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the-chosen-fanfiction · 2 years ago

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Matthew | I Will Hold You | Platonic

Dialogue prompt: “It’s okay to cry.”

Requested: Yes

Matthew finally breaks when you tell him that he can let go of his pent up sorrow.

It sincerely never gets easier for him. No matter how many years pass, Matthew feels himself drifting further and further away from the community he had grown up in.

Of course he had always known that he was different, as did his parents, although they never directly addressed it. He had been a very promising student, could have gone into Torah school easily if he would set his mind to it and appeared to have a particular talent with numbers.

However, somewhere along the way, he had taken a wrong turn.

His parents had never expected the same from him as they did of his sister. She had been the pride and joy, the person they’d expect to bring them grandchildren and thus continue their bloodline. Alphaeus and Elisheva had never even considered Matthew pursuing such a life, fully aware that their son was so much different from the rest of their community in a way that would cause him to be an outcast no matter where he’d go.

Perhaps he should have known better. He was thirteen at the time, maybe naive, maybe blinded by the possibility for success and honour. There is no pride in his work and the money in his pockets was dirty.

The memory of his father telling his mother to sit shiva right in front of his nose stating that he had no son stings a little more whenever the Jewish Holidays roll around. Right now, during Purim, people are dancing around the streets with their rattles and musical instruments, singing their joyful songs to celebrate Esther’s victory against Haman. The homes are filled with the delicious scent of food and children clinging to their parents, cheering and laughing and finding themselves secure within their loving arms.

Matthew tries to enjoy himself - he truly does - for he has friends now that he had never even dared to dream of having. More than he can count on two hands, even, which is a feeling that remains alien to him. How true this bond is, he cannot yet say, for he sees their glares, especially from Simon, who looks at him with distrust. Other people around Capernaum seem to not be fully convinced of it either, jabbing and spitting at him as a means to express their hatred for the years of discomfort he has caused them.

He doesn’t blame them.

The former tax-collector has often told himself that he did have no choice but to take the job, but in the end, he truly accepted the position of publicanus. Ever since he realised this, he feels more guilty than ever before.

His mind is running rampant tonight and nobody seems to notice his absence.

Except you.

You peel yourself loose from in between Big James and Jesus as you are dancing to the music echoing through the house, laughing at one of Philip’s jokes as you take a sip of wine. Your eyes go through the crowd to find the friend you haven’t seen in a while: Matthew, poor shrunken Matthew, who sits with his shoulders slumped at a table. You take two of the prune-stuffed pastries Andrew offers you and thank him with a grateful smile before striding over to the former tax-collector, who doesn’t even look up at you when you take a seat next to him.

“Hey you,” you say, “How are you feeling? What’s with the pout?”

Matthew shrugs and lets his eyes go to the pastry you place in front of him. “Here you go.”

You take a large bite from your own food and hum in appreciation. “Would you like to dance with me, Matthew?”

“No.” is the first word he tells you. You aren’t hurt by his rejection, smiling and looking at him after swallowing your bite.

“Then at least tell me what is bothering you.”

“Nothing.”

“It doesn’t seem like nothing, Matthew. You haven’t even touched your fruits yet, let alone this amazing Hamantash that I just gave to you.”

Matthew sighs and dares to look at you from the corner of his eye. “I just don’t feel very festive today.”

“Why not?” you genuinely query, “It’s Purim. Everybody loves Purim.”

“I just… I’m sorry for not carrying the same sentiments as the rest of society.”

Your smile falls. “Hey now, I didn’t mean it like that. It is okay to not feel like partying, Matt. That’s totally fine. I just want to know if there is anything I can do for you. All I want to do is to make you smile again.”

“I don’t think you can do anything about what is bothering me, (Y/n).” Matthew bitterly sighs. “I appreciate you for trying, but there is… Really no way.”

You put down your half-eaten pastry and turn to him with a look of concern on your features. “How do you know if you don’t tell me?”

Matthew sighs in defeat and looks through the crowd. Eden’s mother is handing out plates loaded with food, praising her daughter for helping her. John and James are pranking Zebedee by twirling a rattle right next to his ear, even though Salome tries to stop them. A few children Matthew doesn’t know climb onto their father’s back, who hauls them around gladly, causing them to cheer in delight.

“Look at them. All of them are enjoying themselves with their parents. And then there’s me. I haven’t seen them in a long time.”

Your shoulders slump. You know his story and are aware of how much it has meant to his position within the community. “That must hurt a lot.”

Matthew nods and lowers his gaze to the table. “I just… I’d like to… To celebrate with them again, you know? I’m finally finding back my roots within our society and I’m just… It pains me to witness that and realise that I cannot have that same connection with my mother and father anymore.”

“I’m sorry.” you whisper. “But you’re not alone. You know, Mary lost her father too when she was very young. Philip and Nathanael never mention their parents. Thomas has no father anymore. I think a lot of us are orphans, actually.”

“But it’s different for me,” Matthew says, “I am an orphan even though my parents are still alive!”

Falling silent, you sigh deeply. “Have you… Ever considered going to their home to invite them over?”

Matthew blinks and shakes his head. “What is the point? They don’t want to see me.”

You frown. “You don’t know that.” you retort, “For all you know, your mother prepared an extra plate of food for you to eat in the hopes that you’ll show up at their doorstep.”

He shakes his head. “I don’t think so.” Matthew huffs, “I’m nothing but a bother to them.”

“Stop saying such things about yourself–”

“If anything, I’m sure that both of them are happy that I am gone from their lives. I brought so much shame upon them already, they had every right to disown me. I don’t even understand why you are talking to me right now–”

“Matthew—”

“I don’t think I could ever be a good friend to you, (Y/n), because you know how they say: once a friend of the Romans, always a friend of the—”

“Matthew!”

He pauses and looks at you wide-eyed, your expression softening once you see how broken he seems.

“You’ve never properly processed it.” you tell him, “Of course it weighs heavy on you if you’ve never allowed yourself time to give it a place inside your life.”

“Perhaps I don’t want to give it a place,” he exclaims, uncharacteristically snippy, “Because it is not something I should have to get used to, that I have to miss my parents because of my own stupid–”

Tears shimmer on the brims of his eyes and threaten to spill, but he blinks them away as fast as they have formed.

“Of course I miss them.” he sighs after a second of gathering himself, “So no, it does not get easier, and I fear that once I allow it to get easier, it will make me apathetic to it.”

You swallow away the lump in your throat and reach for him, hover your hand above his as it rests on the table, but decide against touching it. “That’s the deal,” you say, “Deep inside your heart, you will never be indifferent. No matter how much you try to push it away, it will surface one way or the other where it takes you by complete surprise at your most vulnerable moment. That’s not good, Matthew. You need to deal with it. You need to allow yourself to feel its full weight and then take action, so that this sadness will have nothing against you.”

He stares at you but says no word. You take it as a sign to resume.

“I believe that God can turn your sadness into joy and turn it around again. Because He is a God of transformation, of healing, of mending broken hearts and bringing them together. Bottling up your emotions will eventually shatter you. It will eat you alive, Matthew. I was there once and I do not want to go back to that moment.”

Your vision blurs and a few tears escape before you can stop them. Matthew frowns in question, for he had no idea that you used to struggle with something yourself.

“What happened?” he softly asks.

“My brother swindled our eema out of a lot of money. She was saving up for the inheritance and he took it all to gamble it away at The Hammer. I was so angry with him, Matthew. I wanted to kill him and it was an ever growing hatred. Our eema passed away and we were left with nothing but debt. My brother fell ill and I didn’t bother going to visit him, even though he was close to death.”

Matthew puts his hand on top of yours. The gentle gesture makes you smile a bit. “And then? Your… Brother died a few months ago, right?”

“Then He happened.” You nod at Jesus across the room who is dancing with Mary and Simon the Zealot. “Jesus taught me to forgive others like God forgives my sins. If God can forgive us, then who are we to not forgive our peers? I forgave him, went to say goodbye and he passed away with a smile on his face. But that is beside the point I am trying to make. What I am trying to say is that I had all these pent up emotions - anger, guilt, heartbreak. When Jesus came to me one evening whilst I was particularly struggling with my rage, I just broke down. He held me, let me cry until I calmed down and told me what I should do. To forgive, to set aside what happened and to seek reconciliation. It was such a weight off my shoulders. There was no judgement. Just comfort.”

You rub the back of your hand over your cheeks and give Matthew a watery smile.

“I am willing to give that same comfort to you, Matthew, if you let me. All it takes is to let it all out, to truly feel the weight of your hurt, and to then let it go. Reconciliation with your parents is possible because of Him. Really, Matthew, it’s okay to cry, and I promise that you’ll feel so much lighter afterwards.”

“Will I?” Matthew’s voice shivers. You give him a small nod and smile reassuringly when his eyes burn hot with unshed tears.

“Come here,” you breathe, opening your arms, awaiting his next move. Whereas you had expected him to either politely decline or carefully hug you, he swings himself around your neck, pushing all air from your lungs. You quickly close your arms around him, bracing yourself whilst he sobs into your shoulder.

It soaks your tunic to the point it grows cold on your back, but you don’t care about that. Instead, you rub gentle circles over his back, allowing him to heave out the anguish and the grief he must have felt over the past years of being called a shame and a failure.

Matthew learns he doesn’t need to keep himself together. He needs to do so even less in the comfort of the arms of his dear friend, with the Messiah only a shout away.

His shoulders shake as he cries, and with every jerk of his body, a little bit of the burden is shed.

Matthew grasps onto you as if you would fade the moment he’d let go. Patiently, you hold him for what might be hours.

Across the room, you lock eyes with Jesus, Who gives you a small smile and an affirmative nod. You mirror it before closing your eyes, knowing that Matthew will make peace with his father before he knows it.

#the chosen #the chosen x reader #chosen x reader #matthew #matthew x reader #reader insert #x reader #matthew x you #platonic

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everystephoftheway · 2 years ago

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camp cloudtop: chapter thirteen

Did I get this plot concept from Blue’s Big Musical Movie? Yes, yes I did.

This can be found on ao3 as well.

Keyleth curled over the table they had commandeered in the back of a small restaurant, the fake metal border poking at the base of her hands where it had started to warp off the cheap wooden table. She was squished between Vax and Percy, Vex squished between her brother and Keyleth. They were supposed to be inconspicuous, having a private conversation in public without seeming like anything was private, but four twenty-somethings wrapped around a table in a decently busy diner at four in the afternoon wasn’t exactly the stealthiest thing.

“So did you get any more information out of Gilmore?” Vex started off, keeping her voice hushed so wandering waiters and customers headed for the bathroom couldn’t hear.

“Yes and no,” Vax leaned in, clearly frustrated by his lack of answers. “Enrollment was down nearly twenty percent this year. He said he wasn’t sure why so many former campers didn’t return, but he was happy to keep going for this year. He didn’t give specifics, but it didn’t seem like the finances were that much of a problem. Then he said the Briarwoods stopped by and told him their proposal–buying the land from him–and he said he thought about it and decided to agree.”

The table was quiet for a moment, each person mulling over the new information. Percy tabled his chin on his folded hands, an eyebrow quirking as he spoke first. “Unfortunate as it is, that doesn’t exactly sound like an illogical progression of events. Not to sound like Kash–” he glanced at Keyleth, “--no offense–but perhaps we should simply honor Gilmore’s decision?”

“No, because you didn’t see the look in Gilmore’s eyes. It was…distant.”

“What do you mean?” Keyleth leaned even further forward only to immediately revert back when Percy cleared his throat, alerting her to the fact that she went right in front of him.

“Even if Gilmore did decide to take the money and sell the land, Camp Cloudtop is his pride and joy. You’d assume he’d have some emotions about it, right?”

The group nodded in unison.

“Well…he didn’t. His expression was…blank. Or, even worse, like he was trying to act sad when he wasn’t.”

“Hm. Gilmore’s not exactly the type to hide his feelings,” Vex chimed in. “Even if he was trying to protect you.”

“Do you think he’s been charmed?”

Everyone looked at Keyleth as she offered the idea, and suddenly–despite no argument–it felt very stupid.

“I mean, I don’t know who these Briarwood people are, but maybe they have magic? Though, I don’t know why they’d want this land so bad to go through all the trouble. Did he tell you anything about that?”

Vax shook his head. “No. To be honest, I’m not even sure if he knows. In theory, they may have never told him; all they claimed was they wanted the land and were willing to pay.”

“I can look into that,” Percy said, raising a hand. “See what I can find about their background, what they may want the land for.”

“See if they have any magic usage in their history.” Keyleth shrugged. “It can’t hurt.”

Percy nodded, though he didn’t seem as intrigued by the notion as Keyleth did.

“In the meantime, we need to come up with some ideas on how to help Gilmore raise enough money where selling the land is unnecessary.”

“Do you know how much money that might be?”

Vax eyed his hands on the table for a moment, not looking up when he muttered, “Five hundred.”

“Five hundred gold?” Vex’s voice grew two octaves higher and probably six decibels louder, and she was quickly shushed by her brother before she continued. “You expect us to make five hundred gold? In how long? Before summer’s end?”

“And we need to get enrollment back up.”

“And how do you expect we do that?”

“Well, that’s why we’re here, Stubby.”

Keyleth’s brow furrowed. “Stubby?”

The glare she got from Vex silenced any further questions on the nickname.

“We’re here to brainstorm,” Vax continued, ignoring the quick side conversation. “Come up with some ideas on how to raise the money and get more people interested in the camp.”

“Percy,” Vex gestured to him, “you come from a rich family. You want to make a handsome donation?”

“A dead rich family,” he said with a surprisingly neutral expression. “I can’t touch the money until I’m twenty-five. It’s stuck in trust.”

“Bake sales are good.”

Vax points at Keyleth, smiling. “Bake sales are good. What else?”

The group sat and thought for a while, ping-ponging ideas back and forth until Percy randomly mentions, “What about a talent show? Cass’ old school used to put them on when she was little.”

The whole group perked up; Keyleth immediately started to imagine the auditorium all decorated and full of people, campers and parents and townsfolk, and a nice, full entrance fee box right at the door.

“That could get the whole camp involved. That means all their families would want to come.”

“We need to get the entire town involved if we want to reach our goal,” Vex countered.

“We can do that too. Open admissions to the public. This camp has been around for, what, twenty years? There’s got to be plenty of kids who are now adults with money that came to Camp Cloudtop and would help it stay on its feet. And kids will see how fun the camp is and want to come next summer. Plus, people just love Gilmore.”

“What kind of talent show are we thinking of here?” Vex leaned back in her seat, arms folded across her chest. “I’m not tap dancing around a stage.”

Vax shook his head. “It can be whatever we want. The talents can be whatever anyone wants. It can be individual or groups, so more kids will feel comfortable taking part. You can do some archery tricks. Percy, you can…I don’t know, write some angsty poetry or something. Keyleth, you can…”

The space of silence was clearly an offer for her to fill in the blanks, and she jumped a little in her seat when she realized. “Oh! I can do some magic stuff. You know, druid-y things.”

“Perfect.”

“We’re really going with a talent show?” Vex sighed, taking a moment, before she leaned back into the table. “Alright, let’s do it.”

