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frantic-fiction · 1 year ago

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I'll Find My Way Back to You

(Can't find source of pic if it's yours let me know)

Astarion x GN!Reader

Prompt: A century after Tav passes Astarion comes across an artist who is oddly familiar and paints moments that seemed to be pulled straight from Astarion's life.

Thank you to @justporo for letting me use their idea. Go show them some love.

Warnings: Tav's death, brief mention of s*icide, angst with a happy ending

Word Count: 4.6k (Oops kinda went overboard)

Masterlist

“There’s no world I wish to live in without you,”

“My dear Astarion, we will find our way back to each other. This is not the end.”

Over a century has passed—a long, lonely century without Tav by his side. Astarion doesn’t understand how he’s endured, not with the void in his chest that appeared the moment he laid them to rest. The absence of his person, his love, his Tav, has left Astarion once again alone.

For nearly a decade, he found himself trapped in a state of near-catatonia, a prisoner of time within their empty home. He wasted away, the days blending into one another, each marked by a silent ache in his chest—the void left by Tav’s departure. Tears soaked into the earth of the carefully tended grave, adorned with vibrant flowers from Tav’s garden. He often contemplated surrendering to the sun’s embrace, letting its rays turn his existence to ash for a semblance of peace.

He yearned to end the pain, yet he refrained. He made a promise whispered with heavy hearts and painful sobs—a promise that forced them to confront the harsh reality that Tav would always leave first. Instead of embracing the end, Astarion wasted away, a ghost of his former self, yearning for the return of his love. Change arrived when Tav visited him in a dream; the details were blurry, but Tav’s beautiful smile was etched in memory. The sweet words in that dream eluded him, yet upon waking, a faint lightness settled within him. Astarion graced the night with a flicker of energy for the first time since Tav’s passing.

Tav would have wished for him to move on. They would have wanted him to live. The stagnant life he clung to wasn’t what Tav would want for him. So that day, Astarion gathered his essentials into a bag and set forth as soon as the sun dipped below the horizon. Only momentarily stopping to bid his love a final, tearful farewell. Since that moment, he hasn’t stopped moving.

Astarion believed Tav would take pride in the life he’s built—the good he’s accomplished over the many years. He traversed all over Faerun, from Waterdeep to Skull Crag, never lingering in one place for too long. He wasn’t the hero Tav was, but he aided towns against monsters, dispatched goblins, and took odd jobs to help however he could. Throughout his travels, he dedicated most of his time to sharing stories of Tav, ensuring their memory lived on. When he first heard the bards’ songs recounting the Hero of Baldur’s Gate, he knew he had succeeded. Now, you can’t sit in a tavern without hearing tales and melodies about Tav.

Every day, he longed for Tav to be by his side. He yearned to feel their soft skin, experience their tender kisses, and sense their warm arms encircling his waist—the echo of their laughter dancing in his ears. He missed every aspect of Tav and would do anything to see them again. Yet, the world ran out of miracles for him. Instead, he learned with time to cope, to come to terms with their absence, and keep them close to his heart.

***

Astarion traverses the dusty cobblestone of Wyrm’s Crossing and finds himself back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate—a city he’s consciously avoided for most of the century. It’s a place drenched in memories from his past life with Cazador, but mostly, the streets seem to be haunted by the presence of Tav.

His return to Baldur’s Gate remains shrouded in mystery. All he can discern is that he awoke one day in Daggerford, gripped by an inexplicable yearning to revisit the city. A compelling force tugging him down the Sword Coast, Astarion initially dismissed it as mere homesickness, scoffing at the notion. Yet, the persistent thought lingered, infesting his mind until he could no longer ignore the instinct to return.

The city remains strikingly unaltered despite the passage of time and the trials it endured. The same piss-stained cobblestone, alleyways cluttered with remnants of urban life, and a diverse array of inhabitants navigating the night. It’s an unsettling constant, especially juxtaposed against the transformation of Astarion’s existence.

Wandering through the back alleys and side streets, Astarion meanders aimlessly. Occasionally, a sight triggers memories, evoking a lump in his throat. The Elfsong Tavern, once familiar, now bears a different name and identity, a formal establishment concealing the echoes of nights spent in Tav’s comforting embrace. Bloomride Park, the graveyard, and the docks—all weave together, painting a vivid tapestry of Tav’s omnipresence.

Amidst the tumult of emotions, Astarion grapples with why he subjected himself to this emotional turmoil. The urge to retreat, to flee Baldur’s Gate before the dawn breaks, lingers within him. Yet, the itch persists, buried deep within his bones, propelling him forward. He silently promises himself the night to wander the city, and by this time tomorrow, he will be on his way to another town for another adventure.

Venturing into a dim, isolated street, Astarion observes a solitary lamplight spilling its soft glow from a store window. Peering through, he discovers a small art studio. Within, a graceful elf seems to dance with a paintbrush, each stroke deliberate yet flowing. Like a harpie song, Astarion is mesmerized and utterly captivated. He watches on silently, observing the elves happily consumed with their work. It gives him a wave of nostalgia, moments of watching Tav as they painted, unaware he was watching from the door. Astarion could almost hear the sweet hums that filled the room between brush strokes.

Then he freezes, gaze snapping to the paintings that adorn the studio, scattered reflections of his life. Images of Karlach, Shadowheart, and all the others grace the space. However, it’s the depictions of himself that seize his breath. Compelled by an unseen force, Astarion walks right into the studio. In a far corner, he sees an intimate portrayal—an embrace that resonates with familiarity.

The bell rings, and you break from your artistic trance. Startled, you look up, and there stands the pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves. Startled, you look up, and there stands a pale elf in the doorway—the hero of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion—the man who has clouded your dreams for as long as memory serves.

The dreams began as mere fragments—white curls, sharp teeth, delicate hands. Gradually, they evolved into more vivid scenes—muffled conversations by a campfire, laughter and gentle shoves, and stolen kisses between bed sheets—private moments of a stranger, a byproduct of an active imagination intertwined with an elven crush. Or at least that was what your mother would say. Now, the subject of those dreams stands before you.

Astarion, surrounded by the art that mirrors his life, fixates on a miniature portrait. The details are hazy, yet he recalls the campfire, the desperation in his gaze, and a significant confession followed by an embrace.

You pick up a fallen brush with a trembling hand, placing it in a water cup. Asterion was just as breathtakingly beautiful as your dream portrayed, but to see him in person has your heart hammering in your chest and your breath quickening with nerves. Wiping paint-covered hands on your smock, you took a deep breath and gathered the courage to approach Astarion.

Staring at the portrait, you utter quietly, “This one’s my favorite. Though I wish I could have captured the others’ images better.”

“Tav.”

“I’m sorry?”

“The person you painted. My partner Tav, they used to paint too,” Astarion’s voice carries the weight of unspoken emotions.

“Oh, yes. They were the leader of your group, if I remember correctly. I’m sorry for your loss.”

Astarion remains silent, the canvas now a source of unbearable memories. He moves through the studio, examining the art up close. It’s weird to have your muse perusing around your gallery. It’s embarrassing to have Astarion see just how many pieces have been dedicated to him. What do you do at this point? Should you follow him, tell him about each piece and the dreams behind them? No, that seems pretentious, so you retreat to the canvas you’ve been working on for the better part of the week.

This piece was different—a symbol rather than a person or scene. Rings of unknown runes fan out in jagged edges, evoking a sense of beauty tinged with profound sadness. It disturbed you to your core, but you needed to paint it. It’s how it always goes. Once a dream pops into your head, whether it’s a scene, a person, or a symbol, it refuses to leave until you’ve laid it on a canvas. Picking up the brush, you dip it back into the red paint and continue to bolden the lines.

“Who are you?” Astarion’s voice is right behind you; you jump, knocking a pot of paint over. Cursing softly, you quickly right the pot, attempting to salvage the spilled paint. Paint isn’t cheap, and in your non-upper-class circumstances, every drop is precious.

“Oh, I’m sorry; I have been very rude,” you offer your name. “I, of course, already know you, Astarion. It’s hard not to come across the tales of the heroes of Baldur’s Gate, but I guess—” Your rambling trails off pathetically as something changes in Astarion. There’s tension in his shoulders, a coldness in his eyes. Nibbling on your bottom lip, you nervously play with a loose thread on the smock.

Astarion scrutinizes you with a piercing gaze, his eyes lingering on your face as if searching for hidden truths. The air becomes taut, charged with an almost palpable intensity. Then, as if propelled by an unseen force, he reacts like a tightly wound rubber band snapping. Reaching out, he harshly pulls you to him, bearing his teeth at you. Your stomach drops, shocked by the aggression.

“Have you been following me? Stalking me?” His voice carries a storm of anger, his grip on your shoulders unyielding, the coldness of his touch akin to ice piercing through the fabric of your being. “Don’t lie to me because I’ve shown one person that fucking scar, and I buried them.”

Your heart races, fear coursing through your veins as you whimper a response, tears welling up in your eyes. “I-I don’t know, I’m sorry,”

“Don’t lie!”

“Please, I’m so, so sorry. I don’t know; I have dreams; I don’t know why, b-but I dream of you,” your voice falters, and your vulnerability is laid bare. “I dream of you, your friends, and places I’ve never been. I’m sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

As abruptly as his hands seized you, they vanished, leaving you stumbling to your knees, unable to contain the torrent of tears streaming down your face. Curling in on yourself, you can’t stop the cries of apologies and promises of never picking up a brush again, of burning every last piece in the room.

Astarion looks down at you, his expression shifting from anger to a complex amalgamation of horror and something else—perhaps realization. Stepping away, he leaves you rooted to the spot. Your gaze fixed blankly out the window. Odd and conflicting emotions swirl within you—fear, confusion, longing?—all clashing fiercely. Amidst the tumult, one thought emerges with undeniable clarity—this won’t be the last time you see Astarion.

Astarion’s breaths come in ragged gasps as he runs through the barren streets, escaping the grasp of the haunting memories that threaten to consume him. His thoughts are a raging storm, and he pays no heed to the bewildered faces of those he rudely pushes past. The town of Rivington is a blur as he sprints through it, a desperate escape, picking a direction and refusing to stop until his body aches, halting only when the sun begins its ascent above the horizon.

In his frantic need to run, there was no consideration for shelter from the sun’s relentless rays. Mercifully, he stumbles upon an abandoned cave. Dry, dusty, and shrouded in darkness, it becomes his refuge. In a corner, he sinks slowly against the cool, rough wall to the ground, seeking solace in the obscurity.

Astarion pulls his knee to his chest, pressing his forehead against his crossed arms. Shaking and shivering, a stark contrast to the bitter summer heat enveloping the cave, he clings to his vulnerability. Eyes shut tight, jaw clenched, fingernails dig deep into his arms as if attempting to anchor himself in the reality that threatens to crumble around him.

Desperation claws at him, and he yearns for Tav. The desire to feel Tav’s warm embrace, hands crossing over his chest, pulling him close, torments him. He longs for the soft whispers of love and the gentle press of lips. Astarion can’t navigate this without Tav. He’s a mess, barely holding on, living each agonizing day, acutely aware that the best part of him is gone, and he can do nothing to reclaim it.

The cruelty of encountering such intimate moments from his past life with Tav wounds him deeply. These were moments meant for him and Tav alone. Realizing that a stranger could capture those cherished memories intended for one person alone turns his stomach.

Anger becomes a conduit for his overwhelming emotions, and the terrified look on the artist’s face is etched in his mind, an indelible scar on his conscience. Shame burns within him, a searing reminder of the boundaries he violated. Physically assaulting someone in their own space—what would Tav think of him now?

The artist adds another layer to Astarion’s confusion. The familiarity is uncanny—the excited calf raises, the almost-stumbles afterward, the nervous lip biting, puffed cheeks during deep concentration, and the mindless dancing when no one is watching. Every little thing the artist did mirrored Tav, and with all his memories physically displayed, Asterion finds himself lost in a sea of confusion. Why does this stranger resemble his love so deeply?

The bards’ tales of soulmates and reincarnation, once dismissed as mere children’s stories and fiction, now claw at the edges of Astarion’s consciousness. What if? What if Tav found their way back to him? Weirder things have happened in his long life, and the possibility plants a seed of hope within him.

Yet, he forcefully suppresses that hope. It won’t serve him, not now. Instead, he resolves to learn more. By nightfall, he returns to the city, catching the first boat to Waterdeep. After a day and some change, he stands outside the Wizards’ tower, resentment simmering as he contemplates turning to Gale, his best chance at answers.

A groan escapes Astarion as he hangs his head, and a series of knocks echo on the thick wooden door. “This better be worth it…”

The door swings open on its own into a dimly lit foyer. Astarion follows a familiar path, the cool air and faint scent of ancient tomes embracing him. He ascends the staircase with nostalgia and reluctance, each step echoing the countless times Tav and himself sought knowledge and assistance within these walls.

As he pushes open the study door, a scene unfolds before him. Gale is hunched over a worn scroll, graying hair ruffled, and a small pair of reading glasses set on the tip of his nose. The room is bathed in the soft glow of candlelight, creating an intimate ambiance. Notes adorn the margins, evidence of Gale’s ceaseless quest for understanding.

Gale looks up, a broad, warm smile gracing his features, and Astarion is momentarily transported back to the times when this sage was only a joke he poked fun at across camp. Removing his reading glasses, Gale pushes up from his desk, an air of welcoming familiarity enveloping the room.

“Well, look who the tressym dragged in. How are you, Astarion?”

Astarion stiffens as he is pulled into a spontaneous hug by Gale. The embrace is both unexpected and oddly comforting, a physical manifestation of the genuine camaraderie they’ve shared through the years. Astarion, unaccustomed to such displays of affection, awkwardly pats Gale’s back before gently pulling away.

“I’m afraid I’ve been better.”

Gale’s eyes convey concern and understanding as he gestures for Astarion to sit. The worn chair creaks under the weight of memories and the weightier burden of Astarion’s troubled soul.

“Then sit down, my friend, and tell me how I can help.”

***

Days of tireless research and a network of favors exchanged between magical acquaintances have led them to a glimmer of hope. Though not expansive, the discovery hints at the possibility that souls entwined so tightly may have a magnetic pull toward each other. A pull is so strong that souls can find each other in different lifetimes. Tales have described soulmates experiencing memories from previous lifetimes together, but they were vague at best. The specific remains elusive, shrouded in mystery, yet it’s enough to kindle a spark of hope within Astarion’s lonely heart.

