#he’s so desperate for his hat . that’s the most important thing to him . the way he holds onto it after he grabs onto it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

orshii · 2 months ago

Text

Destiny Awaits

☀︎ Pairing: Jeong Yunho x female reader ☀︎ Word count: 5,5 k ☀︎ Warnings - mentions of death, mentions of child abuse, necromancy

☀︎ Summary: The Sunrise Kingdom plunged into deep sorrow with the death of the King’s daughter. Desperate to bring her back, Yunho was determined to find a way, just like her father, the king. Will they succeed in restoring her to life, or will they ultimately have to let her go for good?

☀︎ A/N: Heyy, I'm back omg. I haven't posted in like two months, a lot happened in my life, but finally, I settled a bit down and I can get back to writing, which I really did miss because it was always like therapy for me. So about this story...One part of the story was already written years ago, it was inspired by Orianna's story (if you play LoL you will understand lmao) the other side was in a process months ago, so I finally put it together when this happened. I hope the POV's are understandable, let me know if it's not. The whole thing is not a big deal, it's just a beautiful story that means a lot to me. That is all, I guess, enjoy and I hope I can come back to writing more. Byee! xoxo orshii (divider)

Once upon a time, there was the Sunrise Kingdom, where only peace existed. The folks always respected their beloved king, who made everyone feel at home and fulfilled every wish they whispered into the sunrise.

The king had a sweet little daughter, Y/N, who loved to dance. Her heart was full of passion, and her soul danced to the sounds of the world. Her father loved her with every inch of his heart because he had no one left in this Kingdom besides his people.

Y/N's mother tragically died when she was born, as their souls switched places and her mother lived in her daughter's heart from then on.

The king's daughter grew up in the blink of an eye, and she lived her best life. Her days were spent dancing around the castle full of sunshine and meeting with her best friend Yunho, who was the second most important person in the world. He was a boy who she met in the crowded streets when she was visiting their people with her father.

Yunho was a tall boy even though they were quite little when they met. His sincere smile which beamed only happiness, immediately made the little girl's heart warm up. He always wore clothes made out of cheap material, it was ripped here and there because they were overused, and his white shirt with some strings on its neck was always dirtied with soot and soil just like his face.

When she saw him for the first time, the boy was playing on his violin for the people passing by him enjoying the sound the instrument made, brightening their day up. A little black hat was on the floor as it waited for some pennies from the people who passed by. And when she heard the sweet voice of the violin, she immediately wanted to find the source of the sound. As soon as she saw him, the girl felt like she had become a new person that did not exist until that moment.

The boy played the violin with so much passion on his face she couldn't get her eyes off him. The boy's features were soft and he seemed in the girl's eyes, he was a person who would give you the world. She immediately started to connect with the boy with an invisible line that connected them like it was destiny.

And the music he was playing...it was like he was playing with the strings of her heart. It was speaking to her soul and the sweet sounds of the violin full of sunshine and passion, made her little feet immediately dance.

She couldn't resist. The boy was playing the violin with closed eyes so he could convey the feelings that he felt about his life. The girl started to dance in front of him, spinning around with graceful moves with closed eyes, so she could convey her soul to the music.

It was like everything went black around them and the boy was standing there now with wide-open eyes as he watched the girl dance to his music with burning passion. He was in awe as he had never seen someone this passionate about something. It made him play with the desire to get to know this girl who danced full of life in her heart. As the boy watched the girl dance to his music, he imagined the violin's notes escaping from his instrument and the girl dancing on them, hopping from one to one like a ballerina, jumping in the air to catch the sweet notes of the violin, chasing them so it can light up her soul.

From that day, they became inseparable. They were glued to each other as they met every day. Sometimes it was the place was the poor and warm home of Yunho's and sometimes it was the rich surroundings of Y/N's castle. They grew up together into beautiful humans, no one could compete with their unique beauty.

Not until the world suddenly went quiet.

It was a dark and tragic day, even though the sun was shining with its full power. But when the king's daughter suddenly collapsed on the floor when she was dancing, the world became voiceless. It was deaf silent. The beaming sun hid behind the dark clouds and it never came back just like the girl's soul. As abruptly as it happened, just as abruptly did she leave this life.

The Kingdom of Sunrise became the Kingdom of Grief.

The king almost died of the loss of his daughter. The Kingdom was in mourning for years. While the people slowly got over the death of their beloved princess, the king was unable to. But something kept him going, perhaps the memory of his little daughter and the dear wife he loved so much. They lived in his heart for eternity.

Something felt strange—I was back in the throne room where I spent so much time as a child, sitting on the floor asking the maids to play with me, because I had no one else to play with. Only my father who was by my side every time his time let him. He was the king of Sunrise Kingdom; he was busy with the duties and responsibilities a king needed to keep.

The throne room looked the same, the main colors were light beige as the pillars held the ceiling that reached the sky, it looked like it had no end, and the beautiful landscape of the Sunrise Kingdom was painted on the walls by famous painters all around the world. There was one painting behind the throne, that was made out of glass.

This painting illustrated the most anticipated phenomenon in this Kingdom and it got its name because of it; the sunrise. This sunrise was beyond the imagination. When the sun decides to wake up early in the morning, it starts as usual; the sun rises, creating a breathtaking landscape, where it ascends from behind the big mountains, painting the land in yellow and orange colors. The mountains that are all around the Kingdom, embrace it, creating a protecting wall. But that is not all, as the sun slowly rises, suddenly it disappears and darkness swallows the Kingdom for a few minutes. This happens because the mountains are so huge that they block the rising sun, but as it climbs higher, the sun gradually reappears, making it look like the sun is rising two times in the Kingdom, painting the sky with light colors, awaking the folks to start their day as the natural miracle guides the way through the day.

This is the reason the Kingdom got its name, because miracles happen here and the people who live here believe in miracles.

And as I looked around the throne room, it felt like it wasn't real. As if I was in a dream, where I had no physical body. Then I spotted my father, sitting on the throne made out of glass, as his eyes were staring at the floor. His gaze was now dark and hopeless, that once was full of light and kindness. He was leaning to the side of the throne made out of glass, his head supported by his elbow. He looked like he wasn't in this world like he was lost in between the realms that were full of demons.

'Oh, my sweet, caring father, who was by my side since I was little, he protected me from the nightmares that hunted me in my sleep, from the people who tried to disown me from this world. He protected me from the world not letting the bad take over him. He was still a caring and lovable father, and seeing him like this made my heart break. I have never seen him in a melancholy, that made him forget where he was.

"My dear, father why are you so sorrowed?" I spoke with a soft voice, reaching my hand towards his face, where a single teardrop escaped his eyes. I reached my hands but as my fingertips were close to his face, it just melted into his wrinkled face.

"Oh, my precious little daughter…" My father sobbed into his hands; my heart shattered into pieces seeing him like this.

"I'm here, father, look at me." I wanted to lift his head to look at me, but my hands had no grip, it went through my father's face like it wasn't even there.

I was frozen in place, time stopped ticking, and my finger froze to his face where the teardrop fell over it like it wasn't even there. I looked down at my body, it was still me…but— something was wrong. My hands traveled to my chest, waiting for the familiar pumping of my chest—it did not come. Then I glanced at the throne where I could see my reflection and I saw myself but I was as white as a swan, my skin looking pale as I touched my cheek, the once pink lips were gone, almost looking white with a hint of light blue, my cheeks that were always blushing of how warm I felt, now gone. I was wearing a white dress that almost melted into my skin. The warmth of my body that the sun always filled up, now felt like the cold winter that always hunted the Kingdom with its icy weather and dark sky.

Once I was the embodiment of summer, now I looked like the cruel winter. It made me realize—I was not alive.

The king just couldn't get over his sweet little daughter's passing. It was torturing in a way that made him feel like it was not worth living anymore. He remained alone in the world he created alongside his daughter. They created this Kingdom together...and now the light of the Kingdom was not living with them anymore. The sun did rise two times in the morning, but its light faded away the longer the king's daughter passed away. The Kingdom went into deep grief, the once happy folks that went around the streets singing joyfully, now passed by each other not even looking at each other.

The king stood on the balcony of his massive castle, towering over the landscape like a shadow. Yet, it offered the people a safe haven, a place they could always run to whenever they felt unsafe. And that was the purpose of the king, so his people would gladly run to him every time they needed help because he wanted to help.

But looking down at his people, walking on the streets without joy, the sun not shining as bright as it used to be. It was like the weather was cooperating with people's emotions—who became slowly emotionless, which led the Kingdom to let the darkness embrace it through the dark clouds that never appeared there before.

The King had reached his limit—he would not abandon his people, nor allow his beloved daughter to die. He knew he had to ask for a favor.

And that favor led the King to ride beyond his Kingdom to a wicked witch, who hid in the depths of the Sea of Tears. The Sea of Tears were piled up by the tears of people who only cried because of joy, they could make a wish if they cried, but only if it was because they were happy. The ones who were heartbroken, and mournful, had no chance in there, they needed to seek happiness just to wish for their deepest desires.

The King and the witch encountered once, when the moon broke into two and when the stars poured like rain from the bright sky. The King saved the witch from a monster that wanted to suck the life out of her.

So, the witch owned him one. And the king went to ask for that favor. It almost took one year to find the witch and to make a deal with her.

Months later the king announced to his people a miracle that no one believed was possible.

My dearest people, He shouted as he was standing on the balcony of his castle full of grief.

Our Kingdom lost something so precious that is impossible to replace; our princess who is solely going to live in our hearts forever.

That is what I assumed, could make me live more than one day; but it was not enough for my breaking heart, I couldn't stand the pain anymore.

I struck a deal with someone so I could see my sweet daughter once more, perhaps even have her by our sides forever.

However, I need your dearest support in that; the witch of the Sea of Tears created a doll for me that looks exactly like my daughter. She helped me create my daughter, but there is a predicament.

My daughter's soul can find a home in the doll's plush heart, but it will only awaken if it hears pure music played on an instrument that once resonated with a passion beyond this world.

This is the only way we could bring back our princess. I count on every one of you.

Let us bring her home, together!

Yunho’s pov

It was almost half a decade ago, that she died. The world has not been the same since. It went dark, happiness just stopped existing. Especially for me. She was the light in my miserable days, she was the person who melted my cold heart whenever she danced to the sounds coming from my violin. It made both of us burn with passion for music.

But she was gone, and it felt like the music died with her too.

I haven't been playing since that day. I just couldn't get myself to play on my violin, because it reminds me of her and my heart aches physically if I think about her. Because even though I played the violin, she made the music coming from it, live. It was magical when she danced. I always imagined her, with colours sparkling around her, as she spun around to the sound of my violin. As her big, blue eyes closed to feel the music, as her rosy lips curved up, as she always beamed happiness, the pink ballet shoes on his feet, that were worn out from the constant dancing, but she loved it so much, she would've never changed it to a new one.

I played on the violin since I could walk, I loved it because it made me disconnect from the world. I needed that, my father was beating me almost every evening, as he always came home drunk as a skunk, I didn't do anything but he just hit me and shouted into my face that the reason why our mother left us was me.

The reason is still a mystery why my mother left us, and I think I will never find it out. I needed to take care of my little brother and save him from our father, who slowly killed the humanity inside of him, from the wound our mother left behind.

So, I started to play the violin on the streets, hoping I could make a living from it. At first, people just stared at me. What did a little boy like me do on the streets with an old violin?

But as I started to play, they snapped their heads toward me, surprised at how good I was. People enjoyed my music and I enjoyed the attention and money I got.

And then one day a little girl came. When I saw her while I was playing, I couldn't breathe. She looked mesmerizing and when she started dancing, I felt like my heart was going to explode. We became friends from that day, as music connected our souls. We were inseparable, we learned a lot of things from each other, we played around a lot, we fought, then laughed. She was the sun in my dark world, even though we were living in Sunrise Kingdom, even though we saw the sun rise two times a day, she was my sunrise. And as she died, there was no sun for me anymore to rise.

It was almost three years ago, since the King announced the miracle, that the doll comes to life if you play an instrument with passion. When I heard it, I finally felt a little hope crawl through my soul. What is it, if not destiny, when music was the thing that connected us? I was so happy I could bring her back; I was sure if I played for this doll on my violin, she was going to come back to me. I didn't even think about the fact it might not happen, because it seemed so obvious, that I was the one who needed to get her back.

