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noaltbruh · 3 years ago

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I hope this follows the rules! But is it okay if I request a scenario where Giorno has a nightmare of turning into Diavolo and S/O comforts him when he wakes up?

My first request in so long, what an honor!

You're surely a fan of this scenario, I've seen you requesting it quite a lot of times.

Either way, let's get into it!

Esci dalla mia testa

06/04/2004

Midnight had just struck, it had already been three years.

Three years since Giovanna had become the new Don of Passione, and since the former had been punished for his actions.

But in reality, time had lost meaning to the young boy years ago. Everything he did, it felt so...Mechanic, so frivolous, simply keeping track of the days in order not to forget an important reunion.

He buried himself under thousands of piles of work, which only seemed to grow bigger and bigger with every day that passed. This was supposed to be his dream, his greatest goal, and he had reached it at such a young age.

But then...Why did he feel so empty?

He was supposed to be happy, after all the sacrifices that had been made to arrive so far, he had to be grateful for everything that's been given to him.

But he couldn't be, because those sacrifices were not his own, because innocent lives had been taken away, because he had come.

He truly was no different than the man whom he had condemned to suffer for all eternity. But he had to clinch his teeth, and keep on going with his head high, for the few people that were still by his side. Most importantly, for his partner.

As everyone around him had found a significant other, pressured by his best friend, he had decided to reluctantly indulge in this so called 'romance'.

And when you two finally met, he felt like a tiny fickle of faith had risen inside of his heart again.

You listened to him, to his struggles, to his doubts, to each one of his complaints like the were the only worries in the world. He failed to express how much you meant to him, after those...'Accidents', he had become even more close-up about his feelings.

You were very well aware of his workaholic tendencies, as most nights, you were the one to ask him to put down all the documents and get some rest

And this...Was one of those.

As you rapidly fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from your own day, you felt a soft hand gently caressing your forehead. You were so warm and comforting, like a puppy, the only one able to give him hope in this twisted world.

But sadly, your presence could not magically make all his guilt and insecurities go away, and he had accepted that.

After contemplating your dreaming figure for a minute, he slowly closed his eyes, wishing to escape, just for a short while, from all those crushing responsibilities and expectations.

His consciousness started to slip away, he felt ready to conclude another day. Until, he heard whispering. Weak, confused, peculiar sounds, he could not understand a word of what those voices were trying to tell him, they were too far from the boy.

But they wouldn't stop. Delicate, constant and unbearable like the sound of a drip of water falling into a sink. They were playing with the Don's patience, a sleeping lion that should not disturbed, unless you wanted to be torn to pieces.

His mind immediately connected the situation to a possible Stand attack, nothing out of his normality, per se, but he was not concerned for himself. You were still peacefully resting, clinging to your sheets, it was a quite cold night. He wouldn't have let a single soul cause any harm to his darling, she was his only true happiness, his sunshine.

In the moment he stepped outside of the bedroom, what he was faced with sent a frozen shiver down his spine, as he brought his hand to his chest, to control his heartbeat.

There were four doors, floating in absolute darkness. A weak stream of light, that seemed to be originated from nothingness, illuminated each one of them singularly.

The whispering got louder and louder, faint giggles could occasionally be heard. The young one turned around to look at the entrance of this cursed place, the one he had just walked through.

But there was nothing there.

And so, like a captured prey that had nothing left to lose, he ventured himself into the first door, only to be met with a monochromatic version of Fugo. He was breathing heavily, desperately sobbing and all curled up on himself, on the shore of the same place where the rest of the gang had decided to betray Passione.

Giorno was standing on top of the water, unable to move a single inch of his body.

"Look at what you did"

A deep voice murmured in his ear. One he hadn't heard in a long time, one he wished he could have erased from his memories, that infected his mind and was more deadly than the sobbing boy's stand.

Diavolo.

"Me? Fugo chose not to leave, it was his own fault if-"

"If he was abandoned by everyone he loved? Do you have any idea of how selfish it sounds?"

The boy hesitated for a brief moment, staring at those warm tears falling into the canal.

"It was just...A temporary matter, he rejoined Passione, he's doing better now"

"My, it must have surely been fun to prove your loyalty to someone who caused the death of half of the people you cared about, after refusing to participate in his little suicide mission"

The blond's legs started to tremble, mantainig his composure was starting to look impossible.

"They...They didn't die because of me, they sacrificed themselves for a noble cause, for making Italy a better place, they wished it as much as I did"

The man contained his laughter, then he continued.

"Is that so? Why don't say that in their faces then?"

The image of the lonely boy disappeared, together with everything in the room. Giorno was back to that black space, but the door was now missing.

And the next one...Had nothing better reserved for him.

He found himself in the island of Sardegna, the only sound that could be heard were the small waves that met with the coast.

He knew perfectly why he was here. He took a closer look at the seaside, there were some footsteps printed on it. He felt a knot in his stomach at the thought of where they would have brought him.

Abbacchio's lifeless body was laying on top of a rock, surrounded by dead flowers. His entire torso had been torn apart, and yet... His corpse was smiling. A tiny, melancholic smile on his purple lips.

"Do you still have the courage to repeat what you said?"

Diavolo began, in a mocking tone.

"When he became part of the Organization, he was at his lowest, he had nowhere else to go, every path he took brought him nothing but sorrow and disappointment. The only thing that gave him comfort was following Bucciarati...And so, with that excuse, I transformed him in one of minions"

The thought of calling out Gold Experience hit Giorno's mind, but he knew that there was no point of lying to himself. The albino was gone, his soul had left his body long ago.

"I don't need you to tell me just how disgusting you are"

He said, his voice was filled with a suffocated rage, as he knelt over to look closer at his former companion.

"Abbacchio couldn't have cared less about killing me, he came with you because Bucciarati did, because he so desperately wanted to follow him, he felt like scum at the thought of no longer having him in his life"

The boy with emerald eyes felt an hand touching him on his shoulder, but there was no one there, except for himself.

"You exploited his dependence from the man, and used at your advantage, just as I did"

He stopped for a brief moment, enjoying the desperation in the other's eyes.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance

And with that, the second room disappeared as well. The boy contemplated whether to remain in that hellish void or to move forward, the image of what was waiting on the other side hurt way too much, his juvenile soul was starting to crush.

But he couldn't remain there, it would have meant giving up to Diavolo's twisted games, seeing him break down was exactly what he was waiting for.

He turned the doorknob, when he felt something humid staining his clothes: there was fresh blood streaming from his lady bug pins. The trail that it formed on the ground invited him to follow its path. He knew he couldn't decline, none of what he wanted seemed to matter in this place.

A metallic railing stood in front of him, his entire pins bled so much to the point of consuming themselves. An horrific scream coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time echoed through the room, as he directed his gaze to the top of the grey construction.

"What a shame...Oh well, he was the most disposable member of the team anyway"

Narancia's corpse was resting among dozens of spikes, his faded orange bandage slipped from his dark hair, landing right next to Giorno's feet.

"Oh Narancia...So young, so naive, just another victim of this unfair world. That's what you're thinking, isn't that right, Giovanna?"

"This is why people like him should not be involved in this business..."

"Mh? And why is that? Childish minds are the easiest to manipulate"

Ignoring his last statement, the other leaned down to pick up the bandage, but his hand went through it. His body was starting to feel dizzy, like it belonged to somebody else.

"Not answering won't make me go away, the damage has already been done, after all"

"Narancia should have NEVER joined Passione in the first place. He could have gone to school...Have a normal life, but-"

"But he died for your cause before he could. What he said before I activated King Crimson melted my heart a little, how cute...He really trusted you that much to the point of thinking that he would have come out of it alive"

The railing emanated a cracking sound. For a second, he was afraid it would have fallen off, causing him to get impaled as well.

"I took away his chance of living an happy, standard life when he decided to work for me, and you did the same, allowing him to come along with the rest of your team"

The small boy suddenly faded away, together with the rest.

"But at least, he didn't die under my guidance"

At last, there it was: only one room left. Despite how deeply he cared about each one of his former team members, the premonition of what would have come next was more painful than everything he's seen so far altogether.

He sat down, staring at the door from a distance, his eyes emptier than the ones of his old allies. They say that eyes are the window of the soul, and nothing else could have been used to describe his inner turmoil. Nothing but a faded, dull green, testimony of all his battle scars and the survivor guilt that he tried so much to repress.

Perhaps his eternal punishment had arrived: having the chance to confront his inner demons, to move on, to show how fearless he was.

...But never truly grasping the idea of freedom, never facing and accepting what really happened, he was never given the time to. So much had oppressed him all at once, he couldn't keep up with it.

He was a child, a child that had to grow too fast.

But then, someone came out of the door. A bittersweet figment of his imagination, that made his heart stop beating for a second.

The one he hadn't seen in years, the one he had tried to subdue the most, the one that showed him for the first time in his life what love was, stood in front of him. There was no hole in his chest, no sign of blood or wounds, a reassuring smile accompanied his face, as he held out his hand to the grieving kid.

"What are you doing all alone in here? The others are worried for you. Let's not make them wait any longer, shall we?"

Giorno ignored his help, his gaze was stuck on that endless floor. He didn't have the courage to look at the other, his presence alone felt like a sadistic joke.

He didn't look sad, depressed, miserable... He was just...Tired.

He wanted to cry those tears that he had denied in the last three years, he wanted to yell at that illusion to leave him alone, that wasn't the real Bruno, it couldn't be.

But, as he impeded any of this from coming out, something he didn't think he would have felt in a thousand of years struck him.

Bucciarati hugged him.

A tight, comforting hug like one of a mother, that he was waiting for his child to reciprocate. The latter's breathing became heavier and heavier with every moment that passed, as weak laments rapidly turned into audible sobs.

"There's no reason to be sad now, I'm real, you can feel it, can't you?"

"Y-You...You're here...But h-how is it p-possible?"

The brunette chuckled, the sound of his laughter was more comforting than an angel's voice.

"It isn't"

Giovanna's stand penetrated the man's torso, but its arm...It was not Gold Experience's. It had a checkered red and white pattern that extended in its entirety, and it possessed an amount of physical strength which was out of any possible expectations for the creature able to give life.

"Foolish child, I thought you were better than this, I'd lie if I said I wasn't a bit disappointed"

The sound of Bruno's corpse falling to the ground resonated through that empty space, as the last door vanished. A puddle of blood originated from his horrible injury, it was big enough for the boy to see his reflection in.

"You are no better than me under any point of view. We took advantage of his kindness, we used him as a simple pawn for our own gain. The only difference between us, is that I was not manipulating enough to convince him to join my side voluntarily. He was a tool to the both of us, but you were the one who caused his demise"

The mirror that had been created showed two people, but the transparent figure of Diavolo immediately ceased to be visible. The only one left was Giorno, though his reflection seemed to mutate with every second that passed.

His blond curls started to change shape, turning into a fuchsia mess, with dirty green stains on it. His eyes had a killer, maniacal look inside of them, his pupils got smaller in horror. His entire body structure was different. He looked older, more muscular, his clothes, too, were no longer his own.

"Mista loved him, and you killed him"

"Fugo loved him, and you killed him"

"Trish loved him, and you killed him"

"Narancia loved him, and you killed him"

"Abbacchio loved him, and you killed him"

"You loved him, and you killed him"

...

"Giorno? Giorno please, wake up!"

You screamed, your sleep was interrupted by the sound of your boyfriend hyperventilating, as he desperately held you to himself, still trapped in that horrible dream.

You sighed in relief when he abruptly opened his eyes, so swollen and red from all the tears he's shed.

"Another nightmare, uh?"

You asked, gently caressing his back to try and calm him down, he was as vulnerable as a baby that runs to his parents after having a bad dream. Waking up in the middle of the night to comfort him is something you had grown accustomed to, but you had never seen him this shaken up.

He slightly nodded in response, grabbing the top of your pajamas. You put an hand behind his head, making him rest on your chest, and kissed him softly on his forehead.

You could hear him murmuring something, you couldn't tell wherever he was talking to you, or to himself.

"I-I'm sorry...I'm sorry...I'm s-so sorry..."

He repeated like a broken record, you could barely make out what he was trying to say.

"Tesoro, you've done nothing wrong, there's no one you owe your apologizes to"

The boy raised his head slightly, intertwining your fingers with his, he needed to feel sure that this was not another tremendous trick of his mind.

"See? I'm here, you don't have to be afraid. I know that you feel unworthy of my feelings, but there is no one out there that deserves love more than you do. Nobody is perfect, Giorno, you did everything that was in your power to help them"

"But I...I was the one w-who put them in danger in the first place"

"No, you were not. You all shared the same ideals, you saved them from the oppression they were put in"

As you swept those remaining drops away from his face, you could still feel his entire body shaking like a dried leaf in a windy day of autumn.

"N-None of this would have happened if I didn't come along..."

"Exactly, none of them would have known what it meant to be free. I...Understand that the sacrifices that were made are not easy to forget, but blaming yourself like this...Do you really think that's what they would have wanted?"

Not receiving an answer, you laid down once again, still holding him in your arms. You forced a tiny smile, kissing him delicately on his lips, and whispered in his ear that everything would have been okay.

But, in reality...You felt you were trying to reassure yourself as well. This was not something you could have solely resolved through staying by his side, healing from this would have taken a lot of time, but...At least, you could offer some temporary safety, and it seemed to be enough for the time being.

In fact, after some minutes, everything seemed to cease. The boy fell asleep once again, this time with the knowledge that you were there to protect him.

You sighed, praying for your darling to finally find some peace.

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lovee-infected · 4 years ago

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So Merlin the goddamn great, smh but no ROOK LORE I AM FURIOUS! I STILL WANT TO HEAR YOUR THOUGHTS

Warning: Spoiler alert!

Oooooofff the final episodes of chapter 5 did seriously explode the fandom I see, from the overblot Grim to our twst Merlin, everything literally everything about the end of this chapter was a big surprise but... This chapter has also brought up a considerably huge wave of drama along with it, which is basically because of Rook voting for RSA instead of NRC. I, personally, considered it to be just a reason to laugh and make a meme or two about this chapter and all. But looking at the fandom, I can clearly see that it's been causing some serious consequences, some fans/creators are leaving the fandom, there has been a couple of offensively worded Rook hate posts (small memes and jokes aren't counted) and there's ever a #RookIsOverParty on Twitter now.

Okay but, it was all cool and chill until it was just a joke. Can't you see? This happens in many fandoms! And is often a good chance to laugh! But...This is getting serious. A huge majority of this fandom (even Rook/Vil shippers and Rook stans themselves) are hating on Rook/Rook stans and fans are leaving, therefore I believe the situation needs to be clarified before it leads to more dramas.

Many of you had also requested a Rook analysis before sooooo- here we go!

First off, this episode did eventually give us a considerable amount of Rook lore although it wasn't as perfect as we wanted it to be. Most of us wanted to get to know him more, but I'd say focusing on all we've got already would do for now. But before that, let's talk about what exactly happened in chapter 5 and why are fand hating on Rook rn:

after the performances are voted on, it’s revealed that nrc lost to rsa by just a single vote. that vote turned out to be rook, who voted for rsa in favor of their own team as he was moved by their spirit. the whole nrc team is shellshocked (of course) and vil faints

it’s also later revealed that rook is one of neige’s biggest fans, possessing albums full of his bromides, going to each meet and greet, and even writing him anonymous fan letters.

Okay okay I know this was quite unexpected and resulted in NRC's loss, but before you say how much of a shitty character Rook is consider this:

1) He was totally honest with his opinion and thoughts.

One of the interesting facts regarding Rook's character design and presence in chapter 5, is how he played the role of both the huntsman and the mirror.

He was honest with his beliefs and decision, although it was against his friends. Just as how the mirror introduced Snow White as the fairest one of all although Evil Queen didn't want to hear of her.

This is also what Rook did, he judged based on his idealistics towards beauty. NOT because he's a screaming Neige fanboy and NOT because he disliked Vil.

Honestly, if there's one person whose judgement would be strong and on point, that'll be Rook and only him; in parts (2) & (4) we'll explain why.

2) His decision has nothing to do with his personal relationship with Vil!

Yes, he voted for RSA, but to assume that this means he secretly preferred Neige over Vil all this time and call him a betrayer now, that's wrong.

Look, if there one person who could judge NRC's process through the training sessions fairly, that'll be Rook. He's been there all this time, watching each and every second of Vil's coaching and team's progressing, note that he also helped Vil the most, this performance would've been impossible without his help!

But, he was also there when Vil lost it, when Vil's fear of not being the winner took over him and made him even try to poison Neige. At some point Vil was nothing like the perfect coach he was at the very beginning, and if Rook hadn't told Neige to escape who knows how terrible the whole think might've gone.

His decision, on the other hand, was HIS decision. He was asked to choose one performance, and he chose what he liked; that's all, no big deal. Note that the silly thing with the whole issue isn't mainly how Rook voted for RSA, it's also about how half of the audience as well voted for RSA which makes it sound almost stupid, this point will be explained in part (5)!

3) Have you all really forgotten what Rook is like?

I mean, come on this is what he is in general! This is Rook Hunt we're speaking of, one of the rarely known characters of the game and mister of surprises and unpredictable decisions!

Him being a Neige fan is no big deal, and I assure you, he probably stans a lot of other people else than Neige too. Don't forget that this is the same monseiur Rook who gave 100 points! to anyone who participated in NRC's VDC test, so there shouldn't really be a panic taking all over the fandom just because we know he stans Neige, Rook is one to greatly appreciate the concept of beauty in general, and Neige is one of the most famous and beautiful people in the whole twisted wonderland, so other than this being much of a snow white reference, it was totally expected to see him stanning Neige as well. Keep this in mind that just because he's a fan of Neige, it doesn't mean that he hates or he has betrayed Vil.

In Rook's point of view, there is no such thing as rivals in beauty, he just appreciates both Vil and Neige's beauty regardless of what's going on between them.

4) This chapter proved that Rook is indeed a perfect friend for Vil.

While there hasn't ever been a mention of a canon relationship between Vil and Rook, shipper may be happy to know that this episode didn't sink the ship at all. And if you judge and see through what happened in the right eye, you'll see it even shows how strong their friendship is.

Note that this wasn't the first time Rook criticizes Vil either, back in Vil's SR lab coat story he openly criticized Vil and said he's gonna get fat if he continued to eat like this. See? Rook never the once lied to Vil, he openly judges him, and his judgements are logical and on point.

Vil on the other hand is always working his hardest to improve, to become better and completer by each and every day that passes. He needs such a friend by his side to judge him nonetheless, a friend to judge him just like the mirror judged the Queen. But there's a difference, Vil accepts and appreciates criticism BECAUSE, he wants to improve.

A friend like Rook is seriously what he needs, Rook supported and helped him all the way as RSA was getting prepared for VDC, he could've just made them lose and by ruining their training sessions if he wanted to! Can't you see? He helped Vil more than anyone else, but didn't lie to him when it was the time to judge. Vil still has a long way to go, and Rook is aware. He wants Vil to see that he isn't yet complete so that he can become better than he already is.

That's it, that's what a real friend would do.

5) Twst needs to be more considerative toward story line and sudden reveals.

On the one hand, it's mainly fans who are exaggerating the whole issue and starting drama over a simple voting and all, but twst itself as well is partly guilty. This is such a huge and active fandom, each and every detail about the story can be super effective (ex: Sebek being half human, Malleus being an orphan, etc). After making RSA's Yahoo performance look super silly they worst thing they could do was to make NRC lose like this, meaningless, silly and helpless. Why?

Twst seriously needs to take details more seriously as they could've AT LEAST made this comparison sound reasonable by choosing a better and stronger song than a twisted version of Heigh-Ho.

There's absolutely nothing wrong with Rook voting for Neige, but seriously? Rook voting for Neige had to be a symbol of honesty and Rook's loyalty toward the concept of beauty itself and not Vil, not an stupid decision to make Rook prefer a childish song over NRC's wonderful performance and look like a helpless Neige fan boy.

-Sigh- Well, I guess that's all I had for now, hope I didn't miss anything. But anyway, the Rook drama is slowly getting overwhelming. There's nothing wrong with memes and jokes AS LONG AS THEY'RE JUST A JOKE- offending characters with clear intention and causing drama because of it is not okay. I know that was unexpected please remember not to exaggerate the story too much either!

#answered #starshiningsirius #twst #twisted wonderland #rook hunt #Vil Schoenheit #Pomefiore #neige leblanche #character analysis #spoilers #epel felmier

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shirophantomvox · 4 years ago

Text

Random date night with Illumi, Hisoka, and Chrollo

Hello, anon! Ask and you shall receive! This prompt is very interesting and I will try to keep it in character as much as possible. To sum this up, Hisoka would take you to an ice cream shop, a carnival, or apple orchard while Illumi would rather go to an art or historical museum. Chrollo would persuade you to attend a book reading/author signing or go hiking. Depending on who you are and what your ideal date is, I’m sure you’d find them all fun. Going to a carnival or apple orchard is my go-to since I’ve barely been because they’re all in the suburbs. These headcanons are explained much more than the others. That is why Chrollo and Illumi seem to be short, but they’re not. Also, I can’t wait for Halloween because these headcanons are going to be amazing. I am extremely sorry if there are grammar errors! Taking classes on Zoom is frustrating and now my brain has to relearn everything that I lost in 3 months! Before we get started, I have a few announcements.

This post is more laid back than my other headcanons because I tried to keep it as canon as possible.

I want to thank you all for 65 followers! It means a lot! I’m happy to see that a lot of you enjoy my writing and like it enough to follow me! I have a challenge for you! When I reach 100 followers, I will host some type of writing event here...but I need ideas. I’ve seen some pages do specials where you can send an ask and pretend like you're talking to a character and I respond with what they’d say. SEND ME IDEAS! I WILL CREDIT YOU!

I will be stepping back a little more than before. I’ll still be logged in and re-blogging but as far as writing posts like this...it may only be once or twice a week. You see, I’m in college and I’m struggling financially and I have to work on scholarships. If you all send me an ask, be patient.

Voltron posts will only be created based on asks. I will not be writing posts about VLD if no one requests them. I do not receive any feedback from it anymore and no one seems to like them.

Now, let’s get into the post.

Let's start with Illumi first.

Headcanon 1: Illumi has a secret admiration for different types of art but he specifically enjoys pop art and surrealism. He has commented on how surrealism makes his brain twist and his feelings swirl as he tries to figure out the piece and what inspires it.

He prefers not to participate in tours as he likes to digest the art at his own pace.

Headcanon 2: In his spare time, he paints on a canvas. His art style consists of both surrealism and abstract art. For a person with a dark personality, his compositions always contain bright colors and abstract techniques that leave you wondering about his TRUE personality. He is truly a good man with a bright personality but after being abused for so long, those behaviors/personalities have been shoved so far down his throat that they may not come back up.

He has a bad habit of asking you what you thought about every single piece of art you passed. The conversations were great but this is a date after all. The playful conversation slowly turns into a lecture about art. Although you loved your bf’s dictionary-like brain it also drained your energy.

