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mountain-maiden · 2 months

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Working Hard (Hardly Working)

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

WC: 4k

Summary: Joel helps you out at the gym and you thank him in the locker room ;)

Content: 18+ MDNI, slightly unhealthy relationship with food (blink and you’ll miss it), oral f!receiving, Joel Miller is a munch, unprotected piv, cream pie, reader is able to lift weights & incline walk, Joel is able to lift reader.

a/n: I wrote this instead of going to the gym :/ If you hate it please don't tell me 😘

You push open the doors to the gym, the familiar smell of metal and sweat invading your lungs as you step inside. You don’t necessarily enjoy working out, but you do enjoy sweet treats, and that makes working out a necessity. So, a few weeks ago, you begrudgingly got yourself a membership the gym closest to where you live, which happened to be Rock Hard Fitness. Unsurprisingly, it was an extremely male dominated environment.

After swiping your key card, you drop your stuff in the locker room and head to the dreaded cardio floor. You mildly dislike working out, but you absolutely hate cardio, and unfortunately for you, the weight floor is packed full of gym bros and meatheads who are not pleased to share their space with beginners who aren’t “on their level.” Despite the unwelcoming atmosphere, you can’t stand another day of incline walking; today you're going to lift weights or die trying.

From the cardio deck, you watch the people lifting, taking stock of the machines being used least and trying to pick out any attractive guys you can distract yourself with during your warmup. You really don’t enjoy the typical gym bro look, which means your efforts are most often for naught, but today someone different catches your eye. He’s definitely older than the average guy in the gym, broad shoulders, meaty thighs—you're basically drooling while watching him. Is it wrong to objectify people in the gym? Absolutely. Does that stop you from thirsting over the mystery gym dilf? Absolutely not.

After deeming yourself officially warmed up, you leave the safety of the cardio deck, jumping straight into the shark tank. Immediately, the booming bass of the speakers is leaking through your headphones, no longer allowing you to enjoy Kesha and Britney in peace. Great. You just take the headphones off, leaving them in your locker with the rest of your stuff before spying the gym equivalent of a unicorn: a squat rack, completely open.

You make a beeline for the rack and immediately set your sweatshirt and water bottle on the ground beside it, staking your claim. Not having to fight for a place to lift takes away half the battle of the weight deck; you breathe a sigh of relief as you survey the rest of the floor.

Now your only problem is that it’s been months since you last lifted, and you have absolutely no idea what weight to start with. You know you've lost strength, but surely you’re still able to lift your warm-up weight, right? The weights are added, and you line yourself up, taking a couple of breaths to steady yourself before standing up, moving the bar from the rack to your shoulders. Immediately, the weight is not what you remembered it being—much heavier, in fact—but you’re not about to immediately rerack and take weight off; that would be humiliating.

So, you steady yourself and dip down, enjoying the familiar strain of your muscles. After the first rep, you’re feeling alright, you can definitely handle this weight, you’ll just do less repetitions. You continue, reveling in the burn of your legs as you struggle to push yourself back up as you complete the first set. You’ve done the 6 reps you decided on, but you’re feeling good and you’re pretty confident you can do another so you go back down, determined to complete a seventh and immediately you can tell it’s a mistake.

You get stuck halfway back up, no matter how hard you strain, the weight won’t budge. You’ve never had to bail before, always having a spotter, you realize you don’t even know how to safely drop the weight. This is it, you’re going to humiliate yourself your first day in this gym and you’ll never be able to show your face again. Your legs are shaking, you’re panting with the effort to hold yourself up when your saving grace arrives.

You hear the low drawl of a southern accent and suddenly the weight has been halved, allowing you to stand up and rerack the weight. You turn around to thank your savior and are struck speechless when you find yourself face to face with mystery gym dilf.

“You alright there?” He asks, eyebrows scrunched with concern.

“Yeah, uh, yes, thank you, “ you answer breathlessly.

“S’really no trouble, can’t believe nobody helped you sooner,” He huffs, clearly offended on your behalf. Your face heats as you realize this means he saw how long you were stuck for.

“Well, everyone’s wrapped up in themselves, I guess that’s half the point of coming here,” you shrug, unbothered by your fellow gym goer’s lack of concern for your wellbeing.

“Gym bros,” you sigh in unison, and immediately burst into laughter.

“Can’t stand gym folk, but I stopped workin’ construction and now I actually gotta workout,” He explains, as if he needs to prove he isn’t one of the aforementioned gym bros.

“Me too,” you sigh, and burst into laughter at the skeptical look he gives you.

“No, I’m a barista, I just make myself too many drinks to not be working out,” you laugh and watch as his expression shifts to one of amusement.

“You’ve got jokes,” he chuckles, “I was wonderin’ what someone as pretty as you was doin’ workin’ construction.”

Your face heats at his compliment, “What? Your construction crew isn’t full of beautiful women?”

“Trust me darlin’, if you were on my crew I wouldn’t ‘a switched to management.” He leans up against the rack, watching you closely for your reaction to his bold comment.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think you were coming on to me,” you smirk, watching the tips of his ears go pink despite him initiating the flirting.

“Is that okay?” He asks, boldness suddenly replaced with a self conscious demeanor, “I wasn’t aimin’ to make ya uncomfortable.”

“That is more than okay,” you try to remember his name and realize he never gave it.

“Joel,” He sticks his hand out and you hold back a small laugh at the formality.

You give him your name and when he repeats it, testing the word in his mouth, you don’t think it’s ever sounded better.

“Well, I was just wrappin’ up,” He scratches the back of his head, as if he is unsure how to proceed now that you’ve actually introduced eachother.

“If it’s not too much trouble, would you mind spotting me?” You ask, searching his face for any sign of displeasure, “I mean, I think we both know I could use one.”

He laughs at that. “Not any trouble at all, darlin’.”

Your breath hitches at the nickname. You’d never been one for petnames but the way it sounds coming from his mouth, his low southern drawl, the slight gravel of his voice, it has you fighting the urge to squeeze your thighs together. You look up after realizing you’d been silent just a little to long and spot the amused glint in his eyes.

“Alright, 2nd times the charm I guess,” you say before positioning yourself beneath the bar again, this time with the security of Joel’s warmth behind your back.

You lift the bar off the rack and hinge down, enjoying the familiar burn of pushing back up, it’s on about your third rep that you begin to struggle, taking slightly longer to straighten out. It’s at this point when Joel steps a little closer, not touching the bar but readying himself to step in.

“Atta girl,” Joel encourages as you push yourself up, the praise sending a jolt of heat to your core.

You need to lock in, you can’t get distracted because an attractive older man is giving you the praise your father never did. But, when you complete your next rep and he murmurs more encouragement, you swear he has to be fucking with you. There is no way he isn’t aware of the effect his words are having on you.

You do your second to last rep and he leans forward slightly, “Such a good girl.”

You damn near drop the weight, and when you complete the set and rerack the bar, you whip around and are met with Joel’s smirking face. He definitely knew what he was doing, and your look of annoyance seemed to only further his amusement.

“Somethin’ wrong?” His eyes widen as he feigns innocence. Fine, two can play that game.

“My form feels a little off, can you tell me if it looks alright?” Before he gets a chance to respond you’re already dropped down in a body weight squat, just close enough that your ass brushes the front of his shorts. You know if he didn’t want this he’d take a step back, but to your surprise he stays right where he is and you can feel the bulge in his shorts growing with each rep.

“Form looks alright to me, darlin’,” Joel rolls his eyes at your antics, “You grind on any man who spots you?”

“Just the ones I like,” you throw back before turning around, watching the spark of amusement in his eyes give way to darkening pupils.

“You want a hand with that?” You gesture to the growing outline of his cock against the confines of his shorts, “or a mouth?”

“I wouldn’t object,” Joel smirks, taking your hand and practically dragging you to the locker room.

You find an empty changing stall and you are immediately tearing at Joel’s clothes trying to remove the layers keeping you from the broad shoulders and thick thighs you knew he was hiding. Eventually you remember the reason you came in here and drop to your knees, pawing at his boxers.

“Fuck darlin’, ya gotta let me taste you,” Joel lifts you from your knees and sets you on the bench with the ease of someone moving a misbehaved kitten. He drops to his knees and that’s when you register what he means.

You freeze, shock apparent in your features because Joel stops pulling down your shorts to look at you, “Are you comfortable with this?” He asks, searching your features for an answer, “If you want to be done just say the word darlin’, no hard feelings.”

“No! Trust me I am more than comfortable with this,” you jump to reassure, “I’ve just never met a guy that actually wants to give me head.”

He scoffs before continuing his efforts to get your tight gym shorts off, “Idiots.”

You almost laugh at how immediately he’d resumed his work once he’d been given the go ahead. He groans when he sees the wet spot on your panties, a plain cotton thong, and before you have time to feel embarrassed he’s ripped them down your legs and is devouring you with a vigour you’ve never experienced.

Joel eats pussy like he’s starved, lapping at your slick like its the best thing he’s ever tasted, and if you asked him, he’d say it was. You thread your fingers through his hair and he groans when you pull.

“Tell me what you like,” He murmurs, parting with your pussy for the few precious seconds it takes to get the words out.

“What?” Your face scrunches with confusion and pleasure as his lips create suction against your clit.

“When I do something you like, tell me. When I do something you don’t like, tell me.” He directs before returning to his mouth to your pussy, swiping small circles around your clit with his tongue.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan with complete disregard for the extremely thin door separating you from a heavily populated public space.

He switches from languid movements against your clit to lapping along your slit, never fully breeching the entrance, teasing you realize.

“Don’t tease,” you manage to get out, a tug of his hair accompanying your directive as you attempt to signal his efforts should return to your clit.

“Is there something you want?” He looks up, a smug smile painting his face. Of course he was on his knees and you were still going to be the one begging.

“What you were doing before,” you really don’t want to explicitly state what you want.

“You can grind on me in a public gym but you can’t tell me how you want your pussy eaten?” Joel chuckles, blatantly amused at your sudden prudeness.

“Stop being an asshole, you know what I want,” you know getting annoyed with the only man who’s been eager to give you head for wanting you to tell him how to do it best is completely unreasonable, but you also know he is purposefully being difficult.

“Here, I’ll even tell you what to say,” a mischevious glint appears in his eyes, “‘Joel, please lick my clit’, that’s all you gotta say darlin’”.

Your eyes widen at the crude language and he chuckles at your shocked expression, as if you weren’t already getting eaten out in the locker room of a public gym. You figure a few crass words couldn’t dig you into any deeper trouble.

You take a deep breathe and meet Joel’s eyes, irises taken over by the black abyss of his pupils. “Joel, please lick my clit.”

He supresses a shudder and you see his left hand reach down to palm his cock through his shorts before he smiles, “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”

He dives in, and immediately his tongue is working over your clit, drawing figure eights and circles, never letting the pattern become predictable, never letting you get used to the stimulation.

You moan as his tongue works its magic, and his hands reach up and grasp your breasts, squeezing and massaging. Eventually, he slides a finger along your slit, and without warning, plunges it into you. You groan at the intrusion and buck against his mouth. He doesn’t stop licking, instead sliding his free hand down to try to relieve some pressure from his cock, palming himself desperately through his shorts to your whimpers and moans.

It isn't long before you feel the knot in your stomach start to build, and your breath starts to catch in your throat.

"Oh fuck, Joel I'm gonna cum," You warn him,

Joel groans into your pussy as he continues to lick and suck at your juices, speeding up his actions.

You're moaning and gasping, and suddenly your orgasm hits you. You buck against Joel's face and cry out. He moans at the feeling of you clenching around his fingers as he works you through your high, lapping more gently at your clit as you shudder through the waves of pleasure.

"Wow," you heave once you are able to catch you’re breath.

"Good?"

"Fucking great."

You lay there catching your breath, a satisfied smile still plastered on your face. You reach down and unzip Joel's shorts, pulling his cock free. It's hard and throbbing, almost painfully so, a testament to your performance and his excitement. You wrap your hand around it, marveling at the warmth and hardness of it.

“Darlin, we don’t have to,” Joel starts to protest before you shoot him a look that shuts him up.

“Joel Miller if you aren’t fucking me in the next 30 seconds I’ll have no choice but to report you for causing undue distress.”

He chuckles as you tug him forward by his shirt, “Yes ma’am.”

“I’m on the pill, and clean, so uh,” you know you really shouldn’t be making this offer.

“I’m clean too,” He replies, eyes fixed on your face.

“I’m okay not using a condom if you are,” you can feel your face heat at how terrible of an idea you know it is, and how bad you want it despite that knowledge.

“Fuck darlin’, I’m not gonna complain,” He groans, shivering as you begin to lightly stroke him.

Joel moves between your spread legs and your heart races as he lines himself up. You can feel the warmth of his cock against your entrance, slick with desire and Joel’s spit.

"Are you sure about this?" his voice is low and husky, and he laughs a little at your eager nod. Before you can make a snarky comment you’re gasping as he fills you, your walls stretching around him, accommodating his girth.

“Fuuuck,” you moan, concerned he might actually be splitting you in half. You’ve definitely never taken anyone this big before but you’d be damned if gave Joel the ego boost of knowing that.

“Takin’ it so well for me sweetheart,” he murmurs into your ear, holding still as you adjust to his size.

“Joel, move please,” you mean for it to be a demand but the breathy whine it comes out as has Joel chuckling as he brushes a strand of hair from your face.

He moves slowly at first, each thrust drawing a low moan from you. You paw at his shirt, suddenly deeming the extra layer an offense of the highest order. He chuckles and pulls the shirt off, giving you access to lick and suck across the expanse of his broad chest.

You kiss his chest, your lips leaving a wet trail to his nipple, which you roll between your teeth causing him to shudder. He picks up his pace, his hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you into him tighter. You wrap your legs around his hips, feeling his cock stretch you even more as he drives into you.

"Joel, fuck," you moan, your voice barely a whisper.

"You enjoyin’ yourself, sweetheart?" he asks between thrusts, his eyes locked on yours, a small smirk playing on his lips.

Before you can come up with a snarky response, he’s found a new angle that’s sending sparks through your body with every thrust. The only response you can manage is a strangled moan.

“Aw, are you a little cock dumb, darlin?” He asks with mock empathy, “Can’t even answer a yes or no question,” He scoffs, but the tender look in his eyes lets you know he’s not being serious.

Serious or not, you can’t understand how he still has the mental bandwidth to be teasing you.

He moves faster now, pounding into you, the sounds of your wetness filling the locker room. Your clit makes contact with coarse hairs above his cock, sending your hurtling towards your climax.

"Fuck, I’m close," you whisper, feeling the familiar growing tension in your core.

“Atta girl, are you gonna come for me sweetheart?” He coos, his gentle tone a complete contrast to his harsh thrusts.

“Joel, please,” you don’t even know what you’re begging for and before you can figure it out, you feel a wave of warmth crash over you as you orgasm, your body trembling as you buck and writhe underneath him.

“It’s okay, you’re okay sweet girl,” Joel holds you firm against the bench as you attempt to squirm away from the now overstimulating thrusts as he continues to fuck you.

Joel's pace quickens, his hips slapping against your skin with each deep thrust. With one hand on your hip, he uses the other to reach down and rub your clit, sending shockwaves of pleasure throughout your entire being. Your muscles clench around his cock as his own release nears.

"I’m gettin’ close," he growls, his voice thick with lust. "Where do you want it, sweetheart?”

You're breathless, sweat dripping down your skin as Joel thrusts into you, his words sending a fresh wave of arousal through you.

"Inside," you gasp, your eyes locked on his as he comes closer to the edge.

