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WC: 12k | AFCAT SERIES MASTERLIST | ISF GENERAL MASTERLIST | DISCORD FOR DEATH THREATS

You are his destiny.

High above the realm of gods and men a moon casts its sorrowful glow over the lands without warmth. One could say that she is crying for the fate of her sisters and wishes one day to reunite with them in the afterlife, despite eons of lifetimes separating them from one another. Yet how can a corpse mourn over something that is long gone? At this very moment, he doesn’t understand. But when he will, there will be nothing but the memory of inteyvat and the only light he has ever known, yet the one which pales in comparison to the glow of your presence.

For even if chalk pursues gold, gold will always seek out the diamond.

Jöfurr Alberich is not a man one should be questioning, yet as he stands here listening to the words that leave the mouth of his direct superior, Dainsleif cannot help but question everything. Every single thing that transpired today feels like nothing but a fever dream, brought upon him by one of the abyss mages, in hopes that maybe someday he will return home to them. It will never happen, his hatred for the Jötnar outweighs the confusion he is feeling right now, yet for a brief moment he actually considers the possibility of going back to his father and apologizing for telling him to go fuck himself.

“With all due respect, Captain Alberich, but can you repeat that?” Jöfurr is as stoic as ever, the unshakeable mountain that he is, the Captain of the Royal Guard does not let his emotions slip. Beside him, however, stands a woman who has no trouble laughing at the confusion woven into Dainsleif’s voice. Her laughter scratches his brain in the worst way imaginable and he wishes she would just stop. Something tells him she won’t.

“From today onwards, you will be stationed over the Wall. To guard the second princess.” Jöfurr says. And out of context Dainsleif would not have found anything wrong with what his captain said to him; all of it sounds very much reasonable. Yet put together and into perspective, he cannot help but wonder what in the world this old man is talking about.

“The dead princess?” Maybe asking this was a mistake, because it just makes Rhinedottir laugh again. It’s like a chalk against the blackboard. For someone so immensely famous and favored by the Crown, she seems to be the one to whom the saying ‘never meet your idols’ was referring to.

Jöfurr sighs, rubbing his forehead with his glove-clad hand. “I know how it sounds, Dainsleif. Trust me when I say this is not some sort of a government conspiracy.” Dainsleif nods, yet somehow he has a hard time believing it. If there is one thing he knows in this world, it is that his grandfather taught him to doubt everything, especially when it comes to the Eclipse Dynasty. “She was in grave danger. It was a hard decision that we had to make to keep that child safe.” Jöfurr stops, Dainsleif doesn’t believe that this is the whole extent of the story. Beside the captain, Rhinedottir is twirling her pipe in-between her fingers while it still releases smoke in the office with no windows opened. Jöfurr continues, “However–”

Gold inhales the smoke, then blows it out in one thick grey cloud. “What Lord Alberich is trying to say is, the girl has been studying under me for some time now and to make it easier for the both of us, it was decided that she can leave her house arrest with a supervisor.” Logical, reasonable, very much sensible, all in Gold’s nature. Yet it does not explain the dead princess part at all. Dainsleif knows better than to argue with the people of a higher status than him, however, so he keeps his peace for now. Silence seems to be the right answer in Rhinedottir’s opinion, anyway, as she continues with a tiniest of smiles on her red lips, “For her own good, of course.”

“I see.” It’s an obligatory sign of understanding. Dainsleif has little to no respect for royalty, yet a dire need of money and something to drag his family out of the slums of the Capital and to somewhere with a functioning heating system, constant access to food and clean water, and as far from the field tiller junkyard as possible. If it means being a lapdog of Captain Jöfurr Alberich while capitalizing on the damned powers his father left him with, just like the rest of Black Serpents unfortunately do, then so be it. If it means being a babysitter to a dead princess who is not actually dead, then so be it. As long as the Crown pays him, he will be whatever they want him to be.

“Is everything cleared now, Dainsleif?” Jöfurr asks, closing some folder that was lying open on his desk all this time. Nothing is clear, and nothing makes sense. But Dainsleif has no right to complain in a situation like this, despite having a very long list of things he eagerly could complain about for days on end. Starting from taxes and ending with the silently brewing war. But, as the saying goes, one thing at a time.

Instead he says, “Very much so, Captain.”

“Then?” Jöfurr is acting like Dainsleif actually has a choice in this matter. It’s laughable at best and dehumanizing at worst. Somehow even this situation he ended up with still leads back to his father and his deceitful nature. Dainsleif blames it all on him, as there is no other way around it. Anger is a vice, his mother says, yet despite knowing and understanding it, somehow he is still furious.

“Orders are orders.” Dainsleif says. It is the only truth he knows, yet his grandfather’s words are always floating in the back of his mind like dust over the Stone Forest. Just three generations ago life wasn’t like this at all. Just three generations ago the people of Khaenri’ah looked at their beloved queen as the heart and soul of the nation. Just three generations ago, the gates of the Wall were opened to all. So what happened? He doesn’t know, but cannot muse over it for too long, nothing will come out of his brooding anyway. “As Her Majesty wishes.”

“Splendid.” Gold claps her hands. The pipe is no longer smoking, and instead is hidden in the pocket of her long coat. “We should be taking our leave then, Lord Alberich.” She says we as if she actually considers him her equal. The people who run this nation right now are a laughing stock to those who stand here before them. Dainsleif doesn’t care. Soon the Queen will be replaced and the new cycle will begin again with Skadi Einherjar, as she is the only daughter the Crown has. Or had, considering the second princess seems to be alive and well. Despite the newly-obtained knowledge, Dainsleif doesn’t have much hope in the queen to suddenly change her opinion and bring the allegedly-dead princess out from her exile. So at the end of it all, people of Khaenri’ah can only hope something will change this time around. Judging by how similar the queen and crown princess are, there should be no hope in the first place.

Rhinedottir starts gathering her belongings. All the scrolls and trinkets with scratch-like handwriting all over them that Dainsleif could only hope to understand. He bows to his captain, hoping to leave as soon as possible to have as much of today free for his mother. Jöfurr clearly has other plans, as he clears his throat, “I have one more thing I wish to discuss if you don’t mind, Lady Gold.”

Rhinedottir nods, the striking golden of her hair shines in the moonlight like a flame. “But of course. I am all ears.” They share a look. Whatever Jöfurr wants to ask, Rhinedottir already knows. It’s evident in their behavior throughout this whole meeting, yet Dainsleif cannot pinpoint what is so off about all of this. Even disregarding the fact that the princess whom the nation mourns to this day is actually alive, this whole thing simply does not sit right with Dainsleif, no matter how much he tries to rationalize the mysticism of it all.

“Just between the three of us,” Jöfurr begins; Dainsleif already knows whatever is coming next he won’t like even one bit. “I want to know everything. Where she goes. What she does. Who she meets. Whom she is talking to. Every single detail of everything that is going on in that house, I must know.” The captain stops for a split second. Despite the stoicism of his voice and the impassiveness of his face, there is some sort of emotion behind his eyes that Dainsleif cannot put a name to. And although it is the case, it also betrays Jöfurr tremendously, because for Dainsleif it is crystal clear now that whatever excuse Jöfurr Alberich is going to say next is a straight-faced lie. “I do not trust the Æsir woman they left my niece with, you see. Pains me to admit, yet it was very irresponsible of Her Majesty to do so.” Dainsleif wants to laugh. This is ridiculous. Everything about this is just one red flag, and the captain is waving it around before Dainsleif’s nose hoping the young man is color-blind. Sadly, it does not work this way. “Are we clear?”

No, not in the slightest. The words that follow are nothing like what Dainsleif thinks, “Crystal, Captain.”

Jöfurr nods, “Dismissed.”

The two leave the office on the opposite ends of the satisfaction spectrum. Gold seems elated, as much as that calculating gaze of hers can allow her, at least. Dainsleif wishes his father had burned in the deepest parts of Abyss for all of eternity, yet he is well aware that cannot ever happen. For whatever came from Abyss will never be harmed by Abyss. How vexing.

When they leave the castle grounds, Rhinedottir puts her hand on his shoulder. It stays there for a bit too long for him to be comfortable. “I will come here in the evening to pick you up.” It is not a wish of goodwill but a thinly-veiled threat. Whatever her, and by association your uncle’s deal with you is, he will find out and then he will act accordingly. “And good luck, Dainsleif. I would say you need it.”

To Abyss with all of this. He needs a drink.

Chalk pursues gold.

The places the light of the moon cannot reach are cloaked in constant darkness and sentenced for eternal damnation. With no way in and no way out, the lands without light stand barren of the true meaning of life. For if even the moonlight cannot touch them, nothing would lift the veil and save them from an eternity in the state between life and death. So it is only natural that those who learned to be comfortable in the darkness will never look for a way out, and those who strive for light will inevitably break the barrier with their own two hands. Yet despite all the warmth this eclipse gives, the memory of her is nothing but wasted time. For he got too comfortable with dusk, while the moon was just one step ahead.

“Over the Wall?” Duneyrr asks, sipping her tea. Over at the sink Vana is washing the dishes. The sound of running water is a rare occurrence, but it’s always a welcome one.

“Yes. I will be coming back on the weekends.” Dainsleif nods, hands monotonously polishing the blade of his sword. He doesn’t look up from his own reflection in the steel, he really doesn’t want to know what his mother’s face is like right now. For all the right reasons.

“Seems unreasonable.” Of course it is, but it’s not like he has much of a choice. The woman sighs. The water stops running. Dainsleif keeps polishing the blade. “What for?”

A good question. Also a question he cannot answer truthfully or his head will be hanging off the aforementioned wall the next morning. “The Queen had a bastard.” The sound of a cup falling on the floor is way too loud even in a place like this, where the field tiller junkyard is just outside the window.

“I’m really sorry, Lady Duneyrr.” Vana mumbles, picking up the pieces of the broken cup. Even not looking at her, Dainsleif knows his mother has the same displeased scowl on her face that she puts on every time Vana does something she finds annoying. It’s a discouraging thing, but there is nothing he can do about it. It’s not like his mother hates the woman he’s seeing, it’s just that Duneyrr was always this difficult. His mother is a woman made of fragile glass that is broken all over and if you touch it the wrong way, you will inevitably cut yourself. It comes from both a place of hurt and from the upbringing. Duneyrr simply doesn’t like people. She especially doesn’t like the Valkyries. Even more so, she despises the Eclipse Dynasty. Sometimes it seems like she doesn’t like her own family as well, but Dainsleif knows this to be a lie. She raised him well and loved him enough to last a lifetime or two. “And this is not a good joke, Dainsleif.”

“I wish I was joking.” He says, lifting his eyes from the blade to his mother for a split second, only to see her give Vana another scowl. Dainsleif also wishes he didn’t have to lie, but not everyone can live the comfortable life of a royal. “Apparently she had a daughter with someone from the Council around a decade ago, and now they want me to babysit her.”

“Of course she did, that wench.” Duneyrr scoffs. The cup that was in her hands not so long ago loudly meets the surface of the table. “Be careful. I don’t want you getting mixed up in royal affairs, Dain.” His mother is not as strong as she likes to pretend she is. As intelligent and wise as Duneyrr may be, she is just one woman trying to support a family that took too much and gave nothing back. It is only natural for Dainsleif to hold a grudge against his father and brother for using his mother like they did. He is the only thing she has left and this won’t be changing any time soon for as long as Dainsleif has a say in it.

“At least we will be seeing each other more, right?” Sometimes Vana doesn’t know how to read the room. It’s one of her not-so-good qualities that she is constantly working on, and so far she has been doing a good job. If only his mother saw it as well.

It’s evident that Vana right now is a far cry from the girl he met when he first joined the Black Serpents at barely sixteen. At the time the young Valkyrie had little to no self-awareness or tact, or even something basic as human decency. It was evident by the blind adoration Vana had for the queen that she was born in one of the families who were always close to the crown and lived a life a bit too comfortable for Dainsleif to find relatable. It was not that surprising that they hated each other at first. A woman who neither knew anything of the struggles of common people nor had any sympathy for those over the Wall, and a man with too much pent up anger for people just like her. They were bound to clash. But Dainsleif is truly glad that Vana lost that unconditional devotion to the queen. And although it came at a price that nobody should be paying, the disillusionment helped her regain her humanity and learn to sympathize with those she never thought she would. That’s why it is so upsetting now to see his own mother disregard those changes like they were nothing.

“How daft are you, girl? This isn’t about you.” Duneyrr never missed an opportunity to remind Vana of her standing. Dainsleif cannot wait for the moment that she will have her fill. He’s just afraid that with how things started, it won’t be coming any time soon.

“Lady–” Maybe he should stop trying to force them to get along. Maybe he should try harder. If he didn’t care for Vana as much as he does now, he would have not tried at all.

“Save it.” Duneyrr shakes her head, getting up from the table and walking out of the kitchen. “For once Högni was right, Dain.” She says, opening the door. Dainsleif hates the mention of his father and how she, of all people, is using it as an example of something good. His only hope is that she will get over it one day and see that not everything is so cut and dry. That sometimes people actually change and not just promise to and then go back on their word like nothing happened. Only, Dainsleif also knows that only fools have hope, because his mother is as stubborn and unshakable as the Wall. Because what she says next is a picture perfect description of her character in one single sentence, “Once a dog, always a dog.” And then she’s gone. It’s not the goodbye he wished for, but it is the only one he will ever get.

Dainsleif hears Vana sigh, as she sits down beside him. “Why does she hate me so much?” It must be hard for her, he knows it has to be. He should be more sympathetic towards her right now, but he sadly finds himself justifying his mother’s actions.

“It has nothing to do with you, Vana.” It truly doesn’t. Dainsleif knows his mother is projecting her own hurt in a way that is not acceptable. And despite him stating his standing on it time and time again, there will be no change in the way Duneyrr treats Vana. “She despises Valkyries, you know that.”

“Yes, Dainsleif, I know.” Vana sounds so tired and Dainsleif cannot blame her for it. “But why?” She is desperate to know the reason her lover’s mother hates her this much. This, however, is not the information he is willing to give her. His grandfather said true love is worth any sacrifice and in some way, Dainsleif believes him although he doesn’t really want to. Questioning his standing in the only stable thing in his life is never a good thing.

“You know I can’t tell you.” Vana looks dejected at yet another refusal to explain things. Dainsleif is probably just as tired of all of this as Vana is. Maybe none of this is worth it. Maybe this should have ended before it began. Maybe he simply isn’t trying hard enough. Whatever the case, he feels like he has to stay even if simply because he started it all. At the very least because he cares for her. And for now, it’s enough to push forward. “Come on, we should head out.”

Vana doesn’t argue. The moonlight entering through the window falls down on her face in a bluish glow that looks a bit too sorrowful. For some reason it feels like the stars are laughing at him.

Chalk pursues gold.

The moon does not move as it shines light on the lands of the fallen. It stays there, forever unchanging and still in her tragedy, as her pale rays cut through the darkness of the world far beyond gods’ reach. And it is still, for it is dead. And what once died should never come back from the other side. Yet if someone dared to ask, he would tentatively say the first memory of you felt like a resurrection of what he never was yet what he always needed to be. For you are the only one who could bring him to life.

The manor on the outskirts of the City of Shadows sends shivers down his spine. It’s not the mansion he thought it would be, but then again, the princess was supposed to be dead, so it’s not surprising they don’t treat her like royalty to not attract any unwanted attention. Rhinedottir doesn’t knock on the door, just turns the handle and enters the house, taking off her shoes and not even checking if Dainsleif is following her or not. He does because he doesn’t have to be told things. He closes the door behind him and then puts his boots neatly on the rack on the left side of the entrance. There are not nearly enough pairs of shoes on it, considering Jöfurr told him there are two people living there, one of them being a literal princess. He keeps the thought in his head and lets it be, following after Gold like a good soldier should.

“Rhinedottir, you’re late again.” The woman who greets Gold is not the Æsir woman who was tasked with raising the supposedly dead princess. She looks more like a resident of the Capital at the very least, dressed in the colors of the House Einherjar and carrying herself with a poise of a royal, although she clearly isn’t one. If the story he so foolishly made up was true, he would have said she just might be the bastard daughter of the queen. But Dainsleif knows the truth even if he would rather he didn’t. So whoever she is, not only she is not of Khaenri’ah but she comes from somewhere where the moon cannot reach. And although it is the case, she knows she belongs here in this house and is not afraid to show this even to someone like Gold. It makes Dainsleif wonder if he even knows better than that.

Rhinedottir ignores her. The fleeting look the alchemist gives the nameless woman is that of indifference, although Dainsleif cannot help but look more into that tilt of her head than necessary. “Go wait in the kitchen.” She says to Dainsleif instead. Gold repositions the parchments in her hold and turns to the left, where the living room opens in an archway that leads to a hallway. The nameless young woman follows Gold with visible distaste all over her face, embers in her eyes burning with the heat of a campfire until Rhinedottir is hidden behind the wall and the flames die down completely.

Then she scoffs, hands crossing over her chest with a shake of her head. She turns her attention to Dainsleif then, sparing him one single questioning look with a quirk of her light brow. “What are you waiting for?” What is he waiting for, really? Dainsleif doesn’t really have an answer to that question, but following instructions of a woman who does not belong to this household feels wrong. And he has to live here from now on and he would rather not be shunned for stepping out of line.

“May I?” He asks instead.

“Knock yourself out.” She doesn’t say anything else and just leaves the room, following the path Rhinedottir took not so long ago and leaving Dainsleif to do as he was told.

Maybe he already hates it here. Maybe he should stop judging everything just by the looks alone. He can’t really help it, however. First impressions always made the most impact on him and going by his experience alone, they were more often than not the most accurate judge of character. Although given Vana and their circumstances, he knows better now.

Whatever it may be, however, he lets it all go because at the very end it’s just a job and nothing more. They don’t have to like him– he doesn’t get paid for that– but for taking the second princess from point A to point B safely. There is nothing more to this than that. And yet something about this estate just feels off. Dainsleif can’t explain it or put a name on it, blaming this unease on the heightened senses he got from his good-for-nothing father.

It’s in the drumming of his heart and the sense of foreboding coating every single square meter of this house. It’s too quiet. The light is on in every single room although there is no need for it. The vases full of different flowers on every single window stay in the state between life and death. The air does not move like it is supposed to. The moon seems closer than it actually is and the stars are all silent. So silent it almost looks like they all died. And maybe they did. It’s like even the time itself is still here, lying asleep till someone dares to wake it up. Dainsleif taps his foot against the floorboards. His hand reaches to put out the candle on the table before it dies out just like the stars did.

“Try to make it less high-maintenance this time.” Gold’s voice does not belong here in this slumbering abode. “What are you going to call it?”

“I am working on it, master.” But this one does. Dainsleif knows it because the time awakens from its slumber and picks up from where it left off, rushing to catch up with all the lost moments. “And I don’t know yet.”

“Fair enough.” From the corner of his eye, Dainsleif can see Rhinedottir putting her shoes back on. All the parchments she was carrying with her are missing now, as she left them with her student who, despite standing beside her, is still out of his sight. “Next time we will see each other in two weeks. 3 o’clock.”

“I will be done by then.” You say. There is something exhausted in your voice, although it is very easy to miss if you don’t listen carefully enough.

“Failure is not an option.” Rhinedottir, for the lack of better words, is a cunt. It is not anything new to Dainsleif, but it sure surprises him in regards to her behavior towards you. You are the princess, are you not? Should there not be some level of respect coming with your title, no matter the circumstances? Dainsleif cannot tell for sure, because he is kept in the dark about almost everything and truth be told, he doesn’t really want to know. He also loves to sometimes lie to himself.

The door closes. Not with a bang but with the quiet sound of a lock turning. On the other side of the house, far away from the kitchen, something falls. The sigh that escapes your lips is audible even from where Dainsleif sits at the kitchen table. The nameless woman who does not belong to Khaenri’ah screams something about not putting any more flowerpots on the windowsills because she will inevitably break one or two when opening the window. You say nothing back, the only noise coming from where you are is the sound of footsteps. Feet against the floorboards. One, two. One, two. It is strangely in sync with Dainsleif’s heart.

The door to the kitchen opens further. Not all the way but just barely enough for a person to pass through. The skirts of your grey dress move with your every step. You stop when you notice him. You are an Einherjar, he can see it clearly, for you carry yourself like one. The diamond of your pupil is focused on his face, unmoving like a stone. For what it is worth, you look like a statue. In all of your royal glory, you are a princess. Just not the one Dainsleif expected. He thought he would see the second daughter of Rindr Einherjar, the shadow of Crown Princess Skadi, the dead hope of Khaenri’ah hidden away behind the wall of war. What he sees instead is a ghost of the crypt that is now roaming the lands she once ruled freely and with no protest from the people she called her own.

The moon and the stars follow your lead, the time stills without your presence and the flowers wilt without your touch, for you are the princess of Khaenri’ah. You are the stories grandmothers tell their grandchildren. The tales of the destined one. The child of prophecy that was promised to come and free them all. The one from eons ago standing before him here and now, watching with unblinking gaze of a fallen star. And Jöfurr Alberich is a liar, for what is this if not a government conspiracy. The hope of the people is here before him, alive and embracing the chill of the life behind the Wall. Sentenced to death for a reason unknown to neither Dainsleif nor the rest of the nation, you are imprisoned by your own people in the realm that is rightfully yours.

You stare and Dainsleif stares back. He doesn’t mean to, but it’s hard not to when you are a ghost from the bedtime stories his mother used to tell him. You look a bit awkward and Dainsleif understands where it is coming from, because he too feels so out of place at this very moment. You shift your weight from one leg to another, and the unmoving diamonds in your eyes seem to burn a hole in his Royal Guard uniform. It’s just a silly and nonsensical fear, but it feels like one single wrong move coming from his direction and you will not hesitate to strike him dead. Dainsleif doesn’t know how true to the real extent of your abilities this fear of his is, but he dares not to tempt fate.

You keep staring. Whatever you see is beyond his understanding, but for a split second your brows furrow in confusion and then it’s all gone as if it never existed. Behind you the door to the estate opens. Not even once you turn around to check who it is, just keep watch over him like the statue that you are. Footsteps grow closer. You blink. The moon dies and then gets resurrected when your eyes open again.

“What’s going on? Who is this?” Only when the new voice speaks, do you finally break eye contact. This time Dainsleif knows who the woman is just by her ears alone. The brief introduction to Hlin Trygg was given although never asked for, but now it feels like he should have appreciated it more to be informed on anything at all.

“That’s what I’m trying to figure out.” You respond. Your voice is just as unreadable as that of a statue. For that is what you are.

Dainsleif takes it as his cue to finally stop pondering over what is dead and beyond his comprehension and finally shed some light on this predicament. When he came here he thought of this as just his job. The one that he won’t be asking any questions about, for the matters of royal affairs are nothing that can ever concern him directly. Now that he sees things a bit clear, given a second glance and not just a first impression, his previous plan of approaching things is wrong and must be revised. For if the hope is not dead, there is still a chance. His mother will understand.