#critical role #critical role fic #cr fic #vaxleth #vaxleth fic #vaxleth au #my fic #vox machina #vox machina fic #tlovm fic #camp cloudtop

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upalldown · 1 year ago

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Wilco - Cousin

Studio album number thirteen from pioneering folk rock band produced by Cate Le Bon

7/13

I was quite wary of Wilco’s direction nearly a decade ago - not only was Yankee Hotel Foxtrot’s brilliance far in the rearview mirror by that point, but the releases of Star Wars and Schmilco didn’t inspire great confidence. On their own merits, I’ll defend both of those records as pretty great, but the former’s half-baked jam session feel and the latter’s laconic vibe (not helped by a throwaway album title) both gave the sense that Wilco was settling into a late-career phase of simply resting on laurels. Since that time, I’ve been happy to be proven wrong.

The band’s resurgence began with 2019’s Ode to Joy - one of Wilco’s most mellow records, but its delicate nature doesn’t obscure the catchiness, beauty, and emotion present in spades. This was followed by 2022’s Cruel Country, a sprawling double album advertised as the group’s long-awaited return to country, the genre that spawned them long ago. While it did add a steady touch of roots and twang, most of the expansive tracklist fit rather well alongside the mild fare of recent Wilco and solo Jeff Tweedy efforts, but if the marketing felt a touch overblown, the record still delivered, a rock-solid eighty-or-so minutes anchored by multiple career highlights. And now, only a year and change later, we have Cousin, the third installment of a perhaps overlooked but undeniably impressive run by one of contemporary indie’s iconic groups.

Cousin is an incredible-sounding album. By that, I don’t mean that the ten songs here are reliably great (but they are!), or that the musicians on the LP play their instruments well (they do!), or that the record is arranged perfectly into a nicely-flowing forty-three minute listen (it is!). Rather, it’s the standout production job which proves particularly notable, courtesy of Welsh musician Cate Le Bon. Le Bon’s involvement itself is a relevant departure, as she is the first outside producer on a Wilco album since 2007’s Sky Blue Sky. As someone without any expertise in production at all, but who is in possession of two working ears, I’d say the band hit a home run. Not only do the songs sound lovely, but the colorful, glossy, shimmery-ness which results gives the music of Cousin a distinct identity in its own right.

More on that last note - I single out the production so heavily not just because it’s wonderful, but also because in most other respects Cousin feels like more-or-less a “standard Wilco effort”. There are some “different” songs like the exceptional opener “Infinite Surprise” or the future classic “Pittsburgh”, both of which have an artsy tinge that the band have often wielded at their finest, and mark a transition from the more rustic feel of last year’s record, but a good chunk of the tracklist could’ve been pulled from various other Wilco albums - “Evicted” seems like a perfect Ode to Joy cut, for example, and the noisier title track wouldn’t be out-of-place on Star Wars. However, they all work together nicely, buoyed by the kind of drifting and ethereal vibe which the production style furthers.

All in all, the vibrancy of the cover art couldn’t feel more appropriate, with Cousin coming across as drenched in warmth - if still rather melancholy, it seems notably bright following the oft-grim Cruel Country. There may only be a few songs here which will take a place among Wilco’s finest, but this is a consistently strong album, and the band has never sounded better, at least from a studio recording perspective. And Tweedy’s songwriting remains in top form - the apathetic delivery of mass shooting-pondering “Ten Dead” hits harder than the more obvious enraged approach likely would’ve, while closer “Meant to Be” captures a sense of yearning beautifully - “our love is meant to be”, he sings, expressing the thought more as an aspiration than a fact. I won’t try to assess where Cousin fits within the panoply of Wilco albums, but it’s another worthy addition to a burgeoning discography. It’s a wonderful feeling when an old favorite is still in a groove and pumping out quality music after so many years. Here’s hoping that there’s decades more in the tank.

youtube

#wilco #cousin #music #Youtube

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angstyavocado · 1 year ago

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Updated table of contents for my Nanowrimo project, the backstory for my DND campaign 2 barbarian. Each chapter has the title of a song from her playlist, and I just added the most relevant lyrics from each one as a quote. I wish this indicated these are completed chapters, but hey, this was a fun exercise.

CHAPTER ONE: Second Child, Restless Child

“I was born the second child,

With a spirit running wild, running free[...]

You’ve got to go on further than you’ve ever gone,

You’ve got to run far from all you’ve ever known.”

CHAPTER TWO: The Fine Print

“You should have read the fine print, my friend.

Here, just fill out the paperwork and you can look around.

We work to earn the right to work to earn the right to buy ourselves the right to live to earn the right to die.”

CHAPTER THREE: Spent Gladiator 1

“Do every stupid thing that makes you feel alive

Do every stupid thing to try to drive the dark away.”

CHAPTER FOUR: Chemical Worker’s Song

“They’ll time your every breath

And every day you’re in this place

You’re two days nearer death.”

CHAPTER FIVE: Machine

“I’ve been wondering when you’re gonna see I’m not for sale,

When you’re gonna see I’m not part of your machine.

Fill my cup with endless ambition

And paint this town with my very own vision.”

CHAPTER SIX: Everybody Wants to Rule the World

“There's a room where the light won't find you

Holding hands while the walls come tumbling down

When they do I'll be right behind you

Everybody wants to rule the world.”

CHAPTER SEVEN: Eight

“I was just a kid who grew up strong enough to pick this armor up

And suddenly it fit.

I want to break these bones ‘til they’re better

I want to break them right and feel alive

You were wrong, you were wrong, you were wrong–

My healing needed more than time.”

CHAPTER EIGHT: Feed the Machine

“Hey, you, poison the well,

Watch it all burn, take them straight to hell.”

CHAPTER NINE: Steal Smoked Fish

“The joys that the lesser days bring

Make you throw back your heads and sing

Feels so good to have you here

Some of you will be dead next year

God bless all petty thieves with tins of oysters up their sleeves

Feast when you can and dream when there’s nothing to feast on.”

CHAPTER TEN: Go Get Your Gun

“Imposing penance one by one, you’ve got a virtue in a vice [...]

When this is over, then we’ll raise a glass straight up to the sun

With our one foot in the grave while the other one’s kicking its way right down to hell.”

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Black Sheep

“I should've known one day you would betray my trust

I’ll tell you now, I never liked you all that much

You’ve always been and you will always be

Nothing more than a memory

And nothing at all to me.”

CHAPTER TWELVE: Daniel in the Den

“You thought the lions were bad,

Well, they tried to kill my brothers

And felled in the night by the ones you think you love

They will come for you.

Go, go, go, go, go, go.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Training Montage

“I’m doing this for revenge

I’m doing this to try and stay true

I’m doing this for the ones we had to leave behind

I’m doing this for you.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Werewolf Gimmick

“Empty out the locker room, let me find my space

Let him who thinks he knows no fear look well upon my face.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN: Getting into Knives

“Loaded up my toolkit with every hateful instrument

Now here we are thirty years later

Met up with some guys who wouldn’t tell me their last names

They specialize in non-conventional munitions

You can’t give me back what you’ve taken

But you can give me something that’s almost as good.

I’m getting into knives.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN: Abandon Ship

“Everything you thought you knew

Like no one being there for you

Just trust me that it isn’t true

This is our ship, and we’re your crew

Abandon everything you know

Sail with us

And we’ll show you what it means to be alive.

The best is yet to come.”

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: Riverboat Shanty

“I’m standing guard, I’m falling apart

And all I want is to trust you [...]

Here’s a map, here’s a shovel, here’s my Achilles heel

I’m all in, palms out

I’m at your mercy now and I’m ready to begin

I am strong, I am strong, I am strong enough to let you in.”

“The river knows my sorrows and it flows to safer shores

On the water I’m nobody’s daughter anymore

And there’s no room for baggage we cannot trade for goods

So let the river flow fast as it can go

Oarsmen row the boat, I’m not going home

Let the river flow now.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: Save Yourself, I’ll Hold Them Back

“We can live forever if you’ve got the time

You’re the broken glass in the morning light

Be a burning star if it take all night

So just save yourself and I’ll hold them back tonight.”

CHAPTER NINETEEN: Oh the Places You’ll Go

“I can’t promise you’ll be safe. I can’t promise you won’t lose your way.

But I promise you now, you’ll get through it somehow

And you'll laugh about today

You’ll know how I love you so, and find a way to stay strong.

Oh the places you'll go, with your eyes so wide

With your heart in your hand and your sword at your side

Oh the mountains you’ll move, oh the tears you’ll cry

Oh the places you'll go, little love of mine."

CHAPTER TWENTY: Red

“Close this wound, alight my bones;

I’m going away for a long time.”

#campaign 2 #dnd #nanowrimo #it occurs to me that I included three combat or revenge themed mountain goats songs back to back

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kiigan · 11 months ago

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«Thank you, that makes me happy.»

ㅤHow surreal it feels, to once more be able to use this adjective in relation to his mood without it being (a) a blatant lie or (b) out of sarcasm and ungodly amounts of sass. A sort of sentiment, happiness, joy, contentment cranked up to eleven, that Itachi still isn't sure he's deserving of - all truth be said. Surviving the battle with Sasuke was not something he'd intended on, let alone to be forgiven for what he's done.

And yet... matters are seldom black or white, aren't they?

ㅤHe is, obviously, still the same person, but he is not that thirteen year old child anymore. In retrospect, his appraisal refined by almost a further decade of life experience, Itachi can see [...metaphorically speaking, anyway] that, the same way there could never have been a linear solution to the tension between clan and village, there also cannot be a linear lens with which to interpret his choice; his actions; his crimes. For how much of it was, indeed, a choice? And how much of it was the only way out that was left to him, after Shisui's own maybe-not-choice?

An introspection that Itachi has yet to gather the courage to undertake.

ㅤBest not to linger, at least for the time being. Iruka has enough on his plate to deal with, and the [technically still] Uchiha heir isn't here to add to it. Now that he's demonstrated he can successfully read through even the most disgraceful of handwriting, he is, indeed, ready to work. Turns out to not be too dissimilar from evaluating reports by his former ANBU subordinates, back in the day - the main difference being that those brave souls had known better than to bring to their captain any report written in a less than near-perfect condition. ...Yes, maybe Itachi isn't the sort of boss any person would have an easy time with, he can admit this much.

ㅤWhich is why, when Iruka's kind warning comes, Itachi can't help the laugh that falls from his lips. «Noted. If nothing else, it'll be interesting for me to be on the other side of the intimidation equation, for once.» Yet another notion he'd used as second skin, all those years; intimidation meant people staying clear of his way and, in turn, staying clear of a very high death probability.

ㅤAfter making attentive mental notes on every procedure the teacher goes through [a very talented one, indeed, kind and patient and understanding, and later on Itachi will make sure to ask about the stages of Sasuke's education he's missed out on], he sits back beside Iruka and smiles gratefully once more. «That's very generous of you, and you have my gratitude for it. As long as baby-sitting me won't rob you of your own time nor be a burden, your company will be quite welcome, Iruka-san.»

ㅤThere is an underlying motivation to the sensei's offer, however, he knows that there is, but it's tricky to figure out. Satoshi's birdlike field of vision can only offer as much when it comes to studying a human's subtle facial expressions, after all. It's quite all right. They'll apparently have the whole day together, which means plenty of opportunities for Itachi to learn more about this gentle man. Assuming his usual formal stance, then, that of a true clan leader with his back perfectly straight and his motions as fluid as they are elegant, Fugaku's influence written all over his mannerisms, he reaches for the respective reports and gets to work. That and he throws in a very harmless question, just for the sake of satisfying his curiosity.

ㅤ«Is this something you now do often? Forgive me for assuming, yet I was under the impression you worked as a teacher only.»

maybe iruka's in a genjutsu.

he... doesn't think he is. he'd like to think that the world he's living in is, in fact, the reality. after all, for the first time in all of shinobi history perhaps, there is a union among the villages made possible by the conclusion of the fourth war. the same war naruto had helped won. naruto, who has grown up beyond being the mischievous kid pulling up pranks every other day. iruka would really, really like this to be the reality: because it means naruto isn't alone anymore. because it means he's recognised, and he's— happy, somewhat. fulfilled, iruka hopes. and that the village will, from now on, thrives.

and yet— there is some dissonance in witnessing the former defected uchiha here around the mission desk, writing a report through a crow summon. he's even turned around now, uchiha itachi, presenting whatever he's written with the sort of politeness that strangely has iruka tethered this entire affair as not-a-genjutsu-at-all, because that's certainly the sort of formal speech he'd expected from members of konoha's noble houses, fallen or otherwise.

well, when they're not being an asshole about ranks and their powers and all that, which he, too, is all too familiar with.

iruka gathers the report, and he reads through both papers and it's—it's perfect, iruka thinks around an unexpectedly warm smile. had he been the other's teacher, perhaps iruka would even say he's proud. or maybe he's simply thought of sasuke, a long time ago, when he still had the boy as one of his students. sullen, unhappy sasuke. iruka's heart clenches a little. should've he had done more before ? could he have done more ?

he shakes the thought, and smiles at itachi instead. ❛⠀you did well, itachi-san. although good for you, you've no need to write anything so thoroughly like this. ❜ iruka then proceeds to fish out a few documents from the rejected pile. he begins to sit down, explains to itachi one-by-one on why they'd rejected one report to the next, what itachi could look out for when he begins receiving report after report. one shinobi had forgotten to write a whole entire section. another didn't elaborate well enough. the next one barely had legitimate handwriting.

❛⠀they'll try to intimidate you, because no shinobis like being told 'no' in case it's incomplete, but it's important to stand your ground. ❜ iruka told itachi next, before proceeds to direct the other man into the sorting pile. here's the assorted missions from rank A to D. S-ranks are always directly reported to the hokage, so we wouldn't be finding them here. then to the part of the office where they'd store already-accepted mission reports, and where finance would typically sort them to compensate the correct shinobis before it's moved to archives.

❛⠀i hope you wouldn't mind me sitting next to you the first day, itachi-san. ❜ iruka takes his seat, scratching at his nose, half-embarrassed. and he hopes the other shinobi wouldn't take this as iruka undermining his skills as jōnin-level above would tend to do, it's just ... iruka couldn't predict how other people would react being around a former traitor, and he just—he couldn't stand bullies, okay?

#long post #fightaers #[verse] the hand entangled in compassion #iruka being protective of itachi is the most precious thing🥹#but also tachi like - u are interesting tell me more about urself #[queued post]

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shanastoryteller · 3 years ago

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Happy Pride! Thank you for sharing your writing with us. I would do dastardly things for a continuation of the WWX and JYL return with the kids after being supposed dead. If that doesn't spark joy, anything untamed would be amazing. Thank you so much!! I hope you have a wonderful month

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12

Jiang Yanli lets her sect effulge her, reaching out her arms for anyone that's straining toward her. The Lan are hanging back, Lan Wangji staring intently at A-Xian as if they're fifteen again, but her brother is too busy being sat on and scolded by a half dozen senior disciples to notice. She cheerfully shoves A-Ling towards his sect brothers and sisters.

He may carry his father's name, but he's still her son, still raised by her and A-Xian. He can't be anything but Jiang.

Too much Jin influence is what had scared her so badly thirteen years ago, after all.

When everyone starts to calm and she's wiped a dozen tearful faces, she catches A-Xian's eye.

He nods, jerking his heads toward the house before shouting to gather the disciples attention on him so she can slip away.

She's so happy to see them all again. But someone is missing.

Jiang Yanli steps slowly through the walls of Lotus Pier. She's looking for what's changed, but it's depressingly little. They are a clan of change, like the ever flowing water of their rivers, and it worries her.

A dam can either make a lake or a swamp.

She steps into the family shrine and sees exactly what she expects to - A-Cheng sitting there, so stiffly that it has to be uncomfortable. "I thought I'd find you here."

He flinches and she's glad that his back is to her so he can't see her mirror it.

