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cloudenthusiast2 · 3 years

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To be a human - Scaramouche x reader - Part 7 (Final)

You knew committing to a relationship with Scaramouche would be no easy task but you loved him dearly and unlike others, you believed he wasn't evil. But as a mortal and the devoted protector of your village you were too much of a good person, too much of a human compared to him and your differences slowly start to show.

Previous: Part 6

Length: 4000 words

Trigger warnings: blood, mentions of loss

A. note: Scaramouche is my favourite character in the game and I really love him. But I couldn't help and feel awful when he said those words in Inazuma. Look, I don't think that Mihoyo is gonna let the huge opportunity slip and not make him playable (for which we need to have at least a tiny bit of friendship with him and well, right now mc straight up hates him) but in case that does happen, in case he doesn't get a redemption arc, I made one myself. I wrote this to redeem him in my own, and hopefully your eyes as well. I hope you enjoyed reading this story of that little bastard as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It was fair to say that Scaramouche was stunned by the sight of the local people.

Certainly not because he suddenly grew fond of them. It was rather because the way they appeared out of blue when little Yu gave them a sign. She let out three short whistles and the forest came to life in front of the harbinger.

Old men and woman, little children and whole families walked towards them. It was clear even for Scaramouche that they looked uneasy and hostile. They surely wouldn’t have appeared in front of the fatui if it wasn’t for Yu.

The sixth harbinger was astonished.

Because they would trust someone, especially a child so much.

Because there were so many of them.

He counted the people walking towards Yu. Way more than he’d thought there would be.

These people were injured, dirty and exhausted. But they were alive. And all because of one person.

‘Impressive’ he thought to himself.

Yu talked to them, explaining why the fatui was there and promising that they’re not in danger any more. The people seemed less at ease in his presence now but the harbinger still felt the piercing gazes. If looks could’ve killed he would have been dead in an instant.

He knew they all blamed him for the things that had happened. Maybe they even thought he was the one who made the abbys attack their village.

But Scaramouche got used to these types of glances during the years and he did not care about them any more. All that mattered was that they were able to help.

He stood behind little Yu who was still clinging onto her doll. Scaramouche stared at the bloodstains on the toy as she asked the people of Qingce to help find you.

The thought to promise them money crossed his mind but the instantly threw it away. He just somehow felt that it would be very wrong.

These people won’t help him because he can pay them. They won’t help because Yu asked them to either. They will help because you had been guarding them for years.

Mentioning your name caused them to stir up, to get loud and the all of a sudden the whole crowd was ready to go and search in the mountains.

It was obvious how much they loved and respected you. Maybe even more than Scaramouche used to, he realized.

Yu turned to him and nodded.

‘I think we can go now.’

‘How are you going to search everything?’ the harbinger asked as he crouched down to the child. It wasn’t needed since he wasn’t much taller than her but it felt like the right thing to do.

Yu’s eyes wandered to the hat. She reached out and gently touched it.

Scaramouche normally would’ve ended the person who messed with his hat but when the child did it, he somehow felt no urge to do so.

‘It’s because so many people are watching’ he explained to himself. But it still felt a bit weird not being annoyed.

He cleared his throat so Yu would focus on him again.

‘We know this place well’ she answered, letting her arms fall back to her side. ‘We will split up and warn each other if we find something.’

‘My people are out too.’

‘Then call them back.’

The harbinger glared at the child. She really was fearless, wasn’t she, huh. First touching his hat and now disrespecting the fatui.

‘You know…’ he crossed his brows as he began to speak but Yu quickly cut him off.

‘Everyone is afraid of them. And they’ll just be in the way. They don’t know the mountains, do they?’

Scaramouche clenched his teeth together. But he had to admit that the girl was right.

He stood up and walked towards the agents standing by a nearby bridge. They were there since the people appeared to make sure they don’t try to do anything to their harbinger.

He gestured to bring them closer then stood and crossed his arms.

‘First, I want to know how a big group of fatui agents were unable to find anyone when there was a whole village hiding in the forest’ he questioned them with a glare.

The agents were bowing already but now they bowed even deeper.

‘F-forgive us, our lord!’ a pyro agent answered. ‘They’re locals and we…’

‘Spare your apologies, I don’t care.’

Scaramouche closed his eyes for a moment and let out a sigh. He really didn’t care, he only snapped at them to let out a little frustration.

‘Call back everyone from the mountains. And let these people do what they want. Anyone who disturbs them in any way shall be punished.’

‘But my lord…’

‘Do as I say!’

Scaramouche turned his back to them and the agents hurried away. He watched as the people of Qingce split up and began their search in the forest, around the destroyed village.

He looked up to the mountains. Clouds hid the most of them, they were so huge, so high. And there were so many places you could be.

Was is it even possible that you were alive?

Scaramouche never lied to himself and this was the first time he wanted to. He simply just didn’t want to accept the small chances of finding you. He wanted to feel hope.

‘You better be alive, Y/n’ he muttered to himself. ‘For your own sake.’

For his sake.

‘Have you taken a look around in that cave too?’

‘I haven’t but I can go if…’

‘Stay.’

Scaramouche climbed to the cave and looked into the hole. It was smaller than it seemed from below and inside it there was absolutely nothing.

He quietly let himself down. He jumped on a bigger stone on the path under him, the bells violently jingling on his hat.

Little Yu asked nothing. It was obvious from the harbinger’s expression that he found nothing.

The air began to feel a little chilly in the mountains. The sun was getting ready to go down and let the moon take its place.

They’ve spent their whole day with searching. They’ve found absolutely nothing so far.

There were a lot of traces left behind the abbys order and the monsters. It was also clear that the fight continued outside of the village as well. Corpses of dead monsters bordered the narrow paths.

But your body was nowhere to be find.

Scaramouche looked up to the sky. The first star had already appeared. And with that, their last piece of hope started to slip away.

‘We haven’t looked there yet.’

The harbinger snapped out of his dark thoughts and glanced at the child in front of him. She pointed at a smaller mountain nearby.

‘That’s very far away from the village’ Scaramouche claimed. ‘We’d be just wasting our time.’

‘Then where do you want me to go?’ Yu asked.

The man let out a sigh. She was right, they’ve already looked through every bush and searched every rock on this mountain.

He started walking towards the other one without saying anything, and Yu silently followed him.

In the valley below them, lots of figures were moving and changing places. The locals still haven’t given up even though it was getting colder and darker with every passing moment.

A red dot appeared. Then another. They started lighting torches.

Scaramouche felt like choking. He touched his throat and fastened his steps.

He tried to banish the horrifying thoughts from his head but his desperate tries were unsuccessful.

You’re dead. They’re only going to find a cold body and not you. You’re dead and it is his fault.

He shook his head to quiet the voices and to get back into focusing on his search.

This made him realize that he hadn’t seen little Yu in a while. Scaramouche stopped and turned his head to check on the girl.

She was behind him a few meters away. Her movements were too slow to keep up with the harbinger’s.

‘Are you coming or not?’ The man growled at her. ‘Hurry up.’

‘Sorry…’ She was out of breath, quietly panting. ‘You can leave me behind. I know I’m just slowing you down.’

Scaramouche rose his brows at the young child who was not even tall enough to reach the ground from a bigger rock. Was she really that aware? What should he do now? Just leave her here? He was willing to do that, to be honest. The sun was about to completely disappear.

Yu grabbed the side of the rock. She let her feet down, trying to get down safely but she was too tired – the little girl stumbled and fell.

Scaramouche didn’t even realize he was reaching out – but a moment later he found himself holding the child in his own arms.

They stared at each other, the sixth Fatui Harbinger and the kid from Liyue. It was impossible to tell who was more surprised, the one holding or the one being held.

But it was the man who found his voice first.

‘Don’t think I’m gonna carry you like this to the other mountain.’

‘I didn’t think that’ she answered quietly.

Scaramouche cleared his throat and opened his lips. But before any other words could’ve come out of his mouth, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

They both jerked their heads up.

The sound was coming from below, south to the village.

The whistle was repeated – two short, two long ones.

‘They’ve found her’ Yu said.

Scaramouche had no memories of how he got down from the top of the mountain.

All he remembered was the crazy pace of his heartbeat. The darkness invading his head. That terrific feeling clenching his heart, incredible, deep fear he’s never experienced before.

There were many people standing in his way in front of a big cave. He pushed them away as he rushed to get closer.

It was dark. Everyone stood with a torch in their hands. He heard the whispers but the words were incomprehensiblenext to the loud beating of his own heart. There were figures but they were blurry, everything was blurry…

Until he saw you.

You were laying on the ground. Your body completely still, your chest not rising nor sinking. Your clothes torn, bloody.

There was so much blood.

He stumbled and fell on his knees in front of you. A local turned to him and spoke but he understood nothing. His hand was shaking as he reached out to touch you.

You were… cold.

He forgot how to breathe and just stared down at your body. Your messy hair hid your face and that just didn’t feel right.

Why was this happening?!

Everything was supposed to become alright after they’ve found you!

How dare you be dead, how dare you not wake up to his touch, to his wishes, to all wishes around you…!

‘Balladeer!’

He snapped out of the blurriness when someone grabbed his arm. An old lady with a serious look tried to pull him back.

‘Let go of me!’ he hissed, pushing her away. He groaned when the grip became stronger instead on his arm. Pain in his heart and body blinded him as he shouted. ‘I said, let go of me or else…’

‘Please stay out of the way of my people’ the lady asked in a calm tone. ‘She needs serious help.’

‘What help can you provide when she’s dead?!’ he screamed at her in a hoarse voice. ‘You stay away from her!’

‘Please calm down. Y/n is not dead… yet.’

Scaramouche slowly closed his eyes. The words echoed in his head.

She’s not dead. She’s not dead. She’s not dead. Yet.

He took a deep, shaking breath. The cold air in his lungs cooled him off a little.

You were alive. But also, only barely. He finally understood what that meant. But he couldn’t let himself feel any relief nor fear…

He was a harbinger, he was part of the Fatui under the rule of the almighty Tsaritsa. He was Scaramouche, the Balladeer who simply could not allow himself to show any vulnerability in front of mere mortals.

Even if it was about you.

Even if he wasn’t the same person any more.

‘Bring a healer’ he said in a lower tone.

‘We don’t have any vision bearers among us’ the lady answered. ‘But we’ll do everything to keep her alive.’

Scaramouche nodded and stood up. It took a lot of strength to tear his eyes from you but he forced himself to do it and turned around.

‘Alert my people and tell them to give you all that you need’ he told the locals as he fixed his hat. ‘Tents, medicine, food, everything.’

The people stood there in silence for a few seconds, not knowing whether to obey him. They only moved when the old lady from before thanked him. Then they finally set off towards the village.

Scaramouche wanted to turn back and take a glance at you one more time to make sure you’re really there and not just a hallucination. But suddenly little Yu appeared in his sight and that made him stay.

‘She’s alive’ the girl whispered. The mask she had worn so far finally broke and her expression was an expression of a little child. She seemed tired, sad and a little happy. ‘I’m so glad… Scara.’

The harbinger nodded and closed his eyes for a moment. His heart was still beating fast with fear but those heavy weights on his shoulders finally started getting lighter.

He felt something touching his hand and he opened his eyes to the sight of Yu holding onto him.

This type of physical connection was very far away from what Scaramouche would tolerate coming from a human but he felt way too tired to resist. He just let the little girl clench his pinkie and they both watched silently as some helpers grabbed your body and moved it to a safer place.

You felt like something that had been sitting on your chest for a while finally moved. Something even bigger, a huge, scary type of darkness slowly left your body.

It left you with the first breath you were aware of taking in a long time.

You let out a small sigh. And opened your eyes.

There was a fabric cover above you.

You were in a tent, safe and sound. Alive.

The first thing you noticed was the temperature. It was warm, welcoming and comforting. Lot of soft blankets covered your body which hurt badly but the pain was dim.

You tried to look around but your head was too heavy. You could barely tip your head to the side.

But the sight was worth it.

Your breath was taken away one more time. You just stared in silence and you could feel your eyes widen in shock.

‘You’re awake.’

Scaramouche closed the book he was reading and looked at you with a straight face.

‘Finally.’

He put the book down with a slow movement.

Mixed emotions invaded you. You fell from relief to happiness to fright in a span of a few seconds. You were alive and Scaramouche was here with you, but – why did he seem so distant? Was he still angry at you even after everything that had happened?

You almost let fear overrun you. Almost.

But your gaze fell on his hands and he couldn’t hide his true feelings from you any more. His hands were visibly trembling as he still held onto his book.

Little did you know he could have not read a single word written in the last couple of hours. He just sat there and watched over your sleep, not dozing off for even a second himself.

The shaking of his hands became even more obvious and he couldn’t hold himself back any more.

He moved closer and placed his trembling palms next to the sides of your body. He looked down on you from above and as you stared back at him, you could clearly see something that wasn’t there before.

The usual cold, emotionless blur was nowhere to be found in his dark eyes. Instead, there was pain. And a lot of it.

‘How dare you do this to me?’

During the years of your relationship, he’s grown to be comfortable in your presence but he never ever showed any signs of vulnerability in front of you and you just accepted that it’s probably never going to happen.

It was shocking, almost scary seeing him like this.

The desperate expression on his face softened and he let his head plop on your shoulders.

‘Scara’ you whispered. Your voice was hoarse and dry but it was your voice. You were able to speak.

The realization of how unlikely your survival was suddenly hit you and your eyes teared up.

‘Scara, I… I really thought I was gonna die…’

‘Then you’re stupid’ he answered, speaking into the blankets covering your shoulder. ‘You should know that you can’t die without my permission.’

You laughed through your tears. They streamed down on your face, straight into your ears. But even that felt so good. Crying was a sign of being alive from the very beginning of life and you never understood that so much than at that time.

‘Don’t… leave me ever again.’

You didn’t event think, the words just left your mouth.

‘Don’t worry.’ Scaramouche finally got himself together enough to sit up and at least pretend that he was alright. ‘You have successfully proved you’re not capable of taking after yourself so now I’m definitely stuck babysitting you till the rest of our lives.’

His movements said otherwise though. The way he caressed your cheek to dry the tears up showed that he’s not just stuck. He wantsto stay.

Just what kind of thinks did he go through in the past days? – the question occurred to you.

To think about it… why did he even come back? How did he hear what happened? And your people?! Were they safe?

So many questions echoed in your head and you couldn’t even put most of them into words that made sense. So opened your mouth and quietly asked:

‘What happened?’

‘I want to know the same’ he said. ‘What happened? How did you get so far away from the village? How are you alive in the first place?’

You thought back to the night. Pain stabbed you instantly and you had to close your eyes for a moment to calm it.

‘I don’t remember much. But I think the abbys wanted to take me with them. Is that… possible?’

‘I heard all kinds of things about them’ Scaramouche nodded. ‘It is very possible. Continue.’

‘There isn’t much to say… Obviously I tried to resist but there were too many of them. They probably realized I would be just a burden. I remember a mage knocking me out. But they didn’t kill me…’

‘Well, given your injuries, they must’ve thought there’s not a lot of time left for you. It really is a miracle that you’re alive.’ Scara stated. ‘And you were in that wet cave for an entire day too. You were nearly dead when we found you.’

‘We?’

You stared at him and your heartbeat dropped.

‘You mean…’

‘Yes’ he sighed. ‘That people of yours.’

He went silent for a moment then rolled his eyes.

‘They helped me out… I guess.’

‘So they’re all alive and safe?’ you asked and couldn’t help but laugh in relief. ‘That is so amazing! Thank you, Scara!’

‘Thank yourself, idiot’ he snorted. ‘You were the one who kept a whole abbys army away from them after all.’

The harbinger shook his head.

‘I hate that you were so reckless to do that… but I have to say I’m impressed. We should spar again sometimes.’

‘Aren’t you afraid you’re getting your ass kicked?’ you grinned.

‘I compliment you one time and you get this cocky?’ he crossed his eyebrows. ‘I have to put you back into your place, I see.’

You laughed and as you were finally strong enough to move a little, you grabbed his hand. He had to oppress his smile with force.

‘And how did you know… we were going to be attacked?’

The question made his task much easier. The harbinger’s face turned back to being serious once again.

‘I have my connections’ he answered briefly. ‘But you don’t have to worry, the fatui had nothing to do with the attack.’

‘I would never think that’ you rushed to make your words clear. ‘I just… hope that my people feel the same.’

Scara shrugged. Then averted his eyes as he thought of someone.

‘I don’t know about the others but there’s one person who clearly does.’

‘Who?’

‘That girl… Yu or whatever her name is.’