One of his favorite artists is Vincent Van Gough. Although he favors surrealism, Van Gogh’s art style was mind-blowing to him. So amazed that he buys several Van Gogh t-shirts from the gift shop.

His favorite piece created by Van Gough is “Starry Night”.

He notices that you are becoming bored and decides that it is time for MORE excitement, one that you are certain to enjoy.

“Where are we going,” you ask, pretending to be interested.

“Down to the basement. We are going to have a bite to eat.”

Since Illumi rarely smiled, when he did smile it drove you wild. The anticipation of what his next move was going to be is what drove that wildness. Being a bounty hunter was thrilling already but dating a smart, badass assassin was totally out of your league but it worked out.

Headcanon 3: Illumi’s idea of being romantic is dramatically different from yours. He believes just spending time with you on the couch was enough. He is correct; but if you have the time and funds, your time together should be a little spontaneous. You insisted on dates outside of the house because his family will not stay out of your business.

“Illumi, I am too hungry for more trivia.”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry. So am I. That is why I’ve decided to take you to a wine and cheese party.”

Huh? Wine and Cheese at 3PM? That’s ok. When was there a time limit on when you can drink alcohol?

Illumi has indirectly attended parties as such when he was 15 years old. He never drank, but he watched as his mother’s friends (surprisingly) talked about business and their children. This time, you weren’t going to talk about business for once. Instead, you two were going to actually talk about what couples discuss.

Headcanon 4: When introduced to alcohol for the first time, Illumi immediately stated how he hated brown liquor. That includes Hennessy, Jack Daniels, etc. It makes him sick to his stomach. He prefers to drink Smirnoff mixed with fruity drinks like strawberry or pineapple.

He loves it when you make these drinks for him on a summer day.

Hence the title wine and cheese, you both go to a stand-up table, place your brochures down, and actually have a wonderful conversation not involving work or hunting.

Illumi smiled a few times, more than usual. Whenever he appears to be softer even around you, that is because he has mellowed out and doesn't have the overbearing weight of his family on his shoulders. You set him free.

Hisoka

According to a one-shot that another manga artist created, they expressed that Hisoka was found on the side of the road, was taken in by someone that worked at a local circus, and learned Nen in a matter of days. Hisoka’s clown look and having the skills of a magician proves that this has to be canon in some way.

Headcanon 1: Given this potential backstory, going to a carnival is his go-to every summer. He wants to take you to a circus but saves that for you as an engagement gift.

Everyone with a heart knows that whether or not you’re in a relationship or not the carnival is fun as hell! Expensive fried food, elephant ears, funnel cake, ICEE’s, rides, and stuffed animals are to die for!

Being at a carnival relaxes him so his bloodlust isn’t activated unless someone bumps into him and causes a scene.

Headcanon 2: PDA is something that Hisoka does well; he doesn’t overdo it but does it enough where people get the impression that you are a couple and aren’t “best friends”.

While completing a mission depending on how rough it may be, he insists that you tag along to see how he handles the situation. You’ve already seen his ruthlessness from Hunter’s exam but he insists.

His sense of pride gets the best of him sometimes. Sometimes his head is so big that it reminds you of a large birthday balloon.

Headcanon 3: ANYWAY, given his nature, he is very adventurous, dangerous, and courageous. If he wants to go on the Demon Drop, he’ll do it and you DO not have a choice in the matter. He’ll tease or guilt trip you into doing something that you would not like to do.

“Well, you wouldn’t want me to cling on to someone else, would you?”

“No. Of course not,” you reply.

“Let’s go then, scaredy-cat.”

As a hunter, you’ve seen worse. Why are you so afraid to go on a ride?

Headcanon 4: At apple orchards, cornfield mazes are one of his favorites. You cannot for the life of you figure out how to get out but he can. He grabs a scarecrow and scares you from behind. That annoys you but is nothing compared to later on that night.

Oh. My. God. It’s haunted house time!

“Hisoka, I’m not going in!”

“Why not? I’ll protect you.”

“Because they’re monsters and I already have to deal with one.”

It took him a second to catch on that you were talking about him.

“That’s going to bite you in the butt, kitten.”

Headcanon 5: Like Killua, Hisoka has a sweet tooth. Don’t allow his buff appearance to fool you!

He LOVES caramel apples, elephant ears, funnel cake, freshly squeezed lemonade, fudge, and cotton candy. How can this man manage to stay in shape? The world may never know.

Headcanon 6: He isn’t one to play by other people’s rules but he sets his own rules with your relationship that you both must obey. One of those rules says that neither of you can be on your phones while together.

Headcanon 7: Hisoka insists that you both wear either matching pants or matching shirts to avoid unnecessary flirtation.

He isn’t jealous but on “us time”, he doesn’t want to lose a single second.

Headcanon 8: Hisoka only jumps in when necessary. Given that you’ve passed the hunter’s exam and work as a bodyguard, he knows you can handle your business. If the person can’t take a hint, then he steps in. They almost back up immediately considering Hisoka is towering over them.

When the moon shines, you both go to the car and off to sleep in your comfy king-sized bed.

Chrollo

We all know that Chrollo loves to read! What does he specifically like to read? What Genre? Does he like to read alone or with other people?

Although Chrollo is a thief and must be hidden in the shadows, the authorities have called off the search for him for at least 3 years. Slowly but surely, he begins to find himself in the outside world again.

Chrollo once discussed a book with the Phantom Troupe when they were being transported to another place for a mission. He read “Tears of a Tiger” by Sharon M. Draper.

The reading sessions are opened with an affirmation and a reason to be thankful to be alive. He says he is thankful for the troupe, glances at you, and smiles. No one catches on to that sly face except for Phinks.

Headcanon 1: Chrollo is very silent and shy to an extent. He only associates with people he knows and trusts. You are the social butterfly at this moment.

Chrollo tags along behind you like a shy child, holding your hand while you stick out your free hand to greet everyone.

Today, the book club was going to read “Divergent”.

Headcanon 2: Although he loves to read, he hates it when others read out loud. Most people are drably read and it annoys him. After a while, he takes over. Chrollo was tense the first 30 minutes of the meeting because two cops were there but neither of them noticed it was him.

Headcanon 3: Chrollo often acts the part of the character that he is reading in the book. His tone, attitude, and emphasis on certain words keep the group engaged. He is complimented on his acting!

“Good Job, honey,” you whisper.

He responds by tightly squeezing your hand.

His tone was so impressive that the host insisted that he read for the entire night. He was ok with that because in between reads he was often distracted by a lovely pair of jeans and shoes you had on. You were into writing, so hearing others read and act out the characters helped.

Headcanon 4: In some settings, Chrollo is very braggadocious. He insisted that the group read one of your stories so you could be provided with feedback.

“We’d be delighted to view your story, y/n!”

“It will be fun!”

The book club wasn’t a stereotypical club that only consisted of soccer moms but instead consisted of men and women who were involved with a business, law enforcement, health, etc. This was an open space for everyone to relax and forget about their demanding jobs.

After the meeting, the group went to dinner at a nearby pizzeria. You all enjoyed large pizzas, beer, salads, and dessert. How could your stomach (or anyone’s stomach) hold that much?

Chrollo laughed so much that it made you question if he was your actual boyfriend or not. He even engaged in conversations with the two off-duty cops! For once, you helped Chrollo experience the greater things in life; true love, friendship, and happiness.

“Thank you,” he whispered and slyly placed a kiss on your hand. “For everything.”

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flowerflamestars · 3 years ago

Note

I'm in a very angry-with-the-IC-and-Rhys-in-particular mood, and since I'm just rereading Daylight I was wondering, what is going through Rhysand's mind throughout the events of Daylight? Because it's basically his entire life CRUMBLING around him and I'd love to see the mental gymnastics he does to fit it all into his "I'm the good guy, actually" narrative. Or just his general reaction.

this is a FABULOUS question, thank you!

Daylight! Rhys is, in my opinion, the closest to a canonical (pre-acosf) character representation that I go for. He's so SO fucked up, and sublimating and burying all that trauma has, of course, failed, and it's all manifesting, in all these different directions.

To understand the level on which Rhys is losing his shit, it's important to go back to the very beginning: Rhysand, to Rhysand, is always, always the hero of the story. The down on his luck knight with truth in his heart. The struggling, just man.

He CANNOT seeing beyond himself for even a second. He casts himself in the most important role, as the only person whose personal consequences exist.

His mother, at probable great risk, takes him to Illyria to be trained- the precious, first-born, godly son of Night. To learn to fight- to learn, presumably, her culture- to see what that culture is reduced to, a harshness he will on day have the power to change. Rhys had to be, at some point, a great hope for Not High Fae denizens of the Court.

What does Rhysie learn? Illyria is harsh. Illyria is bad. Backwards and cruel.

He hates his father for...presumably, the crime of being a pretty traditional High Lord? Rhys hates the cruelties! the Court of Nightmares! the broken system!

So what does Rhys do when he has power? he fires everyone. He doesn't like them, he doesn't like whatever they did under his father...so instead of hiring new people, he removes himself entirely from a potential role in changing/mitigating those policies. See also: the Court of Nightmares, cowed occasionally, but not in any way governed by Rhys.

But he's the hero! He's destroyed the oppression! His Court of Just his Bros is made of women and Illyrians!

(Rhys removed the terribleness from his direct experience...because only his experiences matter)

So, Rhys in his head: the struggle, the hero, the man just trying to do it right.

Which brings us to Daylight....and Feyre. I know we can attribute the way the characters stop even remotely being sympathetic between acomaf and...everything else...to poor writing, but I also think there's some (maybe accidental but PERFECT) character work there: in acomaf, pre-acknowledged bond, Feyre is an important possession/ally- she's on the same level as the other members of the Court of Dreams, if the jewel of the collection, a high point in the story Rhys tells himself: HE saved the HERO OF PRYTHIAN

(which...let's not even touch on the fact that the deal he makes in acotar is CREEPY and he can only justify it later. she wasn't someone he wanted to work with in acotar- she was a vulnerable, hot young woman he fully took advantage of)

And then they're mates.

And then, slowly but surely, Feyre's personhood disappears. For two reasons: 1) Feyre is on a pedestal so sky-high it blots out everything. Good, pure, true hero Feyre whose adoration Rhysand needs like air. the happy end of his story, the prize and the salvation, the one who sees him.

and 2) ultimately, to Rhys, Feyre is an extension of him. A symbol: his happiness, his peace, his endless power, what he fought to keep.

She's his whole anchor staying sane, which isn't great, considering...ya know, everything. But the Story is Over. They are Happy.

Except- except- nothing is over. Post fifty straight years of torture, a freefall into war and fuckery, teen marriage and literal death, the consequences for all those things AND THE SHIT RHYS WAS PULLING LONG BEFORE AMARANTHA TURNED HIM INTO A CHEW TOY, are still present.

But now, he has something to protect. His golden future. His puppy Mate.

Because Feyre's safety is the safety of his power and vice versa. Anything he does is justifiable because the loss of Feyre is Not an Option. She is Happy. They Are Happy.

It bleeds into everything- and then it intensifies, because this is the breaking point.

The Az/Lucien thing and Feyre incredibly hurtful blindness? No Rhys isn't going to interfere- Az is so private anyway- if Feyre believes its a romantic bond, Feyre is right, she knows her sister, not that it matters because Elain is totally out of her mind.

Sending Cassian to Illyria? Illyria is a backwards shithole right? They're fierce fighters and that's what Rhys values them for- as the hammer of his power- and nothing else? why would there be anything else? Look at them fighting and hurting each other.

Nesta runs and Cassian is left throwing himself in battles actively trying to die and Rhys? Rhys is totally smug. A problem that hurt Feyre and his brother is GONE.

But it's not gone. Az isn't talking to anyone- and Rhys thinks this probably means Lucien is probably, finally fucking him- but even Feyre understands that Azriel knows where Nesta is. When this is proved (when Elain surfaces and they have the very fun kitchen fight) Rhys isn't happy- but he understands. Azriel has always felt responsible for broken things.

But thats not his job, it's Rhysands job, and Rhys has already made that tough choice for the safety of his own: Nesta has no place here. When she resurfaces inevitably, broke and wanting something, Rhys will stop her before she gets close enough to upset (hurt) Feyre. It's his job.

Cassian goes missing, and Rhysand sets upon what will become his eventual move: Illyria's value is strength. (a martial strength that belongs to RHYS). But they think they can take from him? They can destroy their own best chance? (Rhys recognizes Cassian's value to Illyria even while, you know, ordering him to slaughter Illyrians) They would threaten his power? hurt his family?

Rhys will not allow a world to exist where Feyre can be hurt.

If Illyria can't be controlled, Illyria will be put down, like the rabid creatures they are. (They were always backwards, Rhys thinks. Freeing my mother was the one good thing my father ever did)

But Cassian lives.

Rhys asks Azriel if he's been cursed. Az laughs in his face.

And Cassian is a terrible enemy to have. The strategies the loyalists are using? His, filtered through Rhys. The magical contingencies? Cassian and Az, trying to prevent bloodshed.

Feyre thinks, for a long time, that maybe the rebels have Nesta. What else could compel Cassian to even care? these people keep trying to kill him. they want to kill Rhys. the brothers suffered in the frozen mud at the hands of these monsters, what is Cassian doing?

And then the massacre happens.

And Feyre sick to her stomach, cries when she hears. Rhysand thinks about a little hazel eyed boy who'd never had a bed, a present, who'd been nothing until Rhysand plucked him up- a little boy who'd grown into a dangerous man, who'd just killed every person who ever contributed to his pain. Rhys thinks, knowing he'll have to punish Cassian for this, that it's over.

The camp lords are dead, it has to be over.

(Azriel hears and understands- because he knows damn well Cassian was something before Rhysand, and after despite him. That beneath those repeatedly broken ribs is a heart that was once so big so save him, grown strong enough now to save everyone who was like them: forgotten, abandoned, used.)

It's not over. The mountains are burning. Banners fly on northern wind in a language long dead. They're singing, the spies say, they call him dawn. Loyal-heart-as-dawn.

It's Cassians name. Not that Rhys, who never knew more than a few vile insults in the language of his mother's ancient, proud people, understood it then.

Rhysand, the long-suffering hero of his own story, has been betrayed.

He can risk no more- it's time to end this madness. It's Feyre's idea to use Elain- it's Feyre who is left crying, a betrayal Rhysand will never forget- when Elain, who they've given everything, Elain, perhaps just as broken and wretched as her eldest sister, refuses to help keep Feyre safe.

(Elain refuses to participate in what she sees as genocide, but as we've established, what consequences exist? the ones Rhys feels right in front of his face)

Azriel, Elain, and Lucien run.

Of course, if both Feyre's sisters are capable of betraying her, of course, both of Rhysand's brothers would as well. They are one in the same, aren't they? Marked by destiny, by fate for this hard and terrible work- of course it hurts. Of course- but Rhysand will stop it from hurting Feyre any more.

There's one force in the world that can stand in truth against Illyria. The Darkbringers- their ancestral, ancient conquers.

(Yes, I do think Rhys knows the shitty, shitty history of his court! He just doesn't care! He didn't do it. He's different. He's in Velaris with the common people. He has wings. He's not his father.)

(He is, in fact, far worse)

When he thinks of it, it seems perfect. Illyria will be destroyed- a loss, but a safe one. Keir, will, almost certainly, also be destroyed or at least critically weakened.

Rhysand will stand alone, the man who was willing to do anything for peace. He will rule over an emptied playing field, secure in a world where Feyre is safe.

The Hewn City empties, the armies march- Rhysand holds tight Feyre's hand, says nothing about the fact that nothing, nothing, will stop Keir from killing anyone in front of him when battle starts, and reaches once more for Cassian's mind.

His brother, his friend, his loyal right hand- he begs him to come back. To come home. That they can put down this rebellion and in his love for Cassian everything can go back to how it is meant to be, all of them together.

It does not occur to him to address the hundreds dead. The system he was complicit in and responsible for that ground a culture to dust and ash- what matters is brother against brother should never have turned, and Rhys, in his kindness, will offer Cassian this last chance for honor.

Rhys doesn't want Cassian to die- he wants Cassian by his side- but he will drown the world in blood before he'll lose his crown and hope and Feyre.

And when Cassian dies, falling to the earth in Rhysand's arms, Rhys thinks of penance.

A circle closed.

But of course- Cassian wakes. Death is not done with her right hand anymore than the contract between Lordship and land in immutable. Cassian brought the magic back, brought Illyria back.

Rhys is fighting for something personal- Cassian is fighting for a whole world and future, with everything in himself.

When the new border is drawn, Rhys doesn't despair- sure he's shaking, he's covered in Cassian's blood, his twelve thousand year old walls are smoking and the whole world smells like fucking Nesta Archeron- he's been the victim of curses before.

He won't let it keep him down. He'll be fine. He has Feyre, they're safe. Illyria is going to implode- and maybe, maybe, he'll save some of those that remain when the violence is too much, when they need a real High Lord.

They'll come home. Just like Feyre's sisters will. Rhysand's brothers. They fought for peace and Velaris has it- it is their home.

It's what they fought for, the happy ending, and it's all worth it.

It has to be worth it.

#Rhys is deadset a huge narcissist #and in the middle of a breakdown the entirety of daylight #he's SO HURT #But's turning all that hurt into anger #and an even stricter paranoia #its all catching up to him #everything from imperialism #to the shitty way he treated his friends #to the Winter Massacre that yes was absolutely him #this is more of a Shoreless Concept but all of feysand can be summed up #by Feyre making teary BUT WE'RE FAMILY demands and Rhys immediately committing a literal warcrime #and like #I do think Rhys hates himself too #but for wildly the wrong reasons #and never more or in a real way that overcomes how much he thinks everything he does is right #Cassian's death was a cost to them #as Nesta tells Feyre: what's done cannot be undone. Rhys chose wrong #the truly bonkers Rhys thing in canon #will always be that he's both represented as Most Powerful Ever #and the wrongly ignored underdog #when in fact he throws around power constantly for petty shitty reasons

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spitpr1ncess · 3 years ago

Text

Can I Call You Sir? / Nanami Kento x Fem Reader

--“And if I did? It’s only proved what I thought to be true all along. You’re a little degenerate, like me. I just wanted to test you, to know if you wanted what I wanted. Seems like you do, so tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you’re leaving, I’ll let you. I’m not going to force you to do anything, I respect your boundaries, and I respect that this is wrong. It just, feels so right. So deny it.”--

Fucking bullshit.

You stare at the graded paper before you and seethe from the inside out. An F? A fail?! But you’d studied relentlessly! The only thought you were having was how your mother was going to kill you when she finds out, you can practically hear her shrieking, “I’m paying heaps of money to put you through university and this is what you have to show for it?

Professor Nanami is writing something that looks vaguely recognizable on the chalk board, his tall but slim body looking oddly out of place at the front of the long classroom as you glare holes into the back of his blue shirt. There wasn’t a single person you hated more than him in this never-ending moment. You yawn and allow your head to fall heavy onto your crossed arms, hiding your shameful test results. You could listen to Professor Nanami with your eyes closed based solely on the fact that you would be failing the rest of this term if your test results were anything to go by.

The rest of the lesson passes quickly as you fall victim to maladaptive daydreams, playing out every single scenario where you approach Professor Nanami and question his harsh grading. You aren’t a stupid girl, in fact, in every other class you were smashing your target or hitting above. What was this mans problem? You imagine slamming your paper down in front of him, arms crossed and little foot tapping the floor. “Do you hate me?”, “So you have favourites?”, or just a plain “what the fuck?!” were among the favourites you’d rehearsed. His face was cold as stone as he stared back before licking his lower lip and smirking, pulling his glasses atop his head, causing a pretty ripple in his hair as he stands absolutely towering over you. A large thumb lifts your chin to look at him as his eyes bore into you. Then his lips are on yours.

Wait what?

What?

You’re roughly pulled from your daydream by your hair as a pair of polished brown shoes stand at the foot of your worn school desk and a voice beckons your name. Professor Nanami is stood less than a foot in front of you waiting for an explanation. You shoot bolt upright in the uncomfortable wooden chair as your entire body feels like its been zapped by an electric fence. You can feel the blush in your face spreading to your ears as you push the strange daydream to the back of your degenerate mind.

“Sleeping through my lectures will not help you fix that broken grade, Miss Reader. Do you understand me? Or do I need to put it more plainly? It can’t be easy with a simple mind like yours, but I’m sure we could find a way to help you absorb what I’m saying.” His eyes are cold as steel and boring into your soul, he doesn’t even blink, he’s like a robot. You hold his gaze before risking a look around the classroom revealing that it is completely empty, not a soul to be seen, brilliant. So not only had you failed your test but you’d also voluntarily agreed to extracurricular activities whilst daydreaming about kissing your Professor, it sure was a great day to be you.

You panic, how were you going to salvage this? You needed to think quickly, but nothing was springing to mind.

Clearing your throat and calming your nerves you begin, “sorry Professor I didn’t get much sleep last night, I have a lot going on at home so am finding it difficult to participate in classes at the moment.”

You are?

He lets out a small snort as he sits at the edge of your desk, peering down at you through his glasses, a look of judgement plasters his incredibly chiselled facial features, he is beautiful, and you’re happy to admit that, whether or not it could get you in trouble.

What?

“Your lies won’t cut it here, you’re excelling in all your other classes, algebra, languages and biology. These are not easy subjects and geography is a breeze in comparison, so why are you failing? Are you doing it on purpose?” Your attention is drawn to his strong throat and his Adams apple lifts and falls again as he swallows and you wonder if he is anxious about approaching you, not that he has any reason to be.

You feel anger bubble in your throat as you argue back, “I’m not a liar. I’m having trouble concentrating here. Your teaching, the class size, the fact the class is the last of the day, maybe you’re grading me too harshly! Have you considered that? Nobody else failed, so why did I?!” Your voice is shaking now and your knuckles are white as you push your nails into your palms, drawing blood. Professor Nanami looks at you for a moment before standing and heading back to his desk at the front of the class where he picks up a piece of chalk and some papers and begins to write.

“Question one is on plate tectonics, lets begin there. Would you care to explain the theory to me?” He turns and gives you a weirdly friendly smile, you calm your nerves and take a breath, opening your paper and looking at your answer, you read out the sentences you had written and cringe as you allow Professor Nanami to correct you, taking notes on his tutoring. Your personal four o’clock class finishes at just past seven as you both wrap up the test paper and Nanami wipes the board clean.

“In future Miss Reader, you come to me when you need help. You’re a smart young lady really, you know that, so put your brain to use. You’re going to do great things after your course is up so don’t discredit yourself over one failed paper.” He sits at his desk and waves his hand to dismiss you. “You’d better go now, I’m sure you have a worried boyfriend wondering where you’ve gotten to so late in the evening.” He pushes his glasses onto the top of his head, much like in your daydream, and you appreciate how good he looks for a moment. He’s aged yes, around thirty yes, but still gorgeous. You know the girls at University fawn over him, fighting to get even a slither of attention, and here you were, in a private tutoring session of your own, and without even meaning to.

