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marswasnothere · 15 days ago

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Maxiel idea - lycanthrope daniel and human max, 2017, 1158 words ripped straight from my discord messages to myself from nine months ago

Lycanthropy - werewolf-ism, used in cool werewolf films and shows, Lycanopathy - proper modern term for werewolf-ism, medical diagnosis, Lycaniasis - time during transformed wolf state, Anthroiasis - time during transformed human state, Lycanalgia - severe pain experienced during transformation, [Lyc-] - wolf [-an-] - human [-suffixes] - related to specific part of condition

Someone prompted it in the kinkmeme which I saw on Tumblr but with no date attached so i can't find it

But werewolf Daniel but he turns into a poodle

I don't know if they mean a full on poodle or a weird scraggly half man half poodle but I'm gonna choose the second to make it supernatural

And throwing in some puppy play when Daniels in his human form

Now the scene I imagined was Daniel shifting back into his human form, naked, under a blanket, with Max watching over him to make sure he's safe. He's never done it with someone to help him before, so he's a bit self conscious. Daniel shifts back, writhing on the floor, it's painful but it will end. He drops down, kneeling, taking a minute to just breathe and relax the aching in his bones.

His head itches. He yipes and whines, then tries reaching a leg over to scratch his head with his paw- foot. His paw, no, his foot. What? He can't reach and growls to himself. He's getting older, he can't stretch as much, curse this stupid fucking poodle.

"Daniel. Daniel, hey, look at me!" Max says to him.

Daniel glances over, panting, leg half raised in the air. Max grabs his paw- hand. His hand? Max grabs his hand and aligns it with his own, stretching their fingers out in a rhythmic pattern.

"Daniel. You've shifted back. Human mode. You've got hands, see?"

Daniel stares at his hand. His tongue retracts back in his mouth and he drops his leg. He's in his human form, yes, that's right, he's human right now. Max hasn't seen that happen before. Daniel gets stuck in his doggy state of mind. His own brain restricting him from standing upright or speaking. It's probably just crossed wires, he usually needs half an hour to go back to acting like a regular human being. It's weird, but he's used to it.

Daniel covers himself up and apologises to Max, explaining what happened and how it just happens to him. Max found it scary. He thought Daniel lost all humanity for a second and would be stuck like that forever and ever. Daniel laughs.

"Not unless you want me to. I know poodle Danny is a bit easier to handle than regular ole me." Self deprecating jokes usually do good. But Max doesn't smile. Sort of. It cocks up in the corner, then he winces, and pouts, and smirks, and- there's a lot on his face. He's contemplating something

Daniel’s a black poodle

Werewolf genes or whatever runs in the family

Came from his grandad, skipped his mum, and landed on him

Everything was normal when he was born, until a month into being a tiny teensy baby, he became a hairless, eyes closed, tiny puppy and cried and cried for hours on end because his bones and skin hurt his tiny lil body and his mum called over a lycanopathic friend to help and everyone was exhausted by the end of it.

Ok yeah werewolves are distinguishable from regular dogs. Their breed depends entirely on their parents/ancestors breed and origin, not what country they're from. They’re gangly, they have longer limbs no matter what breed, and have eyes that look eerily human from certain angles. They keep their human intelligence, with a couple of dog-like instincts poking through, but they can’t communicate in spoken language. Their shifts follow the cycle of the moon, not on every full moon like people usually think, but still on cycle. Daniel always shifts two days after a new moon, just as a thin crescent appears in the night sky. Werewolves stay shifted for an average of 8 hours overnight. Some sleep through being shifted to heal from the pain of shifting, others stay awake fueled by instincts and hunting desires, only to wake in the morning extremely tired. All depends on the person, the breed,

There’s been handfuls of lycanthropes in any profession, formula one is no excuse. Most prefer to hide their status, taking suppressants if their shifts fall on race days, and staying far away from the media when their cycle catches up with them.

Daniel is no different. Despite being perfect pr material, Daniel keeps the gangly black poodle within him away from watching eyes. He takes suppressants when shifting falls of media or race days. The team knows, Sebastian knows, and now Max Verstappen needs to know too. He’s going to bring it up professionally to Max, explain everything and dispel whatever stereotypes Max probably believes in, when he can’t find his suppressants after a Grand Prix but the team doesn’t think anything of it, because he doesn’t need to do anything on Monday night. And Max wants to hang out. Well shit.

Michael usually helps him after he’s shifted, needing food that won’t make regular Daniel nor dog Daniel break out in an allergic reaction, letting him hop into the shower to pee and clean up afterwards, and keeping him trained up and entertained. Maybe this can be a teaching moment for Max.

Daniel opens the door to Max and welcomes him in, then sits him down to explain why he’s so jittery. He explains he’s a werewolf, a lycanthrope, and he’s going to be shifting tonight. Max will be stuck with dog Daniel for the entire night. Max takes it pretty well, bluntly asking facts like any good dutchman, and then takes Michael’s delivery of specialty canned lycan food for Daniel, a dog bed, and a handful of toys.

Daniel apologises that he’s going to have to get naked, to avoid ruining his clothes, in front of a 19 year old Max. Max is chill with it. As night falls and Daniel feels his skin start to itch, he hides under a blanket and strips off his clothes. Max, for some reason, folds them.

He lies on the floor, twitching and groaning, then grabs the blanket and stuffs a corner in his mouth as he screams. His shift takes full force and Max watches on in fear. Daniel told him to keep his distance, but he wants so badly to hug Daniel, massage his shoulders, ease his pain as his bones meld and change.

The lump under the blanket stops moving, then a black curly tail pops out from underneath.

“Daniel?”

There’s a bark, and Daniel stands up. He shakes the blanket off and stretches, revealing a lanky black poodle. He looks up and Max and Max shudders. Daniel scoffs internally. First time seeing a real werewolf’s eyes? They aren’t the scary, cool golden slits like tv shows say.

“Okay… okay, cool. What was it, one bark for yes, two for no.”

Daniel barks. “Of course. Cool.”

Daniel’s tail wags. Max smiles. Daniel pads on over and sniffs Max, getting used to his scent to remind himself he’s in a safe space. Max reaches a hand down to pet him, then retracts, not sure if that’s a respectful thing to do. Daniel notices, and jumps up to nuzzle against him, prompting Max to pet him in return.

SOHEAH WEREWOLF DANIEL

I got a bit too into world building and making everything make sense and im seconds away from researching the cycle of the moon from 2017

But other than that

#maxiel #dr3 #mv1 #em fic posting #this could evolve into something full #but i tend to get way caught up in the worldly mechanics of how something like this would work #like when i read omegaverse and wonder if rural populations are lower due to fuck-or-die making that lifestyle less palatable #anyway #i think this would be reall really cool once i get to the morally weird pup play part #I LOOOOVE THE LOGISTICS THOUGH!!!!#i have another discord plotted idea regarding driver wearing diapers and all that logistics should i post that

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darlincollins · 3 years ago

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more awkward teenager shifter hcs because yes

david constantly falling over because he grew 8 inches in about 3 days and keeps knocking his head into things because he's not used to having to duck yet

asher discovers half-shifting and tries to keep himself in that state the entire school day to look buff but it's really not working and he keeps growing and shrinking randomly until the teachers tell him to knock it off

milo gets so impassioned during an in-class debate he shifts on the spot and has to wiggle out of the desk and go to the nurse's office still in wolf form to get a change of clothes

darlin tries to growl menacingly at someone who's annoying them but their voice cracks midway through and they still think it's the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened to them and will not discuss it

the teens going on a pack run but they're not used to running in wolf form so they keep bonking into trees and falling over- at one point asher tries to make a turn but skids into christian and knocks them both into a creek

using pack telepathy to talk during class seems like a good idea at first but it quickly devolves into 'guys shut up the teacher is asking everyone questions' 'HEY AMANDA WHY DID THE DAEMON CROSS THE ROAD' 'HI [TEACHER NAME]' 'guys she said to stop talking-' 'WHO KEEPS HUMMING TAKE ON ME STOP IT' and a whole herd of them eventually get sent to the principal's office

everyone practicing shifting skills and play fighting together in milo's backyard but they all get so muddy that marie turns the hose on them and they're just howling mournfully

all of them going through so many clothes because they keep accidentally tearing or losing them- at some point darlin and arden run experiments to figure out how elastic the waistbands of shorts/sweatpants/etc. need to be in order to keep them on in wolf form

david walks in on milo crouched on the floor in front of wolf asher holding out a handful or grapes and a chocolate bar and immediately walks back out before going "wAIT" and sprinting back in because none of them know if they can still eat those foods (gabe needs a full 5 minutes to stop laughing before he can reassure them that they don't need to call an ambulance)

darlin goes on a solo run without any supplies or navigational equipment assuming their new wolf abilities will help them figure out how get back home quickly but they get lost and have to use their flip phone to ask gabe to pick them up from the middle of nowhere

milo goes through a very wolf-aesthetic heavy phase (the shirts with howling wolves superimposed over the moon, crescent moon cord necklace, wolf-themed school supplies, etc.) and keeps ordering his meat rare for the Wolf Vibe even though he hates it (sweetheart has multiple backup copies of all these pictures and can't look at them without crying from laughter)

similarly darlin reads one jack london book and gets really into the Wilderness/survival aesthetic, then spends many weekends getting scolded by marie and gabe for their extremely poorly planned stunts like accidentally starting a small brush fire, getting lost in the woods, accidentally cutting themself on their utility knife, and eating mildly toxic berries because after all their big talk about being a survivalist expert they can't bring themself to hunt anything

asher refuses to get his braces put back in after the Incident (extremely valid of him honestly) and to this day despises going to the dentist more than anything

david's all black clothing aesthetic keeps getting ruined because of the wolf fur that seems to be magnetically attached to all his shirts at all times and he gets extremely frustrated about it

uno and monopoly are temporarily banned from game nights until everyone gets more control over their shifting because asher's mom is tired of fixing the claw marks in her furniture every time someone loses their temper

#redacted asmr #redacted shaw pack #redacted david #redacted asher #redacted milo #redacted darlin #redacted gabe

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dulceackles · 3 years ago

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How much salt can ants handle / Victoria De angelis

Requested: no

summary: as the night sets y/n finds herself suffering with anxiety. However, she gets a call from victoria who takes her on an adventure beautiful enough to ease her racing mind and a broken heart.

Pairing: Victoria De Angelis x reader (she/her, third person)

word count: 1.7k

content and warnings: angst, tw anxiety

In a dim light the room looked heavy. Like the walls might stumble and the sealing might fall. In a dim light of her bedroom, y/n felt her mind touch the rye needle. The art of taking things easy was something y/n had never learned. In her mind, she didn’t know where the world ended or who loved her. A lot of the time what she knew was only the crooked feeling of her own skin tightening around her like a rigid corset or her breathing getting stuck in her throat. And so t was that night too.

She couldn’t tell what were the big things so she made the big out of them all. And the future full of big things made itself terrifying to a small human. Y/n got up from her bed. She had been trying to sleep thoughts away but what didn’t come as a surprise, head full of disasters was hard to sleep with. The cold floor felt piercing underneath her bare feet. Slowly she walked to the old sofa sitting in the back of her living room.

Sometimes she made a list in her head of all the bad things that could happen. And after that, if she was ever ready, she made a list of all the bad ways she could react to the bad things happening. A lot of the time it felt like the birds didn’t arrive at the glow of spring or like the sky never cleared. She knew most of her fears were irrational, stupid as someone would say. Still, everything stopped them from going away. She wished that maybe when she was older it’d get easier but more than that she feared they never would.

Corset, that was her skin was. Then what sounded like a firework in the silence, her phone rang. She looked at her phone screen with her tired eyes. It was Victoria. A million bad things could have happened for her to call y/n at night, atleast that’s what y/n thought but as she answered the phone, she heard Victoria’s warming voice.

"Hi," her voice was energetic like it wasn't midnight at all. "I hope I didn't wake you up."

Victoria knew y/n ralely slept at those hours. Many times they had been texting at two o'clock in night, wishing time would stop and night would last little longer. And y/n loved that about her, that like the sky was for mountains she was always there for her. Over the last year that she had known her she had grown feelings towards her she was too afraid to admit outload.

"Oh no, i was awake." Y/n muttered to the phone her voice still slightly shaking and she wished Victoria wouldn't notice. She wasn't feeling great but Victoria defendly had snapped her out of her own stormy mind.

"I can't sleep, I think I took a little too long nap at 5 pm but I also heard there's a blood moon tonight," Victoria explained herself from the other side of the line. "So wanna come to watch it with me? To the swing?"

The swing was the place Victoria had showed y/n the first time they ever met. They'd been drunk at friends' party and the story had taken elsewhere and so the two girls had found each other on this forgotten field with only the threes and one old swing.

"a blood moon?" Y/n asked.

"Yeah. Thought i'd be pretty cool." Y/n could only imagine the expression Victoria had on her face. Sometimes she got really excited over spontanious things and y/n never wanted to be the one to ruin it.

"Sure let's go." Y/n said to the phone. She was pretty happy about getting outside the dark apartment she had been rotting in for the past few days and feeling all the emotions she didn't want to feel.

"Good cus im already at your door." Victoria laughed.

“What?” Y/n trots to the window on her left and as she looks down to the apartment front, she indeed sees the light-haired girl with a big smile on her face under the street lights.

Y/n chuckles a little bit, "alright, I'll come down in a sec."

There was only one store in the whole tinpot sleeping town that was open during the night and even though it meant a little longer walk, the girls were certain the moon could not be watched without a family-sized pack of chips.

The greenish-yellow drugstore light flickered over them as they searched the stacks from those one specific brand of cheap flavored chips they had grown found over mainly because it was what they always bought when they were together and it was night. It had become this unwritten rule that where there was night, food, Victoria and y/n, the food was these chips.

“I swear to God if they don't have them.” Victoria already blustered until both of their eyes snatched into the orange pack with pretentious font over it.

"There!" Both of them yelped at the same time causing the tired-looking cashier to glared at them like he was about to kick them out simply because the girls were too awake for him to have them in his store at that time of the night but then again, he hated drunk party people more than he hated night owls.

Victoria and y/n grabbed the chip back and ran to the cash register like there was only one second left. And how could have they known but as the chip back flowted on the black assembly line, y/n felt as if maybe there was.

" thank you!" Victoria thanked the cashier as she grabbed y/n's hand and began to hasten out of the store.

Victoria's shoft hand felt electric on y/n skin. Sometimes it almost slipped from her mouth that she wished Victoria's hand would never leave hers or more so that no stranger's hand would ever find Victoria's. But of course over anything she wished as an endlessly burning sun that one day Victoria would hold someone's hand that maybe was stranger to her but a lover to Victoria. Sometimes she wish it could have been her but something behind her eat whispered to her that prehaps she was the worst thing Victoria had ever gotten attached to and that's why it never slipped from her month.

The moon indeed was red that night. Hanging in the sky it shimmered the earth with its red cast. The dirt underneath their toes rustled as they finally reached the swing.

"Take a swing, I'll see how many chips you can catch." Victoria said as she opened the chip back and prepared herself to aim at y/n's month.

Y/n giggled. She maybe had played the game last time in elementary school but she also remembered being good at it.

Y/n pushes herself into the swing and launched herself forward, trying to get into the best speed possible.

The rough old rope felt foul against y/n palms as she holds onto the swing and Victoria tried to throw chips at her but quite frankly, in the dark y/n couldn't tell at all where the chips were flying at.

"This was harder than I remembered." Y/n laught as victoria waved her hands.

"Did you catch any?" Victoria giggled. They both knew this was dumb but it was the best part of it.

"No I mean one hit my face and that was the closest one" y/n stopped the swing from swinging.

"Damn. Well, the ants gonna have a diner party tonight then." Victoria walked closer to y/n and sat on her lap to the swing. A lot of the times they just came to the swing to sit and talk and because there was only one swing, they quite often also tested the ability and streight of the old ropes holding the swing on the tree.

"Not sure how much salt the ants can handle tho." Y/n said as she wrapped her arms around Victoria.

"Me either, maybe not at all." Victoria said as she watched the moon over them. "It is red indeed." Victoria signed.

"Yeah, it is." Y/n could smell the sweet smell of her soft hair. She wanted to lean her head against her neck but resisted because what she thought was prevailed to exposing the truth that she thought she was hiding.

"You know what else was red? Your eyes when you came down the stairs." Victoria got up and turned to face her. "So what's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong, Vic." Y/n let her cold hands fall to her lap.

"I also know when you lie." Victoria crossed her arms, eyeing y/n who still sat on the squeaky swing.

Y/n just stared right back of her. She didn't really know what to say or how to express what was wrong. In a way, she hoped she'd understand or that she'd know how she felt when everything felt big and the sky was falling. But she also feared she was a blue burden and so she didn't know what to say.

Victoria signed. It spiked y/n's heart because she didn't want to make her frustrated or angry with her, she just didn't know what to say and she didn't feel brave enough either.

But what came to y/n as an suprise, Victoria leaned little bit forward and pressed her warm lips againgst her fraught onces. Victoria's lips felt soft against hers and her tongue slowly traced her lips. It was tender sweet and y/n heart race and blush rose as she tasted Victoria. Y/n lifted her hands to gently pull her closer and Victoria slightly smiled into the kiss of how into it y/n was getting.

Soon Victoria pulled away, leaving y/n swollen lips. She looked up to her and Victoria gently run her thumb over y/n's lips before sitting back into her lap and wrapping y/n's arms back around her.

"When you feel like talking just tell me." She said as she watched the moon that was just as red as was her heart. "I truly believe you'd feel better if you sometimes talked to someone."

Y/n nobbed, and then she wrapped her arms tighter around her snuggled her head into her neck.

#måneskin #victoria de angelis #victoria de angelis x y/n #victoria de angelis x reader #x reader #victoria de angelis fanfic #fanfiction #måneskin fanfic #angst #victoria de angelis angst

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canary3d-obsessed · 4 years ago

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Restless Rewatch: The Untamed Episode 10 second part

(Masterpost) (Other Canary Meta)

Warning: Spoilers for All 50 Episodes!

Unclean Realm

Lan Wangji has a Louis Henry Sullivan moment on seeing the Nie family home, becoming enraptured by its overwrought monumental architecture after a lifetime of restrained good taste and single-story buildings.

He approaches the fortress with the expression of delighted wonder that he usually reserves for when he’s looking at the moon or at Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian is like, yep that’s a building, all right, but he supports Lan Wangji’s kinks.

Meng Yao tells them about the Wen Clan directive, and has what appears to be a moment of genuine, affectionate amusement at Nie Huaisang’s reaction.

Jiang Cheng kinda blames the Lans for inventing the whole “indoctrination” thing and for encouraging his brother’s disaster bi tendencies. Wei Wuxian responds by complimenting the Lan Clan, almost like someone who met his true love got some real value out of the instruction he received there.

