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avis-writeshq · 8 months

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carriage six – spencer reid

summary: Spencer Reid prides himself in his routine. Wake up at half-past six. Leave his apartment at a quarter past seven. Get onto the seven thirty train. Arrive at Quantico at eight forty five. He has a plentiful of reasons as to why he does it; it’s efficient, it gets him to the office early, it works. But the biggest reason is the girl that always sits in the seat a few rows across from him, headphones on and always reading a book.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader

genre: strangers to lovers, rated G for mutual pining and second hand embarrassment. no use of (Y/N).

warnings: fluff, boy band spencer reid (caution, hot!). i tried to write in Spencer’s pov, and with that comes a lot of rambling. i like to think that his mind is running 100 miles an hour, so i tried to write in a style that could implicate that <3

wc: 1.8k

part two: platform ten

Spencer tries not to look so excited when he enters the subway, clad in light grey slacks, a lavender dress shirt, a brown and purple argyle sweater vest and a mauve coloured tie. His signature leather bag is strapped across his chest and he has a light cardigan in his hand; the weather reports said it would be cold today. His head spins with the statistics on the accuracy of meteorology, considering the bright and sunny skies that blessed the citizens of D.C that morning. He’s donning a new haircut today as well. It was a lot shorter than he originally planned to get it, but he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot, particularly the way it drapes across his forehead and the way it looks messy but still cool. That’s how he would describe it. Cool. He feels cool.

He hasn’t been able to get onto the subway for three days because of a case in Connecticut and his mind wanders. Will there be another case soon? How long would it take? He hopes it would be a local case. He feels guilty thinking that; he shouldn’t be hoping for a case at all. After all, that would only mean someone else has met their untimely death. He shakes his head to dismiss the thoughts.

He steps onto the train, onto the sixth carriage, and sits on his usual seat. In his mind, it’s the perfect seat. It avoids the sun so he doesn’t need to squint and he doesn’t have to turn the brightness level of his phone all the way up. It’s right next to the door in case he needs to make a quick exit. It’s right next to a handicapped seat, meaning that people tended to avoid it. But the best thing about this seat was the view.

He cringes when he thinks of it. ‘View’ sounds gross. Perverted. ‘View’ is the wrong word to describe it. His favourite thing about this particular seat is the company. Yes, he likes the company, although it technically doesn’t exactly count as company.

His gaze shifts to his company. Exactly four rows away, her eyes trained on the book in her hands. He recognises it to be ‘Pride and Prejudice’, the limited edition rose gold copy that was released eight months, three weeks and two days ago. He has the same copy sitting on his dresser.

She looks different today. Granted, it had been three days since he last saw her. He scans her figure to try to place his finger on the difference and he realises. She’s wearing a new lipgloss. Spencer’s cheeks burn when he realises. Why on earth— no, how on earth is he able to tell? He feels himself cringe and he shifts his gaze and scans the rest of carriage in an attempt to busy himself and his mind, but his eyes ultimately fall back on his company.

Spencer can’t seem to take his eyes off of her. What’s she listening to? Where is she up to in her book? Does she like Austen? Has she read any other books by her? What does she think of Elizabeth and Darcy’s relationship? So many questions enter his mind and he wishes he had the guts to go over and strike up a conversation. But he’s not like Morgan. He doesn’t have that type of charisma or that type of confidence. If anything, he supposes, he’s self aware. He knows that the moment he starts a conversation, he would start rambling for twenty minutes about the relationship dynamics between the characters and why Austen was so incandescent and exceeded all beliefs as a writer in her world. He’d start to bring in authors like Virginia Woolf and why her admiration towards Jane Austen was warranted. Ultimately, Spencer thinks to himself as his eyes wander back to the girl, he’d scare her off.

He watches as she falters in her movements, her fingers pausing from flipping the page and Spencer frowns. From what he could tell, she was a little bit more than halfway through the book. Maybe up to page 260? But there’s nothing remotely difficult in that part of the book. If anything, that was the most simple and straightforward section of the entire text. And then he realises. His cheeks burn once more and he quickly busies himself with his phone, biting his lip and avoiding her amused gaze. Your amused gaze.

You can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips as you meet his gaze. You’ve seen him all the time, for the past three years in fact, when you first moved to D.C. He’s cute, really cute, and he’s even cuter when he looks like a deer caught in headlights. You raise a teasing eyebrow his way and you watch as he quickly avoids your gaze, looking into his phone. You can’t the soft laugh that leaves your lips, your fingers tracing against the pages of your book. Maybe you have a little more confidence in yourself than you thought.

***

The next day, Spencer feels a small sense of dread creeping into his heart. He feels embarrassed, so goddamn embarrassed, and he wonders how he could face you. His cheeks are burning and he tugs at his collar. He’s wearing a light blue shirt with a patterned purple tie, along with dark navy coloured pants. He teeters on his feet, waiting with anticipation for the train. The moment he enters the carriage, his eyes fall to the seat you would be seated at, only to see no one at all. He can’t help but frown, a little disappointed but a little relieved. He moves to his usual seat, and lo and behold, he sees you there, one leg crossed over the other and reading a different book.

He mutters a soft apology as he slides into the seat next to you, glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Wuthering Heights,” he says, surprising himself.

He watches as you look up from your pages, a small smile on your face. You’re wearing the same lip gloss as yesterday.

“Yeah.” You smile, taking your headphones off and letting them rest around your neck. “You’ve… have you read it before?”

He nods, and he curses himself for looking so eager. “Yes! Um, yes, I’ve read it. It’s really good.”

“Brönte is brilliant,” You respond, sliding a bookmark in between the pages. “I finished Pride and Prejudice last night. Jane Austen is still my favourite.”

You’re baiting him. He knows that. He takes it.

“I saw,” He says quietly, biting his lip. “Not– not in like a stalker way! I just… I just noticed you reading it on the train. Yesterday. I, um, I saw you reading it yesterday.”

He wants to kick himself. His face is flushed and he’s sure that his neck is just as red as his face. His ears are hot and his head spins when he hears you laugh.

“It’s okay. I saw you too.” You offer a smile, your own cheeks warm. “You were reading Edgar Allen Poe a few weeks ago. Is he any good?”

His eyes light up and he tucks an invisible strand of hair behind his ear. It’s a habit of his, since he’s had longer hair almost all of his life.

“He’s very good,” Spencer insists, pulling the little book out of his satchel. “His works range from short stories to poetry, his most famous works being The Tell-Tale Heart, and Annabel Lee. The former is a short story. It’s a little grim, but he writes in an incredibly eloquent way that presents the narrator’s descent into madness, despite the point of the text being to convince the reader that he isn’t mad. Annabel Lee is a poem about a man obsessed with a woman named Annabel Lee and-“

He purses his lips, realising how much he’s spoken. He coughs into his fist, setting his book down in his lap as he quickly glances at you.

“…and what?” You prompt, your head tilting the side in curiosity. “Go on, don’t let me stop you. You’re convincing me to actually get the book on his collection of works.”

His head practically snaps to look at you, a look of surprise on his face. He scans your face for any insincerity, from your eyes all the way down to your lips, before clearing his throat.

“Um… well, uh, in Annabel Lee, the narrator speaks about keeping her in a castle by the sea. It’s a classic case of isolation and some literature analysts even go as far as to say that the narrator was hoping that Annabel would fall in love with him through Stockholm Syndrome but died before the narrator was able to carry out his plan.”

You take in his words, nodding along to his explanation. “You seem to be an expert yourself.”

He laughs, running his fingers through his hair. “No, I uh, I’m not an expert on literature or anything. But I am a doctor.”

“A doctor?” Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Like… a medical doctor or…? No offence, but you really don’t look like a medical doctor.”

He laughs again, nodding. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m not. I have PhD’s in chemistry, mathematics and physics, as well as BAs in psychology, sociology and philosophy.”

You let out a low whistle. “You a collector or something?”

He blushes, swallowing thickly. “No, I uh… no…?”

“You don’t sound too sure of yourself doctor…” You pause, realising that you really don’t know much about this man. You look up at him expectantly.

“Reid,” He says quickly, clearing his throat. “Spencer Reid. You, um, you don’t have to call me doctor.”

“Alright then, Spencer.” You smile, and he thinks it’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. You introduce yourself and he tells you that you have a pretty name.

Time passes, and the conversation continues. You could talk for hours with Spencer; about books, movies, anything. He can make anything sound interesting, it’s one of his charms. He smiles a boyish grin as he talks, gesticulating wildly as he rants about his favourite texts and why Austen is a genius. He asks you what you’re listening to and you almost scream at the thought of introducing him to Taylor Swift.

Before long, the train lurches to a stop at his station and he can’t help but feel a little disappointed.

“It was nice meeting you. Officially,” He adds, gripping the strap of his leather bag.

“It was nice to officially meet you too,” You respond, smiling up at him as he gets up from his seat. “Tomorrow?”

His eyes practically light up. “Tomorrow.”

reblogs are always appreciated!

part two: platform ten

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x reader fluff #spencer reid fluff

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throwaway-yandere · 5 months

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𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]

a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.

Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?

CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.

Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.

The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.

"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"

You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.

"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."

Zandik smiled.

"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"

Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.

Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.

All except his.

"I think… "

The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.

But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.

"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."

His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.

"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.

You continued.

"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."

You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.

But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.

".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."

"I know."

Zandik laughed.

"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."

You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"

"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."

He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.

"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"

You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.

"I… I think so."

Zandik smiled.

It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.

"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."

You nodded to cue that you were still listening.

"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."

You nodded again.

"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"

You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.

"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.

His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting.

"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."

He had to be teasing you.

"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"

You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.

"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."

You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."

He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.

"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."

Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.

The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.

She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.

"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."

"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"

"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."

"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."

Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."

You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.

Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.

"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"

Her gentle smile resurfaced.

"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."

You blinked.

Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.

"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"

You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.

"Yes? I guess?"

Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."

Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…

But… that doesn't seem right either.

"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"

"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.

Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.

"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."

"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.

"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."

"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.

She shook her head.

"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"

Columbina looked at you once more.

"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"

Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.

"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"

"I insist."

Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.

You had no other choice.

"O… Okay."

The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.

But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.

You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.

"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."

The blonde man approached you with a smile.

"You're #9805, right?"

Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.

Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."

The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."

You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.

And a white tulip…

"Um…"

"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"

"Trickster?"

"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."

So, did Lady Columbina plan this?

You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"

"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."

You blinked.

"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"

He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."

"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.

"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"

"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.

He didn't expect your voice to crack.

"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"

…

You took a deep breath.

… Why were you mad?

… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?

"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"

An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.

… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?

"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.

"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"

With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.

You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.

To distract yourself, you read through the article.

The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed

In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.

Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.

No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.

A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony

Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.

…

Safed… burned down their house?

No…

No, that's not how you remembered that.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.

Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.

… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?

A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence

Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.

…

Wait…

Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.

After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.

You saw their face.

You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.

But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white.

White…

Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?

Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.

…

The one… after you?

"Tut tut."

You trembled at the familiar sound.

You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.

"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."

Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.

And yet Zandik looks…

Sad.

And distressed.

He pressed his earpiece.

"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."

His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?"

Then Zandik did something unexpected.

He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.

To hug you.

"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."

"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"

He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.

"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."

The doctor laughed sadly.

"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.

He pulled away, pecking your forehead.

"I'm sorry."

Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.

You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.

Solitary.

Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.

There's no amnesty.

And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.

"... I forgive you."

You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.

"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"

You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.

Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.

You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man.

Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.

Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.

The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts.

But he's not content.

He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.

You were silenced. You were held.

You were loved.

"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."

And you will be disposed of.

"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.

But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.

Maybe…

Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.

The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.

You already have a white tulip in hand.

Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.

When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.

As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.

You looked to your left.

Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.

You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.

One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.

There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.

You think they might be dead.

You think "you" might've died more than once.

THUD!

You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.

Code #032.

They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.

Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.

They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.

#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.

They looked like death.

You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.

"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."

You laughed deprecatingly.

"We're not the scholar here. He is."

In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.

You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.

It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.

Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.

And now, here you are.

Seeing two "people" who do understand you.

And they share your face.

"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.

You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.

But your lungs were blistering.

Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.

His experiments worked.

You love him.

You love Zandik.

And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.

In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:

As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.

You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…

Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.

You are (Y/n) (L/n).

And you were not from Teyvat.

Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.

You can "clone" yourself.

Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.

"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"

He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.

Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.

Not dangerous.

"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species."

Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"

"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."

"But functioning?"

"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"

"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"

You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.

"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."

"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.

"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."

Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.

Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.

Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.

No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.

The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.

The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.

The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.

No one else can enter this room.

He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.

The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.

What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?

It is such a lonely concept…

You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.

"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.

He held your feet.

He held Test Subject #01's feet.

If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.

He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.

That's what he loved and hated about you.

You only gave and gave.

But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.

You're already a part of him.

Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.

Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.

"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"

In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.

He leaned his forehead against yours.

"I'm so, so sorry."

And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.

"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"

"No."

"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"

"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."

Zandik smirked.

"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."

You smiled.

"We'll see, we'll see."

Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl

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alicerosejensen · 4 months

Note

OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH OH MY GOSH

I JUST HAD A CUTE LITTLE SCENARIO IDEA. It is about vendetta! leon and young(20’s) reader series! What about reader sitting on the bathrooms counter/vanity while helping Leon shave? His hands are resting on readers tighs or around her waist as he watches her focused eyes. I THINK THAT WOULD BE ADORABLE PLS.

And i don’t think this counts as an ask, but if you’ll want to do something with this im not complainig hahah 👁👁

Warning: Fluff, mention of injuries, age difference (implied but not mentioned), Leon!Vendetta, Leon gets taken care of (this man needs a little love and devotion); talking about nothing.

I'm sorry, I'm too lazy. I write slowly and because of some eternally tired condition

Coming back to you after so many weeks of silence was wrong, or at least unfair. To tell the truth, Leon did not feel that he should have done it at all, the doctor recommended bed rest, but it was all the same. It was not the first time he had been thrown like a rag doll, although this time he felt like he was on the edge, dangerously balancing between life and death, when Aris's claws almost pierced his flesh. At least Leon thought he was going to die thinking about you- the only good thing in his life in recent years.

He wasn't even sure if you would let him in, but when he broke out of the dark tunnel, the whole flight he thought only about how nice it was to return to the person who, for some reason, cared about him. You weren't his wife, you weren't his work partner, you were just a girl. The girl he was afraid to fall in love with because he always thought that this love would hurt you. Although it seems that only one was injured, and it was Leon himself, who came up with stupid rules for himself to protect you.

And here he is, you look at him without any malice, although it would be worth it. Leon really doesn't think he has the right to show up like this without an invitation, but he does, looking into your eyes with a guilty look, hoping that you won't drive him away and let him lick his wounds while he lets you love him tenderly.

