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the-cult-of-russo · 3 years

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Who's my Good Boy?

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Request: will you write the post you reblogged, the one that says billy likes to be called 'good boy' in bed? if not, can i request that? 👀 thanks!!!!

A/N: Oh man. This one… I had way too much fun with this one lmao It took on a life of its own and I don't know if it went in a direction you're okay with, but fuck me sideways, it went there 😂

Warnings: cursing, smut. Like serious fucking smut, I'm not even kidding. Knife play, lil bit of blood, dom/sub bullshit. Sub!Billy for once and the little shit secretly loves it.

If you're under 18 then please avert your eyes and scroll on by. If you're over 18 then enjoy and maybe cleanse yourself in some holy water when you're done lmao. I'd say I'm sorry but that would be a bare faced fucking lie 😂😂😂

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You glanced in the mirror and admired your appearance. The black lace lingerie looked good on you and you felt pretty sexy. It was a new set since Billy had already seen every piece of underwear you owned. It was time to cash in on your win and you knew just what you wanted.

You and Billy often bet with each other over numerous things and more often than not, Billy would win. This time you'd actually won and like hell you'd be squandering this opportunity. He'd bet that he could get more girls numbers at the bar you'd been at and you'd gladly accepted. Never one to turn down his challenges.

Maybe it was weird for a couple to go off and flirt with other people and get their numbers like that but both of you never intended on calling the girls. It was simply a fun challenge. And you wished you'd taken a picture of Billy's face when you both counted and you'd got 5 more numbers than him. He looked horrified, wildly offended, ridiculously proud and also pretty aroused. You hadn't cashed in then, two nights ago, and you hadn't told him what you had planned. But you most certainly had plans.

Billy loved being in control in every aspect of his life. It was just the way he was and that bled into the bedroom too. You were more than happy to play the sub to his dom and you loved it, but you often wondered just how Billy would fare if the roles were reversed. How would he handle you taking charge and teasing him to the brink of insanity like he did to you?

You were waiting for him to get home from work and once you heard the door, you grinned to yourself. You knew Billy's senses were sharp, perks of dating a former marine sniper, but you crept out of the bedroom and saw him sat on the sofa facing away from you. You knew you wouldn't be able to sneak up on him, not through lack of trying, so you weren't disappointed that he didn't jump when you leaned over the back of the sofa, wrapping your arms around him from behind.

"Hey, baby," he murmured with a smile, tilting his head to look at you. His hands came up to stroke your arms and you could see curiosity burning in his eyes at your lack of clothes although he couldn't see from his angle just what you had on. You kissed his cheek sweetly and he smiled, leaning into the touch.

"I'm ready to cash in my win," you smirked. He raised a brow, lips quirking a little as his eyes glittered with curiosity.

"Really?" He asked, voice low and sultry and you had to remind yourself you had a plan.

You were nowhere near Billy's level of patience and control but you'd try hard to stick to the plan. You unwound your arms from him, stepping back a bit and you saw his eyes trail down your body, taking in the black lace against your skin and the stockings you had on. The wolfish grin that spread across his face made your knees weak.

He got up, slinking over to you like a panther, dark eyes drinking in the sight of you. You had to fight the urge to submit to him. To fall on your knees and worship his cock. Now wasn't the time. He reached out to grab your hips but your hands darted out, seizing his wrists tightly.

"I didn't say you could touch," you said firmly, quirking a brow at him. His lips parted slightly, a dark chuckle leaving them as his fingers flexed but he made no move to escape your hold despite how easy it would be for him. He looked curious and delighted by where this was going, to see this side to you.

You let him go, pleased when his hands settled by his sides, clenched into fists. You knew he would take it as a personal challenge but you also knew it would be hard for him not to touch you which is why you had plans for once you got into the bedroom. You grabbed his tie, yanking him close as your lips ghosted his. His clenched fists were still by his sides.

"No touching," you reminded him before you kissed him. He kissed back fervently, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth and it caused you to moan. Drawing out a groan in response from him.

When you broke away, a sly grin painted your lips and you could see his resolve for not touching you was wearing thin. You let his tie fall back against his chest before you turned on your heel, feeling his gaze on your ass as you sauntered into the bedroom. He followed obediently as you perched on the edge of the bed, crossing one leg over the other as you looked up at him.

"Strip," your firm command was met by a smirk from him and he took his time to remove all of his clothes. The man was built like a god and you could feel how wet you were already as your eyes drank him in greedily. His smug smirk let you know he knew just what he did to you.

You stood up, loving the way his eyes didn't leave you as you beckoned him over. He walked over with no hesitation and his hands went to grab you again. Before you had to intervene, they snapped back to his sides, balled up into fists and you smirked at him as your hands smoothed up his bare toned chest.

"Good boy," you murmured, your lips ghosting his. His groaned, head snapping forward and his teeth caught your lower lip. The only act of rebellion you'd allow for the night.

You kissed him greedily, a hand fisting his hair as his mouth devoured yours before you moved away feeling breathless. You really needed to make sure you kept control over yourself. You pushed him to lay back, gesturing with your hand for him to scoot up and lay on the pillows. He did as instructed, his heavy lidded gaze never leaving you. You knew for a fact he was staring at your ass when you bent down to get his tie. You made a bit of a show of it and he groaned.

He raised a curious brow as you returned with his tie in hand and you smirked, moving to straddle him. You sat more on his torso though so he couldn't find any friction from you. You grabbed his hands without a word and pinned them above his head, making quick work of tying them together and to the headboard. His almost black eyes pinned you in place from where he lay and it sent a thrill right through you.

"Y/N…" his low voice was silky smooth but it was full of warning. It was the voice he usually used before he made your ass cheeks red and had you begging him to fuck you senseless. You loved it. You fluttered your lashes at him with a coy smile, gripping his jaw before you leaned down to kiss him deeply. He kissed you back hard and it amused you how he was still trying to have some level of control with this. You'd soon break him.

"I'm in charge, be a good boy for me," you purred against his lips. He groaned, shifting his hips as he tried to find something, anything, to rub against but he found nothing. You could see the frustration on his face. You moved to kneel next to him, really wanting to avoid his cock as much as possible to really drag this out and you started to kiss and nip at his neck. He tilted his head, giving you easy access as he hummed, hands flexing over his head as he gave the tie a tug to no avail.

You kissed down his toned chest, giving his nipple a teasing lick and nip and he moaned softly, arching his hips again pointlessly. You couldn't help but smirk against his skin as you continued to kiss down his body. You purposely steered clear of his dick, kissing his thighs as you settled between them and biting them, leaving marks as he groaned. He kept tugging at the tie and you knew it was killing him not to be able to touch you. You were revelling in it. You left another mark at the juncture of his thigh that had him gasping and squirming and you really started to see just why he loved to tease you so much.

"Shit," he moaned, head falling back as you started licking and sucking at his balls. You hummed around them as you lavished them with attention and he couldn't stay still as he kept arching up at nothing with frustrated groans. You grinned to yourself before licking a stripe up his lower belly, adjacent to his throbbing cock but making sure you didn't touch it.

"Untie me, Y/N," he strained voice was full of authority as he punctuated his words with a sharp tug at his binds.

"Ah, ah, ah. I'm in charge," you tsked at him, raising a brow. His nostrils flared at your defiance, a growl leaving his lips. But his eyes were sparkling and you knew that despite how unsettling the lack of control was, how frustrating it was for him to have you not do as he says, he was enjoying it at the same time.

You moved to straddle him, once again higher up and leaving his cock with no purchase to rub against. You gripped his jaw tightly, leaning down with hard eyes as he blinked up at you.

"You're not being a very good boy, Billy. Only good boys get rewarded," you murmured, delighting in his answering moan. You reached over to the nightstand, grabbing one of his many knives that he always kept there. You twirled it with ease in a move that he'd taught you and you heard his breathing hitch.

His black eyes glanced at it before going back to your face and you smirked at his groan of 'fuuuuck' as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. You trailed the knife carefully down your neck and over your lace clad breasts and it wasn't lost on you how still he became. The knife was incredibly sharp but even through his lust filled haze he wouldn't do anything to hurt you, not wanting to jostle you and have you cut yourself.

"You gonna be a good boy now?" You asked, blinking down at him. He nodded stiffly and your answering smile was devilish. You slipped the knife between your breasts under the bra, angling it away from you and slicing the material with ease. His eyes were locked on the knife now and his hands kept flexing into fists over and over despite how still he'd become. Your breasts now exposed, you kept the knife in hand as you slipped the straps off one by one and tossed the now useless material carelessly on the floor.

His eyes drank you in with a hunger that made you wet and you smirked down at him. The knife then sliced through either side of your panties and you slipped the material off and it was discarded with the bra. Obsidian eyes drifted down to where your legs were spread on him and he bared his teeth a little before licking his lips. You took your time, surprisingly still calm and in control as you trailed the blade down from his neck to his chest. He shifted his hips up, once again finding nothing to help, but the tip of the blade nicked his skin ever so slightly and a drop of blood pooled on his chest. You knew he'd done it on purpose since he'd been so careful when the knife was on you.

Locking eyes with him, you leaned down and licked up the drop of blood and he hissed, tugging at his binds again.

"Fuck… Y/N…" the authoritative tone was gone and replaced with a pleading one and you knew you were finally wearing him down. You gave him a wolfish grin as you set the knife back on the nightstand before giving him a deep kiss that he responded to willingly, his hips moving once more to no avail.

"Do you know what I want?" You asked softly, lips a hair away from his.

"My dick?" He replied, not missing a beat. His voice was low and hoarse as he leaned up trying to chase your lips but you moved just out of his reach with a snort. You couldn't help it. His grin back at you made you smile despite the current situation. He always loved making you laugh and even this didn't change that. You placed a teasing kiss at the corner of his mouth and when he tried to tilt his head to meet your lips, you gripped his jaw firmly and held him in place.

"What I want…" you kissed along his jaw, "is for you…" you kissed your way to his ear as he squirmed under you, "to beg," you purred in his ear.

"Fuuuuck," he groaned, tugging helplessly at the tie. It made you smirk as you sat back upright and looked down at him all innocent like. Your hands trailed down your body, palming your breasts as his eyes took you in. He squeezed them shut for a moment as if that would help but it wasn't for long before his obsidian gaze was back on you. He couldn't help himself.

He watched with rapt interest as your hand trailed lower until it reached between your legs. You moaned softly as your fingers circled your clit lazily, your eyes not leaving his face. His eyes looked wild now, desperate and you were just waiting for him to snap.

"Y/N," he pleaded, making you grin wickedly. It wasn't enough though. You ignored him and his restless hips as he tried his hardest to find friction.

You knelt up a little, allowing yourself to slip two fingers inside your soaked pussy with ease and you moaned, biting your lip as you started fingering yourself.

"Shit… fuck… Y/N, please," he begged, sending a thrill right through you at how desperate he sounded.

"Please what?" You asked breathlessly, another soft moan leaving your lips as you continued to pleasure yourself. His dark eyes were darting from what you were doing and to your face, his chest heaving as he squirmed.

"Fuck me. Fuckin' touch me, I don't care. Do something! Please," he was so helpless and looked on the brink of insanity and it's just where you wanted him. Where he'd gotten you so many times before.

Your fingers slipped out of you and you offered them to him, quirking a brow. He wasted no time in opening his mouth and sucking them clean, groaning like it was the best thing he'd ever tasted as his tongue swirled around your fingers. Fuck, if that didn't turn you on.

Gripping his jaw, you rewarded him with a filthy kiss, all tongues and teeth as you tasted yourself on his tongue.

"Good Boy," you breathed softly, earning a moan from him. You shifted down a little, kneeling up and he hissed when you finally grabbed his cock. You lined him up before sinking down onto him with a moan and the noise he made was downright dirty and you knew you'd file that away for a later date.

You stayed where you were, unmoving, and when he shifted his hips up to you, you raised a brow in warning at him. It amused you when he complied and stilled immediately, worried you'd climb right off him after he finally got what he wanted. You still weren't done driving him crazy yet and you knelt back up, his cock almost slipping out of you, only the tip inside. You teased him, not sinking down all the way, not even halfway before you lifted back to just the tip and he whined. Billy fucking Russo actually whined and you smirked in delight at the noise you'd drawn from him.

"Please. Please, please, just… fuck," he gasped, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his brow as he bared his teeth again. Having someone as composed and calculated as Billy like this was a huge turn on and you rewarded him by sinking back down fully until he bottomed out and he moaned loudly. The tug on his binds let you know he really wanted to touch you. If it wasn't for the fact you'd googled the best way to tie him up, you had no doubt he'd be pinning you to the bed right now and fucking you like an animal. He got like that sometimes. Practically feral. And you could see the glint in his eyes right now.

You started bouncing on his cock, the pair of you moaning and you felt the relief the same as he did. You'd worked yourself up quite a bit but you were proud of yourself that you'd held out and got what you wanted out of him. You'd fully expected to cave to him way before it got that far. He was chanting your name like a fervent prayer, head thrown back in pure ecstasy as you rode him hard and fast.

He was still tugging on the tie as his hips arched up to meet each hard thrust and you felt him hit all the right spots as you moaned.

"Untie me. Please fuckin' untie me, I need to touch you," he begged, voice raw as he pulled more on the tie. You snarled, your hand darting out and gripping his throat, squeezing it a little as you kept moving. His eyes went wide, lips parted as he moaned even louder.

"No," you bit out, eyes blazing. His back arched, a gasp leaving his lips as he fucked up at you harder.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," he moaned desperately, actually whimpering when you squeezed his throat tighter.

You leaned down, hand still firm around his throat and you nipped at his lower lip.

"Who's my Good Boy?" You asked breathlessly.

"Me… I am," he moaned without hesitation. He looked completely blissed out and you felt the pleasure building up at a rapid rate inside of you.

Seeing him in the throes of pleasure like this sent you over the edge and you cried out, clamping down around him as your hips faltered for a second, your release washing over you.

"Don't stop, don't… please, don't fuckin' stop," he begged helplessly, his voice a mere breathy whisper as he kept rutting up into you. You obliged through your orgasmic haze and his moans got louder, hands balled into fists above his head before a loud groan filled the room. After a few more stuttered thrusts up into you, he stilled, as did you, and you smiled feeling heavenly.

You leaned over, easily untying him before you collapsed on his chest and caught your breath. He wasted no time in wrapping his arms around you, his hands smoothing the skin on your back as if making up for the time he hadn't been able to touch you.

"Holy shit," he murmured breathlessly, nuzzling your hair. You smiled tiredly before sitting back up. You took his wrists in your hands delicately. They were a little red from all his tugging and you placed soft kisses to each of them. When your eyes landed on his face again he was giving you a soft smile that made your heart stop for a moment.

"Did you enjoy it?" You asked hesitantly. His smile widened, one hand on your hip as the other stroked your face.

"You're kiddin', right? I think it's obvious I did. Didn't know you had it in you," he smirked. You blushed and rolled your eyes playfully, leaning down and kissing him softly. You moved away to lay your head back on him feeling content to just fall asleep like this with his softening cock still inside of you.

"I gotta say… I'm pretty impressed. You did me proud," he smirked into your hair as his fingers trailed lazily up and down your back. You hummed softly, snuggling into him more.

"Well, I learned from the best," you replied with a sleepy grin. He chuckled and you felt him press a kiss to your head.

"Don't think we're makin' a habit of it though. Was fuckin' torture," he snorted, making you giggle a little.

"Now you know how you make me feel," you murmured tiredly. He chuckled, a hand winding into your hair as his fingers rubbed your scalp and you were helpless to succumb to sleep when he did that. The pair of you drifted off still tangled together and you still had a smile on your face as you remembered that you'd gotten Mr Marine to beg for you.

#billy russo #billy russo x reader #the punisher #billy russo imagine

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nastybuckybarnes · 3 years

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Of Kings and Beasts - Fourteen

Pairing: King!Bucky X Princess!Reader X King!Steve

Summary: Born a bastard of the King of Orlen, you’re thrust to the West to marry the Kings. However, the greeting you get is anything but warm, and your life with the King is far from enjoyable. He knows it isn’t your fault his husband is gone, but that fact alone won’t prevent him from taking it out on you.

Warnings: Angst, Language, Injuries, Violence, Fluff (if you squint)

Word Count: 2K

A/n: Lol disappears for two months them comes back like nothing happened. Also I seem to have forgotten how to write so if this is weird and yucky I am very sorry uwu don’t be mad at me

THIS SERIES CONTAINS SMUT AND DARK THEMES THAT MAY BE TRIGGERING TO SOME AUDIENCES!!! READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!!! 18+!!!!

Series Masterlist

~*~

Your meetings with the raven-haired prince have increased in frequency since that first night, until it is a nightly occurrence, one that the prince finds himself looking forward to, against his better judgment.

After the blond king is fast asleep, you slowly exit his chambers and make your way through the palace.

“Your Majesty, it is with all due respect that I ask you, but what are your intentions with the young prince?” You lift your eyes to Brunnhild then continue on your way to the Gardens.

“It's as you said,” you begin, voice a hushed whisper.

“I have the blood of my mother running through my veins. She did not die for me to sit and allow these men to continue to use me the way that they do. I have more power within me than they could imagine. And I intend to use it, if not to save the kingdoms, then to save myself. To capture the predator you cannot remain the prey.”

She presses her lips together in a thin line and nods, watching as you exit the palace and enter the gardens, the light of the moon illuminating you in an ethereal glow.

“I was wondering if you’d come join me again.” A smile finds its way to your lips.

“Why wouldn't I?” Loki watches you for a long moment, his arms crossed over his chest.

“My brother is enjoying you, is he not?” You grind your teeth together and say nothing, eyes finding the moon.

“You have kept this charade going for so long. Why? Why have you not made the next move in your plan yet?” He purses his lips and takes a few steps towards you, one of his hands finding the curve of your waist.

“There are many delicate pieces that need to be positioned just right before any major moves can be made.” He’s standing directly in front of you, his eyes trained on yours.

“The stars have aligned and the moon is full. My brother is lost in his obsession and the Kings are far too focused on trying to get you back to realize that their own council is plotting against them yet again. The time for movement is now, and I must act fast.” Your brows furrow, one piece of information sticking out like a sore thumb, a question that’s been burning in your mind for several days now.

“How have you managed to turn their own council against them?” He only chuckles, two fingers coming to lift your chin up.

“Nobody fully believes in a monarch. Those thoughts are easy to pick apart and turn into full-blown distrust and betrayal.” Your eyes flutter closed as he leans down, his lips very nearly brushing yours as he tilts your chin up more.

“My next move, darling, involves you. And I must apologize in advance for it.” You slowly open your eyes, your face contorting as a white-hot pain erupts in your abdomen.

Your eyes find his, a million questions in them as he presses the blade into your torso, an amused smile on his face as you draw in a shaky breath.

Your hand finds the hilt of the dagger, knees buckling then giving out, making you fall to the ground in a heap.

He crouches down to eye level, tilting your head up with feather-light fingers again.

“I do hope you’ll forgive me, dearest petal. It’s nothing personal, I assure you, but the only way to ensure things go according to plan. Once my brother hears of your death he’ll wage a war on Acadia without looking at the facts. And then it’s only a matter of time before the Kingdoms become mine.”

He pushes your shoulders, forcing you onto your back then steps over your body and towards the palace, leaving you alone and bleeding in the gardens, the stark white light of the moon illuminating the red dripping from your body.

It pools on the ground, a stain, an impurity.

Just like you.

You swallow hard, shaking the thought from your head.

You’ve been through far too much to give up now.

“H-help!” You call weakly, struggling to your knees, one hand holding your wound while the other grabs onto the edge of the garden fountain.

“Someone!” Your voice is soft, far softer than it should be, and for a moment you’re afraid that this is the end. Your fate is to die alone in the garden of yet another traitorous home, one where you were not welcome.

“Your Majesty?” You look up desperately, reaching out as Brunnhild rushes towards you.

“Your Majesty! What has happened?” You grit your teeth, sucking in a sharp breath as she helps you sit down on the lip of the fountain.

“Prince Loki,” you spit, moving your hand and revealing your wound.

“The prince... did this?” You nod, your brows drawn together in discomfort.

“Someone get the King! Quickly!” She shouts. You shake your head, pressing your hand back against your wound and forcing yourself to your feet.

The fate of the two kingdoms is in your hands. You’re not going to sit around and wait for a man to save you. Not anymore.

“The king will be of no help. I need medical assistance, now.” She looks up at you then nods, supporting most of your weight as you hobble through the palace, avoiding the populated hallways and sticking to the shadows.

She pushes into what must be her chambers and sits you by the fire, pushing your cape off of your shoulders and inspecting the wound.

“I’ll need to call for the doctor,” She whispers, stepping towards the door.

You grab her wrist, blood smearing on her tanned skin.

“No. We haven’t time for that.”

There are rushed noises from just past the door, and you know that the King has called for something rash.

“But your Majesty, the wound needs tending.” You grind your teeth together and look up at her then over to the fire.

“Then tend to it.”

She furrows her brows before nodding.

Her fingers work quickly as she cuts the fabric away from your body then hands it to you.

“You’ll want it. For the pain.” A curt nod is all you give her before shoving the material between your teeth.

She gives you no warning before yanking the dagger free from your body, replacing it with the scalding hot blade of her own, now removed from the fire.

The pain all rolls together into something that nearly pulls you from consciousness, nothing but fire and agony.

But your anger keeps you awake. The fury burns brighter than the flames Loki plans to set to the kingdoms. It fuels you, keeps you strong when she finally pulls the heat from your skin.

She covers the area in an ointment then some gauze, shaking her head at you.

“What do you plan to do?”

You grit your teeth and wipe your hair from your sweaty forehead.

“I plan on stopping the destruction of the Kingdoms. Loki has begun a war. He’s inside King Thor’s head. His magic is powerful, and Thor will not see the truth. Your loyalties lie with your King, and I understand, but I need to ask a few favours before we part ways. It’s only a matter of time before he calls you to march.”

You’re surprised he hasn’t called the Valkyrie yet.

Brunnhild grabs your hand tightly and squeezes, her eyes blazing.

“My loyalties lie with you, Your Majesty. The only person whose mind isn’t clouded by greed or magic. The Valkyrie will follow you into battle. We will fight with you. For you. You have our swords, and anything else you may need.”

Your heart swells and you give her hand a squeeze.

“Thank you. Now, we must prepare. A battle awaits.”

~*~

“Your Majesties! We have urgent news from Asgard!” Natalia exclaims, bursting into the Kings’ office.

The two look up upon her entrance, waiting for her to say whatever it is that is so important.

Wanda and Sam are at her side, the former looking on with anguish in her eyes while the latter has nothing but anger in his.

“What is it?” James demands.

Natalia takes a deep breath and looks between the two kings.

“The Queen is dead. Killed in the garden. They believe it to have been a spy from Acadia. Asgard marches at dawn tomorrow.”

A million different thoughts pass through the Kings’ heads, before finally settling on the very first sentence she spoke.

The Queen is dead.

Their Queen. The woman they chose so specifically. The woman meant to raise their children and rule at their side. The woman who has never known the tenderness that she deserves.

Dead. Because they weren’t more careful of who was in their court. Who they trusted.

“You’re certain of this?” Steve asks, his voice choked and broken. It feels like every beat of his heart is a knife digging into his chest, every breath he takes is filling his lungs with water, or maybe nails.

It’s agony.

And James isn’t any better.

His mind races at all the ways he could’ve prevented this. If he had just been stronger, smarter. If he had waited to marry, or perhaps if he had spent more time searching for his husband.

A thousand different ways to have stopped this, yet the reality is that he didn’t. He didn't stop it. Didn’t prevent it.

Hell, he practically walked you right into it.

Your fate was sealed the moment you set foot in his palace.

And now a war is on the horizon.

“We had riders sent to verify. They’re preparing their attack. We haven’t much time if we wish to meet them. We cannot let them breach the walls of the Kingdom. The village is weak enough as is, we cannot allow a fight to even come near it,” Sam urges, taking a step deeper into the office.

Steve composes himself faster than his husband.

“Alert all able-bodied men. Gather them, arm them. We march as soon as possible.”