Gale, ever the bore, offers a gentle reminder, “Now, just remember, if you try to force feelings before—”

“I would never!” Astarion’s retort carries a venomous edge, an unspoken warning to watch his following words carefully. Gale raises his hands in defense.

“My point is the brain is a prickly thing. It’s best not to rush anything it’s not ready for.”

“Yes, yes, you have said this five times already. Would you please activate the portal? I have an apology to make.”

Anticipation hums in the air, a palpable energy that courses through Astarion. A fleeting smile graces his lips, and for a moment, the weight of his grief is replaced by a glimmer of life.

Looking at Astarion with a fondness born of shared trials, Gale responds, “Of course, Astarion.”

With a confident shake of his wrist, he activates the magical circle, and the room is bathed in a radiant glow of bright runes, their purple luminescence dancing in the semi-darkness.

Astarion steps toward the portal, his heart pulsating with trepidation and newfound hope. However, before crossing the threshold, he turns around to face Gale, clapping him on the shoulder.

“Thank you, Gale. I will not forget this.”

“It was my pleasure. Now, I expect to meet this lovely artist sooner rather than later.” Gale’s parting words hang in the air, infused with the hope of rekindling a connection beyond the realms of understanding.

Back in the heart of Baldur’s Gate, Astarion swiftly navigated the bustling streets, an air of anticipation accompanying him. His purpose was clear—to reach your studio and beg for your forgiveness. A brief pause along the way allowed him to acquire a small bundle of daisies, a spontaneous choice fueled by the memory of Tav’s fondness for these delicate blooms.

As Astarion approached the studio, a surge of uncertainty clawed at him. Hesitation gripped his every step, the shadow of fear etched across his features. The fear in your eyes during the last encounter was seared into his memory. Had his previous outburst irreparably damaged any chance of reconciliation? The conflicting forces of his desire to see you again and the instinct to flee wrestled within him. Yet, he pressed forward, forcing himself down the street, and there you stood.

The scene that greeted him was a chaotic masterpiece of colors. Paint adorned your cheeks and arms, a testament to the artistic fervor that consumed you. Your hair, a cascade of untamed strands, framed a face that mirrored both exhaustion and creative passion. Astarion had a sudden urge to brush the strands away and press a soft kiss to your cheek, something he often did with Tav.

Your weariness was palpable—shoulders slumped, eyes half-lidded. Perhaps, he pondered, he should postpone this encounter, allowing you the reprieve of rest. The realization that he might be the last person you wanted to see compelled Astarion to take a step back, an unspoken retreat.

But just as he moved to leave, your eyes jumped up to meet his, you froze mid-stroke, and Astarion couldn’t read your expression. He should go. Why did he think this was a good idea? He’s just about to run when you nod for him to come in. Obliging, Astarion found himself standing awkwardly within the studio; you went back to painting. Your brush danced across the canvas, applying a vibrant shade of blue in deliberate strokes. Astarion’s attempts to break the silence faltered, his words dissolving into the room’s stillness.

“What are you doing here, Astarion?” The steadiness in your voice pierced the calm. You tried to hold on to your anger for the man all week. But upon seeing him standing so lost on the street had your resolve crumbling. You can’t deny the mild excitement that fluttered through your veins upon seeing him again.

His voice, momentarily lost, found its way back. “I-I came here to apologize for last week. My behavior was deplorable, and I wish to make things right.”

A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as you evaluated the bouquet, now slightly worse for wear under his tight grip. “And you believe a bundle of broken daisies would win you my forgiveness?”

Astarion, caught off guard, looked down at the bruised bouquet. “Um…well, I was hoping for roses, but they were fresh out.”

A snort escaped you as you put down your paintbrush and approached him. A tentative touch on his forearm transferred the flowers from his grasp to yours, eliciting a shiver down his spine. The longing to reach out is strong, but Astarion holds still as you retreat.

Intently studying the daisies, you began to divide the bundle into two piles. Astarion watched silently, recognizing echoes of Tav’s essence reflected in your actions. While understanding that you were not Tav, the profound sorrow gripping his heart seemed to ease in your presence.

“Half,” you declared suddenly.

“Pardon?”

“Half of the daisies survived.”

“And where does that leave us?”

With a theatrical flair, you pondered the question, pacing the room. “That, good sir, is the question. What is my forgiveness worth? I did luck out; daisies are my favorite, so you’re a step farther than roses would have gotten you.”

Astarion, grasping the playful undertone, decided to play along. With a hand on his hips and a wicked smirk, he responded, “Well, I am a pretty lucky man. Now, please, I beg, what more can I do to gain your forgiveness?”

You hummed softly, tapping your chin. You keep Astarion in suspense for a moment before you suddenly turn to the man. “How about…I get dressed, you take me out to dinner, and we’ll go from there?”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” The agreement hung in the air, a hope for something more lingering.

***

The dinner evolved into an evening stroll, a seamless transition from pleasant chatter to playful banter. It was an unexpected evening, but the time spent with Astarion was so easy, so familiar you didn’t want it to end. Reading about the saviors of Baldur’s Gate was intriguing, and dreaming of a vampiric elf held its allure, but nothing compared to the tangible presence of the real Astarion.

Astarion embodied the epitome of perfection – handsome, intelligent, and endowed with a wit that had you giggling all night. He was the quintessential gentleman, the embodiment of every mother’s hopeful wish for their child.

What started as a single date quickly snowballed into a series of enchanting encounters – one date led to two, then five, until you found yourself drawn into his orbit every week. The pace was exhilarating, and being around Astarion felt like being charged with an electric current. It was not just addictive; it was a whirlwind of happiness, and you couldn’t help but revel in it.

If one indulged in whimsical tales, the idea that Astarion might be your soulmate would have crossed your mind. His ability to read you so intimately sometimes felt like he delved into the depths of your mind.

The dreams persisted, evolving into a kaleidoscope of memories that intertwined your moments with Astarion and a phantom era where someone else shared his company. Astarion, at times, would cast glances at you as you transferred another dream to canvas, an anticipation lingering in his eyes. Despite his attempts, he couldn’t veil the disappointment when the visions resulted in nothing more than another painting adorning the wall.

Then, it occurred on a serene spring day, three years since Astarion first entered your studio. The sun had yet to set, and you found solace curled up with Astarion. Limbs tangled, chests pressed together, hands intertwined – a tableau of intimate connection. His cold nose nestled against the crook of your neck, his white curls playfully tickling your nose.

Behind your closed eyelids, soft images of a forest clearing unfolded – Astarion shirtless, beckoning you towards him. Something clicked, and suddenly, the foreign memories that greeted you each night became a mosaic of your own experiences. The floodgates opened, overwhelming you with a lifetime of moments – kisses beneath the stars, laughter resonating around a campfire, and heart-stopping close calls with death.

Astarion often spoke of Tav, a robust and kind soul who played a pivotal role in shaping him. He wouldn’t be who he is today without them. You now knew a bit better; yes, you had nudged him along the way, but his growth was his own, and you couldn’t be more proud. To think of the years he spent without you, the grief he must have had to push through. If the roles were reversed, you don’t believe you would have been strong enough to keep going.

Startled from his slumber, Astarion found your body descending upon his, your hand meeting his chest with firm slaps. “Stop you, little gremlin.” Groggily, he attempted to restrain you in a tender embrace. He was met with your swift departure from his lap. He heard the patter of your feet retreating from the bed.

“You are a bastard, Astarion!”

Fully alert and by your side instantly, “What did I do, my sweet?”

Worry etched into every crease of his face as he cupped your jaw, looking frantically into your eyes. You intertwined your fingers with his, your other hand reaching out to caress the skin of his hip. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

Astarion scrutinized your face, his eyes delving deep into yours. The faintest furrow of his brows betrayed his thoughts. As if following an unspoken script, he pulled you in by the waist, foreheads gently meeting.

Glistening with unshed tears, Astarion whispered, “You remember?” His voice trembled.

“Yes… maybe it’s all still tangled. But yes, I remember Tav – well, I remember us.”

Astarion’s smile widened, his fangs peeking out, and his lips met yours in a heated kiss spinning the two of you around the room. It was a slow dance of lips as if Astarion had all the time in the cosmos to savor this moment. While you could quickly lose yourself in the embrace, you were privy to all his subtle tricks. You turned your face when he attempted to draw you back into the kiss.

“Gods, Astarion, for three years, you knew and never said anything. I’ve painted you for almost as long as I could wield a brush, and for three years, you knew why!” Another slap graced his chest, and tears trickled down your cheeks, eagerly wiped away by his thumbs.

“I wanted to, my love. The moment I realized I wanted to. But this couldn’t be rushed; you can’t rush the mind.”

“Star, I’m so sorry I took so long,”

“No, stop; you took as long as you needed to return to me.” His forehead rests against yours once more, and the room stands still for a moment. “What matters is you’re here, in my arms, and I’m not letting go anytime soon.”

A choked sob mingled with a chuckle, and you nuzzled closer into Astarion, hiding your face into his neck. “Gods, I love you, Astarion.”

“And I love you.”

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Okay loves, let me know what you think. I've been working on this for over a week and still find some sections I'm not all that happy with, but I want to move on to other pieces. Any and every interaction makes my day.

Taglist: heartfully10, ayselluna

#astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 #reader insert #astarion imagine #bg3 astarion #astarion ancunin #astarion #fanfic #writing #soulmates #soulmate au #reincarnation #frantic fiction

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thevoidstaredback · 1 month ago

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Just as he had last time, Barry called Wally and Bart to help him comb over the US. He took the Midwest and South; Wally took the Mid Atlantic and New England areas; Bart took Alaska, the Western, and Southwestern states.

"Didn't this happen in your timeline, Impulse?" Wally asked.

"Nope!" Bart answered, "At least I don't think so."

"What do you mean you don't think so?"

"You expect me to know everything that happened throughout the entire timeline?!"

"A little bit, yeah!"

"Boys!" Barry cut in, "Please focus; time is a little bit of the essence."

"No, no, no," Superboy, who was checking the Northern Hemisphere, chimed, "Let 'em argue. It's entertaining."

"Are you sure you don't remember anything from the previous loops?" Superman asked, speaking over the three kid heroes.

Barry found himself rolling his eyes. "Yes, Supes. I'd've told you by now if I remembered-" He stopped short, sliding down the road a few feet.

"Flash?"

"Hold that thought."

"Did you find something?"

"Keep looking; I'm gonna check something real quick." He muted his end of the line. "What in the world..?"

Apparently, there's a castle in Wisconsin.

***

Dick was not having a good time. He thought that he was done dealing with Bruce when he quit! But, no! The bastard just keeps calling!

At least he can still work with Barbara. That's a plus.

Nightwing set up shop in Bludhaven. This was well established throughout not only the city itself, but throughout Gotham and the entire hero community. Sure, he helps out other places, but he mostly stays in Bludhaven. Just because he's close, though, means that Bruce thinks he can jump between the two cities.

He can, but he doesn't want to.

But, orders from Batman must be followed or he'll throw a fit.

How the hell did he put up working with that man?

How the hell does Tim put up with it?

Even in the middle of a potentially Word Ending Crisis, Batman doesn't want any of the other heroes in Gotham, so searching the city falls to Nightwing and Batgirl. Well, it would if she didn't have her own tasks.

He'd seen Kid Flash in passing about an hour ago, just long enough for a speedster-level high-five as they passed by, as he was leaving Bludhaven.

He'd searched his home from top to bottom three times over and there wasn't a single thing out of place there. The US Government had all but abandoned the city when they'd given up on Gotham, so the lack of any government occupation didn't surprise him in the slightest. The people of Bludhaven hated the government enough that a few well placed words on his part now had the entire city on the lookout for the black suited bastards, allowing him to go look in Gotham.

As much as Gothamites hated authority figures, they had nothing on Bludhaven. Sure, they'd been given up on first, but the government still had eyes on the city because of Batman. As long as Batman works for the Justice League, then it isn't a stretch to think that the government has eyes and ears on or in the city.

Finding a base in Gotham will be much harder than finding one in Bludhaven. Not because he doesn't know his way around, but because of the sheer amount of buildings there are. Abandoned, occupied, business, residential, it doesn't matter; every one of them is a potential government occupation camp until proven otherwise. Every person found within the city is a possible government dog until proven otherwise.

Dick sighs. He certainly has his work cut out for him.

Part 7 Part 9

#Time Loop: Ghosts of the Present and Future #part 8 #dcxdp #dc x dp #dcu #danny phantom #writing #my writing #justice league #justice league dark #i should probably add more tags to these story parts #hm #i may or may not be projecting my hatred for the us gov #idk if that's obvious or not #but i'm neither confirming nor denying anything

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jedimaesteryoda · 2 months ago

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Every once in a while on Twitter (not X, Elon can go screw himself), someone circulates a complaint about A Song of Ice and Fire that is basically some version of "GRRM's series is nihilistic where everyone is gray, there are no heroes and villains, or heroes die and villains win compared to Tolkien's magnum opus where there are clear heroes and villains with the heroes being upright and good always wins."

It's written by people who either never read nor understood the series nor understands the author.

Firstly, Martin himself is a fan of Tolkien stating "I revere Lord of the Rings, I reread it every few years, it had an enormous effect on me as a kid," and is such a huge fan of Tolkien he complains of "Tolkien imitators" who "cheapened it. The audience were being sold degraded goods. I thought: 'This is not how it should be done.' "

Tolkien was a clear inspiration for Martin's magnum opus given in the same interview he stated "I wanted to combine the wonder and image of Tolkien fantasy with the gloom of historical fiction." You can even find nods to Tolkien throughout the series from names like "Oakenshield" to a dwarven heir to a mighty mountain fastness filled with gold. Underneath the gloom on the surface, there is a layer of Tolkien-esque romanticism.

ASOIAF isn't nihilistic. No one would call characters like war criminal and murderer-rapists like Gregor Clegane, Ramsay Bolton and Euron Greyjoy or the vivisectionist and torturer Qyburn morally grey. There are heroes like Brienne of Tarth who risked her life in a hopeless fight to save an inn full of orphans, Sam who stayed with Gilly and her babe beyond the Wall in a forest filled with wights and Dunk who defended a puppeteer from a prince. Then, there is Daenerys whose experience as a domestic abuse victim and child bride lead her to put her plan to take back the Iron Throne on hold to liberate slaves.