"Come in," you nod head, letting him into your tiny apartment, in which Leon felt better than at home.

Although it looked more like a lone wolf's lair. It was much more comfortable and even somehow warmer with you.

Taking a step, Leon feels not like a government dog, but an ordinary person who is taken by the hand and let into a small corner of paradise. Maybe it will last a day, two or a week, but he will be a little happy and loved.

"Should I heat up your dinner?" You ask casually, as if he wasn't ignoring you and running away to drown his problems in alcohol. "Leon?"

"No, I'm not hungry."

"Coffee?" Again you offer him, but he just shakes his head negatively as he sits down on the chair in front of you.

"No"

Maybe you think he came here to end all the little things that were between you, but no. He just needs you as a salvation, otherwise his head will drown in regret.

All Leon wants is for his fight not to be in vain, but every time someone else takes the place of the bad guy, and corporations continue to create viruses that turn people into bioweapons. He runs his hand over his face, feeling the annoying stubble under his palm that should have been shaved off, but having drowned in alcohol, he didn’t want to do anything.

“I just,” he looks at you with a hazy look but completely sober, “Can I stay here? With you?”

Who are you to refuse him? But be honest with yourself, you want him to stay here, especially since his beaten appearance really said that he was better off not being alone. Under the T-shirt, bruises and abrasions on the face and arms and what appears to be a dislocated shoulder are visible. In any case, wanted to believe that Leon didn’t break any bones.

"You know that my answer is yes"

Leon doesn't smile. Just eternally grateful that he won't have to sit in his dark, lonely apartment lying on his bed again after taking a strong painkiller.

He sleeps well with you, he doesn't have nightmares, and he's just comfortable here. You can turn on the TV, watch an old movie with you and lie quietly, knowing that he will not be called anywhere until he recovers. There was work left in New York for B.S.A.A and TerraSave, but not for him, besides, he didn't take a shower before coming to you, fortunately you had some of his things, including a spare toothbrush and a new disposable razor.

And that was the problem. The problem with his shoulder, which you kept looking at without stopping, as if he had grown a third arm.

“Working moments,” Leon muttered, feeling that he really wouldn’t refuse your dinner. “Can I ask you something else?"

“Yeah, sure.” You really never refused him.

Arias threw him against the wall, clearly sparing no effort, but thanks to the adrenaline, Leon didn’t feel much pain and was able to maneuver and attack this crazy bastard. The truth is that falling from a motorcycle does not benefit his body, which is why when everything calmed down, Leon realized that it was simply difficult for him to pick up the very razor that was now in your hands and do such a simple job as shaving.

“Just stay still, or better yet, sit down,” you said loudly, seeing that Leon didn’t like the touch on his neck when you tried to cover him with shaving foam.

It was already like instinct when they touched his neck. Leon immediately jerked to the side when he felt someone else's palm on his skin, as if the touch caused him pain. He never talked about how often he was grabbed by the throat, but from his reaction one could guess that this was a sensitive area that he did not like to trust to anyone but himself.

“I can’t shave you if you twitch like a little kid who doesn’t want to wash his face,” you joked, using your finger to spread the shaving foam you had on your hand onto the tip of his nose.

"Just...a reflex"

You thought about it, biting your lip, but Leon just exhaled, gathering his strength, knowing that you weren't going to kill him. He trusted you, so he calmly sat down on a small chair, putting his hands on your waist, trying to relax.

You saw how tense his muscles were, as if at any moment he was ready to make a jerk, his fingers squeezed the fabric of your tank top while you distributed foam over his face, trying not to overuse the product at the site of his abrasions that have not yet healed. When that was done, the razor in your hands gently touched the skin of his neck and gently shaved off excess hair from his face with smooth movements against the coarse hairs.

Carefully avoiding all the cuts, you managed not to hurt him. Step by step, you constantly rinsed the razor to remove all the hairs from it and walk it over the places where the stubble still remained. The most difficult thing for Leon was his neck - he felt too exposed and vulnerable, but when it was over and you moved to another zone, it seemed to you that he even exhaled.

In the end, getting carried away with the case, you didn't even notice how Leon was gradually able to relax and carefully watched your movements, finding you charming when you are so focused only on him. Maybe it's a little selfish, but for him you look so beautiful that he thinks about asking you to shave him again in a week when the stubble grows back, just to watch you take care of him again.

It took you a few minutes to catch his eye when you were completely done. The blue eyes stared at you with such attention that for a second you might have thought that something interesting was written on your face since he was looking at you like that. It's a little awkward and you look at him in response, stupidly blinking your eyes when you wipe his face with a towel, which makes a smile bloom on your lips and you look away.

"What's funny?"

To be honest, there really wasn't anything funny, it was just embarrassing for you.

"Did you leave me something like a mustache?" He joked and you burst out laughing

"Good idea! I'll do it next time."

Leon chuckled, because as a temporary joke, you could do that. That's just the accumulated fatigue that fell like a heavy boulder on him did not allow him to rejoice as much as you do.

"You're obviously going to amuse Chris," He sighed. You threw the razor into the sink and froze for a moment when you felt his head pressed against your stomach, relaxing in layers as you run your fingers through his hair "Thank you"

"No problem," you kissed the top of his head, helping him stand up, noticing how he hisses from the pain in his back when he straightens up.

"Fuck." Leon hisses in pain, catching his breath, realizing that maybe he should drink more painkillers and let a loved one take care of him. "I think I'm catching up with my age"

"Maybe. But I think you should rest and follow the doctor's recommendations at least until you stop needing painkillers."

"Until the next mission, you mean?"

You didn't say anything because you didn't know much about his work. After laying Leon on the bed, he finally exhaled with relief after looking at you with secret gratitude. Literally the only person who gives him warmth and comfort, and maybe he should come to you instead of washing down his bitterness in a bar. Thinking about it, Leon even thought that if he had stayed with you, he would not be suffering from his injuries now, however… What would have happened to Chris and Rebecca? But it's too late to regret what happened. He's alive and he's with you now. He lies in your bed listening to the usual chatter while the TV is on in the background and you settle down next to him bringing an extra blanket and pillow.

In the end, you just plopped down next to him, thoughtfully looking at the picture on the TV, pulling the blanket over yourself. Leon moved a little closer to you, hugging you around the waist, nuzzling your cheek, covering his eyes from fatigue. Of course you knew that he works for the government, but never what he does specifically. You saw the "DSO" marking on his gun, but you were afraid to ask him about it, although the fact that Leon has the right to carry and store weapons freely already hinted that he does not work in some average position and his injuries… one is worse than the other.

It is difficult to unravel the thoughts of this person, especially when he is completely immersed in himself. You know that he has some problems with alcohol and a couple of times you even quarreled about it, after which Leon always apologized by coming to you with flowers and other gifts. You turn off the light in the room, turning to him, meeting the tired gaze of blue eyes.

"Thank you. I rarely say this, but I'm grateful for everything you do for me."

"I know."

"Maybe you should find a better guy than me, but" he snuggled even closer and there was fear in his words, as if you could make him leave right now, "but I want to be with you. I can't lead a normal life, but being here with you feels like I'm becoming normal. Who he was before September 30, 1998"

"And what happened on September 30th?" you ask, putting your hand on his palm, smiling, and immediately see how noticeably even in the dark his face changes, becoming more gloomy.

"My first day working as a cop. I overslept and was late for my first day at work"

He could have said a lot and revealed his soul to you without fear if he hadn't been bound by the government. Raccoon City is classified information, and even no matter how much he values you, you shouldn't know anything about it. Fortunately, you do not pry into the truth, leaving his personal border untouched, and for this Leon is infinitely grateful. Maybe in a couple of weeks, when his injuries stop being so painful and his condition improves, he'll even laugh at what kind of mustache you made for him while shaving him again. He will really be happy and he will not need alcohol in this.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #resident evil #resident evil x reader #reader #resident evil leon #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy vendetta #resident evil vendetta

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deadsetobsessions · 15 days

Text

Pt. 3

Again, the timing is icky but pretty much everything about it is icky.

——

Bruce wondered when Talia al Ghul would stop upheaving his life.

He loves Damian, but one surprise child was a lot, considering the cult deprogramming they’d had to do.

A second, older, surprise child? That was a bit overkill.

At least this time, the conception was consensual.

Bruce cradled his head in his hands, still-gloved fingers gripping onto sweat-soaked hair. The glow of the bat computer shone on his lone figure, sat huddled before endless screens of investigations and the unraveling threads of Bruce’s sanity.

How was he to cope with the knowledge that a child- his child, like Dick and Damian and Tim and Jason and- suffered so at the man he thought he had beaten so soundly?

It was his fault, Bruce thought, that Ra’s al Ghul tortured his… Bruce’s… daughter so brutally. It was no doubt, a way to assuage his anger at Bruce’s denial of being his heir.

His mistakes always came back to haunt him, but it never laid its furious eyes and hands on his own person. No, when Bruce made mistakes, his loved ones paid for it.

He tried his best, pushed harder as Batman, in penance. But this… his unknown daughter, trapped in the shadows of the league where it is cold and cruel and brutally painful…

How could he repent for the sin of letting his daughter suffer and chained at the hands of Ra’s al Ghul? How could he show her that the shadows could be kind? That he would rather break his own spine and get lost in the time stream again before he could even fathom hurting her? He found himself stuck in the same loop of thoughts that plagued him when Damian first came into his orbit.

The screens turned black, and Oracle’s call sign flashed onto the dark pixels.

“Oracle. I hadn’t finished looking at the cases.”

“Go to sleep, Bruce.”

“No, there is still work to be-” his voice, dipping into the growl, died a quick death when Barbara cut him off.

“Your daughter is coming tomorrow. So, unless you want to look like a disheveled grease racoon when you meet her, go shower and get some actual sleep.”

Bruce paused, feeling oddly offended. His eye bags weren’t that bad.

Bruce caught sight of his reflection in one of the blacked out monitors.

…Nevermind.

He sighed. “…Thank you, Barbara.”

“Anytime, Bruce. I’m always here to kick your ass into gear.”

Bruce huffed, but obligingly got up to change and shower. Alfred silently appeared at the elevators, polished shoes tapping against the stone floor as he raised an imperious eyebrow at Bruce.

“I see Miss Barbara has managed to persuade you to retire at an hour common to regular man, Master Bruce.”

“Ah, yes, she… did.” Bruce felt the urge to apologize, because if Alfred’s up because of him, it’ll wear down harsher on the older man’s health. If there was one thing he took seriously, it would be the health of his loved ones. “Sorry, Alfred. I’ll head up to bed soon.”

“See to it that you do, Master Bruce. I will warm dinner that you had missed by many hours and bring it to your room.”

Bruce lingered as the butler turned around and began making his way back to the main house.

Alfred paused and turned around once more. “If I may offer you some advice?”

“Please. Always.”

Alfred sniffed delicately, most definitely thinking of the times Bruce decided not to take his very well reasoned and seasoned advice. “You have done well with Young Master Damian.”

“Most of that was Dick,” Bruce interrupted, man enough to admit that he wasn’t a present or a particularly good father figure before his jaunt through time and space. Alfred shot him a chiding look, reprimanding him for interrupting. Bruce rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“Perhaps, but you have put in effort towards all of your children in a way that I have yet to see since Master Jason had… gone.”

“I’ll never make that period of time up to Tim.” Bruce whispered. Another thing he was guilty of. Tim still avoided some spaces in the manor, even when Bruce had-

“That is because you sit here, wallowing in your guilt,” Alfred returned. He added a belated “Master Bruce,” and it sounded like ‘you utter buffoon.’

“But…”

“You must take the first step, Master Bruce.”

“What if she hates me? What if I’m not ready- what if I can’t help her?”

“You will try. She deserves that, at the very least. You must try. Even if you are not ready for the day, Master Bruce, it can not always be night.”

“… You’re right.” Bruce straightened his shoulders. Time doesn’t wait. He, of all people, knew that.

“You will find that I am hardly ever wrong.” Alfred primly rested his hands atop each other.

“Thank you, Alfred.”

“Of course. It was also meant literally, Master Bruce, for the sun shall try its best to peek out of Gotham’s smog in approximately three hours and fourteen minutes.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” Bruce grouched.

——

Her mother gave her a slow, cautious hug, akin to approaching a wild animal.

She huffed, and pulled her mother into a crushing hug. She allowed herself, for the first time in a long time, to linger and cling onto her mother’s shirt. Another tendency that Ra’s had thought he’d beaten out of her.

“Be careful,” the reincarnation whispered.

“You as well, my beloved daughter.”

‘You do not have to remind me that I am beloved, mother. I know.’

Talia al Ghul tucked a strand of the reincarnation’s curled hair behind her ear. “No, I do not believe that you do. But that is… my own fault. I will tell you and remind you that you are beloved to me as long as I can. I have two decades of it to make up to you, habibti.”

The flight attendant- a League operative- returned from placing her bags onto the private plane.

——

A sleek car made its way up Wayne Manor’s winding driveway. She’d declined the offer to pick her up from the airport. She had wanted a vehicle of her own, and some time before she met every one else. No doubt, knowing what she knew of her brother and Bruce Wayne, not to mention the little photographer, they were most likely tracing her path to Wayne manor obsessively.

She tapped her nails on the wheel as she drove towards her brother. Brothers. And… Bruce Wayne. On one hand, she’s kept them safe. On the other, she’d sacrificed years of getting to know them. It was odd, to feel this intensely awkward and nervous after years of intense hatred or apathy sprinkled by the the occasional love and fondness for Damian and her mother.

“Hmmm.” She hummed, slight smile spreading a bit more as the sound came out without pain. Two weeks, and the novelty of freedom had not worn off. She thinks that it would never wear off. She cherished it.

The gate had opened without needing a code, so they most definitely knew she was here. It’s a good thing she had prepared gifts in advance. Dodging Gothamites as they drove and jaywalked had been a rather unforeseen ordeal that she was not looking forward to repeating.

She rolled to a smooth stop at the front doors, giving the intricately carved oak doors a passing glance. She huffed a laugh as she saw Damian, flanked by Bruce Wayne and Alfred Pennyworth, staring proudly outside at the front door. They’re anticipatory of her arrival. Warmth spread through her heart, and for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t the heat of rage.

She opened the doors with a quiet click and hiss, stepping out onto the heated paved driveway, and closed the door. At the steps, the two older men had frozen but Damian had come walking quickly towards her.

“Damian,” she whispered as he came near her, suffusing as much fondness as she could into his name. Her little brother all but sprinted towards her, screeching to a stop in front of her with excited eyes.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, ukhti.” He said formally. Her eyes softened and she pulled him into a hug.

