#but most people seemed to take Scar's assumption that he died to heart | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sukirichi · 3 years

Text

dutifully yours. [01]

Attached to the could’ve been’s of a promised happily ever after with the Crown Prince disguised under a scheme for power and greed, you are torn between choosing your happiness — or abandoning it to fulfill your duty as the future Queen.

→ unedited bcos i’m brave lazy. implied patriarchy. angst in future chapters. pure romance and fluff for now. royalty au. eventual smut. prince naoya !! i love him sm i could cry. this fic will break me, okay. naoya is close to canon but with my twist if that makes sense. drama in future chapters. oh and listen to this while reading <3

→ massive shoutout to my besties for always hyping me and helping me uwu, i present this token of prince naoya being an ideal husband okay cry cry i love him sm im crying. anyways pls enjoy bcos i poured my heart out to this and bcos i want more people in the naoya fucker club :>

one | next (to be posted)

Ever since the day your mother taught you how to read, you’ve had your nose buried in a book. Losing yourself in different worlds, swooning over fictional princes, and fantasizing for a love story ripped out of fairytale itself with such burning, passionate romance – you’d been through it all, dreamt of it all. And yet, you struggled to stop yourself from tugging at your dress.

The tight corset hadn’t even been the main focus of your worries, and neither was the heavy rivière resting on your collarbones.

“Would you stop fidgeting?” Beside you, your mother pursed her lips, fingers decorated with jewels stopping in their movements of fanning herself. The temperature hadn’t been particularly high inside the limousine that evening. You supposed it was the mere sight of you tugging and gulping audibly every now and then, gloved hands running over the hems of your collar.

You ducked your head down. “Sorry, Mother. I can’t help it.”

“Dear, your anxiety is written all over your face,” she sighed, turning your face to her as she cupped your cheeks. Smiling tenderly like a mother always did, your heart felt soothed even by the slightest bit. You wished she could keep holding you like this – like you were a fragile flower she was afraid of breaking; a fragile flower that needed more care handled than most. Tonight, however, you felt a hundred years older. Like you’d accidentally clicked on fast forward and got launched to the future. A future that seemed so unclear yet so...perfect. So right.

“How would the Prince fancy you if you’re sweating bullets like that? It’s not a good look for a marquess’ daughter.”

At the mention of the Crown Prince, your heart sank again. “My apologies, Mother. I’m just rather nervous. It’s the Crown Prince we’re talking about here.”

“He is quite the looker, isn’t he?” she giggled behind her fan, “Strong and handsome, as well.”

“My ladies. You are not fantasizing over the Crown Prince in my presence, are you?”

Crossing her leg over the other, your mother leaned forwards, elbows on her knees as she winked at your father. The marquess had his torso half twisted from the passenger seat, glaring playfully at your mother’s unabashed features. “It is of no seriousness, My Lord. I’m simply easing your daughter’s nerves.”

Your father sighed in worry. “What’s got you so worked up, child? You are beautiful. The Prince would be blind to not notice you.”

Each fibre in your body screamed in desperation for your father to be right. Tonight was not just any other night – the entire Kingdom, including noblewomen, foreign royals, and unwed daughters from honourable families had been invited to the Zen’in Castle for one purpose only: to find his Crown Prince a suitable wife, one that would be fit to be the next Queen as well. As the daughter of the marquess, you’d naturally received the invitation. It felt just like yesterday when the mail arrived and you’d cheered so much in joy the chickens went flying out of their coops, your horses galloping and whinnying at surprise, and now you here – minutes away from the palace where you were soon to be deemed worthy or unworthy to be beside His Highness.

With a shaky smile, you dug your nails into your thighs. “Well, we’ve only met once, Father. I doubt the Prince would remember me.”

“Just smile, darling. You will do great.”

To no one’s surprise, the Zen’in Castle brimmed with people and esteemed guests. Men and women danced with one another as muted chatters and chuckles blended in with the grand royal orchestra, everyone dressed to the nines and making you feel completely out of place.

The moment you’d been welcomed by the knights and led to the palace doors, your dress began to feel tighter than usual, your ribs clenching uncomfortably from the pressure. Your hands had not stopped trembling either, not even when you hid it behind your back and nodded at the people passing by. There were governor-generals, dukes, earls, professors and royal advisors and even families of the royal family’s inner circle of knights. Everyone looked like they belonged here. Chatting amongst one another over the finest of wines or discussing conspiracies on where the Kingdom of Zen’in would be in the next sixty years of the future King’s reign, no one here seemed to be out of place.

Everyone except you.

A warm hand was suddenly placed on the small of your back, making you gasp. Your mother’s smile was nothing short of warm as she held you close to her one last time, leaving a kiss on your forehead. You didn’t even realize how much you shook until she clasped her hands with yours. “Calm down, dear,” she reminded, “You’ll be on your own now. This is where we leave you since we’re not supposed to mingle with potential princesses.”

“Mother!” Your eyes widened in embarrassment. Looking around frantically, you bit your lip in fear someone must’ve heard.

Of course, while it would be no surprise most guests – if not all – hoped that their daughter would be the Crown Prince’s chosen fiancée, it still felt wrong to boldly assume such when you could barely keep up with the events of tonight.

However, your mother merely laughed. “I am proud of you, dear. Never forget that. It doesn’t matter whether you are chosen or not. We’re only here for formality and respect to the King and Queen’s demands.”

“You say that as if the Crown Prince really would not bother with me.”

“We didn’t mean that,” your father cut in, a flute of champagne already nested between his calloused fingers. Ever since you arrived, he’d been snatched away by fellow earls and barons, disappearing into the crowd for a ‘hearty conversation over one’s lands.’ You knew better than that, though. That statement always translated to which leader got to have more chances to wine and dine with the King, to which your family was ridiculously reminded of that you’d been stationed to the most faraway land where even hearing news from the royal papers was but a privilege.

“Just be yourself, alright? And enjoy the party. It’s about time you met with girls your own age and made some friends.”

“I – Father, wait!”

A slender young woman slithered to your side out of nowhere, her golden brown eyes following the silhouettes of your parents. It wasn’t long before they completely disappeared. Left alone with the stunning woman that was – for some reason – dressed in a plain black curve hugging dress too modest for tonight’s appropriateness, you took three steps away in caution. “You must be from way up North,” she noted, her head to the tipped to the side. “I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

God, was she beautiful. Long, thick eyelashes and short hair chopped in messy yet elegant curves, you struggled to hold her gaze. “Oh, yes, I come from the Terratian Borders. My family is stationed there under His Majesty’s orders.”

She hummed to herself. “The Terratian Borders are mostly forests and fields, no? The last time my family and I visited there, I came across the loveliest dandelions I’ve ever laid eyes on. Shame they died on the way back,” offering her hand – again, bare and empty with decorations yet still littered with faint scars and cuts – she beamed at you. “I’m Mai, by the way. Mai Zen’in.”

Zen’in?

Hands cupping your mouth, you bowed deep until your back ached. “Lady Mai!” you shut your eyes closed, unable to live with the shame. Mai Zen’in; one of the iconic twin pair from the extended Zen’in royal family, both a fashion icon and a legend for being a rumoured female knight. To have her in your presence was an honour. “My apologies for not recognizing you any sooner, Lady Mai!”

“Stand up, I’m not a royal,” she sniggered, “We’re just relatives of the actual monarch, but don’t let the family name fool you. The Crown Prince barely even acknowledges us being of the same blood.”

Albeit hesitant, you followed her gestures of making you stand up. You straightened your back and cleared your throat, fighting the urge to go haywire the moment his name was brought into the conversation. Not only would you be seeing Prince Naoya again in real life for the first time in years, but you’d also made acquaintances with his distant niece. However, his name was spoken with malice.

Frowning, you faced Lady Mai in all seriousness. “Prince Naoya? Why so?” Lady Mai looked at you like you’d grown two heads.

“He’s an ass, that’s why.”

“I-I don’t think he is,” you defended, “The Prince has been nothing but kind to me.”

“I didn’t know he was capable of kindness,” she muttered more so under her breath, low enough you were unsure whether you were supposed to hear it in the first place. Lady Mai then shook her head to herself before stealing a flute from a waiter passing by. Chucking it your way, her face turned dark and grim. “Take it as free advice: stay as far away from his as possible. The Crown Prince is nothing but good news.”

“Is it because he has lots of lovers?” you inquired with a small voice, “Uhm – well – It was an assumption. With a title and handsomeness like that, it would make sense everyone would want to be the Crown Prince’s lover.”

Lady Mai’s lip curled upwards. “Prince Naoya won’t bother with lovers. He is too occupied for that.”

“So I’ve heard.”

“Heard from whom?”

“The Royal Declaration from His Majesty himself,” you said, “Was it not the purpose of this ball? To find worthy candidates to be the Crown Prince’s betrothed? His coronation is coming soon.”

“Right. I forgot today was technically a bridal market,” she scratched the edge of her brow, falling silent for a moment. Her eyes scanned the lively crowd for a brief moment – watching with you as everyone laughed and danced to their heart’s content – the grand final event of the routine personal dance with the Crown Prince himself slowly approaching to reality. “You are joining in the festivities, are you not? Later, when he arrives, he shall meet you.”

“I am obligated to as a noble bachelorette, though I doubt His Highness would even look my way. There are far richer noblewomen here and even daughters of duke that would be perfect as his wife. ”

“You may have a point for that,” she hummed to herself, unaware that her agreement to the Crown Prince not paying attention to you left a sting both in your ego and heart. Not that it lasted long, for Lady Mai was already tugged on the arm by another equally fiercely beautiful woman – her older twin, Maki Zen’in. Soon to be governon-general of the Kingdom.

Lady Mai smiled in apology. “I need to go now since I’m not a part of this event. But hey, if ever I come around to visit the Borders again, perhaps you could entertain me?”

“I would be honoured to, Lady Mai.”

“You are sweet and innocent,” it was her sister who spoke this time, glasses perched high on her nose that concealed the wariness of her gaze. “I hope the Crown Prince never gets to your routine.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s nothing; she was talking to herself. Maki does that a lot,” Lady Mai’s forced chuckles were barely heard from the music. “You enjoy the party now. Don’t drink too much lest you want to embarrass yourself in everyone’s eyes and be talk of the Kingdom. Prince Naoya would hate it if you took the attention away from him.”

“Oh, uhm...”

“It’s a joke, Lady Y/N. Relax.”

You bowed once more. “My apologies.”

“The dance is about to begin,” Maki tapped on your shoulder, making you look up right where her eyes zeroed in. And exactly in the middle of the grandiose hall, under the sparkling golden chandeliers where he made all the gold in the world look incomparable next to him, the Crown Prince stood in his fully glory. Blond hair with the ends stained of midnight gelled back to reveal his forehead, the Crown Prince’s beauty never failed to shine. Whether it be in the papers, in the tabloids, in the billboards that you passed on the way to the city, or from way back when you met him for the first time as a naive, innocent teen – Crown Prince Naoya came straight out of a magazine cover.

In the back of your head, you could hear either of the twins murmuring good luck. Maybe both of them had said it – you had no idea. All of your attention, all the sensibility and coherence of your state had been switched the next instant, as if your heart and soul was born for the sole purpose of being bewitched by your Crown Prince.

And as if feeling someone’s gaze on him, the Crown Prince’s eyes trailed over the crowd. Almost boredly, his sharp eyes bounced from one giggling woman to another, the ends of his lips smirking upwards for just the tiniest bit. It must’ve stroked his ego. Until his eyes connected with yours. The Crown Prince’s eyebrows knitted together. You had no idea how you looked in that moment, and quite frankly, you didn’t care. Because the Crown Prince was looking at you, and you were looking at him with hearts in your eyes along with your heart pulsing at the tip of your tongue.

“Let us begin,” his lips moved from the distance, “Play the music. I shall dance with my bride.”

The air shifted in a split second. Murmurs were thrown over the room, women and men alike turning pale. Even the orchestra was stunned from the Crown Prince’s entrance – and it hadn’t even been dramatic to his standards – yet the whole castle fell mum from just a few of his words. A few seconds later, the crowd recomposed itself, and the strings began to dance along with its bows.

You are pushed into the crowd. Nearly colliding into the arms of another, you quietly thank the masked man who was to be your first partner of the night.

All the men joining the dance floor dressed with the intention of making the Crown Prince shine. Prince Naoya stood out from the throng of white as per the colour code, his blood red uniform as both Prince with the golden crest of the military leader pinned to his right breast. The other men meant to be filler partners until all the potential brides got to their designated three minutes with the Prince were all dressed in black, faces covered behind a plain black mask. None were allowed to talk. None were allowed to utter even a word, and so your partner pursed his lips in displeasure at your apology.

Whatever. You just had to wait a few more rounds before the song finished and transitioned into a new one; the song where you’d been informed would be your time alone with the Prince.

You’d been so lost in your head you barely breathed the entire dance. From partner to partner, you blanked. Your heart drummed so wildly in its cage it begged to come out, and strings of apologies were let out each time your masked partners grimaced for a brief second when their hands came in contact with your sweaty ones. Around you, all the lovely women smiled and danced graciously, mouths moving in unreadable conversations shared with the Crown Prince. Not once did you look at the six partners you’ve danced with. Not once did you worry about tripping on your own feet. Not once did you care that some of the masked men held you a little too roughly for your comfort. Your entire reason for existing in that moment was to witness the Crown Prince himself, mirroring his frown that got deeper and deeper with each woman retreating to the sea of people he’d rejected.

Not once did you even think about being one of them – the girls who’ve ducked their heads down as their parents comforted them over not being the chosen one, of bringing ‘dishonour’ to their families that the mighty Crown Prince had deemed them unworthy. Tears streamed down their faces until black ink followed afterwards, lips trembling from silent sobs.

Despite their broken prides – although there was that minority who simply sighed in relief after returning to their own families – no one would dare interrupt the Crown Prince’s dances.

All of these thoughts crossed your mind too late and at the exact time your masked partner pulled away from you, body half bent in a bow with his arm outstretched to the side. Following where he was gesturing at, your eyes met the Crown Prince’s tall and lean stature, a few blond fringes now fallen from his movements.

Even though a thin layer of sweat shone from his face, Prince Naoya remained ethereal.

And like a snake charmed by the musician’s seductive tone, your feet moved on its own. Fingers stretching until it met with the Crown Prince’s large and warm ones, you were now in front of him. With him. Holding him, touching him, meeting him eye for eye and realizing – gold. His eyes burned a deep shade of gold, elegantly rich and heartbreakingly stunning your heart ached.

Before you knew it, your hands began to tremble, feeling as if your body had been corded into a corset three sizes smaller. You could not breathe, and the Crown Prince took notice.

“You are stiff. Do I make you uncomfortable?” Good Saint. If only possible, you would’ve closed your eyes and basked in the deep warmth of his voice. It reverberated from deep within, breathed out with an air of natural authority and profound confidence it made your knees weak. As if sensing his effect on you (though for the wrong reasons, it seemed), Prince Naoya hummed to himself. “This routine shall last for a few minutes before I can let you go, I’m afraid.”

You instantly realized the implications of your silence. “N-not at all, Your Highness! I am honoured to be dancing with you.”

“There is no honour in a choreographed dance. Everyone will dance with me. It’s nothing special.”

Your heart fell. Prince Naoya not only sounded dejected, but detached as well. As if he found no pleasure or specialty in this event, at a time where he had every opportunity to meet his lover, and that this ball was merely a task to be checked off in his already long list of responsibilities. It wasn’t disappointment, per se, but rather melancholy that left a bitter taste in your mouth. Not because Prince Naoya held little to no regards for something you treasured, but because he sounded terribly alone. Like he was simply waiting for it to end out of discomfort.

“It’s special to me, Your Highness,” you blurted out faster than you could stop yourself. For a moment, you feared you may have offended him, but the Crown Prince only laughs.

And when he did – saint, when he laughed – his eyes crinkled into half moons, pearly whites flashing against the bright lights and his whole chest shook with amusement.

You’d never seen him smile this way before.

Prince Naoya’s laughter didn’t cease. Around you, your gut instincts told that people were now beginning to look; the Crown Prince’s deep rumbles of laughter sounded exquisitely like music as well, after all. “ Is it special to you because you are now dancing and within the Crown Prince’s proximity? As much as I presume how exhilarating it might be for those who mostly see me in the papers and in the tabloids, I assure you, dancing with your Prince is not an honour. Especially when you are all sent the invitations based on your status and not your worthy traits.”

“It’s special to me,” you mumbled, growing shy all of a sudden when the Crown Prince nodded at you to continue. “Because...because it reminds me of the first time we met.”

The Crown Prince hummed in amusement.

“We have met before?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I’m from the Terratian Borders – my father is a loyal servant of His Majesty. You visited the borders when you were eighteen and I was sixteen. Do you remember it, Your Highness? You stormed in my private library.”

Indeed, the young barely-out-of-his-teens Crown Prince barged into your home’s library years ago. You were not previously informed he and his parents would be visiting since they arrived wordlessly, so you were stuck in your chambers as usual, killing time if not for sleeping and tending to the animals. Perched on a ladder, you attempted to reach for a book on the upper shelf when your foot slipped beneath you. At the age of sixteen, you were dramatic enough to say your life flashed before your eyes. You would’ve screamed then had strong arms not appeared out of nowhere, the Crown Prince staring at you with wide, golden eyes as they were now, his breathy rasped as he asked, are you okay, my lady?

The mere recollection of that fateful memory had your cheeks warming in delight. “You were so charming and heroic back then. Even when I had no idea you were a royal, I would have still believed you to be princely,” you said rather absentmindedly, blinking once then twice at your words. “Of course, it’s understandable if you do not remember, Your Highness!”

“My apologies. I do not remember, though Terratia is a wonderful place. Such a shame I was not informed beforehand they had a lovely daughter.”

“Thank you, Your Highness,” you cheered back, cheeks and jaw beginning to ache from how wide you were smiling. But could anyone blame you? You felt absolutely silly that you were a breath away from passing out minutes ago, and now here you were, dancing with the Crown Prince and sharing memories with him like it was a daily occurrence. The words it’s true love when you feel at peace with them suddenly rang back at your head from that latest romance novel you read, and you turned away, hoping the Crown Prince would not read your thoughts to your face. However, Prince Naoya’s lips pursed into a thin line, all traces of humour now disappeared. “I’m sorry – should I not have laughed?”

“No, I don’t mind,” he mused with his jaw locked tight, “I just haven’t seen anyone react that way before.”

“Like what?”

“Like my words meant the entire universe to them. I may dare even say you look terribly in love, though I cannot blame you on that one, can I?”

Prince Naoya shook his head the minute the words left his mouth. Forcing himself to believe it couldn’t be real, perhaps, you truly did not know anymore. Your only plan for tonight was to see the Crown Prince and get to live out your dream of seeing him once more even for just a brief moment before you travelled back home while he married another, and yet – “Your Highness, I’m in love with you. I have always been since the day we met.”

You could no longer stop the words. The voice at the back of your head begged you to shut up and not cause a scene, that your time had passed up and people were staring, yet you remained in his arms no matter how much you wanted nothing more than for the ground to swallow you whole.

“Please do not misunderstand me, Your Highness. I did not come here to attempt to steal your heart and be your wife, though I will admit I have dreamt of meeting you again for so many moons. I...I only want to tell you this. That I love you and even though it was a brief moment, I think the love I’ve always read about felt real and possible for the first time in my life,” chuckling nervously, you gather to courage to face him, adoration shining for the Crown Prince stood shock still before you, however stunned he may be. “I love you, Your Highness. I love you. And to whoever lucky woman you choose to be your betrothed, I hope she takes care of you and showers you with all the affection you are deserving of. You would make a great King. So God help his Crown Prince, and may you lead us all into a better world.”

Prince Naoya did not budge a muscle. His eyes remained hard on yours, breath warm as his nostrils fumed. With each passing second that he did not speak, you grew restless and tugged your arm away from his hold with a disgraceful smile.

You’d truly crossed your line. The repercussions to be faced for this impoliteness would destroy your family’s honour. You had to leave. “Your Highness? The song has changed. It’s time to let go—”

The Crown Prince inched close enough until his hair tickled your cheeks, his deep voice sending shivers down your spine as he pulled you close, close enough that your lower bodies touched. Skin ablaze with heat, you dared not move an inch. “Do you mean it?” he demanded lowly, his fingers ghosting over your wrist to hold you in place. “Do you truly love me? Not for what I have, not for who I was born to be, but me as a person itself?”