You ponder the boyfriend comment before packing up and heading for the exit, deciding to test the waters you address him, “I don’t have a boyfriend Professor you see I simply don’t have time, and anyway, none of the boys here are mature enough to interest me.” You turn and give him a smile as you catch his gaze flitting up from where your stockings meet the fat of your thighs, you roll your eyes at him and shake your head as you sigh and leave for the night.

This was an interesting development.

Sleep washes over you as you awaken in your dream. Professor Nanami is sitting before you, he beckons for you to sit on his lap, you oblige and as you nestle against his chest, his fingers find the edge of your stocking, he traces lazy patterns on your thigh, eliciting a small sigh of pleasure from you. He nuzzles his nose against your cheek and plants a soft kiss against your neck, he pushes your soft hair behind your ear and begins to litter kisses on your sensitive lobe.

“Sweet thing, you smell heavenly, I just want to devour you.” He whispers. You throw your head back and invite him to suck and nip at your exposed throat, completely vulnerable in his arms you entrust him with your entirety. He groans as you manoeuvre your little waist to create friction with the fat of your ass and you’re met with the impossible hardness between his legs, this moment between the two of you feels like fireworks, everything is at a standstill and there is nothing but your two bodies, completely entwined, obsessed with each other’s perfect anatomy. You continue to explore each other physically as you mewl and sigh rhythmically, nothing has ever felt better than your Professors loving touch on your absolute innocence. You’d been with boys yes, but never a man like Nanami.

“Nanamin,” you cry out as he finds the hotness between your legs.

“Sweet girl, I’ll take the best care of you, just relax.” he speaks like sweet poetry from his mouth that tastes like the most expensive organic honey. Your breath hitches as he starts to disappear, you reach out but he is no longer there.

You jolt awake as you feel wetness pooling between your legs, the hotness and lack of friction so unbearable you are torn from the dream of all dreams.

Fuck, this is weird now.

Daydreaming about your Professor wouldn’t be the worst thing if you weren’t now absolutely sopping wet and grinding against your own mattress. You dare to slip a tiny hand under the waistband of your pants and give a little release to yourself, it felt unreal, and without realizing you were picturing him as you drive yourself to the edge and jump off head first. You’re picturing his pretty features and strong hands, his soft lips and authoritarian stare. In your head he’s praising you, “sweet thing, sweet girl” he says. You shudder as you come down from the satiating high and allow shame to encase you completely, rolling over, you stare at the screen of your phone.

5:38. A notification flashes from last night.

baby nobara: maps said you left uni at 7! wtf were u doing?? ps, shopping tmorrow?

You open the notification and type a quick reply.

you: was just studying, nothing important hahahah. sure! meet me at 11?

With that, you roll back over and let sleep nestle you gently between her arms.

It’s twenty minutes after your planned meet time that Nobara turns up, and holding a Krispy Kreme bag full of donuts and a doc marten tote housing at least one new pair of shoes, she’d obviously done a pre-shop, not that it was particularly out of character for her. Her gentle face is plastered with a mischievous grin as she runs and embraces you like two sisters might embrace after a long time away from each other’s presence

“I had to warm up before we got started!” she laughs at you, and all is forgiven in a matter of seconds. You’re both giggling as she opens the bag and makes you a peace offering of a strawberry donut, you eagerly accept as you discuss what shops you want to hit up today. You both spend hours browsing, trying on and chatting about everything, you don’t get to see Nobara often as you have alternating days on campus and your schedules clash horribly so the times you do spend together are cram packed full of mischief.

You’re walking past a load of stores as you approach Victoria's Secret and you immediately flash back to Professor Nanamis eyes on your stockings last night and his comment about your supposed boyfriend. Cogs are turning in your mind but before you have time to make the connection, you’re being dragged in, you have no objections and are pleasantly surprised by the variety of lingerie this particular chain of store holds. You pick out a few different numbers including a black corset body suit and a matching garter with stockings, you knew the reason for picking it out was completely inappropriate but it didn’t stop you from taking it to the counter and paying nearly 100 dollars for it. You grinned as you schemed yet another daydream waiting for your friend to decide on the bits she wanted.

You both decide on a little sushi place for lunch and as you fill your mouth with miso Nobara asks, “Who are you fucking? It has to be someone at university, that’s why you stayed so late, right?” The question completely winds you as you try not to choke on your food. Your eyes are watering as you try to explain that it was just extra-curricular studies. Nobara nods and rolls her eyes, “You don’t have to lie to me, I’ll find out sure enough.” She laughs as you pray she lets this go, shovelling some nigiri into her mouth she waves you off. “Chill,” she says as you allow your heart to slow in your chest.

You give her a hug as you finally part ways and she ruffles your hair, “See you around”, and with that she’s gone. You begin the walk home as you reflect on the events of today, you reel as you come to the realization you spent 100 dollars on a lingerie set for a man over ten years your senior who would less than likely ever find out you’d bought it. Unless.

No.

You shake the thought of trying to bait your own Professor after barely scraping by the last term, expulsion for indecent behaviour seems somewhat worse, at least you think. It also doesn’t seem good for Nobara to now suspect you have something going on with somebody, she has to know all the top gossip and you don’t doubt she will find a way. Now that you think about it, you should turn your phone location off. You know your friend would stalk you for the sake of some scandalous news she can tease you about. You giggle to yourself, you and Professor Nanami, what a thought.

The bell rings as you finish washing your hands, you stopped to use the bathroom before your final class of the day, Geography. You’d been anticipating this class, having chosen the black corset body suit with stockings to match, you’d paired it with a mid-length black satin skirt and an oversized cardigan, it was enough to feel comfortable in, and not break any regulations but enough for Professor Nanami to notice, which was just perfect. You wanted to test the waters after his comment and wandering eyes, you’d had time to stew over your awful test results and were wondering if maybe he was a little harsh with the grading. Either way, today would tell.

You hurry up the stairs and down the long corridor to the classroom where he lectures, there were around 30 students already settled in class and you could see your Professor writing on the board. You slip in quietly and take your seat at the back of the class, you shed your cardigan, giving a frontal view of your chest and begin to take notes. You ensure you pay full attention to todays class, not taking your eyes off the man at the front of your lecture room. You meet his gaze a few times and you sense him trying really hard to not allow his eager eyes to flit downwards, you wish for him to give you anything more than a feeling to go off of but he’s stone cold and hard as steel. As the class draws to an end Nanami dismisses the students and you wait until the room has emptied before you walk towards his desk. You wait for him to address you.

“Miss Reader, can I help you with something?” he doesn’t meet your gaze and instead continues typing something on his keyboard, you’re frustrated with how nonchalant he’s being, how you’ve probably misread the entire encounter, how you’ve created a whole reality from nothing.

“I, I was hoping maybe you would assist me with some questions I have from the class today Sir, if you have time of course.” If he wanted to play games, he would get games, you might be younger than him but you’re not stupid.

“That’s okay, you’ll have to give me ten minutes whilst I finish this email, then I’m all yours. Feel free to take a seat.” He motions for the first desk in the front row and you roll your eyes as you decide to make a stand. You pull a chair from the side of the room to Nanamis desk and sit directly opposite him, you take out your textbooks and begin to lay them out on the space behind his computer, sitting down you cross your legs, brushing his shin with your shoe. You’re sure you see his jaw tighten, but he plays it off by cracking his neck, the loud crunch distracts from the tension filled silence and you lick your bottom lip in anticipation.

He finishes with his email and pushes the computer screen to the side of his desk then leans back in his chair and loosens his tie slightly, he catches you watching the space above where his shirt is buttoned and smirks, “So what questions do you have sweet girl?”, it’s an innocent enough question but you’re walking a fine line and need to be careful. You make idle small talk about today’s class for an hour or so before asking your Professor to quiz you, it’s a shot in the dark but you’re hoping he will catch on.

“I’ve been revising, ask me any twenty questions, if I get them right you can pass me for that test!” you grin, proud of the compromise you’d come up with.

“It’s a good idea, but what if you get questions wrong? Does the fail still stand?” he laughs quietly, like he made a personal joke that only he understood, he allowed his eyes to trail down to the black floral lace encasing your chest, it wasn’t overly provocative (you were in university after all) but it was enough to make his mind wander. You test the waters again, trailing a finger over the top of the hem, outlining the soft of your breasts, Nanami shuffles in his seat and adjusts his legs, brilliant.

You allow your Professor to test you, answering all questions and waiting for each correct answer like a patient puppy, sitting for its master. At the end of the test you grin, over the moon with yourself for showing him you deserve a passing mark.

“I told you! I told you I shouldn’t have failed. You were definitely marking me too harshly!” You brush your leg against his again, and he doesn’t make an effort to move himself, he drinks you in through the round frames of his glasses that are sitting pretty on the top of his nose.

“Sweet girl, I never thought you were stupid, in fact, I think you’re rather smart. So tell me, why are you really here right now?” He sits forward in his chair and leans across his desk, towards you. Your faces are so close that you can feel his warm and tempting breath on your lips, your eyes close of their own accord and you lean in. He teases you with soft pecks and you fight back, bringing a hand to his chin but he beats you to it. Your hand completely drowned by his own, the sheer size difference a shock to your system, he holds your hand against his desk where your forgotten papers sit. With his other hand he brings his thumb just below your chin and lifts your face so your eyes can meet his, “Is this what you wanted all along? To kiss your Professor? Is this what your little get up today is about? You thought I wouldn’t notice the pretty lace? Do you know how good you look?” His rhetoric questions causing your heart to beat a hole in your chest you inhale sharply, trying to take control of your breathing once again.

“You failed me on purpose.” It’s slipped out before you have time to consider what you’re saying.

What?!

“And if I did? It’s only proved what I thought to be true all along. You’re a little degenerate, like me. I just wanted to test you, to know if you wanted what I wanted. Seems like you do, so tell me to stop and I will. Tell me you’re leaving, I’ll let you. I’m not going to force you to do anything, I respect your boundaries, and I respect that this is wrong. It just, feels so right. So deny it.”

A grown man, your professor nonetheless, sits before you in what feels like a dream, asking for you to stop this.

So stop it.

You take your free hand and pull his face into yours, you’re kissing again, this time with more desperation. It was like you were parched, and Nanami was a stream of fresh water, you couldn’t get enough, and it was like your entire life depended on it. His desk was the only thing stopping you from jumping across and allowing him to devour you whole, you thought about straddling his lap and allowing him to grab the soft fat of your ass. Not yet.

You pull away from the kiss and stand, looking at the man before you, his tie completely loose, a few strands of hair falling on his forehead allowing him to look dishevelled, his glasses slightly steamed up. He was a sight to behold and your heart was beating to within an inch of your life with the idea that you had caused it. Internally you were screaming, DON’T FUCKING STOP. But you had to, had to make sure this wouldn’t be a mistake. You leaned across the desk and picked his glasses off of his nose, placing them on your own and pulling them up, to push the hair off of your face. He looked puzzled and opened his mouth to say something but you interrupted him.

“It seems I have forgotten something, looks like I’ll have to come back to get it tomorrow, what a shame.” And with that, you shot him a grin, turned on your heels, and left. Nanami sat staring at the door in utter shock and awe as you stalked out. He quickly fixed himself up sans glasses and packed up for the day, he muttered something about teaching you a lesson, and spare frames before he left, allowing the leftover tension to dissolve.

#nanami x reader #nanami kento #jujutsu kaisen #Nanamin #nanami fanfic #archive of our own #spitprincess #spitty #my own work #original content #nanami x femme reader #kento #kento nanami x redaer

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nobodyfamousposts · 5 years ago

Text

ML Spite: Yeeting Off the High Road and Dragging You All Down With Me

Imagine, if you would, a slightly different scenario in our usual “High Road” plot. Instead of turning Lila’s lies against Lila, Marinette uses Lila’s lies against the classmates themselves.

Realistically speaking, in these fics, the class has already made it a matter of sides and have already made it clear just whom they’re going to side with. The fact that Lila has no proof of anything whereas Marinette at least has two potential witnesses to the truth (Adrien and Ladybug) doesn’t seem to matter. That means the classmates are actively choosing to trust the new girl over their “Everyday Ladybug”. And if they are putting their trust in someone they don’t know that well vs someone they do, whom they KNOW is a good person whom has helped them before, that means it’s because they WANT to trust Lila more. It seems that choice is primarily based on this belief regarding what Lila can do for them rather than a matter of whom is actually trustworthy.

Under these circumstances, trying to reveal Lila will only backfire. Lila can just pull out the crocodile tears and claim she “only wanted to make friends”, and you know the class will eat it up because a positive impression of someone can’t be broken that easily when people REALLY want to believe the best of the person involved.

To beat Lila, Marinette realizes she can’t just disprove Lila’s claims or even let Lila accidentally out herself. That won’t be enough to get the class our from under her thrall.

No. What she has to do is make Lila’s lies unappealing.

Cue Pettynette’s version of the “High Road”.

“But wait!” I can hear you say. “Hasn't that been done?”

Not like this.

In the other versions, Marinette, even when being petty, kept her focus on Lila and twisting her lies against her.

In this case, Marinette is twisting Lila’s lies against everyone else.

Marinette “apologizes” for doubting Lila, making the classmates happy that she’s seen the light. And she has! So she’s going to "do right by Lila”.

Lila is suspicious, but Marinette seems sincere. She takes the lies and treats them like they’re real. But she doesn’t do it in a way to counter Lila, oh no! If anything, Marinette seems to be going out of her way to give Lila what she wants.

EVERYTHING she wants. Rearrange the seating chart and ensure Lila has the seat next to Adrien. Having people assigned to take notes for her. Making the classmates take turns being her “helper” to complete tasks. Letting Lila avoid the things she doesn’t want to do while keeping her front and center for anything she could be interested in. Lila’s going to have a ball.

The rest of the class? Not so much.

After all, it helps build resentment when they're the ones being put out by Lila's sudden and ever changing "needs". Lila needs a seat close to the door in case she has to leave for an emergency? Marinette rearranges the class seating chart to put everyone BUT Lila in seats they don’t want. Lila can't write out her notes? That's fine. Everyone in class can take turns writing her assignments for her. Lila has an allergy? Gee, guess no more free pastries.

Soon enough, the class starts to have “problems” with Lila.

Nathaniel doesn’t like that he can’t draw in class anymore.

Nino doesn’t like having his time with Adrien or Alya interrupted, or just having to come to school early or stay late to help Lila with whatever she needs.

Rose doesn’t like that she’s been moved to the back because one of Lila’s issues can be irritated by her perfume.

Kim and Alix don’t like that certain sports-focused events have been cancelled because it’s not fair that Lila can’t participate.

Adrien doesn’t like that he’s suddenly getting a lot more time being around Lila than he ever wanted.

Chloe doesn’t care and is mostly unaffected. Sabrina sees no difference from what she normally does. So those two are okay, at least.

But everyone else?

The seeds of resentment are planted.

Not helping Lila is that she’s been taking full advantage of every “good” thing done in her favor. She sees this whole thing as Marinette’s surrender and is both enjoying the special treatment from the class and getting to “win” over Marinette. She doesn’t realize that Marinette only changed her targets.

It just gets worse from there.

Given that she’s been revealed as “Ladybug’s best friend” and how vulnerable she is, they can’t have Lila being alone during akuma attacks. And since Alya is her “closest friend” (and Adrien mysteriously goes missing whenever an akuma appears), Alya finds herself on “Lila Duty” regularly. Naturally, she doesn’t like that this is taking her away from on her blog, especially during akuma attacks.

Ivan and Mylene are involved in various community projects and the like, but now they’re being encouraged (by friends, by teachers, by anyone really) to focus those projects on any of the various issues affecting Lila because “it’s so tragic and they know someone personally affected”. It’s like they can’t get away.

Juleka learns that Lila’s replacing her as a model for various projects since she claims she’s done it before and her poor health issues don’t give her much of a chance to do this lately and you understand, don’t you?

Max doesn’t like that he’s pretty much doing Lila’s schoolwork for her either because of her “injuries” keeping her from doing tasks or her “charity works” keeping her from taking part in projects.

The girls find their Adrien/Marinette ship has been stalled as Marinette insists she can’t do anything to upset Lila and that Lila clearly likes Adrien, so trying to confess would make her feel bad. When they attempt to refute the claim, Marinette merely points to the picture Lila sent out in Oni-chan. (Which both Alya and Nino find increasingly suspicious.)

Lila doesn't know what Marinette is playing at. She thinks Marinette has given in. Marinette is actually going for the long game and slowly building up resentment against Lila over time. While also making the class increasingly desperate to prove Lila's a liar just to get Marinette to stop.

But because Marinette isn't actively appearing petty, they can't reasonably argue against anything she's trying to do regardless of the extra work it puts on them because it makes them look bad. Ms. Bustier admonishes them for being unwilling to help a classmate in need. Lila enjoys the attention and thus plays up the crocodile tears. Marinette gives them looks of such DISAPPOINTMENT when they start to complain. After all, it’s only a small inconvenience to help a friend, right?

And that’s what Lila has become: an inconvenience.

The worst part is they can't blame Marinette for it, since they know she has a point and is “only trying to help”. And after all, isn’t this what they wanted her to do? To put her suspicions aside and help Lila?

Now she is, and they wish she would stop.

Eventually, resentment builds. The classmates don’t KNOW Lila is lying, but they’re less willing to trust her or be blind to the things she does. So they start to be more observant. Looking for reasons to justify not needing to be so “helpful”. As such, they slowly but surely start to notice when her claims don’t add up.

Now they’re paying attention, and each of the classmates one by one come to the realization that “Gasp! Lila has been lying all along!”

Shocker.

But the best part is that they each think they’re the only one who knows. So they each try going to Marinette, the only other person whom at any point expresses suspicion of Lila’s claims, in hopes of getting her support in telling the rest of the class and stopping with the Queen Lila treatment.

Only Marinette just looks at them in confusion. The picture of innocence and naïveté, she tells them they shouldn’t make such accusations.

Even when the accusations involve things the classmates know are impossible. Or Lila claiming credit for things she couldn’t have done. Like Lila getting Ladybug to help out Kitty Section. Or Lila being Rena Rouge.

They’re all convinced, to their horror, that Marinette believes Lila now. They each attempt to convince her of the truth they just realized.

But Marinette? She just acts oblivious. Why would they say such things about Lila? After all, she's done SO MUCH!

So each of them tries to prove to her that Lila’s lying. They point out errors, note contradictions, and actively look up proof.

But Marinette just points out reasonable flaws in their claims. Maybe Lila left out a detail. Maybe they misremembered what happened. They don't KNOW that Lila didn't help with this brave act. They can't PROVE that Lila doesn't have an injury.

And they’re each caught in a catch 22 where they can’t seem to convince Marinette that Lila lied about anything without admitting Marinette had been right from the start and they had been wrong to disregard her.

The best part is that none of the classmates dare to talk to any of the others. They hadn’t believed Marinette when she tried to warn them, and now even Marinette believes Lila. So much like Marinette in Chameleon, they each think they’re alone in their discovery, so they don't dare speak out to anyone else.

But every one of them is fully convinced that Marinette is caught under Lila’s spell and needs to be “saved”. So they keep trying to convince her of the truth only for her to seem oblivious.

They don’t realize that Marinette is using the “Kill Them With Kindness” only she’s taken the entire class down with her. She will enforce universal kindness with an iron fist until they get sick of it.

And heaven help them all if Felix exists in this variant, If he’s not outright enjoying the show, he’ll waste no time telling each of them how it’s their own damn fault.

Eventually, it all comes to a head. Marinette decides to push things further.

What the killing blow is? It’s really up in the air. Maybe it was the cancellation of a class trip because Lila couldn’t go and it wouldn’t be fair? Maybe Marinette tries to call everyone else in class together to suggest arranging a party for Lila since everyone had been complaining to her (pre High Road) how Lila hadn’t been there for the last one? Or maybe it’s just some random minor thing just just happens to finally be the ONE single straw that breaks the camel’s back.

SOMEONE finally just blows up and starts ranting. Out loud. In front of everyone. How Lila is a liar. How she’s made up everything. And just how SICK they are of trying to be nice to her and accommodate the clear and obvious lies.

Pure silence. The one person who broke is horrified at what they had done.

Until finally...

"Oh thank god! I thought I was the only one!"

Like a dam breaking, everyone else admits to knowing the truth about Lila lying. They each admit they were too worried to say something. And most importantly, they are all just DONE with Lila.

And with the rest of the class now firmly on the same “side”, they all work together to try and “rescue” Marinette from whatever hold Lila has over her by convincing her of the other girl’s lies.

“Marinette, you can’t trust Lila!”

“She lies! About EVERYTHING!”

“She’s just been taking advantage of your kindness!”

“You are too good for her!”

“Please! Please believe us!”

There is true desperation there for Marinette to believe them. That they’re telling the truth. That Lila is lying.

And gee, isn’t THIS familiar?

#ml salt #ml spite #ml idea #ml plot bunny #lila sucks #miracuclass are idiots

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yandere-daydreams · 4 years ago

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Can I have something involving apollo having a darling that wanted to be monogamous?

While I hesitate to involve myself in anything that involves monogamy, I do love watching our second favorite Sun God struggle to compromise. It’s fitting, for someone as… /generous/ as Apollo.

Title: Divided Attention.

TW: Implied Kidnapping and Emotional Manipulation.

You learned quickly that Apollo was a man of great extravagance.

You’d always known it, really. Even when you were simply a bystander to the antics of his cult, you didn’t have to travel far to find one of his gold-plated temples, his altars always decorated with the rarest of flowers and his sacrifices more akin to feasts than the sparse, sparable scraps other deities required. You had no great desire to participate in his theatrics, not beyond an annual festival or two tradition demanded you attend. It had been no surprise that, when you were whisked away to a palace closer to the sun than any other, there were dozens of guests who’d received their invitation long before Apollo had thought to send yours. Every room was full, every conversation shouted, and you didn’t care for it. You loathed it, some days.

Almost as much as you loathed the God who brought you here.

You were the newest toy in an overflowing collection. Countless eyes, all young and clouded, watched your every move, appraising your value as they parted to either side and made a path down the center of the massive, blinding throne room that occupied the majority of Apollo’s domain. You did your best not to be intimidated by it, keeping your eyes on the creature you were being directed towards, a man too tall and much too happy to see you. Promptly, you decided it actually was not a good idea to look at him, and instead directed your attention towards the velvet carpet guiding your advances.

Alas, avoidance wasn’t a sustainable method. As you came to a stop in front of him, you moved to kneel, but a strong arm was quick to correct your posture, taking you by the midriff and lifting you onto Apollo’s lap unceremoniously. He nodded towards the amassed crowd, and without further argument, they blended back into one lingering, unattentive group, conversations picking up where they’d been cut off and activities proceeding as if they’d never been interrupted. You watched, for a moment, but another intrusion was quick to steal you away. You didn’t try to decide which disturbance was more unwelcomed.

“You haven’t changed,” He began, his hand coming up to cup your jaw before trailing towards your neck, a long, painted nail tapping twice against your chest. You knew what he was referring to without further explanation - he’d made his hatred for your drab, grey frock more than clear. You were given clothes, a wardrobe in every color of the natural world, but every piece was just as lavish as your surroundings. You’d forgone it without much thought. “I was excited to see you in attire more fitting of your beauty, you know. Is there something wrong with what I’ve provided?”

