#she has a permanent home in my heart and I need to draw her more
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BALDUR'S GATE 3 x MAMMA MIA! AU
CHARACTERS
[YOU HAVE PERMISSION TO USE MY IDEA FOR ANYTHING YOU WANT, I ONLY ASK YOU CREDIT ME]
(break to save your dash)
Now, not every character is going to fit cleanly into character slots (there are too many characters to fill the main cast) so some of our Baldur's Gate loves will be sharing character traits and plot devices amongst each other.
Let’s start with Donna: She will be played by Tav obviously. I mean there really is no other choice here. We need someone who has gotten romantically entangled with multiple if not all the companions. The one unfortunate snag is that Tav has to carry or otherwise create the child of dubious parentage without the other parent knowing. That does pigeonhole the characterization a bit unless you want to go the magic route with it (which opens a line of ethical questioning beyond not telling the Parent of your child about the existence of said child)
For the purposes of this thought experiment, I'm operating under Tav being AFAB and having a womb to carry the baby. I’m also operating under the idea that all the companions have the reproductive organs of the gender they present as in game. If anyone wants to actually do something with this they are free to do whatever the fuck they want and use whatever headcanons they want.
Sophie is going to be played by Tav’s kid. This one doesn’t have a hard and fast gender rule (TIL Sophus is the masculine version of Sophie) but they have to want to know who their other sire is and be generally chaotic which is not hard when they’ve grown up with the Tadfools as their role models. It is important that they display mostly Tav’s traits with others that could be any one of their other parent’s. (think Amanda Siefried and Meryl Streep are both blonde and similarly built. Sophie draws like Sam and sings and plays like Harry and has Bill’s adventurous spunk)
For ease of writing Tav’s Kid will be referred to as Soph from here on out.
Speaking of Sires, the Dads:
Sam: I waffled a LOT on who to choose out of the Baldur’s Boys because I wanted to keep it to just the traditional three and to just companions. You can obviously shuffle around people (I'm sure the Rolan girlies (gender neutral) would love putting him in this AU) and expand the possible dad list (though I don’t know how to split the characteristics like the Donna’s Friends). I chose to go with Gale here. I think he fits the very no nonsense and very anxious vibes from Sam in the show/movie. Instead of a business person who “went home to get married” perhaps Gale got called upon by Mystra as her Chosen and left to focus on his Wizardry. He is definitely the kind to break Tav’s heart over duty and be so ashamed he doesn’t really speak to them for 20 years.
Bill: This one was damn near a no brainer once I was considering it. It’s Halsin. Who better to be the Hippie, fun-loving, sex god and travel writer? He retains all his Baldur’s Gate characteristics. His experience with Tav is truly just a bit of fun before they both go their separate ways. Their relationship is HEAPS less frigid than Gale and Tav’s.
Now this is where you can go two ways with this. You could give Halsin is canon good ending (Reithwin with the kids) BUT we miss Bill being scared shitless at the prospect of having a child which I always loved as a characterization (Skarsgard plays it like a champ in the film, he looks like he’s gonna have a heart attack lmao). I feel like Clan Dad Halsin after 20 years is way too open to the idea of having something permanent like a kid. Wandering Arch Druid Halsin might be a little more scared shitless at the idea. That one is a personal preference, I think I’d prefer Reithwin Halsin even though I miss the majesty of an internal conflict.
Harry: Now this one also was a no-brainer but needs to be explained with some tact. It’s Astarion. It is not because Astarion is the most effeminate of the group. For those that don’t know, Harry is canonically gay. The companions are all pan. I chose Astarion because there is an opportunity to do something else transformative with Astarion and Tav’s tryst.
In Mamma Mia, Harry talks about how Donna is the last and only woman he’s loved and their time together helped him accept his sexuality. In the stage show he’s in a committed relationship (his partner's name is fully escaping me atm). It always stuck out to me that Donna changed Harry and that’s why he still loves her after all these years. Sam obviously regrets leaving to do what was expected of him because he didn’t love his first wife. Bill sees the life of adventure and companionship he could have had with Donna but acknowledges that that time is behind them and still loves her anyways. And Harry loves that Donna made him see himself clearly for the first time in his life and loves her for it. You can see why Astarion came to mind I hope.
Astarion’s night with Tav was him figuring out what intimacy meant to him after finally closing the Cazador Chapter of his life. The encounter was brief but it changed him for the better and allowed him to start healing.
EDIT: I realized I didn’t cover Astarion’s Vampirism at all. For story purposes assume he has some kind of temporary solution to the sun issue because I need his ass to be present when this is set on a fantasy Greek island. The Dhampir issue is… something. I sludged through some further thought experiments. Tav and the kid being Tieflings hides the fang coloration issue. Explaining away that the characteristics haven’t presented yet because the kid is still quite young by nearly all standards (20 is just barely of age for humans, and though they are full grown biologically they are still children in Elven society) and also have been largely sheltered from danger their whole life also works.
But to be honest, despite what the second movie and its director want you to believe, I think Harry is the least likely father of the three. I am comfortable extending this to Astarion.
Okay now we are into the Dynamos! Fuck yes! Rosie and Tanya are my favorites (it helps that they are PERFECTLY casted in the movie oh my god). I have split their characteristics across the girls. There are some of the companions that are obviously one or the other (Karlach is the most Rosie coded while Minthara SCREAMS Tanya) while others send mixed signals (Shadowheart is the most even, skewing towards Tanya slightly while Lae’zel has Tanya’s bitchy attitude and Rosie’s “lone wolf” outlook) SO I’m going to make a chart
Like Astarion, for story purposes, assume Karlach’s heart issue has been solved.
Graphic design is my passion
ANYWAYS you may have noticed three of our friends are missing from this line up. Our intrepid Folk Hero Formally Known As The Blade of Frontiers, Wyll, Pack Mother, Jaheria, and her trusty ride or die Rashamen, Minsc (and don’t forget Boo!).
I had some trouble with these nerds because initially I was playing with making Wyll the second half of Sam, he would have usurped the businessman and maybe the gone home to get married bit while Gale was the heartbreaker and took something from Bill’s characterization, but I was having trouble with losing character motivations. Plus Wyll is canonically not the type for flings. So I am having him be a good family friend invited to the wedding but not involved in the parentage. He essentially is a more involved part of the Greek Chorus. He could take Sam entirely if you are not the type for Gale but you will see why I did this when I get into the songs (yes I am that fucking insane about this.)
Jaheira does have the countenance to be a Dynamo BUT there is this minor character that I think about way too often that I wanted her to take. She is only mentioned in the first movie and the stage show in one line and seen a little in the second movie (which is a fever dream and convolutes the “lore” but I love it anyways). It’s Bill’s Great Aunt Sophia that left Donna the money to start Villa Donna. OBVIOUSLY she isn’t directly going to be playing Halsin’s Great Aunt or be dead (though she will be ancient by then) but she’s going to fill the mentor role for Tav and help out with Soph. She is the only one who knows that Gale Halsin and Astarion are the possible fathers until the beginning of the shenanigans.
Minsc, like Wyll, doesn’t have a direct parallel. He is also a part of the more involved Greek Chorus. He is Soph’s crazy uncle. He got them into all kinds of trouble and still does to this day. He gives a less emotional and personal version of Sam’s “are you sure you want to do this, you are so young” speech that essentially is offering to run off and be warriors (His plan does not get them away from anyone, he’s unanimously elected that the entire tadfool group is coming with them). But he does it after Gale gives the original speech that severely upsets Soph so it serves as a cheer up speech (“Minsc is unsure if the Wizard should come along seeing as he has upset the little warrior so, but Boo says he is very useful and Minsc agrees. So he can come with, but he does not get to pet Boo’s furry little bottom!”).
The rest of our Greek Chorus and people like Sky and Sophie’s Friends are filled out by various NPCs. Pepper is played by Mol. Ali and Lisa are open to OCs to be honest but the idea of Yenna and Arabella hearing the saucy details of a story they were partly involved in is really funny to me so they are listed in the song list as the backup singers. Sky is an OC because I wasn’t fully comfortable using any of the child NPCs. He’s referred to as Soph’s partner.
#baldur's gate 3#bg3#baldur's gate iii#baldur's gate#baldur's gate oc#baldur's gate tav#astarion#shadowheart#gale dekarios#gale of waterdeep#halsin#karlach#jaheira#minsc and boo#minsc#minthara#lae'zel#wyll ravengard#baldur's gate 3 au#mamma mia#abba#alternate universe
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Some trad doodles I did during class, colored digitally
Been feeling pretty bad about my art/content lately, so if I’ve been responding slow to you that is why x,D I find that when I’m in slumps like that, it helps to switch mediums a little bit(even if my traditional art is. Oof…very VERY rough). Hope you guys enjoy anyway!
#my art#micolash host of the nightmare#rom the vacuous spider#byrgenwerth#bloodborne fanart#skull study#also sorry for putting Mico in a skirt but at the same time I am not sorry#I saw a cool outfit and I just. I felt like it’d work idk what to say#I have no defense#maybe I am allowed to post a little cringe#as a treat#anyway I love Rom#I care her deeply#shout-out to the Byrgenwerth spider#she has a permanent home in my heart and I need to draw her more#bloodborne#now to sleep
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I think often of the last chapter of crooked kingdom. not the one everyone considers the last chapter, the last last chapter, the pekka chapter. weeks (months?) after kaz scared him out of ketterdam, pekka starts making moves to salvage his businesses. not much, just reading papers and correspondence, maybe answering letters. and that very night, like he's summoned her, inej appears to warn him off. if he ever thinks of coming back to ketterdam, she says, they'll meet again so she can make the second cut. I love love love it. we know that kaz didn't send her ('I have my own message to deliver'), so her knowledge of pekka's attempt to return suggests she's been keeping tabs on him for her own means. or she has supernaturally good intuition, which is probably the sort of thing she'd want pekka to think-- he worries that maybe she isn't entirely human after all. but regardless, this scene serves a couple of purposes-- it hammers home exactly how scared the slavers should be of inej (very lol), it illustrates the contrast between the complacent old ketterdam (pekka & jan van eck) and the frankly feral new one (kaz & wylan), but I think it also draws a pointed line under the closeness of kaz and inej that we saw in the last chapter.
the only witnesses to the kaz-pekka showdown were pekka's men, and inej. we know that pekka's men will have taken pekka's weakness & kaz's monstrosity from it, but what did inej take from it? because put mildly, kaz lost his absolute shit in that chapel, and let slip more than he probably would have done if he'd just been talking to inej alone. inej, at that point, had been aware for a while how obsessed kaz was with rollins, but that probably put into a hard perspective exactly how badly his presence and involvement affects kaz. kaz describes it as a 'dark door' that's opened in him; if rollins was to come back, there's a good chance kaz would be dragged back into that (to use an inej phrase) undertow, of obsession and revenge and irrationality. they don't really discuss it, and we don't get much of inej's perspective on it, but I think it's not surprising that she wants pekka out of kaz's way permanently. he's a threat to any progress she has made or might make with him. he's the tangible reminder of the worst and least reasonable side of kaz that always teeters on the edge of going where inej can't follow.
so yes, we talk a lot about how inej influences kaz... but maybe less about how kaz has influenced inej. inej takes a page out of the kaz playbook, here, probably because she's doing this for him (even if I'm not entirely sure he even knows that she's gone there). she gets into pekka's head, plays on the potentially supernatural and the impossible, sets up a 'what if?' and plants a seed of paranoia. she uses the nickname kaz gave her, 'the wraith', and rollins thinks of her as kaz's 'wraith queen'. kaz says to her that 'sometimes fate needs a little assistance', and clearly she took that to heart. we know that when kaz needs extra morality, he often draws on inej; but when inej needs extra monstrosity, she often draws on kaz.
#mm idk I really like the scene. pekka's pov shuts us out from the truth of it which is nice#six of crows#not sure if this makes sense but anyway#crooked kingdom#inej ghafa#kaz brekker#kanej#pekka rollins#my post
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Therapy - Part 2
💕 Part 1 💕
"What do you like most about your diapers?"
You gawk at Miss Heather, the giant pacifier in your mouth still wiggling stupidly and ballooning your puffy cheeks. What do you LIKE about diapers? She had to be joking. If you had the money to move out of your step-mom's house, you would kick off your pretty heels, march out of this office, and leave your big, disgusting diaper in the nearest bin. Every crinkle reminds you of your step-sister Lauren smacking your padded bottom, sneering as she asks if you're being a "good girl." Your permanent perfume of stale pee summons visions of Olivia wrinkling her nose, faking coughs and gags as she peels off the plastic during changes. How could Miss Heather possibly think there was anything you LIKED about diapers?
Adding insult to injury, your "Binky Thinkies" timer sings out a sickly sweet lullabye a few seconds later, punctuating the mockery of the question. Finally, you're allowed to speak.
Your jaw aches a bit as you draw the massive rubber nipple out from between your pink lips. Your teeth feel strangely numb, as if forgetting momentarily how to exist in an empty mouth. Setting the pacifier down forcefully on the couch, you smack your lips and declare:
"NOTHING. I hate them."
Miss Heather cocks her head quizzically, as if you'd made some sort of unexpected observation.
"What do you hate?"
You roll your eyes, knowing where this is headed.
"Diapers."
"What diapers?" Miss Heather asks.
You frown, unwilling to give Miss Heather the satisfaction of an answer. You're not in the mood to be toyed with after all these insulting questions.
Miss Heather meets your frown with a soft smile, filled with obvious disappointment. "Do we need to watch the video?"
Your heart drops into your stomach. It's been a few weeks since she made you watch the video. You had almost forgotten she still had it in her arsenal.
Having clearly made up her mind, Miss Heather gives her smartphone a few taps. The sing-song of the timer disappears and a red buffering line appears along the bottom of the TV on the wall. You see a slide with a time and date, followed by Miss Heather's name and credentials, and then you see...you.
It's a "you" that you barely recognize. Sure, your hair is in pigtails and your purple t-shirt has a dumb pony on it, but in the video you're actually wearing sneakers. Sneakers and jeans! You can barely see the plastic of a crinkly white diaper poking out of them, but how you would die to be wearing jeans again! This was one of your earliest therapy sessions with Miss Heather. You remember telling her how powerless you felt being bullied by your step-sisters, and how all your choices at home had begun slipping away. She had told you to counteract this by taking ownership of your life and situation. By declaring your agency.
Oh, how you hate this video.
"I'm wearing MY diaper," the younger you declares, placing unnatural emphasis on the word "my." The video shows you staring past the camera, obviously taking a cue before unzipping your jeans and pointing to the white puffy cloud swaddled within.
"This is MY diaper. I'm wearing MY diaper. This diaper is MINE."
You feel utterly humiliated as the video goes on. You watch yourself prodding and gesturing, lowering your pants, turning around for the camera, all the while loudly proclaiming what the viewers are seeing:
"MY diaper. This is what MY diaper looks like. This is ME wearing MY diaper. I wear MY diapers to bed. I am loved and important when I wear MY diaper."
The video ends abruptly and you cast your eyes downward. How could you have been so stupid to make that? It certainly doesn't make you feel any more in charge of your life. As evidenced by the frilly gingham dress whose hem you now paw at with anxious fingers, your life has only gotten more out-of-control.
"So what is it you claimed to hate?" Miss Heather asks, turning away from the screen to give you her full attention.
Knowing full-well that she'll replay the video as many times as it takes, you sigh and capitulate: "I hate my diapers." You stare forlornly at the buckles on your patent leather shoes.
"You've said that a lot before," Miss Heather replies, pausing to glance at notes. "In July you told me your diapers were 'unbearably humiliating.' In August you talked about how 'disgusting' they were -- I think that's when your step-mom wanted you to start wearing during the day. And just last week you added the word 'nasty.' These are a lot of negative feelings."
You continue to avoid her gaze, concentrating on rolling the block of your right heel in a small circle on the floor. You could talk about how you hate these shoes, too.
"What feelings am I supposed to have?" You grumble.
"Well, we need to accept that the diapers aren't going away; not unless moving away from home becomes an option for you. So what do you get by torturing yourself with all this negativity? Let's come up with a list of three things you like about your diapers, you and me."
Your eyelashes flutter as you scowl up at Miss Heather, setting your heel back down firmly on the floor. "There is NOTHING I like about my diapers."
A minute of silence passes, and you try to think of a way you can change the topic. But then Miss Heather makes an observation: "That's not the most comfortable couch, you know."
You furrow your brow. "Huh?"
"The couch. My patients complain about it all the time. I've been meaning to replace it with something more modern, but you've never once told me it was uncomfortable."
You blink, realizing what she's getting at. "You think I don't mind the couch because of my diapers."
"Maybe," Miss Heather replies, nodding, as if intrigued by some exotic new theory. "Have you ever sat down in your diaper and thought, 'this seat is too hard'?"
You rack your brain for a counterpoint to prove how stupid this is, but you realize you can't ever remember sitting down in your diaper and feeling physically uncomfortable. Disgusted, embarrassed, ill-at-ease, but never worried about a sore butt.
"It's sort of like a pillow you carry around with you, isn't it?" She goes on.
You look away at the wall. "I guess it's... like...soft," you say quietly.
"Good!" Miss Heather taps her smartphone and pulls up a whiteboard app on the TV screen. She scrawls in immaculate cursive:
Soft
"What else?"
You stare at the start of your list on the TV. Three things?! This is impossible.
"Have you used your diaper yet today?" Miss Heather asks.
"No!" You snap back. You don't get to use the bathroom at the therapist's office due to your step-mom's rules, but you do always hold it until Miss Heather steps out of the room for a break.
"Why not? You could use it now and I would never know! I can't tell you the number of times I've been desperate for an hour-long session to end just so I could run to the toilet. It's distracting and very inconvenient for my job! But you never need to worry about that."
You start fidgeting with one of the pink ribbons in your hair. "Then YOU wear diapers," you say icily.
"I'm writing it down," she says with a playful tone, scrawling it on the whiteboard.
Convenient
"What about changes? You've talked about how much you hate being changed because your step-sisters make so much fun of you. What's something positive about it? It can be anything, even the smallest thing."
You feel like you're being sucked into another stupid trick, just like making the video. But your bored mind can't stop probing the question. You think about Lauren wrapping up your used diapers into a ball and floating them above your head -- the humiliation of the putrid smell you know you made. Your step-mom scrubs you down with a wet towel before Olivia sprinkles a blizzard of baby powder onto your tummy.
"Baby powder," you say, as if muttering it to yourself.
Miss Heather nods, gesturing you to go on.
"It's...I dunno, it smells kinda sweet. It's better than the other smells."
Miss Heather adds it to the board with a little unearned embellishment:
Smell So Sweet
"Now let's think about the things you don't like about diapers," Miss Heather says. "You say they're humiliating, disgusting, nasty. But these are all perceptions, and perceptions can be changed. It's the most marvelous thing about humans, how we can adapt to any situation. You don't HAVE to find diapers humiliating. You don't HAVE to find them disgusting or nasty. You have total control over it. But..."
She circles the list of three descriptions with her smartphone. "The things you LIKE about diapers. That they're soft, convenient, and smell sweet like baby powder...that never changes. Nothing will make your diapers not be soft or convenient. Nothing will make baby powder smell less sweet to you. The things you like about diapers are things you can't control."