(yā waṭawāṭī alṣṣḡīr is the phonetic spelling.) ("وطواطي الصغير" is the actual spelling. I think.)

“I have missed you, ya wat-wat alssgirr,” she whispered. The familiar endearment, “my little bat,” rung warmly like a warm crease ruffling his hair. The silks of her clothes and the ever present warm sand and candle scent wrapped around him like a hug… like the hug she was currently giving him.

(Her clothes were in blues and silvers. It suited her, she who had been forced in green and golds and cuts of black.)

“I still can not believe you all but told me who father was and I still could not figure it out until mother told me.”

She pulled back. ‘Damian, you were five.’

“I have little doubt you were smarter at my age, ukhti, so do not lie to me.” Damian grumbled. Nevertheless, he stepped back.

‘No, you were smarter.’

And to her, he was. It’s not like Damian had the edge she did, and he wasn’t the one trapped for twenty something years. She had foolishly thought that Ra’s wouldn’t dare to harm her too much, seeing as she was his blood, but Damian knew from day 1. She made sure he did. If she was half as smart as Damian, she would have bent her knee and obeyed, no matter how she felt about killing. She would have taken warning Ra’s issued and soaked in the poisonous praise to bide her time to escape. She could not- she did not- do what Damian found effortless, and paid the price for it.

“Unlikely,” Damian said, turning around fully, but she could see the tips of her brother’s ears burning. Ah, perhaps she had been to stingy with compliments if he was shy hearing a mild one, sincere as it might have been. “This is Alfred Pennyworth. He is the butler, and an integral part of the family.”

Damian glanced at her, taking in her suddenly impassive face, and nods. Good. His attitude towards Pennyworth when he first arrived was… mildly shameful. His ukhti was smart enough to know that and therefore he won the argument.

On her part, the reincarnation followed along like she hadn’t mildly stalked this family for decades. It was nice to see excitement rearing on her brother’s face. It was rare in the league and Gotham’s gloom had ironically cheered him up far more than the suns of desserts ever did. She nodded at Alfred Pennyworth, who had admirably recovered from his earlier shock.

“And this is… Bruce Wayne. Our father.”

She tucked a strand of curled hair back, impassive blue eyes meeting her… father’s.

She offered him a short nod.

——

“My word,” Alfred Pennyworth muttered as his charge’s (his son’s) daughter step out of the car. Her steps were silent, graceful, and lighter than a gazelle.

The way she moved, even as she hugged young master Damian, whispered of leashed lethality and treacherous waters. She moved like if grace had a form and Alfred was willing to bet his entire career that not an iota of air got close to her without her knowledge of it, and it reminded the aging man of the young Miss Cassandra. He knew then, that she could have pretended to be unassuming and that he would have had a hard time equating her with danger. That she showed them her potential for death was a sign of trust.

But it was not the way she claimed death as her own name that caught the former spy’s attention.

No.

It was her blue eyes and the way they ever so slightly crinkled fondly as she laid eyes upon her younger brother. It was the way her hair, curled in a nostalgic style, that curtained her face as she spoke to the young Wayne heir, though he could not hear her voice. It was the way that she tucked Damian against her side, protective but encouraging.

It was the way that she, despite Talia al Ghul’s features, resembled his dearest friend, Martha Wayne, in her every movement.

Alfred Pennyworth felt like he was decades younger, standing before Martha as she fondly tucked Bruce against her side and successfully needled Thomas into going to see Bruce’s favorite movie.

It felt like he had his best friend once more, just a little.

From the way Master Bruce stared, it seemed as though he thought the same.

Alfred straightened when young master Damian introduced him. He was the Wayne Family Butler. And she was definitely a Wayne.

Master Bruce stood there like a lout as his daughter greeted him. Alfred shot him a scathing look- he had taught Master Bruce much better manners than to gape, the nerve!- before smoothly directing the attention away. His hands moved as he spoke.

“Welcome to Wayne Manor, Miss-”

She made a sharp motion to cut him off and signed something. Alfred might be a tad rusty in Arabic sign language (like he and the rest of the family hadn’t spent the last two weeks frantically memorizing and brushing up on their sign language) but he knew a name sign when he saw one.

“al Ghul.” Damian recognized. He did not use regular Arabic Sign Language with her often, vastly preferring their own established sign, but that did not mean he slacked. “You may call her al-Ghul.”

‘Or nothing at all,’ Damian’s sister signed. She looked at him like she was waiting. A test, Alfred realized.

Alfred pushed the slight twinge of disheartening disappointment away. He had wanted to call her Miss Wayne, to perhaps indulge in a bit of nostalgia for a while longer. But he shan’t do it at the expense of his charge.

“Miss al Ghul,” he continued, not missing a beat, imitating the name sign with pin point accuracy. She lifted her chin. Alfred sighed in relief. He passed. And now, perhaps he should revive Ra’s al Ghul and have a nice, entirely civil conversation about Miss al Ghul’s expectation that her wishes would go ignored.

Alfred will bring his shotguns and most likely would abandon pretenses as soon as that old goat got into his crosshairs. Old as he might be, he was still a very good shot, and civility was reserved for those with honor.

“Please head inside. I am sure young master Damian would love to guide you on a tour,” Alfred continued like he didn’t think of violent second deaths for Ra’s al Ghul. “Perhaps Master Bruce will join you, if you are amendable, once he has managed to stop imitating the rather life like form of a smooth brained sloth.”

Alfred congratulated himself on the small crinkle of humor that graced Miss al Ghul’s otherwise expressionless face. Well, expressionless to those that did not know where to look. Fortunately, Alfred and the rest of the family were used to stoic caveman micro expressions, courtesy of Bruce, and therefore it would not be much of a problem.

“I will bring your bags up to your room.”

She scrutinized him and then dipped her head.

‘Be careful. There are dangerous things in there.’

“I assure you the utmost privacy in regards to your belongings,” Alfred said.

“Pennyworth will not peruse your belongings, ukhti. He has more honor and respect than that.”

Alfred would like to interrogate Talia al Ghul to see who he must introduce some lead to, that clearly disrespected Miss al Ghul’s privacy like so. But for now, he will bask in the warmth of young master Damian’s implicit trust.

Miss al Ghul nodded. She opened the trunk of the car- the interior of which Alfred could now perceive to be entirely customized and of extremely quality material. She handed the keys and gave him access to her luggage. Then, placing her hand at young master Damian’s shoulder, followed the young master into the halls where she ought to have been raised. Or, at the very least, ought to have taken a step in at least once before today.

Master Bruce lingered at the doorway, torn between following the siblings and helping Alfred with the luggage (read: running away.)

“The daylight is wasting, Master Bruce.”

Master Bruce skittered in behind them like a newborn colt, wobbling and anxious.

Well, it’s time for Alfred to do his job. There was only a single duffle bag.

Hm. He’ll have to tell Master Bruce to take her out for necessities. He hardly doubted that a single bag could last her very long. And Alfred Pennyworth was hellbent on convincing his granddaughter to stay, may the gods have mercy on whichever poor soul that tried to convince her otherwise for he won’t.

——

She followed Damian as he led her deeper within the walls of a home she knew by heart from afar. She was like the little photographer in that way. Bruce Wayne trailed behind them like a particularly awkward ghoul, and she found it amusing to equate this turtle necked man was the illustrious Dark Knight. How dangerous.

“This is the first parlor. It is for guests of the… regular persuasion.”

Ah, for the civilians. She nodded.

“Ah, the silverware was selected by Alfred.” Bruce interjected, gesturing to the display silverware by the door. Their cabinets were intricate without taking away from the paintings upon the delicate ceramic.

She looked at him, wondering why he was following before giving up and nodding. It was his house.

(Bruce, for his part, felt like his daughter had laid judgement upon him… and found him lacking.)

‘It is… adequate.’ She sighed to Damian. Damian tutted.

“It’s fine to say quaint, sister. It could hardly compare to the palace.”

Bruce jolted, plans for converting the manor into a palace already in the making.

No, he couldn’t. Alfred would murder him with his favorite dish.

‘I like it, even if it is smaller.’

“….you do?”

‘You are happy here. It is warm to you. I like it.’ She repeated.

Damian latched onto her sleeve. “I- I shall show you my art. And then introduce you to the rest of the bumbling fools we have for brothers-”

She tilted her head. Bruce paused as well when Damian’s words cut off.

“If… you want them as brothers. It would be… helpful, to integrate.”

She waited.

“But… I am the first. Your blood. And-”

‘I will make room in my heart for them, if you wish it. I already know some of them.’ She allowed a small smile to show. ‘But that does not mean you will ever lose your place, little bat.’

Damian felt extremely thankful that father had not managed to pick up their version of sign language yet.

“Well… as long as you’re aware.” He marched further into the manor. She followed, once more, a look of fond indulgence gleaming in her eyes.

——

She stood in front of a painting her younger brother had done.

‘I made it two weeks ago,’ he’d told her, fingers curled into her palm.

It was green. She hated green. And gold. And ominous. Rage. Harsh, bold strokes and spots where the texture of the canvas were either globbed over or painfully showing through.

Her hands traced the single stroke of blue amidst the turbulence of green.

She tucked Damian against her side and realized that perhaps he understood after all, what it felt like. Perhaps not all of it, but enough.

——

“Here is your room, ukhti.” Damian stood watch as his sister scanned the room. She quickly removed three listening devices as Damian sighed.

‘You’ve gotten better.’ She crossed the room and plucked the listening bug from its place on the door frame.

“Clearly not good enough.” Damian huffed. “But I have beaten your knife game record. What do you think of the room?”

His sister rolled her eyes and handed him a blade she pulled from somewhere on her person.

An implicit challenge.

“No cutting your fingers off, please.” Father interceded.

“Begone, father. We are doing sibling bonding, something I remember you insisting that I participate in.”

Damian shut the door on his stupefied face, matching his sister’s sharp smirk as he splayed his hand on the dresser and raised the blade.

——

Alfred walked in with a covered plate and paused at the sight of the dresser.

Then, he looked on as Damian sat at the desk, rapidly signing to his sister in their own version of the language as said sister pulled out an entire wardrobe and a half to fill in the walk-in closet.

Alfred made a note to study some more magic.

“Miss al-Ghul. I bring you a snack that young master Damian made and to inform you that the others will be arrive en masse, within an hour.” Alfred paused. “Might I interest you in a mat before the two of you decide to… take a gander at furniture redecoration in the future?”

“Of course, Pennyworth. Apologies.”

“I’ll try to make sure they won’t overwhelm you. They can be a lot, at once.” Bruce said from the doorway. Miss al Ghul glanced at him and dipped her head in thanks. Her eyes wandered right back to the dessert.

Alfred made another note.

‘You made this for me?’ She asked, switching to standard.

Damian grumbled. “Do not eat it. I could not get the spice quite right, no matter how many variations…”

‘I am sure it will be good.’ She took the plate from Alfred’s hand and uncovered it.

They all had the fortune of witnessing a true, genuine wide eyed smile from a stoic face.

Alfred inhaled sharply. He had thought Master Bruce and young master Damian had inherited Thomas’ dimples. But she had inherited his entire smile.

‘Bstilla!’ She turned to Damian. ‘My favorite! You made this?’

“I know that. I am not incompetent as to not notice when you snuck three of them from the palace kitchens. You must give me the recipe from the cooks. I could not get it to taste like the spices they used. I even imported spices!”

Miss al-Ghul, like she had forgotten he and Master Bruce were there, stabbed a fork into the pie and put it into her mouth.

“Ukhti! Don’t- do not eat that! Spit it out! The pastry is too thick and-”

She held up her hand. ‘It’s good. I know what it is missing.’

She strode to her magic bag and pulled out a bottle.

She sprinkled flakes on top and offered a forkful of b’stilla to the young master who, shockingly, did not insist on his own utensil.

His expression lightened. “This is it. What is it? You know of the chefs’ methods?”

She sprinkled the mysterious spice on the food. ‘You’ve never eaten anything the chefs have made. I made your food by hand to prevent assassinations and inoculate you against toxins. Also, this is poison.’

Alfred stiffened.

“It’s what?!” Bruce spoke up, rushing into the room, finally to try and look Damian over.

‘It is fine. He has been immune since he was three.’

Miss al Ghul placed a piece of poisoned b’stilla in her mouth and ate. Young master Damian batted his father off, saying that poison inoculation was hardly a surprise. What was a surprise, though, was something else.

“That is- you- you’re the one who made my meals?” Young Master Damian demanded, looking guilty. “But- I- why did you not tell me? I made all of those demands in the middle of the night- what about the time I sent back the knafe fifteen times?”

She nodded.

“Why would you- why did you not tell me?”

‘You knew what grandfather thought of women. And besides, it was the only time I was allowed sweets. He did not want me to ruin my figure as it would lower my marketability.’

Alfred itched for his gun.

“You are not a commodity,” Master Bruce stated, intense as he tended to be. Miss al Ghul blinked at him.

‘… I am aware. But… thank you.’

“Ah. Yes. Of course.” And there went the emotionally intelligent Master Bruce. May he rest in peace until the next time he decides to make an appearance.

“I believe today is a chocolate chip cookie day, do you not, young master Damian?”

“Yes, Pennyworth, I believe it is.”

‘I have never tried it before.’

“You will love it. Pennyworth’s cookies are the best in the world, as is expected.”

Alfred watched as young master Damian tugged his sister out and marveled. The sides of his grandson they rarely get to see was so easily pulled out by his older sister.

——

Y’all I wanted to write her meeting the siblings but Alfred came out of no where and went haha nope feel the angst of a man who lost his best friend and had to raise her vigilante child.

Alfred, seeing Bruce put on the bat cowl for the first time: martha, why have you forsaken me

——

Me: what would baby assassins play as a binding game?

Me, remembering my past as a kid: I Spy, but with trackers and bugs. oh wait… THE KNIFE GOES CHOP CHOP CHOP

——

Also, I think B’stilla was food meant only for royalty and was probably rooted in slavery, so I thought it would be a meaningful nod to her position of privilege and how she are like a king but was treated as a… bed warmer and a slave. Yeah. If anyone knowledgeable on food history wants to school me on b’stilla, feel free to do so. I did like, a cursory research at best.