"You couldn't stand guilt when we were kids," she murmurs, stepping forward in a way that makes her skirts drag against the floor so it's easy for him to know exactly where she is. "It's why A-Xian's messes used to stress you out so much. Once you were caught, you rushed to be punished because it let you breathe a little easier. No matter how harsh Mother was with you, you always felt better once it was over."

"What sort of punishment does one deserve for killing his family?" A-Cheng asks bitterly. "I've never been able to decide."

Jiang Yanli won't cry. Tears won't help her now. "It was my idea."

His shoulders tense.

"A-Xian saved me. He didn't have a plan beyond that. It was my idea to steal away A-Ling, to fake our deaths, and to run. I was so scared over what had happened, over how close it had all been and how Koi Tower wasn't safe. I was terrified and A-Ling was so young and I couldn't keep myself safe, never mind my son. So I asked A-Xian to run away with me, to someplace I could raise my child without terror. There was fear, still, but it was a manageable weight." She pauses. "It saved all our lives, in more ways than one, and I never would have done it if I'd known you wouldn't get our letters, if I'd known what it would do with you. I would rather live with my terror than your grief."

He jerks, finally turning to face her. His eyes are red.

"What punishment am I owed for abandoning and tormenting my little brother?" she continues, throat tight. "I will take it. I will accept it threefold. I said that we were supposed to be together forever, and I left you behind. I didn't do it on purpose. I thought you were reading our letters. I thought you were still with us, just further away, and I was wrong."

"A-jie!" he says harshly, then doesn't seem to know where to go from there.

She smooths trembling hands over his shoulders, trying to keep it together. "I love you, A-Cheng. A-Xian loves you. We've missed you so much, but we've had each other, and you've been alone. You're not responsible for our deaths, but we're responsible for your loneliness. How will you punish us?"

"A-JIE!" he shouts, pushing himself to his feet so he can tower over her. "Stop - don't - I would never-"

She moves then, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her forehead to his chest.

He still doesn't hug her back, but his chest shakes with silent sobs that even now he can't fully let out.

It's progress.

#prompt answers #prompts are closed #asks #uggabuggawugga #fantastic username #untamed

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cloud-ya · 2 years ago

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Fellow elysia hater here

After elysian realm got main story chapters i quit playing since it felt like they cared more about breast size then character. Now that it’s back to the main trio i kind of want to start playing again but it’s just boring now, still

Only characters im still interested in are HoV/Sirin, kiana and Bronya. but the first two don’t get any content anymore unfortunately

oh fuck SAME I'm glad I'm not the only one not being able to feel joy when playing honkai story anymore. with every new chapter it feels more and more than just a chore to me that I eventually have to do rather than exploring a story. I wish I could genuinely enjoy trio reunion but I just. can't. first part of it was literally just "I'm glad we're all back together But Look What Elysia Showed Me". doesn't help that mei got caught in this unfortunate crossfire because of being in elysian realm and I just couldn't stand her voice at first because I associated it with this annoying part of the story

for sure the biggest flaw in execution of elysian realm and its characters is blatant jump on cash from thirsty fans. one character having bigger breasts than the other; oh, we can't make this character have boobs bigger than her head because she's a child? don't worry there are still ways to put some ~subtle~ fetish features in her design - just make her wear nothing on her feet, even in outfits. at that point male characters were the only ones designed somewhat sensibly because they would never end up as playable, so mihoyo wouldn't make some extra money on them anyway. it's so frustrating because the concept itself was great, but hoyo fucked it up with wanting more money

its another flaw is shoving it in the main story out of nowhere. it was good when it was its own mode, they could make some notification when finishing chapter 25 that "hey, mei's now in elysian realm so just for your information what's happening with her rn you can go to this new mode and check out its story!", but no, they just had to shove it along with that fucking open world there. and argue all you want, but I don't see any decent enough development value for it to be featured as part of main story. when they realized that there should be some better message at the end than "elysia is cool give us money" they just quickly came up with theme of memory or bearing knowledge about some random dead people or whatever. cool, mei bears this knowledge of thirteen dead people from 50k years ago, but what of it? what is she supposed to do with that knowledge further.

from what I know elysian realm is available before people even get to the chapter 25, which I don't like either because of fucking course people will try a new mode that opens at some captain level despite not knowing what's happening, who those characters are and in what part of the story this is supposed to be happening. it should be available after clearing certain mission/stage in the main story, not after reaching certain captain level

all that drop in quality makes me keep forgetting to check on honkai because there's just nothing that would keep me hooked really. I hope chrono navi patch and its main event will make me check on the game more often, but that would be just that

#elysia hate

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theonewiththefanfics · 4 years ago

Text

Thick And Thin (one-shot)

Synopsis: He never thought his wife would ever even think about divorce. They had problems, which is why they were at marriage counselling. But he never knew her heart had broken a long time ago. And he’d been the one to break it before they even got together.

Pairing: Harry Styles x fem!Reader

Genre: aaaaaaannnnggggssssttt baby, just wanted to write something that’d rip your heart out :)

Warnings: swearing, pain, kinda depressive (??), can’t think of anything else really, but please let me know if there is, also not my best work lol :D

Word count: 7102 (let’s start off the New Year with loads of pain :) )

Italics are flashbacks

“I want a divorce.”

Never in Harry’s life did he think he’d have to hear those words. Not after everything they’d been through, not after all of the effort he’d been putting in to save their relationship.

Those words had not only stunned him but their marriage councillor, the woman’s mouth open mid-word, as she tried to comprehend what was happening. Harry was fairing even worse. It was like his brain was short-circuiting, synapses broken and no longer sending any signals.

“Mrs Styles, I know it’s difficult,” the therapist tried to diffuse the situation. “But the reason you’re here is to avoid this specifically.”

“I don’t remember how you smell anymore,” Y/N continued not listening to the woman, voice like a black void, but her Y/E/C eyes rimmed with tears. “Or taste. I don’t remember how it feels to have you pressed up against me or what it’s like to hear your voice. I… I don’t have anything to cling onto anymore.”

“It’s why we're here!” he cried through clenched teeth, slipping on his knees before her, hands grasping Y/N’s in a vice-like grip. “It’s why we’re trying.”

The laugh she let out was detached and without any love. “We tried it your way, Harry.” She’d never called him Harry before. It was always Lover. “And it’s not working for me. It hasn’t from the start. We’re… we’re so unhappy. And I don’t want that for you or for me. We deserve happiness. But I don’t think we can give that to one another anymore.” She took in a shaky breath, looking down at Harry’s hands in her lap. “When I thought of it, at first I felt horrible. I wanted to throw myself off somewhere, but the more I sat on that thought, the more relieved I felt.”

He couldn’t believe what he was hearing, didn’t want to believe it. “Relieved?” The word felt like acid in his mouth.

“Yes,” she nodded. “Relieved. Because this choice won’t make us hurt one another anymore. This gives us a chance to have a fresh start.”

“I don’t want a fresh start! We said – we said through thick and thin.” He was grasping onto the last straw he could find. “This is the thin, but we’ll get through it.”

“Harry, I already broke through the thin. And now I’m drowning. And when the thick comes, I’ll either be frozen under it and watch you walk further, or I’ll surface somewhere, and I don’t know on which side of the shore I’m gonna be on and where you’ll be. And if you try to get me, you’ll start drowning too. I don’t want that.”

“But that’s what marriage is! Going through the tough shit together!”

“Harry… I already asked Lionel to draw up the papers. The first draft is done.”

His blood froze in his veins.

“When you said to sit down and write one thing that makes me happy about the relationship,” Y/N was looking at the therapist now, “about the person, I – I couldn’t. Because I kept thinking back to the start, to the beginning. That’s what made me happy. But now…” She glanced at Harry. “If there was one thing, I couldn’t do to you, not in a moment like this, is lie. I just… I don’t remember how to be happy with you.”

***

They’d started out as the cliché of best-friends-lose-contact-only-to-be-reunited-and-not-let-their-chance-pass-by-and-fall-in-love. She was ten when she’d moved in next door to him and he was twelve when he’d seen the three vans full up to the house, a little girl hopping out from one of them. Harry watched as she rushed up the doorstep and put in a key, unlocking it and a new chapter of her life with it. Little did he know she’d unlocked a new chapter of his life as well.

She was the new kid at school, and despite the fact that he was a year above, he sat down next to her at lunch.

“ ’M ‘arry,” he said through a mouthful of a sandwich. “Saw you move in yesterday.”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “I’m Y/N.”

And that was the start of a blooming friendship.

On her eleventh birthday, he gave her a handmade bracelet. She gave him a kiss on the cheek as a thank you, making Harry blush all shades of pink and red.

He was thirteen when he had his first real kiss on his birthday. Y/N had simply tried to peck him on the cheek, but he’d turned his head, and her mouth had ended up on his. She’d walked away with a shy smile and ears on fire.

She was thirteen when a boy first asked her out. Harry was the first person she told him about it. That was the first time his heart broke.

When he was fifteen, he got his first girlfriend. Y/N was fourteen when her heart broke for the first time.

And then he'd gone on X-factor and with that forgotten about her. She called him, texted him, messaged him on social media, but usually, she’d maybe get only one picture or a small ‘miss you too’ as a response. So, after a whole year apart, she gave up. What was the point of trying to save anything when he didn’t want to?

He moved on and became an international superstar. Y/N moved on and graduated top of her class, got into her first-choice university, and graduated with a first as well. He had some relationships here and there, while Y/N had had a steady relationship since the second year of uni, but when she decided to go to a different one for her masters they amicably broke up.

Eight years later she was sitting at a café in London, laughing with her ex-boyfriend and catching up, as he explained how what Criminal Minds showed wasn’t really what was taught in his criminology degree classes.

“I’m still saying I dated real-life Spencer Reid,” Y/N chuckled, sipping on her gingerbread latte. “Don’t give a shit, I need something to flex with.”

Harry had then walked inside the café, shaking off the snow from his boots when a familiar laugh he hadn’t heard in ages invaded his senses. It was almost like he’d stepped into a dream.

When his green eyes befell on the owner of the voice, he had to take a double-take. Somehow in his brain, he’d expected the fifteen-year-old teenager, a t-shirt of his face on her body, as she’d cheered him on when he’d gone onto his first concert as part of One Direction to be sitting in the chair, not the grown-up woman.

He’d still checked in with Y/N through what she posted on her social media, but as much as he’d promised not to have the celebrity life sweep him away, it had. Harry sometimes had two concerts a day, and he barely had a moment to take a bite of food. And he hated to admit it, but Y/N simply slipped from his life. And he didn’t bother to put in the effort to pull her back.

A huge wave of guilt and longing rushed through his body as he glanced at the woman, her face lit up by joy as she and the man before her continued on with their conversation.

Someone tapped on his shoulder, making him turn around and face another customer. “You gonna order anything?”

For a moment Harry stuttered. He could walk away without inserting himself back into Y/N’s life, but he didn’t want that. He’d missed her. Harry didn’t even realise how much he’d missed her.

“You go ahead.” He motioned with his hand. “I’m still thinking.”

Harry took in a deep breath and then walked towards where the pair was sitting.

The man’s eyes flitted up to see who was towering over Y/N, only for them to widen, and his mouth hang open.

A sense of pride filled Harry's chest at the reaction and maybe quenched a little bit of the jealousy invading his body. He used to be the one who made Y/N laugh until she had to tell him to stop or she’d pee herself. He was back to take up the role.

“You okay there, Dan?” she chuckled. “Don’t tell me there’s a ghost behind my back. I told him not to walk out of the flat wit –“ Y/N had turned around and almost choked on her drink. “Oh my god, Harry! Oh – hi!” She jumped up hugging him, feeling how his body shook with laughter at her reaction, strong arms weaving around her middle. “Holy shit, it’s really you!”

“Yeah, ‘s me. Who else?”

“I didn’t know you were back in the UK.”

A warmth spread through his chest, as he reluctantly pulled away from the hug. “Been checking in on me?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, sitting back down, but pulling up a third chair for Harry to sit upon. “Dan’s a huge fan.” She motioned with her head to the man. “When we first started dating, I thought he was only doing it because we used to be friends, and he hoped I’d set you up or something.”

Harry masked the choke of envy by clearing his throat and letting out an awkward chuckle. “Hope I’m not interrupting a date or something.”

“A catch-up date, but not a date date.” Dan lifted his brows at Y/N, who gave him a ‘don’t start this’ look to which he threw up his hands in surrender. “I’m just making conversation.”

“You’re being annoying, that’s what you are.” Y/N flicked a crumb from the table towards him.

It was in that moment that it truly hit how much he’d missed, and it hit him hard he no longer knew the person who once was his best friend.

“You’re different,” Harry said, looking over at her trying to keep the lump in his throat from making his voice break.

Y/N shrugged, eyes twinkling. “I mean it has been almost a decade. I do hope I don’t look the same as I did then. Otherwise, the pain of braces was of no use.”

“No,” he chuckled shaking his head. “’S not that… It’s like you’re a different person.”

“I grew up,” she said, sipping on the last bits of her drink. “ ’M not the same fifteen-year-old you saw last.”

He nodded and bit his lip. But the thing was, Harry wasn’t the stupid sixteen-year-old that left the fifteen-year-old her either. This time, he wouldn’t let the chance at happiness pass him by when he could’ve had it all along.

***

He sat across from Y/N at the large marble table and watched, heart bleeding out in his chest as she put her signature on the papers, her attorney fishing out something from his briefcase and handing it to her under the table. He saw her shoulders shudder before she placed a maroon rectangle with a golden inscription on it in her own purse. Harry wanted to vomit. It was her new passport, where her surname no longer matched his, where he no longer existed, inscribed into the document as her spouse.

“Mr Styles?” Y/N’s lawyer pushed the papers his way, the pen laying atop them. “’S your turn.”

‘Your turn’, as if it was a game of spin the bottle or UNO.

“Don’t make me,” he choked out, pleading with Y/N one last time. “Please don’t make me do this. Don’t make me give up on us.”

Her words were worse than a knife to his soul. “You can’t give up on something that’s no longer there.”

When they’d been at the stage of negotiation, he’d kept pushing for giving her at least half of his income, to give her one of the houses they owned together, but she’d turned everything down.

“I didn’t marry you for your money, Harry.” He’d expected her voice to be full of venom, but it wasn’t. It was sad, resigned. “I don’t want what you’ve earned.”

“Let me give you at least something.”

“I don’t want anything from you. If it makes you feel any better, you can donate whatever amount you wanted to give me. I don’t care. All I want from this is for you to sign the papers.”

“And if I can’t?”

Y/N sighed, looking down at the table. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

That’s when her attorney had cleared his throat. “Mrs Sty – Y/L/N. Legally, according to the prenup, you are entitled to half of Mr Styles estate as well as twenty percent of all his earnings.”

But Y/N just shook her head. “I only signed those documents because that’s what he and his agent wanted. I never asked for it or anything or the sort. Donate it, for all I care. Buy a new house, Harry I literally don’t want to know what you do with your money.” Y/N took in a sharp breath and calmed herself down. It’d been the first time Harry had heard any sort of emotion from her since she'd spoken those horrible words. “I just want this over with.”

And now, he was at the moment of the end. He just never thought their story would end with broken hearts and ripped up futures.

His handwriting was barely legible at best of times, but right now it seemed as if a toddler had tried to forge it with how much his hand shook. When the pen dropped, so did his shoulders, and he saw Y/N’s drop as well.

Harry’s with weight from the love lost, Y/N’s with relief, for now their broken hearts wouldn’t hurt one another no longer.