(more after the cut)

One of the great ironies of this story is that Wei Wuxian sort of becomes a rogue Lan disciple because of his relationship with Lan Wangji. He relies on Lan temperament techniques, uses music as a primary cultivation method, has committed all of the Lan rules to his supposedly terrible memory and cites them on multiple occasions, and is an important mentor for the younger generation Lan disciples. Because Hanguang-Jun is just that good in bed.

Xue Yang in the background of this conversation is channeling OP’s church-enduring, school-enduring inner 10-year-old.

Nie Mingjue, Chifeng-Zun, appears, and couldn’t be more different than his brother. On first watching this episode, I saw him as a grumpy, sexy, very emotional leather daddy man who is quick to anger. Rewatching, I see someone who’s struggling with a growing illness...the resentful energy kind.

Nie Mingjue’s handling of resentful energy is very different from Wei Wuxian’s straightforward interest and acceptance. NMJ has a traditional cultivator’s view of it, regarding it as evil and as something to resist, while he is literally carrying it on his back. He’s like a secret alcoholic who is preaching temperence, and can’t find a way to be reconciled with himself.

At this point of the story, Nie Mingjue is keeping it together, but is under a hell of a lot of stress, and Baxia’s blood thirst is already maybe a problem.

The Yunmeng bros think that Nie Huaisang’s fear of his brother is hilarious, because they don’t understand the situation. They think he’s just living in a hideously toxic family dynamic like theirs, when actually he’s in a loving, sorta healthy, if parentless, family that is being crushed under a generational curse.

Compliments for the Yunmeng Bros

I’m not the first meta poster to notice how happy Jiang Cheng is to be praised by Nie Mingjue.

He never gets this at home. Jiang Yanli praises him, but in that watery “you tried your best” way that doesn’t really stick. Nie Mingjue’s praise really means something, because he is a fearsome warrior and stern authority figure. And this is a double compliment, because Nie Mingjue says he heard it from Lan Xichen, and agrees with it.

Let’s Make Terrible Decisions

Keep Xue Yang alive, says Wei Wuxian, and Meng Yao immediately agrees, although I’m pretty sure he would have proposed that even if WWX hadn’t.

So they do, not realizing that “kill him later” is never a good plan for someone who 1. super needs killing 2. has a whole lot of death-dealing skills.

Future clan leader Jiang Cheng notices how smart and talented Meng Yao is. Xue Yang finds it hilarious when the trio praises Meng Yao, possibly because their evil team up is already underway.

Boss’ Bed Warmer Son of a Ho

The constant insults toward Meng Yao are about his mom, but there’s another level of leering implication, that Meng Yao seems to encourage in his conversation with the soon-to-be-murdered guard captain.

Nie Mingjue elevated him way above his expectations, and he is ridiculously pretty, which has to create rumors. In the Nightless City scenes when he’s fondling Baxia and telling Nie Mingjue’s family secrets there’s definitely a sense of intimacy that’s not just “loyal retainer.”

I feel like maybe this whole exchange is a bit of theater designed to show Xue Yang something without showing it to anyone else. Meng Yao didn’t need to have this conversation in front of his prisoner.

Let’s Do Exactly What We Said We Wouldn’t

Once the younger quartet are alone with Nie Mingjue, Wei Wuxian crosses the room away from his friends and practically into Lan Wangji’s pocket, if Lan Wangji had pockets.

He has no pockets and also has no personal bubble any more, when it comes to Wei Wuxian.

We could make a weapon out of Yin Iron, Wei Wuxian says, completely forgetting his entire conversation with Lan Yi, apparently. Lan Wangji doesn’t argue with this idea.

Nie Mingjue warns Wei Wuxian not to try it.

I stabbed a man in Qinghe just to watch him die

Nie Mingjue is like the Johnny Cash of the cultivation world, carrying the weight of his poor choices and trying to steer the young folk to the path of righteousness. But--like Johnny Cash--his bad choices have made him really fucking cool, so he isn’t very good at deterring anybody.

Meng Yao Didn’t Come Here to Make Friends

Immediately after Meng Yao’s fellow Nie clan people call him “son of a whore” again, Wei Wuxian meets him, is nice to him, addresses him by his military title, bows to him, asks why he’s away from the party, and thanks him for his service.

But Meng Yao has already decided to make friends with Xue Yang, so Wei Wuxian goes onto his list of people that he doesn’t give a crap about except if they can be useful to him. Then Meng Yao goes to make out hatch a plot with Xue Yang.

I’ll Sleep On Your Roof

Meeting SongXiao seems to have done away with the last of Lan Wangji’s resistance to his connection with Wei Wuxian.

He hears a noise on the roof and, when realizing it’s Wei Wuxian, he smiles one of his tiny reserved smiles before heading outside.

When he sees Wei Wuxian drunkenly sprawled on the roof, limbs akimbo, wine on his chin and neck, mouth full of poetry about the open road, Lan Wangji gives him the most fond look imaginable.

Then he reluctantly leaves, with his signature “say goodbye, but only when he can’t hear you” thing.

They’ve both come a really long way since their first meeting. Wei Wuxian is openly and vocally attaching himself to Lan Wangji...but is not actually entering his space or asking for anything from him; he just wants to be near him, and wants to let him know that. “I’ll sleep on your roof tonight.”

And Lan Wangji just...loves him. Wei Wuxian is drunk, embarrassing, demonstrative, eager to make a hell weapon out of yin iron, touchy feely, and absurdly sexy. And Lan Wangji is pretty okay with all of that.

I Might Have Been Drunk

Wei Wuxian carefully avoids telling Jiang Cheng where he was last night.

Even if he did get blackout drunk, he would have woken up on Lan Wangji’s roof. And I don’t think he was as drunk as that. He just knows Jiang Cheng wouldn’t like the truth.

Wen Fucking Chao, Again

Wen Chao shows up to be annoying and boring. This leads to a pretty good fight between Nie Mingjue and Wen Zhuliu. Note that when the chips are down, Nie Huaisang stands with his Gege without any cowering. Almost as if he had hidden reserves of bravery, and is not as helpless as he lets on.

Wen Zhuliu isn’t styled to be super hot, although he’s certainly compelling, and in Dance of the Phoenix he looks good with sensitive-guy hair wispies. I wonder what actor Feng Mingjing looks like out of character?

BRB, adding a tag to my follow list

Battle Bros

When the fighting breaks out, the Yunmeng brothers are decisive and united, with Wei Wuxian giving orders to Jiang Cheng and JC following without hesitation.

I feel like if these two could have gone through a few big battles together, instead of being separated during most of the Sunshot campaign, their whole relationship would have improved. On the battlefield, they respect, trust, and understand each other.

The Pointy End

Nie Mingjue is holding his own against Wen Zhuliu, but he gets distracted by Meng Yao hollering “Xue Yang has escaped” and then shanking the guard captain right in front of him.

Wen Zhuliu takes advantage of the distraction to aim a very slow stab at Nie Huasang, and Meng Yao jumps in front to get stabbed on his behalf.

When the Yunmeng bros show up to help NMJ, Wen Zhuliu immeiately yanks Wen Chao back behind him and points his sword at Wei Wuxian. He absolutely sees these two as a serious threat. Considering that eventually WWX is going to kill Wen Chao while JC kills Wen Zhuliu, this concern is not misplaced.

Wei Wuxian tells Wen Chao to stop being such a jerk, and Wen Chao menaces Wei Wuxian and gloats about the burning of cloud recesses. The burning, that is, of some part of cloud recesses that doesn’t include the library, the Jingshi, the main cultivation chamber, the rabbit warren, or Lan Qiren’s house, unless the Lan Clan is really really good at rebuilding things to very exact specifications.

In a rare moment of seeing Meng Yao’s internal thoughts, he is worried about Lan Xichen when he hears about cloud recesses.

The Yelling Part

Now we have the particularly nasty breakup between Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao. It’s...got some layers. Meng Yao is cowering on the floor, but is not apologizing.

He never apologizes throughout this encounter.

孟瑤無悔 - Meng Yao (has) no regrets

This scene is amazing and excruciating to watch, even more when you know what’s ahead.

What the Fuck is Meng Yao’s Plan

On one level this is Meng Yao, manipulative sociopath, setting up a cover story for his aiding and alliance with Xue Yang. On another, this is Meng Yao, loving subordinate, being tossed aside by his lord because he dared to stand up for himself.

He uses the same “scout’s honor” gesture we’ve seen Wei Wuxian use to swear he’s telling the truth. Wei Wuxian is always lying when he uses this gesture.

I’m...not sure exactly what Meng Yao’s plan is, with all these chess moves? By stabbing the captain in front of NHS, he created an opportunity to plant a cover story about Xue Yang’s escape. He might be hoping that Nie Mingjue will forgive him and keep him on, while Xue Yang can stay in his back pocket to be used later.

Dry eyes? Try Visene

Or he might be intending to get kicked out, given his non-apology. In any case, Nie Mingjue is weeping during this encounter, and Meng Yao...isn’t. He is signaling distress in his voice, expression, and body language, but his eyes are dry up until the last moment, and even then they just glisten a bit. In a show where every actor is an expert at crying on cue, that’s got to be a deliberate choice.

Which isn’t to say that Meng Yao is faking being full of emotion in this scene. It’s just that the emotion isn’t necessarily sorrow.

What Does Nie Mingjue’s Head Think

Flip the view and this is about Nie Mingjue being betrayed by a subordinate, who has turned out to be a self-serving murderer. And on another level it’s Nie Mingjue being betrayed by his lover, who was just using him for advancement.

I rewatched the later episode where we get the scene as Nie Mingjue’s head perceived it, and he’s particularly brokenhearted and disillusioned from his head’s POV. In that version there is a telling addition to the conversation.

Nie Mingjue asks about the guys who were roasting Meng Yao behind his back. He asks, if I hadn’t come, would you have murdered all of them?

Um. No, dude. Of course fucking not. That’s what a patriarchal authority does. That’s the way an angry Nie Mingjue/Baxia team might solve a problem.

Meng Yao has to use subterfuge to kill his enemies. And while he super hates being called “son of a whore” it’s absolutely not enough to make him kill someone, with the risk murder brings. Likewise, being treated well isn’t enough to make him spare someone. Nie Mingjue totally doesn’t get this, because he’s been the patriarch of this clan his entire adult life.

And Here’s the Actual Problem

There is a betrayal here, but Nie Mingjue is not simply a victim. Whether it’s a sexual relationship or a non-sexual bond of affection, there can be nothing solid in Nie Mingjue and Meng Yao’s relationship within a feudal society, because it is fundamentally unequal. Even if they love each other deeply - which I’m not convinced either of them does - every encounter they have is tainted with power dynamics.

Meng Yao has been elevated by Nie Mingjue and quite probably taken into his bed, as well as being told many family secrets, but has not been given a new surname (like, for example, Wen Zhuliu was) or independent power. More importantly, Nie Mingjue has not used his authority to remove or punish the many people who disrespect his subordinate. Lan Qiren would have had all of those gossipy fuckers kneeling in the snow, and Wen Ruohan would feed them to his mosh pit zombies.

Meng Yao is a murderous little snake, but he is right to be angry with Nie Mingjue about some things, and his pursuit of his own agenda is understandable.

Well, That Was a Slice

Meng Yao leaves, hurt, with a dignified bow; just as he did that one time when his dad kicked him down the Carp Tower steps.

Take note, both patriarchal authorities: that is his way of saying “I’m going to murder you one day.”

Nie Mingjue sits with his broken heart, as we realize that we’ve only spent 20 minutes with this guy and we’ve gone on an entire emotional journey with him. This episode packed in a LOT.

Soundtrack: Johnny Cash, Folsom Prison Blues

#fytheuntamed #the untamed #wangxian #meng yao #nie mingjue #my gifs #canary3d-original #the untamed meta #the untamed gifs #restless rewatch the untamed

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msoogabooga · 4 years ago

Text

Closure • (Remus Lupin x Reader)

Warnings: None

Description: You reconnect with your former Hogwarts-years lover in the most unexpected way.

A/N: Slight angst, ends on a good note.

Walking around the corridors of the Hogwarts castle with an injured hand wasn’t your ideal way of spending your night. It had all happened just as you were getting ready for bed. Gathering all your graded papers, you decided to store them in your trunk, as you usually do every night. Unfortunately for you, the lid of the trunk came crashing right back down out of nowhere and landing straight onto your hand. It took every inch of your body to not scream out a slew of unforgivable words in order to maintain the peace of the castle. Still you couldn’t help but kick the trunk in frustration and snatch your hand away. With a throbbing hand you searched frantically for something to soothe it. Nothing was readily available and you didn’t feel like waking up poor Madam Pomfrey for a bruised hand. So you resorted to the only man you know to be awake at this hour: Remus J. Lupin.

Remus Lupin was not a man to get much sleep. Back when you both were students at Hogwarts, you always remember him sitting in the common room in the dead of night. Usually it would be to finish a lengthy essay or get some more study time worked in. But sometimes you two would sit together near the fireplace and talk about the most insightful topics. The nights would end with you falling asleep on him and magically waking up back in your own bed. The days when you two dated were the most comforting and enjoyable you’ve ever felt. He was the perfect boyfriend. Everyday he would serve you a glass of pumpkin juice with a peck on the cheek. During classes he would pass you notes that often contained several compliments and an occasional sneaky answer. Days would be filled in with study sessions, sitting by the lake, and lots of cuddling. He trusted you with everything. Including the long kept secret that terrorized him the most, that he was a werewolf. You were everything to him.

You never wanted to end the relationship. It was the last thing you wanted to do. But the comforting days of teenagers at Hogwarts turned into a stressful time as adults. You had become an Auror right out of Hogwarts while Remus struggled to find a stable job. Being a werewolf didn’t come with its negative effects, after all. You would sometimes go days without seeing him depending on how much time was needed on an investigation. When you did see him, you were always so exhausted and sleep deprived. Eventually all this stress kept piling up to the point where you both decided it was best to part ways. No hard feelings were left but you didn’t hear much from him after that.

Just a few years later, you resigned your job as being an Auror. Though it was an exciting couple of years, it was best to just take some time for yourself and find a more peaceful job. When you heard of the Muggle Studies teaching position open at Hogwarts, you knew this was your opportunity. You knew all about muggles, as you grew up around them, therefore it was an easy job to secure. What you didn’t realize, however, was that one of your colleagues was the same man you left years ago. Catching his gaze at the Great Hall feast in the beginning of the year brought all of the memories back to you once more.

Which brings us back to this moment. You scurry your way to his quarters in hopes of obtaining a treatment for your hand and perhaps some closure from the man you once loved. You mumble apologies to the portraits you had awoken until you finally reach his door. Though hesitant at first, you finally muster up the courage to knock 3 times. It doesn’t take long for an answer as you look at a disheveled Remus Lupin standing at the front of the door wearing some worn out pajamas. Clearly, he didn’t expect you to be the one knocking at his door in the middle of the night as he continues staring you down for a moment. Eventually, he clears his throat and addresses you.

“Oh.” Remus speaks. “Professor, what a surprise. I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting any guests at this hour. May I help you?”

“You got anything for this.” You say, lifting your bruised hand up.

“Oh of course, do come in.”

He opens up the door wider for you and you make your way inside his quarters. It was a cozy little place. All his bags were on the floor and a few garments were thrown onto the bed. He mumbles an apology for the mess and goes to one of his drawers. Pulling out a small blue water packet, he performs a freezing spell on it to turn it into ice. He gestures to you to come over. You and him plop on the edge of the bed. He takes your hand into his own, ever so gently, careful not to hurt you even more. You wince as he begins to apply pressure to it with the ice.

“Just hold still.” He says, calmly. “I promise this will make it feel better.”

You nod and bite your tongue as he applies more pressure. His hands are coarse and rough now as opposed to a few years ago. Clearly, these past few years haven’t treated him well. His hands keep the ice steady as he gently brushes your palm.

“How have you been?” You say out of nowhere. You couldn’t bear the silence any longer.

“Rough.” He admits. “Full moon yesterday and well… you know.”

“Oh right, sorry. I didn’t notice.”

“No worries.”

You remain silent as he removes the ice pack for a moment to examine your hand. He pushes his thumb against the bruised area slightly and you wince once more. He looks up at you with concerned eyes. You give a slight smile, assuring him you are alright. He takes the ice pack and applies it to your hand once more.

“Yes, just leave it on for a few hours.” He says, letting you hold onto the ice pack now. “It should help numb the pain. Other than that your hand appears to be fine. Just some minor bruising. You’re free to go get some rest now.”

As you stand up from the bed, he catches your shoulder. You gasp a little in surprise and slowly come to sit once again with him.

“But that’s not the reason you came here, is it?” Remus asks, almost reading your mind. It was true. This visit was more than a mere injury treatment.

“I just… wanted to see you again.” You admit. “I know we didn’t get the closure we needed. I kind of just wanted that, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh not at all.” He says with a sigh. “Ever since I first saw you during the feast, I wanted to have this conversation with you.”

“Well then. Here we are. You’re not mad at me, are you?”

“Why would I be? This decision was made by the both of us.”

“I know I know. I just feel so guilty. I didn’t get to see you that much near the end of our relationship and I often wondered if you thought I didn’t care about you.”

“You were busy. I understood that. Never did it cross my mind that you didn’t care. I knew you did. And so did I.”

You let out a small relieved smile. “It’s just so hilariously sad now.”

“What is?” He says, shifting himself closer to you.

“Now I have all the time in the world but no one to spend it with.”

He gives a sad smile. “Oh the ironies of life. Would you like some tea?”

“Please.” Remus gets up and heads to the small kitchen attached to his room. You get up and follow him, leaving the ice pack on the bed. “Make sure to add only two spoons-”

“Two spoons of sugar.” Remus finishes for you. He gives a slight smile. “Don’t worry, I remember.” You feel your face blush slightly at this. That man never misses a beat, you’re sure of it. He sets the kettle and leans against the counter, running a hand through his hair.

“Was it bad?” You ask. Remus raises an eyebrow. “The full moon I mean.” You clarify.

“Oh no, not terribly at least. A few minor scratches and bruises. Nothing I haven’t already experienced before.”

“And here I am complaining about a bruised hand.” You laugh. Remus, however, gives you a concerned look as he walks over to you. He carefully takes both of your hands into his.

“Please don’t feel bad about asking me for help.” He says looking straight into your eyes. “You know I will always help you no matter how small it is. Always.” As you stare into his basil-green eyes you can’t help but feel your face heat up again. Something about his stare always drove you mad. Clearly it hasn’t stopped anytime soon. He appears to be moving closer to you before the whistle of the kettle makes him jump a bit. He quickly runs to it and prepares the cups.

As he pours the green tea into an elegant cup, you can’t help but try to explain everything going through your mind. “I wanted to reach out to you. I did. I just didn’t know how. I’m just so relieved that now I get the chance to.”

“So did I.” Remus confesses as he hands you a cup. You take the cup of warm liquid and take a sip from it. Delicious, of course. He always made the best tea. “I just figured you wanted to be left alone. I wouldn’t blame you. Being an Auror is a difficult career. Therefore I went against my own personal emotions considering I still… well, it would be inappropriate to say now.” He takes a gulp from his own cup.

