#anyway yeah the mist itself | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nevadancitizen · 3 months ago

Text

-> OH VIKTOR, MY VIKTOR (WHAT COULD'VE BEEN)

synopsis: viktor reality-skips and meets different versions of you, different versions of himself, and some sort of god, who tells him of an unyielding truth.

word count: 5k

ships: viktor/reader

tags: angst with a happy ending, fluff and angst, pre-established relationship, pre-season 1 act 3 (aka sky isn't dead (yet))

notes: this is me cashing in my birthday fic (as in i can write anything cause it's my birthday) so i rewrote my other viktor fic w a twist from his perspective

related reading: Rot in Purest Gold

It’s been six weeks since you… left.

Well, ‘left’ isn’t the right word, and Viktor knows that. But it lessens the blow upon his heart and his mind to just say that you left. Like you took a vacation instead of just disappearing into thin air. But that doesn’t erase the memory of the blue arc of… something – natural lightning, artificial electricity, something else – coming from the Hexcore and touching you, and you just not being there the moment after.

He had scrambled for you, his cane clattering to the ground as he grasped at the air where you just where. A chant of “No, no, no,” left his lips, and panic quickly wrung his chest until he felt like he couldn’t breathe – more than he usually couldn’t, anyway. His leg buckled beneath him and he held his hands to his chest as he fell to his knees, trying to hold onto whatever was left of you (which was… nothing).

It’s been six weeks of a cold bed, six weeks of not waking up next to you. 168 pills (two for pain, one to regulate high blood pressure, and one to dilate the bronchi in his lungs to breathe easier – all taken daily). 36 days of work, despite your insistence that he take both days of the weekend off.

It’s been 42 days of you… you left. You didn’t die. Your body would’ve been here if you died. There’s no body, so you’re not dead. (At least, that’s what Viktor hoped and prayed for.)

But, for all that hoping and all that praying, he never thought about what he’d do if he walked into the lab one morning, with you just… waiting. Sitting on the workbench, cross-legged, looking out the window.

He says your name – a rasping whisper, honestly – and you turn.

A soft smile spreads across your face. It’s polite, but forced all the same. “Hello. Do you happen to know where I am?”

“You’re here,” Viktor says, breathless and unbelieving. He staggers forward the best he can while his body is still in this state of pseudo-shock. His mind is racing – the speed of the hexgates couldn’t even hope to compare.

“Uh… yeah. I am.” You look around the lab and pull your knees to your chest. “Pretty nice place you got here. You rich or something?”

The tip of Viktor’s cane drags along the ground – he can’t even bother to lift it properly as he makes his way to you. You probably can’t even begin to know what this means to him. Seeing you, you for real (not in his dreams, or behind his eyelids, or in photographs).

Tears well up in his eyes and mist his vision. “My love… what happened to you?”

Viktor rests his hip on the edge of the workbench and reaches out to you, his hand trembling. You shift away, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

“Excuse me?” You say.

His body shakes as a sob racks through it, his teeth gritting together to suppress the ugly sounds threatening to escape him. Viktor is usually calm, controlled; the one with a royal flush hidden against his chest. But this poker hand isn’t one he recognizes – what game are you playing?

A look of panic washes over your face and you take Viktor’s hand, probably to try to soothe him. But in that instant where skin meets skin, something… happens.

Viktor opens his eyes with a start. He sits up in bed, and his joints groan in protest.

The bed is… plush. Many blankets and pillows with a straw mattress much too big for just himself. And the bedroom itself isn’t huge, but it’s much bigger than anything down in Zaun. (Probably something below average in Piltover.)

Viktor pushes the layered blankets off himself and hooks his legs over the side of the bed. He stands and grabs his cane.

There’s a knock at the window above the desk across the room. He looks over, only to see you, smiling, perching on the outside window sill. You look younger – maybe fourteen, or fifteen?

The thought strikes Viktor just as he passes a full-length mirror propped in the corner of the room. He looks younger, too: the same age as you, most likely. His face still has remnants of baby fat, and it looks like he’s in that awkward stage where he’s yet to grow into his cane.

You rap against the window again –

– and it’s not a window. It’s two doors. Big ones, at that; with armored guards with spears standing on either side.

“Enter,” Viktor calls out. It’s an odd sensation – he wasn’t the one who commanded his lips to move, but it was his voice coming from his mouth all the same. Like he’s being puppeteered.

The guards’ armor clanks as they pull open the door. You stagger through the entryway, gritting your teeth and clenching your jaw repeatedly. You look almost… manic. Crazed.

As you come closer, Viktor observes you – no matter how hard he tries to move, he can’t. It’s like this body is his, but… not. He’s just an observer. He can’t approach you, hold you, even if you look different. He knows it’s you.

Grey streaks through your hair, and deep scars litter your body, the nastiest above your heart on your bare chest. Your baggy pants are torn and bloodstained. Mud and dirt cover your worn feet. Your gaze is trained on the ground; you don’t dare to meet Viktor’s eyes.

You finally kneel before his throne. Wait – was he sitting on a throne all this time? Is he, like, a king or something?

You confirm his thought with a whispered, reverent “My Liege.”

“My warrior,” Viktor responds in kind.

You begin to reach for him, but stop yourself. Instead you rest your hand on your knee. “The exile to the badlands… I – I wanted – needed – a conflict to call me back home. Back to you.”

Viktor thinks to himself as his disconnected body stays silent. Why would he cast you out, especially if you’re in such high standing? The scars on your body indicate numerous battles, and you being alive before him indicates you’ve won all of them…

“If I may have the honor…” You trail off. You glance up at him once, but don’t meet his eyes. You bow your head. “I would… it would bring me great joy to fight for you again. To be your chieftain once more.”

His body continues to stay silent. If King Viktor has any thoughts, he can’t hear them. Well… this might be an improvement from the last… reality? Since Viktor only had a few moments of seeing you before he jumped to another one. Wait – jumped? Skipped? He needs to get back home to discuss this with you further. (Never mind your apparent amnesia – he’ll deal with that when he gets to it.)

“When the vultures start to circle…” Viktor begins.

“I will keep my nerve still,” you complete for him, your head still bowed.

He hums appreciatively. A small sound telling you to continue.

“The badlands…” You shake your head. “We must bring order. There are no gods, no kings – only man. The people there are many, but they don’t know how to organize amongst themselves. They have nothing but pride to defend.”

“Pride is a powerful motivator,” Viktor says.

“They speak of a crown for the victorious,” you say. “It shall be rightfully yours, if you allow me to conduct battle in your name.”

He takes you in. Your body is strong, chiseled, half-bare. You look battle-forged, molded in a crucible fuelled by hellfire. He can’t tell if the badlands have done you good or bad, but you stayed loyal to his kingly counterpart. That ought to count for something.

Viktor holds out his hand, his palm upturned. You look up, your eyes trained on his hand before looking up and meeting his gaze.

A moment passes. Your face twists slightly, the corners of your lips turning down a little and your eyebrows coming together a bit. Your jaw starts to clench and unclench again.

He turns his hand over, the back of it presented to you. You breathe out a shaky sigh and lift your hand from your knee.

“May the true king rise,” you say softly. You take his hand –

– and then immediately flinch away, clutching your palm. You let out a low growl, your face contorting in pain.

Viktor feels his stomach twist and his heart drop. He stumbles backwards into the corner of his cage, flexing his hands and digging his fingernails into his palms.

“No! No, no,” you say. You clench your hand, trying to stop your palm from bleeding. “No, Viktor. It wasn’t your fault. You just don’t know your strength yet, that’s all.”

You put your uninjured hand on one of the bars. “Please, Viktor. You’re hurting yourself.”

Viktor looks down at his hands. Sure enough, his fingernails have broken skin and his palms are starting to bleed. And, when he really looks at his own hands, they seem… different. His hands were comparable to King Viktor’s, but not to these.

His hands are rough and big, almost paw-like. And the rest of his body is, too; it’s mutated and it’s wrong.

He looks at you. You look… mostly the same. Your eyes are the wrong color and you’re a little bit shorter, but still. So why was he so different? What the hell happened to him?

“What…” Viktor’s voice is not his own. He’s not controlling it, and it’s deeper, his accent is thicker, and his words just barely slur together. “What did you… do to me?”

“I’m saving you,” you say readily. “You – you told me to continue the treatments…”

His eyes flutter shut. That’s right. He did. His disease is progressing and he is dying. This must be a truth in every reality.

“Don’t feel guilty,” you say, your voice soft and reassuring. “It’s worth it. Everything is worth it.”

Viktor opens his eyes. You’re still there, still smiling through the pain and still by his side. You look at him with nothing but love.

He lumbers forward, his bum leg no longer as much of an issue. He raises one of his hands and gingerly presses his fingers against yours where they rest on the bars of his cage.

“There you are,” you say softly.

Viktor’s eyes sting with tears. He leans forward and presses his forehead against the bars, letting his eyes slide close. It seems like there’s two truths in every reality – his disease and your love for him. Even if he’s a monster, you love him. You love him.

Surely, at home – in his base reality – you still love him. Somewhere, deep inside, there are remnants of your feelings… and Viktor would do anything to help you remember them.

A tear rolls down his cheek. “Here I am.”

“Oh, Vik…” You bring your hand to the side of Viktor’s neck, holding his jaw. “Don’t cry. You’re perfect.”

He lets out a shaky breath. He feels your lips meet his forehead –

– and then pull away. There’s a crooked smile on your face, and there’s something around Viktor’s neck.

He looks down, noticing a necklace you must’ve slipped on him while distracting him with a kiss. It’s sparkling with diamonds and white gold, but speckled with blood. He takes it off and puts it on the desk in front of him.

“Money is easier to process,” Viktor sighs. He shifts in his seat and crosses his legs. “But I appreciate it.”

“I put a whole lotta effort into gettin’ you all these nice things,” you say, your tone holding a twinge of a whine. You sling your arm around his shoulders and lean in. “Do all them families without pig-cop-daddies mean nothin’ to you?”

Viktor breathes in, then exhales slowly. He puts a hand on yours where it rests on his shoulder. “It means the world to me.”

You laugh and squeeze his shoulders, pressing the tip of your nose against his temple and knocking his glasses askew. Even though Viktor still feels… trapped in this body, for lack of a better term, this is nicer than the body he was in before. You’re warm against his cool skin, and he can feel himself smiling.

He allows you to continue your clinging as he flicks on a bright lamp and picks up a small magnifying glass. The word comes to mind – loupe. He hums softly as he brings the necklace close to his face, inspecting it with a careful eye.

“The white gold is real,” he says. “Most of the gems are real diamonds. Some of the smaller pieces are substituted with quartz. The piece looks relatively old, so they are more likely to be blood diamonds rather than lab-grown.”

