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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 11 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Chapter 5: Heads Or Tails, Fairy Tales In My Mind]

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes, RIP Jace.

Series title is a lyric from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Chapter title is a lyric from: “Are We The Waiting” by Green Day.

Word count: 5.8k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

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“I know he has a scalpel in his bag,” Baela says, meaning Aemond. You are sitting with her on the front steps of a two-story house—1970s construction, split foyer, pale blue siding and rust-red bricks—on Trux Street in Plymouth, Ohio. This town was named for the place where the pilgrims stepped off the Mayflower over four hundred years ago, pioneers who crossed through the doorway of an unfathomably changing world to die of disease, cold, accidents, starvation, violence. You wonder if you are so unlike them. “He’s assisted with c-sections before, if it comes to that. And he has needles and surgical thread. But he doesn’t have any way to anesthetize me.”

Luke and Rhaena are on the roof of the silver Chrysler Pacifica parked at the end of the driveway and surveilling the road. Everyone else is inside tearing the house apart as they try to find the keys. You don’t know what to say to Baela. There is no way to console her except by lying, and she’s too smart for that. “How far along are you?”

“I don’t even know.” She laughs like she’s on the verge of losing her mind. You don’t blame her. “The doctors calculate it based on the date of your last period, but mine was all over the place. I had tried a few different birth control pills and had all these side effects, weird spotting and cramping, no sex drive, feeling depressed, so I just figured I’d go all natural for six months and give my body a chance to reset. And we all know how that turned out.” She skims her palms over the globe of her belly, hidden beneath the flowing periwinkle cotton of a maternity dress she found at the Walmart back in Shenandoah. “I’m officially due in four weeks.”

“But it could happen at any time.”

Baela nods miserably. “My mum had me and Rhaena the…you know…the natural way, and it was smooth sailing. But she needed an emergency c-section with my little brother. What happens if that’s how it goes for me? Do you ever think about all the ways people can die now? It’s not just the zombies. I could get murdered, or fall and crack my skull open, or get a cut that turns septic, or rupture my appendix, or get frostbite or heatstroke, or get bitten by a snake. It never ends. We’ll be balancing on the knife’s edge for the rest of our lives.”

You wish you were better with words; you wish you were someone who spoke effortlessly like Rio or Aegon. You reply with the only thing you can think of. “Humans have survived for hundreds of thousands of years, and for the vast majority of that time with no modern medicine. It was dangerous, and it was painful. But there have always been people who made it. We wouldn’t exist otherwise.”

Remarkably, this seems to help. “I know Aemond will do everything he can for me,” Baela says, more steadily now. “He’s always been the most dependable one. So serious, so protective. Daeron was visiting us in Boston when everything shut down, and Aemond wouldn’t let the kid out of his sight for weeks…then Aemond almost died when he lost his eye and Daeron proved he could take care of himself with his compound bow.” Baela unwraps a Twizzler and takes a bite out of it, gazing vacantly at the sky, calm and overcast now that the storm has passed, breezy, mid-80s. She doesn’t even like them, but she’s been eating through a pack of Twizzlers Luke had been carrying in his backpack for Jace, slow mindless chewing like a cow’s. “Aemond feels responsible for you now. And that’s difficult when there’s so little control he actually has over what ends up happening.”

“Baela…I’m so sorry about Jace.”

“Drowning isn’t so bad, I guess. I hope he drowned. I hope he was dead before he washed ashore and they ate him.” Baela turns to you, eyes glazed. “Do you think we should have shot him before we left the river? To make sure he didn’t die in pain? You could have done it if you wanted to. Your aim is good enough.”

“No,” you say, horrified but trying to soften it. “I think that would have been…immoral.”

“I don’t even have a picture of Jace to show the baby, everything was online or on my phone, and now that’s all…gone. Just gone. Like he never even existed. How am I going to explain to my child what Boston was, or law school, or aerospace engineering, or grocery stores or shopping malls or Instagram, or anything else about our lives before this whole fucking disaster? All they’ll ever know is running from monsters, scrounging for shelter and supplies from the ruins of civilization.”

“The world is going to come back, Baela. Maybe not for five or ten years, and maybe looking a lot different than it did before, but humanity will recover. The Black Death wasn’t the end, and neither were the World Wars or the Mongol invasions or the colonization of the Americas, or famines or floods or volcanic eruptions. The zombies won’t end us either.”

“Do you really believe that?”

I want to. “Yeah, I do. We just have to hold on until the tide turns. We can’t give up.”

“In that case, I’ll try not to go completely insane in the immediate future. Thank God Rhaena and Luke are still here. Do you have any siblings?”

You smile vaguely. “Four.”

“Wow,” Baela says. “Do you know where they are now?”

There is an interruption before you have to decide how to answer: a roaring high above in the sky, a remote mechanical growling. You and Baela both look up to see a jet zooming by, just below the steel grey cloud cover and leaving a trail of condensation behind it like a comet’s tail of eons-old cosmic dust. From where he is perched atop the Pacifica, Luke is pointing at the jet to show Rhaena. Aemond, Rio, Aegon, and Daeron come rocketing out of the house to find the source of the noise. After a moment, Helaena moseys onto the front porch as well, tucking flashlights and napkins into her burlap messenger bag. Meanwhile, Aegon is filling his pockets with packs of Marlboro Golds and orange prescription bottles labelled Percocet.

“Is that an airplane?!” Aegon gasps. “People are flying again?! Oh, we are back, baby! We are so back! I’m catching the next flight to SFO, peace out bitches, no more Oregon Trail for me!”

“It’s a jet,” Aemond says flatly. “Not a passenger carrier. Probably military.”

“Doesn’t look like one of ours.” Rio turns to you for confirmation.

“No, I don’t recognize it.”

“Then who the fuck is up there?” Aegon says. “Canada? The U.K.?”

Rio sighs, ruffling Aegon’s already quite disheveled blonde hair. “Who knows, Honey Bun. Maybe it’s China or Russia swinging by to drop nukes on any survivors.”

“Fortunately, nobody’s going to waste a nuclear bomb on freaking Plymouth, Ohio,” Baela says, watching the jet vanish into the west, the droning of its engines replaced by the breeze through the sugar maples and sycamores, the screeching of cicadas and chirps of robins. “No luck finding the keys?”

Aemond frowns as he shakes his head, tapping his chin anxiously. He knows she can’t walk much farther.

“How do none of us know how to hotwire a car?” Aegon demands, exasperated.

Rio replies cheerfully: “Well, Chips and I have been diligently serving this glorious nation since we were eighteen years old, and you’re all clueless rich kids. So…I think that just about sums it up.”

“I need more arrows,” Daeron says, clutching his compound bow. All the ones he had are now speared through zombies along the river where Jace died. When you snuck away from the farm at dawn, Luke used his binoculars to check the shores; they were still swamped with zombies, even more than the night before. They are pack animals; alone, they are aimless and easily confounded, their memories calamitously short. As part of a group—if they were crows they’d be a murder, if they were camels they’d be a caravan—zombies attract and guide each other, moving symbiotically like planets and moons locked in orbit.

“I think you’re going to have to start making them the old fashioned way, kid,” Rio tells Daeron, accompanied by a rough pat of encouragement on the back.

“What, like with sticks?!”

“Yeah. Use a knife to carve one end to make it pointy and you’re good to go.”

“Love it. Very pioneer.” Aegon holds up a Sony Walkman, pink and covered with Disney stickers, Ava spelled out across the top in glittering rhinestones. “At least I found this. Helaena, do we have any more AA batteries?” She fishes around in her bag and hands him a pair.

Baela gapes at him, but she’s smiling. It’s horrible, it’s absurd, it’s something you can’t help but find a macabre humor in. “Aegon, you cannot use that poor eaten kid’s CD player. You know it’s haunted.”

Aegon sings like a jingle from a commercial: “Little Ava died, RIP. Now I get to listen to my CDs.”

“Oh, that is so fucked up!” Rio cackles.

You say, grinning: “Aegon, I’m really going to miss you when we’re all in heaven at the bowling alley made of clouds and you’re downstairs in the fiery version of the afterlife.”

“Don’t feel bad for me, Chipmunk. You’re the one who’s going to die without ever having an orgasm.”

“You don’t need a man for that, Aegon,” Baela says.

“You definitely don’t,” you agree. Aemond glances over at you, intrigued. You stare dauntlessly back. What? You said you weren’t interested. The corners of his lips curl up in a reticent smile; he looks down to try to hide it. He’s touching his chin again. His cheeks flush pink as his mind wanders.

Rio chuckles. “Oh yeah, I remember your little experimenting phase. Lots of trips to the Spencer’s in the Tysons Corner mall when we were stationed at Anacostia.”

You raise your eyebrows, though you’re not annoyed. “I thought you were never going to tell anybody about that.”

“It’s the end of the world, baby. No time to be shy.” Then Rio asks Aemond: “Since we’re here and it’s quiet, you want to go ahead and check every house that has a car with the fuel cap still closed? There are some minivans and SUVs down at the other end of the street. Even a few gallons of gas will take us farther than days on foot.”

Aegon adds, checking his map: “A half tank would get us all the way to Decatur, Indiana.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Aemond says. He offers Baela a hand and helps lift her to her feet. “You guys go ahead, I’ll meet you down at the driveway with the black…what is that, a Honda Odyssey? You know the one, the van in front of the yellow house. Don’t go inside until I get there.”

“Yup!” Aegon agrees as he speeds off, racing Daeron to the house. Rio—not one for sprinting—jogs after them with his Remington in hand, ready to bash rotting skulls in at a moment’s notice. Baela toddles down to the Pacifica to tell Luke and Rhaena the plan, her periwinkle dress billowing in the wind; then they climb down to walk with her. Helaena floats across the sidewalk like a ghost, pausing to pick buttercups that grow up between the cracks in the cement.

Aemond has been waiting until the two of you are alone. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, sure.” A few houses down, a female zombie—early-twenties, white bikini top, red Ohio State shorts—staggers across the yard and in her attempt to snag Aegon falls and impales herself on the white picket fence. She is suspended there, clawing and yowling, her blackening intestines and dark clotted blood staining the wood. Aegon takes his time getting into a stance and swings his golf club like he’s at a driving range. He hits her dead-on, caves the front of her face in, takes a few more shots just to be sure.

“I get what’s in Oregon for Rio,” Aemond says. “Sophie, the baby, his parents. But why are you going there?”

“Rio’s my best friend. He might be my only friend who’s still alive. And when we left Saratoga Springs, he made me promise that I wouldn’t let him die alone. So before anything else, I have to make sure he gets to Odessa and finds his family. And then I can figure out what’s next for me. But if it really is safe there, I don’t see why I’d leave. I’ve never wanted to be on my own. Maybe I can end up having a family in Oregon too.”

Aemond rests his elbows on the porch railing. He’s teasing you. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I’m still alive.”

You tease him back. He deserves it. “I’m not sure about you and me.”

“I’d like for us to be friends.”

“Would you?”

“Resoundingly.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try.”

He considers you. “You know, Kentucky might have been a good place for you to hide out. And it would be a lot closer than Oregon.”

You stand up, throwing on your backpack full of bullets for your Beretta M9s, beef jerky and peanut butter crackers and granola bars, lip balm, bottles of water, Kleenex tissues, Juicy Fruit, miscellaneous treasures from the road, practically worthless trinkets made so impossibly valuable. “We’re done here, right?”

Aemond is disappointed, though not with you. He has committed an error he cannot understand. “Yeah, we’re done.” He walks with you to the yellow house, your sneakers pounding in tandem on the sidewalk, squirrels and rabbits darting through the overgrown lawns, eastern tiger swallowtails swooping between blossoms.

Aegon says when you and Aemond arrive in the driveway, nodding to the once-attractive blonde zombie pawing and licking at the glass of the living room window: “Who wants to take care of Ryan Seacrest?”

“Got it,” Rio replies immediately. He kicks down the front door, macerates the zombie’s skull with the butt of his Remington, then sweeps through the kitchen and dining room searching for any other monsters in need of hasty euthanasia. He doesn’t find any. He drags the corpse outside to lessen the stench of decomposition and opens all the downstairs windows.

“Commence Operation Find The Minivan Keys,” Aegon says as he rummages through drawers and cabinets. Helaena joins him, seeking so delicately she is almost soundless, her large blue eyes flicking from place to place. Luke, Rhaena, and Daeron stay outside to keep watch. Baela collapses into a recliner in one corner of the living room and is dozing within seconds.

“I’ll clear the upstairs,” Aemond volunteers, then asks you: “Watch my blind side?”

You can’t help but smile; it is a generous invitation. It is an honor. You shadow him up the staircase of olive green carpet, through the hallway, into each of the three bedrooms and one full bath. When you are certain it is safe—exploring the back of every closet, under every bed—you and Aemond begin searching for weapons and car keys. The main bedroom is like a forest: blankets pattered with trees and deer, wood furniture, paintings of the Battle of the Wilderness during the Civil War. You investigate every drawer of the nightstand and dresser, then go to leave.

“Wait.” Aemond peeks out into the hallway to make sure no one else is around, then closes the bedroom door. Your eyes track him quizzically, shy skittish optimism, your head tilted, your fingers finding the dresser behind you, cool rust-hued oak, a color like dried blood. You slip off your backpack. Then Aemond comes to you like a returning comet—once in a lifetime, once in an eon—and holds your face in his hands as he kisses you, soft, careful, unhurried, then turning famished, sweltering incurable hunger. You lift yourself up onto the dresser; your thighs have parted, and Aemond is between them, still fully clothed and leaving yours in place too, so innocent, so spotless, and yet in your mind you are imagining what it would feel like to lie beneath him as he opens and fills you, to be so irredeemably close to another person, to watch and listen as he teaches you what to do.

Right here? Right now?

It suddenly strikes you as too soon; you want this but you aren’t ready. Your heart races, you can’t catch your breath. “I am obligated to make you aware that according to your own calculations, I am likely dangerously fertile at the moment.”

Aemond grins as he bites playfully at your lower lip. “Relax. We’re not rounding all the bases this time.”

His voice evaporates your panic, lulls your rushing blood. Your muscles turn to seamless rippling water. Your bones crave the weight of his. “Yeah, totally, good, that’s good. Just making sure.”

“I want to touch you. Can I touch you?”

In reply, you unbutton your denim shorts and pull down the zipper, slowly, very slowly, your gaze linked with his like torn flesh stitched together. He’s close enough to kiss you again, but he doesn’t; he takes your chin gently and turns your face to the side, admiring the curve of your jaw. Then his lips are on your throat and his right hand is skimming down the front of your shirt, over your belly, under your shorts. You gasp—the foreignness of another’s hand here, the disorienting vulnerability—and Aemond stops.

“No, I’m okay,” you assure him, smiling. You kiss him deeply, your fingertips tracing his scar, the work of his careful, gifted hands. Aemond does not flinch away. He presses his face into your palm, offering himself fully, taking shelter in you. And everything other than him—this house, this world, this age, this westward journey, this apocalypse—goes quiet, quiet, quiet, like when you are shooting, like when you are hammering nails under the sun. Aemond makes everything horrifying disappear. It is the greatest sort of magic you can imagine.

“So,” he says. “What did you buy at Spencer’s?”

“Green Day t-shirts.”

“Sure.”

“And some, uh, battery-powered companionship.”

“Hm.” Aemond’s fingers are moving against you; it is increasingly difficult to respond to his questions. “Internal or external? Or both?”

“Oh, definitely…um…I stayed on the outside, mostly. I tried…oh wow, okay…inside a few times, but I didn’t get much out of it. It was mostly just uncomfortable.”

“No problem. We’ll work up to that.”

“Will we?” You hope you don’t sound too desperate. The warm coiling pleasure is swelling, strengthening, begging to be released, loosed like an arrow or fired like a bullet. Aemond’s fingers slip through your wetness, circling and pressing down harder, insistently, masterfully. It feels different than using toys: it is more gradual, less sharp, helplessly overpowering.

“That’s my plan. If you’ll allow it.”

You exhale a threadbare ghost of a whimper against his throat and then reach for his shorts, fumbling blindly for the button and zipper.

“No, don’t do anything,” Aemond murmurs, soft and pleading, almost like a prayer. “Let me take care of you. Please let me feel like I’m doing something right.”

“You’re doing a lot right at the moment.” You’re close now, your breaths quick and panting. You throw your arms around the back of Aemond’s neck and fold into him, feeling the thudding pulse of his carotid artery beneath your fingertips, the softness of his lips and unscarred cheek as he nuzzles the side of your face. It’s so quiet, but there’s no need to fill the silence, no words, no uneasiness. You’ve always wondered what you would have to do to please a man, what premeditated motions and praises you would offer him, niceties, perhaps even lies. But this is effortless. The shimmering golden glow like sunlight is here, and he is the one drawing it out of you, water from a well, blood from a tapped vein. The only sound you make is a shuddering inhale, but Aemond knows immediately. He closes his eyes, relieved, proud, beaming, resting his forehead against yours.

He asks: “Can I try…?”

“Yes, do it, please, I want you to.”

Aemond’s hand shifts between your thighs, moves lower, and there is a sudden jolt of pain like a pinch, like a bite. You wince before you can think to disguise it. Immediately, Aemond retreats, kissing your lips and your cheeks. “It’s okay, it’s okay. You were incredible.”

You reach for his shorts again and unbutton them. “Show me what to do.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t have to. I want to.”

He takes a shaky breath, drags his tongue over the fingers he touched you with, moans so quietly you can barely hear him. He frees himself from his clothes: long and thick, harder than you believed flesh could be. Aemond grasps your hand and places it, demonstrates how to move and how much pressure to apply. Then his own hands drop to grip the edge of the dresser as you stroke him. You nip at his throat, his jaw, the shell of his ear; you coax euphoric sighs from him, feel a high in your bloodstream like something illicit and lethal.

