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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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Unfettered (aka NHS goes feral) - part 4 - previous parts: on ao3 or tumblr pt 1, pt 2, pt 3

Wei Wuxian wasn’t going to lie: it was weird seeing Nie Huaisang smiling again.

It wasn’t that he didn’t remember how Nie Huaisang used to behave when they were all back at the Cloud Recesses, and even before, but that seemed so long ago these days that it might as well have occurred in a past life. The expression just didn’t fit him anymore, like a grown man trying to return to the clothing of his childhood, and yet at the same time it was wretchedly familiar, even welcome – it was as if time had reversed course all at once, plucking them all out of the stream of their lives and returning them to how it used to be long before. Back to simpler, happier times.

It was kind of funny, actually.

Those that had not known Nie Huaisang as anything other than the Pallbearer seemed to be in a state of utter shock, gossiping madly – Did you see? He was smiling! He laughed at someone’s joke! He told a joke! He patted that child on the head and said ‘good job’ and the child didn’t cry even once!

Those that had known him from before only by reputation were, if anything, even more aghast – Do you think he’s going to start pouting and crying at things again? Surely not, I can’t even imagine! The last time he pouted was when one of his fans got stained, remember, after he stuck it straight through that man’s throat –

Those that had known him from before in person…

Well, the reaction was mixed. There was some relief, some distress, and a great deal of pain as they remembered once again how much their friend had changed in the wake of his brother’s near-death – the reminder of his former self was both nostalgic and bittersweet.

Personally, Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji were working through their feelings on the subject with the help of a lot of roleplaying involving their time at the Cloud Recesses. It was very healthy of them, emotionally, although maybe not so healthy for the state of Wei Wuxian’s waist. Or throat. Or hands…

(No, they weren’t officially married yet, since they were still hoping that they could have a proper ceremony when the war ended, but they were both of age and engaged. And that meant they could go to bed together, no matter what some of the more conservative Lan sect members thought – with Lan Qiren backing them up, which he did with no small amount of eye-rolling and deep sighs and long-suffering resignation, they were free to do as they pleased.)

That, too, was something they owed to Nie Huaisang.

Without Nie Huaisang’s timely intervention, both Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng would’ve fallen for the Jin sect’s instigation and turned against each other in an act of mutual destruction that harmed both of them, and everyone else besides. Jiang Cheng would have cut off his own right arm, voluntarily weakening his sect just at the moment when they needed strength the most, and rendered himself without any other choice but to be dependent on Lanling Jin, while Wei Wuxian would have remained trapped in the Burial Mounds in Yiling, getting called the Yiling Patriarch as some people still today did, growing ever more resentful at his isolation and poverty.

(That one uncomfortable month he’d spent arguing with Wen Qing and Wen Ning about whether they should try to grow radishes or potatoes had been very educational, especially since they were both not-so-secretly convinced that the argument was futile and that nothing would ever grow on the Burial Mounds, such that they were just whiling away time until they all starved to death.)

They would be scattered, weakened, unhappy and vulnerable. Wei Wuxian would be sitting there like a giant target until the Jin sect decided, in their leisure, to deal with him the way, in hindsight, they had so obviously always intended to.

Wei Wuxian would have missed his sister’s wedding, probably. He might even have missed Jiang Yanli’s widowing, and the consequences of that were unthinkable.

If Wei Wuxian hadn’t brought the Wen sect back with him to the Lotus Pier as a result of Jiang Cheng’s defiance of the cultivation world’s criticism, Wen Qing and Jiang Yanli would never had the chance to hit it off the way they had, becoming fast friends. If they hadn’t been friends, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been visiting Jinlin Tower to check up on her good friend when the news of Jin Zixuan’s death had first spread.

His murder, rather – Wei Wuxian wasn’t terribly clear on the details, but it wasn’t really necessary. Jin Guangshan had pressed his legitimate son’s filial piety to the breaking point in his pursuit of power, and finally he must have done something to go too far, to cause there to be a real break between them. Jin Zixuan must have made clear that he would not play along, no matter what, and by that point Jin Guangshan already knew there was Jin Guangyao waiting in the sidelines to step up and take his place. There was no other way it could have gone, simply because there was no other reason for both Jin Zixuan and his mother to so conveniently die on the very same day.

If it hadn’t been for Nie Huaisang convincing Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing wouldn’t have been there. Wen Qing wouldn’t have been available to be bold and decisive, the way she was with her medicine; she wouldn’t have been able to persuade Jiang Yanli of the possibility of danger and then to smuggler out of Jinlin Tower and take her on the run in disguise, long before it occurred to anyone else that there might be some threat to her – that the Jin sect might decide to hold her hostage, or worse.

Definitely worse. If Jin Guangyao had had the chance to figure out what only Wen Qing had known back then – that Jiang Yanli, barely more than a newlywed, already carried the next heir to Lanling Jin within her belly…

Jin Guangyao’s ambitions would never have let Jin Zixuan live, a fact they’d all only realized in horrible helpless hindsight, but if Wen Qing had been trapped in Yiling with Wei Wuxian at the time, instead of visiting Lanling, then Jiang Yanli…

Wei Wuxian didn’t even want to think of it.

So, really, it was only fair that Nie Huaisang, who had whether intentionally or incidentally saved so many of them these past few years, finally, finally get what he’d been dreaming of all these years: his brother’s return.

It was only fair that he be allowed to return to being happy.

And yet, at the same time –

“You need to go talk to him,” Jiang Cheng said. His arms would be crossed in front of his chest if he wasn’t currently holding a sleeping Jin Ling, who’d had something of a fright upon meeting the new and improved Nie Huaisang. The poor kid had been convinced that his habitually bitter and vicious Second Uncle Nie was possessed by some sort of fierce but bizarrely friendly ghost. “There’s a war on, for fuck’s sake. He can’t spend all his time haunting the Unclean Realm trying to pretend that he’s something he’s not in order to keep his brother from finding out that he’s changed!”

“It’s not as bad as all that,” Wei Wuxian objected. “I mean, Nie Huaisang’s always run most of the war through correspondence, anyway, and it’s not like we’re totally helpless without him to boss us around.”

“His absence hasn’t been noted by our enemies just yet,” Wen Ning murmured. His arms were similarly full with Wen Yuan – a little older than his friends, steadier and more mature, but a sympathetic crier, and spending a month of his childhood in the Burial Mounds made him more susceptible to fears of possession, not less, so he’d been set off by Jin Ling. And seeing them both in tears had, of course, made poor level-headed Jin Rusong, who didn’t cry easily at all, panic and try to help in a way that only made it worse; Xiao Xingchen had swept him away to the kitchen, and the two of them were currently making snacks for the other two when they woke up. “But it will be, soon. They are already puzzled by the change in tactics.”

Wen Ning’s voice was as soft as ever, his stutter subdued only by the fact that he was with company he liked, but his tone brooked no argument – he’d changed a lot since their youth, too, and knew more intimately than most how some things could not be undone.

The Jin sect, not content with merely killing him, had dubbed his resurrected self ‘the Ghost General’ in an attempt to incite the cultivation world into hating and fearing him. It had been a lie back then, when he’d been doing nothing more than planting radish seeds and babysitting, but now Wen Ning was a general in truth, the leader of their archers and one of Nie Huaisang’s right hands. He was still shy, still didn’t speak fluently and probably never would, but Nie Huaisang had assigned him several capable deputies who understood him even when he had to resort to the type of hand-signs used by the deaf or in covert situations. He was surprisingly popular with the cultivators on their side of the war, although Wei Wuxian acknowledged that perhaps his popularity shouldn’t be that much of a surprise: there was a certain morale-boosting effect in seeing your general continuing to fight even after being struck with enough arrows to create a porcupine.

“Being puzzled by a change in tactics is fairly run of the mill for any enemy facing Nie Huaisang,” Wei Wuxian pointed out.

“Which is why they haven’t noticed it yet, Wei-gongzi. But eventually…”

Wei Wuxian grimaced. “Is it really that dire?”

“Not yet,” Lan Wangji said ominously, and – fine. If even Lan Wangji thought that someone should talk to Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian would go and talk to him.

After all, they were old friends of long acquaintance.

Very long, even.

“I come bearing terms of peace,” Wei Wuxian announced, walking into Nie Huaisang’s study and waving a few jars of wine at him. “Come negotiate with me, Nie-xiong!”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to barge into my room,” Nie Huaisang said without looking up from his correspondence, a little flash of the vicious Pallbearer they’d all grown painfully accustomed to – he had his family’s temper but a cooler head, with rage that burned low and long rather than flaring up hot and burning out.

Wei Wuxian reflected once more on how apt Nie Huaisang’s personal title was. The foolish thought that it referred to the filial piety he showed in mourning the brother that raised him since childhood, the somewhat wiser to the way the attack on Nie Mingjue had forced Nie Huaisang to find the virtue he had previously lacked, but the really smart ones knew that the most accurate interpretation was that those that Nie Huaisang chose to accompany to their end would ultimately find themselves without any path forward but death.

Nie Huaisang’s cultivation was still nothing special, his ability to fight virtually non-existent beyond the most basic of saber forms – a saber he now carried with him often enough, but still almost never used – and he’d rejected Wei Wuxian’s very innovative idea (if he did say so himself) that he try to train with a war fan, both on the basis of it being both too much effort and furthermore thoroughly lacking in aesthetic. As a result, he had no particularly notable talents, and none that could allow him to triumph in a night-hunt or a duel.

It didn’t make him any less terrifying.

“You’ll forgive me,” Wei Wuxian said flippantly, and sat down next to him, looking at the words that filled the page with Nie Huaisang’s lovely, artistic calligraphy. “More spy stuff?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips curled up into a small smirk. “Naturally. The network never sleeps, as you well know. I assume you’ve been sent to scold me about the war?”

“Amazing,” Wei Wuxian said, and nudged him in the side with his elbow. “It’s almost like you have a brain in your head or something. Since you’ve guessed it, I don’t even know what more I need to say…how’s Chifeng-zun doing?”

That got Nie Huaisang’s face to soften, as he’d hoped it would. “Much better. He’s been sleeping and waking consistently, and the mobility exercises are working well, though of course he’s insisting on trying more than he can manage. He only just managed to walk across the room without stumbling yesterday, had to sit down right away after, and he’s already asking about saber training.”

That was very in character for Nie Mingjue.

“I’m glad,” Wei Wuxian said, meaning it with all his heart. “I missed da-ge.”

He owed him so much, after all.

So much more than most people knew.

It had been Nie Mingjue who had found him all those years ago, in the dark days when his parents had died in a night-hunt gone wrong and the money they’d left with the innkeeper turning out to be insufficient to keep him housed or fed for more than a fortnight. Wei Wuxian had been a spoiled, beloved child – even if his parents were rogue cultivators, his father originally a servant, they were famous; there wasn’t a town that didn’t welcome them with open arms. They had never lacked for money, for warmth and comfort.

Wei Wuxian might have had a chance if they’d died in the spring or summer. He might have been able to learn to sleep on the streets during warm nights and used those rich fat months to learn from all the other beggars how to eat refuse, but his parents had died in the winter. Even the beggars chased him away, unwilling to spare the smallest scrap of food or lose any bit of warmth by sharing the spots they had found to shelter from the cold; and when he went to the richer districts that had once greeted his parents with such enthusiasm, wild dogs were sent to chase him away, vicious and merciless…within a week, he had been very nearly dead.

Luckily, when hiring rogue cultivators turned out to be insufficient to deal with the problem, the miserly local landlord that had sent out the notice in the first place had finally given in and written to a Great Sect, begging for aid – as a rich man, he was obligated to contribute to the costs of a requested night-hunt, and the Great Sects, while generally more successful, were typically far more mercenary in that regard than rogue cultivators – and Nie Mingjue had come with his Nie sect, the most willing by far to do the work of defeating evil without charging too much for the privilege.

He’d found the bodies of Wei Wuxian’s parents.

Soon after, he’d found Wei Wuxian himself.

Wei Wuxian had been about seven, then. It had been a full two years before Jiang Fengmian had found him on the very same streets, hiding in the trash with a dirty face and a sad and miserable expression, ready to be picked up and taken home by his father’s old friend, the Sect Leader of Yunmeng Jiang.

Just as anyone might’ve predicted.

After all, Nie Mingjue had never stinted on sending out spies, even if he never used them.

(He’d released Wei Wuxian of all those old obligations long ago – but Nie Huaisang never had.)

“Da-ge passes along his thanks, by the way,” Nie Huaisang said. “He thinks the array you created to help preserve his life is brilliant.”

“It is brilliant,” Wei Wuxian said, shameless as always. Getting a truly vicious scolding from his little master Nie Huaisang about exactly how close to the line his arrogance had brought him and the Wen sect had humbled him a bit, and the disaster of the Stygian Tiger Seal nearly going out of his control at the Nightless City not long thereafter had humbled him still more, but in the end he was still Wei Wuxian. He was awesome. “Could anyone else have done what I did?”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes.

“He’s not angry at me for misusing Baxia?” Wei Wuxian asked, fishing for confirmation. If there was one thing that his two years in the Nie sect had taught him, it was a near-pathological revulsion at the thought of touching another person’s spiritual weapon – he’d been very nearly more excited to be allowed to put his hand on an unsheathed Bichen than Lan Wangji’s dick, although not quite – and Nie Mingjue was quite justifiably more paranoid than most on the subject.

Even that treacherous dog Jin Guangyao hadn’t dared touch Baxia. The spiritual poison he’d used on Nie Mingjue had been limited to the man himself, and that had been what gave Wei Wuxian the idea for the array he’d invented. Nie Mingjue cultivated with Baxia as his primary, if not only, spiritual weapon, and the disciples of the Nie sect were closer to their sabers than most – and by the end of the Sunshot Campaign, Baxia was a fearsome entity in her own right, possessed of her own spiritual energy.

And as he’d always said, energy was meant to be used.

There was something about the Nie sect’s cultivation style that reminded Wei Wuxian of his innovations in demonic cultivation, although it wasn’t quite the same. They didn’t manipulate resentful energy directly the way he did, but they still made use of it, refining their blades with it until the sabers were very nearly guai, cultivating saber spirits filled with a lust for blood – although the strict disciplines of the Nie sect cultivation path meant that every saber spirit that Wei Wuxian had ever had the fortune (or misfortune) to personally encounter just as absolutist in their disdain for evil as their masters.

Even Nie Huaisang’s saber Aituan was like that, and maybe that should have been Wei Wuxian’s first hint that Nie Huaisang wasn’t as simple as he appeared on the surface.

“It’s fine,” Nie Huaisang assured him. “Really. Da-ge said it was – how’d he put it – a charming contradiction, that his saber get used to cultivating energy for him rather than him for the saber. Though maybe he was just relieved that she was intact, given everything.”

Wei Wuxian grinned and toasted Nie Huaisang, drinking a little of the wine while Nie Huaisang continued with his correspondence.

They sat in comfortable silence for a little while.

“I’m not pretending,” Nie Huaisang said abruptly, and Wei Wuxian, who’d drifted off into daydreams involving him, Lan Wangji, and a very sturdy bathtub, turned to look at him. “I know what Jiang Cheng thinks –”

“Of course you do. I tell you what Jiang Cheng thinks.”

“Shut up, you – you calamity. I don’t need you to tell me what Jiang Cheng thinks, he tells me himself more often than not. He thinks that I’m pretending to be useless because I don’t want da-ge to know about everything I’ve done, but that’s not the case at all. He knows. I wouldn’t keep it from him.”

“I know,” Wei Wuxian said, because he did. Even at his most lazy and self-indulgent, Nie Huaisang abhorred the thought of lying to his brother. “But you are spending too much of your time in the Unclean Realm. We need you back in the field.”

Nie Huaisang scowled. “The cream of the cultivation world,” he said disdainfully. “Can’t they do anything by themselves, just for a few short months? You’d think my brother fought the entirety of the Sunshot Campaign by himself with how little they seem to contribute.”

“Personally, I think that everyone has just taken the Nie sect as lucky cats, and are afraid to do without you,” Wei Wuxian said, batting his eyelashes at him in his most provoking show of earnestness. “Nie-xiong, if I rub your head, does that mean I’ll win my next battle…?”

“Don’t you dare,” Nie Huaisang said, but the scowl receded and he looked amused again. “I can’t wait to send da-ge out on the battlefield again.”

“The Jin sect will trample each other in their eagerness to get off the battlefield rather than face Chifeng-zun,” Wei Wuxian agreed, and couldn’t help his own smile at the thought. “The rumors that he’s returned have already started spreading like wildfire, but you’ve done well to hide him away so thoroughly. It means no one knows if the rumors are right or if you’re just pulling some kind of trick on the world.”

“Who, me? A trick?” Nie Huaisang said, and smiled thinly. “I only wish I could’ve seen the look on that treacherous dog’s face when his spies reported on my unusual behavior. I hope he’s afraid.”

Wei Wuxian agreed.

He had tried many times to imagine doing what Jin Guangyao had done. To turn your hand against the man to whom you had sworn to love as a brother –

He couldn’t even imagine hurting Jiang Cheng like that, and Jiang Yanli even less.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue his life. He had sworn fealty to him with all the passion and singlemindedness of childhood, and had never once regretted it. Nie Mingjue had taken him off the streets and brought him back to his sect, he’d taken back his parents’ bodies and buried them with full (if private) honors, he’d given Wei Wuxian training to make him strong and smart and capable. He’d sent him to do work in a place where he would prosper and thrive and be happy, and all the while promised that he would never be trapped – that he would have a way out if the Jiang sect became too suffocating or he was treated too viciously, on one hand, and on the other told him that he could one day petition to be released from his obligations to the Nie sect if he ever found them too demanding.

Wei Wuxian had asked to be released from those obligations after the fall of the Lotus Pier, unable to stomach the idea of reporting on Jiang Cheng now that he was all alone in the world in the way that he had so effortlessly reported on Jiang Fengmian and Madame Yu. Nie Mingjue had granted the reprieve without a second’s hesitation, even though it meant wasting the years and years of investment they’d put into him, even though it would have been a critical moment to have an ear within the Jiang sect’s camp.

Wei Wuxian owed Nie Mingjue everything.

And yet – if the man had asked him to kill Jiang Cheng, he would have said no.

Twin heroes, he’d promised Jiang Cheng, and if for a while he’d thought he would have to give up that promise because of the secret of the golden core that he still kept hidden away, he refused to think it any longer. Jiang Cheng was his brother in all but blood, in all the ways that mattered. Wei Wuxian would stand aside from him if he thought he had to, as he had with the Wen sect remnants; he would keep secrets from him, he would even deceive him, but he would never willingly seek to hurt him.

Jin Guangyao, though? He had attacked Nie Mingjue without even being asked.

He was like some rabid beast, a white-eyed wolf, Wei Wuxian thought. Utterly beyond his understanding.

He deserved to be afraid.

“Speaking of which,” he said, suddenly remembering. “I think I’ve figured out why Jin Guangyao was willing to kill his own heir to further his and his father’s ambitions.”

“About time,” Nie Huaisang said, and while his tone was stern Wei Wuxian was mostly sure that he was teasing. “I put you on that job months ago. What do you think I keep you around for? Your brilliant inventions? Your armies of corpses? Your amazing ability to stun irritating sect leaders into silence with your overwhelming shamelessness regarding Lan Wangji –”

“Let’s not talk about that,” Wei Wuxian said hastily, although the giant grin he couldn’t keep off his face said everything about his shame – or lack thereof – relating to that last one. You get caught doing one little roleplay about the fearsome demonic cultivator Yiling Patriarch being arrested by the righteous cultivator Hanguang-jun and suddenly no one wanted to look you in the eye anymore… “Anyway, according to all the rumors, you keep me around because you want me to raise your brother the way I raised Wen Ning.”

Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. “I’ve heard that one, and I still can’t believe anyone believes it. Da-ge’s a sect leader! Even if you wanted to bring him back, think about the amount of resentment he would have had to feel at his death to rise up again despite all the soul-calming rituals he’s gone through! If he ever became that resentful, he wouldn’t rise up as a ghost general, he’d be a ghost king, and then we’d all be screwed.”

Nie Huaisang wasn’t wrong. Nie Mingjue was one of the most powerful cultivators living – if he rose as a fierce corpse, he’d be able to slaughter an entire village of common people overnight with just the energy in one hand. And if he were then allowed access to Baxia, her power added to his…he’d become a scourge on the world, a true calamity, and they’d need to find a way to appease his anger and somehow lock him away forever just to survive.

Assuming Nie Huaisang allowed something like that, anyway. Wei Wuxian was very happy they had never been forced to face the question of whether Nie Huaisang preferred his brother or his morality, as he suspected no one would like the answer to that. Not even Nie Huaisang.

“Enough speculation,” Nie Huaisang said, and Wei Wuxian twitched guiltily even though he knew Nie Huaisang was not, in fact, a mind-reader. “What’s the story with A-Song?”

“You want the long version with all the proof I found to support it or the conclusion?”

“Start with the conclusion.”

“Jin Guangyao couldn’t risk A-Song growing up into a half-wit on account of being a child of incest.”

That actually surprised Nie Huaisang, Wei Wuxian was pleased to see.

“Incest?” Nie Huaisang said wonderingly. “But how – oh, of course. Jin Guangshan and Madame Qin? An affair or rape?”

“Rape while he was drunk, supposedly, though of course we only have the relevant people’s words for that, and they’re not exactly impartial sources. Could’ve been an affair that had unexpected results, not that anyone would ever admit it.”

Nie Huaisang started laughing.

Wei Wuxian really wished he wouldn’t. It wasn’t the sort of happy giggle that he sometimes let out nowadays when he was thinking of Nie Mingjue’s recovery – it was the jagged vicious bitterness of the Pallbearer, through and through.

“Oh, Qin Su, Qin Su,” Nie Huaisang said, wiping tears from his eyes. “I gave you all the chances in the world, you stupid woman. I hope you’re happy with what you chose.”

“Can I ask?” Wei Wuxian said cautiously. “You never said – you just showed up with A-Song, no Qin Su and no explanation…”

“Says the person who adopted A-Yuan all but sight unseen?”

“I lived with him for a month, it’s different,” Wei Wuxian said. “What happened with Qin Su?”

Nie Huaisang shrugged. “Nothing dramatic. She wouldn’t believe me when I told her that her husband was planning on killing her son to frame his enemies, which is reasonable enough given that everyone knows I’m at odds with him. Even when I offered her proof, she said it was just a forgery – that he wasn’t like that, that she knew him, the real him, that she was the only one who really understood him, even though I’d say the whole cultivation world knows the ‘real’ him by now.”

“Irritating, but understandable, I think – he is her husband, the dashing hero that rescued her so valiantly in the Sunshot Campaign and which she defied custom and her parents to marry. So why all the disdain?”

Nie Huaisang’s lips pressed together tightly with disapproval. “I asked her if she was willing to risk losing A-Song just to show her husband that she trusted him, and she said that she was, because it wasn’t a risk at all. Because she knew he loved her too much to do such a terrible thing without a good reason.”

“Without a good reason?” Wei Wuxian demanded. “That’s her son!”

“Don’t you know that they can always have others?” Nie Huaisang said with a sneer, clearly paraphrasing words he’d heard. “They’re young, in love – it’s all my fault that he stopped touching her, apparently. I took Lan Xichen away from him and he’s so upset about it that he can’t come to her bed, but once the world is rid of me, it’ll all go back to the way it should be…”

“I’ll give her that much: she really loves him,” Wei Wuxian said, shaking his head. The delusions of a person in love, he supposed. He hoped that he and Lan Wangji weren’t quite that bad. “She’ll be in for a disappointment. Given what I found out…he’ll never return to her bed or give her children, not in this lifetime.”

“No, he won’t.” Nie Huaisang reached for his fan. “Thank you for this. I’ll think about how to use it.”

“And?” Wei Wuxian prodded.

“And I’ll come back to the battlefield,” Nie Huaisang conceded, looking discontented, and Wei Wuxian smiled smugly. “You can supervise the Unclean Realm in my place.”

“What? No!” Wei Wuxian protested, his smile disappearing at once. “You have Xiao Xingchen –”

“He’s newly blinded, and out of all the cultivators we have available, you’re the most effective at fighting on a stand-alone basis. Think of it as having some time to bond with your mother’s shidi.”

Wei Wuxian didn’t want time to bond with his martial uncle – or, well, he did, he’d been dying for an opportunity to talk with Xiao Xingchen more or less since the man first made his name known in the cultivation world, but Nie Huaisang’s rules were such that no one outside the most trusted inner circles of the Nie sect was allowed in the familial quarters of the Unclean Realm, or even in the Unclean Realm at all. And that meant…

“But – Lan Wangji –”

“Will not die if he’s forced to be abstinent for a little while,” Nie Huaisang said, and oh, it was on.

“Did Qin Su specify the method by which you took Lan Xichen from her husband?” Wei Wuxian asked, crossing his arms. “I was under the impression that you still referred to him as Zewu-jun –”

Nie Huaisang glared.

Too bad – if the Pallbearer didn’t want to get mocked over his crush on the First Jade of Lan, he shouldn’t have let Wei Wuxian find out about the fact that the torch he held for him was still burning hot as ever.

“Perhaps my information is out of date. Tell me, little master, what means of seduction did you employ to convince Zewu-jun to betray his poor sad little A-Yao? Did you work your wicked wiles on him?”

“Wei Wuxian –”

“Did you play his xiao?”

Nie Huaisang let out an ungentlemanly snort and had to cover his face. “Oh no,” he said. “Oh no. Why did you have to give me that mental image? Fuck you, Wei Wuxian.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you too. Abstinent my ass.”

“I think you’ll find that the problem with abstinence is that it’s not your ass,” Nie Huaisang said, shoulders shaking. “That’s kind of the point. Now go tell everyone that I’ll be rejoining them tomorrow.”