You rest your cheek on Viktor’s shoulder. Your hand moves away from his other shoulder, instead tracing shapes into his back. “How much d’you think it’ll go for?”

“Our usual fence is shifting something big in Miami,” he says. “If that deal goes well, and she’s in a good mood… maybe twenty thousand?”

Viktor can feel you smile against his clothed skin. “Mh… I hope.”

“And the duffels you and the others brought back…” He sets the loupe and the necklace down on the desk. “How much do you estimate?”

“Maybe… half a mil each,” you say. Your hand moves further down his back, tracing over the notches in his back brace. “Silco has been talking to Danske Bank – they’re willin’ to launder. He also has an investor in Bosnia lined up.”

His stomach drops at that name. Silco. But… he might be different. Viktor’s different, you’re different – it’s almost as if you’re part of some sort of robbery group, with Viktor as a mediator with the fences. The blood on the necklace and the duffel bags full of money are evidence enough.

“Maybe we can take a trip there,” Viktor says, leaning back into your touch.

“Vik…” You laugh. “I’m on, like, seventeen ‘do not fly’ lists.”

He lifts a hand and runs a few fingers down your jaw. “When has that ever stopped you?”

You hum and lean into his touch, silently acknowledging that, no, a simple piece of paper (and the authority behind it) has never even given you the slightest bit of pause. “Why, ain’t you the smartest gemologist there ever done was…”

“You are quite the flatterer,” Viktor hums.

“Only the best for the love of my life,” you say softly.

His heart roars in his chest and he’s smiling so wide he’s sure he looks stupid. A breathy laugh escapes him and he turns, holding your warm face in both his hands.

You scrunch up your nose and screw your eyes shut, your smile big as you put your hands over his. Your laugh is soft and giggly when he pinches your cheeks lightly.

Viktor leans in, but his mental projection onto this body is so strong that it actually hesitates for a moment. This is… a different version of you. But he’s also a different version of himself – one that’s in love with this version of you. Besides, he doesn’t have that much control of this body, anyway. He’s missed you so much he can’t bring himself to care.

It’s almost as if you can feel his close presence, or his breath on your face, or maybe you just want to kiss him. His thin, chapped lips meet yours –

– and your lips feel rough, with patches of moss smattering across your face.

Viktor pulls away, one hand still splayed across your cheek, the other holding himself up with his cane. You bring him away from your face, and he can take you in in full.

He’s standing in the palm of your hand. You’re huge; sitting, you must be a story and a half tall. Your skin is covered – no, actually, you’re made of wood, twisting branches and trunks and bark making up your entire body. A winding crown made of bramble sits atop your head. Golden flowers, almost glowing, bloom across your collarbone and up one side of your neck, the petals looking almost silk-like. Your face is a simple blank mask, but Viktor can tell how you feel. The intrinsic connection between you two is almost tangible.

You hold out a finger towards him, then slowly, carefully ruffle his hair. Viktor feels a little like a doll, but the care and caution you use when handling him causes delighted laughter to bubble up his throat.

He leans into your touch, and a moment later, he realizes it’s of his own volition. He’s not trapped – his thoughts match his body, and he can do whatever he pleases. The very idea brings a smile to his face.

You make a sound that’s vaguely affirmative, kind of like cooing. You run your fingertip across the shell of his ear and past his pulse point, tipping his jaw up.

He looks up at you, that content smile still on his face. “Yes?”

You (again, slowly, carefully) move him close to you. With your free hand bracing against the ground, you stand. Wind batters Viktor, but he blocks most of it out when he hides against the flat, broad expanse of your chest.

When you stop moving, he looks over his shoulder across the vastness now exposed to him. Roots of trees reach from the ground into the night sky. Some are weaved together neatly, some are jerked into tight knots, some seem to be isolated from all the rest. None are the same. Everywhere Viktor looks, it’s crowded, with roots from one collection traveling a ways before joining another knot or weave or lattice, then another.

“What… is this?” Viktor asks.

“Behold the beauty, the interconnectedness of all realities,” you say. Your voice is deep and rumbling – it reminds him of the far-away explosions he’d hear in the mines as a child. “Lo, Viktor, witness the cosmos. We nurture its essence, lest each fragile existence come unraveled.”

“We?” Viktor echoes, looking up at you.

You look down at him, then raise your free hand to lovingly caress the flowers blooming on you. The color of the petals almost seem to match Viktor’s eyes. “Yea. We.”

You look forward and take a slow step that thunders when your foot meets the ground. The roots of the trees groan and whine as they bend out of your way as you walk. “Not long ago, I beheld a reflection of my own being… they were of your kind – small and frail, bound by the same fleeting fate. Dost thou know of this encounter?”

“I… did not know of this, no,” he says.

You hum, and it sounds like the rolling tide of an avalanche. “Yes. It is as I thought.”

Viktor watches as you reach up to a particularly intricate weaving of roots. Your fingertips grow branches and intrude the plait, lacing themselves into it.

He reaches out and splays a hand over the pad of your thumb as you… work? He’s not sure what you’re doing, actually. He doesn’t try anything else – just slowly lets his fingernails drag and catch on the dips of your thumbprint. It’s almost peaceful like this. Not trapped in his body or forced to say words he doesn’t mean.

“Doth that reflection of my own being recall thee?” You ask softly. (Well, as softly as you can ask, anyway.) “Or art thou but a wisp of memory, lost in the abyss?”

“They… they do not remember me, no,” Viktor says, his voice hesitating despite himself. “I do not even know if they would wish to have their memories back.”

Your fingertips slowly retreat from the lattice. “Thou and I art entwined, Viktor. A truth, unyielding – two fated souls, forever bound in every existence. In all realms, thou art bound to me, as I am unto thee. This truth cannot be undone; not even by mine own hand.”

“In every existence…” he repeats, a whisper to himself. The thought – fact, as you had pointed out – makes his chest swell.

Viktor gets interrupted when he feels something make contact with his foot. When he looks down, a root, skinny and scaly, is winding around his ankle. It reaches underneath his pant leg, and when it touches his skin –

– it’s you caressing Viktor’s ankles as he rests his feet in your lap.

Nothing to be scared of. Nothing to be afraid of. Everything is fine. There are no cosmos, no alternate universes and nothing to worry about.

The living room is warm and comfortable and it smells like home. It smells like you and sweetmilk. Fast-moving, sequential images are being displayed on a weird, skinny box – it’s a television. Something is playing on the television.

A rather… odd-looking man is sitting behind a table stocked with various candies and foods. He throws a handful of colorful candies in his mouth and chews. After a few moments, his shoulders start shaking in either subdued laughter or poorly-concealed terror – it’s hard to tell.

“It tastes like hamburger meat,” the man cries. “It tastes like raw hamburger meat!”

You laugh, and Viktor finds himself laughing with you. He doesn’t know what he’s laughing about. What’s a hamburger? A food. It’s an American food. What’s America? Stop asking questions.

“I am nothing if not a scientist,” Viktor says out loud. “And scientists ask questions, do they not?”

He turns to you and you have the wrong face. Distorted, melted. He opens his mouth to scream –

– and finds the breath stolen from his lungs.

You have the root crushed beneath your finger. It crumbles and withers away under the slight pressure.

“Pardon the interruption,” you say. “The feeble realities… they yearn for the conscious, intelligent soul. Thy mind must be a feast most bountiful.”

Viktor gasps, recovering from the mental whiplash. Then, after a moment, he smiles slightly, a soft breath passing his lips. “I would like to believe that it is.”

“More shall seek. They sense thee, crawling forth for whispers of memories remaining.” You move a bit faster now, with more purpose. “We must return thee to thine reality. Mine own dear Viktor slumbers… soon, the time comes for it to wake.”

You continue moving at a quicker pace, but it’s clear you’re making sure not to knock Viktor out of your hand. The roots groan and give soft cracking noises that leave him worried as you continue on your path.

Viktor clocks what you said a second later. “Wait, your own Viktor?”

“Indeed,” you say. “For now, it slumbers. This is for the preservation of both your fates.”

“Your Viktor is in danger?” He asks.

“Nay. With every shard of my being, I shield it from danger unknown,” you say. “Such potent, restless souls dwell within you both. I shall not tempt risk and allow both thine eyes to open at the same time.”

Before Viktor can question you further, you slowly come to a stop in front of a ball of roots – a delicate lace made of strong wood. He feels an intrinsic, instinctual pull to it; like how an animal doesn’t know the word ‘hunger,’ but eats when it’s hungry. He doesn’t know the word or the feeling he has toward this thing – this reality – but he needs to interact with it. Needs to be back in that reality, his base reality.

“Hark,” you say. “Thine home.”

You reach out to it, invading it with your branches like you did to the one before. They snake their way through the intricate weaving.

You then look down at Viktor and bring him up to your collarbone, close to the golden flowers. Up close, the petals are whorls and swirls of golden yellows, and the stamen are crimson at the base with off-white tips.

“Dost thou not behold the beauty of my dear Viktor?” You ask.

He stops himself from touching one of the petals and looks up at you. “This… this is me?”

“Indeed,” you say. “A reflection. Brush over the blooms. It shall lead thee back to thine home.”

Viktor takes a step forward and brushes his hand over the flowers. A chime sounds, and pollen falls – well, it doesn’t really fall so much as it floats in the air.

A translucent, almost celestial figure appears from the flowers and pollen, curled up with its eyes closed. As it hovers, it morphs for a few seconds, then becomes a reflection of Viktor; naked, warm, peaceful. A small smile rests on its lips.

“Lo, witness my harbinger. My Viktor, the conduit of fate,” you say. “A catalyst for thine return. Touch, and behold its might — your might.”

Viktor looks up at you.

“Be not afraid,” you say. Your voice shifts, and it’s no longer deep and thunderous and godlike. It’s yours. It’s the voice you have in Viktor’s reality. It’s the voice you use when you’re marveling at his beauty, when you make him turn soft and mushy and romantic. “They wait for thee, Viktor. Who art thou to deny thine beloved?”

And something in him cracks and blooms, like a weed through the concrete slabs of Piltover sidewalks. Viktor reaches forward and touches his reflection’s shoulder.

His reflection breathes out a sigh, a pink mist leaving its mouth. It slowly uncurls, then opens its eyes and turns to Viktor.

Their eyes meet –

– and he’s home. He’s in the lab, still holding your hand in a crushing grip.

Your eyes go wide and your breathing starts to turn labored. Viktor is still crying. Tears well up in your eyes in response.

“Viktor,” you whisper, your voice warbling.

He whispers your name in return. Quiet. Disbelieving.

You let out a choked, ugly sound, and scramble for him, almost falling to the ground as you get off the workbench. You wrap him up in your arms and he holds you close, pressing his face into the crook of your neck.