My own heroes are the dreamers, those men and women who tried to make the world a better place than when they found it, whether in small ways or great ones. Some succeeded, some failed, most had mixed results… but it is the effort that’s heroic, as I see it. Win or lose, I admire those who fight the good fight. -George R.R. Martin

These characters go out of their way to help others and live up to their ideals in a world they know won't reward them for it. That's what helps to make their actions truly heroic. In the end, it's their striving that sets them apart.

The ones who are villains don't seem to win in the end. Tywin was killed by his own abused son on the privy over his mistreatment of a peasant girl, and his legacy is already crumbling. Jaime lost his sword hand and is becoming increasingly disillusioned with his house, slowly realizing that they're not the good guys. The Boltons are facing a rebellion and their new bannermen don't want Ramsay as their liege lord. More Freys have been killed as a result of the Red Wedding than fighting for Robb, and they're being overextended. Not to mention, one of their victims has come back from the dead to enact vengeance on their house. House Greyjoy is destined to fall to ruin as the Greyjoys suffer and die in their fruitless pursuits for crowns.

It's also a superficial reading of Tolkien. Tolkien has moments in his series where heroes fail like Isildur, the guy who slew Sauron, failing to do the one thing he needed to do to end the threat for all time by keeping the One Ring, and Frodo, the purported hero of the series, doing the same thing at the end. Thorin Oakenshield refused to provide money to the people of Lake-town over the destruction of their city at Smaug's hands as a result of his party's actions. There's also plenty of stories of heroes failing in The Silmarillion like Turin.

Both are great series in their own right, and if you don't like Martin's series, that's okay, no series is for everyone. But don't mischaracterize it and pit it against a dumbed down, mischaracterized version of Tolkien's work.

#asoiaf #a song of ice and fire #tolkien #jrr tolkien #lotr #lord of the rings #middle earth #tolkienverse #fantasy #high fantasy

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dailyadventureprompts · 5 months ago

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Deity: Tergrid, God of Fright

"Terror is the natural state of a child, they know they are small, vunrable, glass fragile. It is only once we grow that we delude ourselves into thinking we are safe, that we are strong, that we have control over the world we live in. Show a grown man how little control he really has, and you will see the child he always was: pissreeking, repentant, and pleading for his mother. " - Gerheart, village executioner

A goddess for those who hold close to the light dreading the unknown or those who wander gleefully into the dark seeking it, Tergrid is a deity of imagined horrors and terrible omens.

Depicted as a young woman always bearing a lantern, myths speak of Tergrid's shadow as a monstrous, murderous thing with a will of its own. Unable to kill the goddess due to the light she carries, it vents it's directionless wrath on those who linger beyond the lantern's glow. This duality, as both as the victim of fear and the source of it defines the brightmaiden's worship; as she is both threat and saviour to those who draw her attention.

Adventure Hooks:

The party arrive at a country roadhouse at dusk, only to find the inhabitants have nailed shut every door and shutter as if preparing for a siege. They say some horrid murderous things are lurking just off the road, and as the light wanes they refuse to let the heroes inside. The roadhouse's residents are terrified and are willing to fight to keep the party out, half convinced the party are themselves the things they should be afraid of... which isn't to say there ISN'T anything else waiting for that door to open. After negoitating their way inside (or forcing the issue) the heroes discover the roadhouse residents were warned of the danger by a mysterious woman who passed through earlier, though none can remember exactly what she looked like.

A knight renowned for his fearless deeds wanders the street in a waking nightmare, seeing threats everywhere and lashing out at phantoms and passersby. Even after being subdued it’s clear he won’t awake, and many suspect interference from jealous rivals in the upcoming tourney. The knight’s meek squire asks the party to help investigate the causes and possible cures of her master’s madness, never suspecting that her suppressed resentment at his recklessness might’ve manifested as a curse.

In desperate need of answers, the party consults an oracle dedicated to Tergrid who has them undergo trials of fear and phantasm so that they might know the truth. Chiefest among these is battling in a dark cave full of shadow monsters, while flickering visions of the future are cast on the wall by the guttering lantern light. The longer they can endure, the more they will know, but that isn't likely to be long unless they fight harder than they ever have before.

Inspiration: Tergrid is a shameless lift from Magic the Gathering's Kaldheim setting, which I've never played but apparently keep returning to as a consistent well of inspiration.

Fear both as a mechanic and motif is something I think is underutilized in D&D which is odd considering it's a game about venturing out into the unknown to face potentially deadly challenges. Fear and risk are what our heroes must endure to experience the wonder and rewards on the other side of their journey. As such it makes sense for a goddess of fear to play a role in the thematic weave of the stories we end up telling.

Speaking in less lofty terms, I also think using the lantern as a symbol for being frightened fucks hard. It's a tiny, fragile, and temporary respite from an ocean of darkness and the threats it contains.

Worshippers: The lost and abandoned, Unseele Fey, Shadowcasters and other denizens of the shadowfell. There is also heavy overlap with the worship of the night goddess Nyx.

Signs: Nightmares, unnatural or living shadows,

Symbols: A Lantern, often surrounded by a circle of darkness.

Artsource

#deity #Tergrid #kaldheim #divinity: fear #random encounter road #oracle

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myocsfanfictions · 3 months ago

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THE WRATH OF FIRE

House of the Dragon Fanfiction

MASTERLIST

Princess Ysilla Targaryen is the only daughter of Prince Daemon Targaryen and Lady Rhea Royce. The affection that she felt for her mother was strong, while her father had never been there, acting as if Ysilla was not even his. But she was. The dragon egg that had been put in her cradle hatched. An outcast of a dragon was born. A dragon with no legs. An outcast of a dragon for and an outcast of a dragon rider. Ysilla’s hair was dark but streaked with white. She was a Targaryen, and her wrath was not different from the one that burned inside the members of the House of the Dragon.

《 Previous - Next 》

CHAPTER 10

The wind was blowing as Ysilla sat by the window, a book about the conquest in her hands, reading about Aegon the Conquerer and his sister-wives, Visenya and Rhaenys, for the umpteenth time. She knew those words by the heart; she did not need to read them, but she did not care. She loved those heroes from her family. Her fingers touched the drawing of Balerion the Black Dread, the biggest dragon that had ever been seen in Westeros. Ysilla wondered what he could have looked like, how fierce some he must have looked. She knew that his last rider had been her Uncle Viserys before the giant dragon passed. Ysilla had never laid upon the Black Dread; he died before she could. He must have been beautiful.

“My Darysyr is more beautiful,” she said proudly to herself. In her eyes, there was no dragon as beautiful as Darysir and his dark purple scales and violet eyes.

“This is all so boring,” She heard Aegon say. He was standing across the chamber, his arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head. Ysilla noticed Aemon next to him, glaring at his brother.

“Mother wants for us to take this lesson,” she heard her younger cousin say as she set her book aside, “It’s our duty.” Aegon did not answer. He just gave a sigh of boredom.

“Aemond is right, Aegon,” she spoke from where she was sitting. Fixing the skirts of her red gown with elegance.

“Dancing is for girls,” Aegon answered. His tone was always so dramatic every time he didn’t enjoy one of their lessons.

“Lords dance with ladies,” Ysilla said, “It is called courting.”

“Dance of fire,” Helaena muttered from next to Ysilla.

“Courting I like,” Aegon answered, ignoring his sister. Aemond scoffed from behind him.

“And what is your courting strategy, my prince?” Ysilla asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

“You do not wish to know, Ysilla,” Aemond answered before his brother could.

“Shut that mouth!” Aegon yelled. Ysilla stood up, walking towards her cousins.

“Lusting after servants and whores is not courting,” she stated, glaring at Aegon, “Those are interests not fit for a prince, sadly though they are common among men.” She saw Aegon look away, on his cheeks appeared a faint blush, more due to irritation than embarrassment. “You two are princes, sons of a king, members of the most powerful House in the world,” her eyes went from one boy to the other, “You need to find a woman fit for a prince. She has to know courtesy and manners. And she deserves someone who shares the same costumes.”

Aegon's hand moved to touch the white hair that brushed the side of her face. "You seem rather fit for a prince," he said with an allusive smirk that made Ysilla roll her eyes. She moved her hand so that she could free her hair from his grip.

"Will we ever be able to have a serious conversation?" She exclaimed, glaring at the prince. But he seemed to enjoy her reaction more than anything.

"I don't think I want to." He answered with a shrug as the doors opened to reveal Jacaerys and Lucaerys Velaryon. That was one of the few lessons Ysilla and Helaena shared with the four princes, usually divided to learn what was most fit for a lady and lord. Ysilla wondered how that day would have gone by, and her eyes moved to look for Aemond, hoping he was feeling better from what had happened in the Dragonpit the last time they went.

Her cousin looked stiff and uneasy as the two Velaryons shared words with Aegon. She knew that they were talking about the last lesson in the yard with Ser Criston, but Ysilla was afraid to hear a jest against Aemond sooner or later. So she decided to walk towards her cousin; his hands were behind his back as he looked at the ground.

"My prince," she spoke softly so as not to startle him. Aemond looked surprised at hearing her voice, and he moved his gaze to her with a frown.

"Ysilla?" He muttered.

She smiled, reaching out a hand for him, "May I dance with you?" She asked, trying to sound reassuring.

"I-" he muttered, looking over at where Aegon and his cousins were standing.

"Are you not dancing with me?" Aegon asked with a pout, and Ysilla shook her head.

"Later," she answered, "I'd like to have this dance with Prince Aemond." Aegon scoffed at her words while Aemond looked at her with wide eyes.

"Do you?" He asked, still unsure.

Ysilla let out a sigh. "Of course," she said, moving forward to take his hand so that she could lead him to the center of the room. Soon, the Septa told Helaena to move next to them with Jacaerys.

The light music started so that the princes could learn the steps of that dance. Ysilla smiled at Aemond, whose eyes were fixed on the ground.

"You're not going to step on me," she assured him, who gave her a shy glance.

"I still don't know the steps." He muttered, embarrassed.

"Confidence is the key, my prince," she said, gently leafting his head so that they could meet gaze. His eyes observed her as they kept dancing.

"Why are you doing this?" He asked suspiciously. Aemond was young, but he was a proud soul. And yet none of the other boys seemed to take him in account. Helaena wouldn’t do much to ease her brother’s pain, but Ysilla knew solitude. And she knew what it meant to feel like when people underestimated her. Like her father.

“Raise your head high,” she said touching his chin with her fingers, “Targaryens are proud and strong.”

“Targaryens have dragons,” Aemond answered with sadness in his eyes, but Ysilla noticed that he kept his posture.

“And you will, my prince,” she assured, “Do not think any less of yourself because you have not one yet.”

Aemond moved his gaze to the other boys, but she was quick to make him turn to her.

“Forget them,” she said with steady voice, “You don’t need their approval. Focus on yourself, on what you can become.” His eyes grew larger at her words, and she could see that he was not sure on how to answer. But he didn’t have time to figure it out, since the Septa wanted for Ysilla to dance with Jacaerys.

Ysilla was about to move, when Aemond took her hand to give it a kiss. Ysilla had not expected the gesture, and she was even more surprised by the words her cousin spoke as he raised his gaze to look at her. “This is how a lord thanks a lady for her attentions.”

He then let go of her hand and walked towards the side of the room, under the gaze of his brother. Aegon wore an irritated frown as Aemond stopped next to him. But he did not say anything.

Ysilla stood still for a moment, surprised by the sudden boldness of her cousin, but then she cleared her voice before gesturing for Jace to come closer.

Jacaerys was younger than Aemond. He was the same age as Daeron, even if the last son of Alicent had been sent to Oldtown not so long before. Ysilla found herself wondering how the boy was doing there. If he was alright. She knew how unsettling it was to change place from a day to another.

“The bow is important,” the Septa said to the boy that had a shy expression on his face, “It shows your posture, your grace.”

Jace nodded before trying to bow, but the septa was not convinced so she made him do it again. In the mean time, Ysilla observed the boy. He had no trace of lord Laenor in him. Nothing. And yet nobody addressed the two Velaryon’s with their proper status. Ysilla felt a peck of envy, because she knew that the only reason was the shield that the King had built around them. Was it possible?

Was it even possible that someone could love someone else so much?

Why did Viserys loved Rhaenyra that much? How did she manage to made her father have so deep emotions in his heart for her?

Where did I fail? She found herself wondering.

“Do not look so pensive,” Aegon’s voice came so close as a whisper, making her turn her head in surprise to find her cousin inches apart from her face. Ysilla felt like blushing at the proximity. Aegon had always been eager in touching her hair and sharing compliments, but getting closer was something he had started to do recently, and it had the power of flush the girl.

On his face appeared a little smirk, “What’s with the blush?” He asked, but she was quick to shook her head.

“It is just hot in here,” she answered, looking away from him, but she could feel his hand on her waist and the blush on her face would not disappear.

“So nothing to do with me?” Ysilla shot a glare to Aegon, that chuckled before stepping away. “I’m just jesting.”

“I see you’re getting bolder with ladies,” Ysilla said eyeing her cousin.

“There’s nothing more delighting than pleasures?” He asked with a smug expression on his face. And Ysilla found herself shook her head.

“Duties?” she said crossing her arms, looking at Jacaerys that was still talking with the Septa.

“You are my mother’s favorite,” Aegon said from behind her. Ysilla turned to him with a frown, not quite catching what he was getting at. “You are not Hightower though, and sooner or later duties will bore you as much as me.”

Duties had been something that Ysilla found getting drag into more and more as she grew up. She had become accostumed on what people expected on her. It become like a shield. Be a proper lady, doing everything it was asked of her was what she felt was the best way of getting less associated with her father. Daemon Targaryen was famous for his endeavors. He was a man impossible to tame. Ysilla had found herself clutching to duties and on what was expected of her, like her mother, lady Rhea Royce, had always wanted.

“And Vermax will be ready to fly, in a year or two,” Jace was saying as Ysilla and the two Velaryons walked through the corridors of the Red Keep. Alicent had summoned the young lady, there were important matters to discuss, that was what she had told her. And since the chambers of the King and the Queen where right above Rhaenyra’s. So Ysilla found herself listening to the lively brothers telling her about their day and news.

“When will Arrax be ready?” Lucaerys asked, looking at her with curious eyes.

“It really depends on the dragon,” Ysilla answered bowing with courtesy at some lords that walked nearby.

“When did you fly Darysyr for the first time?” Jace asked with a little frown, “Mother said you were my age.”

