of them.

“I’m not gonna be a free man for much longer,” Hinata murmurs, voice low and a bit raspy. “So, we really should celebrate your birthday to its fullest.”

“My birthday was ages ago,” Komaeda said, amused. “Why not just forget about it?”

Hinata shook his head firmly.

“Never. I’m never just going to forget about you.”

It’s a shame I can’t say the same. Is that why you’re making this promise? Aah. Hinata-kun, you’re such a kind person. Even if I forget you, I hope I still end up loving you.

Hinata touches his cheek. Carefully. Cherishing. Komaeda says nothing as he’s tugged closer, but is responsive when their lips meet.

Because Hinata is tired, it’s initially more the sluggish meshing of lips than anything overly passionate. But it’s comfortable, it’s still pleasant, Komaeda still shivers when his lower lip is nipped, when Hinata pulls him closer so that he can better consume him.

Soft wet smacks reach his ears, and when they part, Komaeda’s mouth feels more swollen than before. Before he can even second-guess himself, he’s already crawled onto the bed, not to pin Hinata down or to straddle him, but to press his face into Hinata’s warm neck. Hinata’s responding chuckle creates nice, soothing vibrations.

Hinata’s arms encircle him for good measure, not that Komaeda would have escaped if he could. Even if he should, sometimes.

“What do you want for your birthday?” Hinata asks warmly, breath tickling his ear. “I’ll get you anything you want, Nagito.”

“You’ve really given me enough,” was his response. “Cakes, kindness, love, belonging, and even a future. I can’t think of anything else to want. And I still think I shouldn’t want anything else at all.”

Hinata sighs, stroking his hair. He’s clearly a little unhappy with that answer. Hinata clearly wants to spoil him, after all. It’s strange, and Komaeda doesn’t understand it. But it—it does make him happy, all the same.

“We should still make up for the time we missed,” Hinata said, and Komaeda could hear the huff in his voice. “We missed out on so much already.”

We have, haven’t we? Lost because of not just despair...but hope as well. How wretched. But, we’re doing our best to move forward, even with the burdens we must bear. What awaits us ten, twenty, a hundred years from now? I hope it’s beautiful.

“You should rest,” Komaeda decided on, nuzzling Hinata’s cheek. “You need to rest. Let’s start making up for the past with sweet dreams of the future—or something like that.”

“I guess that doesn’t sound too bad.” Hinata yawned. “Nagito, mind staying with me until I fall asleep? I mean—you can leave if you have other things to do. I don’t want to force you.”

“I don’t mind. It’s okay. Sweet dreams.” Komaeda kisses the corner of his lips, re-tucking him in best he could since it had been undone by the motions made to embrace him. “Hajime.”

“Nagito,” Hinata says his name ever so sweetly, ever so soothingly, and his eyes shut. His breathing evens out. When Komaeda brushes his fringe back, his fingers run along the faded head scars.

“Happy birthday to me.”

#KomaHinaWeek2020 #nagito komaeda #hajime hinata #KomaHina #HinaKoma #Magi fics #sdr2 spoilers #This fic is pretty introspective and I forgot to tag it that #Should probably do that

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ifthereisnowind · 3 years

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capitalism

context: why does it make me cringe? why does sales make me cringe?

why did I feel for a while that I don’t want to get caught up in the career ladder?

why do I judge people who chase money or fame?

what should truly motivate us at work

In a perfect world, when it came to choosing an occupation, we would have only two priorities in mind:

– to find a job that we enjoyed

– to find a job that paid us enough to cover reasonable material needs

But in order to think so freely, we would have to be emotionally balanced in a way that few of us are. In reality, when it comes to choosing an occupation, we tend to be haunted by three additional priorities. We need:

– to find a job that will pay not just enough to cover reasonable material expenses but a lot more besides, enough to impress other people – even other people we don’t like very much.

– we crave to find a job that will allow us not to be at the mercy of other people, whom we may deep down fear and distrust.

– and we hope for a job that will make us well known, esteemed, honoured and perhaps famous, so that we will never again have to feel small or neglected.

reforming capitalism

The system we know as Capitalism is both wondrously productive and hugely problematic. On the downside, capitalism promotes excessive inequality; it valorises immediate returns over long-term benefits; it addicts us to unnecessary products and it encourages excessive consumption of the world’s resources with potentially disastrous consequences – and that’s just a start. We are now deeply familiar with what can go wrong with Capitalism. But that is no reason to stop dreaming about some of the ways in which Capitalism could one day operate in a Utopian future.

What we want to see is the rise of other – equally important – figures that report on a regular basis on elements of psychological and sociological life and which could form part of the consciousness of thoughtful and serious people. When we measure things – and give the figures a regular public airing – we start the long process of collectively doing something about them.

The man is indeed employed, but in truth, he belongs to a large subsection of those in work we might term the ‘misemployed’. His labour is generating capital, but it is making no contribution to human welfare and flourishing. He is joined in the misemployment ranks by people who make cigarettes, addictive but sterile television shows, badly designed condos, ill-fitting and shoddy clothes, deceptive advertisements, artery-clogging biscuits and highly-sugared drinks (however delicious).

We intuitively recognise it when we think of work as ‘just a job’; when we sense that far too much of our time, effort and intelligence is spent on meetings that resolve little, on chivying people to sign up for products that – in our heart of hearts we don’t admire.

Fortunately, there are real solutions to bringing down the rate of misemployment. The trick isn’t just to stimulate demand per se, the trick is to stimulate the right demand: to excite people to buy the constituents of true satisfaction, and therefore to give individuals and businesses a chance to direct their labour, and make profits, in meaningful areas of the economy.

This is precisely what needs to be changed – and urgently. Society should do a systematic deal with capitalists: it should give them the honour and love they so badly crave in exchange for treating their workers as human beings, not abusing customers and properly looking after the planet. A standard test should be drawn up to measure the societal good generated by companies (many such schemes already exist in nascent form), on the basis of which capitalists should then be given extraordinarily prestigious titles by their nations in ceremonies with the grandeur and thrill of film premieres or sporting finales.

There’s no shortage: we need help in forming cohesive, interesting communities. We need help in bringing up children. We need help in calming down at key moments (the cost of our high anxiety and rage is appalling in aggregate). We require immense assistance in discovering our real talents in the workplace and understanding where we can best deploy them (a service in this area would matter a great deal more to us than pizza delivery). We have unfulfilled aesthetic desires. Elegant town centres, charming high streets and sweet villages are in desperately short supply and are therefore absurdly expensive – just as, prior to Henry Ford, cars existed but were very rare and only for the very rich.

But we know the direction we need to head to: we need the drive and inventiveness of Capitalism to tackle the higher, deeper problems of life. This will offer an exit from the failings and misery that attend Capitalism today. In a nutshell, the problem is that we waste resources on unimportant things. And we are wasteful, ultimately, because we lack self-knowledge, because we are using consumption merely to divert or quieten anxieties or in a vain search for status and belonging.

If we could just address our deeper needs more directly, our materialism would be refined and restrained, our work would be more meaningful and our profits would be more honourable. That’s the ideal future of Capitalism.

In the Utopia, businesses would of course have to be profitable. But the success of a business would primarily be assessed in terms of its contribution to the collective good.

On changing the world

the only way to bring about real change is to act through competing institutions. Revolutions in consciousness cannot be made lasting and effective until legions of people start to work together in concert for a common aim and, rather than relying on the intermittent pronouncements of mountain-top prophets, begin the unglamorous and deeply boring task of wrestling with issues of law, money, long-term mass communication, advocacy and administration.

Our collective ideal of the free thinker is that of someone living beyond the confines of any system, disdainful of ‘boring things’, cut off from practical affairs and privately perhaps rather proud of being unable even to read a balance sheet. It’s a fatally romantic recipe for keeping the status quo unchanged.

We have to make what we already know very well more effective out there. The urgent question is how to ally the very many good ideas which currently slumber in the recesses of intellectual life with proper organisational tools that actually stand a chance of giving them real impact in the world. From a completely secular starting point, it can be worth studying religions to learn how to alter behaviour.