His lawyer handed him over a new passport as well, where Y/N was no longer written as his spouse. The urge to rip it to shreds was almost uncontainable. He hated it more than the divorce papers.

***

They’d been dating for a little over two years when he decided to propose, only every plan he had was miserably ruined by some outside force.

The first time he’d decided he’d do it at a romantic dinner. Harry had found out Y/N wasn’t a fan of huge romantic gestures, so he wouldn’t get on one knee and draw everyone’s attention. He’d simply take her hand in his, kiss her fingers and ask.

But as they’d sat at the table enjoying their meal and talking, he noticed Y/N become quieter and quieter. A frown morphed on his face.

“You alright, Lovie?”

“Umm,” Y/N’s brow creased even more, and she dropped her fork. “I umm I don’t know. ‘M feeling kind of funky?”

“What’dya mean?”

“I – “ Y/N opened her mouth but didn’t manage to get anything else out as she jumped up and rushed towards the ladies room.

Harry quickly dropped his own utensils and rushed after her, not bothering with the yells of the woman who was looking at herself in the mirror, while his girlfriend threw up her guts inside one of the toilets.

A member of the staff had run to see what all the commotion was about, but when he saw Y/N half inside a stall, half outside, Harry’s hands keeping her hair away from her face, he went back out and immediately grabbed the first aid kit they had in the kitchen, handing it to Harry along with a cold wet towel.

Y/N shuddered, leaning against the stall wall sweat glistening on her face, as he pressed the damp cloth against her skin. She gave him half a smile. “Told you not to get the shrimp.”

“I’ll get the cab, Lovie.” He smoothed away the once meticulously styled hair, which was now stuck to her damp skin.

But she shook her head. “Not yet.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m about to puke again.”

In the end, she threw up two more times, her stomach really not agreeing with the entrée. The waiters kept apologising the whole time, and the chef had stopped cooking, the restaurant immediately taking action and refunding everyone who’d ordered anything with shrimps in them.

When they’d gotten back home, Y/N was so tired and felt so sick, Harry could only help her get out of the dress, clean her up with a warm towel and wrap her up in her favourite pyjamas before curling up together on his bed and falling asleep, making sure if there was a moment, she felt nauseous again, he was by her side. She needed his help more than he needed to propose.

***

He threw himself into his work like a madman. Day and night, he was either at a studio, on a filming lot, in between meetings or interviews. The media buzzed about how his marriage had fallen apart, even though Y/N hadn’t made a statement or spoken a word to anyone, and neither had Harry. But he guessed the emptiness of his ring finger gave everything away.

He refused, however, to speak on it. As painful as it was, he was still in love with Y/N. She hadn’t chosen to be in the spotlight, it was Harry’s world, not hers, so he respected her decision to be quiet and remained so himself, save for one single post his management had asked for him to put up. It'd also been the last time he'd spoken to her.

All he received was a simple text message 'do what you have to do'.

A couple of months down the line though, something came up, and Harry couldn’t keep his tongue behind his teeth.

It was an article in The Sun, a photograph of Y/N plastered all over the front page with the words ‘Gold-digger Y/L/N finally seen out after divorce with Harry Styles.” He’d snatched the paper right off the stand and flipped it open, frantic green eyes scanning the words.

‘Despite it only being two months since the two childhood ex-best friends broke up, Y/N Y/L/N was already seen in the company of a man, sharing a drink, and giving one another flirtatious smiles. An inside source tells us, how she hadn’t even been that upset about the divorce and has been going out and having fun with many male companions, one of them being her ex-boyfriend from university times.’

‘Harry Styles, known for his time in the pop boyband One Direction and for his solo endeavours in music as well as dabbling in acting, broke everyone’s belief in true love after being seen in public without a ring. This prompted an announcement that the four-year relationship and two-year marriage to who was once his best friend had ended and the two had decided to get a divorce. Although the post showed a picture of their silhouettes holding one another with their foreheads together, and his statement showed nothing but love and respect for his then-wife, sources say Y/N had been controlling and obsessive over her then-husband and hadn’t wanted him to leave to pursue his career, stifling his growth.’

He didn’t bother to read any further, as he pulled out his phone, calling Jeff immediately to figure out how to make all of it go away, how to do at least one thing right.

“They’re dragging her name through the mud!” he sneered, not even caring he was bumping shoulders with people, and if the paparazzi would dare spin a story of the state he was in at that moment, he’d sue each and every one of them personally. “I have to do something. Fuck, Jeff, I love her! I can’t let them paint her like this. Y/N – “ he choked back a lump. “She never asked for this. Didn’t ask for anything. And that man – that was Dan, okay. I know him. Yes, he’s her ex, but they don’t know anything!”

“Harry I’ve sent them cease-and-desist letters already.” Jeff tried to ease him. “But… she’s no longer your concern Har.”

The words hit him like a bullet and ripped a hole in his chest just like one of them would. “You might still love her,” Jeff’s voice was solemn. “But Y/N is no longer yours to protect.”

“I can’t just let them talk shit about her,” Harry whispered back.

His friend sighed on the other side of the line. “I know. Which is why we’ll deal with it. But you have to start letting her go.”

***

The second time Harry wanted to propose was about a month later, and Christmas was right around the corner. They’d decided that Christmas Eve would be spent with his sister, her boyfriend and Anne, while Christmas Day they’d go to Y/N’s side of the family.

Although they’d settled on one gift each, Harry had been carrying around that small box for what felt like an eternity. And it wouldn’t really be a gift, given how he’d wrap it and hang it in the tree.

“It’s an ornament,” he’d say to her, a smug smile on his lips, as Y/N would roll her eyes at him. “Just because it has your name on it, doesn’t mean it’s immediately a present.”

And then she’d open it, and would gasp, and Harry would slide down on his knee, press a kiss to her ring-free finger before asking that fateful question.

But just like before, his plan didn’t come to fruition.

He’d asked his mother to hang up the little box, so there was no chance of Y/N seeing it in his hands, but what he hadn’t thought of was Gemma’s boyfriend had decided on the exact same plan of action.

When Michal had dropped down on his knee, Harry’s sister’s trembling hand in his, he couldn’t do that to them. As much as he wanted to marry Y/N, he couldn’t take away Gemma’s moment. So while Y/N was preoccupied with looking at the gleaming diamond on Gemma’s finger, Harry plucked down the box from where it’d hung and placed it on the side no one could see, before he could put it in his bag.

“ ’M sorry, honey,” Anne had said to him over coffee the next morning. “I didn’t know Michal would do that.”

He’d just shaken his head, no hurt in his heart. “Great minds think alike. Our moment will come. ‘M happy for Gem. Besides, if he hadn’t done that anytime soon, I would’ve needed to have a stern talking.”

***

What his sister said to him made him think he had to be living in a simulation, because it couldn’t be true. Y/N couldn’t be getting married. Not this soon. Not ever. Not to someone who wasn’t him. It had been barely a year since he’d signed the death sentence to his own happiness.

Harry shook his head. “You’re lying. Tell me you’re lying, Gem.”

“I’m not.” Her voice broke as she said it. “I saw her at a café. Saw the ring… the man who gave it to her. Harry, I’m so sorry.”

His mind reeled with questions he wasn’t sure he wanted answers to. Was that why she’d really divorced him? Had she been cheating on him and just needed an excuse out of their relationship to jump into the new one? He was away so much on their relationship, he wouldn’t have been surprised if someone else had swooped in and tried to win her heart.

Harry’s mind was one of the greatest things he’d been blessed him, but also one of the worst curses bestowed upon him, as it weaved a story of Y/N and the man who’d now put a gleaming ring on her finger.

He was away, like always, doing something he could do another time. She was on her own, keeping their bed warm with just her body, fighting for their relationship on her own, while he made plans once more to go to a different part of the world and leave her behind again.

Y/N pulled herself out of the bed, sighing and rubbing her face. She opened their closet only to be greeted with Harry’s half empty. Maybe that was the moment she decided to find someone who’d fill it and wouldn’t leave it permanently empty, Harry conjured up.

She’d dress in a soft jumper and some jeans, a large cardigan hanging over her body and would go to a café for her morning drink. And that’s where she’d meet him. The stranger that would take her out of the lonely life she’d been living. The stranger that would make a smile bloom on her face and her heart stutter once more. The stranger who would show her the love Y/N deserved to have.

Harry had to shake his head to get rid of the thoughts before they ventured into a worse territory.

No. Y/N wasn’t like that. No matter what, she would never cheat on him. She had enough dignity for herself and respect for him, even though in his own mind, Harry didn’t think he deserved it.

Although he didn’t have a right to, nor was it the sanest move (and if someone saw him doing it, there would probably be a slew of articles), Harry got into his car and drove to where Y/N’s apartment was, and when she opened the door after hearing seven loud knocks, he stepped inside without even waiting for her to invite him.

“You’re getting married?”

She crossed her arms. “It’s none of your concern.”

“It’s been barely a year! I refuse to believe you’ve moved on so fast.”

Maybe he was kidding himself, and Y/N truly had, but as much as their marriage had fallen apart, he did have the honour of having known her and having figured some things out deeper than others would.

Y//N scoffed. “I was proposed to. And I said yes.” The words were like venom entering his veins. “If I wasn’t, then I wouldn’t have agreed to it. And as I already said – it is none of your concern.”

Harry stood there, watching as she dragged a hand down her face, eyes flitting everywhere he wasn’t. It told him everything he needed to know.

“You’re not happy,” he whispered stepping forward and reaching for her hand. “I know how you shine when you’re truly happy. This isn’t it. Why are you doing this?”

“That doesn’t matter.”

Harry was so confused, at a complete loss at what Y/N was saying. “So, you’ll what? Get married to him and be miserable? Why the hell did you divorce me then?”

Y/N sighed. “Being unhappy with him isn’t as unbearable as being unhappy with you. Because with you, I know what it feels like to truly fully loved. Which is why it broke me when you stopped.”

“I never stopped!” Harry whisper yelled, anger coursing through his veins at her words, because they were lies. “Why do you think I dragged us to marriage counselling? Why do you think I kept fighting for us? For you?! You were the one that gave up!”

“You weren’t there when I needed you.”

Harry blinked rapidly, not understanding what she meant.

“You left me for ten years. You forgot all about me until that day at the café. Not once did you message me or call me or even send fucking snail mail. I was the one putting in all the effort, I was the one who was trying to keep you in my life, but you didn’t want it. Just like it was when we were married.”

Rage bubbled under the surface, but he kept it at bay. That was not how he’d get Y/N back. “How?” he asked calmly. “How did I not want it?”

She scoffed shaking her head. “It was the same as it was ten years ago. With the movie, the new album... You were always at the studio or hanging out with your castmates. When I asked for you to free up one night, one single night, you didn’t come back until three AM, drunk off your ass, and I had to take care of you. I asked for one night. And you didn’t even give me that. So forgive me for not feeling like you still loved me.”

“Why didn’t you talk to me then?!”

“I did!” This was the first time he’d ever heard Y/N yell, before kneading her lips tightly together and then continuing more quietly. “But you never heard me. Not really. You heard what I asked, and promised to be there, but when the time came… something more important always came up. Something that always deserved to have the promise you gave me to be broken.” Y/N gave him a sad smile. “Do you remember when you first asked me out? And I said no?”

Harry nodded. “You said that we just got one another back and didn’t want to have anything rip us apart again. Didn’t even want to chance it.”

“And you said it was exactly why I should give us a chance. That we’d finally found one another again and shouldn’t let the opportunity go…” She tilted her head. “Guess we should’ve listened to me. I included.”

He couldn’t believe her. “Is that really your takeaway here? You were right?”

“But I was.” Y/N shrugged. “Look at where we are now. You forgot me for basically ten years.” She shrugged, stepping away. “Give it some time, and you’ll forget me for the rest of your life. Besides, we’ve not known one another longer than we have. So, it shouldn’t be that hard.”

“Why did you then? Go out with me?” Harry swallowed the lump in his throat. “Get married to me?”

For a moment Y/N just looked at him, Y/E/C eyes boring into his green ones. “Because I’d once again convinced myself I was important to you, just like I did when we were teens. And in my head, I had dreamt up that maybe I’d be important enough for you not to forget me.”

***

The third time did the charm though.

They were both sleepy, under the covers of Harry’s bed, eyes barely keeping open as they were determined to finish Elf.

Y/N had her cheek pressed against his chest, bare body next to his naked one. She hated sleeping in pyjamas (unless they were staying over at one of their parent’s places,) because she said it made her feel like the clothes were suffocating her. Harry didn’t like sleeping with pyjamas because all he wanted was to fully feel the skin of his lover next to his.

Snow fell behind the large windows of his London penthouse apartment, covering the city in a white blanket. It rarely snowed there, so he watched with warmth in his heart as the flakes fluttered to the ground.

It was all so calm, so serene, that Harry realised that’d been the moment he’d been waiting for. No need for fancy dinners or present it as a loud gift. Being together was a gift enough.

“Lovie?” he asked, nose hidden in her hair. “You awake?”

All he received in answer was a small hum. She was on the verge of passing out, but this was the moment, so, he whispered the question, voice so low as if he was asking the dark to marry him not Y/N.

He couldn’t look at her, afraid of what she might say, afraid she might say no, think back to the times he wasn’t there for her, think of all the reasons why he wasn’t good enough for her, and would only bring her sorrow.

“Lover.” Her voice was as soft as a summer’s morning. “Look at me. Please.”

It was one of the most frightening things in his life, as he did so.

Y/E/C eyes met green. What he saw on her face allowed his heart to calm down a little.

“Is the Sun the closest star to us?”

That he hadn’t expected. “What?”

“Does it rise in the East and set in the West?”

“Y-yes?”

Her hand cupped his cheek, and he melted against her. “Then why are you asking me a question you know the answer will be the same as to those?”

“Can I put the ring on your finger then?” He was more excited than about anything in his life.

Y/N shook her head, bringing his lips to brush against hers. “Don’t need a ring. Just need you to kiss me.”

***

The wedding was far away from the city so that no one from the press could even think about following her or her entourage. The guest list was small, compared to the three hundred people Harry’s and her wedding had had.

Anne had told him not to go. He wasn’t invited, and neither was she or Gemma, for obvious reasons. As much as Y/N loved them, she knew it’d hurt the two women, but it would hurt Harry more. So seeing her stepping out of the car, dressed in a cream wedding gown, a veil covering her face, made flashbacks appear behind Harry’s eyelids.

She’d worn an off-white gown before as well, dusty rose to be exact. And Harry’s bow tie had matched it. Y/N had never liked the thought of wearing white at her wedding.

“Listen, if it’s white, I’ll most definitely spill something on it,” she’d told him as both of them had been flipping through some wedding magazines. “You know me. But if it’s some other colour, there’s a bigger chance no one will notice when that happens.”

It didn’t seem right to him. It was like a bad fever-dream like he’d had that one time, and Y/N had had to listen to him babble about the hallucinations dancing in front of him because of the high temperature.

Her gaze remained on the ground, or maybe on the bucket of white roses in her hands. She hated white roses.

A woman in a pale blue dress straightened out the back of Y/N’s dress and the train of it, and he watched as her mother came to stand beside her daughter, giving her an elbow to grasp onto.

All he wanted was for Y/N to be happy, and it hurt to think it wasn’t with him because Harry believed it was supposed to be him.

He took in a shaky breath and got out of the car just as Y/N had walked up the steps and disappeared behind the double doors.

It was going to be him.