She smiles triumphantly, clicking the TV off with her smartphone. "You're not in charge of your diapers. But no one -- not Lauren, not Olivia, not your step-mom -- can dictate how you feel about your diapers. That's where you're in charge."
You're left sitting on the couch as Miss Heather excuses herself for her morning break. Your mind is racing from all the embarrassment, and you feel like you're going to throw up. For just a moment, you lift the hem of your dress with a pink-lacquered thumb and glance at your bunny-soft diaper. You drop it quickly, not sure why you did that. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you picture the video version of yourself in pigtails and a t-shirt, pulling down your jeans and poking at the cotton companion taped to your loins.
MY diapers are soft.
MY diapers are convenient.
MY diapers smell so sweet.
💕 Part 3 💕
#ab dl diaper#ab dl lifestyle#ab dl mommy#diaper training#diaper sissy#diaper bulge#diaper pee#abdllittle
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dialogue starters from DOCTOR WHO SEASON 8.
feel free to edit for context / continues under the cut.
"I'll wager you've not seen anything like this before."
"Listen to me. You need to calm down."
"I'm not flirting, by the way."
"What have I done wrong?"
"Are you judging me?"
"Just because my pretty face has turned your head, do not assume that I am so easily distracted."
"Whatever it takes, I will keep you safe. You will be at home again."
"I'm cold. There's no point in us both being cold. Give me your coat."
"Are you cross with me?"
"You were talking about me?"
"What is happening right now to you and me is more important than your egomania."
"Nothing is more important than my egomania."
"You've redecorated. I don't like it."
"You can't see me, can you? You look at me, and you can't see me. Have you any idea what that's like?"
"I was being funny. I just do that."
"How long have you been there?"
"Are you going to look that terrified when you take me out for a drink?"
"You were smiling at nothing. I'd almost say you were in love."
"I need you."
"An anti-climax once in a while is good for my heart."
"We cannot waste this chance. It won't come again."
"Isn't the universe beautiful?"
"I think you're probably nice. Underneath it all, I think you're kind and you're definitely brave. I just wish you hadn't been a soldier."
"I don't know if you're a good man. But I think you try to be and I think that's probably the point."
"Old-fashioned heroes only exist in old-fashioned storybooks."
"Do people ever punch you in the face when you do that?"
"Well then, draw your sword and prove your words."
"People are so much better at sharing information if they think the other person has already got it."
"Right, you do that again and you'll regret that."
"We can't just let them kill him!"
"She should not have told you any of that."
"Perhaps others will be heroes in our name. Perhaps we will both be stories. And may those stories never end."
"I wasn't making assumptions about you."
"You just have to squeeze through."
"How did you get in?"
"You know, you should have more than one chair. What do you do when people come round?"
"The deep and lovely dark. We'd never see the stars without it."
"I mouth off when I'm nervous and I've got a mouth on me. Seriously, it's got a mind of its own."
"Tell me the truth - because I know when people are lying to me."
"I am not going to leave you in danger!"
"Sorry, who put you in charge?"
"However this goes, whatever happens, don't let me end up like that."
"They have no power over you now. You can do exactly what you want to do now. Exactly what you've always wanted to do."
"Go and enjoy yourself. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"There's no way out of this. We're going to die here."
"Why are you being nice?"
"Every time I see you, it's like you're in a rush."
"The next few days are all about you. I promise."
"Human beings have incredibly short life spans. Frankly, you should all be in a permanent state of panic."
"How can you think that I'm her dad when we both look exactly the same age?"
"He's my boyfriend. I thought you'd figured this out."
"Why wouldn't I be okay? I was fine till you blundered in."
"It's funny, you only really know what someone thinks of you when you know what lies they've told you."
"Please, tell me how I fix this."
"I'm bored. Let's go somewhere fun. What do you say?"
"I know men like him. I've served under them. They push you and make you stronger, till you're doing things you never thought you could."
"Is there some sort of fancy dress thing on this evening?"
"I am so sorry. I've had a wobble. It's a big wobble, but it's fine. Forget about it."
"Where are you and are you in trouble?"
"Lying is a vital survival skill. And a terrible habit."
"Do you want the good news or the bad news?"
"We're in the bad news! I'm living the bad news!"
"Why can't you just say it? Why can't you just say I did good?"
"You are enjoying this just a little bit too much."
"Don't make me say it."
"I don't want to be the last of my kind."
"I don't want to see more things. I want to see the things in front of me more clearly."
"I just want to know the truth. I don't care what it is. I just want to know it."
"Shut up, shut up, shut up. I need to talk to you."
"Oh, everything is better when you're here."
"Please speak to me. This is - this is killing me.
"I love you. And you are the last person who's ever going to hear me say that."
"By now, I'm sure you've heard the rumours, and it is with great sadness that I must confirm them to be true."
"He was alive, and then he was dead and it was nothing."
"Don't. Be very, very careful with that."
"I know what you're doing. You're trying to take control."
"I am in control. Do as you are told."
"I was curious about how far you would go."
"You betrayed me. Betrayed my trust, you betrayed our friendship, you betrayed everything that I've ever stood for."
"Do you think I care for you so little that betraying me would make a difference?"
"Speak for me again, I'll detach something from you."
"This isn't possible. The dead don't come back."
"Be strong, even if it breaks your heart."
"Say something only you could say. Tell me something only you would know."
"Whatever it takes, I will be with you again, I swear."
"So you know who I am, right?"
"Look, are you going to help me? Because I can't do this alone."
"And didn't all of those beautiful speeches just disappear in the face of a tactical advantage?"
"I wasn't very good at it, but I did love you."
"There's something that I have to tell you and, er, it's not good news so just - just listen, okay?"
"Never trust a hug. It's just a way to hide your face."
"Thank you for making me feel special."
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O my Luve's like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in june;
O my Luve's like the melodie
That’s sweetly play'd in tune;
As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry;
Till a’ the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi’ the sun;
I will luve thee still, my dear,
While the sands o’ life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only Luve
And fare thee weel, a while!
And I will come again, my Luve,
Tho’ it were ten thousand mile.
- Robert Burns, A Red, Red Rose
As Salvador Dali said, the first person to compare the cheeks of a beautiful woman to a rose was obviously a poet; the first to repeat it was possibly an idiot. And many people – poets and idiots, or both – have repeated the idea of a beautiful beloved being as fresh and pretty as a ‘red, red rose’.
And let’s be honest: the emphasis in ‘My love’s like a red, red rose’ is on the poet’s beloved being beautiful, ‘bonnie’, ‘fair’, and so on. We learn nothing else about her: she exists purely as an object of beauty who inspires great love and devotion in the poet.
The poem is really a song lyric and it describes the narrator’s affection and the woman who holds that affection, the narrator attempts throughout the lines to express the depth of his “luve.” This could be a final reassurance to his “dear” since the ending stanza reveals that he has to leave her for “awhile,” but regardless of the reason, the main element of this work remains the “luve” itself.
The poem through the narrator suggests that the impermanent qualities of youth and beauty give rise to a love that is permanent. The speaker implies that he or she will continue to love the beloved even as she ages and her beauty decays. That is, her beautiful appearance may have first inspired their love, but their love will endure even when her beauty is gone. It will last, in fact, until the sands of their lives have run out and they draw close to death. When the speaker promises to return after a long journey, knowing the beloved will have aged in that time, the speaker reaffirms that his or her feelings will remain the same even though the beloved may grow less beautiful.
The speaker concludes by bidding farewell to the beloved and promising to return to her, even if the journey is “ten thousand mile[s]” long. The beloved will likely be older, less youthful, and perhaps less beautiful by the time the speaker returns. Nevertheless, the speaker does promise to return, indicating that although the beloved may change, the speaker’s feelings will remain constant. Through the final promise, the poem indicates again that the love youthful beauty inspires need not end when youth itself ends.
My Anglo-Scots father would recite this poem to us children when we were living overseas. Despite having English trappings he has always remained deeply rooted to his Scottish heritage and one part of our family continues to thrive north of the border with deep roots in the history of Scotland and its people. As a girl I always loved going back to Scotland and I felt an affinity with Scottish history probably because the Norwegian in me found it easier to relate to the earthy humour of the Scottish than the more refined wit of the English and the unspoilt countryside.
The question of ‘home’ and ‘roots’ have always taken on an urgent meaning in my life and it is vexed one given the torn loyalties of my differing identities. But Scotland has pulled my heart strings in personal ways. In a way its what ‘Ithaka’ is for the Greek poet Cavafy.
To me I always imagined Scotland as that red, red rose. I take comfort in the last stanza where the speaker bids farewell to the beloved, as if the speaker is planning to leave on a journey. The beloved doesn’t need to worry, though, because the speaker promises to return, even if the journey is “ten thousand mile[s]” long. This promise implies that, just as long stretches of time could not exhaust the speaker’s love for the beloved, a long stretch of distance cannot keep the speaker from her.
And the length of this journey now seems short - just “awhile” - compared to the near-infinite time the speaker’s love will last. But as the poem poignantly says the object of love changes because it decays and ages. For love that lasts forever is also love that allows for change over time so that one can rediscover anew what was old.
#burns#robert burns#poem#scottish#scotland#britain#poetry#femme#beauty#tartan#personal#roots#identity
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some thoughts re: laurie, allyson, and michael myers' overall character and existence being directly connected to The Final Girl™
i'm compliant with halloween 2018 & kills - so michael and laurie are not brother/sister for me. he simply saw her one day and became obsessed with her on first sight, which is the only thing draws him out of his house in 1978 and after her. and for me, this didn't happen because she was reminiscent of judith - it's because she was the opposite.
i think a lot about my heart is a chainsaw, and how it goes at length to speak of how the slasher cannot exist without the final girl, and that the slasher helps her transform into her complete, fully realized self. michael pursues laurie and draws her to act in violence against him because he knows they're equals - it's not a predator hunting prey. it's a dance. when he sees her in the window, he immediately recognizes that fact. the fact that he went home and was immediately drawn out of it because of laurie? yeah. why else would he have continued? likewise re: allyson.
and i think without having this Object of Obsession (lmao) michael has no standing as a character for me. it's what made halloween kills, beyond reading heavily into it re: michael possibly feeling the same level of obsession toward allyson hence not killing her on the 3-4 occasions in which he could have, feel extremely pointless and empty to me. not a huge fan of the idea of michael killing Just Because He's Evil, yk. like yes. he IS evil incarnate, but he's obsessive and an unstoppable force once he's dedicated to something - or someone. to what purpose? who knows.
the 2018 novelization implies he saw allyson running on halloween morning on lampkin lane and subsequently felt watched throughout the day. michael slowly picked off her friends, then killed her father, then her boyfriend, then her mother. it's all very, very intentional, and the cycle continuing albeit in a much more brutal manner because he's been lying in wait for 40 years. he's angry, repressed, and more violent and powerful than he was in 1978.
and so this is why allyson specifically is extremely important to my interpretation of michael and why i was heavily disappointed by ends. the only thing i really take from it is that michael was willing to work with corey to find allyson until he led him to where she is, which made him disposable to michael (hence why he killed him immediately).
all of this being said, i truly do think michael spent the 40 years he was incarcerated thinking about laurie. which is why, in the 2018 novelization, he still thinks of himself as a 21-year-old and laurie as 17, and the passage of time means nothing to him because he hasn't developed cognitively whatsoever. the only times in which he's truly been lucid ---- between the extremes of loomis drugging him into a catatonic state vs. sartain most likely not medicating him at all and endlessly enabling him ---- has been in pursuit of laurie.
considering it's been over 50 years since he killed judith--and he was literally in kindergarten when it happened--i don't even know if michael remembers killing judith at all. i don't even think 6-year-olds understand the meaning or permanence of death. so yes, i do definitely think by 2018, michael would not remember judith's death much if at all and is likely returning home (again) to look for her and look out her window (the compulsive need to look out her window, it's the mental illness innit love) vs. his original intent on recreating his first murder in 1978 with laurie's friends ---- but by that point, i think he returned home both to return to judith's room and also to lure allyson or laurie to him at that point.
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HEART'S FATE - CHAPTER 13
*Warning: Adult Content*
Martin Hunter stares at the picture his son, Nico had drawn and tries not to blush beneath Dr. Vance's assessing gaze.
"It's a good thing, Martin," she says.
"Look at how happy you are."
Martin looks up and frowns at her.
"I just don't want him to get the wrong idea."
She quirks a brow.
"Who? Nico or Mister long-blond-hair?"
Looking back at the drawing to hide the heat in his face, Martin shakes his head.
"Nico. I don't want him to get attached."
"Why not?"
Martin considers his answer. It's been a week since Skylar West 'moved in' or at least since he started parking his van in Martin’s yard and his children have adapted well.
‘Too well’ possibly, as evidenced by Nico's drawing.
It shows a row of figures standing in front of a house, holding hands.
Martin recognizes, in order from right to left, himself, Miguel, Flora, Rio, Nico and... Skylar.
They look like a family.
"Martin," Dr. Vance continues when he doesn't gather his words fast enough.
"This is a ‘good sign’. From what you've told me, all the kids enjoy Skylar's company and have welcomed him into your home, into your family. That means they're ready to move on when you are, whether or not your new tenant is more than a friend."
"I met the man three weeks ago," Martin scoffs and Doctor Vance nods.
"And you're right. While their acceptance of someone new in your life is encouraging, you don't want to confuse them. It's important for children to have clarity, don't underestimate their capacity to understand and handle things. Uncertainty and sudden change will be a lot more damaging than the knowledge their father is or is not, in a relationship."
"I'm not."
She shrugs and takes the drawing back from Martin, slipping it into a file.
"Adults like clarity, too, Martin. Flora says Skylar eats meals with you, helps around the house and gives her and her brothers rides to school. From what you've told me, that's more than your ex-wife ever did. Would it be so bad to have a partner?"
Martin frowns but Dr Vance smiles.
"Here's the good news," she goes on. "I don't think the kids need to see me regularly anymore. Why don't we cut back to once a month check-ins and see how it goes? If something changes, you've got my number. You've done an excellent job with them, Martin," she says, softening her tone a little.
"Now, maybe it's time you give some attention to yourself."
As Martin gathers his children from the waiting area and corral them into the elevator, a confusing mix of feelings trouble his heart.
Maybe Dr. Vance is right, at least about needing clarity and clear boundaries seem like a good place to start.
⁕⁕⁕
Skylar's not around that evening, however, having business of his own to attend to, so Martin has plenty of time to practice what he’s going to say to him.
Something about 'keeping things professional' or 'not giving the kids the wrong idea.'
How they'd have gotten such an idea in the first place would be a mystery, except for the fact Sky has unequivocally made himself at home.
On the one hand, Martin has gotten more work done in the past week than he has in months, thanks to him.
He'd forgotten what it felt like not to have a to-do list the length of a football field.
On the other hand, their arrangement isn't permanent and sooner or later he'll find somewhere better to live and he'll leave.
In the meantime, Martin didn't want his children getting too attached to having him around.
‘We'd been fine before he showed up, and we'd be fine again when he was gone. Perfectly fine.’
He had just managed to convince himself of this as he prepares for bed that evening, when his daughter Flora enters his bedroom, looking upset.
"What's up, sweetheart?" Martin asks, setting aside the shirt he'd been folding. "Are you okay?"
She shakes her head and sniffs back tears.
"I think there's something wrong with me, Daddy."
A spike of alarm shoots through Martin’s heart and he’s instantly at her side.
"What? What do you mean ‘something wrong?’"
Her voice quavers.
"There was... blood in my pee."
‘Oh... shit.’
"Daddy? What is it? Is it something really bad?"
Martin realizes he has frozen, probably with a look of stark terror on his face.
Forcing himself to relax, Martin smiles.
"No, sweetheart, it's not something bad. It's perfectly normal. It's..."
Martin: ‘Gods, how do I even say this?
Did Elena never talk to her?
Don't her friends talk about this stuff?
How can she not know what's happening?’
Martin swallows and takes a deep breath.
"It means you're growing up. That's all. You're ready for your first Shift, first full moon after first blood, for girls."
Flora’s expression relaxes.
"Will it stop?"
"Um..."
Martin’s mind races for an escape route and finally glimpses one.
"You know what? Tomorrow we'll go visit Chloe and Grace at the far and they can tell you all about it. Daddy doesn't... know that much about the girl side of things."
She frowns at her father.
"But Chloe and Grace aren't Wolves."
"Uh... Well, it's the same for human girls, too. Just without the Wolf part."
"Are you sure it's not something bad?" Flora sniffles.
"I'm sure. Does it hurt?"
She shakes her head.
"Good. Hey, I'm gonna pop down to the corner store and get you a few things, okay? I'll be back in no time."
Grabbing his wallet, Martin is halfway to the street before he remembers he’s in his underwear.
Racing back to his bedroom, he throws on some clothes, reassures Flora one more time and takes off again just as Skylar pulls up and parks by the garage.
"Martin?" Skylar calls out as he disembarks from his van.
"Where's the fire? And why is your shirt on inside out?"
Martin stops and looks down at himself as Skylar comes over.
"It's Flora," Martin says, running a shaking hand through his hair.
"She's... um... not feeling well."
"In what way?"
Gratified by the genuine concern in Skylar’s voice, Martin grimaces and confide in him.
"She got her first period. She had no idea and I... I just thought she'd learn about it at school, or something. Anyway, I have to go buy some... some things.
"Some 'things'?" Skylar asks, lifting his brows at Martin.
"Any idea what sort of things?"
Martin stare at him, no doubt looking as lost as he feels.
Skylar pulls out his cell-phone and beckons Martin over.
"Come on. Let's handle this calmly and rationally, like real men. We'll look it up on the internet. Ah, this looks promising, 'How to prepare for your first period.' Perfect."
⁕⁕⁕
After a quick education and a furtive trip to the corner market ‘Thank the Gods for self-checkout’ Martin returns with a bag of items for his daughter.
Among them is her favorite candy bar, several articles having recommended a celebratory treat as part of one's 'self care.'
With a bit more reassurance and explanation, she cheers up and even grows excited, a Wolf's first Shift is a rite of passage and a crucial moment in a young Wolf's life.
Martin, on the other hand, can't help feeling he’s let her down.
Wolves develop a little slower than humans do, so he'd thought she had another year or so before he had to think about it but he should have prepared her better.
He should have talked to her or at least had someone else talk to her, to make sure she knew what to expect.
She'd been frightened, if only for a few minutes and fear is something Martin never wanted to see on his kids' faces again.
In the meantime, now he has something else to think about.
A Shifting is a big deal.
The whole Pack will want to come and see Flora's wolf-form. What color fur will she have?
Will Flora look like her father or her mother or completely different?
Martin’s parents, Joseph and Astrid Hunter will want to be there, too.
Flora will be their first grandchild to Shift.
Martin can't cheat them of that.
Which means he is going to have to face his family.
But maybe, Martin thinks, as the sound of Skylar singing softly to himself drifts up through his open window, he won't have to face them alone.
And if some of them happen to get the wrong idea and stop worrying about me... well, all the better.
Boundaries and clarity can wait.
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Color me pretty
(Bts Little space au)
Summary: When it came to the littles, the caregivers knew there was no better activity than coloring.