#Bruce Wayne #Bruce Wayne’s guilt complex #Bruce ‘everything is my fault’ Wayne #no Bruce not everything in fact is about you bby #ras al ghul #Ra’s was a jackass long before you were born #oc in dc #batman #tim drake #damian wayne’s older sister #damian wayne #Bruce took his guil and fucking sprinted with it #he’s also making a lot of (very fair considering the circumstances) assumptions about oc #did I write that entire first part so I could make Alfred quote a poem?#yes yes I did #technically it’s also a part of a Kanye west song or whatever #oc: my brother is so cute look he’s so excited to see me #everyone else: what? hes walking so elegantly and calmly???#sleep deprived me did not do the difference between habibi and habibti #Alfred Pennyworth #Alfred Pennyworth was besties with Martha Wayne #Martha Wayne coming back to haunt the Waynes via her granddaughter #Alfred calling Ra’s and honorless goat #a couple thousand words of Alfred being sassy

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desperate-gay · 6 months

Note

Pls pls write for ali

Victory

Ali Krieger x fem!reader

The game is intense. Both teams have been playing hard, leading it to be 0-0 after the full ninety minutes, causing it to head into overtime. It’s 105 minutes in and Gotham has taken control of the ball. Kristie passes it downfield and it continues to move forward as Portland’s defenders scramble to guard the ball, but because they’re a little behind, it leaves a space allowing Katie to shoot the ball and hit the back of the bet.

The whole stadium goes wild, including you standing up with Sloane on your hip, cheering with the crowd. She looks around cluelessly with noise-canceling headphones, making her look even more adorable than usual. Kyle alongside you has Ocean in his arms while pumping his fist up and down at the new lead.

Only 14 minutes later, they are advancing to the finals. Ali looks up into the stands with a bright smile, seeing her family witness her journey through her career, but she is quickly pulled aside by her teammates who continue to chant they’re not finished yet.

After a few more minutes, you and Kyle make your way onto the turf with the kids to meet up with the captain. Kelley, Kristie, and Lynn all talk with her but once she sees you approaching, she excuses herself and jogs over.

“Mama won.” Sloane slurs with a cute little grin.

“Yes, she did!” You exclaim as you continue to bounce the little girl on your hip, something she has always enjoyed for whatever reason.

Ali laughs and takes Ocean out of Kyle’s arms without her smile breaking once. “I’m so happy you’re all here. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”

“We’d do anything for you, sis. Right, Y/n/n?” He wraps his arm around Ali’s shoulder before nudging you to answer. You divert your attention back to the girl and notice she’s already staring back at you.

“Of course. Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.”

You all stand around and talk for a bit with a few of her teammates. The Portland breeze picks up, making it feel much chillier than it actually is. You’re only covered by a thin zip-up, not thinking the temperature would drop mid-game and freeze you half to death. Your shivering is noticed by Ali, so she shrugs off her coat and rests it on your shoulders before taking Sloane from your hands into her other arm.

“Ali, you’ll be cold now. I’ll be fine-“

“You’re clearly cold and you need to warm up. I’m hot anyways.” She shrugs you off and talks to both of the kids in her arms. You’re lucky that the bitter weather makes your cheeks rosy or she definitely would’ve noticed the deep blush rushing to your cheeks at the gesture.

You have been friends with Ali since forever. Your feelings for her have grown stronger and stronger as time moved on to the point where you’re now sure you’re in love with her. The only problem is that she split from Ashlyn months ago and you were her shoulder to cry on through her heartbreak. To you, it’s still too soon to even think about making a move, especially when she has more important things to think about like her retirement and her kids.

Sloane and Ocean have become important to you as well, treating them as one of your own. The little girl is a goofball and the little boy is a bit of a stinker at times, but nothing makes you love them any less. Ali sees the way you interact with them which makes her melt to the floor, knowing that you’re perfect in any way.

Long before the divorce, she knew it was over with Ashlyn for a while. They both argued constantly and Ali didn’t want the kids to grow up in a toxic environment. When Ashlyn cheated, she weirdly felt relieved. Maybe it was because it made her feel less guilty for growing feelings for you. Her best friend.

When the split happened, she ran to you. Even if she knew it was going to happen, it was still devastating. No matter what caused the divorce, she’ll still always care for her ex-wife, and knowing everything is changing with her career, love, and family, it breaks her. You’re there for it all. Her ups and downs, highs and lows. You assure her she’s stuck with you forever.

So here you are now, in Portland watching the captain survive and advance to the finals. Kyle drove you and the kids since Ali had to arrive a little earlier to get ready, but she insists her brother heads back to his hotel and she’ll take everyone back with her.

“Let me go wash off and gather my things then I’ll meet you here. Are you okay with watching them for a couple of minutes?” The taller girl asks, gesturing to the two toddlers in your arms.

You wave her off the best you can with her busied hand and say, “I’m sure I can handle these angels. Now hurry! I want to get back to the hotel.”

“Jeez, I thought I was bossy.” She snarks, walking away but not before the tip of your foot meets with her behind. “Ow! Meany.” You stick your tongue out on her which she returns, causing the kids in your arms to giggle at their Mama’s banter.

Kelley walks out with Kristie and sees the two giggling toddlers. Rushing over to you, she drops her bag, holds out her hands with a grabby gesture, and takes Ocean from your left arm. Kristie quickly follows and pulls Sloane into hers, allowing her arms to relax from the removed weight.

“I’ve missed you two.” Kelley coos at the boy while sticking her finger out for him to wrap his tiny hands around.

“I want one.” The blonde next to you frowns. “Can I keep her?”

“Mmm, I don’t think Kriegs would be happy with me if I sell her children-“

Your statement is cut off by the locker room door opening, revealing the said girl with dampened hair and a bag swung over her shoulders. “I leave you for a few minutes and you’re already auctioning off my babies?”

“Am not! Kristie is thinking about stealing Sloane!” You defend yourself while pointing to the girl.

“Hey!”

Ali chuckles and wraps her arm around your waist, pulling you into her chest. You don’t know if she realizes what she’s doing, but you’re far from complaining about the closeness. You both watch as your guys' two friends continue to mess with the children before you see them yawn.

“Alright, time to go. Gotta put these two to sleep.”

Kristie frowns but reluctantly hands Sloane over to you anyway. You smile sympathetically and pat her back with your free hand.

“I’m going to call Sam and ask for one now. I’ll see you two later.” The girl hops off on her phone, most likely already face-timing her Australian fiancé.

Kelley also bids her goodbyes, parting ways from the four of you, letting you all finally walk out to the car. You both buckle them in before you settle into the passenger seat and Ali in the driver.

The car ride remains silent besides the quiet hum of the radio in the background. You keep your gaze out the window, watching the unfamiliar buildings pass and the stars in the sky. The two toddlers in the back both fall asleep due to it being past their bedtime and the eventful day they had.

As you pull into the hotel parking lot, you unbuckle your seatbelt and turn around to look at the peaceful two.

“They’re so precious.” You mumble in awe to which Ali hums in agreement, also looking with you.

You both grab their sleeping forms and head into the hotel room. You’ve been staying with Kyle at his, but since she insisted on driving you back, you follow her into her room, thinking she might want to hang out for a bit. When in the room, you both first change the kids' clothes and place them into their little cribs for the night.

Ali sighs and thumps onto the bed in the middle of the room with her hands covering her face. Her shirt rides up due to her arms lifting, exposing her muscular stomach. You sit at the edge of the mattress and admire the beauty in front of you. A clearing of a throat breaks your stare and turns your attention to the brunette who is now sat up staring at you with a ghost of a smirk.

Heat once again radiates onto your face, embarrassing you further proving you just got caught. The best moves and the sheets shuffle from her moving to sit next to you. She nudges her shoulder with hers as she continues to look at your side profile.

Breaking the silence she says, “I’m happy you came with us to Portland. It means a lot to me; you being here through everything.”

“Like I said, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

You look up back at her and your stomach twists at the sight of her gaze remaining on you. With both of your heads turned, your nose is almost hitting against hers. For a second, you swear you saw her eyes flick down to your lips, but maybe your eyes are deceiving you, feeding into your delusional mind that thinks she may feel the same.

Surprisingly, your mind wasn’t faking you out. Her hand reaches out and rests on your cheek, the soft pad of her thumb stroking your skin gently. She slowly leans in closer when she sees you look at her lips, taking it as a sign you’re not going to find her disgusting.

“Is this okay?” The brunette asks as her lips hover over yours. You nod instantly, not trusting your voice at the moment.

That’s when it finally happens. Her lips slot into yours like a missing piece to a puzzle you worked ages on. The kiss is firm, not too soft to make you think she’s unsure, but not too rough to make you think there’s no meaning behind it. As it continues, her other hand moves down and strokes your thigh which makes you crumble even more into the kiss while your hands rest lightly on her chest.

It lasts until you two need air, pulling away you rest your forehead against hers, giggling lightly in delight.

“What are you giggling about?” She smiles at the sweet sound.

“I just can’t believe this is happening. I’m really happy is all.”

Your right-hand slides itself to the back of her neck and rubs up and down, soothing the tense muscles. She sighs in relief from the feeling and pulls away slightly to be able to look at you. If she was a cartoon, hearts would appear in her eyes from seeing you smile softly at her and your doe eyes roaming her face.

Not being able to control herself, she pulls you in again and places multiple pecks on your lips, causing you to giggle at the outburst and try to lightly shove her off. She finally stops when she hears a quiet whine from the crib which makes the both of you pause and see if you woke one of the toddlers up. Lucky for you, they must have fallen back asleep as quickly as they woke up.

Ali moves to lie down on the mattress before opening her arms wide, signaling for you to lay down with her. You slot yourself comfortably into her embrace and cuddle into her chest. She presses one final peck to your head before whispering, “You are the one for me.”

You tap her waist 3 times, telling her you feel the same, something you've both done ever since you started hanging out. Both exhausted from the thrilling day, it doesn’t take long for slumber to take over your bodies, making you miss the quiet buzz from your phone.

brother kriegs<3

im hoping you finally made the move since youre not here. cant wait for you to be my sister-in-law. i have been dreaming of this day since you admitted your feelings xx

#ali krieger x reader #ali krieger #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fic #woso #kelley o'hara #kristie mewis #gotham fc #nwsl #uswnt #lgbtq

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genericpuff · 2 months

Text

Persephone has a very nasty habit that needs to be talked about.

Have y'all ever really sat down and observed the when of Persephone's actions towards others?

There are three actions specifically I want you to recall and try and remember what happened preceding those actions:

1.) Persephone turning Minthe into a mint plant

2.) Persephone cornering Tori at his job

3.) Persephone invading Leuce's home with barn animals and low key threatening her life

Think very hard for a second about the when of those events. What happened leading up to them?

First, Persephone turning Minthe into a mint plant. This happened right after she made out with Hades at the shopping mall, but more specifically, this happened while she was hiding out in Hades' home from Zeus, while also fearing the worst of her situation with Apollo.

Second, Persephone cornering Tori at his job. This scene came right after she saw the "Apollo for President" sign in Olympus.

And third, Persephone invading Leuce's home. This came shortly after she had felt insecure over Hades calling Hera 'Bunny', which for some reason she pinned on her own "jealousy" instead of calling out the elephant in the room.

It also came right after the Zeus/Dionysus incident and Demeter trying to force her to stay in the Mortal Realm, but I think the Hera incident is the most damning because it's the most related to Persephone's clear insecurities that are being compounded by dating / being married to a serial cheater.

What do all three of these things tell us about Persephone?

It shows that Persephone has a bad habit of projecting all of her problems onto other people that have nothing to do with the bigger issues.

Minthe ratted her out, yes, but she was still running from her inevitable trial, attempting to use the Underworld's policies to play the system and get herself off as scot-free as possible. I mentioned this already in a previous post, but these aren't the actions of a person who claims to feel as guilty as they do over committing mass manslaughter. Point is, she would have gotten caught eventually, and she still had to answer for her crimes. Minthe was an easier target for her anger and frustration than Zeus.

Tori gossiped about her in college, yes, but it came from a very real incident in which Hades ripped out his roommate's eye and beat him half to death. Tori wasn't even gossiping at that point, he was deadass just telling his side of the story and warning people that Persephone was affiliating herself with an abusive man. None of what he said about her being "Hades' dark concubine" was untrue, but he had the unfortunate luck of being at the bank right after Persephone was triggered by the Apollo sign. Tori was just an easier target for her anger and frustration than Apollo.

Leuce attempted to 'seduce' Hades, yes, but she was manipulated by Thetis in an attempt to get her planted just like Minthe and I think a lot of people forget that. Not to mention, Persephone says that she had "ten years" to make the moves on Hades, but like... no she didn't, because Hades was either possessed by Kronos or in a coma for those 10 years, and then he got married to Persephone like 5 days after that LMAO (not saying that excuses her trying to seduce him, I'm just wondering when she was supposed to find the time in those 10 years to talk to him LOL). And finally, and most importantly, Hades had already rejected her advances. She was already embarrassed. She clearly wasn't going to attempt it again. She is of no threat to Persephone, the now wife of Hades and Queen of the Underworld. So Persephone raiding her home was purely just for her own entertainment and, again, to satisfy her own insecurities. Leuce was just an easier target for her anger and frustration than Hades and Hera.

Point is, instead of actually dealing with the root of her issues, seeking legitimate help for her trauma, and/or learning any amount of self-care techniques to manage her frustration and refocus herself on the bigger issues, Persephone is instead relegating herself to a bully who takes out all of her issues onto people weaker than her, oftentimes people who have nothing to do with those bigger issues or have no real bearing on her life.

I'm sure now that I've written about this (because I'm not 100% convinced Rachel isn't reading this lmao the odds are low but never zero) there's gonna be some arc where Persephone goes "aw, I saw the bigger issues but now I'm a different person so life goes on!" without actually doing anything to make up for how she's harmed people (there already is sort of a 'twist' like that in the newest FastPass and it's uh... yikes) but until that happens (again, odds are SEVERELY low but never zero) Persephone is literally the worst person in her own story. She doesn't need a sugar daddy, she doesn't need power, she needs some bitter doses of reality and, most importantly, help.

#lo critical #lore olympus critical #anti lore olympus

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turtletaubwrites · 3 months

Text

Numbers Game ~ Part 6

Numbers Game Masterlist

Pairings: Cross Guild x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2864

Ao3 Link

Summary: You are tempted by Crocodile and Mihawk's offer. What would your sister say about you now?

Rating/Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, 18+ ONLY, MDNI, AFAB!Reader, She/Her Pronouns for Reader, Reader-Insert, Alcohol, Cigars, Swearing, Angst, Smut, Established Relationship, Manipulation, Humiliation, Pet Names, Power Imbalance, Cross Guild boys are VILLAINS, Guilt, Possessive Behavior, Teasing, Threats, Size Difference, Dom Dracule Mihawk, Cuckolding, Vaginal Fingering, Biting

A/N: I feel like my brain has been scraped out and replaced with this fucking fic, lol. I hope you enjoy the ride 🖤

“You heard him,” Mihawk tutted, gesturing lazily. “The clown wants to watch us take care of you. No reason to feel guilty then.”

It felt like every part of your body was clenched together, shaking with more intense need than you ever thought possible. You were a raw fucking nerve.