“No please, tell me Remus.” You plead. He stares at you once more and sighs before setting his cup on the table.

“Considering I was still in love with you.” Your heart is racing now. You set your own cup on the table.

“You were?” You ask, stunned. “And now?”

“Nothing has changed. Even after all these years. I still thought of you and hoped you were doing well. Everyday.”

“Oh, Remus.” You cup his face with both hands, bruised hand and everything. Your thumb rubs against his cheek as you slowly move his hair away from his face. He brings his hands to cover yours and gives you the most comforting look.

“Don’t you worry about me now.” He reassures you. “I’ll cope.”

“You don’t have to.” You finally fill in the gap between the two of you and press your lips gently against his. He doesn’t react to this at first, just stands there in confusion. Slowly, however, he brings his hands to your hair and gently combs through it, falling into your kiss. He never once retracts from you. Only crashing back onto your lips over and over. It was the most sincere and wonderful kiss you’ve ever had.

When he finally breaks it, he still holds onto your waist, giving you the biggest smile. His eyes were a different story, however. They were drained and half open. Clearly he was exhausted.

“You’re tired, Remus.”

“A tad. Never of you though.” He places a kiss on your forehead.

“I should really let you sleep.”

“You know you can stay the night.” He says to you in a half whisper. “Only if you’d like. I’d be more than willing to have you here.”

You laugh, running a hand through his sandy locks. “Of course.”

You both climb into his bed, completely exhausted from a long night. Before you get a chance to say something he clutches you close to him. You smile and ease into his embrace. He rests his chin on your head and has his arms wrapped tightly around you. Kissing your head, he sleepily mumbles something into your hair that you couldn’t quite catch.

“What was that, dear?” You ask.

“I’ve missed you.” He mumbles before crashing into a deep sleep.

#harry potter #remus lupin #lupin x reader #remus x reader #remus lupin x reader #remus lupin fic #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin angst

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storysofmyown · 4 years ago

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How the demon bros would ask you to marry them, part two!

Satan:

This boi, oh dear. This demon has a literal devotion towards you! From the moment you two started dating, Satan completely devoted his entire being to you. Satan has spent most of his life dealing with negative feeling of rage and hate, but the moment you step into his life he has to learn to deal with this overwhelming sense of love that is just so new to him.

Though, he is always scared of hurting you. In the back of his mind he is scared that one day he might completely lose it and hurt you or even worse..But...you eased his worries on a particular day.

Satan was absolutely livid for a discussion he just had a strong discussion with Lucifer, the demon had completely lost it he was braking everything in his room when you showed up. The sound of your voice after entering his room and watching your boyfriend in demon form completely engulfed in rage sent shivers down his spine. He knew that you were not safe while he was like this, but no matter how much he pleaded you, with the last bit of control he had, to leave, you simply refused.

Satan almost attacked you, key word being almost. The moment he turned around and his eyes meet yours...he simply stopped. All the anger he felt in that moment left his body as you stepped forward and hugged him tightly. Satan was incapable of hurting you, and you knew that. And now he knew it too. After that incident, the demon started researching all kinds of information about human world proposals, he simple wanted to spend the rest of his life with you.

He would research books, articles, shows, all kinds of stuff to learn about the rituals humans performed when proposing. He would specifically look for the ones in your country, he wants this to be simply perfect. In the end, he would go for a more unique proposal, and a unique ring, contacting some people so they would hand made the perfect ring with the beautiful emeralds he had seen with you once.

On a certain day, you would find a book in your room. It was one of your favorite books, you had rambled about go Satan, trying to convince the demon to read it. There were some pages marked with some of your favorite lines, and a small paper with some numbers and a message that read “Find me” and a heart beside those words.

After cracking the code, you noticed it was the place where you guys had your first date, the memories of the visit making a smile creep on your lips as you arrived.Inside the building, there was a brother, who would only smile at you, and with a hint of annoyance, give you your favorite flower with a note in Satan’s hand writing. In total, you went to six places, each one attached to a very important memory. In the last one Lucifer gave you the sixth flower and the note, which instead of a riddle had a direction, you immediately visited that place.

After arriving, you entered trough the only door there was. You were standing in a black completely black room, the door behind you closed and the room illuminated in beautiful lights that resemble stars and constellations from the human world. Dozens of photos from the moments you two shared were floating in the air as you looked at them. You turned around to look at at the place, and to your surprise, there stood your boyfriend, with something that resembled your favorite flower in his heads, but seemed a little different from the six you were holding.

“Mc” A smile showing off in his beautiful face, but the small blush on his cheeks giving away how nervous he was feeling. “I...I have only ever felt anger and hate...even after been thought about other emotions I never thought i would experience them. But...but then you arrived and you have shown me what love feels like. I don't want to spend another second of my life without you.” He would take a few steps closer as you watched on. “And i know I’m not the easiest demon to deal with, and i cant promise you i will be easier to deal with in the future. But i can promise you, that for you and for our love, I’m willing to give everything. Mc...” he will give you the flower, which upon further inspection it was actually a box, you opened it and there was a beautiful ring with green gemstones. “Will you marry me?” He would take your hand in his and look at you, one of the few times you have seen genuine happiness in his eyes, before slowly nodding, making Satan almost cry, and for the first time, not from frustration, but from love.

Asmodeus:

No one, absolutely no one thought they would ever see the Avatar of Lust settle down...not even himself. Like, no one was as surprised as he was when he started to turn down demons in order to stay loyal to you! You would bring out of him a different side. A softer, more romantic side.

Asmo was used to people wanting him for his body, like who could blame them? The demon was completely stunning, and he knew it! But you didn’t just love him because of his looks, and that came as a surprise to him.

He was having a bad few days. He wasn't feeling like himself at all and barely left his room. Normally the others would let him be until he picked himself back up, but on the third day you just couldn't anymore and decided to check up on him. Making sure he wasnt doing too bad and even bringing him snacks. You would stay with him for a few hours, letting him ramble about what was bothering him or just stay in silent while playing with his soft hair. At one point he would smile, genuinely, it would be small but full of emotion as he looks up at you, head resting in your lap.

“There’s my Asmo.” You would say, relieved he seemed to be doing better, and proceed to give him a small kiss in the forehead. Asmo was already in love with you, but this...this simple action spoke louder to him than all the times you had said it before. He didn't need to be with anyone else anymore because he had you and you loved him, every part of him. And he was going to love you, every single part of you for the rest your lives.

So, he started planing. He bought the ring first, it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry he had seen, it a lot of different stones decorating it, but the stone that he likes the most is a simple, small pink stone right in the middle of the ring. He would keep it in his pockets all the time, just in case.

He would plan every single detail. From the clothes you both would be wearing, to the place, the flowers, the makeup, everything! He would want to propose in a big ass party! He would plan for it to be on Diavolos castle during a ball where you two would look your best! In front of millions of demons so that the world knows about each others love.

But...

You tend to bring out a different side of Asmo, an Asmo that doesn't need the world to know how much he loves you as long as you know it.

So, he wouldn't ask you during a ball, or in front of millions of people in the most dramatic way he can find. He doesn't ask you in the beach or a restaurant or anything like that. He would ask you in the comfort of your room, a place can finally consider safe and a home, when the two of you would be simply be holding each other while kissing slowly after a returning from a fancy date.

He would open his eyes and the love radiating from your face as you look at him with messy hair and the moon illuminating the room, and he would simply it.

“Marry me.” To you, it come as a surprise the question, and you almost thought he was joking. But he would pull the ring out of the pocket of his jacket that laid on the floor, look at you in the eyes again and spoke in the same soft tone. “I want to spend the rest of my life with you.” He could not be able to say another word, because you would immediately hug him and kiss him.

Beelzebub:

Dear lord, Beel is the most sweet demon there can be. He is simply so soft for you are the only person he will share his food with, he is always touching you somehow. Be it holding hands, hugs, piggy rides, playing with your hair, head in your lap, soft touches, sweet kisses, all that kind of stuff. He literally loves you just so much!

But, the idea of marriage never crosses his mind. It wasn't that he didn’t want that kind of thing with you, it’s that he simply never thought about asking for your hand in marriage. If he had thought abut it sooner, he definitely would have asked you sooner. Because the moment he realizes he wants to marry you, is the moment he ask you.

It was a quiet night in the house of lamentation. Everyone was asleep, everyone besides you and Beel. The demon had woken up at midnight and decided to go raid the kitchen, the movement of his body leaving the bed woke you up to and now the two of you were in the kitchen waiting for the food to be done.

You would be sitting in the table, while Beel is siting in a chair with his head resting in the table as he waits. But he isn't looking at the food that is getting heated, no. His eyes are on you the whole time. His eyes are focused on your face as the light of the fire illuminate your eyes. Beel smiles, a sincere beautiful smile. It warms his heart the sight of you and for a second he ponders, what his future might look like with you. And what he sees...is simply a testament of your love.

Quiet nights were you two are just holding each other while small kisses are left on the others skin. Moment of reassurance and endless hugs as flashes of your smile appear before his eyes. The sight of your laugh and the mere idea of sharing everything with you makes the demon’s heart warm.

At one point, there is a image in his head he simply cannot shake. Is his family. All of them, in a table together simply spending family time and being peaceful and happy, and right besides him there you are. Holding his hands like you have done so many times in the past when he wakes up from a nightmare. In this picture he might even see the children of you two, and it would simply melt him, the idea of spending his life with you and expanding his family makes him slowly lift his head with a big soft smile.

He would reach for you, taking your hand in he intertwines his fingers with yours. You eyes meet with his as the orange slow glow from the fire dances over him, the stars reflected in his eyes as his hair slowly falls over them. He would squeeze your hand

“I want to marry you.”

Just like that, it a simple proposal, but its true and genuine and so full of feelings you cant help but brake into a smile, only to be embraced by the gentle giant that is your boyfriend. Later on, he will buy you a ring with orange stones and whenever you two are just laying in bed, he will take your hand in his and admire the ring in your finger before simply giving you a soft kiss.

Belphegor:

Belphie is a...special demon. To him, marriage didn't seem necessary. He loved you and you loved him, why did you need to trough all that hard work of planning and stuff just to for your relationship to stay almost the same? But, this all changed really fast.

He woke up around midnight. His mind was tired and the room was really dark, so he couldn't see anything. Instinctively, he reached out to you, who should be sleeping right beside him but in this occasion you weren't there. He opened his eyes and trough the darkness, he noticed that the space where you always laid in bed was empty. He sighed and turned over, figuring you must have gone to the bathroom, so he just tried to go back to sleep.

It was impossible. He kept moving around and shuffling and he could not find a comfortable position, and even if he did find it, he couldn't go to sleep. It was frustrating, not being able to fall asleep when he was the Avatar of Sloth. He kept moving until at some point he sat up, back against wall and sigh on his lips, hoping sleep would come soon. After a while, you came out of the bathroom and slipped right back into bed, after settling in your side, you took his arm and passed it over you, so that he would be spooning you while sleeping.

The moment his hands wrapped around your waist and his face rested in the crook of your neck he felt all that stress and worry leave and by God, never in his life had he ever felt as comfortable as he did right now with you in his arms. In that moment he noticed how used he was to you sleeping with him, and how he simply did not want or could sleep without you close by. He breathing in your scent as he smiled thinking about how much he wanted to spend the rest of his live with you, so he decided to propose.

Normally, he would have just asked you right there and there. But, you were already asleep, so he decided to wait, and while trying to fall back asleep he came up with a cute idea. A few days had passed since that and you were simply chilling in your room when a certain demon knocked on your door. It was Belphie. He had a sweet smile and an inviting look as he extended his hand towards you. You took it, and he lead you to the planetarium. In there, a small table had been set. He ushered you to sit down, a few seconds passed and Beel brought you guys food, surprisingly he didn't eat any of it. Belphegor couldn't take his eyes off of you as you took in the small yet pretty lights that had been set around.

“Whats the occasion? What are we celebrating?” His eyes would meet yours, a sweet smile tainting his lips. “That I love you.” It’s a sweet and simple moment, with you two just starring at each other with big smiles. “We are celebrating that I love and that I...” He would get up, and walk up to you, bend down, smiling at your expression the moment you understand what is going on. “I want to spend the rest of our lives together so...would you please marry me?” he would not have time to take out the ring, as you tackled him in a bug hug, both falling on the floor and staying like that for a couple of seconds simply rejoicing in the happiness of the other. He would would put the small ring with purple stones in your finger, and it will never came off.

Aight!! Here y’all go. The second part of this thing i wrote the other day. I feel like it inst as good as the others but i still enjoyed writing this. I also apologize to the Belphie stans, he was so hard to write! But anyway, i hope y’all liked it and thank you so much for the response to the first part! I also wanted to an undatable but i didn't like how it was turning out so...sowwy :(

#obey me #obey me!#obey me shall we date #obey m satan #obey me! satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me! asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me! beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me! belphegor #obey me belphie

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emerald-amidst-gold · 4 years ago

Text

Fane Lavellan: An Introduction

Fane Lavellan (Aterian)

“What have I suffered? What have I suffered?! I have suffered two lifetimes! Two lifetimes of ignorance and corruption! How many more must I endure before there is an end?!”- Fane Lavellan

Gender: Male Race: Dalish elf (Dragon) Mortal age: 24 years old Draconic age: Approximately 5,000 years old (around 1,000 during the time of Arlathan)(I might tweak this later once I do math bleh) Class: Warrior Specialization: Reaver (more of an inherent aspect of his past nature) Weapon of choice: Either a longsword or any two handed weapon (no shield when using longsword) Nicknames, Titles, or Endearments: ‘Tempest’ (courtesy of Varric), ‘The Herald of Andraste’ (duh), ‘Inquisitor’ (double duh), ‘Dragon’ (late game nickname from Varric due to a greater inclination to his draconic nature), ‘Dragon of the Dread Wolf’ (referred to as this during Trespasser and Post Trespasser by both the Qunari and the Inquisition), “Ma’isenatha’ (Translates to: My dragon. Solas’s main endearment for Fane) Romantic interest: Solas Closest companions: Solas, Varric, Sera, Cullen, Cole, Leliana Second closest companions: Iron Bull, Dorian, Vivienne, Josephine, Blackwall Least closest companion(s): Cassandra Family: Mhairi Lavellan (younger sister, First to the Keeper, stays with Clan Lavellan until Fane establishes himself in Skyhold), Eloris Lavellan (mother, Hunter, deceased), Arsas Lavellan (father, First before Mhairi, current whereabouts unknown)

Main Physical Characteristics:

Hair color: Snow white. (short, choppy, generally never tame)

Eye color: Golden emerald (reminiscent of a gemstone when it catches certain lighting; forest green in darkness, pale yellow in intense lighting, mossy with flecks of amber in firelight)

Complexion: Pale ivory (smattering of freckles along his cheeks and nose)

Vallaslin: Sylaise (faded forest green, full version)

Height: 6’1 (taller than most elves, ranging close to a human’s height)

Clothing of choice: Fane generally wears darker colors, avoiding white or pastels. Favors the Great Bear hide for leather, Dragonbone, Obsidian, or Everite for plating, and either Everknit wool or Highever weave for trimming or internal covering. As for casual, he wears clothing with slight Dalish inspiration, but normally forgoes anything to do with elves or the Dalish (only wearing the leather wrappings for the most part and a pendant his sister gifted him shortly after the explosion at the Conclave). Opts to wear boots rather than go barefoot, and constantly keeps a shortsword or dagger attached to his hip, even in Skyhold or an Inquisition camp. During Trespasser, when facing the Inquisition, Fane wears an ebony dragon inspired mask to hide his identity, as well as ebony and ivory based armor that encompasses his association with both the Dread Wolf and his ancient heritage.

Physique: Fane has a more muscular physique. He’s more broad where the Dalish are more lithe and willowy. (Partly from his training as a warrior and partly from his draconic nature) Entire body is littered in patch like scars from years of physical and mental abuse from his father.

Personality:

Demeanor: Brusque, pragmatic, sacrifice the few to save the many attitude, easily angered, stoic when ‘content’, has to be prompted to give his opinion on a matter regarding the Inquisition, shows distaste or disgust through scoffs, growls, or snarls. Only softens around his sister, Mhairi, but that later extends to Solas and other members of the Inquisition who he is close to. Rarely smiles, laughs, or cries. Turns a blind eye to most matters that don’t actively interest him or show any benefit to him personally. Stands with his arms crossed or with a thumb looped into his sword belt, gripping either sleeves or the metal with anxious energy.

Religion: Does not believe in his people’s gods, seeing them as trivial tales to placate a need for validation. Detests the Chantry with his entire being. Constantly denies that he’s the Herald, even when among guests of distinction or among a crowd. Has no strong feelings about mages or templars, deeming each faction as ‘a worthless usage of time’

Hobbies: Crafting armor and weapons, woodworking, poetry, long walks in the forest or mountains, hunting, animal watching

Likes: Cold environments (Emprise du Lion, Frostback Mountains, areas surrounding Skyhold), various types of alcohol (usually is the idiot who tries the bottles they find in the wilderness), music (he enjoys when Maryden sings in the tavern, though he’d never admit it), reading about different places and their history (again, doesn’t admit his interest despite most seeing him as prejudice), hearing his name (Fane hates the titles forced on him), solitude, stargazing, watching the sunset or sunrise, training, chocolate and anything made with chocolate (cakes, cookies, pastries, drinks), people who respect boundaries, the moon, snow.

Dislikes: Hot environments (Western Approach, Arbor Wilds, Hissing Wastes), Orlais, those who disrespect nature, poachers, expansion (armies or countries vying for land), politics, the Chantry, elves, the Dalish, ignorance, blind willfulness, the Qun, pestering (asking after his past, family, or other personal information), soft beds (generally sleeps on the floor), disorder, unnatural events that are not spurred on by nature or raw means, being unable to see a person’s face (he hates the masks in the Winter Palace), others willingly dying for him or a cause they don’t fully understand beyond “Because it’s the right thing to do!”, underground (Deep Roads, specifically), slavery, being touched, the color grey, flirting, complete silence.

General phrases: “Disgusting.” (used towards matters he finds wasteful or ridiculous, sometimes used fondly depending on the person), “Sorry if that’s inconvenient for you.” (used in a derisive tone when someone shows disapproval towards his actions or words), “Are you done staring? Good. Get on with it.” (used any time upon meeting someone new, most people gawk at Fane’s height and features), “Quit wasting my time.” (used for people or nobles who want something from him), “I don’t care.” (general answer towards most things), “Why am I here?” (again, a question used for most situations), “Shove off, human/dwarf/elf/Qunari.” (general insult or threat) Rarely uses elven, only to swear or cover up a certain bit of information (during Trespasser, he uses simplistic, but forgotten terms for codes)

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sahbibabe · 5 years ago

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Hello, hope your doing well! I love your writing it's really good! Can I request a soulmate Au for Sekiro/wolf x reader, no.24 in a series format please?? 😊😅 I feel like sekiro doesn't get enough love Lol!