“I will relish their groans of despair,” Wei Wuxian said, standing up. He was clearly going to have to take as much advantage that he could of the little time he had with Lan Wangji before being cruelly locked away. “Oh, is there any news on Song Lan?”

“None,” Nie Huaisang said. “He may as well have ascended into the heavens. Don’t tell Xiao Xingchen, he’ll only worry.”

“I won’t, I won’t. As for you – could you try to lighten up on Zewu-jun? Now that da-ge’s awake again?”

Nie Huaisang frowned.

“I’m not saying forgive him,” Wei Wuxian clarified. “Just – you know that da-ge wouldn’t want you to be so mad at him, especially since you still like him and all.”

“I’ll let da-ge decide that, I think,” Nie Huaisang said, and the humor had fled his face entirely. “It was his assassin that Zewu-jun decided to trust and protect, after all.”

Wei Wuxian nodded, accepting the verdict – he disagreed, but he understood – and turning to leave.

He paused at the door.

“Just so you know,” he said, not looking at Nie Huaisang. “Having trusted Meng Yao doesn’t mean you have to be so mad at yourself, either.”

He left before Nie Huaisnag could respond, but he heard something shatter in the room behind him.

#mdzs #wei wuxian #lan wangji #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #wen ning #my fic #my fics #unfettered

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notnctu · 3 years

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when the snow falls | j.jh

jung jaehyun x reader genre - angst first, fluff later details - childhood best friends!au, ghost!au, platonic relationship, genderneutral!reader, ft. boyfriend johnny warnings - grieving/mourning, mentions of death, lots of crying, explicit language (swearing) word count - 8.3k inspiration - A Christmas Carol synopsis - Jaehyun visits you every holiday season since his death to bring you out of your self isolation and hatred for the one season you both once loved.

a/n - this is for my first collab ever: a taste of winter collab hosted by @dearyongs & @pastelsicheng ! again, thank you for letting me participate and i hope this fic brings more warmth for everyone during the winter!! happy holidays everyone & i hope you can check out the rest of the fics in the collab as i will be, they’re written by such amazing writers! :)))

An iridescent frost covers the tall windows of the apartment and a bright white sky greets you this morning. The fallen sheets expose your bare shoulders to the bitter crisp cold air and goosebumps rise to remind you to wear a fucking sweater for once. However, the cold isn’t what bothers you this horrid day as you’re leaping out of bed to glance out at the world. It’s the first thing that you lay eyes on: it covers the streets, it’s falling from the blanket of grey sky, it’s others’ joy when it’s your trauma. What Mother Nature has brought upon this winter season, as she always does this time of the year, is snow.

The first sign of snowfall marks the first day of your self isolation period until the holidays pass. It marks the anniversary of your best friend’s death and an agonizingly long winter, but in spite of that, it also means the appearance of a rather special guest. A guest that is only visible to you and though resembles much of your passed friend, does not share the same memories as you do.

“The snow is just so comforting, isn’t it?” Though you live alone, a sudden voice erupts from behind you and has you turning rather quickly to face the truth of this season. Your greatest treasure, yet haunting demise. “Hello, y/n. How has your year been?” Jaehyun stands with a lean at your door frame, his arms crossed at his chest and hair full of fluff.

“Hello, Jaehyun’s spirit. I happen to hate the snow, if you have forgotten.” Your hip presses against the cold glass and you’re no longer afraid of being half naked in front of what this form of imagination possesses itself to be.

“Remind me why again.” Jaehyun casually sits on your unmade bed, looking as about your age now. There is a brief silence as you examine how he’s grown with you, you’d imagine this is how he’d look if he was still alive and well.

It would be his third year in college, same as you, possibly studying engineering due to his past fascination with the mechanics of roller coasters. With such a strong jawline and a definite lean built, girls would be running all over him. Not to mention, his dimples remain one of his charms.

Kicking off the icy window, you walk carefully and slowly up to Jaehyun. A hand reaches to caress his cheek, but it goes right through him and leaves your hand to hang in mid-air. This happens every time you see him again, wondering if you can get one last touch of his dewy complexion, and you simply can’t. Despite his ability to touch you, there is no possibility for your senses to travel through to the other side of the supernatural dimension.

Jaehyun gently rests your hand back to your side and repeats his request, “remind me again why you hate the snow.”

“It’s how you died.” A small croak gets caught in the back of your throat and tears well up to blur your vision. “So when the snow falls, it brings me back to the dreadful memory of me losing you, of you leaving me.”

“I died from snow? That is so lame.” Jaehyun grumbles and rolls his eyes.

You chuckle, but the tears roll down your cheeks as if they know no happiness. “You died from a car accident in the snow. Your tires slid, you couldn’t brake … and so, you crashed. Full trauma to the head, an instant death.”

“Where was I going?” He wasn’t this curious last winter, and so you’re unaware if it’s your mind playing sick tricks on you or if his unrest spirit is this forgetful. You wish it was the latter.

Choking on your tears, the droplets hit the hardwood floors below you. An overwhelming feeling of melancholy overtakes your chest and you’re suffocating underneath an unknown pressure. Your throat is drier than your mother’s gingerbread cookies, but you swallow the frigid air around you.

You’re so choked up by your sobbing that it’s too difficult to speak. Any words you say feel like thin ice, ready to crack at the lightest touch. “O-On the way to … my house. You were coming over to tell me a secret.”

“And I never got to tell you.”

“No, Jaehyun. I’ll never know what you wanted to tell me that day.”

when the snow falls.

There has never been a time before Jaehyun and all that you knew, all the memories that fill your brain, every growing pain you could possibly share, was with him and all until it wasn’t. Had there been a time after Jaehyun, you would not have expected it to come as soon as it did.

For the months following his death, you were in denial of his missing presence because every. single. thing. reminded you of him. Jaehyun remained in his assigned seat in school, although it was clearly empty. He lived through others’ mourning stories, where they spoke of fond memories that they shared and things he liked. The worst of them all, you still texted him every day in hopes to see the tiny three dots pop up that he was typing. And the warped reality in your head, the first stage of grief flooding every possible corner, was that he has always just been slow at replying back.

Then, his funeral rolled around and his parents asked you to share one happy memory of him. There were so many, how could you possibly have chosen just one? And so you didn’t. The moment the frame of the church entered your view, your legs stuck to the ground and refused to enter. There was going to be a point when you entered the building filled with crying people and a gripping, horrid smell of death and you wouldn’t be able to forget it. That scary thought, not only frightened you, but angered you.

The large attendance of people walked past you as teary eyes blinked up at the dark wooden frame of the door, but every one of them had never visited him for more than once when he was alive. His older cousins that had forgotten about him when they flew away for college, his acquaintances from piano lessons who never bothered to remember his full name, his old friends from primary school that he had lost connection with after graduation, they were all here.

And you can’t help, but fester a fueling frustration in the pit of your stomach and as it grew into your chest in the matter of seconds, you wondered the single thought that picked up your feet to run home: where were they when he was alive?

After a year and the appearance of Jaehyun’s ghost became less of a shock during winter, you were stuck in an odd and uneasy place of what if’s. Talking to him once a year was never enough, texting his old number was never enough. It was just never enough.

Missing him grew into a dark sense of yearning, longing, bargaining. Long nights of twisting and tossing in your bed, many thoughts and endless possibilities ran through your unhealthy thoughts. The description and police report of his accident played like a reel in darkest contemplations.

The first year of college had to be the hardest to go through without him and thus, aiding in your regrets of not cherishing him enough when he was around. A rabbit hole of universe paths drove you wild, wishing and hoping that you could turn back time and stop him from coming over in the middle of a blizzard. And the one lasting thought still haunts you to your present: if only you hadn’t encouraged him that night, he wouldn’t have died.

The saddest part has barely been acknowledged, even by yourself. That this one tragedy tainted the one holiday you two loved the most --- Christmas. Every year since his passing, you locked yourself in your room for two weeks before the holiday and waited through it all. Truthfully, there was nothing in the universe that was going to allow you to enjoy the holiday when it wasn’t with him. Even his ghost, who very randomly popped up on a December day and cluelessly never brings much comfort as the live him did during this season.

Jolly holiday music lost their joyous sound and became awfully low tempo. The bright red and green signature colors of Christmas became dull and rather grey; the long strings of colorful lights that hang from houses and around large trees were absolutely drained of their color. The warmth of the fireplace went cold. The cheesy Hallmark Christmas movies no longer entertained and lost their spark.

The Christmas themed decorations that covered the windows of shops, the city, your own house, became an overwhelming sore sight to look at. The love from your loved ones… you couldn’t feel anything remotely close to love anymore, just meaningless affection. The one gift that the Earth blessed your region with, snow, became the one petrifying thing that it had to offer. And your favoritism for the holiday, the so-called ‘Christmas Spirit’, slowly died out, along with Jaehyun.

Now that it’s been three years since his passing, you’re here spending your third lonely holiday season inside your apartment discussing your yearly recap with your ghostly best friend.

“That ridiculous final exam lowered my grade and I walked out of that class retaining none of the information. When will I ever need to know about pirates in the 1800’s?” The chocolate wrapper crinkles in your fist as you finish your overly passionate recollection of the most useless class you could have taken this whole year.

Jaehyun sits by your side, facing you as he hugs his knees close to his chest. A small grin dots the dimple on his left cheek when you peer over at the huddled boy and the sad reminiscent glisten in your eye does not go unnoticed. “You used to love pirates. Dressed up like one for Halloween and went up to every house yelling,” Jaehyun clears his throat and perks up, ready to perform.

A balled fist in the air, paired with a look of utter gusto and passion, Jaehyun speaks in an attempt to horribly reenact your once embarrassing pirate impression. “Argh! You scoundrel, give me all the treasures in your possession… preferably chocolate sweets.” He holds his stomach as he bursts into a fit of his baritone laughter. His wide mouth grows into such a big, open smile that his eyelashes dance on his glowing cheeks.

“For a ghost, you sure look like someone who’s very much alive.” Naturally, you’d swat lightly at his knee or arm whenever he would joke around. However, the pain of your hand passing right through him breaks this habit and you’re left scoffing at the way Jaehyun is consumed with laughter.

“You know, for someone who is alive… you sure look a bit … lifeless. When was the last time you were happy, y/n?” Jaehyun finally settles down and gently nudges at your elbow.

His question hits you like a wall of bricks. Unexpected and completely straightforward, but that’s just always been the way he is. “This past weekend when I turned in my last assignment for the semester.”

“No. The last time you were genuinely happy, not relieved. You mentioned a boyfriend, right?”

Rolling your eyes, you grow a bit silent and annoyed at his comment. “Listen, hopeless romantic. Not every relationship is perfect sunrays and gushy unconditional love.” Perhaps, your gaze drops down to your hands and the wrinkled wrapper between your fingers has worn out from your fidgeting.

Johnny Suh. If you could move mountains for this man, you would. It all started due to an accidental happenstance of you abruptly walking into your campus’ coffee shop to seek shelter from the rain and him, the attractive barista behind the counter, chasing after you in a stained apron and an immensely strong aroma of coffee beans. Jaehyun practically swooned over hearing how you two met, hearts in his pupils and a dreamy grin resting fondly as he attentively listened.

Jaehyun has always wanted a relationship, though he did have many admirers in high school, he never had the opportunity to experience one true love and to play out every sappy romantic thing rom-coms taught him. Hearing about your love life is the closest thing he can get to it, unfortunate for him, but fortunate that his best friend still has some romance in them.

Nevertheless, it’s only been a few months together. Though Johnny has seen intimate parts of you, he’s never experienced a winter with you and frankly, he won’t ever experience one with you if you keep this up.

“Johnny doesn’t make you happy, then why are you with him?” Jaehyun knows Johnny makes you feel something that is hard for you to put into words. He also knows the type of person you are, pushing your buttons to get you to defend something you love. Boldly. Loudly. Strongly. He knows how to get you to spit out words of truth, even when they’re difficult.

“My partner is the literal definition of happiness, okay?” The defensiveness drives your assertiveness further. “The last time I was happy was when…” your eyes are frantically examining the floor for any source of focus as a highlight reel of this whole year flashes through your mind.

“... On my birthday, he planned me a picnic. Bought me roses, the whole grand scheme of romance. I started to cry, out of happiness… it was the first time in a while that the reason behind my tears was something good.” There’s somewhat of an epiphany when you finish your sentence. Your voice gets lost in your train of thought as the blissful scene plays out.

“Why were you crying?” Jaehyun snatches the distracting wrapper from your fingers, it being unrecognizable from the wear and tear. It causes you to meet Jaehyun’s round eyes: empty, but not sad. They’re lost, yet filled with purpose.

Jaehyun has always been able to open up the darkest parts of your heart. “Because it reminded me of the time when you and I walked up that steep hill over on Fifth Street… and we forgot the picnic blanket. But it didn’t matter because after the strenuous journey, all we wanted was to sit down and enjoy some fucking sandwiches, along with some hot chocolate your mom packed us.”

“y/n, you cried over the memory of sandwiches and exercise? That’s so---”

“Before you insult me by calling me lame,” you bring your finger to stop him mid-way and narrow your eyes, “I was so happy to be able to share our same experience with someone else. Even though you’re gone, I can still have these happy moments with other people.”

Then, Jaehyun gathers both of your hands to hold and brings them to his soft lips. Everything about him feels cold, like a harsh chill that bites at your skin. In spite of it all, his delicate kiss on your knuckles somehow feel warm and slightly comforting. Jaehyun peers up with kind eyes, “you’re almost there. I will do everything I can to get you there.”

Blinking at him with confusion, your expression asks the questions for you. When he sets your hands in his lap, a soft pat on the back of your hand reassures you. “Can we bake Christmas cookies?”

Rolling your eyes, you tear your hands away from him. He leaves you with unspoken words and an oddly comforting feeling, but it’s not enough to dissipate your deeply rooted dislike for this particular holiday. “You ask this every year.” Getting up, you walk towards your bedroom to get away from feeling too vulnerable.

Jaehyun watches your back intently as you’re stumbling over your feet. He whispers to himself, “and I think this year is going to be the last year I’ll ask for it.” And a hopeful smile appears joyously as he anticipates the storm before reaching still waters.

The sound of the doorbell awakens you and Jaehyun is nowhere to be seen. He comes and goes as he wishes, however, he’d usually accompany you during the mornings. You’re particularly sluggish, finding it difficult to adjust to the blinding white sky outside as snow continues to drift upon the city.

“Good morning, gumdrop.” Your boyfriend is rather chirpy today. Johnny engulfs your fragile body in his long arms and you’re lost in his scent of peppermint bark.

“This was unexpected.” His shirt muffles your tiny voice and Johnny is setting down bags of groceries on your kitchen countertop.

“I texted you last night that I was coming over to do some grocery shopping for you. Did you sleep early?” Your very helpful boyfriend starts unloading all the parcels of fresh produce and your favorite snacks. However, there is a slight tinge of annoyance and possibly it’s due to the fact you weren’t expecting to see anyone during your isolation. Johnny couldn’t have known though.

A deep sigh escapes your lips and you walk over to stop his movements. A hand holds his arm and the other intertwines with his own, but you stand under him with the sweetest smile you could wear during the holiday season. “How is it that your mom invited me to your family holiday party, but tells me that you’re not going to be there?”

Your smile automatically falls from your lips and a hand retracts from his warmth. It’s the sudden truth that you must face, the confession of your sadness that you’ll eventually need to tell your partner. Wondering how he’s going to take the news, your mom probably gave him a brief breakdown about how you’ve been this way for the past few years now.

Nonetheless, Johnny has always been bold with his statements and though you’ve adjusted to his abruptness, this one is hard to give a quick answer back to. So as you’re racking how to present your dark narrative, Johnny sets you down on the couch with the utmost gentleness. You don’t even feel the cushion underneath you when the million different answers streamline their way into your brain.

Johnny notices your frantic eyes and unfocused gaze, growing a bit concerned at how cold your skin feels at his touch. Taking off his sweatshirt, he carefully slips it over your shaking figure. When the softness of the polyester cotton blend brushes upon your bare arms, you’re snapped back facing a worried expression.

And you say the one thing on your mind, the only thing you can think of in your scattered brain. “Jaehyun died during this time of year, so it just makes me very emotionally unstable to… participate in any festive events. I’d rather be alone, the whole holiday season.”

Johnny nods, but his face remains with his eyebrows together and lips pressed into a tight line. He’s well aware of who Jaehyun was and means to you. Though you don’t talk much about him, your eyes light up with a bright twinkle whenever you do. It’s like the world spins ‘round and everything feels restored. Johnny knows enough about your good friend to deduct how hard it must be for you during the winters.

“Can I help you in any way?” Johnny peers over at you with a small smile, and you wish there is something in your decaying heart to keep it up forever.

“I hate to say it, but please just leave me alone for the winter.” Flopping on his lap, you’re burying your face in your hands to cower away from seeing your sunshine hurt. There are no more sugar coated kind words for you to pick and choose from.

While Johnny can understand how difficult it must be for you, he still holds onto a sliver of hope that you’ll come around. “Come on, don’t be such a Grinch. No one should be alone for Christmas.”

Groaning, you sit up and roll your eyes at the familiar references. “Listen, Cindy Lou Who. Don’t call me that.”

“It’s still a cute nickname, you don’t think?” Johnny snickers lightly, but your expression turns rather grim and serious. A faint overcast of melancholy washes over your expression as you’re staring off into your memories again.

In a faint voice, your voice is barely above a whisper, “that used to be one of Jaehyun’s favorite movies.” Your arms drop from your puffed up chest, but Johnny catches your hand and kisses your fingertips.

“What was yours?” Johnny keeps the atmosphere as light and playful while he still can.

“The Nightmare Before Christmas.” Ironically fitting and that’s one of the sole reasons you don’t watch holiday movies anymore. There have been too many parallels with your life and the wrenched holiday. As twisted as the joke may seem, you’ve lived your own nightmare before Christmas, except you never got the happy ending to it all. It’s like a nightmare that continues and you can’t escape it.

Having said, Johnny pulls you up to stand and draws you into the biggest hug. “I can’t leave you alone, even if I tried my very best. I still get butterflies every time you smile at me, so you think I wouldn’t be addicted to that feeling?”

“Johnny…” This man is in love with you until the ends of this Earth, until the horizon stretches so far that it’s unimaginable to see where it stops.

“I’ll respect your wishes as much as I can, but know that it’s not the best form of healing.” The final word causes a chill to run down your spine. It implies that you’re still hurting, although he’s not wrong, it’s rather disheartening to hear someone else speak it aloud. “I’ll come around less.”

“If I’m grumpy, then you’ll know why. And don’t try to shove the whole Christmas spirit act on me, I don’t want to hear a single thing about it! I can’t spend a Christmas without Jaehyun.” Johnny squeezes your shoulders at your bold declaration.

“You can’t or you won’t?” A painful tick at your heart leaves you speechless at his question.

For as long as you could remember, every Christmas was spent with Jaehyun. Picking out a tree for both of your families and getting lost together between the evergreens brought laughter and excitement. Baking cookies and drawing the ugliest faces in tacky colorful frosting always happened a few days before the holiday. Drinking hot chocolate by his family’s fireplace and watching Christmas movies were one of your favorite activities. Christmas Eve was always so special, where you and Jaehyun made it tradition to open your gifts from each other right when the clock struck midnight.

Then everything simply stopped. And when you tried to participate in those same activities, selfishness and guilt preoccupied your heart. What do any of those things mean without Jaehyun? Jaehyun was the reason you loved Christmas as much as you did. Then, his death became the reason you hated it as much as you do.

“I think that’s enough for today.” Johnny knows he’s hit a nerve, he can see it in your glossy eyes and subtle drop in the corners of your mouth. There is no protest from the taller man when he accepts his sweatshirt without a complaint. The bitter cold air bites at your bare shoulders again and you’re practically existing in its lack of warmth. Gathering the rest of his belongings, you two bid a kiss goodbye and shut the door.

It’s almost a relief that he’s gone and the tear runs down your cheek when your back hits the door. Suddenly, Jaehyun appears across the living room leaning on the door frame to your bedroom. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is.” There is a hang at the end of your sentence and Jaehyun walks toward you. A few sniffs fill the empty apartment, but you’re rubbing away any sign of sadness from your face.

“But?”

“But, he’s so optimistic about… everything. He lives by the sun and every waking day, he just lives it to the fullest. There’s nothing in the world for this man to possibly understand how sad I feel.” It’s the heaviness in your voice that has your heart sinking to the pit of your stomach.

Jaehyun’s freezing hands graze your chin and as he lets go, his stare doesn’t leave yours. “Learn from him.” Your best friend’s ghastly voice reminds you that he’s not real. He’s a ghost. He’s very much gone and not for a split second, should you be wanting to cave into his embrace or else, you’ll hit the floor hard. Nevertheless, you’re entirely vulnerable and the next few words that leave Jaehyun’s mouth causes your throat to close up.

“Keep him close. y/n, he is the sun.” It’s a moment you thought you’d never witness, your best friend complimenting your significant partner. Moreover, it hurts to think about how great of friends Jaehyun and Johnny could have been. “To be very honest, you need some heat this winter.”

“Then, what were you?” It’s the curiosity that nips at your tongue as it leaves no space for a pause. The thumping of your heart being so loud in the dead silence, but you know Jaehyun doesn’t have a heart to beat recklessly as yours.

Jaehyun smirks and chuckles fondly, despite how desperate and serious you may have sounded. “I was a pain in the ass.”

Scoffing, you break the immensely intense eye contact. “You still are. This whole haunting thing is very creepy.” Gesturing his entire being in front of you, he just looks so alive and breathing. Before Jaehyun, you always thought ghosts were floating entities with a white transparency. But your best friend stands before you, well aged and all together.

It still tosses you into shambles as to why Jaehyun exists, but you’ve given up on figuring out his purpose. He could be a form of your own imagination for all you care, perhaps you’ve grown so sad that you started to seek things.

Companionship from the one person you wish was still alive?

Like before, you’ve always spent Christmas with Jaehyun… alive or in ghost form.

It’s another one of those long days that seem to never end. The bright white sky seems unchanging, stark with a dusty and imminent endless overcast of snow. It’s blinding and you’re regretting the moment you overlooked the curtain blinds at the department store.

Your phone has already been lost somewhere underneath your bed and there isn’t a single desire to reach for it. Missed calls pile up, voicemails clutter your inbox, texts flood your messages, and your social media notifications fill your screen. Despite everyone’s effort to contact you, there is no sense of joyous cordial nature to even glance at them.

Jaehyun has been appearing more frequently and staying for longer periods of time. The conversations bring an empty comfort, most of the times you feel the need to remind yourself that you’re not actually talking to someone, are you?

“What’s that sad look in your eyes?” He startles you when you’re off looking vacantly out the window. Your mind has been completely distracted lately by meaningless thoughts and the sweetest reels of Jaehyun that have turned blue.

The more you wrap yourself in your white sheets, the less you can feel any source of warmth. And perhaps you haven’t realized that you no longer felt any heat the past few days, that you’re at a freezing point and it’s made you numb.

“Not sure what you mean.” Your voice remains dull and monotone, lifeless almost. Jaehyun takes a seat against the window and for the first time, you can see right through him.

“It’s not your fault, y/n.” Is he a mind reader too? The thought that always circles your mind when Christmas draws near is not only that Jaehyun is gone forever, but how you could have prevented it all. The guilt eats you up and no matter how hard you’re searching for acceptance, it slips away from you before you have a chance.

When you don’t answer, Jaehyun heads over to your bed and he’s alarmed at how cold your hands are. “It was never your fault.” Your best friend pulls you into a hug, but it can barely be felt. What kind of hug can’t be felt?

“I never said it was.”

“No, but you thought about it.” The chilly draft causes you to shiver and it’s hard for you to concentrate on anything else besides the night of his death.

“I should have stopped you from coming over.” Although you’ve confessed this many times to him before, it never gets easier to say. Jaehyun sighs and ultimately frowns at your tears slipping from your eyes again. Like the snow that drifts from the heavens, your tears know no end to their downfall. It’s become too natural for them to appear. The closer it gets to Christmas, the harder it is to stop from crying.

“It’s hard for me to speak about it since we don’t remember much of the same moments---”

“Jaehyun! I remember that night as clear as it was just yesterday that it happened.” There’s no reason to yell, but a strong sense of pain erupts from your chest.

He’s so calm at your sudden outburst, turning his head to face you with a deadpan expression. “You weren’t there, y/n. You were home, safe and sound as you should have been. I’m more than grateful that you’re the one alive.”

“I’m not!” But when the confession leaves your lips, you’re shaking and fearful. The entire room is stiff and silent. You couldn’t even believe what you had just said, wondering if that is anything close to truth. You look up at Jaehyun, who blinks at you with furrowed eyebrows and wide eyes. “I mean,” you clear your throat in the midst of the tense atmosphere. “I could have saved you.”

“You’re not a hero and I didn’t need saving when I was already gone.” He taps his temples lightly, “full trauma to the head. It was just my time to go.”

“The secret. I wanted to know so bad that I didn’t stop you from coming in a snowstorm!” Jaehyun pats your head in an attempt to soothe your aching heart.

“And I wanted to tell you just as bad that I didn’t care about the snowstorm. y/n, stop blaming yourself for something that happened to me. The universe is much more complex than that, give it some credit.”

“You’re even philosophical as a ghost? Give me a fucking break.” Groaning, you pull the sheets over your head to somehow run away from the conversation.

Jaehyun lies down next to you, smiling cheekily to himself and glancing over at the lump that you had become underneath the blankets. “Do you remember the time I taught you how to ride a bike?”