You stared at him in surprise. You’d never thought the day would come where he mentions a child and doesn’t frown. And to think that it’s Yu as well! Yu who was normally wary of strangers and such a gentle child…

Just what happened to him? – you asked yourself again.

You searched for answers in his eyes but it seemed like there were things that even this new type of Scaramouche, this more vulnerable and open one wouldn’t tell.

But it was alright. Maybe you didn’t need to know. You were just happy to be there and experience it yourself.

‘How is Yu?’ you asked.

‘Alright’ Scara muttered.

‘Her mother?’

‘Oh, her… Well…’

He hesitated for a moment and that was enough. Every good and warm feeling was instantly replaced by cold ones and you found yourself sitting up in dread.

‘Please tell me… She’s not…’

‘Hey, don’t sit up! Lie back right now!’

When you didn’t obey, Scaramouche pushed you back with his own hands. He was right, your body started aching terribly from moving and the physical pain almost outgrew the pain in your heart.

‘Is she…’

‘Yu’s fine. Don’t worry.’

‘No! I need to talk to her!’

‘You won’t.’

You clenched your teeth together in despair and Scara flinched. He saw himself in you when you did that. Earlier this day his expression was still this full of pain.

‘Scaramouche!’ you said, calling him by his first name which he suddenly realized, he hated more than that stupid nickname. ‘I will go and talk to her and you can’t stop me!’

‘I…’

‘Just think about everything you felt while I was missing! I know you don’t want me to go away again but you need to understand.’

‘All I’m trying…’

‘Maybe I really am cocky to think that it was painful to you but if I’m not and it really was, then just imagine that Yu feels like that too right now. And on top of that, she has no hope whatsoever. She knows that her mother is dead and there’s no…’

‘Oh, to Celestia, can you shut up for a moment?’ Scara interrupted you harshly. Then he frowned and quickly continued. ‘What I was about to say is that under no circumstances should you get up with these injuries. But you can talk to Yu.’

‘I can…?’

‘Yes, idiot. I’ll call her over.’

You stared at him in silence.

‘You’d… do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘So… you won’t mind if she stays with us?’

‘I guess not?’

‘Not even for a long time?’

‘I said no, stop asking these stupid questions.’

You were speechless and just gazed at him without saying anything for a long time.

You had mixed feelings about the Scara you woke up to so far. But this had finally convinced you that he really has changed into something better.

A slow smile formed on your lips. It grew bigger and bigger and it completely lit your face up.

‘You’re grinning like an idiot’ Scara claimed but nothing, not even his salty remarks could take away your happiness any more.

‘Scara, I really love you.’

‘You better do.’

He stood up and turned away as quickly as he could to try and hide the blush on his face. He knew if you saw that, you’d be teasing him about it till the rest of your lives together.

You were still grinning “like an idiot” as he was rushing to leave the tent. But even though he was in hurry, before he’d stepped out, he made sure to turn back and say:

‘I’ll be back.’

#I #NEED #TO #SLEEP #aaa #don't forget to comment;)))))#cloudenthusiast #genshin impact #scaramouche genshin #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche angst #scaramouche #genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact x reader

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flickeringart · 3 years

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Neptune in aspect with Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Pluto and Chiron

(Read my other posts 1: Neptune aspecting Sun & Moon, 2: Neptune aspecting Mercury & Venus, 3: Neptune aspecting Mars)

It is always difficult to interpret aspects of generational planets to other generational planets because they are such big forces and encompasses such broad complexity that it would take a genius to accurately convey their impact through the Mercurial function; verbal and written communication. The social and collective planets are describing the bigger picture of what is going on a societal and global scale – but they do matter in the personal natal chart because they indicate the overall collective climate that one was born into and will inevitably color the personal life experience. When I refer to “collective tendencies” in describing these aspects I’m therefore also referring to “personal tendencies”.

Neptune in aspect with Jupiter

With the harmonious aspects this would translate into a time of deep collective faith and belief in the transience of the world as well as a faith in the ability to be redeemed through the correct attitude and positive expectations. This is a typical aspect of “follow your heart and your dreams” which is often considered extremely naïve by more “realistic” people. With this aspect forming at a point in time, there’s a greater collective tendency to take chances and put one’s luck in the hands of the universe. This aspect lends itself to big dreams and visions, a freedom to pursue spirituality and let go of inhibitions, to pursue freedom with complete abandon of boundaries, to enjoy culture and contribute to it in order to feel closer to the divine. In case of the hard aspects, belief systems may be dissolving and reconstructed, the future might seem obscure; the erosion of culture and lost sense purpose might cause people to pursue religion or spiritual doctrine more vigorously than ever. People could attempt to escape from it all through distraction and dissociation, to cling to illusions in order to cope, or take to drugs in order to numb the sense of meaninglessness and desperation that permeates the social-societal fabric. The hard aspects could indicate disillusionment and disappointment in religious doctrine, an abandonment of belief and collective spirit. People could feel betrayed and deceived by thought leaders and visionaries leading them astray instead of enriching their lives. In any case, these two planets together combine the yearning for something sacred and transcendent with the symbolic expressions of meaning in culture and social life.

Neptune in aspect with Saturn

With the harmonious aspects this combination of planets, the collective might try to create a system of protection for the less fortunate, to provide a container for the unformed and passive souls that are helpless in the face of existence. It might also lend itself to collective fantasies of the ideal state with an ideal structure. Hard work and duty might be glorified and seen as the height of goodness. There could even be a great sense of bliss in restricting and depriving in order to chip away at a distant goal. It could also mean that there’s romanticizing and mythologizing of authority, a deep need to idealize paternal figureheads and put faith in tradition. This aspect forming at a specific point in time could generate a tendency to expect to be taken care of by society, for the powers that be to provide and coddle its citizens. There could be an expectancy to be redeemed through putting noses to the grindstone and get rewarded in this (or the next) life for doing the right thing, for believing in the system. With the harmonious aspects this might not be such a disastrous preconception to live by but with the harder aspect it becomes another story. With the hard aspects, Neptune-Saturn might express ad deep guilt and regret in not pursuing worldly goals or becoming successful – there could likewise be a sadness of not being receptive enough to have dreams and longings because of too much realism. There might be great defensiveness collectively against chaos as to make people paranoid to not loose control. Counter to what is desired; this fear might cause more disorder and a collapse of defense systems through the very effort of keeping them intact. Saturn has to do with boundaries and Neptune has to do with dissolution, which might indicate collective experiences of trying to keep things in but being unable to. Avoiding the “swamp” whatever form it comes in, would be the dilemma of these people’s lives and for the greater collective at this specific point in time. Escaping responsibility causes guilt and disorder and taking responsibility will cause guilt and disorder, whether it’s mental or physical or both. There’s dysfunction present at both ends. There would possibly be an undermining of authority taking place and simultaneously a stronger defensiveness around authority in order to not fall prey to the temptation of chaos.

Neptune in aspect with Uranus

With the harmonious aspects, this set of planets will combine themselves to create a common experience of looking to the future for redemption. That which is new is idealized and welcomed with open arms – change might seem like an appealing concept. Dreams of a utopian society where every individual is accepted and harmoniously coexisting without the necessity of rigid rules and structure might be prevalent. Faith in humanity and its capacity for genius to solve all its problems might come with this planetary contact. In fact, Neptune is sextile Uranus at this point in time, pointing to a longing for change and the opportunity to create something new that saves humanity from the “dark” past and elevates it to new heights of spiritual and scientific excellence. This is a highly idealistic combo that can produce genius solutions that are in line with the yearnings of the collective. The hard aspects can create tremendous despair and incapacity to pursue progress, without feeling like there’s an abandonment of the potential for redemption. These are the aspects that will sabotage any new endeavor and model in favor of remaining in a state of nebulous undifferentiated potential. New discoveries and insights made during the time of the hard aspects might produce great hurt and disillusionment in the collective. The new discoveries will seem to threaten that which is perceived as pure and sacred, the romantic ideals of humanity will be crushed in favor of breaking free from the limits of the status quo. The collective might polarize into people who want to jump on the band wagon of more advanced thought and the people who can’t abandon the “way things are” because of sentimentality and feeling ties. Either way, with the hard aspects there will be a conflict of the glamorous, timeless and bittersweet and the push to break out of the confines of old society. Neptune often symbolizes the urge to regress or transcend to reach a state of unity; Uranus symbolizes radical rebellion and revolution. With the hard aspects, there’s no way to have both. Uranus is too aggressive and might push people into emotional chaos, Neptune is too receptive and might consume and confuse people as to what is really going on in terms of thought advancement to ever come outside of their current mental framework.

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Neptune in aspect with Pluto

With the harmonious aspects, the Neptune-Pluto dynamic expresses itself through experience of unity through crisis. This might sound scary, but Pluto is after all representative of destruction and rebirth. With this aspect the collective longing for redemption stimulates the impulse to protect something that is necessary for survival. At this point in time Neptune is sextile Pluto, which makes sense considering the state of the world we’re in at the moment. There’s a sense of a need for survival in order to be able to guarantee a blissful destiny of humanity. The collective feeling tone is certainly categorized by fear and paranoia at this time, but also of greater oneness because the whole world is going through this pandemic. With the Neptune-Pluto sextile there’s a need for drastic measures in order to survive the pressure that is felt. The way to Eden is through the darkness. Pluto is in Capricorn, which suggests the desire to protect and control the structure of society at all costs – hard work and endurance is necessary for survival on a collective level. To ensure integrity of the building blocks of society becomes more important than anything else.

With the hard aspects between these planets, the picture becomes less appealing. The urge to merge and retreat into the world of pre/post existence to find healing and peace inevitably causes chaos and violent destruction. The collective would find that the fear and pressure that is experienced is too much to handle. Taking control and exercising power destroys all the hope of beauty and love in the world. This aspect could indicate a time of heart-breaking vulnerability and a lot of fear and need to escape into a dream of how things could be. People born around the years of 1814-1822 seem to have Neptune square Pluto in their charts if you look it up on astrotheme.com. These people would’ve been born into a collective climate of hopelessness and despair to some extent, of power wielded over the weak. There would’ve been a necessity to surrender to the threat of death, to accept the unacceptable and either give up power or use it at the expense of sensitivity and compassion. Karl Marx is a good example of an individual with the square aspect because it falls across two angular houses, Pluto in the 1st house of self and Neptune in the 10thhouse of public image. The conflict between Neptune-Pluto is consequently evident in his persona. Publicly he’s known for his ideas about how the ideal society should be run (Neptune conjunct Uranus in the 10th). He argued that class tension and antagonism that developed under capitalism was unsustainable – the ruling classes controlling the means of production and the working class offering their labor in exchange for wages would not work in the long run in his opinion. The working class would eventually develop class-consciousness and conquer political power to establish a classless communist society. In this case, Neptune symbolizes the working class and Pluto the ruling class - in Marx’s experience these were at odds with each other (as reflected in his chart). His opinions certainly came from his inner personal tension of needing to identify as powerful (Pluto 1st house) and to offer a recipe of redemption as a part of his life’s work (Neptune in the 10th). I’m sure he felt powerful in himself, yet despairingly at loss when having to contribute to society. Undoubtedly, he felt like he had to give up his power to serve at the feet of the ruling class, to “give himself up”, like Neptune often nudges us to.

Neptune in aspect with Chiron

The harmonious aspects would translate into a peak experience through suffering, a sense of being touched by the sublime through the unintended infliction of pain, whether it’s physical or psychological. Redemption is inextricably linked with the misfortunes and wounding that can’t be cured with current scientific method. Suffering is somehow a vehicle for finding a sense of unity with the remainder of life, it makes for a transcendent experiences that allows for ecstatic bliss in conjunction with permanent damage and disability. At the point in time of the aspect’s formation there might be an unusual acceptance and romanticizing of disability, even to the point of elevating it to something divine and sacred. Knowledge and methods of healing are pursued as a means of redemption, a means of returning to Eden. Technique and skill to remedy the wounds of the collective are sought with a deeper emotional hunger. Compassion and unconditional love might be seen as the key component to healing. Artistry, creativity, music, drug use, alcohol, meditation, hypnosis and emotional surrender might be sought in the name of healing. There could be an effort to collectively spread as much knowledge and insight as possible in order to cure a little bit of the ignorance that causes so much trouble in society. Living with a permanent wound unites people, it connects the souls of the world in mutual longing to go “home”, to return to oneness. The wound stimulates a longing for fusion, which might express itself through a deep understanding of people’s suffering. Princess Diana is a perfect example of someone with the trine; she saw the universality of suffering and wasn’t hesitant to shower “love” on people with severe sickness or disability. She saw herself in people’s pain.

The hard aspects are more gruesome, as always. Personal wounds conflict with the need for fusion and a sense of oneness with existence. At the specific point in time of this aspect there might’ve been feelings in the collective of being fundamentally flawed and damaged to ever be redeemed and brought into the light of the eternal. There would’ve been great struggle to save people from irretrievable damage, yet the longing itself could cause more damage and additional feelings of insufficiency. There could’ve been a tendency to cover up the wound, numb it out and avoid looking at it in order to have a chance at something beautiful, pure and elevated. However, the escape and dissociation from it would only make it worse. The resistance to hope would potentially make the healing journey difficult. Great sympathy could be present yet it would be frequently cancelled out by stone cold realism. Chiron is the wounded healer archetype. He uses the mind and his practical skills to cope. When he’s in hard aspect with Neptune there’s going to be tension in the face of the possibility of redemption. It might only be an illusion after all, and the dark abyss of disillusionment is nothing to gamble with– consequently people would stick to the difficult but nonetheless, real, experience of pain in front of them. However when the pain of life becomes too much and one succumbs to the sweet escape through drugs, alcohol, food, tv, spiritual practices or any other method, it might backfire terribly and cause total disintegration and victimization. A good example of someone with the square is Oprah Winfrey with Chiron in the 1sthouse and Neptune in the 10th house. She’s widely known as a person of great compassion and insight – on a public level she embodies the role of the redeemer to some extent. Her identity however is that of someone who’s been wounded yet has come to terms with the burden and has learnt to live with it. She’s generally perceived to be very wise, similar to Chiron in myth. However, in her need to heal people she makes it into a show and molds the narrative to her liking or preference sometimes. She’s deeply compassionate, yet she can also expect people to live with the permanent burden of certain pains. Her Neptune draws the public in – promises redemption, but in person, she expects people to be realistic and strip their issues down without glamorizing or mythologizing.

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unhealthyfanobsession · 4 years

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I teased this in a previous post and people asked me to expand so...here’s my controversial take that Rhysand and Nesta are actually parallel characters in many ways and that they both hate each other so much because they ultimately hate themselves.

Alright ladies and gentleman, anti’s and stans, buckle your fucking seatbelts or hope off the roller coaster here because I’m about to learn you a thing or two about the most divisive characters in the ACOTAR world.

Starting out very broadly- both characters are introduced as sort of confusing villains (Rhys is “evil” but he’s also helping Feyre. Nesta is an “awful sister”, but she also is protective of Elain and tells Feyre essentially to go and be happy), both have faced significant trauma and grapple with self-loathing and feelings of not being good enough, and both ultimately find redemption and healing with their mates who love them. They also both currently exist in a strange parallel coming out of ACOSF where Rhys is supposedly “chosen by the Cauldron” and Nesta is “blessed by the Mother”- the two sacred entities of Prythian.

Intrigued? More specifics and text analysis under the cut

Mommy (and Daddy) Issues:

Both characters were basically raised by their mother’s alone and then lost them at a young age and that had a deep impact on them. Rhysand had a far more positive experience of being raised by his mother HOWEVER I would argue that it was still “grooming” of a type since she took him away to train in Illyria specifically so that he wouldn’t be influenced by his father.

Rhys’ mother did this out of love and Nesta’s mother groomed her out of a social climbing agenda, but it had the same effect- they both lost the parent who was their primary caregiver at a young age and they were both not close with their father’s because of their mother’s actions (again this was a good thing for Rhys, not as much for Nesta).

Parents Death: Rhys and Nesta both blame themselves for one of their parent’s death and are deeply affected by feeling like they failed someone important to them.

Rhys thinks that he is responsible for his mother and sister’s death because he gave Tamlin info

Rhys even says after this “It should have been me.”

Nesta feels that she was unable to save her father and she hates herself for it.

Rocky sibling relationship and Separation:

Rhysand and Cassian are obviously a lot further along in their sibling journey, but it’s stated that he and Cassian HATED each other and fought constantly essentially until Azriel arrived and then they decided to be “allies”.

Nesta and Feyre are also at each others throats but seem to put their differences aside in order to not upset Elain. (Even when Feyre first goes back to the human lands Nesta says NOPE NO FAE! But as soon as Elain asks her to do as Feyre says she agrees) and then Nesta states in ACOSF that she and Feyre were brought together by Elain to be allies in the war.