You were in a strange place and you weren’t allowed to go home. You were surrounded by people with dead eyes and silver tongues and none of them had any interest in befriending someone as separate as yourself. Apollo had stolen you and he wouldn’t give you back, and you resented him for it and everything else and a million other reasons you couldn’t name in polite company.

“They’re not my taste,” You answered, knowing better than to purposefully displease him. “I once heard Athena say a great mind needs no decoration.”

“And I once watched Athena start a dozen different wars over a single bronze breastplate she could never seem to get her hands on.” Despite the delight in his tone, he was quick to let out a long, labored sigh, pulling you closer to his chest as he went on. “This is your home now, my love, do you understand that? I want your comfort, and if there’s anything I could do to gain your trust, all you need to do is say the word.” Once again, his fingers ran through your hair, tilting your head back and allowing him to capture your lips in a soft, fleeting kiss, romantic by intention and onesided by execution. You remained rigid, present only in a physical sense, but that was all Apollo required. He pulled away with a noise of contentment, if only to better stare you down with a gaze far too concentrated. Far too intense. “Your desires are my own.”

You could practically taste the opportunity. You didn’t allow yourself time to falter, you’d spent far too long waiting for an opening. “The only thing I desire is commitment, my lord.”

There was a pause. This time, Apollo couldn’t seem to summon an elegant rebuttal. “Commitment?”

“I do not wish to be a piece of a set.” It wasn’t a lie, just a truth out of context. You did not wish to be Apollo’s, alone or with company, and you knew he could never be satisfied with the lover he already had. It was an impossible bargain, and surely, it was a bargain he couldn’t risk accepting. “I am not a jewel to decorate your riches, and I refuse to be another facet of your ever-growing harem. Either send me away and be done with it, or prove that you’ll be loyal to me. I don’t want to be with someone who isn’t willing to make sacrifices in my name.”

There was silence. Rigid, frozen silence. You swallowed, and Apollo forgot to pretend he was human enough to blink.

Then, abruptly, he laughed.

“My stubborn disciple has no faith in me,” He chuckled, his voice completely and utterly rejuvenated. He held up an arm, beckoning his reluctant lovers forward and wordlessly calling them to gather, to be ready for his next demand. “You don’t think you’ll be cared for. You forget that everyone here shares in my love, and they’re just as prepared to distribute my affection as I am.” He paused, a hand coming to rest on your hip, squeezing playfully as he turned you on his knee, leaning forward just enough to let his grin press against your bare shoulder. “It’s my fault, really. I should’ve ensured that you received a proper welcome, but a delayed celebration will have to do. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive my negligence, my love.”

You moved to contest, to argue and tell him exactly what he could do with his negligence, but before you could speak, a woman’s hand had latched onto your ankle, a man’s wrapping around your wrist. They pulled, and willingly, Apollo let you fall into the mass, each and every one of its many occupants dead-set on contributing to something terrible. There were cheers, sounds of celebration and a few rough jostles to your form, but there was no changing their aims, escaping the fate you’d talked their deity into carrying out. And, as someone grabbed at your back, clawing until they’d torn through thin fabric, it dawned on you just how vile your fate was going to be.

Apollo was a being of indulgence, after all.

You weren’t sure why you expected his lovers to be any different.

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firstofficerwiggles · 4 years ago

Text

Only for You

Pairing: Mandalorian x female reader

Rating: G

Warnings: None

Summary: You like to sing and it ends up bringing you closer to the Mandalorian. Events take place sometime between Seasons 1 and 2. It’s pretty much fluff with a teeny bit of story.

Word Count: ~4600

Author’s Note: Inspired by the Adele version of Make You Feel My Love, I use several of the lyrics in the story but I did make one small change to make it fit the SW universe. Also in my SW universe, all Earth music is readily available by some magical means, don’t overthink it.

P.S. To everyone I tagged, I did a presumptive tag here since you were on my list for Dress Code and I thought maybe you’d enjoy reading this too? I’m sorry if you aren’t interested and just let me know if you don’t want to be tagged for any future works.

---------------------------------------------------------

The soft sounds of you singing to the child drift through the Razor Crest up to the cockpit making Din smile under his helmet. Ever since you came aboard to be the caregiver for his little foundling, life has been filled with music and boisterous sounds. It’s a nice change from the lonely silences that previously filled his days. He never really listened to music when he was alone, it just wasn’t something he was used to, but now he knows he would miss it if you weren’t singing all the time.

“Heeey, hey baby, I wanna know-ow-ow, if you’ll be my guy.” You sing to the child causing him to giggle and coo at you. You swear he is even bopping his head along to the rhythm of the song. You’re preparing the evening meal, dancing around the Crest’s hull and singing to your little green charge as you do. Thank goodness Mando doesn’t mind how much you sing and generally create a ruckus in the ship. From outward appearances, your primary worry should have been Mando’s dangerous lifestyle and the bounty on the child, but honestly, when you first started this job, your primary concern was about being way too noisy for the taciturn bounty hunter. You feel like you can’t help it though because you were raised in a loud household with three brothers where everyone was always talking, laughing, shouting, and generally being rowdy. Later, you were away at school living with hundreds of other students constantly surrounded by racket, the perfect environment for your noisy nature. Not to mention, you’ve always loved to sing and were known for being that one (slightly annoying) friend that was always humming a tune or breaking out in song like you were in a musical.

You were fortunate to be sent to a school with a great arts program and you relished your music classes. You had dreamed of someday being able to have a career in music, but as the war grew closer to your corner of the galaxy, those aspirations quickly faded. By the time you left school, you were lucky to find the odd teaching job as a tutor and the closest you’d come to having any sort of musical profession was singing and playing the piano at the local cantina a few times a week for tips. It had been fun for a while, but it wasn’t how you had envisioned your life. Playing the same requested songs night after night while increasingly drunk men hit on you loses its charm real fast. When your older brother, another bounty hunter, had told you about Mando needing some help with childcare, you had jumped at the opportunity for something new. So far it was proving to be the most rewarding job you’d ever had. Not only was the child unbelievably adorable, you’d also had the opportunity to travel to many new places and gain experiences that would have been impossible back on your home world. And while caring for the special alien baby was your main task, you found yourself helping out his father as much as you could too whether it was simply cleaning up around the Crest or making sure that Mando ate something on a given day. You had seen that he frequently put everyone above himself, going for long stretches of time without seeing to his own personal needs. He seemed to appreciate everything that you did for him, always quick to thank you even for the smallest of tasks.

You checked the timer on the food and saw that there were just a few more minutes until it would be ready. To keep the baby from getting fussy, you pick him up and spin him around a bit singing to him again, “So won’t you, please, be my, be my, be my little baby, my one and only baby...” It’s silly but you love singing songs to him with the word “baby” in them even if they aren’t traditionally songs for children. You are mid twirl with the child when you realize the Mandalorian has come down from the cockpit and is watching your little performance. You feel your cheeks heat up, a bit embarrassed that he has caught you being such a dork, but then he puts you at ease when he chuckles, “You two look like you’re having fun.”

“Yes, time for dinner and a little dancing,” you reply with a smile, twirling the child one more time causing him to erupt in happy giggles.

“Good, I’m starved,” Mando wanders over to the food, “Smells delicious. You’re too good to us.”

You put the baby back down and turn back to the little stove to dish out the stew you’ve made. You try not to think about the fact that you made this particular dish because Mando seems to like it so much. You couldn’t be certain but it looked like he licked the bowl clean the last time you made it. Mando moves to take his bowl up to the cockpit so he can remove his helmet and eat in privacy, but then turns to you to say, “I’ll let you know when it’s ok to come up for lullaby time.”

Ah yes, lullaby time, as if you would ever forget. It is the highlight of your day, and you would love to imagine that the same is true for Mando even though he’s never given any indication of the kind. When you first started this job, you had tried to give the Mandalorian as much space as possible not wanting to pester him in any way. As much as you could, you had stayed out of the cockpit treating it as his own private domain. So the first few times you put the child to bed, you stayed down in the hull as you sang him a few songs to help ease the little womp rat into sleep. But, after a few evenings alone like that, Mando had managed to be downstairs, tinkering away at little odd jobs while you put the baby to bed. At first you didn’t really think he was paying much attention to your singing, but by about the fourth night you realized he had been cleaning the same blaster over and over, and you began to suspect that he was listening to you as intently as the child. A few days later, he suggested that you come up to the cockpit for the child’s nighttime routine, saying “Maybe looking out at the stars will help him feel sleepy.” You had agreed, but, you had to admit, that it was more because you were curious about spending more time with your employer than finding a way to help the little one fall asleep faster. Mando had been the one to coin the term “lullaby time” as a way to let you know that his helmet was back on and he was ready for company. Your heart almost melted the first time he said it, and now you lived to hear him call down to say “Ok, you two, it’s lullaby time.”

In the cockpit, Din is gulping down his dinner. He knows he should probably slow down, savor his food a bit more, but truthfully he’s eager to spend more time with you and the child. He’s thought about staying down below with you both when he eats, but tipping the helmet up each time he wants to take a bite of food or a sip of a drink is a pain and he can’t risk the chance that one of you will see too much of his face. Din would never admit it out loud, but lullaby time is his favorite part of the day. It’s the one time he gets to spend time with you and the child just relaxing and enjoying your presence. Plus the fact that he gets to listen to your beautiful voice is a special bonus. At first Din would just watch you hold the child and sing to him, but now he’s a more active participant, often taking the child into his arms, rocking him gently as you sing to the both of them. He’s even started to ask you more about the songs you sing and where you learned them. It’s been a nice way to start conversations with you, to know more about you, something else he is eager to do.

When Mando calls down to you, you beam down at the baby and tell him happily that it’s time to get ready for bed. Scooping him up, you climb the ladder to the cockpit and you can see Mando already holding out his arms for the little one. You adore how affection this hardened warrior can be with his adopted son. You settle in the co-pilot’s chair as you start to sing some of your favorite songs. They’re all love songs, not really lullabies, but they are soft and dreamy and create the right mood for the evening. You’ve sung about four songs when you notice the child’s eyes are closed and you can tell he’s almost asleep. You’re about ready to collect him from Mando so you can put him into his pram for the night, when Mando asks, “What’s that song you sing about feel my love?”

“Make You Feel My Love?” you ask, “Is that the one you mean?”

“Yeah,” he replies, “you didn’t sing it tonight.”

It’s not exactly a request, but you understand what he’s hinting at. He’s asked you the name before, so you suspect he remembers the song fairly well. Even though the child is practically asleep now, you sing it for Mando, feeling touched that he must enjoy this particular song to want to ask about it.

When the rain is blowing in your face

And the whole world is on your case

I could offer you a warm embrace

To make you feel my love

When the evening shadows and the stars appear

And there is no one there to dry your tears

I could hold you for a million years

To make you feel my love

Din listens to the beautiful words and the haunting melody as your voice sings to him about all the ways you would show him that you care. He watches your lovely face as you sing and he imagines that you really mean what you are singing, that you’re singing it just to him, that you really would do all of that for him. When you get to the line I could make you happy, make your dreams come true he feels his heart lurch at the truth in those words, knowing how much you already make him happy every day and acknowledging that if you were ever truly with him, it would be like a dream come true for him. As the song ends, he sighs, both contented at hearing it but also saddened to come back to reality. Din won’t let himself believe that a woman like you could ever really love him so unconditionally. His life is too turbulent, full of violence and hardship, and what woman would want to saddle herself with that?

Even though you’re not privy to Mando’s true feelings, you somehow feel that you could tell how much he enjoyed hearing that song and so after that evening, you are sure to sing it as the last song every night. Usually the child is already fast asleep when you sing it, so each time it becomes clearer to you that you really are singing it just for Mando. As the days and week progress, lullaby time has come to be followed by conversation time since you have taken to returning to the cockpit after putting the child to sleep in his pram. At first you mostly spoke about your own life, answering Mando’s questions about where you learned to sing, what else you learned at school, and what life was like with your three crazy brothers. Yet, little by little he has begun to tell you about his own past, sharing stories about his training in the Mandalorian fighting corps and his earlier years as a bounty hunter.

The more you find out about Mando, the more you’ve come to develop real feelings for him. So when you sing that there’s nothing that you wouldn’t do for him, that you want him to feel your love, you know you really mean it. If only you could bring yourself to tell him in your own words, and not only in the song. Nonetheless, if you’re honest with yourself, you have no indication that Mando shares your feelings even slightly. While he does seem to enjoy spending time with you, and clearly he likes Make You Feel My Love, truthfully he could be thinking about anyone when you sing it or it could be that he just likes the music and the company, it’s not like there’s someone else here. Sure he’s always polite and kind towards you, but he’s like that with lots of people, as long as they’re not a threat. You’ve seen how quickly he can make friends, despite being an intimidating wall of metal, his quiet charm and respectfulness draws people to him in an unassuming manner. Perhaps you’re simply another friendly admirer swept up by his intriguing aura. So you do your best to keep these feeling to yourself, maintaining as neutral an expression as you can when you sing to him and doing your utmost not to embarrass yourself by sharing too much and potentially ruining the friendly companionship you’ve managed to cultivate.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I don’t think this will take too long, and you two can probably get something to eat while we’re here.” You and the child have accompanied Mando to a cantina on an icy planet where he has a meeting with a potential client. It was too cold to stay on the Razor Crest with its meager heating system, and thankfully this place is warm and doesn’t seem too seedy. The bar top looks well-polished and there’s even a piano in here, hinting at a nicer atmosphere than most of the hole-in-the wall joints you’ve been to with Mando. The only unsettling thing is how everyone in the cantina is staring at your odd little group, the silver warrior, the alien baby in his floating pram, and you, the woman looking about with curious eyes. You have never quite gotten used to the way that Mando can silence an entire room just by entering it, but he seems unperturbed by the stares. He spots his client, an older looking gentleman, and moves toward that direction, but a group of patrons have decided to intervene first.

“What’s your business here, Mandalorian?” A tall, florid-faced man demands. He seems to be the unofficial leader of the group, as the rest of them are looking to him as the voice of authority.

“It’s not with you.” Mando is never one to mince words.

“We don’t need you coming in here and causing trouble, I’ve seen how you Mandos get.” A much shorter man, with clearly a death wish, sticks his finger towards Mando’s chest plate almost poking him.

“Not here for trouble.” Mando’s voice sounds gruffer than usual and it sends a shiver down your spine.

“Well you Mandos never drink in public, so what are you doing in a cantina?” The short man sneers at him and ugh, the way he makes Mandos sound like a dirty word irritates you to no end.

Not one to be baited into confrontation, Mando says nothing in reply, but merely tilts his helmet at the man, and you can feel the annoyance in his gesture.

“This a decent place for decent people, so why don’t you just turn around and get out of here?” The tall man suggests with a malicious tone to his voice. This place might look at little nicer, but the patrons sure are nasty. You look around and see more men standing up, and the tension in the room is palpable. You know Mando could really use the work, but the last thing he needs is to get into a fight just trying to land the job.

You have no idea what possesses you, but before you know it you’re saying “But if we leave now, you won’t get to hear me sing!” And you stride confidently over to the piano, plop yourself down on the bench, and begin playing out a jaunty song, a popular tune from your cantina back home. Despite the fact that everyone is now staring at you like you have lost your mind, you press ahead and start singing as if this was always the point of being there. You smile brightly at the room as if you are having the time of your life performing for them. Magically, your ridiculous ploy works and the men back off, a bit startled at first by the abrupt change in energy in the room, but as they beginning listening to you sing their animosity seems to drain away. Several other patrons are nodding their heads along with the music and light conversation picks up again. Mando gives you a small nod before finally making his way over to the client. You let the music flow and continue on to another song, keeping everyone’s attention on you. By the third song you feel more relaxed and grateful that you’re able to help Mando out in this way. A waiter comes over from the bar with a drink for you as you end a song, “That was smooth, what you did,” he gives you a little wink.

“Hope your boss doesn’t mind,” you say with a smile.

“The drink’s from him, he said he didn’t realize I hired a singer for tonight, but he’s real pleased with you.” He gestures to the man tending bar.

“That’s good,” is all you can think to say in response.

“Do you know She’s Always a Woman?” he asks. You nod smoothly and start the song and you glance over at the bartender again and see that he’s smiling widely, must be a favorite of his.

After that, a tip jar finds its way over to the piano and patrons come up to add to it and make their own requests, even the tall man comes over to give you a few credits and ask for a song. His cronies are now back to their drinks and none of them even seem to register that Mando is still here. The more you sing, the more you get into the fun of performing for a crowd again, making them forget their troubles and letting them take some time to enjoy themselves. When you glimpse towards Mando and his client, they also seem to appreciate the music. The client has a happy smile on his face and while you obviously can’t see Mando’s expression, his relaxed posture indicates an improvement from earlier. He doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave for once either.

Looking at the pleased faces and jovial manner about the cantina now, Din is impressed with how you managed to transform this place from hostile to welcoming in a matter of minutes. The client appreciated your help too as he was worried about hiring a bounty hunter in the first place, never having had a need for such services before. Fortunately, the client’s explanation of the job was fairly straightforward and it looks to be an easy bounty. Din is careful to repeat back all of the pertinent details to the client and the man seems satisfied in his abilities to find the quarry, which is good because his usual laser-like focus has abandoned him and he can’t stop himself from glancing repeatedly over to the piano and you. Normally, Din wouldn’t hang around and socialize with the client, but the opportunity to see you perform like this is too good to pass up. He knew you were talented after hearing you sing for him and the baby for so many evenings, but seeing you shine like this is a luxury. Din watches keenly as different emotions play across your gorgeous face as you shift from happy, upbeat songs to the more expressive and dramatic love songs. You are always beautiful to Din, but seeing you like this is special, like you’re glowing from within and it makes you all the more precious to him. He’s not crazy about the fact that you’ve clearly captivated at least half of the men in the room with your beauty and talent, but he knows you’re leaving here with him and it makes him feel rather smug. As Din listens to you sing a love song about how you think about the man you love night and day, he indulges in a fantasy where the song is about the two of you, especially when you sing about spending your life making love to him. It’s easy to imagine especially when you keep looking over at him with such an outright flirtatious expression during the song.

Under the guise of performing, you let yourself look at Mando with all of the desire and love you’ve been keeping under wraps for so long now. You’re careful to let your eyes roam around the room, flirting with the other patrons too, but every time you turn back towards Mando you let your gaze soften a bit more. As the evening wears on, you let yourself sing all of your favorite love songs, telling Mando how you feel with each one, promising that you’ll love him forever, that you’ll never let him go, and how he’s the only one for you. You know you’re just pretending that he understands why you’re singing each one, that they’re all for him. The only song you can’t bring yourself to sing is Make You Feel My Love. It seems too personal, too private to perform in front of all these strangers.

The crowd at the cantina starts to thin out and you know you’ve been here much longer than Mando originally planned. You decide it’s time to bring this interlude to an end and thank your audience for their attention, playing one last song to say good night. When the music ends, you stand and take a small bow to the round of applause. You collect your tips and an additional unexpected payment from the bartender, along with several requests to come back again soon. Mando is back at your side and he places a hand at the small of your back guiding you out the door and into the snowy night. You expect him to pull away once you are out of the crowd, but he stays close to you.

“Thank you for that impromptu performance.” He deep voice rumbles in your ear as you head back to the Razor Crest, “It was a welcome distraction from those idiots and I appreciated not having to get into a bar brawl.”

“Anything to lend you a helping hand,” you reply warmly.

He nods, and then says, “You’re really very talented. You could do well for yourself, singing full time in a nice cantina or a casino somewhere.”

“Tonight was fun enough, but I’ve had my time singing in a cantina, it gets old faster than you think,” you tell him, “besides why would I give up the best job in the galaxy?”

“The best job in the galaxy?” Mando scoffs a little at that.

“Sure it is! I get to travel around all over seeing all kinds of planets and people, take care of the most adorable magic baby ever, and spend time with his amazing father.” Oops, did you just say that last part out loud?

Mando is quiet for a beat, but then he says, “You’re the amazing one.”

You’re too shocked to say anything more than a mumbled, “Thanks” and hurry towards the Crest.

Once aboard you check on the baby, but he’s already asleep, so all you do is tuck his blanket around him a little more and then climb up to the cockpit where Mando is readying the controls for take-off. Even though you’re still a bit embarrassed by your unplanned compliment earlier, his response has made you curious. You sit quietly as you leave the planet’s atmosphere and the ship makes the jump to hyperspace, the whole time racking your brain for the right words so that maybe you can finally give Mando a clue about your feelings. You’re about to give up, when he says, “You didn’t sing Make You Feel My Love tonight.”

“Ah, no, no I didn’t.” Maker, you want to tell him why, but the words are frozen in your throat.

“That’s my favorite song.” Mando finally admits to you.

“I thought it might be,” you say, “that’s why I sing it every night.”

“But not tonight?”

You take a deep breath. He’s giving you the perfect opportunity and you gather all your courage as you tell him, “It felt too personal to share such an intimate song with all of those people. When- when I sing that song, your song, it’s only for you.”

“My song?” You swear his voice gets deeper when he tries to clarify what you mean.

“Yes, that’s how I think of it now.” You look at his visor where you think his eyes must be, trying to silently confess to him what that song means to you.

“My song.” Mando repeats, before asking, “Do you know why it’s my favorite?”

“No, I- I really don’t. I just knew you liked it when you asked me about it a couple times.”

He’s quiet again for a moment and you wonder if he’s going to elaborate when he finally says, “It’s my favorite song because I imagine that you really mean what you’re singing, that you’re singing it to me for real.”

“I am singing it to you for real,” you finally confess, “I mean every word each time I sing it for you.”

“You are? And you do?” Mando seems genuinely surprised, “How- How is that possible?”

You smile at him and because you feel like you might as well go for it, you stand up coming closer to him and then you reach down and take his hands in yours, “It’s possible because you’re such a wonderful man, you treat me with respect, you’re kind, you let me be my annoying, loud self as much as I want--”

“I don’t think you’re annoying,” he interjects.

“And see, that, right there, you always make me feel good, you just make me glad to be around you, it’s one of the many reasons why I fell in love with you, why I am in love with you.” The words come tumbling out of your mouth and your chest feels tight, but then he squeezes your hands.

“I’m in love with you too, have been for a while,” he says softly. Then he tugs you closer to him until you’re sitting in his lap with his arms around you. He holds you close to his chest, and you can’t imagine how this could be any better, until you hear his rich baritone voice sing the last lines of the song to you,

I could make you happy, make your dreams come true

Nothing that I wouldn’t do

Go to the ends of the universe for you

To make you feel my love

------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed it.

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for any future fics!