The two warriors nod their agreement then turn and exit, leaving Wanda alone with the Kings.

“Your Majesties. I-I’m sorry for your loss. I was hoping I could... pay my respects to the Queen? I know a battle awaits, but she has known little friendship in her life. The least I can do is reach to her now, as should’ve been done when she was still with us.”

They both nod easily at the request.

“What did you have in mind? We do not have much we can spare, and the men will be gathered by nightfall. We’ll have to leave as soon as possible in order to protect the women and children.”

She nods, taking a deep but shaky breath.

“I was hoping to go into the village, release lanterns for her. I-I don’t know if she’d like it, but the day she went out with Thor she really made an impact on the people. I know it would bring comfort, especially with a battle looming so close.”

The Kings look at each other, discussing her request silently, before nodding.

“Yes. But everyone must be back in their house before the sunrise.” She nods eagerly, bows, then scurries out of their office to gather supplies.

Steve slumps back in his seat, trying to fight tears but they stab at his eyes.

“Who would do this? Certainly not one of ours,” he whispers, suffocating his anguish with anger instead.

“When we last saw her, she spoke of Loki, of his magic. He wishes to corrupt the Kingdoms, he’s already done so with Asgard...” James trails off, shaking his head as sorrow burrows into his soul.

Perhaps it’s what he deserves.

After all that he’s done, all the pain he’s inflicted. Not only upon you but upon others as well.

Losing you, his wife, the woman he’s been waiting for for several years... that is true pain.

But he’ll be damned if he doesn’t avenge you.

And avenge you, he will.

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1jet2unknown · 3 years

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@averystereksummer Day 7 - out on the water

Finally back home and able to properly post again. Again a bit too late for the actual day itself, but I hope you guys enjoy anyway :)

The pack spent a day at the beach and shortly after they set camp under some big sun umbrellas only a short distance from the water, Derek, Scott, Allison, Isaac and Jackson rented out some surfboards, all quick to paddle out to the sea, trying to catch one of the good waves.

Stiles stayed back with Lydia who laid in a lounge chair under a big umbrella reading as well as Erica & Boyd who were more interested to draw obsceneries into the sand, Erica cackling whenever a passing mother gasped and pulled her child away.

Stiles watched Derek catch some of the big waves, smoothly riding them out, making surfing look so easy. He smiled when after almost an hour Derek came wading back out of the water a bright smile on his face as he unclased the line of his board from his ankle.

“You look like you had fun,” Stiles mused as he handed Derek his towel. Derek just grinned, his muscles flexing as he dried off his hair. “Absolutely did. You shoud try it, too!”

Stiles just huffed. “Me?” he scoffed.” Yeah right! I have a hard enough time to stay on two steady feet while walking. I’d probably split the board with my head in less than five minutes.

”Derek snorted. “Oh, come on. You might be a bit clumsy sometimes...” Jackson snorted loudly at that as he passed by and Stiles threw him a glare. “But you’re more athletic than you give yourself credit. I could totally teach you!”

It took about one more hour of Derek explaining some of the basics of surfing and the pack mocking Stiles for Stiles to agree to give surfing a try.

“Ten bucks on Stiles not even getting up on the board,” Jackson exclaimed. “Ten he does," Scott offered in return and just when Stiles wanted to thank his friend for sticking up for him, Scott added “but faceplants within less than 5 seconds.”

Stiles glared at his traitor-friend as well as at the rest of the pack, each chiming in their own bets of how Stiles would fail on the board.

“Ten on Stiles riding a small wave within less than an hour.”

Stiles’ head whipped around as fast as the others’ to find Derek with an eyebrow raised in a challenge. He pulled his shirt over his head, handing it over to Stiles. “Wear this. It keeps you from scraping your torso until you have the hang of it and keeps you warm in the water.”

Stiles gulped, but took the shirt from Derek nonetheless, pulling it over his head. Derek smiled at him. “You ready to start your first surfing lesson?” he asked and Stiles threw another look at the grinning pack before nodding and falling in step behind Derek.

Derek pointed him towards Scott’s board, pulling his own from the sand with ease. When they had made their way over to the water, to Stiles’ surprise Derek made him put his board down on the sand rather than in the water.

“We’ll start with the basics. Paddling and popping up,” Derek explained and Stiles rolled his shoulders in preparation for what ever Derek had him do for the next hour.Okay. He felt stupid, laying on his board practicing paddling on land, but Derek said it was necessary and he trusted Derek. He wouldn’t just have him do this to make fun of him. And surely enough, after a few corrections of his movements here and there Derek allowed Stiles to move on to practicing popping up.

During the first try, Stiles slipped, crashing face first onto the board and the pack was howling. Derek shot them a red-eyed glare before turning back to Stiles, helping him up and taking a careful look at his chin.

“Don’t let that bother you,” he said in a small but sure voice. “You’re doing good. Avoid grabbing the edges of the board and you’ll be less likely to slip. I’ll also wax the board a bit more, giving you a better grip.

”Stiles nodded, weirdly aware of Derek’s fingers still caerfully holding his chin.Derek gave him another nod before turning around, prepping Stiles’ board.

And sure enough, about 30min later Stiles was able to jump and stand on his board correctly. Derek gave him a proud, teethy smile and nodded towards the water. “Now... Let’s try the same thing in the water.”

Ten minutes of paddling in the water later, Derek sat on his board and demonstrated popping up once more. Stiles watched as Derek got on in one smooth motion, riding the small wave expertly.

Derek paddled back to where Stiles’ was seated on Scott’s board. He pushed himself to a sitting position and pushed his wet hair from his forehead.

“Think you got this?” he asked and Stiles gulped. He took a deep breath, eyes shortly scanning the beach for the others who were watching them before looking straight at Derek again. He nodded.

“Good,” Derek answered. “Then get ready.” He looked behind them, watching a wave coming up. “You can catch this one. I’ll be right with you. You got this.”

The two of them got into position and when they found themselves close to the peak, Derek shouted “paddle, paddle, paddle” prompting Stiles to paddle with his arms as if there was no tomorrow.

“Jump!” Derek instructed and Stiles pushed himself up as quick and smoothly as he could.

“YES!!!!” Derek screamed as he watched Stiles catch his very first wave, feet planted firmly on the board as he rode for a few meters. When his board slowed down, Stiles jumped from the board, crashing into the water rather unvceremoniously. But he didn’t find it in himelf to care.

When he broke the surface, his face almost split from the huge grin on his face.Derek paddled over, a grin almost as big on his face. “Told you you’d be able to do it!” Stiles pulled himself onto the board, answering the high-five Derek offered him before turning his head to the shoreline.

“SUCK ON THAT, DICKHEADS!” he screamed from the top of his lungs accommodated by his hands held high above his head, flipping his friends off.

Derek just laughed as he watched the younger one, a fond glint in his eyes.

Another hour later, Derek and Stiles were still in the water.Stiles had ended up falling a few times while trying to catch bigger waves than that first one, but he found himself to not care much, the joy of allt he times he did manage to catch a wave outshining any frustration he might feel the times he didn’t.He and Derek sat on Derek’s board, Scott’s board swimming close to them, still attached to Stiles’ ankle. "Wrap-up session" Derek had explained when he had patted his board, urging Stiles to join him.

“So... how did I do, teach?” Stiles joked and Derek shook his head slightly in amusement. Stiles nudged him with his knee. “Come on. You can be frank with me... I mean, I did fall quite a bit there. But..” He scrunched up his nose, wiggling his head a little trying to get some reply out of Derek.

Derek lipped his lips and nudged Stiles’ knee back. “You were amazing,” he said in a low and earnest voice that made Stiles’ face heat up and chest grow tight.“Amazing?” Stiles asked, a shy smile on his face, and Derek nodded.

“Amazing. As expected.”

That made Stiles huff an embarrassed laugh, pushing against Derek’s shoulder. “Yeah right,” he said. “As if ‘amazing’ is a word people actually associate with me,” he mumbled but when he looked up he found Derek looking straight at him, face open and honest. “I do.”

Stiles’ heart skipped a beat and for a few moments all he could do was stare at Derek, mouth slightly agape with disbelief that Derek - Derek Hale - had just said that. About him of all people.

“I trust your capabilities,” Derek said, eyes wandering to where Stiles had started to fist them into the wet fabric of his swim shorts. “I trust you,” he added and Stiles huffed out the breath he had held.

For a few moments Stiles just watched Derek. Who suddenly seemed unable to look Stiles’ in the eyes anymore. And Stiles felt lightheaded with the realization what Derek’s words actually meant.

Derek trusted him. He knew that. But that wasn’t what Derek had meant when he had said the words. Stiles knew Derek long enough to understand his words the way they were intended - as a love confession.

And it made him light-headed and giddy and tense and hot and cold... all at the same time. Because yes. He had hoped for this moment, prayed for it, for the past couple of years. In between all the times they were at each others throat, bickering, saving each others' life more times than they could count.

He had long been Derek's. And he had hoped, against all the doubt and self-depreciation in his mind, that maybe someday Derek might feel the same.

“I trust you, too,” he said in a voice so low it was barely a whisper. And given the bright, relieved smile on Derek's face the were had understood Stiles, too.

For a moment they just looked at each other, the bright orange and red from the setting sun reflecting in their eyes.

It was Derek who moved first, reaching out and cupping Stiles' face with one hand as he leaned forward. Stiles closed his eyes for a moment, nestling against Derek's palm before leaning forward to meet Derek's lips.

#avss2021 #avssart #avssfic #a very sterek summer #Sterek #sterek fanfiction #sterek fanart #Fanart #fanfiction #my art #my fic #sterek fluff #sterek love #teen wolf #manga style #I know close to nothing about surfing #so forgive any incorrectness in this

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chasingpj · 3 years

Text

𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐨 𝐝𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐫

pairing: leo valdez x child of iris!reader

requested?: yes!

translation: full of color

warnings: uhh, mentions of mental health and ?? maybe some typos lmao

category: headcanons, fluff, best friends to lovers

pre-relationship

though, leo saw you around camp often, you caught interest in him before he caught interest in you

i mean, he literally couldn't miss you because your outfits were always bright, whether it was a combination of colors or monochromatic

you and your siblings actually look like a rainbow threw up on you guys, and it's honestly iconic

no one at camp can not notice the children of iris, especially when they're in a herd

one day, you were sitting alone at a picnic table near the lake, and you found yourself drawing him in your sketchbook

you sketched a portrait of him while he spoke to piper at a table nearby

you've always found the floppy curls and how his brightest smiles always look a little manic to be adorable

when you sketched his portrait in your notebook, you didn’t intend for him ever to see it

until a couple of weeks later in the arts and crafts center, leo passed by and caught sight of a new project you were working on

he stopped in his tracks to compliment your drawing

since you were nowhere near done with it, you couldn’t admire the piece as much as he was

but his enthusiasm was so endearing

he politely asked if he could see more, and you didn’t hesitate to slide over your sketchbook

he noticed a lot of your drawings were scenery and people at camp; especially your siblings

he stumbled across a detailed sketch of a woman and her child sitting in a bus

“wow… who’s this?”

“oh, I don’t know. It was just a little girl I saw on the train with her mother.”

“so you just drew her?”

you never realized how weird your habit of drawing random people was until he had asked

you giggled nervously, quick to explain yourself, “I tend to draw people or things that I find beautiful. I wanted to capture how calm and happy she was with her child ‘cause at the time, I was stressed and angry. Watching and drawing her made me calm.”

leo nodded, a faint smile on his lips before looking back down at the drawing. “that’s really cool,” he complimented, and you shifted in your seat, suddenly shy.

And then it hit you

you were so willing to show leo all your works that you had completely forgotten that his portrait was in that book

your pulse thumped loud in your ears, mind racing to figure out a way to take away your sketchbook before he could see it

you ended up spending so long thinking of what to do that he arrived on the page in no time

right before he could see the drawing in its entirety, you slammed the book closed and snatched it

leo’s startled expression turned into a mischievous smirk

“was that me?”

you froze in your place; a squeaky sound escaped your throat in your embarrassment

leo’s brown eyes sparkled as he leaned into you, your gaze fixed on his, “y/n, you think I’m beautiful?”

AHHHH!

^^ that was you in your head btw

leo laughed, amused at your attempt to deny it

“then why did you snatch it away?” he raises an eyebrow before reaching over quickly to grab the sketchbook back

you didn't pull it out of his reach fast enough, leo getting a grip on one side

the two of you pull it back and forth, leo laughing at you as you continued to deny what he saw

though you were incredibly embarrassed, you couldn't contain the laughter bubbling in your chest

gods, of course, this would happen to me, you thought

he got it out of your grip, and you sighed in defeat, watching him flip to the page of him and piper

he was quiet, studying the picture for a second before giving you that playful smirk

“you think I’m beautiful?” he asked again

you playfully rolled your eyes, “it was more piper than you.”

your tone was sarcastic, only fueling leo’s banter with you

“oh really?” he chuckled to himself, “but i’m the only one colored in.”

you were silent at his observation before scoffing, “whatever.”

leo only laughed as you take the book away from him

“don’t you have somewhere to be, fire boy?” you asked and nudged his shoulder

the glint in your eyes made him smile, and he shrugged, “i guess i do. i'll see you around."

you nodded, too shy to do anything else, and he walked off

after that, leo took it upon himself to talk to you every day

leo teased you about the drawing all the time, and he found the way you would play along to be funny

before you both fell in love, you were close friends

you had such an optimistic point of view about life, and it was pretty contagious

somehow when leo was in the dumps about something, you always knew what to say

you were just so easy to talk to, and because of this, your friendship just grew naturally

your first kiss was towards the end of summer

leo invited you to hang out with him in bunker nine at, specifically, 6 pm

you teasingly asked if it was a date, and you remember the way he tensed up a bit

with a mumble, he asked, "what if it is?"

from the tone in his voice, you knew he wasn’t joking

in fact, his tone was hesitant, a part of him was expecting you to reject him

then the heavy pit in his stomach turned light when you smiled and said, "then I'm down."

the grin leo gave you made your heart flutter like crazy

your first date consisted of eating snacks and watching a movie on one of those portable DVD players

You picked up on the tension between you and him, and noticed the opportunities for a kiss kept passing

it was until Leo walked you to your cabin that night did you have a moment of boldness and asked, "so are you going to kiss me or?"

leo's eyes widen in surprise before his face broke out in the familiar smirk he gives when he flirts with you

you rolled your eyes playfully and grabbed the front of his shirt, pulling him into you

your first kiss was sweet and soft; a little awkward

his hands hovered over your sides for a second, not sure what to do with them until he decided to rest them on your waist

it was the perfect way to mark the beginning of your relationship

relationship

since you guys are both broke teenagers, you got creative with date nights

you came up with the idea of paint splattering with him

you guys got canvases, covered the walls and floors with plastic to make sure you didn't dirty them

then you filled water balloons with paint and just threw them

despite you guys singing and dancing around in the midst of it, the canvases came out so good

and to commemorate the beginning of your relationship, you hung them up side by side in bunker nine, and when you guys get a place together, you hang them up in the hallway of your apartment

leo is a huge gift giver; as i’ve said before in my “how he shows he loves you” headcanons

he’s made you a lot of things; canvases, jewelry, little trinkets with scrap metal

one of your favorite gifts from him is a suncatcher with rainbow quartz

you fell in love with it and when you move in together, you make sure to hang it up in the kitchen with the bunch of other suncatchers that he’s made you

i love the idea that you would attempt to bring more color in his wardrobe

a lot of his clothes are muted in color; you don’t mind it but you were interested to see what he’d look like in a colorful outfit like yours

To say the least, he was not that enthusiastic and maybe, you shouldn’t have put him in a monochromatic orange outfit but… you still thought he looked cute

leo thought he looked like a traffic cone though so it didn’t stick

it’s okay because you like him the way he is anyways

another thing is that you guys are super supportive of each other and leo loves just how you manage to lift his mood

once leo was having a bad mental health week

you guys were sitting under a tree, looking out at the water

his head laid on your shoulder and small sniffles came from the other

it hurt to see him like this and you wished you could do more to make him feel better

then you had the greatest idea to make a rainbow for him

so you did

leo was so stunned when he saw the rainbow form over the lake

he looked at you surprised and when you admitted to making the rainbow for him, the emotion on his face was indescribable

and then you laughed and held him when he started crying because he said it was the nicest thing anyone has ever done for him

another time, you insisted that meditation would be good for him

he literally sat down for like 3 minutes with his eyes closed before he was itching to get up and do something

even when he was sitting down, he was still bouncing his legs and fidgeting

so that fell through too but you still helped him in other ways and he’s so grateful for your optimism and bubbly personality

leo always says that you bring color to everything; literally and figuratively

one of the things you bring color to is his life

and he’s constantly reminding you of this; that his world just feels brighter now that you’re around

and it’s literal too

since you painted the walls of bunker nine a bright orange

he asked you why orange, and you told him because orange encourages productivity, creativity, and most importantly, optimism

it may have also reminded you of the orange outfit you put him into

anyways, you told him that it hurt you to see him get down in the dumps, and you insisted there was no way he could be sad in a bright orange room

needless to say, you were kinda right

masterlists taglist: @nct127bee @minamisulemisa @yanfeisluvr @cartocns @slytherclaw-kitten @idk-bye-no @percysbluehairbrush @Hermioneswifeee @quteez @drayshadow @ashookykooky @anything-forourmoony @loverstyless @yelenabel0vaswife @ohmydamgods @jordannfields @amy-writes-blog @muted-mayham @dreamerball @earthtokace @thehighladyofday @lala-llama123 @tootsdoll @slytherindaughterofposeidon0 @black-rose-29 @somekidnamedkai @possiblylostchasecousin @hamdehlesmis @cami05sworld @does-anyone-hear-me @sol-the-salmon

if your username is bolded that means i can’t tag you ! you probably have your visibility settings on!

#leo x reader #leo valdez fanfiction #leo valdez one shot #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez #leo valdez timestamp #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez x you #leo valdez headcanon #my writing

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crash-cinematic-universe · 4 years

Text

tiger lilies, self destructing, and richard siken

pairing: peter maximoff/reader

summary: to peter maximoff, love is an anomaly that scares him more than anything else. however, you might be able to help him overcome his fear.

warnings: language! but that’s about it. kind of cheesy at some points but yknow what im not lactose intolerant

notes: this is the monsterous fic thats been kicking my ass this past week (6.2k words babey!!!) i was originally going to add ~~steamy~~ section to this one but i decided against it to make it readable for those who don’t wanna see that kind of stuff. if you want me to separately publish that then just lmk!! (if any of yall wanna talk about richard siken to me then please do, his work is so good)

taglist: @stranger-names , @gooseyhouse , @parkersdarling

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- no pun intended. His speed is a blessing, but also a bitter curse. He moves at the speed of sound, bouncing off the walls and tearing up the roads; he moves impossibly fast, and no one ever tries to catch up with him. People get tired of Peter rather quickly, not bothering to get attached to him when they know they can’t keep up.

That’s why it’s so jarringly startling when you decide to stick around. When faced with the grand decision of throwing in the towel and leaving Peter behind or sticking around and trying your best, you chose the latter. It was surprising, to say the least. Peter waited patiently for the distance between the two of you to start growing; he waited for the void you once filled to open up again. However, the void never emptied, and the distance never grew.

To anyone else, this would be a wonderful experience. Knowing that you wouldn’t be left behind or forgotten about would be comforting to anyone else in Peter’s position. However, this did the exact opposite for Peter. He wasn’t comforted or relaxed, on the contrary, he was always on edge. The future was cruel, and the mystery of it all felt like torture.

To quote the great Richard Silken, “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Peter lived and breathed by this ideology, that everyone he loves would have to leave eventually, whether it be by their own volition or not. It was obvious that you didn’t plan on abandoning ship anytime soon, so Peter decided he’d take matters into his own hands. If you weren’t going to be the first one to walk away, then he’d be the one to run away from you. He soon came to learn that loneliness was at its most bitter when you’ve come to taste the sweetness of love.

Love was a strange, complicated beast that Peter Maximoff had never dealt with before. If he were to be completely honest, love scared him. It scared him more than dying scared him. To Peter, death was an escape. Death was the end of a tiring journey, it was safe and simple and easy. Love was the opposite, it was the mouth of a dragon and the edge of a blade. It was the beginning to something so fragile and powerful, something that could end in flames.

Peter realized he loved you on a summer afternoon. The sun was shining and you were in the shade. He sat down next to you, and within minutes Kurt and Ororo appeared at your side. They seemed so put together, so sure and strong. Peter felt out of place-- he felt as if he were standing outside of a cabin looking in through the window at your wonderful friendships. He watched with his nose pressed against the glass as you walked across the room and opened the cabin door to let him in.

Peter realized he was in love with you in the middle of the night. A thunderstorm raged outside the mansion walls and raindrops kept time as Peter walked down the hallway. You were sitting on the floor of the common room next to a dying fire, a book clenched tightly in your hands. For a moment, he just stood against a wall and watched you. As creepy as he felt, a part of him believed he’d ruin your night by making himself known. He was okay with being a fly on the wall if it meant he’d get to see you. Peter wondered if there was a world where he had the pleasure of knowing you, without you having the burden of knowing him.

Still, you saw him. And you knew him. And you waved him over with a smile. He felt the urge to run, to leave you here alone with yourself, but he stayed put. Then, one step at a time, he moved forward. He got closer and closer before he found himself standing at your feet.

“You’re welcome to stay,” you told him. He believed it. Peter sat down next to you, letting his shoulder brush against yours.

“What’re you reading?” He asked. Peter already knew what you were reading, he read the cover of the book the moment he sat down, but he still wanted to hear it from you.

“Crush by Richard Siken,”

“Oh. What’s it about?” Peter already knew what it was about. He’d read it at least fifty times.

“It’s kind of hard to explain. I’d much rather just read it to you and let you decide for yourself,” Peter’s stupid little heart lurched, and he almost cried at the thought. He held it together, though.

“That would be nice,” He said softly.

“Sorry about all the writing in the margins, I can’t help myself sometimes.” Peter scanned the sides of the pages, marveling at your notes. Some of them were reactions, littered with exclamation points and question marks and bold letters. Some of them were underlined phrases and little doodles-- most notably a little drawing of a chameleon on a tiger lily. He loved them.

“It’s okay. Literature is meant to be marked up-- what’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?”

“That’s a good point,” You grinned. Then, the reading began, and you allowed Peter to rest his head on your shoulder as you read to him. Even though he’d heard the poems a billion times by now, they sounded brand new coming from you. He listened closely. You were arriving at his favorite part, “You are Jeff” section 24.

“You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and he won’t tell you that he loves you, but he loves you...” You read on, not noticing the way Peter’s eyes had shifted from the book you were holding to your face. Peter’s mind wanders, and he curses himself for missing the lines you were reading “... You’re in a car with a beautiful boy, and you’re trying not to tell him that you love him, and you’re trying to choke down the feeling, and you’re trembling, but he reaches over and he touches you, like a prayer for which no words exist, and you feel your heart taking root in your body, like you’ve discovered something you didn’t even have a name for.”

Peter felt like he was going to cry. You kept reading and he kept looking. It was getting late, and Peter was getting tired. Your voice had softened and slowed, and the fire that was burning in the fireplace had all but died. Peter was the one that fell asleep first, and you followed closely after. Both of you had lingering smiles on your faces.

Intimacy is an odd thing, isn’t it? Thinking critically, intimacy is just vulnerability with more layers. It’s the closeness between people, it’s allowing yourself to connect with someone you care about. It’s stripping yourself down to muscle and bone and hoping the other person doesn’t let you bleed out. It’s a level of trust that is more than closing your eyes and falling backwards; it’s closing your eyes and letting them push you over the edge into the unknown, and trusting them enough to know you’ll be okay when you hit the ground.

It didn’t take long for Peter to realize that he had trouble with being intimate with other people. Too many times had trusted someone to push him over the edge, only to realize he’d be shattered when he hits the ground. After that, he decided intimacy was overrated. It’s not like anyone was going to have that kind of relationship with him, anyway.