Rhysand and Cassian obviously grew into true brothers despite their adversarial, insulting, bitter beginning... and Nesta and Feyre after ACOSF have done the same. Obviously there’s still a lot of work to be done in that relationship, but the parallel stands (and is just strengthened by the fact that in both cases it’s the character with more power in the relationship- Nesta for being the oldest and Rhys for being the one whose family took Cassian in is then mated to the opposite sibling!)

Both have a parent who essentially separated them from their ‘siblings’ for their own benefit. Nesta’s mom isolated her as a child so that she could groom her and tell her how to maneuver her sisters when the time was right while Rhys’ father- afraid of his, Cassian, and Azriel’s combined power- separated them for 7 years through the first war to ensure they wouldn’t ally against him. Nesta was also separated from Feyre by Tamlin and tried to go to the wall to get her back but couldn’t get through- which is very reminiscent to me of the scene at the beginning of ACOWAR from the first war where Rhys is searching desperately but without hope for Cassian.

Shared Trauma and Learning to be “Evil” to protect their family:

both characters are sexual assault survivors who spend a chunk of their book (I’m counting ACOMAF as essentially Rhys’ book since that’s when we learn more about him as a character) grappling with that, coming to terms with it, and moving forward with a general attitude of “Never Again.” I would also argue that even their abusers are parallels as Rhysand was only ‘with’ Amarantha because he was trying to protect his family and Nesta was only ‘with’ Tomas because she thought his family might be able to take in and feed Elain (she says in ACOSF that she would give him whatever he wanted- her body meant nothing to her and Elain meant everything, which is essentially Rhys’ UTM mindset). In addition, both characters are able to escape their abusers out of love for Feyre. Rhys does so when Amarantha is about to kill Feyre, and Nesta does so because she realizes that Tomas would never go to the wall with her to save Feyre.

Beyond this, both characters express that it is the lack of control over their own lives that truly haunts them. Rhys when he felt like he had no choice but to be Amarantha’s puppet and Nesta with a lot of her life, but especially when she is forced into the cauldron. Both of these are things that make them feel like failures for not protecting others. Rhys is haunted that he couldn’t protect Feyre under the mountain and Nesta is haunted that she couldn’t protect Elain from the cauldron.

This leads both characters to have a terrifying power-surge nightmare brought on by their trauma (Rhys from Amarantha; Nesta from the Cauldron) that terrifies those around them and can only be stopped by their mate.

In addition to this, they both have a “persona” that they put on and sometimes feel like they can’t shake off, a face that they made to protect themselves and their family. Rhys with his “Court of Nightmares” persona that he uses UTM, in the Hewn City, and with the other High Lords until the war. Part of his growth is letting people see beyond that ‘most powerful high lord of darkness’ mask.

For Nesta this is expressed by her “wolves” that she uses to put up a wall between her and the people who mocked her and her family, and especially Elain. And her learning to open up with Cassian and her found family was really important for her growth

HOWEVER, they both also keep that persona. Rhys has his mask polished for when anyone might threaten the people he loves and so does Nesta. Neither of them truly gave up that side of themselves, the darkness, they simply learned to stop it from consuming them.

They also both LIKE doing this to their enemies. Rhys likes to toy with his enemies and torture those who would harm his family or betray him and so does Nesta- she revels in cutting down anyone who insults Elain and says in ACOSF that she’s felt the urge to do the same for Cassian. They both wield words like weapons and use their intelligence to ensure they are always one quip ahead of their enemies. Something that both Feyre and Cassian admire in their mates and try to emulate to a degree.

(Bonus points for the fact that in both cases their families did not ASK to be protected/sacrificed for.)

Found family and sacrifice:

Rhys calls Cassian and Azriel his “brothers” after becoming close while training and they conquer the blood rite together. Nesta calls Emerie and Gwyn her “sisters” after becoming close while training and they conquer the blood rite together. Rhys sacrifices himself to Amarantha in order to protect Cassian and Azriel (and Velaris). Nesta sacrifices herself to hold the path of Enalius to protect Emerie and Gwyn. There’s also a line in ACOMAF and a parallel line in ACOSF essentially about Nesta being willing to do anything- including “whore” herself- to protect Elain, and in order to protect his brother’s that’s exactly what Rhys did- “whore” himself to Amarantha.

Both are ‘saved by’ and feel not good enough for their mate:

I hesitate to use the word “saved by” because ultimately both characters have more agency than that, HOWEVER, both characters rely on their mate to a degree to pull them out of a very dark time and place. Feyre helps Rhys remember who he is and forgive himself for under the mountain and he even specifically calls her his “salvation.”

I don’t think I need to even say the Nesta part here, all of ACOSF is essentially Cassian helping Nesta climb out of a dark period so that they can heal together.

(Both also start connecting with their mates on a “just sex” situation.)

Both characters think that because of the things they’ve done and the darkness inside of them that they don’t deserve the people they have been mated to.

Obviously there are many differences, but the characters are similar in a lot of ways and what I think this really highlights is just how true that line is in ACOSF about Nesta being a wolf that was never allowed to learn how to be a wolf. Meanwhile Rhys is 500 years older and has always had power and agency of some kind even at his lowest point. Nesta didn’t have that power and wasn’t allowed to really unleash herself so she armed herself with a steel exterior to make up for that lack of power and control. Which is very similar to what Rhysand did when he felt he didn’t have power under the mountain- put on a cold face, not let anyone in, and act cruel in order to get through it.

Overall it’s an interesting character study because in a lot of ways these are very similar characters, but there is such a MASSIVE divide among the fandom of liking and hating one or both of them. Ultimately, I do think that a lot of the hate Nesta gets is because she’s a woman and female characters simply aren’t allowed to have the same flaws as male ones- which is kind of Nesta’s whole life story. BUT I think that Rhysand actually gets unintentionally screwed over by the narrative in one big way. Becuase my final paralell is that I think a lot of people came around on Nesta when they saw in her perspective that she knows she has problems and how much she was struggling… and I also think that Rhysand is so hated by those who dislike him because of Feyre’s ‘he can do no wrong’ perspective. I think if we saw more of Rhysand internally struggling and knowing that he made the wrong call sometimes and second guessing himself he’d be a lot more likeable character. We know he’s capable of this because when Cassian calls him out on the training roof for always thinking the worst of Nesta he just says “you’re right. I’m sorry” and he even *kinda* admits some wrong when he’s so shocked by how deep Nesta’s trauma is. Feyre and the rest of the IC constantly exalting Rhys as perfect when he so clearly isn’t and in fact has a lot of the same “flaws” as Nesta is probably the most frustrating thing about the character, which ultimately I think is kind of unfair because we know from his few perspectives that he doesn’t see himself that way.

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hyuckssunchip · 3 years

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Redemption Pt. 2

Pairings: Jungwoo x reader, ft. Johnny, Jaehyun, Mark

Words: 2.3K

Warnings: Language (there is almost always language in my writings), some angst

Summary:

Y/N finds Jungwoo in a compromising position weeks after their breakup. A list of misunderstandings leads to outcomes neither of them can bear to handle. Will the two of them be able to move past this and sort things out again? Or is there no room for redemption?

Part 1 | Part 2 |

The tickets from the movie of our first date

"Hey I'm sorry I'm late." There was a breathless voice that came from across the room. A boy in a grey shirt stood before his date and she blushed shaking her head.

You reached for another piece of popcorn, slowly chewing on the piece before sighing and reaching for another.

As the last call for your movie showed on the big screen you glanced at your watch again.

"Is this your movie?" He was tall, wearing a baby blue shirt and wore a thin pair of spectacles. Definitely not your blind date.

You sighed.

"Yeah, it's supposed to be."

"Supposed to be? You don't want to watch it anymore?" He asked, taking the seat in front of you.

"My date stood me up." You said bluntly, "I'm not really in the mood for a romance movie right now."

"How about murder mystery?" He flashed two tickets in the air, and sent you a sweet smile.

"Murder mystery? You don't really seem the type." You laughed, looking at the screen one last time. Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise.

“Excuse me? I’ll have you know that this is research and I kill people on my down time.”

You cringed at him.

“Okay, that was bad, I know. But don’t you pity me now? Now you have to join this loser for a movie date.” He smiled, his dimples on display.

You laughed standing up from your chair, “If you promise never to say stuff like that again, I’ll join you.”

“So it worked!” he fist pumped the air before skipping the way to the right theater with you in tow.

Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

“I can’t believe that it was the police officer the whole time!” You spoke animatedly, genuinely shocked that you spent the majority of the movie liking the man.

“I know right! People are so crooked.” He said, shaking his head on disappointment. “But what a great plot twist right?”

“Yeah I thought for sure that it was the store owner. I mean who carries around a metal wedge like that?” You nodded enthusiastically, way too into the conversation.

Jungwoo laughed beside you. “So you don’t regret joining me?”

“Nope, I think I rather enjoyed myself.” You sent him a cheesy smile when you noticed that the two of you had already made it to the exit.

You didn’t want this to end quite yet.

Almost as if he sense your hesitation he spoke up. “How about dessert? There’s this fantastic ice cream shop just down the street and I’d love to treat you, y’know cause I just stole two hours of your time.” He grinned softly.

“I’d love that.” You couldn’t help the smile that was bursting to break free.

“Then shall we?” He asked in a fake posh manner, sticking out his elbow for you to grab onto.

“We shall.” You linked your arm and his and the two of you left for the shop.

The evening had started out sour, but like always Jungwoo managed to bring a little extra spark into your life. Imagine if he had never come up to you that evening, imagine if he had never stepped foot in that movie theater. You might’ve lost out on the most important thing in your life and never started your journey with Jungwoo. Where would you be now?

JUNGWOO’S POV

PRESENT DAY

The movie ticket of our first date.

The three boys looked down at the list and contemplated what they should do next.

“Okay, how am I supposed to find movie tickets with the same movie and date?” Jungwoo groaned. “This isn’t going to work it’s just stupid.”

“Hey, it’s gonna be fine. All we need to do is get comfortable with photoshop. Right? It’s not like it’s that hard to make a pretend movie ticket.” Jaehyun rested his hand on Jungwoo’s shoulder, “It’ll be fine.”

“Sure it will.”

“Do you atleast remember the movie? And date?” Mark asked, notebook already in his hands again.

“Of course I do. How could I forget?” The last bit he muttered under his breath, but still loud enough that the boys could hear him.

They gave each other pitying looks.

“Right. Write it down then.”

Jungwoo’s hands moved on its own.

“Dude! No way! That’s what you watched on your first date?” Mark couldn’t help but giggle at the title, earning a glare from Jungwoo and a shove from Johnny.

“Dude. Not helping.” Johnny shook his head at the youngest before turning back to Jungwoo.

“Sorry. It’s just that they’re making a sequel to that. It came out last week.”

Jungwoo cringed at the thought, vowing not to watch it.

“Was it good?” Jaehyun asked, more interested in the movie than the current situation.

“Yeah! God you would not believe the plot twist there. It was awesome, I would totally watch it again-”

Johnny shoved the two of them. “Guys, not important right now.”

Jungwoo had retreated back, heads in his arms again and sighed, hearing the others talk.

“Sorry.”

You didn’t know how you got yourself dragged to the movie theater in the middle of the week. It was Wednesday and it seemed like all of a sudden your friends decided that movie night could be moved up a few days.

“Popcorn?”

You nodded haphazardly in response to your best friend Jennie’s question.

“Cool, I’ll wait in line, go ahead and go to the bathroom, I can see you squirming from here. I’ll meet you in the theatre.”

You sent her a look of relief, and rushed towards the bathroom.

Staring at yourself in the reflection of the mirror, you couldn’t help but notice the large black circles under your eyes. You rubbed them once more before heading to the theatre.

Jennie had picked out the movie, dragging you along and you pulled out the ticket that she shoved into your hands the moment you walked in the building.

Theatre 2 B14.

That should be easy enough to find. Although your direction skills could always use improving.

You froze as you stood before your theatre, noticing the large poster next to it.

No.

You recognized the familiar poster, same cast, give or take a few, but it was almost identical to the one you remembered as your first encounter with Jungwoo.

You scrambled for your phone and typed in the title of the movie, your heart dropping at the description. It was the sequel.

Your feet refused to move, stuck in the same spot and you heard a loud bang coming from the theatre. The commercials had already started.

A group of teenagers bumped into your shoulder trying to enter the theatre, you stumbled forward, hearing the faint giggles and muttered apologies.

It was the push that you needed to make your way into the theatre.

As you walked up the aisles to find your seat you felt a wave of anxiety as you noted the group of rowdy boys in the seats next to yours.

You sighed, knowing that you were in for a uncomfortable movie.

Taking your seat, the boy next to you turned to give you a hesitant smile, almost as an offering of an apology in advance.

Your blood ran cold.

“Jungwoo?” It came out as a whisper, catching in your throat, but it was undeniable that he heard you.

He gulped, eyes fluttering across your face.

The noise next to you seemed to hush, a familiar voice called out to you, tearing you from Jungwoo’s face.

“Y/N?” Mark couldn’t control the amount of shock as well as the other boys, letting you know that you were the last person they were expecting. You lifted your hand into a shy wave, to which they returned, leaning back into their respective seats.

“So...”

You turned awkwardly to your ex, waiting for him to continue.

“Are you excited for the movie?”

You raised your eyebrows, the idea of small talk still uncomfortable to you.

“Yeah, I guess... I hope it lives up to the first one.” You blushed in memory of your first date brought up subtly.

Although it was dark, the red tint on Jungwoo’s was noticeable by you.

“Yeah... I heard it was good though, Mark’s already watched it and he dragged the rest of us here again.” His voice dropped a few octaves, lowering as the commercials got quiet as well.

You nodded, facing the screen, refusing to take your eyes off of it.

“Y/N.” There was a hiss coming from your right, you found Jennie desperately trying to find your form before initiating a crouch run to your side. She sank into the seat and leaned towards you, not noticing the boy next to you.

“I’m so so so sorry. But Lucas just asked me to pick him up from school. My mom stranded him again and he won’t stop calling.” She grimaced and looked at you apologetically.

Your eyes widened, realizing that she was planning on leaving you here.

“He’s been waiting for three hours and I actually think he’ll try to kill me in my sleep if I don’t go to pick him up.”

You nodded, knowing that Lucas may be younger than his sister, but he was ten times bigger and had enough passion in him to do so.

“Okay.” You moved to get up, you didn’t really want to stay here alone. “I’ll come with you.”

“No. You should stay for the movie, we already paid and movie tickets are not cheap. Plus I think you’ll like this one, it looks right up your alley. I’ll call you tomorrow.” She shoved the bucket of popcorn into your lap and left before you could respond.

You sighed, slumping in your seat and picking at the pieces of popcorn that sat on top.

Jungwoo looked over at your side profile nervously from his seat.

You were tempted to move into Jennie’s unoccupied seat, eager to distance yourself from Jungwoo. But your body didn’t move.

His eyes followed the movement of your fingers, aching to reach out and grasp them in his own.

Less focused on the beginning of the movie and more concentrated on the bucket in front of you, you could feel yourself eating your way through your anxiety of the situation.

You choked slightly, turning red from embarrassment and tried to suppress the urge to cough.

You felt a nudge in your side, Jungwoo slid his drink towards you, and invitation to relieve your throat of pain.

You hesitated, as childish as it seemed you really didn’t want to drink from the same cup as him, but you were suffering.

You gave him a thankful smile and sipped for moment until you felt alright again.

In return you stuck the bucket of popcorn out towards him, after all there was no way that you could finish the whole thing on your own.

Halfway through the movie you felt the warmth of his hand graze yours as you simultaneously reached for a handful. As cliche as it seemed you felt sparks fly up your arm and you flinched pulling away, watching him do the same.

You hated that you still felt your heart rush at the close proximity. You hated that he still made you nervous. You hated that you still had these feelings.

Before you knew it the closing credits had rolled across the screen and the lights of the theatre began to fade on.

From the corner of your eye you could see as the other boys stretched and stood up, making their way out of the theatre. It was only you and Jungwoo now.

You avoided eye contact, moving to make your exit. He followed.

The bright lights of the lobby had you blinking in distress. Johnny grinned at your fazed state and walked the group over to where you were standing, Jungwoo steps behind.

“Hey Y/N.” Jaehyun waved shyly at you before shoving his hands back into his pocket.

You smiled in response before turning to face Johnny, who looked like he was dying to say something.

“Y/N fancy seeing you here.” There was a grin that crossed his face, he looked too happy to be seeing you here.

You furrowed your eyebrows and nodded at him, not saying anything.

