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luxheroica · 2 months ago

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under your tree (3/3)

Part 3/3 - Ekko, ???, and the tree. An epilogue

Thank you to everyone who has enjoyed along the way, thank you for allowing me to express how much I love these two characters.

Part 1

Part 2

Also on AO3

---

How he drags himself back up after the memorial, Ekko will never quite be sure.

The Firelights need him. Zaun needs him, now more than ever, and after everything he gave his promise. It’s harder than it ever was before, to get back up and keep at it. His fight was always about making the city better for his people– and now there are so few of them left.

But he’s damned if he’s going to just give up.

I’ve never seen you give up on anything, Ekko.

He wanders until he’s at the tree. The leaves are green and vital, the arcane spillover that was slowly poisoning the ancient tree gone with Viktor’s final sacrifice. The Firelights still call it their home– only it is no longer a closely guarded secret. Any who wish to come can, and there they can find a meal and a warm drink and a place to mourn their dead and a warm hand to hold.

“How did you do it?” he’d asked that other-Vander, on one of his few-and-far-between breaks from building the Z-Drive. “How did you unify Zaun? With all the warring factions and everyone out for themselves…”

And Vander had smiled and said, “Mostly, some cussed good luck. But I’ll tell you what, it started with building a community right here– and then fighting for it.”

And Ekko is trying to build a community where he is. Some days it’s harder than others.

There isn't any space left on the wall to depict those they’ve lost along the way, and he doesn't even know all their faces to draw them anyways.

He easily finds the drawings that Jinx made, with their neon bright colors standing out from all the rest. He traces the paint with his hands.

After the battle was over he looked for her. He found Vi instead, broken and grieving. Her reaction told him all he needed to know.

How many times do I have to lose you?

He still remembers the time they spent together. Too short, and an eternity all at once. It hadn’t been easy– her pain had come spilling out of her in explosive ways, and his caution had time to rear its ugly head– but in those scant days they had found a kind of equilibrium between them. Working on turning her lab into a flying weapon of war, intertwining their ideas together until at last they had something that might turn the tide of Ambessa’s ambition. In the quiet moments, Ekko dying her hair and Jinx altering his clothes (which didn't always remain on), and kissing her until they were both breathless.

It reminded him sometimes, of that other Powder in the other universe. Building something together, something that would help the world.

And now she is dead.

He traces the lines of her drawing with his fingers. Misses her.

Then he starts to paint. There is no space on the wall and so he covers the lines of Powder's portrait with Jinx. Changing her hair, updating her eyes, turning her at last into an older version of herself.

At last his hands are covered in blue paint, but there she is– immortalized on the wall. Another one of his ghosts.

“You really think I'm dead, huh?”

Ekko whirls around. The figure coming towards him is wrapped in a cloak. She walks with a limp and her face is scarred. There is still a trace of telltale blue peeking out from underneath her hood.

“Wha–how–?”

He stares dumbfounded as she takes down her hood. She is unmistakably Jinx. There is a wide burn scar across half her face, but still she grins and she is as wild and as vital as ever.

“Miss me?”

Ekko rushes forward. Envelops her in a crushing hug. She nearly buckles under his weight. “Easy there tiger–” she starts to say, and then he kisses her. She relaxes into the kiss.

Ekko pulls back, not quite sure if she's real… but she is. He cradles her face between his hands. “How are you–?”

“Alive? Blast knocked me clear,” Jinx explains succinctly. “Then I think one of those hexgate things activated and I got tossed halfway to Kumangra. It’s been a wild ride getting back, believe me.”

Ekko laughs. It bubbles up out of him, unable to be suppressed. He’s just… happy. “You’ll have to tell me all about it.”

“Someday, maybe.” And her tone isn’t like he’s ever heard it, not for years. It’s far off and quiet.

Ekko takes her hand in his. Holds it tight. Holds onto her.

“Have you told Vi?” he asks. “That you’re alive?”

She shakes her head. And from the set of her mouth– wistful, resigned– he knows that she doesn’t plan to.

“Jinx is dead, remember?” she gestures up to the portrait he’s just finished painting for her. “It’s better for her– better for everyone– if she stays that way. If she remembers me as the sister who saved her, maybe she can finally let me go. But, I wanted you to know.”

She turns towards him, and her expression is fond and faraway.

Ekko understands in that moment that she’s not staying. He twines his fingers tighter with hers, like he might hold her here by the strength of his will alone. But holding onto her is light holding onto an explosion– the tighter you try, the more it will hurt.

He relaxes his grip, and her fingers slip from his.

“When am I gonna stop losing you?”

His voice is choked.

She smiles, leans forward and kisses the bridge of his nose. “Hey,” she says. “If you keep losing me, I guess that means I always come back, right?”

He smiles slowly. Her fingers find his and they gently twine together. Not clutching or holding tight just touching. For this moment and this moment alone.

“Like a lucky penny.”

She laughs. Looks up, and her face is dappled with golden light. “Or a tree, that just keeps coming back.”

“Where are you gonna go?”

She cocks her head. Shrugs her shoulders. He thinks, she has finally shed the weight of everything weighing her down. “No clue. Somewhere far away. Someplace that’s never heard of Piltover or Zaun or any of this.”

“I want to ask to come with you,” Ekko admits.

Jinx smiles. She understands him, maybe better than anyone else ever has. “But you won’t. Cause you’re the Boy Savior, and this place needs you.”

Zaun and Piltover are to be one city. A common enemy has forged them into one being. Sevika apparently got herself a place on the council. He hopes it will stick. But he knows that their problems aren’t so easily solved, and old hatreds have a way of rearing their ugly heads, and without some threat breathing down their necks people will remember the old ways of power and privilege. In the meantime, somebody’s got to be here to build something worth hanging onto.

“You could do a lot of good here,” Ekko offers.

Jinx’s answering look is wistful and sad. “I think I would have liked that– just building things with you.”

Ekko nods. It hurts, right in that place to the left of his ribcage, but it’s a different kind of ache from before. This, he thinks, is more manageable. She laces her fingers between his and kisses him slowly and deliberately and he knows it is goodbye. Ekko savors the taste of her, presses back into her, making sure she won’t forget him.

Then she pulls away. Untangles their fingers. She takes two steps away and hops off the platform, and Ekko remains at the tree watching her go. She wanders off, still dappled by that sunlight, light as the wind.

Sometimes taking a leap forward means leaving a few things behind.

What’s one more goodbye?

He isn’t expecting her to turn back, to look over her shoulder at him.

“Five years,” Jinx calls. Ekko raises his eyebrows at her. “Give me five years– to get my head on straight, to see the world, to figure out who I’m gonna be next. If you’re here in five years– meet me here.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Ekko shouts back. “Shine the place up nicely for you!”

“You’d better!”

She throws a peace sign over her eye. Grins.

And then she is gone.

Ekko waits for a long time. Leans against the wall and watches the patterns of green-and-gold light from the leaves of the tree. Then at last he looks up at her portrait on the wall and sighs. Smiles.

“Well, time to get to it.”

---

True to her word, she comes back. True to his word, he is waiting.

#arcane #arcane spoilers #timebomb #my writing #jinxekko #ekkojinx #ekko x jinx #ekko arcane

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hh0320 · 2 years ago

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໑ — stars in the ceiling. pt I

pair. solo singer! felix x fem! reader (+ mentions of hyunjin)

genre. set in the 90’s, childhood friends to strangers, moving back, struggle with fame, angst, romance, smut.

warnings. profanity, smoking, alcohol/drug abuse, use of pet names, flawed characters, harsh language at times, dark themes, unprotected sex, oral sex, dirty talk, mental health issues.

word count. 6.2k

a/n. hi my loves! this is going to be a mini series, though i’m still not sure how many parts it will contain. nevertheless, pls treat this idea kindly, and don’t judge its characters too hard, they’ve gone through a lot. feedback and reblogs are always much appreciated and will be replied to! enjoy xx

‘Felix will be going back to Australia for a much needed break, sources close to him reveal. The twenty-three year old alt rock singer just concluded his second world tour, Doll, earlier this week in Los Angeles, with news of his breakup with supermodel Hwang Hyunjin coming out at the same time.

The two had been dating since the Aussie’s rise to fame in 1994.’

New South Wales had remained the same, despite the unshakeable change in Felix’s chest. Barina Road had the same houses standing, fifty-year-old trees stretching, widening into the sky, hiding his parent’s garage from view, the stairs leading up to the front door. He’d paid off the mortgage, bought them a new car.

The sun was beaming, February in full display. His manager greeted his mom, and introduced his assistant, explaining they would be staying at a hotel not too far from there. His father had a beard now, his sister looked taller, and wore glasses.

Your house was around the corner. He could see the rose bushes along the hill, the white shutters with the black outlines. Felix could close his eyes and go back to your room, 1992, the glow-in-the-dark stars on your ceiling, The Cure and The Smiths’ posters on pastel pink walls, lace trimming on your sheets, makeshift forts and flashlights at midnight, notebooks with hearts drawn on folded ends, his name and yours written next to each other, hand over hand. ‘Girl Afraid’ playing softly through a cassette in a beat down radio. Your dad’s homemade chocolate chip cookies, and the determination that rushed through Felix’s veins the moment he tasted them, the promise he’d made to himself to make those same cookies for you one day, to learn how.

He never did. His demo got picked up from a record label that would later refer him to the one he belongs to now, and he had to fly out to Melbourne right before your eighteenth birthday. From then on it’s been a shooting star.

He blinks to find his mother teary eyed, arms open. He doesn’t walk—he runs. Washed out silvery blonde locks long enough to be pulled in a ponytail, brown eyes the color of wild thyme honey, hands tired, heart broken. A boy coming home is a very old story, one that will never stop being written. And even though it feels strange to be back after five years of palm trees, everything and nothing—Hollywood, with its golden gates and trophies and nightmare people— it is exactly what he needed. It’s where he has to be.

“You look so tired, baby, so frail,” his mom sobs, pressing her mouth on his temple. “Did no one take care of you? Did no one care?”

Felix didn’t answer. He brought chocolates and clothes for his sisters, jewelry for his mother, Cuban cigars for his father, and his first ever Grammy for you, because none of this would’ve been possible if you hadn’t befriended him all those years ago in the playground. If your voice hadn’t guided him away from those swings and into the forest. If he hadn’t played hide and seek with the girl that wore ribbons in her hair, dark cherries for eyes. And what does he say knowing this?

I left behind the one person that did. That mattered that it did. And when I found something similar, I couldn’t hold it in my hands, I couldn’t get close to it no matter how much I tried.

“I missed you, mom,” he mumbles instead, and grinds his teeth to keep from crying. “I should’ve called more. I should’ve visited.”

The shorter woman sniffles and rubs her son’s back soothingly, shushing him only a mother knows how to. He breathes in her familiar scent, her cooking imprinted on her purple shirt, and smiles sadly. Hyunjin would’ve loved her; he wanted to meet her the most, wanted to hear all the stories when they were in bed together, what few times they were both sober, capable of adventure and conversation till the early hours of the next day. “I never had a mom,” he’d tell him, brown strands of hair escaping his staple bun. “Cherish your mom for me, Yongbokie. Love her terribly.”

“Come inside,” she tells him, waving away the rest. “Stay forever if you need to.”

“It means happiness,” he’d explained on that first meeting with the boy shining more brightly than the chandelier lighting the entire theater. “Yongbok.”

The boy had smiled and it’d made all the difference. His lips reminded Felix of black cherries, of the girl in the room with the window overlooking the trees. “I know what it means. It’s about time I met you.”

Time away from chaos felt empty. The hours passed by slowly, serenity made him paranoid, like it couldn’t possibly last, even there, in a different continent, across the globe. Getting on an airplane didn’t guarantee you’d get away, he realized soon enough. It wasn’t possible, because you can’t outrun yourself.