Joel adjusts his grip and with a few powerful thrusts, he slams deep inside of you, and you feel the explosion of his release like a firework going off, the sensation making your eyes roll back in pleasure.

"Oh fuck, Joel," you cry out, your own climax crashing over you again, making your limbs shake uncontrollably and your nails dig into his shoulders.

Eyes closed, he leans his forehead against yours as he continues to hold himself inside you, his cock twitching from his spent orgasm. When he pulls away you collapse into a boneless heap on the bench, and when he eyes your exhausted form you can tell his ego is growing every second you remain motionless.

You know you should get dressed before the cum begins to pool on the bench, or run down your legs, but you find yourself with a lack of motivation. You are quickly realizing your decision had not been a good one, as you now had to drive home with cum soaked panties. From Joel’s raised eyebrows he appeared to be having the same thought.

"You alright there?" Joel's voice carries a teasing lilt as he watches you flop around the bench.

You shoot him a playful glare, pulling your shorts back on. “I think this is the first time I’ve ever enjoyed cardio.”

"I think you have to be moving for it to be cardio, darlin’,” he chuckles, a smirk playing on his lips, “and all I saw you do was lay there and take it."

“I’ll have you know it’s a lot more tiring than it sounds,” you launch his shirt at his head in mock indignation.

He catches the balled-up t-shirt with a laugh, his eyes sparkling with amusement, “Whatever you say sweetheart.”

He pulls the shirt on before his expression shifts, his usual playful demeanor softening into something more earnest. As you pull your bra back on and glance back at him, you notice a hint of bashfulness in his eyes.

“Wha-”

“I-”

“You first,” you decide, staring expectantly at the man in front of you who almost appears to be blushing.

“I know this is kinda backwards,” he runs his fingers through his hair, “but, could I take ya to dinner sometime?”

You almost began to laugh at the realization his strange change in demeanor was just because he was scared to ask you out. The man could fuck you within an inch of your life in a public locker room, but asking you on a date was what made him nervous.

You quickly stifle your laugh when you see his face drop at your reaction, “Fuck Joel, of course I want to get dinner with you.”

His expression brightens instantly, a smile spreading across his face. “Really?” he asks, almost sounding incredulous.

“Yeah, really,” you confirm, feeling a warmth spreading in your chest at his genuine enthusiasm.

Joel reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone, quickly unlocking it. “Could I get your number?” he asks, holding the phone out to you, “if you’re comfortable with that.”

“Definitely,” you say, taking the phone and typing in your digits before handing it back to him.

“Great,” he says, grinning as he saves your contact. “I’ll text you later then?”

“I’ll be waiting,” you reply, smiling back.

With that settled, the two of you gather your belongings and walk out of the locker room together. You are pretty sure nobody else was in there while you were fucking, but you can’t help but feel that everyone in the gym knows you just fucked this man you had met maybe 30 minutes ago. You look at Joel and he seems completely at ease so you try to channel his confidence as you walk through the gym and out the front doors. You step out into the fresh air and share one last smile with the man before you walk to your respective cars, both looking forward to getting to know each other outside of the confines of Rock Hard Fitness. Really, with a name like that, what other outcome could you have expected?

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you

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angelsdean · 3 months

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bees being one of the top answers in that 'what did cas create' poll tho, be(e) serious. he did not. society if fandom remembered cas's canonical interest in bees stemmed from their similarities to angelic hierarchical structures at a time when cas was mentally unwell and wishing for the familiarity of just being a little worker bee and not responsible for making decisions (that could backfire or lead to destruction like they did for cas). just do your job, over and over. repetition. safety. no surprises. cas, crack in his chassis cas, multiple lobotomies for not doing what he's told cas, thee first angel to embrace the very human notion of free will over fate cas, he did not invent the very structured, hierarchical bees. naomi, maybe, created bees.

#vic.txt

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aurasplanet · 4 days

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ADDICTED carl grimes x fem!reader

warnings — both are 18+, piv sex, begging, first times, subxsub, both are dumb and clueless about sex because duh, corny ass ending we all boo’d

it��s not often that you and carl get time to yourself. the two of you met at the prison, you were one of the people that had been taken in. you remember being the only person around carl’s age with so many similar interests. you both getting separated when the prison fell, and when you finally reunited you both realized the pain it caused the both of you.

the older you two got, the more the budding feelings surfaced. when you got to alexandria it’s like something snapped. the safety of it all, the familiarity, you remember confessing to carl one night. the two of you sat in his new room, in awe of this place.

it’s been at least a year since, and things have gotten rockier in alexandria, putting a slight strain on your relationship. nothing too serious, but plans to hang out together kept having to be pushed back.

but tonight finally, you get him all to yourself. the two of you are laying in his bed, practically your bed as well at this point. he’s laying on his back and you on your side, arm on his chest and legs entangled with his.

his left arm is resting on your back, chin propped on your head. your other hand is playing with his hair, your eyes closed as you listen to the repetitive rhythm of him throwing a ball at the ceiling over and over.

the silence and the comfort allows you to think, clearly and calmly for once. first it’s small things, how dates would go if the world hadn’t gone to shit. then things a little more… like making out with him, feeling his touch, his hot, calloused hands burning your skin.

your eyes travel to his hand that’s busy, the soft but scarred skin has you enamored. your mind runs even wilder, suddenly coming up with the very vivid mental image of his hands toying with your cunt. your body tenses and you feel your body get hot, a small whimper escaping your lips.

carl pauses his movements and looks at you worriedly, “are you okay?” you nod meekly, unable to look up at him. his hand drops the ball and his finger comes to your chin to tilt your head up. he smiles when your eyes meet his and pecks your lips.

“pretty girl…” he trails off, hand going from your face to your waist. his movements are agonizingly slow, leaving you wondering if he knows what you’re thinking about. he’s such a tease, could he really?

his face gets closer to yours, his eye trained on you. “what’s got you so tense?” you stay silent for a moment and then your words tumble out in an inaudible mess. your boyfriend giggles, “i didn’t quite catch that.”

you take in a deep breath, deciding to just go for something simple. “i need you.”

carl smiles happily, “i need you too, always. i’m sorry i’ve been so absent-” he stops when you move to hover over him, your legs straddling his thigh. he quirks his brow at you, ahh, how cute and naive he is. no experience, not really anyone to tell him to work these things. of course he couldn’t tell what you’re thinking about.

“i need you,” you whine, rolling your hips down as you speak to emphasize what you mean. his eye widens and his hands fly to your waist, his breathing is heavy and his gaze has already turned lustful. but not in the ravaging beast way, in the way he just looked clueless. you weren’t much better, but you found it so cute.

he leaned forward and your lips connected, slow and passionate to harsh and needy on both ends as you both groped and grabbed each other wherever you pleased. carl slid his hand up your shirt, rubbing your back before fiddling with the clamp on your bra. he laughs a little into your mouth at his struggle, unclamping it and sliding your shirt over your head to get it off.

"you're so pretty," he praises, sending heat to your face and between your legs as you kissed him again, feeling his hands guide the thin material on your chest off your arms. he then kissed down your neck, to your breasts, and back up again to meet your lips, sliding a hand down your body. you moaned into his mouth, breaking the kiss just as his fingers reach your clit.

"carl," you moan desperately, pressing your face into his neck. the tips of his fingers maintaining tight circles against your clit, occasionally asking you how it feels. you felt his heavy breaths against your ear, pretty groans leaving his lips when you grind down on his hand.

you stop his hand before you get to finish, his confused gaze following you as you lift yourself off his lap just enough to slide off your shorts and underwear. he placed his head on your shoulder, letting out small whines when you’d touch him.

you were so impatient, lining him up with your entrance, sinking down with a moan. his hands went to your hips, gripping the skin a little harsher than he intended. he leans in to kiss you again, the two of you finding a needy, messy rhythm.

carl gasps into your mouth, “feel good?” you lean back to look at him, flushed, sweaty face and blow out pupil looking at you like you were crafted by the gods. you nod with a moan, brushing his sweaty hair from his face.

he grimaces, attempting to cover his bandage again when you grab his hands and place them back on your hips. the feeling of your skin against him is enough to make his brain go haywire and forget about anything but you.

he leans into you again, letting his head fall on your shoulder again. “i’m close, baby.” he presses small kisses to your skin, pulling your body closer to him. eventually you’re left desperately grinding on him.

his hands grip your skin harsher, “i’m gonna cum,” he whines into your ear, panting and unable to speak. “with me, please.” you shiver at how breathless and spent he sounded, so desperate and whiny it sent you spiraling. you nod, telling him to let go.

he keeps chanting whispered ‘please’s in your ear, your bodies falling back on the mattress in an entangled mess. you feel carl move before he’s trailing kisses all over any bit of your skin he can reach.

“again?” he pleads, causing your eyes to widen. he slides his hand over your ass, pulling your hips into his again. “i’ve gotten a taste of you, you’ve made me addicted.”

#carl grimes x reader #carl grimes fanfiction #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes x you #carl grimes #carl grimes smut #twd x reader #twd fanfiction #twd oneshot #twd imagine #twd smut #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes imagine #carl grimes x fem!reader

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leggerefiore · 7 months

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Found You!

cw: implied yandere Volo

pairing: Volo/Reader

Readjusting to the modern world had been more difficult than you had expected. It was a strange experience to scare awake from the beeping of an alarm or forget how to work a computer after having gone so many months without it. That was just modern technology, too. The repetition of modern work and life felt so odd compared to the stress and uncertainty of Hisui. The safety and comfort so foreign after being bathed in danger and distress for so long.

Not to mention the strange hurt that you felt when reflecting upon the subtle loss of friends. No more could you spend time with the bumbling Professor Laventon, enjoy a battle and sweet with Adaman, or laugh along with Arezu at whatever her new hairstyle suggestion was to be. A shudder always went down your spine when you considered that they were long gone. Their deaths happening through the centuries you skipped through to return back to the modern era you were born to.

Maybe it was those complicated feelings that brought you to the Jubilife of your day and age. The city was bustling and large; the capital of the Sinnoh region. A shrine to the hard work of those you watched shed both blood and sweat to create this sanctuary during the Hisui era. It was nearly unrecognisable to the small village you had lived in during your time in the past. Everything was the most up-to-date here than the rest of Sinnoh. Towering buildings blocked the sky as people swarmed to walk every which way. You had felt your heart clench.

It was gone – you truly had returned to modern day.

The strange experience of Hisui was something you could put firmly behind you as some delusion the no one but a select few seemed even willing to entertain. It was isolating.

You were back home, surrounded by your friends and family, yet more alone than you had been in Hisui.

A sigh left you as you stopped before a large office building. Clowns danced outside, advertising some new modern tech-gadget that your brain cared little about analysing. You let out a sharp breath. Capturing Arceus after completing the PokeDex that Laventon had sought to make, it truly did feel like a dream. The deity challenged you to a battle and gave you a piece of it upon your victory. The Azure Flute had come with you to the modern day, too. You wondered what would happen if you returned to the Temple of Sinnoh.

The thought of the location sent another pang into your heart.

Volo.

You wondered how he had spent his days in Hisui. He had completely vanished after your confrontation at the temple. His true intentions… His actual plans… His kindness… His smile… Everything blended inside you painfully. The blond had come to you at your lowest point and gave you the support you needed to carry on. Then, he smothered those very flames he lit with his own hand. Had Volo only been using you the entire time? His plan had only changed when you had begun to collect plates, you knew.

A nearby electronic board projecting an image eerily similar to him on it. Champion Cynthia. She was beautiful, bold, and strong. Her love of archaeology and visage evidence that Volo had carried on his lineage. You suppose he found his place somewhere in the world. Somehow, your feet had carried you to a calmer part of the city. Less noise pollution and people wandering about. Where should you go next?

Before the question could be truly contemplated, arms wrapped around your form tightly and pushed you firmly to the body behind you. A cheek came to press against your own as both hair and cloth tickled you. Long, golden streaks broke out of the dark, heavy coat hood. You felt your heart race. What the hell? Hands locked your wrists together. Your breath stalled in your throat.

“The reason I could never collect all the plates, why I was never chosen by Arceus and then abandoned by Giratina…” a terrifyingly familiar voice whispered into your ear, “I could not recreate the world, nor could I think about anything but you… I wandered alone for so many years…” The grip on your wrists became painfully tight. They held you so close to them that you were convinced that they may be trying to fuse your body to their own. “… Found you!” they playfully spoke.

Biting back a scream, you forced yourself from their hold. You managed to turn to face them, but they kept a firm hold on your hand. A coat obscured their face as you swallowed. It could not be. He was long dead. This had to be some awful prank by someone who heard your story. Still, there was a lingering feeling of deja-vu that refused to fade. You could see their hair peaking out from the obscuring shadow of the hood. Blond hair.

“… Are you one of Cynthia's relatives? I didn't realise she had such mean people there,” you shook your head with a nervous smile, “You all seem to look eerily similar, you know.” Hopefully, they would be satisfied with your reaction and leave you alone now. A chuckle you knew all too well came from them.

His other hand came to grasp the hem of his hood as he pulled it back. Your eyes went wide as your mouth hung open.

It…

It could not be.

It simply was impossible.

A stormy eye peered into your own, obvious adoration pouring out from it. Blond strands caught the wind, nearly revealing his other eye. A smile was on his lips. Your heart skipped a beat.

“I finally found you…” Volo's voice was the same as it had been centuries ago, “It's been too long.”

His eyes closed to reflect his pure joy. You stood in shock and confusion. He pulled you to him again, forcing you into a proper embrace. His lanky form consumed yours.

His hot breath fanned against your ear as he spoke again.

“I won't let you go this time.”

#yandere pokemon x reader #volo x reader #yandere volo x reader #yandere x reader #volo/reader #pokemon x reader #yanstuff #yandere

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gumnut-logic · 17 days

Text

Raindrops

This was sparked by a prompt from the wonderful @womble1 :

Falling asleep on a balcony and getting woken up by rain.

It is rather random and fluffy with just a touch of hurt, with lots of comfort. Earth and Sky, big and not so big brothers.

Many thanks to the amazing @onereyofstarlight for reading through a one shot that should have taken a couple of hours, but since I didn't have a couple of hours, took three days instead, so was read through twice. You are so kind to me.

The first bit of this was posted in the last few days for WIP Wendesday, but there is plenty more after those little bits. Sky had a mind of his own and took over the fic.

I hope you enjoy it.

-o-o-o-

“Virgil.”

Something tickled his nose.

“Virgil.”

Something wet landed on his cheek. Another followed it. And another.

“Virgil!”

“Wha-?”

“Virgil, there is a weather system tracking across the Island, you might want to go inside.” John’s voice was achingly patient.

Virgil, sprawled across a lounger on the residential balcony, blinked only to have water land in his eyes. A blurry hesitation and the decking beside him took up percussion as rain swept in with its full tropical intentions.

The weather changed faster than Virgil’s brain could boot from a dead sleep. So when he leapt up, his faculties were not at full function.

Fortunately, he was well practised at moving fast with zero thought.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t usually on a wet balcony in the rain, and a misplaced foot hampered by a moonboot was enough to send him reeling.

He was faced with the split-second realisation that he was going to fall and there was nothing he could do about it. Gravity took over and he was going down.

Except he wasn’t the fastest moving person in the house.

“Woah! I’ve got you!” Two familiar and strong arms wrapped around him, preventing yet another collision with something hard..

After all, that was how he ended up with the broken foot in the first place.

“I’ve got you.” The repetition was as reassuring as it was annoying. “Are you okay?’

Virgil looked up at his brother. The rain was really coming down now and Scott’s hair was beginning to drip into his eyes. Worried eyes, damnit.

“I’m f-“ The ‘ine’ was stolen by a sudden clap of thunder. What the hell?