Of course, then you came along and uprooted his entire worldview, like you had with everything else. He found himself thinking about you at every waking moment, which inevitably led to him… thinking about you at every waking moment, if you catch my drift. Sure, intimacy involves more than just physical intimacy, but Peter knows he can’t ignore the feeling that rises in his stomach whenever he’s around you. For the first year or so of your relationship, Peter became very familiar with the feeling of an ice-cold shower.

What Peter didn’t take into consideration was you. For some reason, Peter struggled to understand the fact that you were just as attracted to him as he was attracted to you. It was no secret that Peter was insecure, but he never really realized how much his insecurity affected his relationships. If he couldn’t love himself, how could anyone else? Peter is the only one who gets to see his persona in its truest form, and every time he has to avert his eyes. It’s safe to say his physical appearance has been the cause of very many painful-- and occasionally tear-filled-- sleepless nights.

He told you this. He told you everything. He told you about Erik, he told you about his childhood, he told you about everything he loved and hated and feared and yearned for. That ordeal alone was scary enough, knowing that at any moment you could decide you didn’t want to deal with him anymore, but as always, you stuck around. You told him everything. You told him about your family and your struggles. You told him about everything you loved and hated and feared and yearned for, and not once did Peter even think that he wanted to walk away. This is the kind of intimacy that, over the years, Peter had struggled with less and less.

Still, it was the sexual aspect of intimacy that freaked him out. It was a beast he’d never dealt with, a feat he’d never faced. That being said, as every day went by Peter became more and more… frustrated. He didn’t know how to approach the subject, so he'd just let the subject approach him and wing it.

And as he sat on his bed watching as you twirled around to Tears for Fears “Everybody Wants To Rule The World”, Peter realized he didn’t have much to worry about.

“Dance with me, dollface,” you laughed, reaching out for him. You looked like someone straight out of a movie, the lim blue light coming from Peter’s arcade machines illuminating a halo above your head. You put Molly Ringwald and Emilio Estevez to shame. Peter took your hand, grinning like an idiot as you twirled him around.

There he was, dancing in his mother’s basement with his favorite person in the entire world. He wasn’t a great dancer, and neither were you, but that didn’t matter. Peter was dreading this visit-- he hated the idea of being back in the basement that made him feel like a failure. But you assured him that you’d be there with him, and that getting to see his family would make it all worth it. His family isn’t what made it worth it, though.

“Brain Damage” by Pink Floyd came next, slower and a bit more somber, but still danceable. Your arms shifted to around his neck, pulling him closer than he already was. Somehow, you ended up with your back against the wall as the song came to a close. He kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips.

“I love you,” Peter spoke softly. This was a small victory-- he’d been so scared of the mere idea of loving someone. You were the only one who got to hear his love confessions. They were for you, and for you only.

“I love you too,” Peter would never, ever get tired of hearing that. Knowing that you love him is enough to keep him going for a hundred years. And he knows the odds, he knows that love is rocky and painful as much as it is beautiful. He knows that love can feel sweet in the beginning and go sour overtime. He knows that first, second, third relationships don’t always work out. But he thinks this is going to work out. And Peter doesn’t think this will ever go sour. Maybe that’s his blissful ignorance talking, maybe he’s jinxing it, but at this moment, he doesn’t care. Right now he is at his happiest, at his most content.

“You wanna watch a movie?” You asked softly, pecking Peter on the cheek. He could feel the warmth radiating off of you, and Peter grinned. In an instant the tv across the room began playing the opening credits to the first movie that popped into his head.

“The Breakfast Club?” You questioned. Peter shrugged.

“What can I say, I’m a sucker for a good coming-of-age kind of movie,”

You sat against the headboard of Peter’s bed, allowing Peter to settle beside you. Your head rested on his shoulder, and he was quick to grab your hand. Peter loved the closeness. Over the past year, he’d come to realize he was a very affectionate person. Previously, Peter hadn’t known soft, physical love; the only time anyone would ever touch him would be as punishment or defense, not love. Love. Peter had gotten more comfortable with the idea of love, because when he thinks of love he thinks of you.

Every good story has a villain. A villain that you love to hate, or hate to love. A villain you can sympathize with, a villain you can’t excuse, a villain that the mere mention of makes you sick to your stomach. An unexpected villain. An obvious villain. A villain that’s just trying his goddamn best. Sometimes the villain is defeated, sometimes the villain changes their evil ways. Sometimes the villain dies and the crowd cheers.

Peter Maximoff never thought he’d be the villain of his own story. He tried his hardest to be a good person, but there was always that side of him that made him afraid. He was like an explosive; whenever someone got too close, he’d detonate and destroy everything around him. It was a self-defense tactic, albeit counterproductive.

It killed you to see him that way. He told you about the relationships he’d lost to himself. He told you about the abandonment and the loneliness. It broke your heart. He tried to distract himself, drowning himself in work so he’d never have the opportunity to ruin what he had with you. Peter Maximoff was a walnut tree; every time he planted his roots and began to grow, he’d kill anything that grew too close. However, the constant working started to wear Peter down.

It started with the late nights. He’d collapse next to you at four AM, knocking out the minute his head hit the pillow. Still, he’d be awake before you were, already scrambling around trying to complete various tasks. He was like a machine that was running from it’s problems. The late nights turned to all-nighters, and the few hours Peter managed to salvage set aside for sleep had shrunk to a few minutes at a time. He didn’t eat anything with even a hint of nutritional value. At this rate, he was going to work himself to death.

The worst part? Peter knew what he was doing. He wasn’t stupid. He just needed to shut up the little voice in his head that urged him to act out. The entirety of his childhood, Peter destroyed what he created. The need to be isolated, the feeling that he deserves to be alone spread throughout his body like a cancer. He locked himself away in the basement, trying desperately to stay out of everyone’s way so they wouldn’t shut him out. People tried to coerce him out of his cave, to pull him out of the bottomless pit he threw himself into. Peter saw them as the sirens trying to lure him into the ocean of loneliness, and he wasn’t going to fall for it. In his eyes, anyone who tried to help him were the villains of his amazing, heroic tale. Fortunately for him, one by one, they started to give up on helping him. They thought he was a lost cause; a fucking loser who was destined to wallow in his own self-pity until he died. At first, this was a triumph. He defeated them, he outwitted the sphinx and slayed the dragon. But a part of him hated himself for becoming the worst-case scenario that every parent feared their child would grow up to be.

He pulled himself out of his pit and back onto his feet, all by himself. It was hell on Earth, but he did it. That cancerous feeling of uselessness retracted back into itself, now residing in the place next to Peter’s heart. However, that horrifying fear of becoming a burden began to grow again, this time when Peter was in his mid-20s. He began to overcompensate, and that led him to where he was; always on the brink of collapse, running on nothing but coffee and twenty minutes of sleep. In return, Peter got to have friends. In his mind, that was fair. In your mind? Not even close.

You managed to catch him in his bedroom as he was in the midst of simultaneously scribbling in a notebook and reading an open novel. Peter Maximoff would always be the most beautiful person in the world in your eyes, but at that moment, he looked like hell. Your plan seemed foolproof, but then again, you weren’t sure what you were walking into. Lately, Peter didn’t seem like himself. Probably because of the lack of sleep.

“Peter?” He looked up at you, eyes half-lidded. “I got you something.”

“You did?” A sleepy smile was all he could muster, but that was google enough for you.

“I did. It’s to mark exactly three years since I first met you,” you sat down on his bed, placing the small wrapped book right next to you. Peter glanced at the calendar on the wall-- oh god, you were right. It’s been three years to the day and he forgot. He deserves the title of “World’s Worst Boyfriend”. Scott will probably be upset that he’s losing his title.

“What’re you up to?”

“Finishing up some old work I’ve been putting off,” he punctuated his sentence with a yawn. “Some of my old work and some of Hank’s, too.” “Why are you doing Hank’s work?”

“He seemed stressed about something, thought I might help clear his head,” The sentiment is sweet, you’ll give him that.

“Alright, well, can we talk for a minute?” Alarm bells went off in Peter’s brain. There has never, in the history of the universe, been a good conversation that started with ‘can we talk for a minute?’ or any of it’s cruel variants.

“Actually, I’m kind of busy right now, can this wait?” It was obvious that the answer to that was no, but still, he felt the need to ask.

“Not really, no. It’s important.” Peter saw the next few seconds playing out in his head. The inevitable had come to fruition; you realized that you could do better, and now you were cutting him loose. He couldn’t blame you, not really, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t going to rip him to shreds. He realized that whatever you brought for him was most likely a parting gift. How sweet.

“Oh. Alright.”

“Well, I’m going to give it to you straight,” you sighed. “I’m worried about you, Peter.”

Oh. He’s heard this speech before, he knows the spiel. He can vaguely recall a guidance counselor telling him the exact same thing before Peter decided to call him a slew of expletives. The tar pit in his chest began to grow.

“I’m fine.” This was a lie. The first lie in a long chain of lies that Peter was about to tell to you, his favorite person in the world. He loved you, but in that moment his vision clouded over. You weren’t the person he loved and cherished anymore, no, you were just another faceless blur that provided a temporary escape.

“Really? I feel like you’re pushing everyone away, you’re pushing me away.” Peter was becoming more and more irritated by the second.

“I told you, I’m fine. I’m not pushing you away.

“Don’t lie to me,” your voice is firm and unwavering. “You don’t sleep, you almost never eat-- I don’t think I’ve seen you stand still for more than three minutes once in the past month--”

“That’s just how I am,” Peter huffs. He wanted this conversation to be over. “That’s not your problem.”

“Your wellbeing is my problem, Peter, that’s the whole point of being friends with someone. Even more so now, because you’re my partner and I care about you--”

“Then stop,” Peter rolled his eyes. He's more irritable than normal-- most likely because he hasn’t slept in days. He could almost feel the venomous arms of isolation creeping around him. It’s a sick pattern, he knows; every time someone gets close to him, he feels the need to self-destruct before they lose interest. Even now, even after all this time, Peter’s still powerless against the poison in his veins.

“What?” You’re losing your reserve and your stature. He can tell. You’re slouching and picking at the cuticles on your thumb. It’s almost as if he’s been shoved into the back seat, and is now being forced to watch as a stranger takes the wheel and crashes the car. So much frustration, so much hurt, and it’s all coming out right now, onto you. Peter already regrets this entire interaction, but still, he manages to spit acid.

“Stop caring. Just leave, I know you want to. I know every night, you lie awake and think about all the different ways you can leave me in the dust. Not that it would matter to me.” This is another lie. Your eyes flash with hurt, but you stay put. You know he’s just being an asshole because he’s exhausted and too stubborn to admit that you’re right. He’s egging you on intentionally, trying to get you to snap and walk away.

“Peter, god, I love you but sometimes you can be so...”

“So what? C’mon, be honest with me,” He huffed.

“Frustrating,” You surrendered. The poise you once held was gone. “I know it isn’t your fault-- I know you’ve trusted so many people so deeply and been betrayed or sold out and I know you’ve loved so many times and been thrown to the curb without a second thought. But I don’t know what I can do to convince you that I’m here for you, and that I love you. I’ve tried everything, and it feels like I’m talking to a brick wall. I want to make this work, but I need you to work with me.” It’s evident in your voice that you’re desperate. You’re just hoping you’ll get through to him, somehow. “I need you to want it as bad as I do-- hell, I need you to want it at all.” Here it comes--

“You ever think, maybe, I just don’t want you to be that person for me? I’ve spent my life being independent, my entire existence so far has been built around the fact that I’m going to end up alone. People come and people go-- people like you and Charles-- and they tell me they care. They tell me that they love me and that they're here for me. And then they get tired of me and they leave. I wish that you would just leave me the fuck alone and let me live in solitude,” There it was. The lie to end all lies. The words tasted awful coming out of his mouth, and the whole ordeal left his mouth tasting very… sour. Peter had to look away, he couldn’t look at the expression on your face.

“Fine. If that’s what you want.” Your eyes never met his, but you paused before you exited the room. “I know you’re probably just… I don’t know, going through something, but you’re being an asshole. Don’t talk to me until you’ve sorted your shit out. Enjoy your solitude.” You left the room impossibly fast, your fists clenched so tightly Peter feared that your nails would break the skin on your palms. He struggled to keep it together-- why the fuck did he do that?

Peter collapsed onto his bed, and it’s only then that he realized you left behind the gift you got him. A part of him thought he should return it to you, but the other part of him urged for it to be opened. He tore the wrapping paper off before he realized what he was doing. The hardcover book the wrapping paper concealed was handbound, the cover littered with your beautifully familiar handwriting. In big, bold letters The Best of Poetry in the Humble Opinion of Y/n L/n was scrawled at the top.

Peter vividly remembers a late night you spent talking to him. You told him about your favorite poems, outlining each and every little detail you loved about them. Some of them he’d read already, some of them he hadn’t, but all of them sounded like artwork coming from you. He opened the front cover, and you’d written something else on the inside.

“In the words of the wonderful Peter Maximoff, ‘What’s the point of reading if you don’t get to share the love?’. This is me, sharing the love.”

Carefully, Peter opened to a random page in the book. He saw the notes in the margins and the doodles and the exclamation points and before he knew it Peter was on the verge of tears. He was barely containing himself, and then he read a specific annotation you made.

He had opened to the first page of “The Worm King’s Lullaby”, one of your all-time favorites. A specific line was underlined, one that Peter was all too familiar with: “Someone has to leave first. This is a very old story. There is no other version of this story.” Beside it, you wrote:

“As much of a genius Mr. Siken is, I have to disagree with this. If you love someone enough, you’ll never leave them and they’ll never leave you. Even if they die, even if things don’t work out, you’ll always have a little part of them to carry with you. Carry this part of me with you, Peter. Not that I plan on leaving anytime soon.”

That was it. The floodgates broke. Everything that Peter had held back came pouring out-- the past 10 minutes finally caught up with him, and they hit him like a bus. He sat in the corner of his bedroom, his knees pulled up to his chest so tightly he thought his legs would snap. Peter wanted to rip all his hair out or punch a hole in the wall or hold his head underwater until he was nothing but an obituary and a headstone. His chest burned and the pit of despair inside his chest had overtaken his system, and he hated himself with a burning passion. Why did he do that? Why did he do that? Why the fuck did he do that?

Peter Maximoff had his breakdown in solitude, revealing in the fact that he was, undeniably, the villain of his own life.

As it turns out, ‘getting his shit together’ is much harder than Peter originally anticipated. He's trying, he really is, but it's hard. Especially without you there. Peter knows that he fucked up, and he knows that he needs to work for your forgiveness. And don’t worry, he’s going to work for it.

It had only been a week, but the entire mansion could tell that something was off. Life just wasn’t the same without the randomized gusts of wind that would knock people off their feet; no one had been seriously injured or had something stolen from them. The whirlwind that was mansion life, while still chaotic, lost it’s fun.

Charles tried to keep things running smoothly, but he was an old man and didn’t exactly understand you and Peter. People would knock on your door every now and then, but you didn’t answer. You were much too busy analyzing exactly how much of a bitch you were being-- realistically, the answer is 0%, but you didn’t see it that way. No, from your perspective, you saw Peter having a mental breakdown and you ditched him. Pretty shitty move.

What you didn’t realize was that Peter was doing the exact same thing, however, the blame falls mostly on his shoulders, and boy does he know it. He’s been scripting his grand apology, trying desperately to find the right words to express exactly how sorry he is. Peter was never very good with words-- it’s always too hard to know if you’re going to say the wrong thing and mess everything up. Although, it’s hard to see how the scenario could get any worse.

He made the executive decision to start with “I’m sorry”-- a solid start to any apology. Sure, he could stop there, but Peter realized that he’d probably need more to win back his partner. So, he managed to scribble down a few more lines on a tiny notecard he was supposed to use for studying. Oh, what a wondrous redemption arc this would be; Peter gets into a fight with his wonderful partner and ruins their relationship and then struggles to come up with a coherent apology.

“I’m sorry about what I said, that was shitty. I shouldn’t have said that.” Peter’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration. God, he was going to die alone, wasn’t he? Maybe this is the cruel punishment the world is dealing to him, the universe is deciding that Peter’s redemption arc would be better if it, well, didn’t exist. Even so, he isn’t planning on giving up or giving in just yet.

He scrapped what he had so far and started at the beginning once again. His 9th grade english teacher would tell him to write about what he knows, and though he doesn’t know much, he’s an expert when it comes to himself. Peter knows how he feels about you, he knows how sorry he is, and he knows that he really, really, really wants you to know that he didn’t mean a word he said about not wanting you. Peter knows about love, at least a little bit, and he realizes he’ll need more than just words.

His mind drifts to that night, years ago, in front of the fireplace. He vividly remembers a tiger lily and a chameleon scribbled in the margins of your book. Realistically, Peter couldn’t get his hands on a chameleon, but a tiger lily was a different story. In high school, Peter took a botany course because he thought it’d be easy. It wasn’t, it was boring as all hell, but it seems like his slacking paid off. He knew tiger lilies were indigenous to Asia, but they’d become quite common along New England-area roadways.

Peter grabbed his jacket and took off, tearing through the roads like his life depended on it. In less than 10 minutes, Peter found himself in the middle of New Hampshire drenched in rain. In hindsight, he probably should’ve checked the weather before leaving. Nevertheless, he takes off into the small wooded area that laid passed the road’s end. Dozens of mushrooms dotted the muddy ground and mossy rocks clouded his peripheral vision. The rain begins to lighten as he spots a bright orange tiger lily peeking through the remains of a tree stump. He sprints over to it.

The tiger lily is bloomed and beautiful and Peter can’t tear his eyes away from the wide array of speckles and splotches and color. It’s pristine, but some of the petals are torn or wilting. The roots stretch into the stump below it, and Peter leans closer. The stump is old and worn, fungi and bugs eat away at the base next to a large hole where a family of worms reside. The stump is ugly, sure, but it’s useful. It helps keep the bugs fed and keeps the worms warm. There’s a metaphor here somewhere, but Peter is too distracted to find it.

He gently picks the flower and spins on his heel, taking off once again. The rain makes it harder to run, but it’ll take a lot more than water to stop Peter. By the time Peter gets back to Xavier’s the flower is a little crushed, but it’s still somewhat pristine.

He has the flower, he has the apology, and now all he needs is courage. Thankfully, that courage comes quickly as he instinctively knocks on your bedroom door. He probably should’ve stopped to collect himself, but he was riding a wave of adrenaline that wouldn’t come back.

“Go away, Jean,” You called from inside. You sounded tired, and it made Peter sad.

“It’s-- uh-- it’s not Jean,” Peter can hear your hesitant footsteps approaching the door, and suddenly the courage he managed to build up drained. His hands are shaking by the time you open the door. You look up at him, and Peter looks back at you, and suddenly everything is much harder to do. He looks down at his feet.

“Hi.” Your voice is hoarse, but clear.

“Hi.” Peter’s voice is uneven and quiet. You stand there in silence for a minute before Peter pipes up again.

“So, uh, you’re probably still mad at me and I get that, but I just want you to hear me out. I-If that’s okay,” You nod slowly, and Peter takes a deep breath. He thinks about the written apology that sat in his coat pocket, and he makes the last-minute decision to forget about it. He’ll speak from the heart, or, whatever people in rom-coms do.

“I’m sorry. It was really shitty of me to get angry at you because you were worried about me-- although, I guess shitty is an understatement. Everything that I said about, yknow, not wanting you or Charles or anyone else around anymore wasn’t true. I need you guys, and I love you guys and it was unfair of me to push you away. Solitude really sucks. I guess I’m just not very good at navigating relationships,” He exhales, and his chest shudders. “I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, I just thought I should make it clear how I feel.” It’s only then that he remembers about the tiger lily in his hand. “Oh, and this is for you.”

“A tiger lily?” you smiled softly. “These are my favorite-- how did you know?”

“I’m just observant, I guess. You usually draw them when you’re bored, I figured you’d like to see one in person,” You gently took the tiger lily in your hand. The silence that hung in the air was deafening, and Peter realized that was probably a bad sign. His chest drops just a bit, and he takes a small step backwards.

“I guess I should probably leave you alone--” Peter can’t get very far, because you immediately jump forward and wrap your arms around him. Eyes wide and heart pounding, you can feel Peter’s arms lock around your waist.

“Thank you,” You whispered. “Please don’t go.” Peter was smiling so hard his cheeks ached, and a horrible weight had been lifted off his shoulders. The close-contact was refreshing; he didn’t realize how much he missed it until that moment. He was pretty sure he would never, ever let you go. Not again.

To Peter Maximoff, physical affection has always been a touchy subject-- that is, until you came along. You proved to him that he deserved physical affection, that his mutation and his personality and weirdo quirks didn’t make him lesser or unlovable. Peter Maximoff deserved love, and you were the one who never failed to love him.

You sat on a wooden chair in front of the fireplace, reading to the group of children sitting at your feet. The emotional lines of “Snow and Dirty Rain” fell from your lips, and with every turning syllable the small group would listen just a little bit closer. Peter did, too, desperately trying to hear every single word you said. Class was almost over, and once the students were dismissed you’d probably stop reading.

“I made this place for you. A place for you to love me. If this isn't a kingdom then I don't know what is,” Your eyes tore away from the page to look at the kids at your feet. They fell upon Peter, and a smile erupted on your face.

Peter vaguely recalls the twisted idea of love that he held as a teenager. He thought love was a dragon to be defeated, a battle that could be won or lost. It’s clear now that love is the opposite-- it isn’t a fight or a battle or a thing to be conquered. It’s more like a flower; it needs to be cherished and cared for in order to grow. Sometimes the flower wilts and dies, and that’s natural, but sometimes the flower lasts for a lifetime.

Love wasn’t a dragon or a knight, it didn’t have a hero or a villain; it was much more like a tiger lily and a tree stump.

#Evan Peters #peter maximoff #pietro maximoff #pietro maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x reader #wandavision #xmen fanfiction #xmen

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demonslayedher · 4 years

Text

Tanjiro Is Not Hot Stuff

and this is a good thing

It's easy to dismiss Tanjiro as overpowered, but in this post I'd like to disagree. For all his ability, Tanjiro is still a scrappy fighter, and his abilities have concrete reasons within the context of his shounen manga universe. Furthermore, despite Tanjiro's unique connection to the legendary Yoriichi, Gotouge continually drives home that he is just one character among many united in a common goal to eliminate all evil demons.

That phrase, 悪鬼滅殺, being the backbone of the Demon Slayer Corp, is engraved into each of the Pillars' swords. On that note, I'd like to first address that this may not be Yoriichi's sword. EDIT: On further reflection, because the color of the sword is only dyed once and being held by another swordsman doesn't change it, I've recounted on this theory and feel pretty certain it's Yoriichi's. But it was fun to consider other possibilities, and I'm going to italicize everything that I now consider an incorrect theory.

It's praised for it's Warring States/Sengoku era craftsmanship. This was a time with the swordsmen were first learning the Breath techniques (despite the Corp already having been around for centuries already). It’s also praised for its use of the singular "eliminate" idea encapsulated in the lone 滅 character. Haganezuka himself states that the person who wielded this sword must had been extraordinarily skilled. It's implied that, since Yoriichi also used a black blade (when it wasn’t red), and since this was inside the Yoriichi Zero Type battle doll, it must had been Yoriiichi's sword and therefore well suited to Tanjiro’s Hinokami Kagura techniques which he focuses on for the remainder of his battles.

However, let's think backwards a moment. This sword was produced in a time when Yoriichi, as an outright genius, had profound influence on the Demon Slayer Corp. Although everyone tried, no one could quite pick up his Sun Breathing, but they took the parts that worked for them and the Flame, Thunder, Wind, Water, and Rock techniques took form. We know that since the quality of demon slayers decreased after this generation (my guess is this is due to the mark killing them all off and therefore the lack of a mark in following generations made them seem less skilled over all).

It's unlikely that Yoriichi, the Sun Breath user himself, would have had any use for this training doll; instead it must had been used by one of those early Breath creators trying desperately to match Yoriichi's skill, and probably using a sword that was modeled with the ideal Sun Breath in mind, and not yet taken shape to suit the Breath that user would later polish. It was perhaps after further definition of their new techniques that they left the old sword behind.