“I’ll be honest,” you say. “I have no idea how that’s ever going to fit inside me.”

Aemond chuckles, distracted. “Women stretch, just like men do. It might take time, but it will happen. And I’ll make sure it’s as good as it can be.”

“I want it to be you, Aemond,” you whisper, and you can feel him throbbing in your hand. “You and no one else. Teach me how to do everything.” Make the world go away.

He gasps as he finishes, a thunderous trembling all over, a gush of white heat that flows over your hand. Curious, you lift it to your mouth. “Don’t—!”

But he’s too late; you lick him from your palm and then recoil at the taste, pungent, bitter, salty.

Aemond laughs hysterically, kissing your mouth and then your forehead. “Oh God, I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“I hope I taste better than that.”

“You definitely do.”

You peer up at him, dazed, dreamy. “I really like you, Aemond.”

“You can’t fall in love with me.” It is a taunt; it is a warning.

“If I do, I won’t let you know,” you promise. “You’re on first watch tonight, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“Then I’ll stay up too.”

“Rio already volunteered to do it.”

“Really, I don’t mind.”

“No,” Aemond purrs, brushing your hair back from your face, marveling at you. “I can’t have you sleep deprived. You’re our best shot.”

“I can handle it.”

“You want to be honest with each other, you want to communicate? I like knowing you’re rested. I like knowing you’re safe.”

The door flies open with a bang; Aegon stands in the threshold. “We’ve got three-quarters of a tank of gas!” he announces ecstatically, jangling car keys in the air. Then he registers what he’s looking at. “Come outside when you’re done fucking.” Aegon slams the door shut; you hear his Sperry Bahama sneakers drumming on the staircase.

“I guess we should go,” you say reluctantly, untangling yourself from Aemond and sliding down from the dresser.

“Wait.” He gets a water bottle out of your backpack, soaks a handful of Kleenex tissues, and gives them to you to clean yourself off. When you’re done, he wipes himself down too. “Make sure you always take a piss after any…activities. We don’t have antibiotics if you get a kidney infection.”

“I know, doctor. I’ve read Reddit threads.”

“Not a doctor. Just a lowly intern.”

“You seem like an anatomy expert to me,” you say, then head downstairs.

The black Honda Odyssey is idling as the last of the supplies are loaded, the windows down, Baela adjusting the driver’s seat so she can accommodate her belly. Everyone piles inside and she steers the minivan out of the driveway and onto Trux Street. Aegon pops one of his mixtapes into the CD player. The song that pipes through the speakers is Prayer In C:

“Yeah, you never said a word

You didn’t send me no letter

Don’t think I could forgive you…”

“So,” Baela says casually, grinning at you in the rearview mirror. “How was the sex?”

“Stop,” Aemond begs, his face going red, smiling involuntarily.

You say placidly: “I appreciate your interest, but that’s not what we were doing.”

Rio turns to Aegon. “Do you know what sex looks like or not, dumbass?”

“They were doing something, okay! Those were not virginal activities!”

“See, our world is slowly dying

I’m not wasting no more time

Don’t think I could believe you…”