Standing awkwardly in the group you glanced at your phone checking the time. It was getting late and you groaned suddenly realizing that Jennie had left earlier. You no longer had a ride.

You grimaced, pulling your phone out to text her, then realized that it was best not to bother her, as she was dealing with a very upset Lucas.

“What’s up?” Johnny asked, peering over at your screen.

“Nothing.” You sighed, “I just remembered that my ride left earlier. I should go now to see if I could catch the bus.”

He shook his head, “No way, why don’t you let us give you a ride?”

“Oh. You wouldn’t mind?” As much as you hated the thought of being confined in a car with the four of the them, it was much better than getting on the sketchy bus that comes by every hour.

“Of course not, the bus is gross.” You nodded thankfully.

“Oh, that makes things easy then, could we pick up my box of things on the way then?” You asked, remembering that Johnny said they were at his place.

There was a pause, and you didn’t miss the look the three of them gave each other.

“I-uh... I forgot I actually have this thing I have to go to, with Mark and Jaehyun. Jungwoo, why don’t you drop her off?”

Your eyes widened at him.

Jungwoo nodded more enthusiastically than you expected him to.

You glanced at him, reluctantly following his lead.

How bad could one car ride be?

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years

Text

Wait For Me // D.M.

Request: hi! can you do a request where draco performed the obliviate curse on his gf before the war, then met her again post war when he became a healer? the storyline is up to you! by the way, i really really like your fics 🥺 - anon

A/N: This request let me explore all the things I love: angst, healer!draco, and redemption. Thank you for trusting me with this request, I love it so much. This was not also on my WIP lost but I had an idea and I ran with it. With some hope, my next few fics will be from that list!!

Warnings: angst, mentions of nightmares and injuries, some anxiety, short words and tempers, swearing. A HAPPY ENDING or at least the start of one.

Word count: 5.2k

1996:

“You know why I have to do this, right?” Draco whispers: worried that if he were to speak any louder his voice would give away how close he is to breaking.

You nod once. A solemn nod that juxtaposes the tears falling freely down your face. How could you be agreeing to this when it made you feel like your heart was being ripped out?

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, arms reaching for you, the urge to touch too strong to resist. “If they used you against me or if you got hurt, I would never forgive myself.”

You hush him; not missing the irony of the situation. To be comforting him when you were going to have a large chunk of your memories taken from you, it was almost laughable.

The final few moments together are spent in silence, wrapped in each other’s arms, getting as much of the other as possible before inevitably having to let go. You bury your face in his chest, almost refusing to let go of him as he unhooks your hands from around his waist.

The time has come; it’s come too soon.

You barely register Draco’s tears mixing with yours as he hauls you in for one last desperate kiss. His forehead remains pressed to yours as he whispers three words.

“Wait for me.”

Then everything goes blank. A flash of white and your life begins anew.

No memories of the last year of your life; no thoughts about the blonde haired teenager that had occupied your mind and stolen your heart.

There’s nothing.

Five years later:

The strong antiseptic smell has your nose crinkling in distaste. The overhead lights buzz as the bright light bounces off the overly clean floor; it makes your head hurt more. You place a tentative hand to the side of your head, frowning further when you feel the large bump growing there. Removing your hand, you sigh, remembering the tears of the pupil that had done this.

Not long after the war, a new decree was issued setting up centres of education for young witches and wizards that showed magical promise. They operated extremely similar to a muggle primary school; however these followed the curriculum created by the Ministry of Magic.

It was in one of these schools that you worked, choosing to train as a teacher after finishing your education.

A rogue ball is what had landed you in the emergency room of the only magical hospital in Britain. It had come out of nowhere; the children playing happily as the weather had improved over the course of the day.

Tapping your foot impatiently off the tiled floor, you had to admit to yourself it had been partly your fault for not seeing the ball before it knocked you on the side of the head and subsequently knocked you to the floor. The child, a young Hugo Ward, had felt terrible – sobs wracking his body as he apologised to you over and over again to the point where you had to reassure him you were fine.

An hour after the accident, it became evident that you were not fine. The dizziness and double vision being symptoms of something worse, your boss had sent you off to St. Mungo’s without room for argument, promising you she would cover your class for the rest of the day.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N),” calls the triage nurse. A blonde middle aged lady with bright eyes and a kind smile; she points in the direction of exam room two and you flash her a grateful smile.

The hospital bed is uncomfortable as you take a seat on top of the crinkly paper. The pounding in your head had not stopped since you arrived but the dizziness was calming somewhat, and for that, you were thankful. It happens as a flash; a memory washes over you of a large hospital wing, two rows of beds and an elderly lady with fierce determination written over her face.

A single blink and it disappears. The flashes hadn’t happened for a while; the aftermath of a memory charm inflicted upon in your Sixth Year at Hogwarts. It wasn’t known who had done it; they had found you wandering the halls of Hogwarts alone and confused before realising what had happened. You had recovered fairly quickly; the only aftermath being the flashes of what could be memories.

You sigh, sinking further into the gurney as you think of the pile of marking waiting for you at home. Even a sore head couldn’t put off the inevitable.

The Healer doesn’t look up as he enters, pulling the curtain closed behind him, “I’m Healer Malfoy, how can I help you today?”

You sit straighter as you take in the healer. Blonde hair down to the nape of his neck, tied back with what seems to be a leather cord. He hasn’t looked up at you yet, but from your spot, you could tell he was handsome. A strong jaw being home to a distracting mouth. You look away, admiring the rest of him before you could be caught staring at his lips.

Healer Malfoy’s face slackens for a second as his eyes rake over your face. He collects himself after a second, but still, you noticed. He clears his throat, looking down at the chart in his hand. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?”

You nod, “That’s me.”

“You hurt your head at work?”

Again, you nod, “Twice over. A pupil threw a ball at my head by accident, but I knocked my head on the playground as I fell.”

Healer Malfoy places your chart on a nearby table, pulling latex gloves out of his pocket as he does so. He smiles at you, but there’s something guarded about the expression on his face that has question after question springing up in your overworked and pained mind.

“Did you lose consciousness?” Healer Malfoy asks routinely, silently gesturing to your head, asking for permission to feel the injury.

“No,” You answer, turning your head for him to feel the bump on the side of your head.

You hear his sharp inhale as he examines the large bump there. As if seeing you hurt physically hurt him too, yet how was that possible? Thinking through your admittedly fragmented memories, you cannot find a whisper of what the blonde haired man could have looked like younger. Something niggled in the back of your mind, a feeling, a hunch. You didn’t know what, but it got stronger every time you met the grey eyes of the handsome Healer Malfoy.

“This is going to sound odd but go with me on it please?” You say, voice lilting into a question at the end. The idea of not giving this man in front of you a choice simply abhorrent to you.

Healer Malfoy smiles: it’s polite and doesn’t reach his eyes. He takes a step back from you, needing the distance but also done with the examination of your injury. “Okay, I’ll go with it,” He states warily.

Your hands clench into fists; overcome with the urge to try and coax a smile out of him. “I don’t know how else to say it. Do we know each other? You feel familiar to me, as if I know you from somewhere.”

Whatever smile was on Healer Malfoy’s face falls the instant the words leave your mouth. His entire demeanour changes – shoulders stiff, hands gripping your chart so tight it could snap in half. Unclenching his jaw, Healer Malfoy grits out, “No. We haven’t met before.”

“Are you sure?” You press, deciding desperately that you needed to know the man standing in front of you.

“Very sure,” He murmurs, scribbling your discharge notes and handing them to you. “I would remember you if we had met before.”

The blank confession leaves you speechless. Blinking in what could only be described as shock, you take the outstretched papers.

“Your prescription is there too. You show no major signs of a concussion, just rest for tonight at least and watch out for anymore footballs,” Healer Malfoy starts, “Should you have any more problems, you know where to find us.”

Taking the dismissal for what it was, you hurriedly grab your bag from the gurney and leave the exam room, taking extra care to hide the dejected look on your face as you pass the handsome healer.

Draco watches you go. You all but sprint out of the hospital, almost desperate in your escape to get away from him and his short words.

The threat has been gone for years; vanquished not too long after the night Draco had taken your memories, after the night that continues to haunt his nightmares.

Draco Malfoy had faced the Dark Lord and lived – he has stared death in its sallow face and was not the first to look away. Yet, Draco was ever more terrified of what you would do should your memories ever return. Your rage was entirely more terrifying than staring into the soulless eyes of the man his parents so blindly followed.

Draco releases a breath as he spies your figure finally leaving the hospital. The released breath does nothing to loosen the tightness in his chest; the tightness that had been there since that fateful night in the astronomy tower.

He’s had this argument with himself countless times, always the same words and the same fight. His own justification for why he did what he did; why he took your memories of your relationship and sent you away. Deep down, Draco knows that he should have communicated better. He knows that he should have sat you down and explained to you his worries and his fears. However, at barely seventeen years old, Draco was just getting used to the idea of love. He knew what was coming; he knew that there were dark times ahead and he was unfortunately aware of how you could be used against him should the time come.

He had a decision to make, so he did. Thinking back on it now, it had almost killed him. He had never experienced a pain like it. Draco had been hit with the Sectumsempra curse and the pain that followed was nothing compared to the pain he felt when erasing your memories.

Draco turns away from the door. You’ve disappeared around the corner; your head bowed, and shoulders hunched. He has no reason to watch you now. He turns away from the door, wondering whether it was fate that had brought you back into his life after such an absence.

An absence he caused.

-------

You return to work the day after; feeling fine enough to stand in front of your class and deliver your lessons of literacy and maths but also of spellcasting and magical control for infants. You followed your lesson plans to the letter; resolutely refusing to stray from them should they let your mind wander to the handsome healer and his cold words.

The healer continues to play on your mind for the rest of the week: at work, at home. You would go over the brief conversation you had with him; wondering at which point his demeanour changed, that he became closed off and cold. He hadn’t been welcoming from the beginning, but by the end of it he had downright cold. It should have warned you off; it should have been warning enough to keep your distance and to do your best to ensure you never needed to return to the emergency room, yet there was something about him. There was something hidden within his grey eyes, a dark secret ravaging him from the inside out and you felt desperate to know what it was.

-------

As much as you adore your vocation, as much as you love coming into work and greeting the children with a smile, there was something sweet about sending them home to their parents. A sweet relief that loosens the weight on your chest somewhat.

A shock of blonde hair has you turning back to the school gates. Your breath catches in your throat as you recognise the handsome face of the healer that had treated you only a week ago. His face not one you felt like you could forget.

“Healer Malfoy?” You call out, confused at his presence.

He smiles bashfully, “Draco, please.”

“Draco,” You greet. “Do you often make home visits?” You tease, a smile crossing your face.

“Technically, I’m at your place of work so this would be a work visit,” Draco comments, laughing lightly, seeming to be in a much better mood than the last time you had met him.

Your smile grows larger at the sound of his laughter. “Okay… do you often make work visits?”

He shakes his head, “No. I do not.”

“Why are you here?”

“Two reasons.”

“And they are.”

“One, and one I thought of just now – I wanted to apologise for my behaviour at the hospital the other day, I was rude, and it was out of line so I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologise for. I doubt that you get asked by many of your patients whether you know them.”

Draco smiles, “You’re right, I don’t, but nevertheless, I shouldn’t have been so rude, and I apologise.”

“Then I accept your apology, only if you accept mine.”

He goes to argue but stops himself at the last possible moment. You meet his gaze head on, watching the emotions pile up there. There’s something lingering in his grey eyes; something deeper as if he has more to apologise for but he isn’t ready to confess to what or why he even needs to say more.

“What was your second reason for being here?” You question, curiosity piqued but also wanting to move the conversation on, unable to look into his grey eyes any long for the fear that your heart may burst out of your chest.

Draco smiles, “I’m picking up my godson.”

“Your godson? Do I know who he is?”

“You might. Tobias Dawsey?”

Recognition flashes across your face as you picture the small brunette in your mind’s eye. “I do know him! I taught him last year,” You all but shout, “He’s your godson?”

Draco nods, “He is. I’ve worked with his mother from my very first day at St. Mungo’s, she asked me to be godfather when she found out she was pregnant with him.”

His words warm your heart; the care he has for his godson obvious in his voice. You go to say more, to try and coax more information out of him. Your need to know him almost choking you with its intensity, but for the life in you, you couldn’t figure out why you needed to know him. You move to speak, but you’re interrupted by the excited crow of a young child.

“Uncle Draco!” Tobias shouts, running up to his uncle on his little legs, his bookbag banging against them with every step.

“Hey kiddo,” Draco greets, picking up the child making grabby arms for him.

“Do you know Miss (Y/L/N)?”

Draco nods. “Miss (Y/L/N) came into work the other week,” He states, thankfully not exaggerating further.

Tobias frowns, turning his attention to you, concerned about his favourite teacher, “Are you okay though?”

You smile at the young brunette, “I’m all better. Your Uncle Draco fixed me up.”

Tobias nods seriously, “He’s the best Healer ever.”

You laugh; the love Tobias has for his godfather so clear within his voice, it only warms your heart further. “I have no doubt in that, Tobias. Off you go anyway, I wouldn’t want to keep you from getting home.”

Tobias and Draco wave at you as they leave the school grounds. The smile on your face doesn’t fade as you watch them walk away, the young boy chattering the ear off his devoted uncle.

Deep down, where you would only admit to yourself and no-one else, you hoped that you would get to see the handsome blonde healer again.

-------

Over the following weeks you spy Draco’s presence more by the school gates. Tobias clearly adores him, sprinting into his uncle’s arms the moment he sees him waiting for him. Crossing your arms across your chest, you comment, “You must be a very devoted godfather to volunteer to pick up Tobias this often.”

Draco shrugs nonchalantly as if the task of reorganising his shifts was nothing of a chore, “I enjoy spending time with him and…”

“And?”

Draco ducks his head, feeling the familiar heat of blush creep up his neck, “I like talking to you.”

He feels like it’s the wrong thing to say. He knows it’s the wrong thing to say. If he had an ounce of human decency within him, he would turn away from you the moment Tobias arrives. He would walk away from you, never to come back into your life again. What he did all those years ago was unforgivable despite having your permission. Draco knows he shouldn’t be back in your life, but now that he had seen you once or twice, he had to see you more.

He felt like an addict. He couldn’t leave you alone. Draco didn’t want to if he was honest with himself especially when you grin at him so widely his heart pounds in his chest.

You duck your head, your hair hiding your face. “I like talking to you too even if it is only at the school gate,” You shyly admit.

“Then we should change that,” Draco stutters out before he backs down. He wants to kick himself; he should turn away from you now and leave you alone for good, but that one selfish part of him that powers his heart tells him to stay put.

If possible, your smile grows larger, “Then we should change that.”

------

The friendship feels so natural once it starts; once the both of you get past the initial awkwardness that seemed to loiter from Draco’s cold words earlier in the year. It started with longer conversations at the school gate, but then he would come with Tobias’ mother and wait for you as Tobias would reluctantly leave with his mother. From there, it grew into a timid friendship that slowly grew more surer of itself as you invited Draco out for food or to museums or to spend the weekend with you, walking around the city when he wasn’t working.

However, as the friendship became more solid, you could not ignore the way your heart sped up with every smile and every laugh. You could not ignore the way your face heated each time he winked at you; a private joke shared between you. It didn’t feel like a passing fancy. It felt like something deeper, as if the feelings had been there before and had been dormant until now. You felt as if you were always meant to feel this way about Draco – the feelings tugging on memories you weren’t even sure were yours. Flashes of blonde hair and the powerful scent of jasmine all tied in with late nights in a tower you could barely recognise. Draco made you feel like the only person in the world; he was supportive and kind and funny. He was everything you could want and more – how could you not fall for him?

There was still the remaining secret though. It haunted him; his eyes clouded over whenever it was on his mind as if he was returning to the very memory itself. He would return shier, unsure of himself as if the friendship he had forged with you was about to implode and leave him shattered once more.

You ask him about it once. The two of you sat on your couch; you introducing Draco the wonders of muggle films and showing him your favourites when you catch him zone out. Your finger reaches out, pokes his cheek. “Where did you just go?” You question, a smile in your voice.

Draco reaches out, grabbing your finger, “Nowhere of importance.”

You frown, pulling your finger out of his grip, “You do that a lot.”

“Do what a lot?”

“Disappear on me. It’s like you have something big to tell me, but you just aren’t ready yet.”

Draco feels certain his heart stops in his chest. He tries to laugh but it comes out strangled; choked by the worry creeping up from his gut. Draco opens his mouth to reply but you beat him to it. “I’m not saying you have to tell me what it is now,” You start, “I just want you to know that I’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Draco closes his eyes, rests his head against the back of your couch. You had so graciously opened your home to him, opened your life and offered friendship to him, and he felt awful. As he should, he thinks to himself. He had taken memories of importance from you, and here you sat, unaware of the crime and sitting with the criminal himself.