And so he speaks, “Forgive me for not introducing myself sooner,” He says, truly hoping he doesn’t sound as nervous as he is feeling right now, “I’m Dainsleif, member of the Royal Guard, appointed to protect the princess.”

You blink. The stars burn out and ignite back even brighter with that one simple action. Then you leave with nothing more coming neither his nor the Æsir woman’s way. Hlin Trygg looks furious, “Jöfurr. That son of a cunt.”

The message is received clearly. The stars keep laughing at his misery.

Chalk pursues gold.

The moon is dead. But its corpse is shining with all the dying hope of the people abandoned by those who swore to protect them. They look up at it with a prayer on their lips, the last resort for salvation. Yet nothing ever comes out of it, for she is long gone. Just lonely bones glowing in the light of artificial stars, created by the hand of he, who is destined to return just to suffer the same fate over and over again. And this memory of your words is etched in his brain as if it had always been there and he simply is reliving it once more in a different time and a different place. For you might be dead, yet you are the only one worth praying to.

Life is a pain. It’s not an opinion but a fact that Dainsleif has had to learn the hard way. Whatever substance Jöfurr was on when he thought of appointing Dainsleif as your personal guard must have been good and messed up his brain a bit too much, because all the man gathered from a week of living here can be summarized in a one single sentence: he is not needed here. It’s all plain and simple, and Dainsleif can clearly see it in the way the household is being run.

Hlin takes care of everything. Whether it matters or not, she will be doing it anyway, for it is her job to look after the princess. She cooks, she cleans, she does the laundry and even waters the flowers you create while studying. This manor is just as much Hlin’s property as it is yours, and Dainsleif doesn’t know what to do with all the free time he now has on his hands because there is absolutely nothing for him to do. On top of it all, the Æsir woman hates him. It’s not even an exaggeration created by his anxious imagination. She does not miss a single opportunity to throw him a nasty look and truly, he probably should be more sympathetic towards Vana now that he finally realized what it is like to be on the receiving end of his mother’s scrutiny. If only it ended there.

The nameless outlander – not an outlander; Lumine, she introduced herself with a harsh voice and arms folded over her chest – is not much better. She rarely leaves your bedroom and when she does, she joins Hlin in an absolutely childish game of baselessly throwing metaphorical stones his way. When Dainsleif tried asking about Lumine’s origins, all he got was a cold answer that went along the lines of it being none of his business. Outsiders aren’t welcome here in this queendom of Khemia and flowers, she made sure he understood his position clearly. He stopped trying to make amends for making Lumine uncomfortable with his question and let it be. It was a mistake on his part that he realizes well yet can do nothing to fix, for the damage is done. The women of the house do not favor him one bit and it’s not in Dainsleif’s power to change this. Yet the one who is capable of such a thing does nothing about it.

Dainsleif rarely sees you. The door to your bedroom at the end of the hallway is always shut and you almost never come out of it, unless it’s to eat or to get a book from the terrifyingly large library. You are studying Khemia under Rhinedottir. It’s not a simple feat to pull, especially for someone so young. And by the looks of it, you are excelling in it, despite not having much to go by being locked inside the mansion for so long. And even now, with a permission and Dainsleif here to guard you on your ventures outside, you not even once asked him to go out. If anything, you ignore him. It’s as if he is not even there sitting at the same dining table as you. After that night Gold left him here, not even once had you looked his way.

And maybe that’s where the issue is. For if the ghostly princess has no need for the knight, what is the point of him being here? And the only answer to his woeful question comes in the form of his mother’s snickering.

“How are you this bad with women, Dain?” Duneyrr chuckles, the gold of her hair falling down her shoulders as it moves to the beat of her laughter.

“You are not helping me, mother.” Dainsleif is a far cry from an angsty teenager, yet sometimes old habits are hard to kill. His mother knows it well, for she raised him to be this way.

“I’m just saying it as it is.” The cup in front of her is new, a replacement for the one Vana broke not so long ago. “Don’t you know what teenage girls like?”

“How would I know?” Duneyrr must have mistaken her own son for what he is not, because Dainsleif and the things that young girls like should not be used in the same sentence. “Do I look like a man interested in teenage girls, mother?” He knows it’s nothing but a jab, but Dainsleif cannot help but feel slightly offended. He also doesn’t even think you would enjoy something like that, considering your only pastimes are a crafting bench and a pile of dusty parchment; although he cannot really judge your interests, as he’d never actually spoken to you.

His mother laughs again. When it comes to it, her happiness is the only thing that matters to Dainsleif. “What is the girl like?” Duneyrr asks then, and it is the question he was afraid he would hear. For it is the only thing he could never lie about. And maybe she sees it all on his face because then she asks, “What is it, Dain?”

“I’m afraid I bit off more than I can chew.” Dainsleif admits with a heavy heart. The image of a moonlit statue is floating before his eyes like a ghost. He wonders what you think about being buried alive like that, but he also wishes he would just stop doing so. Duneyrr doesn’t ask him to elaborate on his words any further, just picks up the cup full of hot and bitter tea and takes a sip. Dainsleif watches his mother and she does the same to him. Whatever she sees he will never be able to replicate, lacking both age and experience. Duneyrr puts the cup down, then she sighs.

“Our hope died with that daughter, Dain.” She says then. The faraway look in her eyes is very similar to the one you had the day you two met. Dainsleif cannot help but make an unpleasant connection. “Make sure not to stomp that future we can have to the ground. They can make a thousand backup plans, but they all will fail because fate is unavoidable.” Dainsleif doesn’t know how she knows. Maybe it’s all her mother’s intuition, maybe he is just that easy to read. All he can tell for sure is the fact that he is glad Vana isn’t here to hear this. “It’s also her birthday tomorrow. Do with that what you will.” With this she gets up from her chair and walks out of the kitchen. And just like that Dainsleif is left alone with his fears and a ghost of a princess from a millennium ago that looks hauntingly similar to the one he is tasked to protect.

He returns to the estate in the early hours of the morning with a heavy heart and a star in the pocket of his jacket he was forced to wear, because the women of the manor hate the royals more than the whole of Khaenri’ah combined. Everyone is still asleep when he enters the house and makes a beeline for his bedroom. His bed is still the mess he left it two days ago and Dainsleif makes no efforts to fix it, just drops the jacket over the back of his chair and sits down, having no idea what to do with himself.

It was all supposed to be easy. Just a job to give his mother a better life that she deserved yet didn’t have. But now it feels like so much more than that. Way more than he, or his mother, or Jöfurr, of even the queen herself. The one that was promised to them is an impostor, the woman simply pretending to be something she is not. For the sake of what or forced by whom matters not, neither for Dainsleif nor for the rest of Khaenri’ah if they knew what he knows. They long stopped believing the child of those prophecies was even real despite Skadi being there for everyone to watch her every step; but now that he sees you here, it seems like the nation cannot ever break the chains it was shackled with by the crown. For if the crown can bury their hope alive like that, what can’t they do? Dainsleif isn’t sure he can give himself that answer, but whatever Captain Alberich wants from you, he will not get it, that Dainsleif can promise for a fact. There will be not a single lifetime where Dainsleif would betray Khaenri’ah for a royal. And you, in everything and then some, are Khaenri’ah. So he will always choose you.

And maybe the moon is able to hear his thoughts and whisper them back to you, because with two light knocks and an even lesser warning, you walk in with no tact or shame. After all this time of disregarding his existence as if he was nothing more than a fly on the wall, you are sure bold enough to do something like this despite it being against the court etiquette. You look at him and Dainsleif looks back at you. Your face is unreadable, but the slight angle of your mouth tells him a lot about just how hard it is for you to do this. Which begs the question why? And although Dainsleif never asks it out loud, the moon keeps sharing all of his secrets with you anyway.

“Do they not teach you to keep things tidy in the military, Royal Guard Dainsleif?” Your hands are folded over your chest, you have the same scrutinizing gaze both Hlin and Lumine have and his lucky guess is you learned it from them. Dainsleif wants to bite back with a remark of his own but he also knows he can’t.

“Why are you here, princess? It is not appropriate for a lady to–” You blink, the confusion in you evaporates with a heavy sigh.

“I decide what’s appropriate.” A very juvenile all-or-nothing statement, but somehow he feels like it is very in character for you. Going by gut feeling is not enough, however, if he wants to get you out from your imprisonment and sitting on the throne that is rightfully yours. He needs to know you better, get your clear standing on Khaenri’ah and your mother, and even the future you envision for yourself. Dainsleif has no intentions of raising you – he is not the brother figure you might be hoping for, if you even are looking for one in the first place – but he can be an unbiased confidant you won’t be able to find in neither Hlin nor Lumine.

“Princess, that is a–” You continue looking at him like you know everything that is going on inside his head. You cannot, but if the moon is truly talking to you, then anything is possible. It’s unnerving, the ghostly apparition that you are, dissecting his every breath like you do. One second on the face, one at the pins on his shirt, five at his hands as your eyes linger on the tips of his fingers. The diamond of your pupil is made of liquid silver as it expands and then solidifies back into precious metal. Dainsleif would like to believe he is good at keeping his powers under control, but his anxieties betray him at the worst of times. And he only can hope that whatever you see is not enough to scare you away, as he forces the dark blue mist back to the Abyss it came from.

With that you turn away, not bringing up any of your concerns if you have them. “Tidy up, Royal Guard Dainsleif. We’re going out today after breakfast.” It’s an order. The thing that should not be coming from your mouth so effortlessly yet it does, and Dainsleif has a very clear understanding as to why. You were born to be this way and there is no changing fate. So he doesn’t argue, just gets up from his spot and does what he’s told and as fast as humanly possible while the statue of long gone watches over his every move.

“Just Dainsleif is fine, princess.” You scoff. It’s an exasperated sound at the very least, at the very best it’s the most emotion he has seen coming from you in all the time he has lived here.

“Stars above, don’t let Hlin ever see this crime.” You mumble, snatching the pillow from his hold and putting it aside to fix the blanket first. “I’ll do it myself, Royal Guard Dainsleif.” You ignore his offer. Later Dainsleif will realize it is nothing but payback for continuously calling you a princess when you clearly showed signs of disliking the title, for now he cannot help but find this whole situation funny. You are not the princess he expected, yet you are the one he knows they all need.

Dainsleif forces himself to choke the strained laugh somewhere down his throat, stars forbid you’d think he’s laughing at you and not at the absurdity of this predicament. The commotion, however, attracts a lot of unwanted attention, “What are you doing?”

Dainsleif feels himself borderline jump at Hlin’s voice coming from the doorway. Yet you do not pay her any mind, still haphazardly beating the poor pillow into submission because it just won’t sit how you want it to. All of this is very much amusing yet Dainsleif cannot even laugh, for the look the Æsir woman throws his way is a thinly veiled death threat.

“I’m making his bed so we can leave after breakfast.” You respond so matter-of-factly, as if it was supposed to be obvious from the get-go.

“He’s a grown man. I’m sure he can do that himself.” The blonde woman crosses her arms in a very familiar fashion. The pillow in your hands continues to receive a beating the likes of which it has never seen before from anyone. When you realize Hlin won’t leave you alone, you drop the pillow in some special position that only you seem to understand and leave it be, walking away with one single glance sent Dainsleif’s way. It’s way more than being ignored, so he will take what he is given. You stop beside Hlin for a second, it’s enough for the woman to reach for the stray strand of your hair and tuck it behind your ear. “Happy birthday.” For a split second there is silence, then you sigh a bit too heavily for someone so young. “Go get ready for breakfast.” And just like his mother not so long ago, you leave. Only this time it’s not a ghost Dainsleif has to worry about, but a woman who probably wants him dead.

“I’m not sure what you’ve been assigned here to do, but I think we already have everything covered in regards to the princess.” It’s the most honest Hlin has been with him since Dainsleif arrived at the estate. He can’t even argue with the statement, because it’s the truth that is pretty much a universal fact.

The problem is, Jöfurr doesn’t see it this way. And as far as Dainsleif is aware, your uncle wants to monopolize every aspect of your life even more than the crown has already done. The woman has all the rights in being suspicious of him, Dainsleif cannot argue with this. But he also cannot leave now, not only because he knows a bit too much and has responsibilities he cannot abandon, or because he does not want to. But because, no matter how you look at it, he has no way out of this alive. And he would rather stay and play the role assigned for him, just in a way that benefits Khaenri’ah and Khaenri’ah only.

“I don’t mean to step on any toes. I’m just trying to do what I was assigned.” He steps back when Hlin moves closer to the bed. She’s doing the same thing you did in the exact same fashion, and it just reinforces the fact that you do not need anyone looking after you in the way Jöfurr wants Dainsleif to. Good thing Dainsleif has no issues with lying if it’s necessary.

“You were assigned to a spot that’s already been filled,” Hlin says bitterly. There is nothing Dainsleif can respond with to that. “I’m only telling you this so you don’t do any more than you have to.”

As far as Dainsleif is aware, he has been doing absolutely nothing all this time. Maybe the Æsir woman is way more similar to his mother than he originally thought, because her hatred towards him cannot be anything other than her projecting her own issues with the crown onto the only thing closest to the queen. And if you are just as much of a victim in all of this as she is, Dainsleif is a perfect scapegoat for her animosity; dressed in the uniform of the Royal Guard and taking up a space he does not belong in.

“I thought the only condition for the princess’s freedom is for it to be supervised.” Dainsleif has to play his part, however. Whether Hlin wants it or not, she needs to understand that you should have all the freedom you possibly can. And if she cannot give it to you, then he is a viable option. Dainsleif will deal with Jöfurr on his own without anyone knowing.

Hlin snorts. The pillow she was holding goes back on the bed in the exact same angle you put it there before. “Don’t let her hear you call her that.” Dainsleif thinks back on the interaction the two of you shared and all the scoffing along with the side glances thrown his way, that back then seemed like a part of your process of dealing with annoyance. Now he knows better, making a mental note to never call you a princess ever again. If you don’t wish to be one, you don’t have to. As long as one day in that very same possible future Khaenri’ah still dreams of and the one that Dainsleif will try his hardest to make a reality, you will take your rightful place as the queen, your origins or status will hold no importance. He is sure of that, and so is the moon as once again she snitches on him, because you call Hlin’s name from somewhere downstairs and the woman drops the subject altogether, “We’ll continue this discussion later. Breakfast is already done, so you can worry about that later.”

Even after following Hlin downstairs to the kitchen and having another awkward, albeit rushed encounter with Lumine at the dining table, Dainsleif is still preoccupied with the thought of a ghostly princess. You are not the person people described you to be before they collectively mourned your passing one starless afternoon. There is nothing that resembles a restless child with too much energy or love for life, if anything you are still a statue even now. Dainsleif knows that such a change of character is simply a part of growing up – it happened to him and he is sure it happened to a lot of other people just like the two of you – and yet there is still something off about it. Or maybe he simply is looking for something that was never there in the first place, filling the blanks of your unfamiliar presence with the you whom his imagination paints you to be yet what you are not.

Whatever the case, one of your hands is preoccupied with a fork while the other is turning page after page of a book that reeks of ancient dust and makes little to no sense to anyone other than you. Those are some awful table manners unbecoming of a princess, but Dainsleif has to remind himself that you don’t see yourself as one. And whatever you think yourself to be must be important enough to prioritize your studies of Khemia over something trivial as common courtesy. Hlin reminds you to eat. Instead you put your fork down on the plate that is almost completely untouched.

“I’m done.” You are not, but the book is closed and so is the discussion that Hlin clearly wants to have but cannot, for you are the person who dictates the rules. Dainsleif watches Lumine smile. It’s a rare thing to witness, but he guesses even someone born of darkness can experience moments of true happiness. “Are you sure you can’t come with us, Lumine?”

Lumine shakes her head, “Visitation day.” These two words make no sense to Dainsleif but they all you need to let go of the subject and don’t argue your case any further. “Enjoy yourself, okay?”

“I will bring it to you instead, then.” Whatever you two are talking about is not for Dainsleif to understand. He guesses it’s all fair, if even Hlin doesn’t seem bothered by the cryptic and nonsensical conversations you and Lumine seem to be having all the time. The blonde woman nods in approval. You get up from your chair in a hurry that is probably the only thing that betrays your stone-carved expression. Both Dainsleif and Hlin have no choice but to follow. It will become a reoccurring thing he will have to get used to.

And for what it’s worth, even for someone so caged like you are, you don’t ask for much. The tour through the town square is short and uneventful. Life behind the Wall became a lot better after Lady Syn took over the Resistance; and although the resources are not as scarce and thoroughly guarded by the Crown in fear of her taking that first and final step towards civil war, it is still not enough to give all the common folk a decent life. But looking at you now, it’s clear to Dainsleif that both you and Hlin have been deprived of things that even the people of the poverty stricken districts view as a commodity. It just shows the true extent of the misery Khaenri’ah is forced to endure. If the queen has no remorse for her own child, what sympathy can she hold for people of no relation to her?

You don’t ever complain about it, however. If anything, you are not that expressive in your likes and dislikes as Dainsleif is used for people to be. His mother wears her emotions on her sleeve, Vana is never afraid to state her opinions on things, both Hlin and Lumine are very transparent with their feelings. Even his father was easy to read, all those issues they have put aside. But Dainsleif really has to look for the most miniscule things when it comes to you to even notice a slight change of your expressions. So look he does.

The Valkyries seem to make you uneasy for some reason unknown to him; every time some random passerby catches your attention, there is something behind your eyes that Dainsleif cannot name just yet but if he had to, it would be grief. It looks like you don’t like the product of alchemic origins, despite yourself devoting your whole life to Khemia. And the only things you do enjoy seem to be coated in a layer of sugar so thick, it would rot his teeth to the core. Hlin still lets you eat the pastry, however, despite the unhealthy amount of honey you asked for. And because day cycles are short and nights are getting longer, she asks where you want to go next before you inevitably have to head back to your gilded cage and lock it behind you willingly.

You don’t explain where you want to go, just give a vague description in a tone that is strangely embarrassed and lead the way as if you actually know where you are going. It worries Hlin although she tries her best to seem unbothered, but even she disregards her distaste for Dainsleif just to ask if he knows the place you seem so eager to visit. Dainsleif gives the honest answer of having not a single clue, but believing they should just let it be and trust you. Because so far the moon gave him all the signs that she is talking to you, so maybe she told you this as well. And maybe you do know the way, because the inteyvat will always call for the one it blooms for. And when Dainsleif realized that fact, he lets his guard down and as if sensing his gradually lessening unease, so does Hlin.

The field of inteyvat is just one of many scattered all around Khaenri’ah, yet this one seems more lonesome than the rest. His mother used to tell him the legends of its creation as one of the bedtime stories. It went something along the lines of Lady [Name] planting each and every seed with her own two hands all over Khaenri’ah to unite the three main tribes of people under one single moon. The flowers bloomed in her presence and when she was away, they remembered the day of her birth and came to life for two weeks only to celebrate the memory of their mother. As a child Dainsleif thought it was nothing but a silly old wives' tale, now he has a suspicion there might actually be a lot more basis to it than just some children’s story.

You take a step into the field and the breeze moves the blossoms out of your way, as if making a path for you to walk on. It’s nothing but a figment of his imagination, but Dainsleif cannot be sure of anything now that he is aware of your existence. You and Hlin sit down on the rare grass amongst the flowers and Dainsleif has no choice but to follow. Not even a minute passes as you lie down next to Hlin. Buried in a meadow of flowers you once planted yourself, you are both dead and alive just like the queen wants you to be, but not as destiny intended it to be. No longer able to watch the corpse of a fleeting hope, Dainsleif follows suit and leans down on the cold ground until nothing but stars are flickering before his eyes.

“Beautiful…” You murmur under your breath, “If only they were real.” Dainsleif doesn’t know what you mean by that, but the torment in your tone is slipping through your words and poisoning everything it touches.

“Just enjoy it.” He mumbles back, but he also doesn’t think you even heard him in the first place.

It’s quiet after that. To your left Hlin seems to be dozing off, lulled by the whispers of the wind and the potent fragrance of the flowers. You tentatively get up from your spot in the blossoms, reaching to the woman to gingerly remove the stray petal clinging to her cheek. Then you turn away, hugging your knees close to your chest. From this short while of knowing you, the only thing Dainsleif can say for sure is that you are extremely prone to staring at things. People, inanimate objects, the void; nothing is safe from your gaze. Even now he can feel your eyes burning a hole in his hands. Maybe your nonexistent trust in him wavered even more after this morning. Maybe you pity him in some convoluted way only a princess of light is capable of. The stars bend to your will, after all, what is there for you to find in the darkness of Abyss if not a natural enemy.

Dainsleif sits up, resting his palms on his thighs. The shimmering blue smoke on his fingertips moves like the mist on the horizon. “Can I ask you a question, Your Highness?” You look up from the smoke and fixate on his face instead. Your pale eyebrow is arched in a mockery of an amused surprise. Dainsleif cannot help but give himself a metaphorical pet on the back for his choice of addressing you this time around.

“You can.” You say with your lips forming a caricature of a smile. “But should you, Royal Guard Dainsleif?” It cannot be anything but you making fun of him. It’s a payback for something Dainsleif has no idea he did, and thus has no way of apologizing for. Even if that is the case, he will be doing nothing about it.

“You keep staring.” It’s a bit too blunt of a thing to say even for someone like Dainsleif. Especially with no proper way of addressing your royal status. But you don’t mind his insubordination at all by the looks of it, if anything right now you seem to look the most entertained you have been throughout this whole outing.

“I’m jealous of you, Royal Guard Dainsleif.” You say this so honestly and suddenly, it almost takes his breath away. What is there to be jealous of? The fact that his whole existence was tainted by Abyss purely because of his ancestry is not something to be envious about, yet you seem to genuinely feel this way. “You are favored by the stars and the Seidhr is strong in you. Be proud of it.”

“It’s not Seidhr.” Dainsleif doesn’t owe you an explanation, but it still feels like some sort of clarification is needed anyway. Being in the Royal Guard is one thing, being under Black Serpents is another. “My father was one of the Abyss Lectors.” This trivia is not something Dainsleif gives out easily on such a short notice. If anything it is a shame he has to carry on his shoulders wherever he goes, just like the rest of Black Serpents do on a daily basis. A constant struggle just to find a place to belong in the lands that are theirs by right, yet those that are not made for them anymore.

At first you say nothing at the revelation, just search for something on his face that Dainsleif is not sure you can find. But when you do speak, your words prove him wrong, “The Light, the Void, the Penumbra. They all are just three different forms of Seidhr. The segregation Khaenri’ah has suffered divided a concept that should not be touched by those who do not understand it. By separating yourself from Seidhr, you are playing into their ploy, Black Serpent Dainsleif.” Then you look away, eyes following the misty wisps of murky starlight coating his hands.

Dainsleif knows he should be offended. You are talking about something you would never understand, for you are Khaenri’ah in its purest form and there is not a single place in your homeland that is not made for you. You have been chosen by the stars, granted something only the blessed ones can obtain. Touched by light, you are unreachable to someone like him. Dainsleif knows he should be angry, yet instead he finds himself strangely comforted by your words.