YES. YES. YES. Here you go~! I loved writing this. The timeline is extended more than it is in the game because it took me more than a month to beat the whole game and I doubt it takes just one day to go everywhere that Wolf did in that time.

Also, I have really strong feelings about the whole toxic 'family' relationship between Owl and Wolf. It makes me angry and pretty salty. It just came out in this.

Enjoy! ♡

"LORD KURO HAS EXPRESSED his desire to meet you." Emma sat across from you on a tatami mat, carefully pouring an herbal tea into two small cups. The glare of the sun, filtering through the open window where a nightjar stood guard, revealed dozens of sparkling gray strands in her hair, attesting to the sudden stress─and worry─that she had been confiding to you for the past couple or so weeks: that Lord Isshin grew steadily worse in condition. "He remembers you only vaguely and wishes to reacquaint himself… Should you wish, Lady [Name]."

That was your title: Lady. Not washwoman, servant, maid, cook, or soldier; it was Lady. You had been elevated to that status on account of your military prowess long before Kuro had been revealed to be the Dragon's Heritage, but you had made it a point to be there when his mother, tragically, could not. Not after the fire.

Kuro could have called you many things, if you had lingered in his life. He could have called you his aunt, his friend, or even his advisor, if he wanted. But he reminded you too much of your sister, his mother, and so you couldn't make yourself stay. It would be torture for him to see you, a twin reflection of his mother, as much as it would pain you to see him, a perfect resemblance of both father and mother. You had divested your abode─a small attachment towards the Serpent's Shrine, guarded by the sword wielding monkeys who favored your presence─of mirrors since then, unable to look at your own face.

"If that's what he wants," you replied carefully, watching the shining beacon of your soulmate's danger meter rise steadily over the kanji for 'safe', 'threat', and jump right up to 'lethal'. You had watched this phenomena happen for years now, except for a brief period after the fire, but you couldn't say who it belonged to. There were plenty soldiers who risked their lives every day, but none of them had managed to cheat death so often as yours. "I don't believe he'll be safe in Ashina, not with the Dragon's Heritage."

"You are correct." Emma set the tea pot down and offered you a cup. You took it from her one handed, preferring to warm your other hand in your lap. She took no offense, used to your daily problems with the chill. "Lord Kuro has already been taken by Lord Genichiro once. I do not doubt he would try once again. And there are others, a particular shinobi, whose motives are a mystery to me, that I don't trust."

"You speak of Owl. Not… Wolf." You hesitated to call Kuro's loyal shinobi by that name. While it was common to do so, just like the names Orangutan and Kingfisher, you had difficulty equating such loyalty to a shinobi who most definitely would reject the Iron Code if given the chance. The meter dropped down to 'safe' again, and that knot in your throat lessened just a bit. "Am I right?"

"Yes. He has been absent in all of this, and it's too suspicious for him to be so distant in the middle of such strife. With the ministry rallying, it's only a matter of time before things go from bad to worse. Which is why, if something happens to Wolf, as it did during the fire, I would like for you to be there to protect Lord Kuro."

You were still young, still in your prime. You hadn't counted in many years, but you had to guess you were thirty five at the most, your sister being thirty when she passed. You were almost close to not being a spring chicken anymore. "If that is what you wish, my friend."

Your journey to Ashina Castle was a short, but boring one. The soldiers bowed to you as you passed, putting up no sort of issue, glimpsing the family crest you wore attached to your obi. You had decided on a neutral colored yukata, designed for winter, and a thin haori to go over it and block out the cool air. Wearing a kimono would just be difficult at this point.

When you made it to the tower lookout, you were greeted─surprisingly─by Kuro himself. Emma had told you that he rarely left the archives now that Genichiro was out on the loose, run rampant by the Rejuvenating Sediment, so it was a bit of a shock considering what you had been told. You realized that he had been watching you leap across the rooftops, too lazy to take the proper way, with a nightjar at your side to keep you from falling to your death.

By his side, hand on a katana that had been named Kusabimaru, stood Wolf. You knew, almost instantly, that he was the one who had been causing your meter to skyrocket at various times of the day and fluctuate wildly. It was almost like a seventh sense, drawing you to him even though you didn't take a step in his direction. By looking at his face, the soulmate pull had been overrode by the desire to protect Kuro, and you found that admirable.

So you looked away, those dark eyes still trained on you guardedly, and faced Kuro once more. He looked more and more like his parents as he aged, so much so that it was almost painful to look at him.

He seemed to be having similar thoughts, eyebrows creased just slightly.

"Lord Kuro," you greeted him, bowing slightly at the waist. That was where you differentiated from your sister; your voices were very different. Where your sister held a stern, throaty voice, yours was very soft and quiet, but held a hard edge that had Wolf on alert. "It's nice to see you again."

"Lady [Name]." Kuro stepped forward, Wolf in his shadow. He reached out, hesitantly, but propriety stopped him from touching you. "I…"

You smiled and kneeled down just slightly, careful not to dirty your yukata, and took his hands in yours. "It's alright. I know I look a lot like her. It's hard, isn't it?"

He didn't say a word, but you could see it in his eyes that it did. You squeezed his hands and stood back to your full height, allowing his fingers to slip from yours. He was still so tiny.

"Let us go inside. The birds have ears, here," you urged cautiously. Wolf seemed to realize what you were talking about and his eyebrows lowered suspiciously; typical.

For the next few days, you relearned how to deal with children burdened with an enormous task. Sometimes, Kuro just wanted to be normal and have a normal life, which you understood. The life of the Dragon's Heritage did not come peacefully or cheaply; it was dangerous, rife with struggle. It was why, he told you over tea while Wolf was gone, that he wanted to end it.

And you, like Emma, didn't want that to happen.

You also, somehow, figured out that Wolf knew what you were to him, too. He never said much of anything at all to you, perhaps because of your relation to Kuro, and kept his distance when he was present. You were certain that Owl had ruined him in more ways than one with the Iron Code; you saw the drawn muscles in his face, when you were too young to have a soulmate meter, the ribs underneath that threadbare yukata. You knew that Owl starved him, probably beat lessons into him, to make him a cheaper asset to deal with. That was how Owl worked.

It didn't stop you, or Kuro, from pressuring him to eat. Emma seemed to not want to cross that boundary of necessary acquaintance with him, which you were fine with. Kuro was good at coaxing him into eating, when he was even there, but all you had to do was set food in front of him and level him with an expectant stare, then turn to the window.

Words seemed to escape him, most of the time, with you─but body language seemed just fine. It was easier to read to him, you supposed, being a shinobi, because intent was laid bare unless you knew how to hide it. You did. You didn't see the point when all he wanted was to protect Kuro.

One night, while Kuro labored away over the books in the library, determined to find the source of a white flower, Wolf appeared in your quarters. He was severely wounded, the Dragon's Heritage unable to fix it quickly enough, and you darted towards him, catching him before he fell to the floor. He was worryingly light.

As you laid him on your bed and began to clean out his wounds as best you could, you had to wonder why he didn't go to Emma. The gourd he had was empty; shouldn't she have been able to refill it? You let the gourd fill up a little bit and then made him drink it, careful to let him swallow on his own time and not choke.

The flesh knitted before your eyes, as fast as lightning, but it was still fresh and raw, so you placed bandage wrappings over it. Whatever had attacked him had extremely long claws, as long as your body, and had gouged inch deep holes into his chest and back. They would scar, but he had plenty of other scars to be seen.

You situated his clothing back to the way it was, returned to the windowsill where you had been reading a scroll lent to you by Isshin, and waited.

Somehow, you had drifted off without noticing, the wooden scroll loose in your hand. You clenched it unconciously and opened your eyes, shocked to see the sun and not the moon. When you looked over, expecting to see Wolf still asleep, you were surprised to find him kneeling in front of you, head bowed, as if he had been waiting for you to wake up.

"Wolf?" You whispered, voice hoarse, sliding sideways to place your feet on the tatami mat. "How long have you been awake?"

"Not long." That could mean anything to him.

"I see. How do you feel?" You got to your feet and kneeled down, resting your hand on his shoulder. He never looked at you, though you felt the muscle in his shoulder twitch in response. "You should still be resting."

"I'll be fine. Thank you."

"Of course." You blinked, eyes wide. "I'm your soulmate, aren't I? I wouldn't just let you bleed out and die."

The telltale silence told you more than he could say.

He had expected you to let him die.

"Oh, Wolf," you sighed, urging him to his feet. He did so reluctantly, wary of your closeness but not fighting to push you away. "Owl ruined you more than I can even begin to understand."

Again, he didn't speak, but he knew it was true.

You smiled sadly at him, then reached up and pulled the ribbon keeping your hair tied in a loose bun. You grabbed his hand and pressed it into his palm, closing his fingers around it with your own.

"There." You gently removed your hands; he opened his fist to stare at it. "Any time you feel any negative emotions, just look at that ribbon and remember what I told you. You can come here anytime you need me."

He never said anything else, just left out the window he had come in through. For the first time since you had met him, he looked marginally more relaxed, more reassured, as if the idea of returning to someone who explicitly desired his presence was a comforting one.

Over the next few months, Wolf never did pop in while you were awake, but he did leave little things for you to find when you awoke, like a small amount of rice from the Divine Child, a branch of gorgeous blossoms from the Fountainhead Palace, or even Lapis Lazuli, a precious stone that you had converted into a makeshift pendant.

Kuro eventually slipped up and called you his aunt, which you delighted in. Isshin called you over for sake and old war stories, which you both recalled with excitement and solemnity. Emma brought you to visit Orangutan, who took one look at you and found himself remembering you on the battlefield; she helped you give offerings to your sister and brother-in-law's graves.

But you knew that all of it was coming to an end.

Just days before, Wolf had returned with the Gracious Gift of Tears. He had met your sad stare with one of hard resolve, and you knew that it was almost time. With the everblossom in hand, he had told you his decision secretly.

He would die so that Kuro could live. And you had no issue with that; that was his life's purpose, the only purpose that Owl had given him that had benefited him. His love for Kuro was bright, innocent, and strong, even if he was oblivious that it was love.

You had shed a few tears, of course, but you knew that above all, Kuro had wanted a normal life. There had been nothing else to discuss.

That night, before Wolf was due to fight Genichiro one last time and─Kuro would tell you afterwards, when the sun had risen, Isshin as well─he had given you all he could offer a woman, and more, because after daybreak, the last immortal would be condemned.

You had awoken to sunlight, bare and satiated, sad with the knowledge that your soulmate was no more. The meter flickered out of existence as if it had never been there to begin with.

With Isshin and Wolf departed, there was no reason for you to remain in the rotting ruin of Ashina any longer. You gave Kuro your blessing to journey the world, as he had wished, and sent him off alongside Emma.

Three months later, you would realize that Wolf had left you a gift; something most precious and valuable, something you would love until the day you died, and forever after that.

A child.

When you gave birth, Emma was there to help you. Orangutan had even departed from his temple to stand guard outside and greet the new life that had entered the world.

It was a boy, Emma revealed with a small smile, and handed him to you. He looked nothing like you. With a faint dusting of black hair and dark eyes, he was every bit just like Wolf.

And somewhere, out in the distance, you heard the Divine Dragon begin to sing.

#sekiro #sekiro: shadows die twice #sekiro x reader

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theunvanquishedzims · 4 years ago

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Calming my post-election anxiety with sweet sweet logic

So Trump is a wannabe dictator with crazy screaming fans who are headed toward violent armed meltdowns. What’s to stop him from going full dictator and refusing to leave office?

I’m glad you asked!

You see, the major difference between wannabe dictators and actual dictators is ALLIES. Dictators are surrounded with tight security, aided by the military, cheered on by media that they control, and are either helped, encouraged, or just ignored by other countries with the power to stop them.

Trump has charged the Secret Service money for the privilege of protecting him and his family since day one. You remember the first year, when his wife and son refused to move to the White House so the Secret Service had to RENT FLOORS in TRUMP’S BUILDING to be close to them? And how his extended family went globetrotting and the Secret Service had to accompany them? And when Trump himself insisted on hosting people at his golf club, he made the Secret Service RENT GOLF CARTS from TRUMP’S CLUB to follow him while he went golfing?

The end result was that halfway through the first year of his presidency, the Secret Service could not pay their own wages. Because half their yearly budget had gone straight to Trump’s pockets. And that’s just financially. I think we all remember how the White House came down with Covid and Trump still insisted on Secret Service agents driving him around to wave at people. He has not been kind to the people who are sworn to protect him. These people have had a front-row seat to his circus since 2016. When the time comes from Trump to leave the White House and Biden to take over, I doubt they’ll betray the country out of loyalty to Trump. If anything, they’ll be the ones to drag him out.

As for the military, Trump insulted and fired four generals from his administration staff. He said on multiple occasions that soldiers who get captured or killed are suckers and losers. He refused to visit a cemetery to honor the dead because it was raining. He tries to pander to the military by massive increases in defense spending, but that money goes to capitalists who make weapons and war technology, not the soldiers or veterans. (He also hypocritically accused military officials of being in bed with those same companies.) In a poll of 1000 service members 50% said they disliked Trump. Overall, he doesn’t act like a leader, and the way he skirts responsibility (like taking charge during the pandemic) doesn’t appeal to a group that functions on trust in their leadership.

A proper dictator would have spent the last four years cozying up to his generals and making sure they knew the financial and social benefits of answering to him personally, not the office of the President. And while Trump did adhere to the adage “find a foreign foe” to unite people against, he badly misjudged what most US citizens consider “foreign.” He hasn’t found a villain that we would root for the military taking down, and the people he targets (Latinx, Blacks, immigrants, and people in countries our military has already devastated) are not a minority he can turn the majority of the country against, especially with how many of the former two serve in the military themselves. When the time comes for him to leave office, the military might be the first to cut ties with the wannabe Dictator-in-Chief.

Now, the media. They’ve been treating him like a joke candidate since day one, but after he was actually elected and took office they’ve started to take him more seriously. He’s gotten his catchphrase “fake news!” to catch on, but that doesn’t change the fact that under his administration news reporters have been harassed, illegally arrested, and generally poorly treated by Trump, especially if they’re women. He’s trashed talked everyone, with Fox News being the last bastion of semi-legitimate news that openly supports him (and their credibility has taken a big hit over it.)

Despite this support, in recently months Trump has been increasingly dumping on Fox, even throwing the mediator they provided for the debate under the bus, and risking alienating them in the process. If his supporters listen to him and start considering Fox part of Big Fake News, it might possibly be the death of Fox, leaving most of his supporters adrift and isolated from their source of right-wing news, and sending the more extreme fringes into the arms of conspiracy theory websites. (I’m not saying this is bad, being cut off from Fox and its toxic stream of “information” can actually help rehabilitate the right.)

Honestly, I don’t think Trump ever had a shot at controlling the media like a dictator would, mainly because of social media. He’s in love with attention, and Twitter has provided him a nonstop stream of it. No other President has threatened, insulted, promoted, or hinted at war over social media the way Trump has, and he gets so much direct feedback and interaction with the public and the world as a result. He could have leveraged that by buying the company (through a shell corporation, obviously) and setting it up as The One True Source of Information, manipulating public perception of him and his administration by keeping a tight grip on what information he let out.

But he’s just. Not. That. Clever. He blurts out everything that crosses his mind, leaving his administration to play clean-up on his messes, put out fires he keeps pouring gasoline on, and claim he’s joking when everyone knows he’s testing the limits on what he can get away with saying. He took advantage of the direct communication with legions of supporters, but seemed to forget that his detractors had equal access and would absolutely call him out on things he definitely said, it’s right there on his Twitter account, they have the Tweet pulled up on their phone right now. Instead of operating a single state-run media outlet while crushing all free press and limiting internet access like other dictators, he’s mooned the world’s cameras and acted surprised when they put his saggy butt on tv. “Fake news! That’s not my butt! THIS is my butt! [image attached]” he tweets. “Twitter is so biased, they haven’t censored any of Sleepy Joe’s photos!” he later tweets.

And lastly. The key to a dictatorship’s success. To prevent outside intervention, the country a dictator runs must be unimportant and ignored, wealthy and well-connected, or scary and well-armed. Minor warlords are the former, Putin is the latter, Trump might have weaseled his way into being the middle. But at the end of the day, America’s whole thing is new leadership every four years. It was revolutionary to replace a lineage of kings and queens stretching generations with a non-royal elected leader who only held office for four to eight years, but we’ve stuck to that for 200 years and everyone’s used to it by now. It would take a charismatic and powerful person to move the American people towards abolishing such a basic tenant of our democracy, and despite the mob mentality that lead a small portion of his supporters to chant “sixteen more years!” in the heat of the moment, Trump is not that charismatic. He’s not that smart. He’s not that well-connected. He’s not that savvy. He’s not that good at politics. And he’s not that powerful.

(I was going to say something here about him being the laughingstock of the world’s leaders and shouldn’t expect any outsiders to help him stay in power, especially since his tax returns came out and showed he owes people a ton of money that he doesn’t have, but this post is long enough so let’s cut to the chase.)

Trump is a greedy, small-minded man that has clung to power by appealing to the worst in humanity and scraping away at the best. But he hasn’t succeeded. He’s a sad old man who will say anything to be loved, and I don’t think he even knows what love is, so he’ll settle for attention. He doesn’t have money, he doesn’t have an army, and the only allies he has are using him as a political pawn to further their own interests. They will cut him loose the minute he stops being useful.

Now, the bad part: crazy screaming fans. Fringe groups on the internet. Mobs chanting “sixteen more years!” Men with guns and bombs and kidnapping plots, men trying to get into voting centers to destroy the election, men driving trucks with black flags that say FUCK YOUR FEELINGS, TRUMP 2020 (available on Amazon for $11.99, I wish I was joking.) I have no idea how many people in this country genuinely love Trump. It is hopefully significantly less than voted for him. There are some big issues in this country that are make-or-break, and unfortunately by reason of running Republican Trump has aligned himself with some of them.

There are people who hate everything about Trump, but he put a pro-life judge on the Supreme Court so they’re voting for him. There are people who are uncomfortable with Trump, but they’ve forgiven their grandpa for saying worse at Thanksgiving dinner, so they’ll vote for him. There are people who don’t know a single thing about Donald Trump, but they see (Republican) next to his name on the ballot, so they vote for him. None of that means those people will side with him if he tries to make a move towards dictatorship.

Now there are people who love Trump. They’ve heard and seen the vile things he’s said and done, and are genuinely okay with it, because they are full of hate and rage and want to change the world to put themselves on top. I do not know how many of these people there are. I know they exist all over the country, not just in red states. I know some of them have guns and want a reason to use them, because they’ve been talking about it for decades. I don’t know if we can trust the police to side with us over them if fights start breaking out. (And I pray pray PRAY people de-escalate any fights, because monkey see monkey do, and one news report of a MAGA extremist shooting someone can inspire a hundred copycats can lead to full-on civil war like we've never seen.) I know we need to be careful the next few months, to take care of ourselves and watch out for the more vulnerable in our communities.