Tag list: @sleepwithacommunist @im-the-nerdiest-of-them-a11 @rueblogsthings @mackycat11 @tv-zepeda @remmyswritings @mudhornchronicles @boomtownboy @mandosboobiez @hoodjarin @haley7242

#the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x female reader #din djarin #din djarin fanfiction #din djarin x female reader

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saeransboy · 3 years ago

Text

Hope

Pairing: Saeran Choi / Male CMC (Rowan)

Word Count: 4177

Warnings: Spoilers for the Secret Endings, hospitals

Notes: this is my piece for the @nostringsdetached zine!! i'm so happy that i got to participate, and that it got so much support. you can get the full zine bundle for free, as well as see my partner @mm12578's accompanying art for this piece, at this link.

you can also read this here on ao3!! i hope you enjoy!!

Saeran was unhappy.

Though not an uncommon feeling for the other man after all he'd been through, being in the hospital evoked the feeling strongly. He was constantly feeling judged, being watched, and it felt suffocating. His lack of choice was all too obvious now. If having most of the control he had over his own body being taken away wasn't enough, being forced to see people he didn't want to deal with was the final nail in his coffin.

It was overwhelming, upsetting, and made him want to disappear more than ever before. Trying to shut out the rest of the world wasn't an option, as it only forced its way in. Unless he had to answer whoever stopped by, Saeran ignored their questions and small talk, and eventually they gave up. Everyone had, except for that boy.

Rowan had been easy enough to lure to the apartment. He obviously hadn't trusted Saeran, and was just as uneasy around the RFA at first. However, he stayed to work as their party coordinator simply because he "had nothing better to do". Of course, with the tense situation that developed, he became far from bored. "Terrified" was a better descriptor.

The guilt Saeran felt over that was overwhelming. He'd been the one to choose Rowan, to lure him in, to try to kidnap him. He killed a man right in front of him. Had it not been for him, the party coordinator wouldn't have ever been dragged into this. Which made it all the more confusing when he came to visit alongside his brother.

The ex-hacker had been so shocked at his appearance, he remained silent only because he wasn't sure what to say. His guest left defeated, but he returned alone the next day, and the next. In fact, despite Saeran's silence, Rowan kept showing up, coming by to ramble at him about his day-to-day life and eventually to sit quietly and read. The silence was a lot more comfortable.

He let the silence remain til the other man came to his defense from a rude nurse. After that, he hesitantly reached out, reigniting his guest's desire to speak to him. The ex-hacker barely replied, and his guest enthusiastically continued on like it was normal. It started off shakily, and he would cut short any inquiries on his wellbeing and brushed off Rowan's attempts at comfort on bad days, but it went well.

They had made a lot of progress since then.

The last time Rowan was here, he held his hand. The other man had sensed his upset and reached to comfort him. Despite his first instinct to push him away, he accepted it without argument, not returning the favor or rejecting it. It felt so warm. When was the last time he got to feel another’s touch without being hurt or manipulated in the process? A brief image of his brother’s arms wrapping around him flashes in his mind, and he scowls.

Saeyoung. Saeran still wasn’t alright with him, not fully, but he was trying. As much as he hated it, he was jealous of his twin. Not just for his carefree lifestyle all these years or the friends that supported him so steadfastly, but for his relationship with Rowan. When he saw them, they were laughing and falling over each other or comforting one another. There was always some physical contact, and so much trust.

Rowan had confirmed that no, they weren’t together like he had assumed, but the bond they shared was perfectly sweet. He felt starved watching them. It was then, when he deciphered what that tension he felt when he saw them together was, that he faced his feelings for the brunette.

He was smitten. Completely, utterly, sickeningly smitten; when he realized his feelings, he had grown so nauseated it made his head spin. He wasn’t entirely sure he was in that deep, but only such a dramatic word could describe the heaviness with which it weighed on him. Someone like him wasn't meant for feelings like this.

The next time Rowan visited, Saeran blamed his suddenly more reserved behavior on the medicine he was being given. He wasn’t questioned, but the guilt of lying stung.

Saeran couldn't let himself feel this. It was inevitable that he would prove himself yet again to be a monster. He would hurt Rowan and it was eating him alive, but he'd rather let the feeling fester inside of him than cause the man any more pain or stress. It was easier said than done.

Nothing had filled that deep, all-encompassing void of guilt inside of him but the other man's visits. Hiis quips and words of comfort provided some relief. It was barely making a change, but the air still felt lighter around him. There was no tension, no distrust, and he never felt cornered.

He could just exist, never feeling pressured to do any more than that.

These awful feelings threw a wrench into that, but it was nothing he couldn't handle. Just like every other thought and feeling, he wanted to push it down in the hopes of suffocating it until it was quiet or died. Or until it explodes and destroys everyone around you, a small voice in the back of his mind whispers. That was just as likely, and the thought terrified him. His hands clench in the thin sheets of the bed, trying to ground himself the best he can.

Downstairs, Rowan worries his bottom lip between his teeth, tapping his boot nervously against the ground as he waits for his security escort. He knows his anxiety comes off as impatience to the staff, giving him more room than everyone else as he leans against the wall, and he lets it stay that way. With the feelings swarming in his mind, he was sure that any invasion of his space might set him off.

After countless visits, coming to see Saeran during his recovery became a routine he enjoyed greatly. It wasn't always this nice; the first few times, he came with Saeyoung, but after being met with silence, he persuaded the hacker to let him come on his own. Nothing changed at first, the room being filled with an awkward silence as Rowan attempted one-sided conversations. The man refused to respond, rarely even offering him a glance. It frustrated him to no end; even after dropping his own guard, he hadn't gotten anywhere.

Eventually he gave up on trying to communicate, simply coming to sit in the corner and read. It had to be lonely, being stuck there, so he figured having another heartbeat in the room that wasn't poking or prodding him or interrogating him on his mental state might help. The tension in the air had quickly faded into something more peaceful, and some of Saeran's guard visibly slipped away. That was good enough for Rowan; as long as he wasn't actively being shut out, it was still progress.

Surprisingly, Saeran was the one to break the silence, though not without good reason. Much to their annoyance, a nurse interrupted their visitation, disturbing the peaceful co-existence they had with each other. She was everything Rowan hated to see: pushy, unsympathetic, and completely uncaring about his mental wellbeing.

It made his heart hurt, seeing the other man flinch when she slammed her clipboard down on his bedside table. Every word out of her mouth was ridicule, and though he knew the ex-hacker was used to such talk, that didn't mean it didn't hurt.

When she left with one last comment on how scrawny he still was, Rowan didn't hesitate to jump up from his seat. Following behind, he proceeded to chew her out. For her complete lack of experience, for her apathy, for taking out whatever the hell was wrong with her on Saeran. It wasn't long before his voice raised, but he was careful not to start screaming. The last thing he wanted was to upset the already stressed man more.

It didn't surprise Rowan that his friendly feelings grew into something stronger, but that didn't make the realization any less terrifying. For the first few days, he struggled to reel himself back in, trying to shove his feelings to the back of his mind so he could be there for the other man without guilt eating away at him. Being so friendly to him only felt like he was taking advantage of the man's barely earned trust.

It didn't last, as he noticed Saeran growing increasingly tense at his less emotional, more closed-off responses. With a quick explanation, claiming he'd not been feeling like himself -- not a complete lie, as such a deep feeling had knocked him off his feet -- and that he was sorry, he mended the situation and forced himself to swallow his guilt.

He could tell Saeran didn't fully believe him, but the man was obviously relieved to have things back to normal the next visit, when Rowan came in grinning. It earned him a small smile in return, the first he'd seen from the man.

Rowan is torn from his reminiscing by a security guard clearing her throat. She nods towards an open elevator. "Come on, tough guy. I'll drop you off." Though he bristles at the obviously mocking title, he doesn't argue, not wanting to get kicked out. Instead, he trails after her and steps in, trying to calm the fluttering that starts up in his chest at the thought of seeing the other man.

The ride up is tense, the brunette almost lunging forward when the doors slide open. "Thanks," he calls over his shoulder with a scowl. Though he always looked forward to the visits, he hated dealing with the staff. Setting his eyes on Saeran's door, he picks up the pace, hurrying down the hall as fast as he can despite his slight nervousness.

Before Saeran's thoughts can spiral anymore out of control, the all-too-familiar sound of chains clinking together sounds down the hall, the thoughts slipping from his mind to let him focus. It was definitely him; despite the noisiness of his entrance, the steps sounded hesitant, stumbling over themselves. The awkwardness always manages to make his heart feel a bit lighter, some of the dread that had been bubbling up inside of him slipping away.

As expected, the footsteps come towards his room, stopping just outside for a moment. There's a pause, his guest taking a moment for a deep breath, before the door is cautiously pushed open. Rowan jumps a bit upon seeing him, obviously not expecting Saeran to be sat up waiting for him. The surprised look on his face quickly fades into a soft smile, some of the tension he entered with easing from his shoulders.

The man always put up a tough exterior, Saeran knew, but he trusted him enough to let that down. Whether that was because he wanted mutual trust or because he was just plain stupid, the ex-hacker wasn't quite sure, but it never bothered him, and he never bought up the subject.

The brunette shuffles his way over to him without a word, taking a seat in the chair next to the bed. Everything about him is a contradiction: the gentle look on his face combined with his dark and intentionally rough exterior, the way he avoided eye contact despite his obvious distaste at being seen as a pushover, how he still wandered to his side like a clueless puppy despite all Saeran had done, as if he wasn't dangerous.

That frustrated him most of all. He was trying so hard to protect everyone for once after he had planned to destroy their lives. It was like the male could see right through him, but never saw what Saeran wanted him to.

As usual, Rowan slouches forward, giving him that stupid grin that made his stomach flutter and twist up all at the same time. "Sorry I'm late, but I'm sure you're used to it now. Have you eaten yet? I kinda had to skip lunch, didn't have time." He trips over his words mid-sentence, distracted by the way that his heavy jacket slips off his shoulder.

Every visit started the same, his visitor pitifully trying to disguise his fretting as small talk and him offering up muttered responses. It was still progress from how they started, but Saeran always felt some guilt seeing how much effort the other man put into trying to talk to him. Wanting to change that the best he could, he tries speaking up some, clearing his throat. ''No. I don't like the food."

Contradictory to the pout he usually gives at that response, Rowan's eyes light up. "Great! Um. Not that you haven't eaten because the food sucks. Just... gimme a second." With that, he hops up from his seat, scurrying back to the door, nearly forgetting to put up his facade before motioning for a nurse.

Saeran can't decipher much from his position, only picking up on the word "privacy" and the dirty look the man shoots the nurse when she shakes her head. Only a few more words are exchanged before his expression brightens, and he whirls back around.

To his surprise, the unusually peppy man closes the door. That had never been allowed before, both for Saeran's safety and his visitor's. But Rowan was always rather convincing, not to mention stubborn, so it wasn't too shocking that he was the one earning him that right.

The act now fully slipped away again, Rowan practically trips over his feet moving back, rummaging through the pockets of his oversized jacket for something. Had it been anyone else, he might've been paranoid or distrusting, but he knew the man in front of him wasn't a threat in the slightest.

Once again stunning Saeran, the man pulls out ice cream -- an entire tub of it. Mint chocolate, he noted, feeling his heart skip a beat at the realization that he had remembered his favorite flavor. Outside food was also previously off-limits, and guessing from the way he had asked for privacy, it still was.

Once again, the man isn't making sense. Not only has he gone out of his way to visit daily, staying even on Saeran's worst days until he's either asked to leave or is forced out by the staff, now he's breaking rules and risking trouble for himself all for his sake. Why? He was a monster and a murderer, and he's being smuggled in gifts?

All of the kindness he was offered was foreign to him, and perhaps that was for the best. He didn't deserve any of it. All he deserves is to rot in this awful place, his nose constantly stinging from the scent of medicine and his eyes burning under the blindingly bright fluorescent light.

"...Saeran?" Broken out of his trance, he shakes his head, feeling a tinge of annoyance seeing the red that reflects off the bedpost in his peripheral. His natural color hadn't grown back much, but it was enough to put a scowl on his face. Not once did he want to let the white fade, wanting to have some semblance of separation from his brother, but he didn't have a choice. Not here, not anywhere.

Only Rowan ever offered him control, and even he himself was limited in what he could allow. It wasn't fair. That, too, made him grateful for his stubborn visitor. It was rare for him to give up when he had his mind set on something, and that gave Saeran a lot more freedom than he would have without him.

"I'm fine," he reassures. Rowan doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't pry, instead placing the tub on the sheets between them before digging in his pocket for a packet of utensils, unmistakably snagged from the hospital's cafeteria. Placing it in his resting hand, the man gives a paranoid glance back towards the door before grinning widely.

"I don't think they're onto me, so go ahead and eat up." Though he hesitates a moment, Saeran reaches out to pull the ice cream into his lap, popping the lid and taking a scoop. It's slightly melted as expected; it couldn't have made the trip by motorcycle all the way over here and through the wait downstairs totally unscathed. It's tasty nonetheless, a huge relief from the blandness of the food he had to eat here. Before long, he's digging in, feeling starved despite having the three meals a day rule enforced on him.

After a couple of minutes, he glances up at his guest, perplexed to find him entertaining himself by winding a loose thread of the sheets around his finger. It was rare that Rowan was this quiet for so long, and even stranger that he wasn't busying himself the same way that Saeran was. Sinking his spoon into the cold mint, he hums to get the other man's attention. Immediately his eyes are on him, deep blue piercing into him and making him melt and tense up all at the same time.

"What are you doing?" He asks, eyes flitting between his face and the string half-wound around his finger. The other man glances away sheepishly, though he doesn't flinch at his blunt tone; yet another thing they were making progress on. Rowan pauses, searching for a good answer and sighing in defeat when he can't find one.

"...sitting here?" He answers quietly, giving Saeran an uncertain look. "I don't really have anything to do. I was already running late, so when I swung by the store, I just grabbed the ice cream and left."

"Didn't you say you didn't eat lunch?" The redhead questions with a raised brow. The silence lingering in the room tells him all he needs to know. Huffing, he shoves the tub towards him without a second thought, surprising the both of them. It was unusual for him to share anything, especially this, but he wasn't about to pull his foot back when he was already taking a step forward. "Go on. You'll make yourself sick if you don't."

Though he wouldn't admit it out loud -- he wasn't sure he could even if he really wanted to -- Saeran cared for the other man deeply. It wasn't just the budding feelings of affection. His worry for his wellbeing, though underlying, had lingered ever since the party coordinator had set foot in that apartment.

If he didn't care, he wouldn't have stopped him from stepping on the glass from the window. Of course he would've, the idiot, and back then he told himself it was because it'd be easier to transport him if he went uninjured. Now, the truth was obvious.

Reassured by his adamance, Rowan reaches out to take the tub. While keeping a close eye on Saeran's face to check for any signs that he might change his mind, he fails to notice how close their hands get, accidentally brushing their fingers together as he grabs it. The touch is minimal, lasting under a second, but it still startles them both. The brunette gasps, nearly dropping the ice cream as Saeran pulls back.

For a moment they're both silent, staring at each other with flushed cheeks and unreadable expressions. Saeran knows why he reacted that way, but… what about the other man? Was he afraid of him? He didn't look frightened, only embarrassed and a bit flustered. Though there was no reason for him to be flustered, right? Maybe he was just touch-repulsed. They had a lot in common, after all. It was obvious the party coordinator's mind was spiraling just as much as his, the panic in his eyes blindingly obvious.

Trying his best not to overthink and to diffuse the situation, Saeran grumbles and snatches up the spoon, getting another scoop and nudging it against the boy's lips. It smudges against his nose, making him blink in surprise. His fingers coming up to up to wipe away the small bit, he laughs, some of his nerves obviously soothed. Good, Saeran thinks; he can barely handle his own emotions, let alone someone else's.

Holding the spoon out like a threat, he stares blankly at him. "Take it. I'm not feeding you. And sit over here so you don't drop it; that's the last thing we need." He curls his legs in, giving the taller man more room.

The brunette sits on the edge of the bed and takes the spoon happily, fixing his attention on the ice cream as he… purposefully seeks out the chocolate chips, to the point where his spoonful is more chocolate than ice cream. Weird, but Saeran doesn't argue.

Some part of him finds it cute, and he shakes his head, desperately trying to swat the thought away. He had hoped that the feelings would fade, but they were blossoming into something far more dreadful with every visit. That wasn't Rowan's fault; it was his own for not keeping himself under control.

These feelings would have to die with him, he concludes, blinking rapidly to bring himself back. When those blue eyes turn upwards to glance at him, he knows he's been caught getting lost in his mind. Bracing himself for the obvious question, he accepts the tub pushed back to him, tensing when the other man speaks up just as he gets a mouthful.

"What's buggin' you?" Rowan asks, his brows furrowed with concern. Taking his time to let the ice cream melt in his mouth, Saeran answers with a shrug. Remembering his earlier attempt to be more open, he sighs, nudging around a chocolate chip as he tries to think of a good way to put his thoughts into words without exposing his feelings.

"...Is it okay for me to feel things?" It's a clumsy question, and he mentally kicks himself for a multitude of reasons: for how stupid he sounds, for burdening the other man when he'd already been through so much because of him, for the way he's just now noticed his hands shaking. But none of this seems to bother Rowan, who smiles gently and nods.

"It is. I promise." Saeran jumps when Rowan's hand seeks out his, giving it a light, comforting squeeze. He seems oblivious to his own actions, getting lost in thoughts of his own. "It feels… wrong, right? Like anything that isn't terrible isn't for you, and that you're meant to be miserable in silence. It's lonely."

The hand resting on his presses down slightly, and despite the conflicting feelings whirling in his mind, Saeran moves his hand, entwining their pinkies together. He isn't sure what feelings the other man is hiding, but it makes some part of his heart hurt knowing that he's suffering too.

"I've felt lonely a lot," He continues, staring out the window with a solemn expression. It's quiet for a while, Rowan staring at the clouds and Saeran staring at him. Finally, a soft smile tugs at the brunette's lips, and he turns his attention back to him. "I won't let you be lonely too. Not anymore. Okay?"

Saeran's face feels warmer, but he doesn't let himself turn away, fixing his eyes on one of the freckles dotting the other man's cheeks as he hums an acknowledgement and squeezes his hand. Only now does Rowan notice the way their pinkies are curled around each other, but before he can pull back, Saeran tightens his grip. Not enough to trap him, but enough to get across his message. He can't bring himself to say it out loud, but all he wants is for the other man to stay.

Out of the corner of his eye, Rowan's eyes are swimming with something he doesn't know how to define. It's sweet, warm, making him feel melted on the inside despite his uncertain exterior. As much as he hates being stared at, he isn't sure he wants the other man to look away. The ice cream was next to them, slowly melting in its container; at any point Rowan could remember and turn his attention away.

As if reading his mind, he doesn't. Instead he curls his knees up to his chest, gazing at him with all the affection in the world. It makes Saeran's mind wander, but for once, the thoughts are welcome. Being cared about like this… it makes him feel like maybe he isn't destined to die alone and unloved as he feared.

"Thank you," his visitor says, voice barely above a whisper. "I'll stay right here with you, as long as you'll have me."

"I will," Saeran manages. "You'll come around regardless."

"But do you mind?"

"...No." The corners of his lips twitch up into a weak smile. It's obvious he's unused to the expression, but he isn't thinking about how he might look strange. Around Rowan, his heart feels lighter.

Falling into a comfortable silence, the redhead watches the clouds through the slightly foggy hospital window, feeling the other man's eyes on him, admiring him. He isn't quite sure what it means, but allowing his feelings to linger, Saeran lets himself hope.

#mystic messenger #mysme #nsdzine #saeran choi #se saeran #rowan carmody #cmc #and nowww my personal sorting links #my writing #saefluff #saehurtcomfort

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dwellordream · 3 years ago

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“Girls’ schools promoted an intense female peer culture which contrasted with the disciplines of moralistic home environments. Evidence from the accounts of girls attending the myriad female seminaries and girls’ boarding schools throughout the Northeast suggests that their academic programs were relatively gentle, and that their peer culture was powerful and often fun. Despite the best efforts of outnumbered teachers, relations with friends tended to overshadow lessons learned. Overwhelmingly when girls wrote home to their parents, they described the girls they had met, and the antics they had shared; in diaries they noted the romantic intimacies they had formed, with academic work generating only occasional mention.

Girls’ peer life at school was high-spirited, collective, and ritualized all at once. Teachers themselves often participated. At Miss Porter’s in Farmington, Connecticut, in 1860, teachers organized a costume party, suggested characters for everyone, and helped sew costumes—perhaps in part a sewing lesson. (For Lily Dana, suggestions included an elf, Mischief, or a witch.) At a Prospect Hill School party in 1882, townspeople came, the girls wore flowers and white dresses, and Margaret Tileston reported that she had done the quadrille with Miss Clarke and the gallop with Miss Tuxbury—concluding that she had had ‘‘a very nice time.’’

Girls remembering their days at convent schools report similar good times. Julia Sloane Spalding recalled elegiacally her years at Nazareth Academy, a school run by the Sisters of Charity in Louisville, Kentucky, in the 1850s. ‘‘The sisters allowed us to romp and play, dance and sing as we pleased and our stage performances were amusing, if they had no greater merit. Musical soirees, concerts, serenades and minstrelsy kept our spirits attuned to gladness. Varied by picnics, lawn parties, hayrides, phantom parties, nutting parties in summer and candy pullings and fancy balls with Nazareth’s colored band to fiddle.’’

Exclaimed Spalding, ‘‘O what fun!’’ in fond reflection on the good times among the sisters who served ‘‘good substantial sandwiches, cakes and fruit’’ from ‘‘great big baskets.’’ She concluded, ‘‘and so, the spice of life conduced to our health and happiness.’’ Mary Anne Murphy arrived at Nazareth Academy with her sister in 1859 during a quadrille, the slave musicians calling out the figures. She and her sister stood in ‘‘wonderment that such fun was tolerated in a convent.’’ Whatever the nostalgia of middle age, certainly these reflections suggest that elite Catholic and Protestant girls’ academies left some of their richest memories in collective fun.

If teachers sponsored some activities, they implicitly sanctioned many more. Wilfrida Hogan attended the Sisters of St. Joseph convent school in St. Paul in the 1870s and remembers fondly her class, which was known for its lively irreverence: ‘‘Each girl seemed to view the other as to who could play the biggest pranks, or have the most fun.’’

Ellen Emerson overflowed with delight in a letter to her mother (significantly, not her father) while at Miss Sedgwick’s School in Lenox, Massachusetts: ‘‘Every night we do things which it seems to me I can never remember without laughing if I should live to be a hundred. The most absurd concerts, ludicrous charades, peculiar battles etc. etc. Then the wildest frolics, the loudest shrieks, the most boisterous rolling and tumbling that eye ever saw, ear ever heard or heart ever imagined. I consider myself greatly privileged that every night I can see and join such delightful romps.’’

When teachers were around, the pranks were more likely to occur upstairs in student bedrooms. Lily Dana and friends joined together to victimize two other girls by putting crumbs in their bed, and cutting off candle wicks. Another evening Dana noted that she ‘‘Had some fun throwing pillows and nightgowns,’’ and though Miss Porter caught her, it did not seem to dampen much her spirits. Teachers at girls’ schools were occasion- ally disciplinarians, clearly.