“Your mother is not lying.” She was not lying on this topic at least, “But Darysyr was larger at that age.” According to her studies, dark dragons, especially black, grew larger than other dragons. Darysyr was growing everyday more, and Ysilla could not wait to see what he would become. She surely would not have lived long enough to see if he would have grew as large as Vhagar, or Balerion, but she sure hoped he would have. No one was sure he would have survived, due to his legs, but Darysyr was truly a resilient dragon.

When they arrived to Rhaenyra’s chambers, Luke was quick to open the door to run to his mother. Ysilla immediately noticed that Ser Harwin Strong was there, with little Joffrey in his arms. Both Jace and Luke were to busy running around, but both adults had seen her on the door. Rhaenyra was not subtle at all. Inviting that man in the middle of the day, when anyone could walk in. Decency was not something that the future Queen was acostumed to, it seemed.

Ysilla shared a look with her cousin, before bowing to take her leave. The two Velaryons waved at her, but when she was walking in the corridor, Ysilla heard steps coming from behind her.

“Dear, cousin,” Rhaenyra’s voice made Ysilla stop on her tracks, feeling her lips turn up into a knowing smirk.

“Princess,” she said turning to look at her cousin. The woman was looking at her with a smile. But it was not that genuine, she could hide it well, but Ysilla did not miss the worry in her eyes. The young lady knew she had seen something compromising, especially because Ysilla was so close to Alicent.

“I see you are feeling well, after Joffrey,” Ysilla said with a polite tone, “With such an impressive health, you’re surely will deliver more heirs soon.”

Rhaenyra showed her best smile, yet not truthful, “If the gods are good.”

Ysilla found herself let out a chuckle. The gods had never answered to Ysilla’s prayers. She had tried, both her mother’s and the Queen’s, but Ysilla was not a devoted person. She attended the rituals, as a lady should have, but she much rather think about flying on Darysyr, or study about Valyria. That was a place she would have liked to see. With all that ancient magic and knowledge. That would have been fascinating. But the gods… the gods seemed to mock everyone. They stood high looking down at all of them, but never dared to move a hand for justice. The mother had not brought back Rhea from her hunt, and the Father had not made justice on Daemon for his actions. As he was not bringing justice to Rhaenyra’s behavior.

“I wish that we could spend more time with one another,” Rhaenyra said taking a step towards Ysilla, “We’ve been living so long under the same roof, and yet we never have time to get to know each other like two cousins should.”

“Duties takes all of our time I’m afraid,” Ysilla answered crossing her arms over her chest.

Then her cousin cocked her head to the side, observing the young lady, “You know. You look like me at your age.”

She was quite skeptical that the two of them looked anything alike at her age. Ysilla observed the woman, tilting her head, “Mayhaps we share some likeness,” she answered with a deep breath, “Very few, though. Or I’m sure my father would accept my presence more, even too much.”

She saw Rhaenyra frown at her words, “What do you mean?” Ysilla observed her silently; what she had saw at Rhaenyra’s wedding was a sight Ysilla had difficulties to forget. That had changed her liking of Rhaenyra. It was because of her father interest in Rhaenyra that her mother had been murdered, and her cousin unawareness angered Ysilla even more. But she did not indulge in such feeling, so she just laughed.

“The Realm’s Delight,” she said forcing a light tone, “If the rumours are true, it was my father who gave such a name,” she could not stop a bitter laugh to pass her lips, “He has quite the imagination with names, you’ve probably heard how he used to call me.”

The goat’s daughter…

“Ysilla…” Rhaenyra was about to talk, but the girl shook her head.

“Forgive me, cousin,” she said looking down, “I can be quite unpleasant sometimes. I know it is not fit for a lady, but if I recall my sisters name day had just passed. That makes me quite bitter.”

That was always a strange day to her. Her sisters in Quaart with their father, having the attentions he had never given to his first born. There was always someone better than Ysilla in her father’s eyes. Rhaenyra, now her sisters. Would have made any difference to him that she was fluent in Old Valyrian? That she was an excellent dragon-rider, and that all the noble men and ladies kept complimenting her on her perfect behavior? That she was studying history, politics and philosophy? Would Daemon Targaryen take Ysilla of any account if he knew?

No… she knew nothing would have changed. And still she kept pushing herself to be perfect in hopes that maybe she was wrong, that maybe her father would have cared for her sooner or later.

Stop wanting to please him, Ysilla. The girl repeated to herself. She did not need her father approval or affection. She was nearly a woman grown, she would not allow her father to hold any power over her.

Rhaenyra took a step towards Ysilla, “I just wish for us to become friends, not just relatives.”

Ysilla observed her cousin, “I think I found another likeness,” the girl said, “We’re both quite stubborn.” Then she bowed with courtesy and her best smile, “The Queen awaits. And your sons need you, they’re both quite strong in their will.” Then she looked at Rhaenyra with a smirk, before turning to make her way towards the Queen’s chambers.

Just a corridor and few steps of a staircase was between the Princess’ chambers and the monarch’s. So it didn’t take Ysilla long to meet with Ser Criston, the sworn shield of Alicent Hightower. The handsome Dornishman was taking his guard in front of the door, and he greeted Ysilla bowing his head.

“My lady,” he said, “The Queen’s waiting for you.”

“I thank you, Ser Criston,” she answered politely, then she pushed open the heavy wood door. As she stepped inside, Ysilla was surprised to see the King in the chamber. His skin was always pale and his hair had became thinner during those hears. And on his face the tiredness was visible, but he was sharing words with his wife, trying not to show.

“My King, my Queen,” Ysilla greeted the couple with a deep bow and she heard her uncle let out a happy laugh.

“Such good manner, my dear niece.” He said taking some steps towards the girl. Ysilla smiled before standing again.

“Anything that makes you happy, Your Grace,” Ysilla answered looking at her uncle.

“Come,” he said politely, “Sit with me, I really wanted to share words.” Ysilla’s lips turned up, but her eyes searched the Queen. She was not expecting for her uncle, the King, to be there that day. She thought Alicent wanted to gave her some duties.

The woman looked at her with an encouraging expression before she followed her husband to sit next to him on the couch, fixing the cushions behind Viserys, so that he could sit more comfortably. Ysilla was set last to take a sit, on the couch opposite from them. It felt a different type of encounter from the ones she was used to. Did something happen?

“I cannot express how happy I am to have you here in my court,” her uncle started to speak, on his face the smile never faded.

“And I’m grateful for your kind hospitality,” Ysilla answered.

“You are much more than a guest,” the King said with a shook of his head, “We are family.”

Ysilla felt a peck of happiness in hearing those words. The King, his wife and their children were indeed her family, and she was glad that they shared the same feeling as her. When she lost her mother and her father abandoned her, she was afraid that she would have felt lonely and afraid. She had been lucky.

“And we are very proud of the lady you are becoming,” Viserys said sharing a look with his wife. “You are almost a woman, and a discussion is needed, my dear.”

Ysilla waited for her uncle to keep with his speech. It sounded serious, and she could think of some reasons why a discussion among them was needed. One was more frightening than the other. She knew that she was the heir to Runestone, and that soon she’ll have to take her place as the lady of that castle, but she had no intention of going back. She loved her mother dearly, and her memory gave her strength and porpoise, but Ysilla was a Targaryen. She did not want to be closed in a castle in the mountains. She belonged with the House of the Dragon, with the royalty. She was not less than anyone. Her place was in King’s Landing. She wanted to stay in the Crownlands.

“Alicent and I are beginning to think that it is time for you to find a proper husband,” Ysilla took a breath at the King’s words. They did not want to send her away.

“Since your father is not present at the moment,” Alicent spoke and the young girl felt her own fingers grip at her gown as she did her best to keep a smile on her face, waiting for the Queen to continue. “We will look for the most fit union for you.”

“We think you are ready, dear,” Viserys spoke again with a kind tone, “It is most fit for a lady such as yourself to begin to think to your future.”

Ysilla knew that was what it was expected of her, and she knew that day would have come sooner than later. They had been preparing her for all this time, she was not afraid to find an husband. “As my King wishes.” She answered with a bow of her head.

Viserys chuckled, “That is good to hear,” he said with joy, “I remember how difficoult it had been with Rhaenyra when it was her time.” He searched for his wife approval, but the woman looked down with a forced smile.

Ysilla did not know about Rhaenyra, not that she cared that much. But it was not use to fight their destiny. Nobles did not wed for love, that she knew, her parents had showed it very well. But for no reason she would let her future husband to treat her as Daemon Targaryen did to her mother. They all shared the same path. But the epilogue would have been different. That she promised to herself.

*****************

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#house of the dragon #house of the dragon Fanfiction #house of the dragon imagine #aemond targaryen #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen x oc #aemond targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen #aegon targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen fanfiction #aegon targaryen x OC #aegon targaryen x reader #daemon targaryen #rhaenyra targaryen #alicent hightower #viserys targaryen

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sitp-recs · 7 months ago

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hey! do you have any recs for fics with good magic theory/worldbuilding? evitative by vichan got me started on drarry, and i’ve been hooked on that trope ever since

What a great ask! Love myself an immersive world building. I’m sharing below some favorites on mine, also thank you @amindamazed for reccing Lily’s Boy by SomewheresSword!

Short fic:

The Slytherin Urn by @icmezzo (E, 4k)

Nothing turns Harry on quite like redemption.

Inside These Walls by RenVeree (M, 5k)

The year before Draco moves to Los Angeles, Harry Potter disappears. Draco doesn't mean to find him. He's just doing his job.

And Save Me From Bloody Men by @blamebrampton (T, 10k)

Draco Malfoy once watched others fighting to stop the world falling apart. This time, he's not just watching.

Wield Me by @tackytigerfic (E, 10k)

Draco Malfoy, blacksmith, is renowned through the magical world for his skill and exquisite creations. He could quite easily spend the rest of his days making pretty trinkets for the fae court, and being handsomely rewarded for the privilege. But why take the easy route when instead he could get involved in a dangerous mission with Unspeakable Harry Potter (who also happens to be Draco's... well, he's something, isn't he?).

Long fic:

Eternally Consistent by kitsunealyc (E, 44k)

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter assumed they would never be anything but civil enemies, until Potter lands on Malfoy's doorstep, bleeding, covered in curses, and acting very strangely indeed.

Turn From Stone by @harryromper (M, 45k)

Harry knows there’s nothing he can do to stop Hermione (war hero, historian, author of the reissued “Hogwarts: A History”) once she sets her mind to something. Even an extremely risky last-ditch effort to restore the ancient castle and lay its newest ghosts to rest. What he wasn’t counting on was her insistence that Draco Malfoy be part of the plan.

The Unplottable Time Conundrum by @writcraft (E, 45k)

When the past starts bleeding into the present at Grimmauld Place, an old academic article pulls Draco Malfoy out of his life of luxury. Haunted by the memory of a fleeting post-war kiss and thrust into the ghostly spaces inhabited by Unspeakable Harry Potter, Draco’s easy life is about to get a whole lot more complicated.

Survival of the Species by @romaine2424 (E, 47k)

Draco approaches Harry on the 9 ¾ platform, after their sons have boarded the Hogwarts Express, and invites him over for tea. The discussion they have leads them on an adventure that neither could have expected. There be dragons! HPDH compliant but before any other canon info had been released.

What Shall Not Be Unearthed by @iero0 (E, 49k)

At the northernmost point of Shetland, surrounded by pointed cliffs, towers the Ootsta Lighthouse on a small isle in the middle of the open sea. Little does Harry know that he's not the only new lighthouse keeper. Draco Malfoy is as obnoxious as he always was, with his posh tone of voice and his luxury yacht jumpers. Harry tries his best to avoid the git—who knows what he's up to anyway?

Stately Homes of Wiltshire by waspabi (E, 58k)

Malfoy Manor has mould, dry rot and an infestation of unusually historical poltergeists. Harry Potter is on the case.

The Compact by astolat (E, 64k)

Hermione frowned. “The real question is why the magic of Britain would be failing now, in fact.” “That is not the real question!” Ron said loudly; he’d woken up fully by now, and Harry had too; it was starting to sink in that they’d found the problem. “The real question is, how do we fix it?”

Transfigurations by Resonant (E, 71k)

Five years after Voldemort's defeat, Harry returns to England to help re-open Hogwarts.

Timecode by Rasborealis (M, 73k)

Harry Potter has been dead for two years, and Draco would laugh in the face of anyone claiming differently. Well, anyone but Hermione Granger.

Among Ancient Pines by @graymatters (M, 74k)

Every day, Draco Malfoy tries. With every fiber of his being he tries. But he doesn’t much think about what he’s trying for. In his final term of Healer training, Draco is unfortunate enough to find himself on a plane, the only means of traveling to a small, magical town in rural Alaska

Azoth by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 88k)

Now that Harry is back at Hogwarts with Hermione for eighth year, he realises that something’s missing from his life, and it either has to do with Ron, his boggart, Snape, or Malfoy. Furthermore, what, exactly, does it mean when one’s life is defined by the desire to simultaneously impress and annoy a portrait? Harry has no idea; he’s too busy trying not to be in love with Malfoy to care.

Shibboleths by @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 109k)

Muggle Immersion co-Professor Harry Potter spends his days hanging with his son, reading to his "dog," teaching magical kids about the internet with his cousin Dudley, and irritating Snape’s portrait. He’s understandably annoyed when his cosy life is interrupted by the Headmistress hiring on Draco Malfoy to be Hogwarts’ new Ancient Magical Cultures and Spellcasting professor.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound (E, 149k)

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

Oath Breaker by GoblinCatKC (T, 181k)

At the start of seventh year, the Malfoys perform a dramatic double-cross against the dark lord and Draco educates Harry in an old school of magic. With a wild dragon chase, narrow escapes and an unlikely romance as Draco is forced to reveal to a hostile wizarding world that the Malfoy family is dark.

In The Dark by @bixgirl1 (E, WIP)

In the aftermath of an apocalypse, Harry receives an order to find and bring Draco Malfoy nearly a thousand miles, to the tenuous safety of Hogwarts. But more than distance separates them from their goal. The world has fallen, and death is hungry.

#asks #dandelionwish22 #drarry reclist #magical theory and world building

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with-my-calamitous-love · 4 months ago

Text

THERE WERE SIRENS IN THE BEAT OF YOUR HEART

dabi x reader x hawks

after running away and living a life of crime with touya, you’re approached by your former flame hawks. you’re faced with the decision to save the world, or the love of your life.

part 1/4

for! @bbluefllame @whenanafallsinlove @satirediary

inspired by getaway car, some ciwyw if you squint

on a hot summer night, walking home to your apartment, you wrote off takami keigo in your head as a pompous asshole. the one who still made sure you got home safe but insisted it was just ‘him being a hero’ and nothing more.

it was one of those nights that you almost wished something would happened. you were beyond exhausted, the screaming match you had with your ex boyfriend taking your everything. it was one of those breakups that just seemed to happen. no foreshadowing, no signs, and no warning. one day, he loved you, and couldn’t shut up about marriage, and the next he packed your things for you.