And it was that Felix was trying to escape. How known he’d become, how aware of his own shadow he was. At first, he’d thought of it as a mountain to climb, something to be achieved, and then something else. It was a ladder leading up, up, up and nowhere specific, but he climbed it anyway. The little prize in his hands was the ultimate show, that one last thing he had to do that would grant him access to more of the same everything and nothing everyone else seemed to be so desperately after. After he’d won it, the decision to leave it all behind became clearer than ever.

A lot of the people he admired had died. And it didn’t matter which way you looked, destruction came in the form of white powder, accompanied by a spoon or a syringe if you were brave enough and had much to lose. “Take your pick, there’s many ways to kill yourself,” a girl had told him once at an afterparty. Young and impressionable as he was he chose by what he saw and picked up the bottle of champagne in front of him. The least harmful, he’d thought. But the sneakiest one of all. And then he saw Hyunjin smoking cigarettes after one of his fashion shows, and thought to try that too. Then it felt like something they could share, so Felix kept smoking until the cough subsided and his fingers smelled of tobacco.

One thing the model never tried to do was shield him from the horrible ways of the industry, and the blonde still can’t find it in himself to castrate him for it. Now, so many thousands of miles away as he was, the habits seemed to follow, like supportive friends. The world is a fucked up place, but it doesn’t seem so bad from where he sits on the rooftop of his childhood house. He could drop the stick from his hand, or break the golden trophy and even deny the existence of evil altogether.

How easy, how vulnerable fame is. You could be no one in particular if you made all the right choices. Felix wasn’t sure why he seemed to do the opposite, walk the other way, the reason for his selective blindness. When something shiny has your name on it you hold it close to your chest and sing to it. It’s precious because it reflects light off it.

Until when?

Your light was on.

He looked for it, looked for a car coming up the hill, watched the sun set, the blending of colors, how majestic it can all get before it fades to black, but you showed up right in the blue of it. You still drove the same Jeep your dad had gifted you for graduation, but your hair was longer, you’d grown a bit. Felix saw how your white dress danced in the summer breeze, ran his eyes down your tanned legs as you walked from your driveway inside your house, and finally, about ten minutes after that, the light through your curtains.

His mother hadn’t mentioned he was back.

He smiles down at his burning cigarette. How would he ever face you with the way he left? He never called, only wrote to you on your birthday, and released a song about a starry girl that visited his dreams, knowing very well that girl waited for him for years to return, even if just for a little while. The guilt of never doing so, and instead loving someone else so all consumingly, while that same song went on to become his best selling single, the song he’d be known for for years to come? It crippled him.

He never wanted to see your face stare back at him. He would rather die, and he admits this to himself bravely. You were his first girl, his only girl. No one would ever come close to you, because you’re clean—you have his innocence, his first time, before he knew anything about anything, and how despite it, he loved you stupidly, earnestly, because it made sense, because it felt right.

“Starry girl, will you burn bright, for me tonight? Oh, will you stay a little while, darling girl…”

How hypocritical. If Chan was around he’d be calling him out, or pushing him down the fucking roof. Felix wouldn’t even mention the broken leg or the dislocated shoulder, because it’d serve him right. Perhaps he needs a solid reminder of his aliveness, of how doing wrong by someone and paying for it feels like. La La Land doesn’t have that, it couldn’t possibly understand that. There, people look up and never down. There, they would push, and keep pushing; they would climb over, step on your neck, tear you apart at the seams for a chance to just keep.looking.up. That climb is all there is.

It’s empty too, but you learn how to miss it.

Felix thinks he might’ve sold his fucking soul, somehow, because as he gets back in the house, his mind won’t stop screaming for him to run away from there as well.

Not a place that could hold someone that’s had everything and then more of it.

Chan hates his guts twice as much as you possibly ever could, but Felix calls him anyway.

“Hello?”

“Chris. It’s me.”

A long pause. The singer falters, thinks he’s made a mistake, curses himself for ever thinking anyone would want anything to do with him after—

“You’re a fucking cunt, Felix, and I hope you burn in Hell. Sincerely.” The blonde nods, his chest tight, his throat dry. “How are you?”

He smiles. “Terrible. Fucking awful, mate, thanks for asking.”

“Good.”

“I’m in Australia.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Your white dress flows in his dreams. It folds and stretches like the wings of a butterfly. The pages of his journal stare at him, his eyes heavy with sleep, but for once nothing pours out. He thinks he’s meant to keep that to himself, and perhaps that’s okay.

Instead he writes about a broken boy that smiles for the cameras but never for his love.

His older sister works as an intern for a law firm. He didn’t know that, because he never asked. The sting of it burns all the same.

She has a fiance, is preparing to buy a house, and tells him of his mom’s sickness at a private restaurant. He didn’t know that either, but in all fairness, as his sister pointed out, no one is supposed to know. At least not yet. It’s treatable, she quickly adds, but it’s been eating her from the inside out for a couple years now. She tells him this with a straight face, probably because she’s had time to sit with it, but also because Rachel is great at keeping her feelings in check, when she knows someone else isn’t—Felix definitely fucking isn’t.

What was the saying? The artist is haunted by his own heart? Day and night. There’s never an escape, it seems, from anything.

“Tell me what I need to do,” he pleads after he calms down. “Money is not a problem.”

The older sibling grimaces at that. “It’s not about that, Lix. She has medication, she never misses a doctor’s appointment. Her body is weak.”

“She’s not dying.”

“It’s not something we can exactly stop because we want to.”

Felix clenches his fists on the table, and looks at his sister straight on. “She’s not dying.”

Rachel wipes her mouth and sips from her wine, alerting the waiter for the check. People are starting to stare. No matter where they go, eyes follow her little brother incessantly, whichever measures they take. It’s a lifestyle she cannot comprehend.

Felix doesn’t seem to notice, or care. It’s a strange thing, like a zoo animal being at peace with its captivity, despite its true nature.

“Maybe not now,” she replies softly. “But we all must face this one impending doom sooner or later, Lix. Even you. Even our mom. Death is a natural thing.”

Most people run from the inevitable, because it’s scary. Somehow, it’s believed that the end, too, could be overturned if we stall it, or cheat it. Felix never thought he’d have to worry about it, because of the invisibility of youth, and money, and having everything else at his beck and call. It was only when Kurt Cobain and Jeff Buckley died that he was touched by the cruelty of it, the dark shadows and the claws attacking through them any moving thing, at any given time. Even legends passed, even history.

It was because life was so impossibly fleeting, water held with two hands, that he decided to knock on your door. In a single moment of liquid luck, he wished to see the stars in your ceiling again. To feel the warmth of your skin near his. Chan would shake his head and call him an idiot for it, but Felix never claimed to be reasonable. Or smart.

No other car was in your driveway.

God, his blood is rushing. You’d open the door and then what? What would he say?

He didn’t want his mom to die. He didn’t want you to hate him forever. He came back with a false sense of ego—no one gave a flying fuck if he was famous, or best friends with Hope Sandoval and Chris Cornell, hell, even Jesus Christ himself. None of it mattered outside of the bubble he’d created for himself in America. He’s not from there. These people would follow him nowhere.

He feels stranded and alone, and it’s entitled and pathetic, and he’s fucking terrified.

Who is he besides his name and his money? Why does it matter so much?

The door opens. He’s holding his breath.

You gape. Then blink.

Another moment passes. He has to say something. Goddamnit, anything!

“(Y/N).”

You seem to snap out of it, then. As if you realize it’s, indeed, not a dream. Felix is really standing right in front of you, blonde hair, round honey eyes, constellations on his cheeks as prominent as ever.

It’s confusion you feel more than anything else. Anger has long passed.

“How long have you been here?” is the first thing you ask him, and you’re still not allowing him inside.

He doesn’t expect you to.

“On your doorstep? An hour.”

You blink again, and lean forward, surprised. He thinks that must not be what you asked him. His ears burn. Your chest rises and falls deeply.

“In Australia, Lix,” you elaborate, but he focuses on the way your voice sounds like saying his childhood nickname, a silly little thing that stuck and makes him feel eight all over again.

You’d fallen in the rose bushes with your bike, the thorns pricking your arms, and you’d called out for him, crying. Lix, Lix, Lix… The sweetest sound, a person worthy to help you. A different time. He’d spent the rest of his afternoon picking thorns out of your skin and tending to your cuts with his mom. Afterwards, you watched Home Alone 2: Lost in New York and ate a bowl full of caramel popcorn. His dad dropped you off, and Felix had insisted on sticking his head out of his bedroom window to shout a final goodnight to you.

You’d done the same, laughing. His bestest friend in the whole world.

He didn’t feel like that person anymore. He didn’t feel like anything anymore. Just a name, just a body.

“Fourteen days,” he replies, and he’s ashamed of it, because it should’ve been easier to come to you. It should’ve never been difficult, not with you.

It was you, for fuck’s sake.

And then you ask him the one thing he has no answer to.

“Are you okay?”

You move for him to enter. It’s what he wanted, but his legs have no strength in them, he’s unable to lift them. He just stands in front of you, staring in those eyes he’s wanted to look into for so long, and it reminds him of all the times he laid in hotel beds trying to bring forward his memories of your features, writing them all down so he doesn’t forget. He wrote those songs to remember you, is what he wants to tell you, but he can’t, because it’d make him a coward, and he doesn’t think he can handle anymore truths tonight.

They call him an angel because of his face, but you’re the angelic one, you’ve always been, because there’s forgiveness in your tone. There’s warmth for him in you still, and it takes everything in him not to sweep you in his arms and cry out for you, for your heart.

He wants to tell you about Hyunjin, too, about his garden and his flowers. He wants to tell you he named one after you, the most beautiful. He kept that for himself as well.

Instead—

“I wanted to watch the stars on your ceiling.”

The possibility that you might’ve taken them down is devastating. He hopes inevitably.

His voice sounds rough, and the bags under his eyes are more pronounced than ever. You’ve never seen Felix like that, he looked so sickly. Paper thin, too. You wonder if that life over there caught up to him, if he allowed it to wash over everything you loved about him. He’s such a stripped down, quiet version of him right now, in front of you.

“I’ll make some milkshakes,” you nod towards the kitchen.

He finally lifts one leg, then the other. He enters, his heart dusting off, kickstarting.

They still taste the same. The furniture is the same, the pictures of him and you and your siblings are still on the wall. You haven’t erased him, you didn’t scorn him. It means everything to him.

It’s easier to find yourself if someone already knows who you are. If they’ve kept that image of you, and look at it from time to time. Felix never sees himself in photos, never actively seeks himself out. He just gives, and gives, and gives, hoping it’s enough, hoping that’s it, the one, we got it, thank you very much.

Perhaps it’s why he feels so drained nowadays. Perhaps that’s how Hyunjin felt.

“How are your parents?” he asks, hoping to make conversation, hoping to hear more of that voice he’s missed so fucking much.

You round the kitchen island, strawberry shake in hand, and sit right next to him, knee brushing his. Your legs are bare again, smooth. You’re wearing an olive green skirt and an oversized T-shirt. You look beautiful. You, the starry girl. You, the darling girl. You, the only version of girl he’s had in his mind since the dawn of time. Ring pop in the fifth grade, backyard wedding with a veil and all. His mother had cried, yours had baked the cake. His sister had married you.

There’s a question in your eyes now.

“They’re fine. Out celebrating their thirtieth anniversary or something crazy like that.”

It’s a wild thing, the laugh that escapes him. It stretches his face and curves his lips. It surprises both of you. He quickly looks at his chocolate milkshake, at the half eaten whipped cream at the top. He hears your soft exhale, the straw between your teeth.

“Good for them,” he says after a beat, and he means it.

“You…” Felix doesn’t dare look. He won’t. Your counter is marble, there are fresh lilies on top of it. “Are you staying a while?”

He nods. Struggles to swallow.