Closing your eyes to shudder in a deep breath, you exhaled. “Of course, Your Highness. Even if you were not born as a Prince, I’m sure I would’ve still loved you in a different universe.”

“But I do not know you.”

“We don’t have to know each other, Your Highness, and we never will. Once you let me go, I’ll return to the shadows where I belong, and I will continue supporting you until the day of your coronation.”

“And if I refuse to let you go?” he clicked his tongue, “What will you do then?”

The Crown Prince’s spicy perfume must be an aphrodisiac or hypnotizer of sorts. Everything he did messed with your mind that it was too late – the music had stopped and people were no longer drinking or chatting. Everyone’s eyes were on you and the Crown Prince. You could only imagine how controversial this position must be; with his lips trailing dangerously close to that sensitive spot in your neck where you nearly moaned. You really needed to leave.

“P-people are looking, Your Highness. You do not want this affair with someone you won’t choose—”

“Who said I won’t choose you?” Finally, he pulled away. But Prince Naoya never once tore his gaze away from yours, nor did he allow you to look at anyone but him as he caresses your jaw so light and feathery you wondered if he was truly there.“Who said I haven’t laid my eyes on you the moment you walked in here? This ball is for naught because of you, Lady Y/N. I’ve already made my choice, and you helped me confirm it as soon as you danced with me.”

“Your Highness...”

“Look at me,” he ordered, your eyes flitting from his pinkish lips to his sharp nose and then to his fox-like gaze. Only this time, Prince Naoya was no longer harsh. “Don’t be scared.”

“But they’re looking.”

“You are with me, of course they’ll look,” he teased, “They wish to be you right now. But ignore them and dance one more time with me.”

It wasn’t like you had a choice, but did it matter? One nod from him was all it took before the orchestra fumbled back to their spots and a new song played, Ode of Moonlight Lovers, and the Crown Prince was guiding you back to where he had originally danced with you.

From the corners of your eyes, you caught a glimpse of your parents with their mouths gaped open; your father looking like he was on the verge of passing out. However, you felt nothing but joy, nothing but the adrenaline pumping through your veins as he danced and twirled you in his arms. When the music stopped and you were both panting for air with silly smiles on your face, it dawned on you that you were with the Prince. No, rather, it was only you and the Prince alone. Even in the sea of people whose faces began to blur, he prevailed crystal clear.

You could recognize him anywhere, find him everywhere.

Prince Naoya stepped impossibly closer until your chests touched, hearts beating as one. Cupping your jaw, he was near enough that he swallowed all your shaky breaths with a small, teasing smile like you both shared a secret the entire world could not know.

“Do I still make you nervous?”

Laughing, you nodded. “Yes, Your Highness. I feel like I’m going to explode.”

“It’s beloved now,” he corrected, face inching closer and closer to a point you could count the number of his lower lashes. “And what do lovers do to seal their union?”

“M-Marriage?”

“Close, but this is much better.”

If anyone were to tell you that you would have a love story ripped out straight from a fairytale, you would’ve laughed at their faces. You were no Cinderella, nor were you a goddess of beauty that could’ve possibly caught the Crown Prince’s eye. Yet, his soft lips were on yours, kissing you with as much passion you could only dream of that you cried.

Strong hands guiding the back of your waist, Prince Naoya dipped you lower to the ground – the grand of finish of his dance. He had chosen his bride.

The crowd cheered and rejoiced all around you, making you smile into the kiss. Fisting his collar to bring him closer to yours, your mouth burst into metaphorical fireworks as soon as his tongue mingled with yours for an experimental taste. He was bitter yet sweet; expensive wine resting on his tongue, yet a delicate vanilla sat heavily on his soft lips that molded with yours. It was a taste you could spend forever being addicted on. And you were crying, crying so much your chest ached and the Prince’s cheeks grew damp from yours. You’d dreamt of this for so long, too long now.

Prince Naoya slowly pulled you away, his thumb wiping the tears away from the pads of your cheeks with tenderness in his touch. However, the Prince was not satisfied. The crowd whooped as he leant down to kiss your forehead. “You are mine now, my princess.”

Looping his hands with yours, the Crown Prince led you out of the castle. The crowd parted naturally to make way for the new couple, and you were left staring at his broad back and the tuft of blond hair where you’d soon find out how soft it would be. Sending one last glance to your crying parents, you waved goodbye. You had no idea where the Crown Prince would take you but you were already bunching your dress up, heart completely filled with trust you did not question it. What mattered tonight and for the rest of your life was that it felt right. That it was him – your beloved Prince Naoya Zen’in and soon to be husband – that you’d follow through the moon and back.

419 notes · View notes

darling-i-read-it · 3 years

Text

I Missed You

Nikolai Lantsov x reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: siege and storm and ruin and rising spoilers, fighting, insinuations to smut

Author’s Note: he <3 <3 <3 <3 I haven’t read king of scars yet so don’t kill me but I had to write this

Summary: When Nikolai disappears after the battle with the Darkling, you’re left wondering where he is as Alina recovers enough to search for him.

I don’t own these characters. They belong to author/director/creator

(rip the fact i cant add a gif)

You knew that the fight would get nasty but nothing could have prepared you for this. You weren’t even sure what to do about it other than run around blindly, fighting everything that came in your way that you didn’t recognize. The Darkling had gotten the drop on you. Alina was somewhere, alive hopefully but you were much more worried about Nikolai.

You couldn’t seem to find him in the blindness of fighting. You looked between bodies and above heads for that familiar head of blonde hair but you couldn’t find him anywhere. Hopefully Alina could get this fight done with sooner rather than later.

You slashed your sword and used your summoning powers to the best of your ability. You were always the top of your class and it showed on the battlefield. There was no stopping you once you started but you were beginning to wear down. You couldn’t last much longer at this rate.

Suddenly the ground shook. You looked up and saw Alina and the Darkling, hands intertwined. For a moment you thought she had betrayed you. The battlefield seemed to still. Then there was blinding light and the darkest black at the same time somehow. You collapsed to the ground and passed out.

=====

When you woke up Mal was by your side. That was confusing to you. Why wasn’t he with Alina? You looked around and noticed she was laying in the bed beside you, even more wounded than you felt. You tried to sit up but he pushed you down gently.

“Rest. You got hit by a building,” he said. You scoffed.

“I feel like it.” Suddenly your eyes went wide and your stomach dropped. You sat up completely and nothing Mal did was able to stop you. You looked around the infirmary for Nikolai. He had to be here. He was here somewhere. But just like on the battlefield, you came up empty. Your eyes flashed to Mal’s but he wouldn’t meet your gaze. “Where is he?” you asked, fearing the worst.

“I don’t know,” he said earnestly. “I saw Alina tell him to get everyone out of there during the fight.” He paused for a minute. “He made her promise to keep you safe. Dropped the slyness and everything to ask.” You cursed under your breath. That was almost worse than knowing for sure he was dead. He could be lost somewhere. He could be dead in a field alone. Your mind raced and you laid back down of your own volition as it sunk in.

“I have to find him.”

“He’ll find us,” Mal said but his voice sounded skeptical. Like, he’ll find us if he’s alive. You closed your eyes tightly and wished you had stayed asleep longer.

====

The Apparat kept Alina tightly locked away underground, away from her people. It was a harsh time after that fight. She was weak.

Though you liked Alina, you had spent most of your time tracing leads on Nikolai. It had been so long since that fight. There were rumors that he was alive but who could really tell? The rumors could have been spread by the Darkling to give Alina and everyone false hope. He could have died on the battlefield and been taken away. There were far too many options and you didn’t like most of them.

You and Nikolai had been very close. You had met while he was off on his ship and then stayed close to him. You loved him deeply and you had started a relationship while on that ship. You were the only person who he felt truly knew him.

You missed him. You missed his banter and his face and his remarks and his hair. You missed his lips. You missed everything about him.

Though you were in on the plan to break out Alina, your mind remained with him. You got her out and she gained her power back.

Mal walked up to you afterwards, a neutral look on his face.

“I think I’ve tracked Nikolai down.” You raised your eyebrows and tried to hide your delight. Mal was the best tracker you had, if he said he had then he had.

“Really?”

“I think so. I’ve spoken to Alina and we’re leaving in the morning for him.” You let out a breath of relief. Finally. After all this time you were going to find him.

“Thank you Mal.” He nodded. He turned to walk away and then stopped, turning back to you. “I think he wanted me to find him. He left some clues along the way, for you.” You leaned against your desk.

“That’s risky. The Darkling could have found them.”

“Have you met your Nikolai? Is there a risk he wouldn’t take for you?” Mal smiled a bit. He knew the feeling Nikolai felt. He would give everything and more up for Alina if she asked. You scoffed a bit.

“He’s quite the prince charming,” you said. He nodded.

“Be ready by dawn.”

====

When this fight with the Darkling began you were not in the mood. Mal had promised you were so close and now this? You still used all your power but still, it was not something you wanted to do.

You were losing, everyone was. You were losing a fight to one of the Darklings shadow soldiers when the ship arrived above you. You didn’t even see it, you were so distracted. Someone shouted happily which was an odd thing to hear in the middle of a fight. You glanced up just in time to see Nikolai and his men fending off the Darklings troops. Everyone was going up to the boat.

The boat.

He did it. You couldn’t help but smile. You ran up to him and he met your eyes from above as you climbed up with everyone else. The second you were on deck he grabbed you, kissing you harshly. It was brief.

“Expect more of that,” he said as he went back to helping everyone up. You started to help as well. The boat moved away from the Darkling and then you were safe. Or as safe as you could be in this world.

Everyone took a collective breath.

You met Nikolai’s eyes and walked up to him, hugging him tightly. He didn’t even have the heart to say anything snarky to you. He just wanted to hold you. He had missed you so much. You pulled away and hit his arm.

“Where have you been?” you asked him harshly. He rubbed his arm.

“I was building this!” he told you. You couldn’t help but smile and hug him again.

“I missed you,” you whispered. “But don’t let it go to your head.”

“It’s already there. It’s in my head now.” You rolled your eyes and kissed him gently. There was something about the way Nikolai kissed you that left you weak in the knees. Alternatively, Nikolai was very sure it was all you that was the good kisser. Neither of you would admit this out loud.

You pulled away so that he could order his troops. Alina walked up to the two of you. Nikolai kept a firm grip on your hip as she approached.

“It’s nice to see you again,” she said honestly. “We thought you might be dead.” He looked over at you.

“Did you think I was dead?”

“I thought you were six feet under. You didn’t see me for months!” Nikolai nodded.

“Fair assumption.” You laughed a bit. “Although you should know, there wasn’t a day I wasn’t thinking of you.” He looked over at Alina. “You too Alina but in a less romantic way.”

“Fair enough,” Alina said. “We should talk.” He nodded a bit and looked over at you.

“If you aren’t waiting for me in the captain quarters I’ll have you walk the plank.” You rolled your eyes but fought the urge to blow him an air kiss as he went. He fought the urge to bring you along.

#grishaverse imagines #Nikolai lantsov x reader #Nikolai lantsov imagines

174 notes · View notes

ragsweas · 3 years

Text

Hobbit Fic Rec List!

MODERN AU!

Hello! I always wanted to share a gigantic list of awesome works in Hobbit fanfic, but realized they are too many. So let's start small. A few modern AU that everybody has to read!

.......*.......

How to fall in love in 100 days by Kytanna

As their lives intertwine, Thorin, Bilbo, and their nephews learn the meaning of finding a family, love and the hard path towards healing. All, over the course of a hundred days.

A lovely piece with all the cuteness and fluff.

Softer Strokes by autisticalistair

Thorin is a well-known artist living a secluded life in the Swiss Alps. Bilbo is a former history professor living in a trauma rehabilitation centre after a devastating accident that took his parents lives. Through a mutual friend, Bilbo finds himself in Switzerland, and Thorin finds himself with company for the next few months, and neither of them are prepared for what that will bring.

I'll never say 'I love you' by JustReadingMaybeWriting

Bilbo is a veterinary student who one night saves the life a handsome but wounded man. Bilbo should have called an ambulance. If he had called an ambulance, he wouldn't be in this weird mess. He certainly wouldn't be falling in love with the man he saved, who can't seem to leave him alone.

This one's a bit dark, but I love it.

painted blind by nasri

The last time Bilbo stepped foot in Aberdeen it was with a broken heart and a bachelor’s degree. All things considered, this time isn’t so different.

Plan B by Drenagon

Plan B: an alternative strategy; a contingency plan, devised for an outcome other than the expected plan.

Or, sending an unqualified temp to act as Thorin Oakenshield's PA because no one qualified can put up with him.

(He'd say they can't meet his standards. Of course he would.)

Meet Bilbo Baggins. He just became Plan B.

One Modern!AU I always wanted to read and this is just it! It's amazing!! And the whole COmpany is there!!

A Land Far Away by Prollyaghost (Callmerin)

"If we were in a different time or place, this story may have begun with ‘once upon a time’, or even ‘In a hole in the ground, there lived…’ But as it so happens, we are in this time and place, in the outskirts of London, where there are no ‘once upon a times’ and the only holes in grounds lead to sewage tunnels. There does happen to be, however, a man who has dedicated a great deal of his life studying these ‘once upon a time’s. He is an English teacher, enjoys afternoon teas with homemade raisin scones, and he most certainly does not believe in fairy-tales.

His name is Bilbo Baggins, and that last bit about him is about to change."

Bilbo Baggins, an English teacher who has never been outside of England, suddenly finds himself thrust into an adventure when a strange man named Thorin Oakenshield requires his help to fulfil his father’s dying wish. Turns out studying the niche topic of the ancient, fictional society of dwarves was more useful than his parents could have imagined. Plunged into a forgotten land, Thorin and Bilbo must find the mythical Arkenstone, before the legends of the past come back to haunt modern society.

Okay, this one's a WIP, but damn the premise is super interesting and honestly can't wait for the next update!

Nothing Gold Can Stay by perkynurples

Bilbo Baggins led a rather peaceful life, thank you very much, until an old acquaintance decided to turn it upside down, and he found himself agreeing to take a job that’s… let’s say not exactly up his alley, and might eventually cost him a little more than his treasured cozy lifestyle. Who would have thought tutoring a slightly menacing monarch’s more than slightly overbearing nephew could prove to be such an adventure?

This is one of the fics that does not need an introduction. No matter how many times you read this, it isn't enough. And we all love Fili and Kili here.

What to do When Your Cat is an Asshole by lily_winterwood

“You have a cat?” asks the face on the screen. “Yes. His name’s Smaug, he’s orange, and he’s an asshole. Aren’t you, Smaug?” Surly Food Provider glowers at me, which, of course, I am immune to. “Aren’t you a little asshole?” I don’t see why he needs to call me that. My butthole is perfectly licked, and it smells wonderful.

The AU where Smaug is Thorin's asshole cat. Written for the Bagginshield Unexpected Anniversary.

This one's small, and hilarious and even better if you imagine Benedryl Cucumbersnatch narrating the whole thing

No Ordinary Love by badskippy

Bilbo and Ori have been best friends since they were ten years old and tragedy brought them together. Now, a new job, a sudden rainstorm, a chance meeting and budding romance with a burly, handsome stranger will not only alter their lives, but set in motion events that will change everyone around them, and reveal how lies, deceit and assumptions can leave deeper scars than the ones that can be seen.

WIP, unfinished, but damn was this an interesting tale. For anybody who loves angst, go give it a read!

Remember Me by thehistorygeek

Bilbo Baggins and Thorin Oakenshield are destined to suffer. In every life they live, in every age, in every era, they meet, and this meeting brings back all the memories of the lives that have come before. But every meeting serves also as a death sentence, for once they have met, one of them is doomed to die soon after, usually tragically and prematurely. They remember nothing of their past lives until they meet, and once they have there is nothing that can be done to stop their fate.

For anyone obsessed with Reincarnation and/or History, this is it.

A Remover of Obstacles by MistakenMagic

"Dis often chided her older brother for being a misanthropist. She did it so often it had become a term of endearment. It was true that Thorin struggled with people; he struggled to form and maintain relationships. Dr. Grey had diagnosed him with this and Thorin hadn’t the heart to tell him this wasn’t a symptom of his PTSD, it was a symptom of his personality. He exercised a sense of apathy with almost everyone he met… But Bilbo was different. Thorin actually found himself wanting to know more about him."

Another fic that DOES NOT need an introduction. I have read it thrice and every time the emotions are still the same. Trigger Warnings, but damn this is all worth it.

An Unexpected Meeting by what_am_i_even_doing_tho

This is the chronicling of the modern day shenanigans of Bilbo Baggins, who is an absolute gay disaster, and Thorin Oakenshield, who is unashamedly enamored. Aka, the modern Bagginshield AU that no one ever asked for but they're getting anyway.

green and gilded by nasri

The next time he visits his parents there are flowers left in the grass, pressed back against the gravestone. They are yellow and white daffodils, plain and wilting.

“Who’s been to see you?” He asks, taking a single photo of the flowers with their drooping stems and curled petals and the wet winter grass that surrounds them. His mother would call it kind, his father might say it's curious, and Bilbo takes another petal to tuck into his pocket.

You know those stories that you read once and then they never leave your head? And somehow your whole life begins to revolve around that one story? Yeah, this is it. Spoilers in tag and I would suggest you read before advancing cause many people do not like it, but even if you are not in that group, just give it a read. This story deserves all the reads.

Bran' New Suit by pibroch (littleblackdog)

Andrew's description had been sufficient to recognize him— a riot of honey brown curls, short in stature, a well-favoured face with expressive features— but it hadn't quite been enough to prepare Tom for the sharp, almost painful tug in his gut at the sight of the man. They had never met before, to the best of Tom's recollection, but there was something eerily and inexplicably familiar about him all the same.

One of the first Modern AU I read and dauym...you won't get it until the end but then...it's fun.

Under New Management by frostyjack

Fili's life is pretty good -- he's doing well at university, he gets on well with his uncle and guardian Thorin, and he's never likely to know what it's like to be poor or unwanted. Then Thorin takes in a foster child -- Kili Oakenshield, a long-lost relative whose past is a total mystery. Suddenly, Fili's life gets a whole lot more complicated. But maybe it gets better, too.

Lots of trigger warning for this one, but when the end comes, you'll know it's all been worth it.

One-Sided Conversations by northerntrash

"Thank you for listening," Thorin said, getting to his feet. "I hope to be able to return the favour, one day."

The man on the bed didn't respond, but since he'd been in a coma for longer than Thorin had known him, that wasn't entirely surprising.

(Not Quite) Prince Charming by manic_intent

The problem, Bilbo would later tell Gandalf in aggrieved irritation, was not so much the unannounced visitors, oh no, but the fact that due to the lateness of the hour and sheer merciless fate, it came to be that at the respectable age of forty, Bilbo was being introduced to a real, live king while wearing striped pyjamas and fluffy slippers.

The Making of a Story by northerntrash

When Bilbo finds a case of old family photographs, he becomes determined to find the original owners: what he does not expect is to become quite so involved in their lives, or that those photographs should prove quite so important.

Misunderstandings and other obstacles for love by ylc

This series dammit! It's amazing, and the dynamics you would ask from a Modern AU.

Candle Glow and Mistletoe by euseevius

Bilbo and Thorin have been married for six months now. The thing is, Thorin’s family doesn’t know this. And because pretending to be just friends for the three weeks you’re going to spend at the family cabin is so much easier than telling the truth, that is what they will do.

(Of course Bilbo has his own ideas of how believable it is for a grown man to bring a friend to spend Christmas with his family. That’s why they make a bet out of it.)

For days you need to just laugh at these two idiots.

The Lost Kingdom of Erebor by Twisted_Barbie

AU. The Lost Kingdom of Erebor is shrouded in myth, likened to the heavens and compared to Atlantis. Until an archaeological discovery unearths that which was lost and awakens the Mad King from his cursed eternal rest.

Not a happy ending, and mysterious and you need to give it a read. Just, do it. It will all be worth it.