“You’re really here,” Viktor says, his voice thick and sticky.

“I’m here,” you sob.

He pulls away just a little, just enough to see you, to take the true you in again. Your face is twisted in heavy emotion, and yet, you still look so gorgeous. Fat tears roll down your face and you can’t stop crying, but you’re all that Viktor ever wants.

“I never thought I would see you again,” he says softly. “When you – it…”

He tilts his head forward, touching his forehead to yours as his eyes close. “I was so scared. I thought…”

“You’re not getting rid of me that easy.” You laugh weakly.

“What? No, no, don’t say that.” Viktor moves his hands, one now holding your face and the other resting on the back of your neck. “I would never get rid of you. Never, never in a thousand years.”

You put your hand on his where it rests on your cheek and relax into his touch. A moment later, you gasp, turning away from Viktor. “The Hexcore!”

You look around, then spot it silently hovering above its place on the workbench. It doesn’t make any noise, doesn’t spit blue arcs of lightning, doesn’t do much of anything.

“Is it…” You trail off and sniffle. “Is it stable?”

“We have not so much as touched it since you left,” Viktor says. “We did not want to risk anything… not until I got you back, at least.”

“You got me back?” You turn back to him with a smug smile playing on your lips despite the drying tears on your face. “Possessive.”

He laughs and returns to his rightful place, resting his forehead against your shoulder. “Yes, maybe. But you cannot blame me, no? You have been gone, and I… I have been afraid.”

“I’m here now,” you say softly. Your arms wrap around him and ensure he stays close. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I didn’t know what to do.”

“Don’t you dare apologize,” Viktor says.

You hum and rest your head in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. He remembers you fawning over the faint scent of sweetmilk that hid under the smell of electrical smoke, smiling and telling him that it made him ‘even cuter.’ (But you had complained about the smell of rancid smoke. You told him to go get a change of clothes soon after.)

“I’m exhausted,” you say softly. Your voice is so quiet only he can hear, like it’s a whisper, like it’s a secret.

Viktor pulls away just slightly, then guides you to the plush sofa hidden behind the blackboard. He wheels it out of the way and waits for you.

You lay down and stretch out, wiggling until you’re comfortable. You reach behind your head and prop your head up with your forearm, then pat your chest in a silent invitation.

Viktor props his cane up against the side of the sofa and carefully lays down on you, slotting himself against your body. You’re just as warm as he remembered. Your free hand strokes his messy, untamed hair, and it’s like you were never apart from him.

He silently promises himself that this will never happen again – this separation will never happen again. The Hexcore will be dealt with, whether that means taming or destroying it.

Viktor will never leave you again. Just like the god-you said, with every shard of his being, he will protect you. He may be a dying cripple, but a dying cripple doesn’t have a lot to lose.

“Thou and I art entwined, Viktor. A truth, unyielding – two fated souls, forever bound in every existence. In all realms, thou art bound to me, as I am unto thee. This truth cannot be undone; not even by mine own hand.”

The voice of god-you, deep and thundering, whispers in the back of his head. The thought gives Viktor comfort.

He slides his hand underneath you, holding you just as you’re holding him. He’s not letting you go, not for a while. As long as you’ll have him, he’ll be yours.

Come hell or high water, he’ll always be yours. He doesn’t have that much energy to fight that fate anyway. (Nor does he really want to.)

#riptide writes 🌊#viktor x reader #viktor arcane x reader #arcane viktor #viktor arcane #viktor #arcane viktor x reader #viktor x gn!reader #arcane #arcane x reader #viktor x you #viktor arcane x you #arcane viktor x you #viktor x y/n #viktor arcane x y/n #arcane viktor x y/n #viktor league of legends #viktor league of legends x reader #viktor lol

627 notes · View notes

vamptizm · 2 months ago

Text

jealous — b. stewart x sports therapist!reader

word count : 1.4k

content warning : no warnings i think? jealous!stewie. oblivious!reader. bit of jackie young for spice.

me not writing abt paige for once? yeah… anyway had to write smth abt this big babie after the mist dub yesterday (they’ve put me through hell) i don’t really like this but it’s smth fs.

The crowd roared, the sound reverberating through the packed arena as the game pushed forward with relentless intensity. From your place on the sidelines, you kept your eyes trained on the players darting across the court, your focus split between the game itself and the athletes you were responsible for. As a sports therapist for the Unrivaled League, specifically for both the Mist and the Laces, you'd seen your fair share of high-stakes matchups. But this one carried a different kind of weight—because Stewie was on the court.

And because she was playing against Jackie Young.

You'd known Stewie long enough to recognize the subtle shift in her demeanor tonight. The stolen glances, the lingering touches in passing, the magnetic pull that had been simmering between you both for months—it was all still there, undeniable and heavy. But there was something else now, something sharper in the way her eyes flickered toward the sidelines.

The moment it happened, it was almost in slow motion.

Jackie drove toward the basket, Stewie right there to contest her shot. The collision was hard—Jackie's body twisted in the air, her landing anything but clean. A gasp rippled through the crowd as she went down, and for a split second, everything else blurred into the background. Your instincts kicked in before the refs had even fully called for a pause.

You moved quickly, jogging onto the court as Jackie clutched at her leg, a pained grimace on her face. Stewie hovered just a few feet away, hands on her hips, watching with a clenched jaw as you dropped to a crouch beside Jackie.

"Hey," you murmured, keeping your voice even and calm. "Talk to me—where's the pain?"

Jackie exhaled sharply through her nose, wincing. "Same leg as before," she admitted. "It's not as bad as last time, but..."

You nodded, already in professional mode. "Let's get you to the bench."

With careful movements, you helped her up, her arm slung around your shoulders for support. You didn't notice the way Stewie's gaze lingered on the way Jackie leaned into you, nor did you catch the way her fingers curled into a fist at her side.

Once Jackie was settled on the bench, you dropped to your knees in front of her, gently assessing her leg, fingers working methodically as you applied ice to the injured area. Jackie let out a breathy chuckle above you, her voice teasing.

"You always take such good care of me."

You huffed a quiet laugh, too focused to entertain the playful remark. "That's literally my job."

But across the court, Stewie wasn't laughing.

She tried to shake it off, to push away the gnawing irritation as the game resumed, but her focus was shot. Why didn’t you check up on her too? Every time she glanced toward the sideline, she saw Jackie looking down at you like you hung the damn stars, saw the ease in the way you touched her, the familiarity in your care.

And it made her stomach burn.

She missed two easy shots, her rhythm thrown off entirely.

Fuck.

A timeout was called, giving her just enough time to steal another glance in your direction. You were still there, kneeling in front of Jackie, your fingers ghosting over her skin as you checked for further swelling. Jackie was smiling at you—too fond, too soft.

Stewie turned away, exhaling harshly through her nose. She shouldn't care this much. Shouldn't feel this... possessive.

But she did. And for the first time in a long while, she wasn't sure what to do about it.

The Mist took the game by just a few points, but a win was a win.

You were back in your seat by the time the final buzzer sounded, a small, satisfied smile tugging at your lips as the team celebrated. You knew how much this victory meant—not just for the standings, but for morale. They'd been clawing their way through loss after loss, and you'd seen firsthand the toll it had taken, especially on Stewie.

She was competitive, determined. She hated losing.

And now, she didn't have to.

The locker room was buzzing with energy, laughter spilling into the air as the players sank into their seats, catching their breath from the high of the game. Coach Phill stood before them, his words carrying a mixture of praise and reminders to keep pushing forward. You stood off to the side, watching the team soak it in, pride warm in your chest.

A few minutes later, someone handed Stewie the LED cloud lamp—tonight's award for the game's lead scorer. She grinned, holding it high over her head as cameras recorded videos.

You stayed out of frame.

You weren't sure why, but the last thing you wanted was to be caught in a picture looking at her the way you did.

Eventually, the team began clearing out. The excitement lingered, carrying through the halls as players showered and got ready to leave. You left with them, stepping out of the locker room, but the moment you reached into your pocket, you realized—

Your phone was missing.

With a quiet sigh, you turned back, slipping through the doors once again. The room was nearly empty now, save for one person.

Stewie.

She was seated in front of her locker, fresh from her shower, dressed in casual sweats and a Mist hoodie. Your phone was in her hands, her long fingers turning it over absently as if she'd been waiting for you to return.

Your steps slowed slightly before you forced yourself forward, clearing your throat. "I think this is my fourth time forgetting my phone somewhere this week," you joked, flashing a sheepish smile.

She didn't smile back.

You reached out for your phone, expecting her to hand it over, but instead, she pulled it just out of reach.

Your brows knit together. "Can I have my phone?"

Stewie stood slowly, her full height forcing you to tilt your chin up to meet her gaze. Her blue eyes studied you, sharp and unreadable.

"What's going on between you and Jackie?" she asked.

You blinked, caught off guard. "What?"

"You heard me."

"I—" You let out a quiet laugh, confused. "Nothing's going on. She's my patient, Bre. That's it."

Stewie didn't look convinced.

You tried again to grab your phone, but she was faster, lifting it above her head with ease.

You scowled. "Seriously?"

She didn't budge.

"And what's going on between us?" she asked now, her voice lower, quieter.

Your breath hitched.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the space between you shrinking as Stewie took slow, deliberate steps forward. Your back met the cold metal of the lockers before you even realized she'd been cornering you.

"Hmm?" she hummed, tilting her head slightly, waiting.

Your cheeks burned under her gaze, your heartbeat slamming against your ribs. You weren't blind. You knew there was something—something in the way she looked at you, in the way she treated you differently.

And now, as she stood inches from you, crowding your space with nothing but heat and tension, you realized—

She was jealous.

You swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to answer. "I don't know."

Your voice was quiet, barely above a whisper.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of your breathing, the electricity crackling between you both.

Then, in the blink of an eye, Stewie set your phone down on the chair beside her—forgotten—and closed the distance entirely.

Her hands found your waist, fingers curling around the fabric of your shirt as she pulled you into a heated, desperate kiss. It was all at once—needy, claiming, undeniable. You melted into it before you could think, your hands flying to her shoulders, gripping onto her as she pressed you further into the lockers.

Time blurred.

Her touch was firm, her body impossibly close, and the way her lips moved against yours left no room for uncertainty. This was an answer.

When you finally pulled back, your breaths were uneven, the air between you charged. Stewie searched your face, her lips slightly parted, her fingers still resting on your hips.

"How about now?" she murmured, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth.

You exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking your head as you gave her the smallest of smiles.

"Much clearer," you admitted. "Thank you."