***

Harry knew he wasn’t the best husband in the world. He was away for a lot of time, and as conceited of an excuse it was, his job did entail going out to parties, mingling with other people living the high life, and being seen with certain celebs.

Y/N was never one for it. She always supported Harry, but she didn’t like going out and spending time with people who didn’t care for her existence. Well, maybe they did, but only in a sense that she’d been the lucky bitch who’d snagged up the Harry Styles.

But if there was something Harry did was love, and he loved wholeheartedly, which is why it absolutely destroyed him when he’d gotten back home one evening and heard Y/N crying in their bathroom.

She’d never tell him, but it was because no longer did his pillow smell like him. Harry had been away for so long, that the essence of him that’d soaked into their sheets was no longer there. And it broke her to pieces.

When he’d get home, he’d be so tired, he’d crash on the couch, only tiptoeing his way into their shared room to go to his closet and get some clean clothes in the morning. He’d look over at his sleeping wife and allow a blissful smile to bloom on his face at the sight.

He was so lucky to have Y/N back in his life. He was so lucky she’d accepted him and fallen for him as he’d fallen for her. He’d silently move over and press a kiss to her temple, before going back down and off to work once more. Only he wouldn’t see the dried tears on her cheeks.

So, when he’d found her curled up in the tub, hands in her hair, face hidden by her knees, frame trembling like leaves in a storm, he instantly dropped to his knees, ignoring the sharp pain shooting through his bones, as he pulled Y/N into him.

“I can’t, Harry,” she choked out, shaking her head. He knew it was bad. She never called him by his name. “I can’t do this. I’m so alone. Even when you’re here, I’m alone.”

Harry had had his heart broken before, and always he wondered afterwards if someone took it out of his chest at that moment, what kind of a sound would it make. Or maybe it wouldn’t. Maybe it’d be as silent as the tears running down his face at Y/N’s confession.

“Maybe,” he swallowed harshly trying to keep his whole body from shaking, from showing the fear her statement instilled in him. “Maybe we need couple’s therapy.”

“What?” her eyebrows had shot up to the middle of the forehead.

“Y/N, we’re clearly having problems. I – I know I need to work on things, but you’re also not telling me how you’re feeling. Maybe we just need some help.”

She didn’t really know what to respond. In her mind, Y/N had somehow conjured up an image that if she ever got married, they’d be happy. Sure, they’d fight and have rows, but they’d always be able to work things out on their own. Not once in her life, did she ever think she’d need to go and see a marriage counsellor to help her save her marriage.

Her own parents much like Harry’s had gotten divorced. Hers had tried therapy. It’d been their last resort. It didn't work. So, when he’d mentioned it to her, that’s what made her decide it was truly over.

Y/N nodded, bringing him in for a hug, and felt his body melt into hers with relief.

She’d try, for Harry, but her mind was already made up.

***

So he stood outside the doors, listening for the line of ‘if there is anyone who opposes this union speak up now, or forever hold your peace’. His hand grasped the handle, ready to push, but… he couldn’t. He’d ruined her happy ever after once before. He couldn’t do that again to her.

Tears streamed down his face as he pocketed his hands and ventured away from the ceremony. The ceremony where the love of his life was promising to cherish someone else, to fight through thick and thin with someone else, to make someone else happy, while her own happiness suffered.

Harry sat in his car, waiting for her to exit, a smile on her face as she’d hold the hand of who now was her husband. That'd be the moment he'd let go of her. But when the doors sprung open, she was alone, hands clutching onto the front of her dress, as she rushed down the steps and back inside the car she’d arrived in.

For a second he sat in his vehicle, stunned beyond belief at what had happened, at what, as horrible as it sounded, he hoped had happened. When a man, hand in his hair ran outside as well, the same woman in the pale blue dress rushing out with him, Harry knew.

He was basically a madman on the road, breaking almost every possible law as he tried to catch up to the car Y/N had jumped in.

His mind raced with the possibilities of where she could’ve gone. The airport, her family’s summer house in Winchester, honestly anywhere in the world, but Harry shut up his mind, and allowed his heart to make the decision.

It didn’t seem like Y/N had premeditated fleeing from her wedding, which meant she’d need her stuff. And that meant going to her apartment as quickly as possible before someone came to look for her.

The way he parked was probably illegal leaving the car basically in the middle of the road, but Harry didn’t care much as he frantically rushed up the steps of her apartment complex. He was scared that if he knocked, she wouldn’t open, thinking it might be someone from the wedding, but he didn’t need to be afraid of it, as he saw Y/N, her hair still styled as it had been for the ceremony, dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, a suitcase in hand exiting from the flat.

“Why didn’t you do it?” he breathlessly asked, startling her and making her drop the keys.

Y/N’s eyebrows furrowed. “What? What are you doing here?”

Harry stepped closer, hand cupping her cheek, insides trembling from all of the emotions coursing through his body. “Why didn’t you do it? Marry him? Why didn’t you say yes?”

“I – “ Y/N choked on her words. “I couldn’t say yes. It didn’t feel right.”

“Why?”

“Because it wasn’t you, I was saying yes to.”

That was all Harry needed to kiss her like he'd done once before. And this time, he wasn’t going to let her go. He’d made that mistake twice. He would never repeat it again.

“I love you,” he cried through a laugh. “I love you. I love you. I love you. And I’m never letting you slip through my fingers ever again.”

“How can you even think about loving me again after what I did to us?” she asked, pulling away from his lips.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re talking like I ever stopped. Through thick and thin. It’s what we promised. Think and thin, my Lovie."

***

A sixteen-year-old Harry and a fifteen-year-old Y/N laid outside in the grass of Harry’s garden; eyes trained onto the dark night starlit sky above. It was the day before his life changed forever as did hers.

“Do you believe in soulmates?” Harry asked, trying to catch a glimpse of a shooting star.

Y/N scrunched up her nose. “No. I don’t think I do. And I don’t think I want one.”

“Why not?”

“What if they’re old and in their thirties? Or dead?”

Harry snorted at her response.

“And you?” Y/N turned her head to look at him. “Do you believe in soulmates?

He bit his lip and nodded. “I think I do. I think it’s two people who’ve been brought together, and no matter what happens will find their way to one another. Through thick and thin.”

"And what if one of them breaks the other's heart?"

"That's the thin." He looked at her. "And you don't give up then. It's when you need to love them even more."

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take):

Everything tags: @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger @m-a-t-91 @dalilx @i-need-a-hero-i-need-a-loki @maladaptive-ninja-returns @averyrogers83 @in-the-end-im-still-trash @gallifreyansass @dewy-biitch @avxgers @unlikelygalaxygiver @magicwithaknife @ollyoxenfrees @bnhvrdy @tvwhoresblog @celebsimagines @thatkindofgurl @sj-thefan @teenwolflover28 @lestersglitterglue @im-squished

Harry Styles tags: @sarcasticallywitty15 @breezykpop @girlboss99 @harrystylesdoesntknowiexist @alliyjane @sirtommyholland

A/N: Happy 2021 everyone! Hopefully things are better this year, and everyone stays safe and sound.

P.S. my tags are always open :)

P.S.S. please don’t repost my fics on other platforms without specific written permission. Reblogs are a okay :)

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helliontherapscallion · 4 years ago

Text

Who? (Forlorn Tale of Dionysus Part 2)

Part 1

Warnings: Swearing

Word count: 2,843

(A/N): I’m not exactly sure if this will continue any further, this was just a fun little thing I had in my drafts for a while after some interesting convos in my discord server (which you totally should join, it’s a vibe). This is lowkey word vomit, but eh. This is all strictly platonic btw

“Michael, are you sure you saw a house out here? I really don’t think-” You were interrupted by your much shorter friend yanking on your sleeve to get your attention. You looked down at him in question and watched as he raised his hands.

‘I am sure I saw that house, (y/n)! It is here somewhere.’

You fiddled with the sleeves of your thick coat with unease, “alright, but if we don’t find it soon I wanna head back. Uncle Boo and Uncle Tubbo are probably going to start to worry.”

Michael huffed at the mention of his parents. You knew how overbearing they were, causing your friend to crave new experiences and adventures. You’d known him for a couple of years now and he was rebelling more with each passing day. You could relate slightly, Philza and Technoblade had hardly let you out of the house without another person to accompany you. You never really understood why, you were almost thirteen now so you should be able to explore what you want.

An excited squeal left your friend’s mouth before he started to pull you towards something in the distance, startling you out of your trance. You matched his pace with ease and felt nervous excitement tingle in your chest.

As you got closer, you could make out small details of the cabin. It was a simple small cabin built out of spruce planks with glass windows and a brick chimney, but you liked it. It strangely felt homey.

You pulled Michael into a nearby shrub underneath a window and peered in. The interior was also as simplistic as the outside was, looking untouched and tidy as if nobody was living there. You could see that the ceilings were taller than average, perhaps a hybrid of some sort lived here?

Michael tapped your shoulder, ‘it doesn’t look like anybody’s home right now. Let’s go in.’

You opened your mouth to object before the sight of his set jaw and his eyes dead set on something inside made you close it. You learned from experience that when he was this determined, there was no stopping him. You sighed, “fine, but the second we get caught, it was your idea.”

You both made your way to the front door. Without a second thought, Michael twisted the doorknob and swung the door open. A startled snort left his throat as he stumbled inside, making you put a hand over your mouth to stifle your laughter. He jabbed the side of your lower torso, ‘shut up, I thought it was going to be locked.’

He pulled you inside and you both explored the living room. Bookshelves and portraits lined the walls, a single large couch sat off to the side, and the fireplace mantle was lined with a few small golden hooks. Michael made a beeline towards it, admiring the metal. It seems that’s what he saw that made him so determined to get inside. You hoped that he wouldn’t steal them and explored the area further.

The portraits on the walls were a slight shock to you, they all included some people that you could recognize; in one you could make out a picture of younger versions of Ranboo, Philza, Technoblade, and Niki. Technoblade and Philza were sparring with shining golden swords while Ranboo and Niki sat in the grass on a hill watching with interest. Maybe this was just one of their old cabins?

You saw people that you didn’t recognize as well. Namely a cat hybrid with striking sapphire blue eyes, a man seemingly human (you say seemingly because your eyes caught sight of pointed ears) wearing a white bandana keeping his jet black hair out of his face, a tall man with green freckles and a creeper mask, an anthropomorphic diamond block with beady black eyes and a wide smile, and a man that looked strangely like Ghostbur except he was wearing a uniform of some sort. However, a demon quickly caught your eye and made your heart leap for joy. There was someone out there that was like you!

The man looked kind, always wearing a cheery smile and occasionally waving at the camera. He was tall and lanky, always towering over the others by a considerable amount. That made sense, Philza had told you that demons were naturally very tall when you asked him why you were growing faster than Michael when the zombie piglin was two years older than you were. Large wings and horns akin to yours sprouted from his back and head respectively. If he wasn’t constantly smiling, you would’ve thought that he was malevolent.

You heard the rapid footsteps of Michael’s boots behind you as you turned around. You bounced on the balls of your feet excitedly, “Michael look, another demon! Do you think he lives here?”

You watched as he shrugged and pulled you towards the kitchen. ‘I don’t know, but look! There’s another demon that looks exactly like you!’

On the kitchen table surrounded by various trinkets (bottles of wine, gold bricks, stale bread, and the decomposed remains of flower crowns and bouquets being the majority of the items) laid a framed picture of said demon lazily smiling and looking off to the side. Michael was right, they looked exactly like you except at least a decade older. Everything matched your physical features to a tee; from the red accents on their black wings to the way they smiled, it was like they were your clone. The only thing of yours that they were missing was the three circular birthmarks on your forehead. It was eerily uncanny.

Your eyes widened before you snatched the picture off from the table, studying them further. If you squinted, you could see that there was someone barely in frame. You flipped the frame around and took out the picture, unfolding it. In the picture was your adopted father and adopted uncles and aunt. What was going on? If they knew the demon, why didn’t they ever tell you about them?

‘Woah, that was smart. Do you think you might be related to them or something?’ He tilted his head before he perked up, ‘could they be one of your biological parents?’

“Maybe, but if they were, why didn’t my dad tell me about them? I… have a right to know about them, right?”

He nodded firmly, ‘you definitely do. It’s kind of fucked up they haven’t told you anything about them.’

“Yeah, it is. Do you think something bad happened to them?... Oh shit, is this a memorial?” You hurriedly refolded the picture and put it back into its frame.

Michael’s eyes widened and flickered around the table at the trinkets before he fished out two gold bars from his pocket and placed them onto the table. You crossed your arms, “what the fuck man?”

‘I thought they wouldn’t miss a few pieces of gold! You would’ve done the same thing if you were a piglin,’ he defended himself before he paused and shuddered, ‘we’re in a dead person’s house, that’s creepy… What if their ghost is right behind us?’

You spun around and put yourself slightly in front of Michael, your heart beating in your throat. Nothing was there. Michael snorted, making you slap his arm, “not cool, man.”

You were about to stomp off until a piece of paper caught your eye. It was a drawing of this person done in messy purple crayon, probably done by a very young child. It was signed by a Michael.

You turned to the wheezing zombie piglin and patiently waited for him to stop laughing. When he did, you showed him the picture, “did you draw this? Did you know them?”

He scrunched up his brow in concentration, squinting at the paper. Eventually he shook his head slowly, ‘I don’t think so. At least I don’t remember drawing it… This is getting weird.’

You nodded in agreement, putting the drawing back onto the counter. You walked towards the stairs and climbed them. They creaked under your foot loudly, a part of you was scared that you would fall through them. It was clear they haven’t been used in some time.

They led to a small loft, the ceiling coming to a point far overhead. A part of you was glad that this stranger (relative? Parent?) was a demon, it wasn’t often that you found lofts that fit all six and a half feet of you.

Like the rest of the house, it was very simplistic. A gigantic bed laid in the center of the furthest wall, made neatly with multiple fluffy blankets, part you was tempted to catapult yourself onto it. On the nightstand next to it sat a redstone lamp and a frosted glass of water, cracks spider webbing up the sides presumably from the cold.

You opened the lone drawer and discovered a book. Upon further inspection, you discovered that it was a journal with the name (y/n) written inside the cover. So this person had your name as well as your looks? This merely raised more questions than answers, so you slid the book into a pocket in your coat to read later. Under the book laid another picture of them posing with the strange group of people from the portraits downstairs. The de- (y/n) looked younger there. On the back, the word family was written and it was dated to be about twenty years old. You also pocketed the picture.

Michael walked over to the window and looked out at the vast tundra only to squeal in alarm. He ran over to you and pulled you downstairs. You looked out the window only to yelp when you saw a few crows standing on the window sill staring at you with their beady eyes.

You and Michael ran out of the house as fast as the both of you could, the snow being slightly tough to run through for the five and a half foot tall zombie piglin. You could hear the crows following you overhead. After a while of running, you both finally got back to Snowchester and raced past Ranboo and Tubbo. You hid in Michael’s room with the curtains tightly drawn.

You sat on his bed with your legs crossed and your back pressed up against the headboard. You let your head bang against the wall and you ran your hand down your face. “We’re fucked, dude. We’re literally so fucked.”

‘Uncle Phil’s still out of town so it’ll probably be a few days until they find out.’ Michael plopped next to you, panting and trying to regain his breath. “Still, we’re gonna be in so

much trouble for going that far out. I didn’t think my dad’s crows were still here.”

‘Might as well read the journal you found before we get grounded.’