But she did not come back, she didn't even move a little. I was so desperate to bring her back, but when she didn't move, I just got so disappointed, in myself, in music, and in the King for giving us hope. I felt so angry I just couldn't control my feelings and I broke my violin into pieces along with my heart. Music was the only thing that connected us, but she was not here and I just couldn't play anymore, so I just left the pieces of my violin in the old room where the doll's blue eyes just stared at me unmoving, and I left not even looking back.

It was the fifth anniversary of her death; I was heading to the Lake of Freedom. It was our place with Y/N. We always played, danced, and argued here, it was special to both of our hearts and we knew we would find the other here if it was needed. This was the reason I came here every year on the day she died. It felt like she was there with me like a piece of her stayed in this place not being able to move on.

The lake was especially beautiful today. It was surrounded by colourful trees, as autumn was near the corner. It was a mixture of red, orange, and brown colours, and the leaves fell right into the lake, like feathers, as life slowly died out of it. The dead leaf falls upon the Lake of Freedom, finding its way out from the prison that is hanging on a tree for an eternity flowing away just to drown in the dark depths of the lake.

This was how I exactly felt since she died, I just couldn't find happiness anymore in my life. What could I do when the light that kept me going was now gone? How is it possible to move on? When the darkness that calls me is more comforting than trying to find the light, it's easier to just be and drown the emptiness of my chest.

"Excuse me, boy, for interrupting your train of thought…" I heard a voice coming from behind as I was sitting on the rock that we called 'The Theater' with Y/N, which is the theater of our imaginations.

I turned towards the source of the voice and I spotted an old man, standing with a white sack hanging from his right shoulder, his face was wrinkled from the ages, his back humped from, I assumed, the constant carrying things, he seemed he was a wanderer, who had his whole life packed into a rusty and big sack.

"Yes? How can I help you, sir?" I answered kindly, showing him respect.

"Can I ask you a favor, boy?" He coughed while approaching me slowly.

"Of course!"

"You seem like someone who can play on a violin." He eyed me up and down, as I was wearing my worn-out white shirt, with some laces on it, paired with black pants and my worn-out shoes.

"I haven't been playing in years, and I do not plan to," I stated. There was just no point in it anymore.

"Can you make one last exception for me and my wife?" He asked, deep emotions like grief and resignation playing on his wrinkled face. He saw my confused look so he continued, "This is the place where my wife died." He stated as his eyes wandered away to the dark lake. "We were in our late twenties when we were here with my wife. We played around, chasing the other, laughing around. We felt free, just as the lake's name says. But soon it became the Lake of Suffering because suddenly all I saw was my wife running away from me as I was chasing her, she got so excited she didn't see where she was stepping, she fell, and instantly hit the back of her head…" The old man's eyes welled up with tears, "She fell into the lake and it was too late for me to save her, I was too far away."

My breath was stuck in my throat as I imagined the traumatic story the old man told me. It's interesting how a place where you feel free and yourself, becomes a torture, like a prison with no windows to the world, just the dark.

"My condolences, sir." I tilted my head down a little as a sign of my sympathy. We both lost someone special in our hearts.

"She loved to play the violin, she always looked so beautiful doing it. And her music…it was nothing compared to this world." The old man stared into the lake as he said, a little life burning in him as he remembered his wife playing the instrument.

"I would be glad to play for her." I couldn’t believe what I said, but for once it wasn't for me, or Y/N. It was for a man who lost his lover—well I wasn't far away from that as well.

The old man's eyes sparkled as I walked next to him, seeing the end of the violin peaking from his sack. He nodded as I reached my hands towards it at that, and took it into my hands. It felt nice holding a violin after years, it felt like a piece of life got back into me. And the violin looked so beautiful. The touch of it felt like it was made out of rosewood, painted with the color of gold. It had sharp features with the right gracefulness. I have never seen a violin this mesmerizing.

When I lifted it under my chin and started to play on the string of the violin with the bow, I instantly closed my eyes and with that, I closed the world out as well. I played the melody that I played on the day I met Y/N. And it felt like I jumped back in time to that day and lived it again like a miracle. I saw her face clearly as the melody flew out of my violin on the street. The way her eyes sparkled because of the joy she felt. It took me back to that time and my heart started to beat as fast as that day. I watched her dance gracefully, but as my music got wilder and louder, she danced towards me and suddenly she disappeared in the black fog.

I immediately opened my eyes and the black fog wasn't in the vision I saw, it was all around us, the lake completely invisible, and the old man was standing next to me staring into the darkness like something bewitched him. I wanted to stop playing, but he pointed toward the dark fog and said, 'Look, don't you dare stop!' without even glancing at me. I averted my gaze from the old man to the fog as I was still playing, the melody got a little deeper, and sadder when I saw something sparkle between the dark mist. It seemed like a butterfly but bigger and it was illuminated with something that did not belong to this realm. Then it started to dance towards me, fighting through the darkness as some hands tried to grab it, but they remained empty-handed as they fought through the demons and got closer to me. I just couldn't breathe when that thing was fully visible.

It was her.

The girl I was craving for, the girl I lost and never got back. The girl who visited me in my nightmares just to turn them into sweet dreams. There she was, the girl I loved with my whole heart.

But something was wrong. It wasn't her entirely. She was pale, her used-to-be red cheeks were now as white as a wall, her rosy lips were now blue like the sky, and her eyes did not spark with life. It was her soul, that was slowly drying out.

"Y/N!" I whispered through my lips as I was frozen in place, but my unconscious still kept playing on the violin, because I knew if I stopped, she was going to disappear for good.

"Oh, Yunho, dear, I knew you could save me from this torture…" I heard her weak voice as she flew closer to me, she looked exactly like a ghost as she reached her hands towards my warm cheeks. I didn't feel her touch and as I looked into her eyes, it was full of tears that flew down her pale cheeks and it never landed on the ground.

I was breathing quickly, my heart pounded in my chest, the blood in my veins racing through my body, catching on fire as so many emotions got back into me that I did not feel since she died.

"Listen old man! You have to hurry up to the castle and call the King! Tell him to bring the doll he made for his daughter to the lake! Tell him Yunho might know how to bring his daughter back…" I told the old man who was standing next to me in awe.

"Hurry up, we don't have time!" I yelled at the man, as I started to get impatient, I didn't know how much she could keep up, I didn't want to lose her again.

I was still playing, I didn't even notice what I was playing, my hands were hurting but I did not care because all I could focus on was the beautiful face in front of me.

"I am glad you finally found me, Yunho." She smiled at me but it wasn't real, it felt like she just wanted to make me believe everything was okay.

"I am sorry it took me so long, Y/N…" One teardrop escaped my eye as she immediately wanted to wipe it off, but still nothing.

"No, Yunho, I'm okay, everything will be okay…" She whispered as tears fell on her cheeks like a waterfall.

I just couldn't watch her struggle anymore I knew she was fighting between the real and the dead world, she just needed a hand to pull her back to our life.

So, I just dropped the violin as sudden silence fell on us all I was hearing was her screaming, "No! Yunho don't st—," She couldn’t finish the sentence because she disappeared.

My heart was in my ears I didn't hear anything as I looked down at my hands. I was grabbing onto something. "Come back to me…please," I whispered into the dark fog, that slowly started to disappear. I felt something hold onto my hands, and as I looked down a hand was interlaced with mine and slowly a body started to appear in front of me, that looked human-like, that belonged to this world.

It was her again. But her hands now felt warm, her big, blue eyes were sparkling with life, her cheeks were red and his lips were back to their natural rosy color. She came back to me and I couldn't believe my eyes, she was so mesmerizingly beautiful like she did not belong to this world. But I knew she did belong to this world, beside me.

When I saw him, it felt like it was just the usual nightmares that I had dreamt through the years. My nightmares were always about him playing peacefully, then dark hands grabbing him, just to drown him in the dark mist. But the hands never came, he was still there playing with his eyes closed and it felt like we jumped back in time when we first met at the street. The sweet scenario played in front of me when the real nightmare started.

The black hands appeared, but they wanted me, not Yunho. I would gladly sacrifice myself for him if it came to him living peacefully. The hands grabbed me, I got used to it, I didn't know how long I had been in between the worlds but it felt like an eternity, it felt like I was never going to escape from here, I couldn't even die, let alone live. It was torture being there, and seeing my loved ones feel sad because of me, seeing them give up on life just because I died. It was not fair, because I screamed for them to let me go and live instead of me. But they just never listened and they slowly gave in to the darkness. My father followed the same path as Yunho.

And it hurt, it felt like I didn't matter because I did not want this. I wanted them to move on, but they just couldn't and then I decided, no matter what, I was going to come back to the real world, even if I had to fight against my demons. It was a long way and I knew I could trust Yunho; he was my only hope in the dark world I existed in.

And when he looked at me with those big doe eyes. I knew it was worth all the struggle I went through, it was worth fighting with the dark hands that got me in a chokehold, they chained me to this world between the living and the dead, they were feeding from my memories, from my screams, from me. But now, I only needed my last power to leave the demons behind. They were clinging to my back when Yunho saw me, they were trying to pull me back to the dark, whispering that I could never go back, that I was a fool, but I fought against them and didn't let them bring me back.

The melodies escaping from his violin started to feed me with power as I reached my hands towards his face that I starved to touch, but never got to touch. He looked at me like I was his whole world, his face looked tired but full of care like the little Yunho I got to know.

Then he suddenly disappeared and a black hand on my mouth pulled me back to the dark fog, and I got lost in it again, drowning in the feeling of void, the feeling of nothing. I wanted to scream but the hand did not pull away as it pulled me deeper and deeper into the dark sea, where more demons awaited.

But something anchored me to the real world because they were struggling to pull me deeper, a bunch of black hands were pulling me by my right hand, but something so strong was holding my left hand, that it almost broke me in half. The anchor that pulled my left hand was so much stronger as I felt more distance between the black hands and me, they tried to reach me, but it was too late because sudden light hit my eyes that blinded me and I felt something hit my chest with a power that was the last blow I needed to get back into the real world.

Then I fell into two welcoming warm hands and I felt like after an eternity of struggling I was finally at home again, in between the hands of the boy I fell in love with the moment I saw him play the instrument with a passion that immediately fired my little heart, and that fire never seemed to burn out, even when I wasn't alive, the burning of my chest made me keep going, made me feel even though it was impossible in between the two worlds. I did feel, that something invisible connected me to the real world, which led me to Yunho's warm heart, where the same flame was burning in his chest.

"You finally came back to me." I heard his sweet voice, and as my heart started to beat impossibly fast, I felt like I might die again.

"I came back to you." Then I kissed him on his sweet lips because that was the last thing, I needed to feel alive after being in nothing but cold without any feelings. I finally woke up from a never-ending dream just so I could keep dancing to his melodies. I needed him to feel alive because he brought me back to life, that was impossible in this world.

But as you can see nothing is impossible in the Sunrise Kingdom, miracles do exist—because the sun rises two times as well; just as I did.

-Ateez masterlist-

71 notes · View notes

mochiwrites · 9 months ago

Note

For the ask game/prompt, mayhaps #1 with Scarian? Could be in canon, one of your AUs, or any other AU you think of lol, no preference ☺️

01. Touch starved/cuddle curse (put that guy in a situation!)

reblogs do more than likes!

"How in the world have you managed this, Scar?!" Grian's indignant voice exclaims, echoing in the small space of Scar's train car. The avian looks down at the man currently pouting at him, a sheepish expression on his face.

"I-I don't know! Joel just gave me this potion thingy and -- and said it would be good for bonding with cOW!" As he speaks, he makes a grabbing motion for Grian, his pout morphing into a pleading look.

Grian pointedly takes a step back from Scar's outreaching arms, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Trusting Joel was your first mistake," he mumbles, sucking in a breath.

"He's a trustworthy fellow!" Scar retorts, "Besides, I don't see what's so bad about this arrangement... all I want to do is cuddle with you."

"That's exactly the problem, Scar!" The feathers of Grian's wings fluff up as he stares at his husband with a firm look. "I have building I have to do! Shops to set up, permits to not do! I also promised Gem I'd help her out with something in a few hours. I can't just stay here with you all day."

Scar's pleading expression only becomes stronger, his green eyes looking shiny as he stares up at Grian from where he sits on his head. "Please, lovebird? Just for a little bit?" He makes another grabbing motion for Grian, who finds his resolve rapidly crumbling the longer he looks at Scar.

"Nuh uh mister, I know exactly how this sort of thing goes. We both know it won't just be 'for a little bit,'" he answers. Grian's making any desperate attempts at keeping his denial firm.