“Let her be, Mihawk,” Crocodile sighed, but his large hand still burned your shoulder. “Just tell us when you’re ready.”

Buggy’s eyes had fallen away from you, staring at the coffee table.

Your mouth opened and closed again, nothing but air coming out.

“Of course, Crocodile. All we’re here to do is take care of our little treasure. I’d never want to start before she’s ready,” Mihawk drawled, leaning away from you as he sipped his wine, humming to himself before continuing.

“But I believe you are ready, aren’t you, little rabbit? I believe the only reason you’re not begging right now is because your body is aching so badly you can’t speak.”

Your lip quivered, the smallest whimper you’d ever heard pushed from your throat.

“Is that true, darlin,” Crocodile soothed, his low voice vibrating through you. “Do you want us to help you out?”

You didn’t know why you were stuck. Every part of you was screaming, ‘yes.’ But you’d piled so much guilt onto yourself over the past few days. And there was Buggy.

When Buggy had looked you in the eyes, and said he wanted to watch, your stomach twisted with something that wasn't guilt.

You managed to move, bringing your shaky hands up to cover your face.

“Alright, Miss Y/N,” Crocodile said, patting your back before removing the warmth of his hand. “Let’s call it a night.”

“Give her a few minutes. She’s almost there.”

Mihawk sounded almost bored again. Detached. He’d stopped touching you, and his voice had lost its teasing tone.

You could leave. You could go to bed.

You wondered what your sister would say about you now.

That there’s something wrong with me. That I got myself into this fucked up situation. That I’ve got some kind of death wish.

Your hands dropped down to your lap, shaky breaths bringing you back.

Back to your body that was vibrating with near painful need.

There probably is something wrong with me.

You dug your nails into your thighs, shivering from the sensation.

But I might as well enjoy it.

“Please.”

The word was barely audible, so you cleared your throat.

“Whatd'ya need, sweet girl,” Crocodile asked, his voice making your eyes flutter.

You looked up, Buggy’s eyes almost wild as he watched you. Your breath caught, losing momentum under his gaze.

But he nodded. The corner of his mouth pulled into a smile, not of sadness, or joy, or anger. But of acceptance.

A weight lifted. Parts of your brain tried to hold it there, to keep you feeling guilty.

“What would you like, Miss Y/N?”

Mihawk’s voice made you sigh, even without its devious pressure.

You leaned back against the couch, the scent of these two men like some heady bait, luring you toward the hook.

Maybe you wanted to be caught.

“I want you to take care of me.”

It felt like you were a puppet, and all of your strings had been tied together, leaving your body trapped, frozen.

Speaking those words cut your strings, and your body came loose, almost limp now as you felt free from your own bindings.

Free to follow their strings now, and beg to be caught on their hook.

Crocodile shifted in his seat, turning toward you. His fingers trailed through your hair, coming to rest on your neck again.

He leaned down over you, kissing your temple.

“You’re our girl now, Y/N. I’ll make sure you get everything your pretty little heart wants.”

Mihawk startled you as he took your hand, laying a soft kiss on your knuckles.

“He’s right. You’re ours.”

His gaze was heavy, almost frightening again. Until this man who never smiles gave you a wicked smirk.

“Although, it’s not your heart that’s doing the wanting right now, is it? What does my little vixen crave?”

Once again, all he’d done was touch your hand, look at you, say a few words. But your head fell back onto Crocodile’s hand, and your mouth parted as you fought to keep your eyes on his.

He stared at your mouth, eyes focusing as you pressed your tongue out slightly to wet your lips.

He squeezed your hand, tilting his head. Reminding you that he’d asked you a question.

“Please, sir. I want you to touch me.”

Oh, the thrill you felt at the way Hawkeye fucking Mihawk reacted to your words. He sucked in a breath, eye’s fluttering as he looked up slightly.

It all looked muted, as if he had caught himself.

“Crocodile, I’m going to take care of our girl. Do you accept, or are we going to have a battle every night?”

Every night?

“I’ll watch the show, for now.”

He squeezed your neck, his gaze heavy on your skin.

“Perfect. There is something I’ve been curious about,” Mihawk mused, bringing a hand to your jaw to tilt you toward him.

You stopped breathing as he pressed a gentle kiss to your lips, his mustache and goatee lightly tickling your skin.

It was almost chaste, until his tongue found its way into your mouth, dancing with yours. There was a rhythm to his kiss, and you could feel it slowly build. Like an ember into a wildfire, the heat grew until you were reaching for him, soft whines in your throat.

Then you moaned into his mouth, your eyes flying open to see his squinting slightly, almost mischievous.

His fingers were under your dress, sliding easily between your thighs, the evidence of your need leaving you drenched.

You ate the satisfied hum from his mouth before he pulled away from the kiss.

“Magnificent,” he purred, withdrawing his fingers from your thighs to hold them in front of your face.

Your skin flushed, and you pressed your knees together, embarrassment pulling at you.

“Our little pet may have ruined your coat,” Mihawk chuckled, spreading his fingers to show the other man the thick strings of slick, dripping down his hand onto your lap.

The scarred man gave you a crooked smile, touching his hook to your chin.

“Our sweet girl can get the money back for us, huh, sugar,” he teased, the potential threat only speeding your pulse. “Besides, we weren’t taking care of you. You should have told us how needy you were.”

He kissed the top of your head again as Mihawk reached down for more, letting his wet fingers shine in the light.

“Did she ever get this wet for you, clown?”

You tensed, meeting Buggy’s eyes over that dripping hand.

He stared at it, jaw clenched. And said nothing.

“You chose to stay and watch, Buggy,” Mihawk sighed. “If you’re going to sulk, then you can go back to your room like a child.”

“N-No,” Buggy answered softly.

“No, what,” Mihawk prodded.

Crocodile, started rubbing your neck with that large hand, soothing the tension that had built again.

“No, she never got that wet with me.”

He could have left. He could have left.

You tried not to carry guilt for his humiliation. Not when he chose this one.

And then he was ignored again, all attention back onto you.

“Come here, darling,” Mihawk said, offering his hand. Crocodile lit his cigar, giving big puffs as he watched you stand.

“This is a lost cause anyway,” the swordsman declared, pulling the larger man's jacket off the couch, and spreading it across the coffee table.

Your knees were shaking, and you didn’t know what to do with your hands as you stood on the plush carpet, and waited.

Mihawk sat back down, motioning for you. He grabbed your hips to stop you from passing him to your seat on the couch.

“What…”

“In a few minutes, I’m going to lay you on that table, and give you that release you’ve been fighting for these last few nights.”

Your hands clenched in embarrassment again, but he soothed the words with gentle strokes of his hands along your hips and waist.

He tugged at the bottom of your dress.

“Let me get it,” Crocodile demanded, leaning forward. Mihawk didn’t stop you from taking the few steps away.

Crocodile pulled you gently, and you found yourself kissing another ex warlord of the sea. You stood between his thighs, tasting the rich flavors and smoke of his cigar.

His fingers dug into your lower back, as if he was keeping you from running away.

You didn’t run.

That frightening face.

It had smiled at you. It was kissing you.

You traced your fingers on the sides of that face before wrapping your arms around his neck.

His low growl pulsed through you, and his grip got even harder, the kiss deep and intense.

“Mm, I knew you were a sweet girl,” he praised, gently pushing you back a step.

“You won’t be needing these cheap rags anymore.”

You didn’t understand his smile. Until he pulled your dress forward with his hand, then pierced into it his hook, tearing the red fabric from your skin.

Gasping, you’d gripped onto his arm for support.

“You’re so beautiful, sweetheart,” he breathed, pulling you close again as his hand roamed over your lingerie and bare skin.

Mihawk cleared his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, swordsman. I just wanna check one more thing.”

He kept intense eye contact with you as his hand started at your knee, then slowly traveled up to find all that proof of how they affect you.

He teased his fingers through the slick, sliding between your sticky thighs, until he reached your core.

His hands were bigger than anyone's you’d even met. You didn't think any human could be as tall as him.

Just one of those big fingers teased along your panties.

Just the barest touch over your clothed clit sent you moaning, knees loosening.

He’d used his one hand to tease you. When you stumbled, he caught your weight in that hand, cupping your needy pussy. You grinded yourself against his palm, digging your nails into his expensive shirt.

His laughs sounded more pleased than teasing, and he gave you a peck on the cheek as he helped you over to Mihawk, who seemed to be losing his patience.

“Hold on,” Crocodile called after picking up his cigar again.

“If I knew it would be such a nuisance to shar–”

“Sweetheart,” Crocodile cut the swordsman off. “Are you on birth control?”

“Oh! Um, yes,” you blinked at him.

“Good. There’s more coming with your clothes and things for when your stock runs out.”

“Uh… Thank you,” you choked out, not sure how to feel about him buying you birth control before you’d had sex. But you were grateful that he had.

“I told you, we’ll take car–”

“You’ve gone and distracted our pet now,” Mihawk pouted, finding his comfort wine again. You caught Buggy staring at you, and tried not to look his way again.

“All that work I did to drive you mad,” the golden eyed man almost whined, “and now I won’t get to watch you break on my cock.”

Your eyes rolled back, and you stumbled again in front of him.

Chuckling, he tugged you down onto his lap. He pressed your back against his chest, all that bare skin sending heat right through you. You whimpered at the hard press of him against your ass, that tightness in your core begging you for release.

“Maybe it’s not all lost after all,” he purred in your ear, the tickle on your neck making your shoulders tense up.

“Maybe my little rabbit doesn’t need much to make her desperate.”

One hand splayed across your stomach began trailing up to your chest. The other hand on your thigh teased closer, starting to slide in all that wetness.

You didn’t mean to. But your hips dug in, grinding down to feel more of that hard length beneath you.

He bit your shoulder, making you cry out, arching your back.

“Mm, you even like a little pain, do you? You are such a good girl for us.”

His praise felt incredible, almost like he was touching you, pleasing you. Your head fell back against his shoulder. You’d been ashamed when you let it happen earlier.

But now you writhed in his lap, whimpering as he teased your neck with kisses and bites, the tickle of his facial hair adding to it all.

He hummed against you as one of his hands reached into your bra, massaging your breast, making you gasp with light pinches on your already hardened nipple.

Finally, finally, his fingers reached your core, and you twitched at his playful touches. He spread your legs with his knees, then tapped his fingers up and down over your panties.

“I’ve never seen someone this wet before. You must have wanted us to take you so badly.”

His taunts weren’t questions, so you just kept whimpering, trying to press against those fingers to get some relief.

“Is that what you’ve been picturing while this poor little pussy soaks your fingers each night?”

“Please,” you almost sobbed.

“No,” he chided, robbing you of even those torturing little touches, his hand rubbing over your thigh instead.

“Fuck, please…”

“I promise, little rabbit,” Mihawk rasped in your ear, his touch, his voice taking over your entire existence. “I will make you come so many times that you’ll beg me to stop. But first, you need to do what you’re told.”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

His heavy breath, the hint of a moan sent your eyes rolling back, arching your back against him even more.

“Tell me, what did you think about while you touched yourself these last two nights?”

Your head fell to the side, and you saw Crocodile watching your every movement, smoke curling in the air above him. His legs were spread wide again and…

Fuck.

Mihawk bit your neck, your body jerking at the sudden sharp pain.

“You won’t like what happens if I need to ask again, pet.”

“It was… I was thinking about — Fuck… I was thinking about both of you fucking me at the same time.”

You cried out with pleasure as Mihawk’s long fingers dipped into your panties. He played along your folds, then his masterful touch over your clit had you so close already, so fucking desperate.

“Does my pretty pet want to come?”

“Yes, sir. Fuck, please.”

Two fingers slid into you, all your wetness readying you for him.

His fingers curled, and he preyed on that perfect spot within you as his palm rubbed over and over on your clit.

You had never come that hard before. Your vision went blank, and you dug your nails into that velvet couch while you twitched and screamed.

“You had better scream my name, rabbit,” he growled in your ear, biting your neck again.

You obeyed. You screamed it so many times, until your body was limp.

He hugged you against him, tracing fingers over your skin as he kissed your neck softly.

“Astounding. What a little treasure you are, hm? You did so well for me.”

You whined in his arms, eyes watering as your breath started to slow.

“My turn.”

Crocodile’s gruff voice poured through you, making you twitch again.

“I’m not done.”

“What else do you have planned, swordsman? Because I’d like a taste before you knock her out.”

You giggled, sitting forward. Mihawk grabbed your shoulders as you swayed in his lap.

He sighed.

“I suppose you’re right. I was going to make her come on my tongue next before testing how well our little darling can take cock.”

He hummed again, pressing kisses to your shoulder after you’d moaned at his words.

“Give her here,” Crocodile commanded, reaching out his arm. “I could use somethin' sweet to eat.”

Mihawk sighed, but helped you move, scooting you down the couch toward the larger man.

Crocodile pulled you against his side in a hug, kissing the top of your head. You couldn’t help the contented sigh that left you.

“Find somewhere else to sit, clown.”

You sat up, seeing Buggy’s red face, the faded greasepaint shining under beads of sweat. He stared at Crocodile with wide eyes, not meeting your gaze.

“I said move. I’m gonna make Miss Y/N come in my mouth on that chair. Don’t make me–”

Buggy jumped up, twisting his body around to face the other direction. But he wasn’t fast enough to hide the press of his hard cock jutting from his lap, that stretchy fabric doing nothing to hold him in place.

“Looks like the showman is enjoying the show,” Mihawk drawled, pouring yet another glass of wine.

Buggy hopped around behind the couch. He leaned on his elbows over the back of it as Crocodile shook his head, helping you stand.

“Do you think the fool is capable of learning,” Mihawk wondered aloud. “Maybe if he watches–”

“Doesn’t matter,” Crocodile growled as he leaned over you. He smiled at you again, touching his fingers to your chin. Then he brought those huge fingers down to rub over your clothed clit again, drawing a breathy moan out of you as you fell back onto the chair.

He knelt in front of you, gripping his hook below the armrest to pull you, and the chair, toward him.

“The clown’s never gonna taste anything this sweet again.”

Likes and reblogs bring me much ✨dopamine✨ thank you so much!

a/n: I don't even know what to say anymore. I'm going to go disintegrate.

Part 7

#cross guild x reader #buggy x reader #mihawk x reader #crocodile x reader #reader Insert #fem!reader #one piece x reader #x reader #turtletaub fics #mine #one piece fanfic #buggy fanfiction #sir crocodile x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #smut #one piece smut #mihawk smut #sir crocodile smut #buggy smut

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thelov3lybookworm · 6 months

Text

Remember Me? Part 7

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Summary: Under the Mountain, Y/n met the High Lord of the Night Court, Rhysand. She was scared of him, but soon she found out that he wasn't who he pretended to be. Despite her efforts at not falling in love with him, she fails. It's not that bad as he loves her back.