Two more reasons I don't believe this is Yoriichi's sword: Yoriichi, a genius who probably didn't allow his sword to break with improper technique, was still using a sword with a single 滅 inscription when he faced Kokushibo in his old age, and we only see him use a sword with a hilt guard of this shape.

So then who used one with this shape?

We don’t quite see if any of the other Sengoku era swords are likewise inscribed with 滅 (and the lack of the swordsmith’s name implies that this was the swordsmith’s creative choice), but we do get a peek at a few other swords. None of them have a hilt guard quite the same, but this is as similar as it gets:

The character whom we see using a sword like this has hair in a black ponytail. It’s a little different from the Water Breath user who makes a few appearances, but not that different, and we never see what blade the Water Breath user is wielding.

I theorize that Tanjiro inherited an early Water Breath user's sword, which made it extra suitable for his techniques. Despite the differences between Hinokami Kagura and Water Breathing being stark enough that switching takes a huge physical toll on Tanjiro, I believe that Water Breathing will always have an influence on his performance of Hinokami Kagura, or at least draws out the aspects from which Water Breathing was based.

That brings me to another thought: Tanjiro’s seemingly overpowered ability to pick up other people's techniques, like the Thunder Breathing speed he heard about from Zenitsu. With Sun Breathing being the root of all other Breath techniques, Tanjiro has grown up already practicing the formative basis of all the other techniques, including Thunder Breathing. His speed (no pun intended) in adopting new techniques does feel more than a little overpowered, but Tanjiro has long shown a history of adopting new techniques and strategies in the middle of a fight. It's also a characteristic of Tanjiro to be constantly analyzing his fighting style and battle experiences even in his sleep, so that shows it's the result of his hardworking, eldest son personality to rely more on perseverance and practice than on natural ability.

That being said, the family history under the influence of tending fire does seem to give Tanjiro some innate suitability for Sun Breathing techniques, as implied by other characters like Haganezuka pointing out his red eyes and Shinjuro noticing Tanjiro's supposed mark right away and immediately interpreting this as an unfair amount of talent. Bring a humble charcoal farmer as opposed to a hardened swordsman may be what gave Sumiyoshi the ability to grasp the essence of Sun Breathing so thoroughly and efficiently (though we know Yoriichi taught his technique to others whom Kokushibo later eliminated, we don’t know if they could perform it as accurately, especially since the rest of the swordsman had so much difficulty with it). This point was so important that Gotouge even considered including charcoal references or the name of the fire god Kagutsuchi (commonly associated with hearths and purification) in the title of the series (see more about that here.)

But, get this, Tanjiro was not originally meant to be the main character. According to an interview in the first official fanbook with the first editor, Katayama, the following exchange took place after reviewing Gotouge’s sketches for a manga idea, “Kisatsu no Nagare,” in which the main character, Nagare, is a quiet, stoic type with fake limbs in place of ones he lost in the Final Selection (he feels a lot like Giyuu, in my opinion):

What changed it from “Kisatsu no Nagare” to “Kimetsu no Yaiba”:

(Continued from criticism of Nagare being a difficult character to build a series around:)

“...after determining that with these small changes we still wouldn’t be able to change the impact much, we threw around the idea of changing the protagonist. Since [Gotouge-]Sensei hadn’t yet moved to Tokyo from the countryside, I asked one day on the phone, “Is there any other character besides Nagare (in the world of “Kisatsu no Nagare”) that’s may a little more cheerful and normal?”

Sensei answered, “There is, but I don’t know if he’s interesting or not.” When I asked, “What sort of character is he?” the response was, “He’s a boy who sells charcoal, and his little sister got turned into a demon, so he enters the Demon Slayer Corp to try to turn her back.” And I thought, that’s it, that’s THE protagonist, and said, “Let’s go with that! A normal kid is good!”

I think we can all agree that Tanjiro’s oldest son personality is a big part of what makes him stick out as a protagonist. But, for as hard as he works and strongly as he feels, he is constantly aware of everyone else’s efforts and wishes, and he states over and over throughout the series that even if he should die in pursuit of his goals, someone else in the organization is absolutely certain to accomplish them in his place. We see the same sentiment among other characters who meet their doom, even powerful characters like Pillars, so it really drives home that this series is about the Demon Slayer Corp more than it is about any single child who has lost his family to demons. It’s for reasons like this that I really, really appreciate how the fanbooks, in how they present basic info, refer to Tanjiro like he’s just one example of a Corp swordsman; he’s not even worth introducing right away. It’s because of this focus on on everyone’s collective efforts that even if Tanjiro as the protagonist, I think it totally could have fit the story to have him die like implied in chapter 200, or proven right about his faith in everyone and be killed when he’s a demon.

Finally, a Taisho Secret around chapter 193 specifies that although Tanjiro has made a significant amount of progress in Hinokami Kagura, he's still not such Hot Stuff. If you break it into three levels, being able to go through the motions of something, then being able to refine and adapt it, and then being able to perform something in a way that maximizing its potential is all different. Even deep in the battle again Muzan, Tanjiro is only right about at the beginning points of being able to refine and adapt his techniques.

So there you have it, Tanjiro is special, especially for his naturally positive, hardworking, and empathetic personality. But, he's no Pillar (yet), nor is his will and experience worth any more or less than all the other Demon Slayers, swordsmiths, Kakushi, wisteria house owners, crows, Ubuyashiki Clan members, and all the other supporters across centuries of history working toward one common goal, one eternal feeling: eliminate all evil demons.

#Kimetsu no Yaiba #Demon Slayer #KnY fandom theories and meta #kamado tanjirou #kamado tanjiro

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aslitheryprinx · 3 years

Note

Fake Fic Titles:

You Look So Different When You're Sleeping

Under The Moonlight

Please Don't Leave Me

There's A Monster in the Sky, in the Wood, in the Fields

These prompts are all so good!! Again, I kind of wrote a LOT for this lol. I hope you enjoy!

CW: some fear and panic, sacrifice.

Nothing too dark this time.

You look so different when you're sleeping

A borrower is rarely active during the day. It is much safer to borrow when the humans are asleep, less likely to see you. Ranboo has no desire to borrow during the day. The very few times he's been awake while the humans were have been terrifying. He's never even had a close call; there's just something frightening about watching humans move and interact with the world, even from a hidden position. They're too fast for something so large; too attentive, too intelligent. They are loud and smart and utterly petrifying, and Ranboo will stick to borrowing at night, thank you very much.

But... In the darkness, in the peace and quiet of the night, the humans aren't quite as frightening. They're still and calm while they sleep, expressions lax and breathing deep and slow. It's almost... Peaceful seeing the giant beings so still and gentle.

He probably shouldn't be here, shouldn't be watching the human sleep with such fascination. But he's done everything thing he needs to do... And everything he doesn't need to do. He has no chores to keep him occupied, has enough food stored to last for weeks if it keeps that long. He has nothing to do, and finds himself drifting to the human's room. He climbs the nightstand, only a little nervous at how close he is to the dangerous being, and watches.

It's relaxing somehow, and the human looks much less like a dangerous threat like this. He looks more like a person. Which he is, humans are people, but it's hard to remember that when they walk past and all he can think of is how easily a single step could crush him.

He feels calmer than he has in a while, and watching someone sleep makes him sleepy. He's tempted to blink his eyes shut, but he can't while still in a dangerous place. But he's tired enough he should probably head home.

Ranboo stands up, and is about to start the climb back down the nightstand when the human shifts.

Instantly he's alert, adrenalin flooding his body. He doesn't know whether to run, try to make it to the floor before the human wakes up or to hide on the nightstand and pray he isn't seen.

He's too slow to decide, to frozen with indecision, and the humans eyes snap open. A second later, an eye half his size filled with a terrifying amount of intelligence rests on him.

There's a blink as the human registers his presence, then the human is sitting up, laser focused on him.

Ranboo trembled under the gaze, wishing he could just teleport away to safety. The human had looked much less terrifying when he was sleeping.

Under the Moonlight

Please don't leave me

Ok I'm just gonna bullet point this one lol.

Phil is an immortal with a strange curse

When he's beneath the moonlight, he can move. But when he's no longer touched by the light from the moon, he freezes into a solid statue.

This causes a lot of problems, and he's found out the hard way that's he can't die. If he's smashed to pieces, he'll just wake up beneath the next moon, completely fine.

One night when the moon is not out, a strange man finds him and takes him home.

The man, Technoblade, restores damaged statues, sculpture, and similar art in his free time, and Phil is apparently damaged enough to need restoration.

Eventually Phil is placed by a window. The problem is, the moon only shines through for less than an hour each night.

Phil needs to figure out how to escape outside in that short time frame... Without alerting the human, who seems far too perceptive.

Wilbur should've known better. Really, falling asleep while outside of the fae realm? That was just asking for trouble. Any human, or just a wild animal for that matter could stumble across him and that would be that.

At least he'd had the sense to stay in his insect form. To any passing humans, he just looked like a butterfly. Perhaps his brilliant blue wings were a little unusual, but not enough to draw suspicion.

Unfortunately, his butterfly appearance did not seem to help him any this time. Because when Wilbur woke up, he was in a jar.

He'd been caught, by a human child no less. And according to the natural laws of the world, his magic wouldn't work once he'd been trapped, not until his captor decided to release him.

Wilbur was in quite the conundrum. There was no way the kid was going to release a cool butterfly he caught. But if Wilbur revealed himself, there was no guarantee he'd want to release the even cooler fairy. Still, being in his normal form would at least give him a chance of talking his way out, and he didn't want to spend the rest of his life in a jar.

With a sigh, he shed his insect disguise. As expected the kid gasped, and gazed down at him with wide eyes.

"Woah!!!" the young human gasped, raising the jar higher and staring at Wilbur. He couldn't lie, having someone so much larger than him looking so closely at him was a little unnerving. But Wilbur put on a charming smile to talk to them.

"Hello!" He said, and the human kid grinned.

"Hi!" He replied excitedly. "You're a fairy? I've never met a fairy before! What's your name?"

Did... Did the child not know anything about fairies? Did he not know the power names held? Well if not, Wilbur certainly wasn't going to tell him. He also wasn't going to give him his full name, whether or not the kid could use it or not.

"You can call me Wilby," he said, unable to tell a complete lie. It was a little bit embarrassing to give the kid his childhood nickname, but it would do.

"Wilby," the kid repeated and despite his awkward situation, Wilbur had to fight the urge to coo. The kid didn't say his own name, however, so he decided to push slightly.

"What's yours?" He asked, not an ounce of deception in his voice.

"I'm T- uhhh I mean I can't tell you. The adults say we can't give our names to strangers."

Damn. At least he didn't know why, which meant Wilbur still might be able to get out of this.

"That's ok," he says, showing none of his disappointment. "We'll just have to become friends first."

He's a little startled when tears spring up in the kid's eyes and he sniffles. Oh dear.

"Really?" The kid asks. "You'll really be my friend, Wilby?"

That should have no right to make his heart melt. He was trapped in a jar for fuck sake! He needed the kid to free him, not make him feel soft.

"Of course," Wilbur said. "Could you let me out of the jar first?"

The kid hesitates and he fights the urge to curse. It's worth a try, but he gets the feeling it won't be that easy.

"But... if I let you out, you'll go away," the human says sadly. It's true, but Wilbur refuses to feel guilty for that fact. "And then I won't have any friends at all."

"I can't be your friend if I'm in a jar," Wilbur tries. "Then I'm just a prisoner." The kid hesitates even more.

"How about this," Wilbur hedges. If you promise to let me out, I'll be your friend."

The human lights up.

"You promise?" He asks. Wilbur words his promise very carefully, knowing he'll be held to it by his own nature.

"I promise that if you let me out, I'll be your friend," he says, and the human cheers.

"Now we're friends forever!" He says excitedly. "And I'll let you out when we get home and you can live with me and, and-"

Wilbur tunes him out. He can feel the promise taking hold, which means the kid really does intend on letting him out. Luckily being friends with someone doesn't influence his mind, but he's still in the jar.

"Hey, do you want to play a game?" He asks. The kid brightens.

"Yes! What game?" He nearly shouts.

"We'll play Simon Says," Wilbur says with a grin. The name had become commonplace, but few humans knew the origin of the game.

"Can I go first?" The kid asked. If Wilbur interpreted the question as the kid playing first rather than giving the commands then...

"Yes," he said truthfully, as all fairies must. "But we're going to play a more fun version. You use your own name instead."

"Oh," The human said, disappointed. "But I'm not supposed to tell my name to strangers."

Wilbur feels victory, tantalizingly close.

"Well we aren't strangers anymore, are we?" He asks reasonably. The child's face brightens, and he gasps in delight.

"You're right," he says. "we're friends now! My name is Tommy!"

And just like that, Wilbur has his ticket to freedom.

"Tommy," he croons, testing the power behind the name. Tommy instantly sways in place, eyes glazing over.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," Wilbur says, speaking the true name of the spell that gives him power over anyone who gives up their name. It's the easiest spell to perform; he never met another fairy who couldn't use this spell. Even while trapped, the spell was child's play.

"Open the jar, Tommy," he commands sweetly. Instantly, the child is moving, unscrewing the lid. Wilbur flutters free, heart soaring. He circles the dazed human's head a few times before landing on the lid of the jar.

If he were a crueler being, he could pay back the imprisonment a hundredfold. If he wished, he could make Tommy do anything he wanted. A dark part of him, the part that was the most instinctual part of being a fairy, wanted to. It wanted to trap the silly boy and show him that fairies weren't toys, weren't creatures to be trifled with.

The rest of him knew that Tommy was just a kid. He would make Tommy take back the deal, the one that still bound him to be the child's friend.

But... Tommy was crying. He froze, watching the kid, still under his power sniffle. Maybe he was scared? It was very likely. He didn't have control of himself anymore, and that would scare most adults.

"Wilby," Tommy sniffled. Wilbur was morbidly curious. What would the child say while scared? Would he ask to be spared? To be freed? Wilbur wouldn't hurt him regardless, but he wanted to know. He let Tommy keep talking.

"Wilby, are you leaving?" He asked, and suddenly another part of Wilbur rose up at the desperation in the child's voice. He felt his face soften, and then Tommy spoke the final words that pierced Wilbur's heart.

"Please don't leave me alone," the little human child begged. Not worried at all about Wilbur abusing the power he had and hurting him; just wanting Wilbur to stay. How lonely was this young human, that he became so attached to the first friendly person he met? (And how soft was Wilbur, that he was already attached as well?)

"I won't leave you," Wilbur decided on a whim.

Fairies could be many things. Cruel and kind, gentle and vicious, completely truthful while being manipulative. They were also be selfish.

Wilbur liked Tommy. He was his friend because of the promise he'd made, the one that he could make the child release at any moment. But the human was also lonely and sad, and the fairy decided he was Wilbur's.

"Saemonsae, Tommy," he repeated, and the human would do as he asked. "You're going to live with me."

There's a Monster in the Sky, in the Woods, in the Fields.

It has been centuries since humanity was safe on the surface. When the Endless War of the the gods broke out, at the end of it all, the earth went to the victors. It was only by the grace and mercy of the dual gods of the Underground and Wealth that humanity was not subjugated by the powerful gods above.

The cave Tommy's village lives in is close; far too close to the territories of several very powerful gods. Their village gives sacrifices every year; the best cow in the village, the most bountiful portion of their crops. Yet still, the gods seek unsatisfied. Each year the twisting trees from the woods grow closer, and the wild crops from the field creep towards the entrance of their cave, and the sky peeks more and more through the slowly crumbling ceiling of the cave.

For centuries, the village has increased their sacrifices, giving all they can without starving their own people. Each household gives until it hurts, leaving behind everything they can spare, sometimes parting with sentimental items. It's never enough. Finally, there is only one more way to escalate the sacrifices.

They must give the gods a life to be free.

With great reluctance, the elders choose a child to be sent out. He is innocent, and he is alone. His sacrifice will be tragic, but better a poor waif with no family to miss him then one of the children of the families around. It must be a child; innocence is essential to a good sacrifice and they cannot afford to slight the gods.

The boy's name is Tommy, and he's terrified as he's tied up and dragged go the entrance of the cave. The priests are covered head to toe, so they tread as little on sacred ground as possible. Tommy is barefoot, dressed only in loose robes that fall past his knees.

He shakes as he's placed perfectly between the wild fields and dark woods, open and seen by the sky above.

The priests tie the ropes to the ground and return to the village, muttering prayers as they go. No matter how he tries, Tommy cannot free himself from the bindings. He struggles until he hears a snap of a foot on a branch.

From the woods, he comes. He is the first to arrive, and the sight of him makes Tommy's heart tremble in his chest from the sheer terror.

He is a giant, as the gods tend to be. Towering easily above the trees of his domain, and looking down at where Tommy lays bound with a curious gleam in his eyes. His eyes are a warm brown like sunwarmed soil. Brown eyes should not be able to glow, but rules don't apply to gods. His curling brown hair looks a bit like branches, and he has a crown of leaves braided around his head like a circlet. It distracts him for a moment from the pointed ears that could never be mistaken as human and the razor sharp fangs from a mouth big enough Tommy felt faint with fear.

"What have we here?" The god asks, voice melodic and resonating through Tommy's entire being. There's something almost sad in his voice, and Tommy feels the emotion despite his fear. "A little gift from the humans, I suppose."

"Are you sure this gift is for you?" a deep voice calls from behind Tommy. He freezes, a fresh wave of terror washing over him. He turns to find a second god, standing tall and proud in the fields.

He is meant to be a god of harvest, but the scent of blood fills Tommy's nose. The god looks far more like a king than a farmer, with an intricate crown of gold resting on his head. His hair is a vibrant pink, and Tommy had never found the color so intimidating as when this powerful looking god wore it. His ears and mouth were the same as the other gods, but his eyes were a terrible red, looking like blood might spill from them at any moment.

"After all," he continued, and the powerful sound made Tommy feel like his bones were vibrating in his body, "he seems to be in my field."

"Perhaps," the god of the forest says, and although there is no anger in his voice, Tommy tenses at what must be a growing argument between gods.

"You cannot deny," the Woods continues, "That he is also in my forest. He is partially bound to the roots of a tree."

"And partially bound to the soil of my fields," the harvest god finishes.

Tommy squeezes his eyes shut, breathing shakily. It is said gods rarely share. Especially when it comes to matters of power, such as sacrifices, they will not accept others taking what is theirs. Will they fight to have all of him? Or will they tear him perfectly in half, split him and call it even? No matter the outcome, Tommy doesn't see himself surviving, and he whimpers quietly.

The sound of wings fluttering startles him, and he opens his eyes. The two gods must have heard it as well, because they fall silent.

Tommy's eyes catch a single feather, floating down from the sky. Despite the third shadow that is now falling over him, all he can do is watch the falling feather as is slowly drifts down, landing right next to him. It is as black as the night, looks soft as silk... And is twice as long as he is tall. He shudders uncontrollably, finally gazing up at the third god; the god of the sky.

He catches sight of him and his breath catches in his throat. That is not a mere god of the sky.

Wings as dark as death stretch behind him. He is cloaked in dark green robes that cover his hands. Soft blonde hair falls around his face, and an unmistakeable hat covers his eyes and his pointed ears. Tommy has seen his likeness carved into countless statues, painted onto the walls of the cavern, etched into books.

This was one of the Two; this was the Angel of Death, the god over all endings.

"Don't tell me you have a claim on him as well," the forest god says lightly, and Tommy shudders at the idea. The Angel of Death laughs.

"He's been placed equally between Woods, Fields and Sky; I believe we are meant to share him."

The gaze of three gods, one of them one of the two most powerful beings in the universe fall on him, and Tommy's terror becomes too much to handle. His vision goes dark, and he knows no more.

#mcyt g/t #g/t #giant/tiny #dsmp g/t #prinx fake title game #aslitheryanswers #tiny!ranboo #tiny!tommy

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sulphuryasecretcloset · 3 years

Text

What if...? Part 10a

Yes, it is 10a, because I said it would be 10 parts and not 11, so you will be getting the epilogue as 10b. HAH! ...Don’t look at me. T-T

What if Dulsissia hadn’t died, what if she had grabbed Corin and fled? What if she met Davarax? What if…

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Part 10a

For the first five hours after leaving the Covert, Davarax is out of it. Everyone draws a sigh of relief when his eyes open and he’s back with them again.

“Where are we going?” Din asks, frowning at the coordinates.

Davarax manages a faint smile, still sedated by pain. “Someone who can help us.” He then makes a face and presses his hand gently to the pressure bandage on his neck. “We just have to find her.”

Dulsissia realizes she doesn’t care where they go as long as that means they can get some medical supplies and patch him up properly. “Take it easy.” She uses her fingers to comb the dark locks of his hair back from his sweaty forehead. “We’ll find this person. Leave it to us.”

It takes them two days, but at least by then Davarax is able to stand up and walk a little, so when they land on some strange planet and find themselves surrounded by unfamiliar Mandalorians, he is the first to walk off the Razor Crest, hands in the air, and greets the leader. “Lady Kryze.”

He had warned them that these were Mandalorians who lived by a different Creed. Dulsissia and the children had all been surprised to hear there were Tribes out there with other rules than theirs, but mostly they are unsettled by Davarax telling them to keep Paz and Raga’s last names a secret...

A Mandalorian steps forward, removes their helmet and reveals red hair and suspicious eyes. “Davarax? Is that you?”

Exhaling a faint laugh, Davarax lowers his arms and sways a little, which makes Dulsissia and Paz dart over to grab an arm each to support him. “It’s me.”

The one called Kryze clicks her tongue and tilts her head. “I thought you guys weren’t allowed to remove your helmets?”

“We’re not.” Davarax confirms, still with a weak smile.

Another unfamiliar Mandalorian steps forward and crosses their arms. “You’re cuter than I thought.” It doesn’t sound like she means as a compliment.

Davarax nods with amusement. “Thanks.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?” Kryze cuts in.

“Safety.” Davarax replies. “I need a place to stay for a while.”

The woman doesn’t blink. “And what do I get?”

“Me.” Davarax states. “One standard year, I’ll work for you.”

Something about the woman’s eyes makes Dulsissia tense up. This Kryze person looks a little too pleased at that. A gentle, quizzical squeeze of Davarax’ arm gets no response. He just keeps locking eyes with the other Mandalorian.

Kryze is the one to break the staring contest and looks over at Dulsissia. “And this one? She’s not a Mandalorian.”

“Ner riduur.” Davarax replies.

The Mandalorian who had commented on his looks snorts a loud, surprised laugh. “You? You got married? You?”

“I fell in love.”

Dulsissia feels her face burn. Him once again confessing his feelings for her so openly makes her knees weak, but she also feels a little bad that he has to lie for her; they aren’t married yet. She fully intends to marry this man, but she prefers him to be conscious under the ceremony and Davarax has been out cold for most of the two days on the ship.

“And these are your children?” Kryze shifts her attention to Paz, then the others waiting, huddled together, on the Razor Crest’s ramp.

“Yes.” Davarax confirms without hesitation.

Kryze nods, thoughtfully, then sets her sharp stare on Davarax again. “One year.”

He nods.

“And you will follow my orders.” This is clearly not debatable. “For one year, your loyalty is mine.”

Davarax nods again.

Dulsissia feels the urge to object, fears what he is promising himself into, but what does she know? Other than to trust Davarax. So she holds her tongue and hopes she won’t regret it.

Kryze holds out an arm, pointing them towards a building. “Then, welcome home.”

It doesn’t take long before Dulsissia realizes that the people in this Tribe are very different from Davarax’ people. While the Covert had treated her with polite distance, the Mandalorians here eye her with open disdain and suspicion. She’s not one of them and they don’t like it.

Paz, Raga and Din all end up in vicious fights on their very first day. Corin latches himself to his mother’s arm and Barthor basically refuses to leave the room assigned to them. If not for the fact that they need medical help for Davarax and that he’s given his word to stay a year, Dulsissia would have demanded they’d leave by the third day. But, stuck in this place, temporarily, she grits her teeth and tries to make things easier for both the children and Davarax.