But... he could just tell Gem he'd be around tomorrow. And it's not like the Permit Office is really ever open. They're only sometimes there to help anyway. And he still hasn't come up with any ideas for his mushroom stem shop.

"I promise this time I'll stick to it! Only a few hours, I swear on my hat!" Scar exclaims, eagerly nodding.

"Where have I heard that one before," Grian mumbles under his breath, fondness written into each and every word. He lets out a little sigh, "Alright, alright, fine. But only for a few hours! Let's hope this... cuddle affliction has run its course by then."

He takes a step toward Scar, and the moment he's close enough, a hand jumps out to grab hold of his wrist. Grian yelps as he's pulled right into Scar's lap, arms slinging around his waist. He steadies himself by gripping Scar's shoulders, finding the love of his life grinning at him.

"You should know I always want to cuddle with you." Scar shoots him a cheeky little wink, making Grian roll his eyes, a small smile upon his lips. "You just fit in my arms so perfectly!"

"Maybe that's just because you're a giant," Grian huffs, getting settled in Scar's hold. He moves to lay his head on Scar's shoulder, tucking it within the crook of his neck. "You're like one big teddy bear."

Scar squeezes him lightly, one of his hands moving to rest against the small of his back, right in between his feathers. The contact leaves Grian melting right into him with a content noise. "Am I a cute teddy bear?"

Grian snorts at him.

"It's the most important question I've ever asked you next to proposing, Grian!" Scar gasps in return, a serious look in his eyes. His green eyes sparkle with mirth, and pressed against him like this, Grian can feel the way his chest rumbles with hidden laughter. "I have to know if I'm a cute teddy bear!"

"Yes Scar," Grian sighs fondly, pulling back to hold the man's face in his hands, "you're a very cute teddy bear." He accentuates his response with a kiss to Scar's nose, "Although Jellie is cuter."

Scar makes some kind of ecstatic noise, pulling Grian down into bed as he rolls onto his side. Grian squawks at the sudden action, just narrowly avoiding his wings getting squished. "But of course! No one is cuter than Jellie. You come in a close second place though."

If it were anyone but Jellie, Grian would have complained.

Instead, he snuggles in close to Scar, wrapping a wing around him as they fall into a comfortable silence. Scar's arms are secure around him, and Grian thinks he'd be fine with laying here all day, wrapped in his husband's arms.

"Remember Scar, only for a few hours."

"Right, right! Only a few hours. Or until this cuddle curse goes away!"

(They go well over 'a few hours' together. Grian's communicator pings a few times, but it sounds almost silent over the pair's easy breaths as they sleep.)

#mochi speaks #mochi writes #scarian #hermitshipping #secret husbands au #ask game #I needed domestic silly married scarian #I need to write them being married more often

178 notes · View notes

hollowed-theory-hall · 1 month ago

Note

Hey! 👋👋

Love the previous meta on Neville and Harry's friendship... Please share some light on the following text:

I think this idea is there, just not as explored as I would've liked it. It is just interesting that the Sword of Gryffindor chose Neville as the true Gryffindor but rejected Harry who is the Chosen One because he was chosen by the Heir of Slytherin. Idk, I feel like there is something there.

Anonymous asked:

In your last post about Neville and Harry's friendship, you mentioned something about the sword of gryffindor rejecting Harry, why? Also, would Harry fail to retrieve the sword in future if needed?

Hello to you too! 👋

Both anons are referring to this post.

Okay, so, like, I was just reading through the final chapters of DH when I was writing that meta, and it was something that I kinda thought about.

I mean, Harry says:

What was it, Harry asked himself (walking again), that Dumbledore had told him the last time he had retrieved the sword? Only a true Gryffindor could have pulled that out of the hat. And what were the qualities that defined a Gryffindor? A small voice inside Harry’s head answered him: Their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart.

(DH)

The sword of Gryffindor could be pulled out only by a true Gryffindor. It's why Dumbledore's portrait tells Snape to hide the sword in a way that would force Harry to do something brave to retrieve it. The sword can only be retrieved by a true Gryffindor in need while committing an act of bravery. In book 7, we actually see Harry failing at the things that represented him most throughout the series.

He fails at being a true Gryffindor because he fails to retrieve the sword from the lake, Ron does. Symbolically, this marks Harry as not a true Gryffindor since he did the brave act, and it was not enough.

Harry also fails at casting a Patronus for the first time since the ending of book 3:

“But you can make a brilliant Patronus!” protested Ron, when Harry arrived back at the tent empty-handed, out of breath, and mouthing the single word, dementors. “I couldn’t . . . make one,” he panted, clutching the stitch in his side. “Wouldn’t come.” Their expressions of consternation and disappointment made Harry feel ashamed. It had been a nightmarish experience, seeing the dementors gliding out of the mist in the distance and realizing, as the paralyzing cold choked his lungs and a distant screaming filled his ears, that he was not going to be able to protect himself.

(DH, 248)

“come on, Harry!” said Hermione’s voice from a very long way away. “Patronuses, Harry, come on!” he raised his wand, but a dull hopelessness was spreading throughout him: How many more lay dead that he did not yet know about? He felt as though his soul had already half left his body. . . . “HARRY, COME ON!” screamed Hermione. A hundred dementors were advancing, gliding toward them, sucking their way closer to Harry’s despair, which was like a promise of a feast. . . .

(DH, 547)

Yes, he does cast one in Hogsmeade during this book, but I find it interesting he fails in this book at the spell twice. It feels important considering it's one of the spells that define Harry the most.

Harry is more depressed than ever and less of a Gryffindor than ever before in this book, even when he isn't wearing the locket. Book 5 is Harry at his most volatile (my favorite version of him) book 7 is Harry at his most shutdown and depressed. And him failing at the Patronus, one of his most iconic charms, is another sign of this depression and of Harry feeling less like himself. Less like the brave Gryffindor he was the whole series. He isn't any less brave, he's still so incredibly brave and strong — but he feels less brave himself, like his thoughts about himself.

Dumbledore died leaving him with a mission that feels too big on him that he doesn't even know what to do with. He has a very clear goal and no idea how to get there. Book 7 Harry is depressed, and desperate and feels defeated in a way he doesn't in the other books. There are multiple occasions in this book where Harry low-key wishes he was dead. That he wishes he didn't have to be brave.

His act of bravery when retrieving the sword wasn't one of noble courage but one of resignation, of wanting to get it over with. This is the type of bravery Harry has in this book. Yes, he wants to save people, but he also just doesn't care about himself all that much anymore and wants it to be over. To end. And the sword felt it.

So, yeah, I think him failing to retrieve the sword from the lake is a symbolic representation of that. Of the fact Harry changed over the course of the series and isn't the same true Gryffindor he was at 12. Trauma, loss, and pain changed him.

In the meantime, during book 7, Neville has the opposite arc. While Harry lost bits of himself and what made up his identity before (Gryffindor and his Patronus), Neville finds more of himself. When Harry isn't there he, Ginny, and Luna lead the D.A. and the opposition at Hogwarts. And when Luna and Ginny leave, Neville remains behind even when it's dangerous and keeps fighting.

He is so incredibly brave and strong and you see how he leads the students hidden in the room of requirement. How much they grew to respect Neville over the course of that year. How he protected others at his own expense and didn't give up. When Harry couldn't retrieve the sword, Neville could.

That's what I mean by Harry and Neville having subtle opposite arcs.

Neville builds himself up while book 7 Harry keeps getting torn down before finally he walks to his death.

I think, post-book 7, Harry would go back to being able to cast a Patronus reliably, but I feel like he might never be able to pull the sword of Gryffindor again. Kinda like a symbolic representation of something that died in him (not the Horcrux, I'm talking about trauma). It's why even though I want both Neville and Harry as professors post-book 7, I want Harry as Deputy Headmaster and Neville as Head of Gryffindor because he's the true Gryffindor that led the school when a Gryffindor was needed there most. Harry was a more distant figurehead, more a symbol than a person. Neville was the general on the ground while Harry was more of a king everyone rallied around. I don't know how to put it right, but I have feelings.

Like, this isn't an overt in-your-face sort of thing, but I felt like there's something there symbolically. Harry is still a Gryffindor, of course, he is, and always will be, but he says it best:

“And quite honestly,” he turned away from the painted portraits, thinking now only of the four-poster bed lying waiting for him in Gryffindor Tower, and wondering whether Kreacher might bring him a sandwich there, “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.”

(DH)

He isn't a Gryffindor searching for action and adventure, he never really was, he always wished to be normal but took on the responsibility and sought out danger to save others because no one else would. But after everything, he feels even less like the adventure-seeking Gryffindor he is in the public's eyes.

These are just some thoughts I had while reading DH's ending 🤷🏻‍♀️.

#harry potter #hp #hp meta #asks #anonymous #hollowedtheory #hollowedheadcanon #harry james potter #neville longbottom #harry potter and the deathly hallows #deathly hallows

42 notes · View notes

ilovetheriddler · 4 months ago

Text

Birthday Celebrations.

(Arkham Games.) Edward Nigma x F!Reader.

Word Count: 744.

Contents: Some Fluff, Eddie's reluctant to admit that he cares, Kissing.

Eddie wasn't exactly even sure why he was willingly taking time away from his work to do this?! It's not like your birthday truly had any importance to him... or at least that's what he'd insist if ever asked. Truth be told, as much as he didn't want to admit it, he had grown to appreciate you and your assistance to him and his plans. So perhaps it wasn't the absolute worst thing to take a few minutes to make things a bit more... festive for your special day.

He decorated as he saw fit, It was a lot of the color green and a lot of question marks painted on everything, so more so what he'd want for birthday decorations and less so what you'd want. But for Eddie, this was still a lot of time and effort pulled away from his work to do this for you. He even went through the trouble of baking you a cake! Now... the fact that his kitchen wasn't fully working and definitely needed some work done on it did mean that it wasn't the most delicious cake, but it's the thought that counts!

You were actually somewhat taken back with surprise when you returned with the spare parts that Eddie had asked you to go retrieve for him. You honestly couldn't believe that he actually did all of this for you.

He was standing over next to the table, begrudgingly wearing a green party hat. You had to stiffle a laugh at how ridiculous it looked, but it also warmed your heart. He cleared his throat loudly.

"Well? I expect some type of excessive thanks for doing all this!"

"Thank you, Eddie, this is really sweet of you to do... I can't believe you actually remembered my birthday"

He let out a scoff sound as if he was slightly insulted by your expectance of him forgetting it.

"Don't be ridiculous! I have it written down with the rest of the important information I need..."

"Oh? So my birthday is important information to you, is it?"

"... Don't get too full of yourself over it.... i just... need it in there because you're my assistant... no other reason...."

You were a bit shocked and amused once you saw what appeared to be a faint pinkish red hue just barely present on Edward's face. Was he actually a bit flustered? The brilliant Riddler, flustered? It was unheard of, and you were enjoying the fact that you had been the cause of it. It faded after a bit, and his usual slightly irritated look resumed its proper place on his face.

"Now, I'll have to give you something at a later date because I simply didn't have any time to track you anything down as a present. Unsurprisingly because I'm quite a preoccupied man, as you're aware."

"How about a kiss?"

Your sudden request threw him off for a brief moment before he processed what you just asked for, and a somewhat smug look graced his features.

"Oh, so you want a kiss from me? I suppose i can't fault you for desiring such. After all, I am quite amazing... hmm... very well then, I guess there wouldn't be any harm in me allowing you such a thing... but... don't start expecting me to give you affection whenever you want, I don't have time for that!"

"Oh, of course... you're such a brilliant and busy man, Eddie..."

"Yes, I indeed am!"

After you had fed Edward's ego some more, he slowly backed you up against the nearest wall, his gaze intense and focused as he was clearly putting more thought into this than he'd ever admit, before crashing his lips into yours in a surprisingly somewhat desperate and needy kiss. Perhaps Eddie did need more affection than he let on? After what honestly felt like an eternity, not that you were complaining, he pulled away, his breath leaving him in heavy pants as he tried to regain some air into his lungs.

"Happy Birthday.... I guess.. I-I'm going back to my work! Batman isn't going to destroy himself at this rate!"

You watched as Edward made his way into his little workshop, clearly using it as an excuse to hide how genuinely flustered and worked up the previous moment had gotten him. You had actually got the one thing you really wanted as a gift, Eddie's affection, and with how rare that was, it was truly a priceless gift.