This is what religions have, for their part, excelled at doing. They’ve realised that if you put down an important idea on paper in somewhat pedestrian prose, it won’t have any lasting or mass impact. They’ve therefore, over their history, engaged the most skilled artists to wrap their ideas in the coating of beauty. They have asked Bach and Mozart to put the ideas to music, they have asked Titian and Botticelli to give the ideas a visual form, they’ve asked the best fashion designers to make nice looking clothes and they’ve asked the best architects to design the most impressive and moving buildings to give the ideas heft and permanence.

We should use the history of religion to inform us about the role of repetition, ritual and beauty in the name of changing how things are.

There is a great deal of large-scale ambition in the world, but all the largest corporate entities are focused on servicing basic needs: the mechanics of communication, inexpensive things to eat, energy so we can move about. While our higher needs – for love, beauty, wisdom – have no comparable provision. The drive to grandeur is missing just where we need it most.

Good business

So, inevitably, businesses will evolve to profit from their wishes. Capitalism has not traditionally been interested in whether these are sensible, admirable or worthy desires. Its aim is neutral: to make money from supplying whatever people happen to be willing to pay for.

Philosophy, by contrast, has long recognised a crucial distinction between desires and needs:

A desire is whatever you feel you want at the moment.

A need is for something that serves your long-term well being.

And it’s our needs that are required for a satisfying, fulfilled life (which Plato, Aristotle and others call a life marked by eudaimonia).

Capitalism goes wrong when it exploits this cognitive flaw: large numbers of businesses sell us stuff that we desire but which (in all honesty) we don’t need. On longer, calmer reflection we’d realise those things don’t actually help us to live well.

Sadly, it’s easier to generate profits from desires than from needs. You can make much more money selling bad ice cream than by marketing Plato’s dialogues.

In a utopia, good businesses should be defined not simply by whether they are profitable or not; but by what they make their profit from. Only businesses that satisfy true needs are moral.

Good capitalism requires that we address two, core educational needs. Getting us to focus on what we really need, what the real challenges in our lives are. And getting us to focus on the value of particular goods in relation to our needs: that is, how do these particular purchases help with eudaimonia?

So, in search of a better economy, we should direct our attention not simply to shopping centres and financial institutions, but to schools and universities and the media. The shape that an economy has ultimately reflects the educated insights of its consumers. When people say they hate consumerism, what they often mean is that they are dismayed at peoples’ preferences. The fault, then, lies not so much with consumption as with the preferences. Education transforms preferences not by making us do what someone else tells us. But by giving us the capacities and skills to understand more clearly what we genuinely do want and what sort of goods and services will best help us.

tbc

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thelucyverse · 3 years

Text

Suburbs fic idea - Andromaquynh/2 (1)

Her first welcome committee arrives as Quỳnh is just about to finish moving the furniture in the kitchen where it belongs. Next would be the living room, but in the middle of it is still an antique wardrobe that is meant for her upstairs bedroom, and it is too bulky and heavy for her to carry up the stairs on her own. The previous owners had left it behind, and Quỳnh loves the sight of the dark hardwood doors already, but she'll need help to relocate it - well, if anything that's a good reason for her to be friendly to the neighbours. She's sure at least one of them will be willing and able to help. One already offered, even, when she was carrying things inside from the xxtruck- she had declined xxly, not wanting anyone to mess up her things, or spill the contents of a more dangerous carton. For the wardrobe, though... Well, it will have to wait now.

For the moment, she sits down on the kitchen counter with a bottle of cold lemonade - getting her minufridge running first thing had been the best idea she ever had - and enjoys a moment of peace.

It doesn't last long.

The doorbell rings, and with a sigh Quynh hops down from the counter, careful not to spill any of the lemonade. She briefly contemplates putting on something prettier to wear, one of her blazers perhaps or some jewellery to make a good first impression, but then she just makes her way to the front door. Whoever is there has no doubt already seen her move things all morning, even if it isn't the man who offered to help or the woman who had xxwaved from the window.

It is the woman from the house opposite hers, after all - Celeste, she says to call her, the "inofficial spokesperson of the street, though not so inofficial anymore after they tried to have me elected during the last garden party", as she introduces herself.

"Well, it's wonderful to meet you, Celeste," Quỳnh tells her with a bright smile and takes her hand. "My name is Ngô Thanh Quỳnh, please call my Quỳnh as it is my given name.

"Nice to meet you, Quỳnh," Celeste smiles, and then she slides her bag from her shoulder and pulls out a large box of salad. "I wasn't sure whether you had anything to eat, it must be a hassle going grocery shopping on top of moving, so... I hope you don't have any allergies? I figured a salad was safest either way..."

"It's wonderful, thank you," Quỳnh smiles, accepting the salad. "The only allergy I'm aware of is to walnuts, so as long as there aren't any of those in there..."

Celeste laughs. "No, there aren't! Although you should be careful at the Freemans' parties then, they have a wonderful big walnut tree, and Mrs. Freeman tends to put them in everything. She lives there in the house next to her daughter's, who moved here first and bought her neighbour's house for her mother when- well, you'll meet them both soon enough, Nile and her wife Jay are about our age."

"I'm sure I will," Quỳnh smiles. "Now, I best put this in the fridge... Do you want to come in?"