You rest your head on Aemond’s shoulder and watch the abandoned houses pass by in a blur.

~~~~~~~~~~

The Odyssey arrives in Decatur, Indiana just a few hours before sunset, gas to spare and plenty of time to find a safe place to spend the night. You break into a house on the outskirts of the west side of the city: a rancher with a screened-in porch, beach décor, bowls of seashells on tables and spray-painted aluminum dolphins on the wall. Baela plummets into sleep immediately, sharing the largest bed with Rhaena and Luke. Helaena writes in her spider notebook for a while before curling up on the living room couch, Daeron sprawled on the floor beside her with a couch cushion for a pillow. Aegon is in what was once a child’s bedroom; you have the bedroom of a teenage girl, perhaps spirited away to friends or relatives in some other part of the country, perhaps dead, perhaps lurching around out in the night somewhere, mad and murderous. Everything is purple, the walls, the blankets, the stuffed animals that form a mountain on the other half of the bed.

You are exhausted, but you can’t sleep. Your thoughts won’t stop racing, stop craving. Aemond and Rio are in rocking chairs out on the porch, keeping watch and working their way through the case of Sunny D they found in the kitchen pantry. You go out to join them, then stop at the screen door that separates the linoleum-floored dining room from the porch. They are discussing you. You sit, legs crossed, listening in the dim silvery light, stars and moon and nothing else.

Aemond is saying: “She doesn’t talk much about where she came from.”

Rio chuckles, a low baritone rumble. “She doesn’t talk much in general. But yeah, don’t expect any juicy revelations. That’s not how she does things.”

“Do you know what her life was like before?”

“I know some of it. I don’t know a lot.” Rio pauses; you can envision him shrugging and running his fingers through his dark curly hair, weighing what you would be okay with him sharing. “I know that when I met her, her mother was calling all the time telling her to send money home. And she’d do it, because she felt like she didn’t have a choice. Then she never had cash for drinks or anything, I was always paying her way, and one day I was finally like ‘Chips, how much do you actually have in your account right now?’ because I figured she must be down real low. Jesus Christ, I couldn’t believe it when she showed me the balance, she had like three bucks left until her next paycheck, and of course then her mother would be calling again. She sent tens of thousands of dollars home that disappeared, poof, gone, without a trace.”

Aemond sounds stunned. “What did they spend it on?”

“Who the fuck knows with those people. Lottery tickets and cigs, probably. Trips to Virginia Beach. Benny Hinn Bibles. And when she tried to hit the brakes, her mother and siblings got nasty, calling constantly and telling her how awful she was and that they were going to starve. I convinced her to stop picking up the phone, but it took forever. I think she knew by then she was going to have to cut them off if she didn’t want to end up back there, but she needed somebody to give her permission. That was my job. As far as I know, she hasn’t spoken to anyone from home in years. Hell, Sophie was her AOP.”

“AOP…?”

“Oh, sorry, Arrears of Pay. It’s the person you designate to get all your benefits if you die in the service. I guess she figured that if our base got bombed or our plane went down or something, at least it would end up with my family.”

Aemond is quiet, thirty seconds, a minute, maybe two. “Obviously my circumstances were a lot different. But I understand having to choose between other people’s expectations and yourself.”

“Why are you asking me all this?”

Another pause; silent thoughts under glimmering stars and the shrieks of short-lived summer cicadas. “She takes me out of this world for a while. She makes the guilt and the fear go quiet. I want to know everything about her.”

When Rio speaks, he is gentle, compassionate. “The hard truth is, the details aren’t my business. They aren’t yours either. When people enlist, they’re starting over. It’s a Get Out Of Jail Free card. It gets them away from home, but it also gets them away from whoever they were before.”

“She said something like that once. Back at Fort Indiantown Gap.”

“It’s a polite way of telling you to shut up.” You know from his voice that Rio is smiling. “If she wants to forget her old life, you have to let her. If you care about her, you’ll want her to be able to move on.”

“I care.”

“She likes you,” Rio says. “But you could still fuck it up. She’s good at finding reasons not to trust people.”

“It’s a bad way to live.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know. I’m the same way.”

There is quiet now, only the sounds of Sunny D being slurped and cicadas screaming through the darkness. You have intruded enough. You stand and walk back down the hallway, then remember something Aegon said outside a Burger King in Pennsylvania. You go to his bedroom, illuminated by a flashlight pointed towards the ceiling, casting long deformed shadows.

Aegon is lying on his back with his head hanging upside down over the side of the bed—dinosaur blankets, bright red and blue pillows—puffing on a cigarette and listening to his new CD player, previously Ava’s, with both earbuds in. Then he spots you. Still upside down, Aegon hits the pause button on his CD player and says: “Hey, Microchip.”

“What did you mean about people pretending to love you?”

He smirks, shrugs, takes a lazy drag off his Marlboro Gold. “Every friend I’ve ever had has used me for money, mansions, yachts. Every girl I’ve ever fucked has wanted something in return. Mother prefers Daeron, Grandfather prefers Helaena, Criston prefers Aemond, and Father prefers his real estate empire and his model ships. Can you imagine loving a miniature replica of the Titanic more than your own children?”

“No,” you say, honestly and with heavy, gore-red pity. “You shouldn’t have to go back to people who make you feel that way. I wouldn’t.”

Aegon takes another drag as he watches you. “Aemond mentioned you’re from Kentucky.”

“I am.”

“But you won’t be returning.”

“No.”

Aegon nods, like you’ve answered an important question. “Aemond talks about you a lot. It’s cute. It doesn’t make me sick like when he was with Alys. Playing her games, breaking himself in half to follow her rules.”

You peer down at your fingernails, short and functional and unglamorous. You don’t want to hear about the older woman who was his lover, his obsession, his cure, his venom. She was poisonous to him, surely, and yet she was experienced where you are uninitiated and unversed, she had a PhD to compare with your high school diploma. Surely in those seven years he shared moments with her that were divine. Surely even a curse is woven from magic.

“Anyway.” Aegon rolls over, props himself up on his elbows, and extinguishes his cigarette in an empty plastic Sunny D bottle. “I have no particular affinity for my old life or the beach house in California, but that’s where Aemond is going. And I have to be where he is. I have to make sure he’s alright, you know?”

Yes, you do know; that’s how you feel about Rio. “What’s it like? That house up on a cliff all by itself?”

Aegon grins, like he’s caught you in a mouthwateringly compromising position. “Why? You thinking about visiting someday?”

“Just wondering.”

He squirms over to one side of the bed to make room for you, popping in an earbud. “Come listen with me.”

“What is it?”

“Just come over here!”

You cross the room and kick off your sneakers, climb onto the bed, lie down and take the other earbud that Aegon offers you. What you hear when you listen is Don McLean’s American Pie. “Oh, this is ancient.”

“It’s a classic. I wish I’d gotten to live through the 70s.”

“We’ll reinvent them when the world starts up again. Disco and lava lamps and shag carpets. We’ll shoot heroin and listen to vinyl records. Jimmy Carter can be president if he’s still alive.”

Aegon snickers, and then he sings along, hushed but surprisingly melodic, solemn, tender. He’s looking at you expectantly, eyebrows raised, nodding, beckoning for you to join him. You adamantly refuse. You don’t sing in front of anybody, not even Rio.

“I met a girl who sang the blues

And I asked her for some happy news

But she just smiled and turned away

I went down to the sacred store

Where I’d heard the music years before

But the man there said the music wouldn’t play…”

Aegon shoves your shoulder. “I could be dead tomorrow. Don’t ignore me.”

Self-consciously, but smiling a little bit, you begin to sing with him, so softly you can barely hear yourself. Aegon is beaming, small even white teeth beneath sparkling eyes, a murky cool blue like storm clouds, like the ocean, waves lapping at the shores of Diego Garcia, the Gulf of Tadjoura off the east coast of Djibouti, Corpus Christi Bay, places you once never knew existed.

“And in the streets, the children screamed

The lovers cried and the poets dreamed

But not a word was spoken

The church bells all were broken

And the three men I admire most

The Father, Son, and the Holy Ghost

They caught the last train for the coast

The day the music died.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen #aemond x you #aemond x y/n #aemond #hotd aemond #aemond x reader #aemond targaryen x y/n #aemond targaryen x you #hotd fic #hotd fanfic #house of the dragon #house of the dragon fanfiction

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manicpixiefelix · 1 year ago

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head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 6.

Summary: Felix learns about what happened between you and Oliver at the club, and some jackass makes assumptions about you and Felix and your intentions towards Oliver. The interaction gets you worked up enough that you feel the need to repay Felix as when he'd defended you. With sex.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: SMUT; AFAB!reader, d/s dynamics, felix being a chatty brat, assume the reader is on birth control, unprotected sex.

A/N: 4782 words. cannot go two chapters without having a felix/reader moment it seems. bare with me i swear we get more oliver as it goes on, but he's just watching through the blinds right now and collecting information. also forgive me, not only is this unedited, it's also the first actual, explicit smut scene i've written in years, and even longer since i've been intimate with someone with a dick. i also dont read smut so this might be weird pacing wise at the end. honestly the smut is just a backdrop for character development. have at ye, and please lemme know what you think!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

Summer creeps in almost insidiously, days getting longer and warmer, humidity forcing it's way into every single facet of your lives. Afternoons outside of classes are spent doing not much of anything, hoping that when night falls, the temperature will fall with it.

This afternoon is the coolest you've had in several weeks, laying on Felix's floor, listening to him play the guitar while Oliver was draped over the foot of his bed, gazing at Felix's bookshelf. There's a sweet breeze through the open window and you hum along to the tune you recognise your best friend playing, letting yourself soak in the moment.

The quiet spell breaks as Oliver moves, reaches out for something on Felix's bookshelf.

"That's cute," he muses, "baby Felix." It must be the photo of Felix and his childhood dog, the you'd only met once or twice as a kid before he'd passed, before you'd been properly friends. But Oliver puts the photo back almost as fast as he'd picked it up, "there aren't any pictures of me as a kid," he muses.

"You and Y/N have that in common," Felix says idly, surprising both you and Oliver, though for different reasons; you hadn't even realised he'd remembered that about you. Your vapid, jet-setting, philanthropist parents had always been incredibly image conscious, and a child was never part of that image. Born out of obligation to their own parents to produce a grandchild to make eventual inheritance easier, they longed to distance themselves from the very idea of you unless they desperately needed to.

And they hadn't for as long as you've been alive.

"If there were baby photos of me, that'd prove that my parents had a child," you laughed, but there was no real humour in it, "and none of us wants that."

The invisible heir.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Oliver says faintly, an unfamiliar, unreadable look in his eyes as he gazes over at you. You give a blithe shrug.

"It means I got to find a home in Felix," you say easily, the wording sappy enough to make Felix himself laugh.

"You're such a sap, that's so much nicer than what I was going to say."

"Go on then, out with it," you prompted him, despite his faint, playful protest.

"I was going to call you another ward of the Saltburn Estate," Felix grins at you, "for better or worse."

"At least you had a family who loved you," Oliver turns away again, pressing his cheek to the duvet as his gaze focused back on the photo of Felix and his dog, "even if they weren't yours." There's a distinct discomfort in the air now, a reminder of how vastly Oliver's life differs from your own.

"I was lucky in a lot of ways," is all you can think to say. Felix starts playing guitar again.

These long days turn into long nights, parties, girls and boys and everyone in between, hazy chats and drinking games and hands on you - holding you, dancing with you, brushing past, tapping with excitement, always hands on you. The quiet way Oliver goes through these strange situations may be read as awkward to everyone else, but you're no longer under any such illusions.

"You're desperate to feel needed."

There was no hesitation in his voice the other night, his hands on you, his mouth on you.

"Then need me, want me."

How easily he'd made you flustered in the club, you didn't realise he had it in him. Honestly if you hadn't experienced it yourself, you wouldn't believe it if someone else had told you. There's been a change, however, a subtle, unnoticeable one to anyone looking in from the outside. Every so often, on nights out, you'll catch him watching you with that same hungry look in his eyes, but will never act on it, however much you wish he would.

"I do, but not like this, not now."

What the fuck was he playing at? You never knew how to bring it up, even when you were alone together. But he never stopped reached out for you, he never shied away from your touch. Apart from this one thing, it was the exact same as before.

If only that one thing didn't have the potential to change everything.

"Has Ollie seemed any different to you lately?" You go to the only person you know you can trust with this. Felix frowns at his hand of cards for a long moment before looking back up at you.

"Sorry, what was the question?"

"Ollie," you go a little slower, rearranging your own hand of cards, "does he seem... I don't know, different to you?" Then, as Felix was considering, "got any fives?"

"Go fish." You should both be studying for an upcoming exam.

"What do you mean? Has anyone said anything to you?" Felix momentarily put down his cards to relight his cigarette, fixing you with an intense gaze, "did something happen?"

"Did someone say something to you?" You pivot for the moment, still looking at your cards.

"Annabel."

"Annabel?"

"About her birthday thing."

"Are you taking your turn or what?"

"Oh, right," he's still frowning, picking up his cards with his free hand, "threes?" You swear as you hand over two threes, as he quietly cheers.

"Anyways, what about Annabel's birthday thing? Does she has a problem with Ollie?" At your question, Felix ums and ahs, and avoids eye contact, "yes then?"

"No-one else in the group is a huge fan of him," he even sounds guilty admitting it out loud, "everyone else can kind of feel how out of place he is and it makes things awkward. I know we think he's lovely," Felix tried to quickly placate you, or perhaps his own conscience, "but the man's got zero chat." This does, however, make you snort.

"Ollie's got chat," you smirk down at your cards, only realising what you'd said when you're met with a shocked silence. Looking up, Felix is staring at you with utter surprise.

"Does he now?" He sounds downright scandalised. You can feel yourself growing flustered, both under Felix's delighted, intrigued gaze, and at your own memories from the club, "so something did happen?"

"Nothing happened!"

"Something definitely happened!"

"I didn't fuck him."

"Between nothing and fucking there's a whole lot of somethings that could have happened," card game completely forgotten, Felix is enraptured as you begin to briefly explain the interaction at the club -

"- and well then, he starts calling me out while aggressively making out with me," you take a deep, final breath, finally looking Felix in the eyes, "and I desperately wanted to fuck him because of it." You sigh, and give Felix plenty of time to process the story and recover.

"But you didn't?" Finally, he speaks, and you groaned, throwing your head back to look at the stars.

"No," you sulked, "he disappeared into the crowd and I had to get myself off twice before I could sleep that night. Fucking tease," but you're heart's not really mad at Oliver.

"Always fascinated to learn what turns you on," Felix is desperately trying to hold in his laughter. It's not working, "many of them baffle me."

"That's not the point here, Fi," you rolled your eyes, leaning back against the gravel roof finally, laying back. You hear the pebbles shifting, and moments later Felix joins you, hands behind his head, "I don't know how to talk about it with him," you say softly. Then, tone much lighter, "and it doesn't surprise me that Annabel thinks he has no chat, he just doesn't want to fuck her, and she can't fathom a world where anyone doesn't want her."

Felix laughs, but unfortunately isn't able to offer any real advice to you about your Oliver situation.

Oliver Quick was an anomaly in your life, you should maybe have suspected his friendship to bring on further anomalous occurrences.

"Leave Oliver Quick alone," like the voice in the library that greets you harshly whilst you're hunting down a textbook. Spinning to see who it is, you lay eyes on a blonde man in dreadfully practical clothes; he's glaring at you like you've done him some personal offense.

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me," he says sharply, gaze as unwavering as his tone, "you vapid -" he stops himself for a moment, face turning red with anger, "pricks," he settles on, "leave Oliver Quick alone, for his sake."

"Is this a joke?"

"Oh I'm not one for jokes, especially not with the likes of you; I know how you and Mister Catton operate. Selfish," he hissed.

"Do I know you?" Its genuine confusion, and for a moment the man's expression turned annoyed, his righteous indignation turning to faint disappointment as you refused to take him and his request seriously.

"Michael," like it should mean something to you, "Michael Gavey;" still nothing, "I was in the year below you at high school for four years."

"Well, Michael," you start slowly, bordering on condescending, "Ollie's a big boy -"

"I know you; you'll get bored, you two always do," Michael cuts you off with a sneer, some of that anger from just earlier returning, "he deserves more than to be a footnote in your frivolous little lives."

"Fuck off, Mikey." You say it as a warning.

"Michael," he corrects through gritted teeth, "Felix is a slag, which makes you the sensible one, so I thought you'd actually listen -" but the realisation hits you, right as you start to see red.

"You've already tried talking to Ollie," immediately, your tone ices over, humourless, cruel little smile twisting the edges of your lips. Noticing your change in demeanour, the fight seems to drain out of Michael before your very eyes, "and he ignored you, didn't he?" You asked, already knowing the answer from the way he was trying to stammer through an answer.

"Now, Michael," you tell him with a poisonous smile, taking even, measured steps towards him, as you turn his name over on your tongue with as much malice as you can manage, "Michael Gavey, I think I do know you," you're playing with your food, drawing out his discomfort with every slow word; you weren't cruel by nature, not unless someone found which button to press, "first year," you drop your voice low as you get into his space. He starts to shrink backwards, but you're practically on his toes until you're crowding him against the bookshelf, "math genius, shouts in the dining hall -"

"I didn't- just once-"

"If you ever," there's a furious look in your eyes behind your sinister smile as you stand toe-to-toe with Michael, "and I mean fucking ever, breathe the word slag in Felix's direction, or any other insult for that matter," you wet your lips, "I promise the only job you will ever get for the rest of your life will be that of a high school English tutor," you pet his cheek condescendingly, "for students with dyscalculia."

Michael actually shudders.

"You know I can do it too, don't you?" You press, and he nods, looking both furious and ashamed where he can't look you in the eyes, "we went to high school together, Mikey, I know where you came from, I can dictate where you will go." Stepping back, you clear your throat. Nodding to him, you turn on your heel to head further into the library, to continue searching for your book.

Trying to move past it doesn't work, it still irks you, you still can't stop thinking about his weaselly little face, the bitter sneer he wore, and the cruelty with which he spoke about you and Felix. It haunts you. The audacity.

Textbook in hand, you immediately head for the patch of greenery and trees near Oliver's dorm, where you know Felix and the rest of your friends will all be spending their afternoon.

"Ooh~ Y/N coming in hot," Farleigh called, spotting the metaphorical cloud of thunder above you before anyone else.

"What are you doing now?" Ignoring everyone else, you only have eyes for Felix. He grins up at you from where he was using Farleigh's thigh as a pillow.

"I assume whatever it is you're about to ask of me," he says blithely, while the others watch the interaction with amusement.

"I need to rant," was all you said, and Felix held out his hand for you to help him up.

"You're so sexy when you're angry," he says teasingly for the whole group to hear, "has anyone ever told you that?"

"I'm not kidding," you scowl, and his grin widens.

"I know, that's the best part, I could listen to you yell for hours, I usually never get to hear it." The banter continues on the way back to your dorm. The others know it's probably a cover, though none of them, apart from Farleigh of course, know the truth. Most assume you're moments from a breakdown and would like to have your best friend there for support.

The minute you're back in your room, you slam the door shut and toss the textbook to the side. Felix asks you what's wrong, tone still light, and you can feel that protective anger flaring up in you.

Slag.

"If you don't hold me back I might start getting into scraps," you tells him with seriousness, stalking up to him with intent, planting an almost bruising kiss on his lips as you fumble with the buttons of your shirt. It's not often that you're the one getting riled up; Felix is more than enthusiastic.

"Don't fight on my behalf," he laughs, frantically pulling off his sweater. Pausing for a moment to help him with the pullover, the minute it's off and tossed to the side, you're unbuttoning his shirt with one hand as best your able, as he's trying to tug your shirt off in the chaos. The two of you are moving to the bed, and he actually gasps when the back of his legs hit, when you take a beat to raise your eyebrows at him, silently asking permission.

He's already letting himself fall back with a wicked, delighted grin as your hand finds his bare chest.

Then he's breathless, with you braced over him, gazing down at him with a furious determination that you don't usually allow yourself to build up. Felix looks up at you with pure extasy in his eyes, like you hang the stars in the sky. His hands on your ass, his grip is firm and secure, but he doesn't move; he's letting you lead.

"Felix Catton, I ruin lives for you," you practically snarl; a breathy laugh escapes him, caught up in the moment, in the mood that's been building within you, "doesn't feel like enough sometimes -"

