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absolutepokemontrash · 3 years ago

Text

MC is Half Demon and Blah Blah Blah-

Time for the Group Retreat!

Part 1 Part 2 Lessons 1-5 Lessons 5-6 Lessons 10-12 Lessons 13-15 Part 3 Part 4

I’m quite hyped for this one, ladies, gents, and esteemed readers! For simplicity’s sake, since this is before M!MC and A!MC arrive, L!MC will go back to being referred to as just MC. Enjoy the Headcanons!

Since the previous Underground Tomb incident ended much less violently, Lucifer is now more worried than angry about MC’s rampant shennaniganery.

Like... his kid was poking holes in his totally foolproof “Your cow-uncle went to live on a farm in the human world” story. What if MC somehow got into the attic and got hurt?!

It didn’t help that they were still in this weird phase of their father/child relationship. On one hand, Lucifer obviously cares for his kid, and his kid likes him... but it’s also only been less than three months and we all know how emotionally constipated Lucifer is.

MC’s also getting REAL sus of all the secrets their dear old dad is keeping... doesn’t help that they STILL haven’t went up into the attic.

Anyhoo~ the announcement for the retreat was a barrel of laughs.

“I’m proposing, a group retreat!”

Everyone met Diavolo’s announcement with the exact same confused reaction. It’s like the entire assembly hall was doing the ‘Guy Blinking’ meme.

“A... group retreat?” Lucifer repeated slowly. “For what reason exactly, Lord Diavolo?”

The Crown Prince was giddy with excitement as he explained. “MC told me about their middle school overnight trip and it sounded like it would be quite fun!”

Simeon, Luke, MC, and Solomon were all seated next to each other in the ‘exchange student seats of less importance’. Luke leaned over and whispered a question to MC.

“Why are you so friendly with the crown prince?”

MC smirked and shrugged. “Lucifer had the Demon-Flu and couldn’t go meet with Lord Diavolo last week so I went for him. Lord Diavolo’s surprisingly bad at Connect Four but has really good luck in Snakes and Ladders.”

Luke’s jaw dropped in complete and utter shock and horror.

“We’re playing CandyLand and the Game of Life next time, want to come?” MC added.

“Play CandyLand... with him..?” Luke looked at Diavolo, who was still explaining his plan for the retreat, then looked back at MC. “I’ll only go to shield you from his corrupting influence.”

“Yeah... Corrupting...” MC had to hold back a laugh at the thought of Diavolo, who during MC’s visit lit up like a Christmas tree upon being called ‘Dia’ and believed that Mood Rings were the greatest human invention ever, being a corrupting influence.

“MC! Torture dungeon or no!?” MC was snapped out of their conversation by Mammon shouting at them from his seat.

“What?”

“Do ya think there’s a torture dungeon under the castle, or not?”

“I’m not sure,” MC turned to Diavolo. “Lord Diavolo, is there a torture dungeon under the Demon Lord’s Castle?”

There is in fact, no torture dungeon. Presumably...

Everyone packed up and headed out to the Demon Lord’s Castle!

The fabulous seven all broke several speed limits and traffic laws in order to be there early. Listen, they had to get there before Purgatory Hall, it was a matter of pride.

Besides, what’s the Royal guard going to do? Arrest six of the seven rulers of hell and a kid? Ha. No. Not when Diavolo controls their paychecks.

The rooming situation remained the same, Asmo, Simeon, and MC were roomed together, and MC got to watch Asmo get psychologically profiled by Simeon. It was truly a sight to behold.

MC was nice enough to assure Asmo that they really liked him and thought he was very sweet.

Asmo, not used to being complimented on his personality, almost started openly weeping.

So, the tour of the Demon Lord’s Castle began! Asmo got yelled at by his ex in the painting and the usual batch of idiots got sucked into the catacombs under the castle.

Lucifer wasn’t terribly sure how or if he should express his concern for MC being stuck in the labyrinth.

All these new fatherly feelings of worry are very very odd. He didn’t worry this much for Satan, mainly because Satan was usually the threat.

Even as a baby...

Lucifer found himself checking his DDD every few minutes to see if MC had texted or called from wherever the painting dragged them to, never mind that if they did text he’d hear the phone ding.

“Lucifer, don’t worry too much,” Diavolo patted Lucifer on the shoulder, a bright smile on his face. “Your brothers and MC will be perfectly fine! There’s nothing too dangerous in the catacombs that they wouldn’t be able to take care of.”

Resigning himself to the fact that MC was under the care of his last choices for babysitting, Lucifer put away his DDD. “I know they’ll be fine, but I’m not overly pleased with the situation.” He shot a glare at Helene in the portrait, who rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.

“Lucifer worrying about someone, I’m truly, genuinely shocked.” Hearing Satan’s attempt at goading him, Lucifer, flawless demon that he is, resisted the urge to throw his DDD at his brother.

“Quiet, Satan.”

————

“WHY THE FUCK IS A SNAKE DOWN HERE?!”

“ITS HENRY 1.0!”

“YEAH THAT REALLY CLEARS STUFF UP, LEVI!”

MC and Levi continued their screaming match as the group ran for dear life from a giant snake.

Yeah... nothing the brothers couldn’t handle... sure, Lord Diavolo...

They made it out of the scary catacombs... don’t worry.

Lucifer did that parent-thing where he cleaned the catacomb dust off MC’s face with a napkin.

Yay! Parenting!

Failed pillow fight attempt #1 happened that evening. Because Mammon was obsessed with being the fun-uncle and saw his brothers encroaching on his place as favourite uncle.

MC doesn’t know how to break it to him that he’ll probably always be the favourite uncle and he doesn’t have to be such a dumbass to keep his spot.

Scavenger hunt went on as canon dictates.

Asmo had his diva tantrum and stormed off, but MC also wanted to win so they didn’t go after him.

Clearly expecting someone to go beg him to come back, Asmo was very annoyed when no one went after him.

“Um, helloooo? Anyone going to comfort me~?”

“Nope.”

“Well I don’t want your comfort anyway, SOLOMON.”

It was very close, L!MC insisted their loss came from sabotage. No evidence was found but just LOOK at Satan’s face.

Time for the Formal Dance~

If you’re wondering why Luke didn’t say anything when MC was suddenly poofed into their demon form, you’re assuming that Mammon wasn’t in on the “let’s prank the chihuahua” plan.

“Mammon..? Is MC behind you?”

“Nope! Why?”

MC was able to get to the other side of the ballroom with Luke none the wiser! Hell yeah, nothing like screwing with your friend!

So it’s canon that Lucifer is like, a solid 20/10, therefore MC is ADORABLE. What I’m saying is, some of the younger demons asked them to dance.

Asmo was also being MC’s hype man, which was very nice of him. Mammon also tried to give advice on how to be cool and suave. Beel was there for moral support.

“Alright kiddo, you need to be aloof and mysterious! People love aloof and mysterious, that’s why I’m so popular.”

“Don’t listen to him, MC. He flew into a wall as a kid and it killed all his brain cells. Just be proper but not snooty, sweet but not saccharine, friendly but not annoying,”

“Ask them if they want to share some of the hors d’oeuvres.”

“Okay, first, aloof and mysterious are the last words I would ever use to describe you, Mammon. Second, Asmo I have no clue what you’re asking me to do. Third... Beel that’s the best advice I’ve received in recent memory.”

None of that mattered anyway because MC got swarmed with dance offers.

“Well,” MC smirked and held out their hand at the demon that was bold enough to ask them to dance first. “I admire the confidence.”

The demon’s smile brightened, then dropped completely when their gaze drifted behind MC. “I uh... on second thought... I’m gonna...”

MC’s potential dance partners all quickly scattered to the snack table. The half demon growled and turned around to see their father acting like he didn’t just scare away MC’s groupies.

“Father! What was that for?!” MC huffed, Lucifer rolled his eyes and grabbed MC’s wrist and began to pull them away from the dance floor.

“You’re too young to dance.”

“That’s crazy! They looked like they were my age.” MC protested, their wings fluttering in annoyance.

“Even if they looked to be your age, MC, they’re hundreds of years older.” Lucifer said calmly.

“What about that equivalent age stuff you told me about? Like how Luke is hundreds of years old but by angel/human standards he’s technically younger than me?”

“That doesn’t matter right now.” Lucifer lightly pushed MC towards the hallway that led back to their room.

“But I want to dance with someone!” MC felt their wings involuntarily fluff up.

Lucifer turned and smiled at his dear little brat, crouching slightly to get to their level. “Not on my watch.”

MC’s face was literally this: >:0

Lucifer is out here being the dad in every comedy that involves someone bringing home their partner to meet their parents.

MC was banished to their room, they spent their time angrily reading the manga they had packed.

When Levi escaped the party slightly later MC grilled him for details of what went on after they left.

“Nothing too interesting... except... um...”

“Spit it out, Levi!”

“...lrddiavlondlucferdnced”

“I can’t understand you, stop mumbling.”

“Lord Diavolo and Lucifer danced together...”

“...”

“I MISSED THAT?!”

So yes, MC’s desire to get a picture of Lucifer sleeping stems from VENGEANCE!

How DARE their father send MC up to their room and make them miss their OTP dancing together!?

So they call up their troupe of idiots and get ready to go be menaces to society.

MC also invites along Asmo because he seemed like he could use the adventure.

And because MC couldn’t plan the prank without Asmo noticing so it was better to just implicate him as well...

“Grrr...”

MC brightened and clapped their hands. “I know that growl!”

“It’s not my stomach, I packed snacks.” MC couldn’t see this, considering the room was pitch black (it must’ve been some kind of magic because demons have excellent night vision), but Beel waved a bag of chips in the air and got to eating.

“No, I’m not talking about your stomach, Beel.” MC skipped towards the source of the growling despite Mammon and Levi’s pleas for them to stop.

Ah! There he was!

“Cerberus!” MC cooed, the three headed dog stopped growling and barked happily. “Whose a good boy? Is it you?”

Cerberus let lose a bark that would probably make anyone crap their pants, but MC giggled and kept petting him. “Yeah! You’re the good boy! You like cuddles! Yes you do! Yes you do!”

A flash of light from a camera caused MC to drop their baby talk voice and stare angrily in the direction where the light came from.

“Whoever took that picture better delete it or I’m going to feed you to the dog.”

Cerberus growled in agreement. What a good boy.

“Well, as nice as this is...” Asmo huffed. “We’ve clearly been duped because this is not Lucifer and Diavolo’s room.”

“Oh well!” MC chirped and continued to pet the three headed dog. “Look at the doggy!”

“MC, you’re crazy. Dontcha ever forget that.” Mammon whimpered as Cerberus growled at him.

So yeah, they couldn’t get out of the room, so they ended up opening up the other door and falling into the catacombs like a bunch of lemmings.

Asmo charmed Henry, and they got out of the labyrinth no problem.

Yay! No consequences! Oh no- hi Lucifer.

Lucifer gave them all the mother of all lectures. Satan showed up with the rest of the gang and brought popcorn.

Belphie wasn’t there, okay? Satan needed to be a little shit for him.

Ah yes, the pillow fight... Mammon’s crusade to be the best uncle culminated in a massive pillow fight that ended with MC, Lucifer, and Diavolo standing over everyone’s unconscious bodies.

So they uh... won the pillow fight.

MC couldn’t sleep. They legitimately couldn’t. As exhausting as the pillow fight victory had been, everyone was snoring, and MC was bleary eyed and awake at one in the morning.

They eventually sat up and looked around, Asmo was passed out in a very unflattering position, Solomon was chanting god knows what in his sleep, Levi was half hanging off Simeon’s bed, Simeon and Luke were sleeping like angels (hehehehe-), Beel was in the middle of eating his pillow in his sleep, Mammon appeared to be dreaming about winning the lottery, and Satan was... suspiciously absent.

He was there a minute ago... weird.

Deciding that this wasn’t worth it and they should just go sleep somewhere else, MC got out of bed and avoided stepping on anyone as they vacated the room.

The Demon Lord’s Castle at night could rival the House of Lamentation in terms of overall creepiness. MC had gotten used to the spirits and curses that littered their home, but they had only been to the Demon Lord’s Castle once before, so they were extra careful not to accidentally touch anything. Their stomach rumbled and they frowned.

Damn, they had the midnight munchies... they needed a snack.

MC made their way to the kitchen and on there way, noticed a peculiar room through a half open door. Taking a few steps back to peek into it, they noticed... doors. A lot of doors. And ivy covered steps. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to any of the placements, and the room was... weirdly chilly.

“You can come in if you’d like, MC.”

Barbatos’ voice nearly caused MC to hit a high note that they hadn’t been able to hit since their voice began to change. They straightened out their wrinkled pyjamas and stepped inside.

The butler himself was walking down one of the flights of stairs.

“Um...” Quickly remembering their manners, MC straightened their posture and cleared their throat. “Good evening Barbatos.”

Barbatos smiled and inclined his head in turn. “Good evening to you as well, MC.”

“How did you know it was me outside? You were up there a second ago.” MC asked.

“It’s a part of my powers. I can see possible futures, and I foresaw you passing by my room and getting curious.” Barbatos explained.

“Oh,” MC said, half nodding and continuing to look around. A the sound of a door closing out of MC’s vision made them squeak and look around for the source of the noise. “What was that?!”

“It’s nothing to be worried about.” Barbatos raised his hands in a placating gesture. “These doors in my room are gateways to different timelines and some are gateways into the past of this particular timeline. That was another version of me passing by.”

“Does this... happen often?” MC knitted their eyebrows.

Barbatos hesitated before answering. “Not really. It’s quite rare. Lord Diavolo has expressly forbidden me from using my full powers freely.”

“Ah... makes sense...”

“Now, I believe you came down for snacks?”

MC blinked in surprise. “How did you- oh... the time magic...”

“Yes, the time magic. Now, would you prefer yogurt and fruit, or apples and peanut butter?”

“Yogurt and fruit please!”

I’m sure MC’s knowledge of how Barbie’s room works will totally not come into play later. I’m sure.

Solomon and MC graced the brunch table with their cooking. I think you can guess how it would have turned out if Barbatos hadn’t intervened.

Rest In Peace to Beel’s tastebuds.

Anyway, the rest of the retreat was all fun and good.

MC may or may not have slipped up and called Diavolo ‘Dia’ in front of Lucifer. It would’ve sparked a lecture if Dia’s puppy-like excitement wasn’t so damn adorable.

Lucifer’s got a heart... somewhere... it’s probably all shrivelled up and tiny, but I’m sure it’s there.

Everyone went back home, brought closer together through... pillow fights and surviving Solomon’s cooking I guess..?

Anyway, MC got home, unpacked their stuff, watched Kakegurui with Levi and Mammon, let Asmo paint their nails, made and ate dinner with Beel, continued their piano lessons with Lucifer, and received a 100% fake smile from Satan.

It was a nice day with their new family, MC curled up in their bed and prepared to go to sleep.

“Help me!”

MC lurched upwards in their bed, whipping their head from side to side, trying to find the source of the voice. Their room was completely empty, the perks of being half demon extended to being able to see in the dark. No new smells either, they were alone in the room.

Auditory hallucinations were common before falling asleep after being sleep deprived, creepy, but not too unusual.

“MC!”

Okay- that one couldn’t be ignored. It was common knowledge that the House of Lamentation was definitely haunted in some capacity, but the ghosts never really bothered the demons living inside, MC was partly convinced that some of the ghosts didn’t even notice that the demons were there. So it couldn’t have been a ghost calling their name.

“MC! I need help!”

The voice reverberated through their head, like it was trying to hit every part of their skull to make sure it was at least felt if MC couldn’t hear it. MC massaged their scalp and got out of bed.

The House of Lamentation at night truly lived up to its haunted reputation. Cold, clammy, dark, even by demon standards. No spooky old house was going to scare MC though, they walked down the hall with their head held high.

They walked closer to walls and furniture, knowing that the floor was less likely to creak in those areas. How did they know that? Mammon had told them it worked like a charm. Well, it’d work better for him if he stopped tripping over the furniture and alerting Lucifer.

MC was much more nimble and careful, stepping slowly and lightly around the hallways until they reached the door to the attic. They reached out to clasp their hand around the doorknob, then froze. It smelled like…

Oh no.

MC leapt away from the door like it was rigged to explode if they touched it and practically dove for cover into an alcove. The all too-recent smell of Lucifer’s fancy cologne and the increasing sound of someone coming down the stairs made them clamp their hand over their mouth and crouch down.

What was their father doing up there?

He had said the attic was full of old junk and there was no reason to go up there, so why exactly did he-

The door slammed open and Lucifer stomped down the hallway back towards his room, MC presumed. They were about to let out a sigh of relief when the footsteps paused. MC felt their heart drop right into their gut when they heard the footsteps coming back in their direction.

What were they going to say to him when he found them? ‘Sorry! This isn’t where the bathrooms are!’ The last thing MC wanted was to add to their father’s ever growing list of stresses. MC was totally responsible and grown-up, their father didn’t need to worry.

MC clamped their eyes shut and tried to slow their heart rate. Demons were beings of darkness and shadow, they could blend in quite easily. They took a deep breath, cleared their head, and felt the shadows of the hallway shift and cover them like a blanket.

Lucifer’s footsteps stopped, MC heard a tired sigh, then the footsteps started up again, this time in the direction of his room.

They allowed themselves a sigh of relief before relieving themselves of their hiding space and opening the door leading to the attic staircase.

If the rest of the House of Lamentation was considered clammy, cold, and foreboding, the attic staircase was that multiplied by a factor of twelve. MC felt themselves shudder involuntarily when they stepped closer to the staircase. Every primal part of their brain was telling them to turn around and walk away, but one tiny part was holding them back. They placed their foot on the first step, waiting for any kind of resistance, nothing other than the feeling of passing through invisible cobwebs.

“MC?”

Upon hearing their name, MC craned their neck to try and get a look at what could be waiting for them at the top of the stairs.

“Are you coming, or not?”

The cascade of warning sirens that began to blare in MC’s head went ignored as they continued to scale the staircase.

When they reached the final step, they were met with a long hallway, with a single door on the right side of the wall.

“H-hello?” MC tried to instill some force into their voice, but it still ended up quavering a little.

“Down here.” Someone knocked on the wall next to the door, almost causing MC to jump.

Oh. Oh no. MC stood straight in front of the door, and when they saw who was looking back at them they nearly passed out.

“Belphegor..?”

Belphegor’s eyes flashed as he gave MC a once over. His eyes narrowed when his gaze snapped to MC’s. The analytical expression melted into a lazy grin.

“That’s me,” he said softly. “Nice to finally meet you, MC.”

249 notes · View notes

forever-rogue · 4 years ago

Note

116 and 139 from the prompt list with Bucky please

Prompts used:

116. “I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

139. “I thought you were a dream come true.”

A/N: Hello friends! I’m so glad to be writing for Bucky again. I hope you all enjoy! 🥺

Pairing: Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: none

MASTERLIST

»»————-　♡　————-««

Bucky paused as he started at the brass 314 just above the top of the door to your apartment. The delicate gold threading of his vibranium arm glinted in the bright, artificial lighting of the hallway, causing him to pause for a moment as he contemplated walking away and never coming back. But no; that wasn’t him anymore, he wasn’t going to continually run away and lock himself up and shut everyone out in the process. The time for that was over, despite how hopeless it seemed at times.