Tags: SFW, implied bts x reader, pure fluff, little space, little! kookie, Little! m/c, Caregivers! bts,
W/c: 1.5k
A/n: If you don’t like this kind of content please just skip over it and pay it no mind! this is very sweet and fluffy. this can be read alone, but i did use the characters from my other little space ask au titled ‘the peanut butter to my jelly’ it’s linked at the end of the fic! i wrote this drabble in one sitting!
- On the nights that Koo and the m/c are non-verbal but still feeling energetic enough to need stimulation the caregivers have a special little ritual that they like to do.
- it’s something tucked away, always ready to have on hand when they need it, it never fails to calm an overly excited or sugar high little; the blanket made out of a special material that can be washed after it’s doodled on, painted, and made new.
- On those special days, the caregivers bring around all their ‘messy blankets’ the fort making supplies that no one minds if they get ruined, if koo gets his apple sauce on it or if a sippie mistakenly gets it’s lid taken off. they make a nest in the living room with markers and crayons and they’re allowed to get the blanket as colorful as possible.
- The blanket is magic in the littles eyes! filled with simple flowers that they can color in as many times as they want! All the laundry fairy (Taehyung) has to do is pop the blanket in the washer and voila! it’s all ready for more coloring! no more marker marks.
- I just picture her and Koo stretched out on it with half of their stuffed animals for “moral support” while cartoons play in the background coloring to their hearts content. Koo gets a little younger in his headspace sometimes than the m/c though they’re pretty equal in general.
- Eventually koo just gets so small that he forgoes coloring all together, instead busying himself with sucking on the end of a marker. while the m/c just giggles with her tongue hanging out, swinging her feet, the picture of adorable concentration as she struggles to keep her pink marker inside the lines.
- Occasionally one of the caregivers will come in to check on them. And they’d come pet over their heads and koo and the m/c just excitedly gesture to the mess they’ve made! their brains too cottony to make many words other than “flower! made’ pink!!!” koo in his little sing song voice going “flower flower flower~”
- And whichever caregiver who is on “baby duty” will praise them, today it’s yoongi who takes a second to sit, each of the littles tucked under an arm. yoongi leaning in close and tracing his finger along their pretty lines. “you guys got so far today! almost all of them are filled!” he loves how puffed up both of your chests get at the praise.
- He can almost tell how far down they were when they first started coloring. on the outside border the flowers are carefully patterned, but the ones just under where you where sitting are full of wilds scribbles. Yoongi reminds himself to take a picture before they wash it, wanting to save a memory of today.
- “Oh did you make this for us little ones? I bet Joonie’s going to love it you know how much he loves nature! and you even gave each of them little stems.”
- And of course, eventually they find the m/c and koo are asleep in their little puddle of markers. Maybe the m/c has a little bit of purple splotch on her cheek. After they wake them up to put them to bed she whines softly when they clean it off her cheek “oh you poor fussy baby, don’t worry it will only take a second” her cute pout demanding a kiss for every rub.
- Eventually she presses into bed and koo kisses the faintly red spot on her face. his kiss a little wet and open mouthed but so innocent it makes the caregivers bookending them on either side coo. it’s as much of a sorry as koo can articulate right now. his mind feels like marshmellows and stuffed animals, like a too squeezed juice pouch and an empty packet of fruit snacks. totally devoid of big scary thoughts.
- The caregivers are glad they made the decision to throw out all and every permanent marker in the house after the last little incident when Koo decided that people were a viable canvas. I think their whole house would be full of little doodles from the two littles. When they get big they always blush and say that they don’t need to pin them to every available surface. But the caregivers just shush them because they honestly love their drawings.
-To the caregivers, their collection of drawings is a representation of the love they have for their two youngest. A mark of a healthy relationship- that they can give love in a way that matters to the two of them. Maybe jimin gets a tattoo of one of their flowers, a little purple one for koo and a pink one for the m/c on his hip at once point.
- Maybe one day the m/c has what they affectionately call a ‘tiny day’ where she’s small and can’t seem to snap out of it. she tries valiantly, but after that catch her pouting down at her coffee and staring wistfully at her stuffy on the bed they tell her it’s okay. she can be small today and they’ll handle all of the big thoughts.
- Of course they can’t stay home because they have a track due soon, and alas they are adults, so certain things have to be accounted for. There have been many times that the m/c has had to pretend to be at least a little big in public, luckily for the caregivers their littles are always remarkably well behaved.
- They treat it as a game, today, bunny is a secret agent and cannot be discovered by anyone, sent to protect the princess. Nothing can happen to her as long as bunny’s there. But no one can see bunny- or else his powers are nullified. It does the trick. They love to see her nodd seriously when Tae weaves the story for her. it makes their heart hurt when they catch her talking to the bunny. “i gots you.” it makes it so hard to seperate from her for the day.
- Seokjin packs up a day bag and gets her in the comfiest clothes possible and she spends the whole day quietly coloring in the corner of Joonie’s studio with her favorite bunny stuffie in her lap. She’s always careful to tuck him under her blanket and hide him whenever someone comes knocking, pretending to tap away on Namjoon’s tablet, but luckily no one pays her much mind, used to her presence.
- When the noise and the stimulation gets too much for her namjoon puts her in a pair of noise canceling headphones that play soft nature sounds and pretty soon when he turns around to check on her he finds she’s nodded off in his couch. And he gets up to fix the blanket around her before he goes back to work for a few more hours.
- She’s still asleep when the others finish up and decide to pry joonie away from work (a feat in itself) and when the others softly knock at the door she gets up, all bleary-eyed and honestly half-asleep rubbing at her eyes with a closed fist. almost tripping in happiness when she sees jungkook. hitting into his chest with a little ooof, almost tripping to get out of her blanket. So excited to see him- her favorite playmate “Koo play now!? koo get tiny!!!??”
- Already the stress is weighing on Jungkook’s shoulders, his eyes getting all misty when he sees her bunny and the blanket and just wants to regress so bad. He starts to help her clean up the day bag but seokjin and Namjoon ease him away from it.
- “You’ve got to watch her for us Kookie, can you do that? can you be a good boy?” by now they know how to softly nudge Jungkook into his headspace and it does the trick, lets him have a task before he can truly let go. they end up giggling softly with their foreheads pressed up against each other, telling stupid little jokes that are no doubt from jin and playing with each others hands.
- On the ride Home, they both hold onto one of bunnies ears in the backseat of their car. Their heads loling by the time they pull into their safe underground parking garage ready for some snuggles and probably a nice relaxing bath for kookie because he hates feeling sweaty from practice when he’s little. He Just wants to sit and play with some bubbles and bath toys while someone runs shampoo through his hair, the soft-smelling kind that's meant for babies.
- Inevitably Koo always looks up from his bubble bath and points at himself and says “baby?” Hobi nods sagely while smoothing his hair into a goofy mohawk, “baby” he agrees.
- But that’s not exactly true- the better term would be ‘their babies’
~Fin~
Please reblog and comment! Likes are nice- but they do little to support content creators!
(You can find more little space content here)
#bts x reader#bts little space#bts age regression#jungkook x reader#bts fluff#bts comfort#little space#bts littlespace#bts#bts fanfic#bts au#bts poly au#jeon jungkook x reader#bangtan sonyeondan#sfw bts
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You Take Good Care Of Her Pt.1
Word Count: 1,416
Status: Not Requested!
Fandom: The Expendables {1-3}
A/N: So this was one of my writings I have on my Wattpad, and decided to have it brought over here to Tumblr. This isn't my best work, but it's okay I guess.
Relationship: Lee Christmas x Reader
Summary: Y/N and Barney Ross are half siblings. With their lives not being easy, the only people they had were each other, Barney raising her as his own. But, that all changes when she decides to serve our country, earning many scars outsiders will never see. When she returns however, she might actually get the happy ending Barney and her have always dreamed of.
Warnings: language, a little bit of angst
Masterlist The Expendables Masterlist Part Two
{Not my gif}
For the next few years, with Barney's extensive training and knowledge with hand-to-hand combat, how to quick draw a weapon, and how to know how to use it, Y/N had become a strong woman. Y/N never understood how or why he knew these things, but yet again, she never doubted her brother for a second. Barney has always been there for her, as he was now, teaching her self defense in the best way possible.
After Y/N had graduated high school, she joined the army, starting out as a nurse but quickly changing ranking when a horrific war came in, needing her well hidden skills. Barney was proud of his little Gumdrop, the nickname he had given her from the day she was born, but he would be lying if he didn't say he was the least bit nervous. He knew she could handle herself, especially when Y/N had even made it a point in learning all different types of weapons, perfecting Barney's signature skills, and going way beyond anything either of them could imagine. Barney was almost like a proud father.
To say that military didn't change a thing about a person would've been a full-faced lie. It had made you hard, cold to the touch, maybe in the worst ways selfish, too. Y/N was never one to put herself first, but in the military world, although you are all fighting alongside each other as a team, the main point was for you to take care of yourself and only focus on keeping yourself alive; no one else mattered on the battlefield.
Y/N had started to write a diary, trying to keep herself from driving off the deep end into insanity. She was lonely, something that was expected in this way of life. Battle was a different world, a separate one from the world of the more fortunate ones, the ones not in war. Y/N had made a few friends, but as the wars raged on outside, they slowly died off, scaring her, and not wanting to have to hurt as much as she does because of how much she cares.
But after all, nothing is permanent. No one stays forever, and that made Y/N miss her brother all the more. As she writes in her diary, she also wrote letters home to Barney, those that could have a range of time before getting a response back. After all, Barney was stuck on missions, making a group called the Expendables, and spending so much time up just to not be alone, worrying for his baby sister, and if she will actually come home alive.
After 10 years, Y/N was able to return home, different, but whole. Barney, who had responded a few weeks before, had been the first to see her come down the escalator of the airport, more than ready to feel whole again, to have his family back. When she had spotted him, she practically tackled anyone in her way, almost tripping down the steps to get to her brother. With a lunge and a jump, she crushed her older brother in a rib shattering hug, tears of joy not only pouring out of her eyes, but his too, although he'd never admit to it. Clearing his throat he said, "Let's get you home Gumdrop."
After loads of catching up, Barney told her there were people he wants her to meet, as he was going to show her what he had spent so much time training her for, to be one with the boys, the Expendables. Barney had blabbed about what it is he had done on the ride before entering Tool's shop, which is what made Y/N so eager to meet the rest of the gang, knowing what and who they were before they even entered her life.
The first person she met was Tool, an older man with a rugged smile, warm eyes, streaked hair, and a creative eye for everything he sees. Y/N enjoyed him and took a close liking to him immediately, becoming a weird yet funny father she never had. She was caught up in a conversation with Tool, missing the warm smile her brother had as he watched his sister find someone so alike to her, talk to her, and share interests that normal fathers would, even if it wasn't by blood. Then, multiple other men filled the room of Tool's tattoo shop, the smell of testosterone, grease, and smoke filling the room as the roaring of motorcycle engines came pouring in, soon shutting off.
Barney and Tool introduced Y/N to every person of the group before they all spread out and did their own thing. Toll Road, one of the members, had talked to her, being kind and gentle, a total opposite of his professional career choice. After that, Y/N had made her rounds, talking to everyone: Gunnar Jensen, quiet, handsome, tall, and quite funny. Yin Yang, small, quick-witted, loyal, and very caring. Hale Caesar, the most hilarious person Y/N had ever met, very playful, and a lot of fun to hang out with. She had met everyone, except one; Lee Christmas.
A few times during the night, their eyes had met, as if it were electric that made them shudder and stare on many occasions. But, although many looks were made, he had made it his duty to avoid her like the plague. "But why?" was a constant thought that crossed her mind.
As time passed, Y/N had become just one of the guys, squeezing her tiny self into the little family they had all made. Tool had given her her own specialty Expendables tattoo to make it official too. Decorating it with vines and flowers, "Matching your personality," Tool would tell her, "Beautiful and delicate alongside other flowers in a bundle, yet hard and piercing when messed with by the wrong hands." Y/N enjoyed her tattoo all the much more, taking his words to heart and placing a sweet kiss on his cheek. She never realized the eyes that watched her so calmly from afar though.
What Y/N didn't know was how Lee actually felt, and that was a charge he knew was on him. It never stopped him from getting jealous though, stiffening as he watched her every moves. He had fallen for her soft Y/E/C eyes, and Y/H/L, Y/H/C hair that only she could make beautiful the second he met her. He would talk to her every now and then, but always kept his distance, knowing exactly who she belonged to. Barney would have his ass hit by a train if he ever touched her, and that was because she had gone through so much already, Barney not wanting anymore pain in her life.
Despite his attempts, he knew he wouldn't ever be able to resist her, and for that, he didn't care what he had to go through, he was going to have her. Because she was his, and he was hers, no matter who knew.
To be continued...
#lee christmas x reader#lee christmas imagine#lee x reader#female reader#reader insert#barney ross x reader#tool#gunnar#gunnar jensen#expendables#expendables imagine#expendables x reader#yin yang#hale caesar#barney ross#jason statham#sylvester stallone#mickey rourke#dolph lundgren#terry crews#jet li#randy couture#toll road
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so one of you requested this in my inbox, and you used your actual name. you put some personal stuff in your ask that I wasn’t sure you’d want to be made public, so I’m not going to put your name here. but here’s what you asked; I hope this is what you meant 😊
The Akatsuki’s Reaction to A Break-Up
Itachi
Unfortunately, Itachi’s self-esteem is already so low that a break-up for him is something that he prepared himself for more than the relationship itself. He’s the type to vocalize his desire to stay friends with his ex, even if that person doesn’t want the same thing. The first few days after the breakup will be the most difficult for him, but his behavior will be so subtle that the others will barely notice. The most striking and tell-tale sign that he’s going through it will be that this infamous insomniac will actually start sleeping more, even going so far as to take naps during the day. Itachi isn’t the type to seek out the comfort of friends when something like this is bothering him, instead choosing to keep his pain to himself and only briefly talking about it when asked. He’ll eventually pull himself out of his funk and go back to normal, although the scar on his heart prevents him from seeking out another relationship for a long, long time.
Zetsu
Doesn’t take relationships seriously to begin with; if anything, he’s with the other person simply to alleviate boredom/have a good time. When the other person breaks up with him, there aren’t any hard feelings involved on his part, and he bounces back almost as if nothing had happened at all. He’s always been the type to treat his lovers more like friends, and that dynamic will likely continue even after the romantic part has died.
Hidan
Is most likely to be the one to initiate a break-up rather than be broken up with himself. Hidan’s religion doesn’t offer much (if any) room for love and attachment to anything other than Lord Jashin, and being with someone will weigh heavily on Hidan’s mind until he decides to end things. Part of this is actually a sort kindness; he recognizes that to an outsider, his religion can be viewed as disturbing and macabre, and he doesn’t want to drag somebody else into his hectic (and violent) lifestyle. But despite the romantic relationship being over, Hidan isn’t above contacting the other person every now and then for a casual, no strings attached encounter.
Kakuzu
Another one who will be more likely to initiate the break-up then the alternative. There will never be a time in the old guy’s life where money isn’t the bottom line for him, and being with someone else is no exception to that rule. Dates, gifts, time spent with the other that takes away time that could be used to hunt bounties … all of that is costing him. He’ll be as kind as possible to the other person when breaking up with them, but the message is pretty clear. He’ll likely feel mild pangs of regret for several days after the end of the relationship, but in the end he’ll shake it off and carry on with business as usual.
Obito
Oh, God. Obito is someone who feels things very deeply, and being in love with someone is a head rush for him. Obito would never leave someone, no matter how they treated him. Others will recognize this in him and some will take advantage of his sweet and giving nature. When he’s broken up with, he’s absolutely devastated. He won’t leave the house/his room for days, he’ll stop bathing, he’ll barely eat and the things he does eat is mostly junk food or candy … it takes several members of the Akatsuki to rally around him to pull him out of his depression. Konan will be there to comfort and nurture him, Deidara will be there to offer a kind of “suck it up”/tough love approach, and Itachi will offer him empathy (the Uchiha clan is revered for many things, one of the highest among them being their capacity to feel and experience love, so Itachi will be the only one who knows EXACTLY how Obito feels). It’ll take a few weeks, but eventually Obito will go back to the way he always was, much to everyone’s relief.
Kisame
One will always know when Kisame has been broken up with, when he announces he’s going on a trip. He’ll pack a suitcase and take off for an indefinite amount of time. He does this because he needs to clear his head after his heartbreak, and he never wants to burden the others with his pain or his emotions. While he’s gone he won’t really keep in contact with anyone except Itachi, who will call him every day to check up on him. He uses his time alone to sleep, to cry, and, once the initial hurt fades, to wear himself out. Hiking, skiing, mountain climbing, jogging … anything that gets him sweating and his adrenaline pumping is something that he seeks out, in order to distract his mind. He’ll eventually return home renewed and ready to go on, and the others are always happy to see him back.
Nagato
Is a bit like Itachi in that he expects a breakup from the very start, and is so prepared for it that he doesn’t quite feel the impact as strongly as he could. Life is pain, as he likes to tell people, and losing a love is a part of that pain. Doesn’t change his habits any and nobody would even know he’s suffering in any way … except for Konan, who knows him better than anybody. She’ll sit with him and get him to open up about what and how he feels. Konan has always been the only living person in the world that Nagato had cried in front of, and there’s no exception to this rule now. He’ll cry, Konan will hold him, and after awhile the two will spend time watching movies or tv, and slowly easing Nagato into a better headspace.
Konan
Konan is an eraser. When she’s broken up with, or she ends a relationship herself, she wants to forget any sign that the person ever existed. That means throwing out love letters or drawings, that means deleting the person’s contact information from all of her devises. It means getting rid of pictures, it means no more watching shows that she watched with the other person, or going to places they once went to. Her only goal is to stave off hurt by pretending that the other person never existed … although this doesn’t last for very long. After she’s calmed down a bit, she can reach out to the other person and get whatever closure she needs, in order to move on. Konan is also a comfort eater when she’s sad, and will break her diet to indulge in any and every decadent treat imaginable. And she won’t be alone; every single other member of the house will be with her at some point, whether to comfort, or cry, or eat, or trash-talk her now-ex.
Deidara
Deidara is the guy who initially can’t accept a breakup. He assumes the other person is just mad at him for something he’s done, and that their break-up really isn’t an ending at all, but a “short break”. Will send the other person countless messages, flowers, teddy bears, and candy, to try and get back in their good graces. When it finally sinks in that it’s permanent, he’s quite upset about it. He goes over and over in his head all the things that he felt he did wrong, or ways that he just wasn’t good enough. Will call his ex and ask for reasons as to why their relationship didn’t work out, and keep those things in his head, to improve on for his next relationship. Is also the type to make drastic changes to his appearance after a breakup, like dying or cutting his hair, or making changes to his wardrobe. Has to be talked out of his more impetuous urges, like getting a tattoo, by Sasori or Konan.