“you need more than me.” he insisted, repeating it like that was somehow going to stop your tears. he was leaning back against the counter, looking around his apartment. he seemed to savour the clean and organized look, knowing that in just a few days it would look like a disaster without you there.

“i don’t get it, kei.” you choke back a sob, gathering your things already packed into suitcases. “you let me choose a ring last week.”

just seeing you cry makes him want to take it all back, scarlet red feathers drooping by his side. he has no excuse. he loves you, but has to let you go. he’s exhausted, and can’t give you what you need.

if he didn’t know any better he’d marry you anyway. but he’s seen how easy it is to be trapped behind the ring in his own childhood.

he wants to set you free, free from him and everything he can’t give you. but the coward in every men keeps him from admitting that. so instead, he sighs, choking back tears and insisting he knows whats best for you.

“fine. bye.” you finally give up, shedding your armour and sword that fought so hard to keep your relationship afloat. as you dragged your luggage to the door, you paused.

say don’t go. please.

and he’s silent as you leave.

the night you left hawks, was also the day you met touya.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

the walk was long. your, dazed heartbroken state was almost enough to let you ignore the heaving, bleeding man in the alleyway. almost.

hesitantly, you stepped into the dark corridor, looking at the boy who was half-awake. there was some kind of blade lodged into his hip bone. based on his appearance, you’d assume he had difficulty feeling pain anyway. but its hard not to notice when a large blade is trying to swap places with your blood.

you want to turn around. maybe call the police. but you relent, almost with a groan.

“uhm… are you okay?”

blue eyes flicker up to you, with a hint of annoyance.

“i’m great, sweetheart.” he heaves, wiping the blood from his chin. you probably should turn back, but you step closer.

“you’re bleeding..” you point out.

he looks down at the blood staining his jacket, and almost laughs. “wow, really? thanks doc.”

what a dick. you think to yourself with a sigh as you sling his arm over your shoulder. he makes a noise that almost sounds like a protest, but a man who plays with fire is a man who doesn’t fear death.

so you take him back to your apartment, sitting him down on the bathroom floor with a thud. he thinks to himself that he’ll wait till your distracted, and jump out the window. but the major blood loss wasn’t helping his escape efforts.

its at this point that you truly begin to freak out. you, who has only a vague idea of what needs to be done, has a stranger bleeding out on your washroom floor.

and your fiance-to-be dumped you. what a night.

you whine to yourself, dropping onto your knees and gripping the knife. you look at him with tear filled eyes, and he looks right back at you. slowly, you remove the knife by whats probably a centimetre.

and you both yell out in pain.

“fuck, i’m sorry, i-‘’ you almost cry, not knowing what the hell you got yourself into. you expect him to laugh, or to tell you off, and in a way he does. he throws his head back, trying to stay awake while you grip the knife thats causing him this turmoil.

“..you can do it. c’mon.” he bites hit burnt bottom lip, urging you to continue. you push through, wincing at his strangled groans as you slowly extract the knife from his side.

“i’m sorry. i’m sorry.” you whisper, about halfway done. his breathing is ragged, but his eyes remain locked onto you.

someone he doesn’t know. someone who doesn’t know him. who’s maybe seen him on the news, for all his atrocities, is trying to save his life.

although you’re doing a shitty job at it.

you’re almost done when he relents. he places his scared, stapled hand over yours. he firmly holds your hand over the knife, and swiftly removes it.

you both sigh in relief, though theres a bigger problem now.

you waste no time, getting your sewing kit from underneath the sink and threading the hole (despite your anxiety ridden state. he could almost applaud.)

this part hurts less, as you carefully stitch his skin back together. he may still be bleeding internally, and he may still need to receive further attention. but for now, you’re taking care of him.

with one final pass of the needle, he’s fixed. you drop your hands to the floor with a huff, while his hazy turquoise eyes look at you with a look you can’t quite decipher.

so there you sat, in a pool of blood, with a stranger who’s life you just saved right after leaving your ex-fiance.

that was the night you met touya todoroki.

✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚ ☾ .⭒˚ ✧.* ✧.* ⋆.˚

the world knew dabi. they knew the bloodthirsty arsonist, who’s skin was held together by metal and whose heart was frozen over like an eternal winter. they knew the man who could cremate you alive, who’s blue flames were a sign of immediate danger.

you, however, had the privilege of knowing (and subsequently loving) touya.

touya loved autumn. he loved the crunchy leaves and the brisk air that contrasted with his quirk. he loved little action figures, of all the heroes he hoped to one day be like. he loved soba. he loved his mom. he loved his siblings.

key word: loved.

he didn’t lose that love per say, but if it was still there, it was buried deep between promises of vengeance and salvation.

most of all, touya loves you.

he’s never the type to say it out loud. but he will show you.

he shows it when he breaks into the florist you talk so much about and hands you a crude bouquet of roses, saying he saw it on tv somewhere. he shows it in his careful care to hide your existence away from the league and away from the media, knowing he could very well be what endangers you the most. he shows it when fixes the leak you didn’t even know was there, when he replaces your empty shampoo bottles, when he makes you coffee (though its terrible, he never gets the milk and cream right) and when he stares at the stab-scar you stitched up for him.

touya shows you that he loves you when he reminds you, once again, that you don’t need to save him.

but.

“..will you run away with me?”

you smile.

“yes.”

and for once in the world, it seems like you and touya found the best of all crimes. the single strike of a match blew your mind. you went from dating heroes who broke your heart, to villains who love you like you’re brand new.

the tiniest part of you, however, still thinks about keigo. your keigo. but you’re able to push that down, all until that night came.

it was the night before you agreed to make your great escape with touya. it would be perfect. you’d pack the car and drive off to some city you couldn’t pronounce. you’d live on, maybe rob a store or two just for the fun of it. you’d be happy because its him.

your daydreaming is interrupted by your lack of sleep.

you’re staring out the balcony, just admiring the moon while touya’s arm was lazily draped around you. he’s a surprisingly heavy sleeper, despite his lack of trust and loved ones.

he felt a wave of peace and contentment wash over him as he slept beside you, your body pressed against his in a tangle of limbs and sheets. he’s constantly pulling you closer in his sleep, his arms encircling you like he’s protecting you. for the first time in his life, he felt completely safe. love is what kept him safe.

but you’re restless, and you need air. so you carefully untangle yourself from his arm, and quietly head out to the balcony.

the cool, night air serenaded you in a way that only isolation would understand. you’re worried about this. worried about touya.

was this really the solution? is he still a villain even after loving you?

do you care?

would keigo get it?

well, maybe he would, considering he’s standing next to you, perched on the balcony railing.

you stifle a curse at his sudden appearance, careful not to wake your sleeping boyfriend inside. he places a gloved finger to his lips, signalling for you to be quiet.

you honestly should scream. but its like he still has that hold on you.

“holy shit. what are you doing here!?”’ you whisper-yell at him, having half a mind to push his winged ass off the railing. he holds his hands up in surrender.

“just checking on you, babe.” he says, that familiar nickname pissing you off and making your heart throb all at once. you grit your teeth.

“relax, i’m not here to arrest you or anything.” he explains, stepping down from the railing and onto the balcony. “i just wanna talk.”

you cross your arms, mentally slapping yourself for even thinking about going outside onto this balcony ever again.

“fine. spill it.” you hiss.

keigo leans against the balcony railing, his demeanor casual yet cautious as he speaks to you.

“you know, I never expected you'd end up with dabi. I always thought you had better taste." theres almost a playful smirk on his face, and you’re not sure if its hate or hatred-filled-unresolved-feelings that makes you want to smack him.

so you remind him of the obvious. “you broke up with me, kei.”

he lets out a small sigh, his smirk satisfyingly faltering at the reminder. “i… i know babe. i won’t forget it… but i still care about you.”

you click your tongue in frustration, placing both your hands on the railing and looking out at the stars.

“then why did you end things the way you did? one second you love me and want to marry me, the next you have all your things packed up.”

you almost tear up, recounting the moments you went from your first kiss, to marriage, to walking out of his apartment alone. you two were starry eyed kids, embroidering the memories of each other onto your hearts.

he almost wants to cry too.

keigo’s expression turns remorseful, his eyes avoiding yours like the coward in every man does.

"i don't know. i just... realized that i couldn't give you what you needed." he admits like confessing to a crime, his voice heavy with guilt.

“at the time.. i thought it would be better to let you go, let you find someone who could give you everything you deserved. i didn’t wanna cage you. i wanted you to be free, birdie.”

you sigh, and consider your ex-lovers words. maybe he was right. but this topic was becoming too painful for you to bare.

“but thats not why you’re here, is it?” you whisper.

he sighs again, realizing he’s already gotten distracted. he shakes his head.

keigo takes a deep breath, steeling himself as he prepares to say the words he knew he has to say.

"i’m here to ask you to bring dabi in." *he states, his voice steady and firm, despite the hint of regret in his eyes. he knows how much this’ll hurt you, and he hates it.

you blink.

“…what?”

keigo reaches out, gently placing a hand on your shoulder as if trying to provide you with comfort or even just reassurance.

"i know you care about him- hell, you may even love him, but you have to see that what he’s doing is wrong. he needs to face the consequences of his actions."

and there it is. theres keigo being a hero again. and its breaking your heart in the worst possible way.

you look down, your lip beginning to tremble.

fact: touya was a criminal.

fact: touya was a murderer.

fact: you love him.

you knew it was wrong, hearing sirens and his heartbeat all the same. you had to have known it would catch up to you eventually.

but you thought maybe, you could drive away from all of it. wishful thinking.

keigo notices this turmoil, and rubs his hand up and down your back. he may have lost you, but he hasn’t lost how much he cares for you. he hates seeing you like this.

“i love him.” you whisper, voice cracking as that familiar salt streams down your face.

he nods, pushing down his jealousy in order to put you first. his heart aches as you confess your love for the criminal, mostly because he wondered if some of that love could still be for him.

“i know you do, babe.” he starts. “but love alone can't justify or excuse his actions. nothing can.”

you nod, forcing yourself to come to terms with it. he pulls you into a hug, and you don’t fight him. his embrace is familiar, something you find yourself wanting to run to more and more. he places a kiss to your forehead, letting his lips sit there while he whispers to you that its okay. (its not.)

“if love could save people, we’d live forever.” he says, stroking your hair. you agree with him, granting him a small nod.

he steels himself once more, knowing he has to get you to say yes. but before he can press further, you ask:

“…how many people are gonna die?”

keigo pausesfor a moment, his expression grave as he considers your question. he didn't want to give you a number, a tangible representation of the destruction touya could cause, but he knew he owed you honesty.

"hundreds, probably. maybe thousands, with the way his power works. and that's just counting the civilian casualties. the list of Pro Heroes he could potentially take down... it's not a pretty picture." he confesses, knowing he owes you the truth and nothing less.

still pressed against his chest, your eyes wander back to touya, peacefully asleep on the bed. if you could capture the rare moment tranquility touya was feeling right now, you would. its something he rarely ever felt, and something you wished you could grant him a lifetime of.

“its his life or the life of thousands.” you whisper, not even daring to say it louder.

keigo hates that its come to this. he feels like a failure, to you and to touya, that he was driven to this point of villainy. but he can’t undo whats been done.

his amber eyes watch you as your gaze flickers back to where touya sleep. his heart breaks at the conflict on your face. he continues to hold you close, though he knows these words will likely push you away further.

"you can't choose him, babe… the lives of thousands... the fate of the whole city... that's more important than what you feel for one person. you know that. you have to know that.”

more tears fall as keigo pulls back slightly, cupping your face and calling your attention to him. but you don’t want to listen, instead opting to pull away. your hand lands on the balcony door, back to your hotel room.

but right before, you turn around, and silently give keigo a nod.

he remains silent, but his eyes understand as he takes off into the night.

the pain that swells in your heart increases as you lay back down next to touya. he unconsciously wraps his arm around you, pulling your body closer to his as he continues to sleep. even in his deep slumber, his instincts seem to sense that something is bothering you, as though his body naturally seeks to comfort you.

“i love you.” you whisper, choking back your sob as you screw your eyes shut. he’s is still fast asleep, his breathing slow and steady, but you can feel his grip tighten slightly around you as if he heard your whispered confession. a shy hint of a smile graces his lips, even in his unconscious state.

it wasn’t such a mystery, and neither of you could pretend it was. nothing good starts in a getaway like this.

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needanaccount2readarcaneposts · 1 month ago

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every time i read a post about how, "silco kept fighting relentlessly for a free zaun because it's what fELiCiA wOuLd hAvE wAnTed," i add another name to my kill list (in minecraft).

we'll never fucking undo the damage s2 has done to his characterisation.

let people believe in things bigger than themselves without needing some secret twist reason. let people fight for something because they observed an injustice in the world and decided to fucking do something about it, without needing a personal motivation tied to a tragic dead friend/family member/lover/whatever.

it is one thing for s1 to acknowledge that, while silco was always a true believer, his trauma at vander's hands is responsible for informing his view on the need for unflinching ruthlessness; for excising weakness. but s2 is now vander-ifying silco and fandom is eating it right up; making him 'more sympathetic' by suggesting that his determination to keep fighting in the first place was in some way tied to a lost loved one. because in a liberal media framework that serves the interest of capital, it is dangerous to suggest that someone can be motivated by purely ideological reasons and still be sympathetic. can still be right to want what they want, or do what they do.

i'm gonna make Outlaw Kings & Rebellion Chic required reading for everyone, and have included more extracts under the cut, but in summary:

Violence that does not proceed from personal injury requires no such breakdown. This kind of primarily ideological violence can be directed against a perfectly functional system - functional, at least, for the perpetrator - simply because it appears the ‘just’ thing to do. No wonder, then, that in our mass media, the characters practising ideological violence are cast as morally unsound. If normality is not self-evident but a site of contention, then it problematises easy narratives of rebels vs tyrants. And if dispute over the political system is enough to justify force, then that implies violence against the modern Western state, even its violent overthrow, could be justifiable. This is understandably concerning for many writers, who tend to come from backgrounds closer to the Lannisters than the ‘smallfolk’.