With a doctor and some bacta, the injury on Davarax’ neck soon turns into a scar, a reminder of how close she’d come to lose him, and he barely has time to recover before Kryze sends him out on his first mission.

After Davarax comes back, without new wounds despite the blood on his armor, Dulsissia feels such a relief that she clings to him throughout the entire night. Brushing light fingertips over his scar, she keeps her voice down so not to wake the children sleeping at the other side of the room. “Two people asked me today what I did to make you marry me. Three, yesterday. I think one of them accused me of being a Jedi and doing some mind-control-trick on you.”

Davarax shakes with mute laughter. “My little Jedi witch.”

She pokes him in the side with two fingers, making him jolt and hug her closer. Dulsissia settles again and rests her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. “How come you never married?”

“You’re the first that made me want to get married.” Davarax replies with a calm ease, as if his words doesn’t make all kind of happiness radiate through her entire body. He’s looking up at the ceiling, half-asleep. “You’re the first who not only accepted my kids, but loved them, from the very start, and that made me think… we could be one. Made me want it.”

“I do love them. And I love you.” Dulsissia finds his hand and braids their fingers together. Be one. That sounds so right. “How do Mandalorian weddings work? Who does the ceremony? The Tribe leader?”

Davarax turns his head to look at her, suddenly a little eager. “We can do them now. The vows.”

“What?” Dulsissia lifts her head to look at him as well. “Here? In the middle of the night, with no witnesses?”

“A marriage is the ultimate union in Mandalorian culture. It’s about embarking on a future together as one, of sharing everything and raising warriors together. It doesn’t matter where you take the vows, what we care about is that they are kept.”

Dulsissia considers this for a moment, has an involuntary flashback to her huge, glamorous event that had locked her to Macero, and decides she likes the idea of making it all about them instead of a ceremony designed to impress everyone else. But, there is one thing Dulsissia will insist on; “I want the kids to be a part of it. This union includes them, after all.”

Davarax smiles at her, this beautiful smile that takes her breath away for a second, then he lies back down and stares up at the ceiling again. “And this is why I want to marry you.”

Smiling as well, Dulsissia curls up close to him and feels like a giddy teenager again.

That happy feeling is nowhere to be found the next day when she stalks into their room with frustrated tears in her eyes and pressing a hand to her aching ribs. Dulsissia waves a dismissive hand to Din, Barthor and Corin, who instantly jump to their feet to run over to her. “I’m fine.”

Luckily neither Paz or Raga are there to witness this, but Davarax is and he wont be waved away. He gently but firmly persuades her to let him examine her and asks what happened.

“It’s her again.” Dulsissia snaps, cringing with pain as his hand presses gently against her ribs. “The one with the big mouth. I was partnered with her during training today and she acted like she had some kind of personal problem with me.”

Din and Corin exchange frowning looks in the background. Barthor crosses his arms.

“No broken ribs.” Davarax concludes, sounding a little relieved, then looks at her face and frowns a little himself when he sees the bruising on her jaw. He lifts his hand and lets the back of his index finger barely brush over the bruise. “You want me to deal with her?”

“No.” Dulsissia snaps, increasingly angrier. “I don’t need you to handle my problems. I’m going to get even better at this hand-to-hand combat thing and then I’m going to punch that all-helmet-no-brain Mando in her face!”

Davarax takes a gentle hold of her chin and grins. “That’s my girl.”

Strangely enough a foul smell emerges in one particular living quarter and as no one can determine the cause, the woman living there is forced to move. But the smell sticks to her for two weeks.

“They say an Imperial officer is looking for a Mandalorian and a blonde woman.” Bo-Katan states, her t-visor showing Davarax and Dulsissia’s reflections as she stands in the doorway to their room. “I take it that is why you said you needed a safe place to hide?”

Dulsissia feels her stomach clench with unease. Macero… He’d found them? No. If he had, this place would be swarming with Imperial troops. Everything would be on fire. Like Nevarro.

“Is that a problem for you?” Davarax drawls, almost challenges her.

Bo-Katan removes her helmet and looks at him with a confident smirk. “Not at all. Let him come.”

Dulsissia shakes her head. “Don’t underestimate this man, Lady Kryze. He’s-”

“I know all about Macero Valentis.” Bo-Katan cuts her off. “And I’m not afraid of him.”

“Maybe you should be.” Dulsissia warns her. “Did you hear what he did to Nevarro?”

That makes the smile on Bo-Katan’s face widen. “Nevarro did not have our blasters, canons, ships and bombs.”

Dulsissia blinks. Oh. Okay, she’s starting to understand why Davarax insisted on taking shelter with these mean people. Maybe the only way to defeat Macero is to fight fire with fire?

Bo-Katan sends Davarax out on mission after mission. Dulsissia sees the exhaustion return to his face. It drives Dulsissia to train harder, push herself harder, and hopes to to become less of a burden and eventually a true partner that can help him carry the weight of their family.

Entering the room one day, his hands shaking after whatever horrors he’s been through, Davarax proudly declares a shipment of durasteel has been acquired and Lady Kryze has agreed to let him bring his share to their armorer.

Dulsissia watches with a faint smile when she sees Paz and Raga beam with pride as they are fitted with armor. She’s highly amused when Barthor keeps making demands for adjustments to his, and extremely pleased with the delighted looks on Corin and Din’s faces when they get theirs. By the rules of Davarax’ Covert, Corin and Din both should be wearing their helmets now, like Barthor still does, something especially Din had considered a milestone for his adulthood. However, the armor seems to be an acceptable replacement for the moment.

Especially as they know there will be battle soon...

On board his ship, Macero grits his teeth, fury boiling in his veins, and he turns away from where the holo-message from his field-officer had been played for him. How could they be losing? He had sent more than enough troopers to deal with these cretins, so how could they be losing?

Mandalorians are a dangerous breed, he’s come to learn that after chasing them across the Galaxy in the hunt for his wife, but his troopers are highly trained soldiers with the best equipment possible. There is no way they can be losing to these dirt-dwellers!

Macero knew there was a chance this was a trap when news of a blonde woman observed with Mandalorians on this planet reached him, after not hearing a single whisper about his wife’s location for so long, but so what? He had the soldiers and firepower to deal with whatever these people tried to throw at him. Macero is not afraid of some arrogant Mandos.

The three officers in the communication room eye him nervously and Macero suddenly can’t stand their cowardly faces. “I will be in my office. Let me know if there are any more messages.”

Marching to his office, Macero hears the sound of battle on the ground and makes a silent vow that any trooper who retreats back to the ship is to be shot for cowardice. There is no way they are losing. He doesn’t care how bloody the cost will be; the Mandos will pay even more. He will wipe them from this planet.

Macero takes two steps into his office then comes to a halt. His chair is pointing the wrong way. Its back is towards the door. And he didn’t leave it like that.

The door closes behind him.

Looking back, Macero takes a startled step forward when he sees a tall, blue armor and blue helmet wearing Mandalorian standing there.

The sound of the chair turning makes Macero turn back as well and he’s surprised to see another blue armor and blue helmet wearing Mandalorian is sitting his his chair. A smaller one. “What is this?” Macero snaps angrily. “What do you want?”

“Your head on my wall, would be the honest answer.” The one in the chair replies. “But I don’t ever want to see your face again, so… I guess I’ll settle for your life.”

Macero frowns. It can’t be. It’s not possible.

The Mandalorian gets up from the chair. “I told them you were too clever to fall for a trap this obvious. They told me you were too arrogant to resist.” The blue helmet is removed and Dulsissia looks at him with a faint, mocking smile. “Knowing you and your ego, I agreed to try.”

She no longer looks like the frail girl he once knew, not the pretty decoration he wanted but a half-wild creature. Macero’s mouth tightens with disgust. “Where is my son?”

“He’s not here.” Her eyes are as cold as Antonia’s. The old hag would have been proud to witness this. She never liked Macero. “You will never see Corin again.”

“He’s my son.” Macero grits out. “And you are my wife. You two belong to me.”

Dulsissia’s soft laugh is pure mockery. “We don’t belong to you. And you are nothing to us.”

Enraged by her daring to talk to him like that, Macero casts a quick glance back at the Mandalorian blocking the door. “Because of this one? You think you can just take my son away and replace me with the first lumbering oaf tempted by you flashing your ankle?” Macero looks back at Dulsissia. “You better not be carrying his bastard child.”

“After Corin was born, I got the chip. I never was and I never am going to give you any more children to torment.”

“You think I care about you want? You think I will let a spoiled Motti girl ruin my plans?” Macero has never been this furious before. His blood is so hot it almost hurts in his veins. “Your little adventure is over, Dulcy. We’ve wasted enough time on your childish antics. You are coming home. Now.”

He backhands her across the face, hopes she feels it like he did the insult of her getting that damn chip behind his back, draws his blaster with his other hand at the same time and fires back at the Mandalorian.

Dulsissia is not prepared and the surprise of the impact knocks her off balance more than the pain. Still, she moves with it, uses the momentum to spin away to get some distance between them and get her helmet back on.

The HUD is still a bit confusing to her, but she knows the value of the protection the helmet offers. (Davarax had given up pieces of his own armor to have the beskar remade into helmets for them and she had cried over him having to sacrifice even more for their family.)

Davarax is forced to move in order to dodge the shots Macero fires at him and he draws his own weapon, but because of where Dulsissia is standing; he doesn’t fire back, unwilling to risk hitting her.

This buys Macero enough time to activate his communication link and demand back-up.

Dulsissia knows most of the men in her family are officers in the Imperial army because their names and fortune ensured it, but Macero had worked his way up and he is far from helpless.

He unfortunately proves it as he ducks under the punch Davarax throws at him, turns and delivers a hard kick at the side of Davarax’ knee, making him buckle. Macero keeps turning and fires his blaster at Dulsissia, forcing her to take cover behind his desk.

Davarax throws himself forward, plants his shoulder into Macero and manages to slam him into the wall, but that results in them being locked together while trying to pummel the other into submission and Dulsissia being the one not willing to shoot this time in case she’d hit Davarax.

And moments after that, the door to the office slides open to let a wave of storm troopers rush in.

It becomes chaos. And fear jolts through Dulsissia when she hears Macero call out the order for them to kill the Mandalorian but not harm her. Davarax is the best fighter she’s ever seen, but some times quality is forced to break under quantity. She stalks forward, picks up a blaster one of the now fallen troopers had lost, and she begins to fire with a weapon in each hand at every target her HUD identifies as hostile and absently marvels at the strength and agility of the man she loves as Davarax comes at the enemy with brute strength.

A warning flashes across her HUD and Dulsissia manages to side-step Macero’s attempt to slam the back of a blaster rifle at her helmet. She lifts the stolen blaster but he knocks it out of her hand instead and when she lifts her own blaster, another warning flashes across her HUD. This time she’s not fast enough to avoid it; Macero’s right hand locks around her throat and cuts off her air.

Automatically grabbing at his arm with her free hand, Dulsissia feels the ground disappear under her feet as he lifts her up and then her back slams down on his desk. Macero hovers over her with a furious expression on his face.

“You foolish girl.” He sneers with fury and disgust. “What did you think would happen? That I would give up? That you and your simpleton would live happily ever after? Stupid, stupid girl. Your blood is far too important to me. I will never let you go. And I will find my son too. Believe me.”

She does.

The blaster shot is muffled due to the weapons muzzle pressing against its target, but Macero jolts and his eyes grow wide as he stares at her. His anger is replaced with shock and disbelief.

For a couple of heartbeats, as Dulsissia looks into Macero’s eyes, she remembers how his smile used to make her blush, how he would encourage her to talk and be the only one in her life who bothered to listen when she did, how incredibly gentle his hand was on her skin for their first kiss, and while that man never truly existed, she still says goodbye.

Macero slowly tilts to the side, his hand letting go of her throat, and he simply drops to the floor. His blood is on her armor, on her blaster and her hand. And yet, as Dulsissia draws a shivering breath, she feels free.

Her son is safe.

Sitting up, coughing, Dulsissia lifts her blaster and picks off two storm troopers aiming to fire at Davarax as he’s dealing with one of their comrades. “Dav. Let’s go.” She uses the internal communication system.

“It’s done?” His voice replies.

“It’s over.” Dulsissia deliberately does not look over at the fallen Macero. “Let’s go.”

“You got my back?”

“Always.”

Instantly barging towards the door, Davarax takes several hits to his armor, almost staggers due to the reduced efficiency of durasteel instead of beskar, but it’s not enough to stop him, and Dulsissia quickly makes her way over to cover their backs. He pushes forward for them to escape, she keeps them safe while he creates a path down the hallway.

Once they climb the stairs to the second floor of the ship, followed by troopers, Davarax makes a pleased sound when he sees the door Dulsissia had been talking about and sets course for it.

While it was the men of her family who got to be military officers, Dulsissia had spent plenty of time on imperial ships after Macero started to court her and she knows their lay out like the mansion on Seswenna. This door will lead outside, to a narrow path along the ship’s side originally meant to be used in case of repairs, but with the ship currently hovering inside the planet’s atmosphere; it is perfect as an escape route. And as more and more troopers join the ones already chasing them, they need one.

Davarax opens the door and a powerful gust of wind rushes in as they are high above ground. He looks back at her.

Dulsissia keeps firing her blaster at the stairway, forcing the storm troopers to duck down. “Go.”

Davarax nods, steps forward, vaults over the railing and disappears.

Grabbing a grenade from her belt, Dulsissia activates it and throws it down the stairs before going back to firing her blaster again. A trooper gets off a lucky shot that punches into her breastplate and while the durasteel is strong enough to prevent the shot from penetrating, it still hurts like dank farrik.

The explosion from the grenade causes enough chaos that Dulsissia dares to holster her blaster and make a run for it. She hears the troopers shouting, her HUD flashes a warning as a blaster shot goes by her head, but Dulsissia keeps running, climbs the railing in two steps and takes a leap of blind faith into the open air.

Gravity takes a hold. She falls and reaches out one hand. Despite her HUD frantically flashing that she’s in danger, Dulsissia feels no fear. Two seconds later, Davarax’ hand grabs her wrist and she instantly takes a hold of his, letting him pull her up so she can get her arms around his torso and he gets his other arm around her waist while his jetpack holds them steady and prevents them from plummeting to their deaths.

Behind them, seven storm troopers follow through the door and spread out along the pathway to aim their blasters and are about fire when twenty Mandalorians fly up from below the ship to aim their weapons back at the troopers.

“Your ground troops have already surrendered. I have Mandalorians infiltrating the ship as we speak. Do you want to follow your leader into the after life?” Bo-Katan asks them.

It doesn’t take long before the storm troopers cautiously lower their weapons and signal their surrender.

“Are you sure I can’t persuade you to stay?” Bo-Katan asks as they are loading up the final items to the Razor Crest. “I appreciate a warrior like you on my team. We might even be able to hunt down some more beskar.”

“I am grateful for you letting us stay, but it is time we move on now.” Davarax replies. “I think we all yearn for a little freedom. And you have an imp ship, a bunch of new weapons and enemies to get information out of. I’m sure you won’t have time to go beskar hunting any time soon.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find us.” Bo-Katan declares.

Davarax nods and holds out his hand.

With a wry smile, she takes it. “At least you’re out from underground. There’s hope for you at least.”

“Careful, Lady Kryze.” Davarax says, releasing her hand. “My Covert’s determination and dedication is unmatched. Who knows, maybe one day the next Mandalor might come from there.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Bo-Katan says with mock-seriousness. She then glances over at where Dulsissia is smothering Corin, Din and Paz in a group-hug, trying to make them forgive her for refusing them to join in the fight. “She didn’t do too bad today. There might be hope for her too.”

“She’s Mandokarla.” Davarax declares with badly hidden pride.

Bo-Katan hums, clearly not entirely sold. “She talks too much.”

Laughing a little, Davarax heads over to the ship. “Goodbye, Lady Kryze.”

“Mom?” Standing in the cockpit of the Razor Crest as she is brought to life, Corin glances over at Dulsissia, and he looks so grown up and handsome in his armor that she wants to squeeze his face between her hands and plant kisses all over aforementioned face. “Where are we going now?”

Settling for reaching out and gingerly arranging a lock of his dark hair doing its best to poke up high enough to pick up a radio signal, Dulsissia smiles. “We’re going to visit someone.”

Din plots in the coordinates while Davarax has settled in the left passenger seat and is tinkering on his vambrace. The teen frowns as he sees what comes up and looks back at them. “Is this correct?”

Dulsissia’s smile widens. “Absolutely.”

Corin goes pale.

“So he’s dead?” Antonia Motti says as she enters her office. “Good. One less problem to deal with in this family.” She pauses as she sees the armored people in the room and gives one slow blink before she reaches up to her ear. “I will talk to you later.” Antonia switches off the device in her ear and lifts a dry eyebrow. “I don’t know how you lot managed to break in here, but I can assure you that you will never leave this place alive.”

Dulsissia removes her helmet and forces herself to smile. “Hello mother.”

Antonia doesn’t visibly react, merely scans her from top to toe and back up again. “You look awful.” She walks over to her desk and sits down, forcing Dulsissia to turn around to look at her. “I hear your husband is dead. I can’t say I shall mourn his absence.” “That makes two of us.” Dulsissia replies.

“Why are you here?” Antonia asks, keeping her calculating stare on her daughter and ignoring everyone else in the room. “Have you come to your senses and returned to stay? I will let your friends leave with a nice reward for bringing you home.”

Shaking her head, Dulsissia hangs on to her smile out of spite. “No. I’m not here to stay. I just stopped by to pick up some of my things before I leave for good.”

Antonia frowns a little, but she’s clearly not surprised. “You continue to disappoint me.” She sighs and shakes her head as if her daughter is a lost cause. “Where is my grandson?”

Dulsissia gestures to one of the figures.

Stepping forward, removing his helmet, Corin watches Antonia warily. “Hello.”

Antonia scans him as well and seems a little more pleased with what she sees. “No longer a timid child, but a young man. You’ve grown a lot since I saw you last, Corin.” She scans him again. “You don’t have to go with your mother, you know. If you want to, you can stay here, with me. As a Motti you will never starve, never lack for anything, and everyone will respect you.”

Corin swallows hard. “Thank you, but I’m going with them.”

Antonia makes a thoughtful hum. “That is a shame. But there is always a place for you here, Corin. Remember that.”

He nods.

Turning her attention back to Dulsissia, Antonia purses her lips with disdain. “So now what? You are going to traipse around the Galaxy looking like a half-wild woman? Dragging your innocent son with you. With these…” She waves a hand at the others. “People?”

“Yeah.” Dulsissia replies, with every bit as much arrogance as Antonia radiates. “I want him to experience what a real family feels like.” She puts her helmet back on and walks over to the door before she looks back at her mother again. “We’ll be leaving now. I suggest no one follows us.” Dulsissia hesitates before adding; “I just wanted to say goodbye.”

“That’s a nice change as last time you just took off without a word.” Antonia snipes. “And don’t fool yourself, you will be back, Dulsissia. Without Macero, the lure of our world will bring you back.”

Realizing that her mother does not know her at all, Dulsissia huffs a soft laugh. “Goodbye.”

“Are are we landing?” Dulsissia was on her way up the ladder to the Razor Crest’s cockpit when Din appears and blocks her path. “It feels like we’re landing. Why are we landing?”

Din’s eyes flicker. “We, uh, the ship, it… “

“Repairs!” Raga shouts from above.

“Yeah!” Din latches on to it like the word is a life raft. “Repairs. We have to do some repairs.”

Dulsissia frowns. Repairs? There is nothing wrong with the ship. It was fully operational when they left Bo-Katan’s Covert and it hasn’t been in any combat or stressful situations since.

She looks over at Barthor sitting on the seat next to the ladder, but he just shrugs and that puzzles her a little. Usually he is the first to pick up on odd stuff. But if he’s not worried, maybe she shouldn’t be either? “Okay…” Dulsissia draws out her reply, especially as Din is not budging, strategically placed so she won’t be able to get by him.

When she slowly withdraws, Din watches her with a smile so fake she could cry.

But Corin and Paz are still slouching in their seats in the cargo hold and also show no anxiousness or suspicion whatsoever, so Dulsissia reluctantly gets back in her seat.

Only then does Din disappear. But, she is willing to bet he’d pop up like a bill collector if she approaches the ladder again.

What is going on?

The Razor Crest shudders and shivers a little before they feel it touch ground and settle.

Dulsissia is first in line when the ramp starts to lower itself, doesn’t even wait for Davarax and the others to come down from the cockpit, too curious to see where they are.

The sight stuns her.

Walking down the ramp, Dulsissia studies the surroundings, overwhelmed by the beauty. And when she eventually steps off the ramp and her feet touch soft soil and carries her out among the endless ocean of flowers stretching out as far as her eyes can see, she can’t hold back a dazed laugh. It is so incredibly beautiful! Millions and millions of flowers covering the surface in every direction under the bright teal sky.

Her heart is racing, it’s almost difficult to breathe, and she can’t stop smiling. She has never seen anything like this. She didn’t know anything like this even existed.

A sound behind her reminds Dulsissia that she’s not alone and she turns around to how the others are reacting to this amazing view, but is hit by another heart-stopping sight when she sees Davarax standing there, the kids huddled together behind him, and he’s holding out both of his hands to offer her the most exquisite looking blaster she’s ever seen.

The metal is shining silver, the design delicate and yet practical, and on the hilt is what has to be insanely expensive gem stones creating the shape of a beautiful plom bloom.

“Will you take the vows with me here?” Davarax asks, a little nervous and very hopeful.

Dulsissia has to cover her mouth with her hand for a second as her eyes well up with tears and an ugly bawl threatens to escape her lips. Once she feels she has herself back under control, despite some tears escaping as she tries to blink them away, Dulsissia nods. “Yes…”

“Yes?” Davarax dares to take a step closer.

Laughing and sobbing at the same time, Dulsissia nods. “Yes.” And she laughs and cries a little more when the kids break into loud cheers, numbly accepting the blaster and eagerly curls into the hug Davarax pulls her into.

She has to hold on to him, lean on him, for a moment or two, to once again regain some composure, but finally Dulsissia leans back and sniffles a little.

Davarax does his huff-laugh and gently wipes a tear away from her face. “You okay?”

She nods, taking a step away, wiping her face with her lower arm. “I’m fine.” Dulsissia awkwardly pats her hair and tries to shape it into something less wookiee-ish with one hand as she won’t let go of the blaster. “How do we…?”

Davarax takes her hand, makes her give up on her hair and focus on him. “You sure you want to do this? One. In this life and the next. Are you sure?”

Exhaling, grounding herself, Dulsissia meets his eyes with calm and soft happiness. “I am.”

Obviously relieved, Davarax nods. Then he has to take a breath before teaching her the words, one by one, what they mean both literally and spiritually, how they link to his Creed and what being married to a Mandalorian means.

Dulsissia listens, learns and decides this is all something she can accept and even embrace. It just feels right. She feels at peace as well as flushed with excitement that they are going to do this.

And them, amidst millions of flowers, with Corin, Din, Paz, Raga and Barthor as approving witnesses, Dulsissia and Davarax takes the vows.

Mhi solus tome. We are one together. Mhi solus dhar'tome. We are one when parted. Mhi me'dinui an. We share all. Mhi ba'juri verde. We will raise warriors.

For a moment, maybe it is just the bright sky playing tricks on her, Dulsissia could have sworn Davvarax’ eyes shimmer a little wet, but then he pulls her close and kisses her so sweetly she barely hears the kids cheering again.

They are on their fourth kiss when Dulsissia realizes the children are now running back and forth between them and the ship and a glance behind Davarax reveals they are setting up a celebration feast of sweets, cookies and other treats, carefully placed across a blanket on the ground.

She looks up at Davarax with a soft gasp. “You guys have planned this for ages!”

Davarax shrugs, trying to look guilty and failing because of the pleased smile on his lips. “I needed help to find the perfect place. And putting the blaster together. And getting the food. And… everything, really. I couldn’t have done it without them.”

Tearing up again, Dulsissia drags him down for a fifth kiss before dragging him over to the blanket. “Ooooh, this looks so nice!” She waves a finger at Barthor. “Make sure you put some aside for you, baby. Don’t make me angry on my wedding day.”