Sasori
Sasori will be the one broken up with. Not because he treated his partner in anyway bad. In fact, it would be quite the opposite; Sasori would have been uncharacteristically kind, loving and attentive. Always asking his partner how they feel, inquiring about their day, etc. But after awhile, Sasori’s partner will have begun to notice certain … things. Like Sasori constantly touching their face and commenting on his smooth their skin is. Being really pushy when it comes to healthy eating because “it makes your body last longer”. And there will have been quite a few times when Sasori’s partner will wake up in the middle of the night and find Sasori sitting in a chair by the bed, staring intently at them in the dark. The person will eventually decide to leave Sasori, because they start to get the ((sadly correct)) suspicion that Sasori had been making plans to turn them into one of his puppets. Sasori will take the breakup with dignity, but silently lament the fact that more people don’t understand his way of thinking. After all, if you care for someone, why wouldn’t you want that person to last forever?
#the akatsuki#break up#deidara#sasori#hidan#kakuzu#zetsu#obito uchiha#itachi uchiha#kisame#konan#nagato#headcanons
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Cruel Liaisons
~~ Previously Lingerlust ~~
A/B/O!MiniMoni x Reader; Poly BTS
“When one strikes the heart of another they seldom miss, and the wound is invariably fatal.”
Release Date: May 7th, 2021 @ 12:15 p.m. (GMT-5)
Apologies for the late update. Hope you enjoy it.
Trigger Warnings: blood and gore.
February 2nd, 2022
“Please state your name for the record.”
“Jeon YN.” YN stared at the recording machine in front of her, it looked antiquated like the type that wasn’t automatically connected to a cloud or storage system. “Those types have to be manually saved. Which can come in handy.” The officer’s cleared their throats, drawing back YN’s attention. What were their names again? “We need you to state your sub-gender as well.” The one on the left spoke lowly, his voice coming out a bit tense and nervous. “Beta.” When YN tried to smell them, she noticed both were wearing scent blockers, though her sense of smell was never her strong suit.
“This is officer Park Sooyoung and officer Kim Jisoo.” The taller one stated, her tone dull, as if she rather be anywhere else. Judging by the bags under her eyes and the large cup of coffee in front of her – a bed seemed to be her choice. Officer Kim reached to the ground and placed a file on the desk, she opened it to reveal a series of photographs; five to be precise. Males and females from around a same age group are placed with one female in the center, she looks strangely familiar to YN. The rounded tip of her nose and arched brows but she can’t quite place the face. There is someone YN does recognize though, a face she saw just a few days ago.
“Anyone you recognize?” Officer Kim asks, her tone is serious but airy. The smile on her face after every sentence lets YN know that she’s the ‘good cop.’
YN points at the second photo from the left, “Him. I saw him in a missing persons ad on the news, but he didn’t look this old.” They had likely picked a picture from when he was younger, the man on the news held a bright smile. His jawline sharp and his cheekbones high but not defined. The man in the photograph in front of her had a pronounced jawline, hollow cheeks, and an ugly scowl that did nothing to mar his features. ‘K.T’ read the bottom.
“What news channel and around what time?”
“KBS, maybe late evening. I watch it before I go to sleep.”
Both officers nod, as Park shifts around on her seat. Now facing directly at YN, resting both elbows on the metal table. “Are you aware of the reason you were brought into the station today?” Officer Kim jumps in before YN can answer, “Just so you know you aren’t being charged with anything.”
Yes. “No, I don’t know.” She shrugged, keeping her eyes level and gaze neither too intense nor too bored.
“You’re here due to your affiliation with Alpha’s Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin,” Park spoke, “They’re your employers, correct?” There was an edge to her voice that YN recognized. Many people weren’t fond of them – many had a reason not to be.
“Yes.” YN nods.
“How long have you worked for them?” Kim asks.
YN notes how neither women are writing anything down, nor looking towards the one-sided mirror behind them. Are they perhaps recording this with a second device? If that’s the case it's not just her voice YN must be cautious of, but her expressions as well. “Around nine months, I’m their housekeeper and take care of Hyunwoo.” After a bit of silence from the police, she elaborates more, “I cook, clean, and help the child with his homework.”
“That’s quite a lot for just one person. Especially considering you have little background in those areas before you were hired, correct?”
They’re trying to bait me. “I’m used to doing those things at home.” YN shrugs, she can see the growing frown on Park’s features.
“How exactly did you hear about the job?” Kim leans forward, but one of her hands drops below the table. Park’s eyes dart over to her partner for a second, but YN catches it. Kim likely gave her a signal or something like a reassuring squeeze, YN hopes it’s the latter. “What was the hiring process like?”
“From an acquaintance Dr. Sihyuk.” Both officers nod along, they don’t seem to recognize the name. “Bang’s dead. Unlikely anyone will find something there.” They always knew to cover their bases. “Um, normal, I guess. I sent in an application and then had an interview.”
“You made a lot of money as the Kim’s housekeeper. Did you never ask yourself where that money was coming from?” It seemed the officers were done trying to be subtle.
“No, it wasn’t my place. Plus, most of the money I earned went into paying family debts.”
“Do you know Kim Namjoon’s or Park Jimin’s source of income?”
“Again no. I just did what I was supposed to do.”
“You never thought to ask?”
“No.”
Sooyoung smirks, “Interesting how everyone around the Kim’s just accepts things at face value. Their co-workers, drivers, bodyguards, even their housekeeper just does what their told. You weren’t even a little bit curious as to how they could possibly afford the lifestyle they have?”
“Curiosity killed the cat.” YN’s arms were clenching around the chair, trying to hold herself back from reacting negatively to the hassling.
“But we aren’t cats.” Sooyoung remarks and for a second YN feels like she’s lost a battle. Jisoo points to the picture in the center, it's a beautiful young woman with flowy hair and a bright smile. Her delicate features give away her omega nature. Though the closer YN inspects the picture, they’re bags under her eyes, permanent frown lines etched onto her face, a hollowness to her eyes. She looks somewhere between life and death. “Do you recognize this woman? You lingered on her a bit longer than the rest of them.”
The longer YN stares at her the more she starts to piece things together, but it still feels like she’s missing something. So she gives a generic answer. “She looks kind of familiar. Has that kind of face.”
“What kind of face?” Jisoo questions.
“Like…pretty, popular, all over billboards kind of face.”
It's enough to satisfy them for now. They slowly start removing all the pictures while leaving only the woman’s, the longer YN sees it the more unnerved she becomes. Her head begins to hurt as another migraine begins to pound at her temples. Creating a sort of hazy fog over YN’s mind. Both officers’ then hold up the picture and flip it revealing a picture of the same woman holding a young child wrapped in blankets. She looks so much happier, so full of life. Instantly YN places her, recognizing the toddler wrapped in blue velvet.
“This is Hyunwoo’s mother. The last time anyone saw her alive was three weeks ago when she just so happened to be having dinner with your employers.” Fuck.
Present
YN’s phone dings as another text from Mark appears on her screen: ‘boss wants to know when you’ll start paying?’ She groans exhaustedly, responding with ‘I have been paying. He gets half my salary every week.’ Which hasn’t made living very comfortable for YN, but she makes do with what she can.
Mark: It’s not enough princess, not with the way daddy’s been spending money.
Me: What am I supposed to do if you keep giving him money?!
Mark: That’s not up to me. So, the money?
Me: I’m looking for a second job. One that pays better.
Mark: Just go sell your eggs or something. Not like you have any use for them.
“Asshole.” YN muttered, muting her notifications. She looked up to the entrance of the fertility clinic debating whether or not to go in. It wasn’t like she had much of an option; she needed the money and fertility clinics were the only ones willing to provide big sums of money fast. Not to mention she had missed a day of work to make the appointment, which meant less money to give to Mark. I hate this. I hate this so much. YN was about to walk away, leave everything when she spotted a black BMW parked on the curve. Its driver observing her intensely. She knew what it meant.
Mark was getting pushy. Meaning his boss was getting pushy and YN didn’t need to be on the bad side of some loan shark – not again. So, she mustered up the courage and opened the glass doors, being hit with the smell of lavender and pheromones. It reeks. Nonetheless, she forced a smile on her face and walked towards the front desk. “Hello, I have an appointment with Dr. Sihyuk.”
“Unfortunately, there is a limit to how many eggs we can safely remove from you. Betas aren’t like omegas, you have a set number of eggs. Removing the majority of them would leave you infertile. We’d also be unsure of whether the eggs are useful or not without running the proper examinations which can take weeks.” Dr. Sihyuk explained as he went over YN’s medical file, each sentence uttered destroying her hope little by little.
“I understand but I am quite fertile. I carry a recessive gene from my father who is an omega. Not to mention I’m not interested in having children so I would have no use for my eggs,” she could sense the doctor’s hesitation, “unlike someone who might benefit from them.” I just really need the money.
“Oh, I know, you betas are lucky in that sense. Don’t have to worry about population growth.” Though it was said jokingly it still made YN uncomfortable, let her know he wasn’t buying her bullshit. The doctor closed the file, “Why exactly are you interested in donating your eggs? Is it for the money?” He saw right through her. At her silence the doctor sighs, “We get one of you every once in a while. Always wrapped up in some business started by a family member or mistakes you’ve made.” Sihyuk opens a file cabinet beside him and shoves her file in there, “Unfortunately for you there’s no market for beta eggs.”
YN sags exhaustion and fear taking over her, “I –” Sihyuk takes a small white business card out of the cabinet holding it out towards her. “Fortunately for you, I happen to know someone hiring. They specified only betas applied.” Hesitantly YN takes the card, “What kind of job?” Though she knows one should never look a gift horse in the mouth it feels to good to be true. “A housekeeper for an alpha couple. They’re long-time associates of mine. Give them a call you won’t regret it.”
Evening of June 20th, 2021
Hyunwoo wouldn’t stop crying. YN truly regretted feeding him chocolate before bed, he had nightmares that had not let the three-year-old rest. Though YN had time and time again reassured them there were no monsters under his bed or strange men coming to take him at night, he wouldn’t hear of it. Insisted she had stayed in bed with him and when that didn’t work cried out for his daddies. The issue being his daddies were currently busy, in the middle of their ruts with their weekly guests. Thankfully, their bedroom was across the apartment from Hyunwoo’s, or else she’d have to explain to the child that the screams being heard didn’t belong to ghost.
“I want papa! I want daddy!” Hyunwoo shrieked, snot and tears dribbling down his face. At this rate, he’d get himself sick if he didn’t permanently injure his vocal cords – or her hearing.
“I know. I know, but they’re busy right now. I can go get them later.” When their guests are gone and they’ve cleaned their bedroom. YN never quite knew how they manage to sneak them out and clean up so fast, but she didn’t question it. Less work for me.
“NO! I want them now!” Hyunwoo bolted towards the door, his little legs running as fast as they could. Though they couldn’t compare to YN’s.
She hugged the toddler, “Alright. I’ll go get your daddies but you have to promise me you’ll wait in bed.” Hyunwoo began to shake his head, “Come on Woowoo, imagine what they’ll say if they hear you threw a tantrum. What would daddies say?”
That seemed to sober him up a bit, “They would be disappointed.”
“Exactly,” YN led him back to bed, gently tucking him in. “I’ll be right back with them soon, okay?”
The hallway felt eerily long as YN struggled with how to politely interrupt without being subjected to the alpha’s rages. Ruts were an especially tricky time and there would be very little she could do to protect herself if it took a turn for the worse. Not to mention she was breaking one of the very few rules set by them: no bothering us after nine pm. YN glanced at her watch, it was currently 11:43 pm. I am so going to lose my job. But Hyunwoo needed his parents, and she didn’t want to risk the toddler running into their bedroom and being witness to something that would certainly cause trauma. Not to mention I might get sent his therapy bills. More debt. YN reached their bedroom doors. A light red hue leaking from the bottom, she willed all her courage and knocked.
“Come in, darling.” Jimin spoke, his dulcet tone sounding a little rougher than normal. Surprisingly the door was unlocked, so YN opened it. At first, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, just Kim Namjoon and Park Jimin laying in their bed. The red silk sheets, she so often had to wash, concealing their more intimate parts. It wasn’t until YN noticed the stains covering their bodies and the walls. It caused her eyes to dance around the room until she landed on what had caused such a mess: the two dismembered bodies lying on the floor. The red lighting of the room serving to conceal what the stains truly were: blood.
Namjoon beckoned her inside with a wave of his hand and YN felt obliged to obey. She could still smell the pheromones in their air, still feel their rut. Not to mention, Hyunwoo might have been following her. She locked the door behind her.
“To what do we owe the pleasure?” Namjoon spoke, smirking and showing off his blood-stained pearly teeth.
#yandere bts#poly bts#minimoni#yandere kim namjoon x reader#yandere park jimin x reader#yandere kim namjoon#yandere park jimin#abo dynamics#abo bts#abo au#cruel intentions#kim namjoon x reader#park jimin x reader#murder#mystery#suspense#a/b/o au#a/b/o bts#alpha kim namjoon#alpha park jimin#alpha bts#beta reader#omega oc#whodunit#girlmeetsliv3
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misericordia
It's finally here T^T Here's to reaching 100+ followers! Thank you so much everyone!!
Content Warnings: rape/noncon; nsfw; somnophilia; description of dead bodies; includes some elements of cosmic horror; dystopian-ish au; biblical references/imagery; angel! Ushijima
To name is a barren tree: fruitless and, ultimately, the workings of this kind.
The earth will soon be without form, and void; and darkness shall remain the face of the deep.
The Spirit of God no longer moves in the face of the waters.
Names are for nothing.
But, for any cause done here, to name is essential. As it was in the beginning, when there was still a beginning (but it has not ended yet, so the beginning shall still stay), to name had been the first task.
So when asked for a name, the mouth was able to conjure:
“Ushijima Wakatoshi,” the body said.
And as it is the way of the Created, the body became he.
And as it is the way of the Created, proof was immediately demanded for the name.
And as it is the way of the Created, once found on the chest, Ushijima Wakatoshi was then welcomed.
You weren’t there when the world ended.
In fact, so, too, was your father's father. The sky had cracked open and the oceans had already split up the old lands for as long as anyone could remember.
Before the city became a city in truth, the people had just been strangers, seeking shelter after everything fell apart, only to be abandoned by those who’d promised protection.
That didn't mean, however, that things got better for your lot once someone swept in and established order and peace and stability and whatever it is those at the top had to say to justify them being there.
If your father were to be believed, you had been sleeping in your mother’s womb, still a tiny beating heart, when the longest winter happened ("winter"; they still called it that when there had been minute differences between hot and cold).
Supplies were short; food was scarce; so when you finally clawed your way into a world breathing its last, your mother couldn't help but bleed into the sheets until your cry outlived hers.
But your father barely recognized you during his final days. That’s why when your neighbors call you a liar for saying “I was born on a Spring,” you shrug it off and think you might as well have been born on a Spring.
There’s no way of knowing. The story had always changed every time you asked him.
Sometimes he blamed you, sometimes he told you it’s not your fault. Nothing you could do about it. Spring it is, then; you told yourself.
Spring always looked so... different, in the drawings Granny made, anyway.
No one here actually knows her age. Granny had always been Granny; as permanent to this place as the walls enclosing the city.
She rarely left her quarters, that crone, and could barely stand on her own without your help. Worse, she could no longer see. What use is a blind artist, the others would laugh.
It’s their loss, you’d retort, mocking her like that. Because then they’d miss the way her gnarled and knobby hands would glide with unwavering purpose if you asked her to, strokes bold and not a space wasted.
“You never learn,” she croaked once finished, jostling the wrinkled piece of paper to your lap. “Why throw away your rations for this piece of junk?”
Granny retched, “Incurable fool.”
At this point, she would grumble about suffering in the old pig’s (her words, not yours) kitchens for nothing, and always, without fail, you’d feel a smile break on your face. It hurt, honestly, but after an entire day of frowning over the dishes you had to wash and the floors that needed scrubbing and all the other orders yelled your way, it was worth it, anyway.
“I know you’re laughing. My ears still work, mind you.”
You felt your belly shake as you giggled, brushing the paper with worn fingers, staring open-mouthed at the piece before you.
“This is amazing, Granny,” you sighed.
“Idiot,” she repeated. “It’s the same thing as the one before. And the one before that.”
And for good measure, Granny added, “Idiot. Not like you hadn’t seen that one.”
When all you’d done was take her hand in yours and place a pack of food along with a thin roll of paper in her feeble grasp, Granny finally asked, “Why do you keep coming back here, girl? Asking for the same thing.”
There wasn’t any of that surly frown now.
And looking at her like that, without the crabbiness that sharpens her features, that oddly makes her look younger and in control of herself, you find that you don’t have an answer this time. Arrested by the realization that her shoulders slumped lower than you’d thought. And that she’s getting thinner.
“Why?” you whispered back, feeling traces of charcoal stick to your palm.
Maybe it’s because there’s no other way that she’d accept food, unless she does something in return. She kicked you out the first time you intended to give her the ration you’d earned.
(Or maybe it's because you know what they'd do, once they find out she's no longer making trades.)
Why, indeed.
Maybe it’s because you hadn’t really seen things grow before.
You might work at the Governor’s place, at the heart of the city and everything else that matters, but grunt workers like you are prohibited to get anywhere near the farm, let alone actually enter it. So, really, there's no other way of seeing what growth looks like.
Maybe it’s because you can only do that when you witness her in her craft. You really don’t have anything to compare it with, but you’re sure life from soil works the same way.
Everything must come from something. And that something must be quite the artist, if they're anything like Granny.
Birthing roots from the ground of what was once a blank piece of paper with a flick of the wrist; growing into large trunks, strong branches, then into an abundance of leaves and blossoms.
Trees drawn on both sides of the paper, always with a smattering of grass and flowers in the middle. She said they used to grow here, when she was just a girl. And if you begged hard enough, she’d add a stray butterfly fluttering around the corner.
You hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe I just love seeing you, Granny,” you grinned.
“Crock of shit.”
“Really!” You grabbed your knapsack as you stood from your seat, folding the paper with care. “Hey, Granny, guess what? Don’t give me that face— I’ve already saved just enough and you know what that means?”
She snorted.
“Listen,” you pouted. “I’ll finally be able to get those pigments! I heard they don't cost that much and if I trade next-”
“Don’t.”
She tilted her head and faced your way, misty eyes pinning you. "How much does paper cost you?"
You gulped.
Then, with a swiftness that surprised you, she grabbed you by your tattered sleeve and gritted, “I may be the blind one here, but I think I see a lot more clearly than you do. You can sweat and bleed for those pigments, but I will never paint.”
You felt a sting in your eyes as she continued, “I know what you’re doing. And I’d be the greater fool if I let you work yourself to the bone for some pipe dream."
"Content yourself with coal, girl. That’s all you’re gonna get from this place. Dirt and rust and smoke. Go sneak into that damned farm. Go steal some of those fuckers’ riches. In fact, while you’re at it,” she laughed dryly. “Steal them all and run away from here. If you really want to live.”
“Only,” she said, too soft that you had to sit back down to hear her, “Only, stop hoping, my child.”
Her chest wheezed as she breathed, like air passing through the holes of a rundown machine.
You kissed the back of her hand before you left.
The wind howled and threatened to topple you as you walked back to your building, hard rain slapping you across the face when you picked up into a run. They didn’t descend in small drops anymore. As you get older, thunderstorms are to be expected once evening falls, lingering for weeks only to suddenly bring about an irritatingly humid day.