You nodded and took out the journal, flipping it open to the first page. You both read the journal until it was dark outside and Michael was passed out on your shoulder. Subconsciously, you wrapped your wing around him as you read the journal.

The other (y/n) acted like you did for the most part, the only differences between you two was the lack of swearing and the fact that they felt alone even when they were surrounded by people. Your family’s names were dropped several times, especially when they were talking about ‘The Syndicate’. The code names they used were after various Greek myths, leading you to believe that Technoblade was one of the founders of the anarchist group.

You had learned that their family (potentially your family?) was strangely possessed by an egg and that they were previously possessed by said egg. They had a brother named Sapnap (your potential uncle?) that helped them escape to the tundra. It was there that they found the Syndicate, reminding you of the found family tropes you would read in books. The last journal entry detailed their last mission, how they were going to destroy the Eggpire from within and get their family back. That entry in particular gave you chills, even someone with half a brain could tell what happened to them after that.

By the time you had closed the book, it was dawn and the sun was peeking out from behind the closed curtains. You shook Michael awake and stretched out your aching body. Your neck muscles protested movement, sending a wave of pain across the area.

‘Damn, did you stay up all night reading that?’

“Of course I did, why wouldn’t I? I needed to find out about my biological parent somehow. I just- nothing makes sense, Michael.” You growled out, your voice deepening and distorting slightly as your frustration rose.

‘Chill! You’ll figure it out soon, let’s just focus on staying under the radar.’

“Too late for that.”

You both jumped and fell off the bed as you heard Philza’s voice. In the doorway, Philza stood with Ranboo, Tubbo, and Technoblade by his side, all looking equally angry and disappointed. Next to you, Michael shrunk in on himself and smiled sheepishly. He was about to raise his hands to sign, but a pointed look from Tubbo next to him told him that there was no getting out of this one.

Behind the anger, you could tell that something changed about the way the four were looking at you. You couldn’t tell what emotion they were hiding, whether it be wariness, longing, sadness, or just more unleashed anger, but you could tell that they knew something you didn’t. If the frustration that overcame you when you were reading the journal at the lack of questions answered burned inside of you, then what you felt now was a blazing inferno.

“We’re going home, grab your stuff (y/n).”

After a short staredown with the older man, you huffed in anger and gathered your things into your bag. The entire time, tense silence filled the room. Your hands were shaking with the rage you felt searing every inch of you. You could hear the sharp flicking of your pointed tail cutting through the air and occasionally hitting objects near you.

When you were done you stomped over to your adopted family and shouldered between Philza and Technoblade, speed walking down the hallway. They quickly caught up with you after saying a quick apology and a goodbye, Technoblade grabbing your arm and holding it in a vice grip.

They led you out of the mansion and into the harsh winds of the tundra. It wasn’t until Snowchester was far off in the distance that Technoblade shook your arm, “what the hell were you thinking, going into someone else’s house like that! You don’t know who lived there, you could’ve gotten yourself and Michael killed!”

“You really thought I wouldn’t find out, didn’t you?” You ripped your arm out of his hold and spoke in a low voice, struggling to contain your full rage. “I have a goddamned right to know about them.”

“...I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Philza muttered out and resumed walking back towards your house. “You’re grounded when we get back, no flying or dueling lessons for two weeks.”

“Of course you know what I’m talking about, Dad! Why are you hiding them from me? I have a right to know about my biological parent even if they’re dead!”

They both halted in their tracks and glanced at each other in slight confusion. “What-”

“You know damn well who I’m talking about. Gods, I can’t believe you thought I’d never find out,” you laughed sardonically as your hand subconsciously gripped your growing horn. “(Y/n)! You know, the demon that lived in that house? The one that looks exactly like me?! Does that ring a bell or do I have to show you this?”

You rummaged in your pocket and ripped out the picture, shoving it into Philza’s hands. Technoblade looked over his shoulder at what you gave him. You watched as their expressions turned blank when they saw the demon in the picture.

Minutes passed with them continuing to stare down at the picture and you were slowly getting impatient. “Why did you never tell me about them? Why are you keeping me from them?!”

Without looking up at you, Philza mumbled, “you weren’t supposed to find out about them. You were never supposed to find out.”

“Do you have any idea how ambiguous that is? Just tell me who they are!” You could feel your eye twitch as your frustration grew.

You could see the internal conflict on Philza’s face growing by the second before he dipped his head downwards and stalked off in the opposite direction of the house. You spread your wings to chase him in the air, but Technoblade’s hand on your upper arm stopped you from lifting off.

When you looked up at him, the look of regret and sorrow etched into his features caught you by surprise. “Let him go, he needs to do some thinking… (y/n), do you know what reincarnation is?”

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur @nottheotheruser @ohworm-writes @localwolfanon @realitycanbeajerk @v10dw4lk3r @esylwen @seraphsema @boiled-onionrings @smolgreenybeany @louistommosnesquickmilk @hyacinthrosearsha @ryxjxnnx @autumnpleaves @ravennightingaleandavatempus @0ton1n @self-righteous-dumbass @a-simp-for-block-people @fortunatelylazystranger @m1lkmandan @mirios-sunflower @ahmya-4 @shinipii @noyasblush @auroraskyfall @cryptocry @hee-hee-haw @blackstar-gazer

Gender neutral reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@totem-awooga @parkeepingparker @whatislifebutlemons

#michael_beloved x reader #technoblade x reader #philza x reader #dream smp x reader #mcyt x reader #tw: swearing

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i-like-writing-stuff · 4 years ago

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four months [five hargreeves x reader]

a/n: okayy so i feel like i should mention that in my defense- it’s the first imagine i write in months so im really sorry if it sucks! i barely got my account back after so long, but i just knew i had to post at least sumthen amirite??

summary: five finally decides it’s time to bring the crew back together in order to avoid the 1963 apocalypse, but the others feel like before that, you two need a moment to yourselves.

part 2

“I’m here, Klaus!” You yelled, bursting through the main doors of what used to be a store, “What’s- what was so important?”

“Of course you’d be drunk.” An all too familiar voice said, trying to sound disappointed as a hint of amusement was hidden behind his bored tone.

You couldn’t believe your eyes when they fell on the boy before you, watching as he made his way down the big stairs towards you, as his siblings smirked down from behind the railing at the two of you.

It had been four months since you’ve seen Five Hargreeves.

Four months since he decided to try to time travel again and try to get you and his siblings out of 2019 before the huge chunk of the moon could wipe out all of you and the chances of saving the world would have definitely been lost.

You were not one of the Hargreeves siblings, nor you had any special powers. You just happened to be a very unlucky, fifty year old agent of the Comission who was assigned to join Five on his JFK task. Before you knew it, you were sucked into the portal he created, breaking the contract at once without even trying to fix the situation- not that you could complain much, you and Five may have had your differences, but if there was one thing the two of you agreed on, it definitely was that neither of you wanted the world to end in 2019, in spite of the Comission’s heavy attempts at keeping that on track.

Unfortunately, when Five tried to go back in time to his family, he miscalculated an equation, ending up in his thirteen year old body, you as well- since you were with him the entire time.

One thing led to another, and the Hargreeves siblings were reunited with their long-lost brother and acquainted with his riddled partner, but nonetheless tried to help you two in stopping the end of the world.

“You’re alive.” You breathed out, a frown on your face, as you slowly stepped towards the boy, trying to make sense of what was going on, even in your tipsy state.

After being transported back in time, you found yourself all alone in a dark alley in Texas, Dallas, in August, 1963. You stumbled into a nearby hair salon, trying to find a newspaper, a phone, anything that could help you track down your friends with whom you grew close with in such a short period of time. However, you could not believe your luck when Allison walked from the back once she recognized your voice.

She welcomed you into her new life with open arms, telling her new husband that you were her adoptive little sister. Raymond did not hesitate to make you feel at home, immediately accepting you as his “little sister-in-law”.

“Klaus and Allison did say you are not in the best shape.” Five’s mouth slowly curled into a soft smile, as his hands were rested in his pockets nonchalantly, waiting to see what would be your next move.

It was true- you were not. You had begun your day with a big glass of wine alongside Allison and Klaus, who seemed to be as moody as you when it came to their love lives.

As much as you hated to admit it, during the small time you’ve spent in 2019 with Five, trying to stop the world from ending, you caught feelings for him. Feelings which you had never thought you’d be able to feel at your age- even if your appearance said otherwise.

“Shut up.” You said, waving your hands in front of your face, “Just... shut up...”

Before Five could argue any further with you, you fought back the tears of joy forming into your eyes, feeling your legs move on their own towards the boy, as you jumped into his arms for the tightest, most loving hug you could give. Happy that you could not see his face, Five tried to fight back the grin on his lips, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck- he loved how even in your teen bodies he was still taller than you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, trying your best not to cry on his shoulder, as he took in a deep breath, with his arms around your waist. He was never one keen on physical affection, but after all that had happened, this was just what he needed. A long, loving hug from the girl he had fallen in love with.

“I’m starting to think he missed Y/N more than he missed us.” Klaus told his siblings, resting his chin on his hand, as Ben couldn’t help but nod in agreement;

“At least they’re sweet.”

“I’m honestly not that surprised.” Allison shrugged, taking a sip out of her flask.

“What is Y/N drunk for if she’s not gonna tell him how in love she is?” Diego frowned, already tired of the way you and his brother spent the past two weeks hiding your feelings.

“Wait... they’re not a couple?” Vanya wondered confused, since her amnesia was still pestering her.

“We were just as surprised.” Luther sighed, recalling the first time you and Five had popped into the backyard- you started bickering like an old married couple over whose fault was it.

Unable to hear the conversation between the siblings upstairs, you and Five carried on your long hug for another couple of seconds, before you pulled away, feeling bold due to all the alcohol coursing through your veins- even if you looked thirteen, you’ve had your plenty encounters with the magical substance.

“I know I am a bit drunk, but honestly- Klaus and Allison left me alone with a huge bottle of wine all by myself.” You confessed, resting your arms on Five’s shoulders, “Point is- I’m really happy you’re fine.”

“Kinda feels like you wanna say more than that.” Five couldn’t help but smirk, feeling in your tone how much you were trying to hold back.

Deep down you wanted to tell him how much you missed him, how much you wished he was there with you these past months, how many times you went to sleep with him in your mind, or how many times you woke up and he was the first thought to pop in. You wanted to tell him all the stuff that made you fall in love with him, and even all the stuff that irritated you about him. You wanted to tell him so many things, but... you didn’t.

You knew that was not the time for love. You could only hope to get out of this second apocalypse alive. And maybe then... maybe then you could tell him how much he meant to you.

“I am not that drunk, Mister Hargreeves.” You lied with a smile, bopping his nose.

Yeah, definitely after the apocalypse.

#the umbrella academy #the umbrella academy imagines #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy x reader #number five #five hargreeves #five x reader #number five x reader #five hargreeves x reader #five hargreeves imagine #five hargreeves imagines #number five imagine #number five imagines

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nillegible · 3 years ago

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Uneasy lies (the head that wears a crown) [NiF ficlet]

On the 4th day of the 10th month, the Crown Prince, His Highness Xiao Jingyan, accompanies the three presiding officials to the palace to meet the Emperor.

The Emperor, the Son of Heaven, stares hatefully down at the four of them. His son. His brother. His once dearest friend. Standing beneath him with cold, accusing eyes that make him want to rage. The details, when they recite them with their studiously blank faces make his blood boil. How dare they?

He waits for the triumph on Jingyan’s face, and only curses him further when he detects none of it, no joy, just a fierce kind of burning, not unlike Jingyu’s when… when he stood before this selfsame throne, and…

What a fool I was, he thinks. What had he gained by his suspicions of Jingyu, a paltry thirteen years of ruling the empire he’d fought so hard for? Thirteen years for Jingyan to take revenge on his brother’s behalf, to wrest his power away, to back the Emperor into a corner and stand before him like this, unrepentant.

Thirteen years for Jingyan, the bull-headed young man who yelled at him that it could not be true that his brother would conspire against the throne, to finally find the evidence for the betrayal he had suspected. To force the emperor to hear his words at last.

“And what-” says the Emperor, coldly. They have him, there’s no defense he can make. An old man to be ruined most thoroughly while no one speaks of his humiliation to his face. “-do the presiding officials believe is fair compensation?”

The emperor hears their terms, and fury whites out his vision. He pushes himself up to stand, trembling with illness and anger, and points at Jingyan. He cannot bear this humiliation. But he will not beg his own son to let this go.

(Jingyan, the stubborn fool, would never listen.)

I was a fool, he thinks, staring at this son who looks back, chin raised defiantly. As if he is already Emperor. This is not how Jingyu looked, he thinks, and tears that thought violently away. That son is gone, gone after raising this one to be so impossible, filled with the same ridiculous notions… the Emperor’s hand, aged and feeble, shakes where he points. “I will not,” he snarls. And starts to cough.

And coughs, and coughs, as Gao Zhan comes to take his weight.

The emperor’s heart pounds as he gasps for breath, terrified.

Is he dying?

But within the haze of terror of the unknown, of the end that he has been so ready to send others to, rises one last vicious thought:

It would serve Jingyan right.

The Son of Heaven laughs weakly in between the painful, hoarse wheezes. He has lost.

(The mourning bells sound with a grand finality, marking Mei Changsu’s and Xiao Jingyan’s losses, too.)

The Emperor wakes in his own bed, still laughing, invigorated. “My lord rested well?” asks a familiar voice, and he looks up into the exquisitely beautiful face of Noble Consort Yue.

Too beautiful. Too young. He stares, confused, before ordering her out of his bed. It takes until he’s climbed out of bed himself - easily, painlessly - that he realizes that this was her bed.

Her palace.

As it had been, years ago. She was who she had been, years ago. This is not the crazed and ill woman he had last seen, ruining herself to gain her son the throne.

“Impossible,” he says, and perhaps his distress had been too obvious because Gao Zhan - precious Gao Zhan, one of the few who had never failed him - appears, inquiring gently after his well being. “We are well,” says Xiao Xuan. “But we would like to depart.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” says Gao Zhan, stepping backwards to make way and send some servants scurrying ahead to pass on the eunuch’s messages and prepare the next palace for the Emperor’s royal presence. Xiao Xuan has to pause before following; he’d forgotten that it had been like this once. That Gao Zhan had not always been at his side (one of his wives often at the other) helping to keep him on his feet.

What happened? Why is he here?

(Is it true, or has he finally lost his mind?)

He is back to three years before Jingyu’s betrayal. Before the year Xia Jiang and Xie Yu played that cruel trick that robbed him of peace - he had tried, he had tried so hard to outrun that loss, to tell himself it was worth it to not have the thorn of Jingyu’s rising power and influence in his side. To not have Lin Da-ge’s censorious presence judging his every action. And how long had that lasted? The deaths following him from that moment on, in his grandmother’s grief, in Jingyan’s cold fury, in Yan-er-ge’s studied silence.

The Emperor is not sorry, he was never sorry. He had wanted his son back at times perhaps, when he was feeling sentimental. And Jinyang’s absence had of course taken years to get accustomed to (Liyang had quieted after marriage but Jinyang had stayed her bright and sharp self…) And Lin Yueyao… sometimes. It had been nearly impossible not to want her.

But never more than he wanted his throne. ‘For that, anything,’ he had told himself, disgusted and exhausted that the blood he had spilled to gain the throne was not the end of it, that he must spill more and more to keep his own sons from taking over.

The Emperor has lived this life before, and yet he is no clearer now than he was fifteen years ago (three years from now) when he wondered: Has Jingyu had enough? What will he do, the next time that he disagrees with me?