It felt like there was a countdown ticking over his head. It felt like he only had a certain amount of time until he had to come clean and he had to tell you about that night in the astronomy tower.

Yet for all that was in him, for all that created his moral compass, he couldn’t bring himself to tell you and ruin whatever was blossoming between the two of you. Draco supposes he is a coward. He probably is, he tells himself, but he cannot bring himself to care about his cowardice when you smile at him like he holds the sun and stars for you.

Does he regret that night? With everything within him. Would he do it again knowing the outcome? Of course he would. He would sacrifice himself and his happiness a thousand times over to ensure your safety.

---------

Draco tells himself he’ll confess the next time he sees you which is both all too soon and not soon enough. His love for you had never faded; he hadn’t been the one to forget the short relationship you had. The intensity that accompanied teenage love and infatuation had never left the forefront of his mind. After all, how could they? Now that you were back in his life, he felt the teenager again – utterly drawn to you and unwilling to let you go.

He confesses late on a Tuesday night. The shift at St. Mungo’s had been long and arduous, but he got through it with the single thought of you. He knew that at the end of it, he would get to knock on your door. He only hoped that you wouldn’t turn him away once you found out the truth. Your hatred of him could never rival the hatred he feels for himself, but he finds himself hoping for your forgiveness.

“I have to tell you something,” Draco states, plain and simple.

You chew on the inside of your cheek before answering, “You can tell me anything.”

“You had a memory charm used on you in Sixth Year, didn’t you?”

“How did you know that?” You demand. Despite the friendship grown between the both of you, you hadn’t told him that. You had given him bits and pieces, alluded to the fact that there were gaps in your memories, but you hadn’t told him the truth. Just like he hadn’t told you what made him disappear inside his mind like he so often does.

“I took your memories. It was me.” Draco confesses, his voice clear in the quiet room.

“What?” You shout, anger shooting through you.

“I took your memories. I used a memory charm on you in the middle of Sixth Year when things started to take a turn for the worst.”

“What gave you the right?” You cry, tears building out of upset and anger.

“You did,” Draco states plainly, “You didn’t want to at first, but you came round to my way of thinking when you saw how bad things were getting at home.”

“Why would I agree to that?”

“Because once upon a time, you were in love with me.”

You shake your head, pacing back and forth in your living room, trying to get to grips with the piles of information only just dumped on you. Draco watches you pace; his grey eyes following each step intently as you work through everything in your head.

Worry shines bright in his eyes when you stop pacing. He goes to take a step towards you, but you step back. The small space between you feels like a great chasm, a gaping void that Draco is desperate to fill, to patch up.

“Tell me everything,” You state before adding on, “Please.”

Draco releases a shuddering breath before starting: “We were friends through school. I don’t remember how the friendship started, but it did and for years we were really good, close friends. Then along the way, the friendship changed. We fell in love, or whatever it is at sixteen/seventeen years old. We had less than a year together when things started to change; when whisperings of the Dark Lord’s return were strengthened by continued attacks on the Ministry.

“You argued with me for hours,” Draco pauses, laughing as he remembers what you clearly couldn’t, “I had never seen you so angry or so stubborn. You were adamant, you didn’t want to but then you went quiet and I knew you saw what I had seen. You agreed after a minutes silence; told me yes even though it broke the both of us to do so.

Draco’s grey eyes are lined with unshed tears as he murmurs, “I couldn’t let them have you. My family was working with the darkest wizard there had ever been in the last century, if he had gotten a whiff of what you meant to me, you would be used in ways that not even I could imagine. My aunt would have taken great pleasure in ensuring that you would be a bargaining chip for me to fulfil whatever mission they handed me. That was something I couldn’t allow.

“It broke me to do it. To watch your eyes go blank as the memories of what we shared disappeared. Selfishly, I asked you to wait for me, not knowing that they would be tied to you afterwards. I just… I couldn’t let you go. As a teenager and an adult. There’s no real excuse for what I did, but know it was out of love for you that I did it.”

Draco falls silent. His heavy words adding to the growing tension in the room. Draco’s mind runs a thousand miles a minute; his eyes don’t leave you as he watches you work through every emotion coursing through your body. He sees the anger, the sadness, the frustration, but he also sees the relief at having an answer for those gaps that you had only recently confessed to him.

You break the loaded silence, “I forgot the relationship, but on some level I don’t think I ever forgot you.”

“What?” Draco asks, the air rushing out of him in one fell swoop.

A smile creeps across your face; relishing somewhat at having caught him off-guard. “I have glimpses of what I always assumed was a past life. The memories were always fuzzy around the edges, but they were clear enough for me to catch glimpses of blonde hair or to spy the pattern of a ring much like the one on your signet ring.”

Draco remains silent; he doesn’t dare talk; he doesn’t dare breathe. Nothing prepares him for your next words.

“I waited for you… like you asked.”

Those words. Those foolish words that he had absolutely no right to whisper to you. Draco had been so overwhelmed in that moment, yet he couldn’t ignore the small kernel of hope that despite the strength of the memory charm, a part of you would remember him and would wait for him.

But you had.

You had waited for him. You barely knew who he was, but you had waited for him, hoping that one day he would cross your path.

“Fuck,” Draco whispers, running a hand through his growing hair, starting to pace the length of your living room.

“When I woke after my memories had been taken, I clearly didn’t remember a single thing, but I had the echoes of three words ringing in my ears. A beg, a plea of someone – a boy asking for me to wait for them. I didn’t know completely who I was waiting for, I didn’t know it was you until I saw you at the hospital that first time and then again so soon after leaving. My memories haven’t returned, and I doubt they will, but I just know that it was you who I was waiting for.”

Draco falls silent, letting your words fall over him and sink into his skin, settling deep within his bones.

Years. It had been years since that night in the astronomy tower where he took your memories. It had been years since he felt the longing and love; there had been no-one lese and there would be no-one else. For Draco, there was only ever you… and you had waited.

You had waited for him.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Draco repeats, hands continuing to run through his hair in frustration as he paces the room. He faces you; grey eyes wild with emotion, “How are you not angry with me?”

“I am angry with you! I’m furious with you, Draco! You took my memories, but if you say I agreed to it, I’m just as angry with myself for allowing myself to forget you.”

“What do we do?” He asks, a hand running down his face as he tries to figure out the next step.

“Forgiveness,” You state simply, “We try to move on.”

Draco’s hands drop limply at his side as he gasps, “Forgiveness?”

“What happened after you erased my memories, Draco?”

“There was a war. I was on the wrong side,” is all he says. He isn’t ready to go into too much detail. That’s another story for another day.

“Was that what you were trying to protect me from? The wrong side?”

Draco nods wordlessly. He saw things going south so quickly but his parents hadn’t. They pushed and they pushed; inducting him into the same pureblood fanaticism they relished. “How can you even think of forgiving me? I took your memories. I stole them from you, and you won’t ever get them back,” He argues, wanting to know whether you truly understood what you were doing by forgiving him.

“Let me ask you something, Draco.”

“What?”

“Do you plan on leaving again?”

He shakes his head immediately. He doesn’t think he could leave you even if he tried.

You shrug your shoulders, “That’s how I can think of forgiving you.”

“I don’t understand,” He whispers; his own self-hatred confused by your words.

“The wizarding war was about to descend into war. We were confused, scared teenagers who didn’t see another option. You asked my permission, Draco, and I granted it clearly.”

“But-”

You cut him off, “No buts. I said yes. I gave permission and we cannot change the past, Draco but we can control our future. It’s going to require work on both sides, but you can tell me about what I’m missing and at the same time we can forge something new.”

“What do you mean?”

You smile shyly, taking that all important step towards him, “Make some new memories with me, Draco.”

*****

General (HP) taglist: @chaotic-fae-queen @theweasleysredhair @harrypotter289 @kalimagik @heloisedaphnebrightmore @nebulablakemurphy @figlia--della--luna @idont-knowrn @liilyevanss @big-galaxy-chaos @black-lake-confessions @annasofiaearlobe @imboredandneedalife @levylovegood @mytreec @haphazardhufflepuff @teheharrypotter @chaoticgirl04 @accio-rogers @starlightweasley @dreaming-about-fanfictions @lestersglitterglue @msmimimerton @obx-beach @izzytheninja @slytherinprincess03 @bbeauttyybbx @breadqueen95 @acciotwinz @kashishwrites @slytherinsunrise @kylosleftbuttcheek @remmyswritings @they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon @ria-rests-here @superbturtlemakerathlete @inglourious-imagines @ithilwen-lionheart @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @ilovejjmaybank

Draco Malfoy taglist: @the--queen-of-hell @obxmxybxnk @obx-beach @sycathorn-slush @dracomalfoyswifey @kashishwrites @justmesadgirl @detroitobsessed @reaganwonders @just-a-belgian-girl @aspiringsloth20 @lahoete @minty-malfoy @fallinallinmendes @ravenclawbitch426 @ochrythum @beiahadid @gryffindors-weasley

#draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #Draco Malfoy #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine

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first-and-last-neocount · 3 years

Text

Whumptober Day 4

This is it. The big one.

This is the all-devouring AU that has now eaten nearly half of my Whumptober fill ideas. It’s a scenario I’ve carried in my brain for years, and when I initially looked through the prompt list this year and decided to write for it, my brain said ‘Hey, look at that Escape prompt. You could write something for that one AU that would fit that. And this one could work as a follow-up!’ and I said yeah, sure, why not. And I listed those ideas as ‘Escape!AU’, because that was the one that sparked the idea and I figured there’d only be one or two others.

By now, the AU has absorbed close to a dozen other prompts. They’re wildly out of order, of course, because I’m writing them in order of the prompts and not how those moments happen in the story. With every additional prompt I write out, there is the chance that it will mutate before my eyes and become part of the Escape!AU with little to no input or control from myself. I feel like I invited the muse for this story into my head without realizing that it’s not a fluffy hamster, IT’S A BLOODY TRIBBLE.

That being said, I should probably have at least kinda seen it coming, because it’s a fix-it for the ending of CoS. That’s a topic that I... feel passionately about, to put it mildly. This is that other AU I mentioned yesterday, where Gerald still has extra-special Hunter powers and the Patriarch did not manage to take the fae away from everyone; please just go with it, and I’ll actually address how that happened at some point. Although the Gerald-not-actually-being-mortal isn’t really relevant in this bit, because he’s so drained from everything that’s happened that it doesn’t do anything to resolve the situation.

That’s what we have Damien for.

Opening two lines, in italics, are quoted directly from Crown of Shadows to help set where the scene splits from canon.

Day 4 - Theme Chosen: “Do you trust me?”

Damien hesitated, then looked at Gerald. The Hunter nodded ever so slightly. “He's right, Damien.” His voice was quiet but strained. “There's nothing more you can do here.”

“Gerald-”

The Hunter was already shaking his head. Damien felt his throat constrict, as if the force of his own panic and despair was physically crushing it. He knew what the next word from Gerald's mouth was going to be, knew that the adept was going to send him away, that this was how it was all going to end; blood and bitterness and revenge, all that potential for redemption wrenched away at the last second, wasted...

Do you trust me?

He'd never initiated contact through the link before – the few times they'd spoken through it, Gerald had been the one to open the connection, Damien only responding to the Hunter's questing reach. It wasn't as hard as he might have thought, though; only a matter of reaching for that ever-present sense of connection that throbbed quietly between them, touching that indefinable thread that bound them and spilling his thoughts into it, the question carried forward in a rush by the tide of fear and desperation that was sweeping through him. Damien saw the Hunter twitch slightly, grey eyes widening in surprise at the message, or at the strength of the emotions that accompanied it – but the response came immediately nonetheless, no hesitation on the other man's part.

Yes.

Damien looked back at Andrys, the young man's green eyes blazing with restless fury as he waited for the Knight to step aside, and let his whole demeanour shift. He dropped his hands from where they'd been held, conciliatory, in front of him; he let his shoulders shift up and back, his stance transforming from defensive to confident, even cocky, as he hardened his expression into a look of stern determination. He saw shock and uncertainty ripple through Andrys at just the change in his body language, and he went for the opening with ruthless speed, forcing even his voice to come out steady and unaffected.

“Fine. Since you're not buying the concerned ally angle... let me put this a little more plainly. You're ruining my plan, boy.”

“What?”

The shocked exclamation had come, in the same tone, from both Gerald and Andrys in nearly the same breath. Damien forced the tiny urge to laugh hysterically into the furthest recesses of his mind, glaring at Andrys with all the disdain he could muster.

“You know what he is, and in case it escaped your notice, I'm a priest,” he bit out, gesturing dismissively at Gerald where the adept stood half-shielded behind him, lean frame now rigid with disbelief at the scene unfolding in front of him. “You think I actually wanted to have to work with a monster to save the world? That I seriously planned to just let him walk away when all this was said and done?”

Already, there was a flash of dawning understanding in Andrys's eyes; the young man looked from Damien to Gerald and back, the blind aggression on his face giving way to realization as he put the pieces together.

“You set him up...”

“I swore, back on the day I first found out that he was the Hunter, that I'd kill him with my own two hands,” Damien growled, and felt the fae around him shimmer with the force of the truth behind those words, so obvious that surely even Andrys could see it. With his adept's Sight, Gerald certainly could – and had, judging by the sudden alarm that flickered over his face. “I've been biding my time for vulking years, fighting this damn war, putting up with his power slithering through my head – I've endured nightmares and murders and horrors beyond your comprehension, and now you're just going to waltz in and finish him off, just when I've finally got the upper hand? No. No, I don't think so.”

He could feel real trepidation bleeding through the link now, knew that he had forced just enough true resentment into his words to off-balance Gerald – and Andrys must have been able to see it in the adept's face as well, because the young man suddenly laughed, a malicious little chuckle half choked by his own heightened emotions.

“Well, that's certainly a twist,” he said, eyes gleaming as he lowered the springbolt in his hands ever so slightly, the angle of the bolt canting down just enough that it was no longer aimed at Damien's chest but more at hip height. “And, from the looks of it, one that you weren't expecting.” Those words, dripping with spite, were aimed at Gerald, who actually flinched again in response. Andrys's gaze swung back to Damien, a dark, sick hunger that reminded the former Knight all too much of Calesta stirring behind his eyes. “So, you're the priest... Jaxom told me about you. Said you'd lost your way, fallen further than even he expected.” A smirk tugged at his lips. “This makes more sense, though. You needed this bastard too much to kill him then, but of course you're angry. What was the plan? Bring him back here and walk right into the heart of the crusade, so you'd have backup?”

“Of course.” Damien forced a mirroring smirk onto his own features, and though it felt heinously wrong on his face, Andrys didn't seem to notice anything amiss with it. “I'm not an idiot – I want payback, but I know he's still powerful. I wasn't going to provoke that showdown unless I knew I had some kind of safety net.”

Andrys nodded, his eyes glittering; Damien could all but see the pieces aligning in his mind, the world finally taking a shape that meshed sensibly with the young man's own personal mania.

“I see,” he said finally, the springbolt lowering a little more – the weapon was heavy, his arms had to be tiring by now. “It was my family that he slaughtered, you know... but I understand what you're saying, as well. You had to travel with him, endure him, for the entire fight against Calesta – that can't have been easy. I won't deny you have a claim on his head, but I think you must see my point of view as well...”

Damien barely heard his words. His eyes were on the springbolt, watching the nose dip further and further – until, as Andrys rambled on about the weight of their differing claims and his own suffering in having to work with Calesta to put an end to the Hunter, the trajectory of the bolt fell so far that it was aimed at the very ground.

Now!

Damien shoved the word through the link at the same time that he moved, lunging forward with every ounce of speed his tense muscles could offer. He left his reservations behind him, the conflict that had raged through him for so long suddenly silenced, irrelevant; as it had that night in Morgot when Hesseth's tidal Working had hit them, his innate drive to defend those he cared for subsumed everything else, every other voice in his head drowning under the overwhelming instinct to protect.

Andrys was wearing too much armour to try any more delicate method of incapacitating him, so Damien fell back on the basics; closing the distance between them with that desperate lunge, he brought his arm back and punched Andrys in the jaw with all the force he could muster. Even in his exhausted state, his speed and strength were forces to be reckoned with. Andrys had tried to react to Damien's sudden attack, jerking the springbolt back up and getting off a single shot, but Gerald had taken Damien's cue to throw himself to the side out of Andrys's line of attack; the bolt fired at a useless angle, flying low across the room to bury itself in the far wall near the floor. Then, Damien's blow connected.