“Why are you here?” He asks instead. Dainsleif needs to know what Jöfurr wants from you, trapping you here and burying you alive amongst the flowers that can bloom only once a year as the nation celebrates both your birth and your death.

You don’t answer. Just pluck one of the inteyvat flowers blooming all over you and busy yourself with ripping out petal after petal and dusting them all over the skirts of your dress like falling stars. “Where did they bury me?” You wonder offhandedly, focused on the silky petal in-between your fingers.

“We don’t know.” Dainsleif admits, not sugarcoating anything behind the lies you most likely won’t appreciate. “Her Majesty–” Dainsleif stops himself before he can say something he will inevitably regret but the damage is already done. Mentioning the queen is a mistake on his part. It’s a hole that he digs for himself and then willingly takes a step right off the edge, falling into the endless abyss with no way out of it.

You blink. The stars flicker as you do so. “What do you think of my mother, Black Serpent Dainsleif?” your voice is strained with something Dainsleif can only describe as anguish. And although it is well-masked behind masterfully crafted indifference, Dainsleif is paying you every single bit of his attention. So he notices.

He cannot admit his distaste for the monarch, however. Even if he wants to. Buried or not, you are her daughter and the automatic, polished to perfection response is falling from his lips before Dainsleif can properly think about it. “The queen is a woman of her people and we cherish her just like–”

You laugh then, bitterly and way too cynical for someone your age. Then you stop abruptly, your eyes meeting his and locking him in place. Dainsleif too, is a statue, but only under your watchful eye does he become one. “If you love her so much, then why are you lying?” Dainsleif has no faintest clue how you are able to see right through him. Maybe he truly is as transparent as they go, or maybe the well-trained mantra they all learn in Black Serpents is actually a common public knowledge that can reach even inside someone’s grave. Whatever the case, the warmth of hope your question gives him tastes absolutely vile on his tongue.

Just like you not so long ago, Dainsleif ignores the question he was asked. Instead, he repeats himself, “Why did they send you away?”

You shrug then, “I died.” That is not the explanation Dainsleif thought he would get but it looks like it is the only one he will ever be able to coax out of you if he drops the subject right now. So he doesn’t.

“They buried you, but–” You are covered in petals like the sea of fallen stars. They will never wilt for as long as they remember your touch, or so Dainsleif thinks. In just a single moment he will be proven wrong in every single thing that he ever thought he knew.

“The stars have abandoned me, so I was discarded.” The inteyvat in your hands is alive even after death. You hold it so carefully despite ripping its sisters to shreds not so long ago, and the diamonds in your eyes is once more a liquid silver staying afloat of the murky waters. When Dainsleif realizes it’s not the inteyvat you are so focused on but your own hands, his heart breaks. “That is why I am jealous of you, Dainsleif.” You truly did die that day, didn’t you?

“Khaenri’ah despises your mother and everything she represents.” He says truthfully and you nod, swatting the petals away from the fabric of your dress.

“No night is eternal. And when it ends, the new dawn brings the light the likes of which nobody has seen before. I can promise you this much.” You reach for another flower. Then another. And then the third. You put them together and tie them up with a ribbon you had in your hair in a makeshift bouquet. “For as long as I breathe, there is no place she can hide from retribution.” Not even once do you mention yourself and the throne yet the message is clear. At least for Dainsleif it is. It’s a foolish promise to make, yet somehow he believes your every word. For how can he not, when you are Khaenri’ah’s will embodied.

His oath is just as unwise as it is naïve, but Dainsleif follows his mother’s advice in nourishing the hope for the nation that has long forgotten what it is like to dream of a bright future, “Then I shall be your sword, Your Highness.”

“If you wish so.” You chuckle.

“I do.” Whatever Dainsleif signed up for, remains unknown for the time being, yet it is the only thing that feels right at this very moment. And truth be told, it is the only decision he has ever made that he will never once regret till his dying breath.

Beside you Hlin stirs in her sleep and then her eyes slowly open to the sight of the light of your smile and the stars slowly dying in the mist of clouds. The bell chimes in the distance, calling everyone to end their day’s endeavors and head back for much needed rest. Dainsleif tentatively advises to head back to the estate before the Valkyries begin their evening watch. Hlin agrees and you do not protest as Dainsleif helps you up on your feet. You thank him briefly, dusting any stray leaves off your dress and looking over your shoulder in the direction where the moon is hanging low in the evening sky.

“If only the sun submitted to my will. We could stay here all day.” Your words make no sense, for Dainsleif knows not what the sun is. Yet it fills him with a strange sense of yearning for something that he never even had in the first place.

“Lumine would miss us.” Hlin laughs, not questioning you even once. She, too, is probably used to your out of this world statements, so if Dainsleif wishes to stay by your side he has to learn to take everything as it is. For there is no changing who you are.

“She can come along next time.” You say it like you mean it, yet the way you’re gripping the flowers tells Dainsleif you do not expect to return here ever again. And one of his greatest failures as both your sword and shield, will inevitably be the disappointing realization that he was correct in his suspicion.

When you return to the mansion Lumine is already waiting in the kitchen with four plates on the dining table and a never seen before dish prepared for you to feast on. Unfamiliar it may be, yet delicious nonetheless; and despite the unknown yet likely abyssal origins of the blonde woman born of darkness, she seems to care for you a lot more than Dainsleif gave her credit for.

You show her the inteyvat you brought back with you from the meadow, trim the stems and fix it in her hair to forever carry the memory of Khaenri’ah wherever she goes. Lumine wonders about your day and then throws another of her dirty looks Dainsleif’s way when you admit that you enjoyed yourself greatly. Hlin doesn’t have it in her to join in this time, so Dainsleif has one less person to throw stones at him today and it’s a win for him even if just for tonight. You open the book on where you left off and then turn the page immediately. The cover on the book says Creation of Life: From Chalk to Gold. It suddenly strikes Dainsleif that you need neither him nor the women of this house, for you have something way greater at your disposal than anything a mortal can offer you. And it’s okay, something tells him the three of them would be just what you need because you will make it such.

And even when you fall asleep with the book still open on the dining table, Dainsleif looks at you and sees the future that is not just simply a possibility but a rapidly approaching reality. And he will do anything he can to aid the ghost from eons ago, for what he is, if not a sword made of twilight for the queen to use as she sees fit. Because Dainsleif is a soldier of Khaenri’ah and you the nation's soul. For you are Khaenri’ah and he belongs to you. He is yours till the end of times.

The star in his pocket is laughing at his naiveté. He will give it to you next time.

hii niya here. things should be picking up from here on, but i really wanted the introduction of my best boy dainsleif to be the best it can possibly be and i hope i succeeded?? if no it's fine, in my head it is lmao.

jofurr is a cunt. gold is a cunt. dain's mom is a cunt and even mizz vana is a cunt. i don't think there is not a single person in this fic who isn't a cunt one way or another. so enjoy lmao

the next one will come out when i'm free bc my job hates me and i hate it back. we will meet gold again, and alice, and some other things happen idk we'll see. cyaa

#genshin scenarios #genshin x reader #genshin imagines #dainsleif x reader #dainsleif scenarios #dainsleif imagines #alhaitham x reader #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham imagines #al haitham x reader #pantalone imagine #pantalone x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche imagines #scaramouche scenarios #wanderer x reader #albedo x reader #albedo imagines #albedo scenarios

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elibean · 7 months

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Hi....If you don't mind, can I ask, what are your top 10 (or top 7) favorite media (can be books/ manga/ anime/movies/tv series)? Why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before......Thanks....

no need to apologize! this is a great question, thank you for asking! i think i'll go with anime just 'cause it's easiest (i have a MAL and rank every series i watch from 1-10). i originally had movies in here but i think i'm gonna cut them out and just keep it to series and ovas. and "why do you love them" is an AWESOME question I never get! i don't know if i'll be able to explain myself well, but I'll try!

fullmetal alchemist ('03). why? this was pretty much my gateway anime. it's been over 10 years I believe since I've last seen any of it, so it's entirely possible that my opinion has since changed. but i definitely have nostalgia goggles on for it, and i know it is actually good, too haha

2. natsume yuujinchou (specifically seasons 6, 5, 4, and 3). why? some seasons of natsume i have rated higher than others, apparently. natsume is a special show. due to the nature of how long it is, there is the drawback that sometimes it feels like it repeats itself and tells similar stories. but even then it is just such a good story of found family and finding love after a life of strife, and it's just. very good. (i do think it should end soon though before it feels like it's just recycling old stories)

3. made in abyss. why? season 1 still stands out to me above the movie and 2. it was such a special experience. the art, the animation, the background art, the music, it all comes together to create such a fascinating world. the weak point would definitely be its characters, but even then everything else comes together so well that it doesn't really matter. it has one of the best first episodes of any anime (when the sun came up over orth and the music cued in I knew I was hooked) and I also adore season 1's ending; if the show never got a continuation, it could have ended right there and I would have been content (not a lot of other anime can say the same about their endings!).

4. steins; gate. why? it's also been a very long time since i've seen this one, so possible my opinion has changed. still, I remember being super interested after the first episode, and the following 12 that people tend to critique as being "slow" or a "slog" never really felt that way for me. there was always something fun and interesting going on. i compare this one with link click a lot, just because people tend to go the magica route and i firmly believe steins;gate is the better time travel show (though lc isn't over yet so maybe an unfair comparison. still it'd take a LOT for lc to reach anywhere near the heights of steins;gate to me). when okabe goes back over and over to try and save mayuri, i just remember being absolutely floored. really good stuff.

5. vinald saga. why? it's just such a well constructed story. and the author's comments about not wanting a world with war is so interesting, given how violent the first season is. it's really interesting to watch thorfinn grow and change (and i never understood the hate that he was too violent or annoying or a brat? he's just a kid who's lost everything, cut him some slack jeez). i love the last shot of season 1, corny as it is-- all the memories reflected on the dropping knife was great. and askeladd was one of the best villains i've ever seen. he's not even ~morally grey~ or anything; he's pretty strongly in the wrong, but his thinking and motivations and everything are so interesting and compelling. i don't think it's perfect; there are flaws for sure (i wasn't the biggest fan of how in s2 canute just. decides to turn his ships back after a small conversation with thorfinn lol) but it is very good.

6. this boy cuaght a merman. why? ok this one objectively does not deserve a 10. it's a 30minute ova about a boy falling in love with a merman. that's it. it's not incredible or amazing or ground breaking. buuuuuut it's my favorite soubi yamamoto ova and i adore soubi yamamoto and so she's getting a place on this list. she is responsible for animating, storyboarding, backgrounds, directing, etc etc everything in here, it's incredible (and she was only like 25, or something when she did it. fucking bananas). i love her please go check out her works (besides crystallization)

7. noragami. why? ok again probably not objectively THAT good, but this is one of the first anime that got me to read the manga, and here I am some 10 years later (ok a little less than 10 years because I didn't start reading the manga the year it started publishing, I think). noragami's MANGA is incredible and amazing and wonderful. but I do believe (much against the popular opinion amongst noragami manga readers) that the anime is also amazing, and YES that includes season 1. the crew behind it really loved the manga I feel (at least the director did, and there's proof for that) and adapted it faithfully and well. noragami is a story of found family and of turning your life and fate around, and it's very good.

8. she and her cat: everything flows. why? this one is only 4 episodes, 8 minutes each. it tells a story of a 20-something (actually she's still in college iirc) who lives on her own with her cat, and is trying to be an adult. but it's told from the cat's perspective. it's so sweet; the cat comments on how she "grooms herself" (brushes her hair, puts on her interview clothes) and "looks pretty" and things and it is just so great. i love the line (not a direct quote) "she opens that heavy door again today and heads out. on the other side of that door is a somewhat unforgiving, somewhat cruel world. but she's doing her best to learn to love that world. and i love her for that." just....so good (also the show made me cry)

9. yuru camp. why? second iyashikei on this list! SOL/iyashikei is actually my favorite genre of anime, generally speaking, but it can be hard to do it well. yuru camp ABSOLUTELY does it well. i read a commentary once ages ago, about how one of the great things about yuru camp is that the girls are allowed to just... be girls, and it always stuck with me. there's no fanservice, and these girls really feel like real characters who exist. there was another commentary (maybe same one?) about how rin is this introverted, more lonesome character, but she enjoys the solitude. but what's cool about yuru camp is she is never forced to change or become more extroverted; her friends accept her for who she is, nadeshiko will invite her out but not push her, and then sometimes she does go out! and she changes and becomes a bit more social, but never gives up solo camping. AND the more extroverted, outgoing character INSTEAD comes to embrace solo camping! what a cool idea, executed amazingly! so the characters are a strong point here, but the banter and camping is a lot of fun too. i still haven't watched the movie, but i'll get there eventually!

10. odd taxi. why? this one is 100% on the writing. it is so clever and quick-witted, it's a ton of fun to watch. i've never watched any other anime like it. the mystery/thriller aspects are a lot of fun too, and i remember reading reddit threads and theories on this one as it was airing. what was so cool is that they plant subtle hints that you can ABSOLUTELY catch if you have sharp eyes (i likely wouldn't have if it weren't for reading others' theories) and you can know things before characters do. lot of fun.

wow this was so much fun to write up! thank you so much for the question!

#asks #elaine2895

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firebirdsdaughter · 2 years

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Oh my…

… I um. I hate that.

Not so much that I have any love for Keller, but. Neal getting all moody about the killer lady’s death and then just. Getting Keller killed. Like I doubt it was intentional, but you seriously expect Peter to be rational and controlled when he thinks you’re dying.

The more I think about it, that’s a shitty fucking trick and Mozzie just leaving kinda upsets me more, esp w/ his general lack of respect for Peter (not the whole government, just Peter, I hate how he kept treating Peter. I might just be in a bad mood, but. Peter has every right to sock Neal in the face the next time they meet. Multiple times. At least. I’d feel a little better if there was any regret involved but it just… Doesn’t feel like there is any. Worse bc naturally Peter would blame himself, bc he’s indirectly the cause for Neal being in there.

‘Chase’ this and ‘chase’ that, it should be different by the end. They had to cut right there bc the instant the relief of Neal being alive wears off, Peter should be pissed off as all hell. They started as black and white, and I was hoping they’d end in a more grey area, but no. This was the one aspect of the show I found unlikeable, the whole ‘high life of crime’ thing and ‘stealing for fun.’ I didn’t like that they kept going back to that, and not in a ‘how dare this character have flaws’ way. Bc Neal has plenty of flaws that worked fine and were actually endearing if frustrating. But I hated how they never kicked that. I hate manipulators who do it just for fun. If there’d been more indication that he’d grown beyond that and was going ala Leverage or something, but I just. I don’t think they gave enough time to really feel the emotion in that. I guess bringing up Kate was supposed to be full circle, but I’d’ve preferred more from that last conversation, more threat, more emotion. Like I in now way think Neal should be a federal agent or anything, and I don’t think he should stop being… Well, Neal, but… I needed more. More to believe that it was real. Keller’s kidnapped both Burkes, he knows how much they mean to Neal. He can still bring up Kate as a comparison, but I’d rather they focus more on the present threat rather than just dredging up Kate some poor sweet victim (I still don’t think she was). I still don’t quite feel like Neal is actually doing this to protect people, that feels like an afterthought? I’d’ve preferred Keller laying it on much thicker w/ ‘you’re going to get them killed like you did Kate’ or something? I wanted it to feel like those six years meant something to Neal, rather than just getting in the way of him having fun lying to people. Like the people who loved him meant something. And I really don’t like the ‘that’s just how he was born’ shit bc that’s just so wrong. ‘But his dad was bad’ I don’t care. Actually that makes me want him to do better even more. Leverage works for me bc it’s not just the fun, they do it for good, they help people. I wanted Neal to end up a little more in that role, I wanted him to stay w/ his real parents who actually give a shit about him rather than being like ‘oh but his ‘real’ father was a bad guy.’ I want a grey area ending, not right back where we started. I wanted to feel like Neal actually learned something, have them both change. Them reinventing their partnership as something personal rather than official, have it on their terms. I wanted the family to stay together.

If by chance they ever continue (unlikely, given how long ago it was), I think it should start w/ a plot of this getting reversed, of Neal thinking he got Peter killed, bc imo that’s what he deserves now. I mean, I guess I can imagine it that way, and that Neal and probably Mozzie get some well deserved kicks in the teeth. But that is a thing for the whole series, I wanted a little more of Neal caring about Peter, esp later on. I think they lost me when he just got more bratty at Peter, even though there were a few good moments (noting that it wasn’t Peter screwing him over, and that Peter had almost lost his job bc of him). I feel like Peter loosened up, but in the end, I just didn’t feel like Neal really changed, or like it got undone in the second half of the series. I just got left feeling like Neal didn’t care about Peter as much as Peter did about him, which I’m sure was unintentional, bc he clearly cares in a lot of other circumstances, and Matt Bomer is a damn good actor and is very good at tacit acting, it’s just. I don’t feel like they gave him enough. I get Neal being frustrated w/ the FBI, but to go again to the ‘changing’ thing, I’d rather see him put more faith in Peter on a personal level outside of that? Not entirely sure how to explain it, but if it felt more like him doing it himself to protect Peter from the fall out of his actions rather than ‘how dare you be prevented from giving me what I want,’ or bc he knows Peter is going to try and protect him. I just wanted… More?

#Firebird Opinions #won't tag this as show 'cause I got a bit salty #but it's just #I dunno I'd've appreciated a little more personal appreciation for Peter and the number of hoops he's gone through #I dunno I just got left feeling disappointed w/ and angry at Neal in a lot of ways

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bokettochild · 3 years

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Violet

So y'all remember this animatic? Yeah?

I wrote a thing based off of it.

I'm not entirely sure how I fee about it, but y'all have shown how much you like my crack in the past, even if I wasn't sure about that either, so...

Here's Legend getting mistaken for a mom and pulling his brothers into a terrible impromptu acting adventure.

There are many things you do not do in Castletown.

One of those things, apparently, was taking Twilight with you, and next time he had a chance Legend was seriously considering muzzling their wolfish friend, in his shadow form or not.

He wasn’t the only one with that thought either apparently, although likely the only one who was thinking it out annoyance rather than utter and complete terror. Honestly, Twi needed to cut that protective streak of his in half, or he was going to be regretting it even more than he was going to regret this!

They’d all met thieves before, on the road, in villages, even here in Castle Town, and unfortunately Warriors’ central city was particularly full of them. The captain had explained it ages ago, something about the war displacing people and stirring up unrest with the refugees. It wasn't uncommon that someone got tired of relying on the crown for help, which, the captain had admitted sorrowfully, was rather slow in coming, despite all of Artemis’s efforts, to provide any sort of relief to the starving and displaced victims of the war. Legend had winced at that. Poor blokes, it had been similar in his own Hyrule when those trapped in the dark world emerged again, and even back in their Hylian forms, many of them had struggled to readjust to a world that had moved on in their absence.

It was little wonder than that those in the captain’s time faced the same struggle, especially after a bloody time war, but even so, it bothered him to no end that their group specifically had been the one that the idiot of a man chose to target. Honestly! They were all carrying swords for pities sakes! How did the sod even think he was going to catch a bunch of warriors unawares to steal from them?

Maybe it was because they were split.

It only made sense, after being dropped in the captain’s time, that they restock supplies. Both for practicality and to avoid suspicion, they’d divided the group into two to better run their errands, Time taking those less accustomed to bustling cities with him to gather food and potions, and Warriors leading the rest of them, those who could stand crowds at least a little bit better, to visit the blacksmith, fletcher, and tailor shops.

True to form, the captain strutted ahead with his scarf waving behind him, Wind tagging along beside him and chattering excitedly about something or other at the soldier. He and Four, however, had chosen to trail after, not for any particular reason other than both being extremely tired and maybe just a bit emotional.

In his own case, he hadn’t slept in a good sixty-three hours or so, and combining that with the stress of wandering around in an unknown place, he was a little more sensitive than usual and a bit put out as a result. Similarly, Four was fighting off his usual headache from their sudden switch, and ever since they’d pulled themselves out of the alleyway Hylia dumped them in, the shortest hero had worn his hood pulled over his eyes, mumbling softly under his breath in a way that was, unfortunately, unnerving Legend further and making him want, very much, to beg the other to stop.

That wasn’t an option of course, so he did something he hated almost as much as the saunter Warriors was using to get down the road.

He made small talk.

It helped, surprisingly, and while the four of them had run their errands, he chattered amiably with the smithy, who’d been willing to talk as long as he didn’t have to think too much on things. Legend could agree with that, and the two had spent the last half hour discussing if Four’s tunic really was red, green, blue and violet, as the smithy claimed, or red, green, blue and purple as Legend thought it was.

“It’s violet.” Four huffed, pushing the last bundle of arrows into his pack as they departed from the smithy’s shop and made their way back to the fountain at the center of town, where they'd agreed to meet with Time and the others.

“But it’s not!” He insisted, shifting the bundle of fabric in his arms and meeting the smithy’s gaze. “Violet is softer, duskier, a bit closer to grey or blue. That’s purple, plain as day!”

Warriors and Wind, for once, didn’t say anything, only exchanging grins every so often that the other two ignored.

Talking with Four was surprisingly pleasant, and ridiculously easy in comparison to talking with the others. For one thing, neither had to look too very far up or down to see the other, and as they’d found since their first dinner at the ranch, it was easy to say a lot with just a look. Subtle communication also went a long way further with the smithy than with anyone else, and it was a relief not to have to explain everything for once. Additionally, Four also liked reading, and unlike with most of their other brothers, they could actually have intelligent conversations with each other.

Not that that’s what they were doing when they’d trailed after the other two towards the fountain, but when they heard the snarl and resulting scream, the look the two heroes shared had carried as many words as a full two-hour lecture, while all at once conveying a single thought.

Oh boy, what did Twilight do this time?

What Twilight had done, he found out later, was spring a thief who had attempted to snatch the Sheikah Slate from Wild, who’d been a bit busy trying to calm his anxiety to really notice that one of the humans pressing close all around him was actually trying to steal it. That, naturally, was all well and good. The problem was the way Twilight had chosen to handle it and Legend swore there were days that Twilight forgot what form he was in; rather than pushing the thief away or grabbing ahold of them and confronting them, the gracious rancher had chosen to fling his entire body weight at the man and bite his arm.

Of course, that was only what Legend found out later, what he saw when the four of them managed to peek through the crowd, was Twilight standing there in full sight of the entire market with blood on his teeth and a man screaming in pain and terror at his feet.

Bravo, Rancher, bravo.

“Oof.” Wind winced. “That’s not good.”

“Shit.” Warriors swore, glancing around nervously and ripping his scarf off to hide in his pack.