Of Palaces and Ruins by livelongandgetiton

Slow burn. Bilbo Baggins is a half-baked archaeologist who has put his dreams of adventure on hold to teach secondary school. Thorin is the grandson of a politically powerful figure in the historically rich and deeply isolationist country of Erebor. When he flees conflict and corruption in Erebor to settle in London, he finds his hands full with two young boys. Gandalf meddles, and Bilbo signs on as a personal tutor for the boys in hopes of getting a foot in the door to archaeological work in Erebor. He soon discovers that Thorin is a tough nut to crack. As Bilbo takes care of the boys he and Thorin grow closer, and secrets about not just the brooding stranger, but the mysterious country and politics of Erebor begin to unravel. It turns out that Bilbo isn't leaving adventure behind, after all.

WIP, updating. JUST READ IT!!!

Write Me Down Easy by lucyraebrown

Bilbo Baggins, a simple man with a wish for something more than his life teaching high school English, is obsessed with a famous author by the pen-name Oakenshield. Although he knows the future is dim for his chances of finding out about the man behind his favorite book, it's reassuring to know someone has the same thoughts about the world.

WIP, updating. It's mostly fuff and happiness, so yesss...feed your inner Bagginshield!

Show Me My Silver Lining by BiSquared

Three years after the hostile takeover of his grandfather's record label by one DJ Smaug, lead singer Thorin Oakenshield is ready to give up on his dreams, even if his band isn't ready to give up on him. If Thorin can convince talent scout Bilbo Baggins to sign them, they might just have a fighting chance. Of course, this is the night when Thorin gets stage fright.

The music industry AU no one asked for.

Love-In-Idleness by perkynurples

Taking Bilbo Baggins, a successful movie actor who is only just getting used to the perks and intricacies of becoming A Face People Want To See, and putting him together with Thorin Oakenshield, with his very traditional (read: slightly backwards) ideas about what constitutes Real Art and Real Talent, might very well be viewed as just some clothead’s idea of a joke. But there are jokes, and then there are carefully calculated risks the size of controversial reproductions of classic Shakespearean plays - for Bilbo, it is the chance of a lifetime to prove himself to all those who have ever deemed him too one-dimensional to even attempt stage, while Thorin has the opportunity to get out of the rut that’s been hindering his career for so long now, and shine in a role worthy of his talent once again. That is if the two learn how to share the same space for more than ten minutes without wanting to tear each other’s hair out. The course of true love never did run smooth, after all…

Did I read this in one go? Yes I did. Did I fall in love with Bagginshiled all over again? Yes I did.

.......*.......

And that's the list folks! I hope you guys have fun reading all of these nice fics! (And all the bagginshield angst/fuff)

#the hobbit #hobbit #fanfiction #fanfic #thilbo #thorins company #thorin oakenshield #bilbo baggins #modern #fanfic recommendation #hope you all have fun!

115 notes · View notes

consumeconstantly · 4 years

Text

The Only Antidote is a Kiss

Summary: Scarecrow always did come up with the most whacky chemical formulas to test on people. Red Hood gets dosed with his latest toxin, and the only way to cure it is with a kiss. The only candidate? Long time rival and almost enemy, Ladybird.

____________________________________________________

“No,” Red Hood said, resolutely. “No way in hell.”

Red Robin’s exasperated voice crackled over the comm. “Hood, if you don’t, you’re going to die.”

“Do you think I care? Death is better.”

“I would say that’s insulting if I didn’t feel the exact same way.” Ladybird nonchalantly twirled a yoyo at her side. “Besides, ten minutes is plenty of time to get him someone else.”

“You two are in the middle of nowhere. It’s thirty minutes to the nearest city.”

“Yeah, but the suburbs are always an option. You Bats always seem to miss the obvious solution.”

“I’m not kissing her,” Red Hood repeated.

“I know that you two are…” Red Robin tried to find a more delicate way to word their relationship, “Not always on the best of terms, but you are on the same side right now. Ladybird, you don’t want Red Hood to die, do you?”

Plying Ladybird was always easier than trying to convince Red Hood. The woman had a heart of gold. Today? No such luck.

“He’s not going to die,” Ladybird scoffed. “If he dies over this instead of the many, many, many assassination attempts that I saved him from, I’ll feel insulted. But I’m also not going to help. I’m not going to kiss an unwilling party, and certainly not one with a mug as ugly as Red Hood.”

“You’ve never even seen my face!” Red Hood argued from safely inside his beauteous red bucket.

“Yeah, well you’ve never seen mine either, and yet somehow, you have no issue with calling me disfigured every time our paths cross.”

“You’re wearing a mask. Only people who are horribly scarred wear full face masks.”

“Oh, so you’re admitting you’re ugly then?”

“No, I’m wearing a helmet, not a mask. Big difference.”

Ladybird barely stopped herself from bashing her head against the cement and steel wall. If the action didn’t break her mask, she would have considered going through with it. “God, this is why I’m not going to kiss him, Red Robin. Can’t you use one of those zeta things and drop in a girl for him to make out with?”

“You know they don’t work like that.”

“I wouldn’t know, it’s not like I’m in the Justice League.”

“Not for a lack of trying! We’ve offered you the position at least ten different times.”

“Yeah, on the condition that I get Red Hood to join up too. That certainly doesn’t sound like you guys actually want my help.”

“Nine minutes on the clock,” an automated voice reminded them.

“I say we blow this popsicle stand,” Red Hood pointed a finger up at the cement ceiling.

“Wow, what a stupendously original idea, Red Hood. It’s almost like the next thing out of your mouth might be something vaguely resembling intelligence. Oh wait, that’s right. We can’t get out of this hell hole because there’s three feet of cement on every side of us and we have no weapons that can help.”

“I haven’t had a crack at it, yet.”

“Be my guest. I’ll sit back and laugh at your failed attempts.” Ladybird reclined on a wall. “We both know that between the two of us, I’m the one who’s better at escape and solutions that don't require firearms. You don’t think with either one of your heads, you think with your AK-47.”

“My babies are all I need to get the job done. Your plans are always so unnecessarily convoluted.”

“They’re convoluted so I can cover my tracks instead of leaving evidence, debris, and dead bodies behind.”

“Uh, guys? Can you have your spat after Hood’s life is out of immediate danger?”

“No,” both of them chorused, immediately glaring at each other for speaking in sync.

“I doubt Scarecrow actually came up with a formula that will make you die if you don’t kiss someone of the opposite gender within ten minutes. That seems like the kind of chemical compound that’s featured in all of those really trashy romance novels, except instead of being unable to control your instincts, you die.” Ladybird considered the empty vial on the floor. “I’m confident that Red Hood can ride this out with minimal damage. Even if he does get horny, it’s not like he’s going to go for me-- drug induced state or not, he can’t stand my guts.”

“Can I just say that I don’t want to bank his life on that assumption?”

“It’s not like your life is the one at stake. Just try to get someone out here that can break down this welded door for us sooner, rather than later.” Ladybird gives Red Hood a once over. “Besides, if he does try anything, we all know that I’m more than capable of tying him up.”

“Hey, why don’t you use that Lucky Charm of yours?”

“Do you think I didn’t think of that already? That was one of the first things I considered.”

“So why didn’t you use it?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe the fact that after I do, I detransform within five minutes? Not a big fan of exposing my identity, plus it’s not like anybody’s in any real danger because we’re locked up here. Scarecrow’s tied up, the goons that welded the door shut on us aren’t capable of using their brains, and a team is going to bust us out in thirty minutes anyways.”

For the millionth time, Red Hood pounded his shoulder against the steel weld, hoping that something would give. Nothing happened.

A beep sounded.

“Ten minutes have passed.”

“See?” Ladybird crowed triumphantly. “I was right. Nothing’s--”

Red Hood fell to the floor, clawing at his chest.

“... happening. I jinxed it, didn’t I? I guess I’ll use it, then.”

Ladybird called for a lucky charm. No antidote fell into her hand. Just a sheet of paper, saying Kiss him.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Tikki, don’t do me dirty like this!”

“Tikki? Who’s Tikki? What did the Lucky Charm give you?”

A wet cough sounded from underneath Red Hood’s helmet. He started to gasp for air.

Ladybird didn’t like Hood, but Red Robin was right. She had grown fond of him after saving his ass so many times. She wasn’t just going to let him die, especially not when she could help him. With a bone weary sigh, she knelt next to Red Hood.

“I guess we’re doing this, aren’t we? Red Robin, comms off.”

“Off? But Hood sounds like--”

“Off,” she repeated, firmly. “Or I’ll break them.”

The telltale sign of static ceased in her ears.

Ladybird held Red Hood by his shoulders, maneuvering his mask off.

“I hope you’re ugly,” she whispered.

He was not.

Even with blood on his lips, Jason Todd was unfortunately attractive.

“Gonna--” he coughed again, the spray of blood accompanied by a wheeze. “Bless me with your face before I die?”

“I can’t believe that you’re still snarky while you’re on death’s door.” Ladybird touched the full face mask that she added during her years as a vigilante in Gotham. She still has the usual Ladybug eye cover, so her identity is safe. But the noh mask provides a sense of safety to her. She’s loathe to take it off, but in order for a kiss to work, it needs to be put aside. With a sigh, she places it on the ground and places a hand over Red Hood’s startlingly blue eyes.

“Kinky,” he spat. Ladybird grimaced. Why she ended up on this mission alone with Red Hood was beyond her, but they always ended up in the worst situations together somehow, anyways.

Her lips descended on his.

Iron and sweat.

“Okay,” she said, wiping her lips with the hand that wasn’t preoccupied with shielding Red Hood’s eyes. “You feeling any better?”

He coughed again.

“Great, so Scarecrow was lying and I didn’t have to kiss you. You were just going to die anyways.”

She placed her noh mask back on, then pressed a button on her comm. “You’re going to want to speed up the whole backup team. Looks like Scarecrow was lying.”

“You’re kidding me. Scarecrow never lies--”

Red Hood sat up shakily.

“I’m fine, Replacement. Throat’s a little sore, but I’m fine.”

“Good to know his MO hasn’t changed,” Ladybird remarked. “I’d suggest that you wipe your face with something. It’s covered in blood.”

“And Ladybird cooties.” Red Hood used his forearm to wipe the blood off. Ladybird had to admit that the man was objectively good looking. The artist in her wanted to take a picture or sketch him. The shock of white hair, symmetrical features, and prominent nose. His eyes had a certain darkness in them, like he had seen the worst of the world, but there was still a clarity to them that said he was fighting against those injustices. “C’mon, you’ve seen my face, don’t you think it’s time to exchange the favor?”

“Backup’s arriving in three,” interjected Red Robin.

“There’s nothing in it for me.” Ladybird tugged the hood of her cloak down lower.

“Isn’t it weird that we kissed and I don’t know your face?”

“No.”

“You really are into some kinky shit.”

“Also no on that.”

“Then why not show me your face?”

“Stop being such a brat.”

“I know I’m older than you.”

“Bratiness isn’t measured in age, but in mental maturity. Which you have none of.”

“Please?”

“I’m almost tempted to take off my noh mask if only because that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say the word please.”

“If I say it again, will you?”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Pretty please, Ladybird?”

“... Fine.” She’d get a laugh out of this anyways, and the team was minutes away from picking them up.

She took off her noh mask to reveal the red and black domino.

Red Hood cursed.

@jasonette-july-2k20

it’s wild that yall are liking my fics when i basically vomit these things up im honestly scared to look back at some of the ones that have been posted because i do not proof read or edit

#poison #jasonette #you ever want to see what's under a mask?#only to find another mask?#Marinette's masks are like those russian dolls #never ending #maribat #jasonette july #jason todd #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #dcu

911 notes · View notes

honoredbastard · 3 years

Text

I COME BACK WITH THOUGHTS/THEORIES ON ITADORI AND HIS RELATIONS- I THINK.

anyways, so i'll just point this out: i'm not good at speaking my thoughts in an organized manner. i absolutely suck at it, i speak on how my brain brings up the thoughts so i might ramble, get over my head in a thought, etc. i can't control it so i apologize in advance for the jumpiness of the texts. i will spell a lot of things wrong and not everything will be correct, as i read translations and on a manga site. don't worry it's not illegal, i believe.

MANGA SPOILERS AHEAD.

i apologize for my absence! last week or two weeks ago the tower to my computer completely broke and will not turn on. i tried to repair it and follow my fathers instructions but nothing worked. even cleaned off the fan and went through countless nights readjusting things. it's not my cords either so to help me out my father is working extra shifts to get me a new pc. so in the meantime i'll do small posts like these but not full writing/head canons until i have a computer tower lol. a family member was kind enough to allow me to have their phone while we work throughout this issue.

now onto the actual topic:

kenjaku and itadori's relationship. ( family wise ).

for context in the most recent chapter, 160 "colony" kamo shows up in sasaki's home and talks to her about the culling game and a barrier. but that's not the point, the point is as he's guiding her to the barrier inside her "dream" at the end he says "oh right. i almost forgot to tell you. thank you for getting along with my son." and then she is awakened inside the barrier, in her pajamas beside iguchi. when sasaki and iguchi look at the barrier and gather themselves they bring up kamo.

sasaki asked iguchi if he mentioned his son and he says no. this leaves sasaki in a state of confusion when itadori flashes in her mind. she says his name aloud like she finally connected the dots. now. why am i bringing up this whole kenjaku thanking sasaki for being his "son"'s friend. it throws me off because why didn't he thank iguchi?

did he not think iguchi meant their friendship? because sasaki was the one uninjured and still counted itadori as a friend? does iguchi not consider itadori as a friend anymore?

because we haven't seen these two at all since the incident. that raised many questions in me. as well "how can itadori be related to kamo?" and itadori is related to choso.

because kamo's technique is explained ( vaguely. we are aware he can create barriers, take over bodies, and has incredible cursed tools. chapter 134. this is also where choso makes his connection ( i believe. ) to itadori yuji as his brother. but because we saw this with todo many thought itadori just had another unconsious technique that allows the person who is hit create false memories and believe of a completely made up relationship with itadori without his knowledge. but alas, i was wrong. ) and we're given more hints shown than told ( imo ) i tried my best to make sense out of the situation and what he said. i think my conclusions are pretty solid, so continuing on.

we're given very little history on itadori, his past, and family. at the start of the manga we know that itadori's only family he knows is his grandfather and that he is ill in the hospital. at the very very beginning we learn that itadori is your average cute, fluffy, laid back but strong and goofy protagonist. in smaller words: itadori is kirby but even cuter and dumber.

my first impressions of him is a pineapple. if you're confused to this saying: it's calling a person prickly on the outside but sweet on the inside. and this is true, itadori's grandfather seems prickly and cold on the outside but he genuinely cares for itadori.

he raised itadori for all we know and did that with his all in assumption. but this ends up backfiring onto itadori, because he cares so much for his grandson - he ends up leaving a " curse " on yuji.

help people. save them.

itadori takes this to heart as his grandfathers speech is his last one. when he looks over to his grandfather the man is dead and now yuji is left alone. then the following events occur.

at this point in time i assumed itadori was an orphan ( he technically is if we're connecting the dots. his parents has not been shown, he doesn't speak of them, they aren't in the picture. we can conclude either they disowned itadori or died before he could make complete memories of them. )

but when we are shown in chapter 143 itadori's parents we see this "woman" jin ( yuji's father ) and his grandfather talking about has the same scar pattern. this scar pattern is either stitching ( assuming that is how kamo keeps the top of the opened skull from coming off. this is also how kamo revealed his cursed technique / body of sorts ( the brain, assuming that is kenjaku in his cursed technique and not the body / puppet he is controlling " getou suguru " ) to gojou. )

this is the only way i find kamo being able to assign itadori as his son. why is that you might be asking this dumbass here.

we do not have the full story, exact date, location, and full context of the memory/dream itadori is having. this cannot be fake either because kamo would than have no reason to call itadori his son. or is there? anyways.

take a leap of faith with me. imagine that before itadori is born ( he seems no more than a few weeks or days old in this memory. hence why i am thinking my conclusion is pretty solid in theory. but yknow gege, there might be something different. ) anywhooo.

TW. D3ATH/IMPLYING ANTI LIFE ATTEMPT

kamo had to have taken over yuji's mothers body after an accident OR after she gave birth to yuji. his grandfather is interrupted by her before he can finish his sentence but it seems to be leading to the conclusion that either kaori ( yuji's mother ) died while giving birth to yuji or kaori could not conceive and tried to take her own life or cause an accident that would take her life. ( i read a fan translation for this part but im pretty sure i also read the official translation today too and it added up to the same. )

i believe in the first idea, but since kamo's cursed technique wasn't explained in detail i don't know the conditions of his body technique. does the original host of the body have to be dead? can he regenerate body limbs ( i highly doubt. getou lost an arm during his fight with yuta. overconfident dick. reminding me of an ex ANTWAYS. i forgive him for being overconfident smooch. he learned. OFF TOPIC but continuing on i promise.

this is being continued from the cut off point. i'm so upset so it'll just be summarized. i can't believe this shit lol i took three hours just to finish it for it to literally cut off the bottom half.

continuing on in a sadge mood. kamo must not have the complete ability to take over a body. after all getou took his only arm he had as he was dying and choked his own body to his full ability. getou was willing to die ( possibly, you never know he could be alive if he killed his own body. moving on. ) just to have the chance to save his friend from being swallowed by a damn box.

so there has to be a chance that kamo cannot fully take over the previous persons complete consious and memory of their body. if getou still had his other arm after losing the fight to yuta, he could've choked kamo with both arms. in theory kamo wouldn't be able to control the right arm and die to the previous host choking him to death.

so why wouldn't the other hosts do it? after all, kamo did say it was his first time experiencing such a thing. assuming kamo has lived throughout many bodies in his 150+ lifespan none of the previous hosts could take control of their body.

i believe getou was completely influenced by gojou and his six eyes. there is no way gojou would even try to speak out to his friend unless he had an inkling or saw getou still in there. helpless and without the ability to save himself from the cage he's in.

being used and puppeteered in his own body by an external force. laughing in the world he could not. putting getou into a constant misery and defeat that he couldn't escape his hell. the one he tried so hard to fight and get out of. even if it was the wrong path.

gojou was the last person to witness getou dying. he had to watch getou bleed out after their conversation because he couldn't bring himself to kill his friend. the one he spent his whole jujutsu student life with. so for gojou to say such a thing to getou despite all that he did had to break getou out of his misery and give him that small sliver of hope that he could do something. of course he failed, but i doubt that's going to be the end of that.

the only way i see kamo being related to yuji is if he took over kaori's body before the pregnancy. assuming that when kamo takes over a body he becomes one with said body and is that person for however long he lives in said body. my only thing is, can he take over a persons body whilst they are alive? i would go more in depth like i did the last time but i am extremely upset about my work being erased so that's the end of this part.

thank you for reading! i have one more thing for you though.

the last time we see sukuna in a manga page after the shibuya incident is where he is on his throne and in his domain. this is after yuji is stabbed by yuta and is presumed "dead" at the time. he seems to be interested in yuta and i can think of 2-3 things. I would love to hear your theories too so don't be afraid to barge into my dms like the koolaid man.

A - sukuna is interested in Yuta because of his ability to use the reverse healing technique ( only a few sorcerers know this. sukuna being the first. shoko being the second one to be told that she has this power and then gojou. ) because of this he sees potential in yuta as well or has added this boy into his plans. after all, there is very few that can make sukuna make an expression that isn't an RBF. aka megumi and possibly gojou. I was looking at the page of him stabbing yuji and noticed we only see the entry point of where the blade enters. it's smaller because some got chunked off so its a possibility yuta used this to his advantage when "killing" yuji and instead hit an artery that could kill him but quickly healed him afterwards. or just his heart. the ideas.

B. Rika, Yuta is able to completely control Rika as shown. Even though he claims he is on the weak side, these two combined seem like an unstoppable force. He may be interested in Rika as she is a curse that has been put on someone that can fully control it. Not many people is shown to be able to control their curse. As we haven't met many.

this was enti and that's the last of my post! thank you for reading and it was a fun one. even though i had to restore this shit. anyways, i'd love you to add or fix up my ideas and tell me your thoughts and opinions! Thanks a bunch!