Damien wasn't just well-trained in combat; as a Healer, he knew exactly how to do the most damage to the human body when he needed to. The gorget of the armour was protecting Andrys's throat too well for a jab to connect, but the sideways force of a blow could be an effective method of knocking an opponent out as well, if the attacker had aimed correctly. Damien had thrown the punch from as much of a sideways angle as he could manage, his fist coming in from the side with terrifying force; as it connected, Andrys's head snapped hard to the side, and the young man crumpled to the ground like a marionette with cut strings, knocked instantly unconscious by the force of his own brain being slammed against the inside of his skull.

The crash of his armoured form hitting the floor was followed by utter silence, broken only by Damien's own heavy breathing. He stared down at the young man, heart pounding with delayed adrenaline, feeling a wave of numbness slowly wash through him and replace the panic that had driven him to action.

God, forgive me... is this what I've become? Is this what You wanted when you brought us together, or have I truly lost myself so badly?

“Damien?”

The soft utterance of his name snapped Damien out of his trance, and he turned, shaking off the fog. Gerald had closed the distance between them in his moment of distraction and was now standing only a couple feet away, staring at Damien as if he'd never seen the Knight before, grey eyes wide. He didn't say anything else aloud, but he didn't need to; the link between them was saturated with emotion. Shock, wonder, gratitude, a fading echo of wariness...

And something else. Something so strong, so deeply felt, that it took Damien's breath away all over again. A sense of devotion, almost akin to his own fierce faith in God yet so much more personal, flooding through the link between their souls. A dizzying awareness that a line had been crossed, and a promise made: not with words, but with actions, unable to be taken back or misinterpreted. Gerald was wholly aware of what Damien had just declared, by stepping between himself and his descendant, by striking out at Andrys in defence of the Hunter – and he was returning the sentiment tenfold.

There would be time to put it all into words later. Damien took a deep breath, finally feeling the ground firm beneath his feet once more, his world steadying from where it had tilted on its axis in the moment he thought that Gerald was going to die.

“Time to grab what we came for and get the Hell out of here,” he said, mouth dry. “I'd say we're pretty definitively out of time.”

As Gerald nodded and turned to find the books they'd risked so much for, Damien moved to help, marveling at the way the link remained open and resonating between them, emotions flowing freely back and forth – and wondering what it meant for the state of his immortal soul that none of those emotions, from either end of the link, was anything like regret.

#whumptober2021 #no.4 #Do You Trust Me?#coldfire trilogy #fic #evil is what you make of it #gerald tarrant #damien vryce #the neocount writes

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sol-luminosus · 4 years

Text

Same verse as that of ‘Creep’. Happening first chronologically before they ended up on the hallway. Only that this is a Hananene version.

A look into Amane’s own point of view of love.

Title: Lego House

Fandom: Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun

Pairing: Hananene

Genre: Romance/Angst

Rating: T

Chapters: 1 (One-shot)

Summary: And out of all these things I’ve done, I will love you better now.

Yugi Amane was captivated.

It coiled and coiled and turned in the very expanse of his chest, gripping his heart so hard and so intently that he was positive his chest would burst into a thousand pieces at any given minute.

Nene was gazing at him questioningly, tilting her head of glittering silver locks so a few strands would cascade and slightly obscure her face as it waterfalled and framed the edge of her cheek.

He’d resisted the urge to tuck the stray pieces at the back of her ear.

Just by a moment’s brave surge of will to control himself.

Amane simply answered her concerned expression and previous barrage of questions about his well-being with a gentle smile, hoping that his beguiling expression would be enough to ease the worries in her mind.

He could tell however, that his strained effort had failed, given by the way her brows had furrowed further in a mixture of what seemed to be annoyance and worry from having something clearly hidden from her.

Indeed, the eyes were windows to the soul.

His in that very moment, must have been filled with desperation and longing. Perhaps at least surely, only those two emotions had leaked out.

She couldn’t have seen it, he was positive.

He’d never let her see it.

The clear and vulnerable emotion of love he’d tried so hard to will down and forever entomb in the very depths of his heart. It screamed so deafeningly, almost numbing his senses at times and making him forget of the actuality of things.

That he was dead and Nene wasn’t.

That his future was long gone with his wishes to remain rooted to where he is now as the only thing he should cling to,

That he had let go of his dreams to fly to the moon a long time ago.

A few decades which oddly, seemed to span for as long as an entire lifetime.

That at the very least, he knew he had the power to alter Nene’s fate.

So that he won’t drag her to the same empty abyss that he had long accepted to be irrevocably submerged in until the day he’d received his judgement.

This journey to redemption was and his alone. It will and would have nothing to do with her.

For a moment, he was sure his heart had swayed. When she’d regarded him with those iron-willed gems for eyes expressing her desire to live her life the way she wanted with a lifespan that could barely be a fistful, Amane just couldn’t seem to peel his eyes away from her. She’d called out to him—reached out with those two hands clasped together as if in a fervent prayer.

The same position as she had back when she’d first summoned him in the bathroom stall.

And all the while, although it was her own wish that should have nothing to do with him, she’d undauntedly declared that she would no matter what, journey to the moon together with him.

He knew he’d seen them before. On that very night however, they’ve shone and glimmered much more blindingly than they’ve ever before. The stars in her eyes had enthralled and bewitched him so that at that moment, he was certain he’d forgotten about anything else for a split second.

That he wasn’t the infamous Honorable No. 7 called Hanako-san.

That he was simply a child burdened with a sacrifice far too heavy for him to carry than what his small shoulders could have handled.

That he was just Yugi Amane, a socially awkward teenager who was in pieces and had eyes which reflected an unsettling amount of wisdom for his age.

And she was just Yashiro Nene, a girl with her head up in the clouds in search for dreams of true love and a promising long life ahead.

But he’d only forgotten for a split second.

How he’d wished, that he could’ve told her with all the honesty and transparency that his resigned heart could offer, that he was content enough with seeing the entire universe in the depths of those two luminous, ruby eyes.

Those very eyes he’d come to love ever since he was just at the tender age of nine all those years ago in that festival.

“Hanako-kun, what’s with you today? You keep spacing out for no reason and there’s clearly something wrong. I’m not going to stop prying unless you tell me—“

The sudden boisterous noise of the bathroom door swinging open and slamming on the wooden wall had both of them jumping out from their positions.

“Oi, Hanako! This is bad. Nii-san is out on a rampage right now because the mokke are running wild in the student council office. He’s talking about ‘exterminating all spirits’. What if he goes after you during his crazy fit?”

The golden specks in Amane’s eyes had turned dark with mischief, hovering over to the loud intruder in the name of Kou with a teasing expression and fingers touching his lips in a bid of mockery.

“Oh, what’s this? You’re suddenly so worried about me? Could it be? Are you in love with me?”

The blonde haired boy had reddened a dusty shade of pink from both shock and embarrassment, before the bellow of his voice had come booming in a strong effort of denial. “I am not, you crazy apparition! Maybe my brother’s already tried smacking you before I came here that’s why there’s suddenly something wrong with your head. In the first place the one I love is sen—“

His sentence had been cut off none too curtly, with an audible slap of skin ringing through the four corners of the room from having a palm slammed flatly over Kou’s mouth, effectively silencing him down. The leader of the School Wonders could barely show any sense of sympathy for the exorcist’s angered protests from the evident pain of having his teeth graze and split the skin of his lips.

“Oh, look at the time. Shouldn’t we hurry over to this mokke massacre you were talking about?” Amane had animatedly declared, glancing over to the wrist of his free arm where a nonexistent watch was strapped.

Kou had struggled to wheel away the hand clasped so tightly over his face. If he’d had the sense to be as livid as his brother would be in situations like these, then he’d be absolutely convinced that Amane had actually tried to suffocate him just to get him to stop talking, with the sheer amount of pressure he’d used reminding him far too irksomely of wood glue.

“What are you saying? We haven’t been here for long. In the first place we should hurry up and think of a strategy firs—“

For the second time on that afternoon, Kou had found himself being stopped midway of his musings, only having to have realized then that Nene had been in the bathroom all along. His eyes had grown wide with startlement, before having the familiar creep of a blush climb its way back up to his face with the difference in shade ten times as strong compared to the previous flush of color he’d donned just minutes earlier.

His dimwitted self which entirely lacks self awareness had almost confessed to her indirectly and in the middle of a bathroom of all places. Nene had only stared at him with an exasperated expression, a combination of what was obviously that of displeasure from the two of them bickering nonsensically and the urgency of the situation which they were very, very clearly stalling at that moment.

“Oh, yeah. You’re right! Let’s get going already.” Kou had laughed nervously to himself, the embarrassment hiking further up in his throat with his voice clearly about two octaves higher than normal before speeding up and out first out of the bathroom.

“What the heck was that about? Is there something wrong with my face?”

“Other than still looking human and not resembling a radish yet, I think you’re perfectly fine.”

Nene had turned to him with a brief look of irritation, before harshly spearing him on the head with the sharp ends of her hair pins.

“Hmph, stupid Hanako-kun acting all weird and suddenly calling me a radish, again.” She’d grumbled in frustration under her breath, with an injured Amane cradling his head in his palm and having his complaints about Yashiro’s ruthlessness ignored to be whisked away by the wind.

In the midst of his half-heartedly hurt reverie, his thoughts had peddled back to Kou’s would-have-been confession, noting how easy it was for him for the words to flow and cascade from his mouth.

And he was certain that had he been not there and the setting at the very least, had been somewhere that wasn’t as peculiar and off-putting as a bathroom, then the blonde boy would have not hesitated. He could picture him perfectly in his head, the words which Amane had kept from spilling running freely with his heart completely exposed and in its rawest for her to have as her own if Nene would willingly accept.

The very thought of her responding and reciprocating his feelings had caused an unutterable amount of fear to brew in Amane’s chest.

For he who was nothing more but a sham that could merely falsify and imitate what little of his memories could correctly recall as ‘life’, Kou was the living, breathing counterpart to his lies—someone who actually had the ability within his reach to promise her happiness.

He knew, and frankly, he didn’t really need to be reminded.

It was never a competition from the beginning.

And Amane was neither a willing contender.

His eyes in the shade of a precious mineral had darted on her back, watching with a somber fondness as the slope of her slight shoulders further sagged from her dipped mood exclusively caused by him just minutes prior.

Amane’s stare had narrowed in a sentiment of strangled affection, one that he was absolutely terrified for anyone or anything to ever decrypt from him.

“Maybe just for a little while. If it means I can keep you, I can stay in love with you for a little while longer.” The words had gone out and died in a whisper, coherent but with every syllable surely indistinct enough for anyone other than himself to understand.

She’d whirled her head around in query, certain that she’d heard him speak but not quite catching his words as she’d been lost in her own embittered sighs and grievances over the grating spectral being.

Amane had simply smiled at her, that same tenderly lonely smile he’d given her earlier that day when they were in the bathroom.

And Nene had only felt the same sting of emotion she’d felt back then as well; puncturing and aching yet beckoning her to him at the same time.

Creep: (Same verse/Tsukanene version)

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animentality · 10 months

Note

saw your post about redeemable durge and gortash and how they are different. And my two cents is that pre amnesia durge was way beyond redemption, there is just so much necrophilia, cannibalism and mass murder you can do before it forever stains you haha xD It is like finding some old demented man that used to do warcrimes, you can jail them, but they wont fully understand why they are there. anyways, love durge and gort <3 thank you for your posts. Hopefully larian gives us option to rule with gortash at some point. there seems to be some hints of that happening in game files.

you know, I said something similar once.

but I don't know now.

the game is pretty liberal in terms of presenting villains as sympathetic and capable of redemption.

Astarion might've been forced to do some awful things, but he still has the weight of thousands of souls on his head, doomed to an eternity of hunger. wyll was mizora's lapdog, and he was absolutely going to kill poor Karlach, who did nothing to deserve it. his guilty reaction implies he might've done this before.

gale's desperation for mystra's approval and power resulted in him getting that orb in his chest, which could've detonated at any moment, killing like... I don't know. it could kill a damn netherbrain, right? so it would've been able to flatten at least a city. that's a lot of deaths at his hands, and for what?

nothing. his own ambition.

Lae'zel and Shadowheart of course serve evil cults.

I'm not saying it's the exact same, because they've definitely all been coerced in some way.

but it allows for some ambiguity, doesn't it?

let's even look at outright villains.

you can tell Ketheric that he's still redeemable. he even falters when you suggest it.

and while Orin was never going to redeem herself, I mean fucking look at Sarevok and her mother. she was a product of incest already, which was absolutely disgusting, and then her own mother tried to kill her as a child, for the approval of Bhaal.

and then Sarevok tells you to kill her!!! his own daughter/granddaughter (yuck).

she desperately wanted his approval, and Bhaal's approval, and when you confront her with the truth, she's forced to turn into the slayer before she can even contemplate what it means to her.

I just.

I know Gortash is awful and if he existed in real life, I would absolutely kill him. he's on Joseph Mengele levels of fucked.

I wouldn't even need a trial, he'd be like Hitler. just shoot him in the head.

but since it's a game.... I can say that they presented him in an oddly sympathetic light, just like the villains, just like our morally gray heroes.

nubaldin boasts about how he used to bruise his knuckles on his face. Karlach, who is his chief victim for the audience's understanding, even says that it makes sense.

it doesn't excuse what happened to her of course.

but it explains it.

so... anyway I've rambled too long.

I admit that amnesia is really the only thing that redeems the dark urge.

but consider that I also said that Gortash is actually less evil than them from the start.

and they kind of balance each other out, in that way. you could even call them equals.

they could both have redemption, if only they both sought it.

#baldurs gate 3 #enver gortash #dark urge

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writings-of-a-hufflepuff · 4 years

Text

First Meetings - Arthur Morgan/Elizabeth McGill

Series: Call it Fate or Call it Chance

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Elizabeth McGill (Plus size, Female OC)

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Summary: Arthur Morgan hears someone in distress in the woods and goes to help. It’s a small world though and soon finds himself meeting a friend of one of his acquaintances. Little does he know it’s the start of a relationship that might just change his fate.

Warning: Talks of hunting, wolves get killed because they’re trying to eat OC, sorry! Talks of canon character death, spoilers?

Rating: T

Notes: So, I don’t have the energy these days to write a full fic, but I figured if I write a series of interconnecting one-shots then I can write for these two, get the story there, but without needed them all to lead off from one another like chapters. This series will document that relationship between Arthur Morgan and Elizabeth McGill, a plus size, English OC of mine who’s basically the online character but with less of the outlaw stuff. I hope you love her as much as I do and I hope you enjoy this first part in the series.

Archiveofourown

I’m always happy for requests, suggestions, prompts, questions about this two even if my normal requests are closed. Feel free to draw my characters, feel free to write stuff for them, feel free to ask me questions about them.

“Oh, go away you bloody little blighters! Shoo! I said shoo!” Arthur heard the call over all else, a lilting English accent, soft but scolding, like a mother to a troublesome child. He shifts Dave, the large black shire who he’d allowed Jack to name, forward, just breaching the tree line to see a woman standing on the lower branch of a tree, arms wrapped around the trunk. Wolves circled the base, baying, waiting, biding their time, hoping she’d slip. They were so entirely focused on her that they gave Arthur and the large horse no mind, not caring much for them at the moment. Clearly they had decided this woman was dinner and had some sort of spiteful vendetta, if wolves could feel spite that is.

She was a plump thing, short in height, round in figure with dark chestnut hair piled high in a gibson style pompadour atop her head. Her cheeks were rouged and her lips painted a poppy red, heavy skirt falling around her feet, kicking up every now and then as a wolf attempted to jump high enough to reach her, to try for a bite. He watched her kick one a way, a well aimed kick that set the wolf flopping to the ground with a yelp before it got back up again growling. A pretty thing, for sure.

Elizabeth McGill very rarely cursed out her horse, Scrawny, but today she was certainly doing so, mentally of course. She loved her big, doofus of a horse, the gypsy cob was anything but scrawny and he was gentle natured. He was, however, a coward when it came to wolves. He had bucked her so hard she’d lost her glasses, and in her haste to climb a tree hadn’t been able to find them again. If she could see she’d just shoot the bloody wolves circling her, unfortunately, she was blind as a, well, person without her glasses, and she did not trust that she’d hit a single one. She was usually a fine shot, hunting had become part of her trade, but...she usually could see while doing it. It also didn’t help that Scrawny had run off with all but her revolver, leaving her there. His loyalty was astounding.

“Y’alright, miss?” She can’t see much, just a blurry shape at the edge of the trees, big enough to be a man on a horse, big and dark coloured. The voice is deep, a heavy southern drawl that is pleasant on the ears, even more so because she’s been waiting desperately for a helping hand.