Realization sprung on the vet like Twilight had the poor thief; Warriors was the hero here. If anyone noticed him, or any of the knightlier looking ones, they’d probably try and have them arrest Twilight. That was all well and good of course, as it would make a reasonable excuse to haul the rancher out of the way, but they’d be expected to call for help from some soldiers, and while they’d been planning on meeting with the queen while they were here, having Twilight presented to her as a feral, potentially insane, and definitely dangerous criminal was not the approach they were aiming for.

They needed a distraction, fast.

So, like the reasonable and totally mentally secure Hylian that he was, Legend shouted the first thing that came to his mind. “Violet!”

His three companions stared at him, and had he been capable, he would have stared at himself, but a desperate glance Fours way had the other drawing back, nodding slowly as Legend shouted again. “Violet? Honey?”

Warriors looked at him like he’d lost his head, gripping Wind’s shoulder firmly as if worried he’d have to pull the kid back from the apparently mad veteran.

Thank Din for teaching him acting years ago, even if it was all stage performing, but he was counting on it to get him, and Twilight, out of their respective messes, even if that meant building his higher before he could escape. At any rate, he’d caught the attention of a few people with his panicked shout. Turning to the nearest Hylian that wasn’t one of his group, he gently tapped the woman’s shoulder, letting his panic and everything in general spill over into his face and voice as the woman met his gaze with a startled look.

“Ma’am, I’m looking for-” Oh Four was going to hate this. “-My child, Violet. Have you seen a blonde Hylian child, so tall?” He lowered his hand to approximately where Four’s head would reach. “I’ve been looking everywhere!” He forced a fake sob into his voice, glancing from the woman to the surrounding crowd, and Warriors and Wind in its midst.

Wind was stifling a laugh behind his hand while Warriors stared in utter shock.

“Oh my,” The woman touched her cheek, clucking lightly and patting Legend’s hand in a consoling manner. “You poor dear! I haven’t seen a thing but just give me one moment.” The burly housewife turned, still patting Legend’s hand gently as she murmured something to the women behind her, before turning back to Legend with a sorry expression. “None of my friends have seen your little one, dear. But-” The woman turned and, with all the force and volume of a cow, hollered at the top of her lungs to the crowd as a whole. “Hello? Yes, this woman is looking for her daughter!”

Woman?!?!?!

“Her name is Violet! She’s-” The woman blinked, looking to Legend with a worried look as several other market goers turned to stare, many of them women with looks of pity and understanding that was making him wish he’d stayed silent. Fortunately, his ruse had startled them out of staring at the sight of a mauled thief as worry for a poor young mother and her lost daughter took its place. “She’s how old?”

Legend fought the protest of female pronouns, both on Four’s part and his own, but only in his head. Outwardly however, he covered his face with the hand not being smashed by the farm-wife's own. “She’s four.” Shoot him, he was saying whatever came to mind because he was panicked, alright?

A snort could be heard behind him, earning disapproving looks from the crowd that soon shifted to pity as Wind too joined the act, turning his snort into pitiful sniffling as he clung to Warriors’ hand, looking for all the world like a child who’d been to the market too long and wanted to go home, but was also panicking at the loss of their sibling. “Have you all seen my sister?” The sailor blubbered softly, actual tears spilling down his face as he pouted, expression making his act so believable that no one even questioned his height. As if to make the act more convincing, Warriors wrapped an arm around the kid’s shoulder, his own face stiffening into something that could either be gas or worry, Legend was a bit on the fence.

“What’s going on here?” Legend wished that was Time stalking towards them in full armor, but it wasn’t, it was a Hylian Soldier, staring at the crowd with a grim frown on his face as he turned to Legend, standing in its center.

Oh well, those who crack under a tough audience get tomatoes to the face; he just hoped Wars would keep playing along. “My daughter,” He sobbed into his hand, pulling the other free from the housewife to properly cover his face. “She- My baby- I can’t find her anywhere, Sir!” Later, Warriors would begrudgingly admit that the look Legend shot the soldier was enough to break any heart as the vet stepped forwards, grabbing hold of the man’s arm with all the desperation of a worried mother. “Please tell me, have you seen a little girl? She’s in her favorite dress, the colors of the goddesses, red, green and blue?” He motioned down at his own tunic, skirt, whatever one would call it. “There’s a violet corner too, I made it for her myself- oh my poor baby! I can’t seem to find her anywhere!”

The grizzled soldier quickly melted under the power of tearful violet eyes, and he too gently patted Legend’s hands as if he thought it would do any good. “I’ll have my men look for her right away, ma’am. How old would you say she is?

“She’s four.” He reaffirmed. Might as well stick to his original story.

“So tall?” The farm-wife motioned, hands lowering a bit more than Legend’s had, but the woman was trying to help, so he couldn’t really be upset with her for getting it wrong. At this point though, he was a bit worried about where Four actually was, because he’d expected the shorter hero to make an appearance sooner rather than later so the act could end.

“Right.” The man nodded, pulling himself loose as Legend brought his hands to clasp in front of his chest in an imitation of the maids he’d seen worrying about the halls when Fable went missing. “We’ll do everything in our power to find your little one, madame, you have my word.” The soldier bowed, kissing the back of the vet’s hand graciously before moving back into the crowd and snapping orders at the soldiers stationed around the market.

People buzzed by, spreading the word of ‘little Violet’s’ disappearance as Warriors and Wind pushed forwards to where Legend stood.

“Really, vet?” Warriors murmured lowly.

“I panicked.” He admitted softly, as to avoid anyone noticing as he wrung his hands. “But seriously, where is ‘’Violet’? I thought he’d have appeared before it became a big thing.”

The captain frowned, settling a hand on his shoulder carefully and standing on his toes to look over the crowd as Wind giggled at the scowling veteran. The minute he shot a look down at the sailor though, the kid had picked up his role as smoothly as if he’d never dropped it. “I’m worried, mom.” Wind blinked past fake tears, and had he not needed to remain in character, Legend would have scowled and flicked the kid’s nose for the tease.

“I am too, honey.” He sighed instead, ruffling the sailor’s curls and looking over to where the others had been. Time and the others had disappeared into the crowd again, likely trying to keep a low profile and laughing their asses off at Legend’s expense while Time and Sky scolded Twilight.

“Mama?” A small voice called out, and the crowd, and he meant the whole crowd, the whole freaking crowd of several hundred people, froze as a small face peeked out from an alleyway, the smithy’s hand coming up to rub at his shimmering purple eyes with a sniff. “Mama?”

“Violet!” All three heroes surged forwards, Legend sinking to his knees and wrapping Four in a hug, taking the opportunity when his face was hidden from the crowd to scowl. “About time you showed up.” Aloud for the crowd however, he let sobs pitch his voice hysterically. “Oh honey, you can’t run off on mama like that! I was worried sick!”

And as if to put the icing on the cake of shame, one of the men in the crowd smiled softly, patting Warriors’ back with a friendly smile. “Your wife is quite the caring mother, isn’t she? Ah, you’re a lucky man, Mr.”

Legend forced himself to not blow their cover, no matter how little they now needed it with the others safely out of sight. Breaking character meant causing drama that they didn’t need. ‘Violet’ had been found, the cute little family would depart, people would calm. But if the worried mother turned out to be a screaming teenage boy and the lost daughter to be a smithy apprentice with a height problem, people would likely riot. So instead of turning around and giving the man a piece of his mind, he pushed forwards, hefting Four in his arms (the smithy sank into him with a sigh that couldn’t have been faked) letting the smaller hero nestle against him, hood hiding the smithy’s face from view as he pulled them both up, adjusting his arms so as to not drop the other.

Man, he was glad he’d put on power bracelets today.

“She is indeed.” Warriors forced out, a strained smile on his face as he settled his hand on Legend’s waist, stiff, cold and incredibly awkward. “We’d probably better head off, dear.” If the captain smiled any harder, he’d break his teeth. “Or the inns will all be full.”

It should have ended there, it should have. Legend was so ready for it to end (although Four was warm and a calming presence as the smithy began to doze against his chest), but because fate loved to mess with him, it didn’t.

“You’re looking for a place to stay the night?” The Man-Who-Needed-To-Be-Kicked cocked a brow. “I run an inn here, just across the square. I’m sure we can find a lovely little family like yourselves a place to rest, you and our wife must be exhausted after such worry!”

Warriors, sages curse and bless him, nodded along stiffly, gently pulling him along by is waist after the Blasted-Innkeeper-Who-Would-Be-Kicked as the man chattered about family discounts and free dinner. Legend’s shoulders only lowered when a free trip to the bath house was also thrown in ‘complimentarily’.

He regretted it when someone pointed him to the ladies’ side of the bath-house (think heavens it was empty that early), and he was about ready to strangle something or someone when the others joined them inside, stuck with a regularly priced room, and the smithy and vet both were bombarded with teases as Warriors sat looking utterly and completely disgusted.

“They thought we were married....”

Legend groaned, flopping over on the other side of the bed with a grimace. “Gross, right?”

“Yeah.”

"We’re forgetting this ever happened, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

Regardless, no one ever let them forget it happened.

Legend was buying Twilight a muzzle, and he was pretty sure Wars would be willing to help.

#linkeduniverse #linked universe #linked universe crack #idiot writes crack #lu four #lu legend #lu warriors #lu wind #lu twilight #animatic #legend and four are best friends shoot me

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harryspet · 4 years

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positions | b.barnes & p.parker

[warnings] dark!bucky barnes x reader, grey!peter parker x reader, petplay, abduction, collars/bondage, brainwashing, noncon/dubcon oral sex, degredation/dehuminization, sex slave training, some weird shit

A/N: So I tried something new and this is kind of a test to see if people like it. I’m into it so I figured I might as well write it :) if you don’t know what petplay is ... google it

In which Bucky trains you for your new owner, Peter Parker.

word count: 4.3k

main masterlist

taglist: @cherienymphe @peterztinglez @lovelynerdytraveler @buckysbunny @hollandsdream @micki-smiles @buckybarnesplumwhore @arts-ismything @saharzek @lovemassivelybeautifulbouquet @what-is-your-wish @brattypeony @hermayone @buckysugar @mischiefmanaged011 @visintaes @cherienymphe

You dipped your head down, trying to get your fingers closer to your mouth you could pull out the gag tightly wrapped around your head. Your cheeks were wet with mascara and tears and your body was completely sore, having been wrestled, bound, and thrown into a cage. Leather cuffs decorated your wrist, ankles and were even wrapped around your thighs, all connected together by chains and leaving you positioned in all fours.

You even felt a tightness around your neck which could only be a collar.

Where are my clothes?

Of course, he knew you were a tourist, having asked him directions to the club you were supposed to meet your friends at. He joined you and bought an entire round of drinks for you and your friends. You were broke so how could you turn down drinks from such a nice guy? Who cares if he was trying to get into your pants, your friends would help if he got too handsy. You remembered dancing with the older and extremely handsome man for most of the night, actually enjoying being pressed against him.

You remembered the dark brown hair that he pushed back from his face, the stubble you felt against your cheek when he spoke in your ear.

You were supposed to take the pill he offered you together but now you knew his must have been a placebo. Your friends saw his face and they’d help the cops find you. That’s what you told yourself but as the hours that felt like days went by in the dim, concrete room.

You weren’t alone, you knew that, you could hear the moaning and whimpering of other girls that you assumed were locked away just like you were. You were being sex trafficked, you assumed, and the thought was suffocating you more than the gag was. You began to hyperventilate and, no matter how much you tried to control your breathing, you couldn’t stop yourself. You welcomed the darkness of sleep and hoped you would wake up in your hotel room.

You awoke to the sound of tapping on the cage, your heavy eyes blinking open to find the man who was responsible for your kidnapping. Unlike the smile he wore when you first met him, the look on his face was stoic as he bent down to examine you.

He said his name was James but his friends called him Bucky.

“Look how beautiful you are even when you’re crying,” He said, a pain in the back of your throat when you realized the tears were starting again, “Look at those eyes … I knew you had the face for this.”

He reached towards you, pulling up the hinge that was keeping the cage shut. It was a simple contraption but with your limbs pinned by leather, it made the simple task impossible to do. He opened the cage, reaching into his back pocket, and pulling out what looked like a … leash, “C’mon, doll, let's get the hard part over with,” He was going to lead you around like a dog? You backed yourself up further, suddenly thinking you might be safer inside the cage, “I’ll give you another chance ... “

You shook your head, an inaudible sound of protests coming from your mouth because you were gagged. He clicked his tongue, “That little collar around your neck, that's the one good girls wear. Would you rather wear an electric one?”

You paused, your eyes widening. This was even worse than you assumed and, although you were shaking, you let him attach the leash to the collar. He stood, pulling on the leash. It tightened the more you hesitated and you found yourself struggling for air. You crawled out onto the cold concrete, unable to stand up.

The room reminded you of a basement or a mad scientist’s lab, concrete walls, one wall lined with cages, another covered in what looked like torture devices, and a metal table in the middle of the room, “There you go, good girl,” He started pulling you further along and but you couldn’t coordinate your movements. The feeling was so unnatural. You finally got a look at the other girls but, unlike you, they weren’t bound like you were. Some were sleeping peacefully and the others had their wide, wanting eyes on Bucky as if they desired his attention.

Growing frustrated, you started to pull back, but it only choked you further. You struggled to make actual words come out but you were loud against the gag, though your efforts were probably futile. He forced you to crawl over to the table, where he paused before he was suddenly wrapping his arms around your torso.

He lifted you onto the table and, for a short moment, you imagined the muscles that were probably underneath his black shirt. The cold of the table sent a chill through your body, adding to the eerie nature of the room. As you tried to move into a more comfortable position, resting your bottom back on your feet, you felt a sharp sting to your bottom, “I didn’t tell you to change positions,” You heard him say, and when you tried to turn your head to look at him, he spanked you again, “Face forward, pet.”

You tried to blink away your tears as you turned your head away, “Are you naturally obedient … or are you just scared out of your mind, huh?”

You weren’t sure either. The only thing you knew was that you wanted to be miles and miles away from where you were now. Were you even in New York anymore?

“The fear will go away,” He said and you felt him messing with the leather cuffs wrapped around your limbs. He tightened them in areas that were loose and made sure they were secure. When he got to your gag, you didn’t expect him to untie the cloth from around your mouth. Before it was loose enough, “Speak and the shock collar goes on … nod if you understand.”

Slowly, you nodded. Trying to protect yourself, you decided you would be obedient for now. When there was a clear chance of escape, you could take it. The gag being gone gave you back some comfort but your lips trembled. You wanted badly to say something, to reason with him but he seemed set on doing whatever he was going to do. Whatever he did to those other girls …

You felt a hand on your waist, it wasn’t rough, but his touch sent warning signals through your brain, “From now on, the only words I should hear from your mouth are ‘Yes, Master’. Do you understand?”

Your lips did not part to utter those words which led to a spank on your bottom. You yelped at the initial one and his assault continued until you gave in. You squeezed your hands into a fist, embarrassment rushing through you, as you finally said, “Y-Yes, Master.”

Sounding triumphant, he moved on to the next part of his inspection. Still looking forward, you were pulled to the side when he grabbed a hold of your hair. He separated it, almost neatly, into two sections, tying each side into a ponytail and effectively removing it from your face. Next, you watched him walk over to his wall of torture tools.

You looked at him then down at the restraints around your wrist. You pulled your hands in opposite directions, testing the strength of the chain connecting them. When he approached again, he was holding another black item. You tried backing away but he grabbed a hold of your arm, “Shhh,” He spoke, sounding more annoyed than calming. You weren’t sure what it was until it was right in front of your face. Black leather straps attached to a metal ring. When he grabbed your face, forcing the ring into your mouth, you thought you might choke once again. Like the cloth gag, he tightened this one behind your head, “There, that’s better. Your first, big reward will be getting to take off that gag … in the meantime, you’ll learn how to beg without using your words.”

He held your chin in his hand, the other touching over your hair. For a moment, he seemed to look at you with adoration.

For the next three weeks, you’d stay in that cement room for almost twenty-three hours of the day, Bucky only letting you out for your “lessons” or to let you relieve yourself. He’d told you a while ago that you wouldn’t do anything without his permission, not even go to the restroom. It was dehumanizing which you knew was the point of all of this. You were already starting to feel relieved whenever Bucky appeared because it meant you could come out of the cage.

He often walked you around the room, letting you practice coordinating your movements. Humiliating as it was, your favorite thing was when he’d take off the restraints, letting you stand up, as he bathed you.

Today, things were different, “It’s your lucky day, pet. We start house training today.” In the morning, he came down the stairs, and, this time, he led you up them. Undoing the chains but leaving the cuffs allowed you to move more freely but you learned that he still wanted to crawl. It made you feel small, in comparison to the massive house that was built above the basement. The home was sleek, expensive, and clean as well as full of grays, whites, and black colors.

Bringing you into the living room, The living room was illuminated by the tall windows and you could see the thick green trees outside. You definitely weren’t in the city anymore. You could run now, if you could find a way out. So far, you hadn’t spotted a front door but maybe that would be the obvious out. He was a professional after all and your escape would take some critical thinking.

Right now, you were focused on not being punished. From the moment Bucky decided to move the ring gag, you’d do anything to keep it off. You’d gotten used to the feeling but it was still painful and it didn’t make you feel any better about yourself when you were constantly drooling on yourself.

You soon learned what exactly Bucky meant by housetraining. Instead of spanking, Bucky decided on a new positive reinforcer. With everything you did right, he gave you little bites of chocolate which you became grateful for. The food he served down in the basement didn’t resemble anything tasteful.

First, you went through positions.

Stay, Sit, Heel, Wait, Come, Stand, Bed or Crate, and plenty more an adult woman could easily do but fight her cognitive dissonance at the same time. You tried your best to not focus on the embarrassment and remembered the food … you even took comfort in the soft pats on your head and bottom, a reminder of human contact.

“When I tell you to Mount, I want your face down and ass in the air,” The command was simple enough but Bucky sensed your hesitance. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen every inch of your body already, “Face down,” Bucky urged you, his voice deep and commanding.

Slowly you moved down to the carpet, your bottom in the air. You felt him standing behind you, probably taking in the view. He placed his feet between your legs, kicking them apart and allowing him a better view. He was quiet for a moment and you began to assume the worst, jumping a bit when you felt a hand on your bottom, “Face down,” He commanded again and you pressed your cheek to the carpet, “Good. Don’t you worry, sweet thing. I’ll leave this hole untouched for your future owner … though I am tempted.”

“Up,” He said, grabbing ahold of the leash attached to your collar. He led you towards the white, leather couch, taking a seat while pulling you in between his spread legs. Leaning forward, Bucky’s held your face in his hands, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip. Bucky watched the panic in your eyes, the uncertainty and fear that was still lingering, “Things will be so much better when you realize you rather be a dumb, little puppy … the overthinking, the anxiety, you can let it all go, let someone else take control.”

You began to shake your head and Bucky grabbed your chin roughly, his eyes darkening, “You’ve been good all day, don’t start now,” He said, his grip still tight, “I think you need to show me a little bit more gratitude.” You watched him begin to wrap the leather leash around his hand, over and over, until he had all the control of it. It pulled you closer to his crotch as Bucky leaned back against the couch.

“I’m sure you’ve done this before, right?” He smirked, undoing his belt, and unbuttoning his jeans.

“Please-” You yelped as he pulled you even further.

“Pets don’t get to make demands. I don’t want any thoughts going on in that little head that don’t involve your mouth being around my cock. Understand?” Another rough pull.

You nodded, “Y-Yes,” You rushed the words out, “Yes, Master.”

“Good puppy,” He spoke condescendingly, reaching into his briefs to pull out his cock, and he touched it against your cheek, letting you feel how hard he already was, “If you make me cum fast enough, I’ll let you sleep upstairs tonight.”

You’d never fully admit it to yourself but the prospect of sleeping in a real bed, at least not sleeping in a cold basement, sounded a lot more appealing than the food. Though you were hesitant, you knew how badly you wanted to stay upstairs, even if that meant you had to be with Bucky.

You grabbed the base of his cock with your hand and put the tip of him in his mouth. As Bucky’s head tilted back, you began to work your magic which wasn’t much seeing as how you hadn’t been in many relationships. You worked him into your mouth slowly, trying not to trigger your gag reflex, while you stroked his bottom half. “Good girl … good girl,” You heard him whisper, trying not to find the way his face contorted in pleasure as attractive. He took you away from everything, you had to remind yourself.

As time went on, you could tell he was getting close. You swirl your tongue around his tip, anticipating his orgasm. He grabbed you by your ponytail, pushing you further down, as he came down your throat, “Swallow it all,” He grunted, “Good girl.”

You did swallow it all though it was hard to hide your disgust at the taste. Bucky looked amused, once again taking your face in his hands. He had a thing for your lips, that much you understood, and you wondered if he wanted to kiss you. Maybe it was another thing that was oft limits and to be saved for your true “owner”.

That night, Bucky kept his word though you slept at the end of his bed with a pillow and blanket, your collar chained to the bedpost. Somehow, it was the best night's rest you had in weeks.

“This is … impressive,” Peter breathed out, stuffing his hands into his pocket in order to keep them from fidgeting. The sight of women displayed before him, each one of them beautiful, was reddening his cheeks which he hoped Bucky didn’t notice, “And you’ve trained all of them yourself?”

Like he was showing off one of his greatest accomplishments, Bucky smiled. Three of his “pets” sat on their knees obediently in the area in front of the fireplace. All tourists and all of them had something special Bucky noticed about them. Holding two glasses of bourbon, he handed one to Peter to which Peter accepted politely, “Tricks and all. Piper there has been with me for over a year. Feel free to touch and try out the merchandise, they love it.”

The girls did seem eager to get their hands on him, with warm smiles and flirtatious eyes. Though they loved Bucky, they’d been trained to work hard so that one day they can be adopted by someone else. All they had worked for would be worth it once they were chosen.

Peter’s eyes widened, “Actually, I don't think-”

“Not your cup of tea, Pete?” Bucky raised an eyebrow, bringing his glass to his lips.

“No, uhm, that’s not it,” Peter said. The entire idea of this was becoming a little too real for the young Avenger. He knew what had led him here, the loneliness of being a superhero, and the inability to get close to someone out of fear that his enemies would target them. That's how he lost MJ and he’d promised himself that he’d never hurt like that again, “I’m not sure about … all of this.”

Bucky placed a hand on Peter’s shoulder, giving him a look that father might give a son, “You have a lot of empathy, that's why,” Bucky explained, “But you already do your part to society, saving people and risking your life. It’s okay to be a bit selfish and take back from the universe. You deserve it, kid. Besides, I’m sure your left-hand could use a break every now and then.”

Peter shook his head, trying to hide his amusement, “Ha ha.”

“C’mere, let me show you something,” With his hand still on his shoulder, Bucky led Peter over to the basement door, “I’ve never shown anyone where the magic happens. My customers usually see one of the girls, gets over excited and immediately wants to buy one.”

The lights flicked on and illuminated the staircase. As they went down, Peter’s eyes were wide with curiosity, feeling as if Bucky was the villain and he was entering his evil lair. Well, his feelings weren’t totally wrong, “... do they usually test them out too?”