He had thought he had known the answer, when he sent the poisoned wine to his son. Had thought Lin da-ge had given up on him, and decided to back his nephew to put his own blood on the throne.

In spite of the way Jingyan had thrown the contrary evidence in Xiao Xuan’s face, the way Noble Consort Jing had insisted that Jingyu had never intended to commit treason, his heart remains unconvinced. Perhaps Jingyu had not hit his limits then. perhaps his child truly had been framed and too heartbroken at the great loss to defend himself. But would he truly have waited, silently, without interfering, and allowed Xiao Xuan to rule for decades more?

He thinks not.

He… He wonders if he should give Jingyu a chance.

Now that he knows where Jingyan and Jingxuan and Jinghuan’s hearts lie. Knows what lengths Xia Jiang and Xie Yu would go to to mislead him for their own aims.

Things would be different.

He will make it different.

Isn’t that why the heavens had given him this chance?

#Nirvana in Fire #xiao xuan #xiao jingyan

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eyayah-oya · 3 years ago

Note

Would you be willing to write something soft with Bail/Obi-wan/Breha? Maybe Obi-wan returns from a mission with Bail to Alderaan and they both give him kisses?

Hi Anon! Thank you so much for this request! It took me a little while due to school and the fact that for some reason, the scene I came up with was not working in the slightest. But I came up with a new idea and wrote this and I quite like the result. I hope you enjoy!🥰

(also @cacodaemonia, you were interested in this, so I thought I'd tag you when I posted it.)

Bail paced up and down their shared quarters as Breha sat in her armchair, an open book in her lap. She watched him for a few more moments before she set aside her book and approached her husband, wrapping her arms around his waist and leaning her head against his back.

“What has you so upset tonight?” Breha asked.

“It’s been thirteen days,” Bail responded with a heavy sigh. He turned around in Breha’s arms and hugged her close. “I’m worried about him.”

Breha sighed heavily and dropped her mask of composure she so carefully maintained for her people. “I am too,” she said softly, “but you know Ben. He’s survived the absolute worst of the galaxy and has always returned home to us. We have to have faith in him.”

Thirteen days wasn’t nearly the longest Ben had been gone, and this wasn’t even the first dangerous mission he’d been on without them. Breha especially hated to think about those short few days when they’d thought that he’d been killed during the war, assassinated by a common bounty hunter. She hadn’t even been able to attend the funeral, though Bail had. Those days were dark for both of them, kept apart by space and stars and mourning their beloved friend.

The rise of the Empire had brought more fears than even the incident with Rako Hardeen. The Jedi were slaughtered mercilessly—Bail told Breha that not even the little children in the creches had been spared the Emperor’s wrath—and she’d worried relentlessly about Obi-Wan. Millions of troopers that they’d all trusted and even befriended had turned on their closest allies without hesitation and were hunting Force users across the galaxy.

Breha had been so relieved when Bail had arrived with two tiny bundles of joy and Obi-Wan, broken with exhaustion and a bone-deep anguish that went deeper than physical. Anakin, he’d said, was gone. No one knew what happened to Ahsoka for months. It wasn’t until Obi-Wan—Ben now—reunited with Ahsoka and Rex that they learned about the chips that controlled the clones. Ever since then, Ben ran as many missions as he could all over the galaxy, capturing and freeing the clones he’d loved so much.

These missions were dangerous. Of course, they were. Ben was literally being hunted by the very men he sought to save and as they all knew, missions easily went wrong for him.

In the nursery attached to their quarters, Breha heard one of the twins stir slightly. Immediately, both Breha and Bail shifted their attention to their children, hoping to keep them both from crying. It was a challenge they hadn’t anticipated with Force-sensitive twins: their connection meant that if one felt uncomfortable or were crying, the other soon followed if they weren’t soothed in a timely manner. Neither Bail nor Breha would change a thing about their two beautiful little suns.

Bail froze in the doorway of the nursery and then relaxed. He stepped into the room and out of the way to allow Breha to follow him. Inside, two dark figures hovered over the cradles, and above the soft whimpers, she could hear a familiar voice humming soothingly to Leia.

“It’s okay, dear one,” he murmured. “I’ll be here to protect you as much as I can. You can sleep easy.”

“Ben,” Breha sighed with relief.

He looked up and the light from their quarters fell on his face, lighting up his eyes and highlighting the shadows below his eyes and cheekbones.

“Breha, Bail,” he answered. “I didn’t mean to wake them. Leia must have sensed us arriving.” “Is Luke awake, too?” Bail asked.

Ben looked over at the other figure who nodded once. “It appears so.”

“Who is your friend?” Breha asked as she walked further into the nursery. It was a bit too dark to really see who it was, and really, that was something that should probably be fixed. A soft, dim glow would really help them see better in the nursery and would keep them from accidentally running into anything in the middle of the night.

“My mission was a success,” Ben said and his weak smile carried more relief than it had in months.

Breha’s heart lifted in joy and relief. “Cody! It is so good to have you back,” she said, keeping her voice low for the twins but no less filled with how pleased she was to see him safe and sound.

“Queen Organa.” The voice was rough with disuse and likely tears based on how the few other men of the 212th had reacted when Ben had rescued them.

“You must both be exhausted,” Bail said. “We have a guest room off of our quarters that you can use, Cody. I’m sure you could use the rest.”

Cody was silent for several long moments until Ben decided to speak up. “I think it would be best if he stayed by my side for now,” he said quietly.

With a sinking realization, Breha nodded. Cody ordered Ben’s death and likely thought he’d killed him all this time. Of course, he would need to be near Ben if only to reassure himself that he really was alive. Both Bail and Breha had needed that same reassurance at the start of Imperial Rule.

“Of course,” she said. “Let’s leave the children to sleep and go into the parlor. I’m sure we have much to catch up on.”

Ben dipped his head in gratitude. He moved around the cribs, Cody directly on his heels as he came to a stop in front of her and her husband. “It is good to be home,” he said softly.

“It is good to have you back,” Bail answered. He gently pulled Ben into a kiss, soft and caring and a perfect welcome home.

Breha wrapped her arms around Ben’s waist and when he and Bail parted, Ben looked at her with such soft, warm eyes, that she couldn’t help but lean up and kiss him, too. It was so wonderful to have him home. Neither of them would ever attempt to keep him hidden at home, but she was also relieved when he came back to them, safe and whole.

“Come,” she said and grabbed his hand. She smiled at Cody and led both of them from the nursery, Bail bringing up the rear. It was so wonderful to have Ben home and even more so that their dear friend Cody had been rescued from the evil chip inside his head and the horrors of the Empire. Breha couldn’t help the thrill of happiness and content in her heart to have her loved ones close by and safe. She would keep them that way for as long as she was able—it was the least she could do for Ben, the man she’d come to love over the years, and Cody, a friend one of the only blessings to come from the war. They deserved to rest for a while.

Alderaan was safe for them.

#tumblr requests #tumblr asks #obi-wan/bail/breha #breha/bail #obi-wan kenobi #breha organa #luke and leia #commander cody #post order 66 #fluff and comfort #fluff #lizzie writes

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monstersandmaw · 5 years ago

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Male ice dragon x cursed female reader (nsfw)

Edit which I’m including in all my works after plagiarism and theft has taken place: I do not give my consent for my works to be used, copied, published, or posted anywhere. They are copyrighted and belong to me.

This is a one-off special story that I wanted to write as a huge huge thank you to a very generous person who supported me on Patreon and also on ko-fi. I don't normally do this, and although this is not a commission, I did chat with them about what they would like, and I've wanted to write an ice dragon for a long time, so that worked for both of us! Thank you, 'The Silent Pariah'! Hope you enjoy it! It's been on Patreon for a week, and went down really well, so it’s time to share it here!

Content: reader is cursed to turn into a more monstrous form at night, and is locked away in a tower, guarded by an ice dragon. There's a bit of a misunderstanding, some angst, a bit of fluff, and some smut. Words: 5124

Dusk drifted down around the stones of the castle, bringing with it that daily, familiar crawling under your skin. Night was a time for monsters and shadows, for creatures less than human, and for hiding away, but you welcomed it with open arms as you had for years.

Your bones started to grow warm, your nerves ringing and prickling, and you knew it wouldn’t be long now.

Turning your back on the courtyard of the deserted castle, you left the balcony and made your way inside through the beautiful, hand carved doorway and into the bedchamber beyond. Sliding your dress off your shoulders, you stepped out of your clothes and felt the change sweeping up inside you, rising like a flood of unbridled power and raw joy. Laughing, you bowed forwards like a supplicant at a shrine, and when you straightened no more than a few minutes later, breathing hard and sweating, the creature that blinked its reptilian eyes back at you from the mirror on the far wall was not the nobleman’s daughter with the blood of kings flowing through her veins.

Blueish black, scaled skin covered your cheeks, the delicate scales leading your gaze towards pointed ears, just barely visible through the thick hair that fell around your now inhuman face. Blinking slowly as your gold, crackle-glazed eyes readjusted, you rolled your shoulders and flexed your taloned hands. With skin the colour of shadows at midnight, and a spine-studded whip of a tail, you slid on a simple linen tunic and turned for the spiral staircase.

Outside, through the walls of the castle, you could hear the enormous wing beats of the only other soul who lived in this vast castle, each flex of his wing strong as a storm wind as he came back to his roost at sunset.

“There you are,” came a deep, sonorous rumbling voice as you stepped out into the evening air, still revelling in the change.

Looking like a thousand shards of moonlight, the dragon adorned the crumbling curtain wall of the castle, delicately perching there with the grace of an ornamental bird.

“Irien,” you smiled. “Good day?”

Polite as ever, he inclined his head, slowly blinking sapphire blue eyes and smiling softly to reveal a maw full of deadly teeth. The dragon stretched out one of his elegant, muscular forelegs and climbed down from the wall, over the old stable block, and into the courtyard like a cat slinking down a flight of steps. His ivory talons barely made a whisper on the slate roofs of the tumble-down old buildings, and with his silky-white wings tucked neatly against his scaled back, he flowed like quicksilver.

“Mmm, yes,” he purred, lowering his head almost to the ground in greeting and closing his eyes again as you ran your hands over the glass-hard scales of his face. Each one was the size of your palm there, but as they slid further down his glacially pale body, they grew large as your whole hand, some even bigger than that. “So warm,” he laughed, nuzzling your fingers playfully and breathing his icy breath against your fingers.

“I’m not that warm. It’s not my fault you’re basically an icicle,” you snorted and he laughed, drawing his neck up like a swan.

Suddenly he scowled and turned serious, his whole body tensing.

“Company?” you asked.

You’d been through this charade together before, and something always sank a little in your chest when you thought about what the arrival of a knight and his little posse might mean. Would they have some magic with them this time that negated the ageless magic of the dragon? Some spear sharp enough to pierce his scales? Some trick he’d never heard of? Perhaps a ballista borrowed from the dragon hunters of the south? Would this be the day that your curse would be broken and you’d have to leave the relative freedom of your castle for the gilded cage of marriage?

Irien looked back at you, his eyes hard and stern as he watched your internal struggle play out in a series of scowls across your face. “Same as usual?” he asked.

“Drive them away,” you snarled. “I have no interest in breaking this curse so I can go and live like a brood mare until I produce the requisite number of appropriately-gendered offspring, thank you.”

With a savage snarl, he beat his wings, once, twice, and launched himself into the air. His ensuing war-scream could have split the night sky in two and it made your ears ring and your vision blur.

Irien was relatively young for a dragon but he was still nearly a hundred years old, and there wasn’t a trick or strategy he hadn’t yet encountered from some upstart young knight, hoping to win fame and fortune at the end of a lance. Oh, and the chance to break your curse. Somehow that always seemed to be an afterthought with these men.

“No one ever bothers to ask if I even want ‘rescuing’,” you muttered bitterly as you watched Irien sail away like a galleon on the unseen currents of air.

He circled the central tower of the old elven castle once to get a measure of how many there were, before spiralling down in a whirling corkscrew, breath blazing shards of ice down on the unfortunate troop somewhere beyond your view below. It wasn’t that you didn’t feel sorry for the way they died - at least it was quick - but you couldn’t help the sour sting of spite that lanced through you whenever Irien announced that there was another lot at the abandoned castle’s gates. Your parents still hadn’t given up on ridding the family of the stain of your curse.

Irien was back within five minutes, landing gracefully beside you, breathing hard from the exertion of flying and drawing on his reserves to create the ice-laced breath inside him.

“Were there many this time?”

He shook his head. “Only six in total.”

“Banners?”

“Grey and yellow field with a black raven.”

You turned away in disgust. “Those were Halvard’s men,” you said. “My father’s closest adviser.” Lifting your shadowy palm, you curled your fingers and inspected the black claws before turning your hand over and watching the way the moonlight glinted on the leathery scales on the back of your hand.

Monstrous. Vile. Cursed.

Lock her away!

True love’s kiss! The only way to break it!

Dragonskeep is the only place for her now. She cannot be seen.

The shame of our family…

Irien’s soft, concerned rumble behind you drew you back from your ragged collection of memories and you turned with a half smile. “I pity you sometimes, you know?” you sighed.

“Me?” he asked with a soft chuckle, falling into step beside you as you wandered off, vaguely thinking of heading towards the rambling rose gardens at the back of the castle. “Why would you pity me? You’re the one locked in here with a dragon who keeps eating the men who come to rescue you.”

“True. I used to think you were no better than them,” you admitted. “Those first few years after they dumped me here…”

Since then, you thought he’d rather come to think of you as part of the castle furniture, or even just another thing in his hoard to guard and protect. It was better than nothing, you supposed, and you had the books in the old elven library for company, and the vegetable garden at the back that you’d been restoring since you were sixteen, and a rather impressive number of stone sculptures ranging from the ‘uniquely abstract’ to something halfway decent. The masons who had abandoned the stone workshops in the gardens of the castle had left their tools behind, like children’s toys abandoned.

He scowled, clearly a little affronted, and shuffled his wings like a chilly bird. “Why? Have I ever given you reason to think badly of me?”

You stopped and raised an eyebrow at him. “You accepted their gold and gems easily enough when they showed up on your doorstep with a newly-cursed thirteen year old and struck whatever bargain it was with you to keep me here,” you pointed out. It felt so long ago now, but you’d never forget the first time you’d seen him. You’d burst into tears and begged your parents not to abandon you here.

Irien had the good grace to look embarrassed at that, turning his snowy head away and grunting awkwardly. “I… Well, I did, yes. But when I asked why they wanted me to take a girl under my protection ‘until such time as her true love can break the curse’, I have to say I was frankly appalled.”

Something ugly twisted inside you at his words. Perhaps it was the recent reminder of the world’s disgust at your ‘condition’, and their determination to change you back, but hot outrage boiled up inside you at his words. “Appalled? So you do think the way they do?”

“What?”

“This!” you blurted, halting and angling your face so that the moonlight glinted on the scales there and on the jaw full of fangs. You stared him down with blazing, inhuman, yellow eyes. “You do think this is disgusting, just the way they do?”

“I thought you didn’t care,” he replied haughtily. “I thought you didn’t care about the curse at all.”

“I don’t!” you practically shrieked. “But I do care about -” you cut off suddenly, feeling as though the ground were rocking beneath you. All these years, he’d just been tolerating your company because of the regular shipments of diamonds and cut gemstones that your parents added to his vault of hoarded wealth in an attempt to keep all but the most determined suitors at bay.

“Care about what?” Irien asked in a softer voice.