"If you don't mind?"

~~~

"Is that you?" Celeste asks, pointing to the large photo print on canvas leaning against the wall, showing two women embracing in the desert.

"No, a photographer friend of mine gave it to me," Quỳnh replies, thinking back to Lykon and his side hustle of smuggling documents with a smile. "Well, an acquaintance, really- though I guess he counts as a friend by your definition. I just like the picture."

"By my definition?"

"I would just use the word acquaintance instead, you see? But I've found that Americans say 'friend' much more often than I am used to, I just say it for what you might call best friends, everyone else I call friendly acquaintances."

"Ah," Celeste smiles, then tilts her head. "Do neighbors fall into the category of acquaintances?"

Quỳnh shrugs.

"Friendships can happen there too, of course, but honestly I'd take even longer to switch the terms there - you're neighbors first and foremost, you have to live in the same area, that's a category all on its own, isn't it? But maybe we can be friends in the future." she says it with a twinkle in her eyes to make sure Celeste won't be offended.

"Just maybe?" Celeste replies with a smile in turn.

"Well, I barely know you, I don't know whether maybe you're all bigots or something around here," Quỳnh replies with a grin to soften the blow. "I don't know you very well yet, after all- though from what you told me about the other neighbours earlier, I at least won't have to worry about too extreme homophobia, if a lesbian marriage is tolerated?"

"Oh, don't worry about that! We're an inclusive bunch, or trying to be. You won't have to worry about racism, or-" she nods at the photograph, "it's not just you Nile and Jay, either- I might be married to a man, but I'm bisexual, and we have a bunch of gay men as well... I suppose once an inclusive community like this exists, it attracts more of the same! We also have people of several different religions, So, you don't have to worry about that either, being a witch-"

"I'm not a witch," Quỳnh replies, a little perplexed.

"Oh, I just saw the crystals on the mantle, and the pentagram on your shirt... Sorry, I shouldn't have assumed," Celeste explains.

"Oh, this is a band shirt! And for the crystals, I just think they're pretty, no idea about any healing powers. I'm a bit of a magpie, if anything, a hoarder of shiny things..."

"Oh, you'll have to meet Booker then! He's an accountant, but he learned to do jewellery for his late wife, and he still does a lot of it now in his freetime- his neighbor and best friend Nicky is also gay by the way - not that I think you have to be best friends with all the gay people, of course! Just that well, you're here alone... And as far as I'm aware, he knows everyone in the gay community, he might be able to introduce you to some ladies in nearby neighborhoods, I don't think Nile or Jay would be much help there, they mostly stick to themselves."

"Oh, I'm not really looking to date anyone right now," Quỳnh replies a little awkwardly. "Not that I'd not like a girlfriend, but I need too much alone time for most people to handle, especially I think those in the suburbs aren't usually looking for a casual relationship like that, where the end goal isn't to move in together and constantly hang out..."

As she says this, Quỳnh notices a certain... /glint/ in Celeste's eyes. What - does the other woman want to prove her wrong? Well, if she wants to meddle, thinking she has someone in the area that might be interested in Quỳnh's way of life, that doesn't mean Quỳnh will have to act on it. And if maybe, just maybe... No, she shouldn't hope for a relationship on a hunch of someone maybe wanting to play matchmaker. She not just doesn't enjoy being around people 24/7, she also has a lot of secrets to keep, and she doesn't really plan to live here permanently, either.

"You're not much of a people person?" Celeste slightly changes the topic. "You seemed so extroverted just now."

"No, I do need my me time," (true), "So I guess you could say I'm not much of a 'people person'" (at least, she never learned to hang out with normal people), "...but I'm sure we will all get on fine. - I hope you don't mind if I don't always join all activities, it wouldn't be anything against you, I just don't always have the energy for that kind of thing." she much prefers the anonymity of the city for the same reason, where she can go out and meet someone when she feels like it, and stay in and ignore the world otherwise. If anyone asks, she'll say that she's a bit burned out and got recommended a small town to relax - what they don't need to know is that she is indeed quite burnt out from assassin's jobs, that she wanted to do one more big hit to get enough money to quit, but the job was so nasty, she instead killed her employer, a gang leader, and stole his money and organization paperwork instead of doing the assigned job - and is now lying low in case the rest of that organization is now looking for her. Same result, really, except she would have preferred to spend her retirement somewhere other than a suburban picket fence house.

"Alright... I guess maybe we should leave early then, leave you some energy to meet the rest?" Celeste asks.

"No, no, don't mind me, I can survive a day of welcomes, I just meant in general, for the future... Wait, is really everyone going to come today?" (goodness, those people are insane, they consider stopping someone from fixing their house for an entire day a friendly welcoming? Sounds more like slow psychological torture)

"I can text and ask whether some can come tomorrow or the weekend, if you'd like? Not that we have, like, a neighborhood groupchat, just several inofficial friendgroup chats, all friends here - well. By the american definition, I suppose, but most of us do meet up from time to time for more than just neighborhood friendlyness." Celeste offers.

"No, no, it's fine," (at least it will all be over quickly then), "and do you know anyone who could help me carry the old wardrobe upstairs? It's still standing in the living room now"

"Sure! Nile might be strong enough, or Nicky maybe, or if we try it in a group?"

"Sounds wonderful," Quỳnh replies, mentally going through the damage created by several people she doesn't trust carrying a large wardrobe up the stairs. Does she have any paint in case they hit the wall in places? She just hopes the wardrobe itself will survive. "I'm sure we'll all get on wonderful, if they're as nice as you are!" she adds with he bicest honeypot charm smile, mentally sending Now Please Go Away I Still Have So Many Things To Do.

#tog #not lverse #suburbs andromaquynh

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zombriekid · 5 years

Text

Medium [Alucard/Gender Neutral Reader]

Series: Hellsing

Summary: “…could I request where the reader uses their medium powers on a mission and Alucard begins to believe them?” victory usually tastes so sweet but not at the expense of the innocent

warning: vague mentions of violence against children

Mediumship is nowhere near as glamorous as the entertainment industry loves to portray; it’s not all traipsing (see: trespassing) on ancient burial grounds and hurling invasive questions into the air in the hopes of something Otherworldly™ responding. You don’t often see apparitions- full body or otherwise- and it’s rare to hear much more than a single whisper, in fact the vast majority of the time your dealings with the dearly departed amounts to little more than just random surges or depletions of energy.

This is not to say that your spirituality is weak, it’s just that… that’s what “ghosts” are- energy left behind by the living like an imprint of history, and this energy can be influenced by events, past or present, and passionate emotions, negative or positive, thus rendering any argument that they exist a hollow shot in the dark. Because you can’t prove what you (often) can’t see, not to others, especially in this day and age of technology with photo/video manipulation. And the fact that mediumship has a bad rep due to prior exploiters and frauds.

But you purposefully leave that last bit out of the conversation cause even though He’s acting like He’s not interested, you know that Alucard is tuning in.

Not that you can blame Him though. What else is there to do?

From the moment your little menagerie of hunters stepped out of the Hellsing jet, absolutely nothing has happened. Nothing, zilch, nada. This might be ideal in other situations but you were promised a paycheck upon the eradication of a vampire who’s “more monster than man” and the subsequent purification of his/her hunting grounds, and goddammit you can’t let this mission stain your record! That and Mr. Tall Dark and Frightening is assigned as one of your partners.

Well… more like you’re the one that’s assigned but yadda yadda fine details and all that.

“So in other words…” Seras pauses with a drawn out vowel, “you feel ghosts rather than see or hear them?”

You shrug in response before catching your boot over a pile of broken glass. It’s inevitable that you’ll trek through some before the mission’s end- hell before the night’s over because of friggin course a bloodsucker sets up shop in an old, forgotten hospital- however the less shards you have to pluck out of the soles later the better.

“Depends. I hear Pip just fine, and on occasion he visually manifests himself for me, but that’s only cause of his connection with you. Uses your energy.”

This seems to satisfy the young vampire for she gives you a quiet hum in acknowledgment with nothing else to follow. Silence hangs over your small group as the three of you inch down the hall, briefly turning your attention into every passing doorway and you specifically avoiding stepping on to jagged scraps of splintered wood and dusty glass; these two might be immune to pathogens but that doesn’t mean you are.

“So you sensing energy… you mean that literally?” She asks.

“Yes ma’am.”

“Then riddle me this, revenant,” Alucard’s voice disrupts the conversation, chases away any semblance of peace and echoes into every dark corner of the walls around you. The fine hairs all up and down your skin suddenly stand to attention with the intrusive introduction of His baritone. It’s not as if you forgot that He’s there, or even that He’s eavesdropping, you just didn’t expect Him to vocalize His opinion. Should’ve known better, it’s friggin Alucard after all. “Do you ‘sense the energy’ of our target?”

That’s the thing.

You don’t.