“I thought it was your dad who taught me.” You grumble, tossing away the sheets to glance over at him. It always puzzled you how Jaehyun never remembered the same memories as you do, and even if you did, one of you remembered it differently.

“He was probably there as supervision. I was the one who helped you take off your training wheels and strap on your impressively thick knee pads.” You’re lying on your elbows now, fists pressing into your cheeks and a fond attentive gaze upon Jaehyun’s resting figure. He’s staring up at the ceiling that protects you two above, yet can cave in at any moment.

Dimples dip into his round supple cheeks as his toothy smile comes into view, reliving the happy memory. “You rang your little bell so many times that day.”

“Because I was scared!” You protest, muttering something incoherent. “Didn’t we go downhill when I said I wasn’t ready?”

“We went downhill because you said you were ready.” His hair ruffles in your sheets when he turns to face you, and he just takes your breath away. It’s the stars in his dark eyes that sweep you off your feet, like the gleaming star on top of a tree. The color that oozes from his smile, like Christmas lights that line a rooftop, make it hard not to stare. Jaehyun looks just like Christmas, the most wonderful thing of the year. In someway, he resembled an angel or the soft sheet of snow ready to fall right through.

You’re encompassed by overwhelming effervescent emotions from listening and watching Jaehyun glow and gleam. “Then, what?”

Jaehyun’s low chuckle illuminates the room, dazzling the boring grey interior. “Little ol’ you, hurt yourself real bad that day, scrapes and wounds you thought you’d never heal from. You didn’t talk to me for a week, but you ended up learning how to ride a bike.”

“Is that right?”

Jaehyun rests on his side now, only an elbow supporting his body and he’s leaning in close to your face, you’re almost too sure you could feel a breath on your lips. “No matter how painful it gets, I’m always here to push you through it all.”

When your heart beats sporadically at his proximity, you didn’t realize that you are holding in a breath, being quite afraid that if you let it out, it would simply blow him away for the night. And you’re not ready for him to leave you again.

Christmas Eve;

It had to be a miracle that anyone got a hold of you this week when Johnny comes practically banging at your door. Though you are so close to ignoring his loud thumping, the sound of your boyfriend’s soft sniffles alarms you greatly.

“y/n, holy shit!” It’s deja vu when you’re in his arms again, a horribly warped version of it when the smell of peppermint bark tickles your nostrils disgustingly. “I thought something happened to you. You weren’t answering my calls or texts.”

“My one wish for Christmas was to be left alone and I meant it.” The attitude in your voice becomes jarringly evident and Johnny blinks back at you with a new found annoyance as well.

“Can you at least think of the other people around you?” He holds your shoulders lightly, but staring into his eyes seems to be harder to do lately. Jaehyun appears on the couch, lying flat on his stomach and a hand resting underneath his chin. This is no longer a private conversation, but you learned long ago that no one else can see him.

“Who are you talking about? My family? Because they’ve all given up on me.” This is the first time Johnny has seen you act so cold and distant, yet entirely vulnerable. You’re stripped of everything that you usually hide in --- oversized clothes, happy smiles, and a beaming warmth.

All Johnny ever wants is for you to be loved, not only by him, but by the world. And interestingly enough, he loved you for your vulnerability and your rawness. This is until he realizes, in this moment, that it stems from your trauma of losing Jaehyun.

“What about me, y/n? I’m still here.” Johnny is frantic, and by all means, hurt by your aloofness. Brushing off his hands from your body, you’re taking several steps away from him.

“And why are you still here when I kept telling you to leave me alone? Whenever I was upset, Jaehyun always gave me space! Haven’t ever thought about how that is something I need?” You’re saying nonsensical statements that are fueled by anger and annoyance.

He’s pushing your limits and for once, you’re pushing him away. But this isn’t new to you, in fact, you’ve pushed so many people away just like this and that’s why they’ve decided to just let you be.

Johnny is taken aback, “you know, I feel like I’m competing with Jaehyun and I’ve never even met him.”

You scoff and throw your arms in the air, visibly in disbelief at what your boyfriend is saying to you. May you lose your temper, you’re unsure about the future of this relationship. Yet, something in your cruel and painful heart no longer cared, snapping your wits and patience at your beloved.

“What are you saying?” You’re pacing back and forth, fuming with an inexplicable infuriation. Jaehyun catches your eye, and for a brief moment, you’re holding eye contact with him instead. “Jaehyun is dead,” facing Johnny now, you say words that jumble in your chest, regardless of their true meanings, “and even if he was alive, there would be no competition.”

“Because you were always going to choose him over everyone else in your life, is that right? Exactly like how you do now.” Johnny’s words sting like daggers at your skin, worse than the layer of frost that bites at you for the past two weeks.

“Please, don’t attack me for hurting.” With that, your voice breaks and cracks all over. Your tears hit the ground without you feeling them run down your cheeks.

Johnny is quick to wipe them away, not minding that his hands will now be wet from your salty droplets. He instantly regrets it all, the unwarranted questions, the fighting, the barging in unexpectedly. It pains him more to see you like this.

“I apologize. I’m sorry that I’m not saying the kindest words to you when you need to hear them the most.” Your partner is frowning, a true rare sight to see. “But, you’re still grieving and there is going to have to be a time that you move on.”

It’s one of those tip of the iceberg moments or when the ball finally hits the ground and a rush of cathartic enthusiasm washes over you. However, you’re not happy. You’re not even remotely close to happiness. You’re fucking sad, you’re aching with a pain so deeply rooted that it isolates you, that it rips apart anything that used to bring you joy.

And this causes you to scream your lungs out, sobs that choke you up. “I can’t! You don’t understand, no one understands! I just fucking can’t. He was my best friend and that night… he was going to tell me something.” Jaehyun can’t bear to hear your piercing wails, as he’s disappeared completely from the setting. When you’re panicked and searching for him, you only see Johnny staring back at you with a very concerned expression.

“And I will never know what he wanted to tell me.” Your tone grows soft and rather delicate, like a sad realization at the possibility that the secret died with Jaehyun that night.

“Some things are better left unknown. Do you really think you’ll feel better knowing?”

“Listen to him, y/n.” Jaehyun randomly appears next to Johnny’s stature. He stands a few inches shorter than him, but the sight of them together has you blinking in awe.

You’re darting between the two of them, “I don’t know what will make me feel better.”

“Come, tonight. Your whole family wants to see you for the one holiday that brings people together.” But when Johnny steps forward, you’re taking a step back.

“Please, just go.” With an assertive point to the door, your head does not lift up to watch your boyfriend leave. Despite every person you’ve done this to, Johnny’s hurts the most. His flame dies out tonight, providing no sense of security or heat. And with a toss of his arms of exasperation, he shuts your front door and leaves without a goodbye, without wishing you a merry Christmas.

Jaehyun calls your name, but you’re rushing to your bedroom and slamming the door shut. “Don’t you dare travel through the wall.”

Your apartment has grown so dark due to the shorten winter days. It’s pitch black all around you and the sky is no longer a deafening white. It’s the first time you notice the dark blue scattered clouds and the intricate snowflakes that drift carefully down to the streets. And, you’re all alone in the quietness. You truly are isolated every Christmas.

“y/n, let’s talk.” Jaehyun is beyond fed up with your behavior, that has to be the last straw. This is the first year since his death that he’s seen the evident spark in your eye, the hope that is hiding behind your depression. He sees it in the way Johnny looks at you, like you’re the greatest present he could receive in life. In your proclamation, as hard as it was to witness, is a spirit that wishes to be freed. There was a chance this year. There still is one.

“Jaehyun, you left me! You left all alone, and no matter how hard I try to stop thinking about you, it never works. In the end, no one is here for me like how you were.” Hands in your hair, you’re losing yourself at a rapid rate. It hurts to keep your eyes open, tears sting as they well up around the rims.

“Find a part of me in the people around you.” The door to your bedroom swings open and Jaehyun takes note of you by the window again. You want to leave, you want to be out there and he knows, before you can actually realize it yourself. You’re turning to face him and in the dark, he looks solid. He looks so real and whole.

“How do I do that?” It’s a genuine question that you’ve pondered before, but never feeling like you had the strength to do so. You’re always dwelling on your past with Jaehyun, indulging in the sacred memories only you two shared.

“What are things that you associate me with?” He is found leaning against your door frame again, hands are shoved into the pockets of his faded jeans.

You say the first thing on your mind, “snow.” When the words hit the air, your ceiling light flickers briefly. Jaehyun doesn’t flinch, however, still focused on your crying figure. Snow, the first sign of snowfall is when he appears for the winter.

“What else?” He encourages.

“Familiarity.” The light flashes again, for a mere second longer this time before it resumes darkness. Familiarity, for he grew up by your side for as long as you could remember.

There is an odd feeling that enters the room and you’re fearful of the unknown. But, Jaehyun’s cadence doesn’t falter, he’s not distracted by the random spurts of light. And if anything, it all could be his doing. “Keep going.”

“Comfort.” Flicker. “Warmth. Love. Excitement.” With each word, the light builds stronger and stronger. You’re speaking memories into existence now, “making snow angels until it got dark, laughing until our stomachs hurt, watching movies until the clock struck midnight, dancing until our legs gave out!”

Streams run down your face and you’re yelling until your throat feels raw, but you don’t wish to stop as the light glows brighter and brighter with each spoken word.

As you listen to every listed attribute and memory, you recognize a central theme in all of them and one thing that Jaehyun embodies, the one thing he’s always been associated with.

“Christmas.” A shaky breath exhales and a loud spark pierces your ears. The light illuminates intensely all around you, lighting up the darkest corners of your room and blinding you more than the sky has been lately.

“Jaehyun?” Closing your eyes, you can see the brightness through your eyelids and you’re beyond confused as to what is happening. When you mindlessly reach for his hand, you actually feel it and your heart is soaring due to strange unquestionable physics.

Jaehyun intertwines your hand in his own and caresses your face gently. For once, he doesn’t feel cold. He’s blazing hot, melting away the long days of isolation. “Open your eyes, y/n.”

What lies before you is an incredible, marvelous sight. Snow dusts the roof of your family’s house as green, red, yellow bulbs light the frame of it. Your parents really went all out; round snowmen sit perfectly together on your lawn. A decorative wreath hangs at the front door and a distinct chuckle catches your attention.

From the window that looks into your kitchen, your mother rolls a sheet of dough on the counter as clouds of flour erupt around her. Your father is preoccupied at the stove, with the silliest gimmicks for decorating the feast they’re about to hold. Silver tinsel line the dinner table with a festive table cloth draped upon it. The remarkable tree shines in the center of the living room, a glimmering star on top.

“I know we probably won’t see y/n again this Christmas…” The sound of your mother’s voice rings a bell in your yearning heart and Jaehyun is gazing at you with a wondrous look in his eyes. The grip on his hand is tight, your breath enters the night in puffs of smoke, and regardless of this all being real or imaginary, you’re so immersed in this reality that he knows you’re anticipating what your family has to say.

“... but something about this year really makes me miss them.” Your mother puts the rolling pin off to the side and rests her hand on the kitchen counter, trying to hold back any form of her own tears from falling.

“May Jaehyun watch over them tonight, our little angel doesn’t deserve to be alone.”

Your dad walks over to embrace your mother in a long hug, kissing the top of her head gently. “Merry Christmas, y/n.” Your father speaks into the air, without the knowledge of you outside, he’s thinking of you.

Something in your heart shatters, but it’s entirely different from the pain you’ve felt over the years following Jaehyun’s death. It’s a warm, bubbly feeling that spreads across your chest and you’re covering your mouth out of pure shock at the sight of your parents.

Your parents, who you’ve neglected every holiday season, still think of you. You recognize the ingredients that scatter the table, they make your favorite dish every year in hopes you’ll come join them.

Jaehyun whispers, “y/n, know that I’m always going to be here. I may physically be gone, but I live in your heart and the joyous memories we’ve shared together. I live through the many people who love you now, through Christmas. This spirit is also very much alive in the other people around you.”

When you peel your eyes from the scene of your parents, the vision suddenly disappears and you’re facing Jaehyun right back in your cold, empty, dark apartment. But you wish the moment lasted a little longer. For the first time in a long time, you wish to be with your loved ones. You wish to celebrate Christmas with the people who still care about you, the ones that are still alive and well.

“What if I’m not ready?”

“This signifies my final push down the hill. You’re all strapped up in your knee pads, y/n. You’re never truly going to be ready, but that shouldn’t stop you from trying.” Jaehyun pats your head lovingly and mimics the motions of securing a helmet on your head.

You’re letting go of his hand, running around quickly in search for the appropriate outerwear for the snow. It’s like a switch went off in your heart and a cathartic feeling settles in the pit of your stomach.

Every Christmas since his passing, you thought it was best to be alone. You thought it was selfish to live your favorite holiday season without your best friend, that you lost the spirit of Christmas.

However, this entire time… Jaehyun’s ghost has been a reminder that the Christmas spirit has always been alive. It’s not about the enthusiastic festive events or the cheerful themed activities or the distinct colorful decorations, it’s about the appreciation and love you have for the people who have made your year so special. You’ve associated the holiday so much with your best friend, that you’ve lost sight of it in your family, your current friends, your own boyfriend.

When you’re rushing out the door, you stop in your tracks and peer back at Jaehyun leaning against your door frame, just as he appeared a few weeks ago. He has the warmest, brightest smile on his face, “y/n, I think I finally remember the secret I wanted to tell you.” You’re afraid of the answer and the outside world, but your hand doesn’t slip from the door handle. Could it really be? The long anticipated secret that has been gnawing at your conscience since his death?

Nevertheless, he’s giggling and holding his stomach slightly from the immense amount of joyous laughter. “I wanted to tell you that I... finally learned how to shave.”

At first, you’re stunned at the simplicity of the beheld secret. All this time, you thought it had been something so meaningful, something so mind blowing, that needing to know practically destroyed your mental state. Then, a wholehearted and genuine laugh erupts from inside of you and you’re lighting up the darkest parts of yourself. Jaehyun looks at you fondly, like a beauty that he hasn’t seen in awhile.

“That’s fucking it? You came out in the middle of a blizzard to tell me you learned how to shave? How lame.”

Jaehyun chuckles, “when did I ever need an extremely valid reason to see you?” The laughter falls short at his confession and in the midst of all this enthusiasm, you bid him the softest smile. His purpose has been fulfilled, as the best version of you he’s always known and loved stands before him at last.

“I guess... you’re right. What’s going to happen to you now?”

“I’ll always be here for Christmas, even when you’re old and grey surrounded by the warmth of your loved ones in front of a large, extravagant Christmas tree. When the snow falls, I’ll be here.” Jaehyun’s dimple smile is the lasting image you see, the one you’ve always hoped to remember him by.

“Merry Christmas, Jung Jaehyun… I--”

“Love you too, y/n. Merry Christmas.” He ushers you out the door with a small kiss on your knuckles.

That is the last time you ever see him again. Now, when the snow falls, it marks the anniversary of your long awaited healing, the journey to acceptance, and the beloved memory of your best friend. May you never lose the spirit of Christmas and the warmth from your loved ones.

#nct scenarios #neowritingsnet #nct-writers #neothestars #kpopscape #nct scenario #nct #jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun #jung jaehyun #nct fluff #nct angst #nct imagines #jung jaehyun scenarios #jaehyun scenario

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aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Musings of Thanatos

Characters: Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,640

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, in depth conversation surrounding death

Premise: In which the reader doesn’t want to grow old.

Author’s Note: I’m going to reiterate that this is a fic talking about death and a character that, regardless of capacity, actively wishes to die young. I hope that for some people this fic can bring catharsis but if you aren’t sure that you can handle this then please don’t read it. I know that it can be like “lol I can read it” when the back half of your brain is screaming at you not to. This time you should listen to that part of your brain. I am not going to pretend that this doesn’t have the potential to be incredibly triggering. Not only if you experience suicidal ideation but if you’re afraid of death. I think it might cause a very visceral reaction.

And if you feel similarly to the reader then let me tell you, I understand. I can understand the future being completely terrifying, I can understand not wanting to stick around. But though I understand I still urge you to give the future a chance. Happiness might only come in glimpses now, but I promise it will come again in the future. There are moments in life that are euphoric, and everything except death can be changed.

That being said, I hope whoever’s reading this can find something out of this fic. Please enjoy

Zhongli

“Zhongli, do you ever wish you were mortal?”

The day was a lazy one in Liyue, the calm after the storm. Glaze lilies waved gently in the breeze. Soon they would show their petals, gently gracing the evening with their presence before once again closing their buds to the sun. Then again, these were only the glaze lilies that had managed to survive. The others has disappeared slowly, becoming more and more rare. You had only seen one real glaze lily once. It was gone after a day.

“I suppose I’ve never thought of it my love. I cannot really imagine a mortal life. I suppose it would have some advantages. Yet I think everything has their place in the world. I would make a poor mortal as I am now.”

“If you say so.”

“Why do you ask?”

He was beautiful, your lover. Even now, having seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, not a strand of hair on his head was shot through with grey. Of course time had wrought change on him; even from standing far away there was an aura about him that was somewhat untouchable. If fate had deemed to keep him statuesque, then surely it had also put the distant darkness into his eyes, had molded his features into a mask through which one could see a deity tired of seeing so much life. Nevertheless you had to envy him. For surely he wielded a stronger hand than you had been dealt.

“I don’t know. I just, it’s been on my mind.”

“What has been on your mind?”

“What it means to grow up. I mean, you’ve never experienced it. Not really, not the way we do. Growing up, it’s terrifying. You look at all the people walking down the street, the old people I mean. They’re all… wrinkly!”

You had to laugh, a bitter, sharp sort of sound. Indeed how they did look strange. Bones and muscles twisted like branches of a tree, knobs visible in the guise of liver spots and still joints. Their faces, how terrifying their faces were. You always found it odd when someone called an old person beautiful. You weren’t sure you had ever seen one who fit the definition. Rather, it was like looking upon an utterly different sort of people, a transformation that you knew one day you would have to undergo. When you emerged, it would be like a butterfly shifting back into a caterpillar. There would be no going back.

“Perhaps they are, but it is a sign of old age. Of wisdom. Humans who grow old, they are survivors.”

There was a hint of displeasure in Zhongli’s voice. Not that you could blame him. It was quite heretical to insult the old, surely even more so to one who would never experience such a thing. Then again, perhaps that was why he could act that way. He would never know.

“Maybe; but all the wisdom in the world couldn’t prepare me for growing old. I mean, who wants to be around an old person? Who wants to be an old person? You can’t do anything for yourself anymore, you’re basically a baby again. Except this time there’s nothing to look forward to.”

“My love, surely there are many things to look forward to in old age. The knowledge that one has gained, the ability to look back on the past. Those who you have grown to love will gather around you. Above all, when one has grown old one finally has been granted the privilege to rest, to think, to do what one wishes.”

“Is that why you gave up your gnosis?”

The wind rustled your hair slightly as you gazed at your partner. There was no reply to your question, but then again you weren’t expecting one. There were just some things too painful to speak of, some things that you couldn’t understand. Just as there were things your partner couldn’t understand, the things you were trying to explain to him now.

“Anyways, I’m not sure if any of those things are worth growing old for. Worth becoming immobile and forgetful and ill for. Honestly, I’m not sure if I ever would like to grow old.”

“Well you will one day, my love. Such is the nature of time.”

“Well I wish time would stop, or better yet that something would come and put me out of commission before then.”

Silence again. You had made an error, or perhaps you were simply seeing the natural reaction to your declaration. You loved Zhongli’s eyes, the way they glowed and shifted and reflected the light. They were almost dragon-like, not that you had ever seen a dragon before. Now, however, they seemed muddied, bogged down. It was as if you’d thrown muddy water on them, and now you were seeing the natural consequence.

“Do not speak that way.”

“Why not? It’s what I think.”

“Then I hope that you soon change your mind. Even if you cannot see the merit in growing older now, to react so… violently. It is alarming.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ll ever experience this, this fear. You’ll never wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing. You’ll never have to hear your mind scream in fear of ageing. You’ll never have to think about the years stretching in front of you, each a painful sentence of pain. You’ll never have to think about losing your mind to age.”

A pause. There was a frown slashed across your lover’s face. It looked entirely out of place.

“What would you want then, my love, if you could have it?”

“I would like to be young forever, like you.”

“Would you really? Would you want to see person after person die, while you can only watch? Would you like to exist isolated from those you love? My darling, even love is dangerous when you are destined to eternity. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of, of when the inevitable will happen. When I will once more wait for the end of eternity.”

“If I were like you, then you wouldn’t have to think of that.”

“If you were like me then you simply wouldn’t be as you are. Why is it that mortals are so much more prone to action, so much more emotional and bright and determined? It is their very mortality. Death is what creates authors and artists and the great heroes upon which we rely. A life without them, it would be a very drab world indeed.”

“So you want others to suffer for your own good?”

“Do you think that the way out is to ask for death my love? Truly? The death of a human is the death of a universe. Would you throw that universe away to be remember as young, whatever that may mean? Would you give up the ability to see, to feel, to think, to exist? My darling, if you truly think it is worth it then let me convince you otherwise.”

It was warm, the world. The world was burning up and you were stuck, staring into the eyes of the person you most loved.

“I don’t know.”

“Then don’t say these things, even in jest. I, I cannot understand it. It frightens me a great deal.”

“Why? I’m just, I don’t know. It shouldn’t bug you that much, I mean, I’m not about to go jumping into the sea or anything.”

“Today perhaps, and tomorrow too? If you truly were only saying these things in jest, would you be so firm in your questions and in your arguments?”

Too many questions, he was asking too many questions. They made your head swirl and throb as you tried to wrap your brain around them.

“I don’t know. I just, it, it scares me.”

“More than death? More than the annihilation of your senses and your thoughts? I realize that you are experiencing a fear that I myself will never carry. My burden and yours are opposites, they will never intersect, except perhaps to think about what the other will do when time eventually shows itself. Yet, my love, I cannot help but feel that, when that comes to pass, it will be better to have experienced age, to have experienced every phase of life, every moment that you possible can, than to be stuck in someone’s memory. We glorify the young dead, we do not remember them.”

It felt odd to crumple to his arguments, perhaps it was only momentary. He hadn’t explained anything particularly well, hadn’t been able to cross the divide between the two of you. Perhaps it was how awfully old he looked in that moment, how he seemed to age a thousand years, so much you could almost imagine him hunched over and grey and wrinkled. Maybe he did know more about age then you thought he did.

Besides, you couldn’t leave him, or Liyue. Not truly. And if that was only your survival instinct kicking in then it was doing a damn good job of it.

Slowly the roaring of the cicadas was replaced with a chorus of crickets. The glaze lilies turned their pale faces towards the light of the moon. Laying your head down in Zhongli’s lap you studied your lover’s face, trying to piece together the strange conversation that had soaked up all other conversation. As if reading your thoughts Zhongli’s eyes met you. Though a smile still refused to breach his expression, he leaned in to bring his hand to your cheek. You relished the warm of shared connection.

Maybe none of this would last the night, maybe tomorrow you would think the same thing you had before. But right now you very much wanted to stay. And right now was all that mattered.

#genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli #genshin impact fanfiction #oneshot #my writing

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lovee-infected · 3 years

Note

The saddest thing about humans and fairies is fairies will always outlive humans and fairies will always remember. Yuu: I would grow with you. However we're changing. I'll be with you always. Malleus: You swore that you would go with me ,Yuu! And you said you'd be here tomorrow! You've always had my love and ... since that's not enough... Where you are going, let me follow... (1)

Dawww I do remember this!! I've been really into Greek mythology over the past few years and Homer's lliad had always been one of my favorites!

You know- as a matter of fact that's something I indirectly referred too when I talked about the dark side of Malleus x reader. The thing is, the plot is technically Malleus x human and the immortal x mortal imbalance is kinda...depressing. The main thing I noticed is hoe most of the writers (including me) use nicknames such as 'child of man' or 'human child' or 'precious little human' when Malleus is trying to refer to (y/n) and honestly, we can't really find a replacement for this 'child of man' themed nicknames because they're somewhat of a Malleus-only thing but at the same time it's so adorable and sweet.

(y/n) is often considered to be Yuu in Malleus x reader fics and the dynamics are awfully beautiful and lovely. I know not many often see the dark side of this sweetness since 1) It's just fanfic & 2) The point is often getting to enjoy this cute romantic moments with Malleus in present and not the future, so that isn't much of a problem! Unless you think about the dynamics too deeply-

www this reminds me, I once wrote an angsty Malleus thingy I never finished because- it got too dark and I felt like I couldn't write anymore sooo- here we are!

But here's a small summary of what it was mainly about so, undercut because- ahhhhh

Warning(s): Major character death, angsty themes, dark themes, fem! reader

This is just the small summary of an old wip!

(y/n) is a mortal and the new Queen of Valley of thorns, Malleus's wife. They have a newborn daughter named Melrose, a beautiful fae child with dark hair, pale skin and her mother's (e/c) eyes. Several years pass and Malleus is living his best life ever with the one and only love of his life and their beloved daughter, unaware of a bitter truth: (y/n) is aging.

Soon enough, (y/n) breaks down, realizing that her life is coming to an end while her dearest Melrose is still a baby. To think that she'd soon be leaving Malleus and Melrose forever...without even getting a chance to see Melrose grow up and turn into the fair princess she always wished her to be.

Soon as (y/n) passes away, Malleus breaks, the one only thing Malleus can hold on to now is his daughter, your greatest gift to him. He cares and loves her more than anything in the world as she's the very last person he's got by his side, therefore he becomes overly protective; to the point of never letting Melrose leave the castle.

Melrose craves to see the world outside of his father's dark castle more than anything else, of course he does love his father and understands his pain and frustration after her mother passed away, yet... It doesn't hold her back from seeking a way out of these walls each and everyday.