But tonight, the large cavern above that parts the dark, heavy clouds into opposite streams seem to yawn wider, closing itself lower and lower into the earth that you swore someday it’ll devour the city whole.
Mud water in your boots, you grabbed onto your soaked coat and climbed the steps of the decaying piece of slab you call home, mindful that you won’t slip and break your skull against the thick beams, twisted metal jutting out of the corners.
A solitary lamp flickered through the window of the room next to yours. Little Soo-jin must be having nightmares again, you thought with a frown.
You were about to knock on their door when the sirens blared, echoing louder across the city than the boom of lightning, followed by a grating squeal that could only be an opening gate.
Your knuckle froze over the chipped wood.
The last time the alarm rang, the people were greeted by the body of a young council member, brought by a small and wounded troop who’d accompanied him outside the city.
Soo-jin’s mom peered through the murky window, meeting your eyes after both of you stared into the direction of the gate closest to your zone, as if seeking you for an explanation. You only gave her a shrug.
“Someone must have died,” you said.
“No, he’s not dead. That’s why you’re bringing food to his room, aren’t you?”
You stared at the girl stubbornly shaking her head.
“I- I know, but! Didn’t you hear? They said they found him full of bullet holes and I—”
“Even if you’re serving a rotting corpse, as long as Cook orders it, you follow.”
It was admirable that she’s refused for this long. If it were you, you’d have been sacked the moment you opened your mouth to say no. You wiped your hand with the towel next to the sink, having finished the work assigned to you, and watched the ongoing bout in the kitchen.
“Why can’t you just ask the others? Marga’s not doing anything!”
“Marga,” the older woman hissed, “is with the others. Almost everyone is in the meeting room. So if you don’t take your butt up there, I’m gonna have no other choice but to tell Cook.”
You winced. This can’t be good.
You cleared your throat. “I can do it,” you said.
The tray was shoved to you faster than you can drop your raised hand. You would have found it amusing, considering that you’re sure they couldn’t even recognize you, but the idea of being in the same room with a half-alive man does make you feel uneasy.
Not that it’s anything new for you; you nursed your father until the fever took him, after all. You just haven’t lived long enough to get used to it yet. But you steeled yourself and did your job, because it’s not as if you had any choice.
You prepared yourself for anything as you entered one of the many guest chambers. Bullet holes, rotting corpse, entrails held together by stitches.
And when you announced your presence and gripped the tray tighter so as to not spill the soup on the sprawling carpet, it’s not really surprise that caused you to stumble upon your words when you saw the man sitting on the bed.
It’s more of an embarrassment, of sorts.
You must’ve entered the wrong room, you thought. You immediately checked around to make sure no one saw you talk and almost grovel to an actual sculpture.
Because that’s what he was.
The Governor’s estate houses floors and floors of rooms that you hadn't explored yet. But there was one that, if no one would bother to keep track of the workers, you had the habit of sneaking into.
Thinking about what it took for this family to have all those sculptures there hurt your head, so you stopped a long time ago. You chose, instead, to just admire the marble wonders in all their beauty, always looking back down at you with majesty and pride.
Just as he's doing right now.
Chiseled torso wrapped in bandages; sharp jaw that could cut; eyes the color of olives, gazing deep.
"That is for me."
You snapped your head down.
"Huh- uh, yes? Yes!"
His deep voice still rumbled through you.
"Yes, I'm sorry," you muttered, heat rushing to your face as you placed the tray on the table next to him, inflaming when you realized he didn't mean it as a question.
That is for me.
Not a question. A question means you can answer. His words brooked no other response but obedience, reminding you of your place.
Much like those sculptures, every time you'd spent too much time inside the room and you'd get the feeling that you're not supposed to be there, too filthy to be anywhere near what you think is the closest thing to perfection.
And the truth would settle on you like a heavy weight: that no amount of beauty can ever breathe warmth if it cannot live and grow.
The same way that despite the sunshine filtering through the floor to ceiling windows, surrounding him in blinding light as he sat on the bed, you can't shake the impression that this is the coldest this room has ever been, with him here.
So you anticipated his orders; a single word or maybe a glance that would tell you he wants you gone. Just either one of those and you'd run out of this room in a heartbeat.
But neither came. The man (you still didn't know his name) remained silent, staring at the food like they've insulted him specifically, and now he's questioning the collective audacity of the soup, bread, and bowl of fruits laid before him.
Maybe they don't serve those where he came from. He's from the North, after all, made evident by the small eagle etched on his chest, just above a pectoral. The last visiting Northerner you served who also bore that mark threw a rag at you (she missed) for "mixing the bathing oils incorrectly."
You stayed in your position and asked, "Is the food not to your liking?"
He didn't say anything, but he did shift his attention to you.
And what a mistake that was. How does this man go about life with such a severe presence?
"Er..is something..wrong?" you sweated, suddenly fascinated by the vases behind him.
Glaring back at the food, he answered with a deep "no" and breathed out. His large arms rose and fell along with it, straining the bandages around the muscles.
Oh, right. Right.
You perked up. "Do you need help?"
Stepping closer to the table, you gave him a tightlipped smile and a sheepish "excuse me" before taking the spoon in your hand.
You scooped a thick serving of soup, your palm hanging under it, and waited.
And waited.
The man looked at you the same way he looked at the bowl of fruits earlier.
"What are you doing?" he said, gravel-voiced.
You're gonna lose this job.
Why did you think you could feed him like he's an ailing, decrepit old man? Or a literal child? He's built like he commands an army (and he probably does).
You are definitely gonna lose this job.
"I- I'm sorry!"
You jerked away, your hip hitting the table, the impact shaking it and causing the plates and silverware to clatter against each other.
"O-oh no, I'm-" The spoon in your hand fell as you attempted to set things properly, soup spilling to the carpet along with the utensils.
You're gonna lose this job and you're gonna starve to death.
"I'm sorry! I'm so so sorry!"
Dropping to your knee like your life depended on it, you picked up the myriad of similar looking spoons and forks and placed them back on the tray.
You kept your head downwards, bowing as you'd been repeatedly taught, and shut your eyes tightly.
"I thought that you hadn't healed yet and needed help and- and-" you huffed.
"And I thought that I should feed you but- no-no!" You looked at him and flailed your hands in front of you. "No! I didn't mean feed- I meant- I meant no disrespect please forgive me!"
Not a word was spoken in that second that spanned an entire year. But just as you'd accepted that the worst has come, he said:
"Then, feed me."
Wait.
Wait, what?
"I don't.. understand..?"
"Then, feed me," was what he told you. And so matter-of-factly, at that.
So you did, desperate to keep the only thing keeping you alive.
Though your hand trembled and you wished to be anywhere but here— even the wasteland waiting outside the gates, with all its unimaginable threats, seemed like paradise —you took a loaf of bread from the basket and brought it closer to his mouth.
Lines marred his forehead as he chewed. You were about to ask, self-destructive that you are, whether you should get the sweetened roll instead, thinking he found the one in your hand too bland. But you don't have the luxury to risk digging your grave any deeper.
You kept quiet and pointedly removed him from your line of sight, choosing to count the tassels hanging off the canopy instead.
Once he's eaten all that's left of the pastries, you dipped your hand into the bowl of fruits and took a grape in-between your fingers and, as much as you can, you steadied your hand to avoid touching his lips.
It didn't work.
You shuddered at the contact, curling your toes in your boots to avoid squirming.
This has got to be the weirdest day of your entire life.
Not a hint of unease was shown. He continued to close his plump lips around the tip of your fingers and crushed the fruits with pointed canines, making the hair on your body stand on end. What if he bites you? Would you bleed?
The man seemed to like them more than bread. A sense of urgency rose within you as he went through the berries and sliced mangoes like this is the first time he's had them.
Can't say you blame him. The last time you ate something that resembled a fruit, a real fruit, was when Granny persuaded (coerced) a young boy in her complex to steal one from his employer. That boy has a child of his own now.
You felt your mouth water, your stomach growl and command that you take the bowl from him and shovel its contents to your mouth, as you watched him devour the sweet and tangy meat, the smell of it sickening as it is strangely compelling.
He raised his head and met your eyes.
Shit.
The apples, you thought as you looked back down to the tray. They're the only ones left soaking in the bowl, those apples. After this you'd be out of this stuffy room and you'd laugh about this later with Soo-jin and her mom and Granny too if she's not cranky.
You could still feel him staring at you as you fed him a slice, the apple crisp when he took a bite.
Juice trickled down your hand, the sticky extract tickling your arm as it slid to the crook of your elbow, and you were about to wipe it with your other hand, when you felt a wet tongue probe the gap between your fingers.
You gasped. "Sir..!"
You stepped away. Tried to, anyway, but with a firm hand, a hand that's not injured, after all, he gripped your wrist and continued to suck a digit.
"This is- sir!" struggling out of his hold, you pleaded with him to let go, please sir let me go, even as he only looked at you, his eyes dimming when he grabbed your waist to bring you closer.
He licked your hand, lapping at the trail the juice left behind, and when you thought he would release you, he took your hand to pluck another slice from the bowl.
Your legs gave up beneath you, forcing you to sit on his stretched lap, his hard body scorching you through the sheets, as he ate the apple from your palm, slurping the leftovers dripping from it.
"Don't cry," Granny told you once.
"Especially when you feel like crying," she said. "Don't cry."
You'd never really been good at listening, but now, you decided to suck in your breath and keep those tears at bay. You can cry and laugh about all this later.
Because you might be jobless after this, but you will certainly have a damn good story to tell over the fire once you finished kneeing him in the nuts.
So: one.
Breathe.
His teeth scraped your soaked hand.
Two.
You rested your hand on his shoulder.
Three.
You braced your leg, moving it between his thick thighs, and then, as you clutched his bandages, you—
"Ushijima-sama."
The door swung open.
"Pardon the intrusion, but the Council members requested-”
It was Secretary Hara.
“Oh."
Secretary Hara: a lanky, dark haired man with glasses who's always at the Governor's beck and call. He was here, carrying a small stack of papers, and gaping at the scene before him.
You and the esteemed guest. Who's still suckling at your skin. On the bed.
He grinned, full of humor and disgusting. “Well,” he said.
At least you weren't crying.
A question, shared only by the Heavens, began when the Lord fashioned the flesh out of the dust of the ground and said,"You are made in My image and likeness."
It was not their way, before that: to question. (One of them did, once, but that is a different story).
They have no need for questions.
They hold the highest seat, below only to the Creator, unencumbered by the trappings of the earth.
They have no need for questions.
So it remained unasked, lingering in fragments in the House of the Lord.
The question comes to him now.
For the flesh is a cage. It is ephemeral and prone to decay.
It is fitting for this kind to have it, with all their qualities bound to the material world.
You are the very epitome of these.
Graceless. Stumbling like a newborn foal. Too many apologies. Too many questions.
God is not here, he thinks as you insist on asking what does not matter.
“Is the food not to your liking?” and “Is something wrong?” and “Do you need help?”
Indecisive, too. Reneging on your promises. You said you’d feed him and then you said you wouldn’t.
Ushijima Wakatoshi is a mere flesh, locking inside divinity your kind would never understand. Yet he felt its tedious demands gnaw at him when he saw you. Something so impermanent should have no right for constant sustenance.
But he knows, just for this time, that he needs it. That’s why he tells you to feed him, as you said you would. After all, it is your way to serve. And, for all your many inadequacies, God has granted you bread and water and fruit to sate your appetites.
Thus, for as long as he is flesh, he will do as it tells him to.
When it urged for the taste of fruit, for the cloying sweetness of its juice, it is only right that he heeded its call and had his fill.
How dare you object. His light is brighter than yours; God has granted it so (and yet you were given the will that they never had). And even in flesh you are beneath him. You are easily held and defeated.
The ache in his belly did not cease, each gulp he took heightening his senses, shouting for more, more, more as he took you with his tongue. And he realizes that this is what the first of your kind may have felt like when they disobeyed. The first act of betrayal.
(For what is the wrath of God to the cries of the flesh?)
And with that, Ushijima Wakatoshi finds, since donning this useless flesh, that it is not at all easy to gratify.
Not in the least.
There are so many rules in this mansion that even Cook’s effort to batter them on your head could sometimes be futile, given that their number is just as big as this place. But, there is one, among all the convoluted and at times nonsensical decrees, that you are not allowed to forget:
Unless you’re among the core staff, you can never enter the East Wing.
The East Wing is where all the important things happen, see. It goes without saying that someone as lowly as you cannot pollute that hallowed ground.
Today seems to be an exception.
When Cook barked that Secretary Hara wanted you in the East Wing first thing in the morning, you had a feeling that you just might not live to see the next day.
You didn't speak unless spoken to. You didn't look unless told to. The things you should've done much earlier.
"How are you liking the work here so far?"
Secretary Hara pushed the pen to the side and leaned back against the leather swivel chair.
"It's a job," you mumbled, to which he only replied with a breathless chuckle. You didn't see the point in bootlicking any further. Besides, Granny hated that the most; so you avoided doing it as much as you can.
There's only one conclusion for you here, anyway. No matter how severe the punishment. And it's back in your room, with a uniform that needs sewing for a job that you no longer have.
He tapped his fingers against the lacquered table. "You're right," he said. "Work is work. Despite your place in this society."
You wanted to roll your eyes. Secretary Hara has never been any of the workers' favorites (not that any of you had your "favorites," but if you could, you avoided this guy). He had this astonishing effect, too, in which he can actually bring people together. All because everyone hated him.
He's a slimeball, is what he is. If one needed lessons in kissing ass, he was your man.
"Do you know why you're here?"
You're getting fired. End of story. Now can I please just go? is what you want to say. But losing your job doesn't usually take this much time and attention. Normally, it was Cook who'd grunt "You're out" and that was it.
So you shake your head.
"I'm promoting you," he said. "Congratulations."
Somewhere, beneath that condescending smile of his, is a punchline that you're sure he's deliberately keeping from you. Just so he can be the only one who gets to laugh.
"I-" You balled your hand to a fist. "Why?"
He scoffed. "What are they teaching you in that rathole? Honestly."
They taught me not to be rude to people I don't know, you little bitch.
"Drop the coy act, it's okay," he sneered. "It's cheap and it won't work on me."
Oh, now you really want to get fired. If only to kick his teeth in. "That man," Secretary Hara continued. "Ushijima Wakatoshi. You were all over him and you seriously don't know who he is?"
You gritted. "Secretary Hara, what happened- it wasn't- I didn't want it."
But he only gave you that look. As if to say, "Sure. Let's go with that." When it'd pass and the need to pummel him became stronger, he stood up and stepped towards the tapestry draped against the wall.
It was a map, the city a pinprick on the corner. Secretary Hara faced it, dusting the spotless surface, his back to you.
"Ever wonder what keeps us here?" he started, hand still on the map. "This city of ours?"
"The," you licked your lips. Where was he going with this? "The river..?"
Secretary Hara clapped his hands, his voice lilting like he's talking to a toddler as he said, "That's right. That's good. Excellent."
"So you do know some things, after all." His fingers crawled towards the long line of blue stitched beside the city. "And do you wonder what would happen if, say, that river begins to dry?"
You felt your eyes widen. You covered your mouth with a palm.
You're not supposed to know this. Why is he telling you this?
He scratched the thick clump of blue thread and continued, "These great cities. They have their energy; their military."
Your eyes followed his hand, moving farther and farther away from the pallid brown surrounding your city, towards the bright yellow West, stopping at the bright green East. "Some of them are blessed enough to not be surrounded by a literal desert."
Then, with a careful hand, he moved to the very top and said, "And the North…the North has it all."
The North was a sprawling, intricate web of threads, eating away the entire tapestry.
"The Ushijima clan rules the North. Much longer than this city has existed. And they’re so engrossed in their wars that they’d never glance our way if we don't give them at least half of what we make,” he spat. “These great people haven’t had contact with us in years."
Secretary Hara finally turned around, grin still in place. "But now one of them owes his life to us." He walked back to his desk, sitting on its edge. "Perhaps the heavens sent him here."
When you remained silent and looked at him with eyes that you wished had the ability to kill, because you know now what they wanted from you, Secretary Hara only shrugged.
"He asked for your name, actually," he said, tilting his head. "Lucky you. He didn't bother to learn ours."
You stood your ground. "No, sir," you said. "I won't."
He pulled a thin piece of paper from a pile sitting next to him. "You're not gonna do much," he said as he began to read. "Just show him around the city. Be his friend."
Friend.
"But I- No. I can't." You stepped forward. "Please."
He looked away from the paper. "Zone 42. Room 0312."
"What.."
"Granny," he said. "That's what you call her, isn't it?"
No.
"They say that for a blind old lady she's still somehow miraculously trading to keep a roof over her head."
Phantom touches crept to your arm, slick and nauseating like cold sweat.
"You must take it from her. Though you're not related," he said. "Apparently, you're so hardworking, you even work the night shift. When you don't have to."
You released a shaky breath. "I'll..I'll start," you croaked. "I'll start right away, sir."
Secretary Hara folded his arms, victory plastered all over his gaunt face.
"Thank you," he chimed. "I'm glad you understand. It's for your own good too, y'know."
The uniform they gave you chafed against your skin. Tugging at the sleeves did not help, the pristine fabric too coarse and stiff to budge. Your only comfort was the folded paper hidden in your pocket, fading at the edges every time you touched it.
You have to admit, however, that you did look...well, you did look clean. Not as much as him, though. And not just in the sense that he's out of the bandages now. Last you checked, and that had been a few minutes ago, he was still sporting a couple of scars on his forehead.
Despite that, you don't have to look behind you to know what's captured the people's attention as you strolled the capital. Or, who, to be exact.
Some were outright ogling; some happened to glance once and then immediately looked away with a blush; some made the laudable effort to not look.
A mirror of what you're doing right now.
They gilded him with gold, which is a redundancy if you ever see one. He was wearing the most expensive pigment, something that only the Governor's family could own: a deep violet tunic emblazoned with golden vines, swirling from the middle to the collar; paired with dress pants that you could probably trade for a whole month's worth of food.
You kept your distance as you walked in front of him. "Just show him around the city," was what Secretary Hara told you. That didn't mean you had to talk.
And it's not as if he had any complaints, either. He followed you through the rows of glass houses that adorned Governor's lane, not a word spoken about the sights.
Even when you'd attempted to speed through the dizzying streets, he kept his pace, long legs allowing him to stride close to you. By time you'd reached the plaza, you were already out of breath and in need of rest.
But you didn’t.
You remained standing a few feet away from him, the paper in your hand opened to reveal those great trees and thriving field, as he sat under the gazebo overlooking the square; a place reserved only for council members.
The smell of the sweetmeats and oranges in front of him reached your nose (Secretary Hara has a cruel sense of humor, you belatedly realized, when you were handed a bag of food that had a note saying “treat him well”). You fought the itch to cast out what little you’ve had for breakfast.
Children were playing around the sandbox, the staff of whatever family they belonged to guarding them. In a way, their job wasn’t that different from what you have now.
Except, it’s not a child you were threatened to accompany. With the feeling of his gaze burning your nape, it seems like you’re not the one doing the guarding as well.
And you didn’t feel every bit like the adult you are when he called your name.
You felt frighteningly small, as you yielded with a pathetic, “Ushijima-sama.”
He only looked at you. Those green eyes telling you exactly what he wanted.