“Usually, yes …” Bucky trailed off, realizing something, “You’d like someone untouched, I can tell. There’s someone that I think would be perfect for you.”

The two walked along a long corridor until getting to a room full of metal cages. You were the only one left downstairs, the other girls were ready to be sold, and you were sleeping peacefully like you did most time during the day. After seeing Bucky leading the other girls away, you didn’t expect to see him for hours. Now that he had returned, you were perked up, and even more curious about the man with him.

Seeing someone new made you want to cry out for help but that would be stupid. If he was with Bucky, he was probably into Bucky’s sick business too. They stopped in front of your cage and Bucky crouched down to open the lock, crawling out as Bucky beckoned you by waving his hand.

Peter’s heartbeat quickened at the sight of you, watching how your eyes darted back in forth between the two men. You seemed just as frightened as Peter was, “Sit,” Bucky told you and, hesitantly, you sat back on your knees, your hands in your lap. Though you were still naked, you’d earned your way out of the restraints except for your collar of course. “She’s beautiful, isn’t she? I haven’t named her yet but I’ve only had her for a few months.”

Bucky ran his hand over your hair and then down your back, his hand resting on your bottom, “Yeah, uhm … yeah,” You connected the dots quickly, realizing the man with the light brown hair and kind eyes was interested in buying her, “She already seems very behaved.”

You looked to Bucky to see his reaction and he had a proud look on his face, “We had an issue about two weeks ago but it was easily corrected,” You cringed, looking away, remembering the week you spent with the electric collar on all because you’d tried to run to the front door. You could still feel the current rushing through your body, paralyzing your muscles, “She is very sweet, good with her mouth and she’s a cuddler, that’s why I think you’d be a good match.”

Bucky stood and you wished for a second that he’d keep caressing your back. He’s spent most of the last week with the other girls and you hadn’t slept upstairs in ages, “Would she really be ready after two months?”

Bucky sighed, “I’d have to keep her for a few more months. It usually takes more than a year,” Peter nodded, “But, for my friend, I’ll make sure she’s ready as soon as possible. So?”

Peter looked you over again. There was something about you that was different … special, even, “She’s the one,” Peter said, surprising himself and Bucky smiled.

You didn’t know if you’d be able to recognize yourself in the coming months but, just like that, your fate was sealed.

six months later …

You remembered your last night with Bucky. He reminded you every day it seemed like that you’d be going to Peter soon. You’d curled up in his lap, letting tears fall down your cheek as Bucky wiped them away, “I know it hurts, pet,” He spoke soothingly, “Peter is a good friend, you’ll see me soon. Besides, it’ll be nice not having to share, won’t it?”

Bucky took your silence as a sign of acceptance, “That’s my good girl,” He cooed and you tried to keep in your sobs as you accepted his comfort. He leaned down to kiss your forehead and then your cheek. It was the perfect distraction and you almost didn’t notice that he pricked your neck, filling you with a sedative, “When you wake up, you’ll be somewhere new, but I want you to be on your best behavior. You’ll listen to him … you’ll comfort him because he’s your new Master. You can do that, right?”

“Yes …” Your voice began to trail off as your eyes got heavy, “... Master.”

“Goodnight, pet.”

Peter awoke the next morning to a phone call. He rolled over in bed, picking it up, “Hello?” He asked groggily.

“Mr. Parker, you have quite a large package here. Should I send it up?” It was the man at the front desk downstairs. Peter was confused at first since he hadn’t ordered anything but the realization hit him quickly, “Mr. Parker-”

“Yes, send it up, please!” Peter was already hurrying out of bed, looking around the room for clothes. Peter was expecting you tonight and he thought he’d have all day to get things ready for you. When he finally made it out of the room, there was a knock at the front door. Taking a deep breath, Peter answered. One of the bellhops rolled in the package which was wrapped in red wrapping paper and a bow. Just in time for Christmas in a few days.

Peter waited for the bellhop to step out and tipped him handsomely. Even if the man did think Peter had made a shady purchase, Spiderman wasn’t exactly a figure you wanted to go against. A lot had changed since he was a teenager, a lot for the better. He wouldn’t be standing in the foyer of his penthouse apartment if things hadn’t changed. Peter couldn’t buy his happiness, he knew that, but he had a feeling you could change things.

Peter carefully unwrapped the paper, trying not to startle you further, but it seemed that it was too late for that. As Peter crouched down at the opening of the cage, you had pushed yourself to the back of it, your knees pulled to your chest, and tears dry against your cheeks.

You looked different, Bucky having dressed you in a new, light pink collar as well pink ribbons to decorate your pigtails. He’d even given you a dress though it was tight to your skin and barely went over your bottom.

“I’m not going to hurt you, I promise” Peter said, opening the door to the cage, “I’m Peter, remember? … do you want to come out?”

He was asking you? Bucky never asked what you wanted.

Peter racked his brain for all the training information that Bucky had given him, “Come,” Peter said, remembering the word from the manual, “ … please,” He added.

You moved slowly, getting onto your knees as you slowly crawled out onto the cool, marble floor. Up above you could see a shining chandelier and looking around you could tell there was much to discover. Peter, kneeling beside you, said, “This is your home now,” He informed you and couldn’t help but wish Bucky was here. You were already missing his bed, you even missed when he would come down to the basement and set you free, “I’m going to take care of you from now on.”

Peter was your Master now, you had to remember that. You belonged to him now and, unlike with Bucky, you belonged to him solely.

You trusted Bucky. And when you were finally reunited, he’d be overjoyed that you’d done as he told you. Bucky wanted you to be happy here and he wanted you to make Peter happy so that’s exactly what you’d do.

“Do you like it, Princess?” Though you still had dry tears, your lips pulled into a thin smile which surprised Peter.

Princess, you liked that name.

The younger man, reach out, and you took the opportunity to brush your face against his hand. Peter stroked your face as you nuzzled into him. You loved his touch and you craved more of the feeling. You pushed closer and closer, causing Peter to fall back on his bottom as you climbed on top of him. Still grinning, you placed soft kisses along his neck and then on his chin.

He laughed, sitting up on his elbows, “I’ll take that as a yes. How about a tour?”

Anything to make you happy, Master.

hope you enjoyed!!

#Dark Fic #Dark Avengers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes au #dark!bucky x reader #dark!peter parker #dark peter parker #peter parker x reader #dark!peter x reader #bucky barnes smut #avengers x y/n #dark!fic #kidnapping #kidnap tw #Bucky Barnes #peter parker

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butwhatifidothis · 3 years

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So. Took a look into that fic @nilsh13 is going through the comments of. Dunno if I’ll actually go through the entire thing - 300k words is certainly a lot of words to read through, especially with it still updating, but I’ve read through/am reading through longer ones - but I jumped to the latest chapter to get a feel for where the fic’s at now.

I’m not halfway through the chapter and I have Words To Say lmao, under the cut

This is going to be as serious a critique about the sections I’ve selected as possible - I want to be clear why I think what is being written is not of high quality, pointing out specifically what I have wrong with it.

Here are some snippets of the fic (boldened), and following those snippets are my thoughts on them:

“My actions have caused immense turmoil, pitting friend against friend, mother against daughter, and brother against sister*,” muttered Edelgard, desperately trying to drive any hint of self-pity (emphasis mine) from her voice. “My best friend has been disowned by her family, Hubert and Ferdinand’s fathers are dead or imprisoned, and the woman I love is now deemed a heretic by the Church that once offered her shelter. The weight of my decisions seems to pull down all who are caught in the shadow of the Imperial crown.” The Flame Emperor gave Professor Hanneman a wan smile. “Whatever imagined slights you believe you have committed against me, they pale in comparison to the carnage my own words and deeds have unleashed.”

""I made my choice, the only choice I could make, and dragged this continent down to hell with me. It makes me a poor ruler, and an even baser person, but that was the path I knew I must take.""

“"It is funny you use the word ‘choice’, Miss Edelgard. When I resigned my title to study at Garreg Mach, I lost marriage prospects, became penniless outside of a small stipend…I even renounced the opportunity to have a family.” Hanneman smiled, his whole body suffused with melancholy. “Really, how could I dare to dream of bringing a daughter into a world this senseless and cruel, knowing that someday, she too, could be hurt in such a way? I…I would not survive it.” The man’s body shook. “I sacrificed those things, things I desperately wanted, because the chance to allow my sister to rest in peace was more important. And I would make that choice again, despite all that it has cost me. You are much the same.”"

"“But your sacrifices were your own,” protested the Emperor of Adrestia. “Thousands bleed for the choices that I have made, and sacrifice themselves for the cause that I have placed before them. There is a profound difference-“"

"“We are both wise enough to know a painful truth,” said the scholar with a melancholy smile. “No matter how grave the sins, no matter how many innocents suffer…there will be countless individuals who will defend the law not because it is just, or righteous, but because it is the law. They will permit a hundred Abysses, and a thousand women to be raped, and a million dead children, as long as such actions do not disturb their order.” He placed a hand on Edelgard’s shoulder. “To stand against such moral rot, knowing that the world will despise and vilify you for it, is the truest sign of not only a just ruler, but a good woman.”"

"The academic’s words blazed with the passion of both a scholar and a man who had watched his world crumble to ash. A man who had been forced to live in the remnants of a life forever altered by the cruelty of both society and of humanity. And yet he had fought, the only way he could, to make the world better. It gave the Flame Emperor new resolve."

"“I…” He turned and looked away. “I believe in you, Miss Edelgard. When I see you, and your determination, your spirit, your bravery in choosing not what is easy, but what is right…it reminds me of her.” Fingers clenched around his locket. “I will fight for you, in the way I should have fought for my sister, long ago. My strength is meagre, and my courage more meagre still. However, all of it is yours.”"

The author writes Edelgard as one trying to give pity onto herself for her actions, despite how negatively they affect her, due to the immense ramifications those actions have had on those both around her and those under her care. This is the appropriate response to someone who has done as morally dubious an action as starting and spearheading a war that has led to the deaths and suffering of countless innocent people, some of whom were undoubtedly already going through immense suffering without war compounding itself onto their already existing pain. She - rightfully - points as, as a negative towards herself, that she has forced thousands of people to sacrifice their lives, livelihoods, friends, family, homes, etc. in order to continue with her war. Edelgard's canonical self-justification - that she had no other choice to do this - is properly utilized, and further characterization is given to her when she herself recognizes that performing such horrendous actions on the people under her care makes her a poor ruler and terrible person. This is, in truth, a decent set-up for her to go onto a possible path of redemption or self-realization.

However, that progress is forcibly stopped and reverted by Hanneman justifying her actions and recontextualizing them in a morally good light. In fact, the entire story does this, as characters act wildly out of character in order for Edelgard to be seen as good in comparison to them. Focusing on the quoted lines, however, Hanneman relating him giving up nobility and going into momentary poverty - whether true to canon or not - to Edelgard's war actively paints her actions as something that she had a right to be making, which she does not, as they force others to make sacrifices for her cause. When she herself rightfully points this discrepancy out, Hanneman excuses her actions by pointing to another - supposed - source of turmoil and essentially saying "You are more right than x, therefore your y actions are not only better, but objectively good, and make you a good person." He says nothing of the inherent injustice of taking away the choice of the people to live as they want and fight for who they want as well as deliberately taking away any semblance of safety from them, and makes objective statements about Edelgard's moral righteousness despite her taking actions that would, by definition, make her moral righteousness a subjective matter at minimum.

Hanneman is projecting the image of his sister and his own personal sense of justice onto Edelgard, and thus sees her as just as much a victim of the war and society as everyone else. Edelgard is a young woman who has gone through trauma due to Crests, as was his sister, and he himself (in this story, though not within the quoted lines) wanted to beat the man who abused his sister to death, and so he sees Edelgard using violence as a means to achieve justice as not only not questionable, but morally good and brave, as he felt he was not brave enough to enact "justice" onto the man that caused his sister's death. Instead of this being settled, focused on, or even mentioned, despite its obvious nature due to deliberate connections Hanneman himself makes, it is used as a means to showcase that Hanneman is a, for lack of a better term, "expert" on what he is saying when speaking to Edelgard. He knows what it's like to want to force change, he has by-proxy experienced the apparent injustice of the Church - not human society, not his family's decision to allow his sister to be married off, not the man who caused her death's decision to discard her, but strictly the Church and only the Church - and so he can "rightfully" justify and excuse Edelgard's morally questionable actions and paint them in a solely positive light, with no nuance or gray whatsoever.

Edelgard, in the first quote, attempts to say her actions without a tone of self-pity, and yet the narrative itself pities Edelgard. She should be allowed to feel bad about her actions - not because they are causing unfathomable suffering on people who were underserving, but because they’re just hard decisions that she was good and brave to make and maybe she can feel a little bad for herself for making them. She shouldn't feel responsible for choosing to start the war - in fact, did she really have a choice, or did everyone else in society force her to? She shouldn't question whether she's a good person or not, because she simply is - no debate, no question. She is - “justly” - standing up against "moral rot"; that she does so with even more moral rot is irrelevant, because, according to the story, it is not as rotten as that she's up against, therefore it is no longer rotten in the first place. War has been completely justified, as it is now not the last resort of desperation that could only ever be morally grey at its absolute best, but an objectively morally white decision of an objectively morally white person who is facing an objectively morally black opponent.

The actions of other characters attempt to paint Edelgard as someone closer to the former, but I will - maybe - eventually go over how those characters are extremely mischaracterized in order to prop Edelgard as their moral superior.

#anti edelgard #Anti-edelgard #Edelgard critical #o captain my captain #<- borrowing nilsh's tag for this lmao in case I do end up continuing this #but yeah from just the latest chapter there are characters that 100% cheerlead for the pure righteousness that is Edelgard #so yeah that's... gonna be fun lmao

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incurablyromanticsblog · 3 years

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Don't know how people are gonna feel about this but Loki should've been dealt with the way they dealt with Lucifer (from the Netflix show) I mean while the show straight up dismissed loki's feelings, lucifer netflix really showed us the natural and organic character growth with ups and downs while still maintaining the comic hilarity (WHICH WASNT AT THE EXPENSE OF THE MC). It's love interest and side characters are all original characters dealt as independent characters rather as brownie or plot points.

And the scenes that prompted me to think this?

1. Lucifer asking his Mazikeen to cut off his wings because he's moved past being a pawn in his father's 'Great Plan'. We could've had loki come to this conclusion and tell Mobius (who would've been an actual all out ally who was forced into doin lg what he did) that he no longer wanted any place in a land that hated him. (Once again like Lucifer calling the silver city hell)

2. Lucifer actually being the way he's supposed to be (angel of light, light bringer etc.) We could've had Loki act like the way he Actually Is. Not like how @iamnmbr3 so eloquently put it 'like larry the dumb lookalike'. We could've had Loki being stern yet having that air of sarcasm and wit that he had in his the films. His eloquence, his physical prowess (none of the falling flat on his face stuff, a lot of people talk about how he was trying not to hurt the people in ep 2 but srsly Loki would just immediately disarm them), and most of all his agency and refusal to cower or the pathetic attempts at lying.

3. Costumes. The lucifer netflix team had an extensive costume department that ironically pales in comparison to what disney is capable of but still we see Lucifer have a wide array of clothes and styles. Have Loki take the first chance to change his clothes. If he wants the 50s aesthetic have at it! he can wear the tuxedos and the nice leather. Or maybe change into some nice Viking-inspired leathers and battle armor. Have him as a pirate, or a knight or a cowboy. You're traveling through time good man! you can at least hit some of the cool spots.

4. In depth analysis of lucifer's mental health. the only episode of the Loki tv show I liked (loose term) is the first one cause it's the only one that gave a fraction of what we were promised: an insight into loki. That's it.

5. Lucifer's organic growth. This is self-explanatory. Loki watched one video and was good. Very good five stars. I understand that they only had six episodes but come-on. You could've had the subtle changes through out all the eps and lead to the big finish finally. With each episode focusing on certain aspects of Loki.

5. Lucifer's exploration of self-loathing. This deserves to be a separate point because Istg it was done so well. Basically lucifer messes up and he's faced with the hatred that's been conditioned into him (not unlike Loki) and then he learns what it is and actually tries to love himself. And not by kissing a female variant of himself (ew and also respect the gender fluid persons). He actually saw the good in him by reflecting and his actual good friends helping him.

6. Lucifer actually wanting to be good. Look Idc what shut mike waldron wrote, loki is not selfish when his whole arc has been doing things for asgard, thor, odin, frigga etc. We all know that New York was mind control, I do not know why it's being swept under the rug. But here's the thing, that self loathing I mentioned earlier is a huge part of Loki thinking he's some monster and intent on proving it.

7. Lucifer facing his 'devil-face'. Loki should've come to terms with his Jotun heritage. The TVA could've had a case in Jotunheim concerning the Royal Family and Loki could've seen the entirety of Jotunheim and it's people not just that most-likely war propaganda the Asgardians force-fed him. Maybe have him meet his siblings or better yet his mother. There's a very nice fic on A03 called Asgardian Galdr that deals with this beautifully.

8. Luicfer having a Breakdown and Crying: First off this happens gradually, his problems pile up etc etc. and he faces off his father and gets angry until he finally breaks down. And basically God says, "I'm sorry but i can't fix you," And Lucifer in all his grief and desperation asks, "But you're God,'. I know we talk a lot about Loki being made weak in the Show but that's specifically about him being made weak and helpless to make Sylvie seem like a stronger character (Don't get me started on the Sif and Narcissm scene istfg), But maybe seeing Loki try awkwardly to be good and near the finish of the show we see it blow up in some angsty way? only for some conversation like this to happen and have Loki understand that being good is something that is innate and something he already had the potential for all along. Maybe learn that he's not lawful good but as always the morally grey character we know him as. (Protector of misfits, god of outcasts i.e all the shit Marvel shat on) and rise as the God of Chaos and Stories against the rigid bonds of The TVA and essentially Kang.

9. Lucifer having a nice healthy romantic interest and relationship. Lucifer and Chloe's relationship is more often than not the main point of the show but no matter how much it is focused on it remains health, organic and not a weird allegory for something disgusting. Even if Sylvie weren't a Loki (once again ew) the whole dynamic was toxic. She constantly put him down, and invalidated his feelings (Sounds like Odin huh?) and guess what Loki fell in love with her after one day, one conversation of what love was and Mobius calling her his girlfriend (he also said that it was freakish and i agree). We could've had Sigyn sweet lord. (I'll make another post about this)

10. Lucifer's Sexuality. There is a whole episode in which Loki's paramours are getting murdered and they all vary from men to women to all that comes in between. And there's no shame, no offensive jokes. Have Loki flirt with dudes, i understand ms.karen that this is for children, don't worry the casual sex ;) was offscreen. Have Loki turn into a woman and flirt with woman cowards, maybe make some questionable remarks about horses (That make Sigyn laugh)

11. Lucifer's Powers: lemme sum up, Lucifer can, let's call it, use compulsion on people. He is known for his strength and prowess and abilites to grant favors. Have Loki shapeshift into animals, absolutely mauling people. Have him use his silver-tongue to coax people into making or changing history (Yes Brutus, Caesar is getting to be a bit much, say have you heard how sharp knives are?)

I'm pretty sure there's more that i can't remember rn. And here is one thing i would like to make very clear.

You are not bad for liking the show or hating it whatever. The problem is that the show framed a lot of bad things as good (Anything the TVA did, Mobius' torture session with Loki, the way Sylvie treated Loki only for them to become romantic partners, the Sylkie fiasco as it was offensive to genderfluid people and the bare fucking minimum of LGBTQ and POC rep). The show was also marketed specifically to make us think hey! Loki might actually be the main character only for it to blow up in our faces. We were also promised an actual plot rather than a constantly plot twisting concept that could've been worth something.

Also i'm still working on a Loki fic rn after which i will write a Loki(TV) Rewrite but unitil then ig.

#loki criticsm #loki negativity #sigyn #loki x sigyn #lucifer #lucifer netflix

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faunusrights · 3 years

Text

what is going on with all the bias on robyn hill’s wiki page, anyway? - an aside

As someone who uses the RWBY wiki with some degree of frequency - often because I’m looking for art references, or Semblance and weapon names - I’m used to... some amount of bias in the articles for different characters? Like, let’s be real, it’s not a perfect wiki! Community-maintained stuff isn’t easy to all keep on the same track! But, generally, it gives the facts well enough and doesn’t do too bad a job keeping all the balls in the air when it comes to new information from all four corners of this franchise.

Well, until you open the article for Robyn Hill, and realise it’s an absolute disaster. Like, really; the impartial voice just plain doesn’t exist for her, and almost all of her wiki is written in such a way that she reads as being an absolutely insufferable, hostile, hard-to-like character. Even if you aren’t a fan of Robyn personally, you have to admit that if you hadn’t seen the show yourself, you might very well come away from her article presuming she’s a major antagonist of Volumes 7 and 8.

Like, for instance, let’s take a look at the first paragraph of her Personality section:

Robyn has a direct and confident personality, having no trouble being confrontational with Atlas personnel, including the Ace Operatives. Robyn also seems to suffer from overconfidence and arrogance, shown in her encounters with Ruby and celebrating her election victory before it was verified. She is aggressive and hostile in nature, quickly jumping to conflict without thinking through consequences. However, she is also shown to be reasonable when the situation calls for it.

And, for good measure, here’s another paragraph from the same section:

In "With Friends Like These" Robyn displayed a rather impulsive side of her personality, when upon hearing that James Ironwood's plan to abandon Mantle and arrest those against him, she started a fight between herself, Clover Ebi, and Qrow Branwen onboard a Manta with Tyrian Callows in custody. Despite the fact, there was no order or her arrest. Her brashness led to Tyrian breaking free and crashing the Manta as well as her becoming unconscious.

(Taken from Robyn’s RWBY Wiki page. Bolding is mine.)

In every instance here, all of the “negative” aspects of her personality take centre stage; she’s confrontational. She suffers from arrogance. She is aggressive and hostile. She started the fight. Her brashness led to the crash. All of this is only compounded when her positive traits trail behind as an afterthought; she’s direct and confrontational, overconfident and arrogant, aggressive and hostile, impulsive and jumps to conclusions... but hey! As least she’s reasonable when the situation calls for it.

The way that this information is presented to the reader is quite literally on par with how the wiki presents the personalities of the actual literal villains who appear throughout the show. Let’s take, for instance, the Personality section of Cinder Fall:

Cinder is ruthless and sadistic, as demonstrated when she delivers a killing blow to a clearly defeated Pyrrha Nikos in "End of the Beginning" and when she throws a spear at a defenseless Weiss Schnee in "The More the Merrier." She is relentlessly driven to gain power and determined to cross any line to obtain it. Cinder demonstrates a cunning that shows in her successful manipulation of events and people throughout the first three volumes. Cinder is also arrogant and egomaniacal, and as such, relishes in dominance and gloating, displaying shameless pleasure in the misery she has caused others.