^ this is for pure humor

29 notes · View notes

myfanwymusings · 4 years

Photo

TAYLOR SWIFT / FOLKLORE

Below is a collection of lyric starters taken from Taylor Swift’s eighth album ‘folklore’. The album holds references to: sex, alcohol, blood, depression, warfare, toxic relationships, medical failure, death as well as lines that could be taken as suicidal thoughts and parental abuse --- so please be mindful if you are sensitive to these subjects. All lyrics are posted as written on the album, but feel free to change pronouns or words to fit your purposes. This has been edited and reposted from my old blog.

the 1

i’m doing good, i’m on some new shit.

i thought I saw you at the bus stop

the greatest films of all time were never made

if you wanted me, you really should've showed

we were something, don't you think so?

if my wishes came true, it would've been you

in my defense, i have none for never leaving well enough alone

it would've been fun if you would've been the one

you know the greatest loves of all time are over now

if one thing had been different would everything be different today?

cardigan

when you are young, they assume you know nothing

i felt like I was an old cardigan

a friend to all is a friend to none

to kiss in cars and downtown bars was all we needed

you drew stars around my scars but now I'm bleedin'

i knew you'd haunt all of my what-ifs

cause i knew everything when I was young

i knew i'd curse you for the longest time

i knew you'd miss me once the thrill expired and you'd be standin' in my front porch light

i knew you'd come back to me

the last great american dynasty

the wedding was charming, if a little gauche

there goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen

who knows, if she never showed up, what could've been

she had a marvelous time ruining everything

there goes the most shameless woman this town has ever seen

i had a marvelous time ruining everything

exile

i can see you standing, honey, with his arms around your body

it took you five whole minutes to pack us up and leave me with it

you were my town, now I'm in exile

i can see you starin', honey, like he's just your understudy

I'm not your problem anymore, so who am i offending now?

there is no amount of crying i can do for you

you didn't even hear me out

you didn't even see the signs

cause you never gave a warning sign

i gave so many signs

my tears ricochet

if I'm on fire, you'll be made of ashes, too

even on my worst day, did i deserve, babe, all the hell you gave me?

cause i loved you, i swear i loved you til my dying day

i didn't have it in myself to go with grace

if I'm dead to you, why are you at the wake?

you wear the same jewels that i gave you as you bury me

you know i didn't want to have to haunt you

when i'd fight, you used to tell me i was brave

and i can go anywhere i want just not home

you can aim for my heart, go for blood but you would still miss me in your bones

you had to kill me, but it killed you just the same

mirrorball

i'll show you every version of yourself tonight

i want you to know i'm a mirrorball, i can change everything about me to fit in

i’m still a believer, but i don't know why

seven

are there still beautiful things?

and though i can’t recall your face i still got love for you

love you to the moon and to saturn

i think your house is haunted. your dad is always mad and that must be why

i think you should come live with me

august

never have i ever before

will you call when you're back at school?

i remember thinkin' i had you

for me, it was enough to live for the hope of it all

so much for summer love

you weren't mine to lose

i can see us twisted in bed sheets

this is me trying

i’ve been having a hard time adjusting

i didn't know if you'd care if i came back

i just wanted you to know that this is me trying

pulled the car off the road to the lookout, could've followed my fears all the way down

they told me all of my cages were mental, so i got wasted like all my potential

my words shoot to kill when i'm mad, i have a lot of regrets about that

it's hard to be at a party when i feel like an open wound

illicit affairs

that's the thing about illicit affairs and clandestine meetings and longing stares, it's born from just one single glance but it dies a million little times

you showed me colors you know i can't see with anyone else

don't call me "kid,"

don't call me "baby"

you taught me a secret language i can't speak with anyone else

you know damn well, for you, i would ruin myself a million little times

invisible string

were there clues i didn't see?

isn't it just so pretty to think all along there was some invisible string, tying you to me?

time cutting me open, then healing me fine

mad woman

what did you think i'd say to that?

fuck you forever

every time you call me crazy, i get more crazy

when you say i seem angry, i get more angry

it's obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together

i'm taking my time cause you took everything from me

epiphany

sir, i think he's bleeding out

you dream of some epiphany, just one single glimpse of relief to make some sense of what you've seen

doc, i think she's crashing out

some things you just can't speak about

betty

i won't make assumptions about why you switched your homeroom but i think it's 'cause of me

the worst thing that i ever did was what i did to you

would you trust me if i told you it was just a summer thing?

i don't know anything but i know i miss you

if i just showed up at your party, would you have me?

peace

our coming-of-age has come and gone

i never had the courage of my convictions

i could never give you peace

i'm a fire and i'll keep your brittle heart warm if your cascade, ocean wave blues come

all these people think love's for show but i would die for you in secret

would it be enough if i could never give you peace?

your integrity makes me seem small

i'd give you my sunshine, give you my best but the rain is always gonna come if you're standin' with me

hoax

you know i left a part of me back in new york

you knew the hero died so what's the movie for?

darling, this was just as hard as when they pulled me apart

don't want no other shade of blue but you. no other sadness in the world would do

the lakes

i don't belong and, my beloved, neither do you

Is it romantic how all my elegies eulogize me?

those windermere peaks look like a perfect place to cry

take me to the lakes where all the poets went to die

i’ve come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze tell me what are my words worth

i haven't moved in years

i want you right here

i want to watch wisteria grow

i'm setting off, but not without my muse

i’m setting off, but not without you

#inbox memes.#roleplay memes.#rph #rpc #taylor swift lyrics.

85 notes · View notes

straycat-writes · 4 years

Text

to ever let you go (nakahara chuuya)

summary: two years is a long time, enough for a person to go through hell and back. chuuya learns that the hard way.

notes: there’s mild swearing and non-graphic mentions of injury. before you ask, yes, there is (eventually) going to be a part two.

Chuuya has never liked taking the elevator. Most of the time, it’s too cramped, and too shaky, and too bright and – too this or too that, he tells himself. In truth, he just doesn’t like closed spaces.

Unfortunately for him, Mori’s office is on the very top floor of the building that houses the Port Mafia headquarters. Fitting for the boss of the Port Mafia, but a pain in the ass for Chuuya. Nevertheless, when Mori calls, he goes. It’s not like he has a choice.

“Chuuya-kun, I would like you to come see me at your earliest convenience. Something rather…important has turned up.”

Chuuya had been with the mafia long enough to know that ‘at your earliest convenience’ meant drop everything and come right now’. He stepped out of the elevator, hands jammed into his pockets, and sighed. Something rather important, huh?

The armed guards stationed outside the door took one look at him and left way immediately, and a self-satisfied smile almost made its way onto Chuuya’s face. It made his day when people cower before him when he hasn’t even done anything yet.

“Good evening, boss. How may – “

The rest of the words died in his throat.

The blinds on the floor-to-ceiling windows were drawn, like always, obscuring the sky and leaving the space to be illuminated only by the soft interior lights. Mori was sitting behind his desk, elbows resting on it and fingers steepled below his chin. And in front of the desk…there was her.

“Ah, Chuuya-kun, how considerate of you to join us.” Mori said with calm, calculated smile, “Would you perhaps like to sit down for a while?”

Chuuya didn’t answer. He couldn’t have had, even if he wanted to, his throat had suddenly gone too dry. There she was. Standing there with her hands clasped behind her back, alive and well.

On second thought, the ‘well’ part was debatable. She looked pale and haggard, with scars littering almost every inch of exposed skin. Her stance was slightly slouched too, as if she was unconsciously trying to disappear into herself. When she turned to look at him, however, his heart almost stops. Why did her eyes look like that?

“(Y-y/n)?” his voice came out scratchy, almost cracking, and he couldn’t stop staring at her with eyes wide enough to almost pop out of their sockets.

She didn’t reply, instead quietly turning away and looking straight ahead. A million thoughts and assumptions swarmed Chuuya’s head at once, almost overwhelming him. He couldn’t think straight. So, naturally, he thought he’d do what he did best. Yell.

“It’s been two fucking years, where the hell were you all this time!?”

When she had first disappeared two years ago, shortly after being deployed for a mission, Chuuya had dedicated everything he had to looking for her. He searched high and low and despite pressure from the higher ups, he didn’t stop until he had turned most of the country inside out. But after almost a year of trying and trying and still coming up empty, he had grown weary.

On particularly bad nights, he had even wondered if she too had pulled a Dazai and got the fuck out of there, leaving him behind. If she too had abandoned him and betrayed him like his partner once had. The thought left a bad taste in his mouth but he thought he’d prefer that to the alternative. That she was lying dead in a ditch somewhere.

Chuuya had never even considered there could be a third option.

When she didn’t react, Chuuya got more anxious, and despite trying his best not to, took two successive steps towards her, “Answer me!”

It was only when she flinched back that he stopped, mid-stride. And for the first time since entering the room, he took a long, proper look at her. The shadows underneath her eyes were deeper than he had expected them to be, and she seemed to be curling in on herself where she stood, as if trying to take as little space as possible.

Chuuya took a step back. “What… what happened to you?”

With lacklustre eyes, she looked at him, face completely devoid of any expression. Then she spoke to him for the first time in two years.

“What do you think?”

Chuuya faltered, not knowing what to say or do. Even her voice sounded scratchy, deeper somehow and yet with a paper-thin quality to it. Nothing like the syrupy sweet velvet he remembered it to be. A million possible scenarios and explanations ran through his head before being consecutively discarded.

Perhaps taking pity on his dilemma, Mori, who had been sitting behind his desk all this time, observing the two of them with a calm, calculating gaze and an amused smile, finally decided that it was time to intervene.

“Chuuya-kun, do you remember the operation (y/n) was handling two years ago just before she, er, disappeared?”

Chuuya frowned. “I do. She was supposed to be gathering intel on this enemy organization that was interfering with our overseas businesses.”

“Yes, well… Turns out they were just as desperate for intel on us.”

“Don’t tell me… “ Chuuya’s eyes widened as he tore his gaze away from Mori to look back at her. “You were being held as a prisoner? For two fucking years?”

“Now, now,” Mori tried to placate him. “No need to raise your voice. As you can see, (y/n) is still… recuperating.”

Out of the corer of his eye, Chuuya could see a steely, bemused smile on Mori’s face, one that did not sit well with him at all. But this wasn’t the time to focus on that. He looked back at you.

“I’m… (y/n), I don’t know what to say, I looked for you everywhere.” He said. “I looked for you for months… “ There was silence for a few short seconds, before she spoke.

“Well, clearly you didn’t look hard enough.”

The words weren’t loud or even containing any particular malice, but the moment they left her lips, Chuuya felt like he couldn’t breathe. Because she sounded disappointed. Resigned and hollow. Most of all, she just sounded sad.

Mori’s voice cut through his thoughts once more like a hot wire. “That’s enough chit-chat for now, I think.” He looked at both of them in turn. “Why don’t you take her to stay with you for a while, Chuuya-kun? You two did use to be rather close. Besides, I really don’t think (y/n) should be left alone in such a state.”

For some reason, Chuuya’s blood boiled in his veins. He wasn’t stupid. There was absolutely no way Mori didn’t know where she had been all this time. But if so, why didn’t he say anything? Did it benefit him somehow? Did he plan it all out? He wouldn’t put it past the crafty bastard. But for now…

“Yes, boss, I think that would be the wisest course of action.”

When he turned to her and held out his hand, she just looked at for a long time, scrutinizing it as if wondering what trick he might pull. But instead of insisting or saying anything, Chuuya just waited patiently for her to come around. He could still see that smile fixed on Mori’s face as he watched the events unfold in front of him, and oh, what Chuuya wouldn’t have given in that moment to be able to wipe that smug grin off his face.

Eventually, she took one last look at him once more before finally accepting his hand. Chuuya didn’t dare pull her closer or even hold her hand tighter for the fear of breaking it. At this point, he couldn’t be sure how fragile she was or wasn’t.

On light steps, they left the dark office together. The girl currently holding onto his hand wasn’t (y/n). Or at least, she wasn’t the same (y/n) he had lost two years ago. He had failed that girl when he had been unable to bring her back safe.

But Chuuya swore he would correct every mistake he had ever made. He would get her back.

#nakahara chuuya #chuuya x reader #bungou stray dogs #bungo stray dogs #bsd #bsd x reader #one shot #scenario

191 notes · View notes

magical-girl-coral · 3 years

Text

Birthday Surprises

Nanao Ise has found a new low for herself. It was eight in the morning, the sun was barely rising, and she was already on her fourth cup of Sake. And from how she was feeling, she wasn’t going to stop any time soon.

It all started when she and her friends decided to do something nice for Rangiku. For the last few months, she had been oddly active, taking fewer naps at the office, doing her paperwork, drinking less in the afternoon, and actually showing up to lieutenants' meetings on time. So as a small reward, all her female coworkers thought of giving her a small birthday surprise, showing up at her door with booze and persimmon sweets for a good morning gift. Since almost everyone takes a day off on their birthday, they wouldn't have to worry about her being somewhere else. Nanao took the lead since it was her idea and opened the bedroom to wake Rangiku up.

And there were no words that could describe her shock when she saw her best friend with a bedmate. Nanao was just thankful her instincts shut the door before anyone else could peek in.

Now she, along with the rest of the Shinigami Women's Association, drank in one of their many secret hiding spots (thanks to president Yachiru) as they took in the new information.

Rukia looked at Nanao worriedly. "Ise-san, don't you think you should slow down a bit?"

Kiyone grimaced. "I don't think she's drinking enough. I would have drunk myself under the table by now if I were in her place. Just thinking about finding Isane like that gives me chills."

"I still can't get over how she had a secret boyfriend and didn't tell us," Momo said before Nanao could correct Kiyone's assumption for her "sisterly" feelings towards Rangiku, “She almost never keeps secrets like this. Sometimes she tells us too much!”

Soi Fon poured Nanao and herself another cup. "And are you sure you didn't see his face?"

Nanao dropped her face on the table. "No," she mumbled out, "I could only see the back of his head." Although the silver hair, the scar across the chest, and the fucking missing right arm were enough to tell who he was.

Oh, gods, she was starting to curse now mentally. She should stop before the words begin to come out.

Isane smiled awkwardly at the scene. "Well, at least now we know why she's been in such a good mood lately. Remember when she turned down lunch break drinking with captain Kyoraku, and we all thought she was dying?"

Retsu smiled at that. "I remember that. You tied her up and sent her to me directly to get an emergency check. Even I was too scared of the possibilities to turn down the request. Rangiku was fairly upset with all of us."

"....I've just realized something," Nemu said suddenly, "it's impossible for her mystery bedfellow to be one of the seated officers, lieutenants, or captains."

Nanao raised her head from the table. "What do you mean?"

"Rangiku has a lieutenant-level spiritual power that has only grown stronger since she has taken her Shikai training more seriously," Nemu explained, "only people around her levels can be detected while standing in her presence. Since Rangiku's spiritual mass would cloak anyone weaker, none of us could sense his presence, which means whoever she is with has to be weaker than her."

Nanao's eyebrows went up to her hairline. His restrictions. They must have hidden his spiritual powers. Nanao thanked the gods and swallowed the irony of Nemu's last sentence.

"Now that is a big relief," Soin Fon said, "Can you imagine how awkward it would be if she dated someone we all knew?"

"Oh, yeah, I haven't thought about that," Momo said to herself, "With how intermingled everyone already is, adding a romantic relationship to the mix would be more than messy, especially since most of us are still getting used to how everything's changed."

Nanao's heart fell to her stomach as everyone agreed.

"I feel a bit proud now, even more so than I have before," Retsu said as she put a hand over her heart, and it was at that moment that Nanao had forsaken the cup and went straight to the bottle.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Three hours and two bottles later, Nanao found herself in front of Rangiku's apartment. While she did declare she was ready to go home to take a last-minute day off, she found herself in front of Rangiku's door instead. This is why one shouldn't drink and Shunpo.

After knocking on her door on a lost rhyme, Rangiku opened her door with a surprised expression. "Nanao-chan, What are you doing here? And why do you smell like your captain?"

Nanao swayed as she answered with her own question. "Can he extend his penis like his sword?"

Rangiku openly gaped at her. "What?"

"You know, he says shoot to kill, and it gets longer." Nanao wished she could shut her mouth, but the words kept flowing out. "Or do his restrictions stop that from happening? No, wait, does his hollowfication do something during sex? Like, can it transform his di-"

Rangiku slapped her palm over Nanao's mouth, to which Nanao was grateful. "Okay, since you're obviously hammered and won't listen to common sense, how about I'll pour you a glass of water, some tea, and we'll continue this conversation inside where my neighbors can't hear you."

Nanao nodded her head in agreement, and Rangiku released her mouth. She quickly pulled them both inside and sat Nanao down before going to the kitchen to prepare the aforementioned tea.

Rangiku sat a teacup in front of Nanao and took a deep breath. "So, why have you been drinking with Nemu at eleven in the morning?"

Nanao shrunk in her seat. It didn’t feel great to be on the other side of the table. “Because I found you and captain Ichimaru in bed together. We wanted to surprise you because it’s your birthday and I panicked, but no one else has seen his face!” She added the last part quickly after noticing her ever-paling face. "Wait, how did you know I drank with Nemu?"

"I learned the hard way not to get her too drunk, or I start asking the same things from her influence." Rangiku chuckled softly to herself. "Your next question?"

"How long have you two been together?"

Rangiku put her finger on her chin in thought. "We got togther around the last winter festival, so about nine months."

Now it was Nanao's turn to gape. "Nine months?! You've been in a secret relationship for nine months, and you didn't tell me?! I thought you trusted me in these kinds of things! What changed?"

"No, no, I still do, I swear!" Rangiku assured as she rose her hands in defense. "I wanted to tell you, I really did. It was just... well..." Rangiku sighed deeply and sat back in her chair. "Do you remember when Gin first came back, people broke into the third's barracks and graffitied their offices?"

"Yes, I remember. It was painful watching Kira go through that-" Nanao's eyes widened in realization. "Oh."

"Yeah," Rangiku said as she rubbed her neck, "It took forever for things to settle down. Just yesterday, Gin mentioned how relieved he was that no one harassed his men in six months. So when we first got together, he wanted to keep it a secret so-"

"So that none of those poor excuses of breathing beings would start troubling you," Nanao finished the sentence for her.

Rangiku let out a small laugh. "You know, Gin called them something similar, except a lot more vulgar."

"Trust me, the only reason I haven't said anything worse is because your tea is magic, and it's sobering me up quickly." Nanao took another sip and rubbed her forehead. A hangover is coming already; she could feel it.

Rangiku's eyes shone brightly. "I know, right? It took me forever to come up with this special blend. It cures me right away! And don't forget to drink your water; the tea itself isn't enough. You also need some actual hydration."

Nanao drank the water, and her headache went away. She honestly wanted to get this straight to the Twelve Division to be analyzed, but her phone buzzed before she could joke about that. "It looks like president Kusajishi wants us to have an emergency meeting at Kuchiki manor."

"Awww," Rangiku complained loudly, "but it's my day off."

"We might as well get there just to get it over with." Nanao stood up and went to pull on Rangiku's arm. "It's probably about her spending all of our fundings on another failed pool."

Rangiku let out one last grumble as she was pulled to her feet. Unfortunately, they had to walk there, with Nanao still slightly drunk and Rangiku being sleepy from her constant napping. By the time they got there, it was one in the afternoon. Though, they would have arrived sooner if it wasn’t for an unplanned coffee stop.

Nanao and Rangiku both sensed more people than there should be. Thinking it was a trap or a cruel prank, they drew out their swords just in case. What they didn't expect was confetti, most of the high-ranked Shinigami, and a large banner in the middle of the room that said "Happy Birthday, Rangiku!".

All the attendants in the room wished Rangiku happy birthday in one giant shout as captain Ichimaru blew a party horn. Nanao turned her head towards Rangiku with an open mouth. "I did not know this was planned."

"Trust me, I believe you," Rangiku said before letting out a big laugh and walking up to hug her friends. "How were you able to pull this off at the last minute? And with Byakuya's approval to use one of his party rooms?"

"I used the "you tried to kill me for an entire week" card, and he gave it to us without issues," Rukia explained with a shrug, but Nanao knew what this meant. She only used this card during very dire situations, and coming up with a last-minute birthday surprise fit that criteria. And Rangiku seemed to notice this too with how she was trying to suffocate Rukia in a boob bear hug.

Gin stood next to the Rangiku. "Is this surprise party a hit?"

Rangiku nodded her head tearfully.

"Cool, I'm gonna go lurk in the shadows now. See ya."