If a person can commit violence simply because they believe it’s right, without any hidden ambition, then nothing stops us from acting to change the world.

Separately, there is in screenwriting a kind of uncodified rule: villains act, heroes react. The hero, according to traditional Hollywood structure, can’t fulfil their destiny until an extraordinary event drags them out of the world they know. More often than not, that event begins with the villain. Harry Potter is only the Chosen One because Lord Voldemort killed his parents. Luke Skywalker would have stayed on Tatooine dreaming of adventure, until Darth Vader’s attack on a rebel ship sends a secret message to his farm. Frodo would be safe and happy in Hobbiton if not for Sauron. Heroes rarely set out to change the world. Villains want change, and heroes run to keep up. [...] Many of these characters live with occupation, oppression, and state brutality as part of their daily lives, but they don’t turn to violent resistance until their families are directly threatened or killed. When heroes commit political violence, it must be to avenge a personal injury. This is supposed to be substantively different from political violence committed for ideological reasons, which receives a much less sympathetic treatment. [...] When we see violent characters who kill for primarily political reasons, they are often anti-heroes at best, outright villains at worst. The idea of the full circle revolution - of the secret dictator hiding in the throat of every rebel leader, waiting to leap out and betray the non-ideological hero - is utterly pervasive. It appears in videogames, where good old-fashioned all-American heroes like Jim Raynor of Starcraft or Booker DeWitt of Bioshock Infinite are betrayed by villainous revolutionaries Arcturus Mengsk and Daisy Fitzroy (and after all they’ve done for them!). It is common in films, from supervillains like Magneto and Killmonger, liberationists written as would-be conquerors, to the rebels of The Hunger Games, who vote to continue the games as soon as they’re in power, except with the children of the dethroned elite rather than the children of the poor. The same reversal is mentioned in A Song of Ice and Fire, where rebel slaves, once liberated, enslave their former masters; in the TV version, an evil fundamentalist visits the kind of cruelty on the King’s Landing nobility that they visited on others. In all these examples we see an echo of the primal fear of every oppressive class, the nightmare at the heart of modern white supremacy: what if someone did to us what we’ve done to them? Liberation is re-imagined as the world turned not so much upside-down but mirrored. [...]

Rensin attributes the hatred of the High Sparrow to his hypocrisy, but I don’t think that’s quite right. What is terrible about the High Sparrow is that he has no personal grievance. He didn’t see his father killed by the ‘good guys’, like Killmonger. His family weren’t murdered by his oppressors, like Magneto. By his own account the High Sparrow was a cobbler who became disillusioned, found religion, and now, thanks to the vagaries of a civil war among the elite, finds himself in a position to overturn the social order. The feudal system of Westeros never injured him personally. He simply came to believe it should be torn down, and acted accordingly.

We seem to find this faintly repellent. We are so used to looking for an ulterior motive that, when we can’t find one, we grow uncomfortable. If a good person can commit violence simply because they believe it’s right, without any hidden ambition, then nothing stops us from acting to change the world. [...] Violence that does not proceed from personal injury requires no such breakdown. This kind of primarily ideological violence can be directed against a perfectly functional system - functional, at least, for the perpetrator - simply because it appears the ‘just’ thing to do. No wonder, then, that in our mass media, the characters practising ideological violence are cast as morally unsound. If normality is not self-evident but a site of contention, then it problematises easy narratives of rebels vs tyrants. And if dispute over the political system is enough to justify force, then that implies violence against the modern Western state, even its violent overthrow, could be justifiable. This is understandably concerning for many writers, who tend to come from backgrounds closer to the Lannisters than the ‘smallfolk’.

#i am begging everyone to please just ignore that fucking felicia flashback #singularly the worst thing to ever happen to silco as a character except maybe the 'walk away' monologue #arcane critical #silco #arcane

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airybcby · 1 month ago

Note

hello!! my top artist was xdinary heroes and my top song was walking to the moon! looking forward to see which bllk boy you match me with hehe

hii!!!

if your top artist was xdinary heroes and your top song was walking to the moon, i’d pair you with…

rin itoshi

જ⁀♡⊹｡° take your burden over there

♡ a/n — for my spotify wrapped event! - masterlist -

♡ content — rin itoshi x gn! reader, gn! reader, best friends, no feelings stated but can be interpreted in different ways, set before rin leaves for blue lock, randomly my second rin fic where they're on the roof

♡ synopsis — rin itoshi has always had a plan to leave behind everything to reach his older brother, even you.

The sky stretched above you like a painting you couldn’t fully understand, yet you couldn’t look away. It was a crisp evening, the last before the weight of the world would shift beneath your feet. You sat on the rooftop, legs dangling over the edge, feeling the cool night air ruffle your hair. The city lights below flickered like distant stars, but it was the empty space beside you that seemed most significant.

Rin sat next to you, his presence solid and still, though there was something about him that felt miles away. It was as though the boy beside you—your closest friend, the person you'd shared countless hours with—was already slipping through your fingers, fading with every passing second. You both knew what this night meant, even if neither of you spoke it aloud.

His eyes were fixed on the horizon, staring at the same stars that had guided you through your entire life. But tonight, they felt unreachable. You wanted to reach out, to say something—anything—but the words got lost somewhere between your chest and your mouth.

"I’m leaving," Rin finally said, voice low and strained. The words were a formality, like a line you’d heard a thousand times, but it still hit you in a way you hadn’t expected.

“I know.” You nodded, forcing a calmness into your voice, though your heart beat against your ribs like a drum. You didn’t want to ask, didn’t want to dig into the reasons. You knew what was coming. You knew it had to happen, but it didn’t make it any easier.

"You’re... you’re really going, huh?" The question hung in the air, almost as if you were trying to convince yourself more than him. You didn’t know why you asked—it felt like a waste of breath, but it was the only thing that made sense in the moment.

Rin's gaze shifted towards you, the barest hint of emotion flickering behind his stoic expression. "I have to. I can’t keep staying here, I have to be better...than sae." His words were sharp, but there was an underlying sadness to them, something he rarely let you see.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Rin.” You felt the pull to reach out, to offer him something more than just empty words, but the distance between you was growing. Your hand twitched at your side, but you stayed still, frozen in place.

His lips pressed together in a tight line, his jaw clenched as he looked away again. “I do. I’ve always been alone. If I want to be the best, that’s the price I have to pay.”

You watched him in silence, the weight of his words pressing on your chest. You had seen him push people away his whole life, but you never thought it would feel like this, never thought it would happen between the two of you.

“It doesn’t have to be that way,” you murmured, your voice barely louder than the rustling leaves in the wind. “I don’t want you to go like this.”

Rin turned his head slightly, just enough for his eyes to meet yours, but it wasn’t the same. There was a coldness in them now, something that wasn’t there before. "You wouldn’t understand." He looked away again, as if he couldn’t bear to face the truth.

“I understand more than you think,” you said, your heart aching. You were friends with Sae too before he left, you'd already been abandoned by one Itoshi brother. “But I also know... this isn’t the right way.”

You thought you may have died if Rin left you too.

For a moment, he was quiet, and you almost thought he hadn’t heard you. But then he finally spoke, his voice softer now, barely a whisper against the night.

"You say that, but you’re not the one who’s been carrying this weight. You’re not the one who has to be the best at all costs."

You wanted to argue, to tell him that it wasn’t about being the best, that there were things more important than success and pride, but you couldn’t find the words.

What could you say? He was already so far ahead, running down a path that you could only watch from the sidelines.

Rin stood up suddenly, so fast you were scared he'd tumble from your roof, his figure outlined against the fading light of the city. He didn’t look back as he took a step away, his hands in his pockets. “I’ll do whatever it takes. And if that means leaving everything behind... then that’s what I’ll do.”

You felt the finality of his words deep in your chest. You should have said something more, but the space between you felt so vast.

The boy who had been by your side for so long was slipping away, and all you could do was watch.

“You’ll never know if it’s worth it,” you said softly, more to yourself than to him.

But Rin didn’t hear you. He was already walking away, the sound of his footsteps echoing off your roof in the night, leaving you with nothing but the empty space beside you.

And as you sat there, staring up at the stars that now felt impossibly far away, you realized something you hadn’t wanted to admit.

No matter how much you wanted to be beside him, he was already out of your reach.

this was lowkey one of my favorites to write

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

#★ · airybcbyy #airy posts #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi #blue lock #bllk #bllk x reader #rin bllk #rin itoshi bluelock #blue lock x reader #rin x reader #airy answers asks :)#rin itoshi blue lock #bllk rin #bllk rin itoshi #blue lock rin itoshi #blue lock rin

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spacedace · 2 years ago

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Recently had the idea of Elle joining the Justice League, but not as a traditional hero that fights or stuff like that.

Like she *can* fight, but she's of the mind that "this world is absolute tissue paper to me if I fought just about any of yalls rogues they'd be killed instantly and I'm 99% certain anyone I kill will become a ghost and that just feels like a recipe for disaster."

She helps with rescues and natural disasters no problem, but her *real* place in the League is as their main Diplomat and Negotiator.

Here me out:

My head canon is that Elle's Obsession is Traveling/Exploring, like she has a constant drive to go out and find new places and people and learn as much as she can. To that end she has an innate ability to understand every language and speak every non-closed language (i.e she can understand Romani, but as it's a closed language can not/will not speak it).

On top of that all her traveling has led her to meet a lot of different people and species and cultures and she can almost instinctively pick up how their particular stuff works for them. Throw in some Ghosts are naturally Empathic and that being the Heir to the Infinite Throne meaning she had training in State Craft and add in some Elle genuinely wanting people to find peace with both themselves and others and I think she'd be an amazing ambassador/diplomat/negotiator.

She can be chaotic and wild a lot of the time, but as soon as she’s called in to help get a peace treaty set up or help introductions between two factions or there's a hostage situation she gets serious and is able to get the job done.

Just: Elle is an absolute powerhouse that could wreck entire galaxies if she wants to but instead uses her words and her understanding and kindness to solve her problems instead

(Except for when Danny steals her last bag of takkis and eats them all. Then it’s fucking *on* no one fights like siblings fight, the League is genuinely shocked the first time they see this, they thought she was a *pacifist* what the hell???)

#dc x dp #dp x dc #dpxdc #dani phantom #dani fenton #elle phantom #danielle phantom #danielle fenton #justice league #Diplomat Elle

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pernesophe · 3 months ago

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Post Apocalyptic AU Kaji x Reader

Chapter 1: The Witch and the Vampire

(Minors, Ageless and Blank Blogs DNI)

WC: 6490. Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4 (links will be added as they are finished)

MDNI. TW for this post: fluff, angst, biting, blood drinking, past character deaths mentioned (Multi-part story, so TW for the whole series are fluff, angst, smut, character death(s)).

Synopsis: Set after an apocalyptic war where reader was born and raised in Furin centuries after the fall of society. Her town is the last patch of green in an otherwise barren world. Nobody knows what caused the war, just that a group of young heroes who were called "Bofurin" fought to save the town. Though records say there were no survivors, it is rumored one Bofurin managed to survive, and is still somehow alive all these years later. (This chapter is more to set the scene for the story).

Song: Playlist Post Kaji's Scent: Based on Brother Night by Apoteker Tepe Reader's Scent: Based on Basilica by Milano

Death is defined in many ways:

1. the action or act of dying or being killed; the end of the life of a person or organism.

2.the state of being dead.

3.the permanent ending of vital processes in a cell or tissue.

In this story a lot of people live, but a lot more die… and yet, with the definition of death provided and the knowledge that it occurs in the following story, it remains to be a fairly unknown concept. So, before beginning this story, I pose to you three questions:

What occurs after death?

Where does one go when they die?

Does existence persist?

“Y/N! Make sure you get more mint and rosemary while you’re out there. We’re gonna need to dry a ton for this winter - I can feel illness coming with the cold,” Kiyoko called out as you stepped through the door. With a cheerful wave and nod, you pulled the rickety wooden door of the hut shut and headed towards the edge of town.

The little town you had grown up in was a little damaged from the war, but what was left of the buildings made for a good home. It also didn’t hurt that the green overgrowth on the buildings and over the former streets were edible. Despite the barren grounds on the edge of the town, your little spot of green housed and fed the sizable community. Many elders credited the witches for coming out of hiding a few centuries prior and warding the town against the threats beyond the verdant foliage, but thanks to Kiyoko you were reminded often that your town has a different group to thank.

As you approached the abandoned building on the edge of town - rectangular with a tree sprouting out of the roof, and a high wall around the edge of the property that still had colorful drawings etched into the stone - you were reminded of the stories of Bofurin. The war had ended long before you were born, so you had no idea what caused the fall of society or why the world was how it was now. What Kiyoko did tell you was that your little community only survived because of Bofurin, a group of young men who defended the town during the height of the war. Unfortunately, none survived through the end.

Despite the lack of survivors, one woman - Kotoha Tachibana - carried on their story and the good they did. That’s why your little village still held a vigil every year on the day the last Bofurin died. A young man with locks split down the middle like the half moon, and dual toned eyes - one slate gray and the other amber. Sakura Haruka was his name, and it was rumored that Kotoha was inconsolable for months after his death. Proven by the fact that she wore black in mourning for the rest of her days. Even though it was recorded that Kotoha celebrated in the vigil as well, she also insisted that there was still one Bofurin remaining until her last breath. His name was never recorded, but it’s rumored that he still lived in the abandoned building on the edge of town.

Surveying the structure riddled with green overgrowth, you thought you caught a glimpse of a shadow pass by one of the dusty windows backlit by the setting sun. But you just chuckled and shook your head before pushing onward. Though a witch, even you had to draw a line at some myths and superstitions.

Ambling through the doorway devoid of any door, making your way up the stairs - stepping over roots as you climbed. Once on the third floor, a quiet cough drew your attention down the hall to your left. Immediately the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. This building had always been eerily silent until now.

“He-hello…?” you called out quietly. Hoping, praying, that no one responded.

A soft melodic voice, timid in nature, pricked Kaji’s ears towards the long forgotten sound of another person. Silently, he moved to the door of the classroom he’d decided to make home centuries ago. Peering out around a thick vine, he saw you. A mousy girl clad in knitted black tights, a red-orange floral patchwork tunic, and a marigold-yellow cardigan. A leather cord looped around your neck with a black stone pendant wrapped in copper wire hung low on your chest. Old, worn leather boots laced up to your ankles with gray wool socks peeking out the tops. A large, aged sack, the same worn brown as your boots, was slung over your shoulder. Notes of resinous camphor, fresh greens and incense clung to your clothes and hair. Just from your clothes and scent Kaji could tell you were a witch, and deduced you were probably coming to collect herbs from Umemiya’s garden.