You can pick up both of your companion’s energies easily- Alucard’s is oppressive and dark and just plain inhuman while Seras’s is warm and jovial, but scarred, reticent, as if she has a blanket of secrets weighing down her back until she aches. That’s the best way you can describe it at least.

But there’s no other energy nearby.

Now you’ll always be the first to admit that there are certain limitations to your spiritual sensitivity- for instance you wouldn’t be able to sense someone in the parking lot from this deep in the complex- and there are many factors outside of your control that contributes, with species acting as a major contender. After all, man eating monsters tend to amass a surplus of energy with every soul they devour, human or otherwise.

So why can’t you feel the target’s energy? Sir Integra herself described them as “a gluttonous, beastial affront against the Lord with a deplorable appetite for children”; loss of humanity, depraved morality, the murder of kids… merely one of these would be sufficient enough for you, let alone all three, so this should have ease akin to your breathing offending Alucard in some way.

Then why…?

“I’m callin’ it,” Seras huffs before her boots cease their trek, which (shockingly) causes your other vampiric squadmate to pause as well. No need to single yourself out, strength in numbers as the saying goes, so you do the same. “They’re not here.”

“I agree, but why not ask Hellsing’s residential medium? After all they’re supposed to be able to sense this thing’s energy.”

The walls quickly sprint by in your vision as you snap your attention to the right, and you channel every poisonous thought and cutting emotion into the glare you fix the back of His head with. Alucard feels the weight, you know He does, just as you don’t need to see it in order to know that there’s a self satisfied grin stretching across His face.

God, He’s such a petty bitch.

Then again so are you.

“Oh I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you could use the energy of your soul to sense someone else’s!” You spit out through a clenched jaw, but you’re not yet done. Now for the zinger. “Wait! That’s right. You can’t cause you don’t have o-”

Cold.

A plume of icy chill kisses your pebbling skin. Fine hairs rise. Your spine straightens. Instincts, or a sort of magnetic pull to your right. Not Alucard though. Further.

Over your shoulder.

A winding stairwell.

Energy. Young. Scared. On the same floor. Your floor. The first stair.

There’s a-

“Murray?” You hear someone ask but you quickly shush them.

Because there’s a ghost at the base of the stairwell in the little passage off to the group’s right; it’s not strong enough to create a perfect visual, or rather much of a visual at all, instead you’re graced with an opaque silhouette vaguely humanoid in shape. You can make out where the head and shoulders are supposed to be, though the legs dissipate below (presumably) the knees, and judging by the relatively small size you can almost safely assume that this spirit comes from a child.

An assumption that dries out the roof of your mouth, tightens the muscles in your throat until it hurts to swallow; child ghosts have always proven to be the most harrowing in terms of purification, if nothing else because of the implications of their demise. No one cherishes the idea of dead children, after all.

It’s in the nature of your job, unfortunately, and it’s time to get to work so first thing’s first: is this ghost related to the mission?

“Do either of y’all know any history about this place?” You ask in a voice that practically toes on screechy, and yes you’re aware that your drawl is a touch thick right now. “A children’s hospital, maybe?”

Seras stumbles over her words, likely a result from your behavior considering this is the first she’s bore witness to this side of your role, but she quickly regains her faculties with a throat-clearing cough.

“N-no, it’s umm.. was just a general hospital. Mostly used during one of the World Wars.”

Your kneecaps ache- cold, sharp, it bites at the crevices between your joints and it slinks down both shins until your toes start to feel chilly. A sort of rolling, hollow loftiness churns the pit of your stomach, and your head seems far too heavy to be sitting on such a stiff neck, and a dusting of salty tears sting the fleshy corners of your eyes. A scream tears at your jaw.

But you don’t panic, there’s no need to because this reaction is not yours. The pain in your legs, the woozy light headedness that’s sapping your energy, the involuntary urge to sob and shriek until the lining of your throat feels like sandpaper? None of this belongs to you. This is your body reacting to the stimuli from the child’s ghost.

Or as you like to call it: minor possession.

“Why do you ask..?”

A vampire with a preference for younger victims.

“Murray?”

The shade of a terrified kid, silhouette incomplete, and everything from your knees down plagued with an icy burn.

…there’s no denying it, what you’re currently staring at, subsequently what’s burrowing into your bones and siphoning your energy, is a casualty of this mission’s target.

You hear someone call your name, more specifically your first name, but with so much metaphorical cotton stuffed in your ears you can’t really determine who so you instead lift a pointer finger towards the spirit; perhaps crawling through mud would be easier. God you feel so weak.

Seras is the first to respond.

“Wha’ is it? I don’t see anything.”

Through your teeth you manage to bite out: “g-ghost.” And that is perhaps the worst thing you could’ve said or done because the shrill gasp that she unleashes is nothing short of jarring, and she bounces from one foot over to the next and back again as her red eyes widen and glimmer with what you could only call excitement.

“Where?! Where is it, where do you see it?!”

These questions gush out of her like a broken spout with many more to follow, but you can’t help but to tune them out cause this? What she’s doing right now? Yeah this is the exact reason why you prefer to tend to spirits by yourself; the fascination that borderlines fetishization that most carry with their individual worldviews often leads to disrespecting those who have long since passed. Hence your profession boggled down with money-grubbing charlatans, and entire programs dedicated to ghost hunting- ah, your apologies, you mean “paranormal investigating”. It’s distasteful, it’s tacky, and it’s downright insulting, and it etches itself deep into the lines between your brows and the downward tug of your frown.

This… must convey your message perfectly for the young vampire’s delight gradually bleeds into something more somber.

Maybe if you weren’t so tired you’d find it in yourself to let it go? “That’s one of our target’s victims, Victoria. Try to show some respect?”

At least she has the decency to look ashamed, unlike her master whom you can feel the glare He levels you with behind the orange tint of His glasses. Any other time and the weight of His ire would intimidate you, but you honestly don’t care right now.

The child’s spirit rises and bobs up the stairs, as if it’s simulating the act of walking, and with it goes the sensation of ice and pain and fear out of your joints. From beside you, on your right, you can barely make out Seras quietly saying “I think I see something.” It rounds the sharp bend in the stairwell before it continues its ascension until you can’t see- or sense- it anymore.

And then something dawns on you.

“I think he/she wants us to follow.”

Alucard scoffs from somewhere behind you. “Is it going to lead us to the target?”

A nod is all that you give Him. He in turn allows a single barking laugh to rip from His throat out of derision, judging by the sound in the way it’s meant to curl around your cheeks until they feel hot, however you’re rather confident in your assessment. In fact you’re very nearly absolutely certain that that is what’s going to happen: follow the ghost and you’ll find the target.

Which brings you to your final conclusion, one that Seras seems to be grasping at herself. “Wait. If this ghost genuinely is a victim, then it really shouldn’t… exist per say, yeah?”

“Yep. Man eating monsters, especially vampires, essentially absorb souls as a means to substitute what they’ve lost.” You glance at her in your peripheral. “Which means one of two things. Either my hunch is wrong and this spirit truly is an echo from the past, or…

“My hunch is right, the spirit is a casualty, and our target’s already dead.”

Silence picks up where your sentence ends; the nothingness of the quiet permeates through one ear and out the other, and it presses down on the bones of your shoulders until your spine shivers. There’s a tension in the air not unlike a rubber band being stretched from both ends, you can feel it in the cavity of ribcage, and though you could easily attribute the stress to the hospital’s atmosphere or the very real possibility of your estimate holding true, your instincts- built from some odd months worth of experience and adversity- place the blame on something else.

Or rather someone else.

Alucard.

Because His opinion of you, and of your work, is coated in an acidic venom, and He’s very open about this with every sharp word and barbed look that He deems worthy of His time. Yet He hasn’t said anything else, hasn’t done anything else since His last outburst of sarcasm, and it makes you hyper aware of Him. As if He’s going to attack at any moment, physically or otherwise. Does He disagree? Is He biding for time until the finale where He can deliver yet another calamitous blow to your already scarred ego? … Is He actually considering that you may be right about this?

Not possible. His pride is greater than His hatred for your existence.

And on this dismal thought, you decide to not dedicate any more energy in to solving the enigma that is Alucard and you take a few strides towards the stairs before you mumble out a “only one way to find out.” You don’t bother waiting for your companions.

Not twenty minutes later the three of you are provided with a definite answer to your theory.

But you don’t gloat, there’s not even a hint of desire to. Because, after all, no one cherishes the idea of dead children.

_______________________________________________________________________

a/u: had ta repost this bitch cause i done messed up a-aron, which in turn meant tumblr pissed in my coffee and not showed it in ANY tags sooo... presto here we are again! once more with feeling: thank you to the anon who requested this, and thank you to everyone who reads <3 if ya liked my scheisse then please tickle the heart, leave a comment, and reblog it so other peeps can enjoy it too -3-