Gin gave one last peace before disappearing into thin air. Rangiku released Rukia with an angry "don't you dare" and ran after him, only to come back empty-handed with a huff. However, her frown soon changed to a giddy smile when people started to hand her alcohol.

Nanao felt herself relax when the music began to play. People were talking, some were laughing, others were eating, and there was a large stack of gifts in one of the corners of the room. Maybe this day can end on a sober high note after all-.

Her phone buzzed.

Unknown number : If you wanted to know how long I was, you could've just ask ;)

Nanao threw her phone at the wall and went straight to the punch bowl.

#what up yall #its one am #im technically late #my brain is melting #but fuck it its still 29th in some countries and time is an illusion anyway #and big shout out to sobachkaas/rensply #i owe you my life. my sanity and my ass #i also probably wrote your name so sorry about that #ANYWAY #happy birthday queen 💕#have some second hand embarrasment as a birthday gift #Bleach #Rangiku Matsumoto #Nanao Ise #au rambles #edit: im gonna make this her pinned post until her birthday is over

7 notes · View notes

gobletofweasleys · 5 years

Text

Scars

Summary: Soulmate AU where whatever injury your soulmate has appears on your skin as well. You have a lightning bolt shaped scar on your forehead.

Pairing: Harry Potter x Hufflepuff!reader

Word Count: 1,654

Requested by @fluffymadamina: Hello 😊 can i ask a Harry fic with soulmate Au? Like they share the same injuries so she have the same scar as him but not a lot of people know it? And if isn't much could she be an Hufflepuff

Main Masterlist

There was a reason your hair was cut into bangs. And there was a reason you refuse to let those bangs grow out.

Your friends had told you numerous times that it would be nice to change your hairstyle. You'd had bangs since the moment you came to Hogwarts. Now it was your fifth year and they hadn't changed one bit.

"I think it would be nice to have a little change, don't you?" Your friend, Hannah Abbott, said that morning as you two got ready in your dormitory. You just hummed, thoughts on your timetable for the day and not even focused on what Hannah was saying. You waited for her to finish getting ready, watching her pin her yellow Prefect badge to her robes before gesturing at you. You both left for the Great Hall together.

You would have had no problem in following Hannah's suggestion about letting your bangs grow out and pushing them off your forehead if the bangs weren't crucial in hiding something that might change the way everyone looked at you. They were crucial to hiding a scar shaped curiously like a lightning bolt, smack in the middle of your forehead, resembling an infamous scar that was present on the forehead of The Boy Who Lived.

You knew who Harry Potter was. You'd first read about him in Important Magical Events of the Twentieth Century. When you and your Muggle parents had found out that you were to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, you had bought every single book you could about the Wizarding World, wanting to find out as much as you could about the people you belonged with. That's when you had read about Harry Potter, had realized with a shock that he was your soulmate. You had a famous soulmate. Unsure of how correct your assumption was despite the scar on your forehead, you had resorted to hiding it under a curtain of hair until you knew for sure.

Of course, you knew as soon as you saw him.

His scar was identical to yours, hidden poorly under a fringe of black hair. Large, round glasses framed brilliant green eyes, robes lined with maroon. You had watched him get sorted into Gryffindor that very first day. And since then, it seemed like all you ever did was watch him.

You watched him become the youngest Seeker in history, watched him win his first match of Quidditch. You watched him make great friends and quickly become popular throughout the first three years. You also watched terrible things unfold. You watched him get forced into the Triwizard Tournament, watched him nearly die in the first two tasks. Watched him appear in the Quidditch field in hysterics after the third task, clutching a dead body.

You didn't know why you never told him. You guessed you were just afraid.

Harry Potter had gone through more than most adult Wizards in the country, he had seen and suffered more than anyone you knew or had heard of. And he still had so much on his plate, considering how hard the Ministry was trying to cover up the fact that You-Know-Who was back. You didn't know how important it was to spring the whole soulmate thing on him right now. Truth be told, you hadn't found one suitable moment in the four years you'd been here.

You had Herbology today, which was your favorite class to attend for one reason only: you had Herbology with the Gryffindors. Your heart raced just at the prospect of seeing Harry again. You hadn't seen him all summer, of course, and with how the previous summer had ended, you were anxious to see how he was.

If only you weren't such a wimp. If only you could just go and tell him how important he was to you. No wonder you weren't in Gryffindor. You didn't have an ounce of bravery in you.

Your heart nearly jumped into your throat at the sight of him, conversing with Ernie MacMillan just outside the greenhouse doors. Ernie seemed to be standing tall, a look of strange determination on his face. When you drew near enough, you realized he was reassuring Harry that he believed him.

"Lots of us do." He was saying, eye catching movement in his peripheral vision and head turning to look at you. "Like Y/N, for example." He gestured to you, making Harry turn to look at who he was pointing at.

Your cheeks burned so hot you thought you would freeze on the spot, yet your jelly like legs still managed to walk until you had stopped next to Ernie. You had never, not once in your four years at Hogwarts, talked to Harry before. You had accepted admiring him from afar. You doubted that he knew who you were.

"Don't you, Y/N?" Ernie repeated, yet your tongue wouldn't move. You were staring at Harry wide-eyed, willing yourself to say something, anything, maybe even just nod your head, but his eyes were making you weak and his hair, eternally messed up but perfect in your eyes, make your breath halt in your chest.

You regretted your silence though, when Harry's red headed friend, Ron Weasley, stepped forward, glared at you and then nudged Harry to move into the greenhouse.

"Let's go Harry." He was saying. "It doesn't matter what they believe. C'mon."

You realized almost immediately that he had taken your silence the wrong way. The implication left you horror struck. Ernie turned to you with a bewildered look.

"What was that all about?" He asked. "You're always going off about how you believe him in the common room. Why didn't you say anything?"

Your heart was hammering. Fear sprung in your chest. Oh Merlin, what did Harry think of you now?

"I-" You were interrupted by Professor Sprout, who ushered the rest of you inside and shut the door behind you.

You couldn't concentrate for one minute in class, even though today's lesson was about Bowtruckles. You had read about the tiny little creatures, and had been looking forward to seeing them, but all you felt was the guilt and fear of not saying anything to Harry. You had been so starstruck at the very sight of him that you'd made him believe you thought he was a liar too.

You couldn't bear it.

Maybe that's why you followed him after Herbology ended and everyone made their way to the Great Hall for lunch hour. Your heart was hammering, but your resolution to straighten things out overtook your crazy feelings.

"Um, Harry!" You called.

Him and his two friends turned around at the call, making your face burn hot all over again. Ron was still glaring at you. Hermione just looked curious.

"May I have a word?" Your voice was trembling slightly. "In private?" You did your best to avoid Ron's heated gaze.

Harry seemed taken aback but nodded nonetheless. He said something quietly to his friends, causing them to leave for the castle. He turned back to you expectantly.

"Um," your mind was already starting to blank, but you look resolutely away from his face and plowed on. "I wanted to apologize about before. I didn't- I didn't want to be silent. Of course I believe you. I just-"

"It's okay." He cut you off. There was a certain rigidity in his voice, as if he didn't believe you. "You don't have to backtrack on what you think. I don't blame you for not believing. It's not like everyone else does."

"N-no!" You yelped, looking at him. "That's not it at all! I believe you, I do-"

"Don't worry about it." He waved a hand in dismissal, taking a few steps backward. "I'll uh, I'll see you around."

But tears were filling your eyes, and you lunged forward, grabbing his arm before he could leave. His head snapped back to look at you, mouth opening and frown forming, but whatever sharp words he was going to say died out when you pushed your bangs back with your free hand.

His eyes widened, face paling at the sight of the scar on your forehead. Exactly identical to his own. It took him a few seconds to comprehend what it meant and why you had it, but by the time his eyes met yours again, they held a new light. You gingerly let go of his arm, letting your hair fall back in place.

"I was caught off guard." You mumbled. "I didn't know- this was the first time we were meeting. And- and you made me... nervous."

Your face was so hot and your body so numb you could barely feel a thing. Harry still hadn't moved, hadn't said a word. You stared down at your feet.

"You never told me." He finally whispered.

You nodded, feeling slightly ashamed. "There was…. it never felt like the right time."

You looked up to see him still looking at you, but his gaze was softer, his posture not as rigid.

"Would you like to go to the next Hogsmeade trip with me?" He blurted out, looking surprised by himself.

You stared at him in shock, heart beating so erratically you wondered how it hadn't stopped yet.

"I'd love that." You shakily answered, feeling that sweet, giddy feeling spread in your chest.

Harry nodded, a ghost of a smile twitching at his lips before gesturing jerkily at you.

"We should- uh, lunch."

You could see the pink dusting his cheeks, making a smile break over your own face as you fell in step with him, walking back to the Great Hall.

................

Permanent Tags:

@fluffymadamina / @sophiaxtorres / @jedi-in-hogwarts / @allknowingnerd / @accio-rogers / @gruffle1 / @chuumimi /

#harry potter #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter imagine #harry potter one shot #harry potter fluff #harry potter soulmate au #harry potter fic #harry potter au #harry potter angst #hp ootp #order of the phoenix #hufflepuff!reader #daniel radcliffe

3K notes · View notes

paintedpoems · 4 years

Text

Black Water Arc: War of The Water Tyrants.

“Wind’s ontology refuses to take separateness as an inherent feature of the world. […] And this is, in part, wind’s value—it has an existential precondition that appears only in the context of contact. Wind is touching, mutual, moving.”

— Cymene Howe, Ecologics

It seems overly contradictory to start a piece about water tyrants with a quote about the wind, doesn’t it? In actuality, readers of the novel would find this comparison immensely appropriate. This is because although black water arc is about the head-to-head battle between Shi Wudu and Hexuan; the center point, the cause and the final effect of this whole arc is Shi Qingxuan.

“Existential Precondition” or fate. It is ironic that wind is described as such because that is essentially Shi Qingxuan’s inherent problem and “Refuses to take separateness” was Shi Qingxuan’s ultimate solution.

Short Summary:

The infant Shi Qingxuan has a curse placed upon them. The curse prophesied a life full of unfathomable hardships for Shi Qingxuan and that is now their fate. Their brother, Shi Wudu, who is extremely protective of his sibling, is bent on saving Shi Qingxuan from this curse. Shi Wudu being naturally gifted eventually ascends as a god, he uses his position in the heavenly realm to then help his younger brother ascend to godhood as well. It is eventually revealed that Shi Wudu secretly changed his sibling’s cursed fate with another person of similar name and better fortune.

The person in question is Hexuan. Hexuan was fated to live a prosperous life and ascend as a god but instead lives with tragedy latched onto him. He goes through poverty, false accusations, abuse and all of his loved ones die under heartbreaking circumstances. Hexuan eventually dies and returns as a vengeful ghost bent on punishing the one that had wronged him. Hexuan wants justice and since the gods refuse to pass judgement, he decides to come to a verdict on his own. In short, that is what black water arc is about: Judgement. In a grey situation, where exactly do we place the blame?

On Morality:

Shi wudu verses Hexuan, ‘The war of the water tyrants’ dilemma, is one of the most mind-blowingly well thought out cases of grey morality in literature. It is no secret that the reductiveness of morals into “good” and “evil” categories is one of mxtx's main themes often explored heavily in her previous works. The author rejects the absolute extremes in character viewpoints, both in her protagonists and antagonists and applies the concept in varying thoughts including race and politics.

The difference in this arc however, is the projection of the audience’s principles into each character. That is, between Hexuan and Shi wudu, she never specifies who the antagonist is. It is left to the readers to explore, reflect and come to an understanding on what exactly it is like to venture into the grey zone. Neither of the two were selfishly driven, none of their initial intentions stemmed from hatred. It was familial love that drove them to hurt one another, familial love that blindsided them. In their quest to protect and to avenge their family, innocent family members lost their lives or were hurt; on both their parts. This is where the definitions of victims and perpetrators get skewed. It is so skewed in fact, that the only valid testimony left is the reader's sentiments for the characters and their own self-principles.

From Shi wudu’s “Everything I have today, I fought for myself... I will change fate that I do not possess. My fate is up to me and not the heavens” is the will to fight predestination. Verses, Hexuan’s “What right did he have to suck another’s blood, trample another’s bones to reach the skies, and still maintain a peace of mind. Enjoying all such luxuries without any sense of burden?” the victim of the change in predestination. Two strong, commendable principles, founded by righteousness but blinded by arrogance and hatred. Later, to maintain a peace of mind, Hexuan tramples on Shi Qingxuan and in the process of fighting for oneself, Shi Wudu ultimately changes Shi Qingxuan’s fate for the worse.

We even witness the Shi Wudu’s blindness take a terrible turn at the very end when he attempts to strangle his own sibling that he fought to protect all this time. His belief that Shi Qingxuan will not be safe without him, his lack of trust in his own brother, is part of his arrogance.

In return, we see Hexuan’s blind hatred falter for a moment when he keeps giving Shi Qingxuan chances for safety. At the finish line, we see both the water tyrant’s own morals and goals swap. This change in attitude towards Shi Qingxuan’s future is another outstanding ploy by mxtx because expectation of a good outcome is the core of morality. In the end, the readers simply wish for a good ending for Shi Qingxuan and when Shi Wudu decides he is going to die together with his sibling, it confuses the audience. There is a shock factor added, you perceive Shi Wudu as the protector and he pulls the safety rug from under your feet. Instant shock and confusion violating the purity of the absolute good, so the reader’s immediate reaction is to look for safety in the not-absolute evil i.e. Hexuan. However, when Hexuan does not provide that complete comfort at the end, only slightly appeasing everyone, it stings. Reinforcing that cognitive blend of mixed morality into reader’s beliefs, further skewing the curve.

It is this kind of writing that creates a split in the fandom, not in a bad way, but more in terms of sparking a conversation about where people’s individual morality lies. Each character has their past, their reasons, their flaws and goodness and it gives the audience something to root for. In addition, the rooting is not a hundred percent good versus bad, because each character’s choices are equally flawed. The fandom selects a side but with one foot still lingering on the other territory. Siding with Hexuan but understanding the reasoning behind Shi Wudu’s actions or siding with Shi Wudu but sympathizing with Hexuan’s pain and loss. The uneven split is how you know the characterization was not mediocre.

In regards to characterizations, Shi wudu and Hexuan are too similar. Their personalities, personas, auras; the proud, stubborn, intelligent water tyrants. We speak of these likenesses because Shi Qingxuan lives through this battle and will never be able to unsee the similarities. Hexuan remains, a walking reminder of Shi Wudu. This feels deliberately done as the final stab to the readers, so that Shi Qingxuan and Hexuan’s relationship remains unmendable.

Pure Point of Views, Shi Qingxuan and Xielian:

Wind is invisible, its apprehension comes from its exposure to objects or in this case other people. Shi Qingxuan is air, pure, lively and touching, forming a comforting contact with everyone they meet. The kind of character that brings about a reader’s protective instinct, in a sense, if anything were to happen to them it will infuriate and break the audience. A classic plot device to draw emotions from the readers. Why must this innocent child suffer for the sins of their brother? But, mxtx urges us to rethink this by wondering the same for Hexuan’s family. They were innocent too, why did they have to die on this path? Why is Shi Qingxuan’s innocence valid and not theirs? The audience feels for Shi Qingxuan because we have become familiarised with them. Shi Qingxuan has now made that connection with the readers, the wind has touched their hearts versus only receiving glimpses of what was Hexuan’s previous family. The effect is lacking that familial impact, that bond. Classic writing schemes, beautiful.

At the end of the clashing of the waves, the person left with the permanent scars was the blameless Shi Qingxuan. Their life was molded and directed into this final point without their control, as if caught in a sea storm. The one that paid for this feud was ultimately Shi Qingxuan, the person neither of the other two wanted to hurt.

Another classic writing device I want to finally explore and praise is the use of the narrator to throw the audience off the culprit’s scent. The mystery of Black Water Arc was quite simple actually, mxtx layed out all the clues and hints for the audience out in the open. Like Xielian himself states later, the simplest answer was always visible, he was just overthinking things. And if Xielian, the semi-narrator, overthinks then the audience will overthink. Xielian, an intelligent and the fundamentally good person, exudes a trusting aura. The audience cannot help but trust his judgement and perception of things, it is a credibility built from our experience with his mystery solving abilities in the previous arcs.

The reason why the black water reveal was so impactful and shocking was because of Xielian. The semi narrator continuously made excuses for MingYi, his subconscious trusted him, even if he had his suspicions. He didn’t enforce them strongly enough, leaving the audience to believe Xielian was merely exploring a wrong option for the sake of eliminating possible culprits. The audience was not viewing MingYi as a culprit, rather they were waiting for Xielian to come to the inevitable conclusion of his innocence. An item to quickly cross off the checklist so that they could finally pursue the “real” culprit.

MingYi couldn’t use the Earth Master Shovel? Xielian makes the excuse for him before the audience can even dive deeper on that thought. HuaCheng draws suspicion back to MingYi and Xielian immediately doubts his most trusted confidant’s assumptions. Xielian trusts MingYi, so we trust MingYi against our better judgement. When the narrator has left no room for mistrust, how can the audience hold their stance?

The proficient push and pull charade played out by Hexuan and Huacheng is another impactful factor that took part in diverting Xielian’s mistrust. The nefarious roles they played policing and suspecting each other, from Hexuan’s “don’t you have spies in the heavens?” to Huacheng’s lie detecting dice game. The solid plan of the two suspicious individuals doing the dirty work for Xielian, did not allow Xielian to mold his thoughts in his own way. He was led astray whilst the other two worked together to draw trust onto each other. So, the audience did not have room for doubt either.

In addition to all of that, the most fundamental foundation to Xielian’s trust for MingYi was that fact that he was the one who saved him from Huacheng in the first place. Simply because of the ghost city arc, we already place Huacheng and Hexuan on opposing sides rather than assuming they were accomplices. Furthermore, because of Xielian’s trust in Huacheng’s intellect and his belief of Huacheng’s prejudice against MingYi; he would constantly monitor Huacheng’s reaction to his own deductions. Unfortunately, Huacheng was a terrible basis point and by the time Xielian realizes it, it is too late. An ingenious tactic.

The author led us off track in such a brilliant manner, I had to sing praises at the end of this piece. The way our mind perceives people or situations, is the essence of our moral compass. The mind is subjective, so subjectivity in judgement is ever present, ever grey.

Notes:

This unforgettable and excruciatingly tragic arc is an important turning point in the book and we are all aware that it does not need a special summary. However, I wanted to start with a bit of a reintroduction, just to stay true to the essay tradition. Is this an essay? A think-piece? An analysis? I would not dare shame any of those academic classifications by claiming to be writing as such.

I hope this was enjoyable to read.

twitter link

#tgcf #heaven official's blessing #mxtx #writings #analysis #ahhhh i promised I wouldn’t do anymore long post!!! sorry for your dashboard fill ;___;#*bow in apology*

56 notes · View notes

priorireverte · 4 years

Photo

Congratulations Clementine!

Your application for Hannah Abbott has been accepted. I so love seeing people take on Trio characters because in a lot of ways they’re so new to me, having a mostly Marauders background, and it excites me to see what people make of them. You’ve done some great development on her already!

Please look to the checklist for the next steps and reach out if you have any questions!

OUT OF CHARACTER

NAME & PRONOUNS: Clementine, she/her

TIMEZONE: AEDT / GMT+11

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Fairly active in the afternoons/evenings and on weekends.

ANYTHING ELSE: No triggers or anything. Experience-wise, I’ve been RPing on and off since I was about 17, almost exclusively in some form of HP-verse.