Besides all of the hesitations and reservations he experienced, you’d never once made him feel small or insignificant or like he was just that Bucky. You’d always managed to see him for who he was, and slowly, over time he worked to shed the layers of worry and fear and let you see him, the real him. The seemingly ever present gloves had come off, followed by his jacket, and every other little barrier he had put up over the years. When he’d first told you who he was, who he really was, he’d watched your face flicker through a series of emotions before a smile tugged on the corners of your mouth and you’d responded with a simple okay. Then you told him everything about yourself; trust wasn’t easy, you’d reminded him that day, and it was a two way street. If he allowed himself to be vulnerable enough to open up to you, you would do the same.

It was hard to believe that it had been almost four months. In some ways it felt like no time had passed at all, and in other ways he felt like he’d known you for eons. He’d abhorred the concept of online dating, but for once, he was glad he had listened to Sam and Dr. Raynor and hadn’t deleted his profile on the spot. He had been ready to give up until he received the simple notification that you had matched with him and messaged him. Everything after that felt surprisingly...easy. You had proven to be a beacon of bright, brilliant sunlight in the seemingly endless storm. Not that he had told you that...not in those specific words anyway, but he had a lot of other tells that you picked up on.

As soon as he slipped back into reality and he prepared himself to knock, the door opened and he found you beaming at him.

“Hi James,” his expression softened and any lingering doubt he had about staying was washed away as he held out a bouquet of your favorite flowers. Wide doe eyes met his and suddenly all he could think about was the fact that he really, really wanted to kiss you then and there, but he would save that for later if he felt bold enough to steal a kiss or two, “they’re beautiful! What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion,” he insisted, stuffing his hands into his pocket as was customary, offering a shrug of his shoulders, “I saw them when I was walking over and I thought you’d like them.”

“I love them,” you promised, a gentle hand on his forearm as you pulled him inside, “come on. And no hands in pockets! Not around me anyways.”

“Right,” he reminded himself with a light grimace as he stepped in and closed the door before shucking off his jacket and hanging it on your coat rack. Your apartment was small, not much bigger than his, but much more homey - he always enjoyed the warmth and comfort it provided. The whole place smelled delicious, and judging from the small mountain of dishes in the sink, he could see that you had been working away for some time. An odd, warm, sensation bubbled him in stomach as he trailed after you, noting the music you had on in the background. He made a mental note to ask you about the artist later as he was still getting a grip on what was popular...Sam wouldn’t let go of that one.

“Beer?” you nodded in the direction of the fridge as he sauntered over and made quick work of grabbing two bottles out. He set one down for you before studying you intently as you stirred the pot of pasta sauce. You’d noticed that about him, he was quiet, and aloof, always analyzing everything. But you relished into it too - when silence fell over the both of you it was never awkward or uncomfortable. You turned to him, a smile on your face as you raised an eyebrow at him, “what? Is there something on my face?”

“N-no,” he answered quickly as he took a swig of what he already deemed as liquid courage, “it’s just...how did you know I was at the door?”

You snorted at his question, barely able to contain a fit of giggles as it was his turn to raise his eyebrows at you. But god, did he love hearing that laugh; even if you thought it was a silly question, it was worth it just to hear your amusement, “really? That’s what you want to know?”

“Yeah,” he grinned back at you, “out with it.”

“Well,” you clinked the neck of your bottle against his before taking a long drink, “you’re always early, never more than ten minutes, but always at least five, from our planned time. You have a particular walk, not loud but not soft...just you. I dunno, but it’s distinct. It wasn’t hard to figure out. Plus I heard you and then you didn't knock, so I had to make sure you weren’t having some sort of ...panic out there. And maybe I was just really excited to see you.”

“Excited to see me?” he was incredulous. He wasn’t sure when someone had last told him that.

“I’m always excited to see you, James,” you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching over and gently putting your hand on his cheek. And he practically keened into your touch, eyes fluttering closed at the tenderness so you openly displayed, “oh! I almost forgot, will you grab a vase for the flowers so I can get them in water?”

“Of course,” he agreed. Of course he was ready to do almost anything for you, “one more question.”

“Shoot.”

“Why don’t you call me Bucky?” he kept his gaze trained on the vase as he pulled it from the cabinet and filled it with water. For some reason he was almost nervous to hear your answer.

“You told me that only your family or friends called you Bucky,” you reminded him as he answered with a simple nod, “so I figured it was something earned, something that I should only call you if you trusted me enough to know you in such an intimate manner. I-I didn’t want to overstep your boundaries either. W-would you like it? If I called you Bucky?”

His throat felt tight and his heart constricted as he listened to your words. For once it wasn't a cloying, negative feeling but one he...enjoyed. How very odd. A silence fell over the kitchen as he arranged the flowers in their new home and you finished dinner. For the briefest second did you think you’d said something wrong, but after he set the flowers on the dining table, he turned to and nodded, a slow, sure thing, “yes. Please - call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” you repeated softly, grinning from ear to ear to as you pulled out the loaf of bread to prep to throw into the oven to turn into garlic bread, “my Bucky.”

The singular use of the possessive might have been lost on you, but it most definitely wasn’t lost on James Buchanan Barnes. He gripped the edge of the table so tightly, he was surprised it didn’t break. Collecting himself for a moment, he came back over to you and offered to take the garlic and press to assist you in your little venture.

You were quick to playfully swat his hand away before nudging your hip with his, “I’ve got it. You go ahead and start getting plates and stuff ready.”

“Come on, I can totally help,” he insisted as you brandished the press at him, “how hard is it? You’ve done everything!”

“Nuh huh,” you insisted, “remember the first we had dinner at yours? You almost burnt the kitchen down because you didn’t pay attention. Not happening - I love you a lot, but please stop trying to cook me dinner, you suck.”

“I-I do not suck,” his mouth ran dry as he gaped at you like a fish out of water. How easily the words had spilled from your mouth, without a second thought, without hesitation. He wondered if you’d even realized what you said, “I...umm-”

“Oh,” it was then that realization hit you and your face felt warmer than it ever had, “Bucky, I didn’t...I didn’t mean to say that...out loud. I’m sorry, please don’t...I’m sorry. I don’t want to seem too forward.”

‘Y-you love me?” a dark pink flush rose in his cheeks as you chose your next words carefully. You didn’t want to lie to him and backtrack on your declaration, but you didn’t want to drive him away either. Instead you settled on a small squeak and a slight nod, “I can’t even remember the last time someone told me that. Or the last time I felt that for someone else too. It’s been a long time.”

“Things haven’t exactly been easy or normal for you, Bucky,” you laughed lightly as he came closer and left only a minuscule amount of space between your bodies. You could practically feel the heat radiating off his body as it took every fiber of your being not to throw yourself at him then and there, “but you deserve kindness and love as much as anyone else, if not more so. You are a good man Bucky, despite what some people want to believe and despite what your mind tells you sometimes. The last few months with you have been...the most wonderful. You’ve made me so happy. I hope to be able to give you even a fraction of that in return.”

“You have made me happier than I thought I deserved to be,” he admitted as it became your turn to take a step closer. If you leaned in now, your lips would almost brush his. And god, you wanted to kiss him - until you were breathless, until it was the only thing you knew. The two of you had taken it slow, upon requests from both of you - Bucky for the obvious reasons and you after a very rough break up. It hadn’t been much more than sweet kisses and honeyed whispers, but he meant so much to you. You liked how things were progressing, but you couldn’t deny you would always take more, however much he was willing to give you, “when I first saw and met you, I thought you were a dream come true. Like you really couldn’t be real, or even like me, but here you are."

“I don’t really plan on going anywhere,” you promised, inching that much closer, your face almost touching his, “I hope you’re not either. Because I kind of...really like you.”

“M-may I kiss you?” he brought his hand to your face while his vibranium arm settled on your waist. It was an odd tango, one he was still trying to work out to see what felt right, normal. It had been a long, long, time since he’d held someone this way. Your arms wrapped around his neck as you carded a hand through his hair, playing with a particularly wild bit at the nape. You wanted nothing more than this, than him. It was such a simple act, and yet so saccharine and intimate when it was the two of you. It was an act of trust, an act of intimacy, and so much more.

“Please,” you beamed him before he closed the distance and kissed you. And this time, he really kissed you, like you were the only thing sustaining him, the only thing he wanted or needed - a fresh breath of life. Plush lips were delicate and soft again yours, but hungry and yearning as though nothing could ever be enough. When you chanced a breath of air, you nuzzled your nose against his and softly whispered his name, “Bucky.”

“I don’t know if I can say it yet,” he swallowed thickly as you knew immediately what he was indicating. You cupped his cheek before tracing over his features, “I…”

“I know,” you promised as you met his eyes. They were so soft and gentle; this was perhaps the most relaxed you’d seen him. At your words he seemed to melt into your touch as a soft sigh escaped him, “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. I’m all in.”

“Me too,” he promised, “me too.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #tfatws #the falcon and the winter soldier

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rantrambles · 3 years ago

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Ever get so upset you make a Tumblr account to vent?

I haven’t even listened to The Penumbra Podcast yet but it’s on my list because it’s insanely popular and the cosplays I’ve seen are hot as hell (A+ to all the cosplayers I’ve seen you’ve done great work). Now, with the recent news surrounding the podcast, I’ll wait till it’s done if I ever do get into it. I’m Asian and part of the LGBT community but I’m not nonbinary so I can’t say much about the trans represention in the art but I wanted to add my two cents on the matter as a person of color and someone examining the situation from the outside. Also, before I get deeply into it, I’m not the only person of color with opinions on this matter so if people have their own frustrations and criticism with the racism in The Penumbra Podcast and/or the new artist they hired, definitely listen to them too. These are my own personal opinions, and I’m sure other people will disagree and that’s fine. We’re all going to have different views on this so bear that in mind. Also, feel free to correct me or add anything if I’ve missed some information. Here’s a great breakdown of the whole situation for those that don’t know what happened. Finally, I was very hesitant to post this, but I felt it was important because I make a statement at the end on how race should be presented in a podcast format so if you are interested in making a podcast and want to have a diverse range of characters, please skip to the end to read those thoughts.

I’ll start off by saying, I’m not even that upset with the new artist that The Penumbra Podcast hired. I know that statement alone is controversial but I don't personally know them, and I’m not going to judge who they are as a person by a few pieces of art they’ve made. They are the least of the problems that I have here. Since the announcement and the backlash, I’ve been scrolling through the artist’s Instagram account and I can tell why people find the designs offensive, but I’m also comparing the designs to the artist’s other work, and I honestly believe that’s just their style. They’ve exaggerated the features of just about every character they’ve made, regardless of race or gender. From what I’ve seen the sharp angles and overly round curves in the anatomy that make some of the character’s features more jarring are how they prefer to draw. I’m sure they’re capable of drawing more realistic proportions but for the most part they’re art aims to call attention, be bold, and create distinguished features. Not inherently a bad thing on its own.

And yeah I’d understand the issue if this were a scenario where the artist heard how these characters acted in the podcast and thought “hey, obviously this character is a black woman because they are super strong and therefore must have big muscles, no other woman could look like that” or “hey, this character has to be Asian because they act super seductive sometimes better draw them as such.” But from my understanding the race was already decided by previous official artists and a general description of the characters were already generated by the audience, similar to how The Magnus Archives leaned towards drawing scrawny Jon with black, greying hair and dark skin. The new artists couldn’t really change those features even if those features aren’t described in canon because a depiction that strayed too far from popular fandom interpretation would make the character’s unrecognizable to the fanbase.

I think the reason this became such a big issue for most people is because the new Penumbra artist used their exaggerated art style when making these characters and people of color and nonbinary folks already see themselves drawn as these exaggerated caricatures all the time (with those images being used to further discriminate against them). I’m sure the artist didn’t mean for their art to be offensive, but that of course doesn’t change how it was received.

According to some, the poses and expressions the artists chose did not fully represent the characters entirely and only served to further perpetuate harmful stereotypes, and I’ll have to take their word for it because I still haven’t listened to the podcast so I have no idea how the characters act. But again much of the criticism is based on the one line-up and doing a deeper dive into the artist’s work I managed to find artwork that was much less offensive. Here some art where Vespa is depicted in a non-violent pose and one where Vespa is in a threatening pose but not an overly violent one. Here is Peter drawn in a non-seductive pose. Hopefully, the artist truly does keep the criticisms in mind as they work on the new official art. I’m just not the type of person that wants to get the pitchforks out and cause this particular person to lose a job they seemed really excited about over their old character line-up, especially when that person is also part of a marginalized group.

Again, that’s just my opinion on that particular artist. Those who are offended by their art are still valid in how they feel, and the artist should absolutely take their criticism to heart to better how they represent the characters.

What I’m more upset about is that I think The Penumbra Podcast should never have released official art for their characters in the first place and that’s their mistake that they refuse to own up about. They have made it clear that the story was never meant to portray characters of colors, a fact emphasized by the fact they hired mostly white actors from the start. They only started releasing art of the characters to get a profit. And the thing is they know what they did was wrong. All I had to do was search Penumbra Podcast racism and there is a note on their website saying that they archived some old official art.

“We have discontinued all Penumbra merchandise that uses the original character designs, and in the meantime, any profits on the sales of that merchandise will go to the For The Gworls project. We also realize that the depiction of these characters as POC, while not appropriate for us to use in our marketing and merchandise, has nonetheless become personally meaningful to many POC listeners. For that reason, and because we do not wish to distance ourselves from our mistake, we are keeping these images on our website for archival purposes. Though we do want to make it clear that many of the main/featured voice actors are white and that we did not write the characters to represent any specific POC experience, you are, as always, free to imagine these characters in any way that you like.”

I went to their shop and they still sell posters and pins with the character’s faces on them, but they are donating it to a good cause so hopefully that stays the same. However, I still find it a little uncomfortable that they are still selling character merch and have plans to continue selling character merch. They have no right to dissuade the fans that already found representation in the characters, but they also have no right to profit off the representation that was built, regardless if they made the story.

Let’s compare this to another piece of popular media. I love Avatar the Last Airbender and, I liked the ATLA voice actors just fine but there should have been more people of color doing voice acting behind the screen too. The voice actors for that show were mainly white too, however, the creators knew that they would be making poc characters. That’s what makes the difference. Did they still choose to go with mostly white voice actors? Yes. Could they have done better and pay more people of color? Also yes. But I’m not as furious at them because they did their research on the cultures they were basing the ATLA world off of and intentionally gave us a show where Asians could see characters that looked like them represented on the screen. The Penumbra Podcast did not do any of that. Again, they openly admitted that it was never their intention to make the character’s people of color when they made the podcast so that goes to show no research was made to properly represent specific cultures. The color of the character’s skin in their official designs therefore became more of aesthetic choice rather than representation, and it wasn’t even their aesthetic choice to begin with!

Race isn’t a color you can just throw onto the character because you feel like it. So I want this to be a lesson to anyone that wants to make a podcast: if you want to include poc characters please do some research into the cultures you plan to represent the way you would with any other form of media. Just because the audience can’t see the characters and just because it’s harder to smoothly introduce the character’s appearance doesn’t mean you’re allowed to be lazy on how you present the characters. Do research before you start writing the first episode and take the time to hire poc actors. Hiring poc actors is actually the least that can be done to show representation. Also, since the audience cannot visually see the race of the characters on a podcast and it can’t typically be described the way you would in a book, you’ll have to be creative. It’s not my job to say how, but my suggestions would be, before the fans come up with their own image of the character, you need to establish race in the first few episodes or release character profiles on a website so that the fans know you canonically intended the characters to be of a certain race even if you aren’t able to mention it in the actual podcast. If you are unwilling to do any of these then the best route is to avoid stating race at all and allow the audience to build their own representation into your form of media. However, once this happens, you are not allowed to profit off popular fan interpretations. You lose all rights to create official art or images of the characters. You cannot use “we have a diverse cast of characters” when you market your story. It doesn’t matter whether you created the content or not, you did not create the representation for those minority groups.

It’s one thing for fans to build their own inclusivity into a form of art like a podcast, but it’s another thing for the creators who never worked to make the representation happen to take advantage of the representation that the listeners built for themselves. Thank you for attending my TedTalk.

#the penumbra podcast #podcast #race #the magnus archives #diversity in podcasts #diversity #tpp #tpp fanart

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blueascend · 4 years ago

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Omura Aimi had been working at Toyokawa for roughly four days when she realized that their ace salesman, Kurosawa, had a boyfriend.

To be fair, she had been on the lookout for particular signs. Omura hadn’t been able to be out at her last job and she’d been hoping that Toyokawa would be different. She’d done her best to befriend everyone, keeping her ear out for office gossip, getting the lay of the land.

The first time she saw Kurosawa with his boyfriend, she breathed a sigh of relief. Surely, if the most popular man in the office could be himself so openly, Omura wouldn’t have any issues.

Unfortunately, it soon became apparent to her that most of their coworkers weren’t aware of Kurosawa’s relationship status. Everyone seemed to believe he was single and straight.

How? Didn’t they have functioning eyes?

It became a slight obsession for Omura over the next week, watching Kurosawa blatantly flirt with his boyfriend without anyone noticing. They even had matching red pens they kept waving at each other like the least secret signal in the world!

Then one day, someone caught her staring.

“You have a crush on Kurosawa?” her coworker, Nakamura asked. She laughed, not unkindly. “Better get in line, then.”

“Huh?” Omura furrowed her brow. Kurosawa was now fixing his boyfriend’s tie, standing way too close to him to do so. “No, not really.”

“No?” That was Chino, her voice bright and shocked. “But just look at him.”

Omura looked at her coworkers, a knot forming in her stomach as she saw their confused expressions. Uh oh. She wasn’t ready for that kind of suspicion, not when she had no idea how they would react.

“He’s not my type?” she tried. When they kept staring, she added, “I, uh, like someone else?”

Nakamura and Chino glanced at each other. “Don’t tell me,” Nakamura said. “It wasn’t Kurosawa you were looking at, was it?”

“You like Adachi!” Chino concluded.

Omura swallowed. Adachi. Right, that was the name Kurosawa’s boyfriend wasn’t it?

Well, if it would throw them off her trail. “Yes. Yes, I do.”

Both women giggled.

“He is cute, I guess,” Chino said. “And much more attainable than Kurosawa.”

Nakamura clapped her hands. “We need to get you two together! An office romance, this is so exciting!”

They were gone before Omura could object, whispering between themselves. Omura groaned. That could’ve gone better.

Someone tapped her shoulder and Omura turned around to see Fujisaki. They didn’t know each other that well, as Omura had spent most of her time with the other women in her department, but she’d heard nothing but kind things about her.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I don’t mean to be nosy but I overheard you. Just so you’re not disappointed, I think Adachi is actually seeing someone.”

‘I think he’s seeing someone’ she said, but the glimmer in her eye very clearly stated ‘I know he is’. Had Omura misread the situation, was she actually Adachi’s girlfriend?

But no, then she would have said as much. She didn’t seem jealous or territorial either, only genuinely concerned that Omura might be in for a disappointment. How much did she know?

Deciding to test the water, Omura carefully admitted, “To be honest, I didn’t even know his name. It’s just easier to say you like someone when people are asking. I’m new here, I wanted to fit in.”

“Ah.” Fujisaki’s gaze turned curious. She looked at Omura for a few moments and Omura wasn’t sure what conclusion she reached, but she finally offered a kind smile. “I see. In that case, I’m glad I don’t have to worry.”

Omura smiled back. Maybe it was too soon to tell but she felt like she had an ally in Fujisaki.

“Omura, you are going to love this!”

Omura looked up from her laptop, seeing Nakamura and Chino approach her. “What?”

“We’ve just arranged for a group of us to go for drinks after work,” Nakamura said. “And we got Adachi to join! This will be the perfect chance for you two to spend time together.”