One teacher told Lily Dana that ‘‘she supposed my mother let me do everything,’’ and the sisters at St. Mary’s Academy in South Bend, Indiana, turned the piano to the wall in order to keep girls from waltzing with each other. Yet students often emerged victorious; at St. Mary’s they played combs for dance music instead. (One participant reported that ‘‘the Sisters had to give up, for they knew not what to do.’’) The ideology of nurture combined with the shared exuberance of age mates overpowered much teacherly remonstrance.

It is sometimes hard to read such tales of schoolgirl exuberance without wondering whether the inmates had taken over the asylum, however, so a corrective is in order. One such account which requires a second look is the spirited account of Agnes Repplier, In Our Convent Days (1906), about her time in the late 1860s at a Pennsylvania school run by the Sisters of the Sacred Heart. Repplier writes of the pranks and passions of her band of seven partners in crime, in an ebulliant account designed to appeal to a readership newly attracted to childhood naughtiness in revolt against Victorian propriety. It is clear in retrospect, though, that she must have concealed or minimized an- other side to her experiences. For the denouement of her story is her expulsion and removal from a school she adored.

Peer cultures could also be cruel and hurtful beyond the control of evangelical teachers, as the practices of hazing in British public schools testify. Some of the most painful memories of inclusion and exclusion in girls’ schools centered around that most primal of media, the sharing of food. Food boxes, customarily sent from home, were the occasion for impromptu parties, a demonstration of wealth and taste, or an opportunity to play favorites.

The elation which greeted such arrivals might well prove a commentary on the regular fare at boarding schools, which sometimes undoubtedly was very poor. (The advice giver Mary Virginia Terhune’s critique of girls’ boarding schools included the accusation that they fed their students from a ‘‘common vat’’ which supplied breakfast, dinner, and supper all together, a practice partially confirmed by one account of eating the same stew at least twice a day at an Ursuline academy in San Antonio in the 1890s.)

At any rate, the arrival of food from home occasioned select gatherings and provided opportunities for discrimination among friends. When one friend’s mother brought good things to eat, Josie Tilton noted that ‘‘we’’ had a feast tonight, explaining for the future who she would always mean when she said ‘‘we’’—‘‘Lizzie, Emma, May and I’’— the groupness secured by inclusion in this select group of diners.

Lily Dana suspected a friend of being miserly and so snuck into her room to inspect. ‘‘There was a box which had been filled with cake, part of a pie and several other things filling her trunk nearly half full. . . . If I had a box sent to me I think I should give my friend more than ‘five or six cookies.’’’ If girls could feel short-changed by each other, relations with parents could also strain over the sending of food boxes, which represented extremely conspicuous con- sumption for girls attempting to ‘‘belong.’’

In an unusually direct letter home in the 1840s, Maria Nellis passed on to her parents her unmediated hurt and sense of disadvantage in the competition for food—and the status that came with it. Elizabeth got her box yesterday and was favoured with six times more things than I was. Her box was so large and heavy the master found it his match to carry it upstairs. She has 4 kinds of cake, nuts, apples, candy, clothing and every thing else, but after all, Dear Poppy, I am not jealous. . . . When you sent that box you did not send half what I asked. I was very disappointed. You said it would be eatables, but it wasn’t. You sent only a few apples, one cake and some clothes. Why didn’t you send me some nuts? I haven’t had a nut yet this winter, and indeed I expected nuts above all things. E. Fox had a box worth speaking of. Now that shows that you don’t care enough for me to even send me a few nuts.

Intermittently, Nellis regained control, but her grievance was palpable. Finally at the end, she acknowledged to her parents that she might be hurting their feelings, reassured them that she loved them all with ‘‘a deep and fervent love,’’ and promised better behavior in the future. Clearly at stake for her was both status in the school world and a primitive sense of deprivation in her own family.

As the correspondence suggests, the emotional atmosphere in girls’ boarding schools was not only intense but more expressive and enacted than that within moralistic, Victorian households. Within private, female, boarding academies, duty-bound Victorian daughters learned languages of sentiment, desire, and emotional excess censored from other parts of their lives. The elaborate conventions accompanying the expression and affirmation of affection among boarding-school girls, sometimes involving teachers as well, was indeed a separate ‘‘female world of love and ritual,’’ as Carroll Smith-Rosenberg affirmed in a classic article about nineteenth-century women’s culture.

In recent years, Smith-Rosenberg’s ‘‘Female World of Love and Ritual’’ has been attacked for its overgeneralizing characterization of an exclusively female emotional sphere in the nineteenth century, but her strongest evidence confirms the significance, the power, and the longevity of girls’ boarding school friendships, which were enacted through elaborate rituals in a range of schools.

The rituals of boarding school life centered around the making and breaking of special friendships, known variously as ‘‘affinities,’’ ‘‘specials,’’ or ‘‘darlings’’ and increasingly as either ‘‘smashes’’ or ‘‘crushes.’’ One way of expressing interest was to ‘‘filipine’’ with someone, to leave her a surprise gift outside her door. (When Lily Dana was caught, she needed to give her gift, a large apple, outright.) Such relationships played out in diaries, letters, and the poetry of autograph books. Girls expected to pair up for many school activities and entertained a variety of ‘‘dates’’ with different girls for walking, going to church, and sleeping.

Sally Dana wrote home to her mother explaining that she was following her father’s advice not to form special friendships too soon, and so had ‘‘slept in eight different beds.’’ During these private moments, girls would share secrets about their own likes and dislikes, each other, their teachers, families, and their school lives. The intricacy of such social calendars opened ample opportunities for misunderstanding and frayed feelings.

These peer relationships characterized elite female seminaries in the North- east, but they also appeared in a range of schools, including the African American Scotia Seminary, founded by the American Missionary Association in Concord, North Carolina, following the Civil War. Scotia had northern roots, which may have influenced its student culture. Glenda Gilmore tells us it was modeled on Mount Holyoke, and was ‘‘calculated to give students the knowledge, social consciousness, and sensibilities of New England ladies, with a strong dose of Boston egalitarianism sprinkled in.’’

Roberta Fitzgerald went to Scotia in the early twentieth century and kept a composition book, likely in 1902, which was filled with the talismans of schoolgirl crushes. A note inside addressed to ‘‘Dear Roberta’’ asked, ‘‘Will you please exchang rings with me today and you may ware mine again,’’ and Roberta herself wrote a sad poem to a friend ‘‘Lu’’ who had thrown her over.

And so you see as I am deemed

Most silently to wait

I cannot but be womanlike

And meekly await my fate.

Ah! sweet it is to love a girl

But truly oh! how bitter

To love a girl with all your heart

And then to hear ‘‘Cant get her.’’

And Lulu dear as I must here

Relinquish with a moan

May your joys be as deep as the ocean

And your sorrow as light as its foam.

On the back of the notebook, which also contained class assignments, was a confidence exchanged with a seatmate. ‘‘I was teasing Bess Hoover about you and she told me she loved you dearly.’’

For those much in demand, this charged atmosphere of flirtation and intimacy in the North and South represented an exhilarating round of fun and sport. For those less secure, diaries and letters presented an obvious outlet for the anguish of the neglected. Agnes Hamilton, a member of a Fort Wayne clan which sent several daughters to boarding school on their way to prominent careers in progressive America, experienced some of both. Sometimes she basked in the glow of family reputation; often she worried over her own inability to keep up with her illustrious cousins. Her unusually detailed accounts document an entire school culture rather than just an individual emotional life.

Hamilton’s first impressions of school social life at Miss Porter’s School were favorable, but even these revealed insecurities to come. In an entry from November 1886, when she was seventeen, Hamilton noted that ‘‘Farmington is just as perfect as they all said it would be, the girls, Miss Porter, and all.’’ Her reservation had to do with her own imperfections: ‘‘But I don’t think I am the right sort of a Farmington girl.’’ Even so, Agnes was in demand, describing a flurry of close attentions from numerous girls. A week later, in her cousin’s absence, she received displaced attentions:

Yesterday Mannie was very nice to me. I suppose she thinks I am lonely without Alice. We walked past the fill around by the river to the graveyard. Then she came in and we talked for an hour. All evening we were together. This afternoon we walked together too for Tuesday is her day with Alice. We went down to the green house where Mannie gave me some lovely roses. I would give anything to know what she thinks of me. . . . Will I ever be able to talk and be jolly as other girls? Some girls are frightfully stupid and yet they can make themselves somewhat agreeable. I have struck up a sudden friendship with Lena Farnam. We were together Saturday afternoon and evening and Sunday I asked her to be my church girl in Alice’s place.

Agnes was still in a position to be picky, noting one drawback: Lena ‘‘seems very nice indeed but I wish she were not only fifteen.’’ Lena was far from the only prospect. Agnes noted another new friend: ‘‘I have seen a great deal lately of Edith Trowbridge too. When she overcomes her shyness she will be exceedingly nice.’’ Not surprisingly, with all the intensity of the socializing, Agnes mentioned with no comment that only three out of thirteen in the class were prepared for their lessons that Tuesday. In those early weeks, Agnes Hamilton’s enthusiasm for this exciting life of emotional intrigue was palpable. The next week (she seems to have written on Tuesdays), Agnes announced to her diary ‘‘the jolliest crush in school’’ involving one of her very own intimates of the week before.

‘‘I walked with Edith Trowbridge this afternoon, on purpose to have her tell me about Lena. I hinted and hinted in vain. I told her about every other crush in school but she never said a word about Lena’s, so at last I told her that I knew all about it but even then she would not say a word about the subject. I hope she will tell Lena so that she will speak to me about it next Saturday when we are driving.’’ The triangulation of such relationships increased the possibilities for intrigue. Agnes wearied a bit of the uncooperative Edith, though, observing that though ‘‘very nice . . . she did not get over her stiffness.’’

Agnes Hamilton seemed to be trying to do her schoolwork, but her roller- coaster social life intervened. One day when she was preparing for class, a friend came by to teach her a dance step, from which she was interrupted by the arrival of a buggy she had rented to take another friend for a ride, the same girl whose ‘‘jolly’’ crush had amused her the week before. (‘‘The more I see of her the better I like,’’ she now reported. ‘‘Her face is rather attractive at first and then it grows on one.’’) When she returned, she found another visitor who stayed till it was time for tea.

The result: ‘‘I have not looked at my Mental since Thursday.’’ By the end of the same day, yet a new ‘‘crush’’ had taken over when Agnes got word of someone’s interest in her, and Agnes wondered ‘‘if I have ever been as actively happy.’’ The frenzy had settled down a week later, when Agnes announced that she had all her walking days ‘‘just as I want them.’’ Each day of the week was assigned a different companion, with whom Agnes would exchange intimacies and gossip, using the rituals of girls’ school life to structure its emotional extravagance.

One must conclude that the intensity of the social life was seen to serve some purpose, for evidence suggests that it was allowed to flourish until the turn of the century. (Lily Dana noted that Miss Porter’s permission had been sought for at least one and probably more sleeping dates.) At that time, new sexualized interpretations of girls’ and women’s friendships brought a crackdown on such friendships. At the time, though, they appear to have received official sanction. In fact, one of the first of Ladies’ Home Journal ’s ‘‘Side Talks with Girls’’ took up the question of ‘‘School Girl Friendships.’’ The Journal endorsed such girlish relationships for their innocence and energy and their precious brevity, saluting ‘‘the giddy, gushing period’’ as one which ‘‘never comes to some and to most it soon passes.’’

In particular, it contrasted this girlish spontaneity with the superficiality of the jaded young lady. Its contrast of ‘‘young girls, lively, radiant, energetic, spirited, loving girls’’ with ‘‘young ladies who talk of their beaux, dresses and the surface shows of society’’ represented another version of a conventional warning against precociousness. Girls’ crushes on other girls were still perceived as innocent and healthy—and would be well after doctors first began to cast suspicion over such relationships in the 1880s and 1890s.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Competitive Practices: Sentiment and Scholarship in Secondary Schools.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

#victorian #history #education #sexuality #american #jane h. hunter #how young ladies became girls

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nanagoswife · 4 years ago

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Please, Don't Go. - Chapter 9

Summary: We get a glimpse of the future, the we find out a surprise.

W/C: 2.5k

Warnings: Implied intimacy, angst?, mention of violence and beatings

- - -

A strip of light filtered through the window, rousing you awake. It caused you to squint as you let your eyelids flutter open. There was a warmth that flooded through you as you felt the arm around your waist shift. Not long later, you a pair of lips press against your bare back, between your shoulder blades.

You let out a contented sigh before you rolled over to face the man in your bed. Meeting his eyes, you still couldn’t believe that he was yours and you were his. It had been so many years with this man.

“Good morning, my love,” he said in a grumbled whisper. You chuckled and put your hand on his bearded cheek. You absolutely loved the scratchy feeling, but you would be lying if you said you didn’t miss his clean shaven face.

“Good morning, dear,” you replied. With a smile, he pulled you into his chest. Your fingers instantly went to tracing patterns into his chest hairs. The colour so wonderfully matched the one of his beard.

Burying into his neck, you couldn’t help but think back to the days after you had been in this setting with your Obi-Wan Kenobi. They had been amazing, but there was so much happening. Your work, and then Obi-Wan’s investigation. Your lives were almost destroyed by something that almost broke you, had it not been for your love.

You and Obi-Wan made it a habit of him coming to sleep in your room every night after that fateful night. Although that night included much more than just sleep, that was not every night after. Sure, sometimes you were up to participating in those activities, but both of you were also extremely busy.

Before you were to take on the role of being a senator for your planet, you had to do what your brother couldn’t. Rebuild the people’s spirit. Then Obi-Wan was discreetly investigating different members of your government.

As the days went on, there was even more purpose for Obi-Wan to actually be with you every night. Not just because the two of you enjoyed the other’s comfort, but because it was to keep a more protective role. The threat to not only your work, but your life was still prominent and the Jedi were growing wary.

Obi-Wan would constantly tell you that they were growing closer to finding out who was conducting this every day. Although you were happy, it filled you with a small feeling of sadness. The sooner they learned of the saboteur, the sooner he would have to leave.

This night was no different, it was just worse. This time, Qui-Gon accompanied the room as there was a breakthrough.

“I think it best that you sit down, Y/N,” Qui-Gon had told you.

You complied and looked at the Jedi Knight, “What has happened?”

“We have the strongest lead we’ve had during this whole investigation,” Qui-Gon stated. Then, he continued, “This was given by an anonymous contact who provided a file containing evidence against this person.”

“Isn’t this a good thing? We could finally get things back to normal.”

“It’s who, that’s the problem,” Obi-Wan spoke up. Until this, he had only been watching you, gauging your reactions no doubt.

Confusion immediately flooded your mind. Who could it be that rendered this as such an important topic for you to be told now? Were they going to say someone was framing you so that you wouldn’t be successful?

“Y/N,” Obi-Wan called out softly, drawing your attention back up to him. This was his way of comforting you when he couldn’t touch you to send reassurance. You had grown accustomed to making yourself feel the same way you would if he was holding you at this soft call.

Your eyes locked with his, and his eyes showed as much comfort as he was doing with his tone.

Obi-Wan took a deep breath and swallowed before speaking, “The one who’s causing all of the conflict is… Davin.”

Shock immediately flooded through you. No. No, this can’t be true. There’s no way. Why would he send me away if-

Everything came crashing into you. The way he had been slightly distancing himself from you and your parents for a couple of weeks before the Jedi came, insisting that you needed to leave the planet, the fact that no one attacked you until you had found out you’d go home… Maker! He made sure Qui-Gon would be gone so the bounty hunters would stand more of a chance. Does this mean he was responsible for Baize? He put your whole planet at risk!

Obi-Wan had watched as emotions rapidly crossed your features. Confusion, shock, sadness, grief, pain, anger. He desperately wanted to wrap you up in his arms and hold you through this, but he couldn’t. When he thought about it, he wasn’t sure you would even let him.

The Jedi stayed silent as you worked everything out in your head. As you looked at it, it only became more obvious. Everything was exactly what proved the suspicions. How could he do this? Was he responsible for your parents? Oh, stars, please say he wasn’t.

After a few moments, Qui-Gon spoke up, breaking your thoughts, “We have a way that we want to prove this, but it will only be with your express consent.”

Looking up, you were confused. “And what is that?”

You moved your gaze from Qui-Gon to Obi-Wan. The idea seemed to pain him as he couldn’t bring himself to meet your eyes. Like always, his eyes betrayed everything he truly felt.

“We- The plan was for you to confront him. Learn his real intentions…” Obi-Wan’s voice trailed off. It was the end of the sentence, but he clearly wanted to say more. He wanted to tell you how much he hated this plan. How it could endanger you.

“Oh,” you said quietly.

There was an awkward silence as none of you knew what else to say. After clearing his throat, Qui-Gon excused himself while saying that you have time to think about it. You didn’t really have to, though.

Once the door closed behind his master, Obi-Wan was drowning in the tension of the room. His throat was tightening and he was almost expecting you to start yelling at him saying that he was insane for suggesting this. You didn’t.

Instead, when he looked up, he saw tears filling your eyes.

“This is really happening,” you croaked out. As you couldn’t bring your eyes to meet his, something crumbled inside Obi-Wan. Whether it was the composure he had in front of Qui-Gon or something else didn’t matter. What did matter is that he was suddenly pulling you into his arms, both of you sinking to the floor.

There was nothing that could help him comprehend how you were feeling. All he knew to do was exactly what he was doing. He wished he could know how this was, if it meant it would make you feel better.

No tears fell from your eyes. You could feel them stinging your eyes, but they just wouldn’t fall. Through it all, you just felt betrayed. Throughout your entire childhood, you and your older brother were so close. What changed?

Now, there was no other choice. You had to find out. You had to hear it from him. You would do it tonight.

Obi-Wan felt the shift in you and he knew exactly what you were doing. It was as he and Qui-Gon had predicted, but there was something that really hoped you wouldn’t rush into it. All things considered, it would at least allow for him the opportunity to protect you. They had already spoken to the council, and they had permission. Their orders for afterwards? Take you away for a few days for safety. One of your relatives was ready to step up, as you were always planning to never take the throne. It was always the plan that you would take over as senator.

Before you could say you would do it, and now, Obi-Wan spoke, “I’m coming with you.” You weren’t surprised, you only nodded. At this point, his connection to the force along with knowing you so well, it led to him being able to read you well.

“I just need to actually hear him say it. To tell me why he did it.”

Slowly, he nodded and stood. He offered a hand to help you stand, and you took it and immediately headed to the doors. There was nothing that would keep you from going straight to finding out the truth.

Obi-Wan actually struggled to keep up with you. At the same time, he was trying to send a message to Qui-Gon to be on stand-by. His master would be needed if any of this went too far.

Before he knew it, you were bursting through the doors of Davin’s office. Your brother was startled at the sudden entry. He was on a call but turned it off quick enough that neither you or Obi-Wan could see who it was.

“Y/N? What are you-”

“The games are over Davin!” This was the first time Obi-Wan had ever heard you raise your voice. You never yelled, and you weren’t now, just raising your voice. “Why did you do it? All of it!”

“I don’t know-” Davin tripped over a chair a little, hands raised defensively and acting innocent.

“You know exactly what I mean! Why? Why did you destroy every good thing we had on this planet?”

Then, you saw as the charade dropped. His glare became dark, cynical.

“It’s because everyone on the Maker-forsaken planet is too stuck in this happy-go-lucky attitude. They have no idea what’s actually happening, our parents didn’t. I’m ensuring we’ll be on the right side!”

You couldn’t believe the words coming from his mouth. “So you had them killed? You made everyone suffer? And, for your information, you haven’t spent a day looking at humanitarian crises. How would you know?”

“Because I have a powerful friend who has been saying how I could better our planet. Because of him, my rule of this planet will be greater. No one will stand in the way of my plans.”

“Is that why you tried so hard to get rid of me? Why it always seem like you didn’t truly care that I was ever hurt?”

Your voice was starting to shake as tears built in your eyes. Davin actually looked away, looking guilty for a moment.

Obi-Wan was almost frozen in place. He knew you would try to get straight to the point, but not like this. There was something that surprised him at how well you were able to quickly get the information out. Now, he was ready for anything to happen.

Davin kept his eyes trained on the ground, “I hated having to do that,” he looked at you, “but I knew you would see through it. So, I had to get rid of you too.”

“Davin, we can’t turn monarchy into a dictatorship! There’s still a democracy that controls everything.”

“And what good is that doing us? The corrupt process is what’s causing our blindness!”

“It’s the exact opposite,” you said before letting out a scoff. “It’s the reason everyone loves to be here. All you’re doing is destroying it! Have you looked at the suffering that’s happening out there?”

It was almost as if that struck a nerve, or some sense into Davin as his eyes went wide.

“What do you mean? I was doing what was right,” his voice grew lower in volume.

You shook your head, “No. Poverty has skyrocketed, people are being brutalized by the police because they are simply trying to find jobs which wouldn’t be an issue had you not closed down the farming sector. Everything is crumbling because your friend told you to. Not only that, but you lost me.”

Davin only stared blankly at the top of his desk. Obi-Wan could feel how fast his thoughts were flowing through him. It was like all of his actions were only just registering in his mind. He had his parents killed. He tried to have you killed. The planet was dying because of his actions.

Most of all, Obi-Wan couldn’t help but feel impressed. In the span of only a few minutes, you had gotten Davin to see more than one point of view. You took a weakness of him, brought it out, and used it so that he would actually listen. Obi-Wan was glad he wasn’t a politician because you would wipe him across the floor.

Then, Davin walked towards Obi-Wan, eyes still fixed to the ground. When he stepped in front of the Jedi padawan, he held out his arms. It took a moment to realize what he was doing. He snapped out of his moment of wonder and took out a pair of binders and sent a message to Qui-Gon.

It didn’t take long for his master to get there. Obi-Wan handed your brother over, and Qui-Gon took him away. It left you and Obi-Wan alone.

When he turned around, you were staring blankly out of the window. Carefully, he stepped up behind you, placing a hand on your shoulder. The immense tension immediately released at his touch.

Without much warning, you spun around and wrapped your arms around him, your face pressing into his chest. He returned your embrace. This time, there were no tears, just the need for comfort from the man you loved. The last one, it seemed, that you still had.

Obi-Wan waited for a few moments before telling you the plan. He was slightly shocked when you only nodded against his chest. He was sure you would protest having to leave the planet again; how you would have to leave your work behind. You trusted him, though. You trusted your cousin that was taking the throne.

After a few more silent, but calming, moments, Obi-Wan brought you back to your chambers. Like he had for so many nights, he stayed with you. The only thing delaying your rest was having to pack. After that, you snuggled up to him, wanting nothing more than his comfort.

“You know,” he started quietly after you both got settled, “I’m glad I will never be a senator.”

You looked up at him in the moonlight, slight confusion showing, “Why?”

“I’d be constantly afraid that you would make a fool out of me,” he said with raised eyebrows.

You couldn’t help but smile and chuckle lightly. It delighted Obi-Wan. That was exactly what he was aiming for. He hated seeing you upset, and he always knew just how to make you feel better in your darkest moments.