Scott shook his head and lifting Virgil’s arm around his shoulder, hurried him into the safety of the residential villa.

Stepping out of the rain was a relief. Tropical rain was a species all of its own, heavy, sudden, and determined.

“Sorry, guys, I should have used an airhorn.” John’s voice bounced down from orbit with exasperation.

Virgil grunted at that, not entirely in disagreement, but not willing to give in, or to use the brain cells required for a comprehensible response.

“Or perhaps alerted us earlier.” Scott’s voice was disapproving.

Virgil sighed. Scott was still in post ‘brother trying to get himself killed’ alert mode. “It was a little rain.” He was pointedly ignoring the waterfall on the glass windows. “It wasn’t going to kill me. John’s busy. Let him have a life.”

“He’s right, Virgil. I should have woken you earlier. Or alerted Scott earlier.”

“What?” He really didn’t have the energy for an argument. “Whatever. I’m going to bed. Thanks for the save.” He pulled away gently from his big brother and stepped in the direction of his rooms.

Only to lose his balance again and nearly land on his face.

But, of course, big hero brother swooped in and caught him. “Take it easy.” Again with the arm around Scott’s shoulder and ignoring Virgil’s half-assed protest, his big brother began helping him towards his rooms.

“You know I can walk.”

Scott sighed. “I’m basing my decision on your last two attempts. You don’t get a third to try and break yourself further.”

Virgil grunted, annoyed at himself more than anything else.

They hobbled their way through Virgil’s door and into his living space. “Couch or bed?” Scott’s eyes bounced between the two options before latching onto Virgil himself.

“Bed.” He had been asleep because he was tired. “Want to finish what I started.”

“FAB.”

There was some more hobbling, this time through his bedroom door, and finally, his brother lowered him to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Sit there for a second and I’ll go grab a towel.”

It was only then that Virgil realised his hair was dripping into his eyes and was much to blame for the blurriness of his vision.

“Here you go.” Scott emerged from the bathroom with a handful of towel. But instead of handing it to him, he made an attempt to wipe Virgil down himself.

Apparently, the laser beams shooting out of Virgil’s eyes must have missed their mark, or been completely obliterated by Scott dumping the towel on Virgil’s head and drying his hair.

Virgil waved his hands about, trying to swipe his big brother away, “You do know I’m a grown up.”

Scott wasn’t fazed. “Sure do.” The towel was rubbed through Virgil’s hair, haystacking it, down his neck, and wrapped around so Scott could wipe his face dry.

“Scott-!” The towel muffled the rest of his protest.

“What?” Scott had finished his face and started on his shoulders, but he frowned, tossed the towel aside and began unbuttoning Virgil’s wet linen shirt.

That was enough. Virgil caught his brother’s hands and held them still, glaring up at his older brother. “What are you doing?”

Blue honesty shone back at him. “You’re wet.”

“I am fully capable of looking after myself.”

“Of course you are.” A twist of his lips. “When you’re awake.”

“I am awake.”

“That is up for debate.” Scott sighed and sat down in the chair beside Virgil’s bed. “Fine. Be my guest.”

When did that chair get there? That chair wasn’t usually there, but on the other side of the room.

He sat there pondering the fact for the moment.

“Virgil?” A hand waved in front of his eyes.

Virgil whacked it.

“Ow.”

“You earned that.” Virgil undid the remaining buttons and shucked the linen shirt off his shoulders. Of course, every bruise bitched at him for it, but he was determined not to show any reaction.

He didn’t miss his big brother’s eyes landing on those bruises, though.

“Scott, it wasn’t your fault. Shit sometimes just happens.”

Quiet. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.” But his eyes were still tracking over Virgil’s chest.

“If you don’t stop that, I’m putting the damned shirt back on.” Or grabbing another one. He pushed himself to his feet and carefully, and stubbornly, made his way over to his dresser. He shoved open a drawer and dug out an old t-shirt. He threw it on, not even bothering to towel himself dry.

He leant on the cabinet a moment, back to his brother, ever so aware of the eyes still tracking him. “Scott-“

“I want to help you.”

It was said calmly, but with just that hint of Commander combined with worried big brother desperate to make amends.

Virgil turned slowly. “Scott-“

His brother shot to his feet and stepped into Virgil’s personal space. A hand landed on Virgil’s arm, his other…hovered a moment before resting on his opposite shoulder. Blue eyes pinned Virgil where he stood. “I couldn’t prevent it. It was my responsibility to look after you, and I couldn’t. The least I can do is look after you now.”

Virgil’s heart hurt. “You look after us plenty, Scott. I’m going to be okay, I promise.”

His brother’s head dropped a moment, looking at his feet. “I know. Just…” He looked up with a crooked bit of a smile. “Let me help you.”

Virgil stared at him some more, worry gnawing at the edges of the fog that was his brain. “Okay.”

Those hands squeezed gently, before one let go and brushed the wet hair out of his eyes.

Scott stared at him a moment longer before pulling him into a hug. His brother didn’t say anything, but he did have his own set of muscles quite capable of squeezing tight.

I’m sorry. It wasn’t said, but it was communicated, nevertheless.

Virgil let out a breath and, wrapping his arms around Scott, rested his head against his big brother’s shoulder. There was nothing he could say to make it better. That was clear enough.

Scott needed to do this.

It wasn’t his fault. Perhaps intellectually he knew that. Emotionally was entirely a different matter.

Virgil had a thought and pulled away, just a little. “You wanna sit and watch the rain with me? I could grab that Scotch Gordy thinks he is hiding.”

Blue shone in the dim light. “Sounds good.” And there was the soft smile Virgil was seeking. “Gordon is going to be…upset.”

Virgil straightened. “He owes me well into the next decade, I’m calling it in.”

“He’ll make you suffer.”

Virgil carefully hobbled over to his bathroom and grabbed another towel to finish wiping himself down. “That is nothing new.” A sigh. “I’ll buy him some more on the next supply run. Top it up with a few of his favourites. He’ll be fine.” And to be honest, if Virgil divulged to Gordon why he was stealing it, he was sure his brother would eagerly donate to the cause.

After all, they all loved their big brother.

Virgil chucked the towel aside and held out a hand. “Help me back down to the balcony?”

Those blue eyes stared at his for a moment before taking his hand and gripping tight.

“Sure.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #earth and sky #nuttyfic

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mcntsee · 10 months

Text

Helmets

(platonic crows x reader and Kaz x reader)

Summary: Everyone needs a friend with a bike, am I right? Modern AU.

Warnings: Uh nothing really, stealing, fooling cops. I think at some point it gets repetitive, but I tried.

Note: This is very much a Modern AU, never written one before so let me know what you think. Please!

Kaz Brekker's heart pounded as he darted through the darkened streets, clutching the stolen jewelry close to his chest. He knew the police were hot on his trail, and he needed to find a safe haven quickly. Seeking refuge in an alley, he hoped it would remain a hidden spot, unseen by the pursuing law enforcement.

Just as he caught his breath, a familiar rumble echoed through the narrow passage. Looking up, Kaz's eyes met those of y/n, a skilled motorcyclist and a trusted friend, who had witnessed his daring heist unfold. They had always shared a unique bond, despite y/n's non-involvement with Kaz's gang. Y/n pulled up alongside him, donning a helmet and extending another to him.

"Quick, Kaz! Hop on!" y/n urged, voice filled with urgency. Kaz didn't waste a second, gripping the helmet and securing it on his head before leaping onto the back of the motorcycle.

As they raced through the labyrinthine streets, weaving through traffic, y/n's driving prowess kept them one step ahead of the cops. However, as they approached the vicinity of the Crow Club, y/n noticed a roadblock forming ahead. Cops were halting traffic, scrutinizing every vehicle passing by, searching for Kaz.

Remaining composed, y/n glanced at Kaz and calmly instructed, "Trust me, Kaz. I've got a plan." When their turn came to face the inquisitive officers, y/n answered their questions with an air of nonchalance, providing plausible explanations for their presence in the area. But when asked about Kaz's whereabouts, y/n slyly pointed in the wrong direction.

"Don’t want to be known as a snitch but I saw him running that way," y/n gestured, intentionally leading the police astray. The officers bought the misdirection, hastily leaving to chase shadows. As soon as they were gone, y/n burst into laughter, reveling in the absurdity of the situation.

"Those cops can be so easily fooled," y/n exclaimed, shaking her head. With a mischievous smile, she revved the motorcycle's engine and steered them back toward the safety of the Slat.

Throughout the exhilarating ride, y/n and Kaz shared a mix of relief and amusement, their friendship strengthened by yet another escapade. They knew that no matter the circumstances, they could rely on each other, even in the face of danger.

And so, together, they disappeared into the night, leaving the authorities chasing shadows while the Crow Club awaited their return.

As y/n and Kaz arrived back at the Crow Club, Jesper emerged from the shadows, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "Well, well, look who it is!" he exclaimed, playfully nudging y/n's arm. "Going on secret motorcycle rides without me, huh?"

Y/n chuckled and wrapped Jesper in a warm hug. "You know you just have to ask, Jes," she replied, giving him a light squeeze. "Shoot me a text, and I'll pick you up anytime, hun." Their friendship had always been full of banter and lighthearted teasing, but the bond between them was unbreakable.

Jesper pretended to pout, mockingly placing a hand over his heart. "I've been waiting for my invitation, you know. I'm starting to feel left out."

Y/n laughed, their eyes sparkling. "Consider this your official invitation then," they said with a wink. "We'll take the scenic route, but don't blame me if your heart races faster than the bike."

Jesper's expression shifted from playful to contemplative. "You know, I should really learn how to ride a bike," he mumbled, thinking out loud. "But then again, Wylan would probably have a heart attack if I ever brought one home."

As Jesper continued his light-hearted ramblings, y/n's attention turned to the bar, where Kaz stood, contemplating their return. Knowing Kaz's usual demeanor, y/n sidled up to the counter and leaned in, a mischievous glint in their eyes.

"Hey, Kaz," y/n called, a playful tone in their voice. "I think it's time you showed some gratitude. After all, I just saved your ass again."

Kaz's expression flickered between annoyance and begrudging appreciation. With a reluctant sigh, he relented. "Fine," he muttered, conceding defeat. He crossed over to the bar, preparing to fetch y/n their well-deserved drink. “But just one. Drinking and driving-“

“No bueno, I know.” Y/n leaned against the counter as Kaz handed y/n her free drink, a begrudging smile tugged at the corner of his lips. In this twisted little family they called their own, y/n's actions had earned their place as a trusted friend and ally—a position not easily granted, but one that was held dear.

As y/n savored their free drink, Kaz silently joined them at the bar, nursing his own drink. They shared a comfortable silence for a moment, appreciating the respite from the chaos that often engulfed their lives.

Breaking the silence, Kaz spoke, his voice low but filled with genuine admiration. "You know, at this point you should just become a crow." he suggested, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Y/n let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, Kaz, you know me. I like to dance to my own tune," she replied, her eyes glimmering with a sense of independence. The allure of the solitary path held a certain charm for y/n, even though she was always ready to lend a hand when needed.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly into the night, the words weaving between stolen treasures, daring heists, and the intricacies of their shared world. They discussed Kaz's latest acquisition, carefully skirting around details, knowing the importance of secrecy.

After a while, y/n rose from her seat, preparing to bid her friends farewell and head home. But before she could make her exit, Kaz's voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Wait, y/n," Kaz said, his tone a touch more vulnerable than usual. "Come up to my office for a moment, if you don't mind."

Curiosity piqued, y/n agreed, following Kaz up to his private sanctuary. As they settled into his office, surrounded by the relics of his brilliance, Kaz spoke, his words laced with a rare gratitude.

"I want to thank you, truly," Kaz began, his gaze steady and sincere. "For saving me, for always having my back, even when you don't have to. You've proven time and again that you're more than a friend; you're an invaluable asset."

Y/n's heart warmed at the rare display of vulnerability from the usually guarded Kaz. She nodded, understanding the weight of his gratitude. "You know I'll always be there when you need me, Kaz," y/n replied softly, appreciating the unspoken bond they shared.

They chatted a while longer, delving into the shadows of their respective endeavors, until finally, y/n bid Kaz goodnight.

As y/n descended the stairs of the Crow Club, her gaze fell upon Jesper, who was engrossed in a game of chance, gambling away what little money he had left. Determined to put a stop to his behavior, y/n called out loudly, "Pretty boy! Let's go for a ride."

Jesper's eyes lit up, and he immediately abandoned the table, leaving the game behind without a second thought. Outside, y/n handed him the helmet that had previously graced Kaz's head. As y/n adjusted her own helmet, Nina appeared, a vibrant presence in the night.

"Hey, you two!" Nina greeted them warmly, a mischievous glint in her eyes. But as her gaze fell upon Jesper donning the helmet, a playful grin stretched across her face. "Finally! You can now shut up about how you've never been invited to ride with y/n."

Y/n shared a knowing smile with Nina, fully aware of Jesper's incessant longing for a motorcycle adventure. With everything ready, y/n revved the engine, ready to conquer the streets once more.

The ride that followed was filled with adrenaline and exhilaration, as y/n took Jesper on a journey more intense than any of the other crows had experienced before. The wind whipped through their hair, the thrill of speed mingling with the laughter that escaped their lips.

Once the ride reached its end, y/n took Jesper back to his home. As they pulled up, Wylan stood at the doorway, his eyes widening in a mix of concern and disbelief at the sight of Jesper removing the helmet.

Wylan's voice trembled slightly as he spoke, a mixture of relief and worry evident in his words. "Jesper, are you trying to give me a heart attack? Please tell me you haven't fully embraced the world of motorcycles!"

Jesper grinned sheepishly, his eyes shining with mischief. "Not fully, Wylan," he replied, wrapping an arm around y/n's shoulder. "But I can't resist the thrill of the ride, especially when y/n is the one behind the handlebars."

As they bid their farewells and Jesper disappeared into the safety of his home, y/n couldn't help but smile. Her adventures with the Crows, the rush of the night, and the bonds they shared were the stuff of legends.

As y/n's thoughts wandered on her journey home, an idea began to form in her mind. It had been a long time since she had genuinely cared for and appreciated friends like Kaz, Jesper, and the rest of the Crows. With that in mind, y/n decided to make one final stop before calling it a night—a visit to the local bike shop.

As y/n stepped into the shop, the familiar face of Phil greeted them warmly. Over time, Phil had become acquainted with y/n, thanks to her frequent visits. Curiosity gleaming in his eyes, Phil asked, "Hey there, what brings you in today? Looking for something specific?"

Y/n smirked and replied, "Just planning to buy a couple of helmets." They shared a laugh as Phil accompanied her to the helmet section, his curiosity piqued. "Did you break your helmet again? What are you even doing with them anymore?" he inquired, amused by y/n's ever-present need for helmets.

Chuckling, y/n shook her head. "No, not this time. I actually have a few friends who tag along on my adventures quite often," she explained. "Figured it's about time they had their own helmets for safety."

Together, y/n and Phil sifted through the collection, searching for helmets that would hopefully fit their respective owners' heads. After selecting six suitable helmets, y/n paid for her purchase, bidding Phil farewell.

As y/n made her way back home, carrying the helmets, she couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth in their heart. The thought of equipping their friends with safety gear symbolized a deeper bond—a recognition of the value these relationships held in her life.

Excitement and anticipation filled y/n's thoughts as they envisioned the reactions of their friends upon receiving the helmets. It was a small gesture, but one that spoke volumes about the care and appreciation y/n had for the Crows.

The next morning, y/n arrived at the Crow Club, eager to reunite with her chosen family. With bags filled with helmets slung around their arms, y/n stood outside the closed club, waiting for someone to open the door. The weight of the bags had made her ride a bit of a challenge, but the anticipation fueled her determination.