“What would you know?” you hissed, turning away and marching towards the tower where he couldn’t enter without bringing the whole lot down around him. “You’re made of ice anyway.”

You left Irien standing in the courtyard and marched up the stairs back to your chambers. You heard Irien lingering in the courtyard, but eventually he took wing and left the castle for his preferred roost on the cliff just above it. It was a long time before you got to sleep that night.

When dawn came the next day, you didn't bother getting out of bed til late in the day, and you clung to the shadows of the library instead of going out to tend to the garden. It was a warm day, and the plants would need a water, but you just couldn’t face meeting Irien now. For all the time that you’d been here, you’d always assumed that he’d seen past the effects of the curse.

It had taken you almost a year not to be afraid of him, but as the months had ticked by after that, and he’d shown you the castle grounds and how to take care of the abandoned elven fortress; how to feed yourself and even how to read ancient elven so that you could access the rest of the books in the library; you’d come to think of him as more of a guardian than a guard. Had he just been humouring the cursed little girl all these years, despite the fact that you were a woman grown now?

Late in the afternoon, just as you started to feel restless again with the gradual sinking of the sun, a faint tapping reached your ears, coming from the far end of the library. The room stretched the full length of one of the newer wings of the castle complex, with light flooding in on either side through huge windows, and at the far end it terminated in a wide balustraded balcony where former scholars would no doubt have gone to get some air during their studies.

You poked your head out from behind the bookshelf where you’d been studying best way to rid a certain garden herb of aphids, and squinted along the clear aisle between the rows of shelves. There, at the balcony at the far end, you could just glimpse Irien, gently tapping a claw on the glass. He was far too large to fit his body onto the terrace, but he could perch elegantly on the rim like a butterfly on a teacup.

Grinding your teeth, you fleetingly considered simply ignoring him, but in the end you straightened and dumped the book on the floorboards. Grim-faced, you marched up the length of the room and opened the leaded-glass door at the far end, coming to a halt in the centre of the balcony with crossed arms.

“I think,” Irien carefully began the moment you were outside, “That we may have had a misunderstanding yesterday.”

Your scowl deepened.

“Hear me out?” he asked, clearly well aware of your tendency to bolt at the first sign of discord.

Reluctantly, you nodded. As far as you knew, he’d never lied to you before.

Out here in the fading sunshine, with the low light flashing in prismatic ripples along those pearlescent scales, he looked… Frankly, he looked like a dream, and something ached inside you the longer you gazed at him. The graceful lines of his lithe, powerful body, the delicate, leathery membrane of his white wings, his ivory claws, the crystal spikes that adorned his head like a crown and continued down his lissom neck to his shoulders, only to start up again at the root of his tail and end in a fractured cluster of crystals around the tip of his tail; everything about him spoke of elder magic and of something ancient, something lost and forgotten from another age, despite his relative youth. He was intoxicating.

With a great inhale as if for courage, he began by apologising. “I’m sorry that what I said came out so wrongly yesterday,” he said. “I didn’t mean that you are appalling in any way. What has always appalled me, however, is the fact that your parents were prepared to abandon their own child to the dubious care of a dragon, and lock her away in an old elven stronghold for something that wasn’t her fault or doing in the first place.”

“Oh.” Well… when he put it that way…

“Oh,” he laughed. “I thought you might know me a little better than that after so much time together…” he added, tone bordering on huffy and petulant.

Even you had to admit that it was true. “Yeah,” you hedged. “I… I thought I did too. Maybe that was why I was so shocked. I’m sorry too… I was still in a strange mood after the soldiers came and I let it get in the way and took what you said the wrong way.”

Irien smiled gently and rumbled a slow, almost juddering exhale that you’d always found strangely attractive. In fact, you nearly missed what he said because your attention was focused on the sound. “I promise that what I said to you all those years ago still stands… the time I found you crying on the roof of the keep.”

Your lips gave a feeble twitch at that. He’d had to fly you down because you’d been too scared to climb. “And what is that?” you demanded though you recalled it perfectly well. Your eyes glittered as the mood shifted palpably between you, both tangibly relieved to be sliding back into your familiar repartee and banter, almost as if you’d not fallen out at all.

Catching the look in your eye, he gave another half-laugh. “That if you like the way you are, then it seems pretty futile to me to try to change you against your will. And personally,” he added, lowering his head a little and turning a tad bashful, “I think you’re beautiful whether the sun is up or down.”

The churning in your stomach that had been gnawing away at you since the previous evening suddenly stilled, and you smiled. “Really? I mean… it doesn’t bother you at all?”

Irien rolled his lovely blue eyes. “Not in the slightest. If anything, your ‘cursed’ form is… well…” He bustled and flustered a little with his wings, turning his gaze away.

That was a surprise. “Is what, Irien?”

“You’re stronger and faster like that; your eyes work better in the dark, and your hands seem to borrow a bit of inspiration from my kind,” he said, holding up one ivory-clawed hand so that the sunlight danced off his own talons for a moment. “And you have a tail…” he croaked.

“Sounds like you’re trying to tell me you’ve got a crush on my cursed self,” you snorted in disbelief, taking a few steps over to the balcony and resting your forearms on it. When he didn’t answer immediately, you shot him a sidelong look. “Irien?”

“I… have tried to tell myself that we are victims of circumstance… That… what I have come to feel for you is only to be expected when two souls are locked away in close quarters with each other for so long, but…” He paused and shrugged as he returned your look askance and exhaled. “Alas, I remain unconvinced.”

“Wait, is that your way of saying you do have a crush on me after all?”

He scoffed, frustrated with himself, and snapped, “When you put it in those terms, it sounds somewhat… cheap and insincere.”

His fingers flexed on the stonework, talons grinding small indents into it and sending a tiny trickle of finely-ground dust to the tiled floor of the balcony. Reaching one hand out you placed it over the leathery scales on his hand - really his foreleg - and squeezed. It was like squeezing stone, but he clearly felt the impact because he jolted a little in surprise and slid a foot down the wall from his perch. His wings flapped instinctively to keep himself in place and you almost laughed.

“So your feelings for me aren’t cheap and insincere then?”

“No,” he growled, and then with a little more grace he sighed. “No, not at all. I can’t stop thinking about you. Whenever I see someone with their troops tramping up to the gate, it’s not my hoard I think to protect.” He turned his head and blinked quietly at you. “It’s you.”

Something caught in your throat at that and tears prickled your eyes. “Irien…”

“Mmm?” he rumbled.

“Will you fly me somewhere?”

“Anywhere. Where would you like me to take you?”

Your eyes drifted over the rambling castle grounds, bathed in the golden light of early evening. Of course, now that you knew he truly cared for you, perhaps you could persuade him to fly you anywhere in the world, although it wasn’t particularly safe for his kind out there. People built cruel ballistae with bolts as thick as tree trunks to fell dragons from the sky like downed swans, but in these parts, he assured you he was safe enough.

When you didn’t answer him immediately, he rumbled your name and lowered his white muzzle to the balustrade, resting it there and watching like a patient hound while you decided. You placed your fingers on his nose and felt the chilly, frosty breath wash over them. The sheer steadiness of his presence was almost overwhelming, like he had his own gravity and was drawing you in and holding you there. You found both of your hands going to his face and suddenly you were leaning over him and sobbing.

“Hey,” he murmured, bringing one wingtip carefully to touch your shoulder. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You sniffed but the surging emotions refused to let you talk. It was too much. After a lifetime knowing you’d been abandoned here for who and what you were, to have the unwavering acceptance of the only being in the world who had shown you true respect and kindness… it left you spinning.

His pale hand closed around your waist and he pushed off the tower with you delicately in his grasp. You’d done this before, though not often, and the thrilling swoop in your stomach chased most of your tears away, leaving room for little else but wonder in your heart as the world spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt.

Irien didn’t tell you where he was headed, and you found you didn’t care where he took you. He climbed higher into the hazy, lavender sky above, and soared over the castle wall and out into the pastures beyond where deer grazed and occasionally the massive mountain sheep would come down to enjoy respite in the warmer valley in the winter. Out beyond the open, untamed fields, a huge, glittering lake sparkled, and he seemed to be making for it as he glided along on unseen thermals.

The sun had just begun to kiss the mountain tops to the west, gilding a line of fire along their silhouettes, when he landed on the quartz pebbles of the lake shore, their colour almost the same as his own white scales. He set you down on the grassy bank just above the beach and stepped back.

“Better?” he asked and you nodded.

“Yeah, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he replied, bringing his head back and nuzzling your stomach affectionately, blue eyes rolling closed.

As your hands traced the contours of his massive head, he sank his body down to lie on the pebbles and curled his tail around his legs like a cat. The rumbling of his breathing soon deepened until you had to giggle. “Are you purring? Do dragons purr?”

“Only when we’re - oh - really… ahh…” he faltered as your fingertips skirted around the base of one of his crystalline horns which was, apparently, extremely sensitive.

“Really what, Irien…”

“Ah…” he gasped as you repeated the gesture. “Oh… gods that’s good…” he blurted.

You kept doing it until he rolled onto one side, breathing quickening as a tangible shiver passed along his spine. “I didn’t know you were so sensitive,” you murmured, leaning down to plant a kiss on his smooth cheek.

Half-twitch and half-spasm, his right foreleg raked a huge channel through the pebbles as he groaned long and low, claws flexed.

“Should I stop?” you teased.

“Up to you,” he rasped. “But…”

“But what…?”

He seemed to be having difficulty stringing a sentence together, which was amusing. The fact that he was so affected by your touch was definitely doing things to you as well, and as you felt the sun going down, you realised you were going to shift soon.

“But what, Irien?”

His jaws opened and he began to pant, little crystals of ice forming along his canines and over the pebbles of the beach where his head lay pillowed. His belly was pale as moonlight, the iridescent sheen only beginning on the larger scales of his sides and back, and as you gazed down the length of his body, you saw that the small slit in the sheath on his lower abdomen, almost between his legs, had begun to glisten with a pearlescent fluid. It looked swollen too, and as you caressed that sensitive spot on his head again, you watched as the very tip of his cock began to emerge from the sheath.

“You want me to keep going?” you asked, feeling your own skin heating up, partly from the impending change and partly because the sight of him getting so worked up was affecting you too.

“I didn’t… bring you here for… this,” he panted. “But I won’t stop you if you want to.”

“Do you want it though?” you asked, stepping back as your bones began to creak and shift. “Shit, sorry I’m… I’m shifting…” you gasped, reeling backwards and landing hard on the ground behind you. “I thought I had a few more minutes…”

It didn’t take long, and when you looked up, he was watching you with his steady, sapphire gaze. “Alright?” he asked. “I’ve never seen you change.”

With your new ‘monstrous’ eyes, you had an even better view of him. Where your human sight saw gentle rainbows shimmering on his scales, now you saw refracted light glittering and shattering off his spines, and the sheer depth of colour in his eyes was phenomenal. “How about another kind of ‘first’?” you asked, voice huskier now, and you began to slide the simple shirt up over your head.

The heat of his gaze made you preen a little as you revealed your dark blue, scaled body to him. His jaw parted again, mouth hanging open softly, and his tongue was visible too behind that row of enormous teeth. He was tasting your arousal on the air, you realised, like a predator.

“Gods, that’s hot,” you hissed and he tilted his head, catlike. “I want you, Irien. Is… Is that wrong?”

He shook his head. “If it’s what you feel, then it’s not wrong. I want you too, though I fear I might break you.”

“We’ll have to get creative,” you grinned, feeling your tail lashing behind you playfully.

“Look at you,” he snarled, rearing up a little like a cat about to pounce; a cat made of glass and porcelain.

His cock was not yet fully unsheathed, but you could see it - dark blue at the base, the colour of the heart of the lake behind him, with paler ridges that looked extremely inviting, and fading to pure white at the tip. It twitched and drooled under your gaze and he grunted softly. He was huge. The only way you could think to give him any kind of pleasure would be either to ride him and grind yourself along his length as best you could, or to loop your legs around it and let him fuck the space between them, and honestly, both had their appeal.

A huge drop of pre-come slid from the tip and landed on the pebbles below as his cock twitched again. He was breathing hard now, nostrils flared, and he stared openly as you stepped out of the last of your clothes, moving towards him while he stayed perfectly still. It was as if he thought you’d evaporate if he shifted so much as a muscle.

He whispered your name and you placed your finger on his lips in passing as you stalked along the length of his body. With the slightest pressure of your hands you asked him to tip over onto his side again, and he did without question.

The huge dragon folded his wings carefully behind him and then rolled onto his back as you directed him with little more than a quick touch here or there. His cock began to slide fully free of the slick sheath, and you jutted your chin upwards at his belly. He understood your request and brought his hand to the ground, palm up, for you to step into, and he raised you up onto his stomach. His hand fell back immediately to the beach beneath, limp and weak. You straddled his cock and he gave a huge, low frequency groan that made the water ripple and dance. His tail lashed violently, sending a spray of pebbles up into the air and splashing down into the water.

Slowly, teasingly, you rocked your hips over the tip of his cock and watched him leaking beneath you and all over his stomach. The claws of his hands scrabbled in the stones beneath him and his wings, stretched out on either side like a butterfly on display, flexed to their widest span. His head jerked backwards and he opened his maw wide.

“You like that?” you asked and he nodded, mute with pleasure as you picked up a steady rhythm.

“Oh gods that’s so good,” he grunted after a while, voice sounding wrecked. He bucked his hips upwards and nearly dislodged you, but you grabbed the scales of his belly and ground down harder against him, gripping with your thighs. “I’m not going… to last long,” he panted. “I’m… oh gods… oh…” and he chanted your name over and over as you worked him harder and harder.

You managed to catch a ridge of his cock against your clit and ground yourself into it before bringing your finger carefully there to help you along. When he realised what you were doing, he took one look at you pleasuring yourself and using his cock to help, gave a short whimper, before his whole body tensed up.

He came all over himself, ropes of hot release searing against your clit in a rush as his body clenched and convulsed, mouth open in a silent scream of pleasure, and you found yourself coming a heartbeat later. Your fingers gripped his cock, prolonging and intensifying his orgasm as you came in waves atop his cock.

Eventually he slumped back, head knocking against the pebbles behind him, and he lay there, twitching and spent, apparently dazed and reeling from the force of his orgasm. Your legs were slick and shaky too, but as you moved off him, he managed to raise his hand to help you down.

“I’m going to have to bathe in the lake to clean off,” you grunted, looking down at yourself. “Look at me.”

“I am,” he said. “You’re beautiful.”

Feeling a little unsteady still, you turned away from him and said, “Come and join me when you’ve recovered a bit…”

“Mmm,” he said, making no move at all as you strode into the lake. He was clearly enjoying the view, and it was a long time before he rolled himself over and heaved his body up to join you. When he did, he nuzzled you and let you lounge on his foreleg, half in and out of the water. He brought his tongue to your thighs and carefully laved it up and over your body, honing in on your clit which was still aching and sensitive.

Your legs parted instinctively for him and as he raked his teeth appreciatively over your stomach, bringing you up to his maw so that he could taste you better, you let yourself fall limp in his hands. It wasn’t long before he had you shuddering and moaning against his tongue, gasping his name.

He made you come twice more after that, the last time on the grassy bank above the lake shore, and as he curled around you protectively to let you recover, you rested your head against his side and sighed. “I don’t ever want to leave here,” you murmured. “Can it always be like this?”

“I’ll try,” he smiled, laying his head down beside you. “I’ll try.”

—

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#exophilia #ice dragon #dragon x reader #male dragon x female reader #male monster #female reader

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