Releasing a soft sigh, the remaining Bofurin sadly smiled to himself knowing the old leader would have loved that his garden was still helping the town. Stepping back into the classroom, Kaji silently waited for you to pass on. The sun would be setting soon, and no one in town has stayed or come to visit the school at night in a long time. Not since Kotoha’s last visit. Resting the back of his head against the wall of the classroom, he sadly reminisced over his last remaining friend and just how long it had been since he’d spoken to anyone. 100 years? 150…? 200 years seemed too high, he concluded.

“U-um,” a quiet murmur from the doorway tore Kaji from his rumination as his eyes snapped to yours. He hadn’t even heard you approaching - how could he be so careless? Silently he kicked himself before your gentle voice filled the room once more, “He-hello!”

This time you forced a bit more cheer into your tone and offered the silent stranger a smile. The man before you had medium-length blonde hair, cerulean irises, and a severe expression on his face. From the looks of the room, you could tell he’d been living here a while - alone. A bedroll was spread out in the corner with a standing lamp next to it, but other than that it seemed to be what the elders had described as a ‘classroom’.

Even though his face was intimidating, with fists clenched by his sides, his eyes reflected a deep sorrow that tore at your heart. Eyeing his pale skin, incredibly aged clothes that you immediately recognized to be a Furin Uniform, along with the aroma of vaporous amber and rich marigolds you realized that he couldn’t be human. Not anymore at least.

“I’m Y/N,” offering softly as you took a slight step forward to not block the door, “what’s your name?” Inquiring hopefully as you tossed him another reassuring smile. The closer you drew, the more intense your scent became as creamy balsamic and crisp wood reminiscent of pencils enveloped his senses. Suddenly, he was struck with the memory of being in class with his friends just before heading out for patrol, when everyone was still… alive.

Overcome with a sense of melancholy and nostalgia, Kaji moved towards you with widened eyes and fangs poking out over his lips. Taking a slight step back, your heart hammered in your chest as you shook your head lightly and extended your hand to keep him back. In an instant he was sinking his fangs into your neck while gripping your upper arms bruisingly. Hints of rich, peppery smoke drifted from his jacket and tickled your nose while all you could do was squeak and tremble in his powerful hold.

Kaji’s mind filled with the old days in Furin - patrol, Pothos, Kusumi and Enomoto - as the thick, warm liquid flowed over his tongue, soothing his parched throat. Now closer than before, he caught a comforting aroma of pure sweet-wood and velvety leather clinging to your skin. Then, an old yet familiar flavor cascaded over his taste buds that brought tears to his eyes. Peach Chupa Chups. All at once, he released your throat before collapsing - dragging you to the floor with him - his body violently racked with sobs.

Stunned into silence, you sat there for several minutes as he clung to you with his face buried in your neck, shaking. Ever so slowly, you pulled your arms out of his hold and looped them around his neck - one hand gripping the back of his head gently while the other rubbed his shoulder blade. Softly, you hummed an old lullaby that Kiyoko would sing to the children during the dead of winter. Kaji instantly recognized the melody that had carried through the snow covered streets to the old abandoned school many winters in a row now. Gradually he quieted until he was just clinging to you like a life preserve, his face still buried in the crook of your neck where the comforting scent of creamy peach chupa chups flooded his senses.

“Ar-are you okay?” Whispering softly as you slowly released your hold around him. Gingerly, he pulled away from your neck to look you in the eye, his expression wrought with remorse. Parting his lips to respond, but a notch swiftly formed in his brow as nothing but squeaky air came out. Blinking rapidly at his perturbed expression that slipped into one of defeat, then you tilted your head and swept your hair away from your neck.

“Here,” urging softly as you leaned closer to him, but Kaji just stared back in disbelief. “You’re parched and can’t speak…” clarifying your reasoning as you leaned even closer, but he just shook his head lightly instead. “It’s okay - I’m a witch - I know a blood replenishing spell,” assuring him as you brought your neck inches away from his face.

Kaji looked torn as his cerulean irises flicked from the blood still staining your neck, to your trusting gaze, and then back again. At this distance, your sweet-wood incense and crisply herbaceous essence was inescapable. Swallowing thickly, Kaji gently cupped your cheek so you could rest your head in his palm as he wrapped his other arm around your waist and pulled you into his lap. Drawing his mouth to the crook of your neck as he parted his lips, then he sank his teeth into your sensitive flesh before latching on once more.

The second your blood touched his tongue, Kaji’s grip on you tightened as he groaned against your neck greedily. Flavors he hasn’t tasted in God knows how long spilled over his taste buds. Fresh rosemary and sharp thyme clung to the red liquid first, quickly followed by delicate dairy like he’d find in sweet pastries from the Cactus Bakery. Then smoked, earthy cinnamon flooded his mouth the same as the liquor he’d drank with his friends at the start of the war. Finally, that old addicting flavor of Peach Chupa Chups swirled across his wet muscle as tears pricked his eyes. Kaji could feel his cheeks warming from your blood as he clung tighter to your smaller form and grunted deliriously into your neck.

At first you felt completely okay, but then as Kaji swallowed more of your blood the room began to spin. Your head felt heavy as you leaned fully into the palm of his hand. Heat pricked at you and sweat dewed across your skin as nausea pulled uncomfortably in the pit of your stomach. The edges of your vision grew dark and fuzzy before you realized he wasn’t stopping.

“Hm, um-” your slurred speech finally broke him out of his trance as he felt the light tapping of your hand against his forearm. Immediately he detached from your throat and leaned back to see your incredibly pale face and half lidded eyes, a thin sheen of sweat covered your forehead. Your labored breathing caused your chest to rise and fall shallowly while a slight shivering overtook your body.

“N-no!” Kaji emitted a terrified gasp, while repositioning your shivering form so you were cradled in his lap as your head lolled against his chest. “Hey,” murmuring desperately as he began tapping your cheek lightly with his fingertips, “don’t pass out. Please don’t pass out,” he pleaded softly as your eyelids fluttered shut and then gradually cracked open again.

“Th-the spell! Hey, you need to do the spell,” his voice grew louder with urgency as he shook you gently. The sound of your weak heartbeat thundered in his ears tauntingly while primal fear stabbed through his own.

Blinking slowly, you nodded and reached up to grab the stone pendant around your neck. To Kaji’s relief, you brought it to your lips and whispered a foreign word he had never heard before, and then the color started returning to your face as the bite wound on your neck slowly closed.

Humming softly, you tried to sit up but your face scrunched from still feeling light headed. Kaji gingerly helped you sit up, though he bore most of your weight on his chest, and looped an arm around your back to keep you upright. Ever so gently he cupped your cheek and tilted your head so he could look at your face clearly.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” He asked quietly, cerulean irises swimming in guilt and remorse.

“Uh, mhm,” intoning just loud enough for his perceptive ears to catch it. Blinking slowly, vision slowly focused on his face as you tossed him a weak smile. “I’m okay… Wh-who are you by the way?” You inquired again, eyes flicking to the worn Furin button on the collar of his uniform. A pregnant pause passed as he seemed to be debating whether he should answer you or not.

“Kaji.” He finally responded. Instantly, your eyebrows shot up as you not so subtly waited for the rest of his name. Instead he just stared at you, stubbornly silent.

“Well, it’s nice to meet you Kaji,” offering kindly and sitting up a bit more as the light headedness subsided. Despite bearing your own weight, he kept his arm securely around your back as he continued staring at you apprehensively. Tilting your head in question and peering at him, then you chirped out a cheery, “are you feeling better?”

“You taste like peach Chupa Chups,” he blurted out immediately as a notch formed in his brow at his own admission. Then his expression turned accusatory before he asked, “did you do that on purpose? Can witches do that?”

“Uh-um,” chuckling nervously as a crease formed in your brow as well. Slowly you shook your head as the mounting confusion showed clearly on your face. “N-no, we can’t… um, what are Peach Chupa Chups?” Inquiring with a curious titter as Kaji just blinked at you, completely perplexed. Silence filled the room for several tense moments - him regarding you suspiciously and you staring back obliviously - before his cracked voice broke it.

“They’re these… suckers,” his fingers twitched in your tunic at the word, but when you just looked confused he corrected himself. “Candies that I used to eat… all of the time,” he spoke slowly as tears collected along his lash line. Intaking a hissing breath, he then looked to the floor - trying to blink away his tears.

“Oh… I’m so sorry,” whispering softly as you searched for the proper words. Honestly, you couldn’t relate to having something all of the time like that, or what it would feel like to lose it. But it was evident that Kaji was deeply affected, so you gently placed your hand on his shoulder and squeezed comfortingly.

“Is there anything I can do?” You asked tentatively, and Kaji just looked at you with a mirthless twitch of his lips.

“Unless you can summon a millenia-old candy, then no, I don’t think so,” he said with a defeated sigh. Then he added with genuine gratitude reflecting in his eyes, “thank you though.”

“No problem,” whispering as you stared at his melancholic expression. Desperately you wanted to ask him if he was the last Bofurin, about the war, and everyone who fought to save your little town. But the look on his face told you it was better to leave it be.

Wordlessly the two of you sat like that in the darkening classroom for several minutes. You studied the fabled individual curled around you, and Kaji subtly inhaled your ambery oud-musk that enveloped him - knowing that you would be going soon. As dusk set upon the world outside, that moment finally arrived as you twitched in his arms and moved to speak. Kaji sadly met your gaze and awaited your goodbye.

“I-I have to go…” murmuring softly, your own heart breaking from his sorrowful nod. “But, um, would it be okay if I came back tomorrow?” Querying cautiously as you clasped your hands in your lap, twirling your thumbs nervously. Instantly, his whole demeanor brightened with surprise as he began bobbing his head without any hesitation.

Rising to your feet, a relieved smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you uttered a quiet goodbye and made your way to the doorway. Kaji just stared at you, a little dumbfounded, but with longing filled eyes. At the door, you turned back with a reassuring look as you promised you would be back first thing tomorrow evening. Silently, he nodded as you disappeared through the doorway, and then he listened to your quiet footsteps until you exited the building.

The walk home was a little brisk with the coming autumn, but not cold enough to make you shiver. As you stepped over twisted roots and ducked under thick vines draped between abandoned buildings, you pondered what you could do for the lonely soul in that classroom. So deep in your rumination that when you walked through the wooden door of the hut you didn’t even hear Kiyoko speaking.

“Y/N? Did you get more mint and rosemary?” She asked again, regarding you with a worried expression from where she stood in front of the wood stove. Blinking slowly as you processed her words, and then you realized you hadn’t gone to the garden at all.

Guiltily admitting that you didn’t get them or any herbs while hanging your head, but Kiyoko didn’t chide you and simply asked what happened. She brewed a calming tea and sat on the floor with you at the short wooden table that dated back to before the war. There, over a cup of lilac-chamomile tea, you told her about your encounter with Kaji as you begged her not to tell anyone else throughout the entire tale.

At first she was too stunned to respond, but eventually agreed and urged you to tell her everything. So you told her as much as you could, even though you and Kaji hadn’t shared many words. Once finished, you made sure to convey to her that he wasn’t dangerous and seemed remorseful to have bitten you. Luckily, Kiyoko believed you so, taking a chance, you asked if she knew anything about “blood preserves”. A perplexed look crossed her face until you clarified that you meant “candies” - using the word Kaji mentioned before - hoping she’d recognize it.

Nodding slowly, she told you she might and went to find her grimoire. The room was quiet except for the flipping of pages, pausing at points to read more thoroughly, and then flipping once more. Several minutes passed like this until she stopped on a page with a tap of her finger and a triumphant aha! Returning to the table, she handed you the page with a prideful smile.

Gratefully, you thanked her and then asked if she knew of any elders who had pictures or writings from before the war. Kiyoko cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips before directing you to ask Mr. Sato, since he inherited everything from his ancestors who owned a popular store in Furin before the war. Again, you thanked her genuinely and promised that you would get the herbs tomorrow evening. You also told her that you wouldn’t be returning until the morning after and to not worry or send anyone looking for you. Apprehensive, she asked if you were sure, but you just smiled and nodded confidently in response.

After that, the conversation turned to town affairs. Mostly about the uptick in the birth rate and overall population, which was a major boon for the town, but also the fact that resources weren’t keeping up with growth. Kiyoko mentioned that the elders were becoming worried about what that would mean for future generations. Unfortunately you didn’t have any words to quell her stress, so you just gently took her hand and squeezed it. The two of you let the quiet consume the small hut before turning in for the night.

First thing the next morning you went straight to Mr. Sato and asked about anything he had from before the war. Surprised, but giddy to show anyone his memorabilia, he dragged you to the lower level of the old building he lived in to show you boxes upon boxes of magazines. After about 30 minutes of his excited babbling, he finally let you loose on the boxes and told you to let him know if you needed any help. It took you another 45 minutes of gingerly flipping through the aged pages until you came upon a printed word that you recognized.

“Candies” was printed small in the bottom right hand corner of the page. In the center was a blown up picture of an oval, green candy on a stick. Printed at the top of the page, above the picture, were a sequence of letters that if you sounded out were similar to the word Kaji said. “Suckers.”

The design seemed simple enough for you to replicate, so after that you sought out a few of the town’s children and asked them to help you find sticks. More importantly, ones that you could put food on, so not poisonous or toxic. Excited by the mystery of the task, they all pitched and then happily whittled their findings into long, smooth, uniform sticks.

With all the materials gathered, you prepared to extract the final ingredient. Blood. More specifically, yours. Kiyoko was kind enough to help you collect enough to make about 30 suckers, and once they were set in their molds you not so patiently waited for them to dry. Multiple times Kiyoko shooed you out of the kitchen, and finally the hut altogether, and told you not to come back until the sun had set. As you ambled away from the hut she chided you about being so antsy that you were stressing her out.

So to pass the time and repay the kid’s hard work, you played a few games of hide and seek as well as sharks and minnows with them. As the sun began to dip behind rubbled buildings, casting long shadows from the vines over the streets, you promised to make them some treats soon while returning to the hut. Even though it was growing late in the year, you suspected there may be some late yields of berries that you could make suckers from as well.

Kiyoko met you at the door of the hut with the suckers already wrapped up and your overnight bag in her hand. With a laugh she told you that she couldn’t let your antsiness back into the hut, lest she’d catch your stress for the rest of the night. Gratefully, you thanked her with a chuckle of your own and took both items before she shooed you off with a bright smile.