As the door swung open, revealing Inej, y/n couldn't contain their excitement. It had been weeks since they last saw each other, and their reunion was filled with warmth and genuine affection. Inej enveloped y/n in a tight embrace, and y/n eagerly returned it, savoring the feeling of being back together.

Once inside, Inej's curiosity got the better of her. She asked y/n about the contents of the bags, her eyes gleaming with intrigue. "They're gifts,” Y/n's smile widened “for you guys."

Inej's face lit up with a mix of surprise and gratitude. She explained that the rest of the Crows were currently out but would be arriving shortly. Unable to contain their excitement any longer, y/n handed Inej one of the bags, containing a dazzling dark purple helmet that shimmered under the club's lights and was illustrated with what seemed to be a small dagger at the back of it.

Inej expressed her gratitude, but y/n quickly interjected, a mischievous glint in their eyes. "Don't thank me just yet," she teased. "Try it on first. We need to make sure it fits perfectly."

Inej laughed, understanding y/n's playful nature, and proceeded to try on the helmet. It slipped onto her head flawlessly, a perfect fit. A sense of satisfaction washed over y/n as she watched Inej wearing the helmet, knowing that her gesture of appreciation had been well received.

As the door swung open, signaling the arrival of Wylan and Jesper, y/n turned to greet them. She couldn't help but notice the intertwined hands of the couple. Jesper's eyes flickered towards Inej, who was proudly showing off her new helmet, and he playfully feigned offense.

"Wait, Inej gets her own helmet, but I don't?" Jesper exclaimed, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. Y/n turned around, a mischievous grin playing on her lips, as she retrieved two of the five remaining bags.

With a twinkle in her eyes, y/n handed Jesper the bag, and he hurriedly opened it, his eagerness palpable. Inside was a helmet adorned with two intricately painted guns, a nod to Jesper's sharpshooting skills. Jesper's face lit up with delight as he quickly tried the helmet on, the perfect fit causing a surge of excitement within him.

Y/n chuckled at Jesper's enthusiasm, reminding him, "Oi! You've got to chill, mate." Their attention then turned to Wylan, who approached the group with a faint smile gracing his features. Y/n extended the second bag toward him, her voice filled with warmth and understanding.

"I know you're not really into the whole bike life thing, but you never know." y/n said, her voice tinged with a hint of playfulness. Wylan accepted the bag, his curiosity piqued. As he opened it, a burst of vibrant colors greeted his eyes—a yellow helmet adorned with red and orange flames that swirled around its surface.

Jesper looked on in awe, recognizing the thoughtfulness behind y/n's choice. He couldn't help but admire how the flames on Wylan's helmet represented what he loved most, even without an actual bomb design. With a shy smile, Wylan carefully placed the helmet on his head, the perfect fit a testament to y/n's attention to detail.

The group stood together, each adorned with their new helmets.

As they waited for the rest of the group to arrive, Jesper informed y/n that Kaz was caught up in an important meeting somewhere in the city, while Nina and Matthias were on a much-deserved date. With a collective decision to wait, they settled in, sipping on drinks and engaging in a friendly game of darts, with Jesper predictably emerging as the victor—his sharp aim unmatched by the others.

Time passed, and conversation flowed freely between the group. Amidst the laughter, Wylan found himself drawn to y/n's affinity for motorcycles. He mustered up the courage to strike up a conversation, genuinely curious about her passion.

"Why do you like bikes so much?" Wylan asked, his voice laced with genuine curiosity. Y/n smiled, recognizing Wylan's shy demeanor and the effort he made to engage in conversation. Sensing an opportunity, y/n extended an offer.

"Instead of explaining, how about I show you?" y/n suggested with an inviting smile. Jesper's grin widened, and Inej nodded approvingly, encouraging Wylan to embrace the adventure.

With a mix of curiosity and trepidation, Wylan agreed, realizing that he had his helmet to put to use. Y/n knew this ride would be different from the others y/n had taken the Crows on. She knew Wylan's apprehension toward bikes, so instead of navigating the bustling city streets, y/n took him toward the tranquility of nature, opting for scenic routes where the sounds of honking cars were replaced by the harmonious melodies of birds and the rustle of leaves.

As they cruised through picturesque landscapes, Wylan's initial unease slowly transformed into a sense of peace and appreciation. He marveled at the beauty of nature, his eyes wide with wonder. The ride was calm, allowing him to connect with his surroundings in a way he hadn't experienced before.

Y/n watched Wylan's transformation with a contented smile, knowing that this gentle ride was a reflection of their friendship and understanding. Sometimes, it's not about the thrill of adrenaline but rather finding solace in the serenity of nature and the company of a trusted friend.

As the wind gently caressed their helmet covered faces, Wylan's hesitation melted away, replaced by a newfound sense of freedom. The bond between y/n and Wylan grew stronger, forged through shared experiences and the willingness to step outside their comfort zones.

The ride came to a peaceful end, and as they dismounted their bikes, a sense of tranquility hung in the air. Wylan's eyes sparkled with gratitude as he thanked y/n for the unique experience.

With heartfelt sincerity, y/n replied, "Anytime, Wylan. I'm glad I could show you a different side of the bike life."

As they made their way inside, y/n and Wylan encountered Matthias and Nina, who had just arrived at the Crow Club. Nina's sharp eyes immediately caught sight of Wylan's helmet, and she couldn't resist making a playful comment.

"What do you have there, demo man?" Nina teased, her gaze shifting to Wylan's slightly flushed face. Wylan, a touch embarrassed, explained that the helmet was a gift from y/n.

As the group walked together, y/n guided them toward the table where three gift bags were waiting. With a playful grin, y/n handed a bag to Matthias and another to Nina. Excitement filled the air as they eagerly opened their bags, revealing their personalized helmets.

Matthias' helmet, larger than the others, was a deep shade of blue, adorned with the majestic figures of a moon and a wolf. A sense of awe washed over him as he took in the intricate details. Nina's helmet, on the other hand, shimmered with a beautiful honey color, and it was covered in whimsical waffle designs.

Laughter erupted as they admired their helmets, each reflecting their unique personalities. Y/n then urged them to try the helmets on, curious if Matthias' would fit since she had only given him a ride once before, under emergency circumstances.

As Matthias placed the helmet on his head, it became evident that it was slightly too big. Y/n immediately apologized and promised to get the right size tomorrow, feeling a tinge of regret for not ensuring the perfect fit. However, Matthias reassured them with a warm smile.

"There's no need to apologize, y/n. I really like it," Matthias said sincerely, his voice filled with gratitude. Nina chimed in, expressing her thanks for the beautifully crafted helmet that had unexpectedly ignited her waffle cravings.

With laughter and appreciation, the Crows marveled at their newfound accessories, their helmets serving as tokens of friendship and shared experiences.

As darkness enveloped the city, the tired crows bid their farewells after receiving a text from Kaz letting them know that the club wouldn’t open tonight, gradually dispersing to seek rest in their respective abodes. However, y/n's determination to deliver the final gift spurred her to deviate from the usual path home. Instead, she set her course towards Kaz's apartment, carrying the bag containing his present.

Arriving at Kaz's building, y/n caught sight of him stepping out of his car. With a burst of excitement, she called out his name, catching him off guard. Kaz turned towards her, his expression a mix of surprise and curiosity.

"Hello, y/n. What are you doing here?" he inquired, his voice laced with intrigue. Without uttering a word, y/n extended the bag towards him, her smile growing with anticipation.

"How about we go up to your apartment, and you open it?" she suggested, a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. Kaz nodded in agreement, briefly summoning the elevator. As the doors slid open, they stepped inside, and y/n couldn't help but notice Kaz's tired demeanor. He gently rubbed his leg, attempting to alleviate the strain from a day likely spent on his feet.

Once they reached Kaz's apartment, they settled on the couch, y/n eagerly awaiting his reaction as he carefully opened the bag. Inside lay an almost black helmet adorned with crows in flight. Yet, what distinguished this helmet from the others was the addition of golden letters at the bottom—KR.

Kaz examined the helmet meticulously, his eyes tracing the intricate details. A sense of appreciation and warmth filled the room as he finally spoke, "It's... beautiful." Y/n blushed slightly but swiftly returned to her playful self.

"I know, right?" she responded, a lightheartedness to her tone. Observing Kaz's finger tracing the initials, a hint of nervousness crept into y/n's mind, questioning whether the inclusion of the "R" was too much. Before she could voice her concerns, Kaz interrupted her by swiftly donning the helmet and declaring his affection.

"I love it," he stated resolutely, his voice brimming with sincerity. Y/n's heart swelled with joy, her playful demeanor restored.

The room seemed to glow with an unspoken understanding and appreciation, as Kaz embraced the thoughtful gift.

<33333!!!

tags! @babyblue-chaos @thescorpioscrow @ekkoismyhusband

#fanfiction #kaz brekker x reader #six of crows #six of crows x reader #fluff #kaz brekker #jesper fahey x reader #inej gafha #matthias helvar #nina zenik x reader #wylan van eck #platonic

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thecoffeelorian · 24 days

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And now, for something slightly different...

Hello again, everyone...

...Okay, gang...before we get started here, there's something I think I need to confess here first.

I don't know how in the world I'm supposed to feel about this show any more.

I mean...in the beginning, I thought their arc was clear as a bell: start removing every single darned inhibitor chip they could find, start the evac efforts to an Outer Rim planet, and then start rebuilding new lives, the end.

Instead, it's turned into what looks like a never-ending negative feedback loop: don't lift a finger to rescue a certain person; get told to give a darn about said person by the child character; finally act on the child's orders...but then as a creepy consequence for giving a darn at all, the title squad/'family'(?) starts watching its members not rethink one side of an ideological/psychological divide and leave them; not give up completely on rescuing Troopers/join the Margaritaville Society and leave them; not remember that there are human weight-bearing birds on a certain mountain planet and leave them; finally agree to be caught by the Empire in order to locate Mount Tantiss and leave them...and oh yes, let's add a 'Will They Kill A Brother/Won't They Kill A Brother' game to the mix, if things weren't totally weird enough...I mean, all right, already.

If this show WASN'T about having all six title characters come back together as a true family on an asylum planet, what IS happening here?

How in the world am I expected to respond to repetitive, exhausting moments of disaster and family splintering when for three whole years, I was endlessly told that there was NO disaster, that this was the PERFECT family, that they would NEVER end up shedding members one by one, etc...and...everything that the big-name fans and fandom influencers said WOULDN'T happen IS, in fact, happening right this very minute.

In other words, the squad and family keeps on disintegrating a little bit more with each new season, and I'm left thinking the same thing a few of you must have thought at least once.

Why am I here?

Is it because I'm studying this series as a whole like a certain Chiss studies art, and searching for all of its strengths and weaknesses in order to better improve my own writing? Is it for the sake of wishing to learn how to draw better, and practicing the craft in the safety of something familiar? Or, am I instead becoming some manner of corporate counter-revolutionary, and taking up fanworks as my mode of protest against stories that revolve more around too-short moments of cuteness and horror, sometimes solely for shock value alone...?

I'm afraid I can't answer questions like these just yet, no, not even to myself. I can only read and write and pretty much grieve everything that these episodes/seasons were supposed to be...yet for Force knows what reason, keep getting relegated to the same few plot points over and over again while expecting different results. I can only hope that there's some eventual breakthrough to make it all worth it in the end, if only to rid myself of the thought that this could be the very first bit of Nihilist media in the fandom.

Anyway...*deep breath* Now that I've given you my two cents on this issue...let's get right to my picks of the week, which, thanks to the return of a very interesting sister, I'm unofficially titling this as:

THE DATHOMIR EDITION

The Bad Batch Fan Art

Captain Howzer by @thespianwtch.

She Is Mommy by @anko-art.

Star Wars Rebels Fan Art

Alexsandr Kallus by @ghosty-blues1.

The Bad Batch Fan Fiction

You know, brother by whiteaxolotl

Fight Like Brothers Do by AgentMaryMargaretSkitz

deprogramming by vicious_creature

Whatever Is Necessary by ChopSyndulla

Domiciles by Polyphonic_Garden

Star Wars Sapphic Week, Day 5--Sparring by @violetjedisylveon

Serpent's Kiss by mediumsweet

Not A Soldier by TigerTheSpahget

Star Wars Sequels Fanfiction

What We Do In The Resistance by AgentMaryMargaretSkitz

And now, I'd like to put in a small advertisement, if only to bring more attention to an up-and-coming artist: @ve-ti-ver has started up their own Patreon page, available at this link . So, if you'd like to support them, please feel free to visit their page.

Finally, yes, you probably all know the drill by now...but just in case you need a reminder, here we go: Please give this post a like and a reblog, so that we can pass this post around the Internet and back!

This Week's No Pressure Tags Go Out To: @sharpasanaro @bananasugarwarrior @lazyprofessorpursesalad @callsign-denmark @melymigo @yeehawgeek @littlefeatherr @anko-art @guppyfreedom @giraffedragon-universe @clonebrainrot @gun-roswell @omglisalithium @falconfeather23435 @uuurgh @simply92-me @skellymom @metalatl @dathomirdumpsterfire @kuraiummei @thedynamicworm @ur-pal-ari @advisorsnips @groguandthebadbatch @lee-lee-la @themightychipmunk42 @random-chaotic-bitch @wastingstarsss @flyiingsly @ilovemedia @talesfrommedinastation @swarovski-yoda and anyone else who might be interested in catching more fanart and fanfictions.

Thank you, good afternoon, good luck, and...

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call-of-ishmael · 21 days

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The Last Ishmael OCD Post

One of my first times that i dabbled into character analysis was about Ishmael's OCD, people like that post but i really feel i could have done better

Canto V was my last major chapter i was willing to read. As i put more distance between me and the story, i want one final farewell in the form of finally fixing up my analysis

PART I: THE META-TEXTUAL

Before i delve into the writing itself, here is some pointers the story gives to her OCD in the form of flavor text and descriptions.

Firstly we have her Bio

This is easy to miss as its just a tiny blurb above her whole intro blurb.

Now, "obsessive compulsive neurosis" is a very weird way to phrase it, "obsessive compulsive" is clear enough but "neurosis" is odd, this is not TOO odd though, as "neurotic" used to be how OCD was classified as a disorder.

However if we look at her bio in Korean, the particulars do simply straight up say "OCD" very clearly, you'd need to MTL but this was also confirmed to me by a friend from SK

The sinner bios are biased though, and are written through a very corporate lens, so lets see if there's any other pointers elsewhere

Her base EGO, Snagharpoon, actually does just that

Her passives name is called "Compulsion" and in its gameplay design its a very interesting way to also point to it

Ishmael is a very all or nothing person, you do it well or you don't do it at all, and this is reflected on how this passive aids you to play

This passive is excellent for boosting the consistency of playing by only going for "Favored" or "Dominating" clashes, while punishing you for taking chances on clashes you MIGHT win

Base ID Ishmael is also a unit with all single coins, rolling tails puts her in a very unfavorable position so this also adds an extra safety net on top. Worth noting being all single coins is also a high risk high reward type of play style.

Finally we see two more pointers id like to note, both from Canto V

The Compulsive`s Knot, an ego gift themed after a naval rope, one of many in the dungeon all alluding to her struggles.

Most obviously though

Her exclusive status effect, Compulsion. This is in direct reference to her EGO passive, providing an attack boost at the same time it provides a drawback in the form of low SP.

We are gonna talk a bit more about this passive since it ties into another gameplay oriented way to point towards her OCD

During the story dungeon we have an event where a noise is heard, you are given two choices, check, gain SP, don't check, lose SP.