One day, young princess, who is now a well-grown lady finally gets a chance to discover the world outside of this eternal cage, but it doesn't really go as expected; because young princess secretly gets to meet someone.

Melrose has been on her own all over her life, and the stranger she unexpectedly got to meet is the very first alive being she's talked to in years.

Princess slowly begins to become overly attached to her secret friend, to the point of going against his father's word and secretly leaving the castle at night just to meet the creature she desires.

Soon enough, Malleus realized the sudden change in Melrose's behavior, she look quite lively and...happy. Nothing could make his cold heart any happier than Melrose's smile does, he becomes lowkey curious to discover what the reason behind this beautiful happiness might be, but the answer is nothing he could be the least happy about: Melrose has fallen in love.

The bitterness and Malleus held after (y/n)'s death is brought back to him and all of a sudden, the fae can feel shiver running down his spine.

To think that Melrose, his one and only daughter and all that is left for him after these years would one day go through the same pain as him, all because of craving and needing another creature...

Malleus just can't let that happen, no, he just can't lose Melrose after he lost you.

He forbids her from leaving the castle and meeting that human ever again, just to meet her daughter's painful begs and cries.

She reminds her father of you, everything you once used to tell her about how you met Malleus and fell for him when he was going through the most desperate and loneliest moments of his entire life, just like what Melrose is going through now.

Malleus is terrified, on one hand, Melrose's words did shake his heart a bit, reminding him of each and every second he had beside you. Your secret meetings at ramshackle dorm, those glamorous seconds spent under the light of fireflies at the dead of the night. All of a sudden, he totally understands what Melrose is going through and hoe she's feeling, but at the same time, he's even more terrified of this now.

Melrose is going to end up just like him, even if he ever agreed to let go of her daughter after all these years, then what would he be turned into?

The pain, the isolation, the loneliness. If Melrose too leaves him he'd end up being just as isolated and feared as the witch of thorns herself.

He thought he'd found a way to change his fate... he thought falling for you had finally saved him from turning into the moster he's always been afraid of becoming.

Malleus is scared, bitter and confused, lost in the thoughts without knowing what is right and what is wrong anymore.

All he ever wanted was to be saved from his loneliness, but if he listens to Melrose's desires and allows her to find the happiness and love she deserves to feel, is he just to give in to that isolation and pain he'd always feared by his own will..?

#answered #twst #twisted wonderland #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #tw/angst #Ahhh and I'm depressed again 💫💫💫#twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #wip #tw/death

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Fallen From Grace. Yan Giorno x Reader [COMM]

Giorno has given you too many gifts to count.

This benevolent act serves multiple purposes, culminating towards the goal of making your time here better. He doesn’t shy away from the reality of what he’s doing to you, the extent of your loneliness after being displaced. Forcing himself to remember this bitter truth keeps him from getting complacent, striving to make your experience all the better.

No detail is to be overlooked. In what little free time Giorno has, he molds your surroundings to your liking. The meals that are planned for you consist of high nutritional value, often rotating your favorites with only the best ingredients and chefs to prepare them. Your wardrobe is full of outfits tailored to your measurements and tastes. Rare and ethereal flowers span across the master bedroom you share with Giorno, him creating them with the purpose of soothing you.

For all this effort, Giorno never has an expectation for your gratitude. He doesn’t believe he deserves it, having stolen you from your normal life. He’s the reason for the tear soaked pillows, the restless nights and detached demeanor you’ve adopted. Whether it’s to ease the guilt that suffocates his heart, or to see your eyes light up for only a moment, Giorno tends to you.

This custom, handmade journal is one he gave you at the start of your time here. With you receiving limited human interaction, Giorno found it important for you to have a way to express your thoughts. While you were initially antagonistic towards him about the journal, you began to use it. He lets you hide it from him, letting you believe it’s out of his reach for peace of mind.

Ironic as it may sound, Giorno respected you by never laying a finger on it. The overwhelming temptation of learning his beloved’s most inner thoughts isn’t lost on him. He could read it and place it back to its original spot without you being none the wiser. For months, he made a point in refusing this alluring idea.

That is, until this very second.

Sitting on his dark mahogany desk, is the journal that contains your private thoughts and experiences. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, a soft sigh leaving his lips. Leaning further into his chair, he gives more thought to the situation. The forbidden fruit lays before him, ready to give knowledge he shouldn’t have.

There’s a grander reason for this dilemma. When spending time with you, Giorno is keen to pick up every nuance of your behavior. It’s a trait of his that has followed him since childhood. Every twitch of your mouth or hesitation in your voice paints a larger picture. He’s capable of reading you, knowing your thoughts before you even know them yourself. This often works out in his favor.

But lately, when he speaks to you, something feels different. In a way that doesn’t make sense. You still hold apparent dislike for him, but you avoid eye contact less. There’s a sense of underlying assurance, like you’re privy to information that he isn’t. It gets under his skin, eating him from the inside out.

No longer do you threaten him with bitter words, detailing your resentment towards him. You seem content to sit in his presence, talking casually about what you’ve done that day and asking him the same. He won’t lie and say he doesn’t like the development. But his gut tells him there’s a malicious intent laced in your new behavior.

What are you hiding from him?

The realm of possibilities is few and far between, and Giorno considers every possibility. None of his theories placate a voice in his head, a gnawing that something is very wrong. Talking to you and asking questions laced with hidden agendas has led to no discoveries, options growing limited to discover the truth.

Running his fingertips over the spine of your journal, he gingerly opens to the first page. It’s a dirty feeling to be doing this, invading your privacy behind your back. He’s done worse for the sake of your well being, the justification spurring him to continue on to the next page. It contains your first entry.

“I didn’t want to write this. Putting the words into paper almost feels like I’m accepting the reality of what’s happening to me, this parody of a life. I don’t have much else to do to pass the time.

Even my hobbies bring me little joy, knowing who set them up for me like a doll in a dollhouse. Focusing is another thing entirely. How can I focus knowing I’m always being monitored to some degree? Even as I write this, I wonder who’s watching me.

In the past, when I felt anxious, I’d write. And well… anxiety is the heartbeat of my life now. Everyday I wake up, more numb than the last. All I look forward to is when I’ll sleep next. At least then I don’t have to feel anything, I can just exist without trying. There’s nothing else for me to say.”

He knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Giorno’s lips curl down into a frown, his eyebrows furrowing and stomach dropping. Seeing the depths of your pain so tangible, in your own words, kills a piece of his soul. It’d be an insult to you to waver now, he thinks, resolve staying firm. Not wanting to invade your privacy more than necessary, he skims through more entries in hopes of finding any leads on your current behavior.

“It’s already been three months since I’ve begun living here, if you can even call it that. I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards. I like to think of it as a little game. They’re good, I give them that. But when you have nothing to do, living in a house with no noise, it grows easier to listen. To notice things I wouldn’t have before.

Maybe I’m going stir crazy. I don’t like knowing how I’m being monitored, but I’ve grown accustomed to it. I hate to admit how he was right , when he said I’d grow accommodated to this with time. I don’t want to. I don’t want to learn to live like this. But I can’t stop it. Resisting the inevitable is a pointless waste of energy, which I hardly have anymore.”

Giorno picks up on your lack of mentioning him by name. In most of your entries, you avoid even insinuating to his existence when possible. It’s a cold sensation, knowing who he loves most omits him at every chance. He understands -- it’s what he deserves after putting you through this isolation -- yet the complex hurt remains prevalent. Every word stingers more than the last.

He soldiers on, searching through more entries.

“I wonder if they’re allowed to talk to me. When I call out to the occasional shadow, or creak in a room beside me, there’s no response. But I know they’re here, I’ve seen him giving them orders in the past when I pretend to sleep. It’s always in hushed whispers, as if anything they say could surprise me.

I just want to talk to someone. Someone that isn’t him. Someone that doesn’t avoid my gaze like everyone else here. It makes me feel like I’m a disgusting sight to behold, even though I know why they look away. The guilt from witnessing what they do, outweighed by their longing for money. I hate it. It makes me hate them. At least look at me, like I’m a human.

They’re spineless cowards. All of them. Disgusting subhumans that take a paycheck over my suffering. I hate them so much, almost more than I hate him.”

Giorno freezes, noticing small crinkles in the paper towards the end of this entry. Signs that you must’ve been crying, he deduces. God. He wants to tell himself that it’s worse than he thought, but that’d be a lie. All along he’s been aware of the great extents of your suffering, all pointing back to him.

Running a hand through his hair, loose from its normal styling, Giorno wonders if he should stop now. Every word is like a nail in the coffin of his heart, paining him in more ways he thought possible. Making difficult decisions has come as second nature to him, so he preserves on.

“Yesterday was my birthday. What a shitty thing to realize. I got a lot of things. More than I ever had gotten before. More offline games, clothes, perfume, shoes, jewelry, and even a painting. By the looks of it I think it’s rare, but who gives a fuck.

An interesting development occurred. One of my guards, if that’s what you’d even call them, approached me. He had just gotten off the phone, and informed me that my plans for the day were going to be different. Apparently the big boss got held up at work, so he wouldn’t be joining me for dinner.

Am I supposed to be upset about that? Well, I certainly wasn’t. Who cares. Seeing him would just make me feel worse. I hate how out of control I feel like he’s around. I almost find myself forgetting about all he’s done, when he speaks to me so calmly. Just thinking about it makes me feel dirty, like I should shower.

I didn’t see a point in responding at first. But eventually, I spoke up before the guard could leave. I asked him why he was okay with this, what he sees everyday. He didn’t offer a response. But I noticed something. His breath hitched, I’m sure of it.

Maybe there is another human being in this pseudo-prison after all.”

A painful reminder of the past. It did hurt him at the time to have to miss out on an important day with you, even though Giorno was self aware to know his presence brought you little comfort. There had been emergency phone calls over an attack from former Passione members, retaliating for losing drug related income.

The timing of it was awful, just thinking back to it reminds Giorno of the impatience he felt then. Hours were spent personally dealing with cleaning up what had happened, meaning he wasn’t able to see you as was originally planned. Orders were given back home to inform you of this change, though it’s now evident it impacted Giorno more than you.

The last section piques his interest. You felt you had noticed guilt in one of the guards? The pool of men that Giorno had carefully sifted through are no strangers to witnessing barbaric acts. Such is the life of a gangster. In your state of heightened emotions, there’s a possibility you could’ve imagined it.

The journal goads him to continue, unraveling the mysteries of your heart.

“I’ve gotten better at spotting the guards.

I can’t believe something like this is exciting to me, but it is these days. It’s kinda funny in a pathetic way, watching as they shrink back when I spot them. The guard from before is the one I recognize the most. I pretended to be hurt, and he came out of the shadows to check on me.

I guess he wasn’t expecting me to turn around looking fine after my acting, because he didn’t leave right away. Before he got the chance, I asked what his name is. He sighed, probably relieved that he wouldn’t have to report to his boss about me being harmed. He said his name is Marco.

At that point, it was my turn to be surprised. I guess he was too, given the slip up. I must confess, it felt nice talking to someone. It’s been so long since I’ve heard another person’s voice. He went to walk away soon after, but I stopped him. It’s not like they can use force to get rid of me, so why the hell not?

I told him I was bored and wanted someone to talk to. And, for some reason… he stayed.”

Giorno rereads this passage multiple times, scrutinizing it. So you managed to speak to one of the guards he assigned to watch over you? When he was recruiting within Passione for the position, he made expectations explicitly clear. They were not to interact with you unless an emergency calls for it. And if they felt the situation called for it, they needed to report it back to Giorno.

Your safety is paramount in his eyes. Regardless of this being a minor grievance, this guard will be punished accordingly for breaking the rules Giorno set. All of them were put in place knowing that if you grew connected to someone and they you, possibilities of insubordination would blossom.

The dates on the pages are getting closer to the current day, not many more entries left.

“Marco and I have been speaking more frequently.

He gave me a rough idea of the conditions in which we can talk, only in certain blind spots and times where other guards aren’t around as often. I wish it wasn’t so complicated. In our rushed conversations, I’ve learned more about him. I didn’t really think I would get all that invested in this person, since he’s stood by and watched my situation for a while now.

But now it makes a bit more sense. He told me that his little sister is unwell, having to practically live in a hospital room. That this dirty job is the only one that can cover the full expenses, and that without it she wouldn’t last. I can’t say that I forgive him entirely yet, but… I guess I can sympathize. I wish there was more I could do to help.

Her name is Lucia. One of the times we talked Marco told me she’s the strongest person he knows, staying dedicated to her studies despite having waning strength. She’s a few years younger than me, but I think we’d have gotten along well. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to leave this place, but I wish I could meet her one day.

Having him to talk to is nice.”

Ah... so that’s what it is then.

Unpleasant emotions rise within, feelings that Giorno long thought were gone. Times before when you were speaking freely with your friends, laughing among them and living your life to the fullest. Those times were he wanted nothing more than to join you, to have you by his side and share in the experience. His position shot down any hopes of that, the possibility of endangering you deterring him.

It was a painful time. Knowing that what he wanted was close and yet so painfully far, just out of his reach. Giorno wanted you to look at him like that, mirth in your eyes and a smile on your lips. To enjoy outings to the movies like you did with your friends, to have inside jokes and memories to fondly look back on.

Envy doesn’t begin to describe the hideous feeling that permeates within him. Giorno’s grasp on your journal feels weaker, fingers shaking as he flips to the next page. Predator-like intent shines on his visage, emerald eyes narrowed and grip tightening. Not typically one to dwell on what could’ve been, it’s rare Giorno would feel like this. He makes the most out of every situation, his resolve unwavering and sights set on a single goal.

You throw all of it into a loop, his normal composure a long forgotten memory.

“Today I played a game of checkers with Marco.

I think he was letting me win, but it was fun nonetheless. Apparently one of the normal guards was tending to business elsewhere, so we had more time together. He’s kind, kinder than I would’ve ever expected. When we’re together I just forget about everything other than the present moment.

For once, I don’t feel like a prisoner all on my lonesome. I don’t notice the heavy ring on my finger, the suffocating air of this villa that I despise. It’s just us, cracking jokes and learning about one another. It’s what I look forward to the most, what I hold onto even when Marco isn’t around. It makes me feel human again. Like I’m not [First] Giovanna, but entirely myself.

Smiling comes a lot more naturally these days. I can even find myself stomaching his presence easier, though I still don’t like when he’s around. As long as he doesn’t find out about Marco and I, I feel like I can get through this. Everyday I change the location of this journal, within the expanses of this mansion.

I still wish there was more I could do to help Lucia. I suggested giving Marco some of this stupid jewelry to pawn off, but he said it’s too risky. It’s surreal to know even pawnshops in Italy are fiercely loyal to Passione’s Don, and would be too hesitant to purchase his wife’s jewelry in fear of retaliation.

Having all this wealth surround me feels like a waste when I know there’s someone who could actually use it. As much as I don’t like the thought, maybe I could convince Giorno to help Marco somehow. I have a few ideas but they’re probably all too risky. He does always tell me, ‘If you ever want anything in this world, tell me.’

I want to help Lucia. I want to help Marco, who I’ve found myself caring for.

I’ve never asked Giorno for anything really. I don’t know how to propose it without making him suspicious--”

Giorno can’t stand to read it anymore.

Closing the book and placing it down, he steeples his fingers together. It takes a great deal of effort to frustrate him, normal composure melting away. Is it betrayal? Hurt? Jealousy? Everything wraps around his person, the air in his office feeling thick. Loosening the tie around his neck, he takes a much needed deep breath.

A flash of your smile from earlier this evening at dinner comes to mind. You called him by his name, maintaining eye contact and asking about his day. Lulled into a false sense of security, wanting to believe nothing more than the farce unfolding before him. Of course you didn’t love him back. He was a fool to have deluded himself into believing that.

At his fingertips is his phone. With a single phone call, he could command the world to fall. To have this guard who failed him tortured in the worst ways imaginable, experiencing hell on earth. Or to even join Passione’s former boss in a never ending cycle of death, that stretches the lengths of eternity.

So many possibilities. Yet none of them would soothe the agony of his heart. Completely and utterly alone once more, like his earlier days. Requited love was all but an illusion, a fog that has now been lifted.

Giorno purses his lips, considering. Fingers drum against his desk, the sound reverberating across the empty room. Grabbing a hold of his phone, he calls upon someone who could help him deal with this traitor appropriately. A message must be sent, he thinks, that will set the tone within the organization. It will hurt you to lose this newfound companion, but it’s a sacrifice he is willing to make. It’s not like you need to know the details either.

The phone rings. Once, twice. Before his second in command on the other line picks up.

“Yo, Giorno? You’re calling pretty late,” Mista’s voice is chipper as ever, the distant sound of music playing in the background. “Everything alright?”

Getting up from his chair, he walks over to the window that overlooks his garden. His beloved wife walks among the paths, bending down and inspecting a rose. Giorno remembers when he turned an object into that very flower, how your dull eyes lit up at the awe inspiring sight.

This is ultimately all for you, he reminds himself.

“Yes, everything is fine. Are you free at the moment? I have a job for you.”

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bloodyspade0000 · 3 years

Text

30-day knb challenge: Day 1- Favorite Male character

↳ Haizaki Shougo

I am not justifying Haizaki's behaviour. I think he needs a tall glass of respect woman juice and therapy. This is just meant to explain why he is my favourite character and help you better understand him as a character. Do not send hate or take my words out of context. You will be reported, deleted and cancelled. Thank you and enjoy. :)

My favourite character is Haizaki Shougo *dodges tomatoes* a lot of people in the fandom hate this guy for many reasons. It's kind of funny how many people hate him and the amount of hate he gets just for existing. Like bruh; he's sixteen, leave him alone. 😂

His whole existence is just sad. He was literally created to be hated.

Like straight up, Tadatoshi Fujimaki even admitted that he hated Haizaki. Haizaki's sole purpose of existing is to make the Generation of Miracles look better even though they’re just as problematic as he. No one is fucking perfect and is about time people woke the fuck up and realized it. Your faves are problematic move the fuck on.

Yes, the Miracles are redeemable but so is Haizaki. Yet, unlike the Miracles, he does not get redeemable. No, he disappears and is never seen again. Like bitch, what the fuck!? if you’re gonna introduce a character to only have them disappear for a long time and either have them show up again or just never mention them again. Wasting the potential they had to be a very good character or not having them redeem themselves while the other characters who were just as fucking problematic get a fucking redemption arc because they’re fucking main characters!? What’s the point of that character even existing in the first place? What kind of bullshit is that? Just to have them exist to make the main characters look good? How the fuck does that make sense? Like where is my Haizaki redemption arc? Do I have to write it on my own? I will write it. I am writing one.

Haizaki is the only character I could relate to. Being second best, struggling to find somewhere to fit in and overshadowed and replaced by someone everyone thinks is better than you. It's fucking depressing, okay? You spend your whole life thinking you’re not good enough, and it hurts. I don't feel like going too deep into it because I don't owe you a detailed explanation of my trauma, okay?. So I'll save that for my fics where I self-project half of it onto Haizaki. It’s a coping mechanism, okay? Therapy is fucking expensive.

The anime ruined his whole character, got rid of his whole arc and shorted it down, and made him worse than he really is.

A post explaining how the anime did him dirty and goes more in-depth about his character

I am not trying to justify his actions, i.e. him manhandling Alex and beating Himura up. He does terrible shit. We all do lousy shit sometimes, but that doesn't make us bad people. Making mistakes is a part of being human, and we're supposed to hold people accountable for their actions and help them realize what they’re doing is wrong, allowing them to grow and change. Not condemn them and ostracize them, which leads to isolation and a lot of psychological trauma and self-hatred, and as someone who has dealt with—is still dealing with all three. It is not fun. It makes living painful. Highly unrecommended.

Haizaki does not have a positive role model in his life nor anybody he can turn to, everyone has already given up on him. Even Nijimura and Kuroko didn’t even try to help him, being more focused on the Miracles. (Yes, I know kuroko tried to stop him from throwing his basketball shoes away, but that doesn’t fucking count because after that Kuroko just gave up on Haiazki too). Haizaki has probably grown grew up knowing only violence and not a single ounce of kindness, turning him into the bitter and angry little boy he is.

Haizaki had so much potential. But instead of making him a great villain that potential was WASTED on fucking Kise.

Also, the Kaijo vs Seirin match in the winter cup was completely useless because Kise already got redeemed and he literally got no character development from it.

And Seirin was gonna fucking win anyways because duh thier the main characters. 🙄

Now some headcanons I think about a lot:

1. He gets abused. Some psychological behavioural consequences of child abuse are unhealthy sexual practices and juvenile delinquency, and Haizaki exhibits all three which are some external behaviours of most (NOT ALL) male abuse victims. Haizaki's a womanizer, aggressive, hostile and violent. Yet, he backs down when someone stronger than him comes around and puts him in his place i.e. Aomine and Nijimura.

a factsheet explaining the long term consequences of child abuse and neglect

How to help a friend dealing with family abuse or neglect

How to Handle Abuse

2. He's a victim. And when you're a victim, you either become angry and cynical with everything and everyone around you, swearing never to be a victim again and struggle with gaining back control of your life. Not wanting anyone to see you being vulnerable because being vulnerable makes you weak. Being weak makes you shatter. You always shatter like glass, cutting yourself every time you pick up broken pieces, watching as blood trickles through your fingers.

Your body is constantly on high alert. The default is flight or fight—survival to the fittest.

Or you bite your lip and keep your head down, bottling everything inside and looking for escapes or seeking validation. You want to be wanted and loved because you struggle with loving and accepting yourself. There's always a voice in the back of your head telling you, you're not good enough or that it's your fault. That everything is your fault. Self-hatred and self-doubt are your tormentors.

Or it's a combination between both—a constant struggle.

And I believe Haizaki portrays both from the way he acts and presents himself. Especially since his motto is literally "Survival of the fittest,” and he had once told Kuroko, " there are bad guys and then the really scary people," or something along those lines, which I believe he is talking from experience. You learn from your experiences. They either make you or break you.

3. He's touch-starved.

What Does It Mean to Be Touch Starved?

4. He's bisexual and has a lot of internalized homophobia. I can just feel his internalized homophobia rolling off of him. Bruh, I just know cuz I am bisexual, and I have struggled with internalized homophobia and still sadly struggle with it cuz I grew up surrounded by homophobic people.

I still live with them. 😭

Also, we live in a society that thinks straight is the default.

What internalized homophobia is.

5. His sexual awakening was probably Aomine or Kise. Could be both 😂?

6. He cries himself to sleep every night.

7. He's observant and a great judge of character. It's a fact. This guy literally predicted the downfall of the Miracles. Straight up warned Kuroko too. Too bad Kuroko didn't listen to him.

8. He's hilarious. When he first appeared in the manga, he literally called Himura a loser, lol. XD

9. He's a closeted softie and a total tsundere.

10. doesn't know how to react to kindness and will think you're threatening him or will feel really awkward and uncomfortable but will cover it up with his scowl, or he'll have a breakdown.

11. needs a lot of reassurance and head pats

12. swears a lot. Has no filter.

13. His bother is in the yakuza or some high position of power, and he feels inferior to him. It also explains why Haizaki gets away with things because he would have been kicked out of school if his bother wasn't either-or. I'm talking about his bother being in the yakuza, lol. XD

14. He and Momoi dated for a while but broke up on a mutual understanding that thier relationship just didn't work out. They're best friends and hang out sometimes.

15. Haizaki's good with kids and just genuinely likes them. He would be a great father and try his best to raise his kids right.

16. He gets sick really easily

17. He's clingy

18. He has no friends, mainly because he doesn't want people to get close to him because he's afraid of getting hurt again. Also, everyone in knb hates him.

19. He watches cartoons cuz he was never allowed to watch them when he was a kid. His childhood is trash, okay?

20. He hides in the closet because that's where he feels safe the most—rhetorically and literally.

21. Sleep-deprived and only runs on caffeine and spite.

List of fics that portray Haizaki better than the anime:

Heavy is the head by extrastellar

Idle Hands by DarkWoods

Another Chance by regretting my username_ (777imou_offline367)

What Matters is that We're Together by StrawFairy

06:00:00 of Haizaki Shougo (4) by ReiClien

This Is Happening by SharkGirl

What is Love by voices_in_my_head

A completely uncalled catharsis by oddball

One-shots

intertwined, under a spell by kornevable

ԼƠƔƐ & ӇΛƬƐ by Arthuria_PenDragon

delirium by extrastellar

me with you by doublejoint

Turn My Camera On by wordsliketeeth

At Summer's End by doublejoint

Taste by Hibari1_san

I Can't Get Enough of You by HisDarkSecret

I don't care if it hurts by llowsywriter

Ashes by doublejoint

broken things by lowsywriter

Series:

Finally found each other by suzakukills

This Is Happening Universe by SharkGirl

DNA by flowerway

My WIPS:

Isn’t it lovely?

Broken Crown

Love me, Love me, Love me

Grey skies

Rabbit hole

A playlist of songs that I believe fit Haizaki

Kuroko’s basketball’s manga

In conclusion, You can hate Haizaki as much as you want. But just keep it to yourself. Haizaki is my baby and I will protect him with my life.