"You're so fucking hot," he groans like he can't even help himself, can't hold himself back, can't help but close the gap to your lips, kissing you with that same intensity you're giving him.

"If I hear-" you punctuate your words with rough kisses, "another word-" biting at his lips, "against you, I'm -" fumbling with his belt, "I'm gonna start cutting people -"

"Yeah?" Felix prompts breathlessly with a sharp grin, not even waiting to get your fly all the way down before his hand is in your pants, fingers at an awkward angle in your jeans but still finding your clit. It's like you're feeling everything tenfold with the earlier outrage still burning in your veins -

Vapid pricks. The likes of you. Slag. Watching Felix's hands on the girl in the club. The venom in his voice and fury in his eyes when he'd pinned Farleigh to the wall to defend you - Our Felix; Oliver's voice like honey in your ears, tempting that jealous creature in your chest that you'd gone for years ignoring -

"My Felix," you'd purred as your hand found his cock. For a moment, his breath came out as a stutter, eyes going wide as they meets yours. He looks almost incredulous, then, after a moment, hungry, wanting. It's captivating; he's captivating, like he's desperate to devour every part of this moment and you in it, barely holding himself back.

"One more time for me?" He requests, voice low and pleased, before he changes tactics, indicating for both of you to actually take off your pants.

"Everyone's fucking wrong about you," you tell him, kicking your jeans to the side, watching for a moment as he shimmies with his jeans, looking like he's made of ninety percent limbs. Still, your intensity holds.

"Even the people that like me?" Felix laughs, finally getting himself free of the jeans. Before he can remove his boxers, however, you're on him once more, thumbs hooking into the waistband and pulling them down slowly as you speak.

"Everyone else has these versions of you in their head," you begin to plant kisses along his inner thigh as you work your way up, looking up at him through your lashes, "where you're either an angel who can do no wrong," Felix is already hard when you begin to slowly work your hand up and down the shaft of his cock, "or the absolute devil who's a scourge on the female population," your lip curls for a moment, a derisive kind of amusement at their imagined expense.

"I can't look at you right now," he half chokes out, head falling back against your duvet, "fuck," he gasps. It's enough to bring you back to the moment, and you apologise -

"No, fuck, don't stop anything; the ranting, the -" he gestures to where your movements had slowed briefly, "any of it, I just literally," he laughs a little awkwardly, almost a little self-deprecatingly, "will not last more than a minute if I look at you right now."

Oh.

Oh! This is good!

"What's so different," he prompts through shaky breathes - you can't quite believe how much he's effected by you in this moment, how enthusiastically, how desperately he responds to your dominant intensity - "about the version of me in your head?"

After a beat, you climb off of him, already reaching for your drawer.

"Everything okay?" He asks, eyes opening as he tilts his head to look at you. Pulling out a tube of lube, you focus on opening it up, rather than Felix himself. You should be using protection, you know you should be using protection, but you want to feel all of him, only him.

"I can't talk with my mouth full," you told him, still maintaining that steely intensity, "so we're skipping foreplay." Felix, immediately understanding where you were going with all this, looks back up at the ceiling with a wide smile.

"Fine by me; right now I'm inclined to say that you can do whatever you want forever, honestly - cold!" He announced with shock, jerking up a little as you glided a generous amount of lubricant over his cock. There's a faint look of betray in his eyes, but you just gave him a thin, mean smile.

"Felix, stop talking."

The commanding tone is enough to get him back on board, groaning, arching into your touch as you once again were working his shaft, now so slick your hand glided easily up and down the impressive length.

"My Felix," voice once again low, you use some of the excess lubricant on yourself. Since leaving the library, however, your anger had known it's outlet; just the idea of fucking Felix in a righteous fury had gotten you going, and you were already wet, wanting, desperate for him.

"Don't make me beg," he all but whimpered as you finally straddled his thighs, "fuck, I'll do it for you, but -"

"Shut. Up. Felix." You leaned down, chest pressed to his lips inches from his, whispering, "I won't make you beg," as you sink down onto his cock, swallowing his moan with a kiss.

"I am under no illusions about you, Felix," you begin to murmur, hips rolling at a deep, consistent rhythm, "I don't have a version of you in my head, I just have you; I just want you, as you are."

Pace picking up, you sit, rake your nails lightly down his chest, watch as he pants and groans beneath you. When he holds your hips, your thighs, you can feels his nails digging in, burying himself deep inside of you with each rhythmic thrust. There's something primal and triumphant roaring in your chest, pushing you to sink your nails into him, your teeth -

"I don't care who you fuck," you tell him through gritted teeth, picking up your pace, thighs burning.

"You're a fucking liar," tumbles from Felix's lips as he looks up at you with a smirk.

"I don't, I'd be a hypocrite -" very suddenly, Felix sits up, and you go still with him still inside of you, adjusting to the change, wrapping your legs around him.

"Then you're a hypocrite," he smirks, gaze hazy, heady, euphoric in this moment, "and a liar," and he wraps his arms around you as he kisses you, pulling you back with him as he lays back down on the bed.

"I'm not jealous," you start again, softer this time, but still aiming for stern.

"I'll say I believe you," there's mischief in Felix's eyes as his hand snakes between the two of you, fingers rubbing circles against your clit as you pick your rhythm back up again, slower this time.

"Fi," for the first time all afternoon, your voice softens, and you let your stern demeanour break, instead looking over him, glowing with sweat and endorphins, in your bed, in you, looking up at you with nothing but love in his eyes, "I don't care if nobody knows it's me, but -" you wet your lips, wicked little smile on your lips, "I want everyone else you ever fuck to be jealous of the way you let me fuck you."

Something about your words, your request, perhaps your tone, sets him off again; you rake your nails lightly down his chest again and he arches up, swearing, almost breathless.

"Yes, fuck, yes," comes out alongside a breathless moan, "my Y/N, anything you want - please."

You paint him blue and purple and the deepest, prettiest red with hickeys, leaving him looking absolutely scandalous. Of course he returns the favour in the form of scratch marks up your back and his teeth almost drawing blood from your shoulder. When he comes it's with your mouth on his neck and his cock deep inside of you, holding you close, holding you steady, whispering incoherent praise into your ear. Always diligent, he doesn't move, doesn't pull out or away from you before his focus is on you, making sure you get off, delighting in watching you unravel on top of him.

In the afterglow, amid the sharing of a cigarette and catching of your breath, you apologise softly.

"What are you apologising for?" He immediately cracks a grin, "in fact, any time you ever start to get all worked up and mean like that, have me on speed dial -"

"I - no, Fi," you sighed, amused at his suggestion, though it was fading fast, "I just... try not to be jealous," there's faint notes of guilt now that you've come down from the adrenaline and endorphins of it all. Sitting against the headboard, you draw your knees up to your chest.

"I know," Felix says easily, sitting up beside you, resting his head against your shoulder, his hand on your knee, "I try too... I don't think I'm always that great at hiding it." Then, after a moment, his tone lightens, "I think this is why I don't want to tell people about us, I don't think I could begin to explain it in a way that makes sense." It gets you to laugh, leaning into him, tension and guilt easing.

"I thought it was the rush of sneaking around and lying to people."

"There's that too," he agreed with a chuckle. The two of you fall into easy silence as he takes a drag on the cigarette and hands it over. The afternoon is sticky-hot, especially in your room, curtains still half open but window shut. As you go to open it, not caring about potential onlookers in the twilight, past the sliver of your curtain, Felix speaks up.

"There's no version of me in your head? Not even a little bit rose-coloured-glasses tinted?" He grins at you, and you lay out on the bed, looking up at him through your lashes. After a moment of simply taking the moment in, you shake your head with a soft smile.

"I told you, I'm under no illusions about you, Fi."

"I think you're too good to me for that to be true."

"I want you as you are, dude," you shrug, as if it's the easiest truth in the world.

"As I am?" He wants to be sceptical but his tone and the look in his eyes betrays him. You've never heard him quite so soft you think, eyes wide and glassy and full of conflict and love; everyone wants him, everyone loves him, everyone wants to be him or be with him, he's reckoned with his reality a long time ago, even if he wasn't entirely conscious of it. Felix's life had been picked apart by everyone around him at the surface level for as long as he could remember, perhaps he'd thought that no-one would ever care to look deeper. Perhaps he'd gotten so used to it that he'd forgotten there was anything deeper.

"I want the Felix who can't keep a girlfriend for more than two months, and who's cheated on every single one of them with me," you start, wearing a grin despite his sudden frown, "I want the Felix who hugs and kisses strangers after just meeting them because he's bursting at the seams with affection, I want the Felix who won't admit that he sleeps better with someone next to him at night, and the Felix who recaps the books he's been reading to me like they're gossip. The Felix who uses people, and breaks hearts, who says he doesn't know he's doing it but I know you do," you laugh, sitting up on your knees and letting the blankets slide down your back as Felix looks up at you now with a fond kind of reverence, "I want the Felix that lights up every room he's in without even trying, who makes everyone around him feel like they're the only person in the world, and that same Felix who still shifts over, mid conversation with someone else, for me to sit down beside him without having to even ask, because you know we'll always come back to each other," you lean down, lips inches from his, burning intensity in your gaze as you take in the reverence in his eyes, "the Fi who fights for me, the Fi who loves that I'd ruin lives for him, my Felix -" You see the moment he can no longer hold himself back, arcing forward, moving from the headboard to be by you, capturing your lips in a tender kiss. For a long moment it's your mouth fitting perfectly against his, faint, desperate groan being pulled from the back of his throat as he takes your face in his hands, firm, warm, wanting, deepening the kiss.

"Some of those things were pretty shit," he laughed a little self consciously after the kiss breaks, both of you breathing heavy. In his eyes you can see the barest hint of conflict.

"People have said worse."

"And you got them expelled," he reminded with a faint smile, but again there's that conflict, "and they aren't you."

"You're my best mate," you laugh easily, "that shit, the good and the less good, makes you my Felix. Be pretty shit of me to want to chop and change who you are, you know?"

For a very long moment, you watch the way he slowly begins to smile, to take all your saying in drinking in this sun-drenched moment. Reaching out, he carefully touches your cheek.

"Say it again then," he prompts, sounding almost giddy, feather-light touches as if mapping your delicate features in this moment. For a brief second you're confused, barely angling your head to indicate as such before you can see his faint blush beneath his golden skin, creeping up his cheeks. When he laughs, almost self conscious, you realise, and grin back.

"You're a sap."

"Don't make me beg."

"My Felix."

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #saltburn x reader #felix catton x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #oliver quick x reader #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #head heart hand fic #oliver quick x you #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #manic writer

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aster-oid · 1 year ago

Text

To the stranger I knew too well

Summary: When your recurrent dreams about a puppet become out of hand, a reality check feels like the only way to get back to normalcy. Fate proves you wrong.

Pairing: Wanderer & gn!reader (post Irminsul), the relationship is heavily implied to be platonic

Content warnings: Reader is gender neutral, mentions of blood and murders but I don't go into details, slight angst, Wanderer is bad with feelings, platonic content

Word count: 7.2k | Soulmate AU

Comments: A special thank to my beta @ladyfocalors for always brainrotting with me about Genshin characters. We'll platonify the Genshin soulmate AU one work at the time /lh

It took you years to understand that your frequent lucid dreams about an Inazuman electricity-wielder leader were actually the memories of your soulmate.

To your parents' defense, every normal individual would have dismissed the idea. While your soulmate wearing an extravagant hat wasn’t impossible, your tales about a place shrouded in darkness and an Electro-user without a Vision sounded like a child's fantasy. There was no such thing in Teyvat.

You quickly got the reputation of an imaginative kid. Adults liked to ask you about your dreams.

"What a smart child you are!", they cooed once you finished recalling your visions. "You could write a storybook!"

Your younger self would shoot them the dirtiest glare they could muster. Unfortunately, adding that the protagonist was a puppet made hundreds of years ago was not the convincing argument you thought it was. To the layperson, your visions were nonsensical dreams.

But you knew what you saw. It felt real. Terribly, shockingly real. Most often that not, you woke up from these flashes with the taste of iron in your mouth, static filling your sight, your muscles locked into place. You were trapped in your own unresponsive body. Even your breath was stuck in your throat. But the worst part of your awakenings was the sticky feeling on your hands. No matter how many times you scrubbed, it lingered on your skin. You didn't know what it was at that time, just that it made you feel gross and that it would sometimes reappear if you washed your hands hard enough.

You learnt what blood was before you knew how to spell the color red.

When one is repeatedly told that they're wrong, they will come to believe it. You were no exception. As the years passed by, you pushed those fantasies in the back of your mind. The adults in your life must have been right. You were just a strange kid with gruesome dreams, that was all.

Despite knowing that they were figments of your vivid imagination, the sights of snow-covered plains and bloody massacres haunted you well into adulthood. They had grown more complex. Details you didn’t notice as a child seemed obvious now that you had more experience. You could also recall conversations better. That’s how you learnt the name of the body you inhabited. Well, it was more correct to say you learnt multiple names for them. Kabukimono, Kunikuzushi, Scaramouche, the Balladeer... It was like you could never make up your mind.

The puppet you temporarily inhabited was as elusive as the wind: no fixed name to call them and no face to match. They fled mirrors when they saw one, preventing you from seeing their appearance. The only thing you knew about them was their title: number Sixth of the Fatui Harbinger. A seat that was left vacant for centuries according to every Fatuus you asked.

Your constant daydreaming was annoying but manageable until you started having visions about Kunikuzushi taking over Sumeru. You saw them getting experimented on to become one with a robot, wincing in pain at the hands of a masked doctor, rambling about their birth-given right to access godhood, taunting a blonde traveler; a chain of events that could only make sense in a dream. The problem was that your reverie was affecting your daily life. You couldn’t go through a day without getting assailed by memories that weren’t yours. You had to stop halfway through any task, discussing became hard and sleep rarely came to you.

There was little you could do as you didn’t know what had worsened your visions. You were hoping it would go away by itself.

That was until a particularly haunting dream. As usual, you were but a spectator seeing through the Balladeer’s eyes. You saw a hand -their hand- reach for a chess piece, leaning forward as much as they could. Your blood went cold. They were about to fall over the edge of the platform! Your gaze darted everywhere. There was nothing on the distant ground that would break their fall. For the first time in your life, you realized that they could die. Scaramouche, the one you had observed for decades, could die.

You were the only one to realize how far they were leaning. They only had eyes for the violet pawn in front of them, begging and begging with a shaky voice. It had never sounded so frail, so raw with hurt and panic.

"Please, anything but the Gnosis!"

It’s not worth it! you tried to scream. Stop! You didn't know why this Gnosis was so important to them but it was nothing dying for. Alas, no matter how hard you tried to move your mouth, the body refused to answer to you. You were nothing but a witness of a tragic scene, a powerless ghost with a bleeding heart. Your throat was thick with emotions you were not allowed to express.

Your dream ended in a snap, quite literally. A tearing sound erupted from behind you before you were sent falling down, pain flaring in your back. You bit down a scream as the world turned to blurry shades of blue and fluttering black bangs. The increasing speed made your eyes water and your body burn. You clenched your teeth. The fall was inevitable. Maybe it made you a coward but you couldn't bear to see it. You didn’t want to see Kunikuzushi die. Muttering an apology to the stranger in your dreams, you squeezed your teary eyes shut.

The last thing you heard was a wet crushing sound, a mix between eggshells broken under the palm of your hand and a fruit being squashed. Your body jolted in your bed and you gagged, fighting the urge to throw up. You had never felt this sick. Not even when you dreamt of unfair massacres.

You sank to the floor, furiously wiping away the tears beading in the corner of your eyes. You couldn't do it anymore. You had to confront your dreaming problem. There was only one solution: if your brain was so adamant on obsessing over an imaginary character, you had to show it the harsh reality, to remind yourself that Kabukimono never existed.

Your trip to Sumeru was the most spontaneous project you ever planned. You were strolling through the busy streets of Sumeru city the very next day with barely enough money to get back to your nation. You had packed the bare minimum in your suitcase to carry it easily, meaning you wouldn’t be able to stay for more than just a few days.

That was, if you found a room for the night. You had no time to check what the usual prices were in the capital before leaving. Now that you were scouring the streets with your meager funds, unable to find a hotel within your budget, you were bitterly regretting your lack of foresight. You sighed. You supposed that the saying was right. Slow and steady wins the race.

As if it had felt your determination dwindling, the crushing sound echoed in your mind in response. You bit your lip, bile rising in your throat. You hadn't been able to forget about your last dream. It looped in your head like a broken record. Even if impulsively leaving your country was one of your worst ideas ever, the quicker you settled your daydream problem the sooner you'd be back to your normal life.

Your weary steps lead you to an indoor bazaar. The smell of fried food filled your nostrils, making your stomach growl. You winced. The small homemade sandwich you had earlier couldn't compete with the appeal of street food. Unfortunately you needed to save your funds for a room. You let your gaze wander in the crowded marketplace, trying to distract yourself from the appetizing smell. Colorful stalls were full of fresh fruits, potted flowers and intricate trinkets. If you stood on your toes, you could even see a small theater representation in the farthest part of the bazaar. It was a lively place that perfectly encapsulated Sumeru’s charm.

You were about to turn back when your eyes stopped on a blue silhouette near a candy stand. You didn't know how you missed them earlier. In the brown and green crowd, their traditional clothing and their ornamented Inazuman hat stuck out like a sore thumb. They were in deep discussion with the merchant. Turquoise fabric trailed behind them, floating in the wind.

Without a second thought, you cut through the crowd, never leaving the stranger from your sight. Your heart leaped in your chest when they left the small stall.

"Hey, you with the hat! Stop!" you yelled. To your dismay, the Inazuman did not even slow down. They must have been too far to hear you. Breaking into a sprint, you called again. "Hat guy!"

You breached the distance in a few seconds. Just as you were about to grab their shoulder, they turned around. A cold hand snatched your wrist, making you wince. When you looked at its owner, you were greeted with a deep scowl and narrowed indigo eyes.

"Don't." The man’s low voice warned you, his tone full of unspoken threats. You swallowed uncomfortably as your confidence melted away. He managed to be intimidating in spite petite stature and youthful appearance.

As he glared daggers at you, you were hit by a feeling you couldn’t quite place. You pressed your lips together, studying his messy black mullet and his glowing Anemo Vision. The word popped up in your head. Familiar. The stranger felt familiar.

Wiping the feeling of déjà-vu from your mind, you retreated your hand. "Sorry, I was just trying to get your attention."

"Well, now you have it," he huffed. Annoyance was written on his face. He crossed his arms. "What do you want?"

A good question, but not one you had an answer to. Running after the man was a spur of the moment decision.

Self-awareness striked you like a thunderbolt. Why were you even doing this? Your goal was to cure your daydreaming, not to throw yourself headfirst into the rabbit hole nor to annoy a stranger with the tales of an imaginary character.

He clicked his tongue. "Hurry. I don't have all day."

You huffed. It was true that you were taking too much time to gather your thoughts but he didn’t have to be rude about it.

"I'm looking for someone,” you said tentatively. It was the closest you could get from the truth without annoying him. Considering his foul mood, the stranger would have walked away if you told him you were looking for the lack of existence of Kunikuzushi, the Sixth Harbinger, the person who tried to become an Archon, someone that only existed in your mind.

The man didn't answer, encouraging you to continue with a movement on the head. His black bangs flew in the light breeze. Now that you had a clearer view of his face, the man seemed more bored than irritated. He wanted the conversation to be over with but he still had the patience to hear you out. This realization gave you the courage you needed to talk again.

"Their clothes are quite similar to yours, but they're red and black. They also have a hat. A huge one." You opened your arms in emphasis.

He scrunched his brows together, looking at you like you were an idiot. "Right. Because the length of their hat is the most important detail you could give me," he deadpanned.

You fight the urge to sigh. "I wasn't done. I don't know much about them, but they're linked to the Fatui." The stranger's eyes narrowed in suspicion. He was back to glaring at you, his face closed. Unsettled by this sudden tension, you quickly added. "Probably. I'm still not sure about that." There was no Sixth Fatui Harbinger, after all. Your brain had made it up.