Compulsive checking is probably the most well known (to the conditions detriment we will talk about it later) hallmark of OCD

Notably, this doesn't aid Ishmael, while checking can avoid the combat encounter, not checking only has a chance of triggering it, and most interestingly, her SP will always start at -25 during combat encounters. Meaning the temporary boost in her sanity will just get reset next battle, should you decide to check. Checking wont satisfy her anxiety for more than a brief moment.

Lastly the most obvious ones are all the references to Obsession. These are so abundant i feel if you are familiar with the Canto its redundant to have them, i wanted to draw more attention to the allusions to compulsion, as they are less common.

PART II: BEFORE THE STORM

Even since before her own Canto, we can see Ishmael's ruminating and anxious tendencies pop up during previous chapters, which for OCD is important to explore as OCD is an anxious and ruminating disorder.

So lets talk a little bit about OCD! Its a disorder characterized by repetitive and constant intrusive urges to perform a task or a thought (lets keep this in mind for later)

These thoughts or actions are used to try to relieve stress from an anxiety inducing thought or situation. The most common example is OCD exacerbating germ phobia, and causing people who have it to wash their hands in excess.

While OCD is usually described as "irrational thoughts" i feel that's a pretty limited way to view it in my own experience with it. OCD compulsions and thoughts can be informed by very real worries, the worry of getting sick, of making the wrong moral choices, of hurting others. Being clean is a normal and a good practice to stave off getting sick, its the frequency and intensity that turns it maladaptive, OCD turns your own lived fears and traumas against you, and those might very well be real things to worry about, which makes dealing with it very hard.

Enough of that off to the writing!

Lets start with Canto II

This is the first example of her constant need for a lack of ambiguity, previous to this we see her complain about the treatment the sinners are receiving from Effie and Saude, skeptical of the whole deal.

Until shes shown the plans, they are so well crafted shes able to anchor to that and calm down.

This by itself is not really much other than being very detail oriented, lets look a bit further into the chapter

Here we see that aspect elaborated upon more, this moment is framed as a very important one between Dante and Ishmael in their dynamic later on, Ishmael is incredibly upset at the plan having fallen apart so quickly, while yes this is not unreasonable to be upset at, her anger is remarked on by Dante and Gregor as very intense and unusual. This in my opinion is a minor but clear indication her need for planning and considering every option is due to a deep anxiety, but don't take it from me, lets look at Canto III

Here we are told pretty explicitly, Ishmael moving quickly and asking lots of questions is something Dante has noted as an anxious habit.

And here we have more elaboration on what exactly that moment at the Casino meant for Ishmael, it was enough anger and disappointment she has stopped expecting Dante to perform well and instead taken it upon herself to see things go according to plan, this is VERY important to her.

And her worries, are repetitive enough to annoy others, and to be remarked upon by Dante.

This is perhaps the more notable chain of events to point out previous to her chapters aside from 4.5, as it helps contextualize all her usual ways of acting in a more complete light, showing a lot of this is driven by a deep anxiety

And this all makes S.E.A all the more interesting as it pays off on this.

Something i quite enjoy about Limbus is how it re-contextualizes things characters have previously done and said. And the events of S.E.A and Canto V bring a lot of interesting stuff to the table

Lets get cracking with this chapter

In general shes extremely confrontational, and tense, more than usual

But its her anxious outbursts i wanna focus on, what she puts

emphasis on.

This chapter is so crucial in this whole analysis. We see some behaviors way more clearly now, firstly we see her emphasize her need to be absolutely 100% prepared for this, no ambiguity no risks she wants certainty.

But we see something even more clearly and that's her ruminating behaviors, shes brought up things like this to a smaller extent before like commenting on a lot of aspects but here we see in full display her inner world become externalized, shes started voicing worries shes never voiced before can Dante turn them back always? What if Dante dies? What if the sinners get eaten can that be turned back?

And these don't all get brought up immediately, she mentions them in different conversations, pointing to the fact shes constantly going over the subject in her head with no pause, and she gets frustrated when she cannot work on these worries when she cant do anything to quell the anxiety.

And the last part, when Dante finds her so fixated in her planning its impossible to even talk to her. She has to perform some action do something to stave off the disaster she can see coming in her head

As someone with OCD inevitably i have to mention the personal component that drew me to analyze this was how real this feels to when you spiral

A lot of the times OCD is explained as the compulsions being something you do cause you feel its a sort of ritual to stave off disaster. Its in this way i see it reflected in this moment.

As we see with Heathcliff acting as her foil, he points out her worrying is really not doing much other than just her talking and talking, and by the state shes in when Dante checks in on her, aimless not even paying attention to anything else we see the main objective of the planning really isn't practical as much as a compulsive coping mechanism.

She has to do something

PART III: INTO THE DARK

Lots to cover and honestly i will make a companion post to this with all the examples, so for this section i wanna cover some highlights instead, as well as a general discussion of the tone.

The way this chapter is structured is very interesting, its really reflective of the mental state of Ishmael. The chapter feels really aimless, they wander around not really ever finding what they need, which drives Ishmael more and more tense and frustrate

Its a good continuation to how we see her by the end of S.E.A fixated on one goal one thing

As previously stated shes inflicted with a constant special and unique to her status effect called "Compulsion" as covered in Part I

Her behavior is also reflective of this

For a good part of the first third of the chapter shes in her room, the whole time whetting her harpoon, nonstop

However you might notice compulsion is not as present as obsession, and compulsion is also important to OCD its in the acronym! And i have seen others point to it too

However id like you to remember, in the post earlier i said thoughts can fit into OCD, compulsions can be mental and sometimes almost exclusively or mostly mental. Its even in the DSM noted that for diagnosis the compulsions to count you for a diagnosis can be mental in nature

Its in this aspect that i feel Ishmael shines a lot

In general OCD in media is lacking in representation and is often a trait given to assholes or villains

The normal conception of OCD in movies or TV is of neat freaks or control freaks, Compulsion is usually heavily emphasized when it isn't the whole picture

Often ignored though is the aspect of Obsession, some people can have Purely Obsessional OCD (Pure O), this isn't a formal diagnosis or term but its colloquially used by people who have it. Its a bit of a misnomer, as compulsions are present but internalized as mental rituals or rumination

Usually its harder to diagnose, its harder to treat as there's no apparent compulsions others can see, and the people having it seem pretty high functioning to the people around them.

This can be noticed though in people avoiding certain subjects, avoidant behaviors can be the clearest external behavior.

I personally read Ishmael as having more mental compulsions, the way she tends to be a more ruminating and anxious character than outwardly compulsive

During S.E.A and Canto V we see outward compulsions more but from the examples from previous Cantos we can see that's not her usual and she operates more on anxious overthinking most of the time.

However another aspect that ties into mental compulsions is in the previously mentioned avoidant behaviors, we see her isolate and try to stave of having to deal with her worries in both S.E.A and the beginning of Canto V when shes in her room, in both cases doing some excessive preparation in a compulsive way.

CLOSING THOUGHTS

As previously stated Canto V deserves its own companion post, and ill work on that later, i feel this encapsulates what i wanted to say well enough.

I wanted to discuss the previous signs of her behaviors that make me certain her OCD is an intended textual read, and in my opinion a well executed one

Canto V was hard to read as it felt very real and very familiar to the worst times i have had due to my OCD.

Shes a character that despite my distaste i have developed for the franchise, it will never stop meaning a lot to me same as her chapter will always be a piece of storytelling that affected me deeply in ways others haven't

To close i want to leave off what i feel encapsulates the feeling pretty well, in my favorite moment with the membrane consuming her as a metaphor for letting fear, anger, obsessions and compulsions cloud your mind until you forget why you were even there

To you, dear reader, Bon Voyage

#ishmael lcb #ishmael limbus company #project moon #lcb ishmael #canto V #canto v spoilers #limbus company #lcb

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nocturnesmoon · 5 months

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Your Mooneyes

Word count: 4.2k Tags: 2nd person POV, gender neutral reader, Smoking, hints at addictions and substance abuse, indirect talk of death, hints at self-isolation and other destructive behaviour, hurt/comfort, bittersweet A/N: This is very self-indulgent. Also, if anyone notices the small cyperpunk2077 reference I put in there, Hi, I love you, let's be friends. - You thought you could finally have some peace up here on the rooftop, a place where it was just you, the smoke, and the moon. Then he came along, and for some reason you don't mind it -

Smoke filled you from a heavy breath, it entered your lungs and swirled the nicotine into your system. Only when you felt that familiar buzzing, your shoulders relaxing just a little, did you let go of the smoke and air. It mixed with the winter air around you, tainting its sweetness and churning with the bitterness of the frost.

The taste in your mouth turned sour, putting a dirty gland over already yellowed teeth. You didn't usually smoke, truthfully you didn't. Though it had still become a ritual for you, the only reason you bought the stupidly expensive brand that wasn't even good. It wasn't the worst of your vices, there were way more effective ways of destroying oneself. It was however one you would never part with even if your life depended on it.

You didn't particularly like the taste or the sensation it gave you, it was bitter and made you cough, it did much more bad than good. Yet you still found yourself lighting a cigarette, every year on this very night, as well as the nights leading up to it. When the snow would be covering the grounds of the forest outside the base, and when everyone had either gone home or were celebrating inside with their fellow brothers in arms.

Up here on the rooftop where nobody went on nights like this was your moment of peace. You found comfort in the moon and its light of solitude. Its cold gaze was like an old friend greeting you once again, your only true guidance in the creeping darkness of not only your mind. It was your solace in the bitterness of the merry Christmas spirit.

You didn't fault the people around you for taking part of the festivities, you didn't pay them much mind. Usually you kept to yourself, even more so during this season. Despite Soap's adamant attitude at including, you everywhere, along with Gaz's attempts at pulling you along after your small protests. You adored them and their efforts, yet they simply didn't understand how you could possibly be so gloomy this time of year. It was a time for friends and family, for baked goods and cheery spirits.

Perhaps that's why you disliked the season so much. It was a mix of many things, but Christmas reminded you of darker pasts. Not to mention it was a stressful time to be in, the frost outside was cold and harsh, and if you hear one more repetitive Christmas song, you might actually pull your gun on someone.

You didn't want to hate it if you were being honest with yourself. You wanted that connection the people beneath your feet had. You wanted that sense of family, that sense of comfort and safety. To be protected within a tightknit network of people who know each other inside and out. You didn't have that anymore, and you no longer sought it out. It was presented to you on different occasions, but the innate fear that it would all be for nothing, again, was too much.

The soft click of the rooftop door opening pulled you out of your own head, your head turning instinctively to check out the new threat that had moved into the vicinity of your solitude. You find yourself surprised to see the soldier with the skull mask, the rough and harsh Lieutenant that the recruits made up ghost stories about, your Lieutenant, your LT Ghost.

He seemed just as surprised to see you out here, his body tensing up as your eyes locked. Your pupils darted over him, scanning his body language and the twitch of his hand on the door handle. He was looking ready to just about bail as soon as he saw you, perhaps he had hoped for the emptiness of the rooftop that had called to you in the first place.

And just as quick as you saw the tense hesitance, it disappeared into the thin night air. Instead, something in him shifted and with heavy steps he made his way towards you. The determination in his form almost took the breath from your lungs, having you force back a cough from the resisting smoke.

In the time you've known him you've done your best to get a mental profile on his psyche. You had been able to prod and dig into Soap and Gaz easily enough, their openness making them easy reads. Your captain was a bit more difficult, be it his years of experience and stoicism, or the fact you didn't see him as much as the rest you didn't know just yet. Though at the end of the day you still knew where you stood, you knew what kind of people they were, you knew their tells and how they would respond to situations. It was your job to know in a sense.

Now your Lieutenant was a completely different story to the rest of your squad. You prided yourself in your ability to read others, it was a useful skill in interrogation and other means. A skill that unwillingly carried over into your every aspect of your life, finding yourself analyzing and dissecting every person you met just for fun if anything else. However, Ghost had been your greatest challenge yet.

Maybe it was wrong to think of it like that. He wasn't a challenge for you to complete, you wouldn't get a reward for your work on him, nobody would even know if you did it right. But he was so enticing in a way you couldn't comprehend. His mask was one thing, it hid most of his facial features, and his dark style of clothing made him blend into the even darker surroundings.

If Soap was an open book to you, then Ghost was locked up with a steel lock and the key was thrown into the sea.

It was only when he reached your space on the rooftop, that you looked away from him again. The cigarette hanging loosely between your pointer and middle finger. You brought it to your lips, watching him from your peripheral. Despite having deliberately decided to come over, he still put distance between the two of you. Out of respect or out of his adverse nature to touch was unclear.

There wasn't much acknowledgement between the two of you, but you allowed him to stay, for now. There had always been a silent understanding between you both, you may not have him figured out but there was mutual respect. A sign of trust between you from the countless times he had saved your ass for a bad decision, and the few times where you had saved his.

Ghost had been in the taskforce a lot longer than you had, and his reluctance at your entrance had been tough. It took you a long time before you could safely say you had earned his trust. He had respected you as one respected another professional, but his dramatic indifference at your presence had been discouraging compared to that of his other coworkers. Yet over time you had been able to remedy that.

"Since when do you smoke?" His gravelly voice disrupted the comforting silence, and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. He didn't know about your habits, at least not the ones that only presented themselves at certain times of the year. It was the most surprised at the fact he was still here on base, and not off somewhere celebrating Christmas with anyone.

You expelled the smoke you were holding in your lungs, scooting it downwards as you leaned more forward against the railing. "They taste like shit and make my head spin," you said with your gaze returning briefly to the moon above, "But once I start something I don't quit."

His response was more of a quiet rumble from his chest, a noise followed by the slight nodding of his head. "From one addict to another, I sympathize" He responded and held out a hand towards you, "Bum a smoke?" You looked down at his hand, once of the rare times he didn't wear his gloves and allowed the world to see a little of his skin.

Your metal cigarette case was softly cradled in one hand, the custom-made piece that held the few cigarettes you smoked every year. Your thumb ran over the small crystals that were probably fake, they covered over the entire thing, and reflected light on its surroundings when it was just right. Wordlessly you clicked it open, sliding one of them out and placing it neatly in his hand, making sure to not accidentally touch him in the process.

You weren't totally sure why you avoided touch so much when it came to him, he never recoiled from it when someone did come in contact. Though he very rarely initiated it himself, and normally he always positioned himself so it would be the least likely thing to happen in most scenarios.

"Thought you went home," Your voice was quiet in the night, glancing up at him and looking into those brown eyes. You found yourself allured by them; they were the eyes of a person who had seen so much. "Most of the others did," you add quickly, flicking the ash off the cigarette and bringing it to your lips for another drag.

Ghost shifted the weight on his legs, his hand coming up to tug up his balaclava, so it rested just above his nose. You took in the sight, the scar over his lip, the slight stubble on his jaw, the way his lips moved when he was about to speak. You stopped yourself from analyzing further, it took a direction you didn't know whether you were mentally prepared to address.

"Just finished my last report for the night," he brought the cigarette to his lips, and your body sprung into motion. You fished out your lighter from your pocket, turning your body to the side so you were facing him more directly. He leaned, accommodating so you could light it up for him. His eyes caught yours, and you held the eye contact, trying to ignore the way your cheeks warmed.

It reminded you of occasional lingering moments the two of you shared. The times when you would do paperwork together in silence, how he would sometimes rise to hover over you and help you where it was needed. You were perfectly capable of doing it yourself, but you let him, for the mere reason that you liked the attention he gave you. You felt safe with him, in a different way than you did with the others.