“Thank you, Obi. I needed that,” you say softly as you nudge into him more.

“Of course, darling. If it was the last thing I did, it would be to make you smile.”

@stardancerluv @where-fantasy-meets-reality @jaydenwoo @madmax2003 @mackycat11 @generousrunawaydonut

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buckyjustbelikethat · 4 years ago

Text

The Fiction of Fairytales: Chapter One

Title: The Fiction of Fairytales: Chapter One

Characters: Stucky x Reader

Summary: (a/b/o au that is non-cannon compliant) After being captured and forced to live as Brock Rumlow’s mate for years you are kidnapped by the Avengers. They plan to interrogate you for information on Hydra and Rumlow, but after Steve and Bucky realize they are your true mates, they realize that their kidnapping was more of an unexpected rescue.

Warnings: Mentions of assault, kidnapping, death, and abuse, and strong language.

Word Count: approx. 3000

A/N: Hello lovelies! 💕 I’m so sorry for the late update. Life has been really crazy both personally and globally. I hope the longer chapter makes up for the wait. Let me know if you want to be tagged or if you have any suggestions or comments!

Previous Chapter

You followed his instructions until they reached the tower. As you were driving you had the urge to cry passing by the buildings and civilization you had been kept from for so long. But the freedom was a placebo, a momentary feeling that reality is plotting to destroy. You knew you were trading one cage for another. One where you were trapped with a murderer and one when you are considered one. Tony Stark fought for good, and he proved that Brock had turned you into something only recognizable as bad.

They arrived at the tower and the moment you placed the car in park your hands were put into high tech handcuffs. Stark’s hand firmly gripped your arm, and though it was not soft, you breathed a sigh of relief when it felt nothing like the force of Brock’s hands. Stark led you to an elevator that seemed detached from the main part of the building. You hoped he didn’t feel the slight tremble of your body. You were used to the danger of being a captive of Brock, but here, you didn’t know what to expect. The floor you arrived at looked like a police station. There were containment rooms and what looked like interrogation rooms. There weren’t many others on the floor, but the guards scattered throughout looked at you in disgust as you entered. You knew that you did not participate in any of the violence hydra had committed, but being looked at as if you did made you feel dirty.

Stark led you into one of the interrogation rooms, and sat you down on an uncomfortable metal chair. He sat opposite of you and placed his feet on the table between you.

“So, are you also a mass murderer or do you just have a fetish for murders in cults?”

His question reminded you once again that he did not save you, you were considered his enemy. You didn’t know the use in arguing with him, you were unsure if they would ever really believe you, and whether the reality of the circumstance would really save you, or if you were considered damned.

“I’ve never killed anyone.” You stated with as much confidence in your voice as you could muster.

“A girl like you bonded with an evil person like that has to get her hands dirty a little once and awhile.”

You met his statement with silence. Staring at the metal table and wishing all of this would be over. When he realized you were not going to respond to his previous statement he placed photos down in front of you.

“Do you recognize any of these men?”

Your body involuntarily shivered as you had looked at the faces of men who had taken part in your torture. You recognized Pierce first, and other Hydra members that had brought you so much trauma.

“Yes.”

“Are they all still alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was your honest answer but it made you feel hopeless. Stark wasn’t going to trust you if you couldn’t tell him anything useful. You hadn’t seen a lot of them in a while, but you would never be informed of those kinds of details.

“So you’re telling me you recognize all these men and we are supposed to believe that you know nothing about hydra?” You didn’t have to look at his face to recognize the skepticism in his words.

As Steve and Bucky were walking into the interrogation room they were hit both with the most intoxicating smell, it smelled like warmth, like vanilla and caramel, and it reminded them of the cookies Steve’s mom used to make them when they were younger. Underneath the overwhelming scent was the unmistakable wave of distress. At first they didn’t understand where the scent could be coming from, or who. It didn’t take long for them to narrow down the fact that there was likely no one else nearby besides the Hydra member, who was also Brock’s omega, that Tony just brought in. They glanced at each other in apprehension before entering. They knew that whatever they were walking into it was not the happy meeting of their omega they had dreamed of, but their instincts were screaming at them to open the door.

Steve couldn’t ignore the protectiveness he was feeling towards Bucky in the moment. Whoever this omega was, they were somehow involved with the same people that had hurt Bucky. He was ignoring the protectiveness he felt towards the omega he had not even met yet, as far as he was concerned they did not deserve his protection, Bucky was his priority right now.

“Stark, Captain America and Sergeant Barnes request access to the room to aid interrogation.”

“Let them in, Friday.” Stark responds with a sigh, obviously frustrated he got nowhere on his own.

As the two men entered the room your heart stopped. Their scents felt like home. The dark haired man smelled like freshly brewed coffee, and the blonde haired man smelled like ginger and licorice. You knew without a question these two beautiful men in front of you were your alphas, your true mates. After your mind cleared from the fog that their presence brought you immediately diverted your eyes, cursing yourself for forgetting your position, if Brock was here he would have punished you for looking at an alpha, even if they are his enemy.

Bucky felt consumed by you. You were more beautiful than he ever could have pictured. He was hyper analyzing every frown, every tremor that your body was making, the way that you diverted your eyes from them. The distress and feeling of hopelessness that surrounded you suffocated him. He just hoped your emotions were not fueled by you missing your mate. Though he didn’t like the alternative. He could not win in this situation, and underneath his calculated demeanor, Steve could also feel the feeling of hopelessness Bucky tried to bury, he could not hide his emotions from his mate.

“We have reason to believe they are trying to capture and reactivate the winter soldier, what are their plans?” Stark spoke completely unaware of what was going on.

“The winter soldier?” You were thankful to be snapped back to the reality of the moment, but his questions once again made you feel useless.

“Me.” The dark haired man replied, or Sergeant Barnes as the AI called him.

Your face fell. Though you didn’t know whether to trust your true mates or not, you knew you had very little chance of gaining their love. Not only did you bond with someone else, but they were someone that obviously hurt one of them, and might be actively planning to do so again. You would be pissed if fate gave you you as well.It seemed fate cursed them and is turned your life into a farce.

“I don’t know.” You sounded like a broken record, and you knew with each repetition there will be dire consequences.

“How convenient, it seems you know nothing.”

“I’m sorry, I promise I’m telling the truth.”

Steve’s composure fell, he no longer could quiet his rage.

“Bullshit! What kind of sick joke is this? We are mated to an omega not only bonded with hydra, but obviously she has blatant allegiance to them as well.”

“Mate?” Stark questioned in shock.

“Steve...” Bucky interjected, still not as convinced as his mate was that you were lying and trying to get him to relax.

“No Buck! You deserve so much better than her, than this. And not only does she not have the decency to wait for her true mates, but she mates with a member of Hydra, and is actively covering for an evil organization.” Steve said, looking into Bucky’s eyes while ignoring Stark’s question.

“She’s your true mate?” Tony tried again.

“No.” Steve said, though the message behind his words was heard loud and clear by everyone in the room. He was rejecting her.

You felt like you couldn’t breath. You knew what was going to happen, but God, you didn’t know how you could live with it. You knew his words were the truth, he didn’t even know the full extent of how broken you were and he could already tell you would never measure up.

“I’m sorry.” You tried to show your honesty behind your words, but your voice was weak. You did not understand why you were mated either, but you knew they were good people, they were alpha’s sure, and there are parts of that that scare you, but you know that if you had met them before ever meeting Brock, they would be everything you had ever dreamed of. Your eyes remained diverted, but you could tell just from his voice, his love for Bucky. You felt like it was ripping you in two, all you had ever wanted was a fraction of that love, but the universe deemed you unworthy, adding validity to all of Brock’s claims.

While Steve was filled with protectiveness, Bucky wasn’t so sure of what to make of everything. The ways your eyes never met their own, the pain and fear he could detect though you tried to hide it, and the apology only filled him with questions. Your behavior reminded him of his own when he first got out of Hydra, part of him hoped this wasn’t the case. He would rather be mated to evil, than to be mated to someone that had to withstand the kind of pain he had to.

“What is it exactly you are sorry for?” Bucky asks, his voice still cool, but not laced with the anger Steve’s words were entangled with.

“For being mated with someone else…” you cut yourself off there, not sure if you should list all the reasons why you were sorry you ended up their mate. “And for not being able to help you all with the information you want.”

“Not being able to and not willing to are two different things.” He replied.

“I.. I know. I promise you if I knew I would help you. I understand you don’t like me or trust me. I would feel the same considering who Brock is, but please believe that more than anyone, I don’t want him to be able to hurt anyone ever again.”

“Then how the hell can you justify being with him? For not waiting for your true mates, for him?” Steve almost yells as he tries to keep his cool. He was hurt but he was masking it with anger. Bucky reaches out his hand and lays it on Steve’s shoulder, he gives him a look that pleads for his silence.

Bucky could see the tears pooling in your eyes as you fought them away, and his fear that his suspicions might be true was nagging at his mind.

“How long have you been with Brock?”

This was something that you had fought over the years to know the answer to. You weren’t sure of time when he first took you, the days blended together, but once he started giving you more freedom you decided to keep track of how long it had been.

“Eight years.” you said.

“Okay.” Bucky said, his voice calming. “We have no records of you before Hydra, so can you tell us how old you are?”

“25.” Your voice was still breathy and quiet, unsure his intentions behind his questions.

The fear nagging at Bucky became more pronounced when he learned that you weren’t even of age when you got together.

“How did you meet?”

He watched you as your body froze, panic entered your eyes and your breath became shorter. As you shrunk into your chair you winced at the metal pushing against your bruised body.

Steve started to sense the reasoning behind Bucky’s questions, especially when he saw your reaction. Things started to make sense to Tony too, especially when knowing how little you went out, and the way you looked for the cameras. He suspected you feared him and tried to find safety in knowing that Brock could see you in the surveillance footage, but now he was starting to think your fear was more of the cameras than him.

You didn’t know what to do, he asked about one of the worst days of your life, and you feared they would be disgusted by you if he understood. You saw Bucky move closer to you in an attempt to calm you down, his alpha instincts telling him to soothe the anxiety of his omega. But the closer he got to you the more you shrunk away from him. Trying to hide within the cold metal of your chair, as your pain became more pronounced.

“Hey, it’s okay, we want to help you, but we can’t do that if you don’t talk to us.”

His words calmed you and you cursed that he was able to have an effect on you. He knelt down beside your chair, trying to get a better view of your eyes, despite you doing everything in your power to hide your face behind your hair. You decided to rip the bandaid off, maybe if they understood then they would realize you were no use to them, and then maybe you could let you die on your own terms. You knew there was no other alternative. Brock would always find you, and you had no way of defending yourself, and you would not let yourself become a burden to them as an unwanted mate. You wouldn’t force them to deal with that, it would be wrong of you.

“He killed my parents and he was supposed to kill me too, but he took me as his mate instead.”

“He forced you to bond with him?” He was trying to suppress the rage overwhelming his body, he did not want to scare you away. Steve was still at a distance, now battling his own guilt from what he said to you.

“Yes, I promise, I meant nothing to him, I was just a body, everyone in Hydra viewed me the same. I promise they never discussed any information with me around, and if they did I would tell you, please believe me.” You spoke through your own tears.

“We believe you.” Tony spoke, laced with the same guilt Steve feels.

“Thank you... But they will find me, and what they will do to me is worse than death, I can’t go back, and I won’t be a burden to you, you both deserve to find an omega who is good enough. So please, I’m begging you to kill me.”

Steve and Bucky both started to growl. Unhappy with the words they are hearing from their omega.

“No!” Steve and Bucky both blurted out.

Your whole body was shaking, and it got worse knowing they wouldn’t allow you the kindness of a quick death. “Please, I know you don’t owe me anything but please. I can’t go back. Please.”

Bucky’s hand reached out to calm you, but he immediately realized it was a bad idea when you flinched away. Your face contorted in pain once again and Steve and Bucky wished more than anything that they could fix everything for you right then and there, no matter the cost. Bucky resigned his hand to himself, but Steve came up and knelt beside Bucky.

“No one is going to hurt you again. I promise you. We will protect you sweetheart. I’m so sorry we thought you were Hydra.” Steve spoke to you. His voice soft, and laced with pain for his mate.

“We are your Alpha’s and we will protect you.” Bucky said firmly, assuring you that they weren’t going anywhere despite what Steve had said earlier.

You calmed yourself enough to reply to their assertions.

“You don’t have to protect me,” you wiped your tears from your face with your still handcuffed hands. “I’ll be fine. Please, like you said earlier, you deserve better, and I understand that.”

“No, no. That is not true.” Steve said distressed at what his omega was saying to him.

“Honey, I was a captive of Hydra for years, they made me do horrible things, I understand what they are capable of, but that is not a reflection on you. Did you want to be there?”

“No.” You sniffled.

“Do you agree with the horrible things that they do?”

“No!” You stated, trying to convince them.

“Then there is nothing that could change our mind.”

You still felt unconvinced but Steve didn’t give you much time to reject what Bucky said.

“Are you hurt?” Steve asked, assessing as much of your body as he could.

You nodded. “I’ll be fine though, Brock wasn’t happy with me this morning.”

You could see Bucky and Steve’s body both tense up at your words.

“What happened?”

“It was my fault, I looked up at him.”

Both men started growling again, even Tony joined in already becoming protective over his teammates and friends’ omega.

“You did nothing wrong, sweetheart.” Bucky spoke to you.

“But I’m an omega.. and I shouldn’t have done that.”

Bucky wished he reached out and guided your chin up so you could look him in his eyes, but he was afraid of scaring you even more.

“Doesn’t matter if you are an omega, doll. You are not lesser than other people, especially not him.” Bucky said his voice caring.

“Can we take you to the medical wing to get you checked out?” Steve asked.

“S-sure.” You replied, still not knowing if you could trust them and their words, but the fantasy of their words of love was too enticing. You decided that even if this didn’t last, it was worth it to escape, even for just a moment, in fiction.

Next Chapter

Tags (open): @snakesonastarship @thanossucks @yomama-umbridge @grandluminaryearthquake @laughsandlivia @bloo-moon-freak @this-is-a-chilis-drive-thru @sergeantrosabellaswan

#stucky x reader #alpha stucky x reader #stucky #alpha bucky barnes #alpha steve rogers #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

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mostlymobilegames · 3 years ago

Text

I will win.

warnings: younger!Fencio, mentions of pain?? I think that's about it

summary: Unclaimed!Rebecca being herself

author's note: i get nostalgic about Rebecca every time I enter the app, this is just some ??backstory?? idk, i just missed her and I forced myself to not let this idea marinate in my notes for 29 years

•

My legs burn as I land on the ground violently again. Dust and rocks fly in every direction as I try to calm down.

Everything hurts. My back aches while my wings feel too heavy for it, my eyes are watery, my throat is unbelievably dry, my legs feel like they won’t keep me up for much longer and if I wasn’t so tired I might be bothered by the sweat making my clothes stick to my body. Almost there.

As I prepare to take off once again, something moves in my line of sight, but the wall of dust makes it impossible to see. Not that I need to, I feel him before I even hear his footsteps approaching. I take off immediately, every part of my body hurting in protest, my wings flapping with powerful moves despite the pain as I soar up and for a second I almost enjoy the brief sense of peace. I plunge back to the ground at full speed, my legs nearly giving out as I land once again. Fencio moves his hand leisurely, a strand of long, white hair along with it on accident, and the dust in the air vanishes as I try to compose myself. So much pain.

“Rebecca” he says in greeting, his voice distant but not hostile or arrogant.

“Throne Fencio.”

My voice comes out sharply as I struggle to control my breathing. My legs feel wobbly and I know I look completely unpleasant. I worry about embarrassing myself but Fencio doesn’t seem even a little put off by my current demeanor, although that’s not surprising. After knowing him for a short time, I figured he is not easy to read at all, which I find annoying, given that he usually has such a good read on me. He is either a good actor or there’s nothing worth his reactions. Or maybe I’m not good enough at picking him apart.

“Tomorrow is an important day for you.” So this is why he came.

After that… incident with my first assignment, Fencio kept true to his word. He followed my progress attentively, helped me with my studies and my training, teaching me how to manage without him or anyone and interfering only when necessary. His help never came with the condescension I often got from other immortals, even the low ranked ones, my fellow students, and I always felt the need to prove myself to him because of that. And then to prove myself to anyone who challenges me, but I am not there yet.

“I know.” I say confidently as I can feel my body healing itself slowly. It’s not much but I would be nothing without it, and I know that by tomorrow I’ll be fully recovered.

Fencio says nothing for a moment and I feel uneasy. Something sparkles in his eyes and his lips twitch, which is something he does rarely, but I always notice, and I never know what it means. It’s all gone in an instant and he’s back to his neutral expression, as usual.

“I have no doubt that you’ll kill the Serpent and that it will improve your reputation greatly” he pauses and I feel something inside me stir. Does he actually think I’ll fail and he’s just being nice?

The thought of Fencio seeing me as a disappointment makes me angry, but I know that can’t be true. He noticed my potential, my drive from the beginning and took me under his wing. I worked and I work hard for everything, but I know I would have never gotten this far, this quick without him. Some days I feel like he sees me like his part-time project, someone to mold into a better immortal because he decided it’s his responsibility. Other days I can consider him my confidant, since calling him a friend seems out of line, but Fencio has done nothing to betray my trust. Most days however, he is, without a doubt, my mentor, and now I feel ashamed for questioning his intentions, even if his attitude is making me wary.

“I won’t be able to attend the competition due to some personal matters, but I’ll seek you out afterwards as soon as I can.” he says and I feel immediate relief. I was worrying for nothing.

“Of course.” I respond and he shifts as if to signify he wants to leave.

“I’ll let you finish your workout. Don’t stay up too late. Rest well and… good luck.”

I nod and scoff internally, he says nothing more but makes no move to leave.

Suit yourself then. I turn around and walk a few steps away from him so I can properly spread my wings, and take off, glad that the pain still lingers but is much more bearable. I swear I can feel his eyes on me as I ascend, but when I turn around to drop down he isn't there, and I can’t contain my grin any longer.

Good luck? I don’t need luck.

…

I open the window wide as the cold breeze of the night sweeps into my room.

After I finished training and took a well-deserved shower, I went to bed. Even though I wanted to sleep until the morning, my body apparently had other plans and I woke up a few hours later, feeling refreshed and infinitely grateful for my immortal powers and my fast recovering body.

I realize immediately I’m alone in my dorm room. It’s pretty late and dark outside, which means my roommate is out doing something I’d rather not know about, since I doubt she’s training this late. She better not bring back any issues with her, I have enough on my plate.

I take a deep breath of fresh air and let it soothe my worries and clear my head. Everything is fine. Cliffs and bits of land levitate in the horizon, poorly illuminated by the moon and the glowing insects of different sizes hanging around them. A giggle is heard somewhere below me but it stops almost instantly, returning the night to its comforting silence. Something moves in the distance, seemingly coming up from behind a tree. I can’t make out who it is, but I am sure the figure is facing me and I recognize the blood red colored wings in a second. They flap lazily in that inviting gesture I’m way too familiar with. There are no demands made, no expectations or formalities to deal with, just the chance to spend some time with him, and I know I have no obligation to accept or respond.

Still, I wait, unmoving. It’s late and the chances of us getting caught together are small, there is no one out there. But what if someone follows me? There are too many immortals that don’t like me and it’s not exactly like I try to make friends. A part of me doesn’t think any of them would go to the extent of actively trying to ruin me, but it’s better to never underestimate the hatred one can build up for someone else. For someone better.

I don’t get to think more about it since he takes my lack of reaction as a refusal and flies back behind the same tree. I should take his leave as a blessing and go to bed, or do something else, but I don’t. I think about what would happen if I got caught, all of my efforts going to waste for the most stupid reason. I think about how everyone who ever doubted me would be right and I’d never get to prove them wrong, and how I could lose everything in the blink of an eye like back on Earth.

I climb the out the window with newfound strength, as I concentrate on my surroundings. There’s no one after me. I spread my wings and jump, hoping no one is staying by the window to witness an Unclaimed breaking curfew. Thankfully, I get there quickly and quietly, and I’m surprised to see Winchesto sitting down, his back against a thick tree trunk. I was sure he left and I would’ve had to find him.

He turns his head towards me and grins, his face full of happiness. Seeing him so glad to see me hurts.

“I didn’t think you’d come.” he says but there isn’t a hint of anything negative in his tone, as if he wouldn’t have blamed me for not following him. I know he wouldn’t have.

I say nothing as I slide down next to him, so close that our sides touch. The contact is small and delicate, barely there, but it feels like a battle is starting inside me. I turn to look at him as he does the same, our faces so close I can’t tell if my breathing is so loud or his. Winchesto’s eyes are gentle and there’s something so peaceful behind them, something that makes it so easy to relax. This could end us both. I tense up as my thoughts go in the wrong direction again. He notices and, as if reading my mind, he backs away a little and I feel awful, even though I know it’s for the best. For both of us.

“I’ll cheer for you tomorrow.” he breaks the silence, like I didn’t just reject him indirectly moments ago.

I laugh, but it sounds forced even to my own ears.

“That would raise some eyebrows.” I say half jokingly, half concerned and Winchesto shrugs, as if nothing could ever get him in trouble.

“Angels and demons get excited for this too, even if they don’t participate. If you think about it, they probably enjoy it more than their usual competitions, because they get the entertainment without the repercussions of losing. Many of them pick their favorites among the Unclaimed so they can place bets on them or just make a big deal out of whoever wins and gloat.”

“Did you bet on me?” I ask genuinely curious but Winchesto ignores my question.

“My point is: no one will care if I cheer for you, they’ll all be busy cheering too... or booing.”

I laugh honestly as he smiles sweetly, the tension from before long forgotten. We sit in silence after that, looking every now and then at each other, and neither of us seems to mind it. Neither of us feels like the silence is painful and that it needs to be disrupted and I realize, in that moment, that Winchesto is so dear to me, that I trust him so much, that I want to be around him and share everything with him, knowing he’d never use anything against me. I want to tell him about my worries, about my goals, about my pain and my life from before, about how I’ll achieve everything I’ve ever wanted and how I’ll be at the top. For a second, I even want to tell him about how I scouted the path to the Serpent and memorized every detail, or how I’ve hidden weapons along the way into the secluded spots I found in case I run out of energy.

But I don’t. I don’t tell him anything, and the part of me that’s been trying to keep me at bay, the part that I’ve cultivated so carefully knows I am doing what’s right. For both of us. It’s safe for Winchesto to not know what could hurt him, even if he’d like to know as much as I’d like to tell.

It’s late.

I stand up abruptly, dusting myself off while he continues to sit, looking at me calmly. I start walking away, knowing how it looks and hoping he doesn’t feel the hurt as much as me. I don’t want to leave like this, but I feel lost and I don’t know how to deal with it.

“Good night, Rebecca.” he whispers loud enough for me to hear it.

I let out a breath I haven’t realized I’ve been holding on and turn my head to look at him. He’s still sitting comfortably, looking unfazed and I’m glad. I’m glad it’s not that bad for him, or maybe he just takes it better than me.