Then you sigh. The pretenses are down. He stiffens, wraps his fingers tighter around the glass. He braces, but he doesn’t know for what. Anything, he supposes. You could say anything, ask anything.

He just doesn’t know if he has any answers for you.

“Congrats on that Grammy,” you bump him with your elbow, your tone light. His eyes rise slightly to meet yours. You’re smiling.

He wants nothing more than to fall apart, right there. He doesn’t deserve any of it.

“It’s yours,” he mutters. “I was going to give it to you.”

“Me?” you ask incredulously. “It’s your song, Lix.”

He shakes his head once. “But it’s for you. I’d be nothing without you.”

The room goes silent. Felix thinks he’s done it, he’s said the wrong thing, pushed too much, you’re going to kick him out, once and for all, and he’s going to have to look at you from his rooftop for the rest of his stay, he’s going to have to live with himself, whatever’s left, whatever’s there, never to hear your voice, never a third chance—

“Do you usually say intense things like that?” You huff out a breath, and his own gets stuck in his throat. “I’m— No one’s ever said that to me before, Lix. Don’t just say stuff like that.”

Suddenly, six years have passed, and you’re both adults. Felix has had a whole other life, has met thousands and thousands of people, is a celebrity of great importance, a Grammy winner, a million seller, with more money than he will ever need, this unbelievable thing has happened to him, a dream, a fucking rainbow bubble, and you’ve stayed here.

You’re still the same. And you don’t think that’s worth mentioning. Worth praising. He wants to shake you awake, make you see why he’s dead inside, why he’s come back, why he’s lost his fucking mind.

“I’ve never lied to you,” he replies, his gaze meeting yours. “If I’d never met you, I would have never gone to America. I would’ve never left.”

Somehow, you’ve become a curse and a miracle.

“Let’s go see the stars, Felix.”

Your room is the exact same, too. Not a single damn thing moved, the lace on your bed, the pink all around, the fairy lights by your window, the pictures above your desk, and then finally, if he lifts his head—

The hundreds of tiny stars sprinkled on your entire ceiling. Your dad had stuck them up there for you, after you’d gone to their bed crying, afraid of the dark and the storm outside. Now, with the lights off, you didn’t seem afraid anymore, but more so melancholic. It felt unreal to stand in this room with you.

First time he’d made love to you was on that bed. First sleepover, first fort, first kiss, first song ever written.

He didn’t even realize he’d been crying, not until he felt your fingers wipe the wetness away, your hand slipping in his, pulling him towards the mattress. Before coming back, he didn’t have a bed of his own. Hotel’s have been temporary homes for him, the tour bus his sleepovers.

His chest hurt, his sadness so heavy it pulled him down. There was no fight left in him, no other reason not to fall on that bed with you, lay next to you just like all those years before.

They shone neon green, alien little stars where they didn’t belong. Like him. He blinked up at them and they greeted him every time. He held your hand tightly on his own, his vision blurry, shoulders touching yours. If it was hot, Felix couldn’t tell. His heartbeat was deafening, the magnitude of the moment swallowing him whole.

No matter what he did, what had happened, you took his hand and showed him the stars of his childhood. There’s no words to describe what that had felt like for someone like him, someone that had once been something entirely different, and had somehow reduced himself down to this, whatever it was.

Three versions of oneself is two versions too many. He hates himself for what he’s done.

“Are you okay, Lix?” you ask once more, nothing but a mere whisper, but he hears you.

He thinks he might even have an answer for you.

“I don’t think so, beautiful girl. I think I’ve made a mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Felix sighs, puts an arm over his eyes. It’s enough, what he saw. It’s enough for a lifetime.

“Leaving you behind. Giving all of me away. Falling in love with a broken boy thinking I’ll be able to fix him. I can’t fix anyone, (Y/N). I can’t even fix my fucking self.”

You nuzzle your face in the crook of his neck. The connection is still there, the tension in his gut. He’d love nothing more than to get you naked and have you whisper his name back, over and over, until he gets some sort of sense of reality back. But it wouldn’t be fair to you. He doesn’t even know if you’re single.

“No one’s holding anything over your head, Lix. Forgive yourself before it’s too late,” you mumble against his skin, raising goosebumps all over. Then you continue, “I’d be lying if I said I don’t still hate you sometimes. You’re going to leave again, anyway. It doesn’t matter.”

He turns to that immediately. Places a palm over your cheek and makes you look at him.

“It does matter. I don’t want you to hate me. I fucked up and I’ll regret it my whole life. There’s no amount of sorry’s I can say to you, sweet girl, that’ll make it all better. I know that. But I don’t want you to hate me.”

Quiet. Your pulse against his thigh. “You left.”

“I did.”

“That hurt me. All of us.”

Felix nodded, again and again. One truth harsher than the other. “I know.”

“To go fuck some model in New York and sing your little heart out to people that’ll never know who you truly are and how much you matter.”

There it was. The sacrifice of it all. Has it been worth it? Yes and no. Mostly no.

His lips curved with bitterness. “Yes,” he rasped.

“But now your songs are out there. Your beautiful voice is recognized.”

“Thank you.”

You buried your face in the mattress, crying onto strawberry sheets. He turned his body towards you, fingers tangling in your hair.

“You sold your own name.”

Dying would be less painful than you speaking all of his fears and wrong decisions outloud, in the one place untouched by misery.

“And I pay for that every day.”

“You’re not happy.”

He smiles when you search for his eyes. There are crystals on your cheeks, the cosmos hanging from your lips. “Not particularly, starry girl,” he retorts sadly.

“I’m not happy, either. What’s the point, then?”

It tore at him to know this. He imagined you were when he was far away. That you’d put him behind you, and continued on with your life, shining just as brightly as you always had. Lies are always easier in the moment. Just enough to get you through to the next. But never long term.

“Come with me,” he whispers in your hair. “See for yourself.”

“And get lost, too?” you snap back.

He shut his eyes tight, bit his tongue to lessen the blow. “Three months. I want to take you with me.”

“To the City of Angels.” A lyric of his, coming from your mouth. His heart leaped, and blossomed. You listen to his music. The music he’s written for you.

“You’ll fit right in,” he finishes, leaning into you. “You’ll find many like you, none like you.”

He felt your hesitancy, the need to pull away. He would do it for you, if he wasn’t so completely under your spell, willing to do anything for one more taste of you. Years in a place where he’s had to learn to get his way, have made him somewhat persuasive, a trait he’s not proud of, like many others.

The only girl he’s ever truly wanted is you. Burn him alive, then.

“God, I’m about to make a mistake,” you mutter before his mouth takes yours.

Hyunjin had asked about you. He wanted to know who you were, why you still had such a hold on him. Hyunjin had been possessive and jealous and sensitive with Felix. He felt deeply, loved deeply, and was very stubborn. He loved getting his way. The blonde tried to love him, gave him all he had, obliged to his every request, but ultimately—

Whatever was wrong with him ran too deep. It was impossible to love someone like him, yet so easy to fall, so easy to lose yourself. They’d done some work together, traveled to Paris and visited art museums. Hyunjin was a magnificent artist, a lonely soul. Felix could recognize that in him and still admit it was scary to be around him, scary in the way a rope feels under your bare feet, no ground underneath, no sense of security.

They broke up on a bench outside Sacré-Cœur, the decision to go back to Australia for an indefinite amount of time being too much for the model. There was still love there, there’d always be. Hyunjin taught him about the life he’d entered, how to navigate through it, to get what you want, and how to love unconditionally, how to become a slave for love, to seek it and to breathe it, and to feel it deep in your gut, with everything in you.

But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t be all encompassing, choking, tying. It should feel like freedom, and this much Felix knew, because he’d felt it before.

Undressing you right now felt like that, the pearly gates welcoming him, the wings growing in his back. A map outlined but not quite yet explored, though he plans to change that. If you accept. If you agree to his proposal. His hands caress, his mouth following the fabric leaving your body, your breast, down to your stomach, your navel, your hip bone.

He pulls your skirt down, revealing cotton, and lays you gently back down, his own body over yours, hiding you from view. Your fingers unzip and push, and Felix removes his shirt for you. He knows he’s not much to look at, but there’s lean muscle and a solid chest where you touch, making heat bloom right under your fingertips. He could write odes about how soft your skin is, how tender you’re treating him, as if he never left, as if he’s never done wrong by you, and for a minute he pretends.

Then your hand wraps around his cock and he loses all restrain.

“You can’t possibly be real, my girl, are you?” he mumbles against your cunt, before he hooks his arms underneath your legs and digs right into your wetness.

You moan and writhe, and he never complies. He holds you tighter, keeps you in place and has his way with you until you’re begging him to stop, crying for him to keep going, nails digging into his scalp, his shoulders, anywhere you can reach. Felix hasn’t eaten pussy in six months, hasn’t had yours in over five years, and he’s not about to give it up for anything in the fucking world.

His tongue laps, it fucks you slowly, it makes sure to get you proper wet for him, his lips slurping on your clit afterwards, finding a pattern you seem to enjoy, sucking to bring your orgasm forward and licking to settle you down, to tease you, until finally you have enough of it, and you come all over his mouth, breathlessly, your thighs trapping his head between your legs.

“Just for me, for me, for me…” he repeats peppering kisses all over you, his arms pushing him up towards your mouth, meeting you halfway for an open mouthed kiss. “Will you come?” he asks, pumping his cock in his fist, aligning it with your entrance. “My sweet fucking girl, will you come?”

“I have,” you say, hiding your face in embarrassment. “I did.”

“Let me look at you,” as he pushes in. “Let me see you, baby.”

His hips start moving, his cock reaching deep inside you, the stretch incredible. He needs you near, closer, so he lifts you up and repositions himself, having you sit on him, fucking yourself on him how you like. You find a rhythm as he wraps himself around you, kissing your breast, sucking on your nipples, tugging at the ends of your hair. Anything he can touch, all for you. Your voice breaks, his name cut in half, and he thinks he likes it best like that, not one thing but two, muttered by you, the death of him once and for all.

“Will you come with me to California?” he asks again, clearer this time. “Will you let me have you like this under their sun?”

“Lix…” you collapse as he takes charge, pistoling up into your soaking cunt, his cock so deep inside, so fucking good. “Fuck, please. Just please.”

“You need to tell me,” he groans. “I need to know. You need to tell me.”

He pushes you forward again, not once unsticking you from himself, and fucks you into the mattress, hard and fast. He’s after your high, he needs to see you, needs to witness you fall apart because of him, the same way he does for you, his muse, his girl, under your stars. You kiss him and hold him near, sharing his breath, his chest rapidly falling and rising, cock ready to burst, heart ready to explode, and you’re near too, he can feel it in his gut, he can see how your back arches, how your breath hitches, how your eyes open wide, head thrown back—

“That’s it, there it is, do it. Do it, beautiful, come for me, come on, let me feel you, God, fuck—I’ll bust, too, I’ll—”

“Inside,” you moan, shaking in his arms. “Inside me.”

Felix growls and does as you say, fingers digging into your waist, cock buried, and his head falls on your stomach. He’s pretty sure he’s having a heart attack, but nothing matters. You’re underneath him, naked. You still love him. You haven’t said it but you don’t have to; he can feel it, he can feel it like his own pulse.

He fucks you through the ripples of your orgasm, and then he pulls out, kissing your temple, your breast on his chest. Whatever dreams are made out of, he’s convinced you’re it. His dream, a girl just for him, a girl he could pick out blindfolded from a crowd of thousands. He would always come back to you, because there’s simply no beginning to him if you’re not part of it.

And no end if you don’t come with him.

“Don’t be afraid to tell me no,” he whispers into the dark, the stars staring back. “I’ll understand. I’ll make it work, there’s no question about it. Not anymore.”

You’re quiet for a long time, but your lips kiss his jaw, his neck, his ear. He holds onto sanity because of that. Because he’s lying through his teeth, for the first time. He won’t understand. If you don’t come, he’s not sure he’ll be able to carry on with this persona he’s built. It will destroy him, take him down under.