Omura’s stomach sank. “You - you did?”

“Don’t be nervous,” Chino said, misreading her expression. She reached over the desk, putting her hand on Omura’s shoulder. “We’ll be right there with you if you need help.”

Nakamura nodded, shooting Omura a finger gun. “You got this.”

“I got this,” Omura echoed faintly.

There were eight of them at the bar later that night; Omura, Chino and Nakamura, as well as Fujisaki, Adachi, Kurosawa, and two male coworkers Omura hadn’t learned the names of yet.

Chino and Nakamura, in full matchmaker-mode, managed to arrange the seating so that Omura and Adachi sat together at one end of the table, with Kurosawa and the rest of the women on the other.

Omura glanced at poor Adachi, who looked supremely uncomfortable to be there. Even if he didn’t know about Omura’s supposed crush on him, he didn’t seem like the type to enjoy these kinds of gatherings. Omura was sure he’d much rather be at home, unwinding with his boyfriend after work.

Sorry Adachi, she told him in her mind. She frowned, considering. But at least now I can try to find out if I’m really right about your relationship with Kurosawa.

“Have I introduced myself to you yet?” she asked him.

Even that polite question was enough to startle him. “What? Ah, I don’t think so.”

She gave him what she hoped was an encouraging smile and nodded. “I’m Omura Aimi, I started working at Toyokawa recently.”

“Adachi Kiyoshi.” Adachi nodded back. “Do you - do you enjoy your work?”

“Very much.” Omura looked over at her friends, who both gave her not-so-subtle thumbs up. “It’s a nice atmosphere, much more friendly than my old workplace.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence descended between them. Omura had a sip of beer as she wondered what to say next. She had no idea how to casually broach a topic like hey, are you gay like me? Adachi mirrored her, grimacing slightly as he drank.

This really wasn’t his scene, huh?

“What do you like to do outside of work?” Omura finally asked.

“I, ah,” Adachi fumbled as he placed his glass down, spilling a few drops of beer. “The usual things, I suppose. I like reading, drawing, playing on the Switch.”

“Yeah? I like video games too, I just started a new save file in Stardew Valley.”

Adachi perked up. “I’ve also been playing that. I got Kurosawa to join me in multiplayer but it’s been going kind of slow. He can’t master the fishing mini game and it’s been frustrating him. He’s not used to being bad at stuff.”

Omura giggled. “I can picture that. I love the multiplayer too, especially since I can use it to get married to-” my girlfriend, she barely stopped herself from saying. She cleared her throat, smiling awkwardly. “Anyway, it’s a lot of fun.”

“Mhm,” Adachi agreed.

Another awkward silence commenced. Omura looked to her friends again but they were busy talking amongst themselves. Fujisaki met her eyes and smiled. Next to her sat Kurosawa and he was glancing between Omura and Adachi, frowning unhappily.

Maybe Omura was reading too much into it but he looked almost... jealous?

She turned back to Adachi, the desire to confirm her suspicions growing stronger than ever. Screw subtlety, what she needed was privacy.

“Adachi?” she asked. “Do you mind if we talk alone?”

Adachi stiffened, eyes widening in panic. “Eh?”

Omura stood up. “It will only take a moment.”

Reluctantly, Adachi got up as well and followed her. As they walked away, Omura could hear her friends talking, the alcohol likely making them a little too carefree and loud:

“-so bold! But I guess with a guy like Adachi, the woman has to take charge.”

“Do you think she’s going to confess already?”

Their voices faded away as they turned a corner. Omura lead Adachi to the balcony connected to the bar. It was thankfully empty and as Omura slid the doors shut behind them, they had perfect privacy.

“What did you want to talk about?” Adachi asked, clearly dreading the answer.

Omura bit her lip. How to word this? “You... we...” she rubbed her hands together, finally settling on, “I think we might have some things in common. Besides video games.”

“Like- like what?”

Omura opened her mouth to answer but before she could, the doors to the balcony were shoved open. Kurosawa stood in the doorway, looking as much a mess as Omura had ever seen - that is, still very put together, but hair slightly ruffled and cheeks pink from either the alcohol or the warmth inside the bar.

“Don’t!” he cried and this was it, as blatant a sign as Omura was ever going to get.

“Relax, Kurosawa,” she said. “I’m not going to confess to your boyfriend.”

Kurosawa blinked. “You’re not? But they just said-” he stopped himself short, clearly realizing what he’d just admitted. “I mean-”

“He’s not my type,” Omura cut in before he could panic too much. “Besides, I doubt my girlfriend would approve.”

Both Kurosawa and Adachi stared at her. For a second, Omura feared she’d really misunderstood them after all, but then Kurosawa slumped against the door in relief.

“I see,” he laughed.

Adachi looked relieved as well. “So that’s what you meant by ‘things in common’, huh?”

“Yeah,” Omura said. “But sorry if I made you nervous.”

“It’s fine.” Adachi waved his hand in dismissal. “How did you find out, anyway? Did Fujisaki tell you?”

So Fujisaki really was in the know. “No, and I don’t think she ever would. You two are just really obvious to those who know what to look for. Especially Kurosawa.”

Kurosawa shrugged, not looking the least bit ashamed. Adachi rolled his eyes fondly.

“Anyway, I’m gonna go back inside,” Omura said. “I’ll tell them I chickened out on confessing to you or something. They’ll lose interest in this whole thing soon enough.”

She passed Kurosawa, who stepped out onto the balcony as she went inside. As she closed the door behind her, she could hear Adachi teasing Kurosawa lightly:

“Were you being jealous again, Yuichi?”

“Don’t be mean. How could I help it when Kiyoshi is so cute, I want him all to myself!”

Adachi laughed but it was muffled. “Not here, someone could see!”

Omura shook her head as the doors sealed shut, leaving them to their privacy.

She couldn’t wait to tell her girlfriend about this.

#cherry magic #30sai made Dotei dato Mahotsukai ni Narerurashii #kurodachi #fanfic #outsider pov

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got-svt · 4 years ago

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radio star: a svt social media au

summary: when yn accepts a job at her campus’ radio station her first year in uni, she didn’t expect she’d be anonymously singing stressed out university students to sleep. now, a year and a half in, she didn’t expect that there’d be people trying to figure out her identity either. genre: college au, slice of life, humor, fluff, angst pairing: ??? x f!reader

(masterlist)

warning: please don’t read unless you’ve read/been to part thirty-four !! this is the endgame point so tread cautiously ! but if you have read it or you came from there, then…enjoy;)

part thirty-five: worth it

Wonwoo held his breath, waiting for you to hang up. Maybe you’d tell him goodbye, thank him for being such a good friend and all the advice he had given you these past few weeks. His heart ached at the thought of you rejecting him, but part of him expected it anyways. He should’ve been more forward, more bold in his advances towards you. But he was terrified, the thought of losing you as a friend was much too great a fear for him to risk on something as silly as his emotions. There were multiple moments that he just wanted to tell you, to exclaim to the world that you were the one he wanted, and each time he found himself biting down his tongue — denying himself the simple pleasure of openly expressing his feelings. Wonwoo shut his eyes, it was too late to feel any sort of regret now. Not when he had multiple opportunities to actually make a move.

He was halfway back to the dorms when you called him, his ringtone blasting through what would’ve been a quiet walk home. Wonwoo knew you weren’t feeling okay earlier, he’d spent so much time with you that he could easily read most of the emotions that made its way onto your features — whether it was happiness, anger, or embarrassment, he knew all the clues that suggested a certain emotion. He wanted to prod further into your claim that you were fine, but your years of friendship came with a certain kind of patience and trust, you’d tell him when you were ready and he was more than willing to help you out. He always was.

There weren’t too many people out on the street at that point in the afternoon and he had been lucky enough to spot a nearby bench when he answered your call. Wonwoo immediately knew something was wrong, you didn’t have to say anything the moment he picked up, you wouldn’t have called him everything was truly okay. He sat down, wanting to give you all of his attention, you were going to need it if you were distressed enough to actually call him not even hours after he left your side.

Wonwoo heard your voice, quiet and shaky, and it took everything in him not to run to you then and there. He kept his feet glued on the concrete beneath him, ignoring the twinges of heartache that made its way straight into his chest. It didn’t take him long to realize where you were going with that call, what exactly it was you wanted from him. You were about to make a decision, and you were afraid.

Afraid of how he’d react? Possibly. Wonwoo’s mind went into overdrive at the very thought, were you afraid that you were going to hurt him? Oh no, of course you weren’t going to choose him, he never had a shot anyways.

Wonwoo took a shaky breath of his own, letting cool late afternoon air fill his lungs, he should get it over with now. The sooner this call ended, the sooner he could fall back on his bed and let the pain fully consume him.

“Please don’t think about how we will react to it, at this moment that doesn’t matter. What matters is what you feel. We’re grown ups, we can handle heartbreak. Sure it will hurt, but we can move on. I can’t speak for the others, but I just want you happy. Even if I won’t be the one to bring you that. The only question you need to ask yourself isn’t ‘what about the people I hurt’, it’s ‘who is the one I love?’ ”

His voice lacked the usual confidence it did whenever he gave you advice, but he hoped you wouldn’t notice, he hoped harder that you wouldn’t call him out on it if you did.

Wonwoo waited for your response, seconds stretched into what felt like hours for him. He kept his gaze down on his feet, trying to stop the tears that threatened to spill. The sound of your breathing was soft, but he could hear it, you were thinking.

“Wonwoo?”

Your voice startled him, sitting completely upright in shock. There was some hesitation in your voice, like you were wondering if you should even continue speaking. His heart shattered, you were about to break his heart, weren’t you? He sighed, Wonwoo figured that he would have to quickly move things along, rip the band-aid off for both of you.

“Yn, it’s okay, I can handle rejec—”

“It’s you.”

You cut him off before he could even finish speaking, his eyes went wide. This couldn’t be real, this definitely wasn’t real. Has the sky always been this alluring shade of purple and orange? One hand held his phone tighter, the other gripped the edge of the bench, his knuckles almost turning white.

“What?” He sputtered out, surprised at himself for being able to find his own voice.

“It’s always been you.” You breathed out, traces of a smile evident in your words and voice — like you were just now figuring it out too. “You’re the one I love.”

Wonwoo hung up, the flat dial tone ringing in your ear, almost like it was mocking you for confessing. Your breath gets caught in your throat, have you been reading things wrong this entire time?

You sighed, unable to stop the tears that freely fell from your eyes, you didn’t think it would go this way. Well, you didn’t know exactly what to expect so you couldn’t be too mad at yourself, or Wonwoo either. So why did your chest still ache, heart constricting and squeezing as you gasped for any amount of air that you could inhale. Why did you hold onto that tiny sliver of hope for so long, the hope that he could possibly love you back? Did he only really see you as a friend? Was it a mistake even confessing in the first place?

But it was true, he was the one you loved. At the end of the day, at the end of everything that has happened to you in the past few weeks, he’s the one you wanted. It was always Wonwoo, he was the one who stuck by you through everything, who was always on your side no matter what, who took care of you from the sidelines. He was the one who made you feel excited to go to the studio, because you knew he’d be there working with you. He’s the reason you looked forward to walking home in the afternoon, because you spent it walking beside him. He’s the one you could talk to about anything and everything without judgement, maybe some slight teasing, but you knew you could let your walls down around him.

It pained you that he didn’t feel the same.

That he didn’t feel the same rush of emotions that you did. The way heat colored your cheeks whenever your hands would accidentally brush, the giddiness that came with knowing you’d be spending almost an entire day together, the way working never really felt like work because you were around each other and somehow his very presence enough made you feel comfortable and at ease.

But he didn’t feel all that.

Why else would he hang up on you?

Maybe he was freaked out by the suddenness of your confession, you had been friends for so long that it must’ve been difficult for him to see you in any other way. You just wished he told you that he wasn’t interested instead of abruptly hanging up.

A loud knocking on your door interrupted your thoughts, it was rapid, incessant, like the person on the other side of the wall couldn’t possibly wait to be left in. You wiped your tears with the sleeve of your sweater, trying your best to make yourself look as presentable as possible for your unexpected guest. You knew there was no point to it though, your eyes were probably puffy, cheeks red, and nose runny.

“Who could this be?” You muttered, angry and annoyed at the disturbance, all you wanted was to have one good cry before you had to face anyone again the following day.

“What?” You called out, opening the door with so much force that for a brief moment you were afraid that you were going to tear your arm off.

To your surprise, Wonwoo was the one at your door. He was bent over, hands on his knees, panting as a thin layer of sweat coated his entire face.

“Did you run over here or something?” Your head was tilted to the side, blinking back wildly at the sight in front of you.

Wonwoo responded by engulfing you in a hug, his arms wrapping tightly around you, making you step back a bit at the force of his actions. It didn’t even matter that he was slightly sweaty from what you assume was the run he took to make his way over to your doorstep. Your heartbeat sped up, you were sure that Wonwoo could hear it, feel it even as your body was pressed closely to his.

“I’m in love with you.” He spoke, Wonwoo’s lips close to your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “I have been for the longest time.”

You pulled back ever so slightly to look at him, “Then why did you hang up?”

“I would be doing you a disservice if I did it over the phone.” He looked back at you, wiping away the tear streaks still left on your face. You could tell he felt bad about making you cry, you saw it in the way his head was tilted to the side, how his bottom lip jutted out in the smallest of pouts. “I wanted to tell you in person.”

“Is that some sort of jab at me because I told you over the phone?” Your brows furrowed, lightly hitting him in the chest. Of course he teases you not even seconds after confessing his own feelings. You were about to make a teasing retort of your own, mouth parted just as the words were ready to leave your lips, when you heard him chuckle. Light and airy, almost as if he didn’t have a single care in the world. Genuine warmth and happiness radiated off of him, it was infectious and anyone could feel it from miles away.

“I’m just glad you feel the same way.”

“I do.” The furrow in your brows disappeared, the look of fake annoyance turning into one of serenity. Part of you couldn’t believe you had waited this long to tell him, but you knew it was right. All of it was to lead to this very moment. “I’m sorry, it took me so long to realize it.”

Wonwoo smiled the softest of smiles, his gaze on you tender — like you were the only thing possibly worth looking at. A hand reaches up to cup your cheek, his thumb lightly grazing the skin underneath, “It’s okay, you’re worth it.”

Your hand moves on its own, gently resting above his as you melted into his touch. Wonwoo pulled you closer to his chest, placing a small kiss on your forehead before resting his chin on top your head, a content sigh escaping his lips. In that moment you knew: you were exactly where you were meant to be. You were home, and there was nowhere else you would rather be.

wonwoo’s epilogue <33

#radio star svt au

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nctsjiho · 4 years ago

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Relationship with: SM artists

For JiHo’s relationship with NCT check out the pinned post on my blog. By no means are these all SM artists or is this very detailed and my knowledge in some of these groups is also very limited so please bear with me. If I wrongly represent anyone now or in the future feel free to let me know, but keep in mind all of this is purely fictional.

Super Junior:

Oh dear Lord help poor JiHo

She’s the victim of endless teasing from Super Junior

Since JiHo is pretty sociable she got quite comfortable with SuJu

They might not hang out a lot but whenever they see the girl they’ll approach her to at least greet her (and vice versa, of course)

SuJu also love to bring JiHo up during variety shows to tell a funny episode they had with the girl and “expose” her

Eunhyuk is a bit like an older brother to her, during her trainee days she once walked up to him asking him if he could critique her dancing. He was surprised at how bold she was and could only agree with her because she was so intriguing. He thought JiHo was a great dancer and since that time they became really close, even having each other’s phone numbers and JiHo having Eunhyuk on speed dial. When she was still under-age Eunhyuk became her guardian (not legally) since she has no family in Korea

Red Velvet:

They aren’t really close with each other for a few reasons (nothing bad though)

JiHo joined SM just after Red Velvet debuted and since the group was very busy with promotions and practice JiHo rarely got to see them

Though JiHo was very talented she didn’t have that much training and she was still a little too young when SM thought of adding another member into the group, Yeri had joined Red Velvet in march of 2015 which was clearly an amazing choice

SM also thought, pretty early on, that JiHo wouldn’t be a great fit for the group’s concept and overall look so they quickly stopped considering JiHo to become a Red Velvet member

Even after years passed, JiHo didn’t really get much closer to most of the members, but she respects them a lot as artists

Out of the whole group she’s probably closest with Seulgi and Wendy, who kinda see her as a little sister they want to take care of

Wendy checks up on JiHo every once in a while through text or invites her out to have dinner and drags Seulgi along with her

They look out for her and tease her a lot when it comes to being the only female member of NCT

“You need to be surrounded by a bit more oestrogen every once in a while, JiHo.” ^^

They will give her advice or just try to cheer her up when they catch the younger girl looking a bit stressed

JiHo would love to do a dance cover with Seulgi sometime in the future

SHINee:

Honestly who doesn’t love SHINee?!??

I’m not saying JiHo is secretly a Shawol, but I am saying SHINee is one of the groups that introduced her to kpop

She always had (and still has) so much respect for the group and they are probably the reason she accepted the scout’s request to come to Korea to become a trainee at SM

A possibility to debut under the same company as SHINee?? YES MA’AM

She has a very friendly relationship with the boys

Saying hi in passing or making small talk whenever they end up in the same elevator

Maybe even went to get something to eat together in the company cafeteria, but besides that there isn’t very much interaction

Taemin has mentioned her a handful of times after SuperM formed since he’s in the same group of some of JiHo’s members now

It usually about how he thinks JiHo’s really cute definitely during her trainee days when she was a little shy towards SHINee or that she’s a really great dancer/performer

Fans have wanted Key & JiHo or Minho & JiHo interactions for a while now, thinking they would make iconic duos (because chaos-), but some other fans have mentioned how she and Onew would make for a great duo because the girl tends to gravitate to the calmer members in NCT more often as well

EXO:

Well Kai is her idol so...

A lot of teasing once again

Though funnily enough, some EXO members seem to be intimidated by JiHo or act awkward around her

JiHo has been pretty open about being an EXO-L and so many fans poke fun at EXO about them being awkward around the girl (they have adopted her into the fandom and she’s pretty well received there)

“She just has this aura around her~”

MTL to feel intimidated by/awkward around JiHo:

Most: Sehun, Suho & Kai

Least: Chen, Baekhyun, Xiumin (EXO-CBX ^^) & Lay (EXO-M <3, the former Chinese members were also not really awkward around her)

Not at all: Chanyeol & D.O.