“You should bet on me tomorrow. I will win.” is the only thing I say to him before taking off, leaving him there and not looking back.

#also sorry for any mistakes #i finished this on like 4 hours of sleep😴#romance club #heaven's secret #fanfic #my writing

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changyang-cloud · 3 years ago

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Chapters: 1/4 Fandom: 魔道祖师 - 墨香铜臭 | Módào Zǔshī - Mòxiāng Tóngxiù Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín/Niè Huáisāng Characters: Nie Huaisang, Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin Additional Tags: I don't even know what to tag this, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, i guess, Accidental Baby Acquisition, later on, they're just gonna be there for each other now Series: Part 2 of Write Our Names On Dragon Wings and Lift Our Hearts Summary:

Surrounded by the bright smiling faces of his family-- his brother, and husband, husband's brother and sister and their husbands, their children, nieces, and nephews...-- Nie Huaisang finally felt relieved. More than that, he felt happy.

Nie Huaisang had overheard what those other sect leaders were saying. That the sect of Yunmeng Jiang was almost negligible at this point, much less “great.” Why would they waste their resources supporting a lost cause?

Nie Huaisang remembered when he first heard the news of the massacre at Lotus Pier, worrying after Wei-xiong and Jiang-xiong, and even Yanli-jie. They had all been kind to him, had been friends to him. They didn’t deserve this kind of fate, leaving everyone unsure as to whether their sect had any survivors left.

He also remembered how relieving it felt to know that Jiang Yanli had been away at the time, safe in Meishan, and that Jiang Cheng had made it out alive.

That he was here in Qinghe, no less. He remembered running out of his private room faster than he’d ever run in his life, barely taking time to compose himself before walking into the receiving hall where his brother was talking with Jiang Cheng.

He was well. Largely uninjured, and not very eager to tell about how he escaped and where he had been these past few weeks. But he was well, and that was enough.

“Whe--where is Wei-xiong?” Nie Huaisang asked, noticing his striking absence easily in the tense quiet of the room.

“He--” Jiang Cheng tried, but his face was dark, and the words didn’t come.

It was months, and still, Jiang Cheng heard no news of his shixiong. And even those months were not spent comfortably. Nie Huaisang watched as sect disciples left on missions, coming back with only a thread of life left. He wasn’t particularly good with handling blood, but he helped the best he could delivering clean rags and keeping everyone organized.

Maybe if he had trained like Da-ge told him to, he wouldn’t be so useless, but that was a past mistake, and couldn’t be helped. Besides, he wasn’t just an extra pair of hands. When Qinghe was a chaotic mess of servants and disciples running about, he kept everyone on the same page, got everything where it needed to go. When he accompanied his brother to the war camps--despite his insistance on sending him to stay home, safe--he helped organize rations, double and triple checked that everyone was fed and well before going to bed hours after everyone else.

He wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t useless, he could prove it!

And if he could prove he wasn’t just the useless second son of Qinghe Nie, then Jiang Cheng should have no problem proving himself a capable soldier and sect leader--because he was both those things, far more than Nie Huaisang could ever hope to be.

Those old sect leaders didn’t know what they were talking about, anyway. They didn’t bother to look at was right in front of them, so why listen? The truth was, Jiang Cheng had inspired hope in many, and dozens from rogue cultivators to children were eager to join his ranks--and follow him to the death, if need be. The numbers didn’t lie. After this war was over, if they were able to make it through, the Jiang Sect would rebuild itself to its former glory, there was no doubt.

Though, in Nie Huaisang’s opinion, they would likely even exceed that reputation.

Nie Huaisang racked his brain, pulling up old memories of Jiang Cheng, trying to think of something to comfort him. He also particularly avoided hoping to “cheer him up,” because there was really no hope in that. It was completely understandable for the situation. But if he could ease the pain, that would be enough.

In passing, Nie Huaisang thought it would have been easier to comfort Wei Wuxian. Then again, he questioned whether Wei-xiong genuinely enjoyed so many things, or if that was just his bright personality.

Either way, he finally landed on the one thing that he thought Jiang Cheng really loved more than anything. His sister. More doably, his sister’s soup, since his sister was sent safely off to Lanling and Nie Huaisang did not have the means to bring her here just to cheerp Jiang Cheng up for a moment.

So, soup. Nie Huaisang couldn’t cook by anyone’s standards, of course. Not that he’d tried very hard, as he rarely felt the need or desire to try hard at anything, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t , right? Resolved, Nie Huaisang made his way to the Bujing Shi ‘s kitchens.

“Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang, a few steps away from slipping into the kitched where no one could catch him skipping class, whipped around to face the voice. “A-Fen-jiejie?”

Nie Yanfen walked lightly, a familiar teasing smile decorating her face. “Why aren’t you in practice?”

Nie Huaisang grimaced. “I have more important things to do, actually.” Nie Yanfen raised an eyebrow skeptically, and Nie Huaisang threw up his hand in defeat. “Okay, maybe more important is an exaggeration. A-Fen-jie, I really have a good reason this time!”

“Huaisang, since when have I told on you for skipping classes,” Nie Yanfen countered with a laugh. It was true. Nie Yanfen was nearly Nie Huaisang’s brother’s age, and her cultivation was nothing to scoff at, but their temperaments couldn’t have been more different. Nie Yanfen wasn’t just occasionally indulgent in Nie Huaisang’s mischief, but sometimes even an active participant. “What’s your ‘good reason’?”

Nie Huaisang pouted at her tone, but answered, “I want to make something nice for Jiang-xiong, before they leave for Hejian.”

With a fond smile, Nie Yanfen put a hand on Nie Huaisang’s shoulder, “What kind of ‘something nice?’”

“...soup.”

Nie Yanfen gave him a knowing look, and walked with him back into the kithcens. “I’m afraid we don’t have any lotus root on hand…”

“That’s alright,” Nie Huaisang replied. “It’s not like I could compete with Yanli-jie, anyway. Might as well try something different.”

And Nie Huaisang may not have known how to cook, but Nie Yanfen did. It took nearly the entire afternoon and one failed pot before Nie Huaisang managed something good--under Nie Yanfen’s careful instruction, of course.

The satisfaction alone from the fragrant secnt wafting up from the bowl in his hands was almost enough. All that was left was to give it to Jiang Cheng.

“Jiang-xiong?”

Jiang Cheng’s grouchy face greeted him as the door opened, a crease between his brows that seemed rather permanent as of late. The smell rising from Nie Huaisang’s hands didn’t go unnoticed by him either, though, and he gave Nie Huaisang a questioning look. “What is this?”

Nie Huaisang put on his most carefree smile, gently pushing past his friend to set the tray on the table. He stood and turned around with a little flourish, saying lightly, “Soup?”

For all he was grouchy, Jiang Cheng was a total sap. Not that he was going to let anyone know it, but Nie Huaisang had been close enough to the two brothers from Lotus Pier that he knew to look for it. The smile when he tasted the soup wasn’t disguised, but the tears were.

It felt as if their troops had no sooner left for Hejian that they had returned, with Jiang Cheng’s arm slung over Nie Mingjue’s shoulders and his other hand pressed against his chest. The soldiers behind them looked exhausted. At least, the ones that were still fully-conscious.

Da-ge wasn’t injured, fortunately. And the cultivators that had come back only accounted for a fraction of the ones they had left with, who were still at the Hejian front with Nie Zonghui as commander.

Nie Mingjue was hurrying to get to Gusu, and insisted Nie Huaisang come with him. If Nie Huaisang wa in Gusu, he reasoned, he wouldn’t be in danger.

But Nie Huaisang didn’t think of any of that. He only thought of how Wei-xiong was still missing, but Jiang-xiong was here and alone. And if Jiang-xiong was here, then he could help him.

Nie Mingjue stormed off to Cloud Recesses without him. Jiang Cheng woke up that night.

“Jiang-xiong?”

“Huaisang,” he said, voice coming out weaker than he seemed to have intended.

Nie Huaisang hurried to his side, forcing a smile. “No, no. Don’t sit up. You need to rest. I’m afraid Da-ge will drag you back out to the field on account of lacking manpower too soon anyway, so you should rest while you can…”

He hurried around, not stepping more than a few feet away from Jiang Cheng’s side, but going down a seemingly endless checklist of questions and tasks. Getting him to eat some soup from the kitchens that he reheated, asking if any of his injured were bothering him…

“Huaisang,” his voice came roughly, while Nie Huaisang’s mind was still racing.

“Y-Yes?” He was confused. They didn’t usually call each other by name like that. Sure, they were friends. But it wasn’t like Jiang Cheng to just change his address so flippantly. That was more of a Wei Wuxian thing, and Jiang Cheng was most definitely not his brother. Nie Huaisang had thought before was just a one-time thing. A slip-up.

But he had done it again. And it felt so intimate…

“Thank you.”

But this was war. There was no time to think about these things, now was there.

Wei-xiong was back. And for once since the war started, Jiang Cheng’s smile fully reached his eyes. He looked like an idiot like that, and it made Nie Huaisang grin. He bombarded Wei Wuxian with questions the second he caught sight of him, and he merely laughed as he answered each one vaguely. But Nie Huaisang couldn’t really be bothered to analyze his words. He just knew that this finally felt almost like old times, as he brought them something to drink and they caught up.

And that Jiang Cheng looked happy, and Nie Huaisang wished it hadn’t taken so long for him to see that expression again.

Of course, in war, these types of moments never lasted long. Wei Wuxian was back, and apparently more powerful than ever, so Da-ge didn’t hesitate to sweep the Yunmeng siblings out to the field again. And they got good knews almost every time upon their return.

Almost every time, being the key word.

“A-Cheng…” Nie Huaisang whimpered. He silently berated himself for breaking down so easily. This is a war, Huaisang. You can’t be the same delicate kid you’re used to being.

Jiang Cheng looked at him with hurt-filled eyes. No doubt, the pain in his heart was a thousand-times greater than Nie Huaisang’s. But that was what hurt. Nie Huaisang couldn’t help but laugh and commend Jiang Cheng’s will. Even under all that pain and all that pressure, he still had the courage to keep fighting. Seeing him like this, though, tattered and broken, both inside and out, with Wei Wuxian off tooting away on his Chenqing elsewhere, and Jiang Yanli safe in Lanling. He looked alone, and cold--hurt and scared. But he still put on a brave face. Nie Huaisang really couldn’t believe him, how he could do it.

And the sight broke his heart.

The wounds on his chest were superficial, easily treatable. The wounds in his heart, less-so. On some level, Nie Huaisang imagined that seeing your loved-ones die might be easier than this, seeing the person you care about beaten down by the world and fighting to hold on. Wasn’t this kind of life a fate worse than death?

But this was war, and the threat of death loomed closer each day. Even that thought couldn’t bring relief, only fear.

There were tears in Nie Huaisang’s eyes, but he blinked them away. Crying wouldn’t do him any good, all he could do was figure out the next steps. Figure out how to keep the people he loved safe, and the people they loved. More than Nie Huaisang couldn’t bear to see Jiang Cheng die--his body reduced to a cold and lifeless corpse, forever alone and unsmiling--he really couldn’t stand to see him lose anything more.

Gone was the friend who hid his amusement with harsh words; who smiled behind everyone’s backs, a smile that could burn the whole world down and leave you with nothing but brilliant light and contentment. He was replaced by this man, quick to anger and hard to please; who cried behind closed doors into the night, sniffling with a sorrow enough to sink a thousand ships and flood a thousand lands. And Nie Huaisang loved him, still.

That was why, in the end. Why he had to do his best to get them through this war. He wasn’t useless, he couldn’t be. Useless means letting go and throwing your fate to chance. Only by finding control in life could Nie Huaisang help the people who he cared for. He wouldn’t hesitate to do so, for Jiang Cheng; for Nie Mingjue.

Nie Huaisang squeezed his hand one last time before daring to peel his eyes away. Though, he had barely stood when a breaking voice called, “Huaisang…”

Nie Huaisang bit back a laugh amidst his stifled cries. “What is it, Jiang-xiong? Can I get you something?”

Jiang Cheng shook his head weakly, his eyes still fluttering between open and closed in the dark room. “Huaisang, don’t leave.”

Nie Huaisang hesitated for a moment, but sat back down anyway, tracing the back of Jiang Cheng’s hand with his thumb as if that might bring him some comfort.

Maybe it did, Nie Huaisang couldn’t know.

After a few minutes, Nie Huaisang whispered, “Jiang-xiong, I need to sleep too, you know. I’m going to go for now.”

Jiang Cheng didn’t say anything, his eyes already lightly closed and his face relaxed and dreaming. Nie Huaisang didn’t leave without one last whispered goodnight, and the silent promise to keep trying. Not until they made it out this pitch-black, blood-drenched tunnel would he give up and surrender, he swore it on his life.

A-Cheng, be careful.

The war was over. This statement alone should have been a cause for celebration, but as always, there was more to life than that.

Nie Huaisang didn’t celebrate that night, nor the next.

He flew from Qinghe to Qishan he second he heard the news, but his cultivation was poor, and it took longer than it should have. The news. That the siege on Nightless City was a success, and Meng Yao had delivered the final blow to Wen Ruohan.

That his brother, who had been captured, was seriously injured, and two of the five generals that had been captured alongside him, dead.

The war was over, but it wasn’t yet time for celebrations.

“Xichen-ge,” Nie Huaisang gasped, still unable to catch his breath after running all the way here. “Da-ge.” His eyes floated over a third figure. Someone he hadn’t expected to see, but nonetheless recognized. “Meng-xiong?”

Lan Xichen was standing between the two others, his eyes not leaving Nie Mingjue and his expression insistent. Nie Mingjue grumbled, giving up whatever argument they were having and turning his attention to Nie Huaisang.

But Nie Huaisang was still quite bewildered, and upon realizing that his brother was at least well enough to be standing, and even arguing, he was only staring at Meng Yao, an expression on his face that he himself wouldn’t have been able to decipher.

“Huaisang,” Nie Mingjue called sharply, but Nie Huaisang didn’t move, words still trying to form on his lips.

They never did, before a hand gently grabbed his wrist and brought him back to the real world. The touch was gone as quickly as it had come, but now Jiang Cheng stood in front of him, arms folding in salute to Nie Mingjue. “Nie-zongzhu.”

Finally capable of normal thought, Nie Huaisang hurried over to his brother, “Da-ge!”

Nie Mingjue responded with some mumbled harshly, in a way Nie Huaisang knew to signify fondness.

After making sure his brother was really okay and giving Lan Xichen a pointed look which said, don’t let my idiot da-ge walk on his injuries for too long, Nie Huaisang let out a sigh of relief as the three heads disappeared from sight.

“Huaisang.”

Nie Huaisang turned his head, remembering the tug on his wrist and the fifth figure in the room. He smiled. “Jiang-xiong.”

The war was over. And maybe it was just about time for a goddamn celebration.

#WoN 'verse #write our names #sangcheng #nie huaisang #jiang cheng #mine #my fics

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okskz · 4 years ago

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The Real Truth.

Mia + Stray Kids

mia finally tells the rest of the group about her future plans and in the end mia finds out how chan truly feels with her doing activities outside of stray kids.

hope you guys enjoy! please feel free to leave some feedback because it is always appreciated!

[9th Member of Stray Kids]

Mia took a deep breath as she paced around in her room. In a couple of seconds she was going to go out in the living room and tell the rest of her members about her plans with Elsy. She didn’t know exactly how she was going to tell them and also how the others would react. Mia wanted them to know the news as soon as possible.

In the end, all she wanted was their full support because all of this was new to her.

“Okay.” Mia breathed out, coming out of her room and entering the living room.

Changbin and Felix were in the kitchen cooking while Minho and Hyunjin were sat on the table. Mia took one glance at them and they noticed she looked nervous. The both of them knew what Mia was going to do, so they each gave her a thumbs up in approval.

It slightly made her feel at ease, knowing that right now two of them were showing support in her. Without wasting another second, Mia began talking to catch their attention. “Um, can I talk to all of you?”

“What is it?” Changbin questioned as he walked closer to the girl.

They had all gathered in the living room, giving Mia their full attention as she stood in front of them. She bit her lip just a little as she tried gathering her thoughts. “I’m just gonna go out and say it. I am going to participate in a girl project the contains Elsy and I.”

Silence filled the room as all boys stared at Mia. Hyunjin and Minho were the only ones who were smiling, already knowing the news.

Chan was the first to say something as he looked at the girl confused. “You’re doing a what?”

“A girl project. With Elsy and I.” Mia said again.

“What does that it even mean, what exactly are you doing?”

“It’s going to be us making a song together and we’re going to promote it... together.”

Jisung looked at Chan then back at Mia. “Will it just be a song you’re doing?”

Mia shook her head, causing Chan to lift an eyebrow. He glanced at Changbin and made a face expression, signaling if he knew anything about this. Changbin was quick to shrug his shoulders as he shook his head no as well.

“No, well the song will be the title track-“

“Title track?” Chan questioned. “As in there’s more to this?”

“Yes.” Mia nodded. “There’s going to be an album and music video involved.”

Almost everyone’s eyes turned wide. “So you’re basically re-debuting, except with Elsy as a duo?” Changbin questioned.

“Basically, yeah.” Mia said softly. She brought her eyes to Chan, who was facing the other way, not even looking at Mia. Although she couldn’t see it, she could already telling he wasn’t taking the news so well.

“Listen, I’m not asking for much and I’ve been debating back and forth on how to tell you guys this because I was scared on how you guys would take it, but all I’m asking for is for your support.” Mia said. “This is all new to me and I’ve never done things without you guys but yeah, that’s just all I want-“

“How long have you known about this?” Chan then spoke up again.

“Um, around the first week of promotion.”

Chan’s eyes narrowed at Mia as he furrowed his eyebrows. “And you decide to tell us this now?”

“Well yeah, because at the time I didn’t know whether I wanted to do it or not-“

“And went ahead and decided yes, without talking to us?”

Changbin began hearing the way Chan’s tone in voice was changing in every word he spoke, causing Mia to become nervous. “Hey, tone it down will you?”

Chan simply ignored him and continued to stare at Mia. “I talked to Hyunjin and Minho about it-“

“And it didn’t cross your mind to talk to us as well?”

“Yes, of course, but I was nervous on how you guys would react which is why I went to them first. And I wanted to tell you guys when everything was settled for this project.”

“So you can’t get out of it?”

“No.” Mia shook her head. “Why would I even do that? We already had a meeting for all of this.”

“You already had a meeting?” Chan asked standing up. “So all this time while we’ve been promoting, you’ve been planning on something else aside from us?”

“N-no.” Mia stuttered. “Well, kind of, but we’re barely on the beginning of planning. Which is why I wanted to tell you guys now instead of keeping it a-“

“Secret.” Chan finished Mia’s sentence, crossing his arms. “You didn’t want to keep it a secret.”

The whole room became silent as Mia looked down at her feet. This was exactly what she had feared happening.

“That’s enough.” Changbin said, standing up as well. “I don’t get how you can act like that towards your own member.”

“I just find it odd how she promised no more secrets but when ahead and hid this one.”

“I wasn’t hiding anything!” Mia snapped. “I only kept this for myself for a little while because I know how you tend to get! Which is exactly what you’re doing right now!”

Minho sighed. “Here we go again.” He whispered to Hyunjin.

“Can we talk about this, in private?” Chan asked. The last thing he wanted was to cause a scene in front of the members.

“Fine.”

Chan was the first to move, walking until he was in his room.

“If it makes you feel any better, we’re definitely going to support you.” Jeongin smiled, trying to cheer Mia up. The rest of the group agreed with him.

“Thanks guys.” Mia softly smiled. She took one glance at Changbin, who smiled back at her, before walking into Chan’s room.

“Alright Bang, what is it that you want to talk about?”

“I just don’t know how to feel about this, I mean how do you expect me to support you when you’re still keeping secrets.”

Mia glared at Chan, her eyes were beginning to get teary as she got more irritated by him. “I was not keeping secrets, Chan! And honestly the only secret I have kept from you is Changbin and I dating! You’re acting as if I’m this horrible person that’s constantly lying. Which is exactly why I didn’t even come to you in the first place because I know how you get!”

“I just.” Chan sighed. “I just don’t want you to go through with this.”

Mia closed her eyes shut as a few tears slipped. She was both angry and upset. “Why?” She choked up. “Why can’t you just be happy for me? I’m actually really excited about this project and I want your support, Chan. Why do you have to act like this?”

“I... don’t know.”

“No, you do know!” Mia began talking louder again. “You constantly attack me when it comes to this type of stuff and I want to know why!”

Chan became silent which made Mia get more irritated by the second. “Why, Chan?!”

“Because I know you don’t need us!”

Mia was taken back by his sudden outburst, causing her to move back a bit. She furrowed her eyebrows. “What is that supposed to mean? Of course I need you guys, you guys are my team.”

Chan sighed, sitting on his bed and patted for Mia to take a sit next to him. He knew Mia had every right to know how he truly feels.

“Truth is, the reason why I get like this is because I know you don’t need us. You’re a very talented person who can literally do it all. With us, or if you were in another group or solo artist, you always shine because there’s just something special about you.” He swallowed. “Remember when I asked you to be in the group?”

Mia nodded. “Yeah, you looked like a stalker when you were peaking through the window before you asked me.”

The two let out a small laugh. “Beside the point.” Chan sighed as he gathered what he wanted to say. “I know you were a bit hesitant when saying yes to me which made me do everything I could to make you comfortable when joining the team because I didn’t want you and still don’t want you to have any regrets about your decision. Because I know you basically threw being in Itzy down the drain.

“Chan.” Mia spoke softly as more tears began to spill down her face. “I don’t have any regrets, I love being with you guys. You guys are literally everything to me and I couldn’t imagine my life without any of you in it. Saying yes to you was the best decision I ever made.”

The older boy let out a deep breath after hearing Mia’s words. “God, I feel horrible. I did it again.”

“I guess I’m just really insecure about this because what if you end up liking this more than when being with us? I don’t want you to leave us, you are so important to this group that we would be incomplete without you. I remember telling the others we were missing something and thank god I found you.”

“You loser, I’m not going anywhere. You guys are stuck with me forever.” Mia laughed, she went in for a side hug. “The second you put me in this group I made a commitment and have always tried to prove myself that I was worthy enough to be here.”

Now it was Chan who was taken back from Mia’s words. “You’ll always be worthy enough, Mia.”

Mia let out a sigh. “I don’t want to argue anymore, I hate when we do this. It’s pointless.”

“Me either. I will say we have gotten better at actually talking it out.”

“We have.” Mia smiled.

There was a comfortable silence between the two as they continued to hug each other before Chan spoke up again. “How did this project even come about?”

“It was Elsy’s idea. Jyp offered her a solo project but gave him the idea of us two working together instead and he loved the idea.”

Chan swallowed hard. “It was her idea?”

“Mhm.” Mia hummed.

“Hm, how great.” Chan said, slowly growing irritated.

Mia didn’t seem to notice the way Chan had said it sarcastically. “You should talk to her.” Mia said. “She misses you.”

“Yeah, I think I will.”

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