That he’s sure of.

But he thinks of your precious heart. What it would be like to leave it all behind.

“I’ll come,” you say incredibly small, almost inaudible. “I’ll come if you want me there.”

Felix closes his eyes, relief washing over him. No more suffering, endless tossing and turning. He could finally have a life, maybe buy some property, make a house out of you. With you. With you. It sounded unachievable. A wish unable to be granted. Merely anything.

You’re breathing it all back to him.

“I need you there, starry girl. I love you.”

He feels you nod, but you don’t say it back. It cuts through him, but he understands. He doesn’t need to hear it, despite how desperate he is for it. It pours out of you, it started when you opened the door, and it continues to pour out now, with his cum gushing out of your cunt, your arm hugging him tightly, afraid to let go.

“Three months,” you say. “Please don’t make me regret it, Lix.”

tags. @ughbehavior, @cb97percent, @streetlight-s, @j-0ne25.

#straykidsland #stray kids scenarios #skz scenarios #felix scenarios #felix smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #skz felix #stray kids felix #felix skz #stray kids #kpop scenarios #kpop smut #felix x reader #skz fanfic #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #hyunlix #mine.

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hazshit-hotel-hater · 8 months ago

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The way substance abuse has been handled on the show thus far genuinely upsets me and reeks of writers who either 1.) don't understand the subject matter they're presenting and haven't done even the bare minimum to research it or, worse, 2.) simply don't care.

Apologies for the slight rant incoming, your comment about how it has been mostly "handled" off-screen got me going because that's 100% true and in that truth is such a missed opportunity for the show. The way it has been handled winds up feeling incredibly shallow and juvenile at the end of the day, especially for a piece of media that is attempting to present itself as "adult" and navigate multiple incredibly sensitive topics. I'll try not to get into my own personal experiences and will speak broadly, but the show uses substance abuse more as a cheap character flaw to poke fun at or something to magically handwave away when it is inconvenient, rather than the life-altering, debilitating illness that it is.

Nothing about Angel's use is ever meaningfully explored. It's so (apparently) unimportant to his arc and development that one rude comment from Husk (a character who ALSO has a problem with gambling and alcohol that is never addressed) is all it takes for him to suddenly "resist temptation" and be shown as "recovered" (unless I'm misremembering). Or was he suddenly going to counseling off-screen too and its just another thing that will be told to us rather than shown? And how does Charlie even handle that at the Hotel (I'd be really interested in this as a moment for her character to have to grow/change too)? Does she even understand substance abuse and the many unaddressed systemic factors that can influence it? Or is the entire recovery process just shame based (because that works so well /s) combined with some more corny trust exercises? Why is this incredibly serious topic relegated to the background as if it's unimportant?

Recovery is hard. It is emotional and exhausting. Withdrawal (depending on what you're coming off of) can sometimes mean excruciating, unimaginable pain and in some cases people literally die. It is not a funny "ha-ha I take drugs because I'm chaotic and wild" quirk to be adored or glorified and it definitely should not be presented as something that can be wrapped up in a month or two off-screen without any development whatsoever. That's just insulting.

When you approach a topic like substance abuse and recovery, I personally feel you need to take in all sides of it. All the missteps that come with it (two steps forward one step back - mistakes are expected and okay), the self-loathing, the guilt and shame, the joy, the sense of freedom, the loss, and the best part of all: the incredibly difficult but liberating journey that is rebuilding your life and learning to love yourself and your body again, once you've chosen to be free and to live life.

Mad props to anyone who has ever battled this disease. You are strong, you are worth it and you are valued. Lol I am so sorry for going off here but I so appreciate you calling out the lack of exploration on this topic in the show. I guess I didn't even realize how annoyed and upset it was making me feel (praying this is coherent...).

This was absolutely coherent don’t worry!! Im really glad to see other people talking about this. I myself have not struggled with drug addiction but I have struggled with other kinds and as someone that studies a bunch of medical junk, I’d say I’m decently knowledgeable.

I’m mainly going to focus on Angel for this since he’s the main character I write for, but I assure you other characters addictions are also handled in my rewrite.

During the actual canon show, we don’t see Angel actually abusing substances that often; there’s a few times, most notably in episode 4, but from the rest of the show onward we hardly see anything. Yes in episode 6 they mentioned relapsing, which, mind you, was done horribly, but I digress. They touch on relapsing; Angel relapses, and then… what..??? What happened from that? I don’t feel upset or second hand guilt of any kind from this scene because we haven’t seen Angel’s attempts to stay sobre and off drugs.

His name is fucking Angel Dust. You don’t, I dunno, think that’d entail a higher dependency on drugs? Why do you think he named himself that?

About his name before anything else, the show has so much potential later on to talk about Angel picking out his drag name and why he chose that specifically. So much potential to explore how he views drugs and himself. He sees them as an escape and something “fun” to take his mind off of his actual life. When you die in a fucking coma and wake up in hell as a spider you’re going to want an escape. You will want to ignore reality. I am fully convinced Angel picked his name once he started performing because thats what he needed at the time. He needs to be like that to survive in hell. Angel is an incredibly mentally ill, troubled, traumatised, and unstable person, and being surrounded by so much intense negative influence only amplifies his current problems. I don’t mean to drag Vox in here but in my last redesign post I mentioned how very mildly bad people can become even worse people in hell because of the environment and this is no different for Angel. He’s been surrounded by crime and drugs his entire life and unable to live comfortably because of his sexuality. He has very likely been struggling with substances since he was a teen. Possibly even younger. He is not going to suddenly get over his addiction because of something like this. It could pave the way to him looking into dealing with it, but things like this can take years. I don’t remember when my addiction started; I’ve been clean for 2 1/2 years now I think, but the amount of relapsing and anguish I experienced while working towards that isn’t something that can be done in a few days or months. I still struggle with feeling like I deserve to say I’m recovering.

I’m hoping they tactfully handle this as they should, but my hopes are low. It’s okay to show a character relapsing. It’s okay to show a character feeling guilty. What matters is that the struggle is there to signify they’re trying. For a character with a song called “Addict” you really don’t see much of it. Drug and alcohol addiction is not a silly thing to just twiddle your fingers with and be like “well I guess thats over!” It’s incredibly insensitive to do so.

Whenever I write about Angel’s struggles with addictions, I focus on how small they can feel until you realise what’s actually happening. Just me talking about my rewrite again, but to get my ideas out here: Angel smokes often. He smokes at the studio when he’s stressed, he smokes at the hotel when he’s stressed, he smokes at in alleyways when he’s bored, there’s almost no location he won’t, but sometimes he tries to smoke less. His lungs aren’t the same as humans and technically he has 2 pairs of lungs, but smoking causes him to cough. This is painful in general and especially painful for Angel since he has barbs going down the back of his throat. Imagine choking on sandpaper, kind of like that. It’s painful, he doesn’t like the sound, Fat Nuggets REALLY doesn’t like the sound, and it’s an overall inconvenience, so he tries to stop smoking as much. Periods like this usually go fine for him until the stress returns or he starts to feel the withdrawal. Withdrawal from any sort of addiction is terrible, and in Angel’s case, just from not smoking it worsens his mental state further. He becomes irritable and stressed and that stress leads to wanting to smoke again to calm down. He may resist a few times and those times should be praised, but he gives in eventually. One cigarette to calm down becomes two, then three, and before he can process himself getting carried away, the entire pack is gone. It’s things like this that make addiction horrible. It’s something that deeply scared me when I was struggling. When I was struggling I was still in the mindset of “I can stop when I want to” and then being so suddenly hit in the face with the realisation that I’m not longer in control of this is terrifying. I could not stop when I wanted to. There were even points where I didn’t want to stop. Even just getting the smallest glimpse of this in an incredibly serious manner with Angel Dust would surprise me. To think the bar is this low on a show that seemingly prides itself on tackling such sensitive topics like you said is appalling. Your show shouldn’t have to be told how to write itself.

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chemicallywrit · 1 year ago

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Happy Audio Drama Sunday! What a week! Let's talk about audio drama!

⏰ Nine To Midnight has its own feed now, which I appreciate, as a listener to many of the involved pods, because I didn't get like six iterations of the show in my feed. I did have to go seek it out though, but I'm so glad I did. These stories!!! These STORIES. The second episode in particular stuck out, just banger after banger. Also, what's up David Ault! Always fun to watch David Ault flex.

😈 Dungeons and Daddies this week was on the short side, but woof. I. Love. The Stamplers. I love them. I love you Ron Stampler and Terry Jr. Stampler and Scary Terri Marlowe Stampler. They are ridiculous and excellent. Honestly though, their wonderful energy was just the prelude to the truly heartbreaking Close clan. These boys are so deep in denial they ought to be worried about the bends. Yikes. I'm really looking forward to watching them try to save hell and make up for lost time.

⚡️ Electromancy! Of COURSE it's all happening at the dance. What kind of school story would this be if everything wasn't going to go down at the dance? Like with all fantasy about young people, I love the mixture of extremely high stakes (colonialism and revolution) and extremely low stakes (but what am I going to WEAR). I can't wait for part two. @electromancypodcast

�� Keep It Steady!!! New episode of Keep It Steady! Our teenage burnout is faced with the mortifying ordeal of having real friends who love him, which is a wild thing for a teen to have to accept when he has zero self esteem. And then on top of everything, he gets concussed! My boy! @keepitsteadypod

⚖️ The Adventure Zone Imbalance has appeared on the feed, which is a relief to me, a person who hates listening to things on youtube. And Davenport is there! My main man! If y'all need to know anything about me, it's that I love Davenport. I missed these guys so much.

🚀 Travelling Light is a new show from @monstrousproductions, and I am THRILLED. I love a travelogue, I love a character with ties to religion, I love a warm scifi show, I love a recipe. I know from their tumblr that the writer and narrator of this show is Quaker, which is a tradition I'm not very familiar with, so I'm interested to see how that perspective influences this story. It's just so NICE.

👻 I started listening to Magenta Presents this week, in an effort to listen to everything Lindsay Sharman has ever done, and this is spooky. Beth Eyre is always a treat to listen to, and Lucy Roslyn, whose work I am not familiar with, is also a fantastic actor. They have great chemistry. I love a true ghost story, and I love a protagonist who feels like she's slowly losing her mind. @longcatmedia

🪓 I've finally arrived at the bit of Woe.Begone where other actors are showing up, and surprise! It's David Ault again! He's everywhere! I haven't interacted with fans of this show, so I had no idea, and apparently fans hate his character. To be fair, I did too, but now David's here doing the voice, and it's so much WORSE. Well done, David.

🍕 I finished s1 of Gastronaut and started s2, and I find myself enamored with this guy, coming from a place of relative privilege, tearing his preconceptions apart with a fork and a knife. The writing is lush, the story is fascinating, and it really hits the spot for me of "moody thoughtful nonfiction." I love it so much. I can't believe there are only two seasons. How dare they. (I trust them though.)

🧛🏻‍♀️ Re: Dracula is done, and we have announced Carmilla! My role in Carmilla will be less than it was for Drac, but I'm still very excited to get in on making this story. It's going to be amazing.

🧟‍♂️ The Dead's second episode has appeared, and I am continually impressed with the people I work with. What a death scene from Marquis Moore! What good acting from Brandon Nguyen! They are a joy to direct.

As for me, I'm about to start getting Inn Between ready to post! Are you hype? I'm hype. If you like what I do and want to give me a hand, please check out my ko-fi!

See you next week!