CHARACTER DETAILS

NAME: Hannah Abbott

BIRTHDATE: August 1st, 1980

DEATHDATE: N/A

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: Hannah identifies as cisgender with she/her pronouns. In terms of her sexuality, she has always assumed that she is primarily attracted to men, because it is what she has, in her mind, deemed safe. Despite the more open and accepting nature of Wixen society, one of her Muggle mother’s sisters, who Hannah is extremely close to, lives with her female partner and Hannah has seen the way that Muggle society treats same-sex couples. This choice for Hannah, however, is heavily based on her own assumptions of what she should do, as she has rarely felt sexual attraction for anyone, needing a strong emotional connection with someone in order to do so. (She will eventually identify as demisexual, however, she has never come across that kind of terminology before / may not do so for a long time)

BLOOD STATUS: Half-Blood (muggleborn mother, magic father)

HOUSE ALUMNI: Hufflepuff

OCCUPATION: Waitress at the Leaky Cauldron, works occasionally at a Muggle florist owned by her grandparents

FACECLAIM: Eliza Scanlen

CHARACTER BACKGROUND

POSTBELLUM

In the weeks after the war ended, Hannah chose to isolate herself back into the Muggle world as she struggled to come to terms with not only what they had won, but what they had lost along the way. Having to repeat her sixth year at Hogwarts would have been difficult enough for Hannah, but the added circumstances had left her with both physical and mental scars and she had been in no real place to assist with much of the rebuilding. Hannah, who cries and anything and everything, ended the war with barely a tear, as if it had all completely dried her up. She reentered Wixen society slowly - guided by friends who understood what they had all gone through and her determination to build her shattered family back together again. Getting a job at the Leaky was one of the best things she could have done for herself: it allowed her to not only be around other people once again but to see the ways in which society could grow and thrive after a war.

Hannah has no real regrets about her actions and involvement during the war - she could not live with herself if she hadn’t fought. Her fight began when they first took Cedric from them, and it only continued when they took her mother too. She chose to put all her fears and worries behind her until the war was done, and that was when she could collapse.

Despite all her progress, the news of the Returned set Hannah back once more. No matter how hard she tries to cut down her own hope, she opens the Prophet every day, desperate to find the name ‘Abbott’ on the list. Logically, Hannah knows it’s near to impossible - her mother was a Muggle, no matter that she loved a wizard, that her children were magic. But deep in her heart, all Hannah wants is to be able to see and touch her mother once more.

PERSONALITY

Hannah is generally a bright and cheerful person - she has a smile and a wave for everyone who enters the Leaky and is often found deep in conversation with the regulars. She has a knack for names and faces, and it was her decision to fill the back alley with pots and planters, spending her breaks with her knuckles deep in soil. Hannah is a quiet listener and while she can babble when nervous, she knows that sometimes silence is the best response.

On the flip-side, however, despite her outward appearance of calm, inside Hannah is a permanent mess of anxiety and panic. She can be remarkably high-strung despite her patience and she often requires validation and reassurance - when younger, she was happy to follow along with the thoughts and actions of others: her independence seemed to come later. Hannah is an easy crier: tears for frustration and stress and panic, tears of sympathy and laughter. When flustered, she becomes clumsy, which often results in a cycle of more panic and usually ends with something broken. Hannah struggles with looking after and caring for herself, often choosing to take care of others instead.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY

Hannah was born to a pureblooded father and a Muggleborn mother, leading her to spend most of her life split between both worlds. Her parents were quite adept at sheltering her from the judgement of other families - particularly those who believed her father had ‘tainted’ the bloodline, however, Hannah soon began to realise that not everyone was as accepting as she had believed. Her parents really pushed for Hannah to be as accepting and as loyal as she could be: they instilled a heavy focus on just being kind to others, something that was not difficult for their quiet daughter. The Abbotts were unable to have any more children after Hannah, and so she was completely doted upon by both sides of her family. Hannah was exceptionally close to her mother and her mother’s side of the family, having spent many summers growing up, pottering around on her grandparents’ farm.

Her mother was murdered during Hannah’s sixth year at Hogwarts, in a targetted attack. While the family will not openly discuss it, Hannah has come to understand that the intention had been to warn her father from not only continuing to outwardly express his pro-Muggle views at the Ministry but from attempting to use his influence to halt the corrupt ongoings. As a result, her father completely shut down, shuttling Hannah to her grandparents’ in a cloud of grief and guilt, and she barely saw him for the remainder of the year. After the war, when her father realised he could have lost the last of his family, they slowly came back together. The Abbott’s healing is slow, but gradual, and Hannah knows that patience is what they need right now.

HISTORY

Before the start of the war, Hannah was three things: patient, uncertain, happy. Before the end of the war, she was three different things: angry, broken, determined. At once she was almost two Hannahs: the Hannah who cried during her OWLs, who spent her free time in the greenhouses, who smiled at the first years and made stupid jokes to cheer them up. And she was also the Hannah who sobbed at the loss of Cedric, who buckled under the weight of being prefect, of knowing their whole house was grieving and it was she and Ernie they would look to. The Hannah who lost her best friend and herself when her mother died, and didn’t know when she would ever get herself back.

Hannah finds herself carrying these things with her: every tear, every panic attack, every story she’s ever listened to. And, more than anything, she wants to prove that Hufllepuffs are more: more than just Cedric being killed and tossed to the side, more than just “that other house”, the spares and the leftovers. She is driven by the need to show that being hard-working and patient and loyal and true is sometimes just as important as being brave or wise or cunning.

OOC EXPLORATION

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO?

This RP was recommended to me by some friends I have RPed with in the past / am currently RPing with. I think I’m looking most forward to playing a trio-era character in a different time of their life to anything I’ve played before - my usual characters have either been Marauders-Era or a recent foray into middle-aged trio.

ANYTHING ELSE?

Here are some hcs I wrote like…six years back? And here is a pinterest board because that is who I am as a person :)

#prioriacceptance #hannah abbott

9 notes · View notes

ellipsesarefun · 4 years

Text

DAMIRAE DAY 5: Soulbond

A/N: SO THIS CAME OUT OF NOWHERE I SWEAR HAHHAHAAH. It’s probs the coffee talking but damn. Finished this baby todaaayyy after reviewing for a subject (and damn is this a weird day because writing and studying feels like two different worlds) so this will be queued to post on the 14th or 15th? Maybe I’m too excited but it’s been awhile since I’ve been excited to write something.. Been awhile since I’ve used 1st POV. This is probs a bit messy :( But I’ll edit some stuff out someday..

May not be participating anymore but I hope to come back to DamiRae <3 It’s been a comfort to me during my study breaks.

------

There are some things about my magic that I cannot fully comprehend nor explain.

Ever since I’ve healed the young Robin, I’ve been receiving vivid dreams. I can’t fully grasp the images but the emotions that wake me to reality are always filled with heartaches, pining, and desperation. I never bothered to clue anyone in on what they are. Kory knows I have dreams but I can never tell her what happens in them because I don’t know how to describe them.. Damian has his ways of knowing. The little bird never lets me forget that. But he never asked, just implied. And I never said anything, merely let him draw his own conclusions.

I’ve been harboring feelings for him for a long time but I never acted on them for a number of reasons... Sometimes, we were romantically and sexually involved with other people. Other times, there never seemed to be a time and place to voice it out on the open. The moments we spent alone meditating, reading together, flying during my nightly rituals are the moments I cherish too much to let him feel my burden.

But out of all the reasons I've expounded, My father is the center. Even when I have created an enchanted fortress created out of his and my own demonic magic (with the help of Constantine and Zatanna), I still fear that he may one day break through those chains and destroy Earth... and kill Damian. Trigon senses the bond between us and it disgusts him.

His insults hit right through my own insecurities. I mean technically, he is trapped in crystal that’s stored in a small box that I carry around but damnit there are times when his thoughts crowd over to mine and... it terrifies me.

The mechanics of the bond isn’t the “if he dies, then I die too” but more of “I feel his presence more than I let on”. I still have no idea if it also might be the former, but the latter is one that I experience often. I don't always know what he is feeling (I may be an Empath but I have my mental barriers to maintain). It's only when he's in danger do my senses burn right through my barriers. It probably comes with this strong sense of protectiveness within me, a desperate need to keep him safe... and it’s becoming a little too obvious.

Throughout the six years as Titans, training with Damian has gradually become a torture... Every urge to shot turns into every urge to shield him from the pain... Every scar he receives fuels my anger against those who dare to hurt him, especially the enemies we’ve faced during missions and/or patrol.

The last one was worse. I arrived at the scene with him on the floor, body tainted with bruises and then..

I saw him on the floor.. suddenly burnt into ashes.. face barely recognizable... I heard my screams of agony, despair, and heartbreak as I watched my other self enveloping him in what seems a spell..

I love you...

And it wasn’t a dream but a memory... It all felt so real, like I was in Apokolips (what the hell is Apokolips?) once more and the Earth has crumbled to its fucked up state and he was gone and I needed to save him (from what?)...

I didn’t even stop to comprehend what it was and I lost my control.

AZARATH. METRION. ZINTHOS!

...

I blacked out, I think, and now I find myself back in the infirmary of the Titans Tower. Not a single glimpse of a sunlight reached the room and nothing stands out from the dark except a figure sitting beaide me.

"Hi." Is the only greeting I offered. Damian stands and turns the lights back on. He sits back down, burning holes into my skull. I squint at the brightness and immediately force myself to focus at some place that isn't him.. I couldn't bare to look at him.

I hear a sigh but I let my gaze linger at the clock far longer than I liked, matching my breaths with the ticks and tocks of the arrows of the clock. His agitation prickles at my senses like a thorn to my side. The damned urge to come and wrap him in my arms gradually resurfaces once more.

He clears his throat just in time, like he already knew what I was thinking and I look down, hoping he doesn’t notice the heat pooling my cheeks.

“Look,” he says and I pause my train of thought, “You and I both know there’s more to this that letting your demon lose and almost killing Dr. Light, so let’s not beat around the bush.” I couldn’t look at him, I just can’t bear to.. But I nodded, just so he knows that I’m taking his words seriously (and I always do)..

I might as well tell him..

“I’ve been having nightmares ever since the first time I healed you.” There’s movement from my periphery but I ignore it, “Of you.. dying...” Silence is his only answer so I continued.

“It wasn’t that bad at first but through years it’s been difficult to fight this desire to protect you all the time.” I haven’t reached the most important part yet and I’m already feeling the rising tension in the air. He holds up a hand, and I wait for him to speak as I try to calm my heartbeat.

“Raven, I was trained by the League of the Assassins. I know how to handle myself-”

“I know you do, Damian.” I cut him off, hearing my voice rise a bit,

(And I realize later that he didn't need to say this because damnit the smart ass saw right through me. He only did so to bait me into confessing.)

“But these aren’t nightmares.. not really. They’re from another timeline.” I let out a sigh. This conversation is beginning to exhaust me but he needs to know. I turn to him this time and he’s not holding back his own concern etched on his face. He gets up from his chair and sits at the edge of my bed. My gaze drifts to his hand. I remember a lingering feeling, probably from another memory of that timeline, that he’d reach out and hold my hand in his.

“There was a war.. We were around at this age..” I continue, “We were trying to stop someone and... you died in the process. I revived you.. brought you back from the dead.” I watch him watch me. Not a single gasp was uttered nor any ounce of surprised was showed on his face. I didn’t sense any of that. There was so much I can pick from that unreadable frown.

Longing, concern, understanding.. and it’s only occurred to me that he knows. He’s known this whole time. I was too engrossed to what he felt and what Trigon may do that I didn’t stop to read through his actions. But does he...

No.. I shouldn't ask... not when I haven't laid all the cards out..

"We have a bond.. sort of." I say, and he nods, confirming of his own assumptions, "But I'm not sure if this will get us killed. So far the pain inflicted on you does not mean I receive the same kind of pain. It just fuels my drive to protect you."

"And you think that this was a result from our previous affections to one another in that timeline." He concludes.

"We never really spent time together as... together." I say. It feels out of the blue but something about what I said needed to be heard, "You left for the League of Assassins. You offered me a place there because you had feelings for me. I would have went with you if Trigon hadn't threatened me to kill you if I stayed..."

I face him, feeling this odd confidence swelling within me. "I do still have feelings for you. And Trigon still wants to kill you so.. that hasn't changed.."

There is a slight elation and giddiness within me as I catch a mixture of bewilderment and amusement on his features. But my heart begins to soar as I watch a tiny, tender smile drawn by his lips.

I've seen that smile before.. a couple of times. There were only glimpses of that smile during our many glances throughout the years, hidden beneath the layers of his mask.

And now the last of his mask has finally come off.

"Raven," he says and I feel the tingle in my ears at the sound of my name, "You should know by now that my perseverance exceeds the fear of being devoured by demonic conquerer of worlds."

I frown at him. "You sound so sure of yourself..."

"You've defeated him twice, Raven." He reasons, "In this timeline and probably in other timelines. You were lucky, you say, but now.. you're--no, we're, more than four times as lucky."

"Damian.. where is this all coming from?" I ask, because he makes it sound so simple. Like he's up against merely a strict father who wouldn't let his daughter marry the person she loves in those cheesy romcoms. But this isn't a romcom. This is Trigon, for Azar's sake..

"He isn't called a Conquerer of Worlds for no reason!"

"And that doesn't stop you for creating a tiny fortress that entraps and gradually diminishes his demonic magic instead of trapping him in a crystal and sticking it to your forehead from your other timeline. Look Raven,” he continues, “You and I both know that there’s something between us? Why wait for the inevitable?” Why wait till I leave for the League of Assassins? Why wait till the possibility of Apokolips comes around again? He leans in and his bright green eyes search my own.

I keep my frown on my face, not wanting to give in to his charms. He throws back a smirk because he's fucking...

"Insufferable. That’s what you are." I spit the words at him, only halfheartedly at best. He laughs. The cheeky fucker is laughing me.

"But I'm a kind and generous soul." He teases with a grin on his face. And shit, I can't fight my own my smile any longer. He reaches out and I meet him halfway, entwining our fingers together. I haven't affirmed anything but the gesture already is the answer. Our answer. We’ve been dancing around this for a long time. Might as well take the chance before it’s too late.

Something magical, his aura perhaps, loops with my own. I close my eyes let the magic guide me.. and him. A meadow materializes itself and I find him in the distance, his smile warm and inviting. I extend my hand to him and he mirrors my actions. A raven flies out of my hand and another one out of his. At the same time we open our eyes and-

The magic suddenly bursts forth into a kaleidoscope of colors, a plethora of shapes of any kind. They all coalesce into a giant raven. A white raven. It soars above us, circling around the room with a happy tune. It eventually disappears into a sparkle of fireworks. We laugh and turn our gazes to one another.

With foreheads pressed against each other, we guide our silent conversation with twinkles in our eyes and smiles forming on our lips. It's like those typical chessy lovebird montage things people see in romantic subplots. It might be the calmness of the air or the sleep edging its way through my train of thought but I can sense our heartbeats in sync. A lullaby to my woes, perhaps, but someone like me can hope that this bond is knitting our souls into a comfortable blanket, however mysterious and unpredictable it may be.

Trigon's box rattles on the table. I almost forgot that it was there in the first place. I feel his presence, cursing disgusting words at the edge of my aura but I pay no heed.

After all, I'm a billion times luckier now.

#damirae week 2020 #damirae #Damian Wayne #Raven #ellipsesarefun writes #life is just.. a mess #Someday I'll comeback to this #queue

65 notes · View notes

raymurata · 4 years

Text

Heroics

ZevWarden Week Day 6 Bloodstained clothes: Injury @zevraholics For context: This drabble takes place in my WayWard Heart universe (some chapter in a future not-yet-written), when Zevran and Alec, after having gotten close for a couple of months, end up breaking up for a while. Alec then has a short fling with Morrigan, which coincides with the first half of Nature of the Beast quest. This is where they’re at. <3

-------------------------------- Heroics

Thick, crimson-red blood spilled between Zevran’s fingers, his palm pressed firmly against the cut on his stomach in a futile attempt at keeping his guts inside.

Foolish. To try and push beyond limits. He should have known this would happen, but he hadn’t thought. Had he wanted to help the Dalish so much he’d acted without second thought? Or had he actually taken this opening to finally finish what he’d come to Ferelden to do?

He couldn’t make sense of it, and even less so as his lungs struggled to pull in any air. He curled up on himself, not sure what would happen next.

Would Alec even bother to heal him, this time? Probably not. If the cold shoulder the warden had given him the past few days was any indication, this was the end of the road for him. It was surprising that the warden had kept him in the party, after their fight. And what a waste… to have so heroically jumped on an ogre’s back and taken the creature out all on his own… for the warden.

Zevran’s head spun.

Andraste’s fucking tits! Had he done it for the warden? Had he hoped to fix what was broken like this? Impressing him?

Extremely foolish. Instead, he’d given the warden the perfect excuse to cut him loose. How easy it would be to just say… “There is nothing I can do.”

Please, Maker...

Nothing he could do.

“Zevran!” Screams. A woman’s voice. Who? “Alec! Alec! Zev’s hurt! He--” Leliana.

Air. Screams. Breathe! Air!

---

Pain, liquor, sweat. Zevran was burning. He screamed, or tried to, his voice caught in his throat. He couldn’t move a muscle. It hurt. There was blood, so much blood on him. He needed out. Out. Fuck.

Soft hands on him, ginger hair, soothing voice. “It’s alright, Zev. It’s ok. I’m here. It’s just a fever.” Alec. It must be the Fade again. If it was another demon, he did not need to worry. He knew no one better to deal with demons than his warden.

The Warden.

“You’ll make it, Zev. Trust me. Just… Here, here,” Alec cooed, giving him something to drink. “Just a little longer, just hang in tight.”

Zevran’s body wasn’t on fire anymore.

He closed his eyes.

Again and again he saw the warden in his dreams, flames in the forest. It was hot one moment, cold the next. He shivered, teeth clattered, and he curled up on himself only to wake up later wrapped in burning furs, sweat clinging to his forehead.

His whole body ached, and he failed to do anything but fall back asleep.

Alec washed sweat off his face with a cool cloth; helped him to his feet when he needed the privy. And then everything blurred again, demons spitting fire at the corner of his eyes. He sat on the back of a massive bear, the forest passing before his eyes. The orange sky turned blue out of a sudden.

What was real, what was the Fade? He couldn’t tell the difference.

---

Zevran woke up with something in his mouth. He coughed, choking out the drink, spilling it on his own chest. He propped up on his elbow, sharp pain in his stomach. Wynne sat at the side of his bedroll, a mug of water extended out for Zevran to drink. Frowning, but too tired to protest, he sipped the water, then gestured for her to give him a moment.

Sitting up as best as he could despite the pain, and despite Wynne’s attempt at getting him to recline once more, Zevran tried to clean up the mess he’d made on his own chest. He grabbed the nearest cloth and wiped out the pinkish colored drink he’d spilled. Its smell reached his nostrils and its taste finally registered in the back of his mouth, not fully washed away by the water. A health potion, or close. It tasted better, slightly tart, almost like… yogurt? But it was so very sweet, too.

“Wh--?” His voice came out hoarse, weak. He coughed again.

“You were badly injured, Zevran. It is best you rest a while longer before attempting to talk,” Wynne said, setting the water canteen aside and instead reaching for the bowl with the creamy health potion. He must have stared, because Wynne’s eyes also dropped to the drink, and she gave him a knowing smile. “It is a Dalish recipe, apparently. They make health poultices with halla yogurt. We’ve added ginger and honey because they’re good against fevers.”

Zevran looked around. Several herbs were piled up on a table. Two more bedrolls stretched out at the side of his. The elven man they had found injured in the forest lay in one of them, sleeping quite peacefully, looking rather healthy now. The other was empty, but bloodied. The stains were still quite red, quite fresh. The sheets were torn, and duck feathers were scattered around the bedroll. Whoever had laid there had probably gone beyond the point of saving.

“I rather thought I would be beyond the point of saving, myself,” he mused out loud. He looked past Wynne, at the open canvas of the tent. A pair of Dalish hunters talked just outside. He was back at their camp, and it was morning. “I imagine I was carried back, yes?”

“You and Deygan. Alec did not think he would be able to properly heal the both of you back in the wilds,” Wynne explained.

Zevran shook his head. “He turned back?”

“A temporary setback,” Wynne explained. “The Dalish Grey Warden has continued on with Alistair, and the rest of the party. Alec returned only with Morrigan, Sten and the two of you.” She pointed at Zevran and the sleeping Dalish hunter. “I believe they intend to resume the task when morning next breaks.”

“Ah,” was all Zevran managed to say. He tried to sit up again, only to find himself panting from that alone. Fuck. “My dear Wynne, how long has it been, might I ask?”

“The sun had just set yesterday when they arrived with you, but Alec told me he spent a good while getting you to a stable condition before they could carry you back. I would say you’ve been either asleep or unconscious for around four days? You’ve been battling a raging fever all of this time -- Alec kept you under spells for most of the journey.”