"Of course." His voice was drier than earlier. What little interest he had in your discussion had melted at the mention of the Fatui. You scrunched your brows. You swore you could read another emotion than ire in his eyes, even if you didn’t know what. "Anything else I should know about that... Friend of yours?"

You racked your brain for more details. There was a lot to say about the person in your dream. Their lack of heart, their coup attempt in Sumeru, their bloody killings, the experimentations they underwent... Nothing you could talk about in public without looking crazy, in sum. The only thing you could still mention was...

"Their name is Scaramouche."

The man went rigid. "What did you say?" he gawked, his eyes wide with shock.

"Scaramouche. I think that's their name?" Truthfully, they were given so many names that it probably wasn't their real one. But it was the one that came up most in your dreams.

As if it caught onto the tense atmosphere, the wind abruptly stopped blowing. You barely noticed it, focused on the horror shining in the man's eyes. He couldn't believe what you had just said. His piercing eyes analyzed every inch of you with a newfound distrust.

“Nobody should be able to-” He interrupted himself with a gasp. Recognition flashed across his face. "Wait. You...!"

His face went from surprise to disgust in the blink of an eye. You had barely the time to react before he pulled his hat down over his head, his scowl peeking from behind the rim.

"Of course fate would string something like this..." He let out a bitter laugh. "Has it ever made anything easy for me?"

You watched as crossed his arms, lifting his head to glare at you as if you had purposely wronged him. You tried to appease him by apologizing. "Sorry, did I say something wrong?"

Despite your question, you knew you had done nothing worth this cold attitude. You didn’t know why he was overreacting, why he was looking at you like dirt under his soles. It’s as if he was personally offended by your description of the Balladeer. You blinked as pieces fell into place. An Inazuman with a strange hat and dark hair, just like the one you were looking for. Could it be…?

"Is that you? Are you Scaram��"

The man turned around before you could finish your sentence, the blue fabric tied to his hat smacking you in the face. You yelped in pain.

"Don’t use this name." You couldn't see what kind of expression he was making but his flat tone told you enough.

You were standing in front of the protagonist of your dreams.

Reality shattered around you. There were only two reasons for your dreams to be visions of the past. You either were a seer —which was unlikely considering you had no elemental affinity— or you were using your soulmate link. Realization sank in. You had a soulmate. Everything finally clicked together: why you had Scaramouche's memories, why he recognized you, why you never stopped having those dreams… It was because the universe had deemed you a perfect fit.

Your eyes burned with unshed tears. You were not an anomaly without a soulmate, like you were led to believe. You just didn't pay attention to the signs.

"Wait a minute," you gasped. No matter how happy you were about your discovery, it came a lot of terrible implications. "Does it mean that everything is real? The Fatui, the taking over Sumeru part, everything ?"

Kunikuzushi immediately clammed up. Not even bothering to look at you, he said without a trace of emotion. "This conversation is over."

Strong wind currents flared all around you with him acting as the epicenter of the small storm he invoked. You stared at him with wide eyes. He was getting away!

"Please!"

You grabbed his sleeve and tugged hard, adrenaline pumping through your veins. The man gave you the dirtiest glare from above his shoulder as the miniature hurricane intensified. But you didn't let him go. You sank your nails deeper into his arm.

"Listen to me!” you said through gritted teeth. “I'm not gonna pretend I know everything about you because that's not true. I only know glimpses of you. Parts of your past that don't make any sense."

You closed your eyes as the memories flooded your mind. The Gnosis, the laboratory, the crushing sound as he fell down... You didn't understand what those events meant to him. What kind of story they told. It was like you were in front of an incomplete puzzle where all edge pieces went missing. It was impossible to get the big picture no matter how many combinations you tried.

That didn’t mean the little bits of memories you had taught you nothing about him.

"You were hurt. That much is certain."

Your words only rekindled the fire of his ire. He bared his teeth at you. “Huh?! Who do you think you are, talking to me like that?” He stabbed your chest with his finger, forcing you to take a step back. “Seeing glimpses of my past doesn’t give you the right to assume things about me, you worm.”

"But it’s not an assumption. You lived a very long and lonely life. A bloody one too.” You briefly wondered if contrary to you, he had grown accustomed to seeing his hands covered in crimson. You let out a shaky exhale. “But you cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago."

You had the experience to back yourself up. You still weren't sure what the Fatui thing was all about but if you could barely believe it after seeing his memories firsthand, no one else could.

"See, you’re just assuming things again out of pity," Scaramouche snapped. He tore himself from your grasp, sneering. "Guess what? I don't need you to feel sorry about me."

You shook your head. "I wasn't about to."

You were never going to forget the feeling of blood on your hands, the crackling of electricity as you saw someone charred alive, the coolness of a cadaver against your skin. You couldn't bring yourself to feel sorry for this man. It wasn't what someone like him sought.

Pity was for those forced to live under the ruling of unfairness, not able to object to its cruel laws. Forgiveness was for those that were mothered by this tyrant and dedicated their life to preach its teachings. For now, the Balladeer deserved none of them.

When you opened your eyes, Scaramouche had tipped his hat down, obscuring his expression. His grip on his crossed arms was so tight you thought he was going to break his fingers.

"You don't understand. You can't understand."

His voice was lower than earlier, almost like a growl.

It wasn't enough to scare you.

"You're right," you admitted. "I cannot understand you. But I really want to."

Maybe it was because you knew him on a deeper level than a stranger, but something had changed. You were starting to notice it. The hurt he masked behind a veil of fury. Until his words, you thought he was just an eternally angry man, bitter at the world and at his fate. Now, you wondered if he was just someone who lived through too much. Someone who was ready to beg and kill himself for a glimpse of a better future.

He snorted, disbelief written across his face. “A human like you, understanding someone like me? Don’t make me laugh.” He leaned towards you. You fought the urge to take a step back, withholding his stare with all of the courage you could summon. His mouth contorted into a twisted smile. “You’ve seen what I am capable of. Not only are you fundamentally unable to relate to a fraction of my existence, you’re also unable to withstand it. Understanding me will only bring you trouble.”

“You already do.” Scaramouche didn't utter a word, turning his back to you. You didn't let it get to you, instead squeezing your hand against your chest. "I spent my life stuck with visions I couldn't control. Seeing your memories at random moments robbed me from precious moments with the people I love. From enjoying a normal life, one where I don’t have to fear falling asleep."

Your hands were shaking. Whether from anger or sorrow, you didn’t know. Scaramouche was the one assuming things. You may only be a human, one similar to thousands that have come before you, but you knew how it felt to be misunderstood. How it felt not to belong. Nobody had believed you for decades, nor understood why you were so uncomfortable when it came to sleeping. Even your friends couldn’t wrap their heads about your constant worry of getting lost in the daydreaming. You might as well have been from a different species.

You took a deep exhale. Your anger faded away as quickly as it came. "I feel close to you, no matter how strange it sounds. You've always been a small part of me.” Determination seeped through your tone. “So I won't be able to move on as long as I don't know what's going on with my soulmate."

Soulmate. The word rolled strangely on your tongue. It was the first time you were saying it out loud.

Scaramouche gagged at your word choice. "I'm not looking for a lover." Disgust laced his voice. Seems like you were not the only one who felt weird about the whole situation.

You shook his concern with a wave of the hand. "Me neither. I'm looking for an explanation. A timeline in a chronological order, if possible."

Your attempt at a joke fell flat as silence fell between the two of us. Your face shifted into a frown. Had you been too insistent?

"It's alright if you find the situation strange," you said, trying to save the conversation. "I'm not sure how I feel about the fact that you saw glimpses of my life. This is quite embarrassing...."

You didn't have the most exciting life but there were private moments you wanted nobody to see. Especially not your soulmate.

He shot you an uninterested look, examining the dirt beneath his nails. "I could not care less about your mundane life."

You blinked. You didn't expect him to get interested in your life as much as you were in his, but was that supposed to be comforting? Unsure how to respond, your face contorted into a polite smile.

None of you said a word after that. You didn't dare move either. Weariness taking over you, you watched as the back of his hair fluttered in the breeze, joining the hypnotizing dance of the blue ribbons. The sound of animated conversations and the ringing of distant bells filled the otherwise tense silence.

You were about to leave when Scaramouche let out the heaviest sigh known to mankind. He finally turned to you, uttering a single word.

"Wanderer."

Whatever you were expecting him to say, it wasn't that. "Come again?"

He rolled his eyes but repeated it anyway. "Wanderer. That’s my name. Not Scaramouche or whatever name you heard in my memories."

You felt your entire face lit up. You could recognize an olive branch when you saw one. "I won't call you anything else, I promise!"

He sighed at your sudden excitement, shaking his head. You were starting to recognize when he was truly irritated and when he was acting annoyed by habit. This time, the look in his eyes didn't match his bored pout. It was not soft by any means, but he did not glare daggers at you anymore.

"I still don’t think someone like you can handle the tale of centuries of existence.” He clicked his tongue. “That being said, I suppose it would be entertaining to see you try. Come to the entrance of Sumeru city in two hours."

Your eyes widened. You thought that you wouldn’t get more than his name, and now he gave you the opportunity to explain his life ? You had half the mind to pinch yourself awake.

"Don't be late Wanderer!"

He scoffed, readjusting the position of his ginormous hat. “If I were, you'd scream my name in the streets of Sumeru until you get ahold of me. No thanks."

"I wouldn't do that!"

"Oh, really?" A smug smirk took place on his lips. He cleared his throat before taking a high-pitched voice. " 'Hey, you with the hat, stop right there ! I really want to talk to you! Stop, I say !' "

You gasped in shock. "So you actually heard me! Do you not stop when someone calls you?"

"I do. I just don't typically talk to pipsqueaks."

His grin deepened at seeing your offended expression. He even let out a short laugh. You playfully punched the cheeky bastard on the shoulder, not putting much force in the blow.

Wanderer didn't budge. He instead grabbed your wrist, pulling your hand away from him. His eyebrows were pinched together in irritation. "Don’t think you can punch me and get out unscathed, kid."

Despite his words, his grasp on you was light, as if he was careful not to hurt you. It was easy to slip from his hold. He was entertaining you, you realized. Considering how harsh he had been when you first had tried to touch him, a light scold was nothing.

Mimicking a fighting stance, you started shifting your weight from left to right.

"You're the one who's gonna bite the dust! I can knock out someone with a single blow!" You punched the air to demonstrate, a smile blooming on your face. "I can take anyone in a fight!"

Wanderer pinched the bridge of his nose, exasperated by your playful attitude. "Celestia above, not another Childe..."

You pouted at his words. "Are you calling me a child again? I'll let you know that I'm a fully-fledged adult!" You may not be as old as the immortal puppet but you were no kid by human standards. You were only teasing Wanderer because you needed something light after your heavy talk. He couldn’t base his whole perception of you on a speech stemming from your sleep-deprived self…

He clicked his tongue in his mouth before looking at you directly in the eyes. "You talk big for someone I've seen fall in the stairs several times."

Horror washed over you. Every little embarrassing moment you lived flooded your mind. The fact that Wanderer had seen some of them sent warmth pooling in your cheeks.

"You said you didn't care about my life!" you said, absolutely mortified.

"It doesn't mean watching you was not mildly entertaining. Why would I focus on boring Fatui politics talk when I could be the witness to the mess of your teenage years?” Your expression was decomposing by the second, to his delight. "I especially liked it when—"

You cut him off with a nervous laugh. "Alright, alright, I get it. Aren't you busy?"

His gaze fell into a small pouch at his sides. "I do, actually. Buer must be looking for me."

"Buer? Who's that?" You didn't remember hearing this name in his memories.

"The Dendro Archon," he said like it was the most obvious thing on Teyvat.

"...Right. Of course.”

Maybe you were a bit too optimistic about his ability to open up to you.

Wanderer couldn't believe himself. Three betrayals should have been enough to teach him that closeness only brought pain. Whether because of misunderstandings, lies or the unpredictable and unescapable scythe of Death, the ending was always the same: he was fated to end up hurt. Alone. Cursing himself for loving too much.

He snorted. He knew all of that and yet here he was, wrapping his job up before his meeting with you. How pathetic.

Part of him was not surprised about this new twist of events. Fate liked to throw him in the most ironic situations. He was currently going on errands for Buer, the same Archon he had tried to supplant her months ago and who took him prisoner. Randomly meeting his soulmate in the middle of the streets was not the most unexpected thing to have happened to him. Far from it. At that point, he was surprised it hadn’t happened earlier.

When Wanderer entered the sanctuary of Surasthana, the Archon was sitting on her swing, humming to herself. The melancholic tune didn’t sound familiar but the lyrics in old Sumerian sang the tale of a love long gone. If he rolled his eyes at the song choice, he was polite enough to wait until the end of the song before clearing his throat.

Buer perked up, finally noticing him. She jumped from the swing and greeted him with a small wave.

"Hat guy!" He cocked an eyebrow at the oh so creative sobriquet, making her giggle. "I’m glad to see you. I was starting to think that you had forgotten about me."

"As if my memory would get faulty. I was held up by someone." Holding his hat to pin it into place, he sat on the lush grass. Reunions with Buer always took a while. He might as well make himself comfortable.

Familiar curious green eyes landed on him. "Was it a friend from the Akademiya?"

He rolled his eyes. "I had never seen them before."

He had expected this flow of questions. Buer was very invested in his relationships with other people– well, rather his lack of. She had made him participate in social events like the Interdarshan championship to socialize. She even enrolled him in the Akademiya. Her argument was that it would help him understand humanity better, as well as himself.

The results were arguably mixed. Wanderer admittedly tolerated people a bit better than before. They were predictable creatures but they could be entertaining. Sometimes. On the other hand, he had not grown close to anyone since he started attending classes. Sure, some students followed him around, gushing about the mysterious “hat guy” and throwing a birthday party for him, but he would not call them friends. They were classmates at most. It was for the best: it didn’t matter if Buer claimed he was progressing regarding socialization, talking to him was an experience he wished on no one.

She didn’t seem to agree with him. Excitement and pride shone in her eyes. "Every stranger is a friend in potentiality. That is what makes new meetings so exciting: you might be talking to your new favorite person in Teyvat," she beamed, taking place near him.

"If you say so."

Friendship was a human concept. Something he could neither fully understand or get. Melodramatic speeches and lengthy explanations meant nothing to him. That is why Wanderer didn’t try to counter her argument. There was no point in talking about something he knew nothing about.

What he did know was that Buer was wrong. You were no stranger to him.

His gaze fell to his hands. The first time he had seen your memories, Scaramouche had thought he was defective. He had never been able to dream until then. His creator didn’t see the interest in allowing him to do so. The only reason he knew what dreams were was because Niwa liked to recount his when they worked together in the forge.

One second he was lying down in the laboratory of the Fatui, the other he was in a small bed. Piles of toys were scattered around him, decorating what seemed to be a child’s bedroom. Why on Teyvat was he here? Scaramouche tried to move his arm but it did not move an inch. He cursed under his breath. For some reason, his body refused to listen to him. If it was Il Dottore’s scheme, the man was dead.

Without a warning, his head turned. He was greeted by the reflection of a small child in the mirror of the wardrobe. You.

His mind had been pure madness when he had come back to his senses. He had the time to zap five machines before the Doctor arrived, complaining that his research was being destroyed. The Tsaritsa, the stars, fate itself... He had cursed everything he could think of for giving him a soulmate. There was no other reason behind his sudden ability to “dream”. Fate had decided to intertwine your destinies together. The thought only made him more angry.

He couldn't be mad at the child you were, though. You were barely five. No matter how much of an unfeeling person he was, Scaramouche was not about to hold the situation against someone as young as you. A small part of him, one he had tried to bury for centuries, had even ached to hold your chubby hands in his when he had seen you reach for your reflection.

With the impossibility of breaking a soulmate bond, the Fatui Harbinger had been forced to watch you as you grew. He learnt about your favorite color, the school subject you liked best, the names of your childhood friends, the color of your bedroom, all the details of your ordinary life. He was a spectator to mundane moments, to victories and horrific failures alike.

You had transformed from a kid with shining eyes to a determined adult before his eyes.

If Buer was right and that all friends started as strangers, it meant that you would never be able to grow close to him. You already knew him.

Wanderer plucked a few strands of grass, watching how they fell to the ground. No, hoping for you two to be friends was wishful thinking. You had seen the atrocities he had done as a Fatui Harbinger. Once he filled the gap in your knowledge, you would not want anything to do with him. His erasure from existence didn’t excuse the actions of his past life.

He would not blame you. He deserved your hate. At the end of the day you were another name on the endless list of his victims. Because of your soulmate link, you had lived your entire life plagued by visions you didn't understand, othered because of things out of your control. You were the proof that Wanderer brought suffering just by existing. That he wasn't a fundamentally good person, like the one Buer and Traveler insisted he was. You had every right to loathe him.

That was why he accepted your offer. If he explained everything to you, if he confirmed that every "dream" of yours was true, you would move on. You would forgive Fate for giving you such an unloving person as a soulmate. Maybe you would even want to settle down with someone else... At the end of the day, you'd be free from the chain of destiny. So would he.

The world would let him do a good thing, for a change.

"While it's true that talking it out will appease both of your minds, you shouldn't only see them as a way to atone for the sins of your past life," Buer intervened.

Wanderer gave her an unimpressed look, throwing away the rest of the grass strands. "One day, you will have to answer for all of those breaches of privacy before the General Mahamatra."

"Talking about your thoughts with someone else can help you sort them out and gain new insight. I felt like you could benefit from it."

Her growing smile told him that she didn't feel sorry for reading his mind without his consent. He huffed. She was lucky he had grown accustomed to this habit of hers.

She hummed as she stepped in front of him. "Agreeing to a meeting to ease your guilty conscience is not a bad thing in itself. The problem is that you’re assuming that they can only hate you."

“What other reaction could they have?” The answer appeared in his mind before he finished his sentence. “Pity?” Pronouncing the word made his insides hurl. Wanderer would rather feel your wrath than your pity. The former didn’t feel as disgusting as the other;

Buer shook her head. “That’s not it either. It’s alright if you don’t yet understand Wanderer, you will see in due time.”

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. He preferred it when she used complex metaphors. At least he had the opportunity to understand what was going on in her mind, contrary to when she used vague words of wisdom like a drowsy prophet.

"If I can give you one more piece of advice, you should give this relationship a chance." Seeing his scowl of disgust, she explained herself. "I'm not telling you to pursue a romance with them. Just don't assume that tonight is the only time you meet. Keep your mind and your heart open."

Despite her smile, she had a serious look in her eyes. It was the face of wisdom in all of its assured glory. Wanderer closed his eyes. It was easy for him to forget she was not a young child, like the one he took care of all those centuries ago.

"There is a reason why they're your soulmate," Buer said. "Don't you want to discover why?"

"Someone like them has nothing in common with me."

Your memories told the tale of a simple life. In an ideal world, a normal person like you wouldn't have been paired up with him. How it happened in this one was a mystery. If he was inclined to pity others, Wanderer would feel bad for you. Being his soulmate only brought you experiences that you couldn’t talk about to anyone.

“You cannot talk about your life to anyone. No one would believe you if you talked about the Sixth Harbinger of the Fatui or what you were doing centuries ago.” Their hands shook as they lifted their head to meet his gaze. He stilled. He had expected to read loneliness and fire in their eyes. He only found the glow of loneliness. It was the same he had seen in your reflection all those years ago.

Wanderer hid his face behind his hand. He supposed he was wrong. He could see a few ressemblances between you and him. That didn’t necessarily mean you would become friends.

"Don't expect too much from this meeting. I only plan on retelling my story, not on learning more about them."

Gentle hands covered his, pulling them away from his face before lightly squeezing them.

“You don’t need to. You already know them better than anyone else.” Buer's voice was as soft as her expression.