#audio drama sunday #audio drama #audio fiction #fiction podcast #freaking podcasts

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alchemicaladarna · 10 months ago

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Demon Royalty AU part 3

I haven't really thought that much about other characters' roles in this story, so for now the only eggs that I've fully fleshed out the story for are Em, Dapper, Pomme, and Richas :D

Empanada: Vampire

Co-adopted by Bagi and Niki and taken care of by her clan when she was a very small child (4-5)

A group of rogue and wild vampires that fed on humans, demons, etc. massacred a human village and fed on all its inhabitants

Bagi and Cellbit arrived at the village almost too late as there was only one survivor that hasn't been devoured or turned into a rogue: Empanada

The little girl's parents were dead and she was on the brink of death too

The only way to save Em was to turn her into a vampire and she had to drink Bagi's blood to complete the transformation and save her.

Niki would also often care for Em, as Bagi's right-hand

Keep the wild/rogue vampires in mind because they'll most likely be important later

Richas: Vampire

Wild vampire child that was found running in the forest by himself when he was only 4

Had to fend for himself by feeding on animals until Cellbit, Pac, Mike, and Felps found him while hunting for food

No one knows who his parents are/were- it seemed as if they just left him to survive on his own

Was missing a leg since birth and was likely left behind

Cellbit's clan adopted Richas of course- it took a while for Richas to trust or be able to communicate properly with them at first

Was found 2 years before Em

Children typically aren't vampires because they would need to have vampiric venom in their blood and they'd have to feed on blood too. If they do become vampires as children, they still grow up normally, but stop aging in their 30s.

Dapper: Demon

Son of Bad, Prince of Death

Rumored that Dapper's other father was the Prince of Diamonds from the Overworld, a gem golem- no one dares to ask Bad though, he never gives a clear answer or dismisses the question entirely

How? Use your imagination d:

Dapper loves exploring the Nether and is very fascinated by magic, alchemy, science

Encouraged by her father to pursue her studies of the Nether Kingdom

Also studying as a reaper apprentice

Rare occassion Dapper can go to Overworld when Bad must collect souls as the grim reaper and train him for the job

Gives Bad a heart attack when Dapper would wander off when they're in the Overworld

2 years older than Pomme

Demon children can be born in different ways because there are many types of demons, but regular low-class demons are mortal and age normally living up to 300 years max. Royal blood demons grow up normally but the older they get, the slower their aging process becomes because they have longer lifespans than regular demons. Dapper has a much longer lifespan because he's the son of a demon and what is basically a diamond.

Brief intermission to talk about the French kingdom/land/it's a working title XD:

Leaders aren't monarchs, but have titles called "Royal Governors" that represent the people in a council

They have sub-regions that each leader represents- but the people are also included in discussions relating to the kingdom- their respective leaders just represent them during the meetings

The Council leaders: Étoiles, Aypierre, Antoine, Baghera

All have close ties to Bad and the Nether Kingdoms

Pomme: ???

This girl's origins are a complete mystery because like. No one really knows where she came from?

She was found in an ancient city in the Deep Dark. A baby, barely one, just sitting in ancient ruins, surrounded by cornflowers

Pomme was found by Étoiles and Aypierre during an expedition into the ancient cities

The crazy part is she wasn't crying until the two found her, so they had to bring her to the surface very quickly

Brought her to the kingdom, back to Antoine and Baghera- they all loved her instantly

Soon, they noticed her powers get very out of control, and it's difficult for the Overworld leaders to manage alone- especially since she covered the kingdom in darkness and almost single handedly brought a plague upon them at one point

They know nothing about her powers so they visited an old friend who might have some answers: Bad. He has a lot of knowledge about the Deep Dark, but he's never encountered a baby just- mysteriously surrounded by cornflowers in an ancient ruin

The Four asked Bad to watch over her as well because Pomme was truly an anomaly and they needed his help

He hesitated for a bit because he already has Dapper, but eventually agreed to adopt her too

They agreed to have Pomme stay in the Nether with Bad until she was 17 and she can fully control her powers, and Antoine, Baghera, Pierre, and Étoiles would visit her regularly too

I thought about writing Chunsik as another demon child, but I remembered his parents, right now, are only Acau and Jungryeok. He hasn't met YD yet, and also something else to keep in mind is YD being a demon is still just a headcanon.

#qsmp #qsmp pomme #qsmp dapper #qsmp richarlyson #qsmp empanada #qsmp bagi #qsmp etoiles #qsmp aypierre #qsmp antoine #qsmp baghera #qsmp badboyhalo #qsmp niki #demon royalty au #These characters arent super important to the bagina story (em mostly is) but i wanna talk abt them anyway #because i can branch it out easily to other characters' stories in this au

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lazodiac · 9 months ago

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It's time again to look at Thunder Junction's cards and try and divine where each and every one of these bad boys are from.

Also just a note in case people are curious; since Tumblr has a 30 image limit per post, I'll be doing all of The Big Score at the end, after all the colours and stuff. It's my prerogative and I'll do as I please. If you missed the first part, you can find it here! So without further ado, it is time for...

BLUE

While I don't think EVERY mount is from Thunder Junction Proper... newts ARE a creature that shows up in the west. I was initially thinking this could be for Eldraine, especially given it belongs to an archmage, but... ultimately, I think this is a native to the plane.

Another native, and dare I say this is a CHARISMATIC crab. I love the crystals on its back! I also love the blue cacti nearby it? Those are real by the way!

There aren't many turtle-men in Magic. Three, in fact, before this one; the Lagoon Sage, a Quandrix student, and a Kappa from Kamigawa. The Kappa has a VERY distinct look, the Quandrix is a sea turtle, and the Lagoon Sage is a snapper just like the Thunder-Thief over here... and I'm gonna make a called shot and say this is from Bloomburrow as a result!

Homarid are a Dominaria specialty, so this racist bastard is absolutely from there.

Djinn of this type are only found on Tarkir, so this one is easy. He's taken a break from his dragon-infested plane to relax under a waterfall martial artist style, and that's just kinda fun.

This is a tricky one, since the ability is pretty plane agnostic, and the design doesn't evoke much in it... but her collar DOES have the typical three-fang Dimir tell, and it'd fit both colour and what she's doing, so lets go with Ravnica.

Sadly a cursory Wiki glance tells me only that this guy is from America.

... okay okay, taking this seriously; the wings and the scroll and the steps, the name, all the flavour suggests this is from Amonkhet for me. It could be from elsewhere, but this feels the most "correct" for lack of a better term. I wish cards like this would get flavor text reprints down the line though...

These are some home-grown ghosts, and we know from various other stories (Gideon, Elspeth, etc) that when you die you go to the afterlife of the plane you're on... so these are some newly "born" natives.

These unfortunate individuals are from the dead plane of Oregon.

... what? I already used that joke? Okay fine. There really isn't any actual signifiers here, and the only humanoid in the art is too indistinct to tell. Given the content of the card is trying and failing to ford one of Thunder Junction's mighty rivers, I'm calling this card "native to the plane" for lack of anything else appropriate.

Oh hey it's everyone's favorite running gag from Ravnica. Fblthp is an easy one, so instead of elaborating more on our mono-eyed friend instead I'll bring up a question I want any of you reading this to answer.

Didn't they say during the initial preview teasers that there was an important plot event happening in the background of this card? That never bore fruit and I can't remember the exact preview stream I heard it, but I swear I did. I want someone to confirm this for me. I'm abusing my power.

Regrettably, the flavor text makes this spell be sourced from Oko's Home Plane. I do love this weird tumbleweed creature though!

God I hate Oko he's such a scum bag (derogatory).

A personal favorite character of mine, Geralf is an Innistradi born and raised, here to investigate the Thunder of the plane- as well as test how mana bonds work for planebound folk now that they have access to planar travel. Good luck, sir.

An obvious native of the plane. I quite like the flavor of this card as well by the way, it's just a clever way to incorporate the geysers you would occasionally see in the old west.

Another Thunder Junction native! It's wild how many of these there actually are, but wild animals do make up a bulk of cards in Magic so it's not THAT unreasonable.

Fun lore tidbit; allegedly the Thunder only started after the Omenpaths opened up. No one has lived here before that so no one can confirm that is true, and this flavor text suggests otherwise.

One of the only cards showcasing the least important members of Oko's gang of ruffians! Kaervek and Satoru busting out of jail thanks to the help of Annie Flash. The framing of the card makes it feel more like Kaervek's doing the real world (valid, Satoru is a loser this entire story) so I'm gonna call it for Zhalfir here- and yes even though technically everyone from Zhalfir is from Dominaria, it's a plane all its own now. I make the rules here!

The Fomorian made star-key to open up their vault on Thunder Junction, I feel like it is safe to say this was made here. It's got little arcs of Thunder and even looks like a deputy star, so it fits the vibe.

Fun fact; being a six pointed star, plus the fact that in the story they mentioned the sixth slot started glowing purple, I briefly had the idea that they might be implying the Fomorian's know of Purple magic and we'll get it in the big Space set we're getting down the line. Then I remembered Cosmium is purple and a major energy source for the Fomorion people, so nevermind.

I can't confidently say this is from Bloomburrow, given we don't know how big the people of that plane can get- so far they've maxed out at Badger and Fox- but I really don't know where this guy could be from otherwise! Maybe Ravnica? So lets call this Bloomburrow until corrected otherwise.

Incidentally this is one of my favorite pieces of art in the set. Love this fucking guy.

Beyond all the art signifiers, I believe it was straight up said on twitter this is a Therosian Sphinx, so she's from Theros. Good for her. Why is she wearing spurs...?

I'm fairly confident this is meant to depict Stella Lee, and she's from the Atiin people, so that's where this is from! Rundo meanwhile sounds like a Ravnica, but that's just some trivia.

This one I'm not fully sure on. The little bird like flecks of white in his magic, the watery energy... I feel like I've seen it somewhere before, but I can't quite place it. The red and blue suggests Izzet but then he's a Slickshot, the red-blue faction on Thunder Junction. I'm gonna go with my gut and say Ravnica, though.

Shit like this is why I wish we'd gotten a planeswalker guide...

Blue, so far, has some of the most easy and obvious ones to place, and for this I'm thankfully. This guy is a Stitcher, so he's from Innistrad. Easy as.

She's got some of the Sterling Company aesthetic going on, but I'm a stickler for stupid jokes so I'm gonna say she's from Zendikar. The armor could evoke Sea Gate, and they've always been good with ropes so why NOT translate that to combat?

Like with the earlier ghosts, dead-then-revived means you're native to Thunder Junction... but also this guy is clearly an Obscura from New Capenna, using some of his old magic, so I'mma call it for the big city here.

Oko's big bad gang preparing for the heist of the life-time. Since it's Oko's big idea it's from Oko's stupid plan.

The sort of misty blasts of fire and ice we're seeing here is aesthetically similar to the "gunfire" magic of New Capenna. I love this guy by the way.

Hey wait a second Ashiok can't do stuff like this. They can only read nightmares, not minds!

YEah for those of you who don't know, the Ashiok in this set is actually Jace in disguise! So this is from home-grown celtic Vryn mind-shredding. Our hero(?) ladies and gentlehommes.

An actual Sterling Company goon, though at least this one has a funny joke to his card. I still really like the work they did in making sure every weapon used in the set has the needed arcing loop for Thunder to channel through it.

Oh right the reason why we're here. I'm gonna say New Capenna again, because there's basically no defining traits here. Also god I just realized he's missing the front brim of his hat and it looks terrible. Graywater pay your men properly they can't even afford complete hats!

It took me a bit to realize what was happening in this card. The lady in the back is only choosing the final Spree option here, swapping around the Outcaster and the Hellspur's clothing. Rude!

Clothing swap spells seems like a funny prank to pull at magical college, so Arcavios is where this is going.

I think in cases where I just cannot make any reasonable assumptions based on art, I should look at mechanics. Flashback is usually in Innistrad... but this lady's neckline is WAY too exposed for that Even accounting for the new plane... honestly I give up, the only real identifying factor here is her little lockpick device, which... kinda looks Kamigawan? Lets go with that.