Barthor ducks his head down and makes a pleased and embarrassed huff. “Okay.”

They all settle down on the blanket. Raga slaps Paz over the fingers as he aims to grab the first cookie, declaring Dulsissia and Davarax gets to choose first. Sulking, he agrees.

Dulsissia makes sure not to touch the cookie he wanted. Davarax does the same. Which means she has to kiss him again.

“So…” Corin says, sitting on Davarax’ other side, not by his mother for once. “So now that you two are, like, married… With you married to my mom…”

Chewing on a cookie, Davarax glances over at him. “Mmh?”

“Does that mean I call you ‘Dad’ now?” Corin asks just as Davarax swallows.

Choking, coughing, wheezing, Davarax ends up grabbing a bottle of water and takes a swig from it, aware of how not only Corin, but everyone is looking at him. His spouse included.

Lowering the bottle, Davarax gets rid of the final couple of coughs still lingering before putting the bottle down again and Davarax focuses on Corin to speak the truth. “That’s entirely up to you, Corin. If you want to call me that, I would be honoured. If you want to keep calling me ‘Davarax’, that is perfectly okay. This is your choice, not my decision, and I promise that whatever you choose is fine with me.”

Dulsissia discretely slides her hand over and takes a hold of Davarax’ hand between them.

Corin frowns as he looks down at the blanket, considering things. “I always wanted a dad. My father was… my father. I read about dads and they were not like him. Dads in the books were more like…” He glances back at Davarax. “They were like you. I would like to have a dad like you.”

“And I would be proud to have you as my son.” Davarax replies in a gentle voice.

Embarrassed but so very happy, Corin dives in and wraps his arms around Davarax.

Placing his own arm around Corin, hugging him close, Davarax then leans down and quietly murmurs: “Corin. Ni kar'tayli gai sa'ad “

#the mandalorian his son and the storm trooper #what if #Dulsissia Motti #Davarax #Teenager Corin #Fearsome Four #Mandorin AU #Sugar warning for the epilogue

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river-bottom-nightmare · 3 years

Text

Nightwing #81 Review

i swear i actually thought no one was interested so i didn’t write one but a grand total of two (2) people said they wanted to read it, so here it is. honestly, my opinion’s been going a bit downhill, but the art is really cool and there are some decent parts so. holding out i guess? i really hope taylor has an end goal or at least a cohesive plan, otherwise i don’t see this series going anywhere i’ll particularly enjoy

the cover is very straightforward in its imagery, this villain has nightwing in the palm of his hand, easily manipulated, easily controlled no matter the action dick thinks he’ll take.

what i find interesting is the colour: both previously and heavily in this issue, the colourist has chosen to make pink this villain’s main colour, with different shades of pink as accents. so why the red in the cover? possibly to just make it more eye-grabbing, though one could argue that pink is even more eye-catching than red. maybe to convey a sense of dread or fear that pink won’t fully get across. either way, it’s definitely a decision i’m curious about.

so melinda zucco is in a high enough political position within bludhaven that she is next in line to become the mayor after the previous mayor died and dick just,,,,didn’t have any idea she existed? dick didn’t know anything about her? forget dick’s own brilliant detective skills, forget his doggedness at anything zucco related, you’re telling me bruce never found her and told dick about her? maybe he wouldn’t have now, but back when dick was a young kid, he definitely would have at least made dick aware of her existence, to let dick know and ask if he wanted to interfere with her life or anything.

i have a thought about zucco’s facial expressions. she is very much stone-cold poker face throughout the entire issue. the only time i see her pull a different expression is near the end when dick corners her against a wall with an arm around her throat.

this is most certainly intentional, what with the varied and intense expressions we see on other characters, dick most prominently. i’m wondering what exactly is the creative team’s reasoning behind this. in these panels, zucco is meeting with the most dangerous, powerful, near-bloodthirsty man in all of bludhaven and becoming the mayor of the city respectfully. in both of these panels, there is barely a hint of emotion in her face: no fear, no determination, no satisfaction. it’s just odd, considering the circumstances she’s in, regardless of any training recieved.

just spitballing here but. like. from what i’ve read so far, dick doesn’t really seem like bludhaven’s guardian angel. more like when peter parker first put on spandex and blindly stepped out into new york.

dick, how exactly can you underestimate someone from one move. so he caught your escrima. anyone with enhanced reflexes can do that. you still don’t know how he can actually fight, and this is shown in the next set of panels.

i just don’t like the wording here. dick’s “underestimated” him, but beats him up easy in the next page. in addition, i don’t know much about combat, but i would assume it would take more than one move to determine exactly what an opponent’s skill level is, made even more complex when you add physical enhancements and metahumans and aliens into the mixture.

idk my first thought when i saw that he caught the stick was “ah ok he’s enhanced” because obviously he couldn’t have reacted fast enough if he wasn’t (as there are few people trained enough to catch it on human reflexes alone.) then the wording in the next panel, i’ve underestimated him, made me think “oh no ok so he’s not enhanced, he’s just a really good fighter and can give dick a run for his money in a fight.” then, it turns out my first assumption was proven correct in the next panel. it just comes across as misleading to me.

(also sidenote but his curls are cute.)

have i praised the art enough in this series? no, i have not.

i adore the way this is laid out and illustrated. without even having to read the text, the action sequence is visually engaging and intense, and easily followable from one panel to the next. dick’s physical expertise comes through quite efficiently, and i love the special attention shown to draw our attention to dick’s escrima in the bottom right corner.

also that move in the middle row leftmost panel that’s the mcu black widow move to get up off the ground it was the first thing i noticed and it made me laugh; thought it was worth noting

i’m really loving dick’s escrima sticks in this run. they’re just so multipurpose, it’s hilarious and exhilarating. kinda reminds me of bruce’s belt, the way the button in the middle does eevveeerrryyytthhiinngg.

got a problem? don’t worry! dick’s installed a feature into his escrima that can fix that! (i like thinking dick helped make them it makes me happy and makes my engineer!dick side satisfied)

yawn. your big heart is your one true weakness yadda yadda the fact that you care will be used against you blah blah we get it. jesus can the villains please find a different weakness to exploit, this is getting old.

i need dick’s capacity to empathize and care and love to stop being a weakness that villains sneer about. bonus points if dick saves everyone anyway, either because of or despite his great big heart and the villain is surprised by the goodness of mankind or some shit like that.

i need it to be a strength, right from the get-go. the fact that he cares so incredibly much should be an asset that dick has and will use. he’s a very complex character with years of background, it can’t possibly be that hard to find another weakness of his.

ooooh this is cool, gosh i absolutely love this.

because what exactly is the reader doing? we are seeing the fear in dick’s face, just as this villain intended. even better, we’re seeing the reflection of it from the villain’s glossy mask, telling us exactly what we’re seeing and exactly what he likes so much about it.

dick’s standing up straight, shoulders drawn back, looking up at this villain’s face with determination and resolve, but his suit is tattered. one eye looks to be swollen. his hair is falling limply around his eyes, as opposed to the curls from earlier. his escrima aren’t even part of the main focus, instead blending into the side of the mask in the outer corners of the mask’s eyes, which tells you exactly how big of a threat they are to this villain.

poor bitewing’s quite alarmed.

also on second thought why would you bring your puppy out like this, when you know you’re gonna end up fighting someone in the suit. a) how many grey three-legged adorable little puppies live in the bludhaven area dick? and how easy will it be to connect the doggo running around with nightwing with the doggo that dick grayson owns? and 2) is this puppers trained? does she have fighting experience? how exactly can you ensure she will survive this highly stressful situation?

dick take better care of your dog

you know what? i was with tim on this one. why exactly is dick so optimistic and trusting about the people of bludhaven? bludhaven, which has been described as gotham’s smaller, smellier, more corrupt sister city once or twice. it’s not just the corrupt people in power, the entire system needs to change and people need to have faith and hope in order for them to come together, espcially if they’ve been living in conditions like how bludhaven has been described. from how clueless dick is about his own goddamn city, i can tell he hasn’t been here long.

it was a nice moment of hope, i’ll admit. but it was a tad unrealistic for me.

also it was in a weird place in the comic. this sort of confrontation and big get-together of the people to rejuvenate hope in each other feels like it should come near the end of a run, if not the end of an issue. certainly not in the first third of an issue. the pacing’s a bit off to me.

loyal little puppy patiently waiting for her human to wake up. i love her so much.

no it’s not. it’s bitewing.

living for this t-shirt honestly. do comics of dc characters exist in the dc universe? they must if the mug and the shirt are any indication

(now i’m imagining the first batman movie that came out in the dc universe and bruce just. being so offended at who they chose to play him.)

well, yes. but when a group of people are put through hellish conditions over and over again, they soon become desensitized to the pain and terror of their everyday lives in order to both stay sane and keep their life relatively stable, and part of that becomes ignoring or blocking out anything that isn’t directly important to you or your loved ones. having a bleeding heart will most likely get you killed in a city like bludhaven if you don’t have the same skills that vigilantes have.

and of course, people are more than capable of coming together and rallying under their city’s vigilante after seeing the good they’ve done and how they’ve helped the people, but that sort of trust takes time and effort to build. dick also had the whole ric arc and was gone for a while, which has been referenced several times in this particular issue in fact. that’s not going to make bludhaven’s citizens any more likely to trust him.

maybe i’m being a bit harsh but this comic is comic off as a bit too idealistic for the amount of change nightwing can do in a city given the present and past circumstances as well as nightwing’s own abilities. even dick grayson can’t pull off everything.

ok seriously this needs to stop this needs to stop.

right now, dick reminds me of oliver queen in the few episodes of the cw’s arrow i watched. he does the punchy-kicky-fighty and occasionally has smart insights due to the skills he gained from his past that he certainly definitely totally has but only ever exhibits once, while his team does all of the background research and information gathering and actual work.

this is dick’s city. if he has the same intelligence, worth ethic, and stubbornness in this run that he’s been shown to possess all his life, then he knows this city inside out. he’ll have meticulous notes organized in a ridiculously efficient system, he’ll have scouted out zucco long before this started, he’ll have known when anything big happened in the bludhaven political landscape in an instant.

i’m really not liking exactly how much dick’s relying on babs and tim in this series. sure, he loves them and cares for them and likes working cases with them. but he always pulls his own weight, has always been a mentor figure to tim instead of what’s weirdly becoming the other way around, and takes point on the cases in his own damn city.

what kind of weak-ass oracle is this?? redacted fbi files are child’s play. babs used to hack into the fbi for fun. this one particular picture is so out of character i want to laugh.

reading this series has unfortunately made me confront that, despite the tiny fluid acrobat dick that lives in my head 24/7, canon dick is impossibly 5′10 and muscular at that.

mmm. titties.

tim said hydrate or die-drate bitch

love how dick’s doing all this intense brooding and stuff meanwhile bitewing is curled up in a soft comfy post having the time of her life.

you don’t understand i would legitimately kill myself for her.

also the lighting in this one scene is cool. the blue tones come off so well.

they’re just. so multipurpose!! they can become a bo staff. they can cut glass. they can become a grapple hook/line. they can electrify someone. they’re a funky colour. i’m becoming really attached to these things. absolute solid choice in weaponry.

if you’re gonna write up every rookie mistake dick has made during this series to head trauma, then dick shouldn’t be out and about at all, much less in costume.

see this? this is just straight up wrong. dick most definitely should have spotted her, and would have immediately moved to take her down.

scratch that, dick would have done a full check of the building, because he knows not to break into places uninformed, especially if the owner of the apartment was raised by the maroni family. someone as highly trained, experienced, and competent as dick wouldn’t have done this.

and if you chalk it up to head injury, (which is probably true), than his ~love interest~ and his little brother should have done a much better job making sure he stays in his house.

zucco looks so awkward it’s fucking hilarious

are those shadows that mimic a domino mask, to both reflect and hide the fact that his mask is missing? are those bruises around his eyes, to show how, despite what good he’s doing, being nightwing is hurting dick right now?

(isn’t his domino mask supposed to have an electrifying feature that keeps people from removing them?)

it’s a little odd how the three known villains of this series are all coloured in warm shades, more specifically pink. meanwhile, in earlier issues, dick’s fondest memories were in pink, memories of him and alfred in particular. why has the colour pink changed from signifying something benevolent to something malicious? idk i hope this gets explained later.

this i did like. either it’s just a display of brute force in anger, or dick slipped the ties and pulled them off once untied. both ways, it’s an unintentional display of power, and i think that’s kinda cool.

again. dick is,,,tall? sort of? weirdddd

i’m so glad most readers are unified in the notion that this was the absolute dumbest fucking thing.

i’m hoping this gets disproved or something soon. and i hope dick doesn’t fall for it, because he definitely knows better than to take something as important as this at face value.

what exactly is taylor trying to accomplish here? why is he trying to go back on what we all knew was a happy, loving childhood and throw strife and disharmony and (what i’m assuming will be) infidelity? this will not end well at all.

---

,,,,,this review got way longer than expected lol. and i realize most of it just became me ranting. i guess i didn’t realize how ticked off i was originally. fingers crossed it gets better.

tag list: @woahjaybird @birdy-bat-writes @anothertimdrakestan @subtleappreciation @screennamealreadyused @bikoncon @pricetagofficial @catxsnow @thatsthewhump @xatanna-troy @red-hood-redemption @capricorn-stark @batshit-birds @comics-observer

#nightwing 81 #nightwing #dick grayson #dc #nightwing 81 meta #nightwing meta #dick grayson meta #dc meta #river thinks too hard

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rainbowbutterfrosting · 3 years

Text

The Revived - Chapter 22: Preparations

This is chapter 22 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @dramaticsnakes and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur

Word count: 3,093

Cw: pain, brief loneliness, implied derealization

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur was somewhat thankful that the early morning interaction had been disheveled enough, for Wilbur not to have been asked to leave. It was kind of funny really, that even though Wilbur had been caught trespassing where he shouldn’t, the young boy had been far too distracted to kick him out. Far too confused and awkward. It seemed to be a general trend whenever Ranboo was talking to him.

Though perhaps Wilbur couldn’t act as if he was above that awkwardness, as he hadn’t even gotten around to asking exactly what kind of party it was. He assumed however, for natural reasons, that if it was a party for a toddler, presents for said toddler would be involved. Regardless, Wilbur didn’t think giving a present to a child would be looked down upon in any case. If anything, it might repair what he previously damaged. Even if it was an infinitesimal amount, it could still help.

“Oh oh oh! What should we get him?” Ghostbur asked excitedly, “What does he like? Red, gold, nether things, books…” He chuckled as he jokingly added, “Us! We could wrap ourselves in a present.”

Wilbur chuckled despite himself. “We could,” he said with a smile, feeling a bit of exhaustion dragging at him, but finding it easier and easier to ignore. “Let’s see if there’s anything we can use in these chests.”

Wilbur rummaged through them for a while, only managing to find four gold ingots that could perhaps interest the child. He briskly crafted them into a pair of gold boots that he figured would suit Michael’s size. He narrated the action to Ghostbur as he did it.

“They’re like rubber boots!” Ghostbur had commented excitedly.

“Mhm.”

“Oh, I have an idea!”

“Shoot,” a smile lingered in his voice as he grabbed a dark gray satchel nearby. It was light-weight and durable. Perfect for a gift or two. He carefully put the golden boots inside it as Ghostbur rambled on cheerfully.

“So, hear me out. I’ve got the best idea ever in the whole universe. We should make him a card! He can hold and look at it, and you can be nice in it too!”

Wilbur walked downstairs, grabbing some sugar cane from the farm as he quickly pressed it into paper. A quill sat nearby as he picked it up. “Alright, so a simple message…” Wilbur’s voice trailed off.

“Okay, how about, ‘Oh, Michael, you are the most amazing person to exist and I hope you continue existing forever.’”

Wilbur looked into the air as if he was on The Office. “Or we could go with something more general.”

“I gotcha! We can do ‘You are the most amazing person to exist and you are so cool that I hope you continue existing forever.’”

“First of all, I thought I said more general, not less.”

“I did make it more general! I removed Michael’s name from it.”

Wilbur facepalmed gently so it wouldn’t hurt Ghostbur. “I meant for it to be less… emotional? I don’t think that’s the right word, but I want the card to be neutral.”

Ghostbur hummed in agreement. “Okay. We can say ‘I feel neutral about your existence, but I do agree that you chose to exist at this current time, and by the way, you are also very cool.’”

Wilbur sighed, “I’ll take over the writing.” He narrated the words on the paper, “Dear Michael, The world will be at your feet someday! But for now, it's just these gold boots.” A smile slipped on his face at the words replaying in his mind in company with Ghostbur’s noises of approval.

“Oh can we do a drawing at the bottom? Michael likes drawings.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

Ghostbur excitedly squealed, “Can we- oh my, I have so many good ideas.”

Wilbur chuckled, pleased to hear the ghost being his typical self again. “I can start with drawing Michael?”

Ghostbur clapped, “Yeah! And- and holding hands with him?”

“Sure, just give me one second.” He might have been a leader of a nation and a general for many soldiers, but Wilbur certainly was not an artist. He tried genuinely drawing a face, only for him to scratch it out and get a new paper out and transfer his original message onto it. Instead, he imitated Michael’s drawing style- stick figures.

He drew playful lines across the bottom of the paper. He eventually formed a small stick person with little pig ears, a big smile, and black boots. He would have colored them, but he didn’t want to risk Michael eating the paper as he did just days ago.

Next to Michael, he drew a slightly bigger person. Curly hair at the top and a rough trenchcoat around the body. He hesitantly finished the picture with a small smile on his own face. It felt a bit silly to draw like that. To be making a card for a child after everything, drawing handholding and smiles. Yet Ghostbur’s excitement was strangely infectious. It was sort of relieving in a sense, even if Wilbur wasn’t the type to fall for such bright positivity.

“Alright, the drawings are finished.”

He was about to fold the paper into his pocket when Ghostbur called out, “Wait, did you put any stars on there?”

“No?”

“What kind of drawing is it if there’s no stars?!”

Wilbur sighed quietly as he quickly scribbled some stars in the corners. “Alright, I’m putting it away now-”

“Wait! Did you sign it?”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “I’m giving it to him. He knows it’s from me.”

Ghostbur pleaded, “But cards always look better if they’re signed. Just a quick, ‘Love, Wilbur and Ghostbur’ makes the card a thousand times better! No- a billion!”

Wilbur sighed as he remained frozen in place before the words settled in. His mind easily processed the ridiculous request, but not the fact that Ghostbur wanted to be signed on the card too. Wilbur should have probably assumed it, but the idea didn’t fully settle with him. “Alright.” The words were quiet as he quickly wrote down, ‘Sincerely, Uncle Wilbur’.

"Is there anything else I need to add?"

"Hmm, I don't think so."

Wilbur gently placed the card in the satchel as he quickly ran up to see the clock once more, but he slightly frowned to see the hour hand still lingering between the four and five. He brushed it off though. He could easily occupy himself anyway. His eyes glazed over the books on the table before he internally groaned at the thought of hitting the books once again.

He walked over to the table, placing the satchel onto it, before grabbing one of the books before Ghostbur spoke, "Oh, we're reading again?" His voice sounded slightly dismayed.

Wilbur shook his head, "Nah, I'm just putting away some books." Ghostbur made a pleased sound as Wilbur quietly pushed the leather-bound book back into its spot.

He sighed quietly at the odd silence of the room. He focused on the ticking of the clock. It

was a nice sound to focus on. It was a constant reminder he was still alive. Even if he wasn't

the happiest in his position, he was alive.

An alive man that was going to attend a toddler's party with a homemade card that had poorly drawn stickmen inside.

He exhaled sharply through his nose, as he finished putting some of the books away. Most of them held no useful information anyhow, and perhaps leaving them out would appear suspicious, should Tubbo return.

He wondered for a brief moment if Ranboo intended on telling Tubbo about Wilbur’s presence in the bunker. He imagined Tubbo insisting on having a talk as soon as Wilbur arrived. Prime, Wilbur despised talks. He just hoped the awkwardness of the interaction, and Ranboo’s apparent secrecy, was enough for Ranboo to leave it out.

Wilbur walked downstairs, finding that his leg had almost healed during his days in the bunker. He was going to harvest some watermelon, simply to pass the time. As he was about to do so, his eyes fell upon something dusty, peeking out of a chest he hadn’t bothered looking much at before. He knew what it was. He closed his eyes momentarily, to get a hold of his thoughts, before walking to the chest, and taking out a dusty mirror.

He rubbed the shiny end of it with his sleeve. The mirror was still vaguely cloudy, but it still showed him nonetheless. Well- not exactly him, but rather his body. The man who stared back was nearly unrecognizable with gray bruises scattered along his face that easily complemented the bags under his eyes.

Complement was a rather strong word as all of his features seemed off-putting to him. His greasy hair hung close to his pale-ish skin. He squished his face with one of his hands, truly making sure that his reflection was his own. Of course, the mirror version moved along with him, but he strangely wished it didn’t.

His mind drifted back to his encounter with Ranboo. Had they really intended on inviting Wilbur to the party in the first place? Or had that been done out of pity?

The only good thing about his reflection was that he couldn’t see the burns along his chin anymore. He touched it gently, finding the skin to be a little softer than before.

He automatically put the mirror down as he headed towards the shower that laid in the bunker. He stopped two steps away as Ghostbur chimed in, “What time is it over there?”

“Oh… I don’t know.” He was pulled out of his thoughts quite easily as he stayed frozen in place.

Confusion laced Ghostbur’s voice, “You can’t check?”

Wilbur shut his eyes tightly for a moment before taking a sharp breath, “I could, but I have to ask you something.”

Wilbur despised the cheeriness in Ghostbur’s response. “Ask away!”

Images of Wilbur’s face flashed through his own mind as he hesitantly asked, “Alright, Ghostie, there’s not an easy way to bring this up.” Ghostbur hummed in acknowledgement, not wanting to interrupt Wilbur. Despite Wilbur not wanting to continue on, he forced the words out of him, “So- do you know what a shower is?”

“Yeah! It’s one of those plants on the ground with pretty petals.”

A dry chuckle left Wilbur, “No, that’s a flower.”

“Oh. Is it what Tubbo uses in baking?”

Wilbur sighed this time, “No, that’s wheat flour.” As Ghostbur was about to give another guess, Wilbur cut him off, “I’ll just tell you.”

Ghostbur sounded slightly dismayed at his refused answers, “Alright.”

“Alright. Alright,” the words were quiet in his mind as he forced himself back on track. “A shower is something people do to get clean. They use soap and… water to do this.”

“Aww, I was about to guess that too.”

“Right.” It was now or never. “I think I need to take a shower.”

“Okay!”

Wilbur furrowed his brow, “You’re… okay with me taking a shower? You know it’s going to require water, right?”

Ghostbur’s breath hitched at the realization. “Ah. I thought you meant soap or water.”

Wilbur exhaled, the tension flowing through his body. “Yeah.”

“So why do you need to take one? I know people in general do it, but you can explain to him that water hurts me.”

Wilbur shook his head, “He can’t know about you.”

Child-like curiosity filled Ghostbur’s voice, but it was slightly dimmer than what it should have been, “Why?”

Wilbur pursed his lips. It was too risky to describe in words. With how little trust Tubbo had in Wilbur, it would most likely foil their plans of Ghostbur’s escape. The suspicion and worry in Tubbo’s eyes wouldn’t temporarily go away at a joke. There wouldn’t be a moment alone with his thoughts as everyone whispered about the mind of his. They wouldn’t say anything bad either, just harsh truths that hurt more than he’d like to imagine. The truths he thought he could escape by finishing his unfinished symphony.

Wilbur’s failed nation transitioned to a mind that couldn’t go a day without the desperate need to talk to someone again. The need for someone to reassure him he was alive and he wasn’t imagining something in the train station again. He was quite imaginative in there. He made fantasy worlds with so many new people, but at the end of the day, he imagined Tommy by his side laughing or cooking breakfast with Tubbo again.