His gaze held yours until his cigarette was lit, he breathed in heavily closing his eyes as he relished in the calming feeling. He leaned his back against the railing, letting the smoke out into a small cloud above. "You smoke a strange brand," he said and cringed from the flavor that touched his tastebuds. He pulled back and looked down at the cigarette as if it had insulted him personally.

A smile tugged your lips, you could feel the start of a laugh bubble in your throat, but you decided to repress it. "They're not really mine" you admitted, dropping the hand that was holding your own cigarette, to your side. They belonged to you now, the cigarettes, the case, the habit, but it was never really yours.

Your eyes snapped to the slight movement in his mask, above his eye, indicating a raised brow. Either contemplating his own confusion or curiosity. You figured he probably found you weird, though he had never said it aloud. "Who's it then" he didn't sound too interested, not that you could blame him for it. The man had a lot of mysteries to deal with in his job alone, he didn't need the extra vagueness.

"Was my Ma's" you answer him, turning back to the railing so you could lean your arms on it. You had started this little ritual years ago, it helped take the focus off of the painful memories that surrounded you and clouded you during the season. Intent on not bringing focus towards it again, you change the subject, "You're not gonna head home and celebrate?"

There's another moment of silence between you both, and for a second you wonder if he's even going to grace you with an answer. "No," his answer was short and curt, "I don't typically celebrate." It made sense to you, not everyone celebrated or made a big out of Christmas, but you thought he would still have someone waiting at home. A family, some friends, maybe a partner.

"Don't got anyone waiting at home?" You settle for asking him directly, unable to hold your curiosity at bay. You felt unbelievably intrusive even asking, you knew how private he was, even though he answered a lot of Soap's questions he avoided the ones that dug too deep.

He lets out a small cloud of smoke through an audible sigh, his head turning towards you to look at you. For the first time you felt slightly self-conscious beneath his piercing gaze, the analyzing nature you used yourself was now turned on you. "Do you?" he asked, avoiding the question like he always did, in his very own way of turning it against you.

You blew out the air through your nose in low amusement. You weren't sure if he had always done this, but he had definitely toned it up when it came to you. Taking from your own example, you were starting to think he was being insufferable on purpose just to make you laugh. "I'm still here," you say and take a long drag from your cigarette, "What do you think."

You heard the rumbling sound of his hum in answer, it came right from his chest, and it made you wonder what it would be like hearing it when you were pressed close. "Johnny practically invited everyone over for the holidays, you could've said yes," his body turned around, mimicking the way you were leaning forwardly against the railing. His gaze looked up towards the moon as well.

It was oddly comfortable out here with him, you had expected to be tense, annoyed that he disrupted your quiet alone time. Though you found yourself now enjoying the time, hoping he would stay for a while longer.

You thought back to a few days ago when Soap had left the base to travel back home to Scotland. He was celebrating with his family as per usual, every few holidays he would invite the team over, insisting that you were all family at this point anyway. Aswell with the fact that his own family absolutely wouldn't mind more people either.

Sometimes Gaz or the captain said yes, insisting themselves that his family was delightful company and very welcoming. You didn't doubt them, but you had yet to say yes to the offer yourself. Most holidays you made your own plans, and Christmas was different, not one you usually allowed yourself to spend with others. This time around both Gaz and Price had refused as well, having their own people at home that they were celebrating with. Ghost hadn't ever agreed either, despite Soap's pestering he hadn't budged yet.

"Why didn't you?" you countered him, using his own insufferable way of avoiding questions with questions. You had always expected that Ghost would go with Soap unless he had his own plans at home. But he had never even met Soap's family, a fact that had surprised you when you first learned. They always had such chemistry together, the banter they shot back and forth in the field as well as the off time they occasionally spent together in whatever way that made sense. They seemed like good friends to you.

The sigh he let out indicated he didn't exactly appreciate the countered question, though the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes did make it seem like he was smiling at least a little under the mask. It made your own smile show itself and tug at your lips. "I don't think I'm ready to meet 15 different versions of MacTavish," he admitted.

This time around you snorted audibly, it made his eyes snap to you, the crinkle in his eyes getting bigger as he looked at you like you were the most adorable thing in the world. "Does he really have that many family members?" You asked highly amused and just a little bit horrified at the possibility.

The chuckle you heard from him was different, one you didn't get to hear like this all that often. Normally his laugh would consist of quiet breathy chuckling, not the audible one he let you hear right now. It almost managed to make you forget why you were out here alone in the first place. It was a nice feeling, making you feel just a little less alone.

"No idea" he shook his head through his chuckle, "But I'm not risking it just yet." You couldn't fault him for that, the possibility of meeting a lot of new people all with the same energy as Soap might be overwhelming at first. Normally it wouldn't strike you as the type of crowd Ghost would surround himself with, not that you think he'd surround himself in any type of crowd willingly.

You felt his shoulder bump against yours, intentionally, and it made you freeze up out of shock. You look him in the eye with confusion but instantly start mentally berating yourself for your reaction of surprise when you see his own uncertain look. As if he was already regretting making the contact, he cleared his throat, "So, why are you really out here?"

You didn't answer, you didn't know if you wanted to. Were you and Ghost even that close? Would he be weirded out by all this? You knew a lot of things about him, but then again did you even really know him. "My Ma used to say that people reside in the stars" you speak quietly, gazing up at the twinkling stars in the midnight sky.

"That when we pass over to the next plane of existence, we leave remnants of our souls in the stars we cross, that way you leave something behind to guide the next generation," it was something she had told you about over and over again. How so many of your family members were looking down at you, that the shooting stars, and the twinkling lights where their way of communicating. You don't know if you believe it but.... "I feel closer to her out here."

You couldn't see his expressions, or what his reaction was to your words, too focused on watching the stars like they were the most interesting thing in the world. In truth you were scared, maybe he would laugh, or tell you off, scoff and mock you. He didn't.

"Do you think she was right?" You were surprised when you heard Ghost's voice inquiring interest. Was he just being nice for the courtesy? No that wasn't Ghost, he didn't dance around subjects he always said he didn't have time for that. He was asking genuinely.

"Maybe," you say a little taken aback, you had spent months mulling over the question yourself. Did you believe the same or were you just clinging onto the remnants of her in you. "I want her to be," you admit to him in a whisper. You could remember all the times you had looked up at the stars and looked for a sign, a twinkle or movement, anything from her.

A silence fell over you both as you looked up towards the stars, getting absorbed in their beauty and their places next to the illuminating moon. You wondered if he had lost people too, that it could be why he was so closed off, why he refused to let you in too deep no matter how much you prodded at his walls of steel defense.

He made a noise you couldn't discern, something between a hum and a sigh. "I hope so," he sounded hopeful, and disheartened all at once. It was confusing to witness without the needed context behind his emotions. His eyes were focused on a specific clutch of stars, allowing you to look up at him unnoticed. "I think it'd be nice," he whispered quietly, matching your own tone of voice.

Maybe he hoped that whoever he had lost was up there too, maybe he was looking for a sign as well. Maybe he was just like you were, or maybe you were completely delusional. For a moment you allowed yourself to fall for the fantasy, the thought that maybe the two of you weren't all that different. Broken souls and scarred hearts, just waiting for someone to see them for what they are.

When he moved his head to look at you in turn, meeting your eyes with a feeling you didn't know what was. You fought the flinching urge to look away from his gaze, feeling like you were intruding on feelings you weren't allowed to see. Your long-forgotten cigarette almost falling out of your hand when he spoke, "She'd be proud of you, if she could see you now." Your eyes widening just a fraction and your mouth slightly agape in your own confusion.

His gaze was dissecting, almost uncomfortable as he pierced through your own defenses like they were pudding. How he did it you had no idea, techniques running through your head, but you dismissed them, there was nothing malicious about this, just pure emotion. "I hope so," you cringed at the choked-up note in your voice.

Ghost let out a huff, something akin to a silent laugh with the nod of his head. His eyes softened and it almost tore your bleeding heart right out of your chest. You had never known yourself to be this easily picked apart at the seams. A skill you didn't know he possessed, as if he had been observing you for a long time and just now revealed just how easy you could be. Your brain was quick to make it out to something negative, but deep down in your heart you knew Ghost wasn't like that.

"I'm proud of you."

The words froze you over, your cigarette falling from your rigid hand as your own emotions pooled in your eyes. You didn't know whether you wanted to be angry with him or thankful for this newfound ability of his. Maybe you weren't as well walled up as you thought, and apart of you didn't mind it. His eyes kept you in a trance, "Ghost..." your vocals were barely there.

"Call me Simon," He turned to you fully, his presence had never been so inviting, "For tonight at least." The amusement in his voice was clear to you, his grin barely concealed behind that skull mask of his. It only made your confusion greater, your brain processing too many things at once as you comprehended what had just changed in the relationship with him.

"What?" you blinked dumbfounded; you had heard him clearly enough, but the spiking overload was rendering you momentarily confused. A thing he seemed to pick up on, quicker than you had expected him to.

"C'mon, it's getting cold out here," his threw his cigarette to the ground, stomping it out with his foot and double checked yours too. Then his hand grazed yours with caution, this time you didn't recoil or flinch away. You let him slide his hand over yours, holding and gently tugging you along to the stairs that led down from the roof. Out of the safe place you had created and into a new one in his presence.

You stumbled after him, your brain catching up to the fact that you were now leaving. You weren't used to being overloaded so quickly; he did things to you that you had no explanation for. "Wait- Where are we going?" you didn't know what he had intended, but this wasn't the way back into base, the door on the roof would've been the easier choice if that was the case.

He chuckled; the sound muffled behind his mask as well as the fact you were still walking a step behind him. "I'm not leaving you out here alone," he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, the feeling making your cheeks heat up again, "I know a pub, they're alright at holidays, you'll love it." He reassured you as if he knew it for a fact, that he was so certain you wouldn't dislike it. You wanted to argue, protest that you weren't in the mood. But the way he looked at you rendered you quiet, the urge to trust him being great, the urge to be fine with the fact that maybe he did know you.

He saw you the way you saw others, he read you as easily as you would read anyone else. In all your years spent analyzing people and their behavior so you could accommodate them, you had forgotten how much you needed someone to do that for you. You needed someone to see you.

And he saw you.

All of you.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x gn!reader #simon ghost riley x gn!reader #reader insert #x reader #gn reader #NoctMoon Fics #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x gn reader #simon ghost riley x gn reader #first time fic

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riddle-me-ri · 4 months

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💋💗💖 for BTAS Scarecrow and TNBA Scarecrow if you do him in asks pretty please?

Sure thing sweet anon, sorry if this seems kind of repetitive, I perceive the two to be fairly similar lol

💋 - How do they kiss?

BTAS Scarecrow:

Jonathan's kisses are mostly short and sweet, but he does hope his kisses hold some weight as he makes the effort to kiss you more and not have you initiate them as much.

TNBA Scarecrow:

Jonathan's kisses are very...hesitant and uncertain...not that he doesn't want to kiss his partner...he just wants to do it right and ensure that his feelings are felt through his kisses despite how reluctant and short they may be.

💗 - How do they show affection?

BTAS Scarecrow:

Jon shows affection by opening up to his partner and sharing meaningful and intimate conversations, often showing his appreciation for his partner by lending their ear with a soft peck to the cheek or temple.

TNBA Scarecrow:

Jonathan shows affection by always ensuring the safety of his significant other, and checking that all their needs are met. He isn't always around so Jonathan constantly goes above and beyond for his partner. If you need him to do a chore or ask him a favor he's on top of it.

💖 - Do they like PDA or are they a private person?

Both BTAS and TNBA Scarecrows are very private partners. They both aren't too familiar with romantic relationships and they wouldn't like their coyness to be shown--the Master of Fear is never shy...you know?

Send in a Character and an Emoji and I’ll Answer!

#ri answers #emoji character ask game #emoji character ask meme

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mandatory-blog-stop-asking · 2 months

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Moriarty (TNG) as good AI Art

I got to Star Trek The Next Generation season 2's Elementary, Dear Data in my rewatch and I couldn't help but notice how the holodeck actually nicely represents the current state of AI art in its process to create Moriarty.

At first, Data and Geordi ask for a "Sherlock Holmes mystery", so the holodeck simply provides one, verbatim -- Data has obviously already read it, and so he immediately solves it. Geordi is furious and leaves immediately, because Geordi doesn't have great characterization in the show proper, and lives in our heads as a better character.

But the point Georgi tries to make eventually is that this isn't a "real" mystery if Data already knows it, and it goes kind of unspoken that the Holodeck didn't create anything new, it just regurgitated what it has without any remixing or any real reason to go through it again.

Then Pulaski gets involved and tries to prove Data can't really do anything novel -- they ask the Holodeck for an original mystery "in the Holmesian style", and what does it do? It just copies and pastes different portions of Sherlock Holmes novels into the same document, and makes it a "new mystery", while still clearly being just a hackjob made in a hurry with no sense of aesthetics or direction.

While it might have been enough for Geordi or Pulaski, Data is a machine that can recognize patterns much better, and he immediately understands that this is just a combination of patterns he already knows, and once again he immediately solves it because he knows the original mysteries. But this time, Pulaski points out: this is a fraud! This is not what a real story is like! Holmes would never do this, he would actually think about the novel stimuli reaching his brain!

And I think it's really interesting how Data, a fellow machine, cannot immediately tell what Pulaski is saying. Because for Data, aesthetic don't actually make that much sense, at least not in season 2. He can't tell a good story from a bad one made out of different pages of different stories, because for him, it's all about patterns. Just like the Holodeck, Data does think this is good enough, and confronts her about it. I mean, what else is the Holodeck supposed to do other than recombine what already exists?

It's not until Geordi stops asking the computer to make a story and instead asks for the computer to make a character that the plot actually moves forward, because at that point they're dealing with emerging narratives that arise from the fact that Moriarty is now a hyper-intelligent AI that is free to do its own plans, regardless of what Sherlock Holmes story he's from. While Moriarty may be a repetitive character, his new reactions are not, and that's good enough that it becomes a massive problem that threatens the safety of the ship.

Before, when it was being asked to make derivative art, the Holodeck performed exactly to task -- but the result only really worked on people who either 1) did not understand art at a deeper level than the superficial, and 2) did not know the original art that well. The art that it spat out was valid, it was working, it was logically sound and fit together more or less well enough.

Pulaski, however, immediately understood that this result was inferior to the sum of its parts. She respects the character of Sherlock Holmes; she goes on a little explanation about the character's relationship to the human soul and how that's the actual point of the books, as opposed to just the simple puzzle boxes that Data (and, to some extent, the Holodeck) seems to believe they are.

And I just think that's just a poignant take that easily translates to the current state of art and artificial intelligence -- there is actually no value in derivative AI art that simply copies and pastes parts of other pieces of art into one straight line, regardless if it's an image or a story or anything like that. Yes, you can get some praise from people who either don't care or aren't familiar with the originals, but people who are actually into the art form -- the ones who have proven they are invested and are ostensibly the ones you're trying to catch as a steady audience -- will recognize and be bored by the result. There's no rhyme or reason to how a machine adapts a story into another, there's no aesthetic sense that makes it interesting to the human psyche. It's just a fast food version of art that doesn't really do anything for you, and you'll forget it in five minutes. Pulaski is not offended by the attempt, she's positively amused that an AI tried its hardest to make a Sherlock Holmes story, one of the most by-the-books and predictable mystery formats known to British literature, and the best it could do was just copy what's already there.