He opened his mouth but no snarky counter-argument came to his mind. From what little insight Wanderer had gained on friendship over the course of his life, sharing experiences with a potential friend wasn’t enough. You also had to learn about the other person's personality, their taste, the little things they did… Such a process was too much work for a relationship that would eventually decay. But the man already knew you, more intimately than any person ever would.

If to be friends was to learn about someone, he had become yours a long time ago.

Wanderer fought the urge to shield his face behind his hat. It would be as good as admitting to Buer her words had struck a chord. No way he would embarrass himself like that.

“You're not going to give up, are you?" he sighed.

“While I do hope you will form a bond with them, I will not hold it against you if it doesn’t happen.” She took some time to think, trying to come up with a convincing imagery. “Fate is a tricky concept. It steers you in a specific direction but it cannot force you to follow it. No matter what, you can always make your own way.”

He let the words sink in as he laid down on the cool grass. From the Sanctuary, he could hear the entire city’s hustle and bustle. The sound of the streets mixed with the chirping of the birds and the rustle of the wind through the branches.

He felt Buer sitting next to him. Her voice interrupted his quiet reverie, sounding cheekier than usual.

"Don't I deserve something in return for my good advice?"

Her eyes were focused on the small pouch hanging at his side. He had forgotten about it, their conversation had distracted him. Wanderer shook his head in defeat. The Archon didn’t need to use her mind-reading powers to know about the actions of her subjects.

“If you want to be paid for giving lectures, you should think about becoming a teacher at the Akademiya.”

“I would deprive someone from the joy of educating young minds.”

His lips curled into a grin. “Right. Poor them.”

Feeling her gaze on him, he relented. He unclipped the package from his belt and gave it to her, not bothering to sit back up. Buer tried to open it carefully. It was so full that in spite of her efforts, morsels of candied Ajilenakh nuts spilled on the ground.

Wanderer frowned at the sight of the mess. Something churned inside him. If he had known it would be wasted, he wouldn’t have bought so much food.

“Be more careful,” he chastised her. “It’s expensive.”

Buer shot him a perplexed look. He scoffed in response, averting his gaze.

"I didn't buy them. The merchant gave free samples to bystanders and he couldn't take no for an answer."

Another white lie from him. He had noticed that Buer didn't have much candy left and since he had to go to the Bazaar anyway, he had decided to buy some. He watched as she inspected a piece of candy, rolling it between her fingers. He didn't get why she was head over heels for those disgustingly sweet nuts but he had to keep her in good spirits. Otherwise, she might decide to lock him back in his cell. That and seeing her smile so much sent warmth running in his chest.

Her eyes crinkled, amused. "A free sample? How nice," she said, popping one of the delicacies in her mouth. He supposed there was no fooling the Archon of Knowledge. She pointed at him. "Your friend hasn't had the opportunity to try food from Sumeru, have they? You could bring them to Lambad’s and keep some of the Ajilenakh nuts to snack on."

“We have other things to do than distract ourselves with culinary tourism.”

“It’s not a distraction! See it as a bonding experience that will allow you to grow closer.”

He arched a brow, unimpressed. “As if I needed something like this to become their friend.”

He stopped after his own sentence. He blinked, not believing what he had just said.

Wanderer didn't know how he ended up in this situation. Truly. He was never one to let Fate decide for him. He defied it at each opportunity, fighting with all he had. This shouldn't have been any different. He was a traveler, an outcast, an outsider. He had no use for a soulmate– a lover. Especially not a human one, one that would be gone in a blink of his immortal life.

He had no use for a lover, but he supposed that if he had to befriend a single person in the world, it may as well be you.

If you liked this work, please reblog and leave a comment or an ask!

#scaramouche x reader #platonic genshin x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer x you #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #gender neutral reader #scaramouche #Wanderer #genshin fanfic #Platonic genshin impact #Platonic genshin

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ofoutrageousfortune · 6 months ago

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ok. i think i've calculated the left hand of darkness characters' ages. a fair bit of this is me headcanoning but WHATEVER

(under the cut is sorve, genly, estraven, arek, ashe, and estraven & ashe's kids' ages)

sorve harth rem ir estraven: so we'll start with the only character we're given something adjacent to a canon age for: sorve. except the canon age is wrong. genly says he looks around 19-20, but this basically can't be the case because of ~textual inferences~ that can be made. we know that siblings are allowed to be kemmering partners until someone gets pregnant, and then they have to stop. we also know that vowing kemmering after said pregnancy is what gets you exiled. we don't know exact dates, but we can guess that estraven was exiled shortly after sorve's birth because of this (or maybe even during the pregnancy if you think arek is the one who carried him), and while we don't know the exact cause of arek's death, we can assume it was shortly after estraven's exile from estre because of how he always talks about the events together. so we can infer that arek died pretty much right after sorve was born, and we know arek died fourteen years before the events of the story. that puts sorve at roughly fourteen years old, and knowing genly, he probably overestimated because sorve was tall or something

genly ai: we know he's under thirty, at least as per estraven's assessment. estraven could be wrong about this, because genly definitely was for sorve, but i also trust estraven's judgement a little more here (and it helps that genly's the one translating the journal entries, so he could've just added a footnote if estraven was wrong but he didn't). now, estraven specifically says "not thirty", which typically means twenty-nine in formal english (think any of the austen novels, where "not two and twenty" means twenty-one). technically, he could be anywhere from like, 18-30, but at the very least, not thirty means he's in his 20s, and i think 29 works perfectly fine.

therem harth rem ir estraven: estraven's age is a tad bit more complicated to calculate, but still doable. we're given the ages of his mom, esvans (who's 70+), and his son, sorve (who, as i've explained, is roughly 14). this is complicated because it's said that gethenians generally stop having kids and start using contraceptives at about twenty-four, and have all their kids young. if you calculate back from esvans's age, that puts estraven at roughly 46, but if you calculate back from sorve's age, that puts estraven at thirty-eight MAX. you could use either of these calculations and you'd have enough textual support to do so, but i'm going to choose to use sorve's age for a few reasons: - it's more plausible to me that genly's data point about gethenians mostly choosing not to reproduce past twenty-four is based on recent data and not esvans's generation (especially because this choice is facilitated by contraceptives, and it would make sense for that to be a more recent scientific development) - estraven has two kids with ashe (more on that later) who are ten at oldest, and if he is 46, he would've had to father them at 36. if gethenians generally stop reproducing after 24, this is a bit too much of a stretch for me. so, like i said, that puts estraven at a maximum of 38 years old, but i actually think he's even younger than that. as mentioned earlier, estraven has two other kids with ashe. he and ashe vowed kemmering ten years before the beginning of the story (they were partners for seven years and have been separated for three), and although it's possible that they had their children before that, i doubt it just because of how estraven talks about it ("we were kemmerings for seven years and had two sons" at least kind of implies that the sons were born during the duration of that seven years). so with all that, if gethenian reproduction doesn't tend to happen past ~24 and estraven's kids with ashe are ten or younger, he'd be around 34, and would've had sorve around 20 (which is very plausible to me). hell, if his kids with ashe aren't the same age, the math probably means estraven is EVEN YOUNGER and sorve was a teen pregnancy baby, which also tracks imo.

arek harth rem ir estraven: this one is easy, arek is canonically a year older than estraven, which puts him at roughly 21 at the time of his death (potentially younger).

ashe foreth rem ir osboth: again, by assuming ashe's kids are ten or younger, ashe is 34 max, likely younger.

estraven & ashe's kids: all we know is that there's two of them, and they both could be anywhere from 3-10 years old (realistically, 5-10 years old, because the youngest kid being 3 or 4 would mean that estraven had sorve at thirteen or fourteen, which is very implausible even for a "sorve was a teen pregnancy" headcanon). we don't know if the kids are the same age or not either

ok there you have it, thank you for coming to my TED talk

#the left hand of darkness #words words words

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taco-drinking-bleach · 6 months ago

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PART 1: basic information Am I unwell about Yanqing? Well, I'm sure enough I'm well enough about him that's why we getting another rant about him :]!! (although that will be in part 2) -Purple: References to time -Red: References to his power, strength, or swordmanship -Green: His character -Blue: His past Today we gonna cover the abundance theory, first I should cover what it is and point you to this reddit link: https://www.reddit.com/r/YanqingMains/comments/1dqmmdl/abundance_yanqing_theory_explained/ that has a connecting Youtube video ^^^ and this reddit post that explained what is was 2 me at first!: https://www.reddit.com/r/YanqingMains/comments/1cgp2it/yanqing_is_sus_and_not_enough_people_are_talking/ First and foremost it summarizing what we know, and what some may not. This isn't all abundance, some of it is merely his lore to understand him better so its easier to under the theory. :] Yanqing's birth parents, origins, and how he spent his earliest years are unknown.

"It's recorded in the military annals of the Cloud Knights how Jing Yuan came to discover the young boy, stood his ground against public opinion, and incorporated him into the armed forces. However, in the family lineage column, Yanqing's lineage was relegated to the category of unknown." What we *do* know is that he was put within the Cloud knights young, loves swords, and is extremely talented (if not doomed) . also the lines "He was born for the sword and is obsessed with it. Whenever a sword rests in Yanqing's hand, none would dare underestimate this genius still in the early days of his youth. Perhaps the only thing capable of dulling his treasured blade's sharp edge is time." - Character Details "Youngest lieutenant in the history of the Cloud Knights" "Ever since he could remember... follow Jing Yuan around.....helping the Seat of Divine Foresight.....Jing Yuan in return taught him the art of swordplay..and...war." "Yanqing is "A gifted swordsman born to fight."' - Character Story: Part I "this genius' debut on the battlefield was even more explosive" - Character Story: Part II "If you ask Yanqing what other interests he has besides sword fighting, you'll be met with a simple answer —

"Interests are temporary, my sword is forever!"' "But for this vastly impressive teen, it's now time to turn over a new page in the annals of history and write another chapter" -Character Story: Part III "Jing Yuan spent much time and energy in raising Yanqing. Some speculated that he was cultivating an heir, others claimed he only kept him around just to use this kid as a secret weapon. Jing Yuan never offered a response." "Yanqing became an unrivaled fighter aboard the Xianzhou Luofu as his skills grew more and more advanced" "What Yanqing needs right now is not more strength, but the ability and experience of curbing that strength — something that can only manifest by the passage of time." -Character Story: Part IV

"The boy is still tightly grasping the sword even when fast asleep against the general's shoulder. The general gently taps the boy's cheek, and the boy mutters in his sleep. "General... I finally... won."

The general pauses. He suddenly realizes that, compared to the boy trying to improve every day, he himself has endured too many years and is used to stagnation.

"You will soon be better than everyone, and that will only be the beginning..."' -Sleep Like the Dead, the lightcone VL's about him (although this isn't really important, it can show insight on how he is preserved, this can help us know his intentions, and if he himself is aware of the abundance.) "Your martial prowess exceeds that of the general, while I surpass him in strategy."- Fu Xuan Added to Team With Yanqing "The smell of this Luofu swordmaster is as pure as his character — I only detect the scent of rain. Hmm, does this mean that his will is pure, or that he is too naïve?"- Lingsha about Yanqing "Master Yanqing has very rigorous teaching style. He's always saying "that's what the general taught me back in the day," ...Looks like everything General Jing Yuan taught him he knows by heart." -March 7th About Yanqing ""A sword will vibrate and beg to be unsheathed if it is unused for too long… Once unsheathed, it will either paint the battlefield in blood, or break itself in the process…"' -Yukong About Yanqing Etymology

彦 Yàn means "elegant," and 卿 Qīng means "high ranking official." (The name Great Qing first appeared in 1636. Since there was no official explanation from the Qing government about the origin of the name, there are competing explanations on the meaning of Qīng (lit. "clear" or "pure"). -The character Qīng (清) is composed of "water" (氵) and "azure" (青), both associated with the water element Rain is often associated with life, growth, and renewal, but it can also represent sadness, loss, and despair) -Rain has been considered a symbol of divine blessings in many cultures -There is also scientific evidence to support the idea that rain symbolizes fertility -Rain can also be used to symbolize the unknown or the hidden. In many cultures, rain is associated with the divine or supernatural Specific birds give hidden meanings in Chinese paintings, individual entries in this section include magpies, quails, swallows, cranes, ravens, eagles and many others -The coming of swallows in spring was welcomed and signified good luck for the household. This may be linked to their amazing nest building skills, they can quickly repair and build a structure just out of mud. To account for their disappearance in winter, there was a legend that swallows spent the time transformed into mussels by the sea. In Europe it was believed that they -birds in china "Clouds are considered lucky and so feature heavily in Chinese pictures and symbolism. This is most likely down to the obvious connection that clouds bring the much needed rain to water the crops. It also sounds the same as 运 yùn ‘luck, fortune, fate’." -clouds in china

"The wave design is a common emblem in pictures and on the hem of garments. Water in regular waves represents the sea. The tide 潮 cháo made up of waves sounds the same as 朝 cháo which means ‘Imperial court’ and so waves may symbolize a wish for a job in the Imperial service" -waves in china "Ice forms the boundary between air (yang) and water (yin), from this it symbolizes the match-maker (冰人 bīng rén) who forms the male-female partnership (a true 'ice-breaker' !). Ice symbolizes purity and winter. There is a design made from the pattern of cracked ice that is used in lattice window and porcelain designs. Ice also alludes to the story of Wang Xiang ➚ who was so devoted to his parents that he used his own body heat to melt ice so he could catch carp for his evil step-mother." -ice in china "Not until after one month of life, mǎn yuè (滿月), was a child's birth celebrated in ancient China, due to the high mortality rate. At this celebration, infants traditionally were given a longevity lock, a type of necklace that brought protection, health, and longevity. Often engraved with auspicious phrases, such as 'may you live to one hundred years’, cháng mìng bǎi suì (長命百歲). The lock is made from silver, gold or copper, depending on the wealth of the household." -Longevity Locks (honestly a strange thing to give him considering living longer then naturally given at birth is not really a good thing in the Loufu. There is also the fact we don't know his parents. As strange of a fact that he has it, maybe its hope that he doesn't die young.)

#yanqing #yanqing hsr #hsr yanqing #hsr #typical taco rants #but not #really just lore before a rant #so taco data collection?#im writing these tags and I research and i think im slowly loseing it #also im sorry that the rant about abundance is gonna be in the second or third part #its just this is already getting so long #RAHHHH #i totally haven't been around (over) and hour that i have been researching this #why would I got to ancient china pages #thats crazy #ANYWAYS #I LOVE MY SON NO MATTER WHAT HAPPENS

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rennybu · 1 year ago

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hi.... i'm just a poor boy . who does not know the loam lore. would you be willing to share.... a summary.... (so curious i am a loam enjoyer)

oh my gosh hi griff..! oh there is so much to tell... i will h ave no choice but to put this under a readmore. the shortest answer is that he is my character of 3+ years in @jawsandbones homebrew dnd campaign and he is like a son to me. but to start off with baby pictures:

LOAM was born 52 years ago in a city called TILDEN, which is blocked off overland by a CURSED* SWAMP that creeps closer every year.

*Misremembered and only Recently Re-Contextualized Major Historical event

His mom is a shy, worried, and loving woman named Bayla - she's a druid and sells medicinal mushrooms of all sorts. His dad is an unwaveringly positive (but incredibly serious) mason named Uttara who proudly works on all sorts of projects around the city, especially major infrastructure. Yay stoneworkers!

(Because fantasy lifespans are strange and somewhat silly to me I just imagine Firbolgs to be stuck in their mid-20s existential dread until they're like at least 150. The backstory part of this spans literally 51 of his 52 year s of life. he's so young)

He got equal enrichment from time spent in nature with his mom as from time spent in the city with his dad. His nickname in the Tilden Firbolg community To This Day is "Always With Questions" - a kind of affix to differentiate him from any other Loams. He may not know much but he really would like to find out, please!!!! He sees a lot of beauty in the natural world, but his idea of what's natural is skewed somewhat by the uh, Curse. He once fell through some algae into a deep body of water and had a very fun memento mori experience as a kiddo (beautiful golden sunbeam shining onto a silty skull)

He got the name Loam very young from his interest in both his parents' work, which lead to him learning about soil types and uses in gardening and construction aklfhglskg. Loam was important for both jobs so he (in guess-what-I-just-learned little kid fashion) told everyone who would listen about it. The association STUCK and he's Loam now :].

His birth name is actually Rahara! but that's secret knowledge only his bestest friends and Tzip and some scarycool important NPCs know.

He loves beasts and magic and plants so much. And on the flip side he also loves and is fascinated by architecture and engineering. He never got any like, higher academic schooling or whatever, but had many many different apprenticeship type training relationships from his parents, other tradespeople in the city, from the senior rangers etc etc.

Small break to plug @jawsandbones lore packets for the Quarter Cities (including Tilden), Scarabae, and the overall campaign setting!!!! I'm just gonna talk about stuff without adding too much context of my own because AAA WORD COUNT!!!

The hole in Loam's ear was brought about by a shit ass Tilden local trying to tear his earring off him, since he'd bought it from a foreign merchant from a city Tilden/the Quarter has historically warred with. Loam's always been open minded and deeply curious about other cities, due to how isolated the bog is. Any visiting merchants are sources of wonder!!!! Even though he only bought the one hoop earring from the Quietus merchants (Mirjam and Mihail, mother and son!), after the ice was broken he stayed by their stall the rest of the day and talked about all kinds of things, and befriended Mihail!

Loam trained as a ranger as soon as he was old enough to do so!!!! He saw it as the next logical step past what his parents would be able to show him and was incredibly eager to get hands-on experience in the wilds. He met his first ever boyfriend among his peers there!!! Bragi... he has had many lovers and situationships in Tilden since, BUT only recently feels comfortable trying monogamy again after meeting Tzipporah.

Bragi unfortunately died badly to a creature in a traumatic backstory incident that left young Loam super fucking bereft and hyper aware of how easy it is to die. (Big monster attack + group of trainee rangers accompanied by a few more senior rangers + chaos and bloodshed. Loam carried Bragi to safety and tried resuscitating him but he was already gone. The experience made him uncomfortable with the idea of being in a defined, monogamous intimate relationship for the next like. 19 years. He felt like he got ripped in half!)

After the ranger's guild recovers from THE CREATURE ATTACK, Loam meets his close friend, Reece, a fellow ranger and Kenku (she looks like a masked shrike)!!!

He gets his septum pierced by the same visiting merchants from Quietus a few years after Bragi's death. It's a very important moment for him, where it feels like he can finally start to let himself change and grow beyond that event. He also spends more and more time in the city, away from the more rural/overgrown districts, and chases a love for the arts and partying and people, where he meets Kallirhoe (human, not a even a classed bard but like. an indie musician. an eboy if high fantasy had eboys. a tattooed twinkish fellow. you know the type)! They are very good friends who also have sex. Many days spent waxing poetic about THE BIG WIDE WORLD and how they'll never get to see it. (Spoiler: He sees it)

Loam gets into tarot as a hobby, and makes his own deck in a very scribbly freehand style with ink and charcoal!!!! he's slowly replacing them with more Worldly artwork - the deck he left home with was very. Tildencore

Many good years of being a party girl who has to go work a construction job tomorrow and then go be a ranger at 6. A rich and storied life. AND THEN THE GAME TIMELINE STARTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A path Through the bog has recently finished being built by Dagda, the Southern representative to the other Quarter Cities, making more trade possible overland, and making local tensions go even crazier. Also there are strange Awful Huge Scary Monsters appearing WORLDWIDE, so the Directions and the Three Kings of Scarabae and the remote island of Geest (ADRA'S HOME!) and the mysterious magical Widow's Wood are all like "STOP WAR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING RN". Trials are held in the Western city of Dina to appoint FOUR TEAMS OF FOUR to help defend against the new threat. Loam is like. Well I've gotta fucking do that. I've got to try. If I'm not chosen, at least I've set foot outside. He has a fight with his mom about this, because she is terrified she will lose him, like she lost her mother in a previous conflict when Scarabae was occupying the Quarter, before Loam was born. He stands firm and his dad has his back, and ultimately he leaves with both their blessings, but his dismissal of his mom's feelings weighs heavy on him the longer he's away from home. (He has a big cry and reconciliation about this when he is next able to come home.)