#kuroko no basket #knb #haizaki shougo #long post #rant #favorite character #knb 30 day challenge #favourite male character #headcanons #one shots #fanfiction #rec list #manga #tw swearing #tw mentions of abuse

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littleholyterrors · 3 years

Note

seeing your fleabagposting on your main and it’s got me thinking,,, do you think when jessica grows up there might be some parallels with how she navigates love and relationships? NOT FOCUSING ON THE SEX STUFF BECAUSE THATS ALWAYS WEIRD TO DO WITH CHILD CHARACTERS but i mean like the intentional isolation, the false bravado, the self sabotage, the conflicts with religion, the doomed romance of it all, the fear etc etc

A CHANCE TO TALK ABOUT FLEABAG AND OLDER JESSICA IN THE CONTEXT OF ANALYZING PARALLELS BETWEEN THE TWO???? anon you SPOIL ME

so yes. Yes yes yes i 100% agree with all of this

if jessica were to continue down the path she’s on now (while looking at her through a slightly sympathetic but still accountable lens), then i think she’d grow up being a lonely bitter person once she fully grasps the weight of her actions. i don’t think she’d ever experience the depths of the guilt and fear that fleabag does — even when she’s more self-aware, i think she’ll always be concerned about her own wellbeing first and foremost, thinking more about how her actions cost her before thinking about how they cost others. however, years of manipulating people, forging shallow relationships for superficial reasons, and vying for attention that she keeps losing bc she can’t control herself have probably caused her to be unable to trust anyone but still wanting someone. she has daddy issues up the wazoo if you’re to take her interactions with tim at the end of “bart’s girlfriend” and in the tapped out mobile game as genuine. her ego makes her hard to deal with among her peers. and sure, jessica can scoff and roll her eyes and act like she doesn’t need them, but it’s easy for that shit to get under your skin when you’ve grown up with some degree of emotional neglect. it’s like a bad cycle on both ends: she acts out bc her dad doesn’t give her attention, and her dad doesn’t give her attention bc she acts out / her ego is too big for people, so she copes with it by further inflating her ego and acting like she’s better than them anyway. it’s that false bravado and intentional isolation you mentioned at play here!! and if she doesn’t have a good guide to ground her, then she’s gonna keep digging her own social grave

and oh my god the conflict with religion... now you know that i’m very attached to the idea of the lovejoys sending jessica to a christian camp as a last-ditch effort to reform her, and i think it’s a good representation of how i imagine her relationship with religion is in general. i feel like religion is nothing more than theatrics and excuses for jessica, something people do to make themselves look better than they actually are. this is why she’s so good at playing up the “sweet minister’s daughter” role to get out of sticky situations. i’m sure that when she was younger she was devout bc children will believe anything, but as she gets older she sees the hypocrisy of her parents — especially her mother, ever the catty vindictive contradictory woman — and realizes that their christianity is only skin-deep but their ways of reasoning still skew heavily theistic bc it’s what they’re so used to. maybe there was a sense of disillusionment that came with that realization. her parents knowingly engage in sinful behavior without so much as batting an eye so long as they don’t get caught. religion is a “get out of jail” card for them, their answer to problems that they don’t have the energy to solve themselves. half-hearted reasonings of “god’ll take care of it eventually”, “the bible will get through to you at some point”, “just pray and it’ll be fine”, etc. this is the blueprint on which jessica was raised. very clearly, religion did nothing but probably exacerbate her need to break rules bc if there’s one thing christianity loves, it’s telling you what to do. she knows how to talk the talk of the bible-thumpers and ned flanders of the world, but she doesn’t buy it any more than she buys into her own performative personality. i think the most she feels is a nagging sense of annoyance or the feeling of christian resentment (not trauma but definitely a dislike of going to sunday school and being in the church unironically).

now finally, let’s talk about the self sabotage and the doomed romance of it all..... the self-sabotage is evident in the aforementioned tapped out interactions where jessica promises tim she’ll be good so he’ll pay attention to her (her honesty is always up for debate but i’ll buy into this for narrative’s sake), but then turns around and causes more trouble. you can also see it in her relationship with bart, who she genuinely liked bc he was a troublemaker like her. i could see that she really did want to stay with him, but she couldn’t resist the temptation of stealing even though it ended up being a dealbreaker in the end. her own impulsive whims end up winning over any sort of meaningful relationship she tries to keep, and it’s an interesting facet of her behavior to explore and extrapolate... how much does she resent her wicked ways and how much does she blame others (parents, school, boys, etc) for how she is? how much does she blame herself? is there anything TO blame if she never becomes self-aware and just assumes that it’s the world that has a problem, not her? or will her underlying need for attention and affection embitter her to a point that she can’t get satisfaction from trouble alone anymore, and tentatively tries to genuinely reach out to find someone who can keep up with her in any capacity? either way, she’s probably convinced she’ll never change or be enough of a good girl for others once they get to know her, so she embraces being cruel and that includes embracing the temporary nature of the company that comes her way.

#asks #also ofc i want bart to be the one she reaches out to bc he’s the only one we see who still likes her and actually adjusts to her level #BUT YA KNO #anyway i think i have more thoughts and i didn’t draw many points back to fleabag BUT #if u know fleabag then u get where the connections are #if u don’t then watch fleabag #but either way this is the most coherent i can get #i hope u like it!!!!

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chocobroness · 3 years

Text

Pack

Don’t ask how this came to be. I started and the words flowed out.

(For setting: let’s say Regis found a way to break the prophecy when Noctis was 12. Thanks to some planning, he managed to bring Lunafreya to Lucis soon after. Ravus, who faught and lost his arm assisting Regis get his sister out of imperial hands, vanished after the battle. Noctis was still injured as a result of being the chosen king. Regis and everyone else became overprotective of him, so he didn't meet Prompto until senior year of high school, which caused Prompto to revert back to being quiet and shy. and by then, Noctis wanted nothing to do with his dad or the rest of the citadel.)

enjoy!

---

Ravus is like a Coeurl.

And a Coeurl is a hunter, an alpha one might say.

A Coeurl defends its territory with life and limb, at it’s strongest and at it’s weakest, its last breath one of defiance and strength.

It’s pack and territory are important. And it gains strength in order to protect them.

Ravus is a Coeurl with a broken pack and stolen territory.

A Coeurl with a broken pack and stolen territory will step back and adjust to their lost swiftly before stepping forward once more.

A Coeurl does not show weakness.

Even in its injured state.

Even in the face of death.

Even when it must harm their broken pack and territory to further protect them. But most people forget that, despite all of this, Coeurls were still felines. It’s distance did not translate to chosen isolation.

It’s growls and bearing of teeth did not always belay anger and warning. The spark of destructive magic through their whiskers does not always mean death to unknowns.

A Coeurl communicates in such actions for their pack’s safety.

It is content if the pack, though distant, is fine.

But when the pack takes their ways of communicating as a threat and demand for isolation and silence, a Coeurl may become confused.

Perhaps hurt.

But a Coeurl, who is confused and hurt will never stop protecting pack and territory.

Ravus is like a Coeurl. ... ...Ravus has been very lonely. —- Noctis is like a kitten.

Not a grown cat, but a young kitten.

A kitten enjoys sleeping beneath the sun’s gentle and warm rays.

A kitten is pleased to hunt for its fish and to play with it’s fledgling pack.

To find comfort in their parents.

But a kitten can easily become hurt when away from safety.

Noctis is like a hurt kitten.

Weary of the world but accepting of it as well.

A weakness, that was not their choice, now settling upon their fragile form.

But despite being hurt, a kitten will always seek out its fledgling pack for comfort and strength.

But when a fledgling pack becomes distant, the kitten may become confused and scared.

Noctis is like a confused and scared kitten.

A kitten that needs its parent and fledgling pack yet is forced at a distance.

A kitten who no longer finds comfort in the sun’s rays and the comfort of their pack’s territory.

A kitten despite it’s youth, can acknowledge that it craves such comfort and will seek it out.

But when they are burnt many times, they accept isolation.

They become lonely and bitter.

Noctis is like a kitten who is lonely and bitter.

A kitten who tries to stand on its own when even they know they are not ready.

That tries to do its part in the pack but it gently forced to the side, deemed too young still.

A kitten will try to behave, but will step further away from the kitten it once was.

Noctis is a very lonely kitten.

---

Prompto is like a puppy.

Easily emotional in some ways but emotionally aware in many others.

A puppy is young and energetic and adores to be surrounded by its pack.

But when the pack does not wish to stay with the puppy.

The puppy becomes confused and lonely.

Prompto is like a confused and lonely puppy.

A puppy that is confused and lonely will try to behave so it’s pack can come back.

A puppy whose pack does not come back turns the puppy into a heartbroken and hurt puppy.

Prompto is like a heartbroken and hurt puppy. A heartbroken and hurt puppy will adjust terribly to isolation.

They become quiet and, in a way, scared.

They wish for a pack but can not seek one for fear of renewed isolation. They try to be good.

A puppy always tries to be good.

Prompto is a very lonely puppy.

— When the kitten and puppy meet, they are unaccustomed to the lack of distance.

To look over their shoulder and spot the other closely behind.

It takes longer than they wished to slowly grow used to such closeness.

The kitten and puppy are silent in their tears of relief as they submerge themselves within the warmth of pack provided by the other.

The kitten and the puppy are different in their ways. Many things strange to one that the other finds normal.

It is strange and new and different.

But so very, very warm.

— It was only by chance, a literal droplet in the sea of possibilities and circumstances, that the puppy and kitten found the Coeurl.

The Coeurl, unused to the closeness of pack, lashed out at them fiercely, the isolation crazed predator unsure of what a pack was anymore.

Had the kitten found the Coeurl on its own, their near similar yet distinctively different ways would had caused them to part in anger and hurt.

Had the puppy found the Coeurl on its own, the Coeurl’s way to communicate would have caused the puppy to feel unwanted and scared.

But they found the Coeurl together.

The kitten quietly properly communicating the Coeurl’s words to the puppy.

While the puppy gently soothed the Kitten’s many unintended faux pas.

The Coeurl, had the puppy and kitten not found them together, would have simply lashed out and left. Returning to their shattered home and pack.

Yet the kitten gave the Coeurl the distance it need. And the puppy gave the Coeurl the closeness it desperately craved.

Soon, the distance closed.

And soon, the Coeurl was gently submerged in the warmth that only a pack could provide.

The kitten and puppy were silent as the Coeurl took in their warmth.

—

Noctis was like a kitten.

Prompto was like a puppy.

Ravus was like a Coeurl.

They were similar to each of them that it was simple to associate them with those creatures.

Noctis adored napping in the sun’s gentle rays, Ravus always complained to a laughing Prompto when the young prince latched on to him during those times. Ravus complained further when Prompto would join in.

(Yet no matter how much he complained, he always drifted off alongside them, every time.)

Noctis likes to hunt for his fish. To sit by the water and listen to the gentle noise around him.

Prompto enjoying taking photos of each catch.

Ravus is quiet but content as Noctis explains facts of each catch.

Noctis loves to be near his pack, to feel their presence even at a distance. —- When Ravus and Noctis needed to rest, Prompto offered them his empty home.

Any pack he had before was a distant memory.

His home hollow and cold.

Photos of barely remembered parents and images they placed up there.

Photo albums barely showing him, always empty.

Ravus and Noctis were very territorial.

They circle the territory Prompto provides them. Eye everything that enters their sight.

They do not like it, and so they tell him that and leave.

Prompto is heartbroken for all but a moment before he is called after by Ravus and Noctis, gently tugged along.

The three return to the cold home hours later with many warm and colorful things.

(Prompto sleeps surrounded by his pack that very night. )

—-

Prompto adores being close to his pack, to play and simply continue life by their side.

He adores watching Noctis and Ravus carry on with each day. To capture the moments that only he was gifted to see through the lens of his camera.

He loved all of his photos, but he had favorites as well.

He captures the moment Noctis beats Ravus in chess.

The smugness on the Lucian’s face and the annoyed expression on The Tenebraen’s.

(He can see the playfulness in their eyes, the small almost unnoticeable smile on Ravus’ lips, the laughter in each of their voices. )

He captures the different ways Ravus puts up his hair.

Noctis was fond of the way his hair swished as it grew longer.

Ravus always said he would cut it.

(He never did. )

How Ravus would have an soft smile on his face as he cared for the plants he brought from his kingdom.

The way his eyes grew gentle as he explained to Prompto facts about each flower. Prompto opened his cold house to Ravus and Noctis when they needed to rest.

Prompto was left with a home that was full of warmth and pictures that he looked at with love and fondness.

(Prompto’s heart was always on the verge of bursting when he ran out of photo albums and picture frames. A smile on his face when he needed to buy more.) — Ravus does not know when he grew close to the two.

It has been very long since he was close to anyone.

He remembered, vaguely, of times when he was close to his pack and home.

But when he attempted to reach those memories, he felt hollow.

Ravus was very much (not) truthful of his feelings.

He was irritated when Noctis would not let go of him during his naps, especially when Prompto decided to play along. (Because he would eventually drift off to sleep surrounded by their warmth.)

He was frustrated when Prompto or Noctis asked him facts about the plants he kept. (Because while he was fond of those plants, he knew he could show them better plants, more beautiful flowers because while these were fine, they both deserve to be amazed by ones more worthy of being presented to pack-)

He couldn’t help but sigh in exasperation when he saw more photos on the walls in Prompto’s home. (Especially the ones of Prompto’s parents. because how dare they hurt his pack member, have they no shame-)

He honestly considered cutting his hair but would forget every time. (Not because his pack would be sad,and he enjoys when they play with it, no, of course not-)

Ravus does not know why he grew close to them. (Why he and Noctis had enough of Prompto’s sadness when his parents called and came together and ‘convinced’ Prompto’s parents to never bother the young soul again because how DARE they hurt-)

But he supposed it wasn’t all too bad. (It was wonderful)

It was pleasant enough that he could stick around for a moment longer. (For as long as they wish for him to stay.)

—-

A Coeurl, a kitten, and a puppy became a pack of three when their former packs turned them away.

Eventually those packs would realize what they did and try to reach out to them, hoping for forgiveness.

(But the small pack of three would not be burnt again.)

Their pack was not big, nor prestigious.

Nor was it always perfect.

But they took the time to settle gently into the life their pack provided.

Their territory consisted of a decent sized home with photos and plants and occasional fishing tool covering every available space.

With blankets draped along every large piece of furniture that was directly warmed by sunlight.

Smells of cuisines from their walks of life always drifting from the kitchen.

Every step taken into the house was filled with a sense of home and comfort and warmth.

A Coeurl, a kitten, and a puppy became a pack of three when their former packs turned them away.

(And they can genuinely say they were very happy)

reblog!

#ffxv #final fantasy xv #Noctis Lucis Caelum #prompto argentum #ravus nox fleuret #one shot #fic

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rigelsenshis · 4 years

Text

the old guard + dæmons

a completely self-indulgent au bcos dæmons sit squarely in the Top Five Best Storytelling Concepts Ever Created and i will absolutely fight you on this it’s the hill i will die on

i made a post about this that evolved in a beautiful thread, with so many great ideas being shared by a lot of wonderful people, and then spent a couple of days thinking about possible shapes and possible names and this probably longer-than-comfortable post is the result of all that so i hope you enjoy let’s discuss let’s talk about this god i just love dæmons so much

first things first, some ground rules of how dæmons might work when taking into account the old guard’s particular flavor of immortality. @fleurdufeu suggested that the dæmon gets Severed with the person’s first death, the one that triggers immortality. and with each death (@en-sam-malas also brought this up) the dæmon can travel farther and farther away and can stay awake when their human is sleeping, contributing to the general idea of Otherness™ the old guard carries with them, especially in a world with a dæmons. @dearest--gertrude also suggested that just like the first deaths takes longer to return back from, dæmons would be slower to reappear— taking maybe two or three days the first time (which would add to the shock of having discovered immortality bcos like??? i’m alive??? and without my dæmon??? what the fuck???) to movie-time when the dæmon’s body is already there even before the human comes back to life. which only leads to the fact that when the final death comes the dæmon does disappear in a puff of golden dust like in hdm and creates a general wave of Angst (like i imagine that’s how Andy and Quynh knew that it was Lykon’s time, bcos his dæmon just disappeared and didn’t return)

@en-sam-malas added two Great Ideas, which is that most of the old guard would not have grown up with the taboo of not touching other people’s dæmons and so would use them in battle against other humans (which highlights their Otherness™ once again), and that their dæmons can probably undergo changes of shape— not as frequent as a child but following big traumatic events, like their first death, huge losses and grief and so on, and that’s the idea i’ve built on when looking for suitable shapes for each of them so here we fucking go (note that i did omit Lykon bcos we know so little of him atm but maybe when more material comes out we’ll be able to figure him out better???)

Nile

i’d like to think that as times grow more modern, dæmons’ names grow more modern as well— bcos Nile’s from Chicago, her dæmon could be called Jazz (bcos of the city’s history with the music genre) or Hopper (bcos Hopper’s Nighthawks is in Chicago and Nile loves art??? is it a stretch??? i’m open to better ideas for sure). her dæmon probably settled sometime after her father’s death into a german shepherd, as suggested by @stevie-harrington bcos in hdm many soldiers are shown to have a dog dæmon and dog dæmons are reliable and intelligent, pack animals that can hold their own in a fight. when she comes back from her first death Hopper is not with her, which only adds to the uneasiness the other marines feel around her bcos how tf is she alive without her dæmon this is just Wrong. he reappears when she wakes up in the back of the van, and it’s only on the plane that she realised that something is different about him and that he’s not exactly a german shepherd anymore— i’d like for his first changed shape to be one of those dogs that could be wolves and toy the line between the two (bcos it’s a bit more wild and also bcos i’d like Andy to have a wold dæmon and for Nile’s to resemble Andy’s since it’s vaguely implied she will take her place as leader of the old guard)

Booker

Booker’s dæmon is called Manette (which means “bitter”/”bitterness” and i mean,,,,nomen omen) and when it first settled it was a marmoset, as suggested by both @mewbotz and @fleurdufeu, an animal dexterous enough to help him with his forgeries and also deeply family oriented (marmosets mate for life are very involved in bringing up younglings which would make sense to Booker falling deep into desperation once his family passes). Manette changes the first time when he dies, and again @fleurdufeu suggests she could turn into a carrion crow to blend in with the others while Booker hangs for three/four days, brings him idk insects to eat and stays on his shoulder and they both cry bcos they don’t understand what happened to them and they feel each other but they’re also so different (crows are also family oriented and they mimic sounds so in theory she’s like her previous form but also with trauma and the imagery of death). she could turn into a cinereous vulture when the last members of Booker’s family die, reserved and passive and isolated, and then during movie-time she’s something even smaller, maybe even a mouse, bcos grief has twisted Booker into something that he himself cannot recognise and he sleeps with Manette in his hands like he used to do when she was a monkey and it feels almost the same but not quite. i’d assume that after the ordeal with Quynh she changes shape again, maybe if he starts healing up a bit???

Nicky + Joe

they go together bcos a) obviously and b) their dæmons have very similar stories and changes of shape so it makes sense for me to talk about them together

i called Nicky’s dæmon Glauca, which is a sort of shortening of the Homeric epithet given to the goddess Athena, glaukôpis aka bright-eyed (you get it??? like Nicky himself when will Luca’s eyes leave me in peace the answer is never). bcos he was born in a coastal city i’d like to his dæmon to have settled into a sea bird, and i chose the shape of a scopoli’s shearwater, a bird that’s native to Liguria and a good swimmer

i chose Zahara for Joe’s dæmon, a name that means most exquisite bcos i thought about the fact that he was an artist and a poet but i’m Very Much Open to more informed opinions than mine. Zahara’s first shape could have been a fennec, native to Northern Africa and a very outgoing kind of animal which i feel would match Joe’s personality

the first change for both of them is, again obviously, when they kill each other for the first time. when they find their dæmons again after having spent like three days in a blind rage and confusion and pain and where is my dæmon have it lost her what have i become it’s his fault they’re both smaller in dimension, bcos they’re in shock, and more vicious than their original shape, so i picked a stoat for Nicky and a genette for Joe— both small carnivores, native one to Europe and the other to North Africa, and they just tear into each other again for a not-better-specified amount of days it’s just sword scimitar teeth claws whatever. i then see Nicky and Joe sort of “making peace” and travelling together from Jerusalem to the sea, where they part ways, and the shock is so great, the reflection they go through when they’re apart so massive that causes another change, this one the farthest away from their “personality” as they struggle to understand who they are now and what they have become. Zahara becomes a blackbird and Glauca a cape hare, shapes that neither of them feel like are right

when they both start to make peace with what they have become and realise that there might be Feelings popping out, say like a couple of centuries after Jerusalem they’ve caught glimpses of each other in other Crusades and such, both dæmons change into cats. smaller cats for now, and when Joe and Nicky go and look for each other and find each other in Malta and realise that they love each other and share some poetic and lyrical declaration of eternal adoration they wake up and find their dæmons in similar shapes— big cats, like @mewbotz suggested. Joe’s dæmon settles into a leopard, majestic and sun-like, while Nicky’s becomes a panther, hiding in the shadows, fiercely protective and betraying Nicky’s nature of actually being a Pretty Dangerous Guy. and @mewbotz goes on to say that Joe and Nicky are so inseparable that their dæmons actually follow the other around, a way to always make sure they’re safe, and so it looks like Joe’s the one with Glauca the panther and Nicky’s the one with Zahara the leopard and in that way they’re never really apart and it’s Beautiful

Quynh

bcos they’re both so old, i have this idea that neither Quynh not Andy remember the actual very first shape their dæmon took (like Andy says that she doesn’t remember the faces of her sisters, for example). i’d like for him to be called Giao Long, a name lifted from Vietnamese myths about dragons, but again i only acquired this knowledge through internet searches so if anyone more informed wants to weigh in i’d be Very Happy

when Quynh’s riding with Andy, her dæmon is a crested serpent eagle, as suggested by @fleurdufeu, with the beautiful image of it flying close to Quynh’s arrow as it sails towards its target like @mewbotz said. the fact that their dæmons are so eerie and strange contribute to the English townspeople believing Quynh and Andy are witches, and when they throw Quynh overboard her dæmon is left flying above the water and it’s just a horrible cycle of madness with the dæmon changing shape to a bird to a fish to an insect reaching her into her cage flying above just mad with grief and pain like Quynh herself is

they find each other when she gets out but they’re both broken and twisted in an ugly way, and the dæmon has turned into something she can keep close— i’d partial to the idea of a snake bcos she was “a pit viper in a fight” and even tho they can separate like every other immortal they never do bcos the trauma is too great

Andy

i got Andy’s dæmon’s name from the Italian wikipedia page about Scythians and for the life of me i can’t find the same info in english but like, apparently there was a mythical/semi-mythical Scythian king called Colassai??? i find it a very fitting name and like Andy herself he could have shortened it to Cole in the modern age

Andy doesn’t remember his first shape (but i realised the deer was a pretty important animal in Scythian culture so maybe it could have been one???), but when she meets Lykon her dæmon is a wild boar— still an earthbound animal, brutal in a fight to match her axe-wielding fighting style. when she meets Quynh, their dæmons match (immortal wives and immortal husbands with matching dæmons for the win) and @fleurdufeu suggested it might be a golden eagle, The™ steppes’ predator

losing Quynh definitely triggers a change of shape and Andy’s dæmon becomes earthbound once again, as if Quynh’s death clipped its wings, and it become maybe a fox??? smaller, still vicious, still useful in a fight. then, when Andy’s in Australia with Achilles (as per the comics but also the movie bcos i think they showed Andy’s portrait in the cave) her dæmon could take the shape of an Australian-born animal, maybe a dingo??? and in movie-time her dæmon is a full out wolf, leader of the pack, brutal in a fight— and Nile’s dæmon slowly starts to resemble Andy’s wolf

and that’s the end of this dissertation-length monstrosity if you managed to get here wow i’m truly Moved

#the old guard #daemons au #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #sebastien le livre #booker #andy #andromache the scythian #quynh #nile freeman

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distraught-himbo · 3 years

Text

This will be the first in what is hopefully a many parted series of my thoughts, which I will be titling The Ramblings of a Passionate Fool.

Lately, dear reader, I've been thinking of love. Of who gives love, and who gets it. Of who deserves it, and who does not. And I've been thinking of how those lists don't match as well as they should.

Now before I start, I want to make something very clear. I hate the word deserve. So very often, people use deserve in the cosmic sense. That is to say, when they use the word deserve they mean that the universe owes them something. Ie, if I were to say I've been working hard recently, and I deserve a break, I would be saying some cosmic force out there should see my labors and sympathize, that my efforts have put the universe in my debt, and that this debt should be repaid. I dislike this idea, and disagree with the premise. When I use the word deserve I will be specifically referring humans owing something to each other.

So with that nitpick out of the way. Who is deserving of love, and the problems with that question.

Does everyone deserve love? Do some people deserve it more than others? Can you do something to make you undeserving of it? Thinkers and philosophers have asked these questions for centuries, and while we've never come to a certain answer, I would argue we as a society have come up with a baseline that most of us can agree on. Most people, I think, would agree that humans deserve love from birth. I belive very few would argue that a newborn doesn't deserve a parents love, that a child shouldn't be loved by friend, that an adult shouldn't be loved by a partner or spouse. In the same way, I belive most would agree that you can revoke your right of love. Murders, rapists, some people's lists are longer than others, but most people would argue that you can do something that makes you no longer worthy of love. These are the foundations we base our morals, our lives, our very selves on. But what if those are challenged

Love, is a gift. Given by a person, and sometimes taken. And gifts, by their very nature, are not based off of what one deserves. There are murderers that have a spouse waiting for them. There are rapists who have parents that still care and still grieve. There are horrible, awful people out there who still have people who care for them.

Now, maybe you can just dismiss this by saying those people are wrong, they are making the wrong choice by still loving those criminals and monsters. And maybe you are right. But does that matter? Does it make the love less real? If you give a gift to someone who doesn't deserve it, that doesn't change that you chose to give the gift. Simply put, I belive humans are flawed, and they give their gifts to flawed people. It might be right, it might be wrong, but in the end they make their choice.