Or, the Personality section of Raven Branwen:

Raven is cynical, patronizing, selfish and stubborn. She believed her act of "kindness" of saving Yang's life from Neopolitan was sufficient despite having left Yang at a very young age and refused to protect her daughter when in need after that.

Raven is also very prideful and hypocritical, refusing to acknowledge her faults and always trying to justify her actions both to others and to herself, often putting the blame on others for them even if she feels real guilt about them.

It makes sense that for an antagonist, the primary faults and flaws of their personalities will come first, as to better represent them as the villains to clarify to the reader who they are and why they act as they do in their storylines. However, the fact that Robyn arguably has an even more caustic write-up then Raven, despite not being an antagonist, goes to show the lengths this writer has gone to present her in a significantly more negative light than she ever appears in the show.

If this doesn’t seem convincing, let’s look at a more direct comparison; what does the wiki say about Ironwood? He’s present in the same seasons, and has now become more of an antagonist in the latter episodes; is the wiki quite as blunt about his flaws?

Ironwood is courteous to his allies, as shown by his first onscreen interaction with Ozpin and Glynda Goodwitch. He is also far-thinking and tactical, wondering about the future, as seen when he speaks to Ozpin about Qrow Branwen's message. He also has a jovial, friendly, humorous and proud public persona, which he uses as a spokesman for the weapon manufacturers of Atlas.

However, as courteous Ironwood may appear, he can also be incredibly blunt, often preferring the direct approach. When he feels necessary, Ironwood is not afraid to bring the full might of his military command to bear, which sparked disagreements with both Glynda and Ozpin. Nevertheless, Ironwood is extremely loyal to his comrades, and however questionable his methods may be, he seems to have genuinely good intentions behind them.

Uh, no.

Instead, when his flaws are mentioned (for example, being blunt), it’s written in a significantly less... abrasive manner. It’s referred to as the direct approach, versus Robyn who is described as confrontational. Even then, his flaws are folded in to his (alleged) positive traits; he is not afraid, extremely loyal, and has genuinely good intentions, despite the fact that the show has now proven that Ironwood’s flaws greatly outweigh these. It reveals how thoroughly all of Robyn’s actions are presented as the work of an arrogant troublemaker, whilst Ironwood’s actions are presented as the efforts of a man working towards some greater good.

Also, I’ll add that in both examples, I used the first two paragraphs of their Personality sections. These are both the first two things you read about these characters, yet look at how differently they’re summarised.

What is interesting, however, is that despite this bias being extremely self-evident, the comments on her page generally chime agreement, referring to her as “overconfident, arrogant, impulsive and hotheaded to the point of being unlikable”, and claiming that she’s “literally the worse character in the show next to cinder, blake and yang”[1]. Someone mentions that Robyn has earned quite the hatedom... but why?

Broadly, my experiences of Robyn Hill’s writing in the fandom has been through a queer lens, and the vast majority of writers who’ve covered her and the Happy Huntresses have been women, or queer, or trans, or all the above... basically, the people who are usually responsible for a vast majority of fanfiction, let’s be real. These writers love Robyn, and have explored and extrapolated on her character to marvellous degree. Yet, at no singular point have any of these flaws ever been written quite as strongly as the wiki implies they are, nor have I seen much evidence of them myself in the show. For instance, let’s take one of the more serious points in her Personality section; she started a fight between herself, Clover Ebi, and Qrow Branwen [...] her brashness led to Tyrian breaking free and crashing the Manta as well as her becoming unconscious.

When we watch this scene again, Robyn did initiate the fight... because she was rightfully aware that Clover would obey his orders, even if they were wrong. Despite everything that happened prior in the entirety of Volume 7, when given orders to bring Qrow in alongside RWBY, it was clear that Clover fully intended to follow it through, which Robyn knows from prior experience with the AceOps:

[image ID: two images of Clover, Robyn and Qrow in the dark-grey interior of the Manta ship. Robyn has her weapon aimed at Clover as he stands in front of Qrow. Clover is saying “Only Qrow is under arrest [...] please don’t make me arrest you too.”]

Her knowledge of the AceOps means that she reacted accordingly; trying to stop him from taking Qrow in and obeying Ironwood’s plan the only way she knows the AceOps respond to. Her reaction isn’t unwarranted. However, my point isn’t to argue that Robyn was right or wrong, but rather that regardless of who started the fight, the way the wiki explains this specific incident is that it’s solely Robyn’s fault that Tyrian escaped and crashed the Manta, but we know this isn’t the case. Robyn and Qrow both fought Clover, and it was Clover’s good luck (or Qrow’s bad luck, depending on how you view it) that allowed for Kingfisher to break Tyrian’s bonds. Her brashness is blamed for the outcome, but in reality, this outcome could have been avoided together if Clover had not chosen to follow his orders and bring in an innocent man. Also, she didn’t crash the Manta! That was all Tyrian! The intentional tying together of these two events as her fault, however, are a neat package of blame.

In these instances on the wiki, Robyn’s personality appears amplified, focusing specifically on her flaws and exaggerating them to the extremes that, as noted earlier, matches the language used to define the very villains of the series. Yet, the people who enjoy her and the Happy Huntresses often perceive those same flaws to a significantly lesser extent, or even see those flaws as actually being boons of her character; for instance, reading her alleged arrogance as passion. So, why such division?

Before, I mentioned her “negative” traits, and I put this into quote marks because traits don’t always align nicely into good and bad. All aspects of a person can vary on how positive they are based on context - even the show proves this, with protectiveness becoming paranoia (Ironwood) or loyalty becoming subservience (Winter). Even a character that is broadly composed of more unfavourable traits can have this contextual shift; Cinder’s stubbornness to her goals makes her a fast learner and a tenacious opponent.

Yet, why did the writer (or writers) choose to highlight almost every aspect of Robyn’s character as a bad thing? Why did they frame her decisions as such? I have a suspicion it’s to do with her character at large; she’s a bold socialist politician who believes in equality and fairness for all, who refuses to stand for incompetence and obedience towards evil causes. She’s outspoken in her views, and reacts strongly to those who threaten to overturn her work. Also, she’s a woman, in charge of a group of other women, at least one of whom is canonically trans. To those who agree with her in real life, Robyn appears as a great character! We admire her work ethic and we support her ends. To those who may not... well, it’s not hard to see how they might perceive her as more of a cocky, authority-defying upstart. Of course, the core text of RWBY doesn’t quite believe the latter; RWBY has always placed Robyn as the direct counter to authoritarianism, whether it be Jacques, Clover, or Ironwood, and even the article admits that she is a potent voice for the people of Mantle. Still, it’s clear that there’s plenty of people in a vocal minority who are deeply dissatisfied by Robyn, and aren’t afraid to make their stance on the matter exceedingly clear.

So, what does this all mean? Well, here’s what we can say for sure; Robyn’s article is, and has always been, stringently biased against her character, and often misconstrues her motives and decisions. This is maybe the more obvious part, but how should her article be worded to make this less so? Likely, I’d rephrase a lot of it to be less damaging to her character; she isn’t hostile, she holds people accountable. She isn’t quick to jump to conflict, she is familiar with how Atlas responds to anti-authority with violence. She isn’t arrogant, she believes in the power of the people as being the right thing to fight for. Even this makes it clearer that her character is about resisting the oppression inherent in Atlas, and is a much clearer outline of her personality as a whole. People may disagree with this phrasing and summary also, but given her character is based on Robin Hood, it’s also not far from the mark in terms of what she should represent.

TL;DR: Robyn’s wiki page is written with a deep bias against her character and what she represents, acts upon, and chooses to do in the show; I have no doubt that in canon, this sort of language would probably be used by Jacques himself as a smear campaign, haha. Whilst I can’t speak for the author and their motives, I have a distinct feeling that this article was written, or edited, by someone who is either:

not a fan of Robyn

not a fan of a new female character

not a fan of a new female character in a position of power

not a fan of a character with socialist/communist/antifa ideals

all of the above and then some???

Even though I’m not going to edit her wiki page (I’m very shy and I’ve never done it before), I think it’s worth analysing this if only as a reminder of the inherent biases of an author even when people are trying to present a character’s information impartially. This isn’t the first wiki I’ve seen misconstrue - or even make incorrect assumptions on - facts about a character, and it won’t be the last. In the meantime, though, I leave you with this fact:

Robyn Hill slaps huge nuts and I love her.

[1] I’m not naming the users who posted these things here, because it’s unnecessary. You can find them for yourself at the bottom of Robyn’s wiki, but there’s no need to respond; some people just don’t like Robyn, and that’s fine - I’m just explaining how bias leaks into wikis like water into a sponge. It happens!

#rwby #rwde #robyn hill #murphy's thoughts and vibes on this shit (again)#is this a new tag #i haven't really written this well and it was sort of off the cuff so sorry if there's mistake #*mistakes #LMAO #i just wanted to lay my Thoughts out #i swear if even one person msgs me like 'but robyn DOES suck' im banishing you to the Spray Cheese Hell Dimension #also im tagging as rwde but its not rwde against the show (FOR ONCE??) so

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dontcallmecarrie · 3 years

Text

Downward Descending

the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and every villain is the hero of his own story.

Justin Hammer didn’t consider himself a good man.

Kind? Yes. But not good.

aka thanks, commenter, I blame the plot twist my brain came up with on you because I had zero inspiration for this AU up until I saw your comment

probably won’t make sense if you didn’t read part one to this mess and heads up, the protagonist becomes a villain here. Under the cut because it ran away on me, again.

Above all things, Justin Hammer was a realist.

Kind of hard not to be, considering; between their [fading] memories of another world, and the life they’d been stuck with this round as the heir of Hammer Industries, they’d never really had a chance to get their head in the clouds.

Other people could dream of a better future, and he really did wish them all the best— but in the meantime, he had work to do.

Justin didn’t understand these people.

Sometimes, he wondered if he ever would.

Justin didn’t think much of his family: oh, sure, they were loaded, but...well, for obvious reasons, he didn’t think very highly of some— okay, most— of their parenting choices.

Look, some people just aren’t meant to be parents, okay? But at least they try and give a damn.

These guys didn’t even bother.

Not when their heir turned out to be a normal kid instead of a once-in-a-generation child prodigy and genius [no hard feelings, though, Stark].

Eh. Whatever.

Might’ve been for the best, actually; at least it was him and not some other poor kid who got stuck with dealing with all the crushing expectations and comparisons to a frankly impossible ideal, and at least they didn’t try to pull any of that shit with his little sister because if they had then...he wasn’t sure what he would’ve done, but it would not have been pretty.

[they were an older sibling twice over. some things were etched into their soul.]

It wasn’t like Justin had set out to quasi-adopt just about everyone remotely his age, okay? It just sort of...happened.

Okay, look, it’s not his fault everyone his generation looks like a kid to him, they’re all brats and for some reason, all their parents came in different flavors of shitty because their IQs were sky-high but their collective emotional intelligence wouldn’t have filled a teaspoon so looks like it was up to him to step up.

Look, it made perfect sense at the time!

Sometimes, it’s funny how Justin is the most mature person in the room. Other times, it’s just pathetic.

Especially when it’s two grown men half a second from duking it out while in public, like they weren’t supposed to be setting an example for their kids.

Justin couldn’t help his dark look at the spectacle, even as he ushered Stark and Pym to the buffet tables on the other side of the room, all the while trying to keep the conversation light. He didn’t really have the time for hobbies, not with all the private tutors his parents kept foisting on him, but it was still nice to hear what other people his age got up to.

...unless said kid was Stark, in which case they all got regaled with an overenthusiastic spiel on something that went way over Justin’s head but hey, he’d had plenty of practice nodding along to Steph’s chatter so this was nothing.

Looking back, it’s kind of sad how something as simple as giving half a damn was enough for Stark to consider them lifelong friends.

Even sadder, because Justin hadn’t even realized it at the time; he’s just been his usual self.

But apparently, that was enough for some people, was significant enough to be remembered even decades later— long after Justin himself had forgotten all about the encounter.

There weren’t a lot of things Justin put actual effort in.

Emotionally, that is; he was not afraid from hard work, never had been, but there was a world of difference between brushing up on engineering terms and being there for someone.

Not like his mother, who’d apparently thought giving birth to him and his sister was enough involvement in his life, and proceeded to spend all her time in the Bahamas whenever she had the chance. Not for his father, who constantly tried to make him into something he was not, and finding him wanting [when he wasn’t being a sexist piece of shit who regularly cheated on his wife, anyway, but that was a whole other mess entirely].

But maybe that’s why he tried to be kind, why he tried to be there for the people around him.

...oh, and apparently he’d been known for giving good advice in boarding school to anyone who asked. Which was weird, but whatever. At least he’d helped?

Justin tried to be a good older sibling. Really, he did, trying to be as supportive as he could be of Steph as he could.

Sometimes, though, that landed him in some...interesting situations.

Such as her infamous ‘fashion design’ phase, which lasted for five very memorable months, during which he wore even her most dubious of creations without complaint even though he really, really couldn’t pull off that particular shade of orange.

There were probably pictures still floating around, actually, but he was in no particular hurry to dig them up.

Not that he was ashamed, because he’d like to think he pulled off some of those combinations remarkably well, but... well, if it were anyone other than his sister asking, he probably wouldn’t have done it.

Goodness knew how long it’d taken for some of the other guys at boarding school to look him in the eye afterwards.

Several decades in, and Justin Hammer had yet to express interest in anyone.

Oh, he was perfectly polite and charming to everyone; courteous and charismatic, but...well.

'Gentleman’, some called him; ‘in the closet’, dismissed others with a scoff.

The truth was somewhere in between: Justin couldn’t help but see everyone his age or younger as kids, and between that, his natural older sibling instincts, and his own personal issues with his body that came and went, well...

At least Stark was always a good distraction, nobody paid attention to him when the guy was around.

Justin worked at his company long before he became its CEO.

It was a bit awkward at first, because everyone seemed to be uncomfortable with the idea of the boss’ kid looking over their shoulders, but once they saw he did good work and pulled his weight [and didn’t regularly make tasteless jokes about kitchens or whatever bullshit his old man was up to these days], things picked up the pace.

He bounced between departments a bit because he wanted to get a better feel for the company, and it was during his brief foray in the marketing department that he came across something that gave him pause.

Now, he knew Hammer Industries followed federal guidelines on who they did and didn’t sell to, officially, but...there were a few grey areas sometimes.

Normally, it wasn’t something he’d have blinked at, but he recognized the names on this particular proposal.

“Von Doom? Latveria? Geez, Victor, what’ve you been up to?”

Once upon a time, there had been a boy who appreciated silence when studying during a time when most children his age were anything but.

So when another brat showed up, he hadn’t exactly been happy about it at first.

But they were quiet, and seemed to prefer to keep their nose in their book, and so they’d come to a wordless agreement to share the space.

For over three years, they studied together and shared exasperated looks when the other brats got loud, and so it was that a friendship was born.

It wasn’t until they stopped showing up one day that Justin learned that there was turmoil in that student’s country that’d forced them to go back, and only then that he learned his silent studymate’s name.

An unusual childhood friendship wasn’t much to go off of.

But it was something.

And knowing what he did about Victor, and the pull his country had in the international sphere... it was a risky gamble, but he was fairly certain he could pull it off.

So Justin quietly but firmly took that particular proposal from the ‘reject’ pile, and took it to his father to look over.

He was still fairly new at this, but he knew how to play the game. It was a risky gamble, but if this panned out, they’d have a significantly stronger foothold in places their rivals couldn’t even dream.

Worst comes to worse, well... everyone was so focused on what was going down in Yugoslavia, it wasn’t like they’d particularly care if a few shipments went missing, now, would they?

It wasn’t pretty, but then, Justin wouldn’t get anywhere in the world if he was afraid of getting his hands dirty.

Latveria’s reputation as an unstable country ended when the scion of one of their most eminent families went and united its people, kicking out all of the outside factions vying for territory as he did.

Then he promptly turned around and revitalized its economy, infrastructure, and gods knows what else because seemingly overnight, Latveria turned into one of the richest countries on the planet.

Sitting back in his chair, Justin smiled as he put down the newspaper.

“Huh. Sounds like someone’s been busy.”

He got a very slick cell phone via courier, not long after that.

That, and a slip of paper with a simple ‘Thanks’ in Victor’s signature scrawl.

Years passed.

Years passed, and shit went down, but no matter what hurdles life threw his way, Justin powered through them nonetheless.

Like when his little sister had a kid and their parents freaked out because she wasn’t married, and then freaked out even more when little Timmy turned out to be on the spectrum and Justin wasn’t remotely surprised when she cut all contact with them after that.

Goodness knew he’d have done the same long ago, after all the shit they’d pulled over the years.

He was just happy she chose to keep him in her life, and that Timmy seemed to really like him as an uncle.

Stark was a bona fide hero, was talking about privatizing world peace.

Justin wished him the best of luck.

But...well, he hadn’t been the one to propose their rivalry, but if Stark wasn’t in the industry to compete against, then... oh, bother.

Looks like he’d have to change up his plans.

Stark was acting weird. Well, weirder, he’d never really been able to understand him in the first place.

“What’s wrong?” Justin asked as he pulled him to the side. Sure, it was probably rude to ignore the gala’s host, but he did not like the look in Stark’s eyes, no matter how bright his smile was.

“Hey, Justin! How’ve you been? Long time no see, but—”

“You’re not okay.” He said, making sure his tone brooked no argument because he knew Stark, had known him since they were kids and he was not okay.

It was like a switch flipped: Stark’s smile vanished, and he reached out towards him for a moment before he sighed and were those tears in his eyes? “Yeah, you could say that.”

The government wanted to take Stark’s super-fancy suit, and...this, he could work with. Somehow.

Damn it, he’d need to tweak some of his plans even more...

For a few seconds, Stark looked very betrayed when he caught sight of him in the courtroom.

Then his face went blank in the way Justin had long known to be his ‘I am screaming internally but I refuse to let the cameras see’ look, and he felt bad for him even as he submitted his own findings to their audience.

To be honest, they were a long ways off from developing anything close to what Stark already had in hand, but it never hurt to be prepared for the future. If one man could do it, what was to stop another?

They were all lucky Stark was a good man who didn’t abuse his power.

Justin was no hero, but if lightning were to strike twice...better him than a potential threat.

Besides— Stark needed competition if he didn’t want to stagnate. Who knows? Hopefully, they’d be able to push each other to greater heights.

Ivan Vanko was a dangerous man. Just as brilliant as Stark, but with an edge that could only have been gained from a hard life.

Dealing with him would be like playing with fire, Justin just knew it.

[Like knew like, after all.]

But he knew people, knew how to work them, and considering that little display at the race track?

He could work with this.

It takes a handful of phone calls to put out all the fires from the past few days.

Perk of being a well-known and respected figure in the defense industry, Justin supposed; Stark’d once mentioned his contact list was classified six ways to Sunday, so really, having a few senators on speed-dial was nothing.

He had to do some extra sweet-talking to calm down some of the generals, and may or may not have made mention to some of his older contracts to get Stern to ease up, but whatever.

Why he was invited to Stark’s birthday celebration, he didn’t know.

But he brought a bottle of apple cider and champagne anyway, because why the hell not.

This party was really, really not his style.

So when he was pulled aside by the man of the hour, he raised an eyebrow when he noticed he was out of his suit and— wait.

Justin whipped back to where the piece of equipment that had been the source of all this mess was dancing on the table, while Tony was in a rumpled suit not three feet from him.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me.”

Stark looked like shit.

...and was apparently dying, because he’d passed up Justin’s offer at a toast, even though it had been an inside joke for almost as long as they could remember.

Also, he’d looked stricken when Justin had tried to joke about it, that was another pretty big clue.

They weren’t normally one for hugs, but this time they didn’t hesitate to offer— and so felt very very awkward when the closest thing they had to a childhood frenemy proceeded to break down in their arms.

Justin’s older sibling instincts flared to life and they tried to murmur reassurances the best they could, but.

Wasn’t like there was much they could say, now, could they?

Stark was dying, and there was nothing they could do about it.

Something inside Justin was screaming, and the part of him that wasn’t trying to be there for someone absently wondered why...then he noticed what he was saying, and kicked himself for not paying attention earlier.

“—ever give up, I’m here, know you are not alone—”

Geez. Talk about sappy, normally they only got like this around their sister or nephew.

But whatever it was they’d said, it apparently helped.

Or something, because Stark was honest-to-goodness crying but after a few minutes, started to calm down and pull himself together.

“I’m so, so sorry about this—” Stark started, and Justin cut in.

“Don’t be, looks like you needed it.” And he clearly had; already he looked a lot better than before.

“I...should get back to the party, shouldn’t I?” Ah, looks like Justin wasn’t the only one feeling awkward now.

“It’s gone on for a while, and you look pretty tired. You sure you don’t want to wrap it up instead?”

“...yeah, that’s... probably a good idea. See you around, Justin. Hopefully.”

“See you later, Stark.”

Stark apparently invented a new element in his basement.

He knew this, because Stark called him up to say he wasn’t dying anymore.

Once he hung up, he felt torn between immense relief, and exasperation that he’d need to rewrite his plans again.

...aaand kinda ran out of steam again. Long story short, yes, this is the AU where Justin Hammer maybe sort of becomes the Lex Luthor of the universe and may or may not end up accidentally creating a League of Evil of sorts because he’s frenemies with Tony and Victor von Doom ends up having a similar dynamic with some grad student and Ivan has some really good ideas and loves sticking it to the man.

Said club only grows when the Avengers Initiative forms, and Loki escapes custody and joins for the sole purpose of pranking Thor and giving Fury a headache and Justin may or may not end up getting a crush somewhere along the way.

No, I’m not sure how we got here either.

#No Hero [And Not Made Of Stone]#No Hero [Downward Descending]#fic ideas #fic idea #does it count if said 'fic idea' is over 2k long?#My writing

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botwstoriesandsuch · 3 years

Video

youtube

Finally finished this! Sorry I’m a bit late.

Made this song in pairing with a new Revalink soulmark fic: Paraphrase

Based on a prompt @motherhyrule (Happy Birthday and thanks!)

Read it on AO3 or, here...

Chapter 1: Holes

There were holes in the sky.

While the artificial blue glow of Vah Medoh was a constant reminder of abnormal circumstances of this view—looking out into the east, you could be fooled for a moment to believe in serenity.

The details of the great, inky abyss were blurred by the occasional grey cloud, crawling towards the light of a decaying moon. Its pale, crescent complexion gave a humble glow to the dancing seas of grass and the motionless hills of glistening lake water. Below, wooden huts embraced one another on the edges of an ancient spire. The winds had crafted a fine sculpture, the unique silhouette of Rito Village cast faint shadows on Lake Totori.

There was distant whistling from either the cutting breeze or a bored village guard, perhaps leaning against his spear, dreaming of slumber.

There's a fire, somewhere. A spiral of smoke rises with a delicious aroma fantastic enough to reach the heights of Medoh. Someone making a late-night stew, under the dotted, broken sky.

If you could tear your eyes away from the nature down below, the navy blue canvas would still be there to greet you—a perfect night that cloaked any traces of the sun, as if time was always meant to be this way. Unchanging, and ever an elegant, unrivaled mix of blue, black, and grey.