#dc comics #batman #arkhamverse #arkhamverse riddler #the riddler #edward nigma #the riddler x reader #edward nigma x reader #x reader #fanfic

58 notes · View notes

jimhopperlova · 1 year ago

Text

- Power Damage (18+)

18+ MDNI!!

Pairing(s): helping!jim hopper, helpless! fem reader

Summary: when reader comes home after a long shift at the diner, she finds her power is non-existent. she asks the local chief to help, but find out he helps in more ways than one.

Warning(s): large age gap (reader is 22, hop is 41), masturbation (f receiving), unprotected p in v.

i hope you enjoy! ive wrote something similar to this, but this ones a lot better. more love making than actual sex.

‘10 minutes and i can take a nice hot shower.’ you said to yourself, finishing up cleaning the tables you had. you had to be the busser and the server of course, cause why not? you sighed, continuing to look at the clock ahead of you. no, you can’t. the more you look, the more time went by slower.

it was nearing 10 o’clock, you of course having the closing shift. you didn’t mind as your boss was a nice gentleman. he always offered you free food, made sure you were comfortable in any setting, and if any customers got out of line, he was right there in tow. you couldn’t ask for a better boss.

“alright, looks like it’s your time to go. get outta here. get some rest.” speaking of, your boss had said to you as you finished your last table. you smiled brightly, the shower sounding more and more better as the day went on. you quickly put the dirty dishes and rags away where they needed to go, and quickly hung your apron up on the employee break room door. you hurriedly grabbed your winter coat, hat, and gloves. ‘warm shower, warm shower.’ you shouldn’t ask for anything too much, because then your hopes are shattered.

“what?! no!” you had managed to see that your power was off. the lightswitch didn’t work, and the oven didn’t work either. you wouldn’t be able to be warm. you did everything you thought you could to steer away from this very moment. you lived in the midwest, weather was always the worst. when people say it’s bad, it’s worse. and when people say weather is nice, its bad. there was no way of fighting off the inevitable.

great. now what? you weren’t about to sleep in your cold car nor your cold house. start a fire in the house? probably not the smartest idea. go over to everyone’s homes you know of and beg mercilessly to stay at their house until your power’s back on? better idea. but you knew that you would need to get the power back on, so you had managed to helplessly drive to the police station. you didn’t know of anyone capable of helping.. not even a handyman. maybe you can be desperate, especially when talking to the chief.

chief jim hopper was a regular at the diner. he stumbled across you one night when you were his server. clearly you made an impression on him, but of course, you are oblivious, so you didn’t really understand. until tonight when you are talking to flo, hoping the nice old lady would understand.

“listen, i.. i stumbled across a situation and i don’t know of any handyman in town. is there a way you guys could help me? i know you’ll probably tell to screw off and suck it up, but.. i really need your guys’ help. maybe give me a directory?” you asked flo in the most desperate voice you could. you were shaking of cold, and this situation just made things worse.

“ms, our hours are closed. we are only open for emergencies,” flo spoke to you, you looked at her in despair. but this was an emergency! you couldn’t be warm to save your life. maybe you could stay here overnight? pretend to be a criminal. break something. “but.. i can see what i can do.” flo then spoke. you looked at her with a smile, probably thanking her a million times. you sat down on one of the chairs, hugging yourself to try and keep yourself warm. you then watched as a door opened, and out came a tiring chief. you wanted to say hi, but things were more important right now.

“(y/n), what are you doing here? everything alright?” the chief had then asked you, and you could only smile lightly. things were alright you supposed, but you’re freezing in your boots. literally!

“oh, hey jim. yeah, uh.. everything’s fine. except my power’s out, as well as my pipes are burst. maybe i’ll just stay at a motel..” you told yourself. you hadn’t even considered that. you involuntarily facepalmed yourself at the thought of a motel. how dumb could you be?

“well.. i’m just headin’ out now. maybe i’ll stop by and check it out.” jim mentioned. you looked up at him with a wide smile. coming to the police station was the smartest idea you could have thought of.

“sir, you have a call waiting for you-“ flo started to interrupt, basically telling him not to help you. all hope was gone. he had a job to do afterall, not bother with your stupid pipes. oh. you didn’t think that could be dirty until you truly thought about it. your face emitted a deep blush, and tried your best to ignore it.

“it’s alright, flo. this shouldn’t take long.” jim said again, looking down at you as in a ‘let’s get out of here before i get pulled back into the office’. you smiled up at him and stood, leading him out to your car.

“thank you, jim. it really means a lot.” you told the chief who could only smile softly, heading to his blazer. you hopped in your nova and headed towards your home. you didn’t think anything would come between you and jim, so you only treated him as a friend. but you basically owe him a shit ton of favors for doing this for you. you didn’t know what you would do without the chief.

“yep. busted,” jim muttered as he looked underneath your home. you cursed to yourself, shaking your head. god damn it. curse your mother for having old pipes. your mother practically gave you this house in her will, and you had a three bedroom ranch house at the age of 21. being an adult sucks. “and the powerlines are froze. until they thaw out, you’re kinda stuck.” jim explained further, and you shook your head. of course. could this get any worse?

“shit. uh.. okay. i guess i’ll drive around town to see if any motels have vacancy. thanks for helping me, you didn’t have to.” you told the chief who could only shake his head and run his hand through his hair.

“save the gas. the one motel in this town is full. almost the whole town is outta power,” jim explained again, bearing the bad news. so the night really could get worse. you cursed to yourself about a million times before jim could only laugh. you looked at him in bewilderment, wondering what his problem was. “you don’t have any friends or somethin’ to crash with?” he asked you, his hands placed on his hips. you shook your head, hugging yourself again.

“nope. i’ve only been here for a year, if you can’t recall my sob story when you were last at the diner,” you explained to jim. you had a bad time shutting up about how you ended up in hawkins, especially when they ask you about how you ended up here. when someone was new to the town, it sparked up the whole entire town. you didn’t stop explaining where you came from for about a month. “i have coworkers, but they have kids and their house is full. that is if they have power. honestly.. i just need a warm shower.” you laughed softly, and jim lightly scratched the back of his neck, almost in thought.

“well.. my place is trashed. but if ya need.. you can stay. granted, i still have power and water when i get back home.” jim spoke. those were the words you needed to hear after a long debate in your mind of where to go. you smiled brightly and looked at jim with probably the biggest smile.

“oh my gosh, thank you so much! thank you, thank you, thank you!” you told the man and hugged him tightly, despite if he wanted to or not. you let him to and looked up at him. “i’ll go grab some clothes. i’ll be back.” you told him before heading inside your cold home. seconds later, you emerged with a backpack full of clothes for tomorrow and your pajamas.

“leave your car here, you’ll be safe.” jim told you. you couldn’t help but laugh and hop in the car next to the chief. the drive to his place was silent. you couldn’t quite place if it was a good quiet, or a bad quiet. but it was definitely an awkward quiet. meanwhile, jim was deep in thought. his mind continuously wandered about whether it was a good idea to bring you to his place or not. the last thing he wanted was to be judged, especially by you.

for some reason, you were never able to escape his mind. those small little talks and bright smiles at the diner did him dirty. maybe that’s why he continues to go there when he isn’t swamped with paperwork. your bright eyes and that widened smile pulls him right back into the diner, always making sure he left you a generous tip. you were young. and see, that was another problem. he was a 40 year old man, watching over the town, protecting it. you were merely 22, high hopes still ahead of your future. and maybe that’s why he has hesitated asking you out on a proper date.

finally, you two arrived at jim’s trailer. it seemed kinda homey on the outside. however, inside it seemed like a druggie’s fever dream. pill bottles, beer bottles, beer cans, dirty clothes, just.. everywhere. you weren’t expecting the chief to be clean by any means (he’s a busy man), but you didn’t expect it to be this dirty.

“s’cuse the mess,” jim spoke before he looked around and tried his best to move some stuff around so it wasn’t so messy. he didn’t expect to bring you to his trailer tonight, but if he had to be honest, he was glad he had the opportunity to. “you can place your coat and stuff on the couch for now.” he also instructed. you looked around and didn’t know what to say. nice place? nice.. bottles of beer? instead, you took the latter.

“uh.. thanks again for letting me stay. it was really nice of you.” you said awkwardly before disgarding your coat and hat and mittens. you placed them on the couch, feeling the warm air. finally.

“course. not a problem. uh.. bathroom’s over there. i’ll let you take the bed tonight.” jim spoke and you immediately looked at him. ‘i’m used to sleeping on the couch, anyway’ jim had said to himself internally.

“no, its okay. i can sleep on the couch, i don’t mind.” you smiled brightly before excusing yourself to the bathroom. you shut the door behind yourself, and looked in the mirror. you didn’t look too bad, but you didn’t look hot either. the stress made your forehead vein pop, and hopefully after the shower it would be alright. you sighed before disgarding your clothes you had on that day and grabbed the pajamas from the backpack, placing them on the bathroom counter. you turned on the water and felt the way the warm water graced your fingertips. ah. not enough hot water, though.

meanwhile, the chief was sat in his usual spot in the recliner. beer in hand, he channel surfed the tv. he was doing well, he thought. refraining from your good looks, doing his best to not stare too long. but.. could you blame him? it was you. and now you were in his trailer in the shower. naked. he tried his best to let the tv distract him from going in there and spying on you. he really was dirty.

finally, you came out of the shower. you were in a white plain t-shirt and some plaid pajama pants. the perfect outfit to keep warm. you noticed jim was sat in his recliner, watching tv. he was still in his police uniform, and obviously.. you thought the uniform was hot. his pants made his crotch area tighter, so if there was any chance he had any attraction to you.. you would know. the unform defined his muscles well, and he always demanded respect in it. you didn’t know, but you knew a power play was hot.

“i’m uh.. done. it was really nice, thank you,” you told jim softly, slowly reaching to couch and sitting down. jim looked over at you and nodded, going back to the tv. fuck, it was going to be awkward, wasn’t it? what could you do to break this silence thing? “uh.. how’s your job treating you? good, i hope?”

“what?” jim asked and looked at you. you shrugged and looked over at him, hoping to let him know you were just trying to start a conversation. “it’s uh.. same old song and dance. how ‘bout the diner?” he asked you, taking a drink from the beer can. he then reached for the pack of cigarettes, lighting one up. another thing you’re attracted to. the way the cigarette was in between his lips. fuck, you really wished you were that cigarette right now. “hello?” jim had piped up again, and you had to bounce back from your trance. you laughed and shook off the thoughts.

“sorry, uh.. was thinkin’. um.. it’s alright. i mean, it’s gotten better. i got a pay boost, and new clientel has been tipping better.” you told him. you smiled over at him, and jim couldn’t help but smile back at you softly. cigarette still in hand, he took another hit from the cigarette, letting the smoke exhale from his throat. he looked relaxed.. but stressed. you weren’t sure what that was, but you knew that he was kind enough to let you stay in his trailer. you shouldn’t pry.

“that’s good. glad you’re getting what you deserve,” jim spoke. a few more minutes and more staring at him smoking the cigarette, he finished what he was doing and stood from his recliner. he shut the tv off before turning to you. “alright, it’s ‘bout time i head to bed. please, just.. sleep in the bed. it’ll make me feel better.” jim ordered you. you sighed and nodded, standing as well.

“i’m sorry, i just don’t want to be a bother..” you said softly before jim could only think, ‘why would you be a bother?’ nope, personal feelings had to stay far away from his mind. “goodnight, jim. thank you again.” you spoke softly and slowly made your way to the bedroom. jim couldn’t help but watch as you walk to his bedroom. those pajama pants fit you well. he shook the thoughts away again and started to disgard himself of his uniform.

you fell onto his big bed. it was massive. it was cozy, and even smelled like him. despite the piles of dirty clothes and pill bottles everywhere, it felt nice. it would feel way better if he was next to you, though. you sighed and decided to try and fall asleep. an hour passes though, and you’re still awake. not only were you in a foreign place (you didn’t sleep well at places you never stayed at before), but your mind was wide awake. it wouldn’t shut the hell up. thoughts of jim coming in here and making sweet love to you wouldn’t leave. you did your darndest to not masturbate in his bed, but maybe it would relieve some pressure.

you sighed and slowly rolled out of his bed and slowly made your way out to the living room. jim looked asleep on the couch. you ducked behind the corner hoping to not wake him. he looked way less stressed. his eyes were closed, the way his belly went up and down from breathing.. at peace. but you could now get a better visual of him without his uniform on. and for some reason.. it turned you on even more. you swallowed past the lump in your throat and swaddled your way back into his bed.

thoughts danced in the front of your mind, not escaping the wandering of your eyes. what if jim came in here? what if he confessed his feelings and made sweet sweet love? you kept thinking of how he would taste on your lips. his beard would tickle you a little and he would taste of beer and cigarette smoke. but when his head ducked lower, the beard would tickle you even more. lower on your stomach, lower above your navel.. lower on your cunt that is aching to be touched. you swallowed and decided to give it a shot.

your hand ducked underneath your pajama pants, circling around the nerve that wanted to be touched the most. you imagined jim’s finger there instead, the thick digits circling around it. praising you on how good you were doing, confessing his love to you. you let out a soft moan, the thoughts swirling around in your mind. before you knew it, your finger danced around your entrance. you entered one finger inside of you, clearly that not doing much. thoughts of him telling you to beg for it, for him to add just one finger.