#hellsing #hellsing alucard #hellsing alucard x reader #hellsing alucard x you #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard #seras victoria #hellsing ultimate #hellsing fanfiction #hellsing fanfic #writing #hunter murray #ya ghoul has to repost this cause tumblr ain't wantin ta show it

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spacemilkies · 5 years

Note

Could you do a Ben Hargreeves request where the reader and Ben dated and were in love before he died and the readers always been there for Klaus so they're like best friends but the reader doesn't know that Ben is with Klaus after he dies since he wants her to be able to move on even though he's always gonna love her but obviously it comes out? Like fluff flashbacks to them being happy and in love. I love your writing btw!

title: the wheels go round and round

pairing: ben hargreeves x reader; platonic!klaus hargreeves x reader

summary:

the three of you were like a three-wheeled bike

but then you lost a wheel

its a good thing most bicyles can run on two wheels …

right?

a/n: bless the day to umbrella academy. after months of drought, it rained down 5k+ words on my soul

hope you like!

It was more than just an itch.

When describing the sensation of feeling the departed, Klaus had always summarized the connection to an itch.

But it was more than that.

It was a whisper at times and a shout at its worst.

It was both the burn of a cigarette and the sharp punch of frost.

Klaus no longer just enjoyed life because since the day he was born, he’d been destined to share it. Whether it be someone’s brother, mother or aunt.

He couldn’t simply exist without the obligation of presenting himself as a window to those who have departed. They were tethered to him, mere specters unable to indulge in their own whims.

But more often than not, Klaus felt like the collar was around his own neck. The hallucinations tightening around his throat like a noose.

It was suffocating.

Until the few times it wasn’t.

The moments where Ben was on one side,

and you were on the other.

“Please … Klaus. Not tonight.”

Had he had the energy, Klaus would have rejoiced. In the sea of hell, submerged in a pool of souls, hearing his dear brother’s voice was like breaking the surface.

Regrettably, at times he’d been too deep to begin with. The rapid ascend cracking his chest with aches and muddling the shores of his mind.

Or perhaps it was just the cocaine.

‘Twas all a blur at this age.

Except for his brother.

Klaus had been convinced that his brother’s multiple appendages had followed him into the next life, where they finally joined into one.

One string enough to define the parameters of life and death.

One potent enough where Klaus could almost feel the warmth of his finger tips.

No, this was definitely the cocaine speaking.

Shuddering past the residue, eyes fixated forward despite the obvious request for his attention. He learned long ago that it was much easier to escape the allure of desires that were not his own this way.

Of course, the notion worked better with strangers.

“And what exactly did I promise, dear brother?”

He knew.

Ben only sought him out for two things: loneliness and you.

And the two were often more intertwined than independent.

The phantom steps weren’t quite as soundless when the familiar gait in his memory coupled with reality. With his head bowed, Klaus only allowed himself the view of the restless sneakers planted in front of him.

He would account for deniability for just a little longer. Just until the fog lifted.

Yes, there was one plus to his powers.

No matter how much his brother wanted to launch him into kingdom come with the flick of his very murderous friends, there was just no true density to his physical wants.

“Klaus were going to be late. The recital starts in less twenty minutes. “

And in the other side of town, Klaus recalled groggily of the event he wasn’t suppose to remember. Not only would he be pushing the limits of his rather shallow physicality, but he would also suffer to the sharp keys struck in cohesion to whatever dated classical piece chosen for the night.

He could still hear the thundering notes of the last one echoing off the sides of his skull.

The agony of the preservation of music.

“Klaus!”

“Fuck!” Scrambling to his feet, the disheveled man shakily reached for the wall for balance. A few of his trivial belongings clattered to the street below. At least they were disposable now, there was no way he’d be able to make the trip back down again.

Beyond the determination, there was a hint of sympathy in Ben’s gaze. Despite being forever frozen in time by passing, Klaus felt like he was still growing despite the absence of aging. That and Klaus always had a soft spot for his sixth placed sibling.

Well, shit, there went his small window of deniability.

Smoothing his hands down the tattered and grimy black of his clothing, Klaus snuffed audibly as he looked down the alleyway.

“Well let’s get going then.”

____

“Fucking cmon, man.”

Klaus let out a quiet groan of disgruntlement when he peered around the corner once more. Much like like last three times, funding his brother just as ensnared with his significant other.

Despite his warnings, neither of the couple had kept things chaste. He’s managed to get more than an eyeful of Ben’s wandering hands and exposed skin.

Keeping a timer was a futile attempt.

They were too young to die.

Practically skinned alive by their father for sneaking out again.

Getting caught for it again.

All for love.

Teenage reckless love.

Counting upward, skipping a few useless numbers along the way, Klaus finally decided on a limit and turned back to the pair with a stronger resolve.

“As distastefully envious I am of your abrupt jump from bases so quickly, I’m afraid you’ll deny me the opportunity to try the same in the future if we don’t get going,” he emphasized with a pointed look at anything but the two flushed individuals.

Ben let out an equality frustrated huff and you laughed in turn.

And Klaus…,

Poor Klaus was just ready to end it all.

Ben drew you in close once more for a quick snog, one teetering close to another endless makeout fest without his brother’s grunt.

“Alright, alright. I’ll see you tomorrow, after your classes?”

Your face scrunched in thought, before clearing with recollection and you shook your head,” I have practice tomorrow evening.”

Ben’s bottom lip pulled downward at the thought, but you quickly remedied it with a peck on the cheek and a suggestion.

“But maybe, we can meet at night? At the cafe?”

The question was directed more towards the lingering Klaus, who rolled his eyes.

The gesture met by silence.

Seconds ticking into minutes, until he couldn’t take it any longer.

He threw up his arms in exasperation.

“Fine, you little miscreants. I swear if you two drag me through a teenage pregnancy. I will kill you both and drag your souls into my bedroom to view a true the horrors of entangled lovers.”

“Ugh, I don’t know.”

Rubbing sleepily under the droop of his eyes, Klaus was willing to bet anything as long as it got him back in bed before noon. If someone told him something like friendship was such a binding contract, he would have gladly done without it.

The remaining option of pure solicitude and his family be damned.

Anything less would have had him in bed still.

“Look, Ben will love anything you get him. He’s easy like that,” he quipped around a yawn.

What he didn’t mention was how frankly any of them would take a grain of salt if it came as a gift on their names-day.

Who knew being born without an identity would come without the rest of the joys in the world. But with everything else denied, what was one more traumatized shard of a misplaced childhood.

When he finally returned to reality, he found you standing just under him, your nose barely bringing the line of his shoulder. You were watching intently, in a way that could only be described as expectation.

Ah, you’d said something else hadn’t you?

God, he was just making this much longer for himself.

What did Ben even like?

Surely under all the endless screaming and turmoil Klaus had been present enough to at least learn something impertinent about his brother.

All of his siblings mumble of wants.

A proper life.

A real family.

Friends.

Bringing together all two of his lingering brain cells, he squared his shoulders with a posture of authority. “A music book.”

To his suggestion, your nose twisted into a look of pure disbelief.

Oh, you unfortunate clueless little doll. If only he had the time to introduce you to the chaotic world his brother had created to express his undying love for you.

“A music book, because he likes to understand you. You and that complicated, beautifully musically-inclined brain that he’s so obsessed with. Poor boy is tone deaf, but if he can keep up with you literately, then he’s a happy monkey.”

His lips pulled at the joke that went over your head with no reminiscence.

All that mattered was that his brother would be happy.

You would be sated.

And he could get his ass back to sleep.

Klaus felt like something worse than a train had plowed into him. Which was ironic, because he couldn’t think of much else that would leave his body wriggling in agony.

Just the effort needed to part his eyelids felt like shouldering the weight of cinderblocks. The trials of it all would have been much more terrifying had it only been the first occurrence.

Fortunately, or supposedly unfortunately given his state of health, this was far from the first time that he’d found himself plastered to his brother’s couch. His impromptu visits were really beginning to affect the integrity of the upholstery, he mused as he picked lethargically at the dried flakes of his own spittle.

Not even on his best day could Klaus recall exactly where they’d drug him from this time. He tended to only bare the scorches of hell not the memories of it.

A low rumble of thunder tickled at his consciousness, and his body managed to comprehend the action to find the available window perched just east of his grungy nest.

To find only instant regret as the bright rays began the thrall if his punishment.

No storm then.

Then what was- oh.

“The parents are arguing,” He sang alone and off tune to the accompaniment of two voices just beyond his reach. Despite its size, their cute little kitchen managed manifest acoustics only found in the hazy mists if his shower.

“He needs to go to rehab, Ben! This is getting ridiculous.”

“Rehab isn’t going to cure the voices. “

Understanding the horrors behind why Klaus was such a dysfunctional mess had done nothing to deter your efforts to provide him with solace.