#⇢ ˗ˏˋ vamptizm writes ࿐ྂ #breanna stewart #breanna stewart x reader #breanna stewart oneshot #wnba #new york liberty

103 notes · View notes

shipmanl0ver · 3 days ago

Text

“Now That You’re Gone”

————-

Yeah yeah my heart hurts anyways i love this song go listen to it

Pairing: Shauna Shipman x Reader

Warnings: Death (R!), and probably others I’m forgetting

————-

The cold doesn't bother her like it used to. Not anymore.

Shauna sits by the dying fire, the embers casting flickering shadows on the snow. It's quiet. Too quiet. Even nature seems to mourn.

Never thought it would be like this

What will you do

Now that you're gone?

She hears the lyrics in her head—the ones you used to hum when you thought no one was listening. You had a soft voice, always just under your breath, like a secret you didn't think the world deserved to hear.

You were her secret too.

You never said it out loud—not really. But your fingers lingered on hers longer than necessary. Your smiles held things unsaid. And in the dark of the wilderness, when the others were asleep, you'd lie side by side, backs to the cold, bodies pressed together under layers of stolen warmth and stolen moments.

She remembers your last night vividly. She didn't even know it was going to be your last.

You and Jackie had argued, again. You'd always tried to keep the peace, but that night, Jackie's words cut deeper than usual. She accused you of taking sides. Of betraying her. Of wanting more from Shauna than you dared admit.

You didn't deny it. Not this time.

You walked out into the snow, lips trembling, eyes shining, but not from the cold.

"I need to be alone," you'd said to Shauna, voice small.

She let you go.

She let you walk out into the freezing night.

And in the morning, all they found was a shape in the snow.

Curled up. Silent. Frozen.

Dead.

You.

Never known such unhappiness

Never thought it would be like this

What will I do, now that you're gone?

"Shauna?" Natalie's voice pulls her back to the present. She doesn't turn.

"Yeah?" she answers hollowly.

"We're low on firewood."

Of course they are. They always are. Everything is always running out—food, heat, time, sanity.

You.

She finally rises, brushing the frost from her jacket. Every movement feels heavier than it should. Her legs carry her toward the woods, toward the place where she last saw you disappear between the trees.

The spot is still there. Untouched, like time itself held its breath.

She kneels, fingers trembling as she touches the frozen earth. There's nothing left—not physically. But she swears she can still feel you here. Your presence, your warmth, your absence like a wound that never scabbed over.

"I should've gone after you," she whispers, her breath misting the air.

The forest doesn't answer.

The others talk about how you saved them. About how if Jackie had been the one out there that night, she wouldn't have made it. She was too proud. Too angry.

But you were strong. You gave up the shelter for someone else. That's what they say.

Shauna knows better.

You didn't want to be saved.

Not when she let you walk away.

Not when she chose silence.

The regret eats her from the inside out. She'd give anything to go back, to say the words she was too scared to say.

"I loved you," she says now, too late. "I love you."

And who's gonna rescue you

When you're lost at sea?

And who's gonna love you

If it isn't me?

The wilderness changed her, all of them—but not the way you did.

With you, it wasn't about survival. It was about softness in a world that had gone sharp. You made her laugh when it felt like the world was crumbling. You held her like she was more than someone else's shadow. More than someone else's mistake.

You saw her.

And now you're gone.

Shauna presses her forehead to the icy bark of a tree and lets herself break—just a little. She cries in silence, because there's no one left to hear her. No one who'd understand.

The fire in her chest isn't enough to melt the ice around her heart.

She dreams of you sometimes—half-formed, like smoke. In those dreams, you're always walking ahead, just out of reach. You never turn around.

She wonders if you're punishing her.

Or if you're just… gone.

When she returns to the cabin, she doesn't speak. She adds wood to the fire and stares into the flames, hoping to find something there. A sign. A ghost. Anything.

Jackie watches her warily from the corner. They don't talk much anymore.

Maybe they both know why.

Shauna touches the locket around her neck—yours, now hers. She never told anyone she took it. Never told anyone what's inside: a photo of you, grinning, squinting at the sun.

Before.

Before hunger.

Before winter.

Before regret.

Now, you're lost in the wilderness

You never dreamed it would end like this

What will they say, now that you're gone?

————-

#yellowjackets #shauna shipman #shauna yellowjackets #shauna sadecki #shauna #yj season 3 #yj #snackie #yj spoilers #yellowjackets fandom #yellowjackets x reader #yellowjackets shauna shipman #shauna strapman #yellowjackets shauna #shauna x reader #shauna shipman x reader #angst #Spotify

117 notes · View notes

that-weird-thing-in-the-woods · 6 months ago

Text

See though the mist

Heyy I’m back with part two now let’s go!

As Danny woke up he expected to see a clod white ceiling like he has been for the past … week or so..? Yeah that’s about the right amount of time right? How long had he been locked up in that cold white room that smelled of chemicals and the metallic blood smell and the sounds of their screams…wait that was him wasn’t it huh….

….oh wait where is he Danny thinks with suddenly clarity and a bit of panic and sits up and that turns out to be a bad idea as a jolt of pain goes through Danny “ok bad idea bad idea” Danny saids voice a bit strained by the pain and falls back on to his back that when Clockwork in all his Cyptid ass glory “Hello Daniel how are you feeling?” Clookwork ask “like I’ve been hit with a bus” Clockwork just nods

A few hours later

Danny’s walking next to Clockwork as they walk to….somewhere and as they get closer to a forest? “So where are we going? You really just gave me bandages and some new clothes which thank you” Danny liked the new outfit it was white and hangs of his shoulders ( due to not really being fed by the GIW) and goes to his ankles and he’s pretty sure this counts as a dress but it was comfortable and a lot better than his old clothes that were covered in his own blood ( he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to wear tight clothes like that ever again ) anyway they get to the edge of the forest and that’s when Clockwork specks up “Now Daniel I am unable to take care of you-“ Danny was about to interject and say he didn’t need to be taken care of but Clockwork holds up a hand to stop him and continues “ but I know someone who can be of help to you and your unborn child” Clockwork says as they walk into the forest it takes a few minutes….or 30 times weird in the forest Danny finds himself with clockwork in front of a castle.

The castle itself looks extremely overgrown and taken care of just enough so the greenery doesn’t take the castle down with its weight but still very overgrown, Danny and clockwork walk into a large part of the castle it looks like where the throne should be but it is probably under the gigantic tree that is so big it goes through the roof and it’s surrounded by a large lagoon with many different types of water plants and if look into it you can see the trees gigantic roots that are bigger than him and isn’t that humbling

As Danny looks around his eye catch a beautiful black snake with green eyes ( Danny’s always thought snakes were very cute) that is wrapped around one of the branches of the tree and it seems the snake sees him to as they start to slither down from their branch but Danny can’t really think about it to long as a gigantic snake ( not as big as the tree but big ) and its head was outstretched out to them but the rest of its body was still in the tree an then a voice come from the snake “…Hello Clockwork…”

=====================================

It’s been years since Vesper and Clockwork have seen each other after Vesper needed his help with the castle some humans thought it would be a good idea to try to set it on fire to get the land and to kill the snakes

As the castle was burning down with all of us snakes inside that when clockwork came and said he would help keep the humans out and exchange Vesper own him a favor not that he minded to much if the castle and the Den was safe that good enough for him

but he was not expecting that when clockwork would came to get the favor is that he would bring a hatching why isn’t it with their mother and Den??? But as clockwork explains the hatchings ( he now knows as Danny) situation after all he feels is

PURE RIGHTEOUS RAGE

How dare these humans hurt a HATCHING ( that is with a hatching himself) and from the other snakes hisses ( yells in snake) they are outraged as he is, it would not surprise him if the others in the den have already decided this boy is now one

And he is in agreement with them

And that’s it for part two! Sorry if the words are weird if your see any of my stuff you can tell I have bad grammar

Anyway hope you guys liked it byeee

=====================================

TAGGS

@thatoneweirdshipper @phantasama @siluver @fucking-brains-out

120 notes · View notes

mithosis · 4 months ago

Text

"Do you know what lies on the path before you? I do."

Meet Stig, my little blind norn seer with his flock of bird friends :) A Herald with a twist. Eventually a Wayfinder, separate from the Commander!

Sooooo I've already had this character for a while, (both in gw2 and out). I have a sylvari version of him — and he will still be existing and thriving as a separate character! However, I wanted to bring the original version of him to life as well. He always had Nordic themes, so making this version of him a norn was an obvious choice

Anyway, there is lore and a funny sketch under the cut for those who'd want to look at them!! (a huge chunk of text again, yeah, I'm sorry. It's featuring @lady-quen's Numen, though!! *wink wink*)

Maybe the weakest, skinniest little norn with nothing much behind his name, Stig was somewhat of an outcast from the moment he was born. Blind since birth, he was "blessed" by an elusive Cuckoo Spirit to help him on his life's journey, yet unable to shapeshift into their form or communicate with them, no matter how hard he tried. He was considered unworthy of norns' boastful lifestyle by some, and pitied for his misfortunes by others, although nobody could ever compare to how he looked upon himself for the happenstance of his birth. Was he "defective" in some way, not worth the effort to lift him up and let him live a life, try to reach for something more?

Still staying loyal to Cuckoo even without their support, Stig turned to Raven after being noticed by him for the cleverness with which the little norn tried to overcome the burdens of his own existence — there, at a young age, was discovered his gift of foresight, an explanation to all the weird sensory visions he would receive; some of them even looked as if he could actually see. Different kinds, both cryptic and mundane. Finally, something he could do and help others with, right? It was probably nice for a time, until enough commotions or unfortunate events were caused, maybe even blamed on him for doing his job wrong, causing Stig to be ever more cautious with sharing what he had gleaned.

Two ravens he rescued were his main company, aside from occasionally the kid of the famous Eir Stegalkin and his little brother with a strange affinity for ice magic. One day, however, the scenery changed into a strange landscape, an echo of the real world, as Stig stumbled through a wayward portal into the Mists. He had to survive there for a time all alone, not even his feathery friends to accompany him, communing with Spirits — then anyone, who'd listen — and desperately trying to get back home. A subtle whisper in his head grew louder the more time he spent essentially meditating, a voice of a person, until it formed and presented itself as none other than Asgeir Dragonrender. With his, rather frustrated at first, help, the little norn managed to get back to the world of the living, though not before getting injured on the way home — a weird, potent surge of lightning struck him. He awoke back home already tended to.

Other norn don't believe him at first when he claims Asgeir was the one to help and guide him — it takes a bit of convincing, talking with the legendary hero's echo and showing Stig's newfound strengths. He can channel the power of the Mists through their connection now, something only havrouns of the Spirits of the Wild can typically do. This earns him the respect of his peers — after all, he is aided by Dragonrender himself. People around him wonder: this must mean he could be the one to crack the Tooth, the Norn of Prophecy, right? Someone Stig never even dared to believe he could be.