The vibe, the way she wears her hat, and the little phone cord(?) on her belt makes me think of New Capenna. Look some of these are really difficult and I gotta go by vibes!

And that's the 30 card limit, give me a half second for part two!

#outlaws of thunder junction #Magic the Gathering #MTG #OTJ #Planeswalker #blue mana #nerd stuff

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the-queerview · 3 months ago

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The Substance

2024

by Coralie Fargeat

My dear readers, it's been a while since I decided to post. It was a long summer, ending with me visiting North Korea, just kidding, i just saw North Korea, which is already pretty amazing and frightening. Unfortunately my experience was disrupted, since a few week before my arrival some American tourist ran into North Korea and got shot, rest in peace idiot. They say never judge a deceased and in retrospective, i can't since those tours are literally disneyland trader joes tourist traps kind of, but lets not roast on peoples buisnisess here, lets roast the films, that take us on rides in our grey existence.

I would like to start by saying, that it's a pretty good year for babes and a pretty good year for horror film. We had Brat summer and soon there will be Nosferatu Autumn, with Lily Rose Depp starring in Nosferatu (102 years after its first release). We have Hunter Schaefers first cinema film, where she is not there for like 5 minutes like in Hunger games or entirely Naked for a few minutes like in Lanthimos kinds of kindness. Not to hate on nudity here, but we have a quite problematic history with women* and nudity. I highly recommend here Linda Nochlins representing women, on womens representation within western art history paintings, which is till todays core a major influence on cinematography. Which brings me to start today with a Portrait by Gericault, titled : Monomaniac of Envy (Monomane de l’envie) from 1822.

The Substance is a film following Elisabeth Sparkle ( Demi Moore), a former Oscar winner now aging TV -Starr with an aerobic ( I assume) show. (We might be remembered here of Jane Fonda, who indeed was an actress and the figure for aerobic in the 80s, when american propaganda preached they can't control the world in post vietnam war america and they only thing they can control is the BODY.) Elisabeths nasty boss is firing here for being to old, sad and isolated as she is, we don't learn so much, about her inner world. They cinematograpghy is resembling a distant, almost, stretched, lets say overdrawn perspective, probably similar to the characters inner world. Everything is clean, but not personal. Theres a giant photograph of Elisabeth in her almost comic looking loft. It reminds me somehow of older sowiet films, where a picture of Lenin would hang on the walls or some shit, so I thought, damn, the main dictator in Elisabeths Life is probably herself. And turns out right. Long story short, I try not to spoiler the grande scenes here, but one word, the billboard scene.. Elisabeth gets in contact to an anonymous note by an anonymous person, after some tragedy, and orders the SUBSTANCE. She will pick it up, inject it, and after some alien shit, which you see in the first picture, a second version of herself, that is herself will crawl literally out of her back. This version is young, hot, and will fuck Elisabeth up. Her name is Sue ( Margaret Qualley) and the rule is, that Sue got 7 days, and Elisabeth got 7. If one breaks the rule, they basically both fucked.

So the movie itself, is literally like, when popstars get the chance, like i dont know, rihanna doing superbowl singing all her bangers. kind of this vibe, So for horror film nerds, and i m sure i didnt guessed all but we have of course, david lynchs twin peaks and pretty sure wild at heart. we have suspiria by dario argento, especially the soundtrakc and BLOOD, we have some cronenberg body horror, and crazy camera like in gaspard noes enter the void, but all in all, i guess, what i was missing in the film, is that the first half was literally fucking amazing. it had it's own signature, it didn't need the references from my part, like yeah those dude directors did important work, i wish Fargeat would trust herself maybe more, that what shes doing is the right thing to go for. Also I literally loved ALL THE DETAILS. Like i could start analyzing so many bits of it.

I loved, that it was dealing with Envy, fear or aging, MISOGYNY, and comparison in such a smart way. The first half of the film, felt like an entire advertisment, which is the core to all evil, as we know. We literally spent actually years of our lifes watching advertisments.

The second half of it, reminded me to much of 80s body horror, it had its campy moment. And here I m being unfair probably. I did my research and Coralie Fargeat is born 1976. She was a a child in the 80s, and this was a time, that formed her culturally and therefor aesthetaically to a certain degree... or did you never noticed that fashion designers usually end up designing clothes, that they loved to wear as kids/teens? I feel like, if Coralie Fargeat felt like working in this 80s rubber stuff was important for, fuck , let her do it. Also in the 80s there weren't many female filmmakers around, especially not in the dudy dude horror scene. So whatever.

Also I was tbh in shock about the violence. Like many times, my partner had to close my eyes in the cinema, cuz i was hella scared of the intense violence. Maybe Kira Muratova ( an amazing ukranian filmmaker, that I truly adore for insane films) was right, when she said, women make harder films. I wonder if it has something to do with being in pain every month, of the injustice of the binary patriarchal world, or the violence transwomen experience?

There was for sure a very insanity level of violence, but at the same time, the most stunning portrayal of envy against a version of yourself, that you might never see. I loved that it also reflected so much the world in a sense, the decadence of the west, hollywood, glamour, age, ozempic, comparison, starving for youth vs the isolation of those from the current wars in the middle east, the starvation in Sudan. The proatogists were isolated in every scene almost. The Bathroom was the scenery of the crime, similar to the way we use this room to get ready for the outer world. The only real personal details in the film I experienced in the notes, those handwritten notes, that would always appear. I kept thinking about them for days. They became almost a metaphor for me, that different then then all the advertisments, the substance delivery typography, all those for Elisabeth Sparcle seemingly important objects, where not personal, thou its about her,about her body. while those handwritten notes by the strangers, seemed more personal, then the things that surround her, since trough the handwriting they are proof of a human life. Turns out, they were a signifer of what is missing in her world, the way she experience having the body, its no intimate, not adressed.

Also Demi and Margaret were so fucking amazing, i 'm literally blown away. Like i WISH i could like scream and hug them and be like. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT. I bet all their friends and family are proud like crazy. This shit was insane, playing that? Insane. They did so good, like not many ppl can read a script like that and be like...mhhh yup. So GRANDEUR APPLAUSE !!!!!!!

All in all I highly recommend checking out the Substance, I m sorry if I spoilered to much. Big trigger warning for violence, also some scenes are literally gross, depending on you, bring a friend or a lover, and watch it in the cinema, if your socio cultural situation allows you to, i can imagine this film being censored, otherwise just be illegal literally. Like we live in hell.

but dont watch it alone, only if you are freaky deaky i guess.

love to my readers.

the queerview

ps: Also I did watch blink twice by Zoë Kravitz. a queerview will follow, but its so hardcore to watch blink twice and p.diddies freak party assault stuff. mentally i cant go down that road, but Kravitz did literally on time...

#art house #film critique #female directors #the substance 2024 #demi moore #margaret qualley #horror films

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ecargmura · 7 months ago

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Pokemon Horizons Episode 52 Review - How Many Kilos Did Kilowattrel Gain?

I liked this episode because it’s actually a needed development episode for Wattrel as it has been neglected far too long. When Roy first met Wattrel, it was scared of heights. Fortunately, it managed to overcome that fear, but it was still a moody bird. I do like that despite it overcoming one goal, it still has other goals that it needs to achieve, so its character arc wasn’t complete. This episode was perfect to showcase it; all I wished was that it could’ve been paced a bit better since Wattrel didn’t have a lot of screen time despite its capture back in Episode 14.

Wattrel’s flaws are that it’s moody and timid. It’s moody because it wants to be helpful to Roy, but since Fuecoco easily upstages it, it gets easily insecure and jealous. I liked that it got jealous when Fuecoco was easily able to get berries by using Flame Charge to climb trees. I actually like that it still has issues and that they’re not resolved so easily. It even got into a scuffle with Fuecoco because of this. I do like that Wattrel’s struggles were put to the test in a way that only it could do. Roy’s stuck on a cliff with Capsakid? Perfect opportunity to fly down and be of use. The way it struggled with the wind at first and then successfully carried it up to safety was so nice to see. Then, it was put to the ultimate test when Roy fell off the cliff. Wattrel is so little yet it still dove down to save him, evolving into Kilowattrel in the process. I always like it when Pokemon in the anime evolves when to save its trainer from danger. I feel like it’s like an earned evolution in a way and felt that it was a sort of reward for Wattrel who overcame its hurdles. I just hope that Kilowattrel still maintains a unique personality even after maturing. I wonder if Kilowattrel are naturally big birds because Roy’s bird is huge.

I do like seeing the kids interacting with wild Pokemon. The parts where they all struggle to capture videos of wild Pokemon were so cute. It just feels like kids acting like kids in a way. It’s also nice just seeing humans and Pokemon interacting. Roy’s little arc with the Capsakid was so cute, especially with the part where he enjoys its spicy Bullet Seeds. While Roy not catching Capsakid might be a missed opportunity, he wasn’t really there to catch it, but to write a report on it.

I also liked the inclusion of Ryme. It set off two important factors: 1. Roy will challenger in a fight. 2. Fuecoco will evolve, whether it be into a Crocalor or from Crocalor to Skeldirge; I honestly see it as the latter. I honestly can’t wait for this upcoming fight! Her rap was surprisingly good. She’s voiced by Kimiko Saito who voiced a plethora of cool old women characters like the Madam from The Apothecary Diaries and Rem from Death Note. Ryme is one of my favorite Gym Leaders in the game, so I’m glad they did her justice here. Her Houndstone was also adorable with its friendly big dog energy.

People might think that Wattrel’s evolution wasn’t deserved because Roy didn’t train it enough, but remember that we now live in an era where all Pokemon in the party gets experience, whether it by battle or capture. Fuecoco has done a lot of battling, so I’m sure Wattrel is at a good level to evolve, but it just needed that extra push. It was an episode that made me rather emotional because I really liked it! Kilowattrel is actually the second of the Rising Volt Tacklers’ Pokemon to evolve with Floragato being the first. There’s merch teasing that Hatenna might evolve into Hattrem, and it does make me curious if it’ll happen next episode.

#anipoke #pokemon horizons #roy #fuecoco #wattrel #kilowattrel #ryme #houndstone #capsakid #review #anime #anime review #ecargmura #arum journal

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autisticlancemcclain · 2 years ago

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fic rec friday 21

welcome to the twenty-first fic rec friday! where, on friday, i rec five of my favourite fics.

1. Most Artists are Messy by @shipsgalore

Lance is drawing a complicated flower on the base of Keith’s wrist and it makes his lips pull up into a smile despite the panic. They’re always flowers when it comes to Lance. He uses them in everything he does, and usually doesn’t even know he’s doing it. Keith can count on one hand how many times the doodles on his arms haven’t been of flowers.

i love this one because keith & lance are just blatantly and clearly autistic. it’s wonderful. it’s sweet and fluffy and it’s a modern au, which as y’all know is my jam, and the last few paragraphs do this specific thing with sentiment repetition that genuinely gets to me every time

2. Be Alive With Me Tonight by @caesaria [EXPLICIT] [ABO]

When the Blade of Marmora requests assistance on an information gathering mission, Lance and Keith go undercover as a bonded alpha and omega pair. At first, it seems like this is going to be more like a vacation than a mission – right up until everything falls apart and they realize how unprepared they really are. Now, Lance and Keith have to fight to not only survive, but to make it out together. They’ll have to rely not only on their skills as Paladin, but the bond they’ve created and nurtured between them.

okay i gave this one the explicit warning bc there are chapters that are explicit, but tbh the scenes are skippable if that’s not ur thing. now this fic is an EPIC. truly. its a quarter million words and the plot is breathtaking, the worldbuilding is iconic and the romance is like HOLY SHIT. this is a novel, and better yet its a KLANCE novel, so. highly recommend if you have a day or two to read.