More often than not he found himself drug to recitals and practice performances where you felt the noise would help to overcome the screams.

It may have been a nicer sentiment should he have control of the playlist if songs. He was more likely to fall asleep and face his maker than find peace.

Indirectly he found himself observing Vanya on more than one occasion, however, a Samaritan token that he hoped he could cash in at some point in the future

“So were suppose to just let him keep doing this to him self. “

Oh bless your soul.

Klaus shoulders rolled in a crooked dance as his hand touched the three places out of order to a religion he had no experience dabbling in.

May the big guy or women upstairs truly gift you for your heart.

“Baby, it’s not that easy…”

Well, gift you more than they had when they wrapped Ben up and presented him to you.

Klaus wondered if you recognized the veteran you were when it came to keeping the real monsters at bay.

“You think when this is all over … think I could marry her?”

The question was asked so causally that Klaus nearly inhaled the paper roll balanced between his lips. Ben, this little rascal, hardly missed a second as he reached over to take a puff for himself.

A slow dazed smile curled at his lips, his mind floating up and away in chase of the cloud.

All the while, Klaus nearly died from an abrupt pneumonectomy.

“Sorry, I’d like to dissect this first. When what’s over? Sorry to break it to you, but those powers aren’t going anywhere.”

That was a long dead dream amongst all the siblings. This was their life and they just had to adapt to make the best of it.

Funny, he couldn’t remember if he’d heard that from mom or dad.

Frankly, their mother was an autonomous robot programmed by their father, so he supposed they were one in the same.

He shudders at the visage.

Ben took another long drag before handing the joint back, letting the smoke settle in him before releasing it out into the world. He was becoming such a professional, Klaus almost wanted to cry.

Rolling his head back, Ben caught his brother’s gaze, the same languid grin still plastered on his lips,” I mean the old man has got to die at some point right? Then we’d be free.”

Except the old geezer just couldn’t seem to find the bucket to kick. Klaus had to wonder if he was even born with one.

Maybe that’s why he took everything from them, because he lost his bucket. Since he had to suffered it was only right that he did.

Scoffing, Klaus fell back into the cushions of the couch. Their father dying would just be one nightmare for another to him. While his other siblings lived their life, he’d be the unlikely bastard still hearing dead old dad.

He waved his brother to continue,” So dad dies. He has no more control. Enter your bride to be. What could go wrong ?”

“They could say no.”

The taste of rejection was familiar and thick, a viscous emotion that was contagious in all the worst ways. It was an airborne virus, a bacterial infection- a stigma embedded into the very walls they grew up in.

They’d spent their whole lives being discarded from the inside. How would they handle the same on the outside?

Well Klaus certainly didn’t think that Ben deserved that.

“You’re an idiot. Of course they would say yes.”

And when that lazy smile brightening with the energy of the sun, Klaus thinks, yeah it’ll be alright.

___

Except it’s not.

It’s the opposite of okay.

___

“Did you know he wanted to marry me?”

Klaus looks up in surprise, though somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn’t. You were equally as expressive as you were aware. To be honest, you had to be to keep up with them.

Just because they were a danger, didn’t mean they weren’t inherently surrounded by it as well.

As fate brought about.

Ben always made sure to keep you on your toes. Scolding you when your back was turned to the happenings of the world. It was done out of love, to protect you from what you couldn’t see.

Your defense when he wasn’t there.

So of course you’d been primed to pick up on little mannerisms and peculiarities. Lately, when the two of you were alone, wrapped up in your lovers nest, Ben often lost himself to his own thoughts.

But naturally that wasn’t enough to support the little investigation.

No, you needed evidence.

The little box hidden behind the bookshelf was more than enough to close the case.

You still had it.

Unsure of what to do with it now. It didn’t seem like a family heirloom, but what did you know ?

The touch of your own hand stroked fondly over the fingers of your left, a quirk of a sullen smile twitching halfheartedly.

“Yeah, I knew. It was so easy to tell with him.”

Ben’s manifestation came as easy as a whisper yet felt like the heavy side of an iron hammer. He hovered between the two of them, uncertainty rooting his presence just short of reaching you.

His face twisted at the sight of your solemn agony as you picked apart the memories of your life together.

“Every recital I kept wonder if that was going to be the day. “

Klaus could only watch it play out, no plausible intervention available in his capacity to offer comfort. The wound was still so fresh and deep with all of them. The two of you together were just barely managing to keep the gape from tearing wider.

“Then I realized, that wouldn’t be his style. He’d probably try to stick it in a milkshake then freak out when I went for a spoon.”

Ben’s broken laugh cracks his chest, rattling like a case of skeletons. Klaus is glad you can’t hear it, the torment of its sound would only plague his nightmares.

“I would have said yes without a ring.”

When Ben reaches for her, Klaus can’t help but do the same. The urge feels like his own, physically, but when his brother lays his hand atop the pile the warmth doesn’t feel like it’s coming from his own body. At the touch, it sparks an array of emotions he’d only once viewed through a one way mirror.

Now he was the window.

Too bad it was already broken.

“I would have said yes to anything.”

____

“Every time. I know you say you’ll see me again, but damn, you really surprise me, Klaus.”

When Klaus draws you in for a hug, its more than instinctual. Its not an ambient desire.

Its a whim of his own, something that he takes his own personal comfort in.

His.

So maybe he’s a little disgruntled, when a third pair of arms joins the embrace.

And maybe, he’s a little smug when you only respond to his warmth, and his alone.

Call it his own payment.

Grinning, you brush away the damp fringe from your flushed cheek. You always called performing a rush. He thought living with Vanya would help him understand that, but it seemed that music lover’s were truly just one of a kind.

“Tell her how amazing she sounded.”

Ben encroaches on the moment again, and Klaus grits his teeth to bare the grin as he recites the words. Sometimes he wonders if he you can hear his voice as well as he can. The two of you always had such a special connection.

It was a shame that death had to be the one thing that built a wall between you.

With a sigh that could double as exhaustion, you leaned back on your heels. The adrenaline of the recital was finally wearing off. All the long nights and endless dance of fingers across the keys had waned down to this moment, and now it was over.

For now at least.

Give or take a few weeks, just short of a month or two and you would be back at it again.

“So … you look … good?” You winced at the delivery but prided yourself on how it didn’t come out sounding like an interrogation. It was so difficult to properly voice your worries when it came to Klaus.

So much had changed over the years.

You thought you would be able to function without the third wheel.

Most bikes ran on just two after all.

But Klaus seemed to need that third wheel in a capacity that you just couldn’t understand. Frankly, there were a lot of things you didn’t quite comprehend and you had practically dated a superhero.

But with Ben it had been not easy but simpler in all the ways that came natural as being together.

Klaus was the opposite in more ways the one.

Yet so explicitly streamlined down the single reason that he wasn’t alone.

He was never really alone.

No matter how often you tried to fill the space with your presence, some skeleton from the past managed to draw him away.

You think thats the one thing you hated most about the house he grew up in. Despite all those people, it had been voided from so much love that it got to the point that he’d let anything in.

And now he didn’t know how to close the door.

He was getting so weathered just standing at the entrance, taking whatever was thrown at him.

Klaus managed his usual exaggerated grin, and you made no comment of how it drooped a the side. “Oh, but thank you my dear. Truly, here I thought no one would noticed how I walked straight off the runway to make it here on time.”

Laughing came easy, even when it was forced.

“Well, I appreciate it. I really do, Klaus. Everytime.”

Klaus lifts his shoulders and let him fall in his own quirky way,“It’s what he would have wanted.”

“Still wants.” Ben’s words drift like a breeze.

You reach for his hand, meaning every word as they cross your lips,“Yeah, well, he had a great brother.”

There was no denying that your friendship had fractured from being on the receiving end of the blow that was Ben’s death. Things weren’t quite as they were, lacking the instrumental piece that his ghost couldn’t be to bridge your worlds.

But it wasn’t broken.

Ben wouldn’t allow it. He kept Klaus alive, pushing him to remain conscious and aware of the world. Even if his brother’s motivations were selfish demonstrations of his own agendas.

At the end of the day, Klaus retained your friendship.

And in a world of apparitions, it was nice to reach for something and have it met half way.

“Yes, thank you. I’m glad he can hear that and my efforts are for naught.”

Ben flittered between the two of you, instinctively drawn into your orbit. Klaus tried not encroach, but unable to not watch as Ben tried in vain to grasp the wisps of your hair. The intentions phased through you without your notice yet Ben’s look of complacence didn’t falter in the slightest.

It’s what he wanted for you after all.

Your blissful unawareness would be necessary for you to properly prefers in a world without him.

Even when he was still there to watch your steps forward.

“We should treat her to her favorite cafe.”

Ben was back at his side, flickering in and out of space with ease. The question snapped Klaus out of his revere and he found himself answering audibly in reflex,“Oh yes, with my limited funds.”