But when it's just a collection of ideas and vague directions that then go forward on their own, that's different. Moriarty is not an AI creation of the Holodeck -- he was given a push and then allowed to go wherever he wanted. He was not even a proper villain by the end of it; the combination of things Moriarty was resulted in a curious, driven, machiavelic yet ultimately sympathetic man, who just wanted to continue living and creating his own, original story, not based on anyone else's. The Holodeck's greatest achievement wasn't making an original story, it was making someone capable of doing that on their own, without having to refer to anything else.

There are entire Youtube channels right now that make a lot of bank by using these emerging language models to help them tell a story -- DougDoug has dozens of videos of him and his chat going on wild adventures aided by text AI that doesn't actually write a story for them, but instead simply provides direction for them to make their own decisions and their own stories. It's a genuine way to improvise and give the onus of planning to something else, especially when the story isn't the point, but the experience is -- just like the Holodeck!

I'm not saying AI art is eventually going to reach that point by itself, but I do think there's something to be said about just hitting random on a trope generator that gives you, the author, different ideas so you can write a story yourself; or even just rolling the die to see what happens to your characters as opposed to painstakingly arranging your story like a hand-made garden.

Star Trek constantly showcases characters like Data, Moriarty, The Doctor or Zora as more than the sum of their parts, and it's always because they are able to be more than simple reorganization of previously experienced stimuli. They are able to make choices that don't have to happen, but that they want to happen.

Don't get me wrong -- AI Art, as an institution, is corrosive acid and will kill entire industries. But the fact we skipped straight into the hellish capitalist version of that means we never got to fucking play with it. We never got to just use it as a stepping stone or something to unclog the sink when you have writer's block. Instead of going in random adventures with a Moriarty who can actually react and develop something akin to a character, we're getting a thousand offers to buy books that are just combinations of different novels on Amazon, with no way to really filter them out other than our own eyes.

I just wanted to hang out with Moriarty.

#star trek #star trek tng #star trek the next generation #data #geordi la forge #pulaski #james moriarty #art #writing

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fresh-new-yoik-watah · 1 year

Text

Love Like the Sea

Chapter One: I See Your Eyes

A/N: the long awaited chapter one is finally here. The ending is kinda rushed, literally had no idea how to close it off. I have no idea how many chapters this story will be lmfaooo

pairing: Neteyam x Metkayina!Reader

important story info: no use of y/n just because it was not working for this story lol. Neteyam, reader, and Ao’nung are 19. Kiri is 18. Lo’ak and Tsireya are 17. Characters have been aged up for story purposes (not for smut, it’s just easier to write them older)

warnings: none !

word count: 2.6k

___________________

Water.

Water is the beginning of all things. It travels and flows beyond the end of time. Constant existence. When there is nothing, water remains, steady, beating. Water is sanctuary; it is safe, comfort, calm. It provides food, protection, and home. It gives and it takes. All things born from it, return to it. That is the way of water.

You exhaled as you finished your meditation, the crashing of the waves slowly tuned back in. The barely rising sun shone through your closed eyelids, orange peeking through, and the rays warmed your skin and returned your subconscious to the physical world. Every morning was spent like this, out alone on the shore before the rest of the clan awoke. It was the only time the planet stood still, the only time you could really be with yourself. There were no responsibilities, no expectations, just you, your soul, and your thoughts, which had become quite loud and repetitive lately. Morning was the time you normally dwelled on them and left them at that, but they started to bleed into the rest of your day, intruding on your lessons and tasks. It was like a bug, buzzing in your ear, and no matter how often you believed you swatted it away, it was still there.

Your mother was first to notice you were distracted; your weaving was sloppy, the strands were loose and fraying, something you normally perfected at. You brushed off her worry, saying it was stress from officially starting your training with the Tsahik, and while there was truth in that, it was what being taken under the Tsahik’s wing meant: expectation to mate with their son. The olo’eyktan’s son. From birth, your life was already planned, due to a vision given by Ewya, a promise for greater things and a bigger role. So Ao’nung and you were raised together, an expectation that you two were to one day become a mated pair. And he loved you dearly, but in the way he loved a sister; he took pride in protecting you, teaching you to hunt, holding you as you cried. He was all you knew. You were each other’s rock and confidant, the only ones that could truly, deeply understand each other’s pain and trials, how you both woke everyday with dread, knowing it was one day closer to the inevitable, time ticking away; and while you believed your families wouldn’t directly force it, it was still expected. Mate with the chief’s son, become the next Tsahik, be a good daughter, make the clan proud. If you stepped out of your role, you would have to bear the disappointment of your people, your mother, and that felt worse.

You had great love for Ao’nung; to you, he felt like a crackling fire, warming you on the coldest of nights. In the dark, he would light your way. But you imagined lovers’ love would feel like the sea, that it would be terrifying at first, but still pull you in. That it would bring you comfort and cause your heart to burst from fullness by just being in its presence; it would be weightless and free, giving you strength even at your weakest. That it would be your safety in every uncertainty, reminding you it would still be there even after the mighty storms pass. Familiar, but different. It would feel like home. You searched everyone’s eyes, hearts, and souls, hoping, grasping for anyone to make you feel a glimpse of what the ocean did. You needed someone to save you; you were drowning, doomed to be trapped in a loveless bond and life, and you were running out of time.

Beginning your training under the Tsahik solidified your future; the path was set in stone, you couldn’t deter from it now.

“Mara!” A familiar voice broke you out of your spiraling thoughts.

Turning your head, you saw Tsireya come into view, walking up to you.

“Come, swim with me!” Before even having the chance to protest, she eagerly grabbed your hand and pulled you up. The sand that was stuck to your legs trickled off as you laughed while she pulled you towards the water.

You both clicked your tongues, calling for ilu, and dove into the sea. Two chirped and squealed, eagerly responding to your summons and swimming over. You reached behind you and felt for your longest braid, pulling it forward to connect the end with one of the ilu’s neural whips. It nuzzled your face before you mounted it and willed it onward, reveling at the feeling of the water pushing against you as you cut through it.

Being in the ocean washed away everything that was plaguing your mind just moments ago. You loved how familiar and welcoming it always was, how right you felt in it; you never had to think when you were in water, it became an extension of you, and you trusted it with your entire being.

Tsireya signed for you to follow her as her ilu pulled her away. You trailed after, chasing her current, occasionally twirling around her and through gaps in the rocks and coral. She smiled seeing you so happy, it was a rarity as of late. It deeply saddened her knowing you and Ao’nung were always upset, especially recently, and despite your best efforts to hide it from her, she could see right through you both. She wanted to help but was at a loss for how, neither of you were willing to open up, saying it was not her burden to bear.

Both of you continued riding your ilus for a while before breaking to the surface.

You rode up beside her, “We need to head back, your mother is expecting me soon.”

Tsireya sighed, “I never get to see you anymore.”

“Oh Ma’Reya,” reaching over, you gently held her hand, “I promise we will spend more time together.” You gave it a squeeze, “Soon.”

“My mother keeps you too busy,” she scowled.

You pulled your hand away and lightly flicked her nose, “It comes with being tsakarem.” You turned your ilu back towards the village, “You can tell me what you’ve been up to while we ride back.”

Tsireya’s eyes and face lit up, “Do you know Tsu’ar?”

“Yes.”

“Well he’s been making me bracelets.”

You laughed, “How silly, you don’t even wear bracelets.”

“Do not laugh, it is thoughtful,” Tsireya smacked your arm.

“Are they good?”

She paused before no longer being able to hide her growing grin, “No.”

“Oh Reya, you wound him!”

Times like this made you wish you didn’t have anything promised to your name, where you could exist and love the sea and that’d be enough of a fulfilling life. You missed your friend dearly, and it wasn’t fair you were being distanced from her for the sake of duty, something that no one asked if you even wanted.

Then a horn sounded in the distance, interrupting both of your laughter. Scanning the horizon, you barely made out a couple figures in the sky; it was only when your ears perked at the screech did you know what they were.

Speaking for you both, Tsireya asked, “Ikrans? What’re they doing here?”

You shook your head, “We must return to the village. Hurry!”

Inhaling a deep breath, you and your ilu dove under the water and rode back to the village, Tsireya trailing close behind.

o0O0o

Arriving at the village, Tsireya and you emerged from the water to see that a growing crowd had gathered on the sandbank, surrounding the now grounded ikrans. Barely above the murmur and chattering, you could hear voices, foreign to ones you knew. You both disconnected from your ilu and began trudging through the water as they swam off. A strand of your dark, wet hair was stuck to your face, partially blocking your sight; reaching up, you brushed it away, tucking it behind your ear, and while doing so, you made out a glimpse of dark blue against the cyan. Forest Na’vi. As you got closer, you could see that there were six of them, possibly a family.

“Is that supposed to be a tail?” Ao’nung and Roxto were gesturing, targeting two boys you assumed to be the sons.

“It’s too small, how are they supposed to swim?”

Tsireya smacked their arms down, “Do not! Roxto! Ao’nung,” scolding them both.

Looking at Ao’nung, you hardened your gaze, and he was quick to turn away, pursing his lips. He knew you were disappointed, but before you could say anything, he stopped you, “Don’t. Later.”

Reluctantly, you turned away to see who the strange Na’vi were, only to be surprised that one of the sons was staring right at you. Bright yellow eyes bore into your soul, contrasting your light blue ones. You suddenly became very conscious of the water not yet dried on your skin, making you feel sticky and uncomfortable, not something that normally bothered you, but the way he looked at you, like he could hear all the thoughts in your head, made you feel exposed and vulnerable.

You were first to break eye contact once Tonowari called out, arriving on his skimwing. He strode towards the strangers, approaching the strange man, and nodded.

“Jake Sully.”

“I see you, Tonowari.” Jake brought his fingers to his forehead and swept his arm down, away from his face.

Tonowari then turned to the woman by Jake’s side and mirrored the gesture to her, “Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite.”

There was a commotion towards the back of the crowd as the people parted to allow a figure pass through, Ronal. Her eyes were wide as she scanned each of the six forest Na’vi, cautiously joining beside her mate.

Jake was quick to bring his fingers back to his forehead, “I see you Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayina,” as the rest of his family followed suit, all repeating the gesture.

“Why do you come to us Jake Sully?” Tonowari asked the inevitable question.

“We seek uturu--”

“Uturu!” Ronal narrowed her eyes at them.

“Yes, sanctuary for my family.”

Ronal began circling each of them individually, eyeing them head to toe while Tonowari spoke, “We are reef people. You are forest people. Your skills will mean nothing here.”

She stopped in front of the boy that was watching you earlier. He stood tall and firm, not faltering once at her intense gaze. Ronal tilted her head up and continued investigating the rest of them, even grabbing Neytiri’s thinner tail.

“Their arms are thin,” she lifted up the youngest child’s arm before pulling the tail of the other daughter, “Their tails are weak. You will be slow in the water.”

There was a thick silence as Ronal cast her eyes down, spotting the hands of the girl, noticing the extra fingers. She firmly grabbed the girl’s hands and held them up for the rest of the clan to see. “These children are not even true Na’vi!”

Yanking her hands away, the girl exclaimed, “Yes we are!”

Ronal moved on to the other son and pulled his arm up.

“They have demon blood!”

You and Tsireya turned to each other, eyes wide with worry for the family, while the rest of the crowd whispered and gasped amongst each other.

“Look, look!” Jake held up his hand to show he too had an extra finger. “I was born to the sky people, and now I am Na’vi. You can adapt,” he addressed the rest of the people, pleading, “We will adapt.”

Neytiri stepped forward, “My husband was Toruk Makto. He led the clans to victory against the sky people.”

“This is what you call victory?” Ronal scoffed, “Hiding amongst strangers?” She glanced at Jake before looking back to Neytiri. “It seems Ewya has turned her back on you, chosen one.”

Neytiri hissed at this.

Putting himself in between them, Jake tried to ease the tension, “I apologize for my mate--”

“Do not apologize for me--”

He continued, “She’s come a long way, she’s exhausted.”

“Jake!”

Tonowari glanced between Ronal and the people seeking refuge. He then brought his hand up to Jake’s shoulder.

“Toruk Makto is a Great War leader, all Na’vi people know his story. But we, Metkayina, are not at war,” he turned to Jake directly, “We cannot let you bring your war here.”

“I’m done with war. I just want to keep my family safe.”

Tonowari sighed as his mate returned to his side.

Eyes downcast, Neytiri spoke, one last plea, “Uturu has been asked.”

Ronal and Tonowari turned to face one other, exchanging desperate expressions between themselves. Eventually, Ronal nodded slightly, giving her approval.

“Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us,” Tonowari addressed the clan of their decision. “Treat them as our brothers and sisters. They do not know the sea, so they will be like babies taking their first breath. Teach them our ways, so they do not suffer the shame of being useless.”

Jake and his family thanked the chief, each declaring their gratitude.

Tsireya moved to stand beside Ao’nung as you stayed behind.

Tonowari gestured to his children, now beside him, “My son, Ao’nung, and our daughter, Tsireya, will show your children what to do.”

“Father, why do I--”, Ao’nung tried to protest.

“It is decided.”

Stepping forward with a big smile, Tsireya welcomed them, “Come, I will show you our village.”

“Mara.” You looked to see Ronal standing beside you, pulling your mind away from the new family.

“Let us go, we must make up for the lost time today.”

o0O0o

The sun had begun retreating, signaling the start of eclipse, and soon another day passed. You just finished your lessons and were making your way to your family’s Marui pod. It was an eventful day, from the Sully family arriving and Ronal drilling as much information as possible, your mind was exhausted, but still all you could think about were the eyes of the forest boy. How bright, how intense, how welcoming, something you never felt or saw before. Perhaps it was just curiosity, the idea of something new turning up in your life. Everything often blurred together, dull and repetitive, and here was something exciting, a breath of fresh air. At least that’s what you hoped it was, the reason for your increasing heart beat. Though you doubted you would be seeing much of him or his family, you’d be too busy with your duties.

A few ilu chirped below you as you walked above them, playfully trying to tempt you to go for a swim, and as much as you wished to give into that temptation, your mother was expecting you for meal time, and you knew she was already tense from today; she would be even worse if you were late. Crossing a few more woven pathways, you found yourself at your Marui’s entrance. Your mother didn’t see you enter, she was crouched away above the fire, busy preparing the fish, but her ears perked as she felt the vibrations of your steps when you walked in.

Still facing away, she greeted you, “Kaltxì si.”

“Kaltxì si sa’nok.”

You sat down beside her and picked up a top you had begun making the other day, not yet finished. You traced your hand over the woven cloth, trying to think of what to add to complete it.

“You’re quiet today,” your mother stated while turning the fish over the fire.

“I’m just thinking.”

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”

Turning away from the clothing in your hands, you looked at her and saw her eyes were furrowed, concerned for you.

“Mama I’m alright. You don’t need to worry,” you reassured her, answering the question she didn’t have to ask. “It was just a lot that happened today.”

Your mother nodded and handed you the now cooked fish. You ate it quickly, rolling your sleeping mat out once you were finished. You were eager to sleep tonight, curious and yearning for whatever tomorrow might bring, and for once you went to sleep without thinking of Ao’nung or becoming Tsahik, but instead of the yellow eyes that belonged to a beautiful boy. Beautiful yellow eyes.

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mdzs-owns-my-ass-i-guess · 10 months

Text

Lives, taken (Futures, traded)

Chapter 1 - Desolate

Chapter 2 - Fracture

Warnings: substance abuse, heavy angst, psychological distress, suicidal ideation

Summary: Wei Wuxian reincarnates 13 years after his death in the body of Mo Xuanyu, the second young master of the Mo family. His lust for life is quickly extinguished after that.

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The world has never made much sense for Wei Wuxian - not ever since he let go of his golden core and had to face the horrors of the Burial Mounds alone, not ever since the Wen remnants turned to him for safety and the rest of the world condemned them all for the sin of existence, not ever since he died, his very being painfully fragmented into pieces of bloody and bruised nothingness.