And above all, I know this: Trump is not going to keep this country. He got it through trickery and deceit and foreign influence and national indifference and people not taking him seriously. We’ve learned. We’ve grown. We’re taking him seriously now, and we will not let him take what we’ve already told him he can’t have. The election is over. He’s a loser. He’d better start packing his bags. Because he’s not staying in office.

#politics #long post #best case scenario: he tries to rehabilitate his rep as a man of the people #by pushing massive amounts of money into direct stimulus #funds it by cutting the military budget in half #everyone gets several thousand dollars next month #he screws over every white collar criminal he ever had help from #exposes a lot of corruption and behind-the-scenes stuff #and pardons every convict in jail on weed charges #''he really drained the swamp'' everyone says admiringly #''only took him four years and an impeachment''#then he gets convicted of crimes and runs away to Russia #where he's found dead in a snowbank #because PUTIN IS NOT YOUR FRIEND YOU USELESS LUMP #Melina inherits everything and never sets foot in the US again #the Obamas send her a gift basket every Christmas #at least one of his kids runs for president #and gets laughed out of the party #the kid in question might be Ivanka who gets a concerning amount of radfem votes #it's definitely not Barron though #(watch me eat those words in 21 years)

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littledrummeraussie · 5 years ago

Text

my sweet escape.

Word count: 3400+ Author’s Note: I fell in a hole and I couldn’t get out. Haven’t written anything in a long while. Then Ashton happened. So now I’m just enjoying the ride.

masterlist.

Mornings like this didn’t happen often. They were few and far between, and usually lasted only 3 days – if we were lucky. There was always scheduling, messages back and forth, phone calls, notes left on bedside tables, if one of us had to leave sooner than we intended.

And yet – we ended up in the same place every single time he arrived in New York City.

My eyes were still closed when I’ve felt Ashton start stirring behind me, pushing his chest against my back, sneaking a long arm around me to pull me closer. He mumbled something as he pushed his face into my neck, then taking a deep breath as he nuzzled my hair. Moments like this made me wish these were our regular mornings.

”You were saying?” I whispered, not wanting to break the silence that engulfed us in the perfect little bubble that was our hotel room.

”Feels nice,” he hummed with a content little sigh. ”Smells nice, too.”

I slowly opened my eyes, blinking against the light that filtered through the gap between the still drawn curtains. Time didn’t exist when we were like this, tangled up and close to each other; at least, that’s what we’ve pretended.

My eyes found the hand that was resting on my waist, the knuckles slightly bruised from drumming every night. The moon tattoos were half-hidden by the sheets, the red inking a nice contrast against the white bedding. I’ve followed the shape of his arm, the curve of his shoulder as I’ve slowly turned around, eyes landing on the hollow of his neck for a moment, then shifting to the brown curls falling over his forehead.

The last time we were here Ashton still had red hair, the color slowly fading to pink. We’ve spent the better part of the night cooped up in the bathroom, the red dye slowly working its magic as we’ve sat on the tiled floor crossed-leg, knees bumping together, fingers tracing patterns on arms and palms. It was the longest 45 minutes of our lives, and Ash gave up on drying his hair afterwards, the water running down his neck painting the pillows different shades of red and pink. He paid a few extra dollars for the ruined pillows when he have left.

I’ve wrapped a stray curl around my finger, brushing it behind his ear. A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, eyelashes fluttering as he once again nuzzled closer, making it clear that he intends to stay like this for as long as he can. My fingers slid into his hair at the nape of his neck, stroking the tangled curls, and wondered if he will really go through with his plan, and next time it will be the black locks I will be tugging at when we spend the night together.

”You’re staring,” he said, opening one hazel eye.

”You’re beautiful,” I smiled back, tracing my finger down his jaw. He scrunched up his face, dimples appearing as he huffed at me.

”You always say that.”

”It’s always true.”

Ashton shook his head, but couldn’t help the smile on his face. He sneaked his arms around me, moving both us and the sheets around until we were pressed up close in our blanket cocoon. His forehead and nose were pressed against mine, lips hovering an inch above my lips, barely brushing them together.

The moment was broken by a faint buzzing coming from the small livingroom, soon to be followed by a quiet tune. Ashton sighed deeply, burying his face in my neck. The alarms set on our phones meant that we had only one hour left.

”I really don’t wanna go,” he said, pushing himself up, and rolling off of me.

”I guess you can’t make the others stay a little bit longer,” I half-asked, half-said as I wrapped the sheet around myself.

”We have already delayed the departure,” Ashton shrugged next to me.”They would understand, but we’re on a tight schedule. We really have to leave if we want to make it to Boston.”

”Tell me about schedules,” I sighed, sitting up next to him and reaching for his discarded shirt on the floor.

Ash watched me shaking the black shirt out, pulling it over my head, tugging at the sleeves and the hem until the fabric and his scent wrapped around me like a hug. Goodbyes and see-you-soons were the worst parts of it all – reality came back crashing down on us, dissolving the illusion we have built around us from dusk till dawn.

Long distance lovers? Friends with benefits? Simply fuck buddies? Even we didn’t know what we were. It started a few years ago, we’ve got to know each other because of a friend of a friend, and ended up in a hotel room for two days straight. We didn’t give much thought to it, we just liked each other enough to want to spend some time together. But it turned out to be much more than that. In those few hours, when we’ve shut the world out and switched off our phones, we felt like we could be really us.

The first time was followed by a second and a third, and after that it wasn’t even a question anymore to meet up whenever he came to New York. We’ve worked around our schedules, his shows, performances and interviews, booked into a hotel room, and spent as much time together as we could. Sometimes it was just a few hours. Other times he could manage a few days without one of the guys banging on the door to remind him of a flight they have to catch. Sometimes it was only passion – skin on skin, lips and teeth and nails, breathless laughs and sweaty bodies. Sometimes it was junk food and cuddles on the couch, sharing stories, being honest, letting go and crying, or just simply catching up on some much needed sleep.

Time passed, but no matter what we did, or where we were in our lives, we always ended up in a hotel room, sharing concerns, fears and kisses. It was our getaway, an escape from life, people and the constant buzzing of Ashton’s phone. The guys learned not to bother him in those hours – they let their drummer take some time off, as long as he arrived at the time and place they’ve agreed upon. He was never late; which also meant he could never stay long enough.

Ashton still watched me as I’ve got out of bed, stepped to the window, and pulled the curtains back to look outside. I could see the tour bus not far away, with a few fans lingering around the hotel’s front, hoping they could catch their favourites for a few minutes. The band usually stayed on their bus during the tour, but they made an exception when they came to the City – nobody knew the real reason. Ashton and I always made sure to come and go at different times – long before the other arrived, or hours after they’ve left. We didn’t need the fans to connect us to each other. Wasn’t that the reason why Ash liked our little meetings? No strings attached, no questions asked by the fans, and the more time he could focus on his music with the guys.

I’ve turned around just in time to watch him get out of bed, rummaging through his bag for clean clothes, collecting the ones lying on the floor and packing them away. He eyed the shirt I was wearing, and I knew he was calculating his options – take it back or leave it? My stomach flipped: how many more shirts will he leave in hotel rooms? How many other girls were out there, waiting for his name to pop up on their phone screen, waiting to be his getaways for the night?

”Hey, are you okay?” he asked, taking a few steps towards me, and closing the distance between us. He still wasn’t wearing a shirt.

”Do I need to give this back?” I asked him in return, playing with the hem of the shirt, wrinkling it between my fingers.

”Of course not. Why?” he tried to stop my hand, but I pulled away.

”I don’t know… so you have enough to leave around with all your other girlfriends,” I’ve shrugged, casting a gaze over my shoulder to look at the fans still waiting outside the hotel.

”What the fuck are you talking about?” he frowned, grabbing my elbow to bring my attention back to him. ”Hey, Y/N!”

”It’s okay,” I gave him a forced smile, casting my eyes away once again. ”I– I would understand. I know I can’t expect you to have only me around. I mean, your life is crazy enough, and I– it’s okay if there are other girls. We’ve never talked about being exclusive, and you have every right to fool around with other girlfriends wherever you go.”

”You’re not making any sense,” Ashton shook his head while letting go of me. ”Why are you like this? Did something happen?”

When I’ve failed to answer, he huffed out some curse words, ran his fingers through his hair, and turned around. He was getting desperate and anxious, I could see it in the way his shoulders tensed up, how he was walking the length of the carpet back and forth. He finally turned back when he reached the other side of the room, fingers laced together behind his neck, eyes searching the ceiling. He let out a deep breath, held his arms out, then dropped them at his side.

”I can’t do this,” he looked at me. ”I’m leaving in 40, and I– whatever.”

Ashton looked defeated, when I didn’t try to speak up. He furiously grabbed the first shirt from his bag, and left to the bathroom to get ready. I hated seeing him like this; I hated that I made him feel like this. Was I even right? Or did I just make it all up in my head? I’ve never seen him hurt like this before, like I’ve questioned the most basic trait that made him him. That made him Ashton.

I slowly stepped towards the bathroom, listening to the running water. The door was ajar, so I pushed it open inch by inch. He was just finising up washing his face, and reaching for the comb resting on the shelf when our eyes met in the mirror. His hazel eyes were full of hurt and questions, and it took everything in me not to look away once again. He deserved an explanation – and if I couldn’t do it eye-to-eye, the least he deserved was this way; maybe the mirror made it easier to come clean about what was going on. He didn’t ask any questions, even though I knew he wanted to. He just looked away again, when I continued to stand there silently.

”Did you know…” I’ve started quietly, then cleared my throat, and continued a little louder. ”Did you know that I’m always counting the days in between our meetings? How many days have gone by, how much do I have to sleep before I see you again…”

He was leaning against the sink, still not looking at me, but clearly listening to what I wanted to say. My eyes were searching him, his posture, the way his muscles flexed, the dark inks paiting his skin. Did he know how special he was? How much he deserved? How much I loved him, and how that was breaking my heart?

”Every time you leave… every time you walk out of that door,” I leaned against the doorframe, casting my gaze down at the tiles. ”Every time you walk out of that door, I fear it’s the last time I’ll see you. That by the next time you come back to New York, you will have someone waiting for you back at home. Not just a… not just a friend, or whatever I am to you. But a real girlfriend. That between the now and the then you will meet someone who will be able to give you everything, and much, much more than I ever could. That you will find someone else to share your throughts and secrets with. That I will never be able to spend a few hours just with you to have a good cry, or to talk about the things that are bothering us…”

”Would that be so terrible?” Ashton asked finally, lifting his head to look back at me from the mirror. ”Finding someone? Both of us moving on, and finding people in our lives we care about?”

”I don’t want to lose what I have with you,” I met his gaze in the mirror. ”I don’t want to lose you. But every time we say goodbye, I fear it’s the last time. And I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Not just now.”

”You know, you could have been more honest with me,” he sighed, tapping the side of the sink with his fingers. ”I’ve thought that’s what we did with each other. Could have told me sooner.”

”I’m being honest now,” I shrugged one shoulder, trying to pretend that I didn’t know how much I’ve screwed this up.

Ashton sighed again, dipping his head for a moment, then turned around, and leaned back against the sink. We were silently watching each other, both barefoot, the few steps between us like miles. Then Ashton pushed himself away from the sink, coming closer until his toes brushed against mine. He towered over me, so I had to look up, up, up, till I could look into his eyes.

”Did you know that I’m also counting the days whenever I know we are coming here?” he finally asked, leaning a little bit closer, only stopping when our hips touched. ”That I’m willing to do all kinds of stupid things for the guys just so I get to spend a few more hours with you?”

He slowly moved a hand to my elbow, running his fingers down my arm until he touched my fingers, then interlocked them. I lightly squeezed his hand in return, waiting for him to continue.

”You’re afraid of losing me – but I’m just as afraid of losing you. How could I expect you to wait for me? I’m gone for months, there is no fixed date when I can say that I’ll be here. You have every right to leave my sorry ass behind, and find yourself a guy who is actually around.”

”Ash–”

”Please, just… just let me finish,” he sighed again. ”You’ve told me that you’re scared I will find someone else, but did you ever wonder why I’ve never really had a real girlfriend in the last few years? It’s because I didn’t need one – it’s because I had you. I knew you like me enough, but I wasn’t sure you would want to be a part of the crazy life I have. That you would be up to dealing with all the fans and people following you as well, asking questions about you. I’ve kept you a secret, because I’ve thought that’s what you wanted. I wanted to ask you so many times to be officially mine, but… it just never felt right. There was always something going on that kept me from doing it.”

His eyes were searching me as he once again leaned closer, resting his forehead against mine. My hands sneaked around him, resting on his hips, as Ashton’s moved up my arms, cupping my face in his large hands. We were so, so close. It was intimate. It was terrifying.

”There are three things in this life that I can’t live without, that I love more than anything else in this world,” he whispered, never taking his eyes off of me. ”My family. My band. And you. You kept me going so many times. You kept me sane when things were starting to get crazy. You might think you didn’t do anything, but you being here with me – it’s everything to me. Listening to me, keeping my secrets, letting me be who I really am. Giving me the option to get away, to have a place where I can escape and just breath. You are that to me.”

”Am I late with making this up to you?” I asked him, bringing my hands up to his face to mirror him.

”You could never be,” he shook his head, a barely there smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

I’ve pushed myself up a little on my tiptoes, and brushed my lips against his. It only took a second for Ashton to press his lips fully against mine and kiss me with all the passion, all the love and hurt he felt in that moment. He nudged his tongue against my lips, running it along mine, making it harder to breath. I felt dizzy, lost in his touch, his hands on my face, his body pressed against mine, his kiss deep and passionate. When he finally pulled away from me, we were both gasping for air.

”Move in with me,” whispered Ashton breathlessly. ”Come to LA and move in with me. I can’t leave you like this – not again, not anymore. Let’s stop pretending that we are okay with spending only a few days together, and start being honest. I know you want us to be together. And this way I can make sure you will never think about other girls wearing my shirts,” he added with cheeky smile, while tugging at the hem of the shirt I was wearing.

”I’m so stupid,” I said, burying my face in his neck.

”Yes, you are,” he agreed.

”Fuck you,” I muttered against his chest, for which he grabbed my hips and pulled me closer.

”I much prefer doing that to you,” he kissed my temple, his lips and teeth lingering against my ear, giving me little nibbles and kisses.

We were running out of time, yet we stood in the bathroom door, tangled up in a hug and hundreds of kisses. Then the moment came, and we needed to pull away from each other. Ashton finished up getting ready, packing away everything from the hotel room he left around in the previous days. He set down next to me on the bed as he tied the laces on his shoes, giving a squeez to my knee when he was done. Then he reached into his pocket, and pulled out a shiny silver key.

”Are you sure about this?” I asked him, as he put the key in my open palm, and closed both of our hands around it.

”I’m sure about you,” he kissed my lips, and then my hands. ”If you feel like this is too much, or too soon, you can take all the time you need to think it through. But if you feel like you want this as much as I do, then you can just pack your life up in here, and move in. I wouldn’t mind coming back from tour to my favourite girlfriend.”

”You know it’s not that easy,” I smiled at him, reaching for his hand, holding onto it. ”But I want to give us this chance.”

”I would really love that,” Ashton smiled back at me, barely fighting off his toothy grin.

There was a loud bang on the door the same time as Ashton’s alarm went off. It was followed by two more bangs, the guys taking turns in reminding him that it was time to leave for the next stop of their tour. Ashton grabbed my hips and pushed me down on the bed, giving me one last kiss as he hovered above me.

”You know I’m just a phone call away. Or a message. Or a Snapchat,” he chuckled, rubbing his nose against mine.

”So am I,” I smiled back at him, tugging on his leather jacket. ”Go, get them, drummer boy! I already miss you.”

”I might just buy you a plane ticket to come after me,” he kissed my forehead, my nose, my lips. ”We could go grab some coffee or some lunch. You know, do boring coupley things. Act like normal people.”

”Sounds weird. I don’t know how to do that,” I pushed myself up on the bed as he grabbed his bag and hoisted it up on his shoulder.

”Yeah, neither do I,” he added with a smile, and squeezed my hand one last time. ”But we could work it out together.”

#ashton irwin x reader #ashton irwin fanfiction #fiction time #ashton irwin #afic: my sweet escape

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sauntered-vaguely-downward · 5 years ago

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A Place to Stay, Part 8. Geralt x Reader

So I’ve finally finished. I just wanna say thank you for being patient. To anyone who has been affected by covid-19, or lost loved ones like myself, just know you are not alone, and if you need someone to talk to, I am here for you.

The Storm was still raging on violently as they made their way to the stable. A particularly strong gust of wind had nearly knocked Y/N onto her arse, but Geralt caught her, holding her close to him as they pushed towards the door.

The door, which had seemed so heavy when Y/N had tried to open it flew open with ease when Gerlat pulled on its handle. Both Roach and Y/N’s horse seemed pleased to see the people before them, but more pleased at the food in the buckets they carried.

“That storm is showing no signs of getting any easier,” Y/N said quietly, taking one of the buckets to her horse.

“No,” Geralt hummed, tending to roach. He couldn’t say he was particularly disappointed in the storm's continuation. He had no desire to leave Y/N just yet.

He watched as she cared for her horse, soothing its worried groans as the storm continued to scream ahead. She was so gentle, so sweet as she spoke to it, brushing his head as she went. Geralt's heart felt as though it was swelling, and he didn’t know why. Everything about this woman made him feel whole, as though he had found where it was he was meant to be. He would give anything to have her at his side, whether that was in her small cottage, or even on his travels with him. As selfish as it sounded, Geralt wished that the storm would never end, so that she could remain near him for as long as possible.

“Are you okay?” She smiled, walking up to him. “You seemed a little bit away with the fairies just then,” she giggled, her hand reaching out and touching his arm, sending his heartbeat higher than was normal for even a witcher.

“Hmm, sorry I was just thinking,” he looked down at her, seeing the care in her eyes as she looked back at him. Not one single soul had looked at him in such a way before. “You truly are a beautiful woman Y/N, you know that?”

“That’s very kind of you Geralt,” she smiled, a blush dusting her cheeks making Geralt's heart sing. “Not so bad yourself,” she said softly. She wished she could say more, but was scared that if she did Geralt would discover that she was feeling some sort of way towards him. Changing the subject he smiled, ”We should be going back inside. You should rest, if the storm lifts tomorrow I’m sure you’ll be wanting to hit the road again.”

Geralt only nodded, a hint of disappointment rushing through him at the thought of leaving her, but she was right, he needed the coin, as much as he wanted to stay, he had to leave eventually.

With a sigh he held out his arm for her, allowing her to hold on as they made their way into her cosy house once more, to spend another evening reading and talking.

Geralt had stayed for another two nights before he left, the storm still lingering in the air as he made his leave. Each night had been much the same as the night before, they sat, oh so close together, her reading to him, eventually falling asleep beside him. He didn’t fight when she clung to him, taking her straight to her bed and allowing her to curl up beside him. Nothing more became of it, it was as innocent as could be, and yet, both longed for it to be more.