But now he's gone, and she's left alone with nothing.

Except for a very adorable reminder of him.

•○●⛦●○•

Tw: secret pregnancy, none more that I can think of, so let me know if I need to add anything.

A/n: Tagging this as Rhys x reader because rhysie makes an appearance.

don't really like how i wrote this chapter, but thats okay...right?

also, i wanna choke rhys to death

•○🌑○•

Y/n locked the door behind her, trying her best to ignore the heated gaze she felt on the back of her head.

When she turned back to her son and him, she found him staring at her, his eyes unwavering. He felt guilty, that much she knew. What for, that she didn't.

Or maybe she did, but a part of her didn't want him to feel guilty because her son deemed him worthy of being given the title of his father.

That thought brought her to a conclusion. Talking to her son. Getting to know the reason he called the High lord of Autumn his father.

She smiled softly at Fin, deciding she'd talk to her neighbours about her abrupt departure later. She was going to ask one of her neighbour friends to let the home owner know of her departure and return the keys.

The walk to the ice cream shop was tense, though Fin obviously didn't notice as he told Y/n all about the things he and Eris did in Velaris. While Rhysand had been in their home, trying to manipulate Y/n into taking him back.

Eris occasionally chimed in, his eyes constantly fixed on Y/n, and she knew he was trying to get a reaction out of her.

Despite the fact that she barely knew anything about him and he only really cared about Fin, Y/n had a very weird feeling blooming in her chest.

Eris was... adorable.

Fin was holding both Y/n and Eris's hands as he hopped along he path, his excitement filling his little body with energy.

As soon as the ice cream shop came into view, the one where Eris and Fin had first met, Eris stilled, his leg hovering mid-air, his gaze fixed on something in the distance.

Y/n finally glanced at Eris for the first time since Fin had called him his father, a question bubbling in her mind.

Before she could ask him what the matter was, though, he turned to Y/n.

"You two proceed. I'll be right there. I remembered something I need to do."

Y/n's brow furrowed, but she nodded. The next moment, Eris was gone, vanishing between the crowd on the streets of Velaris.

"Mommy, can we go there first?" Fin questioned, making her look at him. She followed his gaze to where he was pointing. It was his favourite bakery.

"Why?" She asked, subconsciously looking around to catch a glimpse of that familiar head of hair the colour of fire.

"Because I want to say bye to Miss Alina."

Y/n's heart swelled at that. Alina was an old lady who ran the bakery, and both the old lady and Fin had taken a liking to each other. Alina had never married after her lover died, so she didn't have any family other than a dying brother. She doted on Fin as if he were her own grandchild. And Fin, having never known the love of a grandmother, had instantly become a loving grandchild to a practical stranger.

"Sure my love."

Fin grinned happily at that.

"Thank you mommy!"

•○🌑○•

"Can I ask you something Fin?" Y/n questioned as she and Fin left the bakery.

Alina had practically been on the verge of tears the moment she found that Fin was leaving Velaris. As a result, she had stuffed anything she could find in sight into a paper bag and handed it to the little boy, telling him to eat all of it.

As fin walked, trying not to jostle his treats too much, he looked over at Y/n. "Yes mama."

"Why did you call Eris daddy?"

Fin nodded like it was the most reasonable question in the world. "Because he does everything daddies do."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Daddies play with children, take them out to have fun and let them eat ice creams."

Y/n held in a surprised laugh. "Where did you learn that?"

"By myself." Fin said proudly, puffing up his chest. "I noticed Sam's daddy did all those things for him."

"That is great my love."

After a moment's silence, Fin spoke again, though his voice was quieter. "Is he not my daddy?"

Y/n blinked. She wanted to say that Eris wasn't Fin's father, but it was as if a power greater than something Y/n could understand was controlling Y/n's words. "He is your daddy."

Fin's face brightened. Then he gasped at something in front of him, and Y/n lifted her head to follow his gaze. There, stood near the railing of the Sidra, exactly where they had first met, was Eris, a slash of a cruel smirk on his mouth. And he...

Was talking to Rhys.

Feyre and Nyx also stood there next to Rhys, watching the exchange between the two high lords.

The lapse in Y/n's focus gave Fin the perfect opportunity to break free of Y/n's hold and run to where Eris was standing.

"Daddy!" Fin squealed, the sound making Rhysand turn to look. His face broke into an disbelieving smile, his eyes going wide as he stared at Fin. His eyes met Y/n's for a moment, and he looked so grateful Y/n couldn't help but feel pity for him.

Fin ran straight into Eris's arms, laughing when Eris's hands found the little boy's ticklish areas and tickled, just a little before scooping him into his arms.

When Eris met Y/n's eyes, his were filled with weariness and caution, because he knew to never mess with a mother who was protective of her child. He still smiled widely at Fin, but his eyes spoke a whole different story.

And Y/n let a little, tiny smile bloom on her face as she walked towards Eris.

His eyes widened, his smile vanishing, his lips parting in surprise. That was when Y/n realised that she had never smiled much around Eris.

If she had, it had only been directed at Fin.

That had her feeling something she had not felt in a long time.

Feeling a heated gaze on the side of her head, she turned to find find Rhys glaring holes into her.

She tried not to swallow at the cold fire in that violet gaze.

She was intimidated, but still held eye contact with her former lover.

The tension in the air increased, the world ceasing to exist around Y/n and Rhysand.

A small, sinister smile curled his lips, and a shiver wound its way up Y/n's spine. The bags under his eyes and his overall tired look made him look like he was about to level the whole of Velaris for some fun.

Y/n felt guilty and wanted nothing more than to crawl to her true love, beg for his forgiveness and be with him again. Let him back in and love him in the all consuming way she had always loved him. Sit Fin down and tell him Eris was not his father and Rhys was.

Y/n?

Y/n jolted, blinking rapidly as she searched around for the mortal scum that had stolen her lover-

Fin was looking at Y/n when she turned to him, and concern was evident in his features.

And Y/n realised three things in that moment. The first being that two people had been in her mind. The second being that Feyre was concerned and had been trying to call for Y/n, and when she didn't respond, Feyre had slipped into Y/n's mind.

And that Rhys had been trying to control her again.

Her blood boiled as she met Rhys eyes again. They were hard now and filled with murderous intent.

"Daddy, can we get ice cream now? Then we can share the cupcakes miss Alina gave me." Fin asked, and that was enough to draw Y/n's attention.

Eris shot a look between Y/n and Rhys, his brows furrowed. Y/n shook her head slightly, and then Eris turned to Fin, smiling. "Sure, let's go."

Eris walked off, asking Fin about Alina's wellbeing. Y/n watched them go, smiling slightly at the happiness on Fin's face.

Every child deserved happiness without having to worry about anything.

But her stomach churned, knowing what she was about to do next might very well ruin a child's life.

Y/n turned back to where Feyre stood, holding Nyx in her arms. Feyre had a slight smile on her face, staring after Fin and Eris as Nyx began wiggling in Feyre's arms, and she let him onto the ground.

Nyx waddled the short distance to his father, looking up at the male with wide, innocent eyes as he tugged on Rhys's pants.

"Papa? Can we go too?" He asked in a sweet voice, one that would make anyone in the world cave to his demands.

Rhys didn't bother looking at the little boy. "No."

Nyx blinked, as if not having expected the answer. "Please papa."

Rhys sighed, his frustration showing through his voice. "I said no, Nyx. Can you not understand the simple answer?"

Nyx's lip wobbled, and Y/n's heart clenched. By the look on Feyre's face, she felt the same.

"Papa please. I want to eat ice cream with Finnie." The little boy was on the verge of tears, not used to such a harsh behaviour from his father.

Rhys shot a scathing glare at the little boy. "You want to go have fun with Finnie, go. I will not come with you. Cauldron, you are getting on my nerves now."

With that, Rhysand shot into the sky, muttering to himself.

Nyx stared after him, tears escaping his eyes as he started hiccuping and sobbing loudly.

Feyre dropped to her knees next to Nyx. "It's okay baby. You and I can get ice cream with Fin without daddy."

Nyx stomped angrily, pushing away Feyre's hands as they tried to wrap around him. "No! I don't want to get ice cream without papa."

Y/n could do nothing but watch helplessly, her own heart screeching in agony.

"I hate papa." He sobbed, wiping his nose on his sleeve furiosly, still staring at the fading figure of Rhys in the sky.

"You should not say that Nyx-"

"Do you not want to spend time with Fin?" Y/n cut Feyre off, crouching next to Nyx. "Fin is going away and might not be able to meet you for long time. You should at least come to say goodbye."

Nyx's crying ceased for a moment, soft hiccups shaking his body as he seemed to think on what Y/n had said.

He sniffed loudly, glancing at Feyre before nodding. "Okay."

Feyre and Y/n led Nyx into the ice cream shop where Fin was staring at all the flavours displayed, an adorable furrow in his brow, his tiny hands on his hip like he was contemplating the best way to attack his enemies. The moment the bell above the store chimed, Fin turned to look, his face brightening at the sight of Nyx. He motioned the younger boy to come forward, which Nyx did.

The moment Nyx left, Feyre turned to Y/n.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes. About that..."

Y/n took a deep breath.

"I need to tell you something."

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Part 8

Taglist: @holb32@awoa1@cleverzonkwombatsludge@luvmoo@we-were-beautiful@eerievixen @zoe2 @fussel9913@j-pendragonx@thesnugglingduck @jesssicapaniagua @devilsnightz@esposadomd @littleffawn @mandowhatnow@bubybubsters@eos-princess@nightless@bigcreatorwombatdreamer @princesslolaasworld @asemkta @cat-or-kitten@txzii @bunnyredgirl @theofficialmadman@leeknows-wife@aria-chikage@amygdtjhddzvb @azriels-mate123 @inky-clover@kemillyfreitas @12358 @justdreamstars @cuethedepession @princessvesta @fides25 @nocasdatsgay@acourtofbatboydreams@stained-glass-eyes0708

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rainbowchaox · 6 months

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Qsmp! Chayanne Character Analysis and How it Relates to Pissa

Chayanne is a perfect hybrid of his dads. Yes, Missa hasn’t been as present as philza but this is a truth. In fact I believe Chayanne is one of the best examples of child getting personality traits from both parents. Even if one is absent whether it’s because of reaper duties or literally being kidnapped. Chayanne has traits both from his dads. Even if it’s more visible the traits he gained are from Philza.

Missa is a bleeding heart. I believe Chayanne gained his massive heart. But sharpened with determination and bravery. Not bleeding out like Missa. It’s not usually noticeable because Chayanne is similar to Philza. He shows not tells. But his heart is so kind. Especially for a child. He just wants to protect those he loves and cares for.

Philza like we discussed is a survivor. And utterly paranoid and stressed so much what could go wrong. This isn’t a bad thing as again and again this protected his family numerous times. Philza raised Chayanne to be responsible. To protect Tallulah because of her asthma. Chayanne accepts this responsibility. But he is still a child. He feels so guilty not being able to protect or in his mind not doing a good job. Philza is similar it’s why he represses his love for Missa. He needs to protect Missa as much he can.

Chayanne looks brave but honestly he is just a scared child under diamond armor. He so desperately wants everyone to be safe. Or happy. Or having fun. He can only do so much as a kid though. He loves philza. There’s no question about that. But there’s reasons why missa is his favorite. He’s addicted just like Philza to Missa gentleness. To Missa kindness. Missa makes Philza and Chayanne feel safe. Chayanne feels free to act like a spoiled kid for once when Missa is around.

Chayanne is scared. He like philza wants their family unit to be safe. But he is still a kid. He can only do so much. He loves philza. Philza is his dad. But there’s no question in my brain that he misses missa gentleness. In fact true enjoyers of death family know that Missa is chayanne favorite dad. He actually acts spoiled for once.

Philza needed to be stern with Chayanne. Philza wants his kids to survive. It’s an aspect of Philza that prepared them for how hard life on the island could be. And how dangerous it could get. Philza knows simple mistakes can be deadly and he needs Chayanne to understand that. He is stern because he loves his son so much. And Chayanne wants to make him proud. So he always listen to his dad. Being considered one of the most obedient eggs. Because Chayanne understands his dad point of view and wants to protect.

Chayanne is also very similar to Philza when it comes to his papa. He doesn’t care if Missa isn’t skilled or talented. He doesn’t care if Missa needs protecting. Chayanne doesn’t need Missa to be useful. He is just like Philza. He just wants Missa to be there. Thats enough.

Chayanne never stopped waiting for Missa to return. He missed him but never gave up on the idea of him coming back. And he’s so happy when he can see him. Chayanne is very protective of his dad’s marriage. Which makes sense as he was the first one that how to deal with how they act around each other. He supports them but think they are being dumb about it. He doesn’t see what is wrong with his dad’s clear love for each other. He is a child he doesn’t realize philza being open could lead to missa being in danger.

Chayanne fully believes that Philza and Missa are the best dads in the world. He always had an affectionate home life. Philza and Missa are always loyal and affectionate. And both love him so much. He is just happy his dads are his dads. He wouldn’t want anyone else.

Overall, Chayanne is clearly both missa and philza son. He carries aspects from both of them. And that’s really beautiful in my eyes. Chayanne has pieces of his dad’s habits and personality with in him. And he will make them both proud.

#qsmp #pissa #qsmp pissa #qsmp chayanne #pissa newspaper

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dreamwritersworld · 1 year

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Hey! I don't know if you’re accepting any requests; if not, you can just ignore this. But i wanted to ask if you could do headcanons on how the sully family was after the reader died in ‘the perfect child’? I’m craving more angst and I love that story so much! 😭

Omg! This is an amazing idea! 💓 I appreciate you reaching out! This does include extras of younger Y/n as well :( which will honestly probably make you very sad cause ugh my heart breaks for her 🥲

The perfect child. Extra. (Sully family x reader)

Nothing hurt the family more than Y/n’s death.

Neytiri dealt with her death the hardest, she was so angry. Her daughter was always willing to put her life on the line because she was trained to…trained by Jake. It’s wrong yes, but it doesn’t mean the memories of Y/n’s worried face doesn’t haunt Neytiri in her dreams..

They were in the forest.. Neytiri watched y/n cry and the young girl could feel her stares so she slowly turned around

"don't stare at me like that! cause l'm not a child! I grew up faster than other people, I didn't need a stupid stuffed toy!"

Suddenly the dream went black and eight year old Y/n was standing right in front of Neytiri with cuts and marks on her hand from training so long as tears were falling down her eyes...

Jake's speeches about her having to ‘win’ and be perfect could be heard in the background as Y/n slowly went down to her knees that were already marked up from crawling and hunting in small spaces.