But of course, unchanging was not everlasting. The perfect canvas was pierced by the frozen heights of Hebra, and flaming stars. Whole armies of them were scattered across the sky, as if the goddess had flicked a handful of embers at the night, burning through the blue and into an unknown.

"I heard that stars are actually holes into the heavens." Link finally said. "Like...They break through the sky, and at night you can look through them and see the great beyond." He leaned back, shifting himself into a more comfortable position on the rocky cliff.

The ghost beside him raised an eyebrow, wings tucked behind his back.

"Oh? And where exactly did you hear that?"

Silence.

The boy looks out to the distant mountains, wreathed in grey clouds with filtered moonlight. When the wind blows his golden hair just the right way, you could catch a glimpse of a familiar expression.

"...I'm not too sure."

Revali nodded, looking back into the night. He stood beside the hero, and let a quiet sigh escape him, the turquoise flames that circled around the Rito seemed to rise and fall with his chest. "Well. I cannot confirm or deny such a thing, but I imagine it's a decent enough fairy tale to entertain the fledglings."

Link scoffs, a smile tugging at his lips. "Really? They don't give you a big ghost book on how all of life works? What's the point of being dead if you don't know the answer to all the fancy questions?"

"I appear to have missed Hylia's educational spirit lecture. Perhaps my schedule was busy at the time. I do apologize."

"Don't apologize to me! You're the one who missed a once-in-a-afterlife-time opportunity."

"..."

"...Too soon?"

"No, it was just a horrible joke."

"Pfft. Well OK, Mr. 'Well I'll be plucked'"

"I don't think I'm going to accept criticism from someone who's sense of humor isn't even a year old."

"Aha...Fair enough."

A chuckle. A nod. A smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

Silence.

The moon crawls further west. Winds start to die with conversation.

The ghost sighs again, but of course, no breath escapes him. Something itches in the back of his mind, and he looks up at Medoh.

Her phantom blue eyes pierce both mortal and incorporeal, yet there's a tenderness in the way her head tilts towards Revali—every so slightly so as not to wake the whole kingdom with the groan of gears. The gesture is wordlessly understood by her pilot, something about speaking the unspoken. He clicks his tongue.

I don't remember flipping a relationship advice switch in your control unit...

Medoh's lights glow brighter and dim, playfully.

The Rito shakes his head.

No, he thinks again. It's better this way.

The Champion looks out towards Hyrule Castle, Medoh's red laser aimed directly into the heart of the swirling malice. From this view, it’s almost beautiful. Like layered petals of a rose...

I cannot wait to burn it to the ground.

"Yeah..." Link replied. "Don't worry, Revali. It'll be different this time. I won't let you down, again."

The Rito blinked. "Ah. Did I...say that outloud?"

Link nodded, tilting his head to the side with a smile. "You always seem in such deep thought when looking at Medoh. Your face gets a lot more s—uh...I don't know... " He trailed off, making the wise decision to not finish the sentence. Afterall, he wanted to hang out for a little bit longer before Revali's glares punted him to the Akkalain Sea.

Nonetheless, Revali grimaced. Looking at him? Acknowledging him? Oh, there was nothing worse in the world than that...

Time really can change anything.

"Hmph. Well," Revali turned his head back towards Medoh, "With Windblight gone, it's nice to actually have conversations...As unconventional as they may be." He makes sure that his smile can only be seen by the sky.

"She's good company."

Link picks at loose pebbles, tossing them off the cliff and letting gravity take them to new destinations. His hands are already coated in a dusty beige dust.

"Well, if Medoh ever becomes a bore. My schedule's always open." He chuckles. "I'm certainly a different sort of company in comparison, so I should be able to spice up your d—!"

"No."

The iciness of his tone runs Link's spine cold. He dares to look up at the Champion.

It takes all of Revali's strength to continue staring at the stars.

"You should really stop coming here, Link. You have a job to do, and so do I. You gain nothing by returning here each night."

He pauses, his beak clenched just a bit too tightly.

"You did well, avenging me, but now...Your job here is done, and there is more work to do. The fact that you keep visiting each night while the world fades away is pathetic, honestly. You banter and quip as if you have all the time in the world, as if everything doesn't depend on your success. Quit acting childish."

Silence. It drowns out the whistling wind.

Revali looks at the holes in the sky.

"It'll be morning in a few, so get lost. I don't need you here."

The Rito can feel the hero's eyes tearing into him.

= = = = = = =

"Careful now! Can't have you return with half a head. Can I?" Revali loosed an arrow just above Link's head, striking true in a Bokoblin's right eye.

Link whips around just in time to see the monster drop dead, just a foot away from where the knight stood. He turns back and gives the Rito a thumbs up in gratitude.

"Eye think that solves that problem." Link groans and rolls his eyes, but Revali smirks at the grin he attempts to hide. "Ah...One of the best things about these occasions is that you're in no position to quip back at me with your hands full like that." Revali shoots him a wink. "Perhaps I'll interpret your silence as overwhelming awe for my verbal abilities."

The Rito bows left and right, playfully. "Thank you, thank you. It takes a great deal of practice, but perhaps you'll grace my level of skill one day."

Link signs as best he can with the Master Sword in his left grip.

"You're an asshole."

"Perhaps. But it's your fault for sticking around!"

"On your left..." He suddenly says.

There's no hesitation as Revali moves his head out of the way, letting Link swing his sword over his shoulder. A brilliant beam of blue light escapes the edge of his sword, the disc of energy making contact with a Bokoblin's neck, slicing it asunder mid-roar.

"Hmm. Now that's just breath taki—"

"Shut UP!" Link says, knocking an elbow into his ribs. He starts to sign again. "Let's keep heading east. We need to close this pincer quickly. I'd like to finish before lunch..."

The Rito scans the snow covered path, littered with monster guts and blood. Deep reds and purple stain the pristine, crisp morning. The sky is a deep green, pine trees covering the day, dressed in coats of white. The breeze blows the smell of rotting corpses and hickory his way.

"Alright. Let's get a move on. Don't need the Princesses yelling at us again."

"A bit late for that, don't you think?"

The boys both look up in time to see a large burst of water erupt from a nearby cliff. It cascades into a shimmering slide, that freezes as it flows. A bright red Zora flips through the air and descends on it, landing delicately in front of the two. She gives a warm smile that could melt the winter.

"Shall I assume you ran into some chuchu troubles, again?"

Revali scoffed. "That was one time!"

"Hehehe...chuchu go 'sluuurrrp...'"

"Plus, that incident was entirely a certain knight's fault. I've been nothing but incredibly efficient and productive, since then."

"And your tail feathers are all the better for it!"

Revali thwacked Link with his bow to shut him up. The knight rubbed the back of his head with an "Ow..." and shot a rude glare, but the Rito continued. "So where is the Princess?"

Mipha gestured uphill to where she had come from, her magical waterfall already beginning to melt away. "We finished cleaning up the other end of the Tabantha path. She's met up with Urbosa and Daruk by one of the bridges."

The Zora smiles as she looks between Revali and Link. "I volunteered to check on you two while the others headed back. Neither of you need help cleaning chuchu slime out of your hair, yes? I do have the pliers, this time."

Revali's rageful squawk was drowned out by Link's laughter.

Before the trio's banter could truly serenade with the sounds of the forest, Mipha was off to regroup with the others, and Link was soaring in the sky.

The sky was open and clear, not a speck of grey clouded the air. The sun was perched comfortably on the heights of Tabantha ridge, painting the horizon with strokes of orange, the distance blushing in the morning's presence.

The wind flipped Link's hair back and forth, so he finished tying the braid behind his neck, woven tightly with a single, Prussian blue feather. Its tip looked like someone had dipped it in the moon's pale glow.

Braid or no, the heights above Lake Totori were quite cold, and Link nuzzled himself further into Revali's soft feathers. If he were any softer, it wouldn't be out of the question to drown in him.

"You're distracting me." Revali craned his neck back, raising an eyebrow at his passenger. "Keep it together, back there."

The hero shrugged his shoulders. "It's cold."

"I told you to drink another elixir before I took off."

"I wasn't cold then! Besides," He flopped back into the Rito's soft down. "This is adequate protection." Link's words were slightly muffled as he spoke.

Revali sighed. "You're insufferable..."

Eying the destination down below, the Rito rolled his shoulders to get Link's attention. "Keep steady. We're almost there." He started to dip forward.

"And try not to go flying, I imagine it won't work out well for you."

Before Link could even process his words, his stomach started to drop. Falling fast, Revali arched nearly perpendicular to the ground, his bright blue scarf flapping behind him. The Hylian on his back could do nothing but grip onto his armour for dear life, clothes flapping wildly. His loose sleeves caught the wind, pushing them back to reveal pale gold letters, etched in the underside of his right forearm.

Leaving so soon?

The wind rushed by Link's ears, and the sky quickly faded from the cerulean glow of morning, to the snow laced air of the Hebra. What was once broad strokes of indistinct colors soon morphed into the intricate faults, flaws, and edges of towering grey mountain peaks. With the heavens stolen from them, and the frozen earth quickly coming to greet them, Revali quickly opened his wings to catch the air, swooping just above the ground and shooting forward towards the Flight Range.

Rows of cool safflina and wildberries whizzed by, the scent of smoked boar drawing closer and closer. Revali could practically feel Link's appetite from aura alone. Although, the fact that his grip on his back was starting to tighten didn't exactly keep it subtle, either.

"I left the stew going before we headed out for the mission. It should be perfect by now..." He tucked his wings into himself with a quick twirl as he shot through a narrow pass.

The cold updrafts of the Flight Range now biting into his face; the Rito let his wings expand with a few more great flaps, before landing gracefully on the railing of the wooden platform.

Link practically soared off Revali's back and bounded straight for the simmering pot.

"'Thank you, Revali, for giving me a ride across all of Tabantha without asking for so much as a rupee in return!' Oh, you're so welcome, my dear hero. It's always a pleasure to aid a flightless Hylian in need." He shook his head as he made his way into the hut.

"'Oh, but really Revali! The speed at which you travel, and the strength required to take on my loathsome person as you fly is truly something to admire. It's a miracle you took me with you at all.' Why, you are much too generous with your compliments, Link. I have half a mind to write this all down for—MmMph?!"

In a brilliant move of both telling Revali to shut the fuck up, while also sharing their meal, Link shoved a ladleful of delicious stew in the Rito's beak.

Warm, savoury stew trickled down his throat, banishing the cold from his body in mere moments. His tastebuds were nestled with flavours of nutmeg, tender meat, and the delicate heat of a perhaps a single, spicy pepper.

Link's expression was equal parts, "Will you shut up now?" and "So how's it taste?"

"Not too bad...The prime meat I procured is obviously the main event. But your seasoning skills are certainly something of note..." Revali made his way to one of the cabinets, as Link rolled his eyes.

The Rito set his bow beside the Master Sword, leaning it against the painted wood. His eyes lingered on it for a bit too long, before he scoffed and continued on his routine.

Quiver on the counter; bomb arrows wrapped properly; armour loosened and set aside; scarf—

The feathers on Revali's neck suddenly floofed up at Link's touch. But he didn't dare turn around and risk losing the sensation.

He carefully unfolded the fabric around Revali's neck, and drew it off his shoulder. He wrapped it around himself, and signed at the Rito, "Mine, now."

The Rito chuckled, before turning back around to look at the hero, now adorned with far too much blue. Blue tunic, blue scarf, and sapphire eyes—it wouldn't be out of the question to mistake him for the sky.

Link stretched out his hand, and traced the edges of Revali's face, eventually falling down his neck, and towards his shoulders. His fingers eventually hovered over some familiar words that wrapped down the left side of his neck and down his shoulder.

You should give yourself more credit.

They both did nothing but smile at each for a moment, leaning closer and succumbing to the moment. Revali could already feel Link's breath, and see the bits of snow still sticking to his (horribly) braided hair.

The Hylian saw something curious in the Rito's expression as he planted a kiss on the tip of his beak. Looking back up at his jade eyes, he couldn't help but smile wide. Revali cocked an eyebrow.

"Something to say?"

Quiet. The fire chuckled in the background.

Link finally leaned in and whispered to him.

"You smell like shit."

Revali scoffed loudly before shoving Link to the carpet, where he burst out laughing, the wind carrying it to the spirits above.

"Gods, you're insufferable. Why do I settle for you..."

Link unsuccessfully attempted to toss a pillow in his face in revenge—Revali catching it with ease.

"Beats me! Now come here, you stinky bird." He patted the space in front of the fire. No doubt he wanted to sit between his wings again

"Stew or no, I need you to keep me toasty."

In no time, Revali had sat down and wrapped himself around Link, resting his beak on his head.

A hole in the ceiling let sunlight trickle on them as they warmed up.

= = = = = = =

Link finally sighed, the sound falling off into the void below.

"You-I can't-It was never..." He trails off, before chucking another pebble off the cliff, shaking his head.

"...I'm sorry. I know that you...That we're not really...friends or whatever...I don't mean to force you into anything uncomfortable. I owe you that much..." He looked up at the spirit, a determined look on his face.

"But, don't worry. Whatever mess I was before, whatever person you hated 100 years ago. They're gone, now. I promise I'm different. I promise I won't repeat whatever mistakes I made with you."

Revali just wants to die all over again.

"Well. That's good to hear. Perhaps there's hope for you yet, hero..." He walks forward, so he can't see his face, pointing a translucent feather far out east.

"I'd say your next objection should be Rudania. It's the closest. You can backtrack through whatever roads you've already trailed through getting here." The Rito then waved towards some glistening summits just a bit south. "Although, you said you've been to Kakariko and Hateno, yes? You could probably trek to Zora's Domain from there. The Zora will no doubt be a great asset to your further adventures—"

"Who was I closest to?"

Revali knew it was impossible to feel cold at this point, but he felt something shiver nonetheless.

"What do you mean?"

"Like...the pilots I mean. Was I...particularly close with any of them?"

"Well how should I know!" Revali snapped. He immediately regretted it seeing the look in Link's eyes. "I mean...sorry..."

Silence.

"...Mipha would be overjoyed to see you, I'm sure." He pointed again towards the cliffs surrounding Zora's Domain. "She had quite the heart...She'll make better company than I, I'm sure."

"Mhm...Alright." Link nodded to himself.

"But whatever you choose, don't try taking on Naboris, yet. Urbosa was one of the strongest warriors that even I've ever met. So I imagine that what awaits there is...deserving of more preparation."

The moon escaped from the clutches of a grey cloud, and the two of them were bathed in moonlight.

The knight's sword on his back glistens.

"I'll start making preparations tomorrow, and I'll finally be out of your hair." Link scratched the back of his head. "Although...I hope you don't mind if I come back every now and then to get pointers on using your Gale. I really only used it that one time when you gave it to me, and I've been a bit scared ever since, aha..."

Revali nodded. "That would be a more productive use of your time, yes."

Link finally stood, adjusting the strap of his sword around his shoulder.

"S-So...with Mipha. I actually heard from Kass that...uh he's—well you see, I figured you could confirm if she actually—"

"Stop." His response was as sudden as thunder. Link started sputtering again.

"S-Sorry. I know you just s—"

"Stop doing that. Stop trying to learn about the past, there's nothing for you there." Revali poked a feather at Link's head, which surprisingly made physical contact as he flinched away. "You've been given a gift, you understand? You have the luxury of being unburdened by the pains and memories of 100 years ago, while the rest of us have been stuck wallowing in what we once knew for over a century. Things that we can never attain now that we are dead." He glared, eyes sharp enough to stab into Link's flesh.

"It'd be an insult to the rest of us to throw away such a gift. So stop being ungrateful, and move on."

Silence.

Revali sighed, turning back towards Medoh. "Now get los—"

"You have no right to speak to me like that!"

The Rito whipped around. "Excuse me?"

"You don't know what it's like!" Link stomped a foot down. "You don't know what it's like, to have no attachments, no nothing to grasp onto!"

The Hylian shook his head, looking at his hands. "You're dead because of my failures, and for that, I'm truly sorry. I really am. But..." He looked the Rito, dead in the eyes. "But now I have nothing of value. Nothing to tell me what I'm worth, besides being a fighter. Besides defeating the Calamity. I don't know what kind of person I need to be," He waves a hand at Revali, "Or even what person I should try not to be. I can't...I don't want to just be nothing. Nothing but a sword and useless snippets of a dead past.

"So don't try and tell me there's nothing for me in the past. I need to know what I was, what I lost, and what I did wrong. N-Not just for me, but for everyone's sake! I want to truly know what this is all for, even if it hurts me..."

Link looked down, caressing his right wrist. "I want to know...what it was like to be complete...at the very least..."

Revali looked him up and down, something clawing up the inside of his chest, threatening to escape as dangerous words.

"...Let me see your arm."

"What—?"

"Hurry up, and just come."

Link cautiously stepped closer to Revali, extending his right arm towards him, like a handshake. But he roughly tugged him closer and folded the sleeve of his Rito garb away, exposing the skin to the crisp night air.

Pale gold letters adorned Link's inner arm, running from his wrist to his inner elbow.

Why did you think it was impossible?

The Rito nodded to himself. He had noted the first word being different when he had first reunited with Link, but it put him at ease—and completely shattered something—to have his suspicions confirmed.

"Do you know what this is, hero?"

"Yeah, it's a soulmark. This is probably what my soulmate 100 years ago said when they—"

"No." Revali let his arm fall, turning away. "It's a soulmark alright, but your soulmate is very much alive."

"Wh-What?!" Link started to walk up to Revali. "T-That's impossible! I-It's been over a hundred—"

"That's not the soulmark you had when I met you." Revali said simply. "You died. You were revived. You are adorned with a new mark, and are destined for someone new. Or someones. Or, maybe your soulmate is just yourself, it really depends..." He turned his head back.

Link was just staring at his arm. He bore no smile, but Revali could see the new fire in his eyes.

"It's like I said. It'd be an insult to go digging up the past. But I suppose I can't stop you..." Revali continued to make his way to Medoh. "You want something to fight for? Fight for that..."

The moon disappeared behind another cloud, and the glow of Medoh was all that bathed them. Link finally looked up, calling after the ghost in the mist.

"I...Thank you, Revali. But just so you know..." The Rito Champion turned, staring directly at the hero's determined expression.

"This doesn't change what I want. I still intend to know who I was."

There was quiet as they each looked at their ghosts.

Revali sighed, giving a sad nod.

"I know."

He disappeared in glowing blue flames, the embers falling towards the stars.

#if you reblog this revali comes to your house and gives you a hug. it's a proven fact #revalink #paraphrase revalink #mudkip music #botw fanfiction #botw #breath of the wild #legend of zelda botw #loz botw #soulmark au #botw soulmark au

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rustic-space-fiddle · 3 years

Note

I just have a quick question? Please don’t take this the wrong way I love you and the art you create!

So your Clone Oc Cradle stole my heart (and Gill too) but I’ve just been noticing that he seems really white? Is it because he’s naturally paler than his brothers or

Hello! Thank you for your question and thank you for putting forward so amicably! I’ve gotten this question before, but not usually this nicely. However, I think it’s time I give at least some attempt at an answer. I hope it satisfies everyone!

Is Cradle naturally paler than his brothers? No! He actually isn’t. At least, I do not intend for him to be. Let me explain...

So below I’ve made a very crude color pick comparison thing using various images of Temura Morrison and the animated clones in as many lighting variations as I could get without spending an hours scouring the internet. It was very difficult for the animated clones because the color tone of the Clone Wars show is often so dark and they wear their helmets when they’re outside almost 100% of the time. I also added a couple pictures of actually white people in contrasting lights. In the middle is my current choice of basic skin tone for Cradle with a lame, quick guess at a shadow color and a highlight color.

You’ll notice that the middle ground colors for Mr. Morrison and the animated clones varies drastically depending on the lighting.

Now, I’ve seen people discount the “lighting changes colors!” argument, but you shouldn’t! It can be extremely difficult to discern colors when atmospheric lighting is almost always in play! In my art, the highlighting techniques I tend to use often make the upper parts of the character darker than the lower, to bring more focus to the character’s head and shoulders, and unfortunately, that often means it washes over a lot of the only part of Cradle that is every exposed.

However, that is not to say that I don’t alter skin tones when I see I’ve got them wrong! I’ve changed Cradle’s skin tone before! Skin is complex, hard to grasp, and even a slight shift will make the difference between the perfect one and something that just... doesn’t look right. One day it’ll look great, and a month later you’ll look back and say “HOW DID I THINK THAT WAS THE RIGHT COLOR?” Heck, I’ve had a terrible time getting the skin tone for drawings of MYSELF right, and you’d think I’d know what color brown I am after living in my own body for almost 20 years! But I digress. Below is a color chart showing Cradle in both the original tone and his newer one, along with the collection of matches I got from the previous visual. See how they vary? But also see how SIMILAR some of them look??? Cradle in his original shade versus him in the Christmas photo look drastically different, but when you put the color’s next to each other, there hardly looks a difference.

But, as I was making the visuals for this post, I realized I didn’t like the tone I had for Cradle! The undertones were much too grey and dingy—I didn’t think it worked anymore. I found I wanted to base it more on Temura Morrison and less on the animated clones, so I added some more red/orange undertones and brought the shade down just a teeny weeny bit so it didn’t look too saturated, and:

Ta-da! New Cradle skin! But to just finally illustrate my point, I’ve showcased the three Cradle shades (rip the first two) at the bottom. So very similar, but so very different. It genuinely is difficult to get it right. What looks right to one person does not look right to another. The slightest adjustment makes all the difference, but it doesn’t always come on the first try. Trial and error, and now Cradle looks much more like his brothers, doesn’t he? Maybe I’ll change his skin tone again someday! Who knows!

I really hope this makes sense! I also hope that it doesn’t come off like excuses—art is very important to me and one of my biggest goals right now is to get better at color recognition and color theory! I’m just trying my best! :) Thanks again for the kindness anon! Have a good day!

#please don’t roast me #I’m genuinely trying #and as kind as this anon was #(bless you anon 💕)#I am so tired of this question #I’m just trying to draw my guy #I know that people are brown #I am brown #I’m not stupid and I’m not racist I’m just trying #kind anon #touchy subject #clones #art

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quirkwizard · 2 years

Note

Whenever I read through your critiques of costume aesthetics I can't help but visualize you as the Miranda Priestly of Hero and Villain Fashion. On that note, could I request a ranking of All Might's hero costumes?

Wouldn't that just make me Edna Mode? Joking aside, I do appreciate that comparison. I haven't seen the movie, but I've heard good things about her character, so I will consider that a compliment. And before I start, I’m only doing the aesthetics. None of All Might’s costumes are that practical, basically being colorful spandex. However, he doesn’t really need any of his costumes to be practical given how strong he is. For any of your needing a quick reference, here is a good compilation of all of his known costumes.