“please, please, jim..” you sighed out, begging jim in your mind. you didn’t think you would be loud externally, but it was loud enough for jim to stir in his sleep. he awoke to soft moans coming from his bedroom, curiousity getting the best of him. he stood slowly and walked over to his bedroom, almost forgetting you were in there. but the sight in front of him added a glow to his eyes he hadn’t seen in a long time.

sure, he has pleased lots of women in his spare time. but none of them could have compared to you. the way your hand was underneath your pajama pants, the way your eyes were closed with pleasure.. the way you moaned his name. and my, was that the sweetest way he could have heard anyone say his name. it was almost angelic the way you sounded. he had to palm himself at just the sight, but it came to a shock that he was already hard. what did you even do to him?

“please, i need you, jim..” you moaned out. fuck. jim was at a loss of words. he took a moment to run his hand through his hair, thinking what he should exactly do. he wanted nothing more than to replace your hand with his, whisper sweet nothings in your ear.. however, this was different. he had to remember his morals. “jim.. i’m- i’m gonna cum.” you shrieked out. he wondered if this was some kind of trick, and you weren’t really lost in your mind. except, you really were. you were oblivious to the fact that jim was spying on you. you know what? screw his morals.

jim slowly made his way inside the room, trying his best to not startle you. he wanted to surprise you if you really were about to cum to the thought of him. but when you heard footsteps, your eyes shot open. there was jim, standing there. right in front of the bed. had he been watching you? before you could make any excuse, his hand cupped your mouth. you looked at him with wide eyes, honestly afraid of what he might say. what he might do.

“shh..” jim shushed you, his eyes dancing down to where your hand rested. it was still there, but paused. he looked disappointed. “keep goin’. it’s okay.” he had whispered, and you looked at him confused. you didn’t dare question what he just told you to do. your hand started to rub circles at your clit again, that feeling of cumming being lost. you were startled, and you didn’t think you could muster up that feeling again. especially when he was watching you now.

“jim.. i need.. your help..” you whispered at him, looking at him with doe like eyes. the glow in them.. jim couldn’t resist. he slowly took your hand away, and instead replaced it with yours. his large fingers started to dance around your clit, adding that pressure you were so desperately after. you hummed softly, your eyes shutting softly. the same thoughts filled you, but with the man that was doing this to you, it made it all that much better.

“feel good?” jim whispered in your ear. you nodded desperately, your hands gripping at the sheets. you couldn’t control your moans at this point. you opened your eyes and looked at jim.. he was mesmerized by the way you reacted to his touch. he was curious to see how you would do with himself inside you. he slowly laid down next to you, so he had better access. the motions continued, but you needed more.

“jim.. i need your fingers.. inside me..” you spoke desperately, looking up at him. jim could only accept and nodded softly, one finger sliding inside of you. you moaned softly at the way his finger already managed to find your g-spot, it feeling all too good. he thrusted his finger inside of you, of course slow. he wanted you to be prepared for his cock.

“want another one?” jim asked you, and you nodded. he smirked softly before he looked down at you. he was simply drunk off the way you moaned for him. the way you yearned for his touch. “beg for me..” he instructed and you immediately obliged.

“please jim, i.. i need another finger.. need to feel you..” you moaned out, looking up at him. the two of you locked eyes, and you felt like you were about to cum. that familiar feeling was started to rise, but you needed just a little more to help. “p-please. need your finger to cum..” you begged once more, and immediately he obliged. the second finger added more than what you bargained for. you practically came immediately. “f-fuck, jim- i’m.. cum-cumming..!” you shrieked out, your hands gripping at the sheets on his bed. you were full of him.. his bed, his scent.. his cologne.. and now his fingers deep inside you.

“that’s it. you’re doing so good..” jim praised in your ear. he felt himself get even more hard at the way you spasmed around his fingers, if that was possible. his cock now ached for you. he wanted to be deep inside you, claim you as his. he didn’t care how young you were.. at this very moment, you are all he wanted. and will continue to be, no matter what anyone had thought. once you finished on his fingers, he slowly slid them out of you and licked up the juices. he looked down at you, and noticed how relaxed you were. normally, he would just stick his dick inside and be done with it. but it was.. you. no, he was going to savor this.

“jim.. need.. more of you..” you had managed to whisper out, despite how exhausted you were. you really did want more of him. no matter how overstimulated you got, you needed him inside of you.

“don’t worry, it’s comin’ sweetheart. just need.. to savor you..” and before you knew it, his lips captured yours with his. it was deep, hard, passionate.. and he tasted just like you thought he would. except, a more.. whiskey taste. you were drunk off his lips, the two of you moving in sync. your hand had then palmed at his boxers, feeling the way his cock ached for your touch. you were in heaven. “shit. don’t do that. i need to be inside you..” he hummed against your lips, not wanting to stop. your lips were so addictive. they tasted of coffee.. not only were mornings for coffee and contemplation, it seemed nights were too.

you moaned softly against jim’s own, your hands traveling from his boxers to his chest. hairy. but you didn’t care. he was groomed exceptionally well. his hairy chest fit him, and you were glad for that. eventually, jim took things to the next level. he laid you down fully onto the bed, him on top. he broke the kiss to look down at you, his blue eyes meeting yours. you looked absolutely beautiful.. he wanted you to know this.

“so.. beautiful..” jim hummed out softly before his head ducked down to your neck. he left feather-like kisses, before he left some on your collarbone. you moaned softly, before his hands had found the bottom of your shirt. you helped him take it off, and you didn’t think jim could look more happy until now. his head ducked down to your breasts now, twirling one nipple with his tongue. he made sure the leave equal attention to the other as well, making sure you were left satisfied.

finally, he was getting somewhere. you watched as he started to slide down your pajama pants and underwear. he flung them somewhere in the room, looking down at you. you looked up at him in wonderment, hoping he would do more. you nodded up at him, in hopes he would.

“please, jim.. please.. need to feel you..” you spoke softly, and this was all he needed to hear. he disregarded his boxers, leaving him naked in the moonlight. you watched as he stroked at his cock. it was thick, veiny.. it looked like the perfect puzzle piece.

“i got you. you’re all mine,” jim whispered out before spitting on his hand for lubrication, and then slowly thrusted inside of you. your eyes got big, and he wasn’t even fully inside you. “oh.. fuck. i’m not gonna last long.” jim admitted with a soft chuckle. you fit him so well. so wet, so tight.. it was fucking perfect. you are perfect.

“oh.. jim..” you moaned out softly. you looked up at him, watching the way he shut his eyes softly. when he felt you were well adjusted, he slowly thrusted in more. and eventually, slow thrusts in and out. he then leaned lower down at you, hitting that spot so.. perfectly. “mm.. jim.. it feels so good..” you moaned out, his lips captured onto your neck. his thrusts were gaining at a decent pace now, but he didn’t want to just fuck you. he wanted to make love with you. his hands found yours, and he gripped them tight. your eyes were now shut softly. you then realized.. this was the best sex you have ever had. it was more emotional, more intimate.. chief jim hopper really did have a thing for you.

“fuck.. baby, you’re so.. good. so fuckin’.. perfect..” jim moaned in your ear, getting high off of your own moans. the way you called out his name. the way you accepted his cock inside you. the way you wanted him, and the way he wanted you. with these thoughts in mind, he was getting close, and you were too. again. “i can feel you gettin’ tight.. you gonna cum for me?” jim had asked you, and you immediately nodded.

“y-yes, jim.. i’m gonna cum for you.. fuck it feels.. so good..” you had moaned again, feeling that familiar feeling in your tummy. before you knew it, you were spasming around his cock, you milking yourself on his cock.

“shit, baby. so good, so fucking.. good. can you take my cum?” jim had asked you, and of course you nodded. you wanted his seed deep inside you. you wanted to be his, and wanted nothing more than for him to claim you. with that, he felt himself become undone. your scent, your moans, the way you fucking breathed.. it was over. he emptied himself deep inside you, spasming around your own aching cunt. after he was finished, he laid on top of you, but not fully. he didn’t need you to be struggling to breathe.

“jim.. that felt.. so good.” you managed to break the silence after a few moments, and all jim could so was chuckle. he placed a kiss on top of your head, making sure that you knew you really were safe. with him.

“you’re more than welcome to stay again, y’know. anytime you want.” jim had whispered in your ear. that was his way of telling you his true feelings about you. he wanted you. and you were now grateful for those old pipes your mom put on the house.

#chief jim hopper #david harbour #jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #stranger things

237 notes · View notes

ghcstao3 · 1 year ago

Note

I saw your tags, you have challenged me!

Scary Show AU (cw for cannibalism and murder)

Ghost is a very well-known yet still semi-anonymous Voice Actor for spooky shit. There's a huge following for him because, regardless of what role he's playing, he does a phenomenal job. He's only listed in the cast list as "S.R.Ghost"

Typically he plays the role of the creatures in this super popular show called "Cryptid Season" which follows a gang of college kids desperate for extra credit in their Biology class so they hunt cryptids as evidence/to study for their papers. He does the voice over and some of the motion capture (he's a big dude) for the monsters and such, his most famous one being "Goatman" (from the demonic Goatman's bridge in I think Texas?)

Meanwhile Soap is this animator who's starting to become really popular, and he announces a new show in the work: "Consume", where he voices one of the two lead roles. It's presented as a show about a normal, if not very lonely man, being tormented by a demonic presence in his home.

Plot twist: dude's actually a cannibalistic serial killer and ends up quickly befriending the demon. The demon helps make the man harder to track by police forces in exchange for the bones and souls of his victims.

Cast:

Soap as the killer

Ghost as the demonic entity

Gaz as a detective who's new to the case but also best friends with Soap's character

Price voices the seasoned detective who's been working this case "too damn long"

Ghost and Soap ABSOLUTELY fall in love while recording scenes together. The banter, the flirting, the sexy scenario of cutting up a corpse together; it's too much not to fall in love irl

(actually such a big brain idea but I don't know how you'd write it tbh lmao. Maybe the show itself, where the boys keep their names? Idk the original idea turned into something much greater)

took a minute to figure something out i'm ngl but i did. something (in any case i would love to see your proper takes(s) if you'd be up to it, seeing as it's your idea!! i feel like i couldn’t do it justice)

Just like any other actor, Ghost had to audition for the role.

His agent books it for him without consultation, knowing the project would be right up his alley—horror, monsters, no face required—and Ghost makes no argument in sending in his tape. He recognizes this process and takes no issue with it, and once out of his hands, he waits patiently for a congratulatory offer or a gentle rejection.

Just like any other movie, or show, or what have you. Consume is no different.

Supposedly. At first.

John "Soap" MacTavish is... many things. He's charming, according to most. Talented. A joy to be around. A man who wears more than several hats of a project, which certainly tells of someone trying to worm their way into the commercial industry.

He has the spirit and creativity, Ghost will allow him that. But he also doesn't know when to stop talking as soon as the important work is done.

Is Soap professional? Sure. Does Soap make sure all jobs are done with efficiency and done well? Yes, he does. Does it make him any less of a nuisance to Ghost? Absolutely not.

But Ghost would be damned if the project doesn’t find its way into his soft spots, despite its nature. He’d be damned if he doesn’t fall in love with Soap’s animations and the hard work and craft he puts into them.

Then he blinks, and the pilot is premiering. It does well (again, considering its content), and Consume is properly green-lit.

Which is when Soap proposes the idea of recording their lines in the same room. Together. Facing one another. Because banter, and chemistry, and whatever other reasons he insists upon.

Personally, Ghost wants to decline. He’s always felt somewhat awkward when recording as such with anyone, but professionally? He couldn’t really say no, could he?