“…please look at me! I'm begging you mama! Don't stop being my mother!"

The yelling of Jake got louder as he began walking towards them and picking up Y/n dragging her away while she struggled to get out of his grip to reach her mother.

"Mama?"

Y/n's cries for help was disoriented like it was hurting her to speak

"Mama, no! Please! Please I’m tired! No more training! No!Stop this please! Stop it now!"

Then it was over.

For the first time ever, Neytiri woke up in sweat..her body was heated and she felt ill, turning over and running out the home to throw up..

After awhile she just sat and thought..thinking about the reason as to why her nightmare had y/n with wreaked hand so much that blood was coming out from the deep cuts...

Neytiri looked around for her eldest wondering if she could take care of Tuk for a moment and when she did find Y/n…her heart shattered into pieces.

She saw a site of Y/n shooting her arrow repeatedly, quickly beating her speed every time landing precisely..but at what cost? Y/n had a hitched breath as she felt the blood drop down from her fingers that were cut from hours of practice against the bow’s string.

That’s the first time Neytiri realized her child was ok in hurting herself if it meant she’d get her fathers approval

“Y/n!”

The teenager immediately put down her bow, hiding her hands behind her back, sending a smile to her mother

“Show me.”

“..what?”

“Show me.”

Y/n’s heart panicked at the thought of her mother finding out the overworked hours she does for training..instructions straight from her father

“You hurt yourself? Show me. Now.”

The teenager looks down slowly pulling out her hands in defeat..this was normal wasn’t it..? Training like this was normal?..

Neytiri knew Y/n’s thoughts..she knew it was implented in her mind that doing this was normal. However if Y/n felt it was normal … why hide it? Unless she felt slightly guilty..

It’s very true. Y/n felt guilty…not because she trained herself into bleeding..no not that. She felt guilty because no matter the hours she does..she’ll never be perfect and she was scared her mother would think it’s pathetic.

“how long have you been doing that?”

“Mom, I don’t want you to cry. I’m ok-“

“I don’t understand?! Why? Why would you do that to yourself? Is it me? Is it because of me?”

“No mother of course not-“

“Is it your father? He’s hard on you, I know that. I tried to keep you from it! I’ve tried to protect you. I’ve only ever wanted to protect you!”

“Please mother, it’s not because of that, I’m just training and I bleed by accident.”

Neytiri knew there was no changing Y/n mindset. She was so stuck on it being normal that…it was considered and accident.

“My beautiful girl…my special miracle baby girl…why? Why would you do that?”

“…i didn’t mean to…i wanted to stop but I need to get better mother-“

Neytiri got up to hug her child that was holding in tears seeing her mother cry

“…i am so sorry that i missed this…I’m just so sorry Y/n for everything..give it to me. Ok? You give all that pain and stress to me. I Can handle it…”

Y/n struggled to hold in tears in her mothers arms feeling overwhelmed...

See…a mothers love was like no other. Y/n was absolutely broken, and Neytiri broke with her knowing there was not much she can do for the damage was already done..

Jake listened to the wind blow knowing his wife was outside..his heart hurt. His “strong heart” felt empty and broken..he and Y/n had a strong relationship when they were younger ..something like he had with Kiri and tuk now. Yet he failed to maintain it because he was too stupid to notice how he was overworking his kid.

His heart had some kind of longing that he wished he was able to fix if he has just listened to Neytiri soon..if only he had just let her finish the heart breaking story of Y/n training so hard she’d hurt herself..

Neytiri’s pleads started when she noticed her husband walking out the home at the usual training time.

“No Jake you can’t! You cannot do this to her! Please stop training.”

Jake couldn’t hear it anymore, not when he knew Y/n was slacking and sleeping at their training spot waiting for him…exhaustion and for what? She never trained…or at least that’s what he believed.

“Neytiri please. Stop. You will not prevent her from practicing. She needs to get better-“

Jake turned his back to Neytiri waving off a hand like he was telling her ‘whatever.’

“Jake! You walk out that door and make our daughter train one more time today and I will not. hesitate to take our children tonight..you can decide the rest.”

Her husband turned harshly to Neytiri’s threats. He figured if he just listened to her for a little then she’d give up on whatever fight she was holding against him so Y/n couldn’t go to practice.

“…I can’t sit by and watch this destroy my child anymore. You can’t steal her passion. You can’t steal her self confidence. My lines been crossed. Your approval isn’t worth it for her and it’s definitely not for me.”

Jake closed his eyes in order to calm himself and settled on the fact that Y/n wouldn’t practice…at least not today.

Seeing Y/n happy during her younger days felt like a fever dream and her death plays over and over in his head…he wished and wished on a shooting star that he can relive the moments they shared before she passed…they were supposed to go flying the next day..the day she died.

The reason why Jake wanted to make Y/n strong and fearless was because he saw the fear in her eyes at a young age…so much desire to travel the forest but absolutely shaken up by a moment they both were vulnerable in..

Typically they were never in the dangerous areas but Y/n had wondered off and Jake found her in a ship that was once used for the old war against the sky people.

“Y/n what are you doing here?! You are not allowed in these areas do you read me?!”

The child gently tugged her father in the large abandoned ship, ignoring his instructions…at this time she was just 4.

“Sully’s stick together daddy! That means you have to follow me!”

The young girl giggled while Jake admired the child who was amazed by the ship but he knew it was only a matter of time before they must go.

“This was used during the war..”

Y/n didn’t quite understand what that meant but the warrior equipment always amazed her.

“…ok we should get going kid-“

A thantor had rushed in head first straight to the ship and Y/n’s shrieking could be heard..her fear and the thantor could smell it.

Her terror gave it more energy as it shook the ship again and Jake held onto Y/n, looking everywhere to escape.

That was until the Thantor hit the ship so hard both of their heads hit into a thick material and they passed out.

10 minutes had past and the thantor wasn’t giving up..Y/n had woke up before Jake. Her heart skipped a beat seeing its claws finally break through the thick metal. She immediately shook her father, searching for his protection.

“Daddy? Hey. Hey!”

That moment was absolutely horrifying, she didn’t know if her father was even alive from the hit…it was all her fault.

“…what?”

Jake woke up deranged confused and forgotten on his surroundings..

“Get back baby, get back.”

Y/n closed her eyes and curled into herself while Jake stabbed at the claws of the animal harming it, making it easier to kill with a bullet. He went through the other side and when he saw Y/n..saw the way she cried, how her body shook, the silent and muffled whimpers from her covering her mouth…it was enough to make him upset. He was mortified.

“I’m here baby! Cmon! Let’s go now.”

Y/n couldn’t move…Jake couldn’t snap her out of it..she almost died, and for a small moment she believed her father died.

Eclipse approached right in that moment and Jake’s fear for Y/n grew larger…

“You have to be strong Y/n…cmon let’s go now! It’s dark and more creatures are coming.”

His patience was running up while he heard raspy howls like the ones he met on his first night in the forest and that’s when adrenaline rushed through him..he didn’t even realize the bruise and blood forming on her small leg from hitting into the ships wall.

His arm reached out for her but Y/n put him to a stop

“I can’t! I can’t! My leg hurts! Daddy help me!”

Jake yanked her up and pulled her over his shoulder as he ran through the forest all, he thought about was how it was his fault she didn’t know how it was in the real world.

Jake had never seen that type of fear ever again…not until her last moments.…inside she was screaming, feared, holding those same exact eyes as she did when she was younger…

Yes, her parents had a difficult time..but there was a particular sibling who stayed up listening to the way his mother rapid movements to get fresh air out the house or the way his father had a hitched breathing … the same one Y/n had during her last breaths..almost like he was unintentionally mimicking it while he thought about her death.

Neteyam was Y/n’s closest sibling. He knew never to poke her, interrupt her during training or question her all the time the way Lo’ak did. Y/n understood where Neteyam stood perfectly..the younger sibling the second eldest who took at least a small portion of the blame when it came to Lo’ak and the rest of the kids troubles…but now he was the eldest and there was a small fear of him having the same pressure and weight Y/n had.

He’ll never forget watching his parents clean her body..seeing how his father could no longer hide his emotions, sobbing. He will never forget the way Neytiri held Y/n’s face begging for her eyes to open and look up at her again.

Neteyam knew her death traumatized him but not the way it did to his younger brother. Neteyam turned to Lo’ak hearing him shift repeatedly in his sleep as his hands curled in creating a grip…

Lo’ak couldn’t sleep properly not without Y/n’s death replying in his head…while he slept his body would repeat the same actions it did when he was holding down to Y/n’s wounds absolutely disassociated. Lo’ak was the only one who saw her hidden in the forest when he heard her calling. It was obvious to him that it was no longer her, something took over her…she wasn’t thinking clearly..not when she saw them tied up. When she died he didn’t even bother cleaning the clothes that had her blood on it..he threw it out. As much as he teased Y/n..Lo’ak loved her and that was his way of showing it. Mean? Yes. But nothing would get through Y/n, no matter how much small comments he made it never made her realize how she needed to get loose and forget her fathers instructions every once and awhile.

His teasing never stopped Y/n from doing the same, there was rare moments but she’d alway get back at him with a joke. Surprisingly Y/n was the funniest out of everyone, she didn’t say much either but when she did it made everyone laugh. The way the two siblings joked was their love language to each other…

Kiri and Y/n had a very different relationship from the two boys who she spent most of her time with. Kiri had very few moments when Y/n was vulnerable with her but she saw right thought her.

all she wanted was to have everything her siblings had..

not expecting to be perfect all the time.

being able to mess up.

being comforted when messing up.

being able to forget training.

never thinking their father is going to hate them.

not expecting to win all the time.

not seeing everything as a competition.

Kiri understood Y/n fully, she got upset at her father every time he made her cry. In fact Kiri always cheered her mother on when she defended Y/n. Even In the toughest moments Y/n didn’t cry…she was seen as perfect. A tough strong girl. Is she though? Is she as strong as she poses to be? She isn’t. She isn’t allowed to show her emotions because she will be seen as weak. But from Kiri’s point of view Y/n was very independent, she admired it. The clan considered Kiri strange since the day she was born but Y/n made sure no body would get to her.

All three siblings always wanted to beat the ‘favorite child’ but it wasn’t until now they realized Y/n was just who got caught in the crossfire of their parents fear of losing their child. There was a reason why her parents put so much pressure on her and it’s because she was their first child, she made Neytiri a mother and made Jake more responsible. They obviously didn’t know weather their choice for her were wrong or right, but in those moments it felt necessary, they believed if they made her strong she’d protect herself and the family.

Tuk however…she didn’t see Y/n as the favorite…maybe she was her favorite sibling! But she was not her fathers favorite or her mothers favorite. Tuk never quite understood her parents relationship with Y/n, thought she never paid any attention to it. The little girl did know that she got annoyed anytime she was yelled at and would still take the blame…In the background of y/n’s punishment you can hear Tuk’s little voice telling her father she didn’t do anything wrong! Tuk never failed to make Y/n laugh and they’d have the best time when Y/n took care of her..

Both sisters, Kiri and Tuk laid in Y/n’s hammock that night. They were tucked and tangled in the same way they were when they witnessed Y/n die. Sometimes the memories play quickly out of nowhere in their head..they would see the panicked looked on everyone faces..hear Y/n’s hushed words.. see the damp soil soaked in their sisters blood.

The entire family was hurt by her death but they knew one thing that Y/n always made clear.

“Sully’s stick together”

!💞!

Tag list: @noodlesfics @eywas-heir @itshype @zatarias-pandora @yeosxxx @arminsgfloll @tsireyak @neteyamforlife @aimsro @elegantkidfansoul @goodiesinthecloset21 @nikotokitaswife @bucky1235 @detectivesparrow @kikosaurscave @ssc7514 @simp-erformarvelwomen @eirianna @ambria @im-in-a-pansexual-panik @lv9su @luciddasher @dakotali @httpjiikook @tainted-artist4161 @fanboyluvr @bat1212 @mxn14 @innersuitcasehairdoscissors @ducks118 @midnightliacr @osakis-gf @onetwo123three @briannalarae @thirsty4nonlivingmen @historygeekqueen @abbersreads @eskamybeloved @hoodiepandaninja16 @valovesyou @silentlyswimming @r3dc4ndy @onlytays @papichulo120627 @tsamiaxo @wwwellacom @dotheyevenknowmars @midgetpottermills @he110hon @kodzukenwhore @minkyungseokie @sophiasleeps

#angst #jake sully x reader #neteyam x reader #loak x reader #neteyam sully #neytiri sully #sully family x reader #avatar loak #avatar the way of water #sully family x daughter reader

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mukuberry · 9 months

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This voting period really just feels like im watching a bunch of people force a gay man back in the closet

I know thats not people's intentions but literally how else is he going to take this guilty vote. "I just don't want him to think his lying was okay" he doesn't! And he's not going to think that! He's actively trying to stop lying! All guiltying him will do is tell him he should have kept lying and continuing his relationship!!

"I just want him to have some kind of consequence for what he's done" Was Hinako literally dying not enough??? Sure, he didn't love her, but he still LIKED her. They were friends, they lived together, he married her because he WANTED to love her! He is literally drowning in guilt because of her death, I think he's had enough consequences by now. He might not be wearing his ring anymore, but he still carries it with him, he is very clearly still grieving her death.

"Innocent votes have no effect on him" Yes they will!! It didn't do anything last time because we forgave him for the wrong reasons and because he absolutely hates himself. Assuming we're right about him being gay, which I'm pretty confident we are, having his 'true' self validated rather than his fake one will 100% have a bigger effect on him this time. Guiltying him will only make his self-hate worse and show him that only his false self is forgivable, so he should keep lying to be accepted.

I know most people's intentions are not to make him keep lying, but regardless of whatever intention you have, it doesn't matter how you want him to take it, you can not ignore how he will actually take it.