When the day came he made his leave both were unhappy, but both knew that it had to be done. She had waved him off with a bag full of food and a peck on the cheek, promising him a place to stay if ever he needed it, and he had promised he would return, saying only so he could continue the story they had been reading.

Y/N watched as he disappeared into the forest, her heart feeling as though it had been pulled through her chest and stamped upon. She shouldn’t have got attached, she had no reason to be, after all, he was a witcher, there was no chance he felt the same.

A few days had passed since Geralt had left Y/N, and each day he was away from her he felt as though the brightness of the world faded just a little. He had opted to stay in the town south of Y/N’s home, looking out to find any jobs. When his luck came up dry he went to the tavern, too concerned with the ache in his chest to care about the looks or insults thrown at him from the people inside.

Finding a snug table hidden away at the back of the tavern, he ordered an ale, and sat, staring into it, her image on his mind as he watched the dark liquid in the glass. Why was he feeling such a way for her? She was only a stranger, and yet she seemed to have ahold of his heart. He sat for hours, simply staring into the drink before him, just thinking, the images of her running wild in his mind.

“Oh ho! Look who it is!” Geralt would usually have grunted at the joyful tone that was approaching him, but he felt too lost to even bother. “Geralt! My old mate! Best friend there ever was! How are you?”

Geralt looked up to see Jaskier sliding into the chair across from his.

“Jaskier.”

“Where on earth have you been? I haven’t seen you in far too long. Was starting to worry about you,” Jaskier kept chatting away, accounting all the tales he had to tell Geralt, of new songs he had created, of women he had bed and of the husbands he had had to run from. Jaskier began to quiet as he realised Geralt had not looked up from his ale once, nor had he taken a sip since he had sat down. What really make Jaskier curious was how Geralt had yet to tell him to fuck off or shut up. “Somethings wrong, what happened?”

“I’m fine,” Geralt said in a voice that could perhaps even be considered soft.

“Clearly not,” Jaskier said, trying to not let the worry seep into his voice. Geralt looked down, he looked broken, he looked how Jaskier looked when another muse had left him… wait. “Is this about a woman?”

Geralt’s deafening silence followed but a quite hum was all the answer Jaskier needed.

“Geralt! Who is she? And what has she done that is making you look so blue,” Jaskier was careful to pry, knowing Geralt, if he wished, could throw him through the wall of the tavern.

“It’s not important Jaskier.”

“Well clearly it is. I’ve known you for a while and I’ve never seen you look so glum, and never seen you even care about a woman. She must of done something pretty horrific if she’s had this much affect on you.”

“She did not. She was the kindest woman I had ever had the pleasure of meeting.”

“Oh,” Jaskier was taken aback but Geralt, but could see the genuine pain in his chest as he spoke of her. “What was her name?”

“Y/N.”

“Did she pass?”

“No, she is very much still alive.”

“Oh, well then did she use your body and then leave you?”

“No, she was far to kind to do such a thing.”

“Then I’m all out of reasons why you could be sad about a woman. Death and her leaving me are the only reasons I’m usually sad about a woman,” Jaskier chuckled, flagging down the tavern owner to get him a drink. “What has got you so down for then?”

“I’m not too sure,” he wasn’t lying. Geralt couldn’t think why it was that his chest felt as though another moment without her it may explode, or why just the thought of the stranger in the woods brought the largest smile to his face. “Nothing happened between us, but… Jaskier, she was like nobody I have ever laid eyes upon. She took me in during the storm, there was just something about her, something that made me feel as though I was complete…” Geralt spoke of her for around half an hour, something which was unusual for a man of very little word such as himself.

Jaskier was hanging off every word until Geralt stopped speaking. Immediately Jaskier was practically face to face with Geralt, suddenly full of all the energy in the world.

“YOU ARE A MAD MAN!”

“Jaskier, sh,” Geralt hushed, feeling the looks of the tavern patrons towards him and the bard.

“There is a perfect woman out there in the woods, and you’re here sitting feeling sorry for yourself when you never even tried to kiss her?! You are not allowed to feel sorry for yourself until you at least make an effort to win her!”

“She is to pure to want someone like me.”

“And how would you know,” Jaskier scoffed. “I didn’t realise witchers also had the ability to read minds now, when did you learn that trick?”

“Shut up,” Geralt growled. “As much as I want for her to be in my arms it would be selfish of me to ask that of her, I can’t ask her to wait for me to return all the time if she allowed me to have her as mine, and what would I do when she doesn’t want me? All that would do is make me feel worse.”

“If she rejects your advance I give you full permission to punch me ten times, as a way to ease your pain,” Jaskier smiled a little smug, “but you can’t do that without at least going and giving it a shot.”

Geralt, as much as he did not wish to, had to agree with the bard.

Y/N sat in her small house, noticing for perhaps the first time in since she had moved in how empty it was. Yes, she had trinkets upon trinkets, books from ceiling to floor, but in the absence of the traveler who had much to her disappointment come and gone, her humble home suddenly felt far larger, and far emptier than it actually was.

What ever was wrong with her? He was a random man who had simply needed a place to stay, hy was his absence causing her such heartache. Nothing had come of their meeting, as much as she had wanted it to, she had no right to pine away for a man that was not hers.

In the days since his absence she tried her best to busy herself. She read her books, cooked and baked, and even took a trip on her horse to go and see her family in the town, anything to get his image out of her head.

Tonight was no different. As the night crossed the sky, bringing with it the summer of the moon and a blankets of stars, Y/N set to work making a more complicated meal than needed, something just to keep herself busy. She sung a little to herself, a song of the witcher she had heard while visiting her family, as she made quick work of the task at hand. She bathed as it cooked, and once in her soft night gown she served up just one plate of the meal, realising that she had made far more than needed.

“Maybe the horse will want some,” she sighed, sitting down at her table to enjoy the meal. Sipping on her wine she was once again reminded of the first meeting she had had with Geralt, how he sat on her chair, looking large enough to break it. A soft huff left her lips as she began to eat. The meal wasn’t all that nice, but it was food, so she ate, taking sips of her wine from time to time. For the first time she understood what was meant when people said “silence is deafening”.

Finishing off her meal, she cleaned her plate, and settled herself down in the her chair, wine still in hand. The silence continued, that was until a hard, rather enthusiastic knock, rattled on her door.

#geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x reader #geralt of rivier #witcher #the witcher #the witcher x reader #witcher x reader #reader #reader insert #witcher insert #witcher reader insert

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bonerp · 4 years ago

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WEREWOLVES, VEELA, VAMPIRES, OH MY!

underneath the cut, you will find the species lore for the different creatures on our site besides the standard witches, wizards, and muggles. if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask a member of staff!

BANSHEE

Banshees are typically female, but the odd male banshee has been known to exist These beings have normal human lifespans and get their gifts through genetics, as a banshee is born and cannot be made unless through birth. Being a banshee is something that may skip generations but is common at least once every three cycles of family. One must be of magical origin in order to become a Banshee.

In order to transition into a banshee, one has to experience a life and death experience. By bordering between life and death, the banshee is able to harness their abilities as a harbinger of death and come into their powers that lay dormant within their blood. A banshee continues with a regular human lifespan as a witch or wizard, even after their abilities surface. Banshees hear whispers from the other side. The Department of Mysteries have been toying with the Veil between Life and Death, attempting to use Banshee magic to communicate.

The messages from the other side can often lead the banshee to see hallucinations. This can often lead to a banshee believing that they might be going insane and hearing voices, especially if they have no previous knowledge of their background or family to guide them through the transition. Should a Banshee be overtaken by their abilities without guidance and understanding how to harness them, they may turn into the typical horror-version of Banshee's that everyone is familiar with: zombie like appearance and long hair that trails to the floor. Should a rare male Banshee succumb to darkness, they may transition into a Dementor.

Eventually, a banshee will be able to unleash a scream that will shatter glass near them. Their scream warns of imminent death, usually of someone they care for but occasionally of others they do not have a connection to. Their scream can also be harnessed and used as a weapon if one knows how, but this takes a bit of training and understanding of their abilities.

GHOST

A ghost is the transparent, three-dimensional imprint of a deceased witch or wizard, which continues to exist in the mortal world, inhabited by their soul. Muggles cannot come back as ghosts, and the wisest witches and wizards choose not to. It is those with 'unfinished business', whether in the form of fear, guilt, regrets or overt attachment to the material world who refuse to move on to the next dimension.

Having chosen a feeble simulacrum of mortal life, ghosts are limited in what they can experience. No physical pleasure remains to them, and their knowledge and outlook remains at the level it had attained during life, so that old resentments (for instance, at having an incompletely severed neck) continue to rankle after several centuries. For this reason, ghosts tend to be poor company, on the whole.

In passing through an object, they may impart a sensation of icy coldness. Ghosts are either capable of, or pretend to be capable of, almost being able to taste rotten food. They are also weightless and may fly in any direction. Ghosts cannot be destroyed. Ghosts may also be repelled by magical light, and therefore will retreat from a Wand-Lighting Charm. Ghosts can also be frightened and retreat from a Skurge Charm, which will also clean up any ectoplasm that they have precipitated.

Ghosts are known for gravitating around a specific area, often the location of their death. In such a case, it is said that the ghost "haunts" that location. They appear to have a particular connection to that location, as it is apparently possible to bind them there magically. It is possible that ghosts may be bound into a mirror, producing an item known as a haunted mirror. Ghosts are incapable of accessing their magic abilities that they previously had as a witch or wizard.

GIANT

Giants are a large species that tend to stick to their own tribes in the wild mountain ranges due to their large size and the strength associated with them. From time to time, humans sometimes fraternize with giants to produce half-giants.

A human might have a Giant mother and a wizard father or vice versa. However, the logistics of a normal-sized witch bearing a half-giant baby are difficult if not impossible to imagine, let alone the logistics of this sort of conception.

Half-giants are all extremely large height and build, but unlike pure Giants, they retain the magical abilities from their magical parentage. Most half-giants try to hide their true lineage due to the oppression and prejudice faced against them.

GOBLIN

Goblins are a highly intelligent race of small magical humanoid beings that have coexisted alongside witches and wizards since the dawn of time. Goblins converse in a language known as Gobbledegook, and are adept metalsmiths notable for their silverwork; they even mint coins for wizarding currency.

Goblins have their type of magic and can do magic without a wand. They are represented by the Goblin Liaison Office of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Ministry of Magic. Goblins are considered to be inferior by many wizards, who foolishly believe that the goblins are comfortable with that arrangement.

Goblins are extremely clever and over the years have dealt with wizard-kind effectively. They are still subservient in the minds of most wizards, but they have established themselves as a vital part of wizarding society. When the Death Eaters started rising in power, people feared the goblins would have joined Voldemort, as did other oppressed such as werewolves and giants. However, this did not happen, as Voldemort even murdered a Goblin family near Nottingham, leading to them standing at a neutral point.

Goblins can use magic without the aid of a wand, although they are insulted by the refusal of wizards to allow them to use wands. In turn, goblins conceal the secrets of their magic from wizards. Their weaponry and armour are nearly indestructible when created and have their kinds of magical properties. Some Goblins have been known to have children with witches and wizards, creating Half-Goblins. They primarily have access to their wizarding magic, though are often time looked down upon from both magical societies.

VAMPIRE

Vampires are individuals are another rare species within the magical world. These creatures feed on blood and while there are many stereotypes surrounding them, many are just that: stereotypical myths to scare children. Becoming a vampire is quite a complex process in which the intended vampire has to transition into their eternal death.

This transition requires the individual to be bitten by the vampire to the brink of death. From there, the individual has to replenish their own blood source by drinking the blood of the vampire who is turning them. The instant the individual is brought back from the brink of death, they begin their transition which typically takes an entire 24 hour period. In this state, they are highly weakened and quite volatile; they are blood frenzied and will attack anything to try and satiate their thirst.

As a vampire, they must drink blood. Most vampires drink from the blood of animals since it is illegal to feed off of a human due to the risks involved. There are also small treats invented, such as Blood Pops, which can curb a momentary craving (much like a cigarette will help a nicotine addict).

Vampires must feed on blood at least once every two to three days. Vampires are able to go in sunlight without any adverse effects. They have a slight allergic reaction to garlic, similar to breaking out on hives and swelling. Vampires are immortal, meaning that they will cease to age from the moment they are turned. You can kill a vampire, however, by cutting off it's head, staking them in the heart, or lighting them on fire. There is no magical cure for vampirism. Similar to werewolves, vampires have faced prejudice and horrific treatment by the wizarding world at large.

VEELA

Veela, while another species entirely, have the appearance of young and beautiful human women. Full blooded Veela are extremely rare, but they have been known to cross-breed with humans with little to no error. A full blooded Veela has an ethereal beauty that can entice and entangle the individuals around her, but when angered, can turn into a large Harpy-like creature that is able to shoot fireballs.

Veela that have married a human produce children that can sometimes have some of the traits of a Veela. As Veela are only female, the traits are only passed on to their children who are also female. Male children who are the offspring of a Veela bloodline will still have extremely good looks, but will not have access to any of the Veela abilities.

A half-Veela will have the similar ethereal beauty that can sometimes enchant those around her from time to time. The thinner the blood relation to the direct Veela, the weaker the magical ability. Someone who is 1/16th Veela would not be able to have the charm ability, but would most likely than not still have the natural beauty. Out of all the subspecies, Veela are the ones who are rarely oppressed.

WEREWOLF

Werewolves are an unusual species, one which lives as and remains human until transformation during the cycle of a full moon. Human beings are only able to become werewolves if bitten by one; lycanthropy, a magical illness that causes the supernatural turning, occurs exclusively through the contact of saliva and blood but does not pass through genetic code. Although a werewolf scratch cannot infect a human being, scratches will scar the skin permanently, just as bites do.

A werewolf's transformation happens once a month at the rising of the full moon; the human undergoes a vicious, painful shift that turns them into an aggressive and fearsome beast. Once transformed, the wolf-like creature loses all sense of its humanity, including conscience, control, and general awareness. If the werewolf cannot prey on animals nor humans, it often attacks itself. There is no cure for lycanthropy, but agonizing side-effects of the illness can be lessened by consistent dosages of Wolfsbane Potion.

In history, the werewolf has been heavily disdained by the wizarding world. An undeniable prejudice exists that not only creates a false and dangerous reputation for werewolves in society, but oppresses them as well. Many anti-werewolf legislative acts have surfaced over the years, increasing the general fear amidst the magical community.

#bonerp #hp rp #harry potter rp #harry potter roleplay #hp roleplay #updates

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gemssum · 4 years ago

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oh, to be alone with you

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Isabelle Flores / Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x OC / Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd x Reader

Rating: General Audiences — Fluff, Mild Hurt/Comfort

Isabelle and Dimitri finally have a calm moment alone within the chaos of the war.

Note: Though this is set up as a Canon x OC fic, there are no physical descriptions, so this could also pass as a Canon x Reader fic. Feel free to use a Chrome/Firefox extension like InteractiveFics to change “Isabelle” and the she/her pronouns to those of your choosing.

ao3 link

Isabelle hummed quietly as she rifled through her collection of tinctures, trying to find the exact ones she needed. Almost two weeks ago, Dimitri had been injured in a skirmish against Imperial troops. The wound wasn’t life-threatening, but still required cautious care and numerous stitches. Today, Dimitri asked her to remove them—though really any of the healers at the monastery could complete the task just as well.

Isabelle, of course, accepted. She enjoyed the calm routine that medical work brought and, in this case, the quiet intimacy it offered with Dimitri.

The importance of their war duties meant that they could hardly have a spare moment for themselves, let alone each other. The war had spread them both thin, the ever-present strategy meetings and wounded soldiers in need of care caused them to seek one another out in the small pockets of time they could manage. For the past moon they had just enough time for short conversations during mealtimes and fleeting kisses in empty monastery corridors. It was tiring, and they were both thankful for this moment of reprieve.

While she continued her search, Dimitri was patiently waiting on the edge of Isabelle’s bed, taking in the scenery of her small room. He had visited her quarters a handful of times prior to this, but none of the encounters had ever lasted for very long. As a result, he still wasn’t used to how much of her was present in the small space.

Dimitri’s eye wandered to the various herbs growing on the windowsill and drying on the walls, their presence making a pleasant floral scent flow throughout the room. The fragrance always stuck to Isabelle’s clothing and never failed to calm Dimitri whenever he came across it.

Slightly smiling to himself at the thought, his attention shifted to the plethora of medical and magical equipment she kept. Her mildly disorganized shelves were full of various potions and balms meant to cure almost any ailment imaginable. The sheer number of them was almost puzzling.

Does she really have the time to use all of them?

“Ah! Found it,” Isabelle’s soft exclamation broke Dimitri out of his roaming thoughts. His gaze followed her as she made her way over to him, arms full of supplies.

She set her collection on the nightstand and moved to stand between Dimitri’s legs, “Alright, let's take these off.”

Her hands reached for his shoulders and made quick work of removing Dimitri’s large cloak, letting it fall in a pool behind him. He followed her lead, his fingers working to undo the clasps attached to his gauntlets.

Despite his attempts to conceal the movement, his hands were slightly shaky as he attempted to loosen the buckles. He wasn’t yet accustomed to having someone so close and regarding him so gently, least of all Isabelle. Even after the time they’d shared since confessing, he was still a mess when it came to her.

He figured he always would be.

The pair continued to move in tandem to finish removing Dimitri’s armor. The small clinks of metal-on-metal as each piece hit the floor were the only sounds that filled the otherwise quiet room.

When the final piece of armor was shed, Isabelle broke the silence between them with slight hesitation in her voice, “Now... your sweater.” Before Dimitri could respond, she quickly busied herself with organizing and sanitizing her tools, trying to give him a semblance of privacy.

Isabelle’s suddenly apprehensive state was nonexistent in her usual procedures. Her method of care had always been straightforward, and she had seen far worse on other soldiers than a simple bare, unbloodied torso.

Excessive modesty was not a problem when it came to her medical work. However, this was completely new territory for the pair. She’d hardly seen Dimitri out of his armor, let alone without portions of clothing.

Nevertheless, it wasn’t his state of undress that her mind was preoccupied with.

Really, Isabelle was worried about the vulnerable position Dimitri placed himself in when he asked her to remove his stitches. Past encounters meant she was already privy to his hesitation in revealing his scars to her. She clearly recalled the time she’d offered to examine his eye a few moons prior. He hastily declined—something that seemed out of place at the time.

Eventually Dimitri confessed his, admittedly unfounded, fear of her being judgemental of the copious battle scars he possessed—the permanent reminders of his darkened past.

Despite Isabelle’s own collection of scars and most sincere reassurances, he had yet to reveal them to her. Until today.

In a different time, the situation would simply be a mildly embarrassing encounter, quickly brushed off after a few awkward moments and shy glances. Though of course, their shared experiences over the past six years had tarnished that lighthearted possibility.

As Isabelle busied herself with cleaning a small pair of surgical scissors, Dimitri timidly removed the thick black sweater he wore under his armor. He shivered as his skin was revealed to the cold air of the room, almost tempted to pull his cloak around himself while Isabelle worked. However, she pulled over her wooden desk chair and placed herself in front of him before he could decide.