People are watching. You can’t mess this up.
“Sir,” you said, hand still in your pocket, that frayed paper your anchor. “It is improper.”
Irritation swept through him, his sharp features harsher when dissatisfied. But you can’t give up, even though it’s sending a chill down your spine and he seems like he’s about to throttle in broad daylight. (And he doesn’t have to do much, you know. He can crush you with one hand.)
“Why- why are you here?” you hissed. “R-really?”
You don’t shut your trap when you have to, girl. That’s your problem.
“Because- because I’m not gonna be your..thing.” The paper was dampening in your grip. “While you do whatever it is you do, Ushijima,” you huffed. “...sama”
Ushijima did not blink, his stare unwavering as he turned towards the small crowd strolling below. There’s a part of you that wishes to put yourself in his place, like a king on his throne. What does the view look like from up there? Are the people beneath just multicolored ants moving from afar?
“A few of my kind have suddenly sided with yours,” he said. Then, briefly returning his gaze to you, “I had to see what draws them here.”
He linked his fingers together. “Before I do what must be done.”
You stifled a chortle. “Do what must be done” your ass. Does that include harassing people, too? “God only knows,” you whispered.
“You believe in God.”
You were the subject of his relentless attention again. You groaned, averting your eyes to a small girl, probably around Soo-jin’s age, who plopped down to create a heap of sand, much to the consternation of her nanny.
“No,” you replied in a thin voice.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” Where is this question coming from? “Always seemed like a lot of work,” you said.
The little girl was making a castle. It’s apparent to you now that she has little pail by her side, shovel in her grubby hand. The frill of her dress caught most of the sand as she stacked them atop each other.
“And I’m pretty sure God has more fun things to do than worry about me,” you added, just because.
The castle reached her knees when the girl stood up.
"God has left," Ushijima said. "A long time ago."
And then she kicked it. The thing crumbled to a mound, the breeze scattering it back to the sand.
You did chuckle this time. The Northerners sure are strange. "Really? Where’d God go?" you hummed, looking up to the sky.
The sun was blanketed by waves of clouds, as usual. "Somewhere nicer, I hope," you sighed.
You closed your eyes and thought of that nicer place. It would have to be far, far away from here. Maybe it would even have those trees that Granny loved.
"Cherry trees."
You opened your eyes and gawked at him.
He was still gazing at you.
"You are attached to it," he told you, like it's nothing; like your heart's not wreaking havoc against your ribs with each word he utters. "On that paper."
Pulling it out of your pocket, you stumbled to him and unfolded it for him to see. "You- you know what this is? A 'cherry tree.' That’s what you call it?"
"Yes." Ushijima's eyes did not leave yours. "That is the name you people have bestowed upon them."
"Are you sure? Are you absolutely sure?"
You didn't let him answer that because, just like the fool that Granny accused you to be, you took his hand in your trembling one and laughed, somehow managing to drag him out of the gazebo.
It took a while before you finally let go.
Much has changed along the way, he felt this as the air grew hotter; the sound of bustling people louder and less constrained with inutile mortal etiquette. You seemed less wary of him here.
The hand that held his tightly was still brushing against him, as you talked incessantly about the pieces of paper plastered across the wall. They all looked the same, yellowed and infested with mold at the edges, but you insisted otherwise.
“See here?” You pointed to the one on the bottom. “Granny drew the leaves differently. They look like flowers don’t they? They are, aren’t they? I knew it! So they are flowers.”
There was a cot in the corner of the room. He sees you there in slumber, surrounded by rocks and scraps of metal and bits of gemstones held together by strings, each strand hanging on the crevices of the roof, gleaming every time they move.
You tapped his arm repeatedly. “Oh, oh. I put these two beside each other. Notice that the shades are different? This one is lighter while this one has more shadows to it.”
"Do you get it now?" you asked him, expectant.
Humans are baffling creatures, Wakatoshi thought. Because when he said nothing, you only laughed (you seem to like doing that) and told him to “follow me; hurry.” You didn’t hold his hand this time (you should’ve, he preferred it when you did).
“My bad. I hadn’t shown you yet,” you huffed as you grabbed a rag and set aside buckets of rainwater that obstructed his path.
Behind a curtain of sackcloth and ashes, draped at the furthest side of the wall, was a crack big enough to let a person through, corroding steel bars protruding along the broken concrete.
Wakatoshi ducked to enter the room next to yours. It was hollow, save for bits of gravel and a window obscured by dust. You paced to it then wiped the thick glass with the rag you brought with you.
“That hill is always there in Granny’s drawings,” you said, taking the paper in your pocket and setting it parallel to the scene revealed by the window.
Your smile was wide, as if you were admiring a land lush with vegetation, or wildflowers at least. When it was far from that. It was a vast desolation, beyond the gates and the brown earth fractured. But, just as you said, there is a solitary hill sitting along the horizon.
“Those trees- cherry trees,” you started, face radiating with mirth. “It’s the same but.. different each time.” Your breathless laugh makes him feel just as winded. “How is that even possible?”
“I know they can’t be just...green.” A finger traced the outline of the leaves. “Because these are real and they actually grow and- and they change.” And, as if it’s a secret, “Unlike the ones at the capital.”.
“If only Granny would paint them for me,” you whispered, the smile on those lips waning.
Wakatoshi couldn’t stand it. So, he grunted, “You are wrong. This one is green.”
He took the paper from your hand. “They only change colors once they bloom. White, first. Then, pink.”
This knowledge is trivial; if it can be considered knowledge at all. It is a speck in the infinite matters that simply exist— have existed, in this world. Yet such a thing has put that look in your eyes.
Perhaps it is not inconsequential at all.
“Pink?” you breathed, grinning incredulously at him.
You turned away and closed your eyes, your voice cracking as you murmured, “I see.”
There's a blood pumping organ within his chest. A vital piece that keeps you humans alive. It beats constantly, never ceasing. If it does then it means you are dead. He is flesh, for now; it follows that if it halts, then he is fodder for the earth.
How is it, then, that he is still here? He’s sure he felt it stop, the air knocked out of his lungs, as you looked back at him, eyes welling with tears when you said, “Thank you.”
Thank you, you told him, smiling.
Ah.
Wakatoshi gets it now.
This is what God must have seen, when your kind looked up and sang, “I love you, my God; I love you; I love you.” And when you knelt and dared to turn those eyes for others that are not God, he suddenly understands why they were ordered to rain fire and brimstone upon your great kingdoms.
Because he, too, would smite anything, burn it to the ground and salt what is left, if it would so much as receive a whit of your sweet, soft words.
“They used to grow here,” you sniveled. “Granny said so.”
“And I thought, maybe if Granny added a bit more color- maybe they'd feel more…I don't know..real..?” Laughter rings in his ears once again, pealing like bells. “Yeah..They'd feel more real...Though, she did get mad at me,” you winced.
“I just thought,” you sighed, your shoulders touching him. “Wouldn't it be nice if I can wake up one day and find them growing again? Right here.”
God created a garden for your kind once. It is gone now, but Wakatoshi wonders what you’d say, how you’d look at him, if he shows it to you. Your head against the grass, fingers laced with the lilies of the field, the taste of fruit on your lips, your thighs dripping with honey and dew—
Wakatoshi felt his loins stir, but he didn't say anything, except, “The soil here is poisoned.”
You snapped towards him, brows drawn together. “I know,” you said.
“A sapling cannot grow on this wasteland.”
“Yes, I’m not stupid.”
“That could have been any hill.”
“I know.”
His throat is parched; his hands a pair of useless things. He can hold galaxies in them, sink ships and level seas by the order of God had this body not trapped him. (He can free himself, but then you’d die). Now he doesn’t even know what to do with them as he rushes out a hoarse, “I have upset you.”
He refused to let you take the paper from him. You didn’t seem to mind.
“No,” you sighed. “No, of course not. Forgive me, Ushijima-sama.”
You bowed again. An act of servitude.
“Please, let me escort you back to the capital.”
He does not understand. He only told you the truth.
But you turned your back to him and the light in your eyes has gone and he wants to chase it back the same way he wanted to run after God when the parting happened, leaving the Heavens mourning until their wails split the firmament open.
Wakatoshi yearns to have you closer. He yearns for that smile and laughter back on your face.
Wakatoshi yearns.
But, that cannot be.
After all, that is just much too human, is it not?
The rain drenched Wakatoshi to the bone, droplets falling from his lashes to his cheeks, when he walked through the nighttime storm.
He didn't bother to dry himself.
After he'd reached your room and shoved the door open, the clap of thunder covering the noise, Wakatoshi decided to undress himself, shedding all articles of clothing until he was naked as the day God created your kind.
Wakatoshi felt the chill bite his skin. But that had nothing on the way you easily dismissed him earlier, by the time you'd reached the abode of this city's leader.
You left him and he could no longer see your face and yet that fierce longing in his chest stayed, creeping to every part of him, making a home in his belly.
Until he recognized the feeling for what it was.
Hunger.
Hunger, he could fathom. And when one feels it gnaw at one's flesh, what does one do, but eat?
You were sleeping on the cot, just as he'd imagined you to be. It's enough to keep him warm: the sight of you, at peace under the glimmer of the trinkets dancing above as a lamp burned lowly.
The mattress sank under his weight when he sat next to you. His much larger hand took yours, locking your fingers together to rest his cheek against it, bringing it beneath his nose, and feeling his heart race as he breathed in your scent.
He remembers the first time he did this so vividly. You tasted like apples and sin; and though there's none of that now, his mouth still waters as he savors your skin, his tongue traveling to your arm, just as he did then, leaving bites along the way.
You barely stirred when he lifted your shirt to reveal your tits, the sheen of sweat along the valley forcing a growl out of him.
Do you feel it, too? When you drag him further down to earth, debasing him and bringing him so low that now he is nothing but a hungry flesh and a mouth made of obscenities.
"Fuck," he grunts, as he took his cock, heavy and hard to touch, and rubbed the head with his fingers.
Perhaps he is lower than human now. Perhaps it does not matter. What is God to this hunger, anyway?
(This hunger is bigger than God.)
The cot was pitifully small as he straddled over your chest, breathing still shallow, and spat on his hand before wrapping it around the thick shaft. The tip of his cock touched your nipple as he fondled with the other one, thumb and forefinger pinching and pulling until you let out a tiny mewl.
Hearing it had him falling to his knees.
Wakatoshi moved off the cot to kneel on the floor, the better to suckle on your tits, to lick and nibble on the skin below it, on your stomach, until he's seeing red and ripping your loose pants down to your thighs.
He pumped his cock harder as he caressed the folds of your cunt. You groaned, arching your back and offering yourself to his mouth, when he started to lap on your clit, sticky liquid coating the swollen bud as he swirled his tongue to spread the juices dripping from your hole.
Your entire body was singing for him, even when all you'd managed were squirms and muted whimpers. He felt your skin twitch beneath his lips, as he cupped his balls and drove his hand faster around his throbbing cock, gripping his fist tighter.
Oh, he sees you on that garden, clinging onto him as he drives himself into you, pounding your cunt as you beg please, just as you did before, please, please, fuck me harder I am yours I am all yours.
But, for now, he settles himself with the violent shudders of your body, flooding his mouth with cream, as he releases his seed on his palm.
Wakatoshi rubbed it against your leaking cunt, quivering still in his hand.
There is something that must be finished, first, before he takes you, in truth. He cannot have you conscious (for now.)
He covered you back in your clothes, after. Then, Wakatoshi lingered on your face.
"Fearfully and wonderfully made," he whispered, a mere guttural sound amidst the rain pouring outside.
Here lies salvation, he thought, as his fingers brushed your closed eyes.
And here, Wakatoshi thought as he brought his lips down to kiss you, here lies damnation.
He wiped his blood on the doorposts and lintel before he left.
You woke up to silence.
Your nether regions ached and, really, the temptation to not go to work today was insanely strong. But the sun was already bleeding through the window and there's a heavy feeling on your chest.
And like wearing a shirt on backwards, you immediately knew that something was not right.
The sound of the door slamming open echoed through the building as you ran outside.
There was nothing.
Not the sound of people going about their day nor of children risking the wrath of their mothers with their games. The only thing you could hear was the buzzing noise of a fly circling around your ear.
You didn't bother knocking on your neighbor's room, rushing inside to shout for Soo-jin and her mom, stopping only when you found them sitting around a small table.
They didn't turn around to greet you.
"There you are," you panted, putting your hands on your knees. "I'm so sorry for barging in like this."
Even little Soo-jin, who never failed to jump into your arms given the opportunity, kept her back to you.
You stepped towards her. "Soo-jin," you whispered, placing a hand on her thin shoulder.
"Soo-jin, hey," you chuckled, your trembling fingers shaking her bit. "H-hey, what's wrong?"
Her head nodded down, like a doll grabbed all too suddenly, then it lolled to the side, rolling until she bared her neck, until you saw her face.
Her mouth hung open.
Inside the cavern were tiny black lumps that took you a second to realize were flies feasting on her molars. And when you lurched and sank to the floor, it was only then that you saw her staring back at you.
Bleached eyes, wide and whitened to the core and pupils like spoiled milk.
"N-no." Your vision was cloudy, freezing dread settling at the pit of your stomach when you saw that the same happened to her mother. "Who- who did this?"
Your voice strained out as you stood, mind moving faster than your legs.
Granny. Go to Granny.
Though you already know, don't you? You don't have to see her to know her fate. Because as you sprinted out of the room, leaping down across the steps, out of the building and into sand and concrete, the smell of sulfur followed you, choking you along with the sight of bodies sprawled on the ground.
Insects creeping out of nostrils and every other orifice, faces that you'll never have the chance of knowing and faces that you'd grown up with, hands reaching to the heaven as if at prayer.
You are alone. You are alone in a city filled with rotting corpses.
There was an uncontrolled animal inside your body, fighting out of its cage in a fit of rage as you craned to look up, further up.
The sky was on fire, the fissure in the middle gaping wider and wider and sucking in a mass of swirling clouds dipped with blood and orange.
And there. There, look. Standing atop the towering walls.
Beyond the heat wave was a figure, burning bright that you had to squint and you wanted to look away, you had to look away, but you can't go out like this, not without a scream and a curse at your lips.
What did you do, you were shouting, Who are you, you were screeching, feeling the veins in your neck stretch and pop as you walked closer and closer.
Wings as far as the eye could see stood atop the fallen city.
Spread out to span the horizon and folded at the middle to conceal whatever it is pointing a flaming sword towards the sun.
You tasted iron at the back of your mouth, but you did not stop. The earth beneath you swallowed your feet as it turned to mud with each step you took.
And with the flap of its wings, the sound of metal banging against each other reverberated louder.
There were children howling in pain, somewhere, behind you, in front of you, beside you. You staggered forward and for the life of you, you do not understand why you keep trying, because the ground below wasn't even soil anymore.
It took another step before you fell.
And it was like one of those dreams.
But this time you don't wake up.
You bawled out and thrashed your legs as water rose above you, slamming against your chest and filling up your mouth and burning your nose until it's all you could see, until you're floating in darkness and water is rushing to your lungs and you were flailing upwards, catching that spot of sunlight, but the more you kicked your feet and swung your arms, the more it tugged at your heavy legs and the less you could breathe and the further it got—
You were sinking, the clanging of a giant bell everywhere still, as the water pulled you down, and in the deep, below the nothingness, was a massive cleft illuminated by the barest of light, slowly opening to reveal an eye, and no sound came out though you know, though you felt your throat release a shriek, horrifyingly small, so, so small compared to that glass green pupil that illuminated the darkness, rapidly contracting and dilating and then blinking as salt and fire streamed deep in your skin, but they were looking at you from all sides, a thousand eyes flanking you and judging the weight of your soul with their unforgiving gaze as you tossed and turned in the waters.
I am going to die here, you thought. I will die here, you cried.
But something was pulling at your waist and despite clawing and jabbing at it, desperate to keep it away from you as you wailed get off me get off me, it gripped you tight, hauling you upwards until you were gulping and breathing in cold air.
Through tears and the piercing cry that ripped out your throat, you felt strong, warm arms cradle you close.
Along with a deep voice, familiar and conjuring a long lost memory.
It lulled you into hiccups and dry sobs, gentle as it whispered.
“Do not be afraid,” he said. “Do not be afraid. Do not be afraid.”
#tw noncon#tw non con haikyuu#yandere ushijima#ushijima wakatoshi x reader#ushijima x female reader#dark content haikyuu
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FFXIV Write 2021 #15: Thunderous
((A longer one. Violence, blood, and fire. Not safe for heretics or dragoons as we step back to last week and the aftermath of “Heady”...))
“There they are!” X’rhun exclaimed. “Thank the gods!”
Alberic only puffed a breath in agreement as they ran across and down the ravine to where Aeryn was tending to an ashen-faced Heustienne.
“The cavalry has arrived,” the injured dragoon said dryly, her damaged chainmail removed to allow Aeryn access to the wound. Not the worst Heustienne had ever taken, but more than bad enough.
“Thank Halone you’re safe,” Alberic said as X’rhun dropped to his knees next to the women to lend his own aid if needed. “We heard from Kal Myhk you’d tangled with a group of heretics—”
“They took us to Avengret,” Aeryn’s voice cut him off; quiet, too steady, too calm.
For a moment the world paused, until X’rhun’s tail lashed as he turned to look up at Alberic.
Aeryn wasn’t looking at him, her hands resting on her knees now, feet tucked under her. Heustienne’s gaze flicked between Aeryn and Alberic, her own questions barely held back.
“Let’s get Heustienne upright,” X’rhun said gently. “And then get back to—”
“Anyx Trine?” Aeryn interrupted. “Will they tell me the truth if I ask? They must know. If what she said is true.” She turned her head slightly toward Alberic without raising her face, looking at his boots. “She said I should ask you.”
“Aeryn…” His mouth was dry.
She looked up finally, lips parting to say more, but instead she drew in a sharp breath, eyes wide and shining silver, not seeing Alberic or anything else around her now.
He groaned, whether in fear or agony or relief, he wasn’t certain.
——
Alberic followed Corran Striker into the house. It was a pleasant little place, clean and airy. The edges of the walls were lined with brightly painted flower and vine designs, and small pieces of colored glass bordered the custom-framed windows to allow some of the light to also reflect rainbows into the rooms--that couldn’t have been cheap, Alberic thought.
“Please, leave your helm and lance by the door. I think my wife will forgive the boots this time.”
“I keep the lance close to hand, you understand,” Alberic replied as he at least set down his helm on the table by the door.
There was evidence of children; their house slippers by the door, a doll on a chair, a set of tin knights cluttering the low table in the sitting room. His heart ached. “What a lovely home,” he said. “Will the missus and children be joining us?”
Corran shook his head. “Emelia’s running some of her crafts all the way to Fallgourd in the Shroud, and took Zaine and Aeryn with her for the fun. They’ve been cooped up too long, she thought.” He smiled fondly. “It’s a way she deals with her homesickness, and shares that part of herself with our children; she grew up traveling part of the year selling wares as a girl in Thavnair.”
Relief, but also renewed wariness prickled along Alberic’s spine as he followed Corran to the kitchen, leaning his lance on the wall right behind his chair as he took the offered seat at the dining table. “Thavnair? That’s a ways away. Explains the colors though.”