Your brow furrowed in confusion,

“Sorry?”

Klaus waved you off, not having to explain in detail for once or come up with an exuberant tale to mask his insanity. “Oh, not you.”

Your eyes flashed with recognition. Apart as you were, you weren’t as accustomed to Klaus day to day demons. The man who was once a constant in your life managed to fade to the background without your say so. You knew he was doing it out of his own attempts to shield you.

With Ben, you were a proper team, one that could at least attempt to maintain the forlorn sibling. But alone, it felt like you were a mere spectator.

“Is it getting worse? I mean its, always worse right?”

“Not… always,” he trailed off.

“Klaus you cant keep drowning them away the way you are. Its not healthy.”

This really wasn’t how he planned for this evening to go. But you were a lecturer at heart and consequently he was your favorite subject. He had resist the urge to make a face when Ben hummed in agreement. “I know that.”

He looked up at the touch of your hand, trying hard not get to far swept into your altruistic stigma. Without Ben around, he’d managed to do a better job of dragging you into his mess rather than allow you to pull him out.

You were just too helpful.

Always loaning money or your couch to rest on.

Just attending your performances hardly felt like a redemption to all your kindness. Ben certainly felt that way. In Klaus defense, he never lead a very virtuous life to begin with. Besides, wasn’t the point of all this for you to live your own life?

Ben had died, leaving you two to reform a friendship in his absence. Sure, it was the squeakiest wheel but it turned.

You had just as strong of a hand in keeping him afloat.

“Then act like you mean it. I know its not fair for me to simplify something so difficult, but you just have to cut them out.”

Klaus wondered if he’d imagined the hitch in your voice or if Ben had noticed it as well. Your gaze had lowered as you delivered into your speech, hiding away the true emotions festering beneath. Klaus didn’t know what he would do if the sniffling began. He was oh so terrible when it came to managing emotions that were not his own.

Who was he kidding, he hardly had a reign on those.

But you continued on. Your stance growing sterner with every word.

“Let the past go.”

“Forget about them.”

“Move on.”

They were the same words regurgitated from Ben’s own request to see that you moved on properly after his death. He hadn’t wanted you to remain stuck on his ghost, remembering what had been and constantly reimagining what could be.

More importantly, he wanted you to let go of him completely, so that you wouldn’t seek him out in Klaus.

Klaus always found it odd how you never showed any addition resistance to Ben’s ‘dying’ request. Not that he expected you to declare vengeance. But you knew, he was a walking window to the world of the dead. Knew that if he tried enough, he could manifest Ben back to you. But you never asked.

You just smiled and nodded.

Ben pretended to be unaffected, tried to convince himself that it was what he wanted. But Klaus knew he was hurting from the lack of contact. Yearning to use the advantage only his brother could provide.

Wanting.

Needing.

It just wasn’t fair.

“Even Ben?”

Ben was in front of him immediately, his face hardened in the event of Klaus breaching their deal. But Klaus was done with the suffering, tired of making everyone around him feel it too.

At one point in their lives, they were all happy.

And it was time to stop acting like Ben’s absence was the end of it all.

“Ben…”

Klaus expected more tears. Something of a sort of production of dramatics that would call attention to your private moment. He certainly had the theatrics in him to do so. But you were just … quiet. As if hearing Ben’s name aloud had stripped the sound from your voice.

Ben looked at him with chagrin, mouth already moving to berate Klaus’ impulsive decision,” Look what you did- all our progress.”

“I didn’t want to! I just-”

“Ben, its fine.”

The silence that followed was deafening. It took them both a moment more to realize which of the pair you’d called out to. And with such confidence. You’d just included yourself in the conversation as if you’d been there from the start.

As if you’d-

“You knew…”

Klaus somehow managed to add more foundation to Ben’s fractured words. The weight of the realization suddenly splintering the mirage you’d all built together to keep the world spinning. You’d all contributed to the great tragedy in which no one was truly happy.

“That you could see him?” Your shrug was lopsided. The weight uneven as you offloaded your own demons. “Klaus, you can see everyone. Of course, I figured you would seek out your own brother.” You said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Like there were idiots for thinking otherwise.

In a way they were.

“But you never-”

” -said anything?” You interrupted with another sluggish shrug,” Ben made it pretty clear that he didn’t want me to know. The least i could do was respect those wishes.”

You’d do anything for Ben.

Even forget.

Or pretend to, at least.

What would you be, if you couldn’t meet his last request.

Frankly, it was all too much for Klaus, his body shaking with misplaced laughter as the situation settled within him. You truly knew them- knew them both better than they knew themselves. They’d presented a game and got played by it.

Ben was fairing slightly better, daring to even smile a little in muted pride. Klaus finds himself thrown back in time, the same feeling of trespassing establishing within him when Ben reaches out with a phantom hand to stroke your cheek.

Swallowing around the barrier, Klaus narrates helpfully,” He’s uh- stroking your cheek. Or trying to at least.”

For some reason you all laugh, your accompanied by bringing your own hand up to touch the side of your face. You’d managed to find the right cheek without either of their guidance. Not that anyone was surprised anymore.

“I’ve missed you.”

Oh how Klaus wished you could hear Ben. Something you could all agree on. But he played his part, being the voice needed to maintain the connection,” “He misses you.”

When you open your eyes, your gaze is more watery than it had been before,” Yeah, I’ve missed you too.”

Klaus is caught off guard when your hand extends out, fingers flexing. At first he thinks you’d dared to try to reach for Ben, hopeful for a missing touch. But instead he finds your gaze trained on him, your touch as warm as he remembers.

“I knew I could rely on him to keep you alive. “

Ben chuckles fondly,” Damn right.”

You sigh audibly through your nose, giving Klaus one last squeeze before letting go. “Honestly, this is great. I felt so weird trying to pretend like he wasn’t there. Seriously, you two share one brain cell. As long as you’re functioning, it was safe to assume Ben wasn’t far.”

The jib was popular joke of yours when Ben was still alive. The two brothers were a mix of mischief that you rarely managed to keep up with. Together they were a duo, but the three of you were more than a trio.

A unit that sheltered each other from the harshness of reality.

“I’ll take you up on those parfaits now. Maybe a hot chocolate with a shot. I know you’ve got something on you.“

Klaus was going to end up with whiplash by the end of the night with the way this conversation was going. You departed from them with a promise to return as quickly as you could change, leaving the two siblings floundering in place.

“I know I said this before, but your fiancé is strange.”

The way Ben smiles reminds Klaus of the day he decided that he was in love with you.

Ben didn’t even try to correct him.

“Yeah, but we like them that way.”

#Anonymous #the umbrella academy imagine #klaus hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves imagine #ben hargreeves x reader #the umbrella academy oneshot #klaus hargreeves x reader #umbrella academy writing #the umbrella academy headcanons

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friendshipcampaign · 4 years

Text

Session Recap 12/1/20: But If I Had To Perish Twice

Amaranth took the first watch of the night, kept alert by the sounds of rain outside, followed by Ditto. By the time Erwyn awoke for the last watch, the rain had stopped, and his was instead unnaturally quiet. Nothing manifested, however, and the night passed without incident.

In the morning, once everyone was awake, Kriv checked the Infinite Library and retrieved a message from Hubris. She had written that she would keep looking into the mystery goddess, but her guess, given the remnant of Conjuration magic they’d found in the tomb, was that some kind of wishing magic may have been involved in erasing the deity. She also mentioned she’d gotten Amaranth’s message and was glad the tiefling had enjoyed her tavern recommendation in Wayspell -- and also, of course, that she’d passed on the news of the breaches to the others. Palava, apparently, had wanted to head out to Veritas immediately, but Violetta convinced him they needed to do some more preparation. She said that some contingent of the Gatekeepers would teleport out to the nearby city of Sconz, which had the closest teleportation circle, and that they would need to communicate with the party about where to meet them in the city.

The party made their plans for the day, discussing what options they still had in the city for trying to gather more information. Hoping to talk to Thodri later, they nonetheless decided the first thing to do was still to keep their appointment with Tress. As soon as they stepped outside, though, the demonic pigeons began following them again. A particularly large one flew down in front of them, clutching what looked like the tail of a small creature in its claws. The ruff of its neck lifted up to reveal a humanoid mouth, and it fixed its many visible eyes on Erwyn before speaking in Abyssal:

“Let us know if you require help. We’ll be waiting.”

The pigeon flew away and Erwyn stepped forward to investigate the tail, which it had left behind. It proved to have belonged to an imp. He translated what the pigeon had said for the group, and they continued onward. Dark clouds were gathering in the sky as they walked, seeming to forebode that a storm was on its way.