“I could do with a little assistance, sir!” She was usually the one helping others, but today, the tables had turned and she was not going to turn down the one person who’d arrived in the last half hour. She was fed up of clinging to a tree trunk especially in a heavy autumn skirt. She hadn’t been planning on hunting that day, she’d already done quite enough on the journey down from the Adler Ranch and had been close to Valentine, expecting to simply sell the pelts, teeth, claws, and the like that she’d gathered. Her first mistake was expecting a simple, calm journey of course. Things never were simple or calm, if it wasn’t a cougar attempting to eat her, an ambush by some local gang, or some fellow in need of help, then it was bad weather or snakes. The latter of which Scrawny hated even more than wolves, if that was possible.

She didn’t so much as watch the man circle around on his horse, shooting the wolves, as much as squint ineffectively and listen to the sound of hooves clipping the dirt, snorts from a remarkably brave horse, and the dying yelps of wolves. Part of her was envious that Scrawny wasn’t that brave, had he been she could have easily dealt with the wolves herself and never ended up in this damnable tree.

“You can come down now, miss.” The man proffers a hand and Elizabeth takes it using its strength and a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as she clambers down from her perch, she’s still blind and the help is appreciated. She doesn’t doubt that she’d easily take quite the tumble without guidance. He is nothing if not respectful, the other hand that rests at her waist to help down is placed just so as not to cause offence and is removed the moment her feet are on stable ground.

What he truly notices is just how short she really is, now she’s beside him her head barely comes to his shoulder. He feels suddenly too imposing, large, and feels the urge to make himself smaller if only to appear less intimidating.

“I...thank you, do you happen to see a pair of spectacles on the ground? My horse bucked me and I lost them...otherwise I would have handled the wolves myself but, i’m rather blind like this.” Arthur finally notices the way her hazel eyes don’t quite focus on him or her surroundings, when he speaks she can’t quite look him in the eye, but instead moves her gaze around as if trying to. Her squint is also more noticeable all of a sudden and he finds himself hastening to find her spectacles, looking across the ground careful to mind his step.

“You probably shouldn’t go telling strange men that, ma’am, some might take advantage.” He doesn’t say it to be intimidating or the like, simply out of concern. She clearly couldn’t see well without them and a lesser man, someone like Micah, would surely take advantage. Her trust in him is refreshing but concerning at the same time. He, after all, does not consider himself to be a good man.

“Well, it’s a good thing that a gentleman like yourself happened by instead then, Mr…?” She knows he is concerned for her, she is sure like many men before he thinks her too naïve, too sweet, and perhaps he isn’t wrong on some of those counts. But, she preferred not to live life assuming the worst of everyone, even if people tended to prove that they were indeed rather rotten inside. The amount of strangers in need of help she’d stopped by only to be ambushed was rather alarming at times. But, she did pride herself on her own ability to look after herself, except when she found herself without her glasses.

“Morgan, Arthur Morgan.”

“Elizabeth McGill, a pleasure. Thank you, for stopping. I might have been up there for hours otherwise, until they got bored that is, but...I’ve known wolves to bide their time.” She pretends to help because really her running her hands along the grass isn’t doing much, she can’t see after all.

“Uh, here, Miss McGill, your glasses.” He finds them a ways away from the tree, far enough that he knows she’d have never found them on her own. They’re round and surprisingly unbroken which he is oddly relieved to see for a man not at all invested in them. He passes them to her, watches them change the shape of her face, the clarity coming to her eyes as she blinks up at him with a soft smile. They suit her, feel like something she’s supposed to be wearing, not something that she has to wear.

For the first time Elizabeth can see her saviour clearly and the man certainly impressed. He was tall, that she already knew even without her glasses, and he was broad, strong, the sort of man that could clearly lift a heavy weight, tackle a man to the ground or hold his own in a fist fight. Mr Morgan had a weathered, but handsome face, little freckles marked his skin, signs of spending time in the sun, his beard was long but neat, but most striking of all were his eyes. He had the most gentle bluish-green eyes she’d seen on a man of his size.

“You gonna be okay? Your horse still around?” His brows pulled together in the middle out of concern and she found herself smiling at him without much thought. He had been kinder to her in the last 15 minutes than most people were. It warmed her heart just a little more.

“He’ll be around,” She stops and whistles, sharp, and high. Clear as crystal, and waits a few beats before whistling again. This time Arthur can hear the sound of heavy hooves galloping forward and moves just in time to avoid a large palomino gypsy cob that comes careening out from behind some trees. The horse is lumbering and large as any draft horse is, white and cream dappled coat, dirty from his escape. His hindquarters are covered in pelts, more pelts than Arthur has ever seen, and it’s clear to him that this Miss McGill is a skilled hunter and, if not for her spectacle issue, would have been just fine on her own. It changes his opinion of her, shapes it from a naive, delicate woman, to someone more capable, though still seemingly sweet and lady-like. If possible his interest in her peaked further.

She places her hands on her wide hips, scowling up at the horse, who’s nodding his head up and down at her in greeting with little nickering sounds, “Scrawny. I hope you know I’m terribly disappointed in you. Leaving me like that. I thought we agreed we were going to work on this wolf phobia of yours, or were you just conning me out of all those oatcakes?”

The horse huffs in a decidedly human way that makes Arthur grin, he doesn’t doubt the big thing had been making away with as many oatcakes as possible with absolutely no understanding or intention of facing a pack of wolves anytime soon.

“You’re lucky that kind Mr Morgan here was happy to help, what would you do if I was eaten by a ferocious pack of wolves?” The horse nickers and presses his large head against her, bumping into her hard enough for her to let out an ouph and take a few steps back. Her back hitting Arthur’s chest, he raised his hands to the tops of her arms to steady her before taking a polite step back, aware he could easily crowd her.

“I was just doing what anyone would, Miss McGill.” She turns to raise an eyebrow at his words and he feels decidedly admonished before she’s even parted those red lips.

“I think we both know that’s not true, Mr Morgan. I’ve stopped to help enough people who’ve turned a gun on me to know that you are one of a small minority of good folk, whether you want to believe you are or not.” She watches him rub the back of his neck, worn hat tilting forward to hide half his face, but she can still see the beginning flush to his skin from the attention and the creeping little smile twisting at the corners of his mouth. It makes her smile in return, this large, imposing man, bashful at a little compliment like that.

“What are you doing out here anyways, Miss?”

“I just came down from the mountains. I was visiting a friend who...well, she wasn’t there and her...her husband was dead.” There is a shaky pause, he can see her hand trembling slightly at the thought of her friend and her husband before she bunches it up in her skirt, “Did some hunting on the way down, figured I'd make my usual stop in Valentine to Ted, the butcher, usually gives me a fair price for the things I bring him.”

Elizabeth can still see poor Jake’s face, cold, frozen solid in the back of a wagon. Some animals had gotten to him before he’d frozen completely and she’d spent a whole day just digging him a grave, hard work considering the ground was almost completely solid itself. But she couldn’t leave him like that and she knew he’d prefer being buried on his own property to burned or some such. She still had blisters on her palms from the digging, despite gloves the hard work had rubbed her hands raw. Made it a tad more difficult to hunt on the way down with her bow, but she’d managed.

“What was your friend's name?”

“Mrs Adler, Sadie Adler. Used to do jobs for her and her husband when I visited...why?”

“Well, it’s a small world, Miss McGill.” He looks almost surprised at the name she’d thrown out, before smiling at her softly and elaborating, “Me and my friends, we found her oh about...3 weeks back? She was in a pretty bad state, but she’s been with us since. Awful business that with her husband, some O’Driscolls killed him.” Arthur looks apologetic and it soothes her distress to know that at least Sadie is safe, that at least despite all the bad luck in the world something had gone right for her. She hadn’t been found by someone else, someone who would hurt her and that was a small blessing in a world full of problems and bad people.

“You and your friends?” It’s said with a raised eyebrow and all he can do is rub the back of his neck and look away from her. It doesn’t feel right to lie to her, when she clearly suspects his friends aren’t just his drinking buddies. But, he’s not entirely sure if he can trust her. She seems nice enough, but plenty of people seem nice enough till they find out you have a bounty on your head. Not that Elizabeth could take him in, he doubts given the sheer difference in size that she’d manage it on her own. But, he wouldn’t put it past her to try...if she were so inclined. To him she seems both gentle, delicate, and formidable, words that seem like they shouldn’t work together until you look at her.

“Well…”

“Relax, Mr Morgan. I understand.” She does, she’s known enough ‘gangs’ of ‘outlaws’ to know that not all are as bad or dishonourable as they seem and that the need to protect their made family was great. She had her suspicions but if they had helped Sadie as Arthur had helped her then she had little doubt that they were the honourable sort of outlaw that she had little problem with. So long as innocent people weren’t getting hurt and the poor weren’t being robbed from she had few objections, even if she personally wasn’t comfortable with robbing or lying, herself.

The world was a harsh place, few could support themselves on simple law abiding trades like hunting. She was lucky in that respect. One mouth to feed was different to 20.

“Could I...I hesitate to ask, after all you’ve done for me, Mr Morgan...but could I see her? I...I can’t imagine what she’s going through and I’d like her to know Jake had a proper burial. I did rites and all. She deserves to know.” She twists her hands together, nervous of his answer. She could understand if he said no, he clearly needed to protect his gang and she was a stranger to him. But, she wanted to see her friend and most of all she wanted her friend to know that Jake wasn’t left out there to be eaten or for someone else to find. She’d even managed to gather some of Sadie’s things from the ranch in the end. Photos and trinkets that she’d hoped at the time to be able to give her if she was still alive.

Arthur rubbed a large scarred hand across his beard, the hairs scratching at his skin as he looked at her. She was small in stature, soft in body, and those hazel eyes held honest intentions. Taking her back to camp wasn’t without risk, but a liar knew a liar when he saw one. She didn’t care about his gang, she wasn’t hunting them down for a fat bounty, she just wanted to see her friend and after everything Mrs Adler had been through he thought she might want to see her friend too.

With a deep sigh and a quick thought that he hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake, Arthur pulled the black bandana from his back pocket. “I’d have to blindfold you, Miss...I gotta...I gotta protect them and I can’t be havin’ you know where we’re at. You understand?”

She could walk away, that was the offer. Be blindfolded by this stranger, this tall, broad, imposing figure or walk away. It was an easy decision to make. He was large and he was imposing, but the gentle way he held out the piece of cloth, the soft furrow to his brow, the way he hunched his shoulders to look smaller, all those things told her he was a good man. Not a pure man, not devoid of wrongdoing or bad deeds, but good in the sort of way that a man out here could be good. She would be safe with him. She could trust his intentions towards her.

“I understand, Mr Morgan.” She consents taking the fabric from him, it is softer than she expects, “Before we go, I'd suggest we skin those wolves. Your camp needs food I'm sure and those pelts’ll fetch you a good bit of coin, waste not want not.”

“Are you sure?” She’s the hunter after all, or it seems that way and part of Arthur can’t help but feel like she’d have done just fine without him had her glasses not been knocked off. Maybe, she’d been wanting to hunt the four wolves in the first place. He doesn’t want to offend her by taking what she might see as hers, but she just gives him another one of those looks that reminds him of a prettier, younger, much more amicable Ms. Grimshaw.

“Mr Morgan, you shot them, they’re yours to plunder. I have enough bloody pelts as it is, Scrawny here would probably complain if he had a few more to carry, right boy?” As if in answer the big cob nods his head up and down with a huff, clearly used to be used as a pack horse. He’s not sure the horse really understands the question, but it’s clear he’s a responsive horse used to a talkative owner, not like Dave who’s stood quietly behind Arthur, only occasionally nudging him with his nose and nibbling at strands of his hair as if expecting a sugar cube to be there.

“Well, if you’re sure…” She helps him skin them, while she hadn’t intended to do any skinning today and her blouse would certainly hate her for it, sharing the work would make it go quicker and she could offer a few tips as they went. Not much seeing as Mr Morgan was already a skilled hunter by the looks of things. The pelts were in fine condition, he was clearly a good shot, one rifle round to each wolf’s head, no mess, no unnecessary injuries or wasted ammunition. While they had wanted to kill her, she held a healthy respect for wolves and was glad that they didn’t die slowly. Quickly, cleanly, and humanely, something she held dear when it came to hunting.

Elizabeth grabbed a ratty cloth from her saddlebag, using it and some water from a canteen to clean her arms, it was never smart to leave blood on you and it wasn’t particularly nice either. She offered both to Arthur who gladly did the same, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, thick forearms being cleaned of blood. It was startling to her in that moment that she didn’t feel scared or worried at all. Here she was in the woods with a stranger, a broad, striking and clearly strong stranger, who had multiple guns, a hunting knife, and a bow all on hand. Yet, she didn’t feel a lick of apprehension or worry.

“Who’s this beautiful boy then?” There was a split second when Arthur, despite himself, almost thought she was talking to him. That was clearly not the case when he looked up startled to see her approaching Dave. The large shire usually disliked others, but was only watching the woman cautiously, deciding whether to bite, kick, or con her out of some food. When Hosea had given him the large beast claiming he was hard to handle and that he’d be better off selling him, something in Arthur had understood. The horse was a bit like him, he was a bit world weary, cautious of others, afraid of getting hurt, but underneath it all a soft hearted thing.

“...Dave.” He wished in that moment that he hadn’t allowed Jack to name the shire, he loved Dave. Had bonded well with him, but telling a pretty lady that your horse was named Dave rather than Boadicea was a might embarrassing especially when that horse was 17 hands high and capable of trampling wolves underfoot.

“He’s beautiful.” She likes his name, not that she says that, but it’s clear from the flush to Arthur’s cheeks that he’s not confident in the name choice. She thinks it suits. The shire is beautiful, giant compared to her and larger than Scrawny who was an impressive 15 hands high, especially considering his breed. The Shire pawed at the ground as she got closer, but she hushed him, little quiet comments and soothing sounds, a hand pulling a sugar cube from a skirt pocket.

There was always something special about getting a horse like that to trust you, to eat from your palm and accept the touch of your hand to their neck. Dave was clearly a distrusting animal, but he let her pat his neck and brush his forehead. He let her tie Scrawny’s reins to his saddlehorn knowing she couldn’t guide herself blindfolded.

“He don’t usually take to people too well…”

“Well, he just needs a kind touch that’s all. Someone hurt him real bad and he just needs to know that won’t happen again, right, sweetheart?” She says to the horse in a gentle tone, low and quiet. Arthur feels as if she’s talking about him, he thinks on the times he’s been bitten, the way he’s drawn back from people and he understands a little bit more why he and Dave work so well together. They’re two sides of the same damn coin and this woman had a way with both of them already.

She takes a few steps back, before turning and clambering up into her own saddle. Despite the sheer size of her own horse, she manages well enough to clamber on up even in a thick, heavy skirt. She settles herself, arranges her skirt and takes those delicate round spectacles off and pockets them before grabbing the fabric he’d given her.

“You’ll make sure Scrawny doesn’t run into any trees?”

“I got you, miss. Don’t you worry.” It’s with that that Elizabeth wraps the blindfold around her eyes and tightens it at the back of her head, hand holding onto the saddlehorn as they begin to move.

Arthur cannot help but be a little bit in awe at the trust she has decided to place in him.

#arthur morgan/elizabeth mcgill #arthur morgan/oc #arthur morgan x oc #plus size oc #arthur morgan x elizabeth mcgill #call it fate or call it chance #ship fic #my oc #my character #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fic

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dewitty1 · 4 years

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Pensieve For Your Thoughts

fencer_x @fencer-x

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Harry Potter/Draco Malfoy Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Pansy Parkinson Additional Tags: Post-Second War with Voldemort, Hogwarts Eighth Year, Dubious Consent, Hogwarts, Oral Sex, Blow Jobs, Switching, Intercrural Sex, Draco Malfoy & Pansy Parkinson Friendship, Pansy Parkinson is a Good Friend, Voyeurism, Enemies to Lovers to Friends, POV Draco Malfoy, Snarky Draco Malfoy, H/D Erised 2019, Anal Sex, Face-Fucking

Summary:

Ostracised from the more discerning social circles after the war, Draco decides to spend his final few months at Hogwarts attempting to ingratiate himself with the Boy Wonder in the hopes he might be able to salvage his reputation in the doing. But when has anything involving Draco trying to be Potter’s friend gone right, really?

Excerpt:

Draco did not attempt to goad Potter into any further interactions, and Potter did exactly as Draco had requested and left him the fuck alone. Why this held true only for classes and did not extend to any bedroom activities, Draco could not begin to guess, but he was not so terribly put off by the arrangement these days. He was happy and sated, and Potter seemed utterly oblivious, so everyone won.