However, it was never meant to be. After all the extra training and tireless nights of adapting the chosen combat style to his needs, the one to challange the Tooth wasn't him — instead, it was the hot-headed son of Eir, his friend Braham, who's been adventuring with the famous Pact Commander away from Hoelbrak. One arrow was fired — and as the icy exterior of the trophy crumbled, so did Stig's hopes of proving himself worthy to these people. He became an outcast again. At least his birds and Asgeir were still with him. It didn't matter that Braham supposedly failed his mission to kill the Ice Dragon afterwards: the damage was already done.

Then everything started to go downhill once Kralkatorrik was slain. Unexplainable mysteries, strange fog, disappearances. His friend becoming more and more distant and physically cold until one day he was gone as well. One of the only people who showed Stig what kindness looked like, aside from his mother. It was distressing, scary, none of his visions showing him the way — so he had to find his own, once again. This was the decision that led him to join the Commander and Braham in their venture to the Far Shiverpeaks, and discover the true nature of the little elementalist he called a friend — a scion and champion of Jormag, Numen, who's been the mysterious Cuckoo "Spirit" this whole time.

The team has to confront this dragon on the surface of a cold, frozen Lake Doric — and Asgeir recognizes it. Every norn knows the story of the legendary slayer of Frostfang — Dragonrender killed Jormag's greatest champion in one blow with the help of the Spirits. It was a clear victory, the thing falling off a cliff from the sheer force of the blow, mortally wounded. So how could the very same creature stand before him once again?

The question was answered when the dragon showed the large scar on their neck; they didn't quite remember the fight, but the old wound spoke for itself. A surprise for everyone involved — the greatest kill of Asgeir turned out to be a failure. Remains of the beast were confused with those of Claws of Jormag. And maybe a fact worst of all for the echo of a fallen hero — the frigid monster he was sure he had slain turned out to be one of the very Spirits that helped guide his people to the new home.

(Cue the funny sketch I promised)

Even after that, the team managed to save Numen and end the terror of both Dragons of Fire and Ice.

Eventually, Stig would become Numen's Champion, wanting to be there for them like the dragon was for him. Maybe he had finally found a place he was meant to be in, beside this creature of ice — lonely, yet so full of love for the world. Asgeir wasn't too amused, but what is one more voice in Stig's head, right?

This would mean he'd continue to help the Commander further down the line, and maybe even meet the elusive wizards in their glittering towers — who might have a hand in him meeting Asgeir in the first place.

Woah, if you got to this part, thank you for reading!! I love you <3

#i did it again i wrote a bunch of text #hopefully it's fine #*shatters like an icicle*#sitting on the artparty stuff still just had to get this guy out of my head asap #gw2 #guild wars 2 #gw2 norn #norn #gw2 wayfinder #gw2 art #he gets a separate tag #stig the seer #also mentioned #numen #gw2 asgeir dragonrender #mith draws #oc loredump

92 notes · View notes

eldenrat · 5 months ago

Text

Dark Souls 2 had the best npcs of any of the series and that’s probably just down to how whimsical the setting of Drangleic is. The kingdom itself is a crumbling dreamscape where nothing makes sense and the world is interconnected in ways that just should not be. Objects seen from Majula are closer than they appear, there is a giant temple built on a massive spire above the clouds where you go to have a quick chat with a dragon, and every environment conceivable is blended together.

Yeah it is dark fantasy but there’s also a talking cat in the hub who will happily spill the tea about every loser in this world and the kingdoms before, and the level up lady basically says “yeah she’s older than all of us and will mock your existence just try to find her on a good day.” The population of Majula in general is wild how everyone sorta ends up there to sell shit even when the kingdom is home only to a bunch of hollows and you are probably to be the only paying customer.

Anyways my favorite goobers who exemplify the whacky Alice in Wonderland vibes of the place are as follows:

Guy who is a severed head, rambles to you about how nice it is to just watch the stars

Gavlan wheel, Gavlan deal

The aforementioned cat

Autistic man with a cartography hyperfixation

Sellsword Luet, who apparently literally sold their sword and dual wields shields instead

The giant rat that makes all of the rules

Lucatiel I love you so much

Crow lady who lives in a fucking death trap

Benhart how did you get into the giant’s memories is the ancient dragon giving ashen mist hearts out to everyone these days

Guy who makes ladders

Scholar of the first jumpscare

#dark souls 2

61 notes · View notes

tonguetyd · 4 months ago

Text

Chemical Mess

A Sleep Token Gift Exchange present for @sleeptokenpuppy 🥰

"What's the point? If life is fleeting, should I just hang with my friends? Should I spend more time with the people I love instead of in my head?"

Tags: Sitcom AU, Inhuman Vessels, Not Platonic or Romantic But a Secret Third Thing (Bonded By An Eldritch Being), Winter Solstice, Minor Existential Crisis, But Friends and Tentacle God Help You Thru It :::)

IV hummed as he balanced another 3 sticks of butter on the precarious tower of supplies retrieved from the fridge. Sure, he could take multiple trips back to the counter with less food, but what was the fun of having super strength if you didn't use it to carry as much as possible?

Deciding he had everything he needed, he shut the door and turned slowly towards the counter, making sure none of his supplies would lose balance and fall do-

"MOOOOVE!!!!" yelled II as he bolted past the guitarist to grab a Red Bull can, knocking over every one of IV's carefully stacked items to the ground.

He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath as to not yell at the drummer. "We really need to keep your caffeine in a separate part of the house."

"We shouldn't give him caffeine at all, he's already supersonic," chimed in III from the stovetop.

"Notmyfault, lotsathingstodotoday, needmyenergy, sorry, iiiwillhelpcleanup!" II said between gulps of his drink. "Oh! Happysolsticebytheway!" He scrunched up the empty can and tossed it to the bin.

"III will NOT help clean up, III has risotto on the stove thank you very much," the bassist sassed.

Huffing at his friends, IV began setting his supplies from the floor to the counter. "It's fine, leave it all for the non-flexible AND slow one, not a problem there..."

"Seeyougotit, dontevenneediiishelp, okaybye," II replied before running back off to wherever he had come from.

IV grumbled something about "rude motherfucker" while III walked over laughing. "Don't worry, we'll figure out some way to get revenge," the bassist said, stretching his arm to keep stirring the pot on the stove. "Little man won't know what hit him!"

An unnatural cloud of fog rumbled with amusement as Sleep watched His younger vessels prepare for His sacred night. He turned His attention to His First, expecting to see a similar sense of entertainment from his eldest.

Instead, Vessel's six eyes blinked joylessly at the wall, oblivious to his friends' antics.

The solstice was upon them once again. Another year had gone by. Were the years always so short? How was time continuing to slip away from him? It had just been summer yesterday. Was life passing him by? Should he be doing more by now? Accomplished more than what he already had? How much time did he even have left?

Futhermore, what was the point of having all this time anyway, if it was just going to fly by him? If he was constantly running out of time anyway, what was the purpose of filling them with...anything? The clock and calendar didn't care what he did to fill them. They marched steady onwards.

Emo shit. As IV would affectionally call it.

Vessel's brain spiral of Emo Shit continued as his friends worked around him to bring light on their shared sacred day.

Sleep was displeased at this. It would not do that His First should be melancholy on the Holiest of nights. His fog form swirled around III.

“Hey Sleep! If you’re looking to help I think IV needs it more,” the bassist said, affectionately twirling a finger in the mist.

The fog grew denser and lowered Itself to obstruct III’s vision.

III frowned and tried to fan the fog away with his hands. “Yeah yeah I know it’s your special day, I’m trying to fry stuff though and would rather not get burned because you’re blocking my sight!”

Frustrated, Sleep continued to His Second. If anyone would be in touch with His First’s emotions, it would be his oldest friend.

The mist descended upon II as he raced up the stairs. “SLEEPICANTSEE!” he exclaimed as he missed the top step, tumbling back down to the bottom.

He sat up and rubbed his head, glaring at the fog. “Thathurt! Becareful! Notallofusareimmortal!”

The fog continued to swim around him, forming an opening to direct II’s sight to Vessel.

II huffed when he saw his friend. “Ves. Talktoyourgodandtellhimtoleaveusbe!”

Vessel glanced up towards II and shrugged.

IV bellowed from the kitchen “OI, SLEEP, WE’RE BUSY! GIVE US A COUPLE HOURS!”

The ancient one’s frustration reached its peak. The fog condensed and shot over to Vessel before disappearing from sight.

Vessel suddenly didn’t feel so good.

His eyes grew blurry and his head heavy. His limbs began to move of their own accord, and suddenly he felt another presence in his mind.

The jerky movement from Vessel’s body caught III’s eye first. “…Ves?”

Vessel’s head snapped to III’s, his six eyes glowing red.

“MY THIRD.”

“…oh. Shit. Not Ves.” III reared his head back, creating space between himself and his now-possessed friend. “UH…GUYS? I THINK WE MADE GOD MAD…”

II and IV made their way over to the other vessels. “Whatdoyoumeanwema-oh. Fuck.” II’s eyes grew when he saw the already looming presence of his friend expand to house a god.

“MY VESSELS. YOU SEEK MY FAVOR UPON THIS HOLY DAY, YET YOU IGNORE MY ATTEMPTS TO OBTAIN YOUR ATTENTION. EXPLAIN.”

“Shit…we…we didn’t mean anything by it, honest,” III stammered out. “We just have to watch what we’re doing, or we’ll make a mess. We would never intentionally ignore you, Sleep.”

“YOU ARE IGNORING MY FIRST.”

IV tilted his head in confusion. “Ves has been sitting right there? He hasn’t said anything to ignore…”

“MY FIRST’S BRAIN IS RESTLESS. HE IS QUESTIONING HIS PURPOSE, FEELING AS IF HE HAS TOO MUCH YET NOT ENOUGH TIME.”

“…andstubbornasscouldnttellusthishimself?”

III elbowed II from across the room. “Oi, don’t be a prick.”

“HE IS SUFFERING IN SILENCE, AS HE OFTEN DOES, AS TO NOT BE A BURDEN ON YOU. I WILL NOT TOLERATE MY FIRST BEING UPSET WHILE SURROUNDED BY HAPPINESS. FIX HIM.”

With His command given, Sleep detached Himself from Vessel’s brain.

When Vessel blinked his eyes again, he felt more like himself. His three sets of eyes were met with another three sets.

“Why didn’t you tell us you were feeling badly?” II asked, deliberately slower than he had been all week.

Shame rose up in Vessel’s cheeks. “I…uh…well…you’re all busy…and I just…it’s stupid anyway.”