“I got rather lucky,” Corran replied, his tone warm and genuine. “She misses it, but is somehow willing to stay with me.”
“Ever think of visiting?” Alberic asked casually as Corran went about the motions of preparing the lunch he had offered the tired dragoon when they had accidentally met in the treacherous priest’s chapel. Corran had seemed surprised to learn of Comfraire’s heresy, but had offered hospitality despite his own shaken state.
“If there wasn’t always so much work to do, perhaps someday we could,” Corran said quietly.
“I think I’d take the chance, perhaps even move permanently, were I a common man with a family. Get the children far from the war, among the wife’s people.”
“I won’t lie; the thought has occurred to me,” Corran said. “Though I’m surprised, Ser Azure; I’d think one like you would want to keep promising future soldiers for the war in Ishgard.”
Alberic shrugged. “As I said; were I a common man, with a foreign wife who misses her home and children with futures to think of.”
The chronometer in the hall ticked steadily as Corran worked. “Perhaps. Though much as she misses Thavnair, I’d miss Coerthas. I love my home, Ser Azure. There’s little I wouldn't do to see our homeland prosper.”
Alberic did not reply, not trusting his tongue to respond to the man’s gall.
As Corran came to the table with sandwiches and a decent-looking ale, Alberic smiled. “Then perhaps you can aid me in protecting our homeland,” he said. He hoped he was wrong about Corran. “I am tracking a dangerous creature I believe the false priest Comfraire was working with, coordinating an imminent attack from the Horde.”
Corran raised an eyebrow. “I’m but a simple farmer, Ser. I don’t know what help I could be.” He glanced down at his plate.
The chronometer in the hall continued to tick.
“Know you of anyone Comfraire spent time with, when not pretending to holy duties? Places the priest liked to go when not tending the church? I hear you were among those who escorted the fellow on his daily walks.”
“A duty many of us in the community shared,” Corran replied, tone growing strident. “Do you accuse me of heresy merely for minding an old man on his daily constitutional?”
“No of course not,” Alberic answered. He pulled the correspondence he had found in Comfraire’s hidden desk drawer from his pack. “These letters however do indicate guilt.”
“Well that is another story, isn’t it?” Corran asked, leaning back in his chair. The humble farmer demeanor fell away as he crossed his arms. “Why play along?”
“I wanted to be wrong. You seemed like a decent man with a family you love.”
“I do love them,” Corran replied, voice low and cold. “You’re very unlucky you came this day.”
“She doesn’t know what you really do, does she?”
“And once we’re rid of you, she never will,” Corran said bluntly. “Our war doesn’t concern her.”
“And the children?”
Corran’s grey eyes clouded like thunderstorms, his lips drawn into a snarl. “You’ll never touch them.”
They both leapt, chairs clattering to the ground. Alberic reached for his lance while Corran moved with preternatural speed to the sideboard, pulling a hidden blade he managed to raise in time to block Alberic’s swing.
The house was torn and broken as they fought, Alberic barely able to acknowledge the damage as they threw each other against walls and through furnishings. Corran had an advantage with his shorter blade in the cramped space, but Alberic was a far more practiced fighter. If he could get hold of a sword--or better disarm Corran of his--then the heretic would soon be at his mercy.
He finally saw his moment, spinning his lance to baffle Corran’s blade before using his more heavily armored frame to knock the taller man through a door and into what had to be the master bedroom.
The sword went sliding the opposite way down the hall, and Corran laughed bitterly.
“Give it up, Striker,” Alberic said, pointing his lance. He could see Corran’s waist and legs, but the broken door obscured his head. “Tell me about the coming attack!”
Corran's laugh only continued, growing deeper and more growling. Alberic’s eyes widened as he saw Corran’s body jerk, bones cracking and skin tearing, swelling as scales overtook skin.
He swung to drive his lance down through the man as a roar shook the windows, and through the back wall an aevis tore its way inside, the colorfully bordered window panes shattering across the bedding. The dragon leapt at Alberic, and he swung up, barely blocking the creature’s jaws from clamping onto his still helm-less head as they skid down the hall from the momentum of its impact.
Alberic managed to roll out of the way as the aevis let loose a gout of flame, the fire catching on broken furniture. It came for him again but he had made it to his feet, dashing back toward the kitchen for room to move. The aevis lunged at him as Alberic braced himself, a heel against the base of the sink.
His lance caught the beast’s chest and with a roar of his own from his Inner Dragon surging forth, he used the dragon’s momentum to pierce it deeper, throwing it over his shoulder and halfway through the large window, more bright glass breaking as the thing flailed, screaming flames across the yard as it bled out around the lance through it.
Alberic had no time to retrieve his weapon as Corran came for him, tearing apart the walls to fit his new bulk through them to get to the dragoon. He was larger than most transformations Alberic had seen, a heavy red wyvern, powerful and burning, his eyes filled with the same intelligence they had held as a man.
Alberic swore and dove out of the way of claws longer than his own hands. He managed to duck and roll under and past Corran and back into the hallway, needing the smaller space to disadvantage the dragon. Assuming said dragon didn’t just shoulder the walls out of his way, his fiery head rearing back to blast Alberic.
He barely managed to dodge, the heat unbearable as the walls with their pretty flower paint warped, melted, and crisped in the heat, flames now filling the house. He couldn’t last in here much longer, but also couldn’t let this fight further endanger the rest of the village, the commotion surely drawing attention, though any other knights would be too far away while Corran likely had more allies nearby.
His feet hit more metal that clattered, and he remembered Corran’s sword. As the beast came for him again, Alberic ducked to retrieve it, rolling in low as Corran leaped at him. With another shout, Alberic swung up, sliding along the floor on his knees as Corran passed overhead, the sword slicing down the wyvern’s side.
Corran screeched, landing heavily against the door in a tangle, blood flowing freely, wings and talons unable to get purchase in the too small space.
Alberic breathed heavily as he stood and hurried into the kitchen. The aevis was still jerking through its death throes, making a pathetic, pained cry as he yanked his lance from it, more blood pumping onto the sink and floor.
Alberic returned to the hall. Corran watched him, panting himself, lifesblood pooling around him as smoke filled the air.
“Finish me,” the dragon rumbled, in something resembling Corran’s voice. “But I want a promise first.”
“A promise?” Alberic asked. “Why should I pledge aught to a heretic?”
A weary claw gestured, holding a limp, blood-covered ragdoll. Alberic went cold. “For...them. They’re innocent. But we both know...Inquisitors….”
Alberic coughed as he shivered. They wouldn’t care that the children were only children. They wouldn’t care if Mistress Striker was Thavnairian--if anything, that would make it worse for her, no matter if she truly was unaware of her husband’s sins.
“Maybe...she’ll take them home,” Corran said. “She misses it. They could have…Not this.” His eyes met Alberic’s.
They were the grey eyes of a man.
Alberic nodded. “I promise,” he answered, as he pushed his lance through the wyvern’s heart. “Your family won’t pay for your sins.”
When he opened his smoke-stung eyes again, the dragon was gone, Corran Striker’s lifeless form before him, eyes colorless glass, smiling in relief.
Alberic considered for a moment, then drug Corran’s body toward the heaviest flames devouring the house, throwing him into the fire. With luck it would be so burned as to obscure how he had truly died, if Alberic was to keep his reckless promise.
The aevis in the kitchen was dead finally. Alberic retrieved the correspondence knocked to the floor during the scuffle, and gritting his teeth, threw all but one sheet into the flame as well; there was mention of a tower. If nothing else he could salvage something from this mess.
The heat and smoke were too much now, and people outside were shouting and trying to put out the flames, a woman screaming as she glimpsed the dragon half-hanging from the kitchen.
Alberic stumbled outside, battered and bloodied, and fell unconscious at the feet of the Strikers’ neighbors.
—————
It took only a few eye blinks before Aeryn’s groan echoed Alberic’s from a moment before. X’rhun tried to call to her, but she was on her feet in the next eye blink. She whirled in Alberic’s direction, braid whipping so quickly the end came back around to strike her cheek, unnoticed. Her eyes were a storm, lightning crackling in them.
Alberic did not move. He distantly realized that there was nothing any of the three of them could do to stop her of all people.
She flung herself forward and he took the weight of her body slamming into his, her hands gripping at his coat.
That was all.
Alberic didn’t dare move as she trembled against him, head down. X’rhun and Heustienne watched, breath held. Perhaps they had realized the same thing he had.
"I'd forgotten the windows,” Aeryn said hoarsely. “They were almost new; a Starlight gift from him, for Mama."
Alberic said nothing. What could he say?
“You didn’t tell me.”
He sighed. It took a moment to make sound. “By the time I’d realized who you were, why you were so familiar...Well, we had that mess with Estinien and neither of us were in any shape for more terrible revelations. Not the easiest thing to tell a girl you’re the man that killed her father, regardless of the why. And...If the Inquisition, the Ward, if any of them had found out…”
“I’d have handled them,” she said. Neutral, a matter of fact. She wasn’t one to boast.
“Perhaps,” he said. “I thought...Your mother took you to Thavnair. You would have a life there, away from the war. I never expected you to return. To be...this.”
“You should have told me.”
“I know. And you know I’m a sentimental, craven fool.”
She laughed, a wild, bitter noise, finally looking up. Her eyes locked with his, and he thought for as much as she looked like her mother, her eyes were too much like her father’s.
“X’rhun, can you make sure Heustienne gets back to Anyx Trine?” She said, not breaking her gaze with Alberic. The storm still rumbled in her eyes, but all he could see was old smoke.
“Of course,” the Seeker answered. “Aeryn—”
“I’m going home,” she said, shoving Alberic away. He staggered, barely managing to keep his footing. She was stronger than she looked. “I need time to think and rest.”
“You mean Revenant’s Toll, yes?” X’rhun demanded, tail still lashing.
Aeryn only nodded once as she retrieved her pack from next to Heustienne.
“Call me via ‘pearl when you arrive,” X’rhun insisted.
She paused for a moment, then nodded again, shouldering her pack and walking away.
“What the seven hells am I missing?” Heustienne asked after they watched Aeryn’s red coat vanish among the hills. “What did she see? What did you do?”
“Later,” X’rhun said, helping her to her feet. “Let’s get back to something resembling civilization first; Avengret’s heretics may still be on the trail.”
Alberic said nothing, simply following along as they made their way across the wilderness.
#FFXIVWrite2021#Final Fantasy XIV#Lyn Writing#Backstory#Dragonsong War#Alberic Bale#X'hrun Tia#Heustienne de Vimaroix#Corran Striker#Aeryn Striker
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Here’s my first crack at some Donna x pre-transitioned ftm!reader content to get the ball rolling with her reaction to you coming out, and I do warn you, this is me answering asks before having a chance to buy and play the game myself (I like hard copies sue me) so some things might not be right or ooc, like the fact I have Angie refer to Donna as her “mom” *shrug*
TW: mentioning of slight dysphoria
Make Me Feel Alive
The fog that acted as a fine layer that obscured the vision of the ground perfectly reflected the gloomy ache that lodged itself painfully in your chest, nearly making it impossible to breathe past. Your forehead lightly rested against the cool windowpane as you stared unseeingly out into the misty valley below. You weren’t feeling very comfortable today and you couldn’t stand to look at your reflection. It had your smile feeling forced and it didn’t feel right on your face at all.
You couldn’t slip, not in front of Donna, not when you feared what she would think of you. When you first had been sent to Donna as punishment straight from the hand of Mother Miranda, she had been cold and distant, as if your presence wasn’t appreciated nor was it a nuisance; she just... didn’t really acknowledge you at all as you tended to House Beneviento. That left one other... source of company for you to get acquainted with in her noticeable absence.
You shuddered at the thought of Angie finding out that you didn’t feel “normal”, and the onslaught that you would endure for it. The doll seemed to always be attached to your leg, and whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, you weren’t certain of yet. The little thing seemed obsessed with you, and Donna was quick to notice that fact. Now, you had her full attention.
“Angie does not grow attached to guests... and yet...”
It was the first words she had uttered to you since she had first introduced herself, and it caught you off guard as you were so absorbed in dusting the paintings decorating the walls. You whirled around on your heel, heart pounding rapidly against your rib cage, feeling too light for comfort. You were met with no expression as she wore her veil, and you never wanted to read her more.
“She whispers... things to me.” You admitted uncertainly, unsure if your definitions of “getting attached” were the same. “Frightening things sometimes,”
“You are still here, are you not?” countered Donna. “I have not warned her any of harm befalling you.”
You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat that formed at her words. Now you were well aware that you were free game running around the House, and away from Angie. Should you feel lucky? Because you’re starting to feel nothing at all.
“I don’t know why she... likes me.” You forced out, unsure of what answer Donna was seeking from you.
“Interesting...” was all she said before she turned away from you and left you standing there with a duster in hand.
You blinked away the memory of the first time you and Donna had a semi-conversation, and you considered that to be the turning point of your relationship. Especially when Angie was muttering the next day, something about “Why am I forbidden now?” and it had your lips curved into an unexpected smile that you couldn’t permanently shake for the rest of the day.
As the days bled into nights and as the weeks flew to months, there was a bond between the two of you that threatened to expand and force itself to be the only thing your mind was capable of comprehending. There was something melancholic about the air that always surrounded Donna and over time, it began pulling at your heartstrings that this soft heart had been so hurt in some way that she couldn’t even face the world without her veil, and you were determined to figure out the mystery of everything about her.
And that made it so easy to put aside your own insecurities and discomforts with your body for the sake of putting Donna’s needs above your own. You cooked for her, you cleaned for her, you did the house and yard maintenance for her. You made sure she had nothing else to do but to focus on what she loved — puppeteering. At first she had offered you no indication that she noticed or appreciated your effort in taking care of her, but then it started with a gentle caress of her finger over yours when you had handed her a cup one day. You couldn’t stop staring at her hands that day, and thinking of what they were capable of.
Even Angie’s bizarrely threatening comments had cooled to mere teasing and dark humor. Though she was still attached to your leg quite literally. The doll took every opportunity she could to curl herself around your leg and thigh, enjoying the ride as you continued on while occasionally glancing down at her giggling form. Even so, being as civil and calm as you and Angie were now, you still weren’t comfortable with the doll and her loose mouth knowing your secret and spreading it to the woman you-
Served. And that was all you would allow yourself even in your head. It was too painful to dream of scenarios where Donna felt the same fluttering in her stomach as you did, just to return to reality with the constriction of your chest; It was too painful to subconsciously trick yourself with hope. So, you decided to numb yourself from feeling anything completely as you tended to your duties around Donna’s home. You didn’t even bother with mindless chitchat with the veiled woman anymore when you presented her with her sustenance, and not once did you catch the furrow of her brow when you started taking your leave without a word, not when she concealed everything from you and everyone else.
You blinked past your blurry vision and saw the fog thickening until it blanketed the entire valley, even up the stumps of the trees. The small part of your forehead that was still resting against the windowpane had gone numb from the prolonged exposure to the chill of the glass. A sigh couldn’t help but find its way out of your throat, and it fogged up your view of the outside. You were contemplating reaching a finger out to draw a frowning face in the condensation, but a solid form collided with your leg and plopped itself down onto your right foot. You didn’t even have to look down.
“Hello, Angie,” you greeted monotonously, not in the mood to act overly friendly with the doll.
“What’s your problem?” demanded Angie, but you knew she wouldn’t have even asked if she wasn’t interested in what had you sour.
“Nothing,” you whispered, offering her a smile that barely lifted one corner of your mouth.
“Even my mom has noticed,” spoke Angie matter-of-factly, and you knew she felt you stiffen. “You don’t like that, huh?”
“What’re you talking about?” You cursed the way your voice trembled, but the doll relished in it.
“You’ve been distant, she says, and she wants to know why.” drawled Angie, gazing up at you as her hold on your leg tightened.
You nearly found yourself arguing with this doll, but you bit back any remarks of denial that danced so tantalizingly on the tip of your tongue, ready to take the plummet. You sighed heavily yet again as unbidden tears pricked the corners of your eyes at the mentioning of your behavior, and what was causing it by extension. You couldn’t tell her even if you wanted to, not past the weight that suddenly found itself stuck inside of your chest. Angie vehemently shook at your leg.
“Well?”
“Angie,” came a sharp voice, effectively cutting off your lack of response. “That will be all.”
Your neck almost could’ve broke with how quick your head snapped over to face Donna. She still had her veil on, but there was tension in her shoulders as she scolded the doll. Angie did the best she could about looking chastised as she scurried away from you and down the hall, not even seeking the comfort of her mother at the moment. So that left the two of you to stand there in uncomfortable silence until someone decided to break it, and you decided that that was not going to be you.
You couldn’t tell if you felt relieved or if you felt disappointed when Donna paused for a moment before turning on her heel and walked gracefully away from you and down the hall. You released a shaky breath and wasn’t sure why your eyes felt as wet as they did when you watched her go without a word, without any care. You squeezed them tightly shut, hoping against odds that it would dispel the tears lining them, and when you opened them again, you saw Donna standing still and looking back over her shoulder at you.
“Would you please follow me?” asked Donna, and you were surprised by how much of a genuine, nervous question it was rather than a demand that she could rightfully give.
“I- sure, I mean yes!” You stammered over yourself, unsure and nearly afraid, but your shaky legs took you forward one step at a time, and this time, Donna waited for you to fall into step with her.
“You seem tense,” Donna mused without looking over at you, and for once, you wished you had your own veil to shield yourself with once you decided that prolonging the inevitable would do no good.
“I’m sorry,” you mumbled, eyes turning downcast, and even you weren’t sure as to why you were apologizing.
“Are you alright, honey?”
The name at the end coupled with the concern you could hear in her voice had you looking right back up at her, and this time you could tell she was observing every part of your face, almost as if she were checking for the lie coming. It was too much to explain to her, too much at one time and you found it would be a lot easier to shut down and give generic, albeit hollow responses until she left you alone with yourself.
But what if? What if Donna made it easy enough to let your tongue slip and unleash it all as if it were nothing at all? You couldn’t see her reaction, and that alone, the slightest of hesitations, had your lungs seizing as you gazed right at her veil-covered face. What if she laughed at you? What if she called you unnatural? What if she banished you altogether? And that was how the cons had outweighed the pros, but now you’ve hesitated too long and Donna turned her body to fully face you.
“Will you make it just a little bit further? My bedroom is close by.” she said softly, her hand reaching out to you, and you took it, and for a moment it didn’t feel right in yours, but you shook the thought away, nearly grateful just to hold her hand.
You nodded your head, and the walk passed you by in a blur, one foot guiding you at a time as your thoughts battled for dominance and left you in the whirlwind. Donna pushed her bedroom door open and one thought that did take purchase of your mind was “Oh my god, she has me in her bedroom” and it offered you an anchor to latch onto instead of focusing on the care and affection you’ve grown to feel for Donna or the way your body felt too curved, too exposed, too wrong. Donna perched herself in the chair that she had in her room, and held her hand out to signal for you to sit down on the edge of the bed.
“You don’t talk much anymore.” Donna stated simply, and you made a noncommittal noise in the back of your throat. “Hm.”
“I’m-”
“Sorry,” interrupted Donna, and you could hear something coloring her tone. “Why? What do you keep apologizing for?”