#milgram #kazui mukuhara #this was just meant to be a mini-rant but it turned semi serious so im maintagging :<#ik im just shouting into the void at this point but watching his vote go down is stressing me out;;#as always feel free to tell me im wrong ♡ i would love to talk to someone who wants to guilty him #ive seen a few ppl mention the album art as a reason to guilty him as well #i dont have too much to say on that but milgram also pushed us to forgive kotoko and look how that went #just because they're potentially trying to push us to guilty him doesn't mean thats the 'correct' option

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citruscatfish · 2 months

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one of the reasons why i downloaded tumbler — my ace attorney phase. i have feeling that nobody except tumbler ace attorney fandom are still alive

recently i watched great video about Franziska by @musashi and whole 2 hours i was like "YES YES SOMEBODY TALKED ABOUT IT THEY SAID EXACTLY WHAT I TRYING TO EXPLAIN TO ALL MY FRIENDS FOR THIS YEAR Y E S"

and well i think it's my turn to talk about Manfred. because i like this moron. before you ask me wtf let me explain: miles made unforgivable, stupid, aggressive and childish stuff. nobody can grew up in awful condition and become clearly good person. i like him because of his ambiguity. all fandom likes him. but i don't understand why everyone hate Manfred so easy

of course we don't know enough about him, his past, his relationship with family (i mean wife, for example). we only have different headcanons about how he raised miles and 'ziska. but.. it's strange for me why everyone accept so fast that "he is a villain, he is murderer, he must die, forget about him"

first of all, he is prosecutor, lawyer. probably hereditary. me too (seriously), and I saw mean, authoritative people, who can't communicate with their family well, but.. they still love them. you know, all that stuff about justice will settle in your soul forever, when you see courtroom, when you talk with other lawyers (your parents colleagues) from early childhood. you will never forget it, it's part of your life from the beginning. you can be mean, you can make awful mistakes, but you will remember. and probably your parents will press you with all this perfectionism, aesthetic, study and lawyer dynasty stuff. same as Manfred has been pressed, same as he pressed his children later

of course Manfred worked for victory, not only for justice. but i can't believe he did it because he e v i l. maybe he is just like miles in his youngest carrier because of demanding teacher and loathing to criminals? that's why he thought his children same stuff. he was just.. doing his duties. prosecutor must blame someone. somebody must get punished. death, especially violent, is always tragedy. relatives of victim are waiting for explanation, for punishment. it's so painful

next thing: Manfred is old. and he has toddler, and this toddler has noone exept Manfred, her father. i agree that Manfred could take miles because "ah look at me i adopted my rival's boy cause i'm SO generous and obviously NOT guilty ", but how about more reasons? another one child is always lots of work: money, school, adoption documents, this child also has a dog, so it's headache about vet, passport for transportation it to Germany, then dirt and maybe bitten furniture, food for both of them and more, more, more. we can see in anime, that Manfred allowed to take dog too. and by the way, he agreed to raise miles as prosecutor (he didn't force him), he helped him. quite possibly he gave him great education. Manfred understood, that Franziska need someone, who can protect and support her when he leaves her. he also can write it in testament

and how about AAI flashback? Manfred was ready to stay with miles during his first court. he discussed with him details before the beginning. he argued with detective to allow miles and 'ziska get to crime scene. he appointed them to investigate (no one of them asked about it directly, they were shocked and tried their best)

i think Manfred just another traumatized step of long von Karma dynasty. remember how Franziska hug herself when you press her against the wall? compare it to Manfred sprites. he is so self-defensive, when he loses control. controling everything around him — the only thing he can do now, when he became "that smart old person with lots of subordinates". and then Franziska remembered that and trying to repeat. i believe Manfred can be good in little things, he capable to love. i think he literally gone mad with understanding of what he has done on emotions and everyday pain, which reminds about that day

that's enough for first time, thanks for reading and sorry for my eng — it's my first non-translsted from native language text. waiting for your thoughts about it! this is my bf's art, he has no Tumblr, but tg https://t.me/bjdsketch

#ace attorney #manfred von karma #miles edgeworth #franziska von karma #headcanon #art #artists on tumblr

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thecinematicwriter · 11 months

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Stop, This Is So Embarrassing!

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: You would do anything to attend a Formula 1 race week-end. Turns out, your mother's friend worked with the Formula PR team and got you some free passes to the Canada's Grand Prix. You still had to study though :(

Sneek peak: "God, I love when you say my name in french." He confessed right before the bartender gave you two your order. "I love talking to you in french." You said while maintaining the eye contact.

A/N: As a fellow canadian I couldn't be more excited for this week's race! And I still have to study for some exams so... come read a dream piece of my life I guess:) Warning: There is a lot of laughing in this fanfic(sorry in advance).

You were sitting quietly in the place your mom's friend said you could hang. Nothing could bother you there she had said. She had been the kindest human being there could exist. First she had offered you a free pass for the Grand Prix after your mother mentioned you were a huge fan, then she promised you to a private spot where only the drivers were allowed when you told her you needed to multitask and study for your test that was coming. Not one driver was here right now because it was only paddock visiting day and it was a good thing for you not to be distracted. They would only be coming in the afternoon to say hello to the fans. The only reason you were here today was for your mom to catch up with her friend and you took a walk around the track before starting your study session. As expected it was death. Learning all those different things by heart was excruciating, but then you could work in what you loved. It was a huge perk of why you were doing it... no kidding.

"Hello?" Somebody was here and that made your eyes look away from your notes. "I'm sorry to bother you, you look very occupied... but I was wondering if this was the driver's hang out spot?" Lando Norris. You couldn't believe your eyes. That is exactly why you were staring at him like a culprit found guilty. "Hum- Yeah. Yeah! Sorry... I can leave if you're more comfortable without a fan here." You started gathering your stuff only for him to come close to you and lay his hand on your notes. "A fan, huh?" He laughed at your nervous state and you nodded dumb founded. "Well... no. Actually, I would quite like the company. if you don't mind me bothering your...studying?" He sat in the chair in front of yours and that made you sit back down. "Yes. It's studying. And I wouldn't mind at all." You said eagerly, which made the driver laugh even more. You laughed with him this time. "I am so sorry. I tend to be clumsy with my delivering of words." You said looking him straight in the eyes. "Don't apologies, it's refreshing from all the other drivers. They always are too confident in what they say, I believe." You smiled at Lando and he had a confused face. "Wouldn't that make you a cocky speaker too? You are a driver." He laughed once again. "I guess so... But at least I'm not afraid to say I am." You both started laughing like little kids and only stopped when he asked you a question. "So what are you studying? And why here of all places?"

Your conversation seemed to have lasted forever when the one and only Oscar Piastri entered the room. "Hey, Lando!-" he stopped talking when you came in his view. "Who is that?" He asked while walking towards your table. "I just met her. Y-N, meet you know who." You waved shyly feeling like you were not in your place. Oscar simply smiled at you warmingly. "You know who?! You introduce me to your new friend that way?" He shoved Lando's shoulder while taking a chair to sit with you both. "Ouch! She already knows who you are, prick!" he said faking his offense. "Yeah... I am a huge fan of you all." You explained and laughed at their antics. Oscar was impressed. "Us all? No preference? That's the first time I hear that from a fan. Normally girls prefer Charles or Lewis." You laughed at his statement and he joined you. " Oh don't get me wrong, I do have a preference in looks... But to me you work all the same effort to be here and when it comes to the actual race, I support each and everyone one of the drivers." The boys were now interested. You were the nicest fan they had both met and they couldn't get enough of what you had to say next. "Do tell! Who's your racing daddy?" Your face cringed at what Lando had called a F1 crush. "Don't ever say that again, mate." Oscar shared your embarrassment. After an awkward silence you all started laughing. "Oh god. You guys are so kind. I felt so out of place being in the only place you had privacy, but you don't seem to mind. Thank you, I guess." They looked at you and simply nodded. "Well it's not hard to enjoy your company." Lando said smiling at you and you slightly blushed. You were so used to people telling you you were too much so this was the best feeling ever. "If I say it though, I'm afraid I'll disappoint you. I am a basic one I fear." You exhaled dramatically to joke around. "Stop it! You are a Lewis girl aren't you..." Oscar matched your dramatics. "No... It's Charles for me." Oscar and Lando looked at each other and smiled. "What?" They looked back at you and smirked. "Why do you like him so much? Do tell." You sighed and smiled to yourself. "Well for starters, he speaks french as his first language, like me. Then he is so passionate about everything, his family, racing and so much more, from what the internet shows me at least. And it helps that he is like really good looking. Charles Leclerc for the win... I can't believe I am talking to Lando Norris and Oscar Piastri about this, God!" Your laugh got stopped by a familiar voice. The one you listened to more times you'd like to admit after each race.

"I like how you say my name. Thank you by the way, you really did me good." Your eyes grew tenfold when you realized who heard you talking like this. "Oh mon dieu. (Oh my god.)" You hid behind your hands while the boys in front of you broke out in the loudest laughter. "I am so sorry. God, this is so embarrassing!" You said and felt your cheeks redden. "Y-N, don't be like this. Charles was just teasing you... Get out of there." Lando said between giggles. When you took your hands off your face, you saw how close Charles had gotten. "And who might this Y-N be?" Charles said looking at you. "Hey... I'm simply a random fan-" "She's not random. Don't be modest... She is amazing! We've been talking for the past hour and I am about to ask her her instagram." Oscar said while getting his phone out from his back pocket. "Really?!" You asked surprised. Lando also got his phone out to get your instagram handle. "Of course. We're practically besties after what you confessed." Lando joked and you laughed, again. "Way to make an impression. Can I sit here?" You angled your face towards the Ferrari driver now even closer to you than before. You soon realized he was talking about the chair right beside you. "Don't be shy." You told him with a warm smile and he laughed. "That's rich coming from the woman who just hid behind her hands." He sat down and chuckled. "I guess you're right." You giggled along. And that is when Charles looked directly in your eyes. "So what is it?" You broke your gaze from Charles' and looked at Lando. "I'm sorry, what?" The drivers all laughed. "I think they want your instagram account. Ne les fait pas attendre, ça serait cruelle!(Don't make them wait, it would be cruel!)" He dramatized his sentences which made you smile like a little kid. "Oh yeah... Sorry, here." You took your phone out and showed them your account. "No way! You are studying in (your choice of study)!" They all looked at what Oscar was showing from your profile and Charles got his phone out. "This is so cool!" Lando exclaimed. "You were studying for that weren't you? You nodded and blushed from all the attention you were receiving.

You continued talking for a while longer before they all received a message saying it was time for them to go make their entrance for the week-end. "Oh I completely forgot we had that! So sorry Y-N... I hope we can see you again this week-end! I'll text you the info and put you in the guest list for our parties this race week-end. If that's okay with you of course?" Oscar explained while they all got up. "Are you crazy? Who would pass up the opportunity to party with F1 drivers that know how to make someone feel welcomed?! Count me in!" They all smiled. "Perfect, one of us will send you the info!" You all bid your goodbyes and went your separate ways.

That night before going to sleep, you were looking at the three notification that said Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri and Charles Leclerc started following you when your notifications went off.

Charles Leclerc: Hello, Y-N! It was nice meeting you! I hope to see you at the parties the boy will send you the info for. I want to talk to you some more. (In the hopes of not freaking you out.)

You found it cute how Charles wrote his text.

You: Hey, mister Leclerc! I had even more fun than you during our long talk I might bet! Of course I'll come. It would be my pleasure to engage a conversation with you again! (I freaked you out from the beginning, don't worry.)

You hit send and left the chat only for your phone to buzz not even a minute later. God, that was fast.

Charles: Ça fait bizarre de texter de façon si formel. Mais, ça fait du bien. (It's weird to text in this formal way. But, it's refreshing.)

You: Toute a fait d'accord.(I agree.)

The night of the final race

Lando: You're still coming tonight like last night?

You: Ofc! I'll be there in an hour... I finally finished studying for my exam on tuesday!

Lando: Let's go! See you later then!

You: See ya!

You left home after choosing the perfect outfit (plus sized - skinny, mid-sized) you felt all the nerves from this week-end leave your body. There was no reason for you to be anxious when you made friends with three of the drivers and had great talk with the rest of them. Once you arrived at the party location, you texted Lando telling him you were there. You went inside and looked around you, mesmerized by the fancy decoration. Your lovestruck face was interrupted by Oscar. "Hey! Y-N! Come, the boys are in the back." You followed Oscar after telling him he looked great and he returned the compliment. "Everyone, Y-N's here!" Everyone cheered which made you flustered. How had you simply studying in a private hang out area turned into this? You still couldn't believe it. Lando came up and kissed both your cheeks and you gave him a hug. "Congrats on podium! Once again!" You congratulated him with a huge smile plastered on your face. "Do you mean I had to get podium to receive this greeting?" Charles arrived next to you two and you laughed. "Maybe..." You shrugged your shoulders. He got closer to you to make sure you could hear him over the loud music that was blaring in the VIP section. "Red? You wanted to surprise me or do you have a preference for my team mate?" He whispered so you only could hear.

When you opened your eyes, Charles' were still closed but he adorned a content smile on his lips. When he finally opened them, you pecked him once again and you both smiled like two teenagers experiencing their first love. This was bound to be a great experience... or more?

Charles had flirted with you for the entire week-end and you played right into his act. "I wouldn't dare show up in red for someone other than you Leclerc." You said turning you face towards his that was right beside yours. That resulted in your lips being dangerously close. "Good to know. I wore black because I didn't know what your favorite color was." He joked. You laughed hard at that. "Good to know." You gave him a taste of his own medicine which made him smile. "Suis-moi? (Follow me?)" You nodded at his request and he took you to the bar. "What do you want to drink?" "Nothing with alcohol... I want to stay clean for my exam, even if it's in two days." You over explained. "So, what do you want to drink?" Charles asked once more. "Oh, sorry..." You turned to the bartender and ordered a cranberry juice. "I tend to babble when I'm nervous." You said sheepishly. "Than be nervous more often, it's cute." You looked at him and tried to retain your laugh while Charles realized what he had just said. "God! Non, ne sois pas nerveuse... Je voulais simplement te dire que c'est mignon quand tu parles comme ça.(God! No, don't be nervous... I just wanted to say that it's cute when you talk that way.)" He hid behind his hands, his cheeks red under the already red lights of the private club. "C'est correct, Charles.(It's okay, Charles.)" You took his hands off of his face and he looked straight into your eyes. It was your turn to turn red. "God, I love when you say my name in french." He confessed right before the bartender gave you two your order. "I love talking to you in french." You said while maintaining the eye contact. "Ah oui? C'est bon a savoir. (Oh Yes? It's good to know.)" He got closer to you and you leaned in also. "Tu es vraiment beau, Charles. Je sais que tout le monde doivent te le dire, mais ils ont raison.(You're truly handsome , Charles. I know everyone must tell you, but they are right.)" You looked at him and focused on his eyes. "C'est encore mieux lorsque ça vient de toi. Tu es encore plus magnifique, Y-N.(it's even better coming from you when it's coming from you. You are ven more beautiful, Y-N.)" He took your jaw in his left hand and smiled at you earnestly. "Kiss me?" You asked, hopping for a positive answer. "I thought you would never ask." He said and took the opportunity. You never understood when people said the world around you faded if the kiss was good enough, but Charles made you feel like that. Like there was only you and the brunet boy present in the club and the music was only a background sound to your love story.

Want to know what happens next? Comment , like and reblog for me to write a second part!

#thecinematicwriter #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x female reader #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc x you #F1 #f1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic

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