3. roses by @renyoi

Lance is always getting flowers for Keith, so Keith decides to return the favor--with a little help, of course.

written for prompt #4 of klance valentine's week!

keith is hilarious here. just in general but here especially and i love him. he wants to pamper lance so so badly and hes so straightforward and earnest!! and allura’s character in here is also excellent. i will leave u with this one line from the fic that made me laugh it loud: “ The next day, the sun rises to Keith Kogane, dressed all in black (that’s all that was clean, okay?!), loitering around in front of Alluring Blossom, the 5-star-rated “I’ve never had such a delightful bouquet delivered to me in my entire life!” flower shop of a woman named Allura Altea. Keith automatically trusted her because he loves people that also have alliteration in their names. “ king. love him

4. here it comes by rideahorse

Keith watched a lonely droplet of water fall from Lance’s soaked bangs, curving a path over the bridge of his nose and then pooling—almost teasingly so—at the bow of his lips.

“I feel like I won, for some reason,” Lance said quietly.

what have i told yall about fics from 2016!!! this fic made me SMILE and im not usually a fan of like senior year of high school fics but holy shit!! holy SHIT!! this fic had me smiling and kicking my feet and losing my mind. i will leave u with the note i put on my bookmark (spoiler warning):

a couple things: 1. “lance is a bad influence” and “lance is a pretty princess (tm)” are god tier tags so thanks for that 2. keith with a tongue piercing. must i say more. 3. i miss keith gyeong that was an excellent era 4. the couple tattoo moment had me taking a Moment 5. here’s how i imagine the aftermath of this: shiro: i saw u ditched prom. are you okay? keith: yeah actually! lance convinced me that we have to have a wild final night, so we went to a High School Party (tm), i decked a guy for lance and your honour, we panic drove away, went skinny dipping in a pool, got caught, ran away naked for two blocks, went to sonic in another town, got matching tattoos, fucked in the backseat of my car, and watched the sunrise :)) shiro: shiro: shiro: shiro: i’m sorry. what were those last parts keith: yeah i know you really like sunrises we probably should have invited you :// but it was kind of an us thing i’m sure you understand :) shiro: KEITH

anyways i laughed

5. if silence was a song by @angstinspace

“It’s … Your show is on so late at night,” Keith tries to explain, as if Lance didn’t know this already. “I guess I was just wondering why that is.”

A crackling silence answers him, and Keith’s stomach sinks. Did Lance hang up? Keith can’t exactly blame him.

But then he hears Lance make a noise––a short huff of breath that might have been either an impatient sigh or a quiet laugh … Keith has no clue.

“That’s the reason you’re calling? To complain about my time slot?”

or, Keith starts anonymously calling Lance's college radio show and develops an unexpected crush.

@catnippackets did a comic of this i believe, and it literally never leaves my head. yall know the trope where one person gets a phone call and halfway through they sigh wistfully and say “god i wish you were here” and then the other person smiles so viscerally it can be felt through the phone and they say “look behind you” and theyre THERE?????? that makes me lose it every time. i love this fic

that’s it for today!! i’ll see y’all back next friday for the next fic rec post!!!

#god fic rec friday is so healing 4 me #vld #voltron #lance #lance mcclain #keith kogane #keith #klance #brown-eyed lance #autistic keith #autistic lance #keith gyeong #lance sanchez #modern au #canon divergence #fic rec #fic rec friday

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unmaskthewriter · 1 year ago

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Free Bird {Arthur Morgan x F!Reader}

Summary: Arthur accepts a future that he will not be a part of.

A/N: Another angsty one here. I just don’t have many ideas for fluff. Tried to improve my writing a little with this one. Hope you all enjoy it.

Warnings: canon character sickness, angst, suggestions/mentions of character death

Word Count: 925

Arthur sat on an old log, gazing deeply into the campfire — the flames licking desperately at the wood until there was nothing left. The glowing embers smoked lightly until Arthur fed the fire, admiring its warmth in such a cold, empty place such as Beaver Hollow. It felt as though a curse lay heavy over the camp. Before their arrival, a group of people known as the Murfree Brood inhabited the cave system behind camp. ‘Vicious people,’ Arthur thought to himself, shaking his head. His chapped lips pressed together. He wasn’t often scared of people or things, but that wild bunch had rattled him deeper than you had seen him before. Arthur managed to rescue a poor girl missing from Annesburg from their clutches. Unfortunately, the poor, young woman saw things Arthur was certain she wouldn’t forget in a lifetime. His mind drifted, wondering if that had been you in the girl’s place. He would tear himself apart if you had to ever witness such viciousness, such brutality. You had seen enough in your time with the Van Der Linde gang from Sean’s death in Rhodes, to the most recent death of Miss Molly O’Shea.

“Didn’t deserve it, Arthur… she just wanted Dutch to return her affections..” You told him on that fateful evening.

“I know, darlin’, I know.”

Javier was standing at the edge of camp, standing guard with a rifle in hand. Arthur was barely able to make out his figure in the dark wood line. The others had retreated to their tents long ago, refusing to lie awake for another moment in such a dreary place. Arthur was the exception, unfortunately. His mind drifts back to the escape from Blackwater, how the camp was so lively after leaving Colter.

You were seated with a few others around the fire upon the night of Sean’s rescue from Blackwater. Uncle raised his beer, beginning to sing.

“Come bustle, bustle, drink about,

And let us merry be,

our Can is full, we’ll pump it out,

And then all hands to sea!”

Sean stood, extending his hand to you. The two of you linked arms and danced while Uncle sang loudly for nearly the whole camp to hear. Arthur stood back, leaned against a tree with a beer in hand as he watched with a small grin.

“If something happens to either of them, at all, it’ll be the death of us all, Arthur,” Dutch mentioned to him, observing the festivities from his tent, “they’re the youth of this… all of this. Those two truly exhibit what we are about. Besides, who will carry on our legacy when us old men are gone?” He continued on proudly, mildly teasing toward the end.

He draws his journal from his satchel, carefully flipping through the worn pages, taking time to reread and then some of his artwork. Opening to a fresh page, he pulls out a pencil and begins putting it to paper.

I always thought I knew. Knew Dutch, but that didn’t turn out so well. Either he’s showing his true colors, or I was blind to the person he’s always been. And my poor girl is in the middle of it all. I’m dying and she don’t know. If there’s one thing left to do, it’s to get her to safety before I get much sicker.

He sighs softly, closing the journal and returning it to his satchel before standing. With heavy steps, he approaches the tent you both shared, peeking in through the tent flaps.

You lay asleep on the bed, the blankets pulled up to your waist and your hair splayed wildly over the small pillow. Only wearing a thin chemise, Arthur didn’t understand how you weren’t cold. If you were, you certainly didn’t show it. It was nearing fall, which meant more rain and colder weather. Arthur shivered at the thought of another winter spent North. Quietly, he enters the tent and kneels down beside the bed, clearing his throat to stifle a cough. Arthur’s large, calloused hand gently brushes your hair from your face. A sleepy smile appears on your face but you do not wake.

“I love you, darlin’. I always will, no matter what happens… I’ll always be yours… I don’t know much. They always said I wasn’t too smart, maybe I’m not… but.. I know I love you. I want you to live a long, happy life… away from all this… you deserve everything I can’t give you… but Lord, I tried. I tried…” Arthur spoke quietly, tears threatening to escape, but he quickly blinked them away. He wanted to enjoy quite possibly one of the last nights he would have with you, without sadness and tears. Carefully changing into his union suit in the dark confines of the tent, he clambers into bed with you and pulls the blanket to your chest, placing a gentle kiss to your chilled, bare shoulder. He already grieved so much for you, and the life you could never have with him. A small cabin in a serene meadow with the sounds of wildlife and the giggles of children filling a summer afternoon. The both of you would denounce the outlaw lifestyle, and live off the beautiful land. The home you two build would be filled with love and laughter.

Instead, he would succumb to his sickness on that cold, lonely mountain, watching the sunrise as his last thoughts of you having successfully escaped from the life you desperately wanted to leave for months eased his mind and pain until there was nothing.

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #rdr2 #rdr2 spoilers #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #angst #dutch van der linde #john marston #sean macguire

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veritable-trash · 1 year ago

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May Our Flowers Always Bloom

guess who spent wayyyy too much time on canva making this(it's me)

Pairing: Oberyn Martell x Fem!Character(unnamed, 3rd person, minimal descriptors)also this is a fantasy AU where oberyn is a forest prince, canon be damned

Summary: He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips.

He’d been stunned.

Word Count: 3.3K

Rating: T - no smut, though maybe there will be??? who knows, but also parental death, and at this point i think that's it. let me know if i missed something! my whole blog is 18+ anyways so kiddos SCRAM

A/N: hahahaha holy shit. it's been actually an age since i've written anything at all and then today i said fuck it we write and then i wrote this. this is a little fantasy au with my lover oberyn who i've wanted to write for AGES. canon is not really relevant here other than like general personality and such. i might write a part two, maybe make this a series, but every time i say that i never finish or write it so i'm just gonna leave this here for now and see what happens. more rambles, notes thoughts at the end but i hope you enjoy!!!! also minimally edited basically just skimmed so apologies for any mess :) <33333

masterlist woot woot

~~~~~

She had grown up at the edge of the great woods.

A bit further from the village than maybe strictly necessary but her parents had always been a little off, at least by the town folks standards.

They had always turned to the earth, turned to the plants to heal and guide them and she had grown with her toes wiggled into the soft dirt, hands clutching at wildflowers and weeds. She knew nothing else. Hated the noise and the chaos of the town. How people stared and whispered about the wild family out in the woods.

She never felt like she was wild. Almost felt as if the townsfolk themselves were the wild ones. But she toed the line between the “real” world and the world of her creation.

The magical realm of the woods.

Her parents had of course warned her of respecting the forest. That though they tried to live as one with all that the earth provided, there were dangers that lurked among the gnarled roots and towering pines. She must tread carefully and never, ever after dark.

And she obeyed, but only just. Curled up against the base of the trees, writing or sewing or singing or musing, until the sun barely grazed the top most points of those towering giants high above her and the forest began to melt into darkness and secrets.

Those were her favorite moments, eyes adjusting to the low light, fireflies dancing between the trunks and leaves, the calm silence filtering its way signaling the time for rest, and for some reason she could never explain she never felt danger. Even when she would reappear from the woods, darkness having fully settled and her parents scolding her for staying out so long, she somehow knew nothing would harm her among those woods.

She was somehow interwoven with the roots and moss and flowers and leaves.

~~~~~

He could still remember the first time he saw her enter his grove. Not many dared to venture so far into the wood but she had seemed so at ease. Feet bare to the moss and dirt, flowers delicately woven in her hair, a song he’d never heard gracing her lips.

He’d been stunned.

Oberyn had only just been allowed to venture in the human realm. He was still a child to his mother, the wild unruly one who could not be trusted to keep the secrets of Dorne to himself. To understand that the human realm could not know, never know, about the forest kingdom.

For even though Oberyn could see her in the brightest light of day, she could not see him. He could only appear as one of those verdant things that always seemed to attract her attention. Only upon his knighthood could he enter the human world.

And so he watched her.

Sat with her in those mystic groves. Grew her beautiful flowers to pick and adorn her hair. Whispered to the lightening bugs to guide her home when she stayed till twilight. Followed her through the forest until the very edge, keeping her safe, clearing her way, making sure nothing harmed her on her return home.

They were both so young when they stumbled upon each other in that wood, knowingly and unknowingly, and he grew to cherish those moments. He had always felt a bit different from his family. Lonely and misunderstood, and for some reason around her he felt whole. A calmness settling over his ever twitching hands that he was constantly scolded for.

He knew he was young, infatuation fickle and deceiving, and yet he could not lie to himself that his heart somehow felt tethered to her. Even the silent companionship of reading right next to her filled the gapes between his ribs with warmth.

He would sometimes read over her shoulder at the pages of the newest novel she was devouring, aching to know more about the world she came from. Aching to know more about this girl that haunted all of his dreams.