Though they were directly facing one another, neither person dared to glance at their partner—unspoken words tense in the air between them.

After what felt like an eternity, but was really only a few seconds, Isabelle was the first to look up. Her eyes finally took in the myriad number of scars littering Dimitri’s upper body.

Some were more substantial than others, with the largest one being a jagged white streak across the left side of his ribs. Others, like the few crossing the backs of his hands, were extremely small, almost to the point of invisibility.

Dimitri sat still, expression neutral under Isabelle’s scrutinizing gaze. She gently grasped his scarred hand in her own, causing him to lock eyes with her.

Slowly reaching up with her free hand, she lightly held his cheek, her thumb running just under the cloth of his eyepatch. Dimitri relaxed into her touch as his visible eye closed. He let out a small, contented sigh as she continued to caress his cheek.

She almost didn’t ask, but a short wave of boldness prompted her to murmur, “You don’t have to show me, but can I see this too?”

A beat passed, and Dimitri removed his hand from hers. Isabelle’s skin prickled and she retracted her hand, fearing she’d overstepped.

Her panic immediately dissipated at the sight of Dimitri reaching up to untie the small piece of fabric. He slowly pulled the black patch away, finally revealing to her the damage beneath it.

The scar was an uneven red, running diagonally from just under Dimitri’s brow bone to below the outer corner of his eye. The eye itself was still intact, the only visible damage a hint of cloudiness across his iris.

Isabelle inched closer, hand still raised, almost as if asking permission. He reassured her, “It’s alright if you wish to touch it. It’s no longer painful.”

Again, she rested her hand against his cheek. His eyes slowly closed, letting her have an unobstructed view.

Using her thumb, she lightly grazed his eyelid. The scar was rough, and looked much larger now that she could see it in its entirety.

“How did you get this?” she probed, wary of breaking the moment between them. Dimitri sighed, his voice wavering, “It happened shortly after my escape from imprisonment. A small group of Imperial soldiers overtook me, and one of their lances caught my eye before I was able to dodge it.”

Isabelle moved to grasp both of his hands in her own, trying her best to soothe him. This was the most he’d ever discussed his past injuries with her, and while she wanted to hear more, his feelings were her current priority.

“Thank you,” she said warmly, lacing their fingers together.

Dimitri’s eyes opened in mild confusion, “You’re... thanking me?”

Isabelle smiled, “I am. I remember how uneasy you were before. So, thank you for trusting me.”

“I’ll always trust you,” He confessed, expression softening.

Her smile widened and she leaned forward, kissing Dimitri just under his right eye, “I’ll always trust you too.”

She hoped her action reflected what she couldn’t find the words to say. I love you. Even through the moments you regret.

“Now, are you ready for me to work on this?” she asked, referring to the bandage still covering his shoulder. Dimitri’s expression widened in mild surprise, taken out of the moment, “Ah, right,” he chuckled at his reaction, “Yes. I am.” Her hands untangled from his, and she slowly began removing the tape holding his bandage in place.

Isabelle worked calmly, the mood between her and Dimitri immediately soothed from their earlier apprehension. She fell easily into the well-practiced routine of sterilizing her hands and the wound, then smoothly cutting the small pieces of thread holding it together.

Using her tweezers, she slowly began to pull each thin stitch from Dimitri’s skin. His face pulled into a slight grimace at the foreign feeling.

“Sorry,” Isabelle murmured.

“It’s alright. It’s just… strange.”

“Do you think you’d ever want to learn how to do something like this?” she asked, trying to distract him. Dimitri chuckled, eyes still focused on Isabelle’s steady hands. “While I’ve gotten a bit better, I still do not think I’m suited for such delicate work,” he paused, “and besides... I like this.”

Under different circumstances his comment would seem strange, but she understood his underlying meaning: “I like seeing the focused look in your eye, the methodical movement of your hands,” and most importantly, “I like that I’ve changed.”

At the start of the war, when he was plagued by survivor’s guilt more than ever, Dimitri would continuously refuse treatment for even the most dire of battle wounds. He would neglect his health until he was on the brink of collapse, forced to begrudgingly seek healing. Over time he became more comfortable with asking for help, something she was definitely thankful for.

Isabelle smiled as she pulled out the final stitches, “I like this too.”

She continued to work in silence, gently cleaning the now unsutured wound with a small cloth. Dimitri intently watched her deft fingers as they placed small adhesive strips to ensure the gash’s closure.

“You’ll need to be careful during training for a little while longer. I still don’t want you to risk it reopening,” she reminded him as she placed a fresh bandage.

“I’ll do my best,” he teased, accustomed to her excessive worry for him.

She gave him an amused look of mock disapproval and handed him a set of bandages, “And change your dressings at least once a day. Come to me or one of the other healers if it reopens or begins to look infected.”

She stood, ready to put away her supplies, but a pair of arms stopped her. Dimitri’s grasp was lightly wrapped around her waist, loose enough to allow her to pull away if she wished. His face was hidden against her abdomen.

“I’ve missed you,” he mumbled into her dress.

She softened, her surprise quickly dissipated. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders as she hugged him more fully, kissing the crown of his head.

“I‘ve missed you too. But I’m here now, Dimitri.”

Dimitri tightened his hold, her earlier gesture making him bashful. “Would it be alright if I stayed with you tonight?” he asked. ”I wish to stay with you a little while longer.”

Isabelle reached down, gently turning his head to face her. She gazed softly down at him, amusement in her voice, “Is that even a question?”

He averted his eyes, “Well, I didn’t want to be presumptuous and—“ She cut him off, “Of course you can stay. You always have a place here, you know”

He sighed, content, and rested his cheek against her again, “Thank you.”

It was then that Dimitri shivered, still affected by the chill of the room. Slightly releasing her hold, Isabelle reached for Dimitri’s cape and draped it over his bare shoulders, “Here.”

Without missing a beat, he reached to wrap her in the cloak as well, cocooning them together in its warmth. The pair remained in their close embrace, each of them soothed by the others proximity.

“As much as I want to stay like this, I still need to clean up,” Isabelle said, voice muffled by Dimitri’s hair. Dimitri nestled further into her collarbone, reluctant to let her go.

After a moment he finally pulled away, letting Isabelle move to gather her supplies.

While she organized her impromptu workspace, Dimitri began removing the armor covering his lower body. They moved quickly, both of them impatient to be back in the other’s space.

Dimitri completed his task first, and had just enough time to wrap himself back in his cloak before Isabelle followed suit.

Finally finished, she made her way from her crowded shelves back to Dimitri’s waiting form. He started uncrossing his arms, ready to be back in their previous embrace.

Instead of meeting his invitation, she paused at the head of the bed frame and unlaced her boots. Dimitri gave her a mildly puzzled look as he watched her move past him and crawl onto the small bed.

Laying down behind him, she held out her arms, “I know it’s not time for bed yet, but will you still rest with me for a bit?”

He immediately turned to meet her waiting grasp and parroted her earlier words, “Is that even a question?”

“Very funny,” she happily retorted, pulling him in.

Dimitri laid his cape across them as a makeshift blanket, the fur-lined collar lightly tickling their skin.

They quickly found each other, their limbs tangling together as a side effect of the limited bed space and their mutual want to be as close as possible.

“I know I said this before but, I’ve missed you, Belle. I’ve missed being with you. Uninterrupted, I mean.”

Isabelle pushed an untamed strand of hair from his face. “You know I feel the same, of course. At least...” she paused, choosing her words carefully. “When this is over we’ll have time.”

Neither of them wanted to think of the real implications of ending the war, or if they would even be successful in doing so. For that moment they ignored thoughts of opposing forces and the sorely needed reconstruction awaiting them after victory.

They simply thought of having more moments like this.

“I want that. More than you know.”

Isabelle grinned and lightly pressed her lips against his, “I think I have an idea.”

The pair settled against their pillows, noses almost touching and eyes becoming lidded. Before they were completely pulled down by drowsiness, Dimitri broke the silence between them.

“And about my scars...”

Isabelle’s surprised gaze immediately met Dimitri’s calm one. She wasn’t expecting him to return to that subject so quickly.

“Not all of them are shameful,” he continued. Isabelle watched his face with rapt attention, waiting to hear more.

Dimitri smiled wistfully, “There’s one on my back that I received during the tragedy.” He skimmed his hand along her spine, grounding himself. “Even though that was one of the most awful times of my life, one good thing came from it.”

Isabelle reached up and ran her fingers through the hair at Dimitri’s nape, attempting to soothe him. He relaxed under her touch.

“That scar is the reminder of when I saved one of my dearest friends. It causes me to believe that maybe there’s a reason I’m here, whatever that reason may be.”

“I’m glad you’re here,” Isabelle said softly, sincerely.

Dimitri inched forward, gently kissing her, “After everything...I’m glad I’m here too.”

It means I get more time with you.

#Self Insert #self ship #self insert OC #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x reader #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x oc #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd x original character #self ship community #my writing #self ship fic #self ship fanfiction #i finally finished the dimitri fic i’ve been working on for the better half of a month fjsjd #this is the first fic i’ve completed in 8 years i hope y’all are proud of me lmao #also if ur reading this ur elite #thank u for reading my fic!!#romantic f/o: dimitri #fic

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lucastheunlucky · 4 years ago

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Admissions | Jared&Lucas

Location: National Park TWs: It soft, none Summary: Luke and Jared have a few things to confess, and Lucas, with the looming threat of Gotch always on his mind, wants to be sure Jared knows he’s thankful for having him in his life. @themidnightfarmer

Luke had told him not to worry, but like hell was Jared going to let himself miss the obvious trouble in the words ‘should something happen to me’ again. Not after how serious last time had been. The nymph sat on the outer gate of the farm and looked down the dirt track in the direction most people approached the place by car. Luke had said he’d pick him up after all. Jared sat with one arm crossed across his chest, and the other resting on top so that he could chew on his thumbnail nervously. He plastered on a smile and made a show of waving both arms when he spotted Luke coming however, no use in looking worried if he was going to find out anyway. Maybe it wasn’t so bad? Maybe he was thinking too much into the words like Luke had suggested he had. “So, socks or toes? Where are we at with shoes?” He grinned when the other was close enough to call out to.

When Jared got in, Lucas took them towards the National Park for some rock climbing. Jared’s easy going smile was a nice thing to see, but Luke’s stomach was in knots. Something had struck him hard when he got back from the full moon, his thoughts darker than usual and he knew the ghost that was attached to him was probably amping it up. She would soon be dealt with, hopefully. Lucas pointed to the few pairs of shoes on the floor at Jared’s feet. “One of those might fit you, I have a couple pairs now since some of my other friends like to come with me,” Lucas said easy, and tried not to make the mood heavy like the weight on his shoulders was. “You doing okay? Haven’t seen you online much. Was wondering if you decided the farm didn’t need wifi.”

Jared almost bonked his head on the dashboard leaning over to inspect the shoes at his feet. He crossed one leg over the other and started to untie his boots in preparation for trying on a pair. “You mean I’m not the first ever friend you've ever taken to climb? I’m hurt.” He said dramatically, throwing his wrist up against his forehead with a smirk and a small laugh. Luke asked about his last few weeks and Jared couldn’t hide his grimace. “It was a bit stressful, I won’t lie. But I think things are going to work out. I’m hoping at least that they’ll think about working out.” He supplied before managing to remove a boot and shifting to the other. “What about you bud? Out of town for something good?”

“No, you are not,” Lucas chuckled at the dramatics. The scent of Jared in the truck was extremely nice, and with the window down, it calmed Luke down a bit. Having worked himself up after he got back and realized that he was falling so easily into life. Not accounting for what that always meant for him. “Stressful? Shit. Life does that crap, if it rains it pours kinda deal sometimes. I’m glad it will or might work out for you, whatever it was. I’d say I’ll help you, but I’m not in any position for that right now.” Lucas clearly meant it, he never wanted his friends in trouble, and his shoulders seemed heavy while he held the wheel. “I was out of town for the full moon.” Lucas simply answered, but sighed. Jared would either get it or not. If he played it like he assumed Regan would, Luke would turn the convo around. “That’s part of what I wanted to talk to you about.”

The others words held a lot of weight and Jared abandoned his shoelaces in favour of looking at Lucas fully. The gears in Jareds head were turning, but he was slow on the uptake, it took him a few minutes to put together the tone of voice and the implication. And yet, even connecting the ‘full moon’ to some of the more supernatural stuff in town Jared still managed to get it completely wrong. “For a….ritual?” He asked hesitantly before trying to gauge how Luke reacted to that question. “You thought I’d be...angry?”

“What? No,” Luke’s brows wrinkled, not sure what that meant in anyway. Lucas wasn’t ashamed of being a werewolf in any way, if anything, he was quite proud and loud about it with those who knew, but he also always wanted to be sure people didn’t lose their minds over realizing supernatural things existed. It wasn’t entirely fair to them. But Lucas has definitely eaten a small handful of Jared’s ‘children’ and Luke couldn’t imagine Jared was stupid enough not to know they weren’t normal. He offered a sharp smile, and the faintest amber to his eyes. “I kinda know your children aren’t typical livestock, Jared. I didn’t put it together until I saw you again. But I was the one that broke into your farm. Didn’t realize anyone was there over the winter, seemed empty at the time, and I can’t entirely help a good hunt when the moon is up. I always set something up to keep me occupied, I’m quite dangerous.”

His initial guess was out the window as Luke denied one of the two choices Jared had in his head. Spellcaster was out. So werewolf it was. And maybe it should have been more shocking. But Jared had been finding out a lot about people he’d grown up with lately. This spring when he’d returned to the farm he’d not stopped being surprised by someone else from the past. But he did look at Luke with new eyes. Curious eyes of his own, and eyes wondering how long Jared had been blind to the facts. His stomach did jolt however at Luke’s admission. On one hand he was livid. Hunting. His kids. But on the other he had to rival that with logic. It was a choice to protect others. A choice that hurt him, a choice that went against what he believed in. But given what he protected and everything that had happened recently how could he be angry? A werewolf had an instinct to hunt, and wasn’t that just what he defended his kids from doing as well? Would he be a hypocrite? He was at war and every emotion flashed across his face unimpeded. “I… that’s… uh.” He didn’t know what road to take. He was torn.

“I know it’s a lot, which is why I wanted to do it in person.” Lucas could tell Jared was struggling and he really didn’t blame him. This kind of stuff could be overwhelming for anyone, and there was a piece of him that was waiting for Jared to tell him to ‘stop making shit up’. But Lucas wasn’t sure if he would be alive in the next month or so, and the low point he had yesterday over his mortality and being a liar to those he cares about-- the weight of knowing that those people he called friends, so many didn’t know the real him. It made it important. Jared had to know. Luke couldn’t face Gotch without saying his sorry. “I’m not human man. Never have been. I was born a wolf and it’s challenging during that time of the month, but it doesn’t entirely mean I’m not apologetic over it. So-- seriously, I’m sorry I killed your kids.” Lucas pulled into the parking lot just near where the trail was and turned the truck off. He leaned on the steering wheel, giving Jared more of his attention now that the road wasn’t important.

One shoe on, one shoe off. It was exactly his reality at that moment as well as where his mind was. “Oh.” Jared settled on as the truck engine ceased and the two of them could make full eye contact. “I didn’t know...you could be born a werewolf.” He admitted after a moment of quiet trying to comprehend it all. “Thought it was all-” he made a mouth with one hand and mimed biting his other arm with it, it was the movement of a child trying to speak before they could properly vocalise but it was what he managed finishing with a helpless shrug. “My kids...I… I suppose I can’t fault you for doing something you felt you had to. Something...natural to your kind? I’ll admit I don’t... “ He took a breath. “I mean if we’re coming clean I can go next?” Jared paused a moment before adding his own admission to the mix. “I’m not...well human either?”

Luke expected that. “We are kinda rare, but my entire family is. Makes for good training though, it’s why I can appear human so easily and why I can reassure you I won’t bother your barns again. I have excellent control, it’s why I left town. Found a different hunt.” Luke didn’t mention the harpy nest Miles and him took out. Jared attempting to justify Luke’s actions which clearly were hurtful to him, had Lucas’ heart aching. He reached out, squeezing his thigh, his expression soft and trying not to appear anything but worried about Jared’s feelings. “You don’t have to do that. To you, if it’s wrong, then it was. I’ll try to make it up to you.” When Jared presented the last bit Lucas could only smile. “I mean, I figured. It’s the only reason I’m even telling you anything. I don’t like to involve humans into supernatural business.”

“I… yeah, I’d ask you to leave my kids alone.” Jared was so much more closely connected to the charges on his farmland, he would still be distracted by the idea that somewhere else more of his charges were in danger, but truly that was pedantic and even he could agree with that. Werewolves were a part of this world, this natural world he quoted often. Not taking any of his direct charges was more than he could hope for. “…I’ll try to forgive Luke. I’ve been on a bit of a ride recently concerning my kids. I'm...trying to be more understanding that not everyone sees them like I do.” It still hurt, it would hurt. But Luke hadn’t known. So truly Jared felt it was unfair to blame him. He patted the hand on his leg and returned the smile as best as he could. “You’d be surprised at the humans that are running around town in the know. I’m a nymph though I’d say born that way as well if I uh...had technically been born? Bit of a weird one. Josie isn’t my actual twin, but we did arrive on the same day I suppose.”

“Did someone else hurt them? Is it normal for you to fight so much to keep them safe? I mean, I don’t know exactly what they are, but-- shit,” Lucas was more worried about someone coming for Jared if he was honest. Did he get threatened? He could be a soft guy, and Lucas didn’t want to see him hurt ever, which is why this was a conversation that was so hard. Lucas had to reel that overprotective energy real fast before he spiraled. “I see. I’m not overly familiar with the Fae, but I’m not ignorant about it. I’m a little relieved we could tell each other this. I didn’t want such a big secret between us--” Luke trailed off, not finishing the sentence about why. “Come on, let's get to the rock site,” Luke got out, grabbing gear from the back of the truck. “So tell me something interesting about your kind. You are safe on the farm right?”

“It’s not normal. I glamour them all to look normal, or as normal as I can manage if I know someone regular is coming around. The farm is so far down the track it’s not usually an issue. The only people who know are trusted. But recently I had someone come try to steal one. I uh fixed it though.” He’d shot the guy, taken him hostage and forced him to promise never to tell anyone or return. How did you tell a friend that? Jared glanced at Luke and figured he’d tell him at some point. The secrets were ending. Luke could be trusted completely with every little thing now he was confident in that. The nymph finished changing his shoes quickly and rounded the truck to help. “Interesting? OH I have horns bud! Like real horns, grew in while we were in school. Absolute nightmare at the time, but I think they’re pretty cool!” He tapped Luke on the arm and pointed into his hair, where 4 horns emerged from glamour for a moment. Focusing on the exciting parts of this revelation was a lot easier than dwelling on the other bits. “But hey what about you bud! Growing up werewolf and all?”