“Nothing,” you shrug before looking down at your lap. “And a lot of things,”
“You are so very helpful, dear.” Donna quipped, and for some reason, it gave you the flash of irritation that you needed to get the ball rolling.
“Well maybe I don’t trust you!” You snapped, aware that you shouldn’t be saying it, but unable to prevent it from coming out, and you really regretted it when you heard a small intake of breath.
“Have I proven myself disloyal to you in some way?” spat Donna, her voice suddenly cold, and it had the fight leaving your body, and leaving you exhausted.
“I don’t want you to hate me.” You whimpered, hanging your head as it was too much energy to hold it up. “You’ll make fun of me.”
“I...”
The words died in Donna’s throat as she sat perfectly still in her seat. Her defensive attitude was instantly replaced with worry and confusion, and it had her momentarily thrown. She watched your body tremble with every labored breath you exhaled and after the third inhale, she was on her feet and sitting by your side on the edge of the bed. She took your hand and ran her thumb across your knuckles reassuringly.
“I could never hate you, and I would never make fun of you about what’s bothering you so terribly.” insisted Donna, taking your hand into both of hers now to softly caress it with her fingertips.
“I...” You whispered breathlessly, your wide eyes glued to your joined hands and it made it easier to not look at her. “I love you,”
The hands surrounding yours squeezed tightly before bringing it up, up, up, and slipping your hand behind her veil to bring it to her smiling lips.
“I know,” she whispered back, and you felt the heat of her breath against your hand. “I’ve known for some time, and I love you, too.”
Your mouth fell open in shock and you stared into the blackness that was her veil, your eyes darting back and forth where you thought her eyes to be. She was still smiling as she pressed kisses to your hand.
“W-Why didn’t you say anything sooner?” You pressed, unsure of what emotion you were going to land on. “If you knew?”
“There is something else you’re still holding back... why is that?” countered Donna, and she didn’t give you time to even think of a response before she was answering herself. “Because you aren’t ready, and I wasn’t... until now.”
“What changed?” You couldn’t help but ask, and you sorta felt selfish that you didn’t hesitate to press for answers while Donna simply let you come to terms with your own struggle at your own time.
“Me,” said Donna, her sudden chuckle sounded more of a dry sob she couldn’t hold back. “I changed over time and it was because of you... You used to be so lively around here that it made me come back to life as well... and then you suddenly disappeared.”
“I...” You trailed off, and how could you defend yourself when you knew her words to be true... you were here, but it was also very noticeable that you weren’t.
“Are you ever going to come back to me?” questioned Donna, your joined hands falling into her lap.
You watched in awe as it seemed like everything was almost falling into place right before your eyes in the form of Donna playing with your fingers with her own. She managed to seem so small and unsure, and yet she held this power and grace to her that you both were aware of. She dipped her head, but you could somehow feel the heat of her gaze probing. The fluttering of everything inside of you had it all too easy to bring your free hand underneath her veil to cup her cheek and pull her full attention towards you.
“A lot of the times I don’t feel like a woman.” You said and by the time you realized you were saying it, your voice only had time to tremble on the last word. “I... sometimes I don’t feel comfortable in my own body... Sometimes I look at myself and wish things were different.”
“What can I do for you?” Donna questioned intensely, one of her hands releasing yours in favor of covering the one on her cheek. “I don’t want you feeling uncomfortable with yourself.”
You sat there staring dumbly at her, your mouth working but no words were coming forth. You weren’t exactly prepared for any sort of response much less a positive one, and here she was, asking what she could do to help you, and it had you laughing incredulously, your brow furrowing as you looked at nothing. But then you were sobbing and you couldn’t stop it no matter how hard you tried to reign it back in. Arms were surrounding you in less than a second.
“Is this what you were so scared of, honey?” whispered Donna, tucking you into the crook of her neck, and you nodded wildly.
“I-I thought you wouldn’t l-love me if I told you.” You hiccuped, feeling frayed and ragged in her embrace.
“Impossible,” said Donna, her tone leaving no room for argument. “There is nothing wrong with wanting to feel right in your own skin.”
“What now?” You croaked, most of the weight gone from your shoulders, but there was still some residual tension lingering, and she must have felt it because she was soon running her soft hand over your shoulder.
“Well...” started Donna, pulling away from you but grabbing both your hands to keep you close enough. “I love you, and you love me, and if you ever chose to commit to becoming a man, then I’m quite certain that Mother Miranda has connections that I will indeed look into about helping you change into who you are meant to be.”
Was it really that easy? Did you really just come out as smoothly as you did? And she just... accepted it? You were so scatterbrained that it left you spent and unable to do more than fall back into her ready embrace. You figured she must have read your string of thoughts because soon she cupped the back of your neck, and pulled back.
Just enough so she could use her unoccupied hand to lift her veil just enough to expose her lips. You didn’t have time to marvel before she surged forward, also using her hand to pull you in closer to connect your lips in a searing kiss that had you gasping into it. Your eyes slammed shut without your consent, but the softness of her mouth had you lacking the care of anything else. She gently scratched at the base of your neck and then she was pulling back, leaving you dazed.
“Thank you for sharing your secret with me.” said Donna, and the raw honesty had you blinking away more tears.
“Thank you for deserving it,” you whispered back, almost hunching from how bone-tired and light you felt from finally letting go of the weight that was holding you down for so long.
After a moment of comfortable silence passed of the two of you just basking in the afterglow of requited confession, Donna smirked, prompting a grin of your own. Before you could even ask, she already beat you to it.
“I think Angie will be ecstatic about having something of a father figure around here.”
You paled when you heard maniac giggling outside the door.
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Pickpocket Part 3(Avengers x Child!Reader)
Description: You have been allowed to stay in the Avengers Tower, but your trials aren’t quite over yet. You still have one major hurdle you’re going to have to get over if you want to make this thing permanent.
To @sweetpeaflower01 and to anyone else who wanted to be tagged in this, I’m sorry I don’t have your usernames! It’s been a while since I’ve been on here!
A few weeks later, I woke up to the sun shining on my face through a nearby window.
“Good morning to you, too, kid.” I turned to see Tony, still lying in the bed beside me with his hand placed gently over mine. He had spent every night since I’d arrived in there with me except for one, which had immediately resulted in a nightmare, with my screams waking up the entire tower. “You think you’re ok to get up? We’ve got someone who wants to meet you.”
Immediately, my entire body tensed, and I could feel myself pale. My vision went blurry, my heart hammering frantically in my chest. “Hey, hey, it’s ok, kid, I’ve got you. Nothing’s gonna happen to you, I promise,” Tony spoke gently, his tone even as though he was attempting to sooth a wild animal. I nodded slowly, doing my best to calm my heart. He had promised me. He promised they wouldn’t send me back. I’m not sure why, but I trusted Tony.
Tony helped me to my feet, but my knees were shaking too much. Slowly, he scooped me up into his arms, careful not to move to quickly and frighten me, and wrapped his arms around my back. His arms were still so warm.
“Ah, miss (Y/N), I presume.” I lifted my head from Tony’s shoulder to see the rest of the Avengers surrounding a large African American man in a black trench coat with a patch over his eye that was grinning back at me. My heart almost stopped as I stared back at him, fear clawing mercilessly at my chest. He reminded me of Nat in how he regarded me with nothing more than cold, merciless calculations; except, unlike Nat, he didn’t have that small spark of empathy. Instead, there was excitement -- greed almost. I made my decision then and there. I didn’t like this man.
“I’ve got a question for you, kid. How exactly did someone like you manage to steal from four of Earth’s mightiest heroes?” he asked, glancing me up and down.
I didn’t want to answer. I didn’t want anything to do with this man.
“It’s ok, just answer the question,” Tony nodded reassuringly. I could feel his worried eyes on me, trying to grab my attention, but I refused to take my eyes off of the newcomer for a single second. Still, I didn’t want to go against Tony.
“I have small hands,” I said slowly. “And I know how to read people.”
“What do you mean read people?” Steve asked. “What does any of that have to do with stealing a wallet?”
“It has everything to do with stealing a wallet,” I responded monotonously, still stubbornly refusing to drop my gaze from the man. “Reading people helps you pick a mark -- someone with their guard down who isn’t expecting to actually be targeted. More than that, though, reading people is what actually lets me get away. With Steve, I was sweet and innocent, but with Tony, I was sarcastic but pitiable. If I had been the opposite, Steve would have been more annoyed and therefore more aware of what I was doing, and Tony would have been less distracted.”
“You figured all of that out by talking to them for a few seconds?” Nat asked, taking a small step forward as she surveyed my curiously. I nodded silently.
“Show me,” the man said. Finally, I tore my eyes away from him to glance at Tony for confirmation. He nodded back, gently setting me down. I grabbed his hand instead.
“Who do you want me to mark?” I asked softly.
“Try Natasha,” he smirked, crossing his arms. I glanced over at the redheaded woman and frowned. “Something wrong?” he asked.
“I would never mark her,” I responded, glaring up in annoyance at the confidence in his tone. “She is guarded and always in a stance to protect her vital points. Someone like that is too aware of their surroundings not to notice a pickpocket.”
“Do your best anyways,” he smirked.
I grit my teeth in frustration and turned to Nat. As I looked over at her, an idea slowly began to form. I smirked inwardly. It was perfect for dealing with this man. Sunglasses, a phone, a watch, a ring, a swiss army knife, and a custom pen. If I did everything perfectly, not to mention getting a bit lucky, I might be able to grab everything.
I squeezed Tony’s hand to draw his attention to it as I pressed my body into his slightly so that I could grab his sunglasses, which were hooked onto his pocket. “Fine,” I growled. “But don’t blame me when it doesn’t work. Now move out of the way.” I grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him backwards, using that split second to simultaneously put Tony’s glasses on my head and slip my hand into the man’s opposite pocket and pull out his phone, flicking it upwards into the overly-large sleeve. I took a deep breath and approached Nat, tucking my hands, and the phone with them, into my pockets. I flicked my eyes carefully over her, looking for any loose item that I could grab. Finally, I noticed that I could just barely see the edge of a few dollar bills in her back pocket. It wouldn’t be easy, and I would have to stay in front of her the entire time to avoid her suspicion, but it wasn’t impossible.
“Excuse me, miss?” I asked softly, glancing up at her with wide eyes.
“Yeah?” She responded, lifting a brow.
“I-I was wondering if you had any food,” I croaked, allowing my body to shrink in on itself so it would look even smaller.
“Sorry, kid, I don’t have any on me,” she shook her head slightly, furrowing her brows.
“Ok, I understand, thank you,” I muttered softly. “I’m sorry to bother you. My mommy says bothering grown-ups is bad. I-I don’t have the belt with me. But I’m sure I can find a stick,” I offered quickly, as if to try and placate her. I stumbled to the side a bit, pretending to look for a stick. I forced my toes to catch on my other shoe, falling right in front of Steve’s feet. “I-I’m so sorry, sir,” I winced, making sure not to meet his eyes. I took his outstretched hand and pulled myself up, wrapping one hand around his wrist, where I slipped off his watch. “T-thank you so m-much,” I gushed, my voice shaking ever so slightly as I brushed the nonexistent dirt from his shirt. Quickly, I put his watch onto my own wrist while his attention was focused on his shirt.
Nat frowned slightly at this. “Your mommy, did she hurt you?” she brought my attention back to her, studying my face carefully.
I glanced back at her, before quickly looking back down to avoid eye contact. I knew what I had to do -- that I had to tell the truth if I had any hope of doing this. So, I forced myself to remember the face of my old caretaker. “O-only if I’ve been really bad,” I shook my head slightly. “A-and only if she’s at home.” My voice had gone hoarse, tears building up in the backs of my eyes. It was easy to cry when I thought about that terrible woman.
“How often is she not at home?” Nat asked.
“N-not that o-often,” I shook my head again. “I-I think she just f-forgets sometimes. She’ll come home soon, though. She’s almost never gone for more than two weeks,” I smiled up at her softly, wrapping my arms around my torso to accentuate how small my waist was as well as provide a sense of insecurity and fear.
Nat frowned slightly, falling silent for a moment. Finally, she looked up at the man and said, “Alright, I believe her. I’d probably go take her to get some food then call the cops. I’d imagine you’d be long gone before they arrive?” She added with a slight chuckle.
“Really?” I asked, my face lighting up in a wide smile. “Thank you!” I gasped, wrapping my arms around her torso. She immediately tensed, and I took the opportunity to grab the few bills, tucking them into my opposite sleeve. “U-um, sorry,” I stuttered and quickly released her, my face growing red. I stumbled backwards and straight into the arms of Thor. I grabbed his hand in my own as though in an effort to keep my balance as he righted me gently. I thanked him softly and slipped my hand out of his grip, taking the beautiful golden ring from his finger in the process.
“How would you escape, though?” Nat asked. “I wouldn’t think you’d want to go to the police.”
“O-oh, well, it’s not too hard,” I smiled slightly. “I just need to lose you in the crowd. I would probably do something like this.” I walked forward, and slipped between Clint and Bruce, using both hands to grab the swiss army knife from Clint’s pocket and a gorgeous custom pen that was clipped to Bruce’s. “Then, once I’m out of your sight, I’d start running-”
“It was a good scam, kid,” the man cut in. “But I thought I asked you to pickpocket her.”
I whipped back around to face him, suddenly feeling vulnerable again with all of the adults surrounding me. “You’re right, I’m sorry; you asked me to pickpocket only her,” I hissed, my teeth grinding together. “But I thought you wanted me to show you what I could do.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?” he frowned, narrowing his eyes.
“As long as I’m not seen as a threat, I can steal from anyone,” I said, walking up to Tony and handing back his sunglasses. “And I would do anything to keep myself from being seen as a threat.” I took the watch off my wrist and handed it back to Steve. “Everyone has something that brings their guard down.” I pulled the ring from my finger and handed it back to Thor. “And whether they acknowledge it or not, they all want to see the good in people,” I pulled the swiss army knife and custom pen from my pockets, handing them back to Clint and Bruce. “They all want to see me as some innocent little kid,” I returned Nat’s money to her. “Even you,” I held out the man’s phone, staring up at him in defiance.
Every one of them stared at me in pure, unadulterated shock. All of them, that is, except for Tony, who grinned and welcomed me back into his side, wrapping a strong arm around my shoulders. Finally, the man chuckled a bit and snatched his phone back from me. “Not bad, miss (Y/N), not bad at all. Natasha, from now on, you’re training her to be a new agent.”
My eyes widened, and I frowned, subconsciously shrinking further into Tony’s side. He squeezed my shoulder gently.
“Hey, Thor, why don’t you take (Y/N) for some poptarts. She hasn’t had breakfast yet,” Tony said with a small smile.
“I’m not hungry,” I frowned.
“Just go with him for now, ok, kid? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of this.” I blinked up at Tony and frowned before nodding slowly, allowing the large blonde god to take my hand and lead me out of the room, away from the rest of the adults.
As soon as the door closed, I turned to the god with wide, pleading eyes. “Mr. Thor, could you pretty please toast the poptarts for me?” I asked sweetly, gazing up at him.
“Of course, young lady (Y/N),” Thor grinned and ruffled my hair, moving towards the cabinets. As soon as his back was turned, I pressed my ear to the door, concentrating on trying to hear what was going on in there.
“Did you really think I’d let you make her an agent?” I heard Tony snap.
“I didn’t think you had a choice,” the man from earlier responded casually. “The girl’s got a gift, Stark. She could help us.”
“She’s just a kid! I brought you here to give you a heads up that she’d be staying with us, not to give you a potential recruit.”
“Look, it’s very simple, Stark. Either you allow her to start training, or I deem her a threat to the team. I will inform the police of the location of a criminal and unsupervised child.”
“So what?! I’ll just adopt her!”
“Adoption takes a long time, Tony, especially for someone with a criminal record and a history of alcohol abuse. Do you really want to send her back to an orphanage while you go through all of that, if you’re even granted custody at all?”
Oh, god. This couldn’t be happening. I couldn’t be going back. He promised me I wouldn’t go back! I stumbled backwards, barely making it a few steps before my knees gave out and I was sent crashing to the ground.
“Lady (Y/N)!” Thor shouted, rushing over, but I could barely hear him over the deafening sound of my heartbeat and the blood rushing through my ears. I could feel the tears streaming down my face and the burning in my chest from my hyperventilating breaths. I curled up tightly, my muscles shaking from how tense they were. I couldn’t go back there -- I wouldn’t! Tony promised me I would never go back again!
“(Y/N)?” The familiar voice cut through the haze. Immediately, I reached out and clawed at the air, trying to find him, but with blur of tears in my eyes, I couldn’t see him anywhere. Suddenly, my head was resting against a chest, a pair of arms holding me tight and close. “It’s ok, just breath with me. Focus on me, ok? In and out.” I forced myself to breath in with him, struggling to slow it down like he said. Slowly but surely, my breathing evened out, until finally, it had returned to normal.
As the panic slowly faded away, I could feel the energy drain from my body, and I nestled further into Tony’s embrace. He stroked my back gently, murmuring comforting words into my ear.
“Tony?” I didn’t even open my eyes as I whispered softly, my voice still thick and shaking. My hands gripped his shirt tightly, afraid that if I let go for more than a second, he would disappear. “Do I have to go back?”
“Never,” Tony answered immediately, his voice firm. “I’m not letting you go anywhere.”
“Ok,” I whispered back, relaxing slightly. Tony pulled me even closer, and I let out a soft sigh, my muscles slowly relaxing. My hands released the shirt’s material, falling numbly into my lap.
Just before my exhausted body quickly slipped back into unconsciousness, I was barely able to make out a few words from Tony. “Fine. You win.”
“She’ll start training tomorrow.”
- - -
That was about four years ago. Since that day, Natasha had been training me constantly in different fighting techniques, target practice, the works. Of course, the lying and deception I’d already had down pat. Originally the plan was for me to be homeschooled, but Tony had thrown an absolute fit when he’d heard that, and considering I wasn’t exactly lacking in the mental department, we settled on just a bit of extra tutoring from Bruce every day after school.
Fury’s interest in me never went away. Because I had been so malnourished as a kid, I ended up being way too small for my age. To Fury’s absolute delight, this meant that I was more than capable of squeezing through the smallest of spaces. In other words, thanks to my size, training, and natural intelligence I was absolutely perfect for covert missions focusing on gathering information.
Tony had been absolutely furious when I’d been called on for my first mission. He’d screamed at Fury nonstop for three days until, finally, he was assured both that Nat would be with me the entire time and that he would be allowed to have a direct connection to my earpiece. He couldn’t decide whether he was thankful or disappointed that my first mission went perfectly. Of course he was happy I came back completely unharmed, but his fear that I would be forced into more and more missions due to my overwhelming success was only proven right at every turn. Still, he was always in my ear, talking me through the every single mission I ever went on.
I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wasn’t exactly a normal teenager. Still, that being said, I don’t think I would want it any other way.
Except maybe for the Fury part. Nothing would make me happier than seeing that man get what’s coming to him. But I could worry about that later. For now, I’d just spend my time grateful that I was blessed with the best dad in the world.
#avengers#avengers imagine#avengers reader insert#avengers x reader#avengers x you#avengers x child!reader#child!reader
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