Zevran looked down at his stomach. Despite the pain at breathing, and the purple hue of his skin, there was no new scar to account for.

“And where is our heroic Grey Warden now?” Zevran asked, lacing his tone with sarcasm as not to give away the knot in his throat.

“He asked me to inform him as soon as you awoke, but he hasn’t slept a wink. Even when Lanaya and I offered to take over, he didn’t leave until your fever was down.” Wynne pressed the back of her hand to Zevran’s neck. “It’s still down, so I do not plan on waking him up just yet.”

Zevran blinked twice..

Why? Could there still be something between the two of them?

Zevran scoffed at himself, and shook his head. “You dare defy the Warden Commander’s orders, Wynne? Your fearlessness is truly your sexiest feature, my dear woman,” he said, sounding as flippant as he could muster.

“I might not be the interim Warden Commander, but I am still the senior Healer here,” she said with a small chuckle, fetching a piece of cloth and soaking it into a water basin. She wrung the cloth, folded it gently and handed it over to Zevran. “Not to say that he is doing a poor job as interim Commander. I do believe he made the right decision here. You would certainly have died out there, had he not. All things considered, however, I still worry over what exactly drove him to it. You understand that he does have many difficult decisions ahead of him, right? There might be a time when he must choose between continuing his task of ending the Blight, or saving a lover, and… We both know which the world needs him to choose.”

Zevran frowned at Wynne, his heart racing faster with each of her words. It seemed like a preposterous assumption, that. The warden had not, and would not, choose him over ending the Blight. And besides... “I-- My dear Wynne. Certainly you are aware that our handsome Warden has other fancies now, yes?”

“Yes, I--” Wynne sighed, shaking her head. “I must admit I do not understand you youngsters anymore. First, no one in camp can sleep thanks to you and him. Then, he takes to Morrigan's tent, of all people. Quite suddenly, might I add, and you do not seem even slightly fazed? That your fancies are all fleeting, I already knew, but some things do not add up entirely in this particular equation.”

Indeed, they didn’t.

He, too, would like to understand what went on in Alec’s mind.

Zevran slipped on the mask. “Ah, but Wynne, if you would like to better understand us youngsters, it would be my pleasure to show you, mm? Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from a mature woman like yourself, too?” He grinned lecherously, patting the bedroll next to him. Wynne rolled her eyes in distaste, but that did not stop him. “Perhaps that is why you chose not to wake the warden, yes? You wanted to be left alone with such a handsome patient as me. I can certainly understand that wish.”

Wynne groaned. “If you are well enough to be shameless, you are well enough to be left on your own, Zevran.” She put a cork stopper in a Lyrium vial and set it aside, then gracefully got to her feet. “Let me know if you feel unwell.”

He let out a sigh of relief when she exited the tent; his heart still racing wildly.

It didn’t add up. That Alec hadn’t cut him loose. That he’d split the party, turned back, and cared for him with such diligence. What now? He was still injured. Too injured to even get up, let alone resume their quest. Perhaps the healer in Alec had spoken louder. Of course. Alec would not have let an ally die. Alec would probably ask him to go on his merry way instead, now that he wasn’t going to be responsible for someone dying under his command…

Zevran tossed and turned, the pain increasing every time he rolled over. His breath got labored, his energy all drained by his thoughts.

---

It was evening when he woke up again, feeling much better and much more aware of his surroundings. He sat up, fetched the damp piece of cloth by his bedroll and washed sleep off his face with it. He was barely done when he caught a glimpse of Alec’s silhouette through the canvas; a shiny light dancing around him.

He bit his lower lip, waiting, watching as the warden entered the tent.

“You’re awake,” Alec said, the wisp dimming in intensity once he was inside. “How are you feeling?”

It was the first time in days that Alec talked to him like that, in that tone. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but he liked it and missed it. His throat knit, and no words came out of his lips.

Alec stepped closer, sat down next to him, and reached a hand out for his forehead. His palm was warm and soft, as Zevran knew it to be. “Fever’s really gone. Have you had dreams?”

“Have we faced any more sloth demons while I slept, my friend?” Zevran asked, going for a humorous tone. “Or were they Desire demons this time?”

Alec shook his head, withdrawing his touch. “Serious question, Zev,” he said, and his eyes were as grave as he sounded. “Have you had any dreams of Darkspawn? Dragons? Did you hear voices that didn’t make sense but you still got the feeling of what they were saying?”

“I-- No,” Zevran frowned. “I had regular dreams, I believe. Nothing of that nature.”

“Mm.” Alec had huge circles under his eyes. “Nothing at all of the sort? Tinglings in your veins?”

Zevran’s frown intensified, and an entirely puzzled look was the best answer he could give.

Alec’s shoulders sagged. He sighed. “Thank the Maker.”

“Have I lucked out?” Zevran asked playfully.

Alec scoffed. “Yeah. I guess. Your wound was pretty deep, and Darkspawn weapons can sometimes infect people with the taint, too, so I was worried you’d been tainted. I’ve been monitoring you, but you don’t seem to be showing any signs of taint decay.” As he spoke, Alec emptied and then refilled the water in the basin. “When Duncan was taking me, Skyler and Li Na to Ostagar, she was infected. You haven’t developed any of the symptoms she did, so I started to consider you might have resisted the Taint -- Which would make you a Grey Warden, actually.” He took the cloth from Zevran and sunk it into the basin. He cast a heating spell, and in seconds the water steamed. “There are some accounts of that sort of transition happening, but it is not quite the same as the Joining Ritual. For that, the Wardens need a drop of blood from the Archdemon… But, since I didn't see any back in Denerim, I'd guess the last vial of Archdemon blood in Ferelden was lost alongside Duncan, so it wouldn’t have been possible to put you through the Joining. It’s a freaking relief that you’re not tainted -- really. I wasn’t sure what I’d have done. I was already drawing up the path back to Ostagar… I figure Duncan’s body might still be there, and his possessions. But anyway. No dreams is another good sign.”

“I take it I have not turned into a fabled Grey Warden then, yes?”

“It doesn’t seem like it,” Alec agreed, a soft, even if tired, smile resting on his thin lips. “But if you do dream of dragons, you should tell me right away.”

Alec wrung the cloth and then gently placed it in Zevran’s hand. It was heavenly warm.

Zevran caught himself watching Alec’s lips, missing the warmth of his kiss.

Alec cleared his throat. “But you know, Zev… I’m not going to pretend I’m not mad at you,” he said, and Zevran’s heart dropped to his stomach.

So this was when Alec kicked him out of their party?

“You were in no position to taunt that ogre and handle it on your own. I asked both you and Leliana to give me cover in the air, and you fucked it up.”

“From where I stand, my friend, it seems it worked well, yes? Wynne tells me Li Na took Alistair and everyone else onward to find Witherfang. I am assuming I was the only one injured? Even if you were not such a skilled healer, it would have been only a minor loss,” Zevran said, chuckling at his self-deprecating joke.

Alec was unamused. “I already had Deygan to heal on my own -- You knew Wynne was back here, but you were reckless nonetheless. You sustained an injury that could have killed you or turned you into a ghoul, and you left me no choice but to turn back, even though you could’ve easily taken a different approach in that battle. We would still have won, and we’d be on our way without any delays. I need you to be more careful than this next time.”

Zevran scoffed. “Come now, my Warden. We all have made harsh decisions in the thick of battle before, have we not?” They had literally infiltrated Loghain’s army camp once, lured a whole horde of darkspawn on their own, stolen trinkets from merchants in the middle of Denerim’s market despite how risky it was to attract attention to themselves when they were wanted for treason. Now Alec was scolding him for recklessness? Anger built up in his veins. “And besides, you could have let me suffer the consequences, no? If it bothered you such that I made you turn back.”

Alec rolled his eyes. “Zevran. When are you going to understand? We’re friends.”

Friends. That again.

It was hard to register that any friendship could exist beyond a shared goal.

“Listen,” Alec said, “just rest, alright? We can talk later.”

Zevran swallowed dry, not moving his eyes from Alec’s.

The warden sighed. “It’s just… I’m just trying to tell you that you don’t actually help anyone by being reckless in battle. And, you know, I wouldn’t want to lose someone I see as a good friend. Even if I know this is a Blight and maybe we might all die--”

“Gruesomely,” Zevran added, needing levity, even if just a little.

“Gruesomely, definitely,” Alec agreed with a chuckle. “Ripped apart by a dragon or another. Anyway. My point is… You won’t die if I can help it, even if you act like a freaking twat and jump on a fucking ogre without any backup, like an idiot. And it doesn’t matter if we’re, you know… knocking boots. Or not. Just get it in that thick head of yours already that I’m your friend. It’s fucking preposterous that you’d think I’d just leave you behind -- Makes me want to freeze your fucking arse.”

A choked chuckle escaped Zevran. “It is a concept that might take getting used to, my friend,” he said, rather ironically. “You have a noble goal to achieve. Why keep around a friend if they become a liability rather than an asset? Even if theirs is a wonderful asset.”

He did not have to wait a beat for the answer. “We’re all mortal here, Zev. We all get hurt and we’re all likely to die. Who fucking knows, we may all become a liability at some point. And if I left behind every friend who got injured, I’d end up alone and dead myself before I even saw the Archdemon. And besides, it’s like… each person still standing when we end this is an added victory to the victory, you know? Especially since--” Alec trailed off.

He reached his hand out for Zevran’s wrist, but stopped himself before touching him. His palm hovered atop Zevran’s arm, eventually landing only for a pat before withdrawing. He put on a smug smirk, or attempted to. “And it’s not like I would miss the opportunity to prove what a badass healer I am, innit? You should have seen your guts, they were practically spilling out of your stomach, right here. I fixed it up real nice. Really proud of myself there.”

Alec trailed the pad of his finger on Zevran’s stomach, drawing an invisible scar.

Zevran shivered, that soft touch -- and that beautiful smile on Alec’s lips -- filling him with want.

He chuckled. “So what I am hearing is that I should get myself injured more often to give you opportunities to shine, my warden? You can use me as your display case.”

Alec chuckled, and playfully slapped his arm. “Don’t freaking test me, Zev. I swear to Andraste, if you ever put a dumbass move like that on me on purpose, I will let you bleed until near-death on purpose. Healing will be painful,” he threatened, but there was a boyishness in his tone that gave away the lie. “But, really. I sure as fuck don’t need another thing to worry about mid-battle, you know? I usually trust you to be one of the most careful fighters in our party. You’re always keeping an eye on everyone.”

On him, mostly, Zevran thought, but didn’t say anything.

“I just need to know that you’re not going to be careless, innit?”

“Fine, fine,” Zevran agreed, giving the boy a soft smile, his chest suddenly warm again. “I shall leave all of the heroics to you next time, my friend.” His smile turned into a wicked, shit-eating grin. “I’ve learned my lesson not to outshine the Grey Warden Commander.”

Alec shook his head in good humour. “Yeah, if anyone’s dying heroically here it’s me, when I kill the Archdemon, so cool your tits.” He pinched Zevran’s nipple as he said that, his fingers cold as ice. Zevran let out a high-pitched “ma che- stronzo!” in his native Antivan, then tossed his pillow up on Alec’s face, nearly toppling him backwards on the stool. Their laughter echoed in the tent, then died slowly, naturally.

Zevran coughed and panted, body still healing from the infection. “If you do not mind me asking, dear warden, what of Witherfang? Wynne says you are returning there next morning, but you’ve lost quite a lot of time.”

“Li Na and Alistair are on it. It’s a Dalish matter, and I doubt she’ll give up until she has put an end to it. My only worry is that they have no healer with them right now, so I have to get back as soon as possible. The forest should be safer now that we’ve dealt with the Blighted wolves and darkspawn.”

“I would like to join you as well, my friend.”

Alec knit his ginger brows. “I’m not sure you’re in good enough health yet, Zev. You can stay here with the Dalish and recover, since Wynne’s here anyway.” He bit his lower lip, tilted his head. “I mean... We’ll see how you’re feeling in the morning, but we can talk about that later. If you’re alright now, I’m gonna let you clean up.” Alec pushed himself up. “Do you think you can join us for dinner? Or should I bring you supper?”

Zevran’s eyes stung. He lifted his gaze up to the warden. “I would much rather join the Dalish outside, caro.” Ah, what a fool he was, to rejoice in the warden’s friendship and affection. He knew he might get burnt yet again, but somehow he was willing to take that risk. “Thank you.”

Alec said, and nodded gently at him before leaving the tent.

#zevwarden #zevran x warden #zevwarden week 2020 #zevran x surana #zevran x m!warden #zevran arainai #zalec #alec surana #fanfic #raywrites #wynne #wayward heart #wayward heart wip #loooong one

31 notes · View notes

chloefrazer · 4 years

Text

quarter to three

title: quarter to three relationships: nines rodriguez/the fledgling words: 3.5k warnings: none summary: Days have passed since that night when Mickey lost herself to the Beast. On a cool October night in downtown Los Angeles, Nines confronts her as to why he didn’t fulfill his promise.

The ambient sounds of downtown Los Angeles filled the otherwise silent office space. Sounds of traffic, low music, and muffled voices of locals and tourists alike making their way back home before the sun rose. The office was small and cluttered, with boxes of paperwork still left unorganized and unfiled. The furniture looked secondhand, the walls needed a fresh coat of paint, and the AC hadn’t been fixed in a good couple of months.

It was, by all accounts, a bit of a shithole, but it was home.

Even though the Prince had been oh, so gracious enough to give Mickey a haven in Santa Monica, most nights it remained empty. Instead, she chose to stay in her office, where she could attempt to cling to normalcy in peace. Mickey currently sat on the fire escape, unseen by the general populace below. She was always good at going unnoticed. Or, at least she was, before she found herself wrapped up in the world of Kindred politics. All the political scheming and backstabbing was enough to make her head spin, yet she landed in the middle of it all.

Not by choice, of course. If Mickey had her way, she would have been halfway across the country by now. It’s what she did — running away was a tough habit to break. It was difficult trying to ignore the pesky voice in her ear that urged her to pick flight over fight. It was safer that way; made it less likely to be hurt. Mickey knew that if she did try and run, it wouldn’t take long for Prince Lacroix to find her and bring her back kicking and screaming. Unless he didn’t just kill her first.

Like he should have, if he’d had his way. Like he was going to, until Nines Rodriguez loudly objected to her premature execution.

Her loud — and more than a little frustrated — sigh went unheard from her current position; elbows resting on her knees as she sat on the fireplace’s steps. The thump of bass from Confession nearby was strong enough that Mickey could feel it in her chest. Mickey swore quietly out into the night air. Her posture shifted as she brought a hand up to rake through her hair, annoyance bleeding through every movement. The nightlife of Los Angeles took no notice of the increasingly frustrated Kindred above them, too lost in their own little worlds. Mickey wished, idly, for a fraction of their ignorance.

She didn’t have that luxury, though.

Why the hell did he save me? The question had been at the forefront of Mickey’s mind for a while now. Ever since that night in the theatre. Then he saved her again from that pack of Sabbat. She asked Jack what he thought when she first came stumbling into the Last Round, disheveled and bruised, but alive. His explanation didn’t solve fuckall, but Mickey had been too chickenshit to ask Nines directly.

She swore again.

Then there was the night Mickey had investigated the Brotherhood of the Ninth Circle; the night she lost herself to the Beast. When she left the building, broken and bloody, she felt Nines’ eyes drilling holes into her back, and the shame of her actions still curled in her gut. The building was a map of her carnage and destruction, not to mention the mess she made of the Bishop himself. Mickey didn’t come out unscathed, either. Her shoulder still ached, but it was healing, and her Hunger was under control, but the emotional scars persisted. She could still feel Vick’s Vitae under her fingernails no matter how hard she scrubbed them clean.

She lost control, but she was still alive, and she knew she’d have to deal with the consequences sooner or later. Mickey, of course, preferred dealing with those consequences later, hence why she’d been avoiding Nines and the rest of the Anarchs lately. She’d been avoiding Prince Lacroix, too, and he knew it. He sent her a rather scathing email, demanding her presence back at Venture Tower at her utmost convenience.

Which, translated from corporate stooge language, meant: “Get your ass back here, now.”

Mickey knew that the longer she made him wait, the angrier he’d get, which is exactly why she hadn’t come crawling back yet. He probably had eyes and ears everywhere downtown, so it was a safe assumption that he knew about her frequent visits to the Last Round. The Prince just couldn’t take the fucking hint.

Let him wait a little longer, lest he think she was some dutiful, Camarilla bootlicker.

Among the shadows, Mickey reached into her pocket, pulling free her lighter and a cigarette. A nasty habit left over from her days when she was still living. A reminder of normalcy, an anchor to the world she was too stubborn to leave behind; like her office. A flame sparked in the shadows, illuminating her face in the darkness, and a sliver of fear also sparked at the small source of heat. She remained in control, lighting the end of the cigarette and snapping the lighter shut. Her lips wrapped around the filter and she inhaled deep, the smoke filling her dead lungs. Her body felt no rush from the nicotine, no spike in adrenaline, no release of dopamine. She sat there, a walking corpse surrounded by shadow and smoke, the bass from Confession reverberating deep in her chest. If Mickey closed her eyes, she could pretend it was her heartbeat.

Her reverie was broken as Mickey felt her phone buzz in her pocket and she groaned, stamping the cigarette out on the railing before grabbing the device. As she read the contact, her heart sank into her gut. Mickey briefly debated throwing the phone over the railing, an odd feeling fluttering in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Nines since that night she investigated the Brotherhood and she beat Bishop Vick into a bloody pulp. Mickey struggled to forget the look in his eyes that night, the icy intensity of his gaze making her stomach flip.

Where she expected to see anger, disgust, and hate, she saw something that dangerously looked like sympathy. Maybe even a little sadness. She refused to acknowledge what else it could have been.

As she flipped the phone open, that fluttering feeling in her chest turned to dread as she read:

Need to talk. You around tonight?

Mickey’s fingers twitched for another cigarette. She could ignore the text easily enough, get in a cab and be on her way to Santa Monica before the sun came up. That’s what the nagging, persistent voice in her head told her to do. Flight before fight. Run away while you still can.

Instead, though, she typed a quick confirmation — as well as the address to her office — to the rather foreboding text. Mickey hoped her response conveyed a sense of cool nonchalance, because all she felt was an impending sense of doom that sat in the pit of her stomach like lead. As Mickey made her way back inside, closing the window behind her, those walls she carefully constructed over the years built themselves over her mind brick by brick. A defense mechanism from years of aimlessness, from moving from place to place and keeping people at an arm’s length; because they can’t hurt what they can’t touch.

The clock on her wall read a quarter to three and her mask of cool detachment was in place.

That mask threatened to slip, though, once Mickey fully realized that she invited Nines to her home; the one place she felt totally safe, the one place she allowed herself to be completely vulnerable.

This time, she did light another cigarette, the taste of smoke anchoring her to the here and now. This was her domain, she reminded herself; she was in control here. What was wrong with her, anyway? A storm of emotions raged through Mickey at the thought of the stoic Anarch leader. She’d been thrust into this world of darkness suddenly and violently. Everything she learned about how Kindred society worked was through firsthand experience. She knew that almost everyone had some hidden agenda; either they were vying for power, influence, or profit, and they needed someone to do their dirty work for them.

That’s how it happened in Santa Monica; Mickey had been bossed around by any Kindred with a week’s worth of seniority over her.

She was a pawn in Lacroix’s game, she knew that, too. Mickey knew that she was on borrowed time, though. She was a calculated risk, a liability. Lacroix would have preferred her to die that night in the Nocturne Theatre, but now he had to figure out how to use her to his advantage. Mickey had no desire to be cannon fodder for some two-bit, prissy Ventrue prince, but every time she tried to weasel her way out of his machinations, he found a way to keep her there.

Nines, though. Mickey didn’t have a guess at what his angle was. Why did he care so much? Why did he rush in, time and time again, to save her life? Why didn’t he fulfill his promise and kill her the other night when the Beast took over and she was more wolf than woman? Perhaps he just wanted her for the cause; she’d been helping out the Anarchs a lot lately, and she was fairly close with Smiling Jack — he was one of the only people Mickey could actually talk to about all this stuff.