The little lantern outside of Tress’ shop was not on, but the door wasn’t locked and movement could be heard inside. She opened the door to greet them, wearing the same clothes she’d had the night before, and commented that the quasits really weren’t letting up. Tress asked Kriv if he would keep watch for them while she worked with the others, since she had a demonstration she wanted to try, but only needed one blood sample from each race. He cautiously used his Divine Sense to see if anything was amiss, but nothing came back, and was persuaded when she mentioned that she’d noticed there always seemed to be more of the quasits around when the party stopped by and she would feel safer if he kept an eye out.

Tress took the others to the back and told them that she’d gotten the same reaction from mixing the tiefling blood sample with the tinctures as she had in her earlier tests with her own blood. She expanded on that, however, saying that she had an idea for an antidote to the petrification process that involved basilisk venom, a substance often used for similar cures. She said she wanted to actually test it on humanoids, if the party was willing.

“Did you drink any of it?” Voski asked.

There was no response.

“Tress,” she said.

“I like to be certain of things!” Tress said.

“Tress!”

Voski started scolding her for being so reckless with herself, especially since she wasn’t sure of her antidote yet. Tress argued back that she had needed to try her theories. She added that if the party members present were willing to help, she could get four more data points from them and try to refine them. They agreed, Voski perhaps more begrudgingly than the other three, and all drank the vials they were presented with.

As they waited for Tress to be able to gather her data, Voski asked her where her dog was. Tress replied that Palette was in the back with some minor mechanical troubles. Continuing to make conversation, Voski asked her about her clients for the Guildhall Gala that year and Tress said that the Papermaker’s Guild had been working with her on something rather grand. Cautiously, Erywn asked if, since she tended to work with fairly wealthy and important clients, she had any business with some of the out-of-town philanthropists in the city currently.

“Mostly I’m asking,” he said, “Because if a woman named Esmeralda Vilar asks for anything from you, please be careful.”

“Really? I’ll take it under advisement,” Tress said. Then she turned to the back. “What do you think?”

At that moment Erwyn, Voski, and Ditto were all struck with the effects of the “antidote” they had just drunk -- which had actually been poison. Amaranth managed to shake off similar effects. The door to the back room opened, and a scowling, red-skinned tiefling, a human woman in an elaborate dress of red and black silk, and a fire genasi man emerged. Amaranth drew her weapon and shouted for Kriv, but the woman -- Esmeralda Vilar herself -- snapped her fingers and three bolts of crackling red-and-black energy (that matched her dress) shot towards her, all of which hit.

Voski had been keeping her eyes on Tress the entire time and noted that, as the three newcomers appeared, she seemed to go entirely vacant, eyes staring into the distance.

Amaranth charged forward and went to attack Esmeralda, but the tiefling woman at her side stepped forward and took the damage instead. From behind the curtain to the back, a few more figures stepped forward. They looked off, in a blank way, similar to Tress. One was a tabaxi and the other two tieflings -- one of whom was Creed. Erwyn, reeling from these developments, suddenly took an onslaught of psychic damage from an unknown source

Tress went and tried to backhand Amaranth, with a strength that seemed unnatural for her, but she was able to dodge it. Then the genasi man raised an arm, on which he was wearing a complicated-looking bracer, and shot a bolt of ice towards the doorway. It exploded and expanded, creating a sheer wall of ice that cut the back room off from the storefront -- where Kriv had been waiting. When he ran to towards Amaranth’s call, he found the door completely blocked and started to try to cut into it with his sword.

“What’s going on?” he shouted. “What the fuck!”

“We’ve got company!” Amaranth shouted back.

Ditto, finding that she couldn’t move thanks to the poison, told Tiktik to get to safety. They bolted past everyone and ran into the back room. Whatever they found back there seemed to distress them. Erwyn addressed Esmeralda and told her to let everyone go, asking what they had done to her. She replied that they’d cared too much about her business. Her tiefling bodyguard pulled out a spiked chain and whipped it at Amaranth, causing it to wrap around her and pin her arms to her sides.

Voski, looking incredibly angry, looked directly at Esmeralda and said, “It makes sense you’d have to control her. You couldn’t afford her.”

Esmeralda smiled back and said. “Oh no. But I know someone who can.”

At that, the woman took out a small book from a pouch at her side and held it open in front of Amaranth, grabbing her hair to pull her close and force her to look at it. She felt a strange tugging and her form flickered. Suddenly, from the rest of the party’s point of view she vanished. From Amaranth’s, she found herself in a strange, featureless room with high walls and what looked like a strange, stylized vine curling down one of them.

Voski felt a tugging at her mind but managed to lock down in anger, ending the effect. At that moment, however, Tress hit her and she found that it caused her to take psychic damage anyway. Voski noted, however, that when “Tress” brought her arm back, there was a strange unnatural wrinkle in her skin. Across the room, the genasi man adjusted some kind of setting on his armband contraption.

Kriv, having heard Erwyn shout in distress when Amaranth disappeared and frustrated due to not being able to break through the ice, decided it was time for another plan. He dashed outside and spotted one of the pigeon quasits that had been following the party around, looked at it, and said if it could understand Common, the party was in need of help. He then ran back inside and started hacking at the wall of ice again. This time, he managed to break through. He ran towards the back room to join the others and the genasi man fired some kind of a corrosive liquid at him, but the attack missed as Kriv skidded on the leftover ice.

Ditto managed to force herself to move, combating the effects of the poison. She tried to run towards the exit of the room and ran into Kriv in the hall. On seeing him, she shouted, “Everything’s really really bad!” and cast haste on him. Telepathically, she also told Tiktik to hide, and her familiar replied that there was some kind of a giant ooze thing in the back.

Forcing his way through the poison as well, Erwyn again addressed Esmeralda and told her to bring Amaranth back. The woman laughed, saying that she couldn’t do that, since Amaranth was going to be very useful to her.

“What else are you going to do, then?” Erwyn said. “You’ve already proven that you’re not very good at killing people!”

It was at this point that Esmeralda’s bodyguard stepped forward and stabbed Erwyn twice with her knives. At the second blow, he fell to the ground, unconscious.

At around the same time, Voski forced her way through the effects of the poison as well. First, she turned to Tress and told her, “Snap out of it! You’re better than this!” in an attempt to inspire her. She then whirled to face Esmeralda and cast Heat Metal on the particularly opulent gold necklace the woman was wearing. Esmeralda shrieked, tearing it off.

From behind him, Kriv heard a rushing of wings. He went to duck his head and a stream of demonic pigeons flew past him and into the room. They started to attack everyone other than the party members -- who they recognized, having been stalking them for so long -- with their talons. Esmeralda stepped back and cast a Hellish Rebuke, immolating one of the pigeons, but their numbers were overwhelming. She, her bodyguard, and the genasi man, however, seemed to be the only ones actually fighting back. Where the pigeons’ talons cut through the other figures in the room -- “Tress” included” -- they didn’t bleed, instead spilling a viscous, jelly-like substance.

Reaching up through all the quasits, Esmeralda extended her hand and snapped her fingers. A red bead shot towards the top of the doorway, causing a red dot to appear and blossom into a Fireball. Ditto tried to Counterspell it, but was unable to stop the casting, and the room filled with fire, hitting the party members inside -- including the still-unconscious Erwyn -- as well as Esmeralda’s own bodyguard.

Meanwhile, inside the book she’d been contained in, Amaranth tried grabbing at the strange vine. She was unable to climb it, however, and when she pulled her hand away it seemed to be covered in a substance like paint.

In Tress’ shop and in the aftermath of the powerful Fireball spell, all the pigeons had been immolated. The oddly-vacant figures (“Tress” included) all turned to Esmeralda and pointed at the deathly-still Erwyn on the floor.

“We can’t get any information from that one,” they intoned in unison.

Voski then felt a powerful tugging at her mind and a blast of psychic damage. She also fell unconscious. In the aftermath, another one of the figures hit her for more damage. They then all went to link hands, one of them grabbing the hand of the tiefling bodyguard, who also was in pretty poor shape after getting caught in the Fireball. The genasi man took a decorative fork from his belt and linked arms with Esmeralda. The group then all vanished.

Kriv burst into the room just as they disappeared. He rushed over to Erwyn and tried to use his Lay on Hands ability on him.

Nothing happened. Erwyn was still beneath his hands. Esmeralda’s spell had killed him.

Ditto followed Kriv into the room. She rushed over to Voski and gave her a Greater Healing Potion. The dragonborn was roused, although everything still hurt and she found she had a strange splitting headache. Seeing Erwyn near her, she went to go heal him herself. Kriv grabbed her wrist with his free hand, the other still resting on Erwyn’s chest. She turned the spell back on herself so that the healing at least wouldn’t be wasted.

“Shit,” she said.

Suddenly, a strange dark patch appeared on the wall. The humanoid shadow demon that the party had fought at the inn materialized. It extended a hand, and spoke in halting Common.

“Give him to me,” it said.

“You were late,” Kriv replied.

“I can still help, if he will come with us. There is not much time.”

Slowly, Kriv scooped up Erwyn and stepped forward. The shadow creature placed its hand on his chest and sent a pulse of energy into him. After an agonizing moment of waiting, the elf drew in a breath.

The demon had brought him back to life.

#session recap

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