JiHo’s fans are sad that her and Kai are so awkward around each other and blame EXO and NCT (mainly those in SuperM) for teasing Kai so much by mentioning JiHo looks up to him, that now he can barely look her in the eyes

People have also pointed out how funny it is that Kai and Sehun are especially intimidated by JiHo, comparing them to big dogs being scared of a little puppy (wait this is cute)

Chanyeol and D.O. get along very well with JiHo, Chanyeol mainly being kind of a big brother for JiHo, but a big brother who likes making fun of her and embarrass her

JiHo mentioned the group a lot in her first year of being an idol, after that she kind of stopped (theory: she got told of by SM for talking about EXO too much after getting a lot of mean comments from antis ＞﹏＜)

Interactions between her and the group have also been insanely spares since mid 2019

(another theory: fans think that JiHo isn’t allowed to talk/interact with EXO anymore)

She has only mentioned EXO members when talking about SuperM, but it was mainly to support the group’s promotions

#Bring_Back_JiHo_X_EXO_2021

SNSD/Girl’s Generation:

NCT has teased JiHo before saying that she’s scared of SNSD

She defended herself by telling everyone that it’s because they are her seniors and she really respects them so she tends to get nervous around them

Some of the members of the girl group have mentioned JiHo before and said they hung out a little

Hyoyeon has been very expressive about her fondness for the girl

She even said that she wanted JiHo to join her when she participated in Hit The Stage

It didn’t end up happening because the kind of dances she did where either “too mature” or “unfortunately we didn’t get permission (from SM) to let Jiho join”

Hyoyeon has posted some pictures with JiHo on instagram, either cheering her on during NCT promotions or just because they were casually hanging out

JiHo also really likes Sunny and Taeyeon and has been invited by the girls to attended their concerts a few times now

On the outside it looks like they have a very strict senior-junior relationship, but every once in a while the group tells them how they are actually closer to JiHo than people think, they just don’t have very many opportunities to show it

They also do NOT tolerate any hate towards JiHo (definitely from those who comment on her not deserving to be in a boy group or her skill as an idol in general) and WILL defend her and shoot down any comments

Aespa:

She trained with a few of the girls for a little while

But when it got announced that JiHo would be joining NCT instead of a girl group, she started training with the boys (NCT and trainees who’d join NCT)

Some fans speculated that JiHo and Aespa weren’t on good terms, but there was no evidence to back up their theories

More so, it was even revealed that JiHo knew the choreography for “Black Mamba” during a V Live

JiHo has openly supported the group by talking about their debut song and stages, but there aren’t really any other interactions between them

BoA:

A collab between them would be LEGENDARY

When BoA visited NCT during their practise of Black on Black during the filming of Master in The House, she pointed JiHo out and complimented her for being able to be as powerful as the boys

JiHo looks up to BoA very much and during a variety show has revealed that she used to practise a lot of her songs/dances while she was a trainee

It happened a few times that the singer has expressed her faith in the younger girl’s potential and skill and hopes that JiHo will get to show of more of her talent because “Currently, I think she’s not able to show all her skills. She’s a junior I am able to trust to deliver (a great performance) if I asked her to work on a project with or for me.”

BoA’s comments about the younger girl only solidified the theories that SM is suppressing JiHo’s talent

JiHo has spoken out about it very subtly, saying that she’s happy where she is now as long as she gets to keep performing with the boys

In response to an international fan asking if JiHo ever thought about branching out to work on a solo project like a mixtape or even just solo dance videos to show of her choreographing skills:

“It makes me genuinely happy to perform with my friends right now. I think I still have a lot of learning to do. If ever my company reaches out to me to do something like that I will think about it, but I don’t really feel the need for anything like that right now. I’m happy (with the way things are) right now.”

#jiho.guide #nct 24th member #nct addition #nct fluff #nct female member #nct scenarios #nct reactions #nct extra member #nct additional member #kpop!addition #kpop!oc

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officerjennie · 4 years ago

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Commission for the ever so lovely @bouncyirwin - who spreads joy, happiness, and support as freely and easily as some people breathe (this fandom wouldn’t be the same without you 💜💜💜💜💜)

---

How anyone could so much as breathe without adoration hitching their efforts around her, Shisui really didn’t know.

This wasn’t even the first time this week he’d found himself staring in awe without a word able to escape him. Sakura had a way of making him dumb to the quick wit and playful flirting that usually came as natural as most any other social interaction to him - he’d always been the social butterfly of his clan, berated for it at times and having his hair fondly tousled at others. And yet here he sat, in the corner of the little restaurant Sakura and her team and her team’s families had all crowded into, unable to absorb any of the chatter or whatever joke had Kakashi snickering behind his book or even what had Naruto and the brat arguing this time.

Sakura seemed content enough to sit back and soak it all in as well, pride in the soft smile that graced her lips, a cup of tea cradled in her hand near her chest in lieu of the spirit that many of her companions had chosen to partake in this evening. And who could blame them? Rare was the day any shinobi party could come back unscathed along with their success, and given the tentative peace between Konoha and Kiri could have been destroyed at the smallest misstep their celebration came with relief felt by the entire village.

It warmed him to no end to see her so content and sure, so proud, none of the hesitance that used to haunt her expressions and tense her body anywhere to be found - the kunoichi that had chased and chased after her teammates had long since caught up and surpassed them in so many ways, and even without being privy to the intimate details of her internal battles Shisui could feel emotion trying to choke him.

Gods, but he had it bad, didn’t he? He forced some of his own tea down, looking away from the woman who had no idea she held his heart so tightly in her grip, scrubbing his face with his free hand in an attempt to clear his head. Admiration was one thing - very understandable in this case, given Sakura set the precedent for strong and capable shinobi who could punch a ravine into existence - but they could hardly even be called friends if he was honest with himself. So openly staring at her with his heart in his eyes could definitely count as creepy.

Maybe he needed more hobbies.

“Not really like you to hang out on the sidelines.”

It was a bit embarrassing to be snuck up on like that. He hoped his surprise wasn’t too obvious as he peeked through his hands, finding the woman who’d been occupying his thoughts all night now occupying the seat next to him. Up so close he could see her cheeks were dusted pink, though he couldn’t really tell if it was the chill from the night air or just some blush she’d painted on.

Either way. It didn’t really matter which one it was. All Shisui could really do with the information is filing it under “she’s the most gorgeous woman I’ve ever met” and keep the simple image of her tucking some pink hair behind her ear firmly in his mind’s eye for the rest of his days.

“Not a place I’d expect to find you either.” She blinked at his words as if confused, pursing her lips even, so despite how obvious it seemed to him Shisui clarified, “You more the frontline type, right?”

“Ah, yeah, I don’t really care for ‘supporting others’ to mean ‘being left behind.’ But today,” Sakura turned just enough to look over at her teammates, Shisui following her gaze to see Naruto gesturing wildly in horror at something that had Sasuke snickering unashamedly. “Today, I think I’m alright with not being in the middle of them. There are some conversations I’d rather they have without me.”

“What even has them going, anyway?”

“Relationships,” Sakura said, a little too quickly. But she didn’t let the awkwardness stay, her eyes flicking down to her tea which she held between her hands as if her fingers might be cold. Shisui wished he could warm them between his own. “Well, not exactly relationships. More like things people do in them. They seem to find it amusing to list all the people they’ve managed to kiss or make out with.”

With a snort, Shisui said, “I’m guessing they’re both at the top of each other’s lists then?”

He was very glad to see the tiny bit of tension relax right away from Sakura as she laughed, her eyes alight with mirth. “Somehow, they always seem to forget to mention that.”

“Bet you love to remind them.”

“Bet I do.” She flashed him a smile that had his ears heating up, and for the life of him Shisui could not say why it made him feel bold.

Despite how calm people saw him, despite his rather laid back nature, Shisui often found himself tongue tied where feelings were involved. But past his beating heart he somehow managed to not make a fool of himself, his nerves not overwhelming him - perhaps it was simply how welcomed he felt in her presence? How inviting and warm she was even as all she did was sip her tea, simply existing but existing there, next to him, when any number of seats were available next to those she was far closer to. And didn’t that make him feel lucky.

“Do you have a list?”

The gods only knew how he managed to make that sound casual. Even when Sakura’s eyes widened and blinked up at him (he swore his favorite color used to be blue but damn if that shade of green wasn’t going to change that) - and for a terrifying moment he remembered just how easily this woman could demolish any wall that stood in her way. With her fist.

Even if that wall was made with solid concrete, or was, say, a whole ass mountain. He was pretty sure he wasn’t anywhere near as solid as a mountain.

When she chose to not punch him, every single last bone in his body heaved a sigh of thankfully unbroken relief. “No, I...don’t have a list.”

No list? That was a little surprising. “A name, then?” Maybe not the best thing to ask someone, at least not before he was sure she would be comfortable with answering. Shisui was quick to add “Unless it’s a secret or something” - the last thing he needed was to drive her away by pushing into her own personal life.

Though, then again - and something in Shisui rose up in slight saddened panic at the thought - what would he do if she did have a name? A significant other? Itachi was out on another of his long missions, who exactly was he supposed to lean on and eat comfort chocolate with if it turned out his growing crush was, well...crushed, before anything could come of it?

“No. No name.”

It took physical effort to not sag with some sort of relief at her words, but it wasn’t a relief that Shisui had much time to process. Because as much as he wanted a chance with the woman of his dreams, as much as he had wanted to hear that...

“Eh? Really? You?” Shisui found it beyond the realms of possibility that Sakura, of all the people in Konoha, had yet to have her first kiss, and that shock was perhaps a bit too loud in his tone.

Definitely not good for his health and wellbeing. The nerve on Sakura’s forehead was suddenly twitching, and the sharp look she sent his way had him gulping.

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, no! No no, nothing- I didn’t mean like that!” He shook his head a little more than necessary, horror dawning on him as he realized his unintentional insinuation. “I just meant- you’re just, well, beautiful! Beautiful and an exceptional shinobi, a damn good medic, and from what Sasuke’s told me in confidence you make a mean blueberry tart. Not to mention you could punch through steel if it offended you.” By some grace of the gods he managed to bit off his rambling there, scratching nervously at the back of his head, almost mumbling as he ended his poor excuse of an explanation with, “I just expected, you know… You might have kissed at least one of the people who admired you.”

The moments of quiet after his words were probably the most terrifying seconds of his life, though by some mercy Sakura did not seem angry. Maybe his apology/explanation was acceptable after all and he wouldn’t have to-

Sakura said something under her breath, and Shisui blinked back out of his thoughts, frowning a little in confusion. “What?”

“It’s just that I…” Her bottom lip caught between her teeth for a moment, drawing Shisui’s eyes. “I’ve never really had an appealing offer. You know?”

Had she always been sitting that close to him? Their thighs were touching and Shisui couldn’t remember when that had happened, but his pulse picked up, the whole of him keenly aware of every inch of her.

And how bad would it be, really, to be buried in the ground by those deceptively slender fingers?

“Would I,” Shisui started, with a smooth tone that belied how his heart beat frantically in his chest, “qualify as an appealing offer?”

A breath. Two. Sakura’s gaze flickered down to his lips as hers parted the barest bit - and even before she nodded Shisui knew her answer - though he knew not how he'd been so lucky as to get a yes.

Her hair was soft under his fingers as he cupped the back of her head, her pupils wide as she tilted her chin to look up at him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he was aware that they were not alone, their friends and coworkers laughing and drinking and chattering away not even half a small restaurant away from them, but all of him preferred to focus on Sakura’s hand now coming to rest on his arm, the way she shifted forward as he leaned closer, how intimate it felt to brush their noses together, her breath tickling his lips.

And then their lips met, and the rest of the world fell away.

#shisaku #shisui #sakura #fanfiction #mywriting #commission #thank you!!#I'm sorry it took a while to write T^T #fluff #some humor #also on ao3 #link in the source!

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thrillridesz · 3 years ago

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This is completely unnecessary and completely dumb but as an avid fan of six of crows, I’m going to assign a crow + shadow and bone character to my moots today for no particular reason other than the fact I feel like it. (if you haven’t already read Leigh Bardugo’s six of crows duology, what are you doing. I haven’t yet read S&B so I’ll base it completely off the Netflix show.)

!NO SPOILERS! (So rest assured)

+ also consider this a love letter to y’all.

[My moots as SoC crows + Shadow and Bone characters]

Kaz Brekker - @timextoxhajima

Resourceful, ingenious and cunning - these are all words that describe Ketterdam’s infamous ‘Dirtyhands’. Having single-handedly led the Crow Club to its esteemed, notorious status in the Barrel in a matter of a few short years, this man is shrewd and nothing can get past him. Determined in everything he does and well-prepared for any obstacles that stand in his way, Kaz Brekker is a crook to be well-respected, valued and feared.

Just like Kaz, I think Dana is a very clever person and I’ve never really seen her break a sweat over anything even when under intense pressure. She’s strong and very dedicated to everything she does which is super admirable. I feel like both Kaz and Dana give me the vibes that if they’re around, everything will be fine because they are able to handle anything thrown in their way.

Inej Ghafa - @sunqnyu

Inej, for a wraith, is probably one of the characters with the strongest moral compass I’ve ever seen in a book about a heist. She is kind, sensitive and merciful. When she’s after something she really wants, she doesn’t hold back and charges ahead (and she's great at what she does) but will never hurt others on her way there. Inej is a crow that cares about the people around her, especially the ones she loves, sometimes putting their own needs above her own.

To me, Bella and Inej have a lot in common when it comes to their kind personalities and ability to see the good in everyone. They don’t treat people differently and are never mean to others. They may be soft hearted at times but can also be some of the most headstrong, competent people. Sometimes, I read SoC again and think of the similarities between Bella and Inej. It's uncanny.

Jesper Fahey - @yangyanghater

The best way to describe Jesper, the sharpshooter would be that of a volatile, crackling firecracker. Restless, full of chaotic energy and teasing, this man has a silver tongue and can quite literally chat his way either into trouble or out of. He lives on adrenaline rushes and when you talk to Jesper, you never know what you’re going to get. Laughter would be a good bet.

Cal and Jesper should just be twins at this point. Seriously, when it came to Jesper, I was just immediately like ‘Ok, Cal. No doubt about it.’ They both radiate such chaotic energy, I HAD TO. The sarcasm that they both have are one of a kind and I think talking to Cal would be very much like talking to Jesper. You always feel excited or intrigued.

Nina Zenik - @moonsunwoojoong

A Grisha heartrender, Nina does more than practice the small sciences and is able to quite literally charm others just by being herself! She is confident, witty and very strong at heart. Never one to care about what others have to say about her, she expresses herself freely and openly. Her flirtatious wiles endear to everyone and she is truly a people’s person. Loyal to a fault, Nina never leaves her own people in a rut.

Amber and Nina... God, they would make an amazing pair. I feel like they would both sort of ‘get’ each other? Like they would both understand each other because of how similar their views are. Amber gives me very confident, segcy vibes just like Nina does and like Nina, Amber’s loyalty and softness for her ‘own people’ (like friends, family) is super endearing.

Matthias Helvar - @berrysungie

Matthias was my favourite character in the SoC duology when I was first reading it, and he still is. Courageous and protective of those he loves, this Drüskelle will stop at nothing to defend those he considers dear to his heart from any danger out there even if it meant putting himself in harm’s way. He is a fighter, noble and though frigid and misunderstood at times, he only truly loosens up around his loved ones and will never, ever betray his allegiances.

Daisy and Matthias are both FIGHTERS. They never give up without a fight and firmly stand by their beliefs but are also very open to new opinions and are in no way, close-minded. They both strike me as very noble people and not gonna lie, sometimes I’m intimidated by Daisy as I am when I read about Matthias sometimes. It’s like they’re both so cool and I’m a potato.

Alina Starkov - @nyuwings

Alina is upright, inquisitive and brave. We’re talking about a girl who chooses to face almost imminent death for the sake of a close friend. She may be naive at first but she learns quickly and she learns well. When she puts her heart into something, she excels at it. At the end of the day, no matter what happens, her loyalties are firm and she knows her rights from her wrongs. Willing to learn from her mistakes, that’s what makes the Sun Summoner so great compared to the other Grishas who are largely blinded by their own egos.

Elle always gave me main character vibes, I swear. Especially when we’re talking about main characters like Alina Starkov. When I talk to her, I sometimes feel like she has this untouchable, special aura? Like I want to tell her everything and I trust her. Like Alina, she's got a good head on her shoulders and I’m not sure honestly... Could it be the ‘Chosen One’ vibes?

Wylan Van Eck - @lsangyeons

Another gravely misunderstood character. Wylan is first seen as timid, afraid and constantly underestimated. Yet, what hides beneath this facade is an intelligent, tenacious soul. He is polite, considerate and full of good mannerisms despite being a part of the Dregs which honestly should have taken all of that from him but somehow they didn’t. Very kind and friendly, one should not take this sweet persona as something to be picked on because this man can quite literally blow your minds.

Yu and Wylan are to me both very overlooked. Not enough people appreciate them and it sucks because they deserve SO MUCH. They are the people that everyone takes for granted. They do not choose to make themselves known or try to take the spotlight away from their friends, but rather choose to support them from the back. They are talented but often don’t realise that they are. Very, very admirable.

Malyen Oretsev - @hhjs

Malyen to me is a very hotheaded, bold and valiant character. He never backs down from a fight and stand firm for what he believes to be right and doesn't care if there’s a thousand men going against him. This is what makes him so appealing. He does what he want when he wants and has a very strong sense of what is right and wrong.

I feel like Amal and Mal have a lot in common such that they are both very daring and firm people. They don’t let their opinions get swayed by anyone - what is right is right. They are unafraid to stand up to injustice and voice their opinions. Both exude a lot of confidence and somehow they just seem like people you like or look up to.

Genya Safin - @experimentalwrites

Genya is very much like a mentor. Her personality is gentle, encouraging and sweet. As a Grisha tailor, most of her job is focused on helping people and helpful she is. She is caring towards everyone and never discriminates. Good-natured and wise, she is the perfect definition of what a great role model should act and be like.

Like Genya, Nabi exudes mentor like vibes to me. Around her, I feel like I can talk about my problems and seek sound advice from her. She doesn’t judge and can be depended upon. Her friendship is one I treasure a lot and her caring nature is what makes her so extremely attractive and amazing.

Zoya Nazyalensky - @sly-merlin

Zoya is what comes to mind when I think of a strong, independent woman whose leadership qualities far surpass that of others. Although prickly towards those she considers her enemies, she is very kind and forgiving towards the people she cares for. Even in great pressure, she is able to think clearly and exercise logical thinking. Her mere presence comforts those around her.

Simmi was the first person I thought of when I was thinking of Zoya. Competent, strategic and giving to her friends. They both have boss lady/queen vibes and though both may seem intimidating, are actually very sweet people. They have a hard exterior but a very soft, endearing interior. Precious beans, seriously.

#tag #lovely moots #IF YOU HAVEN'T READ SOC PLS DO

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bytheangell · 4 years ago

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I Don’t Want to Say I (I Want to Say We)

( @shadowhunterbingo square: Arranged Marriage) (Read on AO3)

“What do you mean we don’t count?” Alec demands, voice rising to a near shout. Andrew keeps his expression as professionally neutral as possible at the outburst. It’s a closed meeting, and outside of the two Council members who requested it, the only person besides Alec is Andrew. This isn’t uncommon for them - Alec often brings someone else to meetings that could just as easily be entirely private, if only so he has a friendly face in his corner when dealing with some of the more antagonistic Council members. Andrew has been that ‘someone else’ for quite a few meetings that Izzy or Jace couldn’t make it to.

“Your marriage is hardly a sacrifice made in good faith,” Blackridge points out. “The warlocks feel the same. With how quickly - and willingly - Bane left with you for Alicante, they aren’t positive he won’t side more with you than his own people. He’s done it before. And so have you for him.”

“Everyone knows your allegiance is more to each other than each other’s people,” Lydia Branwell reluctantly adds. Andrew can tell that she doesn’t want to be here, and probably is only because the Council thought the news coming from her might soften the blow, given her history and connection with Alec. “Both sides want a newly arranged marriage to seal the agreement. Something purely symbolic.”

Andrew watches Alec silently struggle to keep his expression impassive, but he knows Alec well enough to catch the way his hands clench into fists at his side, nails digging into his palms as he considers the orders he’s being given. Andrew is impressed to hear Alec’s voice is almost even when he finally speaks.

“I can’t ask anyone to do that,” Alec says finally, shaking his head.

“You won’t be asking them, you’ll be ordering them. This isn’t a debate, Lightwood,” Blackridge tells him, with a smirk. “Trust me, I doubt Rey is any happier about being on the other end of this.”