On the rougher days, he would imagine Fundy there. Sometimes he talked about his problems to him, only to cry harder when he remembered his son wasn’t actually there. Or he would imagine Niki running a hand through his hair, telling him all the things he needed. He’d been without that real warm touch for thirteen years that holding himself made a shaky sob leave. It had been pathetic of him to imagine such things, but the silence got to you after a few years, after he had spent a long time growing bitter. No one could see him anyway, so maybe it hadn’t counted at all, as he thought about those potential blissful moments.

The moments he never got. Perhaps he was still at the train station after all, the slight buzz of the lights being the only noise he could hear. No one laughed with him when he came back. The most he got was a dry chuckle that he happened to witness. There was no one to hold or listen to him. Not a single person smiled at his return. He was alone in the train station he thought he escaped days ago.

Tears blurred his vision as he wrapped his arms around himself. He pushed his body against a wall as he slid down it. The gray wall that accompanied the gray floors and flickering fluorescent lights. The tunnel that didn’t stop seemed to stop his mind. It blocked him in every direction that led to happiness before his murmuring thoughts entered.

It took a moment to realize it wasn’t his thoughts, but rather an echoy version of them. “Wilbur? Is everything okay?”

Wilbur swallowed back a cry. “Yeah,” his voice shook for a moment as he tried to breathe normally. “Sorry I spaced out for a second.” There wasn’t a train station. He wasn’t back there. He was in the bunker. “What were you saying?”

Ghostbur quietly answered, “Nothing. Oh- earlier you said you wanted to take a shower?”

The words brought Wilbur back to a more tangible reality. “Right…” he said with a nod, pushing himself up from the ground, his posture wavering slightly. He swallowed something in his throat. “Are you… Are you okay with that?” he quickly added, “I’ll make it as brisk as I can I promise! It’ll mostly be to wash my hair, and to look and smell just a little more presentable.”

Ghostbur had very little reason to trust him. Wilbur was incredibly aware of that at this point, his promises losing all meaning at his forgetfulness, or plain dishonesty. “Of course. Just- Just don’t take too long please.”

“I won’t,” Wilbur said. “I promise,” he repeated, trying to add as much weight to the words as he could. Engrave them, so his mind wouldn’t drift away from it. To keep his mind from drifting away in general.

Gently he put his clothes aside, placing the familiar old trenchcoat and blouse in a little pile. He had associated the outfit with himself for so long, that looking at it apart from him, was almost surreal. Slowly, he walked into the shower. He put the temperature to be as cold as he could, unsure if there would even be hot water in a bunker like this. It would serve as a good reminder that he should make this quick. “I am going to turn it on now. It’ll… It’ll probably reach my entire body.”

“Okay…” Ghostbur said. Wilbur caught himself missing the excitement from when they were making the card together. Frivolous.

He placed his hand on the shower knob and turned it, careful not to let his hand too much under the water. It proved to be a rather needless endeavor though, as his face and body were immediately drenched in cold water. He immediately shivered from the feeling as he felt his movements become jittery and robotic. He heard hurried breaths from his mind, and whimpers of pain, though it was surprisingly silent this time around.

Wilbur let his hand through his hair, massaging his scalp. He grasped some soap next to the shower, and mixed some into his hair and on his body, quickly using the water to wash it off. His heart was beating fast, as he rushed to turn the knob once more, some soap still lingering on a few strands of hair. He bolted to the other side of the room, to dry all the remaining water off with a towel, almost as if the uncomfortably cold water was burning him too. The second he could no longer find a drop he let out a few breaths. “There we go. Done.”

Ghostbur took a moment before he replied, his own breathing calming down as well. “Okay… Okay, that’s good! T-thank you.”

Wilbur cringed slightly at the gratitude, not entirely certain what he was being thanked for. “Of course,” he said quietly, his breathing quite obvious and echo-y in the empty room. He suddenly realized that he missed the ticking of the clock. He shook his head, and put on his clothes again, unsure if the warmth they brought was comfort or something that settled heavier in his chest. He didn’t have time to dwell on it.

He walked out of the room, grabbing the satchel with Michael’s present in it. He glanced at the clock once more, finding that it was only around 5:30am. He stood in the middle of the bunker for a good minute, closing his eyes tightly, and holding on to the sound of the clock. When he opened his eyes once more, they settled on the potions he brewed over the past few days. There weren’t many, but they comforted him nonetheless. He absent-mindedly packed three strength potions into the satchel, perhaps planning on giving some to Tubbo and Ranboo as a gift.

Then, with determined steps he started walking towards the exit. It felt as if a weight was slightly lifted as he walked out the bunker, though he had grown so used to the weight that he wasn’t sure if that was comforting to him or not. Once he found himself in Pogtopia, he decided to focus on the ground beneath his feet, rather than the buttons lining the walls.

When the sun reached Wilbur’s face, the rays seemed to make his vision less blurry in a sense. The darkness that was so welcoming before, and still called to him, was shoved away in favor of the sunrise.

He remembered right then, when he had declared the first sunrise he saw when he returned, his sunrise. A reminder of life, and opportunity. He stared at the bright sky for a little while. Gently, he placed the satchel on the ground, the glass bottles quietly clinging against each other, and sat down in the grass next to it. He breathed the air into his lungs, as his shoulders untensed. He watched the sunrise intently, as he waited for the party to approach.

#wilbur soot #wilbur angst #revivedbur #revivebur angst #ghostbur #ghostbur angst #dream smp #dsmp #dream smp fic

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cthulhuliet · 3 years

Text

Scotty Doesn't Know

6.8k words | AO3 Link | warnings: explicit content, internalized homophobia, cheating

Light Yagami is the epitome of perfection: honor student, a popular kid, and an attentive boyfriend. But if L had learned one thing it is that pretty boys always lie, and he was about to be caught in a web of Light's biggest ones.

During his time at To-Oh university, L has learned 3 things. 1) never eat the spring onions in the dining hall. 2) people will like you if you carry gum and pencils in your bag. 3) pretty boys always lie.

That last one was a recent development though, something he added to his social checklist as his dark eyes stared back into Light Yagami pretty brown ones, specks of red flickering in the low light.

It was the first party L had ever been to. He didn’t stick out, but he was not exactly blending in. His bare feet dug into the plush carpeting at Misa Amane’s apartment. She was the one who invited him.

He would exactly call Misa and himself friends , just someone whom he was friendly towards. L did not do friends. Keeping people at arm's length-- staying alone-- that is how he stayed alive. It is a system he is not intending to change simply because a pretty girl treated him kindly and kissed him on the cheek when he agreed to come to her Friday night get-together. Though, L would be lying if the thought didn’t cross his mind.

L was not focused on Misa at the moment. L was staring back at the pretty boy who Misa was hanging off of, who had girls laughing even though he said nothing funny. Who commanded the attention of the whole room when he spoke, even though he really wasn’t saying anything at all, his words holding no real substance.

L first noticed Light in his forensics lectures. The boy always seemed to have a crowd around him, always seemed to impress his professors, and always seemed to have all the answers. It seemed as though no one could even bring themselves to hate him for it either, like most do with popular kids their age-- how could they when he was just so charming and pretty and so damn bright ?

He took it upon himself to observe Light (purely for curiosity's sake), watching the way he walks across campus, always studying under the same bench with just enough shade to be comfortable, how he politely listens as his girlfriend talks about photoshoot and modelling drama-- and L believed him to be just that. Just a hard working college student, a popular guy and an attentive boyfriend.

Though, staring back at Light, looking into his eyes, he sees the optical illusion that is Light Yagami. Taking him in at face value is easy-- it paints an attractive picture of the popular honors-student who seems to have his life all figured out. However, the thing about optical illusions is that one step back, one ripple or one tear in the picture ruins it and you see the image for what it is: a disconnected, imperceptible fantasy. That is what L saw in Light Yagami when he finally caught that pretty boy in a lie.

“I have no interest in doing anything with Ryuzaki,” Light shrugged; pretty, pretty brown eyes twinkling under the string lights around Misa’s apartment, “ ‘7 minutes in heaven’ would be more like ‘7 boring minutes spent in a closet’,” The group around him chuckled at his attempt at a joke. L is sure Light could be funny if he tried.

“Of course,” L hooked a finger into his mouth, “Besides, Light is not interested in men anyway, so what is the harm.”

Light’s eyes flashed with someone unknown, something scared, before nodding and standing up, “Exactly,” He kissed Misa on the cheek, and looked back at L before walking to the other side of the apartment. Misa gave L a once-over as he stood up, before softly sighing, pushing him toward the large broom closet, promptly shoving them in and closing the door.

The silence that followed in the closet was not exactly awkward or uncomfortable, but there was a lot unspoken that needed to be said. That optical illusion was wavering-- the edges becoming frayed as Light slowly breathed. Although L couldn’t really see it, he could feel Light’s eyes staring back at his silhouette.

“Misa and I have been dating for almost 2 years now,” Light opened with. It was only then that L realised this was their first one on one interaction.

“Congratulations.”

“You transferred here pretty recently, so you probably didn’t know that.”

“I did not.”

The two stood next to one another in silence for a while.

“I am not gay, you know.”

L blinked, “I didn’t think you were. You do have a girlfriend after all.”

“Yeah, I do.” More silence, followed by, “Are you gay?” This was a hushed whisper, rushed and nervous, like even talking about those homosexuals your mother warned you about was forbidden.

“What?”

“I know you heard me.”

L sighed, “I wouldn’t say that. Personally I have no preference. Men, women, whatever, it is all the same to me.”

“I see.”

More silence. L didn’t really know what to say, but luckily he didn’t have to think of anything, as Light stepped forward, cupping L’s cheeks and kissing him.

L was not sure how to react at first. His mind raced, wondering what the morality of messing around with a man who is clearly confused about his own identity is, and also breaking the trust of one of his colleagues, not to mention the ethics of cheating in of itself. But also Light’s lips tasted like the apple cinnamon chapstick he always carries with him, and he is pressing his chest against L’s and running his hands underneath his shirt, and it feels too damn good to stop.

L wrapped his arms around Light’s broad shoulders, pulling him closer and nipping his bottom lip, allowing his tongue to slip forward into Light’s mouth. Light gasped at the action, whimpering and digging his nails into L’s hips. He knew that Light’s perfectly manicured nails would leave half-moon indents that were deep enough to last until the morning. This made L smile.

He kissed Light’s cheek and then kissed all the way down his jaw. L peppered kisses along Light’s neck, the other man gasping and biting his knuckle. L moved his hands under Light’s shirt, and ran his fingernails down his back, Light harshly biting his hand to stifle a guttural moan.

L pulled away, and he could see Light’s eyes at this distance. He expected him to look confused, or ashamed, or angry, but he mostly just looked horny.

“The others are going to come get us soon.” L explained in a low voice. Light nodded, and began fixing his hair, breathing steadily to remove the flushness on his face.

“Ryuzaki?”

“Yes?”

“Can this be… Just… Don’t tell anyone about this, ok?” Light’s voice was a bit cold a stiled, and L held back a chuckle.

“Of course, Light.”

≠

Lately, L has spent most of his free time kissing Light in private. Sometimes at night when everyone had already left the library, sometimes on the roof of the science building, sometimes in the backseat of L’s car. Light seemed to really like kissing in the backseat of L’s car. Maybe it was the way the plush velvet seats folded down, or the way the windows were tinted so dark it felt almost illegal to drive, or maybe he liked how L always has shitty 80’s pop playing at a low volume. L wasn’t sure, but it was almost like clockwork to kiss for hours on end in the secluded forested part of the college town.

L was sitting on Light’s lap, the younger man writhing and gasping underneath him, gripping harshly at the back of L’s shirt. A thin sheen of sweat coated Light’s forehead, and L ran his nails up and down Light’s sides as he nipped at his earlobe, making him gasp. L found that Light got easily worked up from even the most subtle of action. He was very sensitive.

L worked at the buttons on the front of Light’s shirt, slowly unclasping them, “Light, have you come to enjoy kissing me?”

“Y-yeah, you’re really good at this, of course I do Ryuzaki.”

L hummed, fully unbuttoning Light’s shirt, but not wanting to take it off him yet. Light looked really good in black. He instead pulled a lever to push the seats down, pressing on Light’s chest to guide him onto his back. L kissed up Light’s chest, restraining himself from biting into the pretty tan skin. L licked a small stripe over Light’s chest, grazing his nipple with his tongue to see his reaction.

Light back arched and he gasped out L’s name, and ran a hand through his hair. L kissed his right nipple and slowly licked the nub, grazing his teeth softly over it, hoping to draw out more gasps and whines from Light.

“What about this, Light?” L asked in a low voice, still teasing him with his thumb and forefinger, smirking up at him.

Light nodded, panting, “Yes, yeah… That feels great.”

“Has Misa ever touched you here?” L asked. He felt Light stiffen, even just for a moment. There was an unspoken agreement that they never brought up Light’s girlfriend, or maybe Light just never expected L to. Light did not respond, so L attached himself to Light’s other nipple, sucking on it while still teasing the other one. Light moaned loudly, now stifling his noises by hooking his fingers in his mouth. L pulled off of Light, a string of saliva dripped from L’s mouth, “Light? Answer me?”

“No, no she hasn’t.”

“Hmm,” L hummed, running his blunt fingernails up and down his sides like he knows he enjoys, “Has any girlfriend ever given you this treatment?” Light bit his lip and shook his head. L nodded, and his fingertips teased the edges of Light’s pants, “Does Light want me to touch him in more places today?”

The two had not done more than kissing and biting with wandering hands. L didn’t mind. He would never describe himself as a patient man but rushing anything like this would surely be heading for disaster. Light looked down at him with wide brown eyes, and the innocence of his gaze almost put the optical illusion back in place for him, but then he remembered where he was: touching and teasing perfect Light Yagami, who is obviously not the person everyone sees. That illusion quickly broke as Light gasped out a “please”, moving his own hands to unzip his jeans.

L slapped his hand away, shaking his head at him. “I am doing this part, do I need to make you keep your hands to yourself?”

There was a dangerous glint in his eye, one that L had not seen before from him. Light hummed, “Hmm, you might. I don’t know.” And this was Light playing rough, not stupid. L did not think Light could be dumb, even if he tried. Internalized shame and heavy amounts of guilt prevented Light from being as much of a tease as he could be, though L knows he is more than capable. Two can play at that.

L moved up Light’s body, capturing his lips with his. He bit down on Light’s bottom lip, causing the younger man to gasp and allowed for L to tangle his tongue with Light’s. Simultaneously, he grabbed Light’s tie and pinned his hands together, doing a simple knot around his wrists above his head.

L pulled away, smirking. Light’s eyes were wide and watery, certainly not expecting L to call his bluff. If Light did have any experience with bondage of any sort, he cannot imagine it was the man himself who was getting tied down and taken care of. The clean-cut honors student types always want to be taken care of, didn’t they? Being in control and in charge of everything in their life, just needing someone else to take the reins for once.

Finally, L was able to undo Light’s pants, pulling them off and throwing them to the front seat. He palmed Light through his boxers, his cock was already fully hard and straining against the fabric. The car was nothing but quiet with Light’s gasps and moans, and L almost let it keep going on, because he is sure that Light’s begging would be simply heavenly.

He pulled Light boxers off, giving them the same treatment as his slacks. Light bit his lip as the cool air hit his cock. L pressed his thumb to his lips and slowly traced a finger up and down his shaft, fingertips barely ghosting over him. Light made an undignified whine and L smirked slightly. Maybe he did want to hear him beg.

"Ryuzaki…” Light said, possibly in an attempt to sound commanding, but his voice was so fucked out it came across as a needy moan.

“Being tied up like this, defiled by another boy… It shouldn’t make you this happy, should it, Light?”

“ Ryuzaki… ”

L teased the head of his cock with his thumb, “What would people think if they saw you like this? With me?” He hummed, Light gasped as L slowly stroked him, “What would your classmates say? Your friends? Misa?” He stressed.

“Oh God…”

L picked up his movements, “Do you think they would be shocked? Horrified? Perfect Light Yagami tangled up in the sheets with Ryuzaki?” He chuckled to himself, Light holding back his moans, “I personally am not surprised. Right now, all I see is a contented slut getting what he deserves.”

“Ryuz- Ryuzaki please , please give me what I deserve... I need it, please …”

And Light’s begging was all it took. L took all of Light in his mouth, deep-throating him and letting the head of his cock hit the back of his throat. It only took a few more seconds before Light was crying out his name and coming down Ryuzaki’s throat.

L pulled off of Light and looked up at him, the other man’s cheeks were flushed and his face completely blissed out. L leaned forward and gave him a brief kiss on the lips, Light returned it happily.

“Hey…” Light started, quietly, “I know you were just saying it… But… You won’t actually…”

L shook his head, “This all stays between us, remember?”

Pretty boys always lie…

≠

L and Light had graduated from messy blowjobs in the back of L’s towncar to L practically folding Light in half and fucking him on the plush sheets in his apartment. L does not exactly know what Light tells Misa if she asks why he is spending almost 5 days a week at L’s apartment, he doesn’t bother, it is not his relationship.

It is not everyday that L pins Light against the mattress right when they get back, now preferring to let things build up slowly. In fact, for the past 6 months they have been doing this, they do their work in silence across L’s dining room table, or sit on the couch and just talk. Talk about their classes, their ideas, their goals. L didn’t think he would ever get tired of listening to Light talk. Just like he did not think he would ever get tired of pressing into Light, hearing the other man moan under him.

L currently had Light’s hands bound to the headboard; his long, athletic legs were hooked over L’s shoulder’s as L slowly pushed deep into Light.

“M-more Ryuzaki… Fuck … more…”

L tsked and shook his head, “My my, Light, where are you manners,” He punctuated his statement with one quick thrust into Light, perfectly hitting his prostate, causing him to cry out and moan, “Ask politely.”

Light writhes under him, thrashing at the headboard which had his hands tied, “Go to hell, Ryuzaki…” He whined.

In response, L yanked his hair, and licked a stripe up Light’s neck. He nibbled on Light’s ear lobe, knowing how much he liked it. He ran his hands up his thighs, and gave him a swift but stinging smack, Light groaning at the harsh contact. L often closed his eyes and imagined how pretty Light would look covered in bruises and love bites-- being able to mark him up and claim Light Yagami as his . It was an attractive picture, one he did his best to keep at a distance. “Don’t make this difficult Light, just ask politely…” Which they both knew was another way of saying ‘beg for it’.

“Go faster Ryuzaki… Please…” Light gasped out, and L snickered, speeding up his thrusts.

“See, now was that so ha-” He was cut off by Light’s phone ringing. L reached into his discarded pants and pulled out his phone, gripping the top of it with his thumb and forefinger, “It is Misa.” He says.

Light groans, shaking his head, “Just let it ring, I will call her back after this.”

A wicked smile spreads across L’s face, looking at the caller id and Light’s hands still tied to the bed. Light cocks an eyebrow.

“I hope you have learned to control your noises, Light.” L tells him. Before he can ask any questions, L flips open the phone and presses talk, holding the phone against Light’s ear.

“Hi sweetie!” Misa’s voice came through over the phone, L close enough to be able to hear her, littering kisses across Light’s collarbone and moving his hips painfully slowly, in and out of Light.

“H-hi baby, how are you doing?” Light panted out, trying to keep his voice steady.

“I am doing good! I am glad you picked up, it has been so long since I heard your voice,” There was a considerable amount of background noise on Misa’s end, a busy shopping mall or possibly a photoshoot set. L took that into consideration, now very pointedly moving, angling his cock to merely brush against Light’s prostate. The younger man was squirming underneath him-- this kind of edging would be punishing enough typically; with his girlfriend on the phone it made it simply torturous.

“Ah- Yeah, sorry I have been so preoccupied lately, I promise I will make time just for us soon.” Light’s voice was obviously stilted and strained, but L was counting on the noises from wherever Misa was to distract from that fact (he is sure Light is counting on that too). L pressed kisses along Light’s neck up to his ear, nibbling on the lobe that wasn’t currently occupied with the phone conversation.

“What exactly has kept you so preoccupied, Light?” L whispered in his ear, knowing how much Light liked the soothing sound of his low voice, “Or more accurately who has been getting your attention?” L could hear Misa talking, but he wasn’t exactly trying to make out what she was saying, “Go on and tell her. Tell her what we have been up to. Tell Misa what a good slut you have been for me, I know how much you like to hear it.”

Light eyes were welling up at praise and degradation dripped over him like honey. The dual sensations of L fucking him and using his one free hand to tease his nipples is enough to have anyone panting. But he had to keep his breathing even, doing his best to not moan as his girlfriend tells him about the modelling shoot she is currently on a short break at. He was relatively stable, that was until L moved his hand lower, teasing the head of his cock, clearly not satisfied with how well the other man was showing restraint. L couldn’t help but smile when Light gasped once he touched him. He could faintly hear Misa pause, asking him what was wrong.

“Oh dear, Light,” L teased, Light was now biting his lip so hard he was fearing he would break the skin, “Are you ready for your girlfriend to finally find out what a filthy fucking whore you are?”

Light shook his head, answering Misa and doing his best to ignore L. “Ah, sorry baby, I just looked at my phone battery, I am going to die soon. J-just text me when you wrap up, ok?”

“Oh, ok! Talk to you later, then, love you sweetie!”

“Y-yeah, you too.” L snapped the phone closed with a ‘clack’ and threw it across the room. Light let out a guttural moan, frustrated tears ran down his cheeks.

“Light? Are you o-”

“Fuck me Ryuzaki, please please, dear Lord I need this.” Light’s voice was broken and needy-- a man who was kept on the edge for far too long.

“I hope I didn’t go too far.” L stood on his knees, lifting Light’s hips up. Previously restraint was gone, L’s hips snapped roughly into Light, he didn’t think that he could hold himself back if he tried.

Light was extremely receptive to the violent pace, gasping and whining, already so far gone.

“ There! Keeping going, fuck … I am so close, please.” Light begged, his eyes screwed shut and he pulled at the restraints, moaning. “What you did was fucking insane, Ryuzaki, but fuck I had never been so turned on in my fucking life.” He gave a weak chuckle, “Maybe I am a filthy slut like you say.”

L nodded, gripping tightly on Light’s hips, only half-worried about his fingertips leaving bruises for later, “It is about time you listened to me, Light.”

“Did I do good?” Light asked. His voice was broken and wrecked, and God, it was so good to listen to. “Was I a good slut, Ryuzaki?”

L nodded, feeling himself getting close as well, “You were a good boy, yes Light, a perfect whore. A perfect fucking slut for me.”

“ Ahh! Yes, fuck yes… A good slut for you, your good slut-- all yours .” Light came with L’s name on his lips, the other man following shortly after. A few chaste kisses followed as they both came down, and L ignored the twisting feeling in his gut.

≠

L hated parties. He hated birthday parties even more. Something about the idea of an adult expecting gifts and attention simply for existing is something that seems childish and trival. Especially when that adult is Misa Amane, who rented out a banquet all for her party. L doesn’t hate Misa, he doesn’t. Though, he couldn’t help the self satisfied smirk that creeped onto his face, coupled with an immoral sense of superiority when Light dragged him away to a secluded pantry on the other side of the venue.

“Mmm, someone is needy,” L muttered, pulling the lapels on Light’s blazer closer to him for a needy kiss, “Glad you are giving the birthday boy special treatment.”

“Shut up.” Light muttered, kissing L like he means it, greedy and desperate.

The two grind against one another, the closed space and limited time not offering as many options as typical-- it brought back a similar feeling of way back in the early days of their correspondence where they would kiss in the dark stacks of the library; L still trying to figure out what makes Light squirm, and Light still barely comfortable enough to put his hands on L’s waist.

Oh how fast the night changes he thinks idly to himself as Light pulls on his messy waves, exposing the alabaster expanse of his neck and latched himself onto it as he has seen L do many times, though he actually gets to feel Light’s teeth sink into him and admire the purple against white the next day.

L quickly undoes Light’s belt and slacks, pulling them off with his boxers, knowing they only had a limited amount of time before the hostess of the party figures out her “guest of honor” has been missing for several minutes. Following the pants, L drops to his knees, taking Light’s cock in his mouth all at once. Light tangles his hands in L’s hair, slowly but steadily fucking his mouth.