-Young Age Not a huge fan of this one. I do like the central suit, but it's all the additions that bring it down. It's a very busy costume, especially with the colors. Red, navy, blue, grey, yellow, and white all put together in a single costume and it's weirdly balanced. The yellow accidents look weird, the grey belt buckle doesn't work with the rest of his costume, and the bright blue cape just don't work well together. The larger greaves and gauntlets look really silly to boot.

-Bronze Age I really like this costume. It streamlined the previous costume and balanced the colors much better. Red, black, yellow, and white all work really well together. It works better to incorporate his natural features better as well, with his hair being the only notable yellow in the outfit besides parts of the cape. The only thing I have to complain about is that it doesn't work that well with All Might's brand, it's way too dark given his personality, but it's still a great costume overall.

-Silver Age Not as bad as young age, but it's not that great either. I think there is too much red in the costume and it's all centralized in one place, with not enough to break it apart. It's doesn't that well with the much darker red on the inside of the cape either. The patterns on it are weird as well, only breaking up the red a little bit. I do think that the navy works really well for him. The yellow boost and bracers work much better for him as well, especially with the bracers incorporating his hair tuffs into their design.

-Golden Age It's a good costume, a lot of the positives I mentioned in the silver age one could apply here, but I still prefer the bronze age one. Going with navy blue and yellow works better as the primary colors as they both play off his natural features, with the red and whites working as secondary colors. The patterns are better on it as well since they help break up the costume more. I do like the belt buckle on this one. Not only do the colors work better, but it even incorporates his hair pieces into it, actually making look like the letters M and A fused together.

#My Hero Academia #Not Quirks #Toshinori Yagi #All Might #MHA Meta

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lunar-jimin · 4 years

Text

i can be temptation, you can be my sin

Pairing: Jimin x Fem!Reader

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 4.5k

Genre: smut, tiny side of angst and fluff, office!au (not the TV show), coworkers!au

Warnings: unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), dom!Jimin, sub!reader, spanking, fingering, semi-public sex, dirty talk, degradation, reader sends nudes

Summary: Between bragging about his prolific sex life and his horrific design ideas, Jimin has managed to make your work life a living hell. Then one little accident sends you hurtling towards him, and as hard as you try, you can’t seem to stop yourself.

A/N: This is a commission for @ppersonna for @ficswithluv‘s ChangesWithLuv project dedicated to raising money for BLM. I’m so sorry this fic took forever to write (I’m not sure why), but I hope that you enjoy it! A huge shout-out to my lovely beta-reader, @jinterlude. She’s the best!

| m.list |

“Jimin…” a groan tumbles out of you, “that shade of yellow is-“

“Bright and comforting?”

“-awful.”

His thick lips curve into a pout, eyes doing little to conceal his mock hurt. Exasperation runs through your body, grasping your brain in its clutches. Your entire week has been filled with Jimin’s progressively hideous design ideas for a book cover, to the point you’re beginning to wonder how he got hired at all. The piss-yellow mock-up in front of you is just another straw in the stack that is going to break your back.

“What?” he looks confused, “You said you wanted something eye-catching, and I would have to say this is pretty darn, eye-catching.”

“It’s blinding is what it is. Maybe if we toned it back a bit…” your eyes drift over the design, horror twisting in your gut.

You want to cry. A week ago, your boss had enthusiastically paired you with Jimin to design a book cover for an up and coming YA author, claiming the two of you were the best designers she had, even promising the both of you a promotion if things went well. You aren’t sure what designs Jimin had produced in the past, because what he was bringing to the table now wasn’t much better than a shitty college club poster.

Jimin didn’t make for great company either. Sure he had legs that went for miles, and a face that would outshine angels, but his mouth was filthy. If the two of you weren’t bickering over fonts and hex codes, you were stuck listening to him brag about how loud he could make a girl scream. What’s worse is that while your brain was logical enough to know that Jimin was no good for you, your body had other ideas. As a result, you often went home after a long day, frustrated in more ways than one.

With a little luck- and quite a bit of compromising- you manage to make it to five ‘o’clock without murdering anyone. You manage to talk Jimin down off the yellow in exchange for completing the pitch presentation by yourself. Presentations are time-consuming and tedious, but it’s better than being out of a job because Jimin is set on making the cover look like a neon highlighter.

A half an hour later, you're collapsing on your soft couch, ready to do absolutely nothing for the rest of the weekend. A sigh of relief carries an iota of the stress out of your body as you sink back into the welcoming cushions. You grimace as the tension in your neck became apparent, and you feel the growing ball of angst you have for Jimin tighten. You were going to send him the bill if you had to go to a chiropractor.

In an attempt to move on from your hectic week and into your relaxing weekend, you wander to the kitchen, searching for the merlot you have yet to open. The tall green bottle greets you from the counter. You find a glass and watch as the red liquid quickly fills it. You savor a long sip as you let your mind stray away from the thoughts of work and stress and into notions of self-care and relaxation.

An hour later, having eaten a frozen pizza, you find yourself soaking down into the hot bath suds. The heat begins to draw the ache out of your sore muscles. Once again, Jimin flashes through your mind, coupled with resentment. Your eyes prickle at the thought, sick and tired of Jimin living in your mind rent-free. Why is he preoccupying your brain instead of Seokjin, the cute cook you matched with on Tinder?

While you had yet to meet in person, you and Seokjin had hit off right away when he opened with the cheesiest pick-up line you’d ever heard. He worked at a five-star restaurant a few blocks from your office, but you’d never met in person. That didn’t mean that you hadn’t had a few scandalous conversations. You weren’t usually one for sexting, but Seokjin’s way with words left you little choice.

Eager to take Jimin off your mind, you grab your phone from the side of the tub, quickly opening your messages. You’re much too impatient for small talk, so in the interest of sparking some saucy dialogue, you take a few snaps of your bubble-covered nude body. You suck in a breath as you hit send, anxious for your reaction. It wasn’t the first time you had sent him a nude photo, but it didn’t make you any less nervous. Seokjin was one of the most attractive men you had ever had the privilege of laying eyes on, and it was only natural for you to question your appearance in comparison to his. He would always reassure you, though, flattering you with compliments, both sultry and sweet.

When he doesn’t respond fifteen minutes, a knot forms in your stomach. What if he didn’t like them? What if he was seeing someone else? What if he lost interest? You check your messages with hurried concern. What you find on your screen mortifies. In your haste to tease Seokjin, you had accidentally sent the photos to the last person you texted: Jimin. Worse yet, the little grey “read” sits just beneath the last picture. As you stare at the screen with abject horror, a little speech-bubble pops-up. Your stomach twists in knots, anticipating of what he might say striking you with fear.

The Office Brat: if you wanted a piece of me baby girl, all you had to do was ask 20:33

You suck in a breath when he immediately follows the text with a picture of his own. He’s shirtless, lip between his teeth as he grabs his prominent erection through grey sweatpants. You can’t help the whine that slips out of your mouth at the image. You try to ignore the heat that rushes to your core as your legs rub together. When your senses finally return to you, you drop your phone on the bath mat before sinking into the water, leaving only your face out. The photo is still seared into your brain, taunting you with his delicious abs and what turned out to be a healthy sized dick.

You immediately resolve to forget it ever happened. You spend the rest of the weekend attempting to distract yourself through a binge of every cheesy rom-com you can find on Netflix. You sent Jimin a quick text, informing him that the photos weren’t actually for him. He hadn’t responded, and you didn’t know if you should be relieved or not. It certainly didn’t aid the dread building in your stomach at the thought of having to face him again on Monday.

When you walk into the office two days later, you’re relieved to find that Jimin seemed nowhere to be found. You pray that he actually had an iota of shame and quit out of humiliation. Your hopes are crushed when not five minutes later, you notice him prancing toward your cubicle, his ever-present smirk plastered across his face. When he reaches you, he plops down in an extra desk chair, arms crossed across his chest, eyes looking you up and down. You can’t help but shiver at the knowledge that he knows precisely what you look like underneath your work clothes.

“What do you want, Jimin?” you sigh.

“Haven’t I made that obvious, baby?” He grins. “I want you.”

You roll your eyes.

“Jimin, what happened this weekend was an accident,” you give him a firm glare, “so no matter how much you claim to want me, I want nothing to do with you.:

He raises his eyebrow, eyes locked on yours, before standing and walking to you. His breath is warm on your neck as he leans over to whisper in your ear. You clench your thighs in an attempt to extinguish the heat beginning to burn in between them.

“We’ll see about that, now won’t we, baby girl?”

He pulls away with a smirk, before turning to head to his desk. Your eyes trail to his ass as he leaves, only worsening the situation in your underwear. You silently vow to yourself not to fall for his tricks. You have more self-respect than to allow yourself to be yet another notch in Park Jimin’s bedpost.

Brushing thoughts of your troublesome coworker from your mind, you turn back to your bright computer screen, determined to lose yourself in your work. Your eyes widen when you find an email from Jimin taunting you in your inbox. Heart pounding fast, you click on it, half afraid to find another nude of his (it wouldn’t be beyond him). Instead of a naked Jimin, a PDF with the details for the cover design presents itself. You’re taken aback. Not only had Jimin swapped the yellow for soft coral, but he practically redesigned the entire thing. Scrolling through, you’re embarrassed to admit that it was nearly as good, if not better, then some of your best works.

You immediately realize that this means he’s been pulling your leg for over a week. A groan escapes you, and your head falls forward, smashing into your keyboard. Of course, he was a fucking amazing graphic artist; you shouldn’t have expected anything less. Fury floods down your spine as it dawns on you that it was all a trick to get out of doing the PowerPoint. Now you were stuck making an entire presentation, just because Jimin had pretended to love piss-yellow.

It takes every ounce of your self-control not to march to his desk and strangle him. White anger flashes in front of your eyes, resentment growing to cover every waking thought in your brain. When you finally calm enough to rationalize that murder isn’t going to get you anywhere, you decide that your best course of action is to avoid him until the day of the two of you are scheduled to present to the board.

The world isn’t being kind to you today, because when you finally head to the break room for lunch, you immediately run into your new worst enemy.

“What’s got your panties in a knot now, love?”

You glare at him, not trusting yourself not to stab him with your salad fork. He smirks in response, before turning to leave. At the last second, he turns back to you.

“Have fun with that PowerPoint.”

You want to scream.

“Jimin, I swear to god, you little shit, I’m gonna-”

“You’re gonna what? Spank me?” His cheeky grin widens. “You know, baby, I’m usually a dom, but if it meant feeling your sweet pussy, I’d definitely be a sub.”

You are lucky that no one else is around to hear his words because you are mortified enough. Red creeps across your face as Jimin winks at you. When he finally leaves, you collapse back onto the counter, trying to get a grip on your surroundings. You swear to high heaven that you’ve never hated someone so much in your life, yet feel so attracted to them at the same time. As infuriated as you are with him, you are even more infuriated with your inability to control your body’s reaction to him.

Why did he have to know exactly what to say to soak your panties? Why was he so hellbent on getting you to sleep with him? Why did you ever have to be assigned to him in the first place? These questions plagued your mind as the week trickled slowly on. Your anger with Jimin was beginning to be diluted with anxiety about your upcoming presentation. No part of you looked forward to standing in front of the company board to make a potential career-changing pitch with the person you hated most in the world. Not to mention public speaking made you want to hide under a rock and never come out.

Thankfully, Jimin is kind enough to offer to do most of the talking- even if his original deal included a blow job- but it also meant you had less control if things started to go south. By the time Friday rolled around, you’re shitting yourself with fear. Jimin does his best to calm you down as you sit in hard plastic chairs outside the boardroom, waiting to be called in.

“Look, we’ll do fine. You made an amazing presentation, and I’m pretty brilliant at charming people if I do say so myself.”

He reaches over and gives your hand a small squeeze. You’re just nervous enough to offer him a small smile. For what it’s worth, he wasn’t terrible at comforting people.

“Thanks, Jimin. I’m sure everything will go great.”

Everything did not go great. In fact, it went very, very badly. Somewhere out there, someone must have hexed you because that’s the only reason you can think of that would explain why you placed Jimin’s original yellow design in the slideshow instead of his new one. You feel terrible. Not only have you fucked up in front of the entire company, but you’ve put both of your jobs on the line.

As soon as the meeting ended, you rushed off to the bathroom. You already embarrassed yourself enough as it is, you don’t need everyone to see you cry too. Tears roll down your face as you sit on the toilet, praying for the sudden end of your existence.

You had one job and somehow you had managed to fuck it up. You managed to ruin your career. You’re going to end up jobless. Broke. Destitute.

You’re jolted out of your thoughts by a knock at the door.

“Doll? Are you in there?”

Jimin’s voice is soft and comforting, and if you weren’t so afraid of humiliating yourself, you would have gladly welcomed his arms around you. But you are, so you try to stifle your sobs in an attempt to make him go away.

“Doll? I know you’re in there. I can hear you crying,” he sighs, “Please just let me in. I just want to talk.”

A sigh escapes your lips as you debate your options. If he already knows you’re crying, what difference will it make if he sees you? You stand up from your seat on the toilet, make a quick attempt at cleaning up your ruined makeup, and hesitantly open the door to let him inside.

He immediately takes you in his arms, closing the door behind him. The feeling of his body wrapped around yours only serves to induce more tears, and you find yourself crying into his shirt collar.

“I’m so, so sorry, Jimin,” you hiccup, “I don’t know what happened. I don’t know how I used that one. I’m so sor-”

“It’s okay, baby.”

You pull away to look at his eyes.

“What? How can you say that? I ruined the presentation, and we’ll be lucky if they want us to come back to work tomorrow.”

“They loved it.”

“What?”

“They loved it. They thought it was bright and innovative and really demonstrated that we understood design enough to push its limits.”

You look at him in shock. They loved it. They thought it was great. Your job was safe. You weren’t going to be fired. You may even receive a promotion.

“Feel better, doll?” He smiles down at you.

For once in your life, you return his smile, while shaking your head in affirmation.

“Well, then…”

You’re still smiling but suddenly unsure of what to do. Jimin’s hands are still on your waist, and you hated how aware of them you’re becoming. He seems to notice at the same time and quickly pulls them away.

“I have a question.” His voice is soft and shaky, and his eyes shift from side to side, seemingly unable to focus on you.

“What?”

“Why do you hate me so much?”

You’re taken aback. Jimin, who was usually so confident and larger than life, is now standing before you, small and meek, like an underfed puppy begging for scraps.

“I, I don’t hate you, Jimin.”

“But you must,” his voice is curt, “You never flirt back with me, yet I see you tease Hoseok all day long. You never laugh at my jokes. You never praise my work. As soon as I come anywhere near you, you close up. You snap at me, and you have no patience with me. You avoid me at all costs. So let me ask you again: why do you hate me?”

This time, instead of avoiding eye contact, he stares at you like he’s trying to read your soul.

“I really don’t hate you, Jimin.”

He raises his eyebrow.

“I just don’t want you to hurt me.”

He looks genuinely confused at your statement.

“How could I possibly hurt you?”

“The same way you hurt all those other girls.”

“What other girls?” His voice rises with defense.

“You know, the ones you sleep with in bathrooms, only to leave them broken-hearted when you never so much as glance their way again? The one’s you brag about fucking every chance you get until I want to slam my head into a brick wall? The ones that prove you’re nothing but a narcissistic fuckboy whose only goal in life is to get his dick wet? Those are the girls I’m talking about.”

Jimin looks shocked before his face morphs into an angry scowl, eyes heated and alert.

“That’s what you really think about me? That I’m a no-good player who uses girls for their bodies? Do you really think I trick girls into sleeping with me? Because you're wrong. They know what they’re getting into when they agree to restroom rendezvouses, but they always seem to convince themselves that they can convince me that I should be in a relationship with them. That’s not my fault. I would never sleep with someone under false pretenses. And I bragged about them because I wanted you to like me! Do you not get that? I don’t ever try this hard to get anybody to sleep with me, but I like you. I like you a lot, and this whole time you just thought I was a misogynistic fuckboy because you never cared to get to know me better.”

Jimin is seething, like a dog that went feral. His chest rises with heavy breaths as he backs you into the wall, eyes staring down yours. You let out a small whimper when he leans into your ear, hot breath ghosting your neck.

“If you think I’m such a fuckboy, then a fuckboy is what you are going to get.”

Before your brain can properly register his words, his lips are covering yours in a desperate kiss. Despite your lack of cognizance, you respond immediately, lips moving against his as your arms wrap around his neck, pulling him into you. His hands ghost down your side before he grabs your ass with a rough squeeze, eliciting a whine from your mouth.

He flips you around before bending you over the sink, eyes holding yours in the mirror reflection.

“I think you’ve been a bad girl, don’t you agree? Leaving me with blue balls just because you think you’re better than me.”

Words fail you, so you nod instead. His hand slips under your skirt, softly massaging your ass.

“Don’t you think Daddy needs to punish you?”

You whimper, eyes struggling to hold his in your shared reflection. His gaze was burning with lust and fiery.

“I need you to use your words, baby.”

“Yes, daddy, I need to be punished.”

He grinned before flipping up your skirt to reveal the supple curve of your ass to his waiting gaze.

“Fuck, baby, do you know how long I’ve stared at this ass walking away from me, trying not to pop a boner in front of the whole office?”

He grabbed a rough handful.

“So long, baby, much too long. I think ten should suffice. Count for me.”

“Okay, daddy.” You whine.

“Say ‘red’ if it gets to be too much.”

“Yes, daddy.”

The first spank sent shocks running through you. While you expected the pain, you hadn’t anticipated how hard he would hit you, or how the contrast of his warm palm and cool rings would send pleasure singing through your body.

“O-one.”

The word barely made it out of your mouth, your brain hazy with lust.

The subsequent slap on the opposite cheek once again jolts you, and you fall forward, bracing your hands on the cold porcelain sink before you.

“Two.”

By the time he made it to five, tears had begun to well in your eyes, and you were sure your ass was painted a nice shade of crimson. By the time he made it to ten, tears had streaked your cheeks as moans and whimpers left your mouth alongside your garbled counting.

Jimin takes a moment to step back to admire his handiwork, his smirk only widening as he takes in his handprint bruised into your ass.

“Holy shit, baby, you’re so hot. You took your punishment so well. Look at how much of a good girl you are.”

Even in your hazy state, you beamed at his praise.

“Thank you, daddy.”

“I think you deserve a reward, baby girl.”

You nod vigorously at that, eager to feel him finally inside you.

“What do you want, baby? Use your words.”

“Your fingers, daddy, please.”

In an attempt to convey your desperation, you grind your hips into his crotch.

“Patience, baby girl. Where do you want them?”

“In my pussy, daddy. Please. I’m so wet for you.” Your sentence ends with a light sob, the need for him overwhelming you.

“Ask and you shall receive.”

With that, he pulls your panties to the side as he cautiously rubs his pointer finger up and down your soaked slit, before slipping inside.

“Fuck, baby, your dripping. Did spanking you turn you on that much? Is my baby girl that much of a pain slut?”

“Yes, daddy. I’m a pain slut just for you.”

He adds a second finger, and your head drops between your shoulders as he begins to move his digits in and out of you at a quick but intentional pace. Moans fall from your lips, and you let out a sharp squeal when he crooks his fingers and brushes against your g-spot.

“Fuck, daddy, right there.”

He quickens his pace, rubbing you perfectly over and over again as he brings you closer to the point of no return.

“Shit, baby, I’m so hard right now. Your pussy is so tight and wet around my fingers; I just want to sink my cock into you.”

“Please, daddy, I want your cock too. I want you to cum inside me. Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-“

Words fail you as you are sent hurtling into your orgasm, waves of euphoria crashing down around you. Your body is shaking as you collapse against the sink.

Jimin lets out a groan at your fucked-out state, removing his hand from your pussy and bringing it to his lips to taste you. He lets out a moan as he does, freehand going to the front of his pants to rub his prominent erection through the black fabric.

After you recover enough to stand, you turn around and replace his hand with your own, pussy clenching at how big he was.

“Will you fuck me now, daddy?” You look up at him under your lashes, and his head falls back at your mock innocence, a light whimper escaping his lips. He tilts his head back up to look at you, hand coming to grab your waist to pull you to his lips.

You taste yourself on his tongue as your hands come to play with his hair, tugging on the strands. He ruts up into you, desperation getting the better of him. He pulls away, revealing his swollen lips and hazy eyes.

“Fuck yeah, I’ll fuck you now, baby girl.” He makes quick work of his belt zipper, shoving his pants and boxers down just enough to let out his cock and balls. The tip is an angry red, beautifully contrasted with the white of his dress shirt. Your mouth waters as you take in its wide girth and slight curve. You’re desperate to taste it, but right now there were more important matters at hand.

You drop your panties, before hopping up on the edge of the sink. Jimin gives his cock a few short tugs before lining up with your dripping entrance. You let out soft moans as he sinks into you, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him as close as possible. His hands grab your ass, pulling you to the edge of the sink, before slamming back in. He sets a slow but intentional pace, the sound of skin and desperate moans echoing throughout the small bathroom.

You aren’t going to last long, having already come once, and judging by his quickening pace, neither is he. Your lips meet each other in a messy kiss as he pulls you tight against his body. It’s hard to discern what is a part of you and what is a part of him. Your limbs are so intertwined, that it feels like you are one body.

As his cock continues to drill into your g-spot, stars begin to cover your vision. With the force of a freight train, you come unannounced; your mouth opens in a silent scream. Jimin follows right behind you, painting your walls white with his seed. He lets out a groan of your name, his head coming to rest on your shoulder.

Both of you silently shake as you take a moment to catch your breath and process what just happened. He slowly pulls his softening cock out of you, watching as his cum pours out of your cunt.

“Fuckkkk, that’s hot.” He groans, tucking himself back into his pants, before wetting a paper towel to help clean you up.

“I’m sorry I thought so poorly of you.” You give him an apologetic grin, as you pull up your underwear.

“It’s okay. I can see where I might have led you to think that I don’t treat girls well.”

“Well, now I can see that I was wrong. You seem like you would be a fantastic boyfriend.” You move to exit the bathroom, eager to get away so you can process the rampage of emotions flooding through you now that your lust wasn’t getting in the way.

“I can be yours.”

You pause at the door.

“What?”

“I could be your boyfriend.”

“I-“

“I’ve liked you ever since the first time I saw you, and I think that maybe you like me, and I just really, really want to be your boyfriend.”

Your mind is racing at a million miles per hour, trying to process everything that’s happening. One moment he was fucking you like it was your last day on the earth, and now he’s standing in front of you, pleading for you to make him yours. You aren’t sure what to make of it.

“I think I would really like that too, Jimin,” he beams,” “but everything is going so fast, and I just need a little time to take everything in.”

His face falls a little, but he nods understandingly.

“That’s fair. Let me take you on a date, at least.”

You grin.

“Okay.”

“Coffee on Saturday?”

“Sounds great.”

#changeswithluv #bangtanhq #btswriterscollective #btswritingcafe #btsbookclub #bangtanarmynet #fanfic #one-shot #smut #bts #jimin #park jimin #bangtan #fluff #angst

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