Andrew, who’s remained otherwise silent this entire meeting, can’t help but react now. His eyes widen for a moment in surprise, gaze flicking from Alec to Blackridge in an immediate shift of interest. “Lo-- Mr. Rey is choosing the warlock?”

Blackridge laughs. “No, Mr. Rey is the warlock. The warlock council from the Spiral Labyrinth is likely informing him as we speak.”

Andrew’s blood turns cold. Lorenzo. Lorenzo is the other end of the arranged marriage.

A lot of thoughts go through Andrew’s head at that moment, but he can’t say any of them because no one knows about the relationship he’s had with Lorenzo for the past six months. A relationship Andrew almost could’ve pretended wasn’t that big of a deal if it wasn’t for the violent churn in his stomach at the thought of seeing Lorenzo with anyone else, or the sinking weight in his chest at the idea of losing him now, even if it was over something entirely out of their control.

No, that somehow only makes it worse.

“If you can’t do it, someone else will do it for you,” Blackridge adds to Alec, entirely unaware of the internal crisis Andrew’s having, suddenly realizing that Alec being in control of this situation is the only way Andrew has a chance of coming out of this with his heart intact.

“He can do it,” Andrew says suddenly, drawing three sets of surprised eyes in his direction.

“Andrew, I can’t-”

“You can do it,” Andrew repeats pointedly, hoping his tone and the pleading look in his eyes are enough to convey to Alec that he’s not just spouting generic ‘you got this, buddy!’ reassurances.

Alec looks him over curiously, but Andrew doesn’t risk being more insistent than he already was, not wanting to look suspicious.

“Alright. I’ll choose someone,” Alec agrees slowly. Andrew feels his shoulders sag in visible relief.

“You have three days, Lightwood. Or we’re stepping in,” Blackridge says, and a minute later he and Lydia are gone from the room.

Once they’re definitely alone again, Alec turns to Andrew.

“You gonna tell me what that was about?” Alec asks him.

Andrew hesitates. What is his plan? To stall in the hopes of Lorenzo refusing on his end? To make sure he can at least get a say in who is about to step in and ruin the best thing that’s happened to him in years? Or to be bold enough to put himself in a position he isn’t sure he’s ready for, in a declaration he is equally unsure Lorenzo will appreciate, or even agree to?

“I volunteer,” Andrew says before he can change his mind.

“You what?” Alec nearly chokes on the words.

“I volunteer. I’ll marry Lorenzo,” Andrew repeats.

“No. You don’t deserve that - no one deserves this,” Alec shakes his head. “I didn’t walk out of my own political marriage just to force one on someone else.”

“You aren’t forcing me. It’s fine, Alec. I’ll do it.” Andrew, Raziel help him, still can’t bring himself to admit why. He isn’t sure if it’s to protect Lorenzo and honor their agreement to not let anyone find out about their secret relationship, or because he’s afraid that admitting it wouldn’t be a true ‘sacrifice’ would force Alec to choose someone else. No matter the reason, he hesitates, guarding the truth even now.

Alec looks him over closely.

“You keep calling him Lorenzo,” Alec observes cautiously. “Are the two of you…?”

“Quite close already, Sir. Yes,” Andrew confirms without saying the word boyfriend. He knows he can trust Alec, but he also knows that Alec is bound, to a certain extent, to following orders. The less he knows the more plausible deniability he has later if questioned on his choice.

If he chooses Andrew at all.

“I see,” Alec’s expression softens.

“I can’t let it be anyone else. Please, Alec, let me do this,” Andrew says, openly pleading now.

“I still don’t like it. Give me those three days to see what I can do. But if it has to be someone… you’re certain you want it to be you?”

Andrew nods. “Yes.”

Alec sighs. “Alright. Thank you, Andrew.”

It isn’t until they’re both back at the Institute and Andrew receives a ‘We need to talk’ text from Lorenzo that a thought occurs to him for the first time:

What if Lorenzo doesn’t want to marry him?

They’re dating, sure, and Andrew would like to think that there’s something there between them… but dating and marriage are two very different things. What if Lorenzo would prefer someone else? What if he liked Andrew for now but had no intention of keeping him around forever? They’re doing fine now, but what if this offer is too much? What if this breaks them?

Andrew is a mess of nerves the rest of the day, barely able to fill out basic reports without his mind wandering until his shift is finally over and he immediately makes his way to Lorenzo’s. He walks, hoping the fresh air will calm him and clear his head, but it does neither.

The anxiety must be written all over his face, because the moment he steps through the door Lorenzo takes one look at him and says, “You already know.”

Andrew nods.

“It’s ridiculous!” Lorenzo exclaims. “Do you know they had the audacity to tell me it wasn’t even a sacrifice for me!? ‘What’s a couple of decades?’, they said! As if-” he words break off then, surprisingly emotional. “As if losing the time I’d have with you wouldn’t be a sacrifice.”

Lorenzo thought he was losing him. Of course he did, Andrew realizes. Because he expects that the Shadowhunter chosen would be forced into it, the same as him. And maybe if anyone other than Alec were in charge, that would be the case.

“You don’t have to lose me, Ren,” Andrew starts, but Lorenzo cuts him off before he can finish.

“Damn right I don’t, because I’m not doing it. They can find another High Warlock if they have to.”

“Well,” Andrew says. “That would make the fact that I volunteered to be the Shadowhunter in the arrangement a bit awkward, then.”

Lorenzo, who’d been pacing back and forth in his barely contained frustration and anger, stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

“I was with Alec when they told him what was happening, and I… I volunteered. I couldn’t exactly stand there and listen to them discuss my boyfriend marrying someone else.”

“Andrew, I…” Lorenzo starts, but his words trail off. The silence that follows while Lorenzo processes the new information puts Andrew back on edge.

“If you don’t want to, that’s… well, I suppose it isn’t fine, but I’ll understand,” Andrew’s voice is quiet but at least it fills the silence. “We hadn’t really discussed our future that far before.”

“I don’t want you to marry me out of obligation,” Lorenzo points out.

“I’m not. For me, at least, it’s… well, if things kept going well that was always the endgame, wasn’t it? We’re just accelerating the timeline.”

Andrew can feel his heartbeat in his chest, the pulse points in his neck and wrists seeming to quicken with every passing second that he waits for Lorenzo to say something, anything, about whether or not he wants to marry him.

“You would really want to marry a warlock?” Lorenzo asks him, and the hint of disbelief behind the words guts Andrew. Lorenzo puts on a front so often that sometimes even he forgets how vulnerable his boyfriend can actually be.

“I would really want to marry you, Lorenzo,” Andrew corrects, taking a step toward Lorenzo to reach out his hands. He doesn’t take Lorenzo’s, however. Not yet. Andrew stops halfway to his boyfriend and waits.

For a moment he’s afraid Lorenzo isn’t going to move, but then he’s closing the space between them, ignoring Andrew’s outstretched hands to wrap his arms around Andrew’s waist and pull him flush against his body, lips meeting in a deep, emotional kiss.

When they finally part for air Andrew looks into Lorenzo’s eyes to see the faint shimmer of unshed tears there before he blinks them away, smiling.

“Is that a yes?” Andrew asks, not wanting to leave anything up to assumptions at this point.

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirms, nodding. “I want to marry you, too.”

Andrew beams. “This isn’t exactly how I imagined proposing. I don’t even have a ring,” he laughs.

Lorenzo smirks. “I could do something about that,” he says coyly. There’s a wave of golden yellow magic, and then two beautiful golden bands rest in his open palm.

“Of course you would have engagement bands just sitting around for anyone,” Andrew laughs.

“Not just anyone,” Lorenzo admits.

Oh. “Oh, Ren…”

“You weren’t the only one hoping maybe someday…” Lorenzo’s words trail off as he looks up at Andrew with a soft smile. “I just didn’t expect to need them so soon.”

With any last lingering doubts or hesitations gone from his mind, it’s Andrew who closes the space between them this time, knowing they’re going to be just fine.

#reyhill #andrew underhill #lorenzo rey #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #ShadowhunterBingo #hmdiscord #it's been a hot second since I wrote Reyhill and I still love them #elle writes a few deadbeat lines #long post

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romanceimp · 3 years ago

Text

The Canary Pt. 2 Todoroki x F!

hi, this is pt 2 of my Shouto Todoroki x musician!reader where its a hot mess bc its kinda a love triangle with Enji????

Listen if ya missed pt 1... its here

TW: anything on my page is 18+, fuck outta here children and get some juice... manipulative relationships, messy love situation/ love triangle, hints at abusive relationship (between reader and her ex), her ex is also a drug addict... and a criminal... if you're wondering why this is such a messy fic its inspired by my watching the show euphoria...

and lemme address this: i know enji got a redemption arc but i wanted to write him with a similar vibe to nates dad from euphoria... to explore the manipulative sides of age gap relationships or relationships with clearly unbalanced power dynamics, my portrayal of him here is not what i would deem perfectly canon but more a vessel for the plot and ideas i want to explore with this piece and the complexities within it, now... that being said... i give you a long awaited pt 2 to The Canary

You watch as Shouto opens the front door and slips away into the night. The door closes and upon hearing the latch click you realize you’d been holding your breath. You exhale long and slow, still stunned by Shouto’s vulnerability. He worries he will never be able to save himself. Yes, you very much relate to that problem. There is something about Shouto that scares you, looking at him in person, it feels like he is someone you’d known forever, that you should have memories of him but the place in your mind that they should be, is blank.

How he feels about you is still incredibly unclear. You had been very aware of how carefully he watched you during your meal, his eyes seemingly tracking each of your movements and committing them to memory. Dinner was uncomfortable, you had wanted to hide and simultaneously prove yourself to him; that you were different from his idea of who you must be considering the circumstances. You knew what he thought; that you were just some shallow girl dating his dad for the money. But that wasn’t the truth.

Maybe someday you and Shouto would learn the truth of who the other was, your pasts, desires for the future, and maybe what that feeling was that made him seem so familiar. You could easily picture yourself trying to make him laugh on a warm spring day and you smile to yourself.

“Well I’m glad to see you smiling,” Enji remarks as he sits next to you on the couch. “Shouto can be a bit harsh, I apologize…” Enji murmurs and wraps his arm around you, a protective and comforting gesture. “No, it’s okay, it’s only natural for him to feel suspicious or confused,” you console. You pull your legs onto the couch and snuggle into the cushions.“I’ll talk to him about it,” he offers but you shake your head. “No, it’s really okay, I think he’s warming up to me.” Enji raises an eyebrow at you and smiles slightly. “Shouto doesn’t warm up to others easily… or at all,” he dismisses and kisses your cheek. You look up at him and blink. “I’m not worried ‘bout it… best to just give it time,” you smile. Enji gives you a single nod before his expression falls stern. “As much as I enjoy your optimism, we need to discuss Friday, I won’t be able to go and I don’t want you going alone.” You inhale slowly and hold your breath until you can figure out the words exactly.

“Enji, I told you, I can take care of myself for a night, I don't need you to watch over me every time I do a gig.” His gaze bores into yours, eyes piercing. “And I’ve asked you nicely not to play this weekend, you’re sophisticated now, a place like the Viper Lounge should be considered beneath you.” You move away from his touch, crossing your arms. While Enji is more supportive than anyone else about your music career, he still didn’t understand. He had been a hero, a place like The Viper is considered scummy in his circle but for you it’s the holy grail of performance venues. You explain time and time again and the words are becoming dull and grey with repetition. “It’s one of the best places for someone who’s looking to get scouted to perform… and the Viper invited me, that's a big deal.” Enji shifts to face you, “I know this feels big to you but it’s just a small set in a shitty dive.”

A part of you wanted to cry hearing those words, but the tears didn’t come. Just a small, sad smile. “There’s going to be talent scouts and agents there… just to see who was selected for the line up and I’m the closing set… It's a pretty big deal.”

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Shouto walks from the house, his head filled with thoughts of you. Your smile, your voice, that ridiculous yellow guitar. Your eyes, their inquisitive nature. He thinks back to his answer to your question, “I'm afraid that no matter how many people I save, that I’ll never be able to save myself.” He sighs, he can’t remember the last time he could be so honest with someone, let alone someone who was practically a stranger… But there is something about you that seems oddly familiar, though for what reason he felt this way was unclear.

He is about halfway to his car when he feels how light his pants pocket is. His phone… he must have left it inside somewhere, maybe the kitchen? He sighs, he doesn’t want to return to the house, to have to look at you again after being so honest. He had been bold in hopes of- well he isn’t all that sure why he had said something like that so openly, all he knows is the heat is creeping to his cheeks. He takes a breath before hesitantly opening the door. He collects himself, hoping you wont be able to see his embarrassment.

“I told you, there will be plenty more opportunities and you won't have to perform in such a dump,” he hears his fathers voice. He knows that voice… Shouto opens his mouth to call out but shuts it again hearing your icy tone, “you’re not listening... Enji.” Shouto’s eyebrows raise in surprise, you’re not as childish as he first thought. In fact, it seems you’re holding your own against his father in an argument of sorts. He hears Enji laugh mockingly, “I’m not listening? What about Kai?” There’s a long pause, the sound of cicadas filling Shouto’s ears while the name Kai tumbles around his mind. He knew that name from somewhere. “What about Kai?” your voice is so low he can barely hear it. “Is he going to be there?” Enji pushes. Your voice raises slightly in aggravation, “I don't know, I don't talk to Kai, I haven’t said a word to him since the day I left.” Enji scoffs, “Really? It’s suspicious that the Viper Lounge invites you to perform when you’re almost a year out of that scene, he has connections there, what if he’s just using this “gig” as an excuse to get close to you? C’mon y/n, use your head.” Enji’s tone is viciously condescending. Shouto clenches his jaw, waiting for your reply. “I’ve thought about that possibility, but it's an event to showcase new upcoming artists and I haven’t performed there solo before, so I don’t find it totally unbelievable they would ask me.” For once Enji has no rebuttal and you take that as your cue to continue. “Kai isn’t even in the line up… and even if he was, I’m going because this is important to me, this has nothing to do with him.”

Shouto couldn’t keep standing outside listening, he had to get his phone now. He briskly steps inside and shuts the door loudly behind him. “I left my phone,” he announces as he walks through the house to the kitchen. The silence that follows his interruption makes him worry you both figured out he had been listening, though perhaps you were both just embarrassed to be caught arguing. He finds his phone by the kitchen sink and pockets it quickly, before heading back towards the door. He nods towards you both before turning his back.

“Hey Shouto?” The sound of your voice stops him in his tracks. He shifts carefully to face you and sees your eyes glinting with mischief. “You own a hero agency right?” Shouto nods, watching carefully to see where you were going with this. “I’m sure then that you would have a hero capable of a simple bodyguard job, for just this little gig I’m doing on Friday, I know it’s last minute so if you don’t have anyone… I’ll be fine.” He had to play this carefully so as not to expose himself for eavesdropping. “Where’s the gig?” “The Viper Lounge,” Enji scoffs. His father must be furious that you’ve now involved a third party. If there was something Enji Todoroki hated, it was airing his dirty laundry. Shouto was careful not to laugh… you were far smarter than he initially gave you credit for.

“I’ve performed at the Viper before… tons of times-``''You have, but only with Kai Chisaki.” Your face tells Shouto that name hits a sore spot. Hearing his whole name sparks Shouto’s memory and he realises who Kai is. Kai Chisaki, an underground rapper… face tattoos and some nasty habits that earned him a hell of a rap sheet; burglary, assault, possession of unlicensed weapons, public indecency, drug counts too high to keep track of… He’d been arrested again a few months ago, but just like the last, he was bailed out and the charges were dismissed.

“But the Viper asked me to be a part of this gig for showing off upcoming talent… Enji’s just worried for me because he can't be there and my ex has a reputation- ``''That’s putting it lightly,” Enji interrupts, “he’s scum, deserves to rot in prison.” You rub your palms on your thighs and smile gently at Shouto. “I just think the situation would be more comfortable for everyone if I had some protection… Maybe you know of someone that could watch out for me for the night?”

Shouto resists the urge to volunteer, though the temptation of hearing your voice again is overwhelming. “Tch- as if I would trust any of the foolish heroes Shouto babysits to watch after you in that cesspool…” You gaze at Enji with big doe eyes, your body turning, hands inching towards his father’s legs. “You trust Shouto don’t you?” Enji pauses, before he sighs “I do.” You give him a winning smile, “then he’ll pick someone fit for the job.” Enji’s brow creases pensively, “Shouto,” he addresses. Shouto meets his father’s eyes, his heartbeat quickening as he realises what he’s about to ask. “What are your plans Friday? Could you take her?”

Shouto pretends to consider it, but really he counts the seconds until he can agree. He didn’t really know what it was about you that made him want to go with you so badly to this gig. It’s a separate part of himself that Shouto was unfamiliar with, a part of him that wasn’t thinking but desired only to know you… or understand you? There was just something about you. That was all he knew for sure. He nods, trying his best to hide his true feelings. “I could make arrangements to accompany y/n, as long as,” he looks at you, “you’re comfortable with that.” You hold out your hands defensively and shake your head, “if you have to move things around- you’re so busy- I-I don’t wanna cause you any trouble.” Shouto dismisses your statement, “it’s not trouble, I wouldn’t agree otherwise.”

You shift uncomfortably, “as long as you’re sure…” Shouto turns towards the door, facing forward as he leaves you with these words. “It’s important to you, right? Just accept my help.” He opens the door, and holds the frame tightly. He knows he shouldn’t, he hears the chorus of voices telling him not to look back, but it's that one part of him again that takes control and turns his head. He can’t help but smile slightly seeing your expression. Mouth parted and brow raised slightly in surprise. Beautiful.

“We’ll connect about details sometime during the week,” he confirms, “see you Friday.” He hears you call out your gratitude as he closes the door and makes for his car. He slides into the driver's seat and turns on the engine and looks towards his childhood home. The light from the windows casts a glow onto the grass. He finally exhales and with each new breath he gains more clarity about the situation. He shouldn’t care about you, he can’t let himself get any closer. He would help you with this gig and go back to avoiding family dinner like the plague. Shouto leans his head back into the seat and puts the car in reverse. He tries his best to shake off these thoughts but that little devil on his shoulder keeps cackling and whispering suggestions he chooses to immediately ignore.

He pulls out of the driveway and onto the road, pushing thoughts of you away and doing his best to find another topic to think about, something to distract him from the confusion of his swirling emotions. But as much as he tries, he can’t stop thinking about you.

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if you want to be added to the taglist its here

#todoroki x reader #shouto x reader #todoroki shouto #todoroki x y/n #todoroki x you #shouto x y/n #shouto x you #bnha #mha #bnha todoroko #bnha x reader #bnha x y/n #romancefiend #amelia writes

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fullmetalscullyy · 4 years ago

Note

royai + “you make me feel safe, like im allowed to be anything i want” 👀

meg ur mind,, anyone want some young!royai 👀

thank you for the prompt friend i really appreciate it!! i hope you enjoy

for reference this is set after roy decodes the secrets of flame alchemy on her back

rated: g | words: 1913

“It’s a beautiful sunset,” Riza breathed.

Roy hummed in agreement, his fringe tickling his forehead as the breeze caught it. “It really is.”

It took every ounce of his power not to turn his head to look at her instead, finding her far more captivating in the light than the setting sun.