There's another problem. People can change. Or at least I belive they can. Some don't belive that, and to them there the world seems more clear cut. Once you revoke your right to love, that is final. You made your choice and now you will live with it. For the rest of us though, the world is a little more complicated. If you belive that someone can truly change then by nature of that belief, you would belive that they can become once again worthy of love. Now how they would do that, what that would take varies opinion to opinion, but the core of that belief is consistent. And within this problem is another. I belive that the way people change is through love. Showing love, and being shown it. Through loving others, and being loved by them, I belive a monster can once again be someone worthy of being loved. Yet there is the issue. In order for someone to become worthy of love, they must first be loved. To earn a the gift, they must first be given it. Such a strange paradox, and I know of no answer to it. But it does make me wonder. Maybe it's alright that people give their love to those who do not deserve it. Maybe in human foolishness and flawed choices there is a seed that can grow into a beautiful thing, brokenness turned to hope.

I've discussed evil a lot, and how love can be given to the most wicked of people. So let's take a break from that and talk about what we would define as good people. You would think that there would be less questions and easier answers here, but I'm not certain you'd be right. Let me paint you a picture.

A child in an abusive household. A place full of racism, misogyny, full of fear and hate. As a child of course, they know no better, so of course they are filled with those same things. A bitter, angry, scared, isolated child. Would that child deserve love? I'm certain you would agree that of course they do. A child cannot be blamed for the circumstances it was born into, and in my opinion no good person would blame them for adapting to their environment and showing the scars of where they were. Now say this child grows to a young adult. And not only have they grown physically, but they've grown emotionally, and mentally. They've distanced themselves from the hate they grew up with, they've attempted to right the wrong they've done. They are attempting to learn, to grow, to become a person they can be proud of. No one is perfect of course, but they wake up every day and try to be a better person, to be a little more light in a world that they know can be so very dark. Would that person be worthy of love? Once more I think most would agree that of course, that person is completely worthy of being loved, of receiving what they try to give every day. And maybe you think these questions are too easy. But let me pose this. What if no one does. What then? See you could become a person more worthy of love than any on earth, but if no one chooses to love you what do you do then?

The problem has to do with what we discussed before. Love is a gift. And no matter who you are, you do not get to demand someone else's gift. No one owes you their love, no matter how good or bad you may be. A cruel paradox isn't it? You can be deserving of love, you can be someone who should be loved. But no needs to love you. You, are not owed, anyone's love. So what then do you do? Some people become bitter, full of pain and resentment for a world that didn't love them when they were worthy of it, and loved someone else despite their unworthiness. And while neither they nor their actions are in the right, maybe we should not be so quick to judge. After all, love is what all humans crave above all else, and to be given none and given no reason why would be something I wonder if any of us would be willing to handle.

(I would like to add as a note that there are people like this who think they deserve a specific person's love and demand it, and hate when they don't receive it. I am in no way making excuses for these people, or attempting to justify their behavior)

In prologue. I don't have the answers to these questions I've asked. I don't know who does. But I do know one thing. Showing love is so important, to everyone, and only serves to make this dark world a little brighter. So show some love to someone who deserves it. Show some love to someone who doesn't. And show a little love to yourself.

Thanks for reading.

#thoughts #love people #questions #philosophy

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anathewierdo · 3 years

Text

Show, Don’t Tell

A Supernatural Fix-It fic.

Pairing: I tried to at least hint at Destiel. Also Sam x Eileen because I can and it’s been fifteen years since Jess died so sue me if I don’t want Sam paired off with a blurry wife.

Word count: 6560

Because one of the most important rules of storytelling is to show, not just tell.

So this is basically 15x20 but with family.

Better late than never, right? Sorry it took me so long to post this. I hope you guys like it :)

Like, reblog and comment if you want. I found this was very therapeutic for me. I hope it gives some comfort to y’all.

Dean reaches to the nightstand lazily, snoozing his alarm. Like the day before, and the day before that and the day before that, he stares at the ceiling for a moment.

It still feels so surreal.

He’s free.

He’s free. And so is Sammy. And so is everybody. They did it.

His chest still aches when he remembers everything they lost along the way.

With a small shake of his head and a plastered on smile, he sits up. A bark shakes the remaining sleepiness out of his system and he opens his arms in invitation. His smile grows genuine at the feel of Miracle. He balances them a bit, letting out a rough “good morning” at his canine friend.

He’s tasted victory before. In the form of Cas coming back from the Empty back when Jack first came to their lives. He tasted victory briefly every time he kept Sammy safe. He tasted victory in small amounts with friends and family and whenever a hunt was well done.

The victory that came from defeating Chuck was lacking, though.

He pushes that emptiness aside.

Everybody who could, had come back with the snap of Jack’s fingers. And that’s a whole lot better than none of them come back at all.

So he squishes Miracle once more. He can’t change anything anymore and that’s just how it is. At least he’s not alone.

He gets up, puts over his dead guy robe and whistles so Miracle will follow.

The smell of eggs and bacon is nice. The laughter that comes from the kitchen is even better.

Sam and Eileen are standing shoulder to shoulder in front of the stove. Eileen, like Dean, is still in her pajamas while wearing Sam’s robe. Sammy’s wearing a gray shirt and black sweatpants. He’s back from his morning run.

At the sound of Dean walking in, Sam turns around; Eileen follows suit at seeing Sam’s actions and waves hello at Dean.

Breakfast is a happy, relaxed affair. Dean can’t keep himself from smiling proudly at the two nerds across the table. They’d grown inseparable as soon as they’d found each other again.

He has dish duty and of course he smuggles Miracle all the scraps even after serving him his actual breakfast. After that, he gets dressed (totally cleans up his room… not) and hits the library. Miracles sits by his side as Dean pets him and scrolls through the net, jumping between job hunting and searching for actual hunts. He barely notices Sam sitting in front of him when a particular article catches his eye.

“Dean?”

“Huh?”

Sam gives him a questioning look. “Did you find anything?”

Dean looks back at the screen. For a moment, he wants to say no, forget about the article and move on looking for a job. But no, he’s still a hunter. The Big Bad may be gone, but the Winchester brothers’ job isn’t… Also, he may have seen another article from the same town with something interesting, and he could use a distraction.

“Yeah, I think I found something.”

Not even an hour later, they’re saying goodbye to Eileen and Miracle, promising to be back home in a few days time.

=================

Dean is positively giddy by the time they roll into town. He had to convince Sam to do this, arguing how they got time before they would crash the crime scene for clues and eventually, he finally got the okay (not that it would’ve made any difference). He parks Baby right before the pie festival and stares in awe as he gets out of the Impala.

Sam stands right beside him, taking in his reaction. “Are you sure you’re ready for this?”

“This is my destiny,” Dean proclaims, watching all these people walk around eating apple, cherry, coconut, pecan– oh god they have fried pie. Sin or not, distraction achieved. “It’s just so beautiful.”

“Are you crying?”

“No. Yo– You’re crying.”

Sam scoffs, chuckling. “Uh-huh.”

“I’m gonna get some pie.”

“Right,” Sam nods, amused.

It just feels so good to say it. He’s already walking towards the festival with a big smile on his face. “I’m gonna get me some damn pie.”

And with that, Dean tours. He forms in line to the pie truck, ordering one piece of each flavor, then goes around with this big white box asking for a piece of each pie in the festival.

He finds Sam again a few minutes later, sitting by himself on a bench and looking towards a family with longing. Dean doesn’t doubt it: he’s daydreaming about him and Eileen having that someday.

“Found ya,” Dean sits beside him, glaring daggers at a stranger who almost crashed into him and put his pie at risk. “What’s wrong?”

Sam straightens his jacket. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“No, come on. You got that face–,” he motions with his free hand. “That, that’s Sad Sam Face.”

“I’m not Sad Sam,” he mocks. A couple of seconds go by with Dean still looking at him. Sam sighs. “I’m just– I’m just thinking about Cas, you know? Jack. I wish they could be here.”

Dean feels as if a bucket filled with freezing water had been dumped on him. The ache in his chest comes back with a full force and suddenly he wants to bail and beeline it to the bunker until he can hug Miracle again. For a moment; for a sweet, brief moment, he’d been distracted enough from the loss.

“Yeah,” he clears his throat. “ Yeah, no, I–I think about them too.”

“What happened?” Sam speaks again, carefully. “You said he saved you, yeah, but… what happened?”

“It’s like I told you and the kid, alright?” Dean snaps, then closes his eyes as he relives everything in a hurtful, awfully quick memory. “He summoned the Empty. The Empty got there and took him and Billie and by the time I realized what had happened they were– he was gone. I couldn’t stop him. I couldn’t say goodbye. I couldn’t do anything.”

Sam has the decency to not say anything.

“I told Claire the same thing,” he adds, once he’s calmed down enough. “If we don’t keep living, his sacrifice and Jack’s sacrifice won’t mean anything. Cas saved me, Jack brought everyone back, we saved the world.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I just miss them.”

“Yeah, we all do. I certainly do.”

He’s not in the mood to talk about it anymore. He doesn’t want to remember anymore how he just stood there, paralyzed with fear and shock as Cas sacrificed himself for him for the last time to go to the only place Dean can’t save him from. He’s gone.

So he stabs his damn pie and takes the first bite, pretending the deliciousness of the dessert is enough to distract him when a full piece gets shoved into his face. Dean licks his lips. Coconut pie.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a really long time,” Sam laughs.

Dean gives him a bitter smile. Deep down, he’s thankful for the sudden distraction.

=======================

They introduce themselves to the policewoman as agents Kripke and Singer from the FBI. The dad’s throat was torn and he’d been stabbed. The mother’s tongue had been ripped out and she was the only one left after the attack. The kids were taken.

The policewoman had looked at them curiously. “I didn’t know homeland security took home invasion cases.”

“Oh yeah, we’re full service,” Dean answers with a bitter smile.

As they talk more, Sam asks if the mother had been interrogated already, if she had seen something. The policewoman nods, taking out a piece of paper from the folder in her hands and showing Sam and Dean the drawing of a smiling skeleton.

“She drew this when asked if she saw the attackers,” she explains further.

Dean nods distractively. When the policewoman is called into the house, he turns to Sam.

“I recognize that face.”

“Yeah, me too. Just don’t know from where.”

They sweep around the house looking for clues and thank the people working the case for their time before asking for the coroner’s report. With the files in hand, they leave the scene and go just out of town so they can regroup.

They’re leaning against opposite sides of the hood of Baby. Dean’s going through dad’s journal while Sam goes through the file they were given and extending a map of the state.

“Found it!” Dean announces. “Dad came across these things in ‘86. He was working a string of kidnappings involving seven children along the 77. Mark these up: Akron, Canton, East Sparta,” he listed. “He didn’t find much, but one of the witnesses described this.”

He turned the journal around, showing Sam a more detailed copy of the face their witness had drawn.

“Alright, so Dad knew about this case–”

“Yeah but he didn’t find much. Guess he thought this was some major crime thing, not a monster.”

“So, the victims–”

“Kids were taken; the adults that weren’t drained had their–”

“Their tongues ripped out.”

Dean nodded. “Yeah… You know what this is? Mimes.”

Sam scoffs. “My money’s on vampires.”

Tongue in cheek, Dean nods, giving it a thought before his face lights up at a breakthrough. “Vamp–mimes! Son of a bitch, man.”

Sam knows this Dean. The Dean that gets silly when he’s down, the one that smiles and attempts to make him laugh so he won’t notice. Dean’s distracting himself; and Sam, just this once, is gonna let him. They both lost Castiel, but Dean’s the one who was closer to the angel. At least this time Dean’s not putting his life at risk.

“Okay, so if the pattern holds, then the next town they’re gonna hit is Canton.”

“And they’re gonna target a family that lives outside of town, isolated and with kids between the ages of five and ten,” Dean supplies.

“Alright,” Sam puts the cap back on his sharpie. “So, who in Canton fits that bill?”

===========================

The Maxwell’s from Canton fit the bill.

The brothers camped out near their house until nightfall and stayed hidden. The vampires would arrive soon. They had to. The Maxwell’s were the only ones who ticked off all the requirements of the pattern their dad had collected.

So when a white van pulled up to the main entrance of the house, Sam got his gun ready and Dean pulled his machete out of its case.

Three vampires came out of the van. Two vampires were beheaded not ten minutes later and the third one had been shot in the head with a bullet soaked in dead man’s blood.

They interrogate him, threaten to kill him slowly to get him to confess where’s his nest and if he’s being honest, Dean doesn’t care for a hot minute if the guy talks or not. He gets to decapitate another vamp and whether he’ll do it slowly or quickly doesn’t matter because he will find that fucking nest and he’s gonna bring those kids home so help him Jack.

The fact that he might have been itching for a hunt while at the same time wanting to stay cooped up in the bunker for the rest of his days is irrelevant.

Vamp-mime #3 ends up talking and, like he promised, Dean makes his demise quick. Sam makes an anonymous call to the Canton police department to report the bodies and they’re out of there, Dean drives as fast as he can through the highway and towards the location of the nest.

He guesses that if the three goons don’t make it back to the nest soon they’ll either flee or look for their missing members. Both options involve them leaving the nest, so neither option is good.

His conversation from earlier that day with Sam replays in his memory. Over and over he hears himself saying if we don’t move on, all that sacrifice will have been for nothing. He’s right. He’s right and he should move on. He should leave the past in the past and come to terms with the fact that whatever he wanted to say to Cas won’t ever happen because Cas can’t hear him anymore. He couldn’t say anything and now he’s stuck living in a present that is good but that is incomplete.

Dean’s come to that realization several times in the couple weeks since they defeated Chuck, yet his heart still breaks each and every time. There is so much he wanted to say to Cas and Jack.

‘You are family, Jack,’ is one of the many things he wants to clear up for the kid.

He drives and drives until Sam turns him to take a turn and they stop outside of a seemingly black, old-looking barn.

“You think this is the place?” Sam asks as they get out of Baby.

“Well, old and abandoned place in the middle of nowhere that looks like it came out of a bad horror movie…” Dean nods. “Yeah, I think this is it.”

“Great.”

They go to the trunk and it feels… ominous, somehow. On top of everything going on in his head, he’s now remembering his father and that vamp hunt he took them in ‘05. The hunting world changed for him that time, he had a feeling it was about to change again.

And because he feels like throwing shit at mimes, he takes the throwing stars, giving Sam a cheeky smile. He gets a shake of the head and bitch-face number 10 in response.

“No.”

“We’ve never used them, come on,” Dean pleads. “Just this once.”

“No way.”

“I never get to do anything fun,” he grumbles, scouring through the trunk. “Where’s the rest of the dead man’s blood bullets?”

Sam motions his gun, “we ran out. I have the last few.”

“Seriously?!”

Sam gives him an apologetic look. “I’ll shoot, you take a machete. And we take these sons of bitches down together, alright?”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean grumbles, pointing the machete at his brother. “But you’re in charge of making more when we get back home.”

“Fine.”

They go in. Dean with his machete, Sam with a gun in his hand and a machete in the other.

Suddenly, a milk run hunt is not so easy anymore. There are another four vampire mimes, all ready and waiting for them to make the first strike. Sam makes sure to get the kids out of there, telling them to run as fast and as far as they can, that him and his big brother will follow in a bit to help more.

The fight goes by quick. Sam shoots a vampire, but he loses his gun when another one gets too close and knocks the gun out of his hands. He swings the machete at the attacking vampire and beheads him with a clean cut.

Dean beheads another one, and together they take down a third one.

They exchange a confident look. Almost there.

Suddenly, another two vamps pop out from the back entrance of the barn. The Winchester brothers swing, but a hit at the back of his head leaves Sam unconscious momentarily, rendering Dean outmanned and, soon after, defenseless.

Sam wakes up to Dean pinned down by two vampires, the third one with a raised machete.

He doesn’t have time to think. He reaches out for his previously discarded machete and beheads her.

The action gives Dean enough time to stand his ground once more.

Each brother targets one of the remaining vampires. They’re bruised and battered and Sam’s a little dizzy, but he ain’t gonna let these vamps win.

So he fights, he stands his ground miraculously and eventually gains enough upper hand to behead his vamp. As the head falls to the ground, there’s a grunt and the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart.

What Sam expects to see is a vampire hurt, or even better, beheaded.

What he finds is his brother pinned against a wooden column; the vamp pushing him further against it.

“Dean!” He panics, tackles the vamp to the ground and fights the thing until he can behead it. Which he does with gusto.

Sam finally lets himself breathe as that last head hits the ground. Feels his wounds and the slight pain caused by the vampires but overall, he’s okay. Barely scratched, taking his standards in consideration.

“Sammy,” Dean calls softly.

Sam turns, giving his big brother a tired smile that fades instantly at seeing Dean still pressed against the wooden column, tense, with his face contorted in discomfort and pain.

He’s in front of him in a second. “What’s wrong?”

Dean tilts his head to the side, motioning behind him, “I don– I don’t think I’m going anywhere, Sammy.”

White hot panic begins to course through Sam’s veins as he reaches behind Dean and feels the blood dripping from his back and soaking his clothes. He takes his hand a little bit more up and to the side and suddenly he can feel the protuberance of a rebar sticking out the column… now buried in his brother’s back.

“No no no, we can fix this,” Sam begins to say frantically. “Lemme just get the first aid kit. I’ll take you out of here. We just gotta get you down. It’ll be okay. We’ll patch you up.”

He tries to push Dean away from the rebar, barely moving him but causing Dean to scream in pain and Sam can’t do anything but freeze.

“Fuck! No, Sammy. No nononononono don’t move me. That–,” Dean coughs. “It feels like this thing is holding me together right now.” Sam steps back, hands hanging at his sides and looking heartbreakingly mad at himself for not being able to get Dean out of this. Dean moves his head slightly, forcing Sam to look him in the eye. “I can feel myself fading, Sammy. I–I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll get the first aid kit,” Sam insists. “Let me call for help, let me–”

“Sam– Sam!,” Dean cuts him off. “Sta–Stay with me,” he pleads. “Stay with me, please.”

Dean sees his brother struggle for a moment before he nods faintly. “Okay, yeah.”

“Listen to me,” he begins. “You get out of here and you get those boys someplace safe, okay?”

“No,” Sam shakes his head, motioning between them. “We are going to get them someplace safe.”

“No, Sammy. I– There’s no time. Fuck– this thing– you move me and I’ll die, alright? Just,” Dean coughs again. This time, he decides to ignore Sam’s flinch as he tries to focus, to stay just long enough to say it all. “Just stay with me for now, please.”

“Stop! It’s gonna be okay, just–”

“Sammy I ain’t happy with this, but it’s happening. And we can’t stop it, alright?” He gives his little brother a pained smile. “At least I got to save people and hunt things one last time with my brother. Family business.”

“Dean, stop this.”

“No. There’s some things I wanna say, okay?” He pleads. “There’s some things you need to know.”

A white hot flash of pain courses through him and Dean groans, closing his eyes for a moment. He hears Sam sniffle.

“First,” he opens his eyes and flashes a cocky, loving smile. “We had one hell of a ride, man.”

“I will find a way,” Sam stutters, eyes frantic. “I’ll find a way. You’ll come back.”

“No no no no, no bringing me back, Sammy. That always ends bad and we’ve had enough of Big Bads, ya hear me?” Dean coughs. “No bringing me back. Promise me. Swear it.”

Sam opens his mouth to do just that just to placate his brother, but stops. There’s nothing grand, nothing good, nothing positive about this situation. It sucks. It utterly sucks because Dean is right here and he can’t help, he can’t take him off that rebar he can’t cure him he can’t call Cas–

“I’m so proud of you, Sammy,” Dean continues, promises ignored for now. “Come here,” he keeps coughing. “Remember when I came to get you from Stanford?”

Sam nods, stepping closer to Dean, who places a hand on his shoulder while mumbling ‘let me look at you’.

“I thought you were gonna tell me to get lost o–or–or get dead and– anyways. You– you turned out great, Sammy. I’m so proud of you.”

Dean’s difficulty to speak increases with every passing second and Sam grows frantic at the sheer reality of this. He’s watching his brother die and this time– with Jack saying he wouldn’t be a hands on God, with Cas gone, with the promise he hasn’t made yet…

He won’t be able to bring Dean back.

Sam’s eyes fill with tears and suddenly it feels like he’s forgetting how to breathe. He can feel himself shaking, frantically shaking his head as the first tears begin to fall.

“I can’t do this alone,” he pleads again.

Dean sounds so confident in his response. “Yes, you can.”

“Yeah, well I don’t want to.”

“You won’t have to,” Dean assures. “You have– You have D–D–Donna a-a-and Claire. Kaia. J-Jody. B-B-Bobby. Eileen. Garth. Our friends. Family. You’re not alone, Sam. I swear.” His voice grows softer the more he speaks. “I’ll be right here,” he pats Sam’s chest. “E-Every step of the way. I promise. We are not- not alone, Sam– Sammy. Not anymore. Not for a while now.”

Sam is biting his lip hard now, trying to breathe normally, trying with all his might to contain his sobs, to keep the tears at bay. Nothing works. The tears still roll down his cheeks. His breath is still raggedy and broken. His body can’t stop shaking and it only gets worse as he sees Dean begin to cry too.

“Tell me– Tell me you’re gonna be okay,” The oldest Winchester begs. “Tell me it’s gonna be okay, Sammy.”

The words pierce right through Sam’s soul. He doesn’t think he’s ever done anything quite as hard as looking at his dying brother in the eyes and forcing himself to speak in the most reassuring way possible.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean,” his voice cracks and shakes and his face is fucking soaked but he pulls through. “I’m gonna be okay. It’s okay.”

Dean smiles. It’s a pained, wobbly and grateful smile. “I don’t wanna go, Sammy,” he confesses in a desperate whisper as another tear rolls down his face. “I don’t– tell them I said goodbye. That– that I– fuck.”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Sam repeats, more for himself than for his brother this time. Dean’s grip on his shoulder is wavering and so Sam decides to step in closer, hugs Dean as carefully as possible without moving him. “They know. It’s okay. You can go.”

Dean gives a shaky sigh and suddenly his face is resting against Sam’s shoulder.

“Bye, Sammy,” he whispers.

This time, Dean sighs calmly, slowly, as his hand falls from Sam’s shoulder and his body sags between his brother and the column.

He’s dead.

Whatever self control Sam had left is shattered as he shakily hugs Dean closer to him, burying his face against his now dead brother’s shoulder and sobbing uncontrollably, calling out to him, begging for any kind of miracle to appear and make Dean breathe again.

Nothing changes.

Not after thirty seconds. Not after a minute. Not after five minutes.

Still crying and with shaking fingers, Sam pulls his phone out and texts Eileen, sending her their location and asking her to please come help.

After another couple minutes, Sam takes Dean off the rebar and cries harder at the sound of his flesh tearing a little bit more against the metal as he’s freed from it..

It’s with a heavy heart that he realizes he can’t stay here. There are two boys hidden outside that need him.

He lays Dean down and promises to come back as soon as possible.

=============================

By the time Eileen arrives at the barn, Sam’s taken the boys home.

She finds him inside the old barn, sitting besides Dean’s body, crying, sobbing, shaking. It doesn’t take her long to put the pieces together and for her eyes to fill with tears. She slowly makes her way up to Sam, who startles at the feel of her hand on his back. He stops crying for a second, thinking they might be in danger again, but only cries harder at the sight of Eileen and drags her into his arms, hugging her as tight as he can, desperate for comfort.

“It’s okay, Sam,” she tries to assure him a couple times. It doesn’t work. And it doesn’t feel right to say something like that when her sort of brother-in-law is lying dead beside them. The more she’s there, the heavier the loss feels and soon enough she’s crying just as hard as Sam, aching in pain for the loss of Dean, but more so because of the pain Sam is feeling. Her assurances quickly morph into her trying to say ‘I’m here, Sam’.

Because that she is certain of. She’s not leaving Sam. She’s right here for him.

They get rid of the vamps’ bodies together, neither wanting to be alone for the time being. Once that’s done, they put Dean in the backseat of Baby and they drive home.

==========================

It takes less than a day for everybody to come for the funeral.

Sam and Eileen spend the rest of the night making phone calls to all of their friends and family. Jody, Donna and the girls are the first ones to show up. Claire is clinging to Kaia’s hand tightly as she tries to keep her sobbing under control.

Every time someone shows up, Sam can’t help but think back at something Dean said that time he was supposed to blow up Amara with the soul bomb.

‘I want a big funeral, you hear? I’m talking open bar, all you can eat kinda thing.’

By the time the sun begins to set, everyone is there. Sam finds himself thinking that Dean was right: he’s not alone, they do have a family. And their family is mourning his loss, their loss, with him, together.

Garth brought his family. Bobby and the hunters from Apocalypse World came. Charlie and Stevie came. Someone got a hold of Jesse and Cesar Cuevas and apparently they got on the first plane they could find all the way from Mexico. Even Rowena is summoned, and people are even more surprised when she shows up. Dean’s pyre is surrounded by everybody that ever loved him, everyone they considered family that still lives.

Miracle and Eileen are by Sam’s side when the pyre begins to burn.

They watch as the body of Dean Winchester burns, but they hold on tight to the fact that they’re not alone.

Ironically, the bunker is bursting with life after the funeral.

Everyone was invited to stay the night and said night is drunk away with stories, tears and memories of Dean. The mourn of his loss becomes a celebration of his life.

A couple of days later, after everyone is gone, Sam roams the bunker’s hallways. Eileen does everything she can, but it’s painfully obvious that staying here is not doing Sam any good. Too many memories, too many years, too many reminders of what’s gone.

They sit down, they talk, they cry in Dean’s room… and they come to the conclusion that it’s time.

They arrange things with Bobby and his hunters, giving them the bunker’s keys. They pack up everything they can take and with Miracle following right behind, they say goodbye to their home.

It hurts Sam more than he thought it would, but the bunker’s not being abandoned, it’s being opened for the hunter community to continue to fight the good fight. Except this time, he won’t be in the front lines.