“It’s not stupid Ves, it’s something we all feel at times,” IV assured him.

“Yeah! Friendly Christmas existential dread!” III nodded.

Vessel huffed. “I just. You’d think if we all go through this that somebody would’ve figured it out by now.”

IV scoffed. “Yeah, yet here we all just fucking around anyway. Nobody’s got any idea what they’re doing.”

“Mmhmm. We’re bumbling around just trying to get…somewhere?” II offered.

“Or maybe not even go anywhere at all. Just enjoying the ride, wherever it takes us!” said III.

Vessel stared up at the ceiling as Sleep’s fog took shape once again. “I guess.”

“Listen Vee, yeah we don’t know if there’s a point to any of this, and yeah it might be over in the blink of an eye,” IV shrugged. “But instead of wasting that limited time we’ve got trying to figure it out, let’s just. Like. I dunno.” He gestured around their space.

“Eat rice balls!” III exclaimed.

Ves laughed for the first time all day. “Who needs a meaning in life when there’s rice balls?”

“Exactly!”

“III is right,” II said. “We’ve got rice balls, and more than that, you’ve got us!”

“If we’re to be submerged, let us be submerged together and all that shit, yknow?” IV joked.

And as Sleep watched his vessels pick their First’s spirits up, he hummed in agreement. Not even the ancient ones know what the future holds. All any being can do is enjoy time with those that make them feel less alone.

A part of a whole, no matter how messed up it may be.

Just a picture perfect, lovable, positively shitshow, chemical mess.

——————————

Matt’s song offers no answers, nor can I, nor can Sleep probably! There’s no right way to do the holidays or life. All we can do is try to be good to each other! This is my attempt to be good to y’all, and I hope you enjoyed it!! ❤️

#woe main tags be upon ye #sleep token #sleep token fanfiction #(first time using that tag!!)#sleep token gift exchange #st gift exchange 2024 #if we are to be submerged #etc etc #not so tonguetyd

32 notes · View notes

queer-ragnelle · 3 months ago

Note

I read the Mists of Avalon (and a couple other of her books) without knowing anything about Marion Zimmer-Bradley, but even then, I knew something was off, I just couldn't quite place it. There was something so strange about them. Then I learned more about her + read her daughter's book, and it completely made sense. Zimmer-Bradley's problems are ALL OVER the Mists of Avalon. It is insane to me that anyone recommends it or tries to separate them. You can't separate them, its in the text.

people trying to separate TH White's shit from his writing reads to me as somewhat similar. you can't separate it because he wrote about it-- its text.

if that makes any sense, anyway

Don’t get me started on that heinous bitch. I don��t know if you’ve ever read her testimony in defense/support of her pedophile husband but it’s fucking foul. Worthless human beings.

Now of course it has to be said that depiction in fiction doesn’t automatically mean someone agrees with the rules of the fictitious universe or characters. Of course not. I’m not condemning them purely on the subject matter itself. (That is to say, reference to Nazis or child abuse doesn’t make the author a Nazi or child abuser, it’s how they handle those subjects and who they are irl that are important.) In these cases it’s actually insane to me that people are still bringing these books up on the regular. Just say minorities and victims don’t matter to you and go, it’s easier than including TOAFK and Mists of Avalon in polls and gifsets and webweaves and book bindings. I saw a positive review of MoA posted within the last month. In 2025. We are so fucking cooked if we can’t even let this one fantasy book from the 80s die. It’s getting ridiculous.

And I’ve said it before I’ll say it again, Marion Zimmer-Bradley’s accomplice girlfriend is still the beneficiary for sales of MoA. So yeah, sales support a fucked up individual who knew children were in danger and did nothing. If anyone has purchased a [new] copy of MoA, even within the last twenty years since Zimmer-Bradley’s death, there’s blood on your hands. You can’t know what you don’t know, but now you know. Pull yourself together and cut it out.

#arthuriana #arthurian legend #arthurian mythology #arthurian literature #cw child abuse #anonymous #ask

17 notes · View notes

chuckeroo777 · 5 months ago

Text

So I'm a Spider, So What: Alternate Ending

After finishing the light novel series, I had major issues with the abruptness of the ending. So here's my take on it.

This takes the place of the chapter "Everyone Ever After".

The fic is under the cut. Expect extreme spoilers!

It's been a while hasn't it?

Me? I'm just enjoying the fruits of my labor.

Well, not my labor per-say, they were a gift as thanks for all the other work I've done. Seems like even after all this time, people still think fruit is my favorite food.

I know, right? You pilfer one dried fruit, and suddenly that's your whole personality in their eyes.

Huh? Why aren't I currently in D's clutches? Well, she decided to be nice and let me hang out on the planet until Ariel dies.

What? That doesn't sound like the kind of thing she would do? Even an evil god can be nice once in a while. Just look at me.

There definitely wasn't any begging involved.

Or groveling.

Definitely.

I definitely didn't have to agree to something humiliating to get this time off.

Anyway, it's been a little over a year, and Ariel died a couple weeks ago, so I'm currently just chilling until D gets here.

Guess I'll fill you in on how everyone is doing.

Naturally, I spent most of my time hanging out with Ariel and Sariel. They are just too cute together. I don't think I've ever seen Ariel happier.

They had so many stories to share with me about the days before the system. She really was practically Ariel's mom.

Man, and I thought how I got my name was dumb.

As for Sariel, she was nothing like I thought she would be.

Like, I always assumed the Divine Voice (temp)'s mono tonality was due to Sariel being puppeted by the system, but no. That's just how she always sounds. Even when she's clearly excited.

Even creepier, she was apparently conscious the whole time she was in there.

Yikes.

Like, I had an inkling that was the case since she redirected the attack away from Guli-Guli, but wow. The fact that she's still sane is a miracle in itself.

And that means she was privy to all my many petty crimes.

Huh? What do you mean they weren't so petty? I'll have you know I'm a model citizen.

Even weirder, instead of getting mad, she just lectured me about the ethics of killing.

Yeah, I dunno. I don't really get her. But as long as Ariel is happy, that's good enough for me.

Anyway, as much as I love my grandma, I didn't spend all my time with Ariel.

Vampy has some big plans. She wants to become the Frost Vampire Queen.

Yeah, I don't know exactly what that means either. But basically, she wants to live in a castle.

Seems a little childish to me, but if she wants to live her vampire lord dreams, who am I to stop her.

Oh yeah, that's a thing. By this point, all the skills and titles and stats have worn off, but some people and monsters still retain certain abilities.

Like, Vampy wasn't a vampire because of her skill, she had the skill because she was a vampire. So even in her natural state, she still has basic vampire powers, like mist form, and the ability to call upon creatures of the night.

Plus she still has the perk of being a progenitor! No vampire weaknesses! Thank goodness she decided to just be queen of a remote little village. She could definitely take over the world if she wanted.

So, remember that remote spot in the Mystic Mountains? Where Guli-Guli's soul haven village is? That's where Vampy is building it. It's gonna be a pretty long-term project, but Nia decided to help out in exchange for a very nice bedroom.

Thank goodness we no longer have to worry about soul deterioration. Even highly corroded souls like Ariel's should be good to go. Now that children can be born with fresh souls again, old souls can take as long as they need to recover before returning to the cycle.

I'm very curious about Ariel and Sariel's next incarnations, but their souls are so damaged it will probably take centuries for them to recover.

Anyway, Mera is naturally helping Vampy too. Ever since Envy wore off, she seems to have calmed down, at least a little.

It's been a bit rough for him. He used to be fine wearing a cloak in the day, but without defense stats or fire resistance, he basically can't endure sunlight at all anymore.

Ah well, at least he's happy.

Once Ariel passed, the puppets decided to go join Vampy. I suppose they also find the idea of royal role-play enticing.

Oh yeah, Wald is there too. I'm not sure if Vampy has noticed.

As for Mr. Oni, I was pretty concerned for a while there. After the battle he got real somber, and every conversation sounded like he was saying goodbye for the last time.

Thankfully, before he could commit to anything, a population of surviving goblins was discovered in the deep north.

So, yeah! That sure lit a fire in him. He's been really busy, helping the goblins recover after the system's collapse, and acting as a diplomat to get goblins recognized as a legitimate humanoid race.

It's nice to see him so passionate about something again.

Speaking of passion, Yuri has been cooking up a storm. I thought it would take a while before she got results, but dang.

I guess between literally everyone reading Taboo, Dustin's death, and Sariel actually showing up as a witness, it wasn't hard to get most people on board with a more accurate religion.

Seriously, it only took three months for her to fully reform the Word of God church into the Church of Goddess Sariel.

And Sariel isn't the only one they worship. Get this: They worship me!

Albeit, I'm seen as an evil god, but I guess that's fair.

Basically, they view Sariel, Guli-Guli, and I as role models for how people should live their lives.

Frankly, I think that's a terrible idea.

I think my ridiculous pride and perseverance is probably a hindrance without the system. After all, my hell-training techniques don't really work without skills.

But oh well. I'm probably gonna try and stay uninvolved with the church unless they start spreading some ridiculous rumors about me.

Okay, that's blatantly untrue. I can't wait to see what sort of ridiculous claims they make about me. They already seem to be under the impression that I killed D. I was worried she might smite them for that, but everyone seems un-smoten, so I guess she doesn't care.

Let's see, who else?

Ah, yes, Yamada. Apparently he has no interest in taking the throne, instead pushing it off onto his older brother.

I was kinda hoping to watch the implosion of his harem situation, but sadly, it turned out to be a non-issue.

Yeah, turns out he just has a lot of friends who are girls, not girlfriends.

Yeah, Fei didn't actually have any romantic feelings, and Yuri is too busy being a Pontiff to pursue her minor crush, so the only ones actually fighting over him were Sue and Katia.

Like, I'm no romance expert, but even I can tell Yamada and Katia like each other. A lot.

Sue has calmed down after being caught red-handed in the love nest, but she's still making things difficult for them. Guess we'll just have to see how things go.

As for Ms. Oka, she and Anna have been working on finding all the half-elves they can. After everyone found out what a POS Potimas was, his remaining descendants have had it rough.

So, they decided to start rebuilding the Elf Village, and turn it into a safe space for those who still have elf blood.

By the way, I ended up telling Ms. Oka about how she saved my life as a spider.

Look, I didn't mean to make her freak out again.

Look, it's not your fault there were utterly ridiculous butterfly effects from that decision.

Thankfully, I don't have any other world-shattering revelations for her, so hopefully she'll be fine.

I've heard some of the half-elves plan to study Potimas' tech, hoping to make them work off more traditional power sources.

I mean, that seems like a terrible idea to me, but as long as I keep an eye on them, it should be fine.

Huh? How do I plan to keep an eye on them if D is gonna come get me?