Frigid weather grew ever nearer as you approached the abandoned school. A harsh wind tore through your cardigan despite wrapping it tightly around yourself to brace against the swiftly approaching autumn. Though the mild season seemed to turn to winter quicker and quicker with each passing year. Soon you would have to break out the large Furin jacket that had been passed down to you from Kiyoko - she said it belonged to one of the Kings. Hiragi Toma.

Making your way through the doorway and up the gnarled, rooted stairs, you wondered how Kaji would feel about the town putting so many items from Bofurin to use. Halting at the top on the third floor, once again the building was eerily silent but this time you knew where to search for the fabled resident.

Except when you stepped into the doorway of the classroom, you found it to be devoid of any sign of Kaji. The bedroll now gone, the small duffel bag strewn to the side replaced with papers shifting from a wayward breeze. Your heart wrenched as your eyes confirmed that all signs of Kaji had been swept away, though you weren’t sure why but you felt a lump forming in your throat and tears collecting along your lash line over someone you’d just met.

Hanging your head with a sorrowful sigh as you stepped backwards out of the classroom, but then a loud gasp escaped you as your back hit something incredibly hard and unmoving. Swiftly turning on your heel with raised fists to face the offending obstruction, but you were instead met with a pair of familiar cerulean irises.

“Kaji!” Crying out immediately as a wide smile spread across your face, the sound of your hammering heart echoed in his ears. He stared back in shock, mostly due to your expression that was mixed with excitement and… relief. “I thought you had left. Where’d all of your stuff go?” You asked with a worried tilt of your head, and again Kaji just blinked at your genuine concern.

“Uh,” his voice sounded a little hoarse before he cleared it with a cough behind his fist. “Winter’s coming, and the direction of the sun starts changing day by day, so I have to move a lot throughout autumn and spring to be safe.” He explained, and your gaze followed his gesture to one classroom over before coming back to his still regarding you with a mix of solace and disbelief.

Nodding slowly as you took in all of the windows in the hallway, and the large ones in the classroom. For a moment you wondered why he wouldn’t just cover them, but as your gaze returned to his worn Furin jacket it dawned on you that it was probably familiar to him this way. Awkwardly, Kaji averted his gaze to the end of the hall with another cough behind his fist, which reminded you of the suckers. Quickly patting the pockets of your cardigan and tunic, drawing Kaji’s attention back to you with interest, and then you suddenly produced the wrapped bundle with a triumphant aha! Beaming brightly as you thrusted the wrapped package into his hands, but Kaji just stared at them for a moment before looking at you, completely perplexed.

“Open it!” You urged him with a laugh. Blinking slowly, then turned his attention back to the cloth in his hands as he slowly unwrapped it to reveal a slew of blood red candies on beige, whittled sticks.

Suckers.

All he could do was stare at them for a long, long moment. Then, ardently, he took one of the sticks between his thumb and index finger before bringing the candy to his lips and stuck it between his teeth. Iron was the first thing he tasted, then something freshly herbaceous, and finally creamy Peach Chupa Chup flooded his mouth.

You observed the sucker pass his lips closely as his eyes fell shut, and then his brow creased in recognition before smoothing out completely with an expression of unbridled satisfaction. When his eyes cracked open to meet your gaze again, they were misty and filled with deep, nostalgic longing. Tentatively, you threw him a tiny smile - hoping that you did something right by him, instead of making him sadder. Instantly, he stifled a sob - trying to swallow it down - as he was reminded of all the times the townspeople offered him food and sweets with a grateful smile.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry!” Exclaiming as you shifted your weight from foot to foot, having no idea how to comfort him. His face crumpled as he just shook his head at you and choked on his words. After several seconds of the hall being filled with echoing chokes and sniffles, you swallowed thickly and stepped forward.

Kaji stilled as he felt your arms wrap around his torso and squeeze him tightly. Words were never something that came easily to you in these situations, but you had some experience with the town’s children. Whenever they would cry and couldn’t speak about it, you’d just hug them as tight as you could until they were able to speak again. So that’s what you did - hugged Kaji with all of your strength while rubbing his back comfortingly while softly humming the same tune from the day before. With each intake of breath, your lungs were filled with his essence of wood smoke, copal incense, and bitter marigolds.

Eventually the trembling from his sobs subsided and he was stuck standing in your embrace, utterly stunned. Peering down, he had to stifle a laugh at your scrunched face pressed against his chest to counter the melodic lullaby you were humming into his jacket; accentuated by you clinging onto him with all your might. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around you as well, the lullaby stopping short in your throat, as he buried his nose into the top of your head while crushing you into his chest.

“Thank you for the suckers,” susurrating into your hair as his eyelids fell shut. Several minutes passed of you remaining perfectly still while Kaji held you close, breath puffing into your hair rhythmically.

To him you smelled like any other witch that has wandered through: cedar soaked in cypriol oil, clouded in labdanum incense - reminiscent of the old candlelit rituals that would be held by the stone walls of the school. But underneath he kept catching whiffs of creamy, sweet peaches - the aroma that drew him to you and filled his mind with dreams of the old days. The aroma that kept weaving visions of you into those same dreams with a sense of comforting nostalgia he didn’t quite understand.

Eventually, you felt your legs going to sleep from standing for so long, so you peered up at him cautiously. Kaji jumped slightly as your hair shifted against his nose, and when he cracked his eyes he was met with yours just inches away. From here he could feel the warmth of your breath fanning against his neck and jaw. Swallowing thickly, the sucker clinked against his teeth, as he gradually released you though he didn’t step away - your body heat still radiated through the gray sweatshirt to his skin underneath.

“Um,” murmuring as you shifted your weight awkwardly under his unblinking stare. “I hope it’s okay - I brought an overnight bag,” declaring as you held up the burlap sack, “to stay the night…” you quietly trailed off as Kaji’s eyes widened to an impossible degree.

Before you could tell him that it was okay if not, or that you could even sleep in a different classroom, he nodded his head stiffly. Grinning wide, you started to ask him where you should put your stuff, but he grabbed your hand tightly and led you to the classroom he gestured at earlier. To your surprise, he didn’t let go until you were settled across from him on his bedroll, and when he finally did his eyes stayed glued to your hand for a moment before meeting your sympathetic gaze. Everything about him - from his eyes, to his expression and demeanor, to the clothes he wore and the place he resided - screamed loneliness.

“Did you bring anything to sleep on?” He finally spoke, gaze drifting to your bag that couldn’t possibly hold a bedroll, then back to your bright red face.

“Well, um, kind of…” you laughed out sheepishly. “But I don’t really sleep on a bedroll at home - me and Kiyoko sleep on some old rugs that have lasted. So I just brought one that would fit,” explaining quickly as you opened the sac to reveal a printed mat that would maybe fit about half of your body. Kaji just stared at it incredulously for a moment before shooting you a deadpan look.

“You can take my spot,” he stated with a nod to the bedding the two of you were currently sitting on. Your mouth fell open as a hot, prickly sensation crawled over your body.

“Absolutely not! I can’t take your bed.” Arguing with a vehement shake of your head, before you continued seriously, “I sleep on the floor all the time anyway, so I’m used to it, and I just showed up without any real invitation. It would be rude of me to take it,” finishing your point with a decisive nod of your head. The corner of Kaji’s mouth twitched at your change in tone and the determined notch in your brow.

“Then we’ll share it,” Kaji conceded, despite the subtle twitch of his lips, his expression had returned to deadpan at this point. Before you could argue any further, he smoothly added, “you did show up without any real invitation. It would be rude of you not to take the sleeping arrangements offered.”

All protests died on your tongue as you slowly closed your mouth and relented with a small nod. Though there was barely any change in his expression, you did catch a triumphant gleam in his cerulean eyes and your heart swelled at the tiny change in his affect. The two of you sat there quietly as the dusk turned dark while the classroom became shadowy. Eventually it was difficult to see Kaji at all, and when you heard a bang from the roof you jumped with a high pitched squeak.

Click, click, click. Suddenly the room was bathed in soft yellow light from a lamp in the corner where Kaji now stood. Breathing a sigh of relief, you watched as he settled on the bedding once more - your expression worried and questioning.

“Animals,” he explained after a moment - finally catching on to your silent inquiry. Instantly your eyes lit up with intrigue. It’s been years since any animals other than humans have been recorded in town. Honestly, it was assumed most died out centuries ago. “I guess you all don’t really get the chance to see them - most turned nocturnal a few hundred years after the war. Just generally safer for them I guess,” he elaborated, satiating your intrigue.

“How big?” Leaning forward, bringing notes of sweet herbs and warm incense to his nose, as your eyes widened with excitement. Kaji smiled softly at you, relishing in the genuine human connection he’s missed for… God knows how long at this point. Then, he went on to tell you that it was mostly small animals: birds, rodents, some insects that have survived, and on occasion larger animals (mostly in the winter): deer, coyotes, the occasional bear. The latter, he explained that he’d scare them away from the paths that lead to town, but still let them eat what they needed.

You listened intently, eyebrows shooting up at the mention of bears, and your entire face lit up when he mentioned seeing a butterfly only a few summers back. Seeing Kaji being so open, you took the opportunity to ask about the old town, and he was gracious enough to share.

He told you about how the town was kind of dangerous back in the day, because of turf wars between people, and how that led to the creation of Bofurin. You observed his face light up and eyes become distant as he regaled the times he had with his friends, even naming and telling you about some of them. Most you already knew from the records - Umemiya, Hiragi, Enomoto, Kusumi - but it was different hearing about them first hand. When he told you about how the townspeople used to depend on them, and celebrated them for protecting the town by giving them treats, you started to understand his reaction from before.

Eventually, as Kaji’s stories petered out, he finally asked what he’s been most worried about. How is the town doing now?

Throwing him a kind smile, you told him everything you could. First you told him about the elders, most of whom were designated to keep and care for the items passed down from Bofurin members. Though he looked happy about it, you still didn’t mention the piece you inherited - Hiragi Toma’s Furin jacket. Next, you mentioned how things were scarce sometimes, but for the most part you all managed, and how the population has actually been growing as of late. He seemed overjoyed by that fact, so you were careful when sharing some of Kiyoko’s fears about resources not keeping up with the new growth.

Kaji looked perturbed over this and asked why you all couldn’t make more - assuming that the greenery was due to the witches’ magic. With a sad shrug you explained that magic couldn’t fix everything, and that the greenery was a bit of its own miracle that the witches couldn’t really take credit for. At your admission Kaji seemed confused, but also maybe a little happy that it wasn’t the witches’ doing. Though you didn’t ask him outright, after a quiet moment he shared that the original garden was Umemiya’s that was started at least half a century ago at this point. He didn’t know how or why it took over the town, but he was glad that it did because he knew Umemiya would be really happy about it still helping the town.

“That makes me really happy too,” murmuring earnestly, which earned you a surprised glance from Kaji. “I’m really grateful to you, and the rest of Bofurin. None of us would be here if you all hadn’t fought for us,” you said genuinely with a firm nod. Kaji simpered despite his gruff demeanor before nodding as well, then the bright white moon caught his eye through the window. He hadn’t noticed how high it was in the sky until now.

“Did you sleep at all before coming here?” He asked as his gaze cut sharply to yours. Again, you sheepishly laughed and shook your head. Kaji rolled his eyes at you before moving to pull back the blanket.

“It’s already 3am - go to sleep,” he instructed, his tone slightly admonishing but lacked any true malice. Tittering softly, you crawled up the bedroll and slipped under the blanket. Kaji laid the blanket over you, and then began to settle on top of the bedding next to you.

“What are you doing?” Demanding as you sat up, untucking the blanket completely, Kaji just blinked at you before gesturing at the bed.

“Going to sleep. Like you should be doing,” he admonished you, but his cerulean irises couldn’t hide the amusement from the look of disbelief plastered on your face.

“You said we would share,” arguing petulantly which did elicit a chuckle from Kaji - he didn’t realize you had so much personality. “This isn’t sharing.” Defending your point as you tugged gently on the blanket that was over you and under Kaji for emphasis.

“Do witches not care about their virtue in this century?” Kaji posed with an arched brow. To his credit, he was able to maintain a cool facade as your face turned three shades redder while your mouth opened and closed like a guppy.

“That’s not it!” You snapped, crossing your arms over your chest defensively. Kaji stifled a titter at your reaction - it reminded him of Kotoha or Tsubaki. Then your shoulders drooped slightly as you threw him an earnest look before tentatively adding, “it’s just getting close to winter… I thought you’d be cold.”

Kaji was taken aback by your genuine nature, and was unable to hide the surprise on his face - brows raised, wide eyes, lips slightly parted from speechlessness. Quietly he relented with a curt nod as he climbed under the blanket, immediately you tucked yourself into his side, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face into his chest. Kaji laid there for a moment before hesitantly wrapping his arms around you as well, pulling you into his embrace.

Notes of piney-amber incense and earth-smoked musk enveloped your dreams as sleep swiftly claimed you. Kaji laid there silently as your breathing slowed within a few minutes, hot breath puffing into his sweatshirt and warming his chest. That crisp, pencil-like wood scent, accompanied by sweet cinnamon clung to you and filled the space with your soft exhalations. An indescribable amount of time had passed since the last time he had felt such warmth, and even though it had been comfortingly shared between friends, it had also been short lived. But this was different - it felt inexhaustible and safe.

When Kaji finally drifted off to sleep, his dreams were set in old Furin - patrolling with his friends, but oddly enough he kept catching glimpses of you. Never directly, just a swish of your tunic as you turned a corner, or a flick of your hair through the window of Pothos but when he looked you were gone. Near the end he was certain you were there, somewhere in town, as he desperately trailed after your scent through the streets and down alleyways. He woke before he could find you in his dreams, but his body sagged with relief the moment he found you still sleeping soundly in his arms.

Ch 2, Ch 3, Ch 4 (links will be added as they are finished)

Master List (I have no rights to these characters, the works they come from, or the art/screenshots/manga panels used in this post. Screenshots taken from pinterest or google, so if you know the creator please lmk! Divider is from @sweetmelodygraphics )

Tag List: None so far, but lmk if you would like to be added for this series or my other Wind Breaker Works!

#wind breaker x reader #windbreaker x reader #pernesophe #sp's headspace #fluff #kaji x reader #kaji ren x reader #kaji ren x you #vampire kaji x reader #witch reader #post apocalyptic au

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