And it is awkward, at first. There’s more takes than usual, and Ghost can sense Soap’s frustration, though the man never expresses it. He just plasters on a tight smile, calls for a break, and pulls Ghost aside.

Surely, surely this is where Ghost gets fired. This is where Ghost is told he’s going to be replaced, where he’s told to say goodbye to Gaz and Price and wish them luck, and move onto his next gig. This is where—

“Have I done something wrong?”

Soap’s face is so earnest. So painfully sincere.

Ghost clenches his jaw. Shakes his head.

“No, I—“ He sighs. “Just have to get used to the… face-to-face. Let’s—I’ll try again.”

Soap smiles wider, now, as he nods, something kind and warm and brilliant.

The second try goes much smoother. Ghost takes a deep breath and eases himself into scripted dialogue, into witty banter and subtle flirts like it’s any other project.

They continue to record lines as such, just the two of them, each episode at a time. At some point, Ghost worries, the line between script and show and reality gets blurred. At some point, he fears, that flirting becomes genuine.

And what would he know—the reviews only get better as that line becomes less and less clear. Natural, real-feeling dialogue, critics say. The relationship is authentic, claim viewers.

The love is actually heartfelt.

And fuck, if that doesn’t make Ghost realize a few things about himself.

About Soap.

Consume is no different, his ass. He might have to have a stern talk with his agent in the near future.

(Or not.)

#ask #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #ghoap #soapghost #ghostsoap #writing #alternate universe

183 notes · View notes

coffeenonsense · 1 year ago

Text

I usually try to stay in my lane most of the time (mostly bc I am far too old for fandom drama) but what the hell, it's friday, let's put that lit degree to use:

the way people are playing morality politics with fiction is really starting to genuinely irk me and I think some of the responses to ascended astarion are a perfect example of why this type of thinking is actually hugely detrimental to one's ability to meaningfully engage with fiction and also to the future of art.

astarion is one of the most well-written complex characters I've seen in recent years bar none (and I'm clearly not alone given the explosion of his personal fandom lol) and he has a truly compelling, emotionally resonant character arc whether you ascend him or not

If you keep him a spawn, you get a deeply touching, realistic character's journey to healing and personal growth where he learns who he is after the experience of his trauma and depending on the player's choice, explores his relationship to sex, romance and intimacy

If you ascend astarion, you get an equally emotional and well-rounded character arc where he chooses the power that allows him to have the desperate freedom and safety he's wanted, but in the process eschews any hope of real healing or personal development, and again, depending on the player's choices, restarts the cycle of abuse by taking cazador's place.

These options offer vastly different paths for the character and experiences for the player, but while yes, ascended astarion is the evil ending, and yes, ascending astarion is a tragedy, and a fucking incredible one (not only do you have astarion reigniting a circle of abuse but you have the narrative weight of KNOWING he could have actually overcome his trauma...hats off to the bg3 team tbh) but that does not mean ascending astarion MAKES YOU AS THE PLAYER EVIL

Ascend astarion because you love tragic story arcs, ascend him because you want to indulge in a master/slave vampire fantasy, don't ascend him because you want a healing character journey, don't ascend him because you want a sweet romance; all of these choices carry the same moral weight for the player, which is to say, none, because they are an exploration of fiction.

I know I'm saying this to the villain fucker website but it bears repeating; just because someone wants to engage with evil, fucked up characters or content does not mean they support evil acts in their real life, and furthermore, exploring dark, taboo or tragic concepts safely is part of what fiction is for. It enables us to look at those things from a distance, work through difficult feelings and develop greater understanding of what makes our fellow humans tick — and before you get it twisted there's also no moral issue with exploring fucked up media bc you're horny or just, because. You can take it as seriously (or as sexily) as you want.

It's starting to really concern me how many people not only do not get, but are violently opposed to this concept, because equating what someone likes in fiction with their real life moral code and actions is an incredibly dangerous and let's be honest, immature way of thinking that not only stunts your ability to engage with fiction but ironically, hampers your ability to deal with complicated issues and emotions in real life.

I don't know what's driving this trend (though purity culture is certainly playing a role) but it's definitely something that's not just impacting individuals but contributing to the commercialization of art, where we get games and stories and tv shows and books that regurgitate the same safe, mass marketable plotlines and character archetypes over and over and over again so corporations can squeeze out as much profit as possible.

Anyway, remember kids: There's no such thing as thought crime, reaching for morally pure unproblematic media is directly contributing to the death of art, and this is why funding the humanities is important.

#so...yeah #idk man i have thoughts and feelings #and i love astarion so much lol #astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #fandom analysis #media analysis #fiction #a personal rant because i need to vent about this and i just recalled i have a blog where i can indeed do so lol #astarion ancunin

139 notes · View notes

nichenarratives · 1 year ago

Text

Frozen Hearts

An Obscure Miniseries

In an attempt to raise Viktor for a job without freezing his tail off, Mordecai decides to drive in the thick winter snow, only to have an accident. Irritated his young triggerman continues to be reckless, Atlas orders him out of the speakeasy and into Viktor's apartment to recover, leading to some awkward conversations, situations and a whole lot of bonding.

1. Bad Idea

Winter takes Missouri in its icy grip early in 1922, suffocating foliage and freezing pipes with extreme prejudice. Even the evergreens seem to struggle, the ground frozen and barren around their roots refusing nourishment or water. Firs lining the streets begin to brown beneath the weight of snow and frost, only the most resilient trees retaining their green pine needles as February approaches, the felines of St Louis all desperately awaiting the thaw and arrival of spring buds.

Being temperate, the natives would say Missouri benefits from milder seasons than neighbouring states, yet Mordecai Heller would call it unfortunate to experience both. A native of New York, known for harsher winters and mild summers, most assume he would suffer more in heat. Unfortunately, equally affected by minor deviations from innate comfortable temperature thresholds, the shorthaired tom finds both to be unbearable in their own specific ways, especially the cold.

In the winter, he can't seem to wear enough layers to keep warm, not when conforming to his own strict requirements for propriety. There's only so many long sleeve vests and long johns one can squeeze beneath a suit before it starts to look awful, and Mordecai won't sacrifice appearance for comfort. His three piece, fleeced undergarments and a coat are all he will permit, but even with a scarf and hat, he feels the chill permeate his bones as soon as he steps outside.

Given the choice, the tuxedo would hibernate through the winter; woolen pajamas, thick blankets and copious cups of tea all take the edge off, as does attending a roaring fire in the hearth. Mordecai would wile the months away, reading through texts and classic literature until the snow and frosts were replaced with spring grasses.. if only he could.

A cup of tea and a blanket sound like heaven, he thinks as, with his collar turned up against the cold, Mordecai trudges through an inch of snow to the car. Unfortunately, the world at large doesn't share his hibernation sentiments and with the Lackadaisy Speakeasy blossoming in the years since prohibition, its liquor stores constantly need resupplying. Tes would be far more warming than that awful liquor…

An often hours-long round trip to trusted importers in a cold, metal death trap, Mordecai isn't fond of resupply runs. He'd much rather be burning storehouses to the ground, covering Viktor in raids or even the god-awful task of interrogations. Excessively long, silent road trips aren't exactly enjoyable, especially when his partner is crime has made it obvious he prefers the silence; and now, to top it off, he's going to be teeth-chatteringly cold while they're at it.

Jamming the key into the car door, Mordecai unlocks the driver's side and slides behind the wheel, before taking a moment to blow into his gloves palms. He'd normally walk to Viktor's apartment a few blocks from the speakeasy and let Viktor walk back to get the car, but it's too cold; even inside the vehicle, he can't stop shivering, ears folded back to his head in an attempt to warm their icy tips and shoulders hunched against the frigid air.

When his breath seems to do very little to warm his hands, Mordecai gives up and guns the engine, hoping running the thing will create some warmth in the cabin.

A terrible driver - having only ever been shown the basics in an emergency by Viktor, when he was too injured to drive and needed medical assistance - he grits his teeth when the gears grind as he forces the car into drive. A quick pause to check his mirrors, he steps a little too heavy on the gas and gasps when the car lurches forwards in his unskilled hands, squealing tires throwing up filthy snow as he careens out into the icy street.

It takes minutes to get to three blocks at one in the morning. Mordecai somehow manages to avoid hitting anything right up until he tries to stop. With no experience driving on ice or snow, he jams on the brakes and exudes a strangled murr of concern as the wheels lock and the car continues skating down the road at thirty miles an hour. When another attempt to brake fails and he rapidly overshoots his intended mark, the tom makes a final mistake; he swiftly turns the wheel.

The rear of the car swings wildly forwards, dispelling much of the forward momentum but carrying the vehicle onto its two passenger side wheels. For a brief moment, Mordecai is flying; clinging to the wheel as his feet are carried off of the pedals, eyes wide and mouth open in a silent scream while both gravity and basic physics seem to tip the car in slow motion, hat and pince nez in flight within the cabin.

Gravity wins; the Cadillac overbalances and with a distinct crunch, the wing mirror crushes against the asphalt, the entire right hand side of the car impacting on the road a millisecond after. Mordecai is haplessly thrown to the other side of the cab, wrenching his arms off the wheel and slamming his face, shoulder and right arm into the somehow still intact passenger window so hard, it shatters on impact.

The contraption skids across the cobbles, ten entire seconds of screeching metal and crushed glass piercing in an otherwise silent road until finally, it comes to a halt thirty feet away when it hits a light pole. Silence falls again; the light pole flickers and dies as if the sound were swallowed by the same darkness enveloping the scratched up, overturned car. Snow continues to flutter down around it, filling the skid tracks anew, coating the tragedy in white.

Mordecai daren't move; his head hurts, his face stings like a raw wound and he's seeing double, hazy vision swaying as if rocked by a non-existent breeze exacerbating his inherited myopia. Bracing a gloved palm on the broken glass beneath his face, the tom tries to lever himself up, but with his lower body wedged between the gear stick and dashboard and a leg bent against the cracked windscreen, his attempts are a futile waste of rapidly draining energy.

An overwhelming exhaustion turns Mordedai's sight black at the edges, dragging him away from consciousness. His arm dives way and he falls back to his burning shoulder with a weak whimper. Vaguely aware he can't feel his fingers and a weak attempt to move them, warm blood drips into an eye from an open wound on his forehead, turning his world an unnerving red just a moment before it fades to black.

~.~.~

The bobcat is attempting to fix a leaky faucet when he hears it; skidding tires, an ear-splitting screech of metal on tarmac, and a final crunch as two metallic objects collide outside. He pauses his work and looks towards the window, cracked just a smidgen for the luxury of fresh air despite the oppressive chill, contemplating going outside.

With a palm splayed on the underside of the sink and his other clutching the wrench still in place on the leaking nut, it would be easy to go back to work like nothing happened. Having the window cracked might be the only reason Viktor heard it though, which means he may be the only bystander aware of an accident taking place. Normally, he wouldn't be so bothered; with the speed limitation on public vehicles - a limitation he'd effectively removed from the company car for illicit purposes - most people walked away from a crash with minor wounds, making bystander intervention pointless.

Unfortunately, he's also aware of the sub zero temperatures outside. Even as a bobcat, fully fleeced with a thick double coat for optimal heat management, Viktor can feel the cold seeping into his apartment through the window. If knocked unconscious or trapped within the vehicle, it wouldn't matter if the driver's injuries were minor; he could freeze to death in a quarter of an hour in this kind of weather.

Viktor closes his eye and sighing heavily, abandons the still leaking faucet, using the nearby armchair to rise to his feet with a grunt when his stiff knee complains. The cold is bad for his old joint, no matter how warm he seems to dress; his long johns, vest and woolen pajamas keep him adequately warm alongside his fur indoors, even with the window open.

He grabs a sweater off the sofa, then pulls on an overcoat and thick, leather boots, picking up a lantern along the way for good measure before he steps outside his first floor apartment and heads out into the icy night. The falling snow, expanse of white and empty streets momentarily stop him on the step, a litany of nostalgic memories of home assaulting his senses, but he shakes them off and treads carefully into the snow, lantern raised as he searches for the accident.

If no one is dying, he's going to be so pissed.

It takes a few minutes and a short walk to find it; a divot in the snow already filling up with fresh powder flecks, roughly the length of a car and extending beyond the range of his lantern. With a frown, Viktor steps into the divot and follows it back to an extinguished light pole, a Cadillac bent around the base almost exactly at the halfway mark. With the roof dented in the vehicle is almost comically banana shaped.