They were sitting on the porch step of her father’s house, looking out over the fields and beyond. In the evening breeze the growing wheat moved like water, swaying back and forth creating a sea of gold. In the distance they saw the doors of the neighbour’s barn close for the night, sealing the horses inside, safe and secure. The sky was burnt orange, the orb of the sun just kissing the horizon as it fell. As it lowered, so did the temperature by a fraction, but it wasn’t enough to cause any kind of proper discomfort.

A fleeting thought crossed Roy Mustang’s mind, that he could shuffle closer to his companion so they could keep each other warm. If he were at his own house back in Central he would have offered a blanket and draped it over her shoulders.

“I’ll miss sunsets like this back in Central.”

Regret flooded him, his face dropping when he saw Riza’s own smile fall from her face. Her head tipped forward to look down at her knees. On her neck, the top of her tattoo peeked out from her slightly too big, open collared shirt. The sight of it made Roy’s stomach twist. He’d spend weeks deciphering that monster, but time hadn’t made it any easier to look at.

“I’m sure you will,” Riza replied, her voice barely a mumble.

He cursed himself for removing that smile from her face.

“I’ll keep it with me, though,” he hastily added, “like I do with every moment I’ve spent here.”

His face turned crimson as his brain blurted out what he was thinking before his mouth could stop it.

Tentatively, Riza peeked out the side of her eye. Her fringe was half obscuring her vision, and Roy hoped and prayed she didn’t see how bad his embarrassment was. The smile she was fighting to keep off her face told him his wish had not been granted.

“Thank you, Mr. Mustang,” she replied sincerely.

He couldn’t be too annoyed at his inability to think before he spoke because it returned a pleased smile to her face after all.

“You’re welcome, Miss Hawkeye,” he managed to get out. “What will you do with yourself?”

A deep sigh heaved through her body, expanding her chest and back before exhaling quietly. “I don’t know.” Her eyes lifted to look out into the fields. The light accentuated the gold in her hair, but also the colour of her eyes. They looked amber in the fading sun. Beautiful.

“Anything I can do to help?”

“You’ve already done so much.”

“I could always do more. If you’d like me too, of course,” Roy offered. “Just let me know if you need anything.”

The look she was giving him… Her head cocked, her fringe falling to the side while she regarded him. It looked like she was smiling, but her expression was quizzical. Like one was trying to figure out an amusing puzzle.

“What?”

“Nothing,” she dismissed with a mysterious smile.

Roy blinked at her, trying to discern what that smile meant.

They returned to silence. Roy was still stumped by that look she’d given him. Settling back in his chair, he contemplated it further inside his mind, turning over the nuances of her tone and changes in expression.

“Thank you. For everything… Roy.”

His head snapped up at the use of his first name, returning him jarringly to the present. That tiny, appreciative smile was back, making his heart stutter twice in such a short space of time. The way his name had sounded coming from her… It was breathed, like it was a forbidden secret. Under the watchful eye of her father he’d always been Mr. Mustang. That title was sacred to him, because that was what Riza called him, and vice versa with her, for Miss Hawkeye. But… Hearing his first name spoken so openly after all this time…

He wanted to hear it again.

“You’ve done so much for me recently,” Riza continued, oblivious to how hard his heart was pounding inside his ribcage. “I can’t thank you enough.”

“Any time, Riza.”

The name was foreign on his tongue as he tested it out, but he enjoyed every moment. It felt like a step forward in a promising direction. Like the shackles her father had on her were finally lifted, letting her be free and grow into her own person, and not just his caretaker.

A flush covered her cheeks, making Roy wonder if it had anything to do with the use of her first name.

“What?” He wanted to prompt her, to find out if that was the reason for her cheeks prettily turning pink in the last light of the day.

“It’s nothing,” she stammered quietly. Shoulders bunched up to ears, chin tucking into her chest as she tried to hide from him.

“Riza, what is it?”

He had a habit of prodding too much. Riza Hawkeye was not one to be poked at and investigated, especially not by him. Whatever needed to be revealed would come in her own time and she would never be rushed. However, Roy’s eager inquisitive streak had gotten the best of him. He just hoped, in hindsight, he hadn’t made her retreat further from him, effectively ending their conversation completely.

With a breath held tightly inside his lungs, he observed her form as she shied away, hoping she would answer. Hoping he hadn’t pushed her too far into a corner.

“It’s been tough, but you being here through it all has helped a lot,” Riza murmured. Her shoulders relaxed and her head tilted, eyes catching onto movement on the path before them. A worm was making its way across the concrete, its movements slow and patient.

“It has?” Roy was bewildered. He didn’t think he’d helped that much. He’d just taken the secrets from her and imposed.

Riza nodded, her expression changing to assurance, moving away from idle contemplation. “It’s made me happy.”

Her reply, so simple and spoken as if it was the truth of the world, made colour rise up the young man’s cheeks.

“Roy?” Her inquisitive expression was wondering why he’d turned away from her so sharply. It was to hide his blush, but she didn’t need to know that.

Upon hearing her reasons, a warmth spread across his chest. It trickled down through his ribs and settled into his heart, burrowing in deep as something he would keep with him for the rest of his days.

He’d done that for her. She’d kindly opened up her home and her sanctuary to him. It had felt like all Roy had done recently was take and take. The feeling of being able to give something back in return was welcome. Not that Roy Mustang thought the indomitable Riza Hawkeye needed any kind of protection from the likes of him – the image of her rifle resting against the wall by her front door flashed into his mind – but it was… nice. He felt useful to her. And that was something he wanted to be.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, schooling his expression. He could blame the heat of the evening on the flush of his skin if she asked. “I’m glad I could make you h – happy.” He cursed himself for the sudden onset of a stutter.

“You do,” she replied confidently, turning back to look out over the fields. Her confidence dwindled slowly, turning timid as she opened her mouth to speak further. “You… make me feel safe.”

It was so quiet he had to strain and concentrate, but when the words sunk in Roy was afraid his heart had stopped beating. His head turned sharply to look at her, but she was looking back down at that worm, shoulders back up at her ears.

Well. Now it was going to be even harder to return to Central alone.

“I do?”

His question was stupid. His brain couldn’t comprehend anything else, so it left his lips with the same intonation as his feelings towards it. He wished he could form something more coherent for her in what felt like a pivotal moment of their evening. Riza was being open and sharing. It didn’t happen very often, so he should be cherishing this, not staring at her blankly in surprise.

“Yes,” she whispered shyly. “It was… hard. Not having Father here. Knowing he was really gone, and it was just me left.” Her voice had grown stronger, her shoulders peeling down from her ears one final time as she voiced her thoughts and well-hidden feelings. “Your assistance has reminded me that I’m more than just his daughter, the bearer of his secrets.”

Riza’s head turned. There was a fire in her eyes, a confidence, and Roy was trapped by it. Held steady by her determination.

“You make me feel safe,” she repeated slowly, testing out her wording while her cheeks became covered in a dusting of pink, “like I’m allowed to be anything I want. Sharing my burden with you was the best decision I’ve made,” she nodded, confirming it for herself.

“Oh, um.” Roy continued to stutter.

Expectantly, Riza had looked up at him but her head cocked as he sat there staring at her instead.

He didn’t have an answer for that. He didn’t know what to reply. If anything, that sentence made his yearning to stay even stronger. The dedication was on the tip of his tongue. Lips parted but no words left him, just a strangled sound.

“I’m sorry if that was too bold of me, Mr. Mustang,” she apologised, casting her gaze away from him. Retreating from him. The use of his title stung.

No! The voice in his head yelled the reply but it didn’t quite make its way out of his throat. She’d just bared her soul to him and all he could do was stare.

“No, no,” he reassured hastily, hands waving in front of him. Roy shifted on the step, moving closer. It caught her off guard, and Riza flinched in surprise. “No, not too bold at all,” he added. “Thank you. But I feel unworthy of such a praise from you.”

“Just…” Riza sighed as she looked into his eyes, suddenly very close. “Thank you,” she finished, completely sincere.

“Thank you in return, Riza.”

“What for?” Her brow creased in her confusion.

“For opening yourself up to me. With… your father’s work,” he gestured over her shoulder at her back, “and for just now.”

Tentatively, Roy reached out for her hand and placed his atop hers. A quiet gasp left her lips, making him smile.

“Thank you for trusting and believing in me,” he murmured.

“It’s an easy thing to do, I’ve realised.” Her admittance was shy, but her voice held strong in volume. She didn’t retreat away from him.

“I’m glad.” His smile almost split his face in two.

Both of them remained sitting there, looking up at the dark sky as they waited for the stars to come out to play. Their joined hands never parted, both of them shrouded underneath the warmth of a single blanket.

#royai #royai fic #royai fanfic #royai oneshot #megthemighty #ask #emma writes #fic request

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faegirly · 4 years ago

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A Letter from Sakura Ogami - a bit of LGBT encouragement for anyone who's struggling with processing the realisation of who they are, or are in a place with people who are not as accepting as they should be. i hope it helps you if this is something you need 💫

Hello there.

I hope you are well.

Although, I think I am able to see that things... aren't going as well as you'd hope. If I may, I would like to comfort you as much as I can, and while this letter isn't nearly as good as a hug might be right now, I will do my best to bring you ease.

You, my little fighter, are brave, and I can say that without hesitation because you've trusted me with the truth of how much you are dealing with right now. Realising certain aspects about yourself, your sexuality and gender can be a very daunting challenge to face. It is as if at once, you are faced with the understanding that what you thought was normal is in fact not, and quickly, the yearning to have and be who you know you truly are can pull so intensely that the pain is unbearable. And for that, to have to bear that paralysing pain, I deeply apologise.

Please know that amidst whatever you're facing right now, I am here for you.

No one should have to struggle to be who they are, no one should have to be in pain for having to still hide their true selves just because anyone else may not understand or want to understand.

If there are people in your life who think they can belittle you, hurt you or abuse you just because you are being yourself, I will fight them for you. I despise anyone who puts other down for their own ignorance and idiocy. It makes my blood boil, even more so at the thought that their actions are causing you even more distress. It makes me sick.

But, while I cannot be with you right now, I want you to remember something:

Their ignorance does not negate your existence.

Just because they don't or don't want to understand and accept you as a human being with your own experience of living a life that differs from theirs or what society says it should be does not mean who you are is invalid or wrong. No matter what they say or do. They have no right to make you feel less that for the sake of their own narrow-minded view of the world being maintained.

You, my little fighter, are brilliant, bold, brave and wonderful beyond description. Your journey to realising yourself and who you truly are is astounding to witness and be part of, and while it may be hard sometimes, more than it needs to be for reasons external or not, you will make it through. There are people in this world who understand and accept you, people who want to see you flourish and express your truest self without shame or fear. I am one of them.

I will always be in your corner, fighting with you and for you for the truth. The truth that you are.

Also, don't think that because you can't openly express yourself now that you're misguided in your thinking or faking it. We can show pride in small ways too, reminding us that we are who we are. What you feel now is perfect in this moment, and even if you continue to realise that you're in fact something other than you thought now, that's fine too. Humans are continuously evolving creatures, and we all go through a time of realising ourselves for ourselves, myself included. So do not get disheartened.

The journey may be long, but it will be worth it.

Unfortunately, I must end this letter here as I have training, but remember that I and my support are always with you. No matter what, I, Sakura Ogami, swear to support you and comfort you when you need it. I swear to fight for you and with you through everything. I care for you greatly.

Keep hope, my little fighter. One day soon, we shall be free to be ourselves without shame.

Take care, and don't hesitate to contact me if you need me for anything. Anything at all. I will do all that is in my power to help you.

Until then, my little fighter,

Sincerely,

Sakura Ogami

#danganronpa #dr #dr1 #danganronpa oneshot #dr sakura #sakura ogami #sakura oogami #sakura x reader #oneshot #fluff oneshot #comfort oneshot #lgbt #lgbtq positivity #lgbtq #lgbt encouragement #faeleas writes #faeleas letters

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when-a-humble-bard · 5 years ago

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in ways that can’t be said

Summary: Geralt lives in a very dark and violent world. Good things are few and far between. He doesn't know what it means, really, to be in love.So when he falls in love with Jaskier, it happens slowly. Gradually. Reluctantly.Or, 10 moments where Geralt falls a little more in love with the bard no matter how much it scares him. Geraskier.

Companion piece to this fic but can be read separately.

Word Count: 6961

Warnings: canon-typical peril and violence, blood, injury, death mention (but no actual death), light Geralt whump, feral!Jaskier, headaches, fear of sensory overload, cursing, interpretation of canon scene with shipping lens, Yennefer makes a brief appearance, Ciri is part of this at one point, emotionally constipated Geralt, and then emotionally-overwhelmed Geralt, lots of softness and hurt/comfort elements, let me know if other warnings should be added.

A/N: These two have so much story to explore together, and I’m apparently just along for the ride. Edited by yours truly, so all mistakes are mine.

Read on AO3!

...

Geralt is on his second ale when the bard starts his set. The Witcher stays tucked away in the corner of the tavern where he usually prefers to sit, as it provides a decent vantage point of the room. That it also encouraged other people to leave him alone was, really, just an added bonus. Tonight seemed to be no exception that rule. Jaskier had sat across from him and jabbered on as he always did—his energy especially heightened given that it was right before a performance—but he had been the only one to engage the Witcher in conversation thus far.

The bard usually burned off his excess energy during his set. Geralt finds himself hoping the bard doesn’t expend too much of that energy, as they needed to head out early in the morning. Tired Jaskier was an even chattier Jaskier, and Geralt wasn’t sure he had the patience for it.

Jaskier is standing on the small stage across the tavern. Through the haze of idle chatter and drinks being poured at the bar, Geralt listens to Jaskier finish tuning the lute. The final string the bard plucks sounds slightly higher pitched than usual to the Witcher. He sees the tip of Jaskier’s tongue poke out between his lips in concentration, adjusting something on the instrument. He plucks it again. It sounds right to Geralt now, and the bard seems to agree if his satisfied nod is anything to go by.

He starts off with a popular tune—the one about the daughter of a fish merchant—and Geralt turns his attention to the venison and potatoes the barmaid sets in front of him before she quickly ducks away. Geralt stops paying close attention to Jaskier’s performance as his mind drifts to the rumors he’d caught wind of regarding a wraith. The trick would be finding someone who could confirm or deny the rumors; and if confirm, then someone who would pay him a fair price to deal with it.

He could also go kill it himself and hope to be able to sell it for parts, perhaps. That was riskier business, though. Still, Geralt considers the merits of it as Jaskier performs.

“Bard!” A sharp voice yanks Geralt from his thoughts. An older man, with thinning blonde hair and a stocky build, has leapt to his feet and immediately claimed the attention of the room. “If you keep singin’ the praises of the fuckin’ Butcher of Blaviken, I’ll break that fuckin’ lute o’er your fuckin’ head.”

Geralt’s jaw works. He’d always hated that name. He hates how it follows him like a shadow, the way it makes his arms feel heavy with Renfri’s unconscious weight every time he hears it. Still, it’s not a fight worth starting when he needs work and the man’s worst offense is using a name that travels with Geralt like a curse he can’t get rid of. He flexes his grip around the tankard in his hands instead.

“Sir,” Jaskier says, an odd and barely constrained edge to his voice, “the White Wolf is widely regarded as a hero across the Continent.”

“The Butcher ain’t no hero,” the man spits. “Just a monster gettin’ off on the sufferin’ of others.”

It’s an unoriginal insult, Geralt thinks. The Witcher’s lips press into a thin line before he swallows down more of the ale in front of him. If Jaskier is smart, he’ll let it go. He’ll stick to the songs in his repertoire that aren’t about Geralt, and he should still be able to charm the audience enough to earn a bit of coin for his trouble.

But Jaskier is—evidently—not a smart man.

“Bold words coming from someone who is too much a coward to face down the wraith plaguing his own town. The only thing you have less of than honor, sir, is shame. You slander the name of the very person ready to risk his life so that your crops don’t wither.” The bard’s eyes are aflame with indignation so strong it brings Geralt up short. “You call Geralt of Rivia a monster, but he is twice the man you will ever be.”

It’s such an impassioned, sincere defense… and all Geralt can do in the silence that seems to echo in the tavern after it is stare at the bard as something knots in his chest.

One of the man’s friends tugs on his arm and he sits again. Jaskier’s gaze doesn’t waver as he starts the next song.

“When a humble bard…”

II.

Jaskier drops a bucket of water onto his head, and Geralt hums at the welcomed shock, scrubbing the metallic, rancid scent of selkiemore off his face. The water smells faintly of rose, which the Witcher knows to be Jaskier’s doing. It’s… pleasant, if unnecessary.

“Now now,” Jaskier chides, “stop your boorish grunts of protest. It is one night of bodyguarding your very best friend in the whole wide world. How hard could it be?”

Geralt glances over at the bard. “I’m not your friend.” He wasn’t sure what Jaskier was to him, but friend seemed like the wrong term. It didn’t fit right in his mouth as a way to describe the bard.

“Oh, oh really? Oh, you usually just let strangers rub chamomile onto your lovely bottom?” Geralt levels a glare at Jaskier, but the bard seems unphased. “Yeah, well, yeah exactly. That’s what I thought.”

It’s all Geralt can do to not roll his eyes, watching Jaskier cross back to the salts and oils in front of him as he rambles. “Every lord, knight, and twopenny king worth his salt will be at this betrothal. The Lioness of Cintra herself of Jaskier’s triumphant performance!”

It’s a deflection at best, even as Jaskier throws some added salt to Geralt’s bath, and the Witcher just stares at the bard framed in the candlelight around them. He has the feeling Jaskier may be hiding something. Or rather, trying to redirect attention from something else.

“How many of these lords want to kill you?” Geralt asks flatly.

Jaskier’s façade deflates just a bit. “Hard to say,” he replies, and Geralt is reminded once again of how openly honest Jaskier tended to be. “One stops keeping count after a while. Wives, concubines, mothers sometimes.”

Geralt could do without the list, really. It sends a twist of unexpected annoyance through his chest. Jaskier notices—but then again, he’d always had this habit of paying more attention to Geralt’s expressions than most humans did. The Witcher isn’t sure why.

The bard sits on the edge of the tub, framing Geralt’s form with his outstretched hands. “Ooh, yeah, that face! Scary face. No lord in his right mind will come close if you’re standing next to me with a puss like that.”

Geralt reaches for his ale—he’s really not drunk enough to deal with this—when Jaskier snatches the cup out of his grip.

“Ooh, on second thought…” Jaskier continues, because he never seems to stop talking really, “might want to lay off the Cintran ale. A clear head would be best.” He pats Geralt’s shoulder as he stands.

It an unusually casual touch and Geralt’s skin tingles with it even after Jaskier steps away. Still, Geralt tries not to dwell on it. “I will not suffer tonight sober,” he growls, “just because you hid your sausage in the wrong royal pantry. I’m not killing anyone. Not over the petty squabbles of men.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” comes Jaskier’s voice from behind him. “You never get involved. Except you actually do, all the time.” Geralt snaps his gaze over to him, but he can’t find it in himself to argue with the bard on that point. Perhaps Jaskier had a point. At least on that front.

Jaskier crosses back in front of him. “Ugh,” he continues. “Is this what happens when you get old? You get unbearably crotchety and cantankerous?”

Geralt sighs, pulling his arms off the edge of the tub in the hopes that it will ease the way his shoulder is still tingling slightly from where Jaskier had rested his hand on it a moment ago.

“Actually, I’ve always wanted to know. Do Witchers ever retire?”

“Yeah,” Geralt snaps. “When they slow and get killed.”

“Come on,” Jaskier says, his voice softening just a little. “You must want something for yourself when all this monster hunting nonsense is over with.”