I'm clapping and cheering and skipping joyfully because now he HAS MET HIS BESTEST, DEAREST, CLOSEST FRIENDS IN THE ENTIRE WORLD: ADRA ILSA AND TALEE!!!!!!! I have to be so careful now because we have no joke hundreds of pages of notes. I cannot read that shit on google docs mobile app. We are approaching session one hundred and fifty of this game. They love each other so fucking much. THEY ARE THE INFORMATION GATHERERS!!! A PARTY OF SLEUTHS!!!

He also has his meet-cute with Tzipporah at the trials, which in hindsight is hilarious, because of the whole, "Tzipporah was sent to the trials as a spy (by the very people responsible for the giant awful monster crisis) and immediately pegged Loam for an easy mark to get information from" thing. And he was 100% correct. But a lot has to happen before that gets revealed. They took a nice night walk and write each other big long letters. And Loam tells him soooooo much <3

At one point while exploring a wizard tower he attunes to a lightly cursed ring and forgets what his parents look like, like their likenesses are Gone from past and recent memory. Which is a big thorn of homesickness that he writes to them about. He has a big cry and stares at them both for a LONG time when he next sees them.

Also they save an orphaned Kenku from some bandits and now Loam has a little shoulder-sniper named Bubby. We have a son. A perfect little crow son who is really good at killing, with arrows. He hides things in Loam's hood regularly

Other major things include ummm umm Loam's TWO deaths, one during a dungeon-rescue type scenario in a room that was Flooding and full of Phantoms and also a charmed Druid (Feyan, good friends now) wildshaped into a big scary water snake. He was hurt bad and (comedically) levitated so he wouldn't DROWN but then got Phantom Speared right through the torso. Second one was because Tzip's evil half brother Vences was like, mad at him for being a good influence on Tzipporah and interfering with the spy duties. Chill touch so no healing + dagger in the ribs! Ow. Also the reveal that Tzip was a spy was happening like, simultaneously here so we were yowling and screaming. (Well. Talee and Co had their long time hunches about this. Loam and I had turned a beautiful blind eye to all suspicious activity)

ANYWAY HIS DEATH SCARS LOOK LIKE A COMET ABOVE HIS BELLY!!!! The spear scar made a patch of his fur turn white (front and back), and the dagger scar is its crude tail!

I am skipping over so many plot revelations i. This is just the Loam Cut. and it's not even all of it.

His buzzcut was for emotional superstitious reasons!!! He cut it after Death 2 and Tzipporah getting taken against his will back into Evil Gang. Loam's mom has a lock of his hair at home now. ALL THIS TO SAY TZIP IS OKAY, NO LONGER SPYING, WE RESCUED HIM AND RIPPED A MASK OFF HIM AND SAVED HIM FROM GETTING HIS MIND EXCAVATED ! SO LOAM IS GROWING HIS HAIR OUT AGAIN!

The deaths of his close friends and their allies have also been. insane for him to process. To return someone to life in this setting u need to like. entreat a Titan. plead on the deceased's behalf and offer something up for the chance to revive them. (NO player spells like revivify. house rule) So interacting with these entities he sees as like Both forces of the natural world AND of huge religious/cultural importance regionally. And to have their requests be HEARD? He loves magic he loves Titans. And the plot is unfolding in such a way that scares me so bad. He loves his titan (The Curious Spear) SOOOO MUCH he has like the foundational belief that it can see through his eyes. Even if not true it motivates him to always seek understanding of strange new things.

Oh my god I didn't even talk about his multiclass into druid. He's a druid also. Circle of the Stars!! As a navigational point. He loves them. He loves space. He loves geography and regional interpretations of constellations. He used to just do freehand observations but truly became dedicated to charting the skies of every place the party travels to, after Tzipporah gifted him a grid-lined journal <3 <3 <3 STARRY FORM!!!!!!

His awe and inspiration and hunger for knowledge is the well he draws magical power from. My Boy is thematically bound up in the soggiest parts of this earth and also the unknowably distant stars above and I'm normal about it (lie) (There is a new and scary Third Thing rising which is the space between. I <3 Void). I know i draw him beige and green but his like, character colour theme is. Dusk to me. Gloaming. When the world is lit like a dream <3

In summary. In conclusion. He and Adra and Ilsa and Talee (and the rest of the Four of Four) are trying to prevent Global Disaster of an existential scale never before seen and are being very brave about it.

Loam wants to understand everything about Everything. Because understanding is love. Unfortunately there are hostile resentful and vengeful forces making this hard to do. Most recently by saving a city we Unmade a magically sustained centuries-old library. And we haven't had time to like fully let that sink in. Because of the horrors of war and being Four of Four means responding to emergencies and protecting cities as best we can against a foe that was forgotten by history until like, 10 months ago. Less, even. I hope this is anything. I hope u are his friend now too because he is yours

good lord how could i forget. His gender is male in such a way that he does not give a shit about it. He's one of the girls. He's genderless. Like a knight. His sense of identity is built on Living Laughing and Loving.

his personal goals are 1. to uncurse the bog in such a way that the wrongs committed by Tilden historically are brought to light and righted, 2. to get super married to Tzipporah and build a house together, and 3. to somehow, eventually, through great teamwork and effort, cure(?) the dreadful lingering soul plague on the island of demeter. HUMBLE! OH and to make a finished star chart covering the entire planet. humble.

thank u for reading here are his current stats

#titan campaign #loam #aart #theres some secret goodies under the readmore btw #IM SOOOOOO SORRY FOR THE CHAOTIC FORMATTING AND HOW MUCH I JUMP AROUND #i will happily answer more questions. and i wont take months to respond i promi #GRIFF... THANK YOU SM

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murkystarlight · 3 months ago

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I re-wrote Snow White like.. two years ago? Because of a silly story me and my friends were making(the characters did a play of SnowWhite). Anywys. I made a re-write of it, and idk.. just thought I'd share it. Just keep in mind that I didn't really look up a lot on the set of time or the smaller details.

SO. There are two kingdoms. One is where Snow White is born, and the other is where the prince is from. (I made the prince and princess childhood friends. Yes, I know it's not the most interesting story- but I thought of the whole thing in the span of like.. a week. Bear with me)

I'll call Snow White's parents king & queen W and the prince's parent king & queen F

The two kingdoms were allies. When Snow White and the prince were born, the two kingdoms thought it would be a good idea to keep them friends, possibly to maintain the alliance.

Sadly, queen W passed a few years after she gave birth to Snow White. A few years later, the kids are like.. 4 years old. King F passes away from a tragic accident. Soon after the king died, rumors spread in the Florian kingdom that the queen has gone mad. Another thing I added here, is that queen F is from an old bloodline of witches, so the people were always a bit.. unfond of her even though she never did anything.

The rumor spread, and a short while later, reached the ears of King W, who was very protective of his daughter, since she was all he had left. So he made sure Snow White would not be able to contact the prince and that kingdom.

While all that is happening, the prince is also cut off from the world. His mother really did seem like she's gone mad. She barely took care of the kingdom, negleced the prince and was being a total dictator or smth.

No one was allowed to enter her room. She would often be heard talking to someone there, though she was alone. That was because she was talking to the magic mirror, which she had gotten as a gift from someone anonymous not long after the king's death. The mirror was the one who influenced the queen, cursed her a bit. To control her, the mirror used 'beauty' and slowly made it so that the queen would be seeking power, which is what the mirror wants.

Years pass, Snow White is now almost fully grown. The mirror, seeking more power, notices her and tells the queen that to be the fairest in the land, Snow White must be gone. The mirror plans to remove Snow White, enabling Queen F to marry King W. Once this is done, the mirror will tell the queen to dispose of King F, thus gaining control of two kingdoms.

So the queen sends a huntsman to kill Snow White and bring her heart.

Now, everything from here is pretty much the same, except that the king (W), as I said, was protective of the princess since the queen died. But he didn't just coop her up in the castle. No, he made sure she would do great on her own, and that also included protection. So Snow White knows how to defend herself; she learned how to handle a sword and keeps one with her all the time. So when the hunter came, Snow White fought back.

They kept fighting until they reached the forest. The hunter, giving up on fighting, told Snow White to stay hidden and avoid being noticed by the Evil Queen. From there, the story of Snow White is similar. She finds a cottage, befriends its inhabitants, and the queen finds Snow White thanks to the magic mirror. BUT. We also have the prince's story.

The prince's story is also the reason we know about the evil queen's plan of marrying king W, and the reason for why the army of king W's kingdom couldn't find Snow White.

The prince started hearing things about the princess's disappearance in the other kingdom. They had been friends and still secretyl met up with eachother for a couple of years before being caught by king W.

He worried and decided to look for her (he also found it odd that a giant army of knights couldn't find a girl who likely wanted to be rescued). The prince searched the land, ending up in a forest. He noticed a trace of magic surrounding a certain area (his mother had the bloodline of witches, and he could sense magic too..?). He stepped inside and soon found an empty cottage. No one was there at the moment, but he could tell it wasn't simply an abandoned house.

He returns to the castle and is informed that his mother and Snow White's kingdom decided to strengthen their alliance by Queen F and King W marrying. King W was convinced by Queen F, saying she would hand him her army to help search for Snow White and protect his kingdom since he sent most of his soldiers out to search.

The prince had to act fast. He took the chance and went into his mother's room, finding only a large mirror. Nonetheless, he managed to find some information. A magic barricade surrounded the cottage (which is why the army could not find it), was placed there by his mother, who was trying to get rid of Snow White. He realized that Snow White might be at the cottage he had found. He hurried there, knowing the wedding would happen soon.

By the time he got there, Snow White already ate the poisonous apple and was put in a glass coffin. He knew this apple would be some curesd magic apple, and he knew how to cure the curses his mother casted.. An act of love. So yeah- hoping his feelings about his childhood friend is mutual, he kissed Snow White. Snow White wakes up, the prince explains everything, and the two hurries back to ruin a wedding.

The wedding is ongoing. Queen F and King W have almost completed all the necessary requirements. Then, the doors burst open with a loud bang, and the prince enters riding his horse, announcing that the marriage is not required anymore, because he found Snow White.

The queen, quickly noticing her plan wasn't going as planned, used magic, and the wedding really started getting ruined.

So there is a big fight happening between the back up the evil queen brought and the few knights that came with king W(plus the prince and princess).

So the fights going on and Snow White puts the pieces together in her head. She notices the mirror on the side and finds it strange. Why would someone bring a giant mirror all the way to a wedding? So she knew it must be connected to all this and told the prince. The prince was about to shoot it with an arrow when he noticed the evil queen sneaking behind Snow White with a dagger. The prince steps in to help, and Snow White takes his place and shoots the arrow. Landing it on the mirror and shattering it.

The curse breaks, the queen is back to normal. She has to make up for the harm she may have caused but other than that, things are pretty good. Then the Snow White and the prince gets married and live happily ever after, yay.

#snow white #rewrite #me and my friends were satified with the story lol

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dailydemonspotlight · 1 year ago

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Fionn Mac Cumhaill - Day 56

Race: Genma

Alignment: Light-Neutral

June 17th, 2024

Can you believe it guys? SMT V: Vengeance, just a... wait, it already came out? Damn, this joke doesn't work. Still, today we delve deeper into the hallowed hallows of Irish stories, examining a certain hero that has only one rival in terms of his popularity, which says a lot, given that rival is none other than Cu Chulainn; a legendary hunter-warrior who led the powerful army of warriors known as the Fianna, Fionn Mac Cumhaill. Infamous within the series for having one of the toughest boss fights in SMT V, Fionn actually is one of the most popular (and prominent) legendary figures in Irish folklore, and I'm frankly surprised it took this long for him to show up in the series.

Most of these Irish stories come in the forms of appearing in books called cycles- for one, the Ulster Cycle covers the exploits of Cú Chullain and Queen Medb, but in the case of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, one need not look further than another one of these books, that being the Fenian Cycle. The reasoning for this common naming scheme has actually been lost to time, so that's fun, but at least some people try to offer explanations. One that I enjoy actually comes from a Reddit post that purports that it may be because these tales 'cycle' around a certain character, like how the Fenian cycles around Fionn, or the Ulster cycles around Cú. That aside, though, these tales are notable from place to place for both providing context on Irish history itself as well as being great stand-alone stories in-and-of themselves.

One of these stories in the Fenian Cycle is entitled "The Boyhood Deeds of Fionn," originating as a fractured manuscript called Laud 610: folio 118Rb-121Va, though translations and added-on segments from other stories likely connected have led to the commonly accepted translation. Originally, Laud 610 was the only thing we had to work off of for Fionn Mac Cumhaill, a 14th century manuscript written in I believe Gaelic? The most recent translation we have to work off of, made up of translations, transliterations, and added-on segments, appears in a book written by Joseph Falaky Nagy called "The Wisdom of the Outlaw: Boyhood Deeds of Finn in Gaelic Narrative Tradition." In the story, it goes over the, well, exploits of Fionn Mac Cumhaill, starting with what else but his birth.

In the tale, it begins with the death of Fionn's father, Cumhall, who was the leader of the Fianna, a word used to effectively mean a band of hunter-warriors. Killed by his mortal enemy, Goll mac Morna, his unborn son and his wife Muirne were waiting for him, but upon Muirne learning of his death, she sent her son away as soon as he was born, fearing for his safety. This son's name was Demne, and whom he ended up with, a druiddess named Bodhmall, gave him the surname of Máel, his name effectively meaning "Stalwart shorthair druid." Bodhmall and her gal-pal Liath Luachra end up raising Demne to be a strong warrior, accompanying him on his myriad adventures, within one of which he gains his name, Fionn. After eating a salmon. We'll get to that. Given that he was just a kid, he had no real reason to be much of a fantastic warrior as of yet. However, the fates had different plans.

One day, while out hunting with a band of the Fianna, he'd come across a nice place to go fishing. While still known as Denme, aka being very young, he'd come across what was effectively a video game sidequest- a poet named Finnegas had spent years fishing in a nearby river to catch the mythical Salmon of Wisdom, as he had gotten a prophecy years back that he would eventually eat the salmon and gain all the world's wisdom. However, he had very poor luck. Denme, recognizing the frustration of the struggle, offered to help in going fishing. After a little while, the poet finally caught it! Recognizing the metaphorical good luck charm in Denme now by his side, he'd let the kid cook it.

While cooking the salmon, however, Fionn accidentally burned his thumb, to which he instinctively stuck it in his mouth... incidentally blessing himself with all the world's knowledge. Likely astonished by how dumb this kid was, Finnegas would give up, letting him have the entire rest of the salmon, now meaning that he could have access to the entire world's repository of knowledge... as long as he sucked his thumb. Yeahhh. Hilariously, this ability went on to be known as the "Thumb of Knowledge." I gotta wonder how Fionn felt when he got older and still had to do such an embarrassing ritual to access his strength.

As Fionn began to grow older, he grew accustomed to working under the services of many kingdoms, but when he'd mention his father's name- Cumhall- they'd send him away out of fear that they couldn't fight off his enemies. As it'd turn out, Cumhall was a massive fan of making foes, and was also a piece of work, to say the least, having abducted his wife and forced her to marry. Yikes. Thankfully, Fionn was far from his father in spirit, as shown when in future myths he ended up forgiving and even teaming up with Goll mac Morna. This story also ties into the Fomorians, but I'll leave you to look into that further yourself.

Several more myths surround Fionn, but this DDS is growing long, so I'll let you read them yourself. Trust me, they're a blast. A personal favorite of mine is that he never truly died- instead, he sealed himself into a cave to return when Ireland was at it's most dire moment. Given Irish history, I dread to think about what could happen next for Fionn to return (joke shamefully stolen from OSP's fantastic video on Fionn mac Cumhaill.) It's speculated that the reasoning for Fionn's biting of his thumb to access his pool of knowledge is actually connected to a belief in Fionn possibly being based on a real figure as well, though who this historical figure is is unknown- as the theory goes, he might've had a habit of biting his thumb while deep in thought. While this hypothesis has been offered time and time again, it's hard to pin down who exactly Fionn might have been.

In SMT, Fionn's design is honestly one of my favorite in the series, combining so many aspects of his character- his badass hunter-warrior look, druidic influences, his great blade, all the way down to one of his thumbs being covered in salmon-colored scales. I haven't played SMT V, unfortunately, but he appears as a rather infamous boss in the game with an utterly bumping theme, almost feeling like an anime character's theme track, which is very fitting, given Fionn's exploits. I can't wait to see this guy when I finally get my hands on Vengeance.

#shin megami tensei #smt #megaten #persona #daily #smt v vengeance #fionn mac cumhaill

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midnigtartist · 2 years ago

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hello! im a huge fan of dotty and have been for a couple years now. what what your design process for her like? can we see some earlier concepts/progress pics?

Ah Tyty! I don’t have a ton of design stuff for Dot bc she was made pretty quickly for a campaign in 2020 but I’ll pull what I can

Apologies for the shit phone photos I had to dig through old college notebooks for these lol. Anyways the original inspo for Dot came from a conversation my sister and I had about CR’s Percy and his teifling kid and how cool a rich girl gunslinging teifling would be. My first few passes at Dotty were very whimsical steampunk but I eventually decided I wanted her to have a more elegant silhouette. I also wanted her to have short little velvety horns that never grew in all the way, kinda like a baby deer

I ended up pulling a lot more from 1900s and 1950s style and mixed in a bunch of belts to make it fantasy I also wanted to do a darker color pallet bc you don’t usually see that on hero type characters. It was actually my DM at the time and her world building that lead me to the desi part of her design/backstory.

In Dots original game the DM fashioned her her home country as inspired by India during British occupation. Dotty was pushed by her family to conform to “common” (western) standards, including changing her name (her birth name is actually Dipti! And her cousins name is Rajesh)

I added the saree to her final design after it was gifted to her in game by her mom and gave her some porcelain pistols to match (tho those didn’t make it into baulders gate haha)

#tav shit #oc #dotty McClain

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beoljibentertainment · 2 months ago

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BIRTH NAME ༉‧₊˚✧ Beol Na-la (벌나라)

Beol means “bee”. Na-la means “country” or “land”.

She received this name because her family used to be beekeepers.

completely hated her name when she was in school because other kids used to make fun of it

now she thinks it’s a funny name to have

ENGLISH NAME ༉‧₊˚✧ Nara Beol

BIRTHDAY ༉‧₊˚✧ 16 november 1988 (aged 36 years)

BIRTHPLACE ༉‧₊˚✧ Seoul, South Korea

ZODIAC SIGN ༉‧₊˚✧ Scorpion

CHINESE ZODIAC SIGN ༉‧₊˚✧ Dragon

HEIGHT ༉‧₊˚✧ 167cm (5’4″)

WEIGHT ༉‧₊˚✧ 46 kg (101 lbs)

GENDER ༉‧₊˚✧ female cisgender

SEXUALITY ༉‧₊˚✧ not public labeled (bisexual)

BLOOD TYPE ༉‧₊˚✧ B+

MBTI TYPE ༉‧₊˚✧ ESTP

FACE CLAIM ༉‧₊˚✧ Seo Hyun Jin

STAGE NAME ༉‧₊˚✧ NARA (all letters uppercase)

POSITION ༉‧₊˚✧ Center and Sub Dancer (2005)

Center, Sub Dancer and Sub Vocal (2009)

Center, Lead Dancer and Sub Vocal (2010)

UNITS ༉‧₊˚✧ Sub-units: Super Junior-N&K (2012 — 2015)

Have a trot song with Super Junior-T (2007)

Appeared as the main actress in Super Junior-H (2008)

Appeared as the main actress in Super Junior-M (2008-2009)

Appeared as an actress/performer in Super Junior-D&E (2012, 2015)

REPRESENTATIVE ANIMAL ༉‧₊˚✧ Bee 🐝

AGENCIES ༉‧₊˚✧

SM Entertainment (2004 — 2016)

Was a trainee for 1 year and 3 months

Debuted in Super Junior (2005)

Debuted solo in 2010

Left in 2016 because her contract ended and she did not renew it

Hiatus between 2016 and 2019, but did not leave Super Junior

During 2019 — 2021 she was self managed

Beoljib Entertainment (2021 — present)

Opened Beoljib Entertainment because she still wanted to be self managed and do what she wanted

(if you’re in some companies, they will forbid you for doing certain types of roles in series, control your relationship status and etc, and she didn’t want this)

And she needed a company because of the contract she did with MBC to film Sabbatical Seranade

Now the company is focused in her career, having only herself and 2 other staffs — manager and accountancy.

FANDOM NAME ༉‧₊˚✧ ELF (super junior); HONEY (solo)

COLOR ༉‧₊˚✧ blue (super junior); yellow (solo)

FACTS ༉‧₊˚✧

became a trainee after having a viral video of her dancing to a Turbo song spread on the internet in 2004

she danced, rapped, did ad libs and made jokes, as if she was a real performer

her friends screaming and laughing in the background, as if they were fans

and because of this she became really famous in cyworld

(not as much as Heechul, of course)

received a message inviting her to do an audition at SM

sang “One Man” by Kim Jong Kook and did a freestyle dance as requested

also had to improvise an acting scene with other contestants

she really think it was destiny, because becoming viral was a really uncommon thing in 2004

didn’t think she was going to pass

her parents said for her to try it for a year

wanted to quit within 6 months but Yunho (TVXQ) stopped her