Well, happy but for the fact that more than three weeks had passed, now, since Draco had cast the spell that had started this whole fiasco, with his self-redemption plan thus far a complete and utter bust.

The little bowl at Draco’s bedside was getting murkier and murkier—the Knut he’d tossed in that morning had barely been a dark shadow beneath the surface. In another two, maybe three days, the spell would be broken—and then there’d be a reckoning Draco didn’t think he was prepared for for a dozen different reasons.

He was running out of time in more ways than one, and not in three long weeks had Draco been able to parse any more of the spell’s language to determine just what he’d done wrong. Night Potter looked exactly like Day Potter—even down to the finger slice he’d suffered thanks to his piss-poor knife skills in Potions only a few days earlier. That left out any sort of conjuration or apparition—he was real and solid and an utterly perfect construct. He was Potter. So was he only forgetting their liaisons? Draco couldn’t exactly strip Day Potter down and check his body for lovemarks, so there was no way to be sure exactly what was going on.

No way, but to finally break down and turn to Pansy.

“Well it’s about time, Darling,” she cooed, taking him by the shoulders as soon as he’d stepped over her threshold and steering him over to the overstuffed armchair she kept by her fire grate, taking her own seat on an ottoman upholstered in the exact same fabric as the chair. “Now—details! How’s the spell been working? You don’t have to give me the entire story, unless of course you’d like to, in which case mind if I prepare a Dictaquill?” Draco glowered at her, and she waved him off with a sigh. “Fine, spoil my fun. So?”

Draco sank back into the armchair, rubbing his face with a groan. “It was an unmitigated disaster.”

Pansy straightened. “Wait—what?” She scoffed. “That’s—what do you mean ‘disaster’? I’m not sure that’s even possible.” She placed a hand on his knee, peering up into his face with frank concern. “Draco, Darling, what are you talking about? Disaster how?”

He shrugged, flippant. “I brewed the potion, cast the spell—went back to my room, and…”

“And…?” Pansy prodded, looking entirely too pleased with herself. Where had that touching concern gone?

Draco shifted forward, elbows braced on his knees and head hung. “…Something went…wrong. The spell—it didn’t make Potter like me. It made him—” He clucked his tongue, then pitched his voice softer, biting out, “It made him want to fuck me.”

Pansy was staring at him in abject awe, and after a beat, she said, just as softly, “…Yes? Well? Did you let him?”

And she didn’t sound terribly surprised—rather, she sounded almost expectant. Draco drew back. “Well, I—wait.” He shook his head. “I said he wanted to fuck me. Stick his prick in me. You do understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course, Darling: you brewed the potion, cast the spell, and poof!” She gestured wildly, miming an explosion. “Instant Potter!”

“Instant—what?” He clenched his hands into fists, wary he might be struck by the urge to reach out and shake her until answers came tumbling out. “Pansy—what…what was that spell?”

“A spell for companionship, Draco—like you wanted. You said you wanted Potter to like you.”

“Like me! Be cordial with me! Give me the time of day! Not—not fuck me!” He groaned, slumping back in the chair. “Fuck, I have gone and slept with him, haven’t I?” He’d been hoping, faintly, that somehow there’d been a misunderstanding and Draco hadn’t done anything untoward after all.

“Draco…” Pansy gave a chuffing sigh. “I’m afraid I don’t quite understand what you’re talking about—you came to me, desperate I’ll remind you, wishing for a spell to make Potter like you. So I gave you the next best thing.”

“Next best—I didn’t want the ‘next best thing’! I wanted the thing! Potter’s friendship!”

“But—” She boggled. “One, you know perfectly well that sort of spell doesn’t exist, any more than a love spell exists. And two, do be serious, Darling: you’ve been gagging for Potter since First Year. Naturally I read between the lines when you came sniffing around for a spell involving ‘Potter’ and ‘companionship’.”

And oh bugger, they’d been on entirely different wavelengths this whole time, and now—

He froze, turning her words over in his mind. “…Wait, what did you mean by ‘next best thing’?”

“Well,” she said, shoulders twitching with pride. “I smuggled one of Mummy’s naughty grimoires from the Library, just for you—they were terribly popular in seventeenth-century France, you know. ‘Companionship’ spells.”

“I don’t…” Draco shook his head. “What’s meant by ‘companionship’ if not friendship, then?”

“You know,” Pansy tittered, lips pursed primly. “A phantasmic fuck. It’s a magical sex toy, really when you get right down to it.”

Draco was beginning to feel faint. “A—sex toy?”

(༶ૢ˃̵̑◡˂̵̑༶ૢ)✧♡

#Pensieve for your thoughts #Fencer_x #Drarry #Drarry fanfiction #Drarry fic rec #fic rec #Drarry smut #Harry Potter #Draco Malfoy #Enemies to lovers #Dubious Consent #Hogwarts Eighth Year #HD Erised 2019 #Enemies to lovers to friends #Carey's Bookmark Fic Recs #Carey's Personal Bookmarks

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hiatuswhore · 4 years

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Viktoriya (Vik)

best: generous, caring, loving, loyal, fair

worst: don’t speak up when i need to, let people walk over me, kinda manipulative?, jealous type, anger issues

biggest fear: abandonment

shows/movies: tvd, teen wolf and avatar

Viktoriya Repchuk, the sole survivor of the Repchuk Massacre. Your coven known for its incredible depths of mental manipulation made all of you targets in the supernatural world. You were only a girl carrying all the power of your coven at a very young age. It was late the night it happened you could remember your mother yelled at you for not being in bed in time. Your older brother was practicing spells with your father and Pretzel was rolling around on your bed. His black fur littering your blanket you remembering whining about it being everywhere. You could not recall when you had fallen asleep but you remembered Pretzel’s barking woke you up. Peaking out of your room door your mother suddenly rushed in.

“Under your bed,” Your mother urged as she pushed you beneath the bed. Whispering an incantation you were unsure what was happening but you were scared. Hearing your mother scream you peaked out, freezing at the sight you would never forget the face of the man in the room.

Klaus

Klaus knew about your family and when he got word of the massacre and the sole survivor it piqued his interest. He was surprised that you were the sole survivor, only a child with untapped potential. Taking you in it was a long difficult road before you opened up. Klaus could see a lot of himself in you, a young angry girl, his little witch. Always promising he would help you find the man who killed your family. Through Elijah’s journals, you learned patience and strategy. Through Kol’s journals, you learned the art of intimidation. And through Rebekah’s, you learned to use feminism as a weapon. Klaus’s hunt for the Petrova doppelganger is why you were sent to Mystic Falls High.

Caroline

Practically being Klaus Mikaelson’s daughter you were no fool. Learning everything you could on Elena and her surroundings you knew Caroline was your in. Playing on her insecurities and need for validation it took one comment and a bonding moment to befriend the naive blonde. In actuality, you found her materialistic and whiny personality insufferable. She first introduced you to Bonnie the Bennett Witch.

Bonnie

She would ask many questions at first not necessarily skeptical but her curiosity did worry you. Struggling to keep up with your lies you had to be meticulous when it came to Bonnie. Getting past this though somewhere within your manipulation you grew to actually care for the girl. It was something you struggled to understand as you never really had any friends. Always focusing on your studies and need for revenge. That’s why it was hard using your mental manipulation to make her forget conversations or lies. In doing so Bonnie was starting to notice all the little holes in her memory. Playing with her newfound magic and breaking through your spells it was then she realized you were not who you claimed to be. By the time she realized what was happening it was too late. You had already inserted yourself into Elena’s life.

Elena

At first, you struggled to smile at the girl dating your family’s murderer. Everyday seeing their smiling faces greeting you, it only reminded you of that night. It was only the night when everything happened only for a second did you feel bad for Elena. When Klaus gave the order you headed into the woods where the spell would take place. Waiting for Jenna and Elena you felt terrible but only for a second. As Klaus appeared handing you the moonstone he reminded you this benefited him and would make Stefan suffer.

Stefan

He had never thought too much about you he thought you were just a normal kind girl. There was something familiar about you but he never thought too much about it. As he made himself known at the ritual circle so did you. Revealing who you actually were it took Stefan a few seconds to remember his dark period, ripper Stefan. Going off just you, Klaus, and Stefan. He begged to take Jenna’s place and his desperation brought you a small joy. Everything he had caused was finally coming back to bite him. You had not planned to kill Jenna. When she tried for your life you knew Klaus would without a doubt take hers. Stefan tries to play to your kindness but it falls on deaf ears as you cannot unsee your mother’s murder. When Damon and Bonnie show up Stefan stops his brother from killing you. A small step in the direction of atoning for all he had caused you.

Main Story Arc

First story arc is heavily a revenge arc. All of your worst qualities presented on the surface it is clear you were brought up like a Mikaelson. It is very secretive at first the most that is learned early on is that you’re a witch. Through all of this, you did make rocky friendships and left a lot of unfinished business.

Second Story arc you are once again alone as you believe Klaus is dead and you’re unsure where Elijah is. Trying to figure out who you now are without revenge being your motivating factor. It’s Katherine who pulls you back into the Mystic falls madness. When you return it is a long road to redemption with all you left behind.

The final Story arc is realizing the Mikaelson’s are truly the only family you have left. No matter how much Stefan would and could do you would never be able to really forgive him. There is always a little reminder somewhere within the sea faces reminding you of a time when you would be willing to kill any and all of them. Leaving for New Orleans there is a new life waiting for you.

#the originals imagine #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaleson imagine #damon salvatore #stefan salvatore #elena gilbert #caroline forbes #bonnie bennett

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kyndaris · 4 years

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The Cost of Honour

What would you sacrifice to save the lives of the people you love and the home you cherish? How long would you be able to hold onto your morals when faced with an enemy that is impossible to win against? In the last exclusive for the PlayStation 4, Ghost of Tsushima from the developer Sucker Punch, asks these hard hitting questions and many more as it follows the journey of Jin Sakai in his quest to drive out the brutal Mongols from the island of Tsushima.

Considering the pedigree of Sucker Punch and chafing to dive into the world of Feudal Japan, Ghost of Tsushima was an easy buy for me. Immersed in the world of the Yakuza series and delighting occasionally in fresh new anime, it seemed imperative that I see what this game could bring to the fore. After all, the game looked very much like Assassin’s Creed. I liked Assassin’s Creed. And hadn’t the fans of the Assassin’s Creed franchise been clamouring for something in a similar vein for a very long time?

Once I booted it up, I was immediately struck by the visual representation. The colours were vibrant (though one could choose to play in black and white mode) and coupled with the particle effects, I could have sworn I had been pulled into a cinematic world. The opening scene used this to great effect and proved to be a masterful attempt of immersing me immediately with the world. As Jin raced down the beach, I thoroughly enjoyed the rush that came with swinging my katana at anyone that was foolish enough to stand in my way. Yet, it is not long before it becomes exceedingly clear that the samurai have lost the battle. Many are slain on the beach and Lord Shimura, Jin Sakai’s uncle and jito (land steward) of Tsushima is captured. Jin, having taken a couple of arrow shots in the back, is left for dead.

Enter Yuna. It isn’t clear why she singled out our protagonist as being alive and pulled him away to nurse him back to health.

As the prologue continued, I wondered if she was questioning her choice of companion as Jin, armed with only his sword and a broken piece of armour went to confront the Khan at Castle Kaneda, in a desperate bid to rescue his uncle. This first attempt is met with failure and Jin is essentially yeeted off the bridge. Yes. I know. I used the word ‘yeeted.’ I’m basically roasting my own hands over hot coals as I type this.

Despite plummeting what looked like several hundred metres down into the water below, Jin manages to survive. The man, it seems, is almost unkillable. You could say...he’s a ghost. Badum tss. I’ll see myself out now.

From a discouraging defeat, Jin, however, vows to avenge his fallen samurai brethren and rescue his uncle from the clutches of the evil Mongol invaders. Here, too, was when my journey to collect everything and complete all the side stories began.

Unfamiliar with the works of Kurosawa Akira, I can not rightly say if the narrative nestled in Ghost of Tsushima’s maze of collectibles plays upon the tropes of those that came before. What I did manage to glean was a story of revenge and hate, the cost of war and the values embodied by the notion of ‘samurai.’ With his back to the wall, Jin Sakai must adapt if he hopes to win. Much like Yuna’s speech at the start of the game, he and Lord Shimura have forgotten what it was like to face someone stronger and smarter than they were. If Tsushima and its people hoped to survive, instead of throwing away their lives, they needed to change their tactics.

In the early stages, Jin is shown to grapple with the idea of going in quietly and silently stabbing people in the back. But after the first mission and the first outpost, he was free of the burdens that were his old code of honour. I suppose in that sense, there is a degree of dissonance between the narrative and the play. Alas, I couldn’t have cared less as I went from camp to camp, observing the leaders and unlocking new technique points.

The end of Act 2 and the beginning of Act 3, however, is when Jin Sakai’s actions finally catch up to him. Instead of following through with his uncle’s plan of rebuilding the bridge at Castle Shimura after an explosion killed countless soldiers and allies, he poisons the Mongols drink in a bid to save the lives of his comrades. Classic war crime manoeuvre. Learning from this, however, the Mongols use this against the people of Tsushima as well.

It is this devastation that we see after Jin escapes from his uncle’s stronghold, desperate to free the people from the Mongol’s iron grip. Despite the gruesome nature of it all, it helped put Jin’s actions into a different light. By making the enemy aware of a new weapon, could he have possibly doomed his own people?

Subsequently, when the Khan is killed and Jin is about to face his father figure, it makes sense for Shimura to point out many of his misdeeds. Can the people of Tsushima really be saved if Jin’s actions undermine the authority of those in power? What of the stories that paint him as a ten foot demon with eyes that glow in the dark?

So, it came as no surprise when Lord Shimura asked for a warrior’s death. And wishing to be the dutiful son, no matter how painful it would be, I granted it. One last ‘honourable’ act.

The gameplay in Ghost of Tsushima initially proved to be a challenge, although that was mostly due to the fact that I had to readjust my understanding of my controls. Navigating without a minimap in the corner or a HUD showing me the general directions of north, south, east and west also took some time to adjust to. I don’t think I’ve ever just ‘followed the wind’ when it came to video games before. But, because of that, it allowed me to actually keep my eyes focused on the screen in front of me rather than the top right/ left corner. I could actually take in the scenery instead of being solely focused on clearing out the fog of war.

As for the actual combat, the controls were incredibly intuitive. Square for a normal attack, triangle for heavy. L1 to block and circle to dodge. Where it seemed like the developers should have stopped a little when it came to the variety of options available to the player was mapping R2 as the interactions button - but also the stance and quick throw wheel.

Traversal also proved to be fun and because the HUD wasn’t as cluttered as I was used to, it made exploration easy. Equipped with the Traveler’s Outfit as soon as the game had started also made it incredibly easy to start hunting down collectibles and feeding my urge to see every nook and cranny that was on display. What pained me, however, was the fact that it took me a while to realise that I needed to progress the story and obtain the grappling hook before I could complete a few of the shrines in the first area. And to obtain a few choice head gear.

My only other gripe with the game is that my poor Nobu was felled so swiftly at the start of the third act. And the thin brown horse that served as its replacement was not the replacement I had hoped for. Thankfully, Yuna was able to gift me with another horse - which I named Sora - but my heart still goes out to the faithful Nobu.

Why do you have to kill all of my faithful steeds, video games? I was distraught when Red Dead Redemption 2 did it. Appalled when Shimmer was caught in an explosion in The Last of Us Part II and now...this?

The side characters and side stories also proved to be entertaining distractions over the course of the long journey to free Tsushima. While Masako’s revenge plot was a hollow echo of the pain Jin faced, it was Norio’s burning of the Mongol camp that left me frightened of the legacy of the ghost. At least the ending of Sensei Ishikawa’s story felt a little more redemptive and filled wit hope.

And, after IMDBing the cast, I was gladdened by the fact that many of the voice actors chosen for the game were Asian Americans. Jin Sakai was actually voiced by a Japanese man in the English dub! Imagine that!

Ghost of Tsushima is an excellent open-world game that hews quite closely to the more recent Assassin’s Creed formula. Despite that, I thoroughly enjoyed my time exploring Feudal Japan, inconsistencies and all! My favourite part of it was collecting Mongol artefacts, records and learning a little about each clan banner. The combat also provided a few surprises, although the duels were a little tedious in the latter half. With the world still unable to quite shake the virus that still threatens many of our loved ones, it’s fun to actually dive into this fantastical and historical inaccurate world that is Ghost of Tsushima.

#ghost of tsushima #video games #platinum trophy

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