“I want nothing,” Geralt replies immediately. Instinctively, more than a legitimate answer. He hadn’t wanted anything for a very, very long time. And anything he may have wanted at one point certainly had proved itself impossible for a Witcher like himself to achieve, so what even would be the point to desire it in the first place?

There’s a waver to something in Jaskier’s eyes that puzzles the Witcher, but it’s gone before Geralt can put a name to it. “Well, who knows?” the bard says, crossing to the tub to crouch in front of Geralt. Jaskier is abruptly close like this, facing Geralt head-on while the Witcher sits in the wash basin. Geralt averts his eyes. “Maybe someone out there will want you.”

The idea that someone might want him one day like that—like how Jaskier is suggesting—sends a thrill of something almost like fear through the Wticher’s stomach.

“I need no one,” he replies immediately. Then he looks back at Jaskier. “And the last thing I want is someone needing me.”

“And yet,” Jaskier says softly, meeting Geralt’s gaze unwaveringly. “Here we are.”

And that—well. The almost-fear feeling in Geralt’s stomach turns to something a little less sharp. A little warmer. No less terrifying, and yet somehow… nice.

Geralt tears his gaze away, desperate for a distraction from that feeling. “Where the fuck are my clothes, Jaskier?”

III.

Geralt has lost track of just how many performances of Jaskier’s he has sat through over their years of travels together. He knows the bard’s musical repertoire nearly as well as he knows monster classifications. So really, the Witcher does not have an explanation, even to himself, of why this time is different.

But the bard is making his rounds, strumming his lute with a practiced ease, singing an exaggerated song about Geralt fending off a bruxa with one hand tied behind his back… and Geralt can’t take his eyes off him.

The Witcher had never enjoyed being the center of attention. A part of him had gotten used to it a long time ago—in his line of work, looking like he does, one has a nasty habit of drawing unwanted gazes—but he’d never sought it out. Then there was Jaskier, who thrived in environments just like this one, where he could command the center of attention. He thrived in backwater village taverns full of people desperate for mediocre ale and a good story.

And Geralt has to give credit where credit is due—Jaskier can spin a good tale. The bard reveled in it, even. Geralt hadn’t asked him, but he could tell from the man’s unrelenting enthusiasm that as much as Jaskier was a performer, not all of it was an act. There was an earnestness to him every time he sang. A genuine belief that what he was doing mattered.

Geralt takes another bite of the stew in front of him, his gaze not wavering as Jaskier finishes the song to enthusiastic applause. He grins, thanks the crowd graciously, and launches immediately into the next song. And still, Geralt watches.

The bard had discarded his blue doublet several songs ago, tossing it into the seat across from Geralt as he passed. Jaskier’s off white shirt is tucked into the blue pants that are several shades darker than his eyes, and those eyes are really what Geralt keeps finding his own gaze drawn to. Eyes that are vibrant with energy and life when they briefly meet Geralt’s across the room.

There’s a very unexpected, soft squeeze in Geralt’s chest.

The bard had always radiated light and joy on a level that Geralt privately thought outshone most other humans. Jaskier is a beacon—evidenced by the near-blinding grin that the bard throws to him before turning away—and Geralt feels the odd urge to shy away from it. As if that light might expose all the parts of him that he’d spent years hiding away.

But Jaskier is nothing if not relentlessly and stupidly persistent. And he seems—had always seemed—entirely unaware of how rare his own vibrancy truly is. It is an integral part of him that chooses again and again and again to share with others. And no matter how much they take from him, Jaskier seems to always have more he is willing to give.

It seems like a kind of selflessness to Geralt, and the tightness in his chest gives a sharp, aching clench.

IV.

Geralt and Jaskier end up at the same party completely by accident, really. The Witcher didn’t even know that the bard was in town; the last he’d heard of Jaskier’s recent exploits had him giving a guest lecture at Oxenfurt. Geralt had been passing through Temeria when he was approached and none-too-kindly asked to attend the king’s banquet. Geralt had almost turned the offer down—he didn’t like being seen as some novelty to be ogled at—but the promise of good food and decent drink didn’t sound horrendous, and besides. The king had demanded it, and Geralt really didn’t want to deal with the bloodshed that could’ve resulted from his refusal.

So he begrudgingly attended, and did his best to stick to the outskirts of the collection of boisterous ladies and lords that had amassed in the banquet hall. He’d seen Jaskier the moment the bard stepped into the room—sporting a golden doublet and a beaming grin—and Jaskier had seen him almost as quickly. There’d been a flicker of surprise, but then Jaskier was being asked to play a song to start things off, and he’d busied himself with performing.

The food is good, Geralt will grant that much, and the wine is some of the best that he’d consumed in a long time. He’s ribbed for a story or two by curious nobles, and Geralt tells them enough to pass for stiff politeness and little else. Jaskier had always been the one to fill in the details. Besides, Geralt finds that he doesn’t like telling them to the men who appear to only listen until they feel insecure in their own manhood.

Jaskier wasn’t like that, Geralt finds himself thinking. Jaskier listened for other reasons. Always attentive. Always… enthralled. Even when he was “stingy with the details”, as the bard often accused.

The party has stretched for hours when Jaskier finally takes a break and Geralt sees him starting to weave through the drunken crowd towards him. Geralt takes a long swallow of wine and arcs an eyebrow at the bard as he approaches. Jaskier smells of honeysuckle and sweat, his doublet open to reveal the light blue shirt underneath.

Jaskier’s eyes are bright, but there’s a slight crease between his brows. “How are you managing, Geralt?” he asks, with far more sincerity than Geralt is prepared for.

Geralt arcs a brow at him.

Jaskier just tilts his head, then gestures vaguely to the drunken dancing the attendees are doing. “It seemed a question worth asking, given tonight. It’s rather loud, even for me, and Temeria always overseasons their food in my opinion, not to mention the smells involved what with sweat and ale and food. I can’t imagine the assault it is on your… Witchery senses.”

Geralt stops, blinking at him. Jaskier was worried that he—a Witcher—was… overwhelmed? Geralt wonders if he should be insulted, but he isn’t. There’s an odd feeling in his gut, something warm that isn’t alcohol, that stirs at Jaskier’s explanation. Geralt doesn’t know what to say. He just stares at him.

Jaskier holds his hands up as if in surrender. “Forgive me for checking in on a friend.” He drops his hands, the tilt to his head returning and his gaze… softening somehow. “You’ll tell me, though, won’t you, Geralt? If it gets to be too much?”

Suddenly, that soft, concerned look in the bard’s eyes is too much. Geralt looks away and distracts himself by taking a swallow of wine. “Hm,” he agrees.

Geralt hears Jaskier scream something that sounds almost like his name before he even feels the bite. The sharp jaws clench around his thigh and Geralt grits his teeth, swinging blindly with the silver sword. It makes contact with the basilisk enough to make it shriek and pull back. But it already released venom, and Geralt feels it pulse with a blinding pain.

His vision swims. His knees buckle, slamming into the stone floor of the cavern.

“Fuck.” The world tilts sideways as the rest of him falls.

A voice, high and panicked and oddly familiar, is yelling something distantly. Far away. Too far away to help him, really.

He has to get up. He has to. Geralt grinds his teeth and pushes against the ground with as much strength as he can manage. He gets his chest off the ground but his legs won’t cooperate and then suddenly someone is leaping over him and snatching the silver sword beside him.

“You want him? You’re gonna have to go through me, fucker.”

Jaskier?

Geralt watches in a haze as the bard lunges at the basilisk with the silver sword in his hands.

“Jaskier!” he shouts, because the bard is stupid and reckless and he is going to get killed.

But the bard doesn’t respond, and Geralt watches as the blade flashes in the dark cavern. The Witcher struggles to push himself up but now his arms won’t even support him and he’s going to die, but first the world is going to make him watch Jaskier die and that thought fills Geralt with a cold, desperate dread.

“Jaskier!”

There’s a sick squelching sound and when Geralt looks, he sees the bard is up against the creature with the hilt of his sword buried into the basilisk’s chest. It screeches and thrashes, and Geralt’s breath chokes in his throat. But Jaskier is nothing if not nimble, and he rolls to avoid the wings that whip around towards him. The screeching gets louder for a moment. The creature stumbles. Collapses.

There’s a sudden, echoing silence that is filled only with the sound of Jaskier’s labored breathing and, at least for Geralt, his pounding heartbeat.

“Jask—” Geralt rasps, wanting to ask if he’s injured but his voice cutting out with the sharp burst of pain as the venom seizes.

He’s going to die.

“Geralt.”

Jaskier is suddenly right above him. When did that happen?

Geralt feels Jaskier brush a hand back through his hair and cup his head. Something is getting pushed against his lips.

“Drink it, darling,” Jaskier murmurs, so softly that Geralt wonders—perhaps deliriously—if the bard is even aware that he’s just called Geralt darling, of all things.

When he looks back on this moment, Geralt will say that the venom coursing through his system made his thoughts hazy and his will pliable. That his weakened state is why the warmth in his chest happens even before the potion Jaskier is forcing to his lips reaches his mouth. It has nothing to do with that term Jaskier used.

Nothing at all.

VI.

It’s the soft gasp that really gets Geralt’s attention, causing him to halt Roach and glance at the bard beside him. They have maybe about two hours before sundown and had spent most of the day traveling along this road headed towards Kaedwen. Jaskier had filled most of the long hours with aimless chatter and half-composed songs. Geralt half-listened, grateful for the familiarity of the lilt in the bard’s voice even if he wasn’t constantly tuned in to the precise words the bard happened to be rambling on about. He’d missed the way Jaskier filled the silence since their parting after the dragon hunt.

Then Jaskier’s musings had broken off with a sudden, sharp inhale.

“Oh, Geralt, look!” Jaskier breathes with surprising reverence. Geralt doesn’t have time to ask the bard what caught his attention before he’s rushing off into the field of wildflowers just ahead of them, nearly 70 yards away.

The Witcher goes to call out to him, but something makes the bard’s name die in his throat. He watches as Jaskier spreads his arms out as he rushes into the expanse of yellow and violet and blue. The sun sits low in the sky and frames him in a soft halo of light as he rushes delightedly through the flowers. Geralt’s chest warms slightly.

Jaskier looks over his shoulder at him then, like he can sense it, and offers Geralt a dazzlingly bright smile. He kneels then, in the middle of the field as if he’s about to meditate, and his fingers brushing softly against the petals of the flowers around him before he flops onto his back. Sinks into the flowers around him.

Geralt had never really known what it meant to love. He’d read once that most people learn of love from their parents when they’re children, but his own mother had abandoned him to become a Witcher—a process so few boys survived that, really, she might as well have abandoned him to die. Geralt refuses to believe that was what love was supposed to look like. Or how it was supposed to feel.

Earlier in his life, Geralt used to ask. He’d see couples who claimed to be in love, and he’d wonder what that meant. What did it feel like, because Geralt didn’t know. The answers others provided to him were either full of derision—what does it matter, Witcher? You’re not capable of it anyway—or too vague to be of any help—it’s just something you feel, I think.

Then he met Jaskier, who seemed to be brimming with love all the time it was a wonder the bard didn’t burst. He sang songs that talked of love in romantic, elaborate metaphors that Geralt understood at surface level, but that gave him a bit of a headache when he thought too long about them. Jaskier seemed to understand this concept of love so readily and intrinsically that it was, in truth, a little intimidating.

But when Jaskier sits up as Geralt approaches him—flower petals and grass clinging to his hair, his blue eyes sparkling in the near-setting sun, a warm and content smile gracing his lips—the thought whispers unassuming in Geralt’s mind.

Maybe, just maybe, this is what love feels like.

VII.

“You, Princess, are beginning to take after Geralt with the amount of brooding you’ve been doing today,” Jaskier chimes lightly, but Geralt looks up and sees the crease of concern between his brows. “And that will simply not do, because I can’t very well be surrounded by brooding, angst-ridden individuals, now can I?”

Geralt glances over at Yennefer, who merely arcs an unimpressed eyebrow at the bard. The cottage Yennefer had recently taken up residence in was small and unassuming on the outside. It seemed larger on the inside, more spacious, and Geralt knew it to be the work of an enchantment set on by the sorceress. Ever since Sodden, Yennefer had needed to be careful in her own right about avoiding and evading the ever-growing presence of Nilfgaard. She moved every few months, but had taken Ciri under her wing the past few weeks to teach her control her “chaos”, as she’d called it. Geralt called it magic.

They’d been dropping by to check in before moving on, and Jaskier’s comment wasn’t off the mark. Geralt had noticed it as well.

There were days when Ciri’s quietness rivaled the Witcher’s own. Where the Lion Cub of Cintra seemed saddled with a weight too heavy for a girl of her age. On those days, Geralt thinks he understands more than most would—the dullness in her icy blue eyes is brought on by the fog of grief of losing everyone she loved in a night and watching her city burn as she fled. It reminds the Witcher of how he’d felt following sacking of Kaer Morhen.

But just because Geralt understands doesn’t mean he’s known what to do on those days. He hates it. Hates that he doesn’t know how to help her, because nobody had been there to help him.

Ciri glances up at Jaskier from where she sits beside Geralt. “I just… miss home, Jaskier. That’s all.”

Jaskier’s lips press together in thought, his head tilting slightly. Geralt watches as something brightens in his eyes before he says, “Well, I have just the thing for that.” He glances over. “Yennefer?”

The sorceress looks as surprised as Geralt feels, but Jaskier just quirks a brow at her and Yen smiles faintly before inclining her head. Geralt doesn’t have a clue what silent request the bard has made, but he starts strumming a familiar song on the lute in his hands for several seconds—it’s upbeat, and though Geralt can’t place the title of it, he knows he recognizes it as one of Jaskier’s jigs. A few seconds go by, and then Jaskier’s fingers stop plucking at the strings but the music continues to fill the space.

Jaskier grins, and when Geralt glances at Yennefer, he sees that she’s got a faint smile as well.

The bard sets the lute aside and jumps gracefully to his feet. He extends a hand out to Ciri, his smile soft and sincere. “Will you dance with me, princess?”

Ciri hesitates for only a moment before she takes Jaskier’s hand. Jaskier’s grin brightens, and the two of them fall into a dance that Geralt recognizes as one usually done at court amidst nobility. It doesn’t surprise Geralt that Jaskier knows the dances of court—he has to play them often enough so it makes sense to Geralt that he would also know the steps—but a part of him is surprised when he hears Ciri laughing.

As she and Jaskier spin in circles and the bard adds an extra flourish to one of his steps, Ciri smiles and laughs and something in Geralt’s chest gives a sharp squeeze. Jaskier grins back at her, looking as relieved and content at the spark of mirth in her eyes as Geralt feels, and the Witcher feels a very slight, and unexpected lump in his throat.

VIII.

“Geralt?”

“Hm.”

“Will you let me try something?”

The question is asked surprisingly quietly in the dark forest around them, barely louder than the crackling fire between them. Geralt doesn’t know why Jaskier would be speaking so quietly, but a part of him counts it as a small mercy. Because the pressure behind his eyes that had started this morning had steadily grown to a dull throb up through the top of Geralt’s skull by mid-morning. By late afternoon, the headache wasn’t quite so dull anymore.

Geralt hadn’t seen a need to say anything about it, though. He just rode on Roach and tried to not squint too much against the blinding sunlight that made his head spike. Jaskier had seemed to lose steam in conversation as Geralt was even more unwilling to engage with him than normal. He hoped the bard wasn’t too offended, as by the early evening, it was really all Geralt could do to stay upright on Roach and keep moving forward.

“A new song?” Geralt muses, and carefully manages to keep the internal wince off his face.

Jaskier huffs something that’s almost a laugh. “No. Just… here.” He turns to the bag beside him and rummages through it. Geralt watches in the dim light of the fire as the bard pulls out a small cloth and a vial. He dampens the cloth with part of the contents, then pushes himself to his feet and crosses over. He kneels beside him.

There’s something soft in his eyes, Geralt thinks. Or maybe it’s just the way his face is shadowed that makes his eyes look bigger than normal. “Close your eyes, Geralt.”

And Geralt does. He tries to tell himself it’s because even the firelight is too much with this pounding in his head, but he knows it’s not just that. It’s such a simple, easy request and it’s Jaskier that makes it. So Geralt lets his eyes fall shut.

He feels Jaskier drape the cloth over his face. “Breathe in for me.”

He does. It’s lavender oil, he realizes. The scent is faint, diluted—careful to not be too overpowering, even given his enhanced sense of smell—but it blocks out most other scents around him. Geralt feels part of his jaw untense just a fraction.

“That’s it. Keep breathing.”

He feels Jaskier’s hands brush against his temples, then a slight nudge and some shifting and suddenly, Geralt is being guided to rest his head against something softer than the log it had been on a moment ago. Jaskier’s lap. Through the lavender, this close, Geralt can smell the faint honeysuckle traces that seemed to cling to the bard.

“Let me help,” Jaskier whispers in the dark, and then his fingers are moving deftly against Geralt’s temple, gradually up through his scalp, encouraging Geralt to breathe.

Through the ease of his muscles and the lightening of the tension in his head, Geralt becomes aware that somehow, Jaskier had known exactly what was wrong. Geralt is sure he hadn’t said anything about it, and a headache is hardly a life-or-death situation. But Jaskier knew and, more than that…

Let me help.

The Witcher feels a little dizzy all of a sudden and so abruptly vulnerable that it scares him a little bit. It sends a jolt of something sharp and electric up through his core but Geralt swallows down the urge to pull away because… it’s nice. This softness, this gentleness that Geralt does not and has never deserved is offered so willingly, and Geralt cannot bring himself to pull away.

Instead, he breathes and listened to Jaskier’s fluttering heartbeat.

IX.

Geralt feels the drops hit the top of his head seconds before the rain begins a steady sprinkle. Geralt isn’t shocked, exactly. The sky had been a flat overcast since this morning, and he could smell the promise of rain clinging in the air as he and Jaskier had gathered herbs about a mile outside of the village they were staying for the time being.

But then the sprinkle turns to a downpour. “Fuck,” Geralt sighs under his breath.

He glances over at the bard beside him, who a moment ago had been rambling about his recent lecture at Oxenfurt regarding the role of narrative music in shaping cultural perspective. Geralt had a feeling that the bard had, in fact, just delivered the exact speech to the Witcher, but he hadn’t minded. Not when Jaskier’s voice carried that familiar, melodic lilt that underscored his excitement and passion on the subject.

There’s a teasing mirth in Jaskier’s bright blue eyes that eases into something softer. Geralt doesn’t know why. For a moment, it looks like the bard—for once—is lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t speak aloud. It’s… unusual.

Geralt opens his mouth to ask him or tease him—he’s honestly not sure which is about to pass from his lips—when Jaskier cuts him off.

“And you thought the lute case was a poor investment. Well, how do you feel now, Geralt?” Jaskier sets his hand on the strap across his chest, almost protectively. “We still have a mile to go before shelter, and such time for a lute to spend in rain like this…” He shakes his head, his dark hair dripping rainwater onto his nose. “It would be nothing short of an absolute, irrevocable tragedy.”

“Hmm,” Geralt replies, because perhaps the bard has a point. A raindrop unceremoniously drips into Geralt’s eye and he blinks, then shoots a glare up at the sky.

“Not a fan of the rain?” Jaskier asks.

The truth is, Geralt isn’t a fan of the rain. Not really. It makes it harder to see, and it clings to his lashes in a way that makes his already sensitive eyes sting a bit. Which isn’t anything he can’t handle—he’s done it hundreds of times before, he’ll do it hundreds of times yet to come—but the rain would also wash away most of the tracks he’d been hoping to follow later this evening to the kikimora that was terrorizing the town.