Her thoughts were interrupted at the sound of a knock at her door. She moved to stamp out the cigarette in the ashtray on her desk, fingers raking through her hair. His silhouette was outlined on the other side of the door, visible through the opaque glass. As Mickey opened the door, the sarcastic greeting she was prepared to give him died before it could escape past her lips, lodged somewhere in her throat as her steel gray eyes met his icy blue ones.

The intensity of his gaze always seemed to knock the wind out of her, no matter how many times she saw him. She cleared her throat, searching for the words that got lost, before greeting him, “Hey.”

“Hey, yourself,” Nines said, jutting his chin toward her office, “Can I come in?”

Mickey nodded, moving aside to let him pass. He did so, shoulder nearly brushing against hers in the process. As he moved further inside the office space, the walls felt even smaller with just the two of them inside. It was quiet, the ambient sounds of downtown LA muffled even more with the windows shut. Her small office was a vastly different environment from the Last Round — no blaring music, no rowdy bar patrons, no Skelter or Damsel to give her any snarky remarks about her assumed Kindred political alliances.

It was just the two of them in Mickey’s dingy little office space that hadn’t seen any proper clientele in weeks.

“‘Sundown Investigations’, huh?”

Mickey blinked at the sudden question, “Excuse me?”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of Nines’ mouth as he gestured to the door again, where the name of Mickey’s private investigation firm was painted onto the glass. She snorted, her hand moving to rub the back of her neck in a sheepish motion.

“Yeah, uh, kinda ironic now, I guess,” she said, inwardly cringing at just how awkward she sounded. Get a fucking grip, Mickey. “I’ve just always worked at night, so it seemed fitting at the time.”

Nines nodded, humming quietly in response. Mickey resisted the urge to light another cigarette and instead shoved her hands in her pockets, leaning back against the edge of her desk, her mask of detached coolness making her the perfect picture of bored nonchalance.

“So,” she said, drawing out the word slightly, “you said you wanted to talk?

“I do,” he confirmed. He stood with his back slightly to her, arms crossed over his chest, his face slightly obscured by shadow. Mickey’s calculating eyes struggled to get a read on him; he seemed casual, eerily calm in a way. There was no hint of hostility or anger, but the longer he waited to elaborate, the more the seed of paranoia in the back of her mind began to grow.

He opened his mouth to continue, but Mickey beat him to it.

“How come you didn’t kill me?”

The question caught them both off guard. Nines’ expression shifted to that of slight surprise, one eyebrow raised. Mickey begged her face to remain neutral and hoped to God her walls stood solid. The noise outside seemed to cease and the quiet turned nearly suffocating as Mickey waited for his response. Not even the Beast had anything smart to say, probably enjoying the thick tension too much to break it.

“That’s a tough question,” he admitted, finally breaking the silence as he turned to face Mickey fully. His face no longer obscured by shadow, Mickey tried not to shrink from his gaze, defiantly meeting him head on. She was in control here, she reminded herself once again.

“Truth is: I don’t know,” Nines said, moving to take half a step closer, “I don’t know why I didn’t kill you that night. Don’t think I could’ve, not when you looked like —” he stopped, as though trying to spare Mickey the truth.

“Like what?” Mickey pressed, inviting the onslaught of brutal honesty. She needed to hear it, she needed to know what he thought, because he was so unreadable that she could never get a read on what he could possibly be thinking.

“Like a goddamn wounded animal,” he finished, hand roughly dragging down his face. Another step closer this time, the walls seemingly closing in along with him, “you snapped out of it, anyway. You didn’t give me a reason to shoot.”

When the Beast locked eyes with Nines that night, she cowered in the corner, well aware of the threat he posed. When he called out to her, urging her to take back control, the Beast complied; releasing her claws from Mickey and retreating to the dark corners of her mind. Nines’ voice, a guide to bring her back to herself. Mickey didn’t want to think about the implications of that.

“Yeah,” was all Mickey said, her gaze breaking from his momentarily, flashing to the bit of floor that lay under her shoes. The tempest of emotion continued to rage on, thousands of thoughts flashing through her mind like lightning. When she brought her eyes back up to meet Nines’, he could see the storm raging behind her eyes, that familiar sharp steel now dark as storm clouds.

Another step, dangerously close now, close enough to touch if either one of them dared to reach out. “Somethin’ wrong?”

A noise that sounded suspiciously like a growl rumbled in her throat like thunder, but Nines didn’t budge, didn’t shrink away.

“Why do you keep doing that?” Mickey bit out the question through clenched teeth, hands clenching and unclenching. Her senses were overloaded, her mind buzzing with questions and frustrations and feelings she really, really, didn’t want to acknowledge, couldn’t acknowledge, because she didn’t understand.

“Doin’ what, kid?”

A disgruntled noise, followed by a rude gesture as she motioned between the two of them. Christ, she was bad at this. Letters and syllables bunched her throat, all of them threatening to pour out of her mouth all at once.

“Saving me! Looking out for me, I don’t fuckin’ know! You stood up for me that night at the theatre, stopping that piece of shit French asshole from killing me. Then, you show up just in time to stop those Sabbat from staking and leaving me for the sunrise. And now, I lost control, and you don’t kill me. So, why, Nines? Huh?”

By the time her stream of consciousness was finished, Mickey was damned near breathless. If her heart could still beat, she was sure it’d be racing. Her walls were starting to slip, cracks appearing in the foundations. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this, she was supposed to stay in control. Keep people at arm’s length, that’s what she did.

Except, now, he was closer than an arm’s length away. She didn’t realize he’d gotten so close. She had to look up toward him now, in order to meet his gaze headon. Mickey nearly startled when she caught him smirking at her.

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

A beat of silence, followed by a low chuckle in the back of his throat. “Why do you think I keep lookin’ out for you?”

Mickey blinked. She opened her mouth to respond, then closed it. This wasn’t how the conversation was supposed to go.

“Because — because I’m useful?” She didn’t mean for it to come out as a question.

When Nines didn’t respond, Mickey continued, “you want me for the cause, or whatever. Which, yeah, sure, I hate Lacroix, so if you — if the Anarchs need help, I’ll help, but if that’s why, then you should just say it —”

“Kid —”

“— because Jesus Christ, I get enough bullshit power play from every other Kindred in this city, so —”

“Mickey.”

As he said her name, the rambling stopped. He was so close to her now. He clouded her senses, his presence a comforting haze she didn’t want to pull away from, not yet, not when he’d never been so close to her before. Mickey didn’t dare breathe (not that she needed to, anyway) so as to not break the tension.

“I didn’t save you because I think you’re useful,” he said, voice low, but each syllable reverberated loudly in her ears, “I saved you because — shit, I —”

It was uncharacteristic of Nines to fumble with his words. He was direct, brutally honest when he needed to be, and oh, so persuasive. That was why more and more Kindred flocked to his banner every night; they believed in him, believed in his cause and the convictions he would both live and die for.

But honesty was different than vulnerability, which Mickey and Nines both seemed to struggle with.

Mickey watched as his gaze flashed from her eyes down to her lips. He couldn’t place the shade of red; crushed cherries, red wine, day-old bloodstain. When his head dipped low, Mickey didn’t move as their foreheads gently met. His hands braced against the desk behind her, and she was thankful for its weight, because she’d started to feel weak at the knees.

He was too close to look at now. A fluttering of lashes as her eyes shut, followed by that persistent flutter in her chest. She inhaled slowly, her own hands resting on the bare skin of his forearms.

“Nines?” Mickey asked, voice barely above a whisper.

He shifted, nose brushing ever-so-slightly over hers. A hair’s breadth away now, his mouth ghosting and feather-light against her own. Something snapped in her then — her composure, most likely — like a taut wire string. Mickey rose up on her toes and closed the distance between them.

The kiss was soft, gentle, almost hesitant. It lasted a few seconds before Mickey pulled back on instinct, as though startled by her own gentleness. She didn’t make it far though, before Nines was kissing her again, an edge of desperation and hunger to it. This kiss was not gentle; it was wild — primal, even. Mickey felt her lips bruise, her tongue tasting her own Vitae. Her hands snaked up his arms, one wrapped around his shoulder, the other resting against the back of his neck. She felt his arm grip her waist in turn, helping Mickey keep her balance as she stood on the tips of her toes.

When they finally parted, a low whine escaped Mickey’s throat. Nines stepped back a hair, putting more distance between the two of them. Her hands rested on his forearms again, his on her waist. It was quiet again, but this time Mickey didn’t find the quiet as deafening.

“This what you had in mind when you said you wanted to talk?” Mickey asked, that familiar bite of snark making its way back into her voice.

Nines dared to crack a smile at that, “We are still gonna talk about this,” he paused, gesturing between the two of them, “whether you like it or not.”

Mickey slid up to him then, something like a challenge gleaming in her eye, flashing like lightning. “Oh, yeah? That a threat? Or a promise?”

“A promise,” he confirmed, that smile threatening to grow wider.

“Speaking of promises,” Nines continued, albeit reluctantly, “I’ve got an appointment to keep, so I better get goin’.”

Mickey nodded, that same snark bleeding through as she said, “Well, far be it from me to keep you from your adoring public.”

Nines snorted as he readjusted the collar of his shirt. He paused then, really looking at Mickey, pinning her beneath the icy intentness of his gaze.

“You’re probably the only person that could.”

Before Mickey’s brain could even work fast enough to come up with a response to that, he bid farewell with a smirk and a raise of his brow. When the door shut behind him, Mickey was left with a new storm of emotions, but her chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.

#nines rodriguez #vtmb #vtmb fic #ship: rebel yell #writing: mine #and i said i am going to write something that is so self indulgent #ch: mickey

13 notes · View notes

hidelaney · 5 years

Text

Hi Delaney!

Ah, yes the quarantine. It’s getting to me. Definitely. Suddenly I have no office to go to. But it’s good, I think. Make the CEO realize the upper management has no literal reasons to keep us in the office. Like at all. Seriously, everyone from my team is working from home and the level of productivity is actually better. Because guess what? Not having people breathing down our necks is SUPER helpful. So HA!

Okay, about Larry Stylinson. You’re right, I did fall into YouTube Blackhole. And Twitter. And I just watched 1D San Siro concert. By watching, I mean I actually paused the work I’m doing and looked at the screen while it played. Admittedly I was also doing chores but! It wasn’t just background music! It counted!

When I said I could put Larry Stylinson in a microwave and be done with it, I mean the theories and compilation videos are so readily available and easy to digest like, comparable to instant meals.

It’s so neatly packaged, too. Like, I was introduced to Larry Stylinson basically yesterday. Now I could recite the storyline in my head whenever I please. Or when I want to please you, in this case.

Let’s see if I can get it all summarized down here. FYI, I’m borrowing your assumption that Taylor was in on it the whole time. And Eleanor, too. Because I actually know of her existence now! Character discovery! Except they’re real people so I feel the need to point out that I’m making all the assumptions all over the place. I’m doing this for you, my dear Delaney.

Keep in mind that we all need character growths and personal developments when I make non-flattering assumptions toward your favorite people here, ok?

First up! HS & TL met in a toilet.

Now it’s debatable whether it was during an X-Factor audition or Battle of the Bands. For the sake’s of my next argument, I’m going with they knew each other before X-Factor. Likely during their time in White Eskimo and The Rogue, respectively. Their (unconfirmed?) first words to each other were ‘Oops!’ & ‘Hi’

Up next, the X-Factor audition and getting put together in a band.

So here is where I kind of needed my first assumption for this to work. Their chemistry was so obviously through the roof. It made so much sense if they were already sort-of friends and then got put together in a band. Plus, I don’t think the way Louis jumped into Harry’s arms is something a relative stranger would do. And if they only knew each other out of everyone there, it’s no wonder they were both so apparently clingy and codependent. It’s like a situation where both of them went ‘I have no idea what’s gonna happen next, but at least I know you and you know me. So we’re bestie now. No take back!”

And then there’re video diaries, twitter cams, radio interviews, and other broadcasting media they appeared in. These need no explanation because you’ve probably seen all of them and I have functioning ears and eyes. So, yes, I saw videos of them being all disgustingly cute all over the place. During the so-called ‘Fetus’ phase (a wording which I personally find rather disturbing, no offense to your anatomy textbooks or anything.) They’re so sweet. Especially whenever there’s a mention of how they moved in and lived together. Their interactions must’ve been responsible for so many tooth cavities. So many aww-worthy moments. On stage, on screen, behind the scenes, potato cams. Basically everywhere in front of everyone.

Then 1D blew up and were well on their way to become their label’s biggest and brightest BCG-metrix star. It’s not hard to see why investors’d be invested (lol) in employing every marketing strategy possible to keep 1D in the spotlight.

There’s a twofold marketing exploitation to Larry Stylinson that I see from miles away.

Hard sell the heteronormative version of the boys. (To capture major market shares)

Never had Harry or Louis explicitly confirm nor deny their relationship status. (To capture additional market shares with queerbaiting)

But let’s say Harry and Louis were actually together and making 1) too difficult to achieve. Otherwise this whole thing falls apart like a wet house of cards.

Thus, here came what I’d like to call ‘dousing a fire with gasoline’. This is where there’s a sudden drop of their interactions in public and Larry Stylinson isn’t a cutesy smashup name of two boys who got along like a house on fire anymore. This is the part where a ship turned into a full fledged conspiracy theory. And it’s MEGA COOL WICKED awesome.

I say this in the nicest way possible. A tragedy is the grandest form of entertainments. Misery loves having friends.

Also, I’d like to say this. I’m having fun thinking of this as a fictional arc. Because I still feel like it will shatter my heart in to a million pieces if anything resembling what I write next was true.

Since breaking into US market was the Kickstarter into a global one, to the US 1D went.

This was where the heavy closeting got way more difficult to handle. Elounor had the excuse of Eleanor being a private citizen and therefore should be left alone for the most part. Haylor was the complete opposite. Taylor Swift was and still is an American Sweetheart. Harry Styles might have been the most famous British Harry if it weren’t for a (former?) prince and a wizard. (Seriously, we should not call any of our hypothetical future children ‘Harry’ unless you thought ‘Albus Severus Potter’ was a good idea. Poor kiddo.)

The saddest part about Harry Styles public image was how reminiscent of Emma Watson it felt. The minute they turned eighteen, their media portrayals immediately became hyper-sexualized. Suddenly, they left the human zoo into an open hunting game. Famous lives are terrifying.

Anyhow, say, Taylor Swift knew what the US music industry was like. She’s been playing the long game for quite some time. She got to know Harry and then became rather protective of him. Her conclusion was that ‘hyping up Haylor’ would: 1) increase media exposure for both Taylor and 1D which would translate to bigger channels of revenue for all involved, 2) hold the speculation about Harry’s sexual orientation at bay because, as horrible as it sounds, gays don’t sell in America.

This one fit nicely with your ‘Out of the Woods’ interpretation. Taylor wasn’t just spending time with Harry. She was actively enforcing the lock on the closet. Which explains why Louis seemed to resent Taylor quite obviously and quite a lot. His own heteronormative scripts with Eleanor had been relatively tame. Harry’s whirlwind series of romances in public had only just begun.

As Harry started gaining a womanizer reputation in earnest, so did the Almost-Subtle Couple Tattoo Sprees.

If ‘Always in my heart @Harry_Styles . Yours sincerely, Louis’ tweet was a sign that circumstances were about to go south for them. The tattoos were signs that the circumstances had already gone to shit. The tragic package had been shipped, signed, and delivered.

This is where non-flattering assumptions rise to the surface. I think 1D had been overworked past the point of exhaustion. Self-destruction as a coping mechanism became rather prevalent and pervasive within the band. The boys gleefully collected regrets as a new favorite pastime, some more than others. Consequences were nipping at their heels.

Then Zayn left right in the middle of a world tour and all hell broke loose.

Here comes the biggest Assumption Affair!

Louis and Liam, the last to release their solo debut albums, were the most prominent songwriters for the band. I’m not going to go on about Liam because I’m here to give you Larry Stylinson. And this is already way too long as it is. But, needless to say, the first discussion of a prospective solo career probably hit them the hardest.

If each song they wrote was a battle scar, Louis was still bleeding for the band when Harry, of all people, brought up the idea of a hiatus and solo careers. Realizing how many songs Harry already had waiting in the back catalogue must’ve felt like a slap in the face. Or a punch in the gut. Whichever you think is worse/more dramatic. I’m not picky.

Remember self-destruction as coping mechanism? What about relationship-destruction as coping mechanism? Louis cheated and had a baby with someone else. Infidelity at its finest.

ALERT! THIS IS A NEON SIGN OF ASSUMPTION AFFAIR! Please don’t kill me. I told you I was gonna make unflattering assumptions toward your favorite people. I just did as I promised!!! *run for cover*

Anyway...

I’m gonna take you back a little. I mentioned earlier how Eleanor was a private citizen and therefore should be left alone. At times when Louis desperately needed to be left alone, Elounor makes so much sense. If she’s a PR-only girlfriend, she’s a stellar employee. If it’s not just a PR thing, she’s as forgiving as a saint. Just, if it’s Harry and Louis, they likely both messed up and hurt each other badly. If it’s Louis and Eleanor,... I mean... Have you seen a meme where you misspell a word so badly that the autocorrect goes, ‘I don’t know what to tell you, man’?... Louis would be that misspelled word and Eleanor would be the very best autocorrect that practically brute force through every word in the Oxford AND Urban dictionary to find out what that word was. If that’s who she is, then bless her soul. However, for the sake of this argument, we will proceed with the assumption that she’s the star employee of the decade.

Losing loved ones and grieving for them are inevitable parts of human lives. Nothing put more things into perspectives than losing someone so fundamentally dear to you. When I heard Louis Tomlinson’s ‘Two of Us’ for the first time, I remembered walking through an actual forest my grandpa planted for us because he wanted to make sure his great grandkids would have a nice home to grow up in. Do you remember when you called and told me that he died the night I got on my first solo international flight ten months after the fact? I wanted to hate you for keeping something this big a secret from me. I wanted to hate everybody at home for that. But then you told me that it was what my grandpa had wanted. That he didn’t want me to be a sad sack of an exchange student. That you decided to not listen to my parents and call to tell me just before I was due home. So that I’d have time to feel hurt about being lied to. So that I could get all the angry words out. So that I wouldn’t scream at my parents when I got home and learnt the truth. So that you could take the brunt of my grief instead.

I just took a break to have a little cry. Where was I? Oh, yeah. You did the best you could for me when I lost my grandpa. I still managed to effectively shut you out for months. Just because you were the messenger of the bad news. What I’m trying to say is that grief changes people. It changed me. For the worst for a bit. And then for the better once I came to term with what it means to me. There’s a quote from Rosamund Lupton that sums it up neatly.

“Grief is love turned into an eternal missing.”

I guess this is the part where I connected the dots back to Harry and Louis. Well, their music definitely give grief different names. Both albums talk about coming to term with it and moving forward. Every songs they wrote could be woven to fit the narrative of Larry Stylinson and events surrounding them. If you buy the theory, then the good news is both Fine Line & Walls seemed to have a positive ending. One thing I know for sure, though, is that no matter how convincing a conspiracy theory maybe, it could all be built upon a faulty assumption. I’d probably have a way easier time disregarding Elouner if I didn’t have you as a solid proof in my life that, yes, people like the best autocorrect exists. It’s funny how I feel no hesitation at all in categorizing Haylor as a calculated move. Because in my head that’s just par for the course in business. And it genuinely terrifies me in a way. Who the hell I could’ve become if it weren’t for you knocking me off the ground and pouring kindness on me.

I know I skipped a lot of stuff. Missing names like Caroline, Danielle, Kendall, Freddie, Camille, Xander, etc. But HS and LT have a decade of history on public record and, frankly, my interest ran out four paragraphs ago. So just let me conclude this.

I think it’s tiring, spending this much time speculating on someone else’s relationship history. I must admit that I had to get it out of my chest because it was way too interesting to let go off. But now, I feel like I’m just going to stream Heartbreak Weather and listen to ‘No Judgement’ on repeat. Nile is my favorite non-problematic celebrity. I could spell his name so wrong and it probably won’t be an issue as long as I politely say, “Sorry, Mr Niall Horan”

This quarantine clearly leaves me with too much time on my hands.

Virtual hugs and kisses

Your Incredible Sasha 😘

#larry stylinson #haylor #elounor #aimh theory #larry #i hope you like this #in this essay i will...

51 notes · View notes