My spider surveillance network, duh. Just because D will be forcing me to be physically by her side doesn't mean I can't still influence things. Plus I'm keeping in contact with Philmina and the others.

Not that I intend to actually do much. But if anything comes up, I'll catch it.

Like how that old mage guy has been studying magic.

Yeah, even if the system is gone, ambient magic power still exists. He's been studying how to potentially manipulate it even without Magic Power Operation and Magic Power Perception.

Frankly, I'm not sure if it's even possible.

But he already showed off his ability to perform magic beyond what the system provided, so if anyone can figure it out, it's him.

I don't mind humanity using magic, though I'm a little concerned it might use up MA energy. Guess I'll just have to keep an eye on it.

Let's see, what else?

The demons are doing alright. They've taken heavy losses over the years, but now that new souls can be born, they can finally start to repopulate.

Without the skill growth bonuses, demons and humans are a lot more comparable than they used to be. I guess we'll just have to see if the peace lasts.

I hope so.

Well, with Balto heading the restoration efforts, I'm fairly optimistic.

Oh, and get this.

He married Boobs.

Didn't see that one coming. I always thought she was licentious sort, but maybe that was just me being racist.

I mean, she literally calls herself a succubus. Can you blame me for assuming?

Let's see, who else? I don't have that many acquaintances, do I?

Oh, right, the other reincarnations. Uh, the adventuring duo got married, so that's nice.

Really, for the most part I've just let them do as they want.

Most of the reincarnations the elves caught have settled in Uppenbebetenia. With the high concentration of reincarnations, the place might become a little Tokyo.

Although, I have my eye on Kudo. I think she might be heading some sort of cult? So far they've just been exchanging a lot of hand drawn manga, but I'm worried about the contents.

Eh, it's probably fine.

So, yeah. I've been popping all over the place to visit everyone. But I've mostly just been vegging with Ariel and Sariel. It's been nice to have a break after all the craziness.

Shame D is gonna ruin that any second now.

Anyway, once they died, we ended up having a huge funeral. Guli-Guli ended up giving this amazing eulogy.

But I didn't cry. I have my pride.

Ok, maybe I cried a little.

Honestly, I probably would have cried more, but my eyes were sore from crying so much at Ariel's deathbed.

Even Vampy cried at the eulogy. That's how you know it was moving.

What? Why didn't I give a eulogy?

Have you heard me?

That's right, you haven't.

Cause I can't talk. Especially to a crowd.

Seriously, turnout was incredible. Nearly ten-thousand in attendance, and nearly all of humanity was able to watch thanks to some remote projections I set up in the major cities.

Seriously, just standing next to Guli-Guli with all those eyes staring was enough to make me feel like imploding.

After the ceremony, we ended up burying them together in the approximate location of Sariel's orphanage. We had discussed it prior to their death, and it seemed the most appropriate thing to do.

And that was that.

So, yeah. Now it's just a waiting game. Honestly, I thought D would yoink me the second Ariel's heart stopped beating, but apparently not.

"Shiraori. I'm back."

Ah, there she is to ruin my relaxation. Maybe if I don't turn around, she'll ignore me.

"Shiraori, I'm talking to you."

Don't call me that. You are literally the only one who calls me that.

"Well I have to call you something, don't I?"

Call me White. That's my name.

"Hmph. I hoped to gain some modicum of control by naming you, but I suppose I was beaten to it."

Look, I'm going with you, alright?

"Why don't you look over here and see your surprise?"

Up to this point, I've been consciously excluding her from the perception of my x-ray vision.

I wearily turn around.

Only to see her manic grin as she holds up the tackiest maid outfit I've ever laid eyes on.

"I'm a little late because I wanted to make sure to find the perfect uniform for your new position."

I stand and stare at her.

Seriously? My name is White. Why do I have to wear this garish travesty?

"If you wear the accompanying bonnet, I'll let you have holidays off to visit your friends."

If my eyes were open, I'd narrow them. What's the catch?

"I only celebrate leap days."

Huh. Honestly, that's a lot better than I expected.

I sigh and extend my arms. In a flash, I've used spacial magic to swap my dress for the uniform.

She smiles wickedly.

"Now, let's head home. You've got training to do."

Wait? Training? I thought you were just gonna make me be your maid!

Hey, what are you-

But it's too late. We're already gone.

#kumo desu ga nani ka #so i’m a spider so what #kumoko #Shiraori #spoilers #fanfic #alternate ending #epilogue #spider #fix it fic

18 notes · View notes

cosmeii · 3 months ago

Text

yeah the warrior pit is here. Maybe I should call it warrior sinkhole tbh

ANYWAY :) I have dark forest and starclan ideas I made up.

Instead of being in some other world in dreams that can only be obtained via dreams or visions, my idea is to make each spot a physical location.

The Dark Forest is literally a dark forest nearby the clan territories. It’s trees towering so high with canopies so vast it drowns out any sunlight or moonlight from hitting the forest floor. Brambles and thorns cover the paths for cats never cleared any path for patrols of any kind. If a cat is seen going into the dark forest they may never come back, turning into one of the many gnarled trees that suffocate its land. But if they do…they could be seen as a proxy of the forest if they had gone deep enough to no longer be seen by their fellows from the safe border line. As a result of this uncertainty, their body is thrown into the forest to be reclaimed.

Spirits of the dark forest seem to be becoming part of the wood itself. Older spirits have splintering bark piercing their fur, their coat patchy as they turn into an oak. Maybe even their eyes continue to be plastered into the tree after they grow…yet maybe this also marks the start of a reincarnation.

StarClan reside in the Starlit Meadows. Specifically a spot where the ground seems to become covered in mist and fog. This makes the cat feel as if they’re walking on clouds and not the grass. Sometimes cats can be seen in this mist, stardust trickled down, or maybe they are the fog and not a star at all. Perhaps if the cat wanders too deeply in the fog they dissipate themselves and walk as a ghost. Maybe those are the cats seen in the fog? Perhaps the stars just simply are the true dead whose body had been placed there.

Yet what if despite that, all spirits have in common one thing: they changed after they died. They learn of the past, the present, the future, and information regarding things outside of their own clan. They still act like family, they still acknowledge their friends but they’re…they’re distant now. It’s as if they don’t view themselves as a cat any longer.

This location idea also means that the living cats can judge the fallen meaning they can make their own rules for who goes where which I think is objectively more interesting

yeah if you can’t tell I like eldritch horror

#warrior cats #warriors #erin hunter warriors #starclan #the dark forest

8 notes · View notes

o-sn4pple · 7 months ago

Text

hi this is an unfinished rough draft of a (technical?) sequel to my scara x reader fic, against the kitchen floor

someone had left a bookmark idea of how wanderer would be with reader after the wipe, and though they had discussed how reader would be missing something, i went with what would have been changed had i written into jeht's story quest

so yeah, hi

The Wanderer does not like the desert.

The sand is not kind to his joints, the sunlight harsh upon his eyes, and yet he forces his body faster and faster, fighting against the tearing winds to the hidden encampment within the dunes. Even he feels the scratch of grains whipping against his eyes. He only grits his teeth and charges ahead.

“I can’t be in two places at once!”

The map marks the Temples Forsaken as his target, though the sand seems to have been cleared as of late. Glowing statues seem to flicker in the harsh light, familiar structures that mean little to him now. The sand is dusted white, and though the Wanderer does not need to breathe, he does so anyway. A plume of condensation escapes him.

This can’t be good. He doubts his internal hardware enjoys freezing over, either. Already, he can feel his capacitors shutting off, limbs stiffening in protest.

“Trust me, I would have asked Cyno, but I don’t have time to waste!”

The Wanderer grits his teeth and moves deeper. Despite the risen walls, the wind only seems to grow stronger, bitter and blinding. He keeps one hand tight on the brim of his hat, attempting to scan through the howling winds for something of note. The closest he finds is a suspicious lump half-buried in snow - a body, he discovers. The Eremite has no visible injuries, but their jaw seems half-frozen in visible shock, fingers tight around their axe. The several dozen others are in similar shape.

Finally, he finds another, more familiar uniform buried in the mix. The Fatuus’ armor has splintered, chest caved in and dripping all over the ground. Just seeing his face makes the Wanderer scowl, and he steps back to squint through the storm. With all of the snow howling around him, it takes him a moment to remember just where he is.

“They’re in trouble!”

He opens his mouth, but before he can speak, a blur flies at his side. He throws his arms up, fingers catching a jagged edge before it can pierce his chest. It isn’t enough to stop the momentum, and he is swept right off his feet by an insect twenty times his size.

“Gh-” The Wanderer grits his teeth as the insect trills, each click like thunder in his ears. He twists to push the beetle aside, momentum bouncing him off the giant scarab’s head as it whistles past. When it rights itself, he throws one hand up. Razor wind arcs at its giant horn, glancing off its icy exoskeleton.

Another furious trill rings in the puppet’s ears. This time, its horn catches beneath his feet and hauls him up. He kicks and thrashes, tearing himself free before the beetle can fling him into the ruin walls. He knows this creature - its size, not as much, but its enraged rattle sounds just like an overwound toy breaking free from its shell.

“Pot of Greed!”

The giant scarab freezes, hovering over the ruins as it clicks and chirps. The Wanderer scowls and rights himself, shaking the frost from his face. He doesn’t understand what it’s saying, but he can already see it shrinking. “The Traveler sent me,” he shouts over the howling blizzard. “Where are they?”

Pot of Greed trills, but when it lands on its legs, its entire body shudders. Its icy exoskeleton slides off in sheets, puffing into mist before it can hit the ground. All that remains is its mechanical body, which hits the ground back first with its legs in the air.

“Huh?” The Wanderer steps forward, ready to pick up the catalyst when-

BANG!

-something pierces his thigh.

The Wanderer hisses, hand flying to the hole now burning its way through his leg. A quick diagnostic reveals it missed the major wires that control movement, but his pain receptors don’t seem to care. It hurts, it burns, and he bares his teeth as he follows its trajectory. “You-”

Another bullet whizzes by. This time, he rounds on the angle with Anemo at his fingertips, then freezes.

It’s you, head wrapped in your floral scarf and armed with a Skirmisher’s flaming rifle. Your left arm, normally hidden with a sleeve, bares its scars to the open air, your actual sleeve wrapped around your right leg and the shaft of another Skirmisher’s hammer. You’ve squeezed yourself into a crevice in the ruin walls. From the drag marks under your legs, the Wanderer can only assume you dragged yourself there to protect your back.

Your hands move like a seasoned veteran, and by the time the Wanderer’s mind catches up to him, you are already firing another shot. This time, it whizzes past his ear. Something tells him that your next shot will not miss.