"Hello?" The Slovak calls into the darkness, holding out the lantern and turning up the gas, the yellowish hue making it hard to discern the car's actual colour. There's no reply, but he steps closer, walking around the back of the car for any sign of a hasty exit - a busted window, open door, blood on the frame - but finds nothing; if someone was inside the car when it crashed, they're still there.

He treds through the snow towards the front of the car and sees a dark shadow crumpled against the passenger side of the vehicle, unmoving and not unresponsive. "Anyvone hear me?" Viktor tries again, but with no response, a bad feeling begins to swirl on his stomach. He almost doesn't want to step closer, but he does so, resting a palm on the upturned hood to shine his light on the crumpled figure. "Van't hel-?"

The bobcat's question dies in his throat when he's met not with a stranger, but the twisted, bleeding body of a familiar face; he assigned partner and coworker, Mordecai Heller. The snow around the broken passenger window is turning pink, while his contorted body is jammed between the gear stick and mahogany console, foot awkwardly braced against the windshield and arms in disarray around his head.

Viktor drops the lanturn to the snow, unaware of it toppling over, glass case protecting the flame within. Of all the things he'd expected to find - of the tragedies he could have borne witness to, attending this accident - the unconscious body of someone he cares about wasn't one of them. The feeling in his gut swiftly evolves part fear, conflicting emotions masked by a military-drilled compulsion to act quickly.

It takes a single strike for the compromised glass to shatter under his heavy boot. Glistening shards scatter, invisible in the snow except for the lantern's dancing reflections. Viktor pays it no mind and crouching down, reaches into the car to extract the smaller tom with as much care as he can, while still moving swiftly, well aware that stronger men have died of exposure after less time in blizzards back home.

Despite being manhandled in ways that would usually make him squirm, Mordecai remains limp and unresponsive as the bobcat pulls him from the wreckage. Glass clinks and falls from the tuxedo in shimmering, sparkling flakes, more still glistening in dark facial fur as Viktor draws him close to a broad chest and presses two fingers to his throat, holding his breath without meaning to.

Ba-bum... Ba-bum.

It's sluggish beneath chill skin, but there's a pulse. Viktor isn't sure if he's relieved or afraid, looking up at the empty street shrouded in white, not another soul to be seen. With no clear idea what to do beyond warming the tuxedo up and finding medical assistance, the bobcat shrugs off his coat to bundle Mordecai up, disconcerted that he doesn't complain or even flinch when obvious injuries are manipulated.

His best friend on the verge of death and swaddled like a newborn, Viktor draws the tom close to us chest and begins the three block walk back to lackadaisy. The nearest place he knows who have a phone to call a doctor, or a car he can use to drive out to Elsa, because he's not sure blankets and a warm fire will be enough on a freezing February morning.

#niche narratives #obscure mini #mordecai heller #viktor vasko #lackadaisy #lackadaisy cats #fanfiction #fanfic #tracy j butler #no beta we die like atlas may #hurt/comfort #vikdecai #viktor x mordecai #mordecai x viktor

60 notes · View notes

nerissalmao · 2 months ago

Text

Ernesto De La Cruz: Tragic Hero (..in his own mind)

Well, at the time of posting this, it’s November 12th. That’s around Day of the Dead season, I think, though I’m as white as the snowflake that is my profile picture (I do enjoy learning more about other cultures though, so I’m glad to get educated and learn more) so you know what? We’re gonna talk about Coco. Yep, hands-down one of the best Pixar movies ever made, THAT Coco. Yes, I know there are arguments about it and Book of Life and which one is better, but I’m not here to talk about any of that.

Time to talk about this ABSOLUTE RAT.

Oohhh, look at him and his big stupid hat and his big stupid bow and his big stupid ribcage. He’s a fraud and a liar and an idiot and he kills people to take their songs.. AND take credit for them! Oooohh he’s stupid. I wanna punch him. You wanna punch him. Let’s all punch him! He’s a murderer, a liar, a traitor, he’s—

Not that bad?

WAIT. What?

Well, okay, see. This might be a little hard to grasp on to, but Ernesto De La Cruz is NOT THAT BAD.

To himself at least. Because to himself, his intentions are noble. He genuinely doesn’t see what he’s doing wrong.. because he’s always thought that this is how fame works. You have to make sacrifices. Then you get famous.

Let me explain.

See, when most people talk about this character, they bring up how terrible it was that he acted so nice and sympathetic, how dastardly in disguise it was for him to act like a nice person. People claim it’s all fake— he never cared for Miguel, he never cared for Héctor, he’s a psychopath, plain and simple.

But.. he’s not.

Look at him. It’s the stupid Hans thing all over again— his face. He genuinely seems proud of Miguel, of the idea he has a great-great-grandson. He shows him off to all his fancy rich friends, lets Miguel monologue about himself, excitedly shows Miguel around, even offer the kid advice. And he genuinely means it.

Of course, the reason people say he doesn’t is because for one, he LITERALLY murdered Héctor. Which, yeah, that sucks, so let’s talk about that first.

As we all know, Ernesto and Héctor were once best friends, two boys chasing the dream of becoming a musician. But Ernesto wanted to play for the world and bask in their adoration. Why? Because he just woke up and decided he deserved it? No, actually. He’s not exactly a textbook narcissist. Yes, he has narcissistic qualities, but there is plainly no evidence to suggest his friendship with Héctor was toxic. If it was, Héctor would have been less shocked to know that Ernesto poisoned him— because if Ernesto was shitty enough to bully and berate his own best friend, then aggravated assault and murder wouldn’t be too shocking for an already manipulative psycho. Yet Héctor genuinely was shocked anyway. And since Héctor’s a bit of a pessimist, it doesn’t seem like him to overestimate his ex-amigo.

(Yes, I know Héctor probably just didn’t want to believe that Ernesto was capable of murder either way. But come on. This man has had the entire afterlife to perfect his lying and his Dìa De Los Muertos Scheme. If Ernesto was that bad in the first place you mean to tell me a salty Héctor WOULDN’T consider the idea?! And he’s certainly a smart enough character to know when he’s being mistreated and when too far is too far, hence why he wants to return home to his family instead of abandoning them! And not to mention how he is totally unafraid of confronting Ernesto. I know that abuse and mistreatment comes in all shapes and sizes, but I don’t think this is the narrative we’re supposed to follow here.)

Ernesto genuinely valued Héctor. He isn’t a textbook narcissist because he recognizes the value and importance of Héctor’s ideas, and hoped to become famous with him by his side, as literally stated in Ernesto’s original plan. Look at the desperation on his face when he thinks Héctor is leaving:

He looks near tears. He’s practically BEGGING. And Héctor doesn’t even bother to give Ernesto any tips on songwriting or farewell wishes, he just kind of leaves. If anything, HÉCTOR is being the jerk here.

But honestly? We can hardly blame him. He was a caring father and a family man who just wanted to get back home. There’s hurt in his eyes, too.

Ernesto, on the other hand? He pushes the envelope too far. He kills Héctor for his songs. He already had poison on him for.. some reason, so what? Did he think he’d poison himself if he didn’t make it? Reputation and fame is very important to Ernesto. Yet it didn’t take him long to come up with the conclusion of killing his friend. Why? Is he really just that insane and am I talking in circles?

Nah. He tells Héctor, “I could never hate you” and it’s true! He doesn’t HATE Héctor. But he needs his songs. He’s been working so hard that in his mind, he just needs to take another step, to.. seize his moment.

He sees this as a necessary option. His reputation is important to him, and he doesn’t want the secret to get to light.. not the murder one. He just doesn’t want anyone to think he’s unoriginal, that he copied someone else’s ideas. Because he’s built his entire career around how talented he is. Because he’s the guy who “actually did it” and who wanted fame and fortune for.. what? Self-validation? He never seems to have any type of family to his name (despite the fact that his name is everywhere and everybody knows him), and even calls his audience his family, proclaiming the world is his family. Was he perhaps an orphan, or had parents who couldn’t care for him? Is that why he couldn’t understand why Héctor would leave for his family and gets desperate, than murderous? Because Ernesto himself never had a family to speak of or anyone to teach him values beyond his own musical dreams?

“Apologies, my friend, but the show must go on,” he says to Héctor, ready to kill Miguel— not out of any malice or hatred. Earlier in the film, good old Ern-DLC got the bombastic Disney Villain green motif all over his ass-

-as he proclaims that he knows deep down that Miguel, being his supposed family, should understand how Ernesto’s mind works. Since he knows that Ernesto sees the world as his family, since he heard Ernesto’s awkward “sì” when he was asked about whether it was hard for him to leave a hypothetical De La Cruz family that may or may not exist. He just throws Miguel into a pond (well.. he gets his security to do so) and there’s no evidence that he has no plan to get him out. He still thinks Miguel is his great-great-grandson. Yes, he put Héctor down there too, but he saw it as a necessary evil because he could do it before, and could do it again. Hurting Héctor just to reach his own fame.. and not seeing anything wrong with it. Seeing it as just another obstacle. Which is my whole point, that he saw nothing wrong with it, in case my rambling sidetracked you. Anyway, Héctor is being forgotten. Héctor could vanish down there, then Ernesto could go get the then-dead Miguel, get the kid to understand fully, and continue living his fame that he believes he earned while Miguel reaps in the rewards of having a famous great-great-grandfather and keeps mum about the whole Héctor thing.

People underestimate Ernesto. Look, fame is hard to achieve. Yes, Ernesto did steal Héctor’s songs, but he didn’t forge any documents. He got himself famous through interviews and acting, even if he had to steal some things along the way. He genuinely did work hard in any other regard, and of course he knows that one has to work hard to seize their moment. And though there’s no evidence to prove he ever hated Héctor, he had already worked so hard and wouldn’t fail. He tried to reason with him first, and his choice to poison him, though drastic, disgusting, and villainous, was what this admittedly tragic family-less man saw as the logical next step.

He literally says it in his villainous monologue: “I’ve worked too hard, Héctor!” “I am ERNESTO DE LA CRUZ!” (as he gets agitated at the idea that he’s a coward, as he’s already had to brave revenge plots against his own ex-best-friend, crazy fans, the pressure of fame, and his own twisted moral code) “I am the one who’s willing to do WHATEVER IT TAKES to seize my moment! Whatever.. it takes.” So, yeah. Listen to his monologue with this in mind. He thinks it’s the logical next step, he doesn’t see anything wrong with it— he’s willing to do whatever it takes. Maybe it even hurt him to take Héctor down. But he did it anyway, because in his warped mind, he thought it would be another GENUINELY HEROIC STEP to the fame he felt he deserved. He admits he worked too hard and seems to try to reason with Héctor again, though this time what he thinks is the right choice is obviously much worse; but by now Ernesto knows he has no family ties to Miguel. The show must go on, bruh man said it himself, and he wants his fame to continue.. because he WORKED SO HARD. He butchered his own friend to get where he is and won’t let anything stand in his way, or else what was that murder for? Then he’s just a psycho (to others; again Ernesto doesn’t really see anything wrong with it), a coward (he does NOT want to be called this, clearly), and everyone who always disbelieved in him is right.

Look at his face after the crowd realizes what he’s done:

Shock. Awe. Surprise. He genuinely doesn’t get it.

In Ernesto’s mind, warped by likely a family-less backstory, he thought that an inexcusable, regrettable action like killing his friend was made excusable since it would help him continue the journey to get the love and acceptance he wants and thinks he deserves. He did care about Miguel; he’s no blood-soaked killer. But he’s willing to do whatever it takes to seize his moment even so, because he thinks this’ll help him, even if he ends up regretting it later. He’s worked too hard.

It makes more sense for him to have been so morally flawed that he genuinely doesn’t get the consequences of his disgusting actions than for him to be so narcissistic that he thinks people would love him even after killing somebody. Because the movie Coco is so nuanced, Ernesto is purposefully tragic. He’s the next great Disney Villain, lying and conniving, but not reveling in the evil; like Claude Frollo before him, he thinks it’s a genuinely good thing to do on his path to stardom, that even though he genuinely cared about Héctor he couldn’t let him get in the way of his dream, and even though he genuinely cared for Miguel, knowing he’s truly not family will soften the blow of having to be rid of him in order to continue to reap the rewards of being famous without his dear reputation tarnished. Yet inevitably when it is, again like Claude Frollo, he doesn’t get it. Because he thinks he’s done good. He thinks this was just another path on his rite to stardom.