“We have a limited amount of time, you realize?” L pulled away, and Light groaned at the loss of contact.

Light shook his head, “I don’t think anyone is going to come looking for me.”

L slowly stroked him, thumb rubbing over the slit of his head, causing Light to bite his lip through a moan, his back hitting the wall behind him. L looked up at him, eyes impossibly wide, “I think you misjudge how strongly Ms. Amane’s infatuation with you is.”

Light didn’t respond to that, so L took the head of Light’s cock in his mouth, the man biting down on two knuckles to stifle his noises. L knew he was getting close, after almost a year of this affair, L knew exactly what to do to get Light to tremble and squirm and just how far to push until he is over the edge.

His orgasm rips through him, Light gripping tightly onto L’s hair, making him moan around Light’s cock. He wipes his mouth with one of the cocktail napkins placed neatly on the shelves. He gingerly took Light’s hand as he helped him off the floor, pulling L in for another messy kiss.

Light drew his nails down L’s back, now panting into his mouth, but the two quickly jumped apart when they heard the click of heels making their way down the adjacent hall.

“Light? Are you down here?”

The two froze and looked at one another. “Misa,” Light mouthed, and L rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t warn Light of this exact situation previously.

“Come on.” L quickly pulled Light out of the pantry, walking him towards the bathrooms directly on the other end of the hall before she rounded the corner spotting them, “Tell her you were seeing me off and I had to leave early, and you stopped by the restrooms before you came back. Also…” He pulled a small wrapped object out of the back of his pocket. It was long but thin, containing a rose gold gemmed bracelet. “It is a bracelet. It will distract her from any questions that she has.”

“Ryuzaki I-”

L shook his head, running a hand under the water of one of the bathroom sinks and fixed Light’s mussed and imperfect hair, “Don’t. I’ll be fine.” This only works if you keep lying. C’mon Light, where is the illusion? “Go. Do what needs to be done.”

L shoved Light out of the bathroom, just in time too, for he ran into his girlfriend. He listened to their idle voices from the bathroom and felt a wave of bittersweet joy from Misa’s elation at the gift. He stayed until their voices disappeared and snuck out the exit near the back. He always did hate birthday parties.

≠

It was around 2am when L heard the knocking on his door. Confused and apprehensive, he opened the door to see a disheveled and tired Light on the other side. His eyes were rimmed red with dark circles underneath them. L wasn’t sure if he had ever seen him in such a state.

“Light? What are you doing here? Are you ok-” L’s concerns were cut off by Light cupping his cheeks and kissing him. Not the passionate and needy type that he is used to, but raw and emotional. He wrapped his arms around L’s neck and held onto him like his lifeline.

L did not disconnect from his lips, instead leading them both to his bed. It was still neatly made (it being essentially unused since the last time Light was over) but he pulled back the duvet and crawled under it, Light following close behind.

L held Light for a long time, running his fingers through his perfect brown hair and offering light kisses. A few rare moments of silence passed, and Light’s breathing became a lot more steady and the touches less needy.

“It is much past the time you are typically asleep. What on Earth are you doing here? This isn’t like you.” L muttered lowly in Light’s ear.

Light huffed, “I apologise for not fitting your perfect honor student archetype.”

“That is not what I mean. I am not talking about perfect, clean-cut college senior Light.”

“Wha- but that is me.”

L shifted slightly, pressing a thumb to his lips, “On the surface, sure. You are the definition of sublimity and much sharper than those around you. Not to say you are not that, but there is much more to it. Despite being one of the top students in Japan, you do not care as much as people think you do, and you obviously have secrets of your own. Do not try to play coy with me, Light, I greatly dislike being belittled.”

Light was silent for a while, tracing nondescript patterns along L’s chest, “I thought that I was the number one student in Japan.”

L stifled a laugh, “One of us here is.”

“I have never even seen your name on the national rankings.”

“You have never seen Ryuzaki on the national rankings. Though I am sure you were around when Hideki Ryuga made an appearance.”

Light was silent for a moment before shaking his head, “I thought for a while now that Ryuzaki was an alias.” L hummed in response squeezing Light softly and pressing a kiss atop his head, “So, what is your true name?”

“I cannot tell you that, Light.”

“Why not?”

“I just can’t.”

Light pulled away from L’s arms and sat up, “That isn’t fair. I have been nothing but honest about myself with you, and you can’t share one stupid thing with me?”

“You still don’t get it…” L muttered to himself, sitting up and pulling his legs close to his chest.

“Get what?” Light spat out.

L sighed, “I cannot be fully honest with you until you are honest with yourself.”

Light opened his mouth and closed it again-- a brief moment of confusion before the anger took its place, “What does that mean?”

“What is it you truly desire of me, Light? How long are you going to conform to the expectations you created for yourself.” L’s voice was not angry or frustrated or even disappointed. He just sounded sad, “You are graduating college and Ms. Amane’s career is in full swing now. With how many years you have together she is going to be expecting marriage and a family soon. And then what? How much longer must you keep lying to her, to your family, to-- you know, forget all them. How much longer can you lie to yourself about what you really want? When will your self imposed expectations that you curated supersede who you really are?” Light stayed silent, his body was stiff and his eyes glassy. L sighed, “You may stay here tonight, of course. I will hold you and kiss you and love you tonight. But after that, I need to take your time to think about what exactly you are doing, and talk to me when you figure it out. You’re not the only one who is affected by your actions.”

He left the rest unspoken. Not saying he wanted to hold onto Light forever, finally call him his, and not put an ultimatum on their love. But it was too painful to say the rest out loud.

L held Light and stroked his hair as he fell asleep. L tried to fight off his own exhaustion, but his eyes eventually closed and he drifted off as well. He woke up the next morning cold and in an empty bed.

≠

It has been about three months since L and Light had seen one another. That’s fine. L doesn’t need anyone. Staying alone is how he stays alive. He goes through his school work faster than ever, senior finals quickly approaching for him, though he has no doubt that he could manage without trying. That doesn’t stop him from doing so for whatever reason. He just needs to keep busy.

L was editing an essay when his phone rang, Misa Amane’s contact name appearing. L stared at the phone for several seconds, weighing his options. He eventually snatched the phone and flipped it open, “Yes?” He dumped all the sugar cubes from his bowl onto the table, idly stacking them.

“Hi, Ryuzaki, sorry to call you this late-” L glanced at the clock, just past midnight, “But I was just wondering if Light was with you.”

L paused, and bit his lip, “No, actually. I have not seen Light for about 3 months now.”

There was silence on the other end of the call, L could only hear static on the other end. He made his tower about 6 cubes high before Misa spoke, “3 months? You haven’t heard from him for 3 months? He said he was going to talk to you ages ago. I am worried about him, Ryuzaki.”

“What seems to be your cause for concern?”

Misa sighed, “I broke up with Light about 2 weeks ago,” L knocked over his cube tower, sending sugar crystals careening over his laptop. He couldn’t tell if he was breathing at this point or not, his heart was beating so slowly… Or fast? L couldn’t for the life of him tell, “He said that he was going to talk to you shortly after I ended things, but I hadn’t heard from him or seen from him, and now you have no idea what's going on, and oh God, what if he is dead or killed himself I don-”

“Misa?”

“Yes?”

“Please calm down for me, ok?” L hooked a finger in his mouth, trying to keep his voice level for Misa’s sake, “I am concerned for Light as you are. I just need you to answer me some questions and I should be able to figure out where he may be.”

“You don’t think he is dead?” Misa choked out.

“I say there is only 2.5% Light is dead, and that would be due to forces outside of the situation. Light is strong, he would never try to kill himself.”

“I- I know this Ryuzaki, I am sorry.”

“Never apologise for your feelings, Misa.” L dragged his finger across his desk and licked the sugar off of his finger. “What was the last thing you two talked about?”

Misa’s voice was quiet, but self assured, “We haven’t talked since I ended things. After that, he hasn’t been in class or on campus.”

“You did break up with him, surely he doesn’t want a lot of interaction with others right now.”

Misa huffed, “No, that can’t be it. I broke up with Light for his own good.”

L nervously bit at the skin around his nails, “If I may pry, what is the reasoning for the termination of your relationship.”

“I was afraid you would ask that…” Misa sighed, clearly debating what she wanted to say. L moved the mouse on his computers and idly scrolled through the essay he was editing, needing something to distract him, even if he was not processing any of the words being read on screen, “This is what Light was supposed to talk to you about but... I ended things because he… Ryuzaki, he is in love with you.” L bit down on his thumb. Hard. The metallic taste of blood was the only thing that was keeping him from passing out. “When we started our relationship 3 years ago, I knew he didn’t love me like I loved him, but I figured he would be able to learn to, right? But, something changed once he met you… He was smiling more and happier, but also distant and confused and pensive. I think he has been wrestling with this for a while, and it is unfair to myself, Light, or you to continue a relationship that no one is happy with.”

“Misa, I-”

“I am sure you are also a bit shocked about this turn of events as well… Or maybe not, I don’t know how much you suspected, but Ryuzaki I-” She sighed, sniffling slightly. L popped a sugar cube in his mouth. If Misa was about to start crying he needed all the glucose support he could get, “I was really mad at you at first. I hated you. But now I realise I should thank you. I was settling for someone who never really gave me their all, or really wanted me for me. I settled, and so did Light. We both deserve better. He wants you, and if you want him, let him know.”

“Did you tell Light all this as well?”

“Yea, it was the last thing we talked about.”

L chewed on his lip, “I think I know where he is.”

≠

“Well, this is certainly unexpected.”

Light turned around, L smirking softly behind him, the chilly wind musing his hair and chilling his bare feet. Light sighed, standing up from the collection of boulders he was on, facing L. He tugged his jacket closer around himself, “How did you find me here?”

“Cameras everywhere.” L idly pointed around, and Light simply raised an eyebrow, “Misa called me, told me what happened. I was able to figure out the rest”

Light nodded, sitting back down, but facing L still, “I see.” He looked at Light a little more. His state and appearance were worse than when he saw L 3 months ago, though it was clear he was trying to hide it. His pretty tan skin was sickly and shallow and his eyes were hollow. The illusion of perfect Light Yagami wasn’t just gone, it was ripped to pieces and set on fire.

“Can I sit?” L asked, and Light made a small gesture with his hand. L crouched next to him, placing his hands atop his knees but remaining a good distance away from Light. He looked around at the forest. The very same place he and Light kissed his car, nearly everyday after classes for many months. They both had become very familiar with the area, though the tension in the air is palpable and unlike what L was used to. It reminded him of the closet incident a year ago. Nerves alight in both men, having no idea what action to take next.

“You look good.” Light said. L held back a chuckle, he looks like he always does and he knows it.

“You look tired, Light.”

“I am tired.” He responds simply. They stay silent for a few moments. L has so much he wants to ask, but this was Light’s conversation to lead, “I have been so stupid.” Light starts. He places his head in his hands, and runs his fingers through his hair, “I told myself the loneliness would go away with time. It didn’t, but I kept ignoring it. I just couldn’t stop thinking about what you said and…” Light sighed, “No one has ever been that honest with me. They tell me I am perfect and good, so I thought this hollowness that I have felt ever since I was a child was normal. And then.... Then you came along telling me things could be better, and it could go away and I… I was scared.”

“Why?”

“Even if it is a bad feeling, it is terrifying to think of life without it.”

L nodded, pressing his thumb to his lips, “You would have ignored it forever if Misa hadn’t broken up with you.”

Light chuckled weakly, shaking his head, “Yeah, I probably would have.”

“Did you tell her, Light?”

He shook his head, “Misa doesn’t know. Maybe one day, I will tell her. Right now… She is being incredibly selfless, and I have been incredibly selfish, I didn’t want to add to that.”

“You realize that withholding the truth from her is, in of itself, a selfish action right?” Light gave him a pointed look and L just sighed, “So, why here then?”

Light looked pensively up at the stars, leaning back on his palms. Even with exhaustion and stress seeping through his body, he was still so beautiful, “The simplest way to put it is… Is I missed you. And I didn’t know what to do. I felt like running and hiding and lying was the easiest way to deal with my feelings, but it is too painful to do that, and acting like such a coward is killing me. And now you are here, and I don’t know what to do.”

L pondered this for a moment, “Well, you could come over here and kiss me.”

Light looked at him, eyes wide, “Is that ok?”

Chuckling, L shook his head, “You were not this hesitant and asking for permission the first time.”

He moved closer to L, caressing his cheek. Light ran a hand through L’s hair and softly pressed his lips against L’s. It wasn’t a symphony or a matching puzzle piece or the final brushstroke of a beautiful painting. It just felt so right after so long, and L could finally exhale.

“I am lucky to have you back, Light Yagami.” He kissed Light’s forehead.

Light smiled. Despite the fatigue still present, that familiar glow that Light always gleamed was returning, “Do I finally get a name for you now?”

“As long as I can call you mine,” He softly kissed Light’s cheek, “You can call me L.”

#death note #lawlight #l lawliet #light yagami #the people were furious with me about my last fic being so sad #so fine have the smutty AU goodness #I also have officially Run Out Of Ideas #kind of #run out of one shot ideas for like simple smut fics #starting a big project is spooky but I really want to and I will #anyways enjoy !#my writing

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swaps55 · 3 years

Text

Eulogia

With MELE imminent, sharing a scene I wrote a long time ago, in which Kaidan Alenko mourns Ashley Williams after Virmire, and discovers he isn’t mourning alone.

From here.

The cargo bay was quiet when the elevator doors opened. Most of the crew had dispersed to the Citadel, leaving Kaidan mercifully alone in the cavernous space. Slowly he made his way towards the lockers, the scar tissue and healing sinews in his abdomen like a knot that someone had doused with gasoline and set on fire.

But still healing.

(This is it. This is how I’m going to die.)

Kaidan exhaled.

If he closed his eyes he could still see the numbers in his HUD, always hovering right above zero, a perpetuating terminus never quite reached, never quite avoided.

When he reached the lockers he stopped, hand halfway to the one marked, Williams, A.

If he went by the book this should be Gladstone’s job. There was no reason it shouldn’t be Gladstone’s job.

(You know it’s the right choice.)

But it wasn’t Gladstone’s job.

The click of the locker door echoed loud enough that he flinched before drawing in a deep breath and pulling it all the way open. She hadn’t lied about her uniforms. Every shirt hung crisp and straight on its hanger, in sharp contrast to the chaotic pile of belongings tossed heedlessly on the ground below it. The pile was so impressive he was actually afraid to take anything out, for fear it would cause an outright avalanche. In spite of himself he shook his head and smiled a little.

“Somehow this is exactly what I expected from you,” he said under his breath. He heard a creak behind him and whipped his head around, heart rate thudding as though he expected to find her peering over his shoulder, arms crossed, eyebrow raised. A flush crept up the back of his neck.

Of course there was nothing. Ashley was dead.

His gripped the locker door until his knuckles whitened, leaned his forehead briefly against it. The metal felt cool and hard against his skin. He swallowed once. Twice.

Eventually he straightened with a sigh, tugging at his uniform and rolling his shoulder, as though he could somehow shake Ashley off like working out a crick in his neck. By the time his fingers brushed the cloth of her fatigues their subtle quiver had been swallowed up by the hard-earned discipline he’d practiced so diligently ever since Jump Zero.

(Kaidan Alenko. Always looking for the sure thing. Everything needs to be perfectly defined and spelled out for you, doesn’t it? Sometimes the unknown can be a little exciting, too.)

A static spark stung his finger as he emptied the hangers. He jerked his hand back, muttering, used to the burn, never the timing. Slowly he reached back in, painstakingly folding each shirt with precision he hadn’t employed since Basic.

(You find a wrinkle in my uniform and I’ll clean your pistol for a month.)

He made each crease razor sharp. Not a wrinkle to be found.

Once the clothing had been stored, he began taking apart the pile she had accumulated in her locker. Datapads with poetry. She liked Cummings and Yeats, Plath and Elizabeth Bishop. He remembered Joker saying something about Heinlein. Kaidan hadn’t intended to look through them, but shortly he found himself cross-legged on the floor, skimming through lines and verses. It was easy to tell her favorites – she’d annotated them heavily. Underlined phrases, personal reflections. In some cases she’d made notes that he didn’t understand, such as the one beside a line from a poem by Elizabeth Browning that simply read, Josh, and in parenthesis (the little shit).

She also had a copy of the Bible, which gave him pause. It wasn’t a datapad either but an actual book, pages dog-eared, corners bent and turned down, small makeshift bookmarks such as scraps of paper, paper clips, even a hair tie, sticking out at all angles. Like the datapads it was covered in notes, but all of these handwritten, in scripts of multiple hands. Some tiny and neat, others broad and flowing. Though he didn’t think he’d ever seen a sample of Ashley’s handwriting he immediately found one he thought had to be hers – small but hurried, with the occasional loopy flourish. It tended to start out neat, but quickly deteriorated when her hand couldn’t keep up with her thoughts, until it was nearly illegible.

The inside cover contained four handwritten paragraphs, each in a different script that he recognized from the subsequent pages. Each a note from parent to child, passing the heirloom on with messages of faith and love. Four generations of Williams, right there on one page.

Kaidan ran his fingers across the script, tracing the shallow grooves the pen made against the paper. General David Williams, of Shanxi infamy, bequeathing it to his son Matthew Williams, with a note.

Our faith is our legacy. We keep to it and carry on, no matter the cost. And when that task is difficult, remember those who’ve walked a harder road with lesser reward. We are blessed. I am blessed. Because I have you.

Serviceman Williams then wrote to his daughter, There’s a great wide universe out there waiting for you. I hope you explore it to the fullest. If you ever get lost, look here and see if you can’t find your way. Remember, kiddo. Ad aspera per astra.

Kaidan’s hands loosened, allowing the book’s spine to droop. A few pages whispered past his thumb. The hair tie bookmark fell out, ghosting to the floor without fanfare.

He snatched it up with a hot flash of guilt and held it aloft. What page did it come from? What place had he lost? How important had it been?

He didn’t know.

There was so much he didn’t know. So much he’d never learn.

He stared at the hair tie. Nothing more than a simple strip of dark blue elastic, still twined with a few strands of long, dark brown hair. She probably had a few dozen just like it. She’d worn two in her hair, at all times. One to pull it back into a ponytail, one to wrap around the thick twist of her bun and secure it in place. Usually she kept a third around her wrist, just for emergencies.

But they were never enough to hold back those few stubborn, errant strands that inevitably pulled free to waft about her face.

Moisture burned the corner of his eyes. His fingers curled around the small token, and he put his newly formed fist to his mouth to stifle the sound brewing in his throat. One choked sob got through before he swallowed the rest back, chest aching from the effort. He wicked a thumb across his eyes, hastily tucked the hair tie back between the pages and set the book aside.

This wasn’t his. The grief and memories trapped within the Bible’s covers were for her family, not for him.

But it shouldn’t be for anyone. It should be his things exposed to the harsh light of the cargo bay, meticulously sorted and stored, itemized on a manifest and marked for shipping back to Vancouver, care of Marc and Lora Alenko.

His throat tightened, hitching breath loud against the silent backdrop of the cargo bay. Not even the sound of the engines to provide some white noise.

Nothing like this would be found among his own belongings. He spoke to his folks a couple of times a year. Hadn’t been back to Vancouver in almost three. When he did it tended to be strained small talk and careful avoidance of anything to do with the mutated eezo nodes lurking under his skin. He’d actually thought running off to the Alliance might help. Follow in his father’s footstep. Give them something in common. That, of course, and he’d had nowhere else to go.

Would his own family have mourned him the way Ashley Williams’ would mourn her?

Would she?

Stop.

He raked a hand through his hair, fingers eventually coming to rest against his forehead. His head felt heavy. Too heavy to hold up, like a lead weight.

(They’re more important. We’re as good as dead up here anyway.)

He wondered who would inherit the Bible now that Ashley was gone. One of her sisters, maybe. Sisters who probably had yet to learn about what had happened down on Virmire.

(Kaidan, what the hell are you doing?)

(This bomb is going off! No matter what.)

No matter what. 0.00. He’d been ready for it. Ready for anything. Except Shepard’s hand, grabbing him by the arm.

Further down in the pile he found smaller items. Toiletries. A stuffed hanar, of all things. A bottle of liquor she must have picked up on Noveria.

(Just for the record, I’d look damn good in a dress.)

He swallowed against a lump in his throat, chest constricting. He could see her so clearly, standing at the railing in Port Hanshan, alternating between slouching and gripping the rail with her hands and leaning back on her heels.

(I’m not most people.)

No. She hadn’t been.

He found some packing material for the liquor. It was scotch, an asari brand, maybe purchased to share with Liara. Why it hadn’t been drunk he couldn’t say. Maybe she just ran out of time.

Next was a holo album containing a few photos. People he didn’t recognize. A woman that looked too much like her not to be her mother. A young girl with a grin he recognized from those brief moments in the comm room. Before…

Stop!

Kaidan put the holo aside, then rested his elbows on his knees and put his head in his hands. Took a deep breath in. Let it out slow. Clamped his eyes shut. For a moment, everything shook. His hands. The air in his lungs. His skin felt hot, but prickled with gooseflesh.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Eventually he opened his eyes. Went back to the pile. Finish it, marine. Don’t leave her hanging.

In all her possessions were scant, just what she’d been able to obtain or accumulate since they’d picked her up on Eden Prime. In fact, how the Bible and holo album had even managed to catch up with her struck him as a bit of a mystery.

But when he got to the bottom of the pile his hand froze, mouth dry as a shock of white hot cold strummed the length of his spine, numbness dulling his fingers until they felt thick and clumsy.

It shouldn’t have surprised him. After all, she’d died in her combat gear. Not her fatigues. Of course they would be here.

This time no amount of discipline could overcome his shaking hands as he picked one up and turned it over in his palms.

A neon green boot with matching laces, so bright they nearly glowed in the dim light of the cargo bay.

His gut clenched, chest so tight he couldn’t breathe, the edges of his vision blurring until something hot and wet spilled over onto his cheeks.

(Come on.)

(Whoa, where are we going? Anderson said to wait here.)

(Come on, LT. Think we’ll ever get to poke around here again? Live a little.)

Only he hadn’t. She’d been right there. Right there. And he hadn’t.

(Tell me you haven’t thought about this.)

(Thinking’s not the same as doing. Maybe, once all this is behind us…)

He dropped the boot, back slamming against the lockers as he buried his head in his hands, the grief that he’d stored down deep in his chest ever since that timer reached zero breaching the damn in a flood of hot tears. He wept himself hollow, hot, swollen and aching, exhaustion creeping in until he felt it laying heavily over his skin, behind his eyes, in the pit of his stomach. Then he just sat silent, eyes red and heavy, arms resting on his knees.

A hulking shape appeared above him. Had he not felt so drained he might have cared more about discovering he hadn’t been alone after all. But when Wrex’s red, horny crest came into view he met the krogan’s fierce stare without shame. Whatever the krogan had to say, he was beyond giving a damn.

“She was a warrior worth mourning,” Wrex said.

Kaidan straightened his posture with mild surprise, but said nothing.

“Shepard chose his companions well. Even those I at first didn’t give him credit for.” He offered a scaly hand, which Kaidan accepted warily. Wrex hauled him effortlessly to his feet, and gave him a brusque nod.

“You are krantt.”

Kaidan wasn’t sure how to respond, but Wrex saved him the trouble by ambling away without further comment. The krogan had been nearly invisible since their return from Virmire. After finding him here Kaidan wasn’t even sure if he’d even left the ship.

He hadn’t considered the possibility that a krogan might mourn a human soldier. But Ashley…had that effect on people.

With a wipe of his eyes Kaidan began piling Ashley’s things into a crate. Once the locker was empty he sealed it, then closed the crate up as well and entered it into the ship’s inventory for the requisitions offer to offload and send to her family. By the time he finished, his grief had been replaced by grim, dogged resolve.

We’re coming for you, Saren. May God help you, you bastard.

#mass effect #kaidan alenko #ashley williams #ashley x kaidan #not quite willenko #but almost #my fic #me legendary countdown #i'm so used to writing in present tense #that reading my own stuff in past tense is WEIRD

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