And yet… Wei Wuxian has never felt as lost as he does now, the world entirely empty and senseless before his eyes, a shapeless mass of objects and concepts he can no longer comprehend.

There is nothing left.

Wei Wuxian has been staring aimlessly into space for hours, unable to focus on anything, as though his body and soul have divorced from one another, only still held together by a precarious agreement.

Rain pitter-patters slowly outside, and it's only the repetitive, familiar sound of it against the windowsill that still keeps Wei Wuxiantethered to the world. He doesn't remember much from the time he was dead - but he figures it must have felt a lot like right now, an emptiness underneath which ache and disillusionment threaten to burst.

Lan Sizhui (that’s his name, right? That’s what Zewu-Jun called him… why does Wei Wuxian feel like that’s not a name that was randomly given?) has brought in tea at some point, and politely left after. It must have been obvious Wei Wuxian wasn't in a chatty mood, so he left the tray behind and made himself scarce.

He doesn't know - doesn’t know anything about what happened, about who he is, about who found him and who saved him - it's Wei Wuxian's call whether to tell him or not. But for the moment, all of this is hard even for Wei Wuxian himself to grapple with, and he can't imagine having to share it with anyone else, let alone with... a kid. His kid. Is it even fair to call him that?

He wishes there was alcohol around. It wouldn't help, it never really does - but it would soothe, even if only for a moment. And he needs that, the warmth and the illusion of comfort. After all, he's never really known comfort, not for anything more than a fleeting sensation.

Zewu-Jun is angry. Bitter. Resentful even. Rightfully so - Wei Wuxian knows he deserves no kindness from the man and has already received a lot more than he should ever have.

After all, this all has been his fault.

Everything is.

Madam Yu’s been right, back then - all he ever brings is peril. Maybe he should have listened to her, maybe he should have… back then, when he was twelve years old and he pulled a prank he shouldn’t have, maybe he should have listened to her when she told him to just go ahead and… and… join his parents.

If he’d done that, none of the tragedies after would have happened. Or if they had, at least he wouldn’t have been the cause.

If he had, he would have never met Lan Zhan (and though the thought brings a fresh wave of tears in his eyes and a throbbing ache in his chest, wouldn’t it have been better this way?) and he would have never invoked anybody’s wrath, Lotus Pier wouldn’t have been destroyed, he wouldn’t have had to live the rest of his life coreless in a mass grave and he wouldn’t have died the way he did, torn into by ghosts and corpses…. and Lan Zhan wouldn’t have come to find him, he wouldn’t have become overwhelmed with the resentment of the Burial Mounds and he wouldn’t have… he would have never…

It should have been Wei Wuxian to take his life, back when he was twelve.

Or fifteen.

Or nineteen.

Or twenty-three.

It should have been him the one to lay dead on the cursed earth of the Burial Mounds, insects crawling into the crevice his sword left in his throat, resentful energy tearing chunks of flesh off his bones, undead fingers clawing at the crusted blood on his face and the mess of sullied clothes hiding the rot beneath.

It should have been him they found with dull, lifeless eyes - or, whatever was left of them, the globes sunk in, fallen victim to the hunger of the few living creatures of the Burial Mounds.

(Oh, how Wei Wuxian wishes he could still meet those beautiful, honeyed eyes again, so warm with emotion, so easy to get lost into, so haunting in his loneliest nights… Those golden eyes, so bright they’d put the most precious jewels to shame… those eyes, devoured by worms, by insects, by the lowliest, most cursed creatures in the world…)

It should have been him.

There was nothing left of Wangji when I found him. I don’t know if I should even call whatever I found of him ‘remains’… tatters of robes, bandages, empty vials of medicine, bits of skin and bone that I hoped were his own.

Can you imagine, Wei-gongzi, what it could possibly feel like to struggle to find pieces of your little brother to lay in a grave? The little brother you held as a baby, the little brother you shared your happiness and your sorrow with? The one person you’ve always felt closest in the world to?

Wei-gongzi, my brother was there for a reason, and that reason killed him. The reason was you. It always has been. And he went to find pieces of you just like I found pieces of him.

But no matter how much time passes, how much healing I try to do, there is an image I can’t get out of my head. There were - he died next to whatever remained of you. There was a hand covered in your robes, and over that hand, Wangji laid his forehead ribbon before he died.

Do you know what that means, Wei-gongzi? My brother died loving you. I lost him because he loved you.

And though it may not be fair of me to say this to you, as far as I am concerned…

Wangji died because of you.

Wei Wuxian agrees. Lan Zhan died because of him. But… why did Wei Wuxian not realize Lan Zhan loved him? How had he not seen it? Why did it have to take Lan Zhan dying for Wei Wuxian to find out the depth and breadth of his - Lan Zhan's and his own - feelings?

There was a little boy laying beside Wangji. He was not dead, but his body had been possessed by something much more powerful than he could take. There were wounds all over his body, blood stains all over his robes. When I picked him up, a pair of inhuman eyes opened, staring at me hatefully.

And in a thousand voices, the Burial Mounds asked me "What is it like, to lose someone you love? Do you see what you've done to us?!"

I could not answer. All I could do was cry. I've been crying ever since, Wei-gongzi, but no matter how many tears I shed, my brother will never return.

Yet, you have. You are here, and he is not. Tell me, how should I feel about this? About you? Would I not be justified in drawing my sword and taking your life right now, in revenge for my brother's death?

Would you not want yourself dead if you were me?

Wei Wuxian hates being alive, more than he ever did before. He hates that Mo Xuanyu forced his soul into this body and brought him into this wretched, empty world - he would have been better off dead, unaware. He would have never known about any of this, he would have kept on existing between realms, tormented and tortured, but wholly convinced the whole world hated him and celebrated he was gone.

Now he has to live knowing that Lan Zhan loved him to the point of self injury, to the point of betraying his sect, to the point of substance abuse and suicide.

He has to live knowing he cannot be loved in any way other than destructive.

I've brought the boy into the Cloud Recesses to be cared for and I… I adopted him as my own. Wangji talked to me about him after he came to visit you… he told me he felt drawn to him. I did too. Or perhaps I convinced myself I was.

Either way, I've raised him the way I know Wangji would have wanted. I am not him, I could never be, but I know him.

The boy's courtesy name is Sizhui. I am not the one that came up with it, my brother did.

I think Wangji knew he would not be returning from the Burial Mounds… perhaps, though I don't want to believe it, he went there specifically so he could die.

Either way, he left a letter for me to find, somewhere only I would know to look.

He was asking me to forgive him, as if I would have ever not. He was asking me that, should he be successful in finding anybody alive in the Burial Mounds, to take them in and protect them if he became unable. And if that person ended up being a child, to give them the courtesy name "Sizhui", in your memory.

I have done all of those things. But there is one more thing he asked me to do that I cannot.

He asked me not to hate you.

Wei Wuxian can’t imagine somebody not hating him. He even hates himself, how could the rest of the world be expected to do otherwise?

What is there not to be hated about him?

There are no guest quarters available in the Cloud Recesses at the moment. I will not - cannot host you in the hanshi, and I cannot allow you to share with anybody else for fear of them finding out who you really are. Though my disdain of you is clear, I am not an unkind host, I cannot allow you to sleep outside.

So, your stay in the Cloud Recess will be in my brother’s old quarters, the jingshi.

Wei Wuxian looks around, at the modestly furnished room, and tries to imagine Lan Zhan there, reading his asinine books by the window, writing perfectly structured night hunt reports at the mahogany table, tucking himself into bed at 9 pm sharp.

Dying.

He doesn’t want to imagine Lan Zhan dying - but he knows… he knows how it happened, has experienced it himself… in a way, at least. He’d given up, and he’d allowed himself to be killed. Is it still suicide

He could have stopped the corpses at any time, but what would have been the point? What would have Wei Wuxian had to live for?

Oh, if only he had known… if only he had realized… if he had known Lan Zhan was injured, punished because of him, Wei Wuxian would have stormed the Cloud Recesses, turned them to ashes again, just to see him and hold him and thank him, take him away and run away somewhere, anywhere, just them and A-Yuan and Wen Ning and…

Wei Wuxian finds himself crying as he laughs at the notion. The world would have not allowed him - them - to live, no matter where he ran off or with whom. Destroy the Cloud Recesses? Save Lan Zhan? Who does he thinks he is?

Didn’t Lan Zhan die because of him?

How could Wei Wuxian save him?

Who has he ever saved? Who has ever survived his good intentions?

All he would have done would have been to doom Lan Zhan to death. Just like he did shijie and Jin Zixuan, the Wens and - like Madam Yu always said - even his parents. They probably died because of him too, just like everyone else.

Everyone that he’s ever cared about, everyone he’s ever loved, is gone.

And he has no right to be sorrowful, to regret, to hurt.

He needs to take accountability, to accept his fault, to pay for his sins.

Perhaps dying once has not amounted to much - to anything. He should die a thousand, a million deaths, each worse than the last - and only then, perhaps, to hope for atonement.

But though there is no way he knows to do that, he does know how to die a second time.

He looks around the jingshi, but this time it’s not for Lan Zhan’s image. It’s for something sharp, or strong enough ceiling beams, for knives, for talisman paper.

His eyes fall on a guqin instead.

Wei Wuxian blinks at it, as if he’s seeing it for the first time. Why is it here? Why hasn’t Lan Xichen or Lan Qiren or anyone else locked such a precious item away?

He walks up to it, as if entranced.

As if he’s found Lan Zhan’s ghost.

His fingers trail over the fine wood, plucking the strings in a senseless tune.

Lan Zhan would hate the sound, disharmonious, meaningless.

Wei Wuxian’s eyes fill with tears again, though he feels a painful warmth in his chest as he closes his eyes and remembers Lan Zhan playing the instrument, mimicking his gestures from memory.

He sees Lan Zhan in his mind’s eye, sat perfectly poised as he places his fingers over the guqin with practices ease, firmly concentrated on the task. He sees two strands of hair framing his face as his head leans down over the instrument, eyes half opened, lost in the melody.

"Wei Ying."

I wish you’d call for me again… I wish I could hear you again, even if just for a moment, even if just for long enough to tell you that I…

Wei Wuxian lifts his fingers off the guqin and decides to return to his plan of taking his life.

Wei Ying!

His head snaps in the direction where the sound came from, but his eyes only meet an empty wall, his shadow dancing on it with every flicker of the candle's flame.

Of course, what was he expecting? There's nobody there to call for him, nobody to call his name like it's soft, beautiful, beloved.

There is nobody alive who would ever call his name with anything but disdain.

And there really is nobody left to mourn him this time. He's made sure of it, hasn't he?

The empty jingshi is proof enough of that.

Wei Wuxian sighs, realization befalling him slowly, like a veil placed daintily over the face of a dead maiden's corpse. He did fulfill Mo Xuanyu's wish (one less person to disappoint) so there is nothing keeping him tethered to this world either.

He walks leisurely around the place, as if to carve it in his memory. Would Lan Zhan hate it if he killed himself in his home?

Ridiculous. Lan Zhan is dead. He doesn't care about anything anymore.

He cared too much, and now he's dead. He shouldn't have cared about Wei Wuxian, shouldn't have ever loved him.

He would still be alive now if he didn't…

If he didn't love Wei Wuxian, if nobody ever loved Wei Wuxian… the world would have been a much better place, and a lot more people would still be in it.

People who shouldn't have loved Wei Wuxian but did.

People Wei Wuxian would always love regardless.

The floorboards near Lan Zhan's bed creak in a way that's different from the rest, and the sound pulls Wei Wuxian out of his thoughts.

He's curious more than he is suicidal - so he leans down to inspect the noisy floorboards, and easily discovers they can be removed, likely hiding something underneath.

Did someone hide something in Lan Zhan's home?

Zewu-Jun did say this place isn't used anymore, it would be the perfect cover for something scandalous… for a secret.

There is nothing scandalous there.

Just two jars of wine, a flute and a neatly folded letter.

Wei Wuxian cries as he picks up the alcohol and downs it much too quickly, trembling fingers careful around the delicate paper of the letter.

Wei Ying. I know you may never find this letter, or these gifts I have bought for you, because I know that you are no longer among the living.

But I must write to you regardless, in hopes that, perhaps, my intention, my feelings, may reach you, no matter whichever realm you may reside in now. I must write to you because this is the only one I can pretend that you are not completely gone from this world, but rather have gone far away from me and this is the only way I can still talk to you.

I have tried talking out loud, but there is never an answer, and it is easier for me to pretend it is the distance that keeps my inquiries without answer, rather than your absence… your death.

Wei Ying, I love you. I have loved you even before I knew that I did, my soul yearned for yours although I've been unable to understand it until it was too late. I do not know if anything would have been different, I do not know if I could have saved you, I do not even know if you would have loved me back.

But I do regret never having told you. I do regret having been weak in my conviction in you, in myself, in the love I now carry for you but have nobody to give to anymore.

I have been a coward, back then, not admitting to my sin, giving in to my impulses despite not having had the courage to tell you how I feel beforehand.

I do regret not having told you - not having told you when you could still understand me, when you could still respond to me with anything other than 'Get lost' and pushing me away. Perhaps you would have done that back then, as well, if you knew it was me that kissed you - but I was scared, too scared of rejection, of heartbreak, to admit it.

So I didn't tell you. I kept my secret, dirty and shameful, and I will keep it forever, because it is the only form of intimacy I have ever, and will ever, allow myself to feel. There will never be anybody else, Wei Ying. I have been foolish not to realize this when you were still alive, but I am realizing it now.

However, I am not choosing to be alone as punishment. No, this is my way of honoring you, of loving you in spite of fate, in spite of my life and your death.

I wish I could have done more for you. I wish I could have understood why you changed, I wish I could have helped you, and the Wen remnants, A-Yuan… All that is left of me are wishes.

I have wished for much in this life - but none of that has ever been granted. I wished for my mother to be freed, but she never was - not until she was dead, at least. I wished for my father to leave his seclusion, but he never did. I wished to find my place in the world, my purpose, but I stay feeling lost still.

And ultimately, I wished for you to find happiness. But you never did.

Even if your happiness may not have been with me, I so wished you would find it - find it within yourself to smile the way you used to when we were young, when none of the war and the aftermath happened.

My wishes have never been granted, but I wish still.

I wish to meet you again someday. In a different life, in a different world… I wish we could find each other again and… be.

It is so overlooked, to be. So simple.

I am - but you are not.

I am here, and I wish I still had you to be here for.

But I do not, and I have nobody to be here for anymore.

When I was told what my punishment for protecting you would be, I had hoped it would kill me. I knew, somehow, somewhere deep inside my heart, that you would be gone soon, and I did not want to live in a world without you.

And yet, I do.

I wish, when I can move a little better, when I can take enough medicine so it doesn't hurt anymore, to come find you.

To find you, to apologize to you, to confess to you.

Perhaps I will die on the way there, or on the way back, or I will fall prey to the Burial Mounds.

But if I hadn't gone to the ends of the world for you while you were still alive, I will do so to honor you in death.

You deserve to be loved and honored, no matter what this wretched world says.

The last thing I wish to tell you is that you will find a music sheet attached to this letter. It is a song I have written for you - for us. It speaks for itself, so I will not talk about it because I know you can understand music to the same level I do.

There is no title to this song, because I wished I would come up with it with you.

I love you, now and forever, across time, across realms,

Lan Zhan.

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#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #wangxian #writing attempts #im sick of it so here u go i guess lmao #ltft #ask me about the formatting #ask me abt the italicizied and the bolded parts so i can impart my artistic vision on yall

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