It’s why he just stands there wide-eyed instead of doing anything actually smart once he’s found out, or running away from the terrifying alibrije cat demon THING. Because he genuinely can’t understand why his so-called world-family would hate him. After all, they’ve always known he was a hard worker! And he doesn’t see why this news is any different.

Obviously I’m not condoning murder and attempted murder and the things Ernesto did. But this is my interpretation of the narrative and an interpretation that I think is worth reading through. The next time you hear “Remember Me”, the non-sad version, remember.. he’s either a tragic individual, so wrapped up in his own goal he doesn’t even know right-and-wrong from each other.. or an even scarier villain because of his inability to separate the two.

7 notes · View notes

tev-the-random · 2 years ago

Text

He expected to bolt upright immediately, like the rash man he was. Instead, Jimmy opened his eyes and sat up slowly — very slowly, at the pace of someone who couldn’t quite grasp their bearings. Like he needed time to process something as simple as the universal joke that he just experienced. Truth is, Jimmy had had a lifetime to understand that.

He should have known better. He should have learned not to be so naive by now, not to feed false hopes like they were a starving dog.

But he hadn’t learned. Maybe he never would.

And that was, perhaps, what hurt the most: that he allowed them in. That he wanted them by his side. That every time, without fail, he hoped for things to change. Just this once! Just this once they would get it, they would drop the blade instead of using it against him!

But it always ended the same way. So maybe he was just stupid.

What did he expect, really? For his friends to be happy for him? To somehow justify the trust he put on them? To finally tell him he’s worthy?

What a joke. Everything in his life was a joke.

He sighed. Although he deeply wished to bury his face in his hat and scream for all eternity, the best he could do was pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh. They had the hat, and it’s not like they would hand it back so easily. No, no, they didn’t respect him enough for that.

What even is respect, anyway? When Jimmy arrived at the mesa, he envisioned it as power: to be respected is to have authority, to dictate the rules. But as time went on, his expectations started to lower. In fact, some would say his bar had hit the floor.

To be respected is to be taken seriously.

To be respected is to be listened to.

To be respected is to not be antagonised and humiliated.

To be respected is to be seen as a person.

With the sensation that he would fall apart if he didn’t hold onto something, Jimmy grasped his bedsheets.

He wasn’t even a person to them, was he?

The ones he so innocently, so desperately called “friends” had clearly latched onto the idea that he was, for the lack of a better term, a plaything. Look at the tiny Sheriff and his tiny empire! Watch him get mad! Watch him try and fail to defend himself! Point and laugh at this pathetic thing!

Within only a few minutes, he had already embraced the idea that having someone else — someone as important as a real sheriff — tell him that he deserved legitimacy would be enough to earn him some dignity. All he really hoped for was a place amongst his peers, who only looked down on him, both literally and metaphorically.

But it was worthless, in the end.

His vision blurred at about the same time his lungs decided they were too upset to take in air properly. It took him a second to realise why: Jimmy had gotten used to the fact that, as a living doll, he just couldn’t function the same as he had before; surely, amongst other things, he had become incapable of shedding tears?

But here he was: breathlessly, shakily, undeniably crying. And now that it had started, it was hard to stop.

It was a well-known fact that Jimmy got angry much easier than he got sad. Screaming matches, hand hasty to the blade, petty plots that he would never manage to fulfil; it all helped push down his sense of self-awareness, this powerlessness clawing at his gut.

Right now, he felt as if a wave had crashed down on him.

He hated this fake body he was trapped in. Hated that he was smaller and more fragile than a child, that nothing felt real anymore, that he didn’t even have it in himself to bleed.

Breathing is such a basic task, why can’t he do it? Is it that he doesn’t actually have lungs or that he isn’t supposed to breathe in the first place?

He hated his own incompetence. No matter how hard he tried, he would always fall behind, crash and burn into the most pathetic of explosions. He had nothing to offer and he couldn’t take, no wonder he wasn’t allowed to have anything.

His entire body hurts. He hasn’t even done anything today, why does it hurt?

He hated that he could be so arrogant and selfish and that no one ever hesitated to point it out.

Heck, maybe they had a reason to bash him all the time after all! Maybe he missed all the shots he had. Maybe he deserved it, that had to be it!

He hated the way he always made a fool of himself and couldn’t even cover it up half-decently.

Oh, he hated this empty town, hated the mighty empires, hated his friends, those toys, the gunpowder, the bandits, the stupid Law and even stupider Lore! He hated and hated until he crumbled and there was nothing left of him.

And there really was nothing left. No one to fight for him or see the mess he’d made of himself. Not even Tango or Scar would stay by his side in the end, and the Old Sheriff was bound to follow, wasn’t he?

He was alone.

Jimmy cried until he couldn’t breathe anymore. He screamed into his hands until his voice was gone and clung to himself as a sorry excuse for comfort. And then he just laid there, drained and numb.

The sun was setting outside, its orange light peeking through his window lazily. He could just stay here, not get up; it’s not like he had anything important to do. But as much as he would like to disappear under his covers until his bones turned to dust, the idea only made him feel worse. Then again, someone once told him that it was good to breathe some fresh air when you’re upset, so maybe he should do that instead.

Dragging his feet, Jimmy left his bed and stepped outside, where a warm breeze awaited him. It wasn’t particularly refreshing; the sight of the blue walls surrounding Tumble Town gave him an ill feeling. Thankfully, it didn’t last long. It was replaced by confusion, for the horrible melody of a disjointed piano ringed across the valley.

“What in the world—”

Oh. Right.

If only for a moment, the thought of having a tavern bustling with people made him feel... less terrible. And although he knew that it wasn’t the case, that his town currently only had one citizen apart from himself, that was enough to pull him from his melancholic haze and towards the saloon.

He walked into the establishment to find the Old Sheriff predictably sat at the piano in the corner. His hat rested on top of the instrument, like the dear damsel to whom he was dedicating a song.

“Oh, there you are.” The old cowboy stopped his cacophony once he noticed the small figure by the door. “I was starting to wonder when you were coming back. Did you...” He eyed Jimmy up and down, “wrestle with your friends or something?”

All the tiny man could do, once again, was sigh. His face was probably still puffy from crying, and he guessed his wrinkled shirt and ruffled hair didn’t help giving off the most pristine of impressions.

“Or something,” he half-answered.

Without bothering to elaborate, he walked around the bar and opened one of the cabinets underneath. Behind a dozen or so empty bottles, there was still one with about three quarters of liquid left. Jimmy wasn’t one to drink often; he’d been keeping this last one around for special occasions, but he supposed it didn’t matter anymore.

The bottle was nearly as tall as he was. He dragged it all the way to one of the tables, which he climbed on top of before fighting to pour himself a shot glass. A few instants later, a larger cup tentatively appeared in front of him.

“Care to share?” The Old Sheriff asked, leaning against his table.

He nodded.

The two men drank next to each other without exchanging a word. The silence held a thin mental thread Jimmy was struggling not to snap. He didn’t know whether or not he was thankful when the Old Sheriff interrupted it:

“Your piano is out of tune.”

“What, is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?” Jimmy’s intonation was flat, too tired to sort out any emotion to put into it. He tried not to think of a voice box. “Is there a second T in ‘respect’ now? For ‘tune’?”

“No, I mean literally. The piano’s out of tune.” The man gestured towards the instrument he had been playing.

“Oh.” The young sheriff awkwardly cleared his throat at that. “Um... I don’t really know how to tune it.”

“That’s fair enough, I don’t really know how to play it.”

With a shrug, the old man downed the rest of his drink, and was already pouring a new dose by the time Jimmy realised the corner of his mouth had raised the smallest amount. But that mild amusement quickly vanished, giving way to quietness once more. This one felt a bit too uncomfortable, staring at him as his mind continued to reel.

“It didn’t work out,” he murmured.

“Hm?”

“Your tips, the whole respect thing? Actually, I think they might respect me less now!” The tiny sheriff huffed, resting his head against the window behind him. Not that he thought it was possible for people to degrade him any more than they already did, but here they are.

“Huh. I dunno, maybe you just did it wrong. The R.E.S.P.E.C.T tactic has never failed me.” The Old Sheriff chuckled.

Jimmy couldn’t help but sigh yet again. He didn’t shout, didn’t splutter, didn’t even try to defend himself. You see, he wasn’t exactly angry. No, he had mellowed out for today. Staring down at his distorted reflection on the amber drink, he searched for a word that could describe this numbness; this burning sensation in his chest that made him look at the world around him with such disgust.

Hopelessness? Exhaustion?

“They killed me, you know?” He commented, then quietly added, “And they took my hat again.”

“Well, now that’s just rude!”

With a disappointed click of the tongue, his senior refilled Jimmy’s glass, despite it still being half full. He was already on this third cup himself; the bottle was significantly emptier.

Was that it? Disappointment? Disbelief?

“It’s not the first time, either.” Tim ran his hands through his hair in what could maybe be called exasperation. That still wasn’t it, though. “I’m really starting to think that I should... I don’t know, cut ties with them or— or maybe I should just leave. Find somewhere new to live. I can’t take this anymore, man.”

All he received in response was a soft hum. The past Sheriff stared at the wall somewhere above Jimmy, who wondered if he was even listening anymore.

“Tell you what,” the old man started a few moments later. “Why don’t you show me around them empires? I wanna see what’s changed. And if we happen to stumble upon any of those ‘friends’ of yours, we can show them what for, yeah?”

He blinked. Then he blinked again. And then he laughed, incredulous. His chest untightened the slightest amount.

“I— You— I mean, that— that sounds great, yeah! Sure!”

For the rest of the evening, Jimmy managed to push down the fog of that strange feeling by ranting to someone who would finally listen to him — more or less; he wasn’t sure the Old Sheriff was completely conscious by the time the moon was up. Something at the back of his mind told him not to get used to this by the time he went back home. It could always be a trick, a lie even. The irony of hoping that he could hope wasn’t lost on him.

And irony, much like everything else, would pull the rug from under him.

From the moment Fwhip saw the Old Sheriff and opened that cunning smile of his, he knew that the best of his bravado wouldn’t be enough. He would always fall back to bickering with his ex-deputy, whose verbal traps never failed to demean him. Oh, he tried so hard not to, but could he help it? Fwhip had the ease of pulling people in that Jimmy and his frantic arguments never would.

So maybe he should have listened to that thing at the back of his mind. At least he wouldn’t be surprised when his new partner got so quickly dissuaded from following him; wouldn’t bother going to Gobland or reminding them of his stance with Fwhip. It would certainly have spared him some heartache.

On the way to the goblin empire, the same jokes that had begun to cut so deep were laughed at. At the Drip, his inevitable boiling annoyance was taken advantage of. The slander went undefended and his call for assistance in the ensuing fight, unanswered. His possessions were teased out of his reach and given to a “real sheriff”. In the middle of all of this, his last ally, captured by Fwhip’s determination to take everything he could away from him, rubbed elbows with his enemies without giving him so much as a reassuring look. That’s when Jimmy finally realised what the feeling was.

Bitterness. Unrelenting, cold resentment.

Maybe he wasn’t perfect. He wasn’t commanding or assertive, nor was he easy to live with. Yes, Jimmy had a lot to learn, and he would. But he couldn’t fathom what could possibly made anyone deserving of such a world-shattering emotion. It was all so clear now, he didn’t have to put up with any of this! They don't get to do this to him over and over again!

This is bullshit.

And he’s done.

He didn’t even bother going back for his stuff when Fwhip killed him the second time. His armour, his tools, all of it was tainted with weakness and ridicule — he didn’t even have a badge or a hat to hand in anymore. In the end, there were very little items he cared to take with him.

The very same caravan he arrived in Tumble Town with was loaded by the time night had fallen. Norman had already leaped into the back without Jimmy needing to call him, and Bullseye was harnessed and ready to go. He briefly considered waiting for the Old Sheriff to return, but he didn’t think he could bear looking at the man at this point. By far, the biggest lesson he learned was that it wasn’t worth it getting attached.

Without anyone to say goodbye to, he left the empty silence of Tumble Town behind. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but the sheriff dream was gone — and so was Jimmy.

#Set right after walmart WRA killed Jimmy on the bridge #I like desperation #You go Tim. Find your true villain self out there #I have So Many Thoughts aaaaaa #(meant to post this days ago but I forgot oops-)#Red Light Bandit AU #Empires SMP #Empires season 2 #Solidarity Gaming #RLBAU #Don't Mind Me I'm Writing My Blorbos

167 notes · View notes