This all felt good, and the pressure on Luke’s chest from anxiety, didn’t ache as much. It would always be there, worried, and concerned over the people who wanted him in their lives. Lucas having been told by the worse of people that he couldn’t be loved. Luke was genuinely surprised by the horns and the falling of the magic or illusion keeping them hidden was really interesting. “You know, it’s you. It really suits your face. I am so naive with magic, fae or not. I always joke and say I’ll take on a dragon before attempting to get it.” Luke started walking them to a place he frequented, and kept him in decent shape all around. “Growing up werewolf,” Lucas huffed a laugh. “Shit, man. I dunno. I was a troublemaker. Hormones are no joke, and while dealing with first changes. It was awkward, sometimes I’d be somewhere and I could hear someone’s private conversation or the gym locker room would reek so badly I’d throw up. I was so confused when I was younger. All the time. I had all this information and couldn’t really tell anyone I knew it.”

Even with the comment Jared covered his horns back up again. It was safer this way, and it was always good practice. With so many more emotionally stressful situations happening since he had gotten home in spring he’d found that he needed all the practice he could get just in case he at some point had to cover a whole lot more than just himself. “I mean if dragons ever decide to become real I will be right behind you in wanting to meet one.” He joked. A childhood like that sounded on par with his own. Growing up was hard when you were something different. Especially when you felt like the only one that was. “But hey. Made it to be an adult despite it all.” Jared chirps, trying to bring the mood up. His elbow pops out to nudge Luke playfully as they walk the trail. “And no more secrets. Us not normies have to stick together now. The good the bad and the musty.”

Luke could leave it there. He jokingly pushed him back then took off running, taking them to where the rocks jutted from a hill and made for some fun low climbing or high bouldering. It would be so easy to let this be the moment Jared remembers, right? Let this memory overlay the issue with his farm, and maybe, if Lucas didn’t survive it, he could think on this and smile. Knowing Luke a little better, enough to make them feel closer. Gotch’s voice was heavy in his mind, saturated with words that made him second guess why he did things. Jared’s statement is stale on his tongue. He put his stuff down, and faced Jared proper. “Hey man, I have to tell you one more thing. If I am not around at any point, like-- if something happens, just know that I really appreciated this little bit of time, and just being friends as kids too. Having you-- period, making me smile and shit. I’m thankful.”

Jared grinned as Luke shoved him back before taking off after the man. It was fun to act like kids again with each other after so much time apart. LIke nothing had happened. Like they both hadn’t just admitted to lies and identities that they’d never shared with one another.

Luke had some heavy stuff on his mind but Jared was feeling light, his secret was held so close to his chest for so long. But lately, finding people to deem trustworthy was getting easier. And he was glad that him and Luke could be so open. This mood shifted rapidly however when Luke spoke again. “Is something going to happen?” He asked. Luke had said something similar over the phone and it had set off alarm bells in his mind, it was so similar to the talk Nell had tried to have with him before she’d left to potentially die getting her sister back. “Is something wrong?” He wasn’t going to let another moment like that pass in stupidity on his part by not picking up on it.

“Yeah man,” Lucas sighed, scratching the back of his head. Along his forehead and into his hairline a rounded scar from getting shot years ago, and the newest one up his forearm that almost cost him his arm and a long stay at the hospital. Not included, the multitude of other ones, all in age, all the same. Starbursts under his shirt, raised lines. “These scars aren’t there because of some fun. I’ve got a hunter problem, and it’s a personal vendetta and it’s not good. I have people looking out for me, but I’ve dealt with this guy since I was young. He won’t let me live peacefully for long. I’m waiting for the shoe to drop. I don’t know how it will end. It’s why I wanted to be honest with you. I just wanted you to have a good memory with me, just in case it goes badly this time.”

Climbing was completely forgotten by the nymph. Jared turned to look at Luke, his eyes flickering over the scars being gestured at before his face screwed up in worry. “I have loads of good memories with you.” Jared said trying once again to process a horrible truth coming to light about his friend. “And we’ll have more. Don’t be…..saying goodbye okay it makes it seem like you’ve given up. Don’t give up.” It came out a little like a plea. But Jared didn’t want to upset Luke, he just wanted to know Luke wasn’t planning on just resigning himself to what he thought was coming. “Can I do something? You could… we could do something?”

“I’m not giving up, that might be the problem though,” Lucas smiled softly, reassuring and knowing he has good memories with Jared meant a lot to him. He couldn’t always remember well with his old head injury, and the confirmation was pleasing to know. Even if it was all grim around it, and he could tell Jared didn’t like how it all sounded. Luke knew it felt like a goodbye, but in a bad way, it was a small one. Just in case. “In the past, I just let him have his way with me. Even a few months ago, he attacked me and put me in the hospital-- I let it happen. Just sat there man, stuck in my head. He’s fucked me up mentally, I’m a mess around him.” He admitted, and it was rancid on his tongue. He sighed. “I’d rather you not be anywhere near this man. He kills brutally, and without care. The pack will handle him. I know its heavy, I just was alone for so long, and now having you all back in my life, I was desperate for you to know how appreciative I was of having you. Friends don’t say that enough.”

Jared’s emotions always ran a little higher when it came to his friends. Especially considering Luke in particular had come back into his life all of a sudden and not that long ago. Jared had memories of them in school, but the newer ones, where they so easily fell back into friendship wanted his heart the most. So hearing his story was hard, hearing his struggle, and knowing that it was only today he was being granted the knowledge when Luke had clearly been struggling with it a long time. Jared never claimed to be a strong man, he always had and always would be soft to the core in situations like this, and it reflected in how glassy his eyes became. The tears stayed in his eyes but the blonde didn’t hesitate to wraps his arms around the other. “Friends don’t say that enough. You’re important Luke. Don’t hesitate to ask me for help, if I can I would want to know you’d ask.”

Lucas huffed, accepting the hug and wrapped his large wingspan around the other tightly. The unique scent of Jared was easily marked this close, and now knowing that he wasn’t human made their friendship feel even more special. Luke didn’t have to lie as much, and he wanted to learn more about Jared’s life that was just as hidden as his own. But these moments, small pockets of hours filled with friends, and laughter, and feeling like he was living-- made Lucas feel happy. That was what he was after more than anything. Lucas could see Jared’s watery expression, even if he was holding it in, it made a bubble of emotion hit his chest and he matched. “Don’t cry, I’ll win--” he promised softly, neither were in fact crying but close enough that it seemed like he was telling himself not too as well. The slightest of growls vibrating down his chest and in his lungs. “I’ll fucking win and I will ask you, alright?” Though Luke didn’t want to pull him anywhere near this, knowing the violence that wrapped around the hunter, he understood why Jared needed that reassurance. “So, phew, I feel so much better getting that off my chest. Emotions are crazy.” He tried to joke, letting go of Jared. “Ready for fun now? Or you have something you need to work through with me? I’m all ears if so, bro.”

Too many of Jared's friends were in danger, and so many of them had some sort of idea in their head that he wasn’t strong enough to hear it. And maybe he was soft, a little too emotional at times too, but he wanted to keep them safe. He wanted to keep Luke safe. No matter if he’d unknowingly been hunting his charges. How could he fault a werewolf for natural instinct, trying their best to not hurt people? He hadn’t known about Jared, and had already promised to leave the farm be now that he did know. Sniffling, the nymph pulled back from the hug and nodded his head a few times firmly. “Emotions are crazy.” Jared agreed before shaking his head. “I accidentally kidnapped someone once, but they’re fine now.” and with that, said quickly like ripping off a bandaid, all was out in the open. “Lets climb.”

#x: admissions #x: jared

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timebird84 · 5 years ago

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🎄 PotO Advent Calendar ‘19 🎄

First Christmas

by @i-penna

The storm over, clouds cleared. The black night sky a riot of stars with the moon taking center stage, shining her light on the waves crashing against the sand dunes, now covered in a heavy blanket of snow. The glass panes of the French doors are frosted at the corners, each door displays a wreath tied with red and green bows. Pine cones interspersed in bowls of pomegranates, apples and pears are placed strategically on the piano and end tables.

A small fir, at least by the measure Gustave was accustomed to, fits into one corner of the sitting room. The paper chain he creates from colored paper cut into strips and flour paste Erik made up for him, lies in a pile around him and will become part of the decoration for the tree.

December was always the happiest month for him – a month long celebration – his birthday falling on the Feast of St. Nicholas and then Christmas. Maman always insisted that each occasion be celebrated individually so his bounty was threefold to that of the others in the family.

Pere would argue she was spoiling him, but on this point, she held firm. Maman seldom insisted on anything with Pere – she would simply say yes and bite her lower lip – at least during those arguments Gustave was aware of. Peace was maintained at all costs. Mostly, if Pere sounded angry, Maman would pull him into their private rooms – the heavy wooden door closed firmly behind them.

One time he tried to listen, but his nanny caught him and scolded him wagging a finger at his nose. “Your pere would bring out the strap if he caught you and I would find myself on the street.”

“Maman would not allow it.”

“Do not be so sure, little man,” she sniffed. “The both of you might join me.”

Phantasma and the current preparation for the month of celebration is quite the opposite – as is his life in general now. Everything here is active, loud and busy. Even study and lessons are full of excitement.

Papa Y is always teaching him something – music, history, anatomy, architecture…ventriloquism – as if he is trying to cram a lifetime of his own learning into Gustave’s young years. Not that he minds, Papa Y is larger than life – magical and mysterious, but so loving towards him – he wants nothing more than to please this strange man who is his “real” father, as Maman calls him.

But what that means, still finds him curious. Pere was the only father he knew. Then they came to America and all of a sudden, there was a “real” father to contend with. A man with a deformity so severe he felt the need to wear a mask covering half his face.

This explained, in part, Gustave’s own deformity – not visible to the view of others, thanks to his hair… and the meaning of “real.” When he first saw Papa Y’s face, he was stunned and not just a little frightened, but more surprised than anything. He understood only too well the disfigurement.

Hours were spent looking in the mirror at the scalp behind his right ear – the ear itself partially attached to his head as if melted. The rose-colored blemish under his chin – again, not in plain sight – was examined regularly to see if it had gotten larger or smaller.

His fingers were almost too long for his hands – although he was finally growing into them. Tante Louisa used the expression for all manner of his development from overly large shirts and shoes suddenly become too small to his two new front teeth, oversized compared to “baby teeth” not yet loose enough to pull and trade to the tooth fairy.

Of all the family left behind in Paris, she was the only one he missed. The others were rude or simply cold to Maman – barely tolerating either of them. “Not of noble blood” were the whispers he heard when listening from behind the heavy curtains in the library or under the dining table with the heavy tapestry cloth reaching to the floor.

Bastard.

Opera whore. Probably not Raoul’s – talk of that Opera Ghost kidnapping her. Married him for his money and title. He was warned. Insists the boy is his. Always was a fool. The girl bewitched him.

Bastard.

That was the word they used to talk about him. It sounded so ugly. When he looked it up in the dictionary, he was confused. Maman and Pere were married and he was their son. There was no one he could ask – his instincts warned him that Pere would bring out the strap for sure if he used the word. Not that he ever brought out a strap – it was enough that Estelle said he would. Pere actually paid little attention to him.

Still, when he overheard Mme. Giry tell Mlle. Meg he was a bastard…that Mr. Y was his father, he wondered how could that be? He never even knew Mr. Y before they came to New York. Maman said he was an old friend. Pere would not speak of him at all. Whenever Maman said his name, Pere grew very angry – he would drink some whiskey. After a while, he would leave.

The whole business still confuses him – especially being told he has two fathers.

“Does the tree meet with your approval?” Erik asks, coming through the front door, carrying a large brown box.

“Oh, yes, it will be so pretty when we put all the decorations up.”

“That must be what these are,” Erik says, putting the box down next to Gustave, joining him on the floor.

“You do not have any ornaments?”

“No. This is the first time I have put up a tree,” Erik says. “Your mother ransacked the prop room and found some baubles she thought would be suitable. I understand that we are going to be stringing popcorn and cranberries at some point later today.”

“Do you like my chain?”

Erik lifts up one end, examining the handiwork. “It is coming along nicely – the glue appears to be working.”

“You will love the popcorn and cranberries. And cookies – are we to have cookies and candy canes?”

“I do believe she enlisted the aid of restaurant bakers to secure those treats.” Rummaging through the box, he brings out strings of gold fringe, some papier-mache stars and balls dusted with glitter. “For the moment, it is the two of us charged with challenging our creative gifts to adorn this humble evergreen.”

Gustave giggles.

“What do you find so amusing, young man?”

“You. You are funny. You make me laugh.”

“Indeed?”

“Like when you say that.” Pursing his lips and furrowing his brows, he strokes his chin, deepening his voice he imitates Erik. “Indeed? Harrumph, harrumph, harrumph.”

“Is that how I sound to you?”

“Indeed!” Pleased with his joke, the boy rolls onto his back, holding his sides from laughter.

Joining in the laughter, Erik tickles the boy, “Indeed. Indeed. Indeed.”

Exhausted from their wrestling, they lie on their backs, catching their breath.

“Papa Y, did you never have a tree?”

“You do ask the most challenging questions,” Erik says. “No, I never had a tree.”

“Even when you were little?”

“Especially when I was little – my father died when I was a baby and I suppose putting up decorations was more than my mother could deal with.”

“What about presents?”

“No presents,” Erik says. “I really was not aware of Christmas until I left home. I think my mother missed my father so much, the holidays made her extra sad.”

“I am sorry you did not have a father.” Gustave reaches over to take Erik’s hand.

Squeezing the boy’s fingers, Erik says, “Me, too.”

Sitting up, crossing his legs, Gustave says, “I am so lucky to have two fathers. Especially you.”

Rolling on his side, resting his head on his hand, Erik says, “It is my good fortune to have you for a son.”

“Papa Y?”

“Yes?” Taking in a deep breath, anticipating another Gustave question.

“Why am I a bastard?”

Erik’s face flushes, the red rising from his neck up his cheeks. His nostrils flare and his eyes turn hard. “Who said you were a bastard?”

“I used to overhear people saying that was what I was…once I heard Mme. Giry say it to Mlle. Meg. I thought that was why she wanted to hurt me.”

Erik sits up, shifting his focus away from Gustave to the painful memory of the boy’s near death. “Meg was hurt and angry over things having nothing to do with you – I am to blame for her actions,” he says. “If it takes a lifetime, I vow I will make it up to you.” Shifting his eyes back to Gustave, he goes on, “As far as Mme. Giry – she was wrong.”

“But what does it mean?” Gustave tugs on Erik’s sleeve. “I want to know what it means. Why do I have two fathers? How can you be my father when Pere is my father? I do not understand.” The tears he has been holding back begin to flow.

Erik pulls the boy into his arms, rocking him gently, kissing the thick chestnut hair, so like his mother’s. He glances up to see Christine standing in the doorway, her brow furrowed, lips pursed.

“Tell him,” she mouths, pressing a finger to her lips before stepping back out of view.

Taking Gustave’s chin in his hand to face him, he says, “When your mother sang at the Palais Garnier, I was her teacher. I loved her very much and wanted her to stay with me, but she loved Raoul. That made me very angry and one night we three had a very bad argument. She convinced me to let her go, so I did.”

“But how does that make you my father? Why does that make me a bastard?”

“Christine, please come in here – I cannot do this, he calls over his shoulder.”

“Maman?”

Christine enters the room, setting down the bags she carries. Gathering her skirts around her, she joins them on the floor, first kissing Gustave on the cheek – wiping his eyes with her handkerchief. Kissing Erik in kind, she says, “This is not exactly what I expected to find when I asked you to begin decorating the tree.”

“Our son has a curious mind – we were talking about Christmas – I revealed this was my first Christmas and somehow we began talking about fathers. I told him mine passed away when I was a baby...”

“I want to know how I can have two fathers when Papa Y did not even have one,” Gustave interrupts. “I want to know why people call me a bastard.”

Erik’s eyes implore her to rescue him.

“I see.” Christine takes a deep breath. “When Papa Y told me I could leave to be with Pere, I left, but I missed Papa Y very much.” She rests her hand on Erik’s shoulder. “I went back to see him and we loved each other the way grown-ups do to make a baby. We made you.”

“So why were you with Pere?”

“I did not think I would be a good husband for your mother,” Erik says. “Raoul had a nice house and was a nobleman. He loved your mother…I thought he would take better care of her, so I left and came here to America.”

“I wish you had stayed.”

“Yes, I think all of us wish that had been the case,” Erik says.

“Pere believed you were his son until we came here.”

“No.” Gustave shakes his head. “No one did. Now I know why they called me bastard.”

“You did nothing wrong – it is wrong for anyone to call you names,” Erik says. “If anyone did something wrong it was me – never you.”

“Us,” Christine says, her look fierce. “We are both responsible.”

Gustave takes in the faces of his parents. Papa Y’s holds no expression. Maman’s look is soft with a forced smile. Each of them holds their breath, waiting for him to break the tension. “Okay,” he says, disengaging his hand from Erik so he can stand up.

“Okay?” Eriks says, looking at Christine, eyes wide. “That is all? Okay?”

With a shrug, she shakes her head.

“Yes, I just wanted to know,” Gustave answers, retrieving the bags Christine brought in. “Is this the popcorn, Maman?”

“Yes…and cranberries,” she replies. “There is a small box in one of the bags with needles and heavy thread.” Rising from the floor, she joins him in carrying the bags to the dining table.

Gustave pulls out a handful of popcorn from one of the bags and holds it out to Erik. “This is good. Have some.”

Untangling his legs, Erik struggles to his feet to join his family at the table, accepting the popcorn, tossing a few kernels into his mouth. “Excellent.” Bending over to kiss Christine on the cheek, he says, “Who said you could not cook.”

“No one here, I am sure,” she counters, making a moue.

“Not me,” giggles Gustave.

“Not me,” Erik agrees with a chuckle.

“Maman is the best cook ever.”

“She does make good popcorn.”

“Stop it,” Christine says, pulling another box from one of the bags. “I will not be mocked. Cookies – oatmeal with walnuts?”

“Uh oh,” Gustave and Erik say in unison.

“The baker made them.”

“Oh, boy,” Gustave says as he grabs one, handing another to Erik. Each of them takes a bite, nodding their approval to one another.

“I lied,” Christine says, bouncing up and down, clapping her hands. “I baked them myself.”

Father and son exchange sheepish grins as they swallow the treats.

“There, you see, everyone is able to learn.”

“Maman can cook popcorn and cookies. Yeah, Maman.”

“We shall never starve,” Erik adds.

“Oh shut up, both of you,” Christine says. “Let us get begin stringing or we shall be up all night pricking our fingers.”

“I think I rather like this holiday business – if only for the food and colorful decorations.”

“And I thought it was for the companionship,” Christine responds, standing behind Gustave, wrapping her arms around him, resting her chin on his head.

“Yes, Papa Y, what about the companionship?”

“Worth a lifetime of waiting.”

“Indeed?”

“Indeed.”

#PotO Advent Calendar #PotO #Phantom of the Opera #fourth door #i-penna #Timebird84

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