trot is her favorite genre to sing but she prefers to write ballads and raps

wrote her first song when she was 9, it was about a crush she had on a cartoon character

used to write fanfiction of said character without knowing what fanfiction was

in the debut, people used to think there were 2 girls in the group (NARA and Heechul)

the original idea was for her to debut in a temporary group and then do solo activities

in the shows, before she received song lines, she just did ad-libs and danced

she was always the romantic center of the MVs, even in the sub-units

she really liked street dance when she was a trainee

deleted all of her social media because of her HIATUS in 2016, but didn’t create new accounts after coming back

now (2025) has a flip phone with buttons and no social applications

she deemed Rain as her ideal type in 2006

her favorite Super Junior song is Neorago, but she likes to perform Evanesce the most (because of the solo dance with Eunhyuk)

used to live in Girl’s Generation dormitory because knetizens would throw hate if she lived with the boys

she was supposed to be in Super Junior-M, but because they needed to go to China to promote and she needed to record her variety show, it didn’t work out

by 2025, she was deemed one of the most selective idols on the industry; she only attend the variety shows she want, the interviews she want, sing the type of music she want and choose the exact movies she will act

the only except is when she’s with Super Junior, cause she’ll do all of the things they want her to do

they used to ask her to talk in english in interviews — her english sucked

now she’s fluent but there are tons of compilations of her “incredible” (horrible) english

she was attacked by a sasaeng in 2015

known for not being able to cook under any condition

#kpop oc #super junior #super junior imagine #super junior reactions #suju #sj #2nd gen kpop #sm entertainment #super junior 14th member au #super junior 16th member au

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circuses-and-childhoodtrauma · 1 year ago

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Teen Dad Drex?

With the new developments with Drex, I decided to go back in my notes and find an old timeline that I had of his age and how it corresponds with the story and I added in the details of Lil Dynamite as well so that we may see how his birth lines up with Drex’s age. It takes quite some work but I hope it’s insightful and that I explain every decision I made properly. If there’s anything anyone else would like to add lmk! Also warning this is a p long post

So I believe the easiest place to start is Drex’s debut in season 3 episode 6 of Henry Danger. This episode featured a 15 year old Henry and a 35 year old Ray. In this episode, Ray reveals that he had a sidekick (presumably his first) 9 years prior. Now, our next few pieces of intel must be inferred from things we know about the show. By looking at the ages of all Ray’s featured sidekicks, it is inferred that Drex would also be a teenager at the time of working with Ray. When asked about Drex, Ray says that they only worked together for some months. Though he does not specify, he adds that they never fought crime together.

–Now, my personal headcanon is that they were together for maybe 6ish months and that time was spent training (I believe it was so much training and so little trust that contributed to Drex turning on Ray) (I also believe that the reason Drex never got a hero name is because he never fought crime and therefore was never debuted as a sidekick, [like the Danger Force kids in S1E2 of Danger Force, Say My Name], as far as I’m aware it is never even known to the public that Captain Man had a sidekick before Kid Danger)–

Another thing we know about Drex is that his time as a sidekick ended in a huge battle between him and Captain Man, one that, according to Ray, would have resulted in his death had he not been indestructible. So for the sake of that accuracy, I will put Drex on the older teenage side, farther into puberty and more grown into his physique. As such, my belief is that Drex joined Ray in at late 16, turned 17 during their partnership, and was 17 when they fought. This is also a contributor to his story, as it is more likely for Drex to be tried as an adult in court, making it more reasonable for him to be sentenced life in prison (although I’m sure Swellview would not hesitate to incarcerate him no matter the age given their weird laws).

Assuming Drex was 17 at the moment of incarceration, 9 years passing would make him 26 in Hour of Power, 28 in the Henry Danger finale, and 31 in season 3 of Danger force. (Each season seems to pass a year-ish, although season 5 of Henry Danger is an outlier given how many episodes it has, I will still count it as a year to save the headache.)

With Drex’s age out of the way, we can turn to the newest variable of our timeline: Buddy Fudgers, aka Li’l Dynomite. As far as I am aware there is no canon age for Li’l Dynomite mentioned anywhere in the show, however there is a point of interest that we can use. In the 2022 crossover between Danger Force and a number of other shows, Li’l Dynomite’s true identity is implied to be a character of the same actor named Fisher. This is later disproven, but the implication gives us the assumption that these characters are the same age. I chose to use this information rather than the actor’s age to fit in the story better (Danger Force characters are also younger than their actors). Fisher is 14 in the 2022 finale of Side Hustle, so we can assume that Li’l Dynomite would be the same age, making him 15 as of season 3.

Doing the math, Drex was ~16 years old when Li’l Dynomite is born, meaning he was 15/16 when Li’l Dynomite is conceived. This could happen during or around the time of his partnership with Ray, and it is safe to assume so far that he did not know about this child at least until after he was sent to prison.

I have included a visual timeline if this was too hard to follow, along with some other character’s ages that coincide. Feel free to use this information as you please, just try not to discredit the work and research it took to work it all out on paper 😭

If you got this far, here is a sketch I did of sidekick Drex as a treat!

#henry danger #danger force #ray manchester #drex stinklebaum #drex #lil dynomite #i spent so long on this sob #btw I wrote that Drex meets Ray at 16 but it’s my head canon that Drex knew him before he became his sidekick #so they didn’t actually meet there it’s just when they started working together #I believe that Drex already knew Ray when he met Credenza because I like to think he modeled himself after Ray #dangerverse #mine art

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wits-writing · 2 years ago

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“A Wonderful Experience”: Why Transformers: EarthSpark and Nightshade Matter

I’ve been a Transformers fan to one degree or another for as long as I can remember. Whether it’s early memories of watching Beast Wars, renting the G1 animated film on VHS from Blockbuster, or reading the numerous excellent comics that have come over the years, I’ve always found something to love about this franchise. So, I was probably going to find time to check out the 2022 CGI animated series Transformers: EarthSpark eventually no matter what. But one little bird changed that from an “I’ll get around to it eventually” to “I need to make watching this show a priority.”

A little bird by the name of Nightshade (voiced by Z Infante)!

I’d already heard from people I trust about EarthSpark’s quality as a series, but finding out about the franchise’s first prominent, explicitly nonbinary Transformer got me eager to dive in. I’ve discussed characters I relate to and read nonbinary themes into in the past, but getting a chance to see a show in a franchise I love feature that kind of representation with intent was exciting. Given the fact I’ve written 3000 words analyzing the character of Nightshade now, it’s easy to say I wasn’t disappointed!

The topic of gender and how it relates to the Transformers as characters has been one of many long, exhausting fandom debates over the franchise’s nearly four decade history. I’m not here to relitigate any of that, so take it as read from here on out that the Transformers as characters do have and express gendered identities throughout the history of all its incarnations.

To give a quick primer on EarthSpark as a whole (and why it’s great) before digging into Nightshade’s character in specific:

The series is set fifteen years after the end of the Autobot/Decepticon War. The bots that managed to survive the fighting and remain on Earth are presumed to be the last of their species. All of them are stuck in a holding pattern where the only options currently viable are a life in hiding or working alongside the government-funded alien threat detection/response agency GHOST. Optimus Prime and Megatron head up the latter efforts, in the hope of finding some peaceful balance between humans and Transformers going into the future (though neither of them are fully at ease with the situation, as GHOST clearly has ulterior motives of their own.)

The grim outlook for the Cybertronians takes a turn for the better with the birth of two new Transformers. The Earth-sparks of the show’s title (called “Terrans” throughout the series), Twitch and Thrash, who are bonded to the human children Robby and Mo Malto. Helped by Optimus, Megatron, and the Malto kids’ parents, GHOST agent Dot and her husband Alex, the decision is made to keep the Terrans a secret until the extent of what their existence could mean for the Transformers future as a species is fully understood. The Terrans become an official part of the Malto Family (lovingly referred to as “Malto-bots” by the other characters.) At the halfway point of the first season, in the episode “Age of Evolution”, this unconventional family unit expands further with the birth of three more Terrans, including Nightshade.

Between puzzling out the Terrans’ existence, hiding from GHOST, and fighting threats like the human mad scientist Mandroid, there’s a lot of thematic meat on the bone of this series’ setup. The main one I’m interested in digging into through the lens of Nightshade’s characterization is how the Terrans are written to feel like kids figuring out who they want to be as they grow up. Transformers has a history of designating one or more bots in its series central casts as the rookie/kid character, not insignificantly the Terrans’ primary mentor, Bumblebee, has been traditionally positioned as that very rookie. EarthSpark adding the narrative weight of representing a potential for all Transformers, particularly in how they’ll relate to humans while living on Earth, onto these characters gives more meaning to them being under that role.

The Terrans learn lessons about who they want to be and who they can/can’t trust (not always determined by old alliances like Autobot/Decepticon) from the older Transformers and humans alike. Also proving through their actions everything new they’ll have to offer the world they call home through the gift of their existence. Each Terran has been given the appropriate space so far to have their characters develop, each in their own directions, through this theme.

Nightshade is exemplary of this, best understood through looking at how they’re characterized before/after their first focus episode “Missed Connection”, about them forming a bond with Decepticon scientist Tarantulas.

[SPOILERS for EarthSpark beyond this point]

Before “Missed Connection”

Something that genuinely impressed me going back through EarthSpark for the sake of writing this piece is how immediately Nightshade is fully themself from their earliest bits of screentime in “Age of Evolution.” While the other two members of the second batch of Terran Transformers, Hashtag and Jawbreaker, have their names confirmed upon them by their connection to Robby and Mo, Nightshade actively introduces themself with a bow and a flourish (“It is a delight and a surprise to meet you all!”) This beat quickly establishes their self-assuredness in their identity and that, while they’re later shown to have occasional introverted tendencies, they are anything but shy. I’m also fond of how the scene establishing their pronouns as Optimus lays out their plan of attack also foreshadows their eventual alt-mode, since they ask to be represented by an owl-bobblehead during the planning. The one scene serving as a contrast to their outgoing demeanor, as they recoil at the sight of Mandroid’s cruelty, gives the first hint towards their eventual desire to protect those in need.

There’s only two episodes between Nightshade’s debut in “Age of Evolution” and their first focus episode; “Hashtag: Oops” and “Outtakes.” Since neither is their focus episode, there’s not much to say about how they’re portrayed in either one (in fact, Nightshade’s entirely absent from “Outtakes” as anything but a brief visual cameo.) “Hashtag: Oops” does still manage to establish some key parts of Nightshade’s personality. Firstly, their comfort in themselves as they proclaim they don’t need an alt-mode (“I like who I am as I am.”) Secondly, their inclination towards tech and engineering as they secretly build a new underground base to surprise their family and give everyone more room to operate within. The latter also indicates their “better to ask forgiveness than permission” approach to their tinkering and scientific work. Which comes back around in a big way during “Missed Connection.”

Which finally brings us to the episode that’s the primary reason I’m writing this piece at all!

“Missed Connection”

Being Nightshade’s first proper focus episode in the series, their current state as part of the ensemble cast gets reestablished in short order. Namely, how they feel out of place around their siblings. Their affinity for science and technology leads to them making their own fun separate from the rest of the family. A pattern that gets highlighted by Nightshade working to perfect a new training drone while the rest of their siblings are playing a game of tag outdoors in celebration of Robby and Mo having the day off school. When later questioned by Alex and Dot about why they don’t spend more time with the rest of the family, Nightshade says it feels like their siblings treat them like they’re “speaking another language.”

This sense of isolation informs why Nightshade is so eager later in the episode when they find a connection with Tarantulas’ own work with tech. Simultaneously providing an opportunity for Alex to offer them something they can connect with while trying to figure out how to connect with others. Like any good nerdy dad, he does it through the magic of reading. He offers Nightshade a copy of his favorite book from when he was growing up, “Winged Sentinel”, an in-universe fantasy/sci-fi series they immediately connect with and find new aspirations. Which we hear as they repeatedly call back to the books like about its hero “protecting those in need.” Their connection to this book quickly leads to the one they find working with Tarantulas, as they were in the local cemetery since it was the “last known address” of Winged Sentinel’s author.

(Quick aside: First time I watched this episode, that detail had me thinking the show was going to do a “Nightshade learns about mortality” type of story. I was relieved when not only did Nightshade grok what happened to the author pretty fast, but the episode in turn swiftly shifted to the dynamic between Tarantulas and them.)

“Missed Connection” finds its central theme in Nightshade and Tarantulas’ discussions on identity and finding one’s place within that world rife with conflict that can be directly hostile to those like them. There’s a recurrent motif in the dialogue of Tarantulas’ cynicism born from eons of experience and Nightshade’s youthful enthusiasm. Though cynicism is far from all the elder Transformer has to offer, as he also provides Nightshade with a new perspective on alt-modes they hadn’t considered and ultimately guides them to their choice.

Nightshade: Aren’t I sufficient as I am? Tarantulas: Alt-forms aren’t meant to complete you, as though you have a missing part, they further express who you already are.

Combining that with Tarantulas’ frustration at the “constrictive labels” of Autobot/Decepticon adds to the resonance this episode has with the nonbinary experience. The concept of “passing” gets explicitly evoked by him while discussing his plan to create a hard-light hologram projector so he can live freely as a human while evading GHOST’s forces. Which is the first proper disguise Tarantulas has taken in his life. While his giant spider alt-mode may provide plenty of utility, it’s anything but discreet.

His plan and attitude informing on it connects back to the broader central theme of EarthSpark as a series of the Transformers finding a new way to live on Earth among humanity with the Terrans representing the way forward. He can’t see a way forward besides hiding who he is and the only safety he can think to offer Nightshade is to join him in that life of discretion. His outlook’s best emphasized by his assuredness that the Autobot/Decepticon War resuming is inevitable, alongside that eventuality dragging him out of whatever peace he does find.

However, cracks in Tarantulas’ bleak worldview show as he begins to admire Nightshade’s exuberant demeanor and determination to be a protector. That admiration for a Transformer with the potential to live unburdened by all the hardships he’s seen leads to him delivering the best, most resonant line in the episode:

“It is a gift to know yourself so well, so young. Take pride in that.”

A beautiful sentiment aimed directly at members of EarthSpark’s target demographic on their own journeys to express their identities.

Unfortunately, the bond these characters have found can’t last. When Tarantulas recognizes Dot as an agent of GHOST, he acts rashly under the assumption that she’s holding Nightshade prisoner. He kidnaps Alex and her, planning to erase Nightshade from their memories so they can go into hiding with him. As a fight between the bots eventually breaks out, Nightshade commits to acting like the protector they aspire to be and chooses the alt-mode of a green armored owl, based on the hero of Winged Sentinel. (Alex’s proud declaration of “You read the book!” while witnessing this is great.) A form that isn’t a disguise but expresses themself as they are and what they want to be going forward.

Nightshade and Tarantulas’ conflict has grown intense enough by this point that the elder Transformer’s admiration for the young bot doesn’t come through in his reaction. Rather he flips it into an insult providing Nightshade their opportunity for a sharp, direct retort (and other best line in the episode):

Tarantulas: You’re still just the lost protoform I first met! Nightshade: You’ve just proven you don’t really know me, because I was never lost!

When the fight ends with Tarantulas’ hologram projector destroyed in the skirmish, Nightshade reflects on words Dot offered them earlier about how everyone deserves a second chance and convinces their family not to hurt Tarantulas any further. However, it seems to be a decision out of their hands as GHOST is drawn to their location by the fight. Tarantulas, finally understanding Nightshade’s situation as well as who they are, offers himself up as bait to lure GHOST away from the Maltos. Running off into the forest as Nightshade reflects on the broken hologram projector the two of them made.

Multiple rewatches of this episode, as well as the first season of EarthSpark as a whole, has reaffirmed it as my favorite episode of the show so far. The tight focus of the dynamic between Nightshade and Tarantulas, alongside the deeper meaning that can be taken from pretty much every exchange between the two, is exemplary of what makes this series standout wonderfully as part of the vast Transformers canon.

After “Missed Connection”

Since there’s not that much of the first season left after “Missed Connection”, Nightshade’s once again mostly off to the side doing their own thing. But there are small bits that show how their experiences in that episode have changed them. They actively spend more time around the rest of the Malto Family, like helping Bumblebee train for an upcoming race and showing that they’ve formed a bond built on mutual tech-obsession with their sister, Hashtag, as they work together to further upgrade the underground headquarters.

We also get a fun minor bit of their “better to ask forgiveness…” way of operating when they add some high tech bells and whistles to Dot’s prosthetic leg as a Mother’s Day present in the episode “Bear Necessities.” A plot point that later gives the show an opportunity for Dot and Nightshade to have a nice mother-child bonding moment as she explains to them why she liked her leg the way it was in terms they can understand (“something like this is personal”) while not completely shutting them down over it (“I’m open to some small changes, but they’ll have to be ones we come up with together.”)

Though the biggest moment post “Missed Connection” moment for the character, as well as my personal favorite single scene in EarthSpark so far, comes from their subplot in the season 1 two-parter episode “Home.” As the Malto kids and the Terrans go into Philadelphia to see more of the wider world, we get to see Nightshade continue acting as a protector for those in need as they save a young person named Sam from getting mugged in an alley. Nightshade notices a pin that says “SHE/THEY” on Sam’s handbag and tells her their pronouns in return. The two end up having a conversation about how the things that make them who they are can also make them targets for intolerantly minded people. This interaction ends with Sam affirming they feel safe around Nightshade and giving the young Transformer a simple but effective explanation of what being nonbinary means.

This not only gives Nightshade further context to understand themself, but also has the important touch from a metaperspective of having a human character be the one to explain the concept. An effective dodge of what’s frequently cited as a pitfall of using aliens/robots to explore these facets of human identity, making it as clear as possible for anyone watching (especially the target demographic of kids) that Nightshade’s nonbinary identity is in no way just a product of their being an alien robot. Rather, it's an identity that simply feels right for some people living in the world. One that people who identify with it and explore their connections to it can find immensely fulfilling.

Or, as Nightshade puts it at the end of this conversation:

“What a wonderful word, for a wonderful experience.”

(Before I dive into my conclusion, I want to say I deeply hope this isn’t the last we see of Sam in the series. Both for representation’s sake and because I like seeing the Terrans bond with humans outside of their immediate family circle.)

It would feel wrong to end this look at Nightshade’s character and how that reflects on the best qualities of EarthSpark as a series without giving proper credit to the creative voices involved in bringing them to life. Namely, writer Mae Catt (she/they) who wrote the episode “Missed Connection” and one of the three writers on “Home”, the other two being showrunners Nicole Dubuc and Dale Malinkowski. While fundamentally I believe anyone could write any kind of story, authenticity comes through stronger when writers from the same background are involved. Catt’s passion for writing this show comes through beautifully in these episodes and in how they’ve discussed the show on social media.

Her understanding for what these characters and stories can mean to the young people watching gets clearly reflected in recurrent elements of EarthSpark’s story. Aside from Nightshade’s admiration for the main character of the Winged Sentinel novels, we also see moments in other episodes of their siblings trying to figure out what being a Transformers means through in-universe Transformers comic books telling the story of the Autobot/Decepticon War.

It’s also what drove me to write this piece. I see Nightshade in all their creative, expressive glory and it makes me happy for the kids watching Transformers: EarthSpark, seeing them, and relating to them. Every story has the potential to be a guide someone out there can use to move closer to their heart. Nightshade’s being that guide to nonbinary kids now in a way I never could’ve dreamed of growing up is, simply put, wonderful.

Happy Pride! 💛🤍💜🖤

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