They take Baby with them. Sam is driving, Eileen is sitting shotgun and Miracle is laying in the backseat. He takes Eileen’s hand in his. She signs ‘I love you’, Sam says it back.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Eileen says.

“I know,” Sam answers.

This time, he believes it.

============================

Dean wakes up (and this is a weird thing to say) standing. The sun is shining warm and beautiful on his face and he’s surrounded by a gorgeous mountain view.

There’s no immediate pain and after a full minute, nobody has come out to mock him and tear the fantasy down, so he assumes he’s not in hell.

Thank– No. Not Chuck. Thank Jack, he guesses.

There’s a building to his right and so he walks, curious. When he reaches the front, he’s surprised at the sight of Bobby, their Bobby, sitting on its porch, drinking a beer and smiling warmly at him.

“What memory is this?” He asks, taken aback. He looks up the building and his breath hitches. Harvelle’s. They’re at Harvelle’s.

Bobby chuckles, “it ain’t, ya idjit.”

“Yeah, it is,” he insists. “Last time I heard, you,” Dean points at Bobby. “were in heaven’s lock-up.”

“Was,” Bobby agrees, getting up. “Not anymore.”

“What happened?”

“That kid of yours happened,” he smiles. “He came in and– he fixed it. Everything. Heaven ain’t just your memories anymore. He– He tore down the walls,” Bobby explains softly, excitedly. “Everyone can go see everyone. See, a few miles from here,” he points over a mountain, “is Rufus’ cabin. He got it with Aretha. Your folks have their own place too, nearby.”

“So everyone–”

“You can see them, visit them,” Bobby clarifies. He opens his arms in invitation. “It’s good to see you, son.”

For the first time since he got here, Dean breaks into a big smile and steps into Bobby’s hug, holding on tightly. “Same goes to you, old man.”

“Shut up,” he jokingly scolds. Bobby pulls away from the hug and motions to the roadhouse’s entrance. “Come on in. There’s some people who’d like to see you.”

They step into the bar and Dean is once again taken aback not only because of the view, but because of all the joyful screaming that fills the air as soon as the door opens.

Everybody’s here.

Charlie, Ash, Jo, Ellen, even his mom… Dean’s smile widens even more at the sight of Kevin, who’s apparently not a condemned soul roaming the Earth anymore. Old friends, recent friends and family him and Sam lost along the way… even Frank is here.

Something is still missing tho, but Dean reminds himself bitterly that there’s nothing he can do about Cas, so he leaves it alone and basks in the sight of his friends.

He hugs everybody. He screams in joy and cries in joy and he’s just so damn happy at the sight of everybody.

“Jack did all this?!” Dean asks, once he’s gotten his happy tears under control.

“Not on his own,” Ellen answers. “Castiel helped.”

The world freezes for Dean.

“Cas… Cas is dead, Ellen,” the words feel awful to say, but they’re true. He saw it happen. “He- He’s gone.”

“No, idjit,” Bobby intervenes. “Cas helped Jack do this. This,” he motions around them. “Is the heaven we needed. Dean, it’s the heaven you deserve. And they did it.”

“What ‘bout Sam?” he asks, suddenly scared. “When he gets here, he’ll have this, right? He’ll see all of you?”

“He will,” Charlie speaks this time. “This is heaven now. Time works… differently, here. Sam won’t take long. So, what are you gonna do now, Dean?”

Dean nods, because what else can he do?

Cas is alive.

Cas probably knows he’s here.

“I gotta go,” he says. “I have an angel to talk to.”

He walks back to the roadhouse’s entrance, but stops before opening the door. Dean takes one more look at everyone, smiling. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

“Go find your angel, Romeo,” Charlie whoos loudly.

“Shut up, Charlie,” he calls back, stepping out of Harvelle’s.

As if heaven couldn’t be more perfect, Baby’s parked outside. Dean’s smile grows even more at the sight of her.

He gets inside, turns the keys and closes his eyes, savoring the sound of Baby’s roar. He turns the radio on and Carry On My Wayward Son begins to play.

He doesn’t know where exactly he’s driving, but he knows who he’s looking for. Assumes that heaven will guide him to Cas somehow.

Dean doesn’t know how time in heaven works, but he’s certain he lost track of it. After a while of driving, he stops at the side of the road upon looking at Miracle barking like crazy at the Impala, his tail wagging a mile an hour.

He continues to drive with Miracle riding shotgun until he arrives at his destination.

Castiel looks tense, nervous, but he’s still smiling as Dean gets out of Baby.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean can’t find words enough to express how much he’s missed him.

“You stupid, dumb son of a bitch,” he croaks, then brings Cas in for what must be the biggest hug of his existence. “You were gone too damn long.”

The ache, the pain, that emptiness he’d been feeling ever since Cas had been taken by the empty, disappears.

He doesn’t let Cas go.

=============================

Sam’s life is good.

Him and Eileen never get married. Not legally, at least. They’re it for each other, they know it, but Sam is legally dead and still wanted in some states, so they can’t get married in a traditional way.

Instead, they have a ceremony with their friends and family. Sam’s favorite picture from that day rests over the chimney, where he’s kissing Eileen’s cheek.

They name their first child Dean. Sam had been nervous to suggest it, but Eileen had taken one look after giving birth to their son and simply said, “hi, Dean”. Sam cried like a baby, murmuring sweet nothings into her hair while pressing his hand (that was signing ‘I love you’) to Eileen’s chest. He swore he’d be a better job than John ever did in raising his kids. He keeps that promise.

Dean grows, so does their family, so does the family business.

Their home is filled with pictures of their friends and family. Some of Sam with Jody and the girls, eating out or hanging out. Some were given to him, showing his brother Dean smiling and being and living with their family.

Dean Jr and his siblings hear endless stories of their super cool uncle from everybody their whole lives. They all wish they could meet Uncle Dean.

Time goes by, life goes on. Sam never gets used to the giant hole his brother’s absence leaves in his soul.

Him and Eileen grow old together. Of course they teach their kids sign language.The hunting world is somewhat still part of their lives. They used to take on small, very few cases, but little by little they just don’t anymore and one day Sam looks around as he’s doing some research to help a huntress in Minnesota and holy crap, he did get out after all.

Sometimes he visits Baby, even goes for a drive with his kids if he’s in the mood. But mostly he just sits and remembers a life besides his best friend, his brother. He prays he’s okay. He hopes he can hear him. He hopes Dean is proud.

Decades go by, his children grow and he loses a part of himself when Eileen dies. His condition gets worse and with time, he finds he can’t climb the stairs and one day he wakes up and he’s in a hospital bed in his living room. It’s insane.

He’s old now.

More time goes by and one day, it just happens. He feels it coming and damn, he got lucky his son Dean had come visit because he did not want to be alone for this.

He holds his son’s hand, tries to be reassuring and wonders if this is what Dean felt like all those years before at the barn.

“We’ll be okay, dad,” his kid tells him. “It’s okay.”

Sam smiles at the feel of his boy’s hand in the shape of the ‘I love you’ sign being pressed to his chest. He makes his own hand move to cover his boy’s.

Suddenly his grip fades, his smile fades, his eyes close. He draws his last breath.

Sam follows his reaper to whatever destination comes next.

===========================

Dean loves having Cas riding shotgun as they drive through heaven. Miracle is sitting in the backseat for most of the drive, sometimes trying to jump over to the front, much to Cas’ amusement and Dean’s panic.

They talked. They keep talking along the road but for the most part, unfinished business aside, Dean is pretty fucking happy. He got Cas back. He knows now Jack is perfectly fine. Cas even told him Jack sometimes drops by to visit. He can’t wait.

They drive and drive and drive and Dean won’t ever get tired of seeing Cas so happy.

They arrive at a bridge. Dean decides this is a good place to stop. He motions for Cas to follow, gets out and opens the backdoor for Miracle to jump out too.

“I just felt like taking in the view,” he explains.

Cas only nods and follows him to the edge. Dean wouldn’t be able to tell how long they stood there, leaning against the metal, taking in the view of the mountains and the river running below them.

Suddenly, there’s a change in the air.

Dean’s face breaks into a huge smile.

Heaven was perfect, but it just got even better.

He doesn’t need to turn around to know who it is.

“Heya, Sammy,” he croaks.

Now he turns, and yeah, his little brother is right there, all teary eyed and happy. Looking like not a day had gone by since the last time they saw each other.

“Dean,” Sam greets softly.

Dean gives a quick look to Cas, who is standing behind and petting Miracle as he smiles at their reunion. Dean looks back at his brother and he can’t contain himself anymore.

He hugs the crap out of Sammy.

Team Free Will is finally back together.

They get back into Baby after admiring the view for a little more and Dean tells Sam everything there is to know about heaven with Cas’ help.

They make plans to take him to Eileen, to visit everyone. To make their lives up here in heaven.

Dean has the biggest smile on his face as he looks in the rearview mirror and sees Cas smiling at him just as big in the backseat with Miracle. Sammy’s in his usual place: shotgun.

Heaven was perfect before, Dean thinks. But it’s finally complete now.

THE END

I hope you guys liked it... I know this was certainly therapeutic for me.

Take care of yourselves, keep fighting. And remember that no matter what we were given, family don’t end in blood.

I’m not tagging anyone because... just because. But I hope that y’all like this :)

#dean winchester #supernatural #Season 15 #15 x 20 #destiel #deancas #Sam Winchester #sam x eileen #15x20 fix it #dean winchester is happy #Supernatural Fan Fiction #dean #happy ending

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nebula-starlight · 3 years

Text

Sepsis (Pt. 16: A Story Told)

She… She hadn’t done it! She hadn’t murdered that Healer in cold blood. She wasn’t a monster! It- It was all the fault of that voice in her head. The one who constantly growled and glitched and made the last few months of her life a living hell without Nethreis there to keep it subdued. She couldn’t give the Other its satisfaction of a name. Names had power after all and her only goal at the moment, besides running for her life, was to prevent that… thing from having any more influence than it had already accumulated. So she ran, taking flight in the dead of night towards the nearby towering Northern Mountains to seek out a place to reside away from those who no doubt wished for her death. There was simply no way she could make them understand that it hadn’t been her who committed the heinous crime.

When she finally landed, Versila slid over the fine layer of snow and nearly lost her balance before grabbing hold of a frosted over boulder and clinging to it until her hind claws dug into the frozen ground with enough purchase to the point that she would not fall. Her eyes flickered around, taking in the bleak landscape and she sighed, wings pressing tight against her side as a bitter chill made her long for the warmth of an open fire. That luxury was one she could not afford now, much to her dismay, but she shoved off the longing and started making her way through the snowy terrain as best she could. Hopefully she had a far enough head start that any who tried to follow would have to struggle to catch up with her before the night’s shadows got too thick to safely traverse the landscape.

Unfortunately the cold did not prevent that ever-present glitchy voice from growling once again, seemingly irritated about something or another. And while it wasn’t entirely audible, or at the very least she didn’t focus too hard on it, the fact that it was still present left her feeling…. bitter. It wasn’t entirely the bitterness of rejection or the pang of jealousy but it was enough of a sensation that she stopped where she was for a moment and lifted her head to see the clouded night sky. They were better off without her in their lives. He…. No she couldn’t cast him aside even though he had left her alone for months while he went off and did the various killings commanded of him by those infernal Councilmembers and their pompous leader. Magnus had, after all, been the one to put the charge of her father’s death on her and then bind her soul to Nethreis’s in some sick twisted scheme to plant a sense of control over the kind, gentle spirit that had once saved her life in ways she hadn’t even gotten up the courage to tell him.

“Please…. If there is one who watches over us… please spare him from the horrid fate I fear those vile leaders have planned for him. He does not deserve such misery after all he has…” She trailed off, hearing just over the wind the faintest echo of a very familiar bellow. It couldn’t be. He wasn’t scheduled back for another few days at the very least according to the last letter he had sent her some weeks prior.

The voice in her head snarled angrily, glitching with enough force that Versila winced, feeling it ripple through her body from the force of the apparent hatred. Had the Other ever expressed such disgust of what was hers? For whatever reason she could not seem to recall and that thought brought her a sense of deep sorrow. Shaking her head, she was about to move on when some sense she could not name made her look back the way she had come so far through the snowed mountainous land. If he followed her… Was he still obeying those orders that had been drilled into him by Magnus? She knew of the secret meetings, though unaware of what was discussed, but saw how weary her mate appeared each time she comforted him in their home afterwards. It was as if there was an energy depleted from him after each of his meetings with the Councilmember and her concern had only grown the less he seemed to share with her about these interactions. Why was he acting as if these conversations were private? Was she not his mate and bound to his soul as he was to hers?

Another pang of a glitch made her even more uneasy and again she looked back behind her. For a split second she swore amongst the blackness she saw a flash of distant crimson. Why did she feel in the depths of her soul that something was very much wrong? Surely it was just her overly heightened paranoia making her incredibly skittish about the whole situation from when she fled during the night to avoid being arrested for yet another crime that was not her fault. To be honest she was becoming very tired of the sheer persistence of this unknown being who seemingly had taken up refuge in her mind, probably without her awareness even. It might have been her father’s cruelty that had awoken it but now she was determined to ignore the presence to the best of her ability.

She jumped, wings beating against the ground as dimly she heard what sounded to her like a very familiar chuckle, however it was much lower than she had ever recalled hearing before. Something was definitely wrong now. Every sense of self-preservation she had left was screaming at her to run. It was a hunt and she was the prey. Worse she had no idea where her assailant was coming from or even who it- Actually she suspected by now she knew who it was. There was every possibility that this had been planned from the start with those secretive meetings. It seemed entirely like something Magnus would do. He had been against her from the very beginning.

From the snow around her, Versila shrunk back, seeing the sudden appearance of a smoky gray mist that slowly swirled around her. She bit back a growl and bolted, taking to the air even as the shadows exploded right underneath her and a large dark figure slammed into her from below, talons tearing against her chest as she screamed. The Other howled in fury, glitching violently to the point where her body contorted and she fell, somehow spinning during her descent and landing on her side in the snow once all the momentum left her and she rolled to a stop. Her wounds stung, already oozing ink that slid down her graying scales as she whimpered and struggled back up on her feet.

That wasn’t her Nethreis. Not anymore. He was replaced by an unfeeling monster who had caught up to her and would surely attempt to make this mountainside the spot where her life would end. Versila spat out some sparks warningly at him, daring him to try for another strike. Her attacker landed gracefully some feet away after circling around, his gaze little more than a jaded, stone-cold glare of eerily flickering red. It was an utter abyss around her now, all traces of the earlier dusk having proceeded onward into the darkest of night. Had she not been actively trying to gauge how he would respond next, she knew she would have otherwise been seeking out an isolated place to bunker down until dawn rose next. Now she was forbidden even a sliver of a guarantee that she would still be alive to welcome in a new day. Nethreis had yet to address her and that knowledge was growing ever more concerning the longer the silence between them went.

“Silskiva.” His use of her last name alone made her flinch, the tone so eerily reminiscent of Raymos’s that for a split second she thought maybe somehow her deceased father had found a way to punish her once more out of pure spite. “Versila…. Silskiva.”

“...Love?” Her voice caught in her throat, barely resisting the urge to retreat away from his imposing presence. “Nethreis… it… it’s me. Your beloved. I know you recognize- Eep!”

His stance posture shifted, lowering ever so slightly at her words, though not in a sign of recognition. She knew that shift as a conditioned habit of his calculating mind affirming the plan he had decided upon. As he slipped further into a crouch, her breath hitched, stepping back as he bared his stained fangs at her directly. Versila started to turn to run but the Other violently glitched again, forcing her to confront her wayward lover who had not said hardly anything to her since arriving.

It wasn’t her lunging at him. Versila wanted so desperately to scream at him in warning but she found, to her horror, that she wasn’t seeing through her own eyes anymore. It was as though something had taken all control away from her and she was being forced to watch as Nethreis rose to meet the advance. She tried to stay focused on what was happening but she was strangely suddenly hit with a wave of sheer exhaustion. Going to sleep would be so easy…. He was here, he would keep her safe. Her most precious…. mate.

How she would be protected under his wings. Protected…. forever.

#sepsis #nether #versi #a coin has two sides

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the-magic-lava-lamp · 4 years

Text

Ragnarok & Roll

Summary: Thor rolled his eyes. “Of course, I miss you.” He shook his head. “But this is our path. We’re both working really hard right now, chasing our science-y dreams.” He laughed, tongue slightly peeking out of his smile. “And while we’re on the subject...”

Bruce raised his brow.

“Maybe listen to the radio station while you’re working.”

Ships: ThorBruce (mentions of ValJane)

Word Count: 5,010

“Seeing three concerts a week, that’s what got me the gig.”

Peter Quill smirked in a way that might’ve come across as rude if he wasn’t simultaneously looking blissfully proud of himself.

Gamora glanced at the back of her boyfriend’s head as she passed by his conversation, headphones slung around her neck. To put his interviewee to wise would mean admitting that Peter only truly got the gig because he was just the best at pestering the project head. She restrained herself from sharing that story because Peter was far to fond of music, in a way she just couldn’t understand, and seemed to be taking this quite seriously.

“They saw my dedication to good music and made me the main DJ host.” Quill swirled his spinning chair and made a wide gesture to his equipment. “They haven’t regretted the decision since.” His hands cupped the back of his head as he made a care-free shrug.

The interviewee, Thor Odinson, looked amused as he smiled. “Not even that time you accidentally left while you were still on air?”

Quill chuckled. “Not so much...regretful. Maybe more...pleasantly surprised that I handled it so well?” He smirked but tilted his gaze in a way that looked incredibly flustered. Thor laughed with him, liking the back-and-forth. “Now, judging by the long hair and all-around...” Quill swirled his finger around his own face. “Hippie look that you’ll be down with our style here. Our ‘Awesome Mix’, if you will.”

Thor’s eyebrows drew together as another hearty round of laughter escaped him. “I am most pleased with your collective taste.” He gestured towards the two of them. “You and your crew seem to have a lot of fun on air.”

Thor continued smiling to himself as his eyes drifted around his college’s radio station studio. The room wasn’t particularly small but sort of tight with large posters on the bland walls. The desk was chunky on it’s own but the three large mic stands (which could swing out) didn’t help either.

Quill looked rather proud at that last sentiment, which Thor took as a good sign. “Yeah we are a fun bunch.” He looked positively joyous and would probably burst if he saw the way Gamora’s sincere smile took over her face. “Why should you be part of our team?”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

—CUT—-

~*REC*~

The fuzziness focuses to the warm setting of the space between Thor’s chin and chest. He shook his head and thumped his hand on the side of the bulky camera. There was a few seconds of frizzling sounds before it seemed to beep awake. “Is it on?” His voice was soft and confused, growing even quieter as his head twirled back. He was attempting to glance at his friend behind him, who’s only part in the current shot was his fast-moving hands.

“Is the red light flickering?”

The shot wiggled again as he examined the camera and finally looked through the viewfinder. There was able a slightly foggy vision of their small apartment, he moved slightly and it zoomed right in on Bruce’s focused stare.

There was a small pile of what should be parts for their kitchen table in front of him but looking at the mess (and zooming in further)...it looked like junk. “Yes! We are officially recording.” Came Thor’s undeniably joyful voice.

Bruce peeked up from what looked to be a wooden leg and smiled, bashfully as he pushed his glasses up the slope of his nose.

The sun was in it’s sweetest spot, hanging just outside their window. The peace of domestic life came with it and bathed them each in bars of golden light that broke through the new blinds. The shot didn’t do it much justice, picking it up in a sort of light-fuzz.

Stubbornly but patiently Bruce went back to his directions. He threw open the pamphlet and clicked his tongue. The glossy pages easily flipped and flung from his fingers. He smacked a page down, gliding his finger down the spine and landing it on top of the black and white fuzzy photo of the completed piece of furniture. “I have no idea how to turn this-” Bruce waved the table leg around the pile of pieces “Into this.” He held out the photo to Thor & his trusty camera. “Do you honestly think it’s possible?”

“I don’t know. Let’s ask the audience.” Thor chuckled and turned the shot onto himself with the happiest smile.

-“So...Loki now or us in like ten years?” Bruce smirked and Thor burst into happy, hearty laughter. The true and genuine affection he so obviously felt from the mention of 10 years in the future was clear on his face.

“It was my idea first. Loki just gave me the camera.” He shared a observational glance with the equipment. “I want to log our memories, Banner.” He tore his eyes away to put his full attention on Bruce again. “Loki just wants to have footage of me embarrassing myself for future amusement.”

The shot spun around the room a few times before landing back on Bruce’s crouched position again. The man smiled in that way which suggested he understood the true intentions behind Loki’s gesture. Which...he did. They both did.

Thor and Loki’s relationship had grown much stronger over the last few years. After dealing with the rough passage of their younger years and struggles with their father, at some point they’d just decided turning on each-other was stupid.

For years, Loki felt inferior. Which stemmed from the fact that his codependent need to gain his fathers favor was never resolved. That much was obvious to Bruce and at some point, Loki finally explained that all to Thor, who felt awful for being so ignorant despite his own issues.

So Loki’s memories of growing up weren’t always warm & fuzzy. That’s why Bruce figured his amusement & support of ‘Home-movies’ being made now wasn’t just for the sake of trickery. Maybe that was just a bonus.

Bruce’s train of thought was seen in the shot but obviously couldn’t all be interrupted correctly just by viewfinder. “It is a nice idea.” Bruce wiggled his body to get comfortable on the hardwood floor. “Considering, I can put them on in the background when we’re away from each-other.” Bitterness was clear in that tone.

Thor’s voice hummed from behind the camera. As of late, both college students had become swept up in their course-work and spent long hours apart. Bruce was deep into his back-and-forth with biochemistry studies while Thor was in the midst of his astronomy/astrophysics major. It was a bit of a strain on both of them.

Most frustrating were the few hours Bruce spent down at the lab to study & experiment. Thor didn’t like the idea of his boyfriend rattling around the place by himself, bothered & stressed. Bruce didn’t exactly love it either but the isolation proved to help his focus.

The camera shot wiggled once more as Thor placed it on the cushion of the lounge chair next to him. An accidentally well-framed scene, with both men in the shot looking incredibly domestic. Bruce still fumbling with the table pieces while Thor glanced at the instructions for himself.

“The goal is to have it put together by your Birthday.” Bruce shot Thor a smile smile.

The red light kept flickering away, forgotten until the battery ran itself out, proved worth the extra long footage. Capturing Thor’s wild yet softly earnest grin as he reached out and grabbed for Bruce’s hand, who instinctively squeezed back.

—CUT—-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“-Now, these are probably the worst hours to host. Like straight up boring.” Quill smiled as if that wasn’t an odd way to advertise the job. Thor decided he liked the weirdo. “But if I offered you the chance to be the regular Co-host DJ for the 1 to 5 am time-slot on Tuesday & Thursdays you’d say?” He waved his hand out with excitement.

“Yes.” Thor happily tipped his chin and reached out to shake hands on that deal.

Quill looked surprised but at the same time, beaming with appreciation. Gamora was peeking from over her shoulder as she reorganized some of the records that she was sure Peter would forget to do.

“Good deal, man!” Quill reached out and swung their grasp up-and-down a few times before leaning back in his chair. “Let’s break this interview for lunch and then we’ll let you have a feel for what the job while be like.”

: : : : : : : :

“I want to introduce you to the little crew which will accompany you during your shifts.” Quill ran around the hallway as if he owned the place which was a sure sign that he was appreciated by his peers. His grin was hearty and his walk was more like a happy bounce.

With a sharp turn, he was opening the studio door and slurping down the rest of his soda. The creaky thing swung open and a girl with wavy blonde hair stood up straight from where she’d been previously leaning.

“That’s Carol Danvers.” Quill pointed and flashed a little finger-gun to her. “She’s the other co-host.”

Carol shot Thor a tiny, corner grin and waved her hand. She was almost exactly how Thor pictured a college radio DJ would look like. The flannel tied at her waist and tightening her ‘Bob Seger’ concert t-shirt were the perfect attire for an unofficial uniform. “Excited for every insomniac in town to know our names?” She popped her knee out slightly and smirked.

Thor smiled softly and nodded his head. “Very.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thor! I’m so tired that I might just pass out. This workload is slowly killing me. Good news though, you can save some time and just bury my body under the piles & piles of papers I have to do! ” Bruce started talking, or rambling really, before he even had the apartment door fully open that first Tuesday afternoon.

Thor frowned softly as he slouched forward. Both of his arms glided across the counter but the right hand was serving as a stand for his phone. Bruce almost thought his boyfriend had given up on the bulky camera to film their home-videos but before he could speak-

“I never knew you to be that dramatic, Bruce.”

Thor turned the phone around to reveal Loki, in the middle of his makeup routine with a tiny smirk on his face. Bruce registered him and chuckled while he started to put his things all over the small counter (table still in pieces on the floor).

“Should’ve seen me during my Freshman year of High-School, buddy. To this day, the most use I got out of a purchase was my .99 cent addition of Elton John’s ‘I Think I’m Going to Kill Myself’ to my music library.” Bruce pursed his lips in a joking manner but Thor wasn’t all that fond of thinking of Banner in that way. He reached his free hand under the table and gently pulled Bruce closer, who naturally leaned into it.

“Good look, by the way-” Bruce tipped his chin towards Loki on screen and cut himself off with a sip of Thor’s water. “Going somewhere special?”

Bruce and Loki hadn’t gotten off on the best foot, nor the worst foot really, when they were first acquainted. But it had been sort of awkward due to the evolving involvement in each others lives that Thor & Loki were experiencing.

The brothers were closer than ever these days which Bruce couldn’t be more grateful for. He wasn’t a therapist or anything but he knew just as soon as he & Thor started dating their Senior year of High School; The two of them desperately wanted to bond, even if they had a hard time showing it.