“It will make it harder to track—what are you doing?” Geralt cuts himself off when he looks back at the bard, who is half-way to shedding his violet doublet. Jaskier finishes pulling out of it. His dark blue shirt underneath is immediately drenched.

Unfazed, Jaskier rolls his eyes. “You left your cloak back at the inn and I know, though you will adamantly deny it, that the real reason you hate the rain is because it gets into your eyes and makes it harder for your sensitive, Witchery eyes to see. So, here.” He holds the garment out, his gaze looking down the road ahead of them.

Geralt stares at it. This was… ridiculous. Jaskier was sacrificing his own comfort so that Geralt could… what, block some of the rain a bit easier? Not only did Jaskier gain nothing from this but he actively lost something in the name of Geralt’s comfort and… the Witcher doesn’t know what to do with that. It was such a small, simple gesture but there’s a weight to it that Geralt cannot ignore.

Something heavy, warm, soft sits in his stomach as he stares at it.

“Jaskier…”

“Honestly, Geralt, you’ll be doing me a favor. Wet doublets are dreadfully heavy, and as I am already saddled with carrying the weight of this lute and your reputation…” Jaskier glances back then and offers a smile.

It’s a flimsy attempt to make Geralt feel better about accepting Jaskier’s simple selflessness. A part of Geralt wants to refuse. But when Jaskier is smiling at him like that, offering such a small piece of him that doesn’t feel that small to Geralt… well. Geralt finds himself taking the doublet from his hands gently.

And if Jaskier spins away to welcome the rainfall as Geralt holds the doublet above his head to shield the rain, well. Maybe that heavy, warm, soft feeling spreads through him in a way that makes the rain feel not quite so cold and annoying.

Geralt hears it first. There’s the sound of something snapping with a flash of green light behind him and it’s all less than a second but Geralt still feels that he should have been faster.

Because he looks over his shoulder, sees Jaskier hit the ground with the sound breaking bones echoing in his ears.

Jaskier screams.

“JASKIER!” Geralt roars, but panic closes his throat in the next moment. He slashes viciously at the figure in front of him, and the head of the injured soldier in front of him rolls off his shoulders. Geralt growls low in his throat—Jaskier is silent and Geralt is shaking—and hurls the knife at his belt towards the mage almost blindly.

It sinks between her eyes. The sting of copper in the air barely registers to the Witcher because all he can focus on—all he can smell—is the acrid, sharp scent of pain that radiates from Jaskier on the forest floor, several feet away. Geralt’s eyes snap to him before the mage has even hit the ground and he sees the way Jaskier is trembling so hard he’s vibrating but at least he’s moving. At least he’s breathing.

Geralt makes sure the mage isn’t, and then he’s sprinting the short distance to Jaskier and sliding to him on his knees. Jaskier is on his side, his back to the Witcher. As gently as he can, Geralt places a hand on his shoulder and rolls the bard onto his back.

Jaskier whimpers, his face ashen, and the sound turns Geralt’s stomach. The bard’s eyes clench shut.

“Jaskier.”

Geralt’s slow-beating heart is hammering so loud and so hard he wonders if the bard can hear it. This close, the scent of Jaskier’s pain is so pungent and potent that it clogs Geralt’s throat. He dove in front of a spell for you, a voice hisses in Geralt’s mind. That pain should be yours.

“Fuck,” Jaskier manages to wheeze out weakly.

“What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn idiot?” Geralt grits out, and his voice very nearly breaks. It’s the wrong thing to say—Geralt always says the wrong things. Always, always, always. And always when he’s afraid. But it’s the only ones of the words he can think to say that will push past his tight throat.

“My dear Witcher,” Jaskier replies, his own voice strained but for a different reason, “you’re quite lucky I love you, or else I might be insulted.”

The words echo in Geralt’s mind. I love you, I love you, I love you. Over and over and over. They ring with an ease and sincerity, because Jaskier never did anything by halves, even when he may be dying. Dying. And Geralt feels something breaking inside of him.

And still, the words repeat. I love you, I love you, I love you—Until the words sound less like Jaskier and a lot more like his mind repeating it back to the bard.

“Jask,” he whispers, his throat too tight to even get the bard’s full name out. His hands are shaking a bit, but he thinks Jaskier won’t mind, and he brushes his hand against Jaskier’s face. “You can’t—you…” He can’t just… just say things like that, so boldly, so cavalier.

With a courage that Geralt cannot match.

“Fuck,” he says instead. Because the words that flood him cannot find their way through his chest to his lips.

His swirling thoughts cut out as he sees Jaskier try suddenly to push himself up. Mindful of the damage to the human’s ribcage, Geralt lets the hand on his face slip to the back of the bard’s neck and grabs his less-injured arm to ease him up. Then Geralt just holds on tight. An irrational part of Geralt thinks that if he lets go, Jaskier might really slip from him in a way that Geralt cannot fix.

The Witcher breathes in, and the sharp scent of Jaskier’s pain is starting to lift. Jaskier offers a faint smile. “Not a lethal spell, it would seem.”

A distant part of Geralt goes a little weak with relief. The rest of him wants to shake the bard. “You didn’t know that,” he snaps. Because Jaskier didn’t, he’d just decided to dive in front of a spell that could have been anything. He could have… he almost…

“A moot point, really, Geralt.”

And that… that hurts, in a different kind of way. There’s no regret in Jaskier voice or his scent or his eyes. He would do it again, Geralt knows this, and it terrifies him. Jaskier would risk himself for Geralt.

Geralt shakes his head a little and starts to reply, to ask why, but the breath he takes still has that haze of acridity to it. He frowns instead. “You’re still hurt,” he says. It’s not a question.

Jaskier then has the audacity to wave a dismissive hand. “Some broken ribs.”

“Hm.” He could help with those, he thinks. His gaze flickers over Jaskier’s chest. He knows how to help with those injuries. The spell wasn’t lethal. Geralt should be feeling relieved and a small part of him is. The rest of him feels like the ground has shifted beneath him and Geralt still doesn’t know how to hold himself steady. I love you, Jaskier’s voice echoes in his mind, but it only makes Geralt feel a little more cracked open. Because maybe Jaskier didn’t mean it. Maybe it was just something he said in the throes of dying--

“Geralt,” Jaskier says, so unbearably soft. He instinctively meets the bard’s gaze. Jaskier’s bright blue eyes are remarkably steady. “I meant it, you know. I do. Love you, I mean.”

Geralt’s breath hitches in his throat. Because here was this remarkably fragile person who had followed him across the Continent for years, had seen the absolute worst that Geralt had to offer… this person who radiated warmth and light and love, so much love, and was everything Geralt wasn’t, and was saying these words so easily. Geralt’s fear had come true—Jaskier’s light had seen the darkest parts of him, but Jaskier chose to love him anyway.

“Jaskier,” he manages, and his own voice has never sounded quite so weak to his own ears. He leans forward until his forehead is against Jaskier because Jaskier was that beacon of light calling to him. Grounding him. “I… fuck.” He can’t find the words again. “Fuck.”

He does the only thing he can think to do in this moment, to try to convey all the words he can’t find. He brushes his lips against Jaskier’s, softly. Afraid to demand or hurt, afraid, afraid, afraid. So he presses his dry, cracked lips against Jaskier’s impossibly soft ones. Questions he dare not ask taste like salt that he passes to Jaskier’s own, and Jaskier answers with silent promises and a breathless little huff of contentment.

Jaskier is more than a beacon. He is a lighthouse, calling Geralt home. And Geralt cannot help but feel that he’d follow that light to the ends of the world.

#geraskier #geraskier fanfic #geraskier fanfiction #the witcher #witcher fanfic #cursing #in which geralt struggles with feelings #and then is overwhelmed by how much he cares #is that he jaskier or geralt himself? you ask #the answer is yes to both

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fromtheo-withlove · 4 years ago

Text

Pt. 5 - Not a fighter

Sorry for the delay! Life has been busy and honestly it took me a bit to get this chapter right. But here it is! The next chapter will be the banquet.....

TW: prisoner restrained in dungeon, death mention, light injuries, swear words

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Tag-list: @ihaveacrushonjester @tears-and-lilies @starnight-whump

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As she walked through the halls of the dungeons with the guard, Aurelia tried to mentally prepare herself to see Gabriel.

“Your highness, you should know… the guard on the shift before me, he roughed up this other prince a bit before I arrived.”

She stopped abruptly, whirling to face him with anger in her eyes, “Why? Was it done on my father’s orders?”

“Uhhh, no ma’am. And I will be telling Sir Robert. If I can be so bold as to speak freely, Hubert always picks on the weaker ones. But he shouldn’t be doin’ that to princes if the king doesn’t ask for it. The boy has been very cooperative.”

“He’s not a fighter,” Aurelia said softly.

The guard seemed eager-to-please and chatty. “I heard he was a medic. You knew him when you were kids, right?”

Aurelia just nodded.

“The enemy commander too?”

Her expression remained neutral, but she couldn’t help the edge creeping into her voice. “His name is Bennett. I do not wish to talk about this right now. Just bring me to Gabriel.”

“Sorry your highness, right away.”

Gabriel sat on the floor of his cell, back against the wall, ankle shackled to a long chain connected to the floor. His wrists were shackled in front of him and he had his arms wrapped around his knees. There was a new bruise on his cheekbone, the purple in stark contrast against his pale skin.

The light of the lantern illuminated his wide, frightened eyes. He stared at the door, blinking in the light and trying to see who was holding the lantern.

When his eyes adjusted, he finally saw Aurelia and sighed in relief. “Y-you’re here. You came.”

Aurelia turned to the guard, “You can go now, I can find my way back.” He hesitated for a moment before nodding and heading back down the hallway.

She focused her attention back on the young man sitting in front of her. “Of course I came,” she said sadly.

Gabriel’s eyes were already filling up with tears. He sniffled. “It’s so good to see your face again.”

“It’s good to see you too, but I’m so sorry it’s happening under these circumstances.”

Gabriel nodded. “Me too… Earlier, when I was dragged in and I thought I was about to-“ he paused. “I thought it a cruel twist of fate that I’d be dragged all this way and not even be able to see you before they—you know.”

He couldn’t even bring himself to say it aloud, to acknowledge that death was looming over him, that he had already nearly faced it.

She didn’t know how to respond. Aurelia couldn’t get the image out of her mind, of Gabriel blindfolded and panicking, desperate for air as the guard choked the life out of him. She felt nauseous even remembering it. She sat down and grabbed his shackled hand between hers. He was trembling. He grasped her hand, holding tightly as if they were a lifeline.

“It was terrifying facing it like that. And you’d think that it would bring acceptance, in a way. That I faced it once and I’ll face it again…. And everyone faces death someday, I know that….. But I can’t help it, I’m still so fucking afraid to die.”

She stared at the floor, staying silent. It seemed words were failing her now. She had handled the conversation with Bennett without losing her nerve – she had argued with him, taken care of him like she always had, bantered back and forth. But a minute with Gabriel and she was already crumbling inside. He didn’t deserve this. And he was sitting here, wearing his emotions on his sleeve – openly terrified, yet genuinely happy to see her. She felt a swell of guilt in the pit of her stomach.

“This isn’t fair. You shouldn’t be sitting here in a fucking cell, having to have this conversation.” Tears flowed down her cheeks.

He squeezed her hand, tried to put on a strong face. “I know…. But life hasn’t been fair for anyone these past few years. So many lives were lost. All of them were just as human as I am. I’ve been pushing for peace for years…. I didn’t want to have to die for it, b-but at least I’m not dying for nothing, right?”

Aurelia pulled her hands away angrily, “No, you do not need to die for peace. I cannot lose you and Bennett like this. The war is over already, this doesn’t need to happen.”

“Hey, Auri, please don’t be mad at me…” he whispered desperately, the strength in his tone fading. “I don’t have a choice in this remember? I- I’d like to think I’d choose the right thing if I had been given the choice…. but it doesn’t matter anyway.” His voice was breaking. “I may as well have something to- to hold onto, you know?”

Aurelia put her head in her hands. This was the second time she had let her anger at the situation impact her friends. She needed to calm down for Gabriel’s sake. “No, I’m so so sorry Gabriel. You know I’m not mad at you, how could I ever be? You’re facing all of this and you’re literally comforting me… I’m sorry.”

She reached for her bag. “I just want to be here with you, make things easier if I can. I brought you some food. I brought ointment for Bennett but I don’t think it’ll do much for your bruise. Next time I’ll try to sneak down a blanket, I’m sorry I didn’t think of it.”

“You saw Bennett?” Gabriel’s expression grew pained. “How- How is he? You know he didn’t kill those innocent people right? He wouldn’t have.”

“I know. I didn’t believe it either. I talked to him about it. It was his men. They took over his command and he didn’t stop them, but he didn’t know they’d go so far. They were plotting to kill him and they threatened your life as well. He blames himself of course, feels he should’ve done more and realized what they were doing sooner. But the only thing that would’ve changed is that he’d be dead on a field somewhere while they pillaged villages. And you might’ve been as well.”

Gabriel nodded. “The soldiers weren’t fond of either of us. They felt we were soft and not true Lianharians since we grew up here for so much of our lives. My father knew it too.”

Gabriel’s eyes narrowed and he shook his head. He didn’t get angry often but when he did it was that much more potent, and deserved. “My father didn’t even care that he was throwing Bennett into the lion’s den. He never liked me much, but he knew he had a back-up heir if Bennett couldn’t survive the war or his own army….. My only solace is that he’s probably more distraught than we are right now.”

His voice grew sarcastically dramatic, with bitterness seeping through every word. “His precious bloodline, gone! Everything he worked for, lost! Defeated in a war he started, the shame! Oh, and his only sons would be dead – eh, it was a pity, but they did always take after their mother.”

Aurelia knew the imitation sadly wasn’t far from the truth. “I still don’t know how he played any part in producing two of the best human beings I know.”

The conversation grew silent for a moment, then Aurelia continued. “Bennett’s doing alright, all things considered. He was mostly just worried about you and blaming himself for getting you into this.”

“It’s not his fault, you have to tell him that. This is on our father.”

“And mine,” Aurelia muttered.

“That’s true,” Gabriel said quietly. “I know he’s a king and we’re the enemy now, but I didn’t think he’d be so… cruel. Honestly, I don’t know how I’m going to get through this Auri.” Gabriel’s tears started up again, and he was more visibly shaking. “I’m not strong and brave like Bennett.”

“You are strong and brave, you fought for peace.”

“I wrote strongly-worded letters. Diplomacy and philosophy were all I had to bring to the table and I failed.”

“You treated soldier’s wounds, brought medical supplies, protected people.”

“Treating someone else’s injuries isn’t going to make me any stronger when wounds and injuries are inflicted on me. I’m weak. And scared. Bennett always shielded me from that side of things. Protected me. I can’t even take a punch, Auri. Now I’m going to be what, whipped? Beaten? C-cut?” His breath quickened and tears flowed freely down his cheeks.

“All I can hope is that I’ll p-pass out o-or die quickly.” He let out a sob, as if only now remembering that the best case scenario would be death before too much torture.

Aurelia took Gabriel’s face in her hands gently, wiping his tears away. “Gabriel, please listen to me. I can’t promise anything and I don’t want you to get your hopes up, because we’re facing impossible odds. But I am trying so hard to figure out a way to get you out of this mess. I know it’s a lot to ask, but please, please, try to stay alive. Don’t give up on me just yet.”

His eyes were red from crying and still filled with fear, but they widened at her words. “Do you really think there’s any chance we make it out?”

She hesitated. “I still don’t have a plan… And I understand if you can’t put faith in that right now. But I swear I’m not going to just sit by and do nothing while the two people I care about most in this world are going through all of this. So there has to be a chance.”

He nodded in understanding. He knew he’d probably die in this castle, but he wouldn’t give up if Aurelia was asking him not to. “Thank you, Auri, for even trying… I’ll try to survive as long as I can. For you and for Bennett.” Suddenly his eyes flashed with concern, “But please promise me you won’t put yourself in harms way trying to help, it’s not worth the risk.”

“I’ll be fine, don’t worry about me,” she said confidently.

He looked reassured, not noticing that she hadn’t made any promises.

After a moment of silence, she opened her bag, bringing out a bread roll, an apple, and a canteen of water.

“I made Jasmine tea for you. It’s cold and I’m not sure if it’s your favorite anymore, but I thought maybe you’d like it more than the water they have down here….?”

His cheeks flushed and he smiled. “It’s still my favorite. I can’t believe you thought to make me some. Thank you so much,” his voice caught on tears. “Ah, I’m getting emotional again, I’m sorry. Now that I’ve started crying it’s so hard to stop.”

“You don’t have to apologize Gabriel.”

He paused, then looked to her hesitantly. “You’ve done so much already, but can I ask for something else?”

“Anything.”

“I’m beyond grateful for the food and will eat all of it, but can I wait until after you leave? I was hoping…. I was hoping that while you’re still here… you could just hold me for a bit…? I know it’s a ridiculous thing to ask, I just n-need a kind touch right now and-“

“Shhh… I have some time.”

Aurelia set the food and tea aside, and moved closer to Gabriel. She wrapped him in a hug, one hand on his back, one hand running her fingers through his hair. He sank into her embrace, readjusting to rest his head in her lap. They stayed like that silently for a long time, with Aurelia gently rubbing Gabriel’s hair and shoulders. She eventually saw his breathing slow and realized he had fallen asleep. It was probably the closest he’d had to a peaceful sleep in days. She watched his chest rise and fall slowly. She knew she couldn’t stay too much longer, but she couldn’t bear to wake him back up to reality just yet.

She didn’t want the stillness of the moment to end either. It was surreal to have him close again after so many years apart. When Gabriel and Bennett had first returned to Lianhar, she and Gabriel had written letters for as long as they could, first sharing concerns about whispers of conflict and then desperately trying to slow the indomitable force of war from both sides. Eventually their letters stopped when delivering a goods or messages across kingdoms had become an act of treason and even smugglers had moved their businesses elsewhere.

Bennett was her best friend and the person who understood her better than anyone, but Gabriel inspired her and made her want to be a better person. It was the words in his letters that had gotten her through the worst of the war. She turned to them over and over when things grew difficult. They were her crutch when her mother died giving birth to her baby brother two years ago, when she felt completely alone in the world. She knew that Gabriel had probably long since forgotten those letters from the early days of the war, but they meant the world to her. And now, looking down at Gabriel sleeping, she mentally vowed to herself that she would do everything in her power to take care of him and protect him, like he had done for her without even realizing.

Although it pained her to do so, Aurelia gently shook Gabriel awake after a half hour or so. He stirred slowly at first, but she saw the moment when he opened his eyes and remembered where he was. He sat up, cheeks red. “I’m sorry that I fell asleep, I- I just haven’t been able to sleep much… Thank you for staying with me.”

“I’m glad I got to be with you for a little while. Thank you for letting me visit. I’ll come whenever I can, and if it’s during a day shift I can even bring a book or two.”

“That would be wonderful, thank you Auri.”

She gave his hand one last squeeze before she stood up to leave.

“Stay strong Gabriel, I’ll see you soon okay?”

She walked out of the cell door before she could hesitate, knowing that she needed to get back soon, though also knowing she wouldn’t be able to sleep tonight. She didn’t want to think about the next time she’d see Gabriel and Bennett, at tomorrow’s banquet.

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Next chapter

#whump #royal whump #prince whump #comfort #hurt #fear of death #tension #physical comfort #fear #crying #dungeon #prisoner of war

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