If his family noticed a shift in his habits, they paid no mind, ever the youngest child, left to his own devices, but he yearned for his knighthood. Ached to be known to her somehow, for it was torture only being able to ghost soft gentle breezes across her skin. Watch her skin prickle, and the most content sigh to fall from her lips.

He could go mad with this want.

~~~~~

Her parents passed soon after her 18th birthday.

It had been sudden and destructive. A trip to the market for more supplies cut short by an overturned cart and poor poor timing. The village had helped her but even with such grief and suffering regarded her with distrust.

The wild girl loosing her wild parents, it truly is no surprise. Who knows what they get up to in that little shack by the woods. Witchcraft probably. Yes, yes most likely so.

And when the whispers and worry and pain all became too much, the wood was still always there. The first few months after her parents passing she would run there. Tripping over roots as tears overflowed in her eyes, not sparing those flowers even a second glance as she collapsed in the middle of the grove, sun filtering around her but her body feeling nothing.

She’d dig her nails in the moss, tearing at it as she wailed to no one and nothing, aching for something to ease the pain of a loose she still did not know how to process. Would lay there, unmoving for hours on end until the numbness finally took over and she was able to walk home, unfeeling and disjointed, reality but a film over her eyes. And even in those most dire moments the wood somehow always guided her home as though the trees opened themselves up to create a path.

Her work continued, mothers came for tonics for crying babes, elders came for salves for their aching limbs, and she continued to bear the mantle her parents had trained her for all these years. She had to make coin somehow and the work steadied her. Reminded her of her mothers calming cadence listing off ingredients, her father teaching her of proper techniques for harvesting.

She grew many years in the span of only a few months, but she had to hardened. Had to strengthen her spine and learn to be sure in herself even when it felt like all her threads were fraying.

The woods were all that saved her in those trying moments.

It was somehow always warm and soothing, wild flowers littering her path as she traveled aimlessly to cleanse her mind. Picking them one by one to build the most beautiful bouquet that would grace her work table in the cottage. It was a ritual for her at this point in her life, always returning to that sacred groove that somehow gave her the greatest peace she’d ever known. Where worries seemed to melt into the soil beneath her feet and lighten the load on her shoulders just a touch. Always a gentle breeze to remind her of the wonders of the wood. The calm that could be found there.

Her strides back home were always a touch more assured, a touch lighter, and she somehow knew it was all going to be alright somewhere in the end. And every time she’d step out of the wood, she would always turn around and whisper,

Thank you.

~~~~~

You’re welcome flower.

He was taller than her now, able to look down into her eyes when she whispered those simple two words that set his heart racing. Sometimes it even seemed like she was looking right at him, eyes somehow connecting even between the realms, though he knew it was not true.

He’d been at a loss when she’d first stumbled into their grove, tears staining her cheeks. He could not understand what plagued her. Was it heartbreak? Had she loved another? Had they hurt her so?

It had sent him into a rage he’d never felt before. The jealousy, the want, no the need to hurt whoever had hurt his flower overwhelmed him till he could barely see straight.

His hands had ghosted over her hunched spine, he’d whispered his sorrow for her suffering and it only drove him crazier.

The knowledge that she felt none of it. Wasn’t able to hear a single word.

He grew her flowers, sent her breezes, shifted the very earth of the groove to cradle her in the plushest of moss and yet her eyes seemed to register none of it.

They were hollow and vacant, the pain seeming to have sucked every twinkle that had made his heart skip.

But he never stopped trying.

He couldn’t stop. His flower, as he’d started calling her, was suffering a pain he could not understand but he could try and fix.

Though he was still but a boy, he wanted to be a man for her.

He grew brighter blooms, lined a path for her to walk to and from the groove, sent breezes filled with orange blossom and spiced earth to ease her heart, used his powers, though still weak, in every way he knew how, and slowly he saw his flower blooming once again.

The first time she’d picked a flower after that never ending winter of pain, he almost shed a tear. Her eyes had sparkled just slightly and she’d tucked it behind her ear, the softest hum of content gracing his ears.

He felt as though he had slain the greatest beast that ever lived.

~~~~~

It had been two years almost to the day after her parents passing that the forest had shifted.

She didn’t know how to explain it but the air between the trees no longer smelled of orange blossoms and cinnamon.

It just smelled like the dirt and decaying leaves and dampness that came with the forest.

There were no flowers lining the way to that ever calming clearing like she had grown so accustomed to. No soft breeze pushing her along.

She couldn’t understand it, and even more perplexing was the single most beautiful flower that she found growing in the center of groove.

A lone sprig of forget-me-nots trembling in a breeze that only held the faintest notes of that orange blossom that she had known for the past two years.

Something in her heart stirred, body growing both cold and hot all at once, unsure of how to understand what this shift, this change all meant.

It felt almost blasphemous to pick the flower, and yet she couldn’t leave it all alone in this place that no longer felt like a home to her. So she delicately clipped it at its base and turned around and walk back to the cottage.

The journey took longer than usual, no guiding flowers or friendly lighting bugs to guide her, and her heart sank further as though she had lost something great once again.

She gently pressed the flower between the pages of her most treasured journal clutching it to her chest as she watched the forest, as if waiting for something to emerge, the sparkle to return, for the forest to feel like hers again.

But as the sun sank behind the treetops and the sky shifted into the darkness, the forest did not call to her.

It was the first time in a very, very long time that she truly felt alone.

~~~~~

Oberyn had both not wanted to leave and ached eternally to start his quests. He knew what it meant to turn 20. To reach the age where knighthood must be found in a man, for he had longed for this day all his life.

But watching the confusion and pain on her face as she left the forest that day felt like a knife in his gut. A weeping wound that he did not know he would survive.

He had been foolish to leave the flower, he knew that. Risky and impulsive and dangerous to say the least but he could not leave her without somehow saying goodbye. Without somehow showing her that he would come back, that he could never stay away from her for too long, but he could not foretell how long his quests would be. No way of knowing where he would go, who he would meet, the man he would become in the distant realms.

There was war out there, struggle and strife, and he knew his family expected greatness from him. When Doran, his older brother, had returned from his journeys, he came back with prestige and honor, but he had also come back with an illness that it seemed no one could heal.

What if Oberyn was left like his brother after his journeys? How many years would he be gone? What if he could not return to his flower? What if she left the forests edge to never be found again?

He could barely sleep the days leading up to his departure, and those final moments with her in the groove brought him to his knees.

He knew he was young, knew that loves came and went and that there would maybe be others for him to love, but something about her called to him in ways he had never understood. And yet if he wished to truly be with her, to brush the delicate skin of her cheeks, to hear her say his name, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, he had to go. He had to toil and suffer and fight and return back to this place and finally reveal himself to her as he has always wished to.

That was the only way.

And so a flower he left. A memento of their many years together that she knew nothing about but maybe someday would learn of when the time was right.

~~~~~

She didn’t exactly avoid the forest after that strange day, but she didn’t tempt the fates so to speak.

There was a change in the energy of the forest, a boundary of sorts she had never felt, cutting her off from something. She no longer stayed into the twilight hours, returning earlier and earlier from her scavenging and harvesting, and even stranger was she hadn’t been able to find her groove.

It was as though it had disappeared completely, a figment of her imagination. The trees looked the same, the path well worn by her own two feet and yet she could never seem to reach it. It always seemed just around the next bend and it made her brain wobble.

Her reality was somehow shifting and changing, as though those years after her parents passing had been just a daydream. But now she knew how to survive loss. Knew how to put her head down, focus on her work, her garden, the townspeople, her home. One day in town on an errand she had stumbled upon a scruffy little kitten, skittish and hungry, and had wrapped him up in her arms and brought him home.

Viper and her were inseparable from that day forth.

And though every so often she would stare at the forests edge, a wistful sigh escaping her lips, there was a life to be lived. Her life. A life that she had been neglecting for too long and had been too afraid to start.

Life became a bit easier after that. The realization of wanting a future that made her proud, that would have made her parents proud, focusing her and giving her new purpose. She was no longer that wild girl of her youth, but a woman of healing to those in need. The valley she lived in wasn’t extremely large, but there were enough children with runny noses and achy joints to keep her busy and fulfilled.

The days, months, even years began to pass in calm waves, time lapping at the shores of her life, peace finding its way back in her heart, her soul.

Though every once in awhile loneliness would come again. A chill in her spine reminding her of all that she had lost, all that she could never have, and the only balm in those moments was pressed between the pages of that old weathered journal. Even years later there still remained a trace of that orange blossom spice between those pages and somehow the blue of the flower remained true.

She sometimes would worry that one day she would open the journal and the flower would be gone, all traces of those memories erased as if they never existed, but that day never came.

~~~~~

His quest seemed never-ending. The distances he traveled unfathomable even to his understanding.

It felt like there was no land he had not traversed as he fought and learned and matured.

A lanky boy no longer but a man, roughened, shaped, cut, molded, and broken apart only to be thrown back together again.

He thought of his flower more often than he cared to admit.

~~~~~

It was the 10 year anniversary of her parents passing.

A lifetime so it seemed and yet the ache still lingered fresh every year on the day.

She knew it always would and now after so much time it was more comforting than painful, knowing that she would always hold them close in her heart. The pain now a symbol of love not suffering.

That morning had felt strangely fresh, the air lighter around her as the sun rose above the mountains, an unidentifiable familiarity weaving through the breeze.

She entered the forest as she always did, though there was no plan for this walk. No need to scavenge, no pressure to look for fresh herbs. This walk was to mourn, to honor her parents and the memories she held of them in this sacred place.

Weaving between the trees, it somehow felt new to her, like the light had shifted once again, coloring the path before her in the richest of greens. She closed her eyes for just a moment and could almost hear her mothers laugh echo between the branches and leaves above her. A lone tear trickling down her cheek as she couldn’t help but smile at the thought.

As she aimlessly moved through the forest, she got lost in her own mind. The memories of so many moments flashing before her as she pondered all that she had lived through. A life so full and yet, today, as it happened every year, she felt lonely. No longer achingly so, but still, there was a life she still desired that had never presented itself to her.

A love like her parents had.

She was no nun by any means, but no one had ever grasped her attention the way she had always dreamed. Maybe she was fickle, cold and reserved, but her heart had suffered much and for some reason no one had ever felt right.

Her mind continued to weave through her memories, the forest thickening around her as she traveled deeper and deeper into the green. It had been a long time since she had gone this far, but today it felt ok to keep going. As though a solid hand lay at the base of her spine guiding her gently along.

All of a sudden the tree line broke, that ancient grove appearing before her once more as though it had been waiting for her arrival.

Her breath stalled in her chest as memories came flooding back faster and faster. The tears, the flowers, the pain, the joy, the tranquility, the confusion, the comfort, the love.

She collapsed to the soft mossy floor, the feelings bringing back the strongest deja vu, burying her head in her hands as tears blurred her vision. It felt like some kind of dream, some inexplicable moment of fiction.

Then the breeze kicked up and she smelled it.

Orange blossoms and cinnamon.

And as she opened her eyes, tears tracking down her cheeks, she saw him.

A man too beautiful to be real crouching before her, a look of devastating devotion etched in his golden irises.

“Hello my flower.”

~~~~~

whoop whoop of course i left it on a cliffhanger come on now it's the best way to do it :))))))) anyways lifes been kinda crazy and so writing has just been not a priority but i had a lot of fun writing this. i definitely don't like writing dialogue hence ending at this point because there haven't been any interactions between these two BUT i missed this and want to push myself to write again and maybe this is the perfect way to do it. so maybe they will interact soonish who really knows <3 reblogs comments are like super duper appreciated and loved so if you liked it or have thoughts or generally just wanna ramble about how hot this man is come hit my line! anyways hugs kisses the whole gambut of affection and maybe i'll be writing to ya soon <333333333

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