They had just started to feel more like close siblings when college came into the picture, which sent Thor to New York and Loki to California later.

Loki flashed an accidental genuine smile. “Thanks.” He mumbled, swiping at his eye. “And no. My roommate is insisting we go out and do something. You remember? I told you about her.”

Thor nodded. “Yes. You described her as the-...?” He trailed off, looking to Bruce with the cutest thinking face.

Bruce glanced over from cleaning his glasses. “The weird girl?” He chuckled. “Who you moved in with after a week of knowing her?”

“I thought you said she was closed off? You didn’t know if you got along.” Thor added.

Loki hummed, tapping a tiny brush against the sink. “Yeah well, I like her now.” He shrugged. “She thought she was a witch when she was a kid and she has Halloween sound effect records from the fifties. And I think she actively listens to them.” Loki pointed his thin brush.

“That’s how I pick my friends.” Bruce chuckled softly.

“Plus, her brother is also the complete opposite of her.” Loki smirked and picked up his phone to walk carefully through his apartment. “So we have that in common.” He lowered the shot and seemed to loose interest in looking at the screen. “Ok. I’m gonna hang-up soon.”

Thor chuckled. “Make sure you have your work done before you go out. One time I-”

Loki frowned. “Do you have to try and bond with me while Bruce is listening? It’s embarrassing.” He smirked, obviously uncomfortable.

Thor just smiled again. “Have fun.”

“Bye.” Loki put his phone down and hung-up.

Bruce wrapped his arm around his boyfriend and started rubbing small circles on his back. He set his glasses down on the counter and gently leaned closer to kiss Thor’s warm hair.

“I love you.” Thor mumbled gently and no matter how many times he’d heard it, Bruce still needed a second to breathe that in.

“I love you too.” He let his chin rest atop Thor’s head. “Sorry about my long nights at the lab.” He added miserably. “I won’t do it on your Birthday.”

Thor pulled away slightly and eased into their next touch; dragging his hand down Bruce’s arm and grabbing his hand which dangled between their bodies. He met his eye-line and couldn’t hold back an ounce of his adoration of Bruce from bleeding into his stare. “You don’t have to apologize.”

Bruce didn’t seem entirely too convinced.

“We’re gonna be in each others lives forever, Banner.” a shrug rolled off his shoulders as if it were just that simple. Life and the great beyond. “I think we can afford sacrificing a few days for the sake of your passion.” Thor raised their grasp and shook it lightly.

“My mother always said I was a...visionary child, determined too. I had big plans at eight years old.” Thor rolled his lips together. “I have been dreaming of our life together since I met you.” He looked away, sort of bashful. “We’re gonna be just fine.” Another shrug.

Bruce pursed his lips and might’ve blushed. “That was really cheesy.” He chuckled and admired the way Thor giggled. “But don’t you get lonely...dreaming about that all on your own while I’m up in the lab?”

Thor rolled his eyes. “Of course, I miss you.” He shook his head. “But this is our path. We’re both working really hard right now, chasing our science-y dreams.” He laughed, tongue slightly peeking out of his smile.

“And while we’re on the subject...”

Bruce raised his brow.

“Maybe listen to the radio station while you’re working.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{ *Faded notes of Zeppelin’s classic; Immigrant Song, as it ends*}

: {*Steady static*}

: {*Loud Record Scratch*}

Carol playfully smacked her fist onto the table next to the co-host who’d suddenly faded off.

Thor picked his head up and finally reached over and lifted the record from the player. “Now, I know what you’re thinking.” He smirked as he lowered the microphone closest to him. “Oh no, who’s this guy and what has he done with Quill?” He chuckled warmly & waved his arms about to nobody.

The tiny buzzing of the neon sign outside the door (reading ‘RECORDING’) bounced in his ears.

“I’m sure the five people listening are thinking just that.” Carol fiddled with her mic, the blondes shared a quick smirky grin. “I’m Carol and that’s Thor-” Both DJ’s gestured as if people could see them, Thor even waved into the microphone. “We’ll be the hosts for all you nocturnal friends.”

“Ask me why I took this junk time-slot, Carol.” Thor bumped his new partner’s elbow.

“Why did you take this time-slot, Thor?” She happily obliged.

“I’ve been dating my boyfriend for nearly three years now.” Thor spoke with earnest ease that Carol couldn’t help but admire. “He’s incredibly hard-working and dedicated to his studies.” He pulled his mic even closer.

“But that means he’s off doing his research alone, in a lab into the early hours. I didn’t like for him to be so lonely.” He shook his head, rolling his lips together. “So, because I can’t just stay with him, I thought I could accompany him this way. It just so happened to align with his study days.”

“We love cute couples!” Carol spun around in her chair. “My girlfriend & I decided to race each-other on the way to the studio.” She slapped her hand over her heart and sighed affectionately. “I cheated and took a short-cut & she still beat me. Now she’s asleep in a spinny chair in the corner even though she bet me five dollars that she wouldn’t be too tired to listen the whole show.”

Thor glanced at Maria, still asleep with the pair of headphones on. He smiled.

“I love her so much.” Carol slid her hand off her chest and leaned her elbow on the table. “What song do you want to dedicate to your boyfriend, Thor?”

Thor paused in thought, hoping that Bruce was listening. He prepared the song to play with an eager yet nervous expression. “This is ‘You Got It’ by Roy Orbison...for Bruce.”

{ *Faded notes of Roy’s intro*}

: : : : : : : :

“I'm glad to give my love to you I know you feel the way I do.

Anything you want, you got it Anything you need, you got it Anything at all, you got it Baby...”

Bruce was alone yet still felt the need to hide his embarrassed grin behind the cupped palm of his hand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce had patiently waited until the morning to say anything about the show, due to the fact that Thor was asleep when he came home & he was too dead tired to wake him.

When he woke up to find himself alone in bed, he figured Thor was allowing him to sleep in because he knew it to be his free day.

And though Bruce was still exhausted, he found the energy to roll out of bed and bound to the small kitchen area where his boyfriend was eating eggs & reading through a textbook.

Instead of initially speaking, Bruce darted past him and gently pushed Thor’s head as he went past him to grab a plate for himself. He could almost feel the heat of the man’s blush.

“Did you like the show?” Thor leaned so far back that his chin was pointing to the sky in order to watch Bruce go about his morning routine.

Another smile was hidden, behind a coffee mug this time, as Bruce sipping at the pre-made cup. He slowly glided over (Thor timing the speed in which he lifted his head accordingly) and started running his hands through Thor’s hair.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Thor took that as victory and hummed happily.

“But seriously...” Bruce paused. “I loved it. I love hearing your dumb voice when I’m about to explode from stress. Always calms me down.” He chuckled. “But you really don’t have to keep yourself up on those nights too.” He frowned but felt all bashful again when Thor shook his head.

“I love making you happy.” Thor shrugged and Bruce shook his head with a smile. “Can we go to that drive-in root-beer place that I’ve been dying to try for dinner?”

Bruce pursed his lips and glanced at their ‘table’ on the floor. “The one that’s across the street from the abandoned 7/11?” He asked, remembering the time he’d gotten his last Slurpee there with Valkyrie. She had gotten a roller hot-dog and dipped it into her slushie. And he’d nearly fought that worker for dropping the first dog on the floor and trying to shove it back on the tray before they noticed. That place was probably better off closed...

“Yeah. I want one of those Root-beer Floats.” Thor grinned.

“You don’t want to save the little trip for your Birthday? What’s your schedule like for today again?” Bruce ran his fingers out of the blonde and took a seat next to Thor on the couch.

“I have my experimental physics class with Heimdall and Jane at three.” He gestured to his textbook. “But that’s all for today.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

—CUT—-

~*REC*~

-”Oh, I got it! Bruce, look!” The camera shook and got a few glamorous shots of Thor’s bumbling legs as Bruce moved to look through the viewfinder.

“Now what?” Came a voice came from the right. The camera whirled around to get a well framed shot of Valkyrie leaning against a stop sign, holding a forgotten chip up to her mouth.

“This is Valkyrie as she was on this fine Saturday, folks.” Thor narrated, zooming in close on her face. Valkyrie scowled and reached over to playfully slap him, the camera shook and the shot fuzzed a little.

“Hey! That cost us a pretty penny.” Bruce chuckled and Thor smiled, giving the camera the finger to show he was ok.

“Charming, isn’t she?” Thor zoomed in once again while Valkyrie’s laughter got louder and louder. The camera turned and shook as Thor’s hand came into the shot. The sound of the pebbles crunching becoming the main sound.

The three of them continued walking down the sidewalk and into town to enjoy some of their free-time.

Valkyrie strolled slightly behind the boys, making the occasional face at the camera. “I thought the idea was to record family videos? Why are you so desperate to zoom in on me-?” She wrinkled her nose playfully as the sound of the zoom buzzed from the camera.

“You’re apart of our family!”

Both boys made offended sounds. The camera captured a cute shot of Bruce turning to bump her arm & Valkyrie bumping him back with authentic joy all while Thor was still trying to explain how important she was.

She skipped forward and leaned her elbow atop Bruce’s shoulder. “Your radio shows have been really entertaining by the way.” She glanced up at the taller man with amusement. “How’s someone get a song dedicated to her?” She teased.

Thor smirked. “She could try finally asking out Jane & maybe she’ll call in a dedication for her-” The camera lost it’s focus as Valkyrie tried to whack him again.

which inevitability turned into her chasing him down the sidewalk.

“Woo-hoo! Run Thor!” Bruce shouted from behind them.

As the chase ended officially, Thor whipped the camera around to get a good shot of Valkyrie but ended up tumbling on his ass. He was laughing so hard, he nearly dropped the camera.

Thor stretched his arm out, allowing Valkyrie to swipe the camera. She raised it, turning it to her own face, Bruce way in the background. “Future me, these two seem to think I’m in it for the long run so I hope you’re still being the glue that holds this group together.”

“Don’t flatter yourself! We all know that’s Heimdall!” Thor shouted from where he was laying in the grass.

She turned the camera to get a shot of Bruce now charging after them. Once he got close enough, she bent her knees slightly and took on the tiny man’s weight as he jumped on her back like he’d done it a million times.

With Bruce nervously on her back, she gently tossed the camera to Thor.

—CUT—-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

{ *Faded notes of rock music*}

: : : : : :

“That was ‘Jukebox Hero’ by Foreigner. Lovingly dedicated to Maria Rambeau, who allowed me to perform that song to her during karaoke night. She’s most likely asleep right now but just know, I’m with you baby.” Carol giggled.

“If anyone happened to record that moment, please call the number to let me know-” Thor chuckled as Carol thumped her elbow into his side. “Anyway, keep on listening because here comes the start of our AC/DC Rock Block--” Thor prepared the music. “Requested by the great Tony Stark, who never sleeps.”

As ‘Shoot to Thrill’ faded in, both DJ’s peeled off their headphones and tended to their immediate cravings. Carol went to the tiny coffee machine to brew herself some energy & Thor went to the bathroom.

When he returned, he plopped back down in his soft chair and took the offered cup of coffee Carol made for him. He was enjoying the slight burn that came down his throat as he drank when three sharp and soft knocks came at the door.

Thor got up to let the person in & couldn't be happier with the new company. “Banner!” He grabbed his arm and closed the door behind them.

Bruce slipped in, books to his chest and a soft smile on his face. “Hey. I finished up what I was doing in the lab early so I just came to...see the magic.” He chuckled. “Hi, I’m Bruce.” He politely reached his hand out to shake.

Carol smiled back. “Carol. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

She watched as Thor kneeled down next to the chair Bruce sat in and started up a small-chat. It was endearingly close as the two men where startlingly in sync with their movements.

Bruce flattened his palm and rested his chin in the small dip of his hand. Thor casually threw an arm around his shoulder and warmed his back as he curled up on the velvety chair. The pile of books poked slightly into his stomach, reminding him that he should probably be sitting up straight. Though he made no move to do so. In fact, he snuggled down further and his eyes followed his boyfriend’s fingers as they played with the top notebook, flipping it open.

: : : : Bruce ended up falling asleep near the end of the show, glasses slowly slipping down his nose but never falling off.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bruce Banner set up that lovely camera on the kitchen counter before he entered their bedroom...& hopped directly atop Thor. “Good Morning to you too, Banner!” The blonde rolled over and sat up against the headboard.

“I made pancakes.” Bruce hopped off the bed and held out his hand (as if Thor needed his help to get up).

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~*REC*~

A sleepy looking Thor was the first to enter the shot, following Bruce out into the dark space of their living area. He was rubbing a curled fist into his eye & yawning when the lights suddenly turned on and--

“Surprise!”

The room was suddenly revealed to be filled with their closest friends and Thor nearly jumped clear out of the shot. Bruce looked on with a beaming smile. “Happy Birthday!” He picked up the camera and strolled over to poke his boyfriend’s side.

The screen fuzzed over as Thor lifted Bruce up with adoration & cleared it’s focus on a closeup of his beard. A few people whistled (Tony Stark’s was perhaps the loudest).

“Must you do that in public?”

The sudden (and close) voice of his brother nearly caused Thor to drop Bruce but he’d managed a safe landing. “Brother!”

Loki shrugged with a smile and Bruce tried to zoom in on the kind expression...

—CUT—-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~*REC*~

"-Loki?….Loki?….Loki?!”

“What?!” Loki whipped his head around to look at Thor who was sheepishly sitting on the couch. Loki was leaning against the wall closest to the radio.

“Can you turn it up?”

He rolled his eyes and turned the radio up. It was clear that Jane had the camera, considering for some reason she was the only one with steady hands.

'Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now’ faded in and was met with mixed emotion. Quill wasted no time spinning Gamora and initiating the dancing. Carol & Maria wasted no time either, singing along every once in a while.

“Somebody dance with me! It’s an emergency!” Jane hopped up and handed the camera off to Loki. He whipped the camera around to view Valkyrie being poked over & over by Bruce. Jane grinned and reached out a hand, wiggling her fingers, waiting for the girl to go uncharacteristically shy and accept the offer. It didn’t take long.

The camera was handed off to Heimdall, as Loki had no interest in recording.

—CUT—-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~*REC*~

The shot was grainy and fuzzy but clearly Heimdall didn’t care much. He continued to quietly film everyone. They were all in sitting around making conversation, Nat and Clint leaning on each other and occasionally whispering.

Bruce’s head was in Thor's lap as he was waving around and gesturing while he told some childhood story. Bruce’s legs were in Valkyrie’s lap, who was drumming on them while she listened intently on Thor's story.

Loki jumped in every once in a while to add more to Thor’s rambling & occasionally they’d bicker to everyone’s amusement.

—CUT—-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~*REC*~

The radio was still going but a little softer. That was until the beginning of a song faded after another.

Thor began to happily (and a bit drunkenly) sing along to the Beatles...

“Oh, I get by with a little help from my friends Mm, I get high with a little help from my friends Mm, gonna try with a little help from my friends...”

It didn’t take much longer for all of the guests to be singing their hearts out and dragging each other into shot. They were all passionately singing the lyrics in no time. Falling on top of each other with the biggest smiles on their faces.

Thor spun Bruce under his arm and made a note to play the song on his next show with Carol.

��CUT—-

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~*REC*~

A shot of Thor, and everyone trying to squeeze in behind him on the living room floor.

the camera fades to black.

—CUT—-

#is this bad?#im actually really anxious about posting it #ahhhhh #idk #thorbruce #thor ragnorak #Thor Odinson #bruce banner #Carol Danvers #valkyrie #Maria Rambeau #jane foster #heimdall #valjane #valkyrie/jane #The Avengers #avengers endgame #my fanfiction

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bapydemonprincess · 3 years

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1 to 5 for all your OCs cause I can't tell what all your ocs are and too lazy to look it all up, sryy :P BUT I do like what you have made that i saw!!! jsyn

Well, I’ll see what I can do!! It’s.. all under a cut becayse god it got long. 🙈🙈🙈

Aarushi:

1. What is their gender? Nonbinary.

2. What is their sexuality? Asexual.

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?Aarushi is Sanskrit for the first rays of the sun. Which makes so much sense as they are a baby created between Agni and female Sebastian :’) And it’s most likely Agni came up with the name mainly and Sebastian totally loved it immediately. 🖤 In most cases, people seem to like calling Aarushi Aaru for short, so there’s that, and I also headcanoned myself Agni calls his child tiger cub (there was Bengali for it but I can’t find it 🙈) Lastly, Sebastian calls both Aarushi and Ambrose their “kittens” and that sticks too. 🥰 (much to Ambrose’s dismay)

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with? As stated above, Ambrose is Aarushi’s only other sibling. In general it was a miracle Seb and Agni were able to have another child after the first, considering the difficulties they endured the first time around, but definitely didn’t regret it! So Aarushi was much older by the time Ambrose was born, and had also likely come and gone to go explore the world on their own and make contracts (they need to eat souls like mama). As for closeness, Aarushi and Ambrose’s relationship is a mixed bag of love/hate. Aka, Aarushi adored their baby brother, no matter what, but Ambrose is always going to feel a bitterness deep down involving his older sibling, considering compared to him, Aarushi has LOTS of power inherited from both Sebastian and Agni’s hand of Kali, and yet.. they really are a peaceful sort and nothing like a demon of Hell themselves!

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

Aarush loves both Agni and Sebastian and has a strong bond with both parents. The only thing they ever disagree on is Mama’s idea of eating souls and such. Aarushi is a pacifist through and through, much like Agni, and though this worries Sebastian because they do need to eat souls to survive, Sebastian cannot fault their beloved kitten for how they think of things. As for other relatives, Aarushi considers Grelle Sutcliff and Hannah Annafellows, who are most definitely together and (possibly..?) happily married their aunts, especially since Hannah helped Sebastian through the whole pregnancy in the first place.

Ambrose:

1. What is their gender? Male.

2. What is their sexuality? Bisexual.

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

The name “Ambrose” is Greek, and means “Immortal” ..(I am so so sorry I cannot for the life of me remember why that was picked it was something to do with how ironically his life WAS almost snuffed out, or he was meant to be a powerful demon but didn’t/couldn’t become one.. I dunno! 🙈) And again, Sebastian calls him “kitten” and Aunt Hannah, Grelle and his father Agni call him a little raven or corvus. :3 Meanwhile his now boyfriend calls him “Rosie” as they can shorten his name to that 🖤

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

I think it’s basically the same answer as above :P

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

Like the polar opposite of his elder sibling, Ambrose doesn’t get along very well with family. Especially Mum. Mainly due to Sebastian being the one he was meant to be given powers from but couldn’t handle it. Not to mention, with how independent Ambrose is, Sebastian’s motherly attitude constantly gets on his nerves from early on and many times he’d tried even running away from home out of frustration, wanting to be “free”, and of course rebellion in general. For some reason, though, when it comes to Aunt Hannah, Ambrose doesn’t mind her much.. She was the one to save the boy from death by Sebastian’s demonic essence tearing his soul asunder, and that involved her taking away most of the demonic parts of him.. But instead of also targeting her with his rage, Ambrose respects and admires her a little. She is a quiet, calm, knowing comfort. As if she too understands the urge for isolation and independence. 💜 And finally, as for Aunt Grelle, well.. as Hannah’s wife is a bit more hands-on, Ambrose isn’t that fond of her.. but despite that he does respect her fighting skills, as growing up, Ambrose had learned to fight with weapons with her, as well as her junior, Ronald Knox (who loves goading the half-demon on out of spite because he’ll never be a fan of Sebastian, of course.)

Ulva Gelzer-Michaelis:

1. What is their gender? Female.

2. What is their sexuality? Lesbian.

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

Without even needing to look it up again, I know for certain Ulva means She Wolf in old German! uwu As for nick names, obviously most call her pup or little pup, especially her Dad and Mama!!

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

Ulva is an only child, as it was a miracle that Sebastian (while female of course) and Wolfram managed to have this little one by herself! However, since Wolfram considers Sieglinde Sullivan like a daughter as well, Ulva has come to know the young lady as like an older sister!

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

Both Sebastian and Wolfram undeniably adore their only daughter, though the hyperactive little puppy girl does always give them a run for their money, and the demon’s Mother Hen instincts are very high where she is concerned, as Ulva always finds herself getting into things one way or another that she might regret.. other than that and perhaps the older servants of Phantomhive at that time and maybe the Earl too if still alive, no other relatives really.

Eddie the Demon

1. What is their gender? He/them for the most part.

2. What is their sexuality? Demisexual.

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

As most demons under contracts allow their current masters to give them names instead of freely giving out their true name or, in this case, not even having a true name, Eddie let Ambrose decide on that, and thus the boy was like “Hm.. well... with that spooky Victorian Author look I’d say Edgar, y’know, like uh Edgar Allen Poe? But eh.. You don’t look serious enough or old enough to be an Edgar, so how ‘bout Eddie!”

Of course, Ambrose loves calling his imp turned lover plenty of nick names ;), including Ed, sugar, baby, babe, sweetheart...

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

Well, being a very young imp of Hell, it is unlikely Eddie has any siblings, or even knows about any :P (And the likelihood that any siblings they do have if any would come to kill them for the sake of getting more power and recognition is very high..)

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

Like many, many demons of Hell, Eddie likely has no clue at all who exactly created them. :/ It may be unfortunate to us humans to be left like that, but demons really don’t care, especially after a few centuries of adapting to fend for themselves!

Aidan Astre Sutcliff-Michaelis

1. What is their gender? Male.

2. What is their sexuality? n/a as he was last seen/known as merely a toddler so I and @grelleswife would rather let that be until we eventually write something new in that verse where he’s grown older. :3

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

Aidan is a Gaelic/Irish name for “Little fire” and was thought of, of course, by his mother Grelle Sutcliff :3 And obviously both other parents Mey and Sebastian were in agreement. He is a little spark; a little flame they’d all brought to life with their love. 🔥 Besides that, Aidan is still called “baby” by his mama Mey, “kitten” by his papa Sebastian, and “little chap” from his mummy Grelle!

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

He is currently an only child! However at the end of our Sebagrellerin rp, he did confess to wanting a sibling, sooo who knows ;3

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

Aidan is very close with everyone, and not only his three original parents, but also now Miss Hannah Annafellows who kinda in a way has become a third mother too. >w< 💜

Amy Michaelis

1. What is their gender? Genderfluid, but usually favoring female.

2. What is their sexuality? Pansexual

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

I don’t believe it is possible to derive a nickname from the name Amy, but I think it’s important to note in her original story in That Butler Big Brother, Bard likes calling her “Madam President” in a tender/joking way. >w< (And i personally think after that, back in Hell, Amy INSISTS her subordinates call her Madam President TOO. (though they all find the extra madam part confusing..))

In the original article of Amy the Demon, their other names/other version of their name is Amii or Auns, Hanar, Hanni.

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

In every verse of this character, the one thing I think that will always be the same is she has an elder sibling named Naberius, who is the fourth Marquis of Hell in the Lesser Key of Solomon, and is who we headcanon Sebastian Michaelis as. Who knows if these two have any other siblings, but I personally like the idea of these two, being the weirdo outcast demons they are, are a rare breed on their own. While other demons in Hell would likely either immediately kill and/or leave any blood related demons to be forgotten, these two stuck together for some strange reason, and our best guess on the why is that as Naberius was much older, nearly an adult by the time Amy came into being, and something instinctively drove the crow demon to stay by her side, and raise her, despite.. the animosity they sometimes share towards each other...

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

Neither Amy nor Naberius know or remember for certain who or what their parents are. Amy most definitely recalls absolutely nothing, while her older sibling only vaguely recalls someone very, very old holding them as a youngling close, and between soft, soft soft so soft.. black wings.... But that’s all.

Adam Borders

1. What is their gender? Transexual ftm

2. What is their sexuality? I am not completely certain if he is Bisexual or something else at this time, as all I know is story wise he fell hard for Amy, so he is attracted to her but I cannot jump to the conclusion just yet as to what that means.

3. What is the meaning behind their name? Do they have any nicknames?

Adam chose his name when he fully accepted himself as a transexual man, not only just because he liked it, but because of the Biblical humor only he’d understand behind it considering his dead name was Evelynn, similar to “Eve”. It is understandable that many wish to completely forget their dead name, but Adam liked doing this, as he has a rather dark, bitter sense of humor, especially regarding himself.

As for nicknames, his current Senpai Grelle calls him “Handsome” or “Charming” like Prince Charming, and Amy herself just calls him Boy or “dear boy”. Amy also likes resorting to Ancient Greek or Latin with her terms as it gives her confused flustered looks. >;3

4. Do they have any siblings? How many? Are they older or younger? Which sibling are they the closest with?

Most of Adam’s life before becoming a reaper is very sad and a bit left unsaid.. but I think he had an elder sister, who like most of the rest of the family, reacted very badly to uncovering what happened to their deceased relative and the why of it. :( So Adam would likely never bring up his older sister again.. except maybe briefly, but only maybe after learning of Amy’s relationship to the other demon Adam meets eventually, Sebastian Michaelis, who is her older brother basically.

5. What’s their relationship with their parents like? What about other relatives?

Again, most of that is very depressing and dismal, as they never would have accepted Adam for who he truly was, and had tried forcing him to live a certain way he did not want to. :(

And so... that’s most of my OCs!! XDD @grelleswife and I have something else in the works involving our current RP, but i can’t spoil it right here so that’s all left out! And the only others were tiny characters like Sylvia the Angel from the RP, and my self insert that I don’t think i need to put down here. 🙈 Thank you though for sendig me this!!

#Anonymous #My Ocs #shared oc #kuroshitsuji oc #Aarushi #Ambrose #Ulva #Eddie the demon #Aidan Sutcliff Michaelis #Amy Michaelis #Adam Borders

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