“Enough!” The Wanderer flies forward, seizing the barrel before it can fire. You shout and lunge, but he tears the gun from your fingertips and throws it aside. “Calm down, it’s-”

A frost-coated fist slams straight into his stomach. He doubles over with a hiss, and it’s just enough for your other hand to shoot put and grab a fistful of his coat.

And in the memories the Wanderer has of you, both old and new, you never seemed like much for roughhousing. At least, the current you always carried yourself with dignity whenever he sees you walking around the Akademiya before turning the opposite way.

Then he recalls all of those foreign memories he’d seen in the Akasha System, how you used to be with the General Mahamatra, and is slammed into the dirt with enough force to make his vision flicker.

You get in a lucky strike before he finally throws you off, pinning you on your back. He snatches your wrists as you thrash, using his knees to hold down your shoulders as you scream. “STOP!” he shouts over you. “I’m not your enemy!” It doesn’t work. Your one good leg kicks blindly, knee bumping his back. This time, he grips your cheeks tight, forcing you to meet his eye. “It’s me, you idiot! From the Akademiya!”

For a moment, he doesn’t think it works. After all, he’s barely spoken to you unless directly summoned by Nahida. Outside of the first interaction (or reunion, for him), he’s avoided you as best he could.

But from the way your eyes widen, his body almost softens with relief. You relax under his grip, one hand weakly pulling on his own as your bleeding lips move.

“Water,” you rasp. “Please…too long…water…”

That is all you get out before your eyes roll back.

“Huh?” The Wanderer grips your jaw tight, shaking you out of instinct before the rest of the Traveler’s words come to him.

“It’s been a week, they’re both missing, please, just help me!”

A week.

He looks around, eyes zeroing in on the rapidly melting snow. It can’t be safe or sanitary, but he also knows humans can only last three days without water at most. The Wanderer doesn’t have time to be picky, nor embarrassed. He simply holds the snow in his mouth until it melts, centers your head with one hand on your chin, and presses his mouth to yours.

He keeps his fingers against your jaw, using the heel of his palm to force your swallows. When he pulls back, he only allows himself a second to gasp before grabbing another handful of snow. Again and again, he forces water between your cracked lips, counting each swallow like a pulse under your skin.

The puppet stops when your tongue finally feels moist, dragging his sleeve against his mouth to dry the errant droplets on his lips. Already, the snow around him is beginning to melt, no longer aided by your fury. He understands that a Vision can influence the biological stasis of the human body, but he doubts you enjoy wet clothes sticking to your skin.

He resorts to tearing off the coats of a Fatuus, their water-resistant design leaving its interior dry and soft. With your clothes, he is far more careful to peel them away, wrapping your shoulders the second they are exposed. The floral scarf remains secured around your head.

Fire, he thinks once you are propped against one of the ruin’s chess pieces. Clothes do not last long, and everything else is too waterlogged to be useful. He resorts to flying out of the ruins, returning with arms full of wood broken from a nearby Hilichurl encampment and tumbleweeds. He sparks the dead branches with your rifle, and as the embers begin to catch, he throws more and more until the entire clearing is glowing.

The Wanderer almost regrets it when he returns to you. The fire highlights your sunken face and dirtied skin, drowning in the giant coat he’d wrapped you in. Your breaths come in weak, shallow pants. He needs to get you back to Sumeru, but can you even handle the trip?

Better yet, can he? He can feel the frost creeping along his insides,

#genshin impact #wanderer x reader #snapple drabbles

10 notes · View notes

abundantsnow · 8 months ago

Text

oghhhgg kay first post on the kny blog

◇▪︎◇

hallo, if you dont know me, my name is Zenith Petrichor! you can just call me zen. :) my pronouns are zey/zem/zeirs (or he/it) and i am aroacespec and ficto/yume. i am on the autism spectrum and have adhd and ocd-c, all diagnosed. its nice to meet you if youre new, please send me asks about anything kny or related to my oc, i love answering questions!!!!1!1 /gen/pos

i need to put my oc out somewhere cause i dont want him to just spin in my brain 24/7, i need people to look at him in all his glory 💔

tumblr is the perfect place to release my "way too heavily projected on oc for it to not be a self insert" oc

kny wont leave me alone even tho the pacing and character dynamics are ass and i needed to make an oc and rewrite the entirety of kny with him and with better pacing and character dynamics

So anyway yeah thus is totally a self insert, meet Hisato Nagafuchi!!!!!!!!!!!1!1!1!1!1! please read more lkke pleade please please i love him so much please read about him im ljke so- *gets shot*

◇▪︎◇

Hisato's reference sheet

永渕氷聖 "Hisato Nagafuchi"

Hisato - 氷聖 “ice” “saint”

Nagafuchi - 永渕 “eternity” “quiet”

◇▪︎◇

Name: Hisato Nagafuchi

Race: Half-Demon

Gender: Male, He/Him

Age: 23

Height: 168 cm (5'6") (6'0" with his geta) ((the teeth are 5 inches but the base itself is a whole nother inch))

Weight: 80 kg (176 lbs)

Birthday: January 12th

Hair Color: White to Lavender

Eye Color: Indigo

Affiliation: Demon Slayer Corps

Occupation: Demon Slayer, Ice Hashira

Combat Style: Ice Breathing, Blood Demon Art: Purifying Ice

Partner(s): Giyuu Tomioka, Mitsuri Kanroji, Muichiro Tokito, Tengen Uzui

Relative(s): Unnamed Demon Father, Unnamed Human Mother (deceased), Sakonji Urokodaki (adoptive father)

◇▪︎◇

Hisato's sprite & parasol

I'll draw his actual official promo art at some point. This is like the sprite that would show up on the wiki lol

◇▪︎◇

About the Hashiras!

About the Water Hashira: “He’s kind, I like him a lot. He's very aloof and masks his emotions; which people don't seem to understand. They think he's arrogant, and he's not. He’s self-conscious, and I can tell something’s bothering him deeply. We were also taught under the same Former Hashira, even if I developed my breathing techniques differently.”

About the Love Hashira: “She’s a sweetheart. She was friendly to me from the start and trusted me, even though I am a half-demon. We bonded over our love for food.”

About the Mist Hashira: “Ah, I see him as a little brother of sorts. He’s a brilliant boy, even if emotionally stunted due to his amnesia. I’ve made the effort to try and communicate with him, and he has noticed this. I like to spar with him, and this is how we communicate.”

About the Wind Hashira: “He’s hot headed and loud. Very loud. He was the most outspoken about me being a half-demon during my crowning and even tried to tempt me with his marechi blood. It smelled nice, like a gourmet dinner, but I could easily resist the temptation. I haven’t really liked him since.”

About the Insect Hashira: “She didn’t seem to like me at first. I had offered her my blood to use as a substitute for an experiment and she accepted. Whatever the results were had her interested in me. She now comes to me to ask me questions occasionally, and seems to hold no animosity towards me anymore. Although there is something simmering under her surface, I’m sure it’s something to do with Kanae’s death.”

About the Flame Hashira: “He’s also loud, like Lord Shinazugawa, but he’s very passionate and kind. I look up to him, even though I am older. He was wary of me at the very beginning, but was one of the few that accepted me pretty quickly. He even gave me pointers during a spar.”

About the Stone Hashira: “He was adamant on not accepting me at first. He believed anyone with Muzan’s blood, however diluted, did not belong in the Corps and should be slain. It took a long time to earn his acceptance and it almost seemed futile. As embarrassing as it is... it was learning that I can purr like a cat that... got him to like me. Both him and Lady Kanroji love cats, apparently. He likes to pat my head whenever he gets the chance."

About the Serpent Hashira: “He also doesn’t like me. At first, it was because I was a half-demon. He accepted that after a while and even sparred with me, claiming that I was fun to spar with. Now, he hates me because he thinks I’m too close to Lady Kanroji. I think he has a crush on her…”

About the Sound Hashira: “He’s very loud, too. He was mean at first, but it turns out it was just a form of tough love. We’re the same age and he even gifted me a haori that matches my breathing style! I wear it all the time and I love it, it makes me miss dad- I mean Mr. Urokodaki's haori that I outgrew. He said my Blood Demon Art was very flashy; he calls numerous things flashy, actually. It’s quite funny. I also think he’s really pretty, but he has… three wives…”

About the Flower Hashira: “I only knew her briefly, seeing as she died shortly after I became a Hashira. But she was also kind to me. She was hesitant to trust me, but she still did anyway. I really wish she was still around. After learning it was one of the Twelve Kizuki that killed her, I swore to Lady Kocho that I would help her find and kill Doma, the Kizuki in question.”

◇▪︎◇

Taishō Era Secrets!:

(with Tanjiro)

"Mr. Nagafuchi can't stand anything spicy! He prefers all of his food cold, even things that aren't supposed to be cold! He also loves sweet foods."

"His ears are incredibly sensitive, and he has a good sense of sight, smell, and hearing! It's not as good as mine or Zenitsu's, but he's still able to pick up a lot of things that normal human senses can't!"

"His voice doesn't match his appearance, but it's still considered a beautiful voice. He loves to sing and hum melodies, but he's become very embarrassed by this particular skill."

Tanjiro: "I hope one day I can hear you sing, Mr. Nagafuchi!"

Hisato: "I'd only sing for Nezuko, sorry Tanjiro."

Tanjiro: "That's okay! I'm sure Nezuko would love it!"

"He also doesn't talk to anyone because of this! Only the Hashira, me, Zenitsu, Insosuke, and everyone at the Butterfly Mansion have heard his voice."

"He's able to sneak up on anyone without making a sound! Despite wearing noisy clothes and having chimes on his parasol, he can move without alerting anyone! It's almost like he can choose if he makes noise when moving..."

Hisato: "I can, actually. When making my presence known, I tend to allow my footsteps and parasol to make noise for a more elegant appearance."

Tanjiro: "Is there a switch you can flip or something? How are you able to do that?"

Hisato: "That... shall remain a secret."

"Apparently he was taken in and raised by Mr. Urokodaki since he was a baby, and even calls him dad!"

Hisato: "Th-That's embarrassing, Tanjiro... You didn't have to say that..."

Tanjiro: "I think it's adorable! I also saw him as a father figure if it makes you feel better!"

Hisato: "..."

"Mr. Nagafuchi can purr! Like a cat! When Mr. Himejima and Ms. Kanroji learned about this, they were over the moon since they both love cats!! They find any chance possible to pet Mr. Nagafuchi, so cute!!!"

Hisato: "I... I do not purr... That is nonsense...!"

Tanjiro "Can I pet you, then?"

Hisato: "No, of course not, Tanjiro! You cannot pet me! And Lord Himejima and Lady Kanroji do not pet me!"

◇▪